Podcrapping

Our first Podcast direct to you from Greg & Deb on the Web Studios (otherwise known as the $99 Mac running a nifty little bit of shareware called Audacity). Interested? Click here.

Allie Leibovitz?

Allie has her own photo set on Flickr.

She walked around most of the afternoon clicking pictures of everything (and I do mean everything) with our trusty, old, $50 Samsung camera.

I chose some shots to post. It was a fairly random process. At first I asked Allie to choose her photos. She had about 100 of the 113 that she wanted to represent her oeuvre.

I picked nine.

Where's Amy?

I'm sitting in my bedroom watching the girls giggle and wrestle with one another on our bed. Hey Julie by Fountains of Wayne is playing on iTunes. I just glanced down at my foot and it's involuntarily twitching in time to the music. It's cold outside but we're all warm, well-fed and can remain that way without much effort for what seems to be a long, long time.

How long will this last?

Not long. The moment has past. It was a good one. But now I'm yelling at the girls and telling them they're going to break their necks if they fall off the bed. Deb just came in and gave me the evil eye for letting Allie stay up so long after her bedtime.

How long will this last?

Not long. Now I'm typing and all I can think about is you. What kind of moments are filling your evening? Google brought you here but you can't find that post regarding Amy Carter and you really don't feel like weeding though anything here to find it. So you point you browser to CNN to see if anything has happened since the last time you checked (seven minutes ago).

Now what?

I don't know. And I probably won't find out. After all, this thing really only works one way. And that's fine because I'm not really in the mood for company right now.

All I really want to do is clean the lint out of my belly button lint and hit the hay.

The fact that I discovered that I really hate Scott McClellan today doesn't really mean much right now. I don't hate anyone, really. But seeing him and listening to the sound of his voice makes me crazy. Like those people driven to convulsions by Mary Hart. I was always more of a Dee Dee Myers type guy. And anyone who patronizes Helen Thomas deserves a kick in the nads.

For so many reasons I will be happy when this administration goes the way of the Dodo and every last remnant is swept away and forgotten. Like, unfortunately, the Carter administration. . .

Did you know Amy Carter and I got married in the same year?

It's true!

I've Got Gas

My SoundDock still doesn't work. I sent it back to the factory and they wiped it down with a paper towel, put it in a box and shipped it back to me. It arrived on our front porch yesterday.

It's not crackling and popping anymore but there is a very loud hiss in the background. I'm going to assume if I call Bose they're going to tell me that it's a problem with my iPod.

I'll get to the bottom of it, eventually. In the mean time there will be hissing.

Later on Tuesday evening Julia decided to destroy the last page of a book Allie's kindergarten teacher had created. Each page included a photo of and art by every kid in the class. It's the kind of rare, irreplaceable documentation of one of the sweetest, most fleeting periods in a child's life that deserves to be handled with white cotton gloves. So it's no surprise we left it in the hands of a human paper shredder.

Julia made quick work of the page that featured all the comments from other parents. I spent twenty minutes trying to match up other parents' handwriting then taping the shredded paper together with the smallest pieces of Scotch tape I could manage to pull off the dispenser. There wasn't much I could do about all the ink scribbles.

I imagine living with Julia is what it would be like to have a chimpanzee in the house only with less charm, a little less hair (we'll address this in another post), a larger vocabulary and greatly diminished upper body strength.

As annoying as this was, it wasn't as bad as when my motorcycle hit the curb on Saturday. It went over on its side. The fall broke off the end of the brake lever and severely scratched the tank. You see, I left the motorcycle running in the street in front of the house to warm up while I went inside to kiss all three girls goodbye. The kickstand was positioned outside the gutter. I'm sure a car went by and the resulting breeze was enough to knock over my bike.

It's fine, really; just not as pristine as it once was. Plus, I wasn't on the thing when it fell over and now I know how to park my bike. Debbie said this, "It's your first bike. These things are going to happen." Her words were a nice poultice. Not just because she let me know she understood how much my dumbass parking mishap bothered me, but because she said this is my first bike meaning she's fully prepared for my second or perhaps even third bike.

I'm already shopping.

And then it started to snow last night. Actually it was a cold, wet rain that aspired to become snow but just didn't have enough ambition. Tonight it found some chutzpah and we've got a couple of inches.

I decided I'd better start winterizing all the small motors in the garage. I sucked all the gas out of the lawn mower and worked on the snow blower for an hour to get it started. After pouring gas into the carburetor for the fifth time I finally got it started. In the process I found myself covered in gas. I can't get the smell out of my skin. I used dishwashing liquid, scented soap and even toothpaste.

It won't go away.

I've decided the only thing I can do is a controlled burn. I'll set myself on fire in the shower and hopefully I'll have the presence of mind to put myself out.

I wonder what I'll look like without eyebrows.

Am I Stable?

Picture retakes at school today.

The photographer got Allie off-center the first time around so they refused to send us any photos. I was surprised by how angry I was. I tried to call the company and couldn’t get through to anyone. Good thing. I may have raised my voice or linked words together that might have left the customer service representative with the impression that I was prepared to take ownership of the school photography company via litigation and once all the paperwork was complete I would burn down the school photography company building and stomp around on the ashes all red faced and shit.

I hope her pictures turn out this time.

There’s a guy at work who refuses to say hello to me. I’m not the only person he doesn’t acknowledge so I’m not exactly broken up about it. However I always feel uncomfortable around him because I actually go to the trouble of stifling my urge to greet this man. I walk by him and I think he must notice my eyeballs bulging because I’m swallowing a, How’s it going? or suppressing a Good morning!

This is why when I saw he was alone the other day I approached him. I said, “Hi, I’m Greg. I wanted to apologize to you. You never respond whenever I say hello so I’ve gone out of my way to avoid saying anything at all to you. I wanted you to know that I think it’s ridiculous and immature behavior and that I’m sorry.”

I babbled on about him being the guy who doesn’t say hello and it was entirely his right not to say a word to me and how silly I had been. It was apparent that my apology made this guy really uncomfortable. He told me there was no need to apologize and even said he was sorry himself for not returning my greetings. He really hadn’t noticed anything unusual about my behavior around him and wasn’t aware that he never said hello. He said he was from the East coast (I couldn’t tell if that was an explanation or just background information). He’s new and just getting a feel for things around the office. After that he extricated himself from the situation as quickly as he could.

He didn’t run away from me, but I could tell he really wanted to walk much faster than he normally would.

This had to be the most passive aggressive thing I’ve done in a very long time. I made this guy squirm just because he didn’t return my hallway hellos. At this moment, I’m still trying to figure out what it was that I had hoped to gain from the encounter. I truly was acting on impulse when I approached this guy. I’m sure I had every intention of providing a sincere apology that would hopefully lead to us playing a rousing game of tether-ball together at recess.

Next time I see him I’ll ask him to lunch.

I’m pretty sure he’ll call human resources or perhaps even his attorney and the police (in that order).

Transcript

Late night conversation from planet Married-World:

D - You okay?
G - They won't make me a Jedi Master.
D - Maybe they will next dream.
G - My pee smells funny.
D - Zzzzzz.

Give Blood

According to the National Weather Service I spent most of my 45 minute morning commute sitting in 19° weather. 19° is the wind chill factor on a 37° day with a 70 mph average wind speed.

Deb thinks I’m crazy for riding my motorcycle to work this morning. In fact, as I was putting on my gloves to go out the door I barely breathed the words, “I must be nuts.” Deb was two rooms away and I heard her shout, “You are nuts.”

My hands hurt. My knees felt arthritic. I would have thought my scrotum was shielded from the wind but when I got off the bike my balls were noticeably chilled.

It was great.

By the time I left work the temperature had risen twenty degrees and I had a more enjoyable experience. It was cold, but my balls were in better shape when I got home.

Time to shift gears.

Get it?

The spectre of hardcore addiction looms over our household. Not an evening goes by without everyone foraging through the girls’ Halloween candy looking for the best bits. Allie always asks, “Did I eat a good dinner?” Regardless of our answer she still asks, “Can I have a dessert?” For every piece of dessert Allie gets I have two or three. My rationalization is that I’m saving her from herself by removing the temptation that a fun size Snickers presents. The truth is I’m setting myself up for type II diabetes and hyperglycemic convulsions.

Give Daddy another Reese’s, Mommy. He shakes just like Tickle Me Elmo.

If you haven’t read Deb’s post about donating blood you should take a look at her blog. Deb’s so fanatical we’ve even taken the girls in to give blood. Who knew the requisite 475 ml is waaaaay too much to take out of a two year-old. Talk about a close call. She looked like an empty Capri Sun container. But it’s amazing what a few cookies and some O.J. can do.

Regarding Web Site Updates

I haven't exactly had a fire in my belly when it comes to updating this site.

Cold weather means I should have more time to sit here in the basement and change templates, post photos, edit movies or go on about my latest in a series of bad haircuts and/or poorly crafted meals (last night's chicken pot pie mostly sucked).

So far, I haven't really had the time (or more accurately; I haven't made the time) to do anything more than surf. And that's too bad because there are things happening.

For example: Claudette and Pam are together in Vegas this week. Their mother called last night to report they are having a great time and they planned to see male strippers that evening.

How many male strippers can one fit into a double room at the Monte Carlo?

Perhaps Deb's sisters know the answer by now.

They're spending a lot of time in Vegas. From my experience, time is the one thing you don't want a lot of when visiting Vegas. Money, latex, penicillin, lantern batteries - these are the types of things you want in quantity when vacationing in Vegas. A surplus of time, however, can only lead to trouble. Pam and Claudette have good imaginations and adventurous spirits. Combine that with ample time in Sin City and somehow I don't think buying overpriced merchandise at one of the casino malls is going to cut the mustard for these two.

That said - mug shots are not difficult to get and I will post them here when they become available.

Kandy let me borrow her Theremin. I've been anxious to spend some time with this thing and I plan to show you how it works before I return it to her. I always feel like Mr. Rogers when I bring something like this home. Remember how he used to bring stuff in with him and show it to you once he changed into his sweater and sneakers? It was always something like toy trucks or a puppet. I think I bring home things that are far more interesting and the girls don't have to wait for me to change my clothes before they can see it.

Shannon and Anna are having a baby. Last night Shannon called me as he drove to the grocery store to buy bacon for Anna. Anna is trying to eat continuously in order stave off morning sickness. Last night, she wanted bacon. Shannon described her plans for some kind of peppered cheese and bacon sandwich. I say it beats the heck out of pickles or, God forbid, Pica.

I hope potting soil wasn't on his list.

Dwayne called me via his computer last night (checkout http://www.skype.com). I've really wanted to talk motorcycles with him for the past few days but I hung up on him last night. We were all in the middle of Star Wars Episode III when he called. Too intense for the kids? Maybe. But Allie really got into it. She wants to be a Jedi Knight now.

Do Jedis have pink light sabers?

Whole lot a wavin' goin' on.

I didn't know that people on motorcycles all wave at one another. And it's not just any kind of wave, either. It's with the left hand and it's a low wave with not a lot of wiggle.

I apologize if I've violated the code but I thought it was awesome that complete strangers were waving at me just because I was on two wheels like them.

Even the Harley guys wave.

This morning, when I drove to work on the motorcycle, kids at bus stops waved at me. They never wave at me when I'm driving in my car. Put me on a motorcycle and I'm suddenly worthy of a wave.

I got a great deal on this bike (a 2001 with 4,800 miles). So far it runs great. So far it's very forgiving. So far it's fast enough, comfortable enough and it fits in the garage.

So far so good.

Really good.

I do need a bag or cargo net or something. Does anyone have any sub-$40 luggage recommendations for a 2001 Suzuki GS500?

No Surprises

290 something. We've had more kids come to our porch expecting candy but 290 something is still a respectable number.

Lots of moms on cell phones. Plenty of toddlers wrapped up in expensive, intricately crafted animal suits.

The porch looked okay. No Mummy this year. But the fog machine and sound effects made up for it. I used a strobe light this year. This afternoon Allie and I walked around the Buy and Sell Shop. We met the owner, Mike. Mike had three or four strobe lights blinking in the window. I asked to buy one. Mike refused. He said he needed it for his display.

He asked me why I wanted one of the lights.

I told him it was for Halloween.

"Why don't you just borrow one?" he asked.

I had just met this guy and he was giving me stuff.

Faith in humanity restored, blah, blah, blah.

The strobe did a great job of illuminating the fog and completely disorienting me to the point of me groping for kids' treat bags to find someplace to drop candy.

Julia and Allie had a good time. Julia really didn't get the hand of Trick or Treating until the end.

For some reason Deb and I are exhausted. I'm going to go to bed.

I didn't buy the motorcycle.

You're not surprised. Are you?

Did you ever have to make up your mind?

At 4:09 a.m. I'm still trying to decide.

Dave and I drove to four different dealerships on Saturday. I took this Buell for a spin. I sat down at the salesman's desk and we started the paperwork.

I forgot the checkbook.

I don't know if leaving the checkbook at home was my subconscious at work. But as I sat in the guy's office while he went to see if a credit card would do the trick a huge wave of buyer's remorse washed over me. That's not unusual. I often get the same feeling when buying socks. Of course, this was different.

Turns out they have limits on credit card purcases so my Visa card wasn't going to get me the bike that day. For better or worse, this has left me with more time to think

Now I've got to decide.

I love riding this thing. But I'll only be able to take it out a couple more times this year. Then there's the fact that I have small children. Lifting them in and out of the bathtub would be difficult with my arm in a cast (or worse). And I don't have enough time as it is. When am I going to be able to spend two or three hours rolling around the backroads? Plus, it's expensive. The price of the bike, insurance, maintenance. . .

4:19 a.m.

Hopefully, by the time you're reading this I will have made up my mind.

Breaking the Code

I know it's been three days since I flew into Ft. Worth but I can't stop thinking about the woman I sat next to on the plane.

She was an older woman. She fidgeted in her seat. She talked to herself. Sometimes she made odd, convulsive movements.

She also farted.

A lot.

The intensity of these stinkbursts left no doubt that they were coming from my neighbor's ass. I couldn't even turn toward her because I'm sure I would have shot her a look that would have burned a hole into the back of her skull.

Her stench would hit me and I would just tilt my head back and move my fingers in front of my face trying to brush away some of the molecules that had just come from her intestines.

Finally I'd had enough and I reached into my bag to get a piece of paper. I was planning to write, "Please. For the love of God. Stop farting."

Then the pilot announced that we were beginning our descent.

She farted one last time before we hit the ground.

By this forth salvo, I'm pretty sure I'd deciphered the scent code of her butt steam. It was obvious she'd been eating fermented earthworms and dogshit.

The Easy Part

This morning I got to drop Allie off at school. Usually it’s Debbie, but today I took a stab at it.

I was a little worried. Despite being prepped by both Deb and Allie I still wasn’t sure about the procedure and the thought of a dozen mini-vans lined up behind me bleeping their horns made me a little queasy.

Instead of braving the circle drive of certain death I just parked in front of the school and walked Allie to the entrance. This was a good thing. I know by next year she probably won’t want to hold my hand in front of other kids. Today she seemed proud.

“There’s Abbie,” Allie shouted. “Today’s a little different,” Allie told Abbie. “Today my Daddy’s taking me to school.”

Abbie (or whatever the hell her name is) looked to be at least a year ahead of Allie. She didn’t respond to Allie. Instead she glanced at us as if we each had a medium sized turd perched on each of our left shoulders. Then Allie turned back to me and said, “Call me tonight from Texas.” For some reason this made Abbie (or whatever the hell her name is) pause for a moment to scan me as if she was looking for an I’m Going to Texas patch embroidered on my jacket. When the little snot didn’t spot anything that made me or my daughter any more interesting than the other people in the crowd she moved on.

I leaned in to kiss Allie and she grabbed me around my neck and squeezed. “Don’t forget to bring me something back,” she whispered. She let go abruptly and shouted, “There’s Brandon!” I took the distraction as my cue to leave. I watched Allie violate the rules and step off the sidewalk to greet Brandon (or whatever the hell his name is) as he exited his mini-van.

Allie and Brandon walked together toward the door. Then Allie paused for a second and looked back in my direction. She didn’t see me. That’s when she realized she lost track of Brandon and allowed the school building to gobble her up as she ran after him.

I wasn’t sad.

Entirely.

However I am glad I usually pick up.

Now here I sit in the Airport listening the guy on the P.A. lecture me about unattended baggage. He sounds remarkably like Bob Kevoian from the Bob and Tom Show.

I’m thinking about Debbie. I'm missing our anniversary (won't be the first time). Nine years ago, tomorrow, we got married. Our wedding day was a lot like this day (at least as far as the weather is concerned). Above average temperatures with the leaves on the trees just starting to show their true, brilliant colors all under a speckless, blue sky.

Despite their similarities, I know I’ll never have another October 19 like I did in 1996.

I remember how fresh everything felt. The entire day was a deep breath of clean, cool air. Yes, I was nervous at times, but that was only because I had to stand in front of most everyone I ever loved and cared about in rented clothing. That’s enough to unsettle anyone.

The getting married part; that was easy.

She was the one.

Still is.

Always will be.

All dressed up and no place to go.

On Saturday, the women who taught my motorcycle safety course kept yelling at me. They weren't really yelling. After all I was wearing a helmet and seven other Buell motorcycles were revving their way around a training area. They didn't have a choice but to be loud. But between their volume and tone I started to feel as if I wasn't able to do anything right.

Then today, one of the women took me aside and said, "You're a better rider than you think you are. I should have told you that yesterday." She must have been right because I did better than anyone in the class on my skills test. I missed one question out of 50 on the written exam.

In retrospect I shouldn't have minded all the criticism. I was paying these people to tell me what I was doing wrong so I'll have a better chance of staying safe on the road. I dig encouragement and positive reinforcement as much as anyone, but this wasn't the place for me to get a shot in the arm.

I got my road test slip. All I need to do now is head on over the DMV and take their written test and I've got a license.

What good is a license if you don't have a motorcycle?

Not much.

But that's a topic we'll broach another time.

Now I've got a million things to do to get ready to leave for Ft. Worth. Allie may have strep and this is crucial time for Deb at work.

My head is clogged and I'm coughing. I need to gargle with Listerine to try and kill whatever bacteria Alllie gave to me over the past few days.

Oh. BOO HOO. If you're so sick and stressed why didn't you skip motorcycle class and work this weekend?

Because.

Now shut up and go buy me a motorcycle.