Resolutions

I usually avoid making resolutions because it's such a disappointment when I fail. However, in taking stock of my life during the past year I've found that I've achieved quite a few things. I have my temper a little more under control. I am a little more content with my life. I'm a little more caring and concerned for others. I've gained a few more skills for the job. I'm a lot better at the guitar than last year (seeing as how last year is when I started playing). I'm a little wiser and have a little more faith. That's all I can hope for for the coming year. Happy New Year and bless you all.

Resume Notes

This isn't to brag, only to keep track of it for my resume:

I just saw a commercial I edited a couple of years ago air nationally on ESPN in the Liberty Bowl Game today. Woo Hoo!

Let it (not) Snow

Friday, the day after Christmas, snow began to accumulate in great heaps. Most of the streets except for our were plowed almost immediately. I shoveled snow and helped dig neighbors' cars out for most of the afternoon. Yesterday the wind began to blow. It kept blowing all day. When I got home from work, my once-clear driveway had 3-foot snowdrifts. I was taking my five-year-old to the Jazz Basketball Game so I had to hurry and dig. I parked my little Sundance in the middle of the road and began digging. In the half hour that took, I also helped push two of my neighbor's cars out of the snow. I finally got the driveway clear enough to pull my car in and we went to the ball game. This morning, after a sleepless night and with bags under my eyes, I looked out the window and saw that the driveway was covered in deep snow again. I woke up late and had to get to work so I didn't bother with shoveling. Thank goodness for four-wheel-drive vans!

After the Holiday

It's that inbetween time, the time between Christmas and New Year's that eases the pain of Christmas having come and gone so quickly with me not being prepared yet again. In there somewhere (tomorrow, in fact) is also my wife's birthday, another day for me to prove to her how uncaring, unthoughtful, and forgetful I can be, having not got her a present. Birthdays and anniversaries don't seem to be that important to her but I still feel terrible. I'm afraid she'll never know how much I adore her because I'm lousy at magically knowing what gift or act of kindness would light up her life.

Christmas was satisfying for me though. We got a lot of stuff that I'm pretty excited about. I know that's not what's important but it feels good anyway. Now we're in that clean up phase, much like after a move: There are still boxes and things that need a place to live (or die, in the case of the garbage). It will be nice when we get it all done and can stride into the new year in a clean house.

I'm up late because Rufflebutt woke me up and I can't get back to sleep. I'm facing a huge work day tomorrow after taking the week off, a daunting prospect. To top it off, I have new responsibilities now. I'm am writer/producer for a new show that will soon begin airing in several states twice a week. Daunting doesn't begin to describe that. The deadlines are going to be murder. And did I say this responsibility is in addition to those I already have? I don't deal well with this kind of pressure. We'll see what happens.

Eavesdropping on the Pizza Guys

My two boys while playing pizza store owners as overheard by me while I was unplugging the vacuum cleaner:

5-yr-old: Ok. It will be ready soon. Bye.
8-yr-old: What kind of pizza did he want?
5-yr-old: Pooperoni.
8-yr-old: I think he meant pepperoni.
5-yr-old: Oh darn it! Now I have to start all over!

That's Mr. Dinky to you.

Being a natural Narcissus, I am always pleased when I get mentioned on someone else's blog. But in this case, there was a mistake. Netwoman Tracy Kennedy thinks I am a woman. I guess this is understandable since I don't go on about sports or war or muscle cars. But I'm very much a man. Just ask my wife, my four kids, and my toy poodle Ms. Tinkle.

Christmas Eve

Having put off getting my wife (and everyone else) a gift until today, I piled the boys into the car and we braved the congested streets and actually went to the mall. Every year I think, "I'm going to start earlier, compiling a list of hints she gives me throughout the year, and get something really nice for her that'll make her eyes sparkle on Christmas morning." But it turns out to be the same kind of unlikely declaration an agonized, hungover lush makes when he says, "I'll never drink again."
The roads were terrible, not because of snow or ice, but because of the thousands of other procrastinators on their desperate quests for the last-minute presents. The wait at any given intersection or turn-off was at least ten minutes (if we were lucky), but I was prepared. The boys were all crooning along pub-fashion with the newly-installed cd player as it belted out tunes like "Put down the Ducky" and "The Streak" from their own mix disc while I listened to the book The Fourth Estate (which, incidentally, is absolutely fantastic) with ear buds that insulated my ears from all outside interference. Consequently, I was a very patient driver. The book is engrossing enough to keep me occupied, and while everyone else seemed to be in some sort of high-stakes race, I was very calm and collected.
Inside the mall was another matter. All the entrances to all the shops were congealed with a mass of shoppers, but we squeezed through somehow. I had to remind the boys we were shopping for mom everytime they stopped to look at a remote-control motorcycle or some lethal weapon. They had their own ideas of what she would like for Christmas, all well over our price limit and outside the realm of her taste. We finally saw some piggy banks that were kind of cute. She collects pigs so we were getting closer. Unfortunately, the one they picked had "lingerie money" embossed on the side. Since that's probably not the kind of sentiment a woman likes to get from her sons, we settled on "vacation money." Heaven knows she needs a vacation. I still didn't know what to get her myself, but I felt like I had travelled across the country and I was ready for a break so we went home. I ventured out again later and it had gotten worse. I still don't know what to get her. I know that she got me a subscription to a guitar magazine. She's not that easy to shop for, though. She likes plants and books, but she gets all the books she wants from the library and has no desire to read them again, and whenever I buy her plants they turn out to be poisonous and we can't have them around the kids. She has told me that my being so nice to her while she's been sick is Christmas present enough. I don't know. Sounds like a trick to me.
For dinner we decided to get the kids' ultimate Christmas Eve meal: We risked mad cow disease and got McDonalds.
After I ran around the neighborhood giving out the requisite candy-filled gifts, we watched "It's a Wonderful Life." I know people think it's overly-sentimental or simply overplayed, but I love it. I've seen it at the very least thirty times and I still bawl when I watch it. And I don't wait until the Auld Lang Syne seen to start blubbering, no, my eyes start brimming at the very start in anticpation of the emotional moments. I do my best to hide this from my wife who I think has become jaded from too many viewings, but of course I can't and I'm sure she thinks I'm a sappy idiot. I would love to be able to caterwaul like Diane Keaton does for days in "Something's Gotta Give." But I wouldn't be a man then, would I? No, I'd be Diane Keaton. Who, by the way, doesn't look good naked. Then again, neither do I.

I'd better turn in so I'm not the Christmas ogre I usually am. But before I do, I'd like, once again, to wish my family and the new friends I've made through blogging a very merry Christmas and a wonderful new year full of joy and excitement.

Slow Motion Living

Laziness is not what everyone thinks. You see someone sitting on the couch watching tv all day, or at the computer playing video games, or just lounging in bed a little too long and you think, he's lazy. At least in my case, it's not laziness, it's A.D.D. I have many ambitions, many things I'd like to be doing. But when it comes time to do something about it, I can't see past the mountain of work that I assume must be involved. And still, that's not laziness. I'm not afraid of doing meticulous, tedious work. You should come to my job with me sometime and see what I do all day, or sit for hours with me as I do one of my drawings. No, laziness is not the correct lable for what is wrong with me. I can't focus. I can't formulate a plan of action. I can't remember what it is I want to do long enough to set out and do it. My head is a clouded fish tank floating with debris and dead fish. I have to muck around in it for hours to find a live one, something I'd like to work on. But even when I'm excitedly making plans and going forward, my thoughts dart away from me. I don't have the right lure or net. Something. I'm nothing if not tangential. I'm always flitting away from the point. Is there anything I can do? I think I could be really successful if I could only focus.

In sickness and in health

Everyone seems to be getting better now. The coughing and hacking that once filled the house is now somewhat subdued. My five-year-old did not die as he thought. Princess Rufflebutt has been very happy today. She still coughs a little but she's much better than before. The nights were the worst. She was really ill there for a while. Mrs. C. seems to be getting better as well. I missed the whole thing. This is the first time I didn't catch what everyone else in the house had (knock on wood).

My sister is on her way to Idaho to live with my parents. They drove clear to Arizona just to get her and bring her back. That's quite a trip. They'll be passing through here at about 1 am so I won't see them. Good luck with your new life, Banana. I hope everything goes well for you.

By the way, I finally won something at the company Christmas party. It is a car stereo. Now if I could only get someone to help me install it, it will be the most expensive thing about my car. My co-workers have made it clear that I can no longer snivel about not winning. Ok. I'll comply with that. The party included many departments and companies as it was the sports and entertainment side of the group that we work for. Our company cleaned up, most of the prizes going to our sales department. I'm sure it didn't sit well with the rest of the party, especially since our sales department does that nearly every year. Isn't it odd how the same people seem to win every time?

I'm taking this whole week off starting Monday (I have to work tomorrow) and there are many presents under the tree from our wonderful families, so this should be a very nice Christmas for us. Merry Christmas everyone.

Big Fish

I just finished watching the movie "Big Fish" and I just had to sit down at my computer and write about it. Tim Burton is back. This film resurrects the sublimely blurred lines of reality that I enjoyed so much in "Edward Scissorhands" and "Beetlejuice," and the kind of darkly uplifting and heart-rending story of the former as well as that of "The Nightmare before Christmas." Albert Finney plays Ed Bloom, a Walter Mitty type who's tall tales just might hold a little bit of truth. Billy Crudup is his estranged son who sees his father's stories as his way of escaping a life of bordom. The film is a progression of these myths interspersed with returns to the present, "real" lives of Bloom and his family who are trying to cope with his coming death from cancer. The tales are smartly funny and a touch scary at times. I love everything Billy Crudup does, and this performance is no exception. All of the performances are wonderful. This is Burton's masterpiece.

Santa

Dinky Jr. and I love to play Battlefield 1942. It's not the killing. In fact, when he plays or when we play together, it's on a multiplayer map with no other players. His only interest is in learning how to fly the planes and choppers and drive the cars. Flying the Apache helicopter is my favorite thing to do. I've learned to do it with the keyboard which is rather difficult. I would love to have a joystick so that I could maintain rotor speed...right now it's either on or off, which makes flying in tight situations hard. When I was lamenting about this and the fact that I can't afford a joystick to my boy, he said, "We're going to see Santa at the party tonight, why don't you just ask him for one?" This morning he asked me if I had talked to Santa about it last night. I made like I was too shy to talk to Santa about it.

I have a hard time with the Santa thing. I feel like I'm lying to the kids. They're so sure that he's a real person. What do you do when they ask him for something you can't afford or hadn't planned on giving them? And when they find out he's not real, how do they continue believing in Jesus Christ who has many of the same characteristics? He's charitable and loving...and even more invisible than Santa. Santa is at the mall, after all. One of the things I love about my children is their unabashed belief in things they cannot see and in what we tell them is true. Right now, they believe in both Santa and Jesus. How do I help them keep their faith in Christ when their faith in Santa has been shattered? How will they still believe in me?

Sick Kids

I don't think we have the flu at our house (heavy sigh of relief) but the kids have been pretty sick. The other night, my five-year old woke up coughing and screamed, "I'm going to cough forever. This isn't ever going to stop! I'm going to die!" We assured him he wouldn't die and gave him something for his cough and high temperature. Last night Rufflebutt was hot as well. She's crabby today but the fever is gone. Right now she is hiccoughing herself to sleep on my shoulder as I type. I have been washing my hands at least 24 times a day. I can't afford to get it.

Oh, and a friend of mine emailed this to me. It's a picture that shows where ice cream cones come from.

Privacy

Every once in a while I help clean the church building. Today, my seven-year-old wanted to come. We cleaned the bathrooms for our part. When we started on one of the women's bathrooms, he said, "Dad, women like their privacy a lot more than men. That's why they don't have two toilets next to each other that they stand up at." This is a fine piece of deduction, don't you think?

This is the last time

OK, I promise this is the last time I talk about my toe. I know it makes some people ill but this is a personal blog and my toe is very personal. I lost the nail last night. I was fiddling around with it and it came off. Now my toe hurts again. I'm going to miss the little guy. That's the second toenail I've lost from that toe. The first one was when I was about 9. I was riding my bike barefoot and I jumped off while still going and there went the toenail. You can bet I don't let my kids ride without shoes. No need to make them learn the hard way when their baffoon of a dad already did it for them. Hopefully they'll listen to me about other sage advice gained the stupid way, advice about drugs and alchohol, dating, etc. I'm pretty wise when you consider that wisdom is aquired as a consequence of foolish actions.

On to other things:
It's pretty sad when you have to learn about your brother's brush with disaster on a snow machine by reading your sister's blog a week after the fact. Guess I should call more.

Conversations with the Boys

My five-year-old to my seven-year-old today at lunch:
"Remember when we were young and we used to pull the pepperonis off our pizza before we ate it?"

The other day to my three-year-old:
"I used to do that, too, when I was a little kid."

My seven-year-old to me while watching me play Battlefield 1942:
"If you were a coward like me, you wouldn't charge into the enemy's outpost like that."
"You're a coward?"
"Yeah, I always hide. I'm too scared."

My three-year-old anytime we're watching television:
"He said underwear! Ha ha ha ha ha!"

Ahhh Relief!

Looks like they won't have to amputate my foot after all. Last night I was examining the monstrosity that had once been my toe and what I thought was an extra-thick toe nail was actually a giant blood blister. Without being too graphic, I opened it up and drained at least a teaspoon of fluid out of it. It still hurts but the redness and pain are subsiding and I can actually concentrate on things besides my toe--like work. Thanks for all of the concern.

Is it possible? Rufflebutt is getting cuter by the minute. She plays games with me now. She likes to fly around like superbaby. When I lie on my back and hold her over me, she spreads her arms out, a wide grin plastered over her face. She likes to be held a lot. I mean, a lot. If we leave her on her blanket and do something else, she squawks loudly until we pay her the attention she craves. I did say she was a princess, right?

Pain

Last Monday some buddies of mine and I were playing basketball and it got a little rough. We were playing speed, a game in which the players line up in single file and, using two basketballs, take turns shooting. You keep shooting until you make it or until the guy behind you makes it, in which case you're out. If you make it before he does, you go back to the end of the line and do it again until there's one person left. We always play this game and we were getting a little bored with it so some of the guys started making rules like, "Your first shot has to be with your off hand," or, "You have to bounce it of the wall on that spot then catch and shoot." So when it was my turn I decided for a no-look shot: "Your first shot is with your back facing the basket." I launched my first shot clear over the backboard. I went to retrieve it and when I turned around the next guys ball hit me square in the nose. My head shot back, sending waves of pain through my neck and I had that feeling you get when water goes up your nose. I had a dull headache for the rest of the night but I shook it off and continued playing. We then switched to 500. Someone had brought a wiffle bat and ball. We had a pitcher and a batter and the rest of us would try to catch the ball in as few bounces as possible, which was difficult since the ball had a mind of its own. On one pitch, the batter sent the ball speeding low straight at the pitcher. He put his hands down to catch it but it made a tight arc around his legs and continued, as if it had dodged him on purpose. I played pretty aggressively and skinned my knees and tore my pants and shirt. Then, after one high hit, my buddy, Scott and I went after the ball together. The floor in that room curves up at the walls and I jammed my foot into it. My toe hit the inside of my shoe causing the worst pain imaginable. I took my shoe off expecting my sock to be filled with blood. It wasn't, but my hands were shaking with the pain. I could tell the others didn't understand how much pain I was going through and I didn't try to explain it. I sat there a few minutes until it began to subside. I put my shoe back on and played again but the pain never went away. It still hasn't gone away. The toe is now infected and the nail is loose. It'll probably come off eventually. It's a constant pain with no relief. Surprisingly, I can sleep. But I know the pain is still there even when I'm snoozing. I should probably go to the doctor but I hate doing that. I've been wrapping the toe up in gauze with alchohol and triple-antibiotic oinment but it doesn't seem to be helping. It's making me irratible as well. Too bad for my family. Oh well, there could be worse things. It's hard to remember that I'm not a kid anymore.

More Potty-Training Disasters

Nearly had a repeat of the August 28 post but this time it was in church. Our main meeting, in which the entire congregation gathers, was over and I was taking my three-year-old and my five-year-old to their respective classes. I told them we needed to go to the bathroom first, just to avoid any problems. My five-year-old asked me a question and when we got that taken care of, I turned to see my three-year-old standing in the room just outside the main chapel, surrounded by a crowd of people, with his pants and undies around his ankles, ready to go. I scooped him up as quickly as I could and swept him into the bathroom. The amazing thing is, everyone was so preoccupied with visiting amongst themselves that I don't think any of them noticed. He's learning...I guess.

Happy Thanksgiving

The holiday was fun and it wasn't. We made the 2 1/2 hour trip to Idaho to see my wife's parents in our van, the one with a hundred bazillion miles on it. Shortly after we were underway, I realized I hadn't put the jack and lug wrench in the car. I'll get a lot of crap for this after my wife reads this. She nagged me all morning to do it and I finally said something like, "Ok! Ok!, I'm not stupid. I'll take care of it." Of course I didn't so I worried most of the trip that we would have a flat tire. At one point the road was pretty rough and it made the van feel like it was throwing a wheel. I don't think I let on how nervous I was. Then my five year old did something he hasn't done in a long time; he got car sick. He gets that from her side of the family. I never get motion sickness. But there it was, all over the back of my seat and all over his clothes and the blanket we'd packed and just about everything else. We stopped and got some ginger snaps and ginger ale, which always does wonders, but we did it a little too late. We cleaned up as best we could and he spent the first couple of hours at grandma's trying to pull his shirt over his underwear and bare legs while his clothes tumbled around in the washing machine.

I'm not a social creature. I always do my best to avoid conversation, so I spent a lot of time in snowball fights with the boys and playing with the cats. I haven't been around cats for a long time--so long that I forgot I'm allergic to long haired ones. My eyes puffed up and I was preoccupied for much of the rest of our visit with trying not to rub them which always makes it worse.

The dinner was lovely and I ate too much. I felt the effects of this when I had to get up in the middle of the night and take some antacid.

Still, it was a great holiday and a great reminder of all that I have and should be thankful for. I have a job that provides for us in these less-than-booming times, I have a wonderful family and extended family, I have a car that will get us where we need to go. I really have it all.

The Weather Outside is Frightful

It's early enough in the season that I still forget to go out a little early to warm up and brush off the car. I hate being in a hurry to get the kids to school and get myself to work and realizing that the windshield is frosted over. I've tried driving that way, with the defrost all the way up, but it doesn't work. And it's really dangerous. Trust me. This morning I forgot, again, but this time my car wasn't merely coated in a layer of frost, it was blanketed with two inches of snow. This bothered me, but not why you'd think. Light, fluffy snow is easy to clean off. It's just that that much snow is a sign of what the commute is going to be like. Sure enough, it took me twice the time it normally does. People just don't know how to drive in the snow, so there are lots of accidents. They think you can go as fast as in the summer, but even if you have 4-wheel-drive you can't stop on icy roads. I proved that myself when I overshot the driveway at work and had to drive around the block to the other entrance. It reminds me of when I was living in Chipley, Florida when it snowed. It never snows there, but I go there and it snows. Go figure. Anyway, it was just a skiff, hardly visible, but they shut down all the schools anyway. No one knew what to do. When my downstairs neighbor opened the door and saw what happened I heard her shouting, "Lawdy! Lawdy! Lawdy!" All the way to the car. I'm sorry she was shouting all the way to work. I grew up in the snow. I remember winters when we could walk nearly to the roof of our house on the drifts that built up there. I have also experienced the cold. I remember a windless day waiting for the school bus in 40 below weather. Spit freezes before it hits the ground in that temerature. Winters here are much milder, something I'm grateful for. But I find myself hoping it keeps snowing this winter. I never thought I'd say that, but I'm told if it keeps up like this, our six-year drought will be over. Wouldn't that be grand?

Funny Lines

Guess which films these lines of dialogue are from. First:

Any news on the boyfriend front?

I was kind of seeing someone: an author.

And what happened?

He committed suicide.

Oh I'm so sorry.

It's alright. I didn't really like him very much. I liked him even less after he committed suicide.

How did he do it?

He threw himself off a building. He didn't even do that properly. It was only a 3 story building. He would have survived only a car ran him over.

What sort of books did he write?

Self-help books...

and...

To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering one must not love, but then one suffers from not loving. Therefore, to love is to suffer, not to love is to suffer, to suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love, to be happy then is to suffer but suffering makes one unhappy, therefore to be unhappy one must love or love to suffer or suffer from too much happiness. I hope you're getting this down...

and third...

Kids, this is a message from your Uncle ____. Don't buy drugs. Wait until you're a rock star, and they give them to you for free!

A Three-Year-Old's Prayer

"Heavenly Father,

Thank you for our house. Thank you for the lights. Please bless that monsters won't get us and make us scared. We will run away," (runs a few steps), "and we will go over here, and . . . amen!"

Nerves of Steel Driving Survey

I found this to back up my claim about Utah drivers. According to the survey, the city I live in, Salt Lake, ranks 10th in the nation for rude drivers!

Friday Traffic Report

I'm thinking of starting a new regular entry detailing my adventures in traffic. Almost every day as I huddle behind the wheel on my way to or from work, some near-calamity thrusts itself my direction. If I only had a nickel for every close call, every "just a couple more inches and I would have been . . . ." I'm not from Utah. Where I grew up, Utahns were notorious for being terrible drivers. But those were just stories told from the front lines to those of us who were safe at home, far away from the battlefield. Now I'm in the middle of it, immersed in a war in which I'm an unwilling conscript, singing the battle cry stolen from "Syncronicity II:" "Packed like lemmings into shiny metal boxes/contestants in a suicidal race" which gives little comfort.

Since this is the first traffic report here, I'll start by describing some of the most harrowing incidents I can remember. The road I take from work is of the two-lane county variety--speed limit 50 mph. The average speed, however, is more like 60 or 65. I go the speed limit. I can't afford traffic tickets and it seems like every time I've forgotten myself and gone over the limit, I've been pulled over. So I don't speed. This makes me and others like me a real pain in the behind to most other drivers as it is difficult to pass someone on this road. One day someone who was directly in front of me and obviously in a hurry was weaving in and out of the lane looking for a chances to pass. The opportunity never arose so he went anyway, causing the oncoming car to swerve out onto the shoulder to avoid a head on. After that car passed, our friend--who now was clear to go back into his lane in front of the car he was passing--decided he didn't want to after all and slipped back in behind me. I decided it was best to put some distance between us and slowed down. Then he tried it again and again had a near head-on collision. This time he pulled in front of the car he was passing but a little too close and almost hit it, causing the driver to swerve out of his way. The way in front of him now being clear, our hero romped on the gas pedal and sped away--until he had to slow again three seconds later as another car was going the speed limit. Luckily, by this time I had reached my turn off and was able to exit the situation.

Today as I was getting on the freeway, a woman would not slow down to let me merge from the onramp. I had few options myself. There were cars directly behind and in front of her. She sped up just enough to let me squeeze in behind her, the polite thing to do in utah, I guess. She got her come uppance, however. She signaled to change lanes and began doing so when the car next to me (at least two car lengths behind her) saw her doing this and accelerated so she couldn't. Apparently in Utah, when someone signals, it means, "do everything in your power to keep me from changing lanes."

IQ Test

Can't sleep. So I took an IQ test at Emode and this is what I got:



Congratulations, Dinky!
Your IQ score is 129

This number is the result of a formula based on how many questions you answered correctly on Emode's Ultimate IQ test. Your IQ score is scientifically accurate; to read more about the science behind our IQ test, click here.

During the test, you answered four different types of questions — mathematical, visual-spatial, linguistic and logical. We analyzed how you did on those questions, which reveals the way your brain uniquely works.

We also compared your answers with others who have taken the test, and according to the sorts of questions you got correct, we can tell your Intellectual Type is an Insightful Linguist.

This means you are highly intelligent and have the natural fluency of a writer and the visual and spatial strengths of an artist. Those skills contribute to your creative and expressive mind. And that's just some of what we know about you from your test results.

Cool, huh?

Of course, this also means that I am intelligent enough not to pay to have the detailed results emailed to me.

Very Punny

Have you ever noticed how news writers think that the abundant use of puns is creative? I used to think it was limited to local writers, but yesterday I heard Tom Brokaw say that the new Kentucky Fried Chicken ads have people "crying fowl." So I thought I'd do my part to help out the news writers by passing along a list of puns my mom sent to me:

1. Those who jump off a bridge in Paris are in Seine.
2. A backward poet writes inverse.
3. A man's home is his castle, in a manor of speaking.
4. Dijon vu - the same mustard as before.
5. Practice safe eating - always use condiments.
6. Shotgun wedding: A case of wife or death.
7. A man needs a mistress just to break the monogamy.
8. A hangover is the wrath of grapes.
9. Dancing cheek-to-cheek is really a form of floor play.
10. Does the name Pavlov ring a bell?
11. Condoms should be used on every conceivable occasion.
12. Reading while sunbathing makes you well red.
13. When two egotists meet, it's an I for an I.
14. A bicycle can't stand on its own because it is two tired.
15. What's the definition of a will? (It's a dead giveaway.)
16. Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.
17. In democracy your vote counts. In feudalism your count votes.
18. She was engaged to a boyfriend with a wooden leg but broke it off.
19. A chicken crossing the road is poultry in motion.
20. If you don't pay your exorcist, you get repossessed.
21. With her marriage, she got a new name and a dress.
22. When a clock is hungry, it goes back four seconds.
23. The man who fell into an upholstery machine is fully recovered.
24. You feel stuck with your debt if you can't budge it.
25. Local Area Network in Australia: the LAN down under.
26. He often broke into song because he couldn't find the key.
27. Every calendar's days are numbered.
28. A lot of money is tainted - It taint yours and it taint mine.
29. A boiled egg in the morning is hard to beat.
30. He had a photographic memory that was never developed.
31. A plateau is a high form of flattery.
32. A midget fortune-teller who escapes from prison is a small medium at large.
33. Those who get too big for their britches will be exposed in the end.
34. Once you've seen one shopping center, you've seen a mall.
35. Bakers trade bread recipes on a knead-to-know basis.
36. Santa's helpers are subordinate clauses.
37. Acupuncture is a jab well done.

Got any more you want to add to the list? Post a comment.

More Family Pics

Are you sick of all the pictures yet? Well, here are some more anyway.

Family Pictures

My good buddy Scott Frederick used his trusty new camera to take some family pictures of us. He took around 175 shots. All of which we get to keep. Thanks Scott! This one is my favorite:


So today, my oldest boy asks me if I want him to tell me what he wants for Christmas. I tell him, sure. He says, I want a whole bunch of ties to wear with my new shirt. Won't he be easy to shop for when he's a dad. My middle boy joined in and said he want a toy dog that's bigger than his big toy dog so he can call his big toy dog medium dog. Whatever.

Listening to The New Testament

Those of you who come here frequently should know that, though I am very religious, I don't preach often. I don't want to give the impression that I think I'm better than anyone else. Because I'm not...really. But I know God lives and religion is a huge part of my life, and since this blog is about my life, I can't keep silent about that part of it. Sooooo, I've been listening to the New Testament for the past two weeks. I listen to many books on tape. It's become quite a habit. I can't go a day between books. A couple of weeks ago, there was a lull. I couldn't think of what to get next. I love Atwood but I've listened to a lot of her stuff and I need a change for awhile. Since I've never been able to read the Bible all the way through in print, I decided this would be good a time to try it on tape. I thought it would be huge, but it was on only 12 cassettes, which is about average for a book on tape. I was a little worried. I had tried to listen to The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich for the same reason: I just couldn't get through the book, it was so large. But I couldn't get through the tapes either. I found myself drifting off, thinking about other things. I never finished it. So I was sure the same thing would happen here. On the contrary, from the moment I put the first tape in, I was riveted. The narrator, Alexander Scourby, was perfect. I learned that it took him a year to produce the Bible on tape. And it was worth it. His performance and obvious knowledge of language and diction were superb. I found myself becoming immersed in the stories, my mind never wandering, and, at the same time, I found my belief in Jesus Christ and in the fact that he is my personal savior, the only one through whom I can be saved, growing. This experience has done wonders, not only for my faith, but for my daily attitude as well. My family would probably say that I haven't changed, that I'm still grumpy as ever. But the seeds of change are in me. The desire is in me. I'm afraid to quit the tapes. Now that they are done, I find myself wanting to start them over. I'm listening to Diamond Age now, because a friend brought it from his home, and it really is very good. But I'm afraid I'll never have an experience with a book on tape to match this one. Even Harry Potter, which was my last wonderful experience--one that I didn't want to end and I was down in the dumps when it did--doesn't come close to this one.

Happy Ogre

The other day my wife heard my three year old say several times that he loves Happy Ogre. She thought this must be some new cartoon character we hadn't heard about. Then he began to say that he wanted some happy ogre. What could that mean? The other boys told her that on Mr. Rogers Neighborhood, Mr. Rogers went to Chef Brockett's catering company and learned how to make tapioca pudding. Ohhhhhhh. That's what happy ogre is. Mystery solved.

Finally Done!

I've officially handed off the drawing to the client and he was jumping up and down. Apparently he loves it, which is quite a relief to me:

Rock Star

I was showing some people here a music video I did back in 1990 and I thought I'd show you what I looked like without the extra forty pounds and with hair:

Drawing Progress

The end is in sight! I'm getting close to being done. Here's what I've done so far:
The photo was taken by Scott Frederick. We took it really quickly last night. When the drawing is done, we'll set up some lights and get it without the glare so you can see it more clearly. It's 18x24, too big to scan.

The Earth at Night

My sister showed me this a long time ago and I was astounded. It's a composite of hundreds of pictures taken from space. It really puts things into perspective, like how we of different cultures and nationalities think we're so different but we're really the same, like how we've developed differently. And many other political and social assumptions can be made just by studying this photo. For instance, look at the difference between North and South Korea. And look at the Nile River. Just amazing.

What is hell like?

Back when I was in college we had a project for which we had to write our version of hell. For me it was being locked in a room with an always-on radio tuned to a station that played only David Hasslehoff and Chuck Norris singing their respective theme songs. Next to that is a television with 24-hour reruns of Baywatch Nights and Walker: Texas Ranger. Aaaaiiigggh!

What's your version of hell?

Bad Day

I rarely have a bad day at work. I love the people there and I like the work, for the most part. There are occasions, however, when things don't go well. I'm sorry I can't be specific, but I don't talk much about work here. Suffice to say that I was so angry I was trembling and felt like vomiting. It didn't help that I hadn't had anything to eat and have been working on very little sleep since Princess Rufflebutt was born. I fumed the entire day, still growling to myself about it during the drive home. When I got home, the first person I saw was my three yr. old. He was looking out the window and excitedly shouting, "Dad's home! Dad's home." I went in the house and he hugged me and said, "I love you, Dad." I instantly felt better.

Later, at dinner, we were talking about Rufflebutt. My wife said, "She sure is cute," to which my five yr old replied, "You're kinda cute yourself, Mom."

Halloween Fun

I got some pictures of last night's fun to share with everyone. First, we have our very own young Frankenstein:

And here are our cowgirl and our Ben Franklin:


Here's the whole motley crew, with my brother as himself (The clown is my youngest, backed up by his cousins and brothers):


And, finally, the pumpkins we carved. Our five yr. old did the middle one. He fancies himself a picasso, I think:


I did the make up and designed the costumes for our kids. I think I did pretty well.

Happy Halloween!

The kids are all sleeping off their sugar highs, finally. I thought they'd never get to sleep. I didn't even think about dressing up today for work. The last time I did that I was the only one. I felt silly dressed as an aging rock star. Never again, I told myself. So when Steve, the new guy walked into the edit bay this morning carrying a snowboard and wearing bibs and a ski jacket, I thought he was just checking in before taking the day off and heading up to the slopes. Not only did Halloween not cross my mind, neither did the fact that none of the ski resorts have snow yet, so what was he going to do, fly to the Alps or something? I'm always a little shy when it comes to sharing work experiences here. I never know what I'm supposed to keep quiet. So all I can say is that we had a nice lunch on the company and then a very pleasant and unexpected surprise from the GM. How vague is that?

After work, my brother and his wife brought their little girl and my sister's children to our house and we all went trick-or-treating in one great eclectic mob. Our group included a clown, a pink poodle, a dinosaur, Dr. Frankenstein's monster, a knight of the Round Table, and even the highly esteemed Benjamin Franklin. My three year old kept telling me that we were "triggertreating" and people were giving him candy, a truly exciting prospect. The group only lasted a couple of blocks and were ready to go home. When I was a kid, my friends and I would hit two or three whole neighborhoods and then change into the spare costumes we had with us and hit them again. I guess that will come later, when they're a little older. We went home and ate pizza then watched the kids sort through their loot. Then, after two hours of "No, more candy!" they went to bed. Or so I thought. When we checked on them to see if they were asleep, their beds were empty. I went to the next room and found rollercoaster tycoon fired up but with no one playing it. There was only a heap of blankets on the floor next to the computer. Which is a good thing, because the kids know they're not supposed to be playing games. But where are they? And why is that pile of blankets moving?

The Latest Pics

We all worked late doing the pre, half, and postgame shows and Scott went crazy with his new lens yesterday. Here's a small sample. Unfortunately, I'm in most of these, so if you're squeemish, you might not want to look.
These are in the edit bay, where I spend most of my waking hours:





This is on the set with anchor Audrey Piper:


And this is earlier in the day on the set of another project with host Emily Layton:



And, finally, this is the latest version of the drawing I'm working on. If you look closely, you can see the outlines of the other two kids:



Whew! That's a lot of pictures!

New Camera

My friend Scott Frederick bought a nifty digital camera that he's been coveting for months and now he's snap happy. Here's one he took of me the other day while we were working on Ute Sunday with Coach Urban Meyer:

He just got a cool new fisheye lens for it today and he's been taking pictures like a madman. I'll post some of them when he gets them to me.

Still Here

I'm still here. I've just been so busy lately. I've been given new responsibilities at work, writing and producing for a new project that will be national shortly. And I've hidden the mouse and keyboard so that my kids won't sit at the computer all day playing games and I won't be distracted from doing my drawing, which I've made quite a lot of progress on. Work is pretty stressful now. It's a different world.

Yesterday evening my wife had a meeting so it was just me and the kids for awhile. I read to them for half an hour and then we all sat down to draw. My kids are quite creative. I was working on my drawing and after awhile my oldest came to me with a sealed envelope that was addressed to Dad from Fred. He said it had come in the mail and he'd forgotten to give it to me. I asked him who Fred was and he said, "I don't know!" When my wife came home we showed it to her and she wondered aloud who's dad it was for. My boy took the letter, saying he had to check something and left the room. He came back a few moments later after "inspecting" it and there was our address on the back of the envelope. I must have missed it. Well, I'm the only dad at our house so the letter must be for me. I opened it and found a drawing of a man with a huge head yelling, "Grrrrr!" at a school. My boy's name was on it, so it really was from him after all. He really had me fooled.

Starting Over

I didn't do as much preparation for that drawing as I should have. When I got the guitarist done, I realized that the other two figures had to be head to toe so that I could show what they were doing, playing soccer and skateboarding. Since the guitarist is waist up, this would throw the picture off balance. I talked to my client, telling him that what really needed to be done was for me to get bigger paper and draw the guitarist smaller and the other two larger. He said I should do whatever looked best and that if the picture turned out bigger, he would pay me more. He's very understanding. So I started over. I decided to sketch all three before starting to fill in the detail and it worked. I put in about six hours yesterday and have outlines of all three done. It looks good. I feel a lot better about it than the first one.

Warm Fuzzies

Princess Rufflebutt is asleep on my lap. It's been nice, kinda bonding with her, and I started to get a really warm feeling. Then I realized she was peeing on my leg. I guess her diaper's had about as much as it can take.

The tests came back and my three yr old is producing growth hormone. There are several criteria that all have to be below "10" to qualify him for the therapy. He had quite a few below "10" but not enough to put him in that category. He'll have another battery of tests in six months. I'd feel uncertain, to say the least, about giving him so many tests that affect him so adversely except that he loves it. He comes home loaded down with all kinds of toys and treats. So it's not so bad.

Well, I'm off to change my pants. Have fun.

My three year old seems to feel a lot better. He seems to have changed, but that's because I look at him a lot differently now. I've always cherished him, but the impact of his reaction to the tests and the fact that he might have to have a shot everyday until he finished puberty has made me want to hang on to him and never let go. My behavior has changed, too. I'm a notorious grump when I'm awakened in the middle of the night, but he woke us up last night and I surprised myself with my patience and kindness to him. And it wasn't through gritted teeth, either. It was genuine. I hope that can last.
We don't have the results yet. We should get them today or tomorrow. I'll keep you informed.

New Pictures

First, here are some pictures of Princess Rufflebutt--and her brother--I took over the weekend:
.
And now I'll continue the series of drawings to show the progress I'm making. I'm not particularly pleased with it so far but this has been a good experience, posting them here. It allows me to see it from a distance so that I can see what changes need to be made.

Notice the guitar neck. It needs to be straighter. Even though this is intended to be impressionistic, the pick guard and body of the guitar need more detail so they look more "real." I was thinking I might be able to move on to the next person in the drawing, but after looking at it here, I realize there's a lot more work to be done.

Sick Boy

When my wife brought my 3 yr old back from the hospital after seven hours, he could barely stand up. They had put him on medication that lowered his blood pressure so he became lethargic. He's been that way ever since. I've just wanted to hug him since he came back. How could I have ever been upset with this little guy for anything? All the times I got mad at him for not going to bed or not cooperating or crying...I was so mistaken. He can do nothing wrong. He's sick now, still lethargic, but now he has a temperature and hasn't eaten anything. He threw up when I made him dinner. I feel so bad for him.

Day Off

My wife says I don't full appreciate how hard she works even though she doesn't have a job. I do, and this knowledge is being reinforced as I am staying home for the day to watch the kids and take care of the house while she takes my 3 yr old to the hospital. There is enough work in this house to keep you busy FOR....EVER. Not just for a day, or a week, or a decade. FOR....EVER. You've seen Disney's animated version of "Alice in Wonderland." Remember when she's walking down the path, trying to find her way home and a dog or some other kind of animal with brooms for a head and tail comes along, sweeping away the path so that all progress is stopped and there is no hope for backtracking? This is what cleaning this house is like with two little boys in it. Except, the are more like vacuum cleaners set on reverse. And Mrs. C. has THREE boys here when she's around.

The hospital appointment is for an extensive test to see whether he needs growth hormone therapy. I know I said he didn't but I may have spoken too soon. The tests that came back were not the hgh tests. Those are happening today. Keep your fingers crossed. I don't like the idea of subjecting him to it.

What I'm Working On.

Ok. Here it is. This will eventually have three kids in it. I've started with the one who'll be on the right side of the paper. He's not finished yet, so don't judge too harshly:

Wow!

Have you seen my sister's blog? I've always known she was intelligent and thoughtful but this is amazing. She's the only other person in our family who reads, I think. And she can remember the quotes, apparently. So she's one up on me. I read and comprehend but remembering and communicating the info to someone else is an entirely different matter....

I spent most of the day drawing. I think I'll scan what I have tomorrow and scan more as I go along so you can see the progress. I always surprise myself. I get so insanely impatient that I actually think about giving up--but not in the way most people would give up, by walking away from it or throwing it in the trash. No. I think about drizzling my salsa over the whole thing, or ripping it up in tiny little bits and then going up to the roof to toss it to the wind--something ritualistic. As I sit, hunched for hours (ok maybe an hour), working really hard on it, struggling with a detail that I just can't get right, a thought rises gradually in the back of my head like a river flood, until it bursts forth, drenching all of my hopes of producing something good to look at: "You suck! Why do you keep on with this impossible notion that you can draw anything?" Then out comes the salsa. But I don't pour because then I'd just have to start over.

Then, after a few hours of working on it, spread over weeks, of course, I look at it and see something I could not possibly have created. It has a pleasant-to-look at style to it. A local artist once commented that my pencil drawings look like oil paintings. Sometimes I think he's right. They have a soft, impressionistic quality to them. But I'll never be an "artist." More like a breathing photocopier. I can't create. I'll never be a Cassatt or Degas (two of my favorites) who, while painting models and still lifes were still able to make it something more than life, something original. But maybe I'll be a Warhol, if I ever learn how to silk screen. At any rate, the salsa will always be there. Heck...if I'm imitating Warhol I can "paint" the salsa.

P.S.
I'll get some more pics for you, Busy Mom. I don't have a camera. I have to use the video camera from work and then still some shots from the tape. So it'll be a day or so.

P.P.S. Please go to the review site and comment on Laser Jock's review. He just posted it a couple of days ago and he keeps bugging me: "Has anyone commented on my review yet? Have I had any hits yet?" Humor me, please?

Run Away Mom

My wife called to say she was going to pick up dinner (woo hoo!) and she sounded pretty frustrated. She had told the kids, moments before, that she was running away because of the way they were behaving to a variety of reactions:

My three year old became excited about picking out a new mom.
My seven year old said, "Oh. Well, if I don't see you before you leave, bye."
My five year old went into his room to cry.

She didn't run away.

A Day in the Life

Here's what happened yesterday:
7:00 am My alarm went off as it always does.
I hit the snooze button as I always do.
7:09 am My alarm went off again.
I hit the snooze button again.(This went on until...
7:36 am Got up and went downstairs.
7:37 am Pulled Jr. out of bed, and, making sure he was awake, told him to get dressed because we were going to be late.
7:38 am Took a shower.
7:49 am Got out and went downstairs.
7:50 am Told Jr. to get up and get dressed because we were going to be late.
7:52 am Cooked an egg for Jr.
7:57 am Told Jr. to eat his egg.
7:58 am Got dressed.
7:59 am Waited for Jr. to eat his egg.
8:05 am Got in the car and waited for Jr.
8:09 am Left for Jr.'s school...now late.
8:12 am Dropped Jr. off and went to work.
8:35 am Clocked in and "worked."
5:35 pm As I was getting ready to go home, someone said that Peter Cetera was out on the stage.
5:36 pm Stared at Peter Cetera as he watched the orchestra under his direction rehearse a passage of music.
I thought I recognized it but, as I am not a fan of Peter or Chicago, I couldn't be specific.
5:45 pm Went home.
6:01 pm Went to get dinner. Bought frozen lazagna, baby formula, olive oil, water, and french bread.
The rest of the night: Ate dinner, played with the kids, got on the computer, tried to resume drawing but couldn't find the power within me, watched a little "Law & Order: Criminal Intent" that I'd seen before, went to bed.

At the computer I was holding Rufflebutt, who was asleep, and I heard this cute little giggle. She was laughing her head off. I'd never seen her do that before. She was asleep, or drifting in and out, and everytime I laughed, she'd start giggling again. My wife says she does that all the time in her sleep--never when she's awake.

Peter Cetera's still here, I think, though I haven't been back to see. I guess there's a concert tonight because I got an email from the Delta Center saying that I could come and pick up complimentary tickets. Should I? I don't know if I'd enjoy myself. Guess not.

When I Grow Up

What did you want to be when you grew up? Was there one thing you had your heart set on? Did it turn out? Are you doing that now?

We were asked that question in third grade and we were supposed to answer by drawing pictures. Most of the kids drew one picture: A fireman, a policeman, a dog catcher, etc. I drew five or six different pictures. I couldn't decide on just one thing. It wasn't even like most children who want to be something for awhile and then switch. I couldn't pick one and stick with it even for a few weeks. I decided I wanted to be a drifter who hitchhiked from town to town, picking up a different job everytime I stopped, then pulling up stakes and moving on. I wanted to do it all. I wanted to write, draw, and teach for a living. I wanted to design aircraft until I found out how much math I would need. I wanted to be a racecar driver, an undercover cop, an underwater photographer or underwater welder. I wanted to be a rockstar. At one time, perish the thought, I even wanted to be a lawyer. Wow. A lawyer.

I'm still looking. I'm 36 years old and I don't know what to do when I grow up. In my quest to do everything, I've done nothing. In an earlier age, I might have been da Vinci. A rennaissance man. But television programs sucker-punched me and turned me into an amorphous, minute-attention-spanned, blob. Where would da Vinci be if he had had to schedule his life around "Friends"? That may be why people are so specialized these days. You can have many irons in the fire if you're not distracted by frivolity. As it is now, distractions lie, waiting to pounce, around every corner. So we're doing great if we can focus most of our attention on one thing.

I try to nurture in my children a desire to do something meaningful with their lives, whatever that be. My middle boy has wanted to be a chef since he was 2 or 3. We bought him a toy kitchen. By the way, why don't they make those for boys? They're all obviously for little girls. I do much of the cooking in my house. Just look at the famous chefs around. They're mostly men. Of the 53 chefs on this list, only 17 are women. I'm seeing more and more men cooking for their families. If I went home from work and said, "What's for dinner?" my wife would throw a frying pan at my head. It's not a gender-specific profession. By exclusively putting pink plastic kitchens in the toy stores with dolls and pretty flowers and other "girlie" things on them, the toy industry is saying that it's woman's work. Anyway, so we talked a lot about cooking to our middle boy. I showed him how to make a few things and he seemed really excited. My oldest has wanted to be a fireman since he could talk. So we got videos on firemen and firetrucks for him. Both of those have waned a little lately. Whatever comes up in the future, we'll support them all the way.

banana's a-peel

banana's a-peel is here. Well, it's a start, anyway.

Welcome

I've been up late the last few nights getting my sister into her new blog. She's new to the blogosphere so give her a nice welcome when you get a chance. I won't post the link until later--the place is still a mess, boxes everywhere, a lot of unpacking still to be done. But I'll let you know when it's going.
Bananaface and I have seen very little of each other the last 10 years or so, as she's been living in AZ. She's a lot of fun. She likes a lot of the same music as I do and she's very much into fitness. She's a masseuse, a yoga, aerobics, and gymnastics instructor, a hiker, biker, runner...you name it. She and I have been close since she was born. I'm told I used to guard her crib--or maybe that was the dog--at any rate, I did name her when I was four years old (not bananaface...she chose that name her self). So I hope you'll get to know her. I think you'll like her. Now if I could get her to hurry up and update her site....

100 Things--finished.

I finished them. Now you know everything there is to know about me. Except what I didn't tell you, of course.

TV Crew Scheduling: The World's Worst Job.

I love my scheduler. He's a great guy and he's scared of me. What more could you want? He always seems so apologetic about scheduling me for edits that I start to feel guilty. Am I that rough on him? I don't think so. Yesterday morning my schedule looked fairly open. Not a lot, a couple of things in the afternoon was all. Then I looked again a while later and my bitch (the other word for a scheduler around here--m.b. for short) had scheduled a "half hour edit...it's for so-and-so." Well, so-and-so is an agency guy that's not too bad to work for. I've done a lot of work for him and he likes how quickly I do it. M.B. thought I'd be mad and was apologetic again. I mean, that's what I'm there for. What's he getting all worked up about? Maybe he's just being nice--because, after all, he is nice to a fault, inspite of being a bald, mean-looking ex-college basketball player. What So-and-so had planned was simple: Two already-produced spots, one that needed a super, and another that need some stills added and a super change. Half hour tops, right? Well...no. It turns out that So-and-so didn't like the way the spots were edited before at one of the network affiliates, even though he was the producer. So I spent nearly three hours re-editing both spots almost from scratch. I told M.B. that this morning so he didn't bill for just half an hour and he immediately started pleading with me to forgive him. Wow. I don't know if I can handle this much power. I think he thought I was complaining. I don't know where he got that. Like I ever complain. Sheesh. I mean Sheesh!
I should be appologizing to him. I would really hate his job. In fact, I turned it down when it was offered to me, and I felt sorry for him when he got it. It's a lot of work, let me tell you.

My Store!

I was talking to my buddy, Dick, the other day (by the way, remind me sometime to tell you how he got his name.) about putting Dinky on some T-Shirts and coffee mugs and other stuff. I researched silk-screening and how much it would cost, and decided I might do it sometime. Then I happened across Cafe Press which takes your designs and puts them on shirts, mugs, mousepads, whatever. There's even a thong...so if you'll buy Dinky on a thong, let me know. My friends and I are coming up with all kinds of things for Dinky to do on a shirt (or thong, if that's what gets you going) so keep checking in. You know...the more I think about it, the more I like Dinky on a thong...naw. It'll never fly.

Drawing

This new commission I'm supposed be doing is the lowlight of my life. Well, probably not that dramatic, but it is hard to get going. It's not just laziness that's slowed my motivation, though that's part of it. The drawing itself is going to be difficult. The photos are small and out of focus so I'm going to have to rely on imagination--not usually successful when drawing a subject that your client is so familar with: These are the kids of the friend I'm doing the work for. Which brings up another thing. He's me friend. Never do this kind of work for your friend. You don't know how much to charge, you put a lot of work into it but don't feel right about asking full price, and on and on. I've had the photos for two months now and I haven't started yet. I've made the decision that this will be the last commission like this. I prefer drawing what I want and trying to sell it to drawing to others' expectations. But I've committed to this, so I'll get to work. But it's the last one. Now, if someone could teach me to market my other stuff.

Blog it Forward

I just read a very nice post about my site from Busy Mom. Thanks, Mom, that was very sweet. It's apparently an idea started by Buzz. We're supposed to pick a blog (or two) that we like and explain why we like it. I like all the blogs on my blogroll. Look at them all. It's hard to pick just one. Come on! Why do I have to pick just one? I mean there are Layne and Anne for their terrific writing style that keeps me coming back, and Monkeyspit for the hilarity...and...well, just check them all out.

My Hero

In our chaotic world, filled with ambiguous role-models who seem as confused about right and wrong as those who might look up to them, an icon shines through the clouds of confusion. I watched Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood when I was a kid and I've through my adulthood I've carried him with me as a hero. Everything he did was about making others feel good about themselves while at the same time helping them to face the harsh realities of life with confidence and courage. I was pleased to find that my boys look up to him too. When he died seven months ago, my oldest came to us sobbing. He mourned him for a few days after that. It was surprising how much impact he'd had on him. I just learned that there is a book of Fred Rogers' writings and wisdom coming out soon. I saw an interview with his wife who seems just as wonderful as he was. She's helping to promote the book. I can't wait to get it.

100 Things About Me

I posted some uninteresting details of my life over on the side there. I'm up to 86. That should suffice for today's entry.

They're Baaaack

What a weekend. My family leaves for a couple of days and I turn into an animal! After they left, I went straight to the computer and played Battlefield 1942. Then I started the aforementioned roast then plugged in my guitar and turned the amp to 11. That night I stayed up until almost midnight! Yes, Layne, I slept in. I didn't get up until almost 9 am. It's a wonder, after all that, that I could even pay attention at work. Of course, I did the dishes and mowed the lawn, too. There's no sense in unleashing the contention not cleaning up would cause.

Speaking of work, much of this live and live-to-tape stuff I do is sports related and I'm not a sports fan. I think I boycotted it because of all the people I know who think it's the only thing going. For instance, if the BYU football team lost, my sisters and I would have to put up with an angry, short-fused father the rest of the weekend. Loving sports is fine, but then there are the people who think I'm less of a man because I don't think they're that important. I even had a woman look at me in disgust because I told her I don't like sports. And let's not forget about the pro athlete's themselves. Aside from a few very well educated and insightful people, the ranks of the pro ball players are stacked with self-important, dull-witted baffoons. Karl Malone is an acute example of this for me. He has stabbed the team that really was his family in the back every off-season with the stupid comments he'd make. And now he's gone and I think it's because he knows he's nothing without John Stockton. Not to mention the fact that Karl pushed me into the wall in the Delta Center. I was loaded down with a bunch of equipment when I felt a shove from behind. I turned around, ready to duke it out with the jerk who couldn't politely ask me to move, and I found myself staring straight into Karl's abs. Of course, I didn't voice my outrage--I'd rather die at concert, something I enjoy...not a basketball game. The NBA lockout sealed the deal, though. I couldn't believe some of those idiot players who were complaining about losing money, appealing to the public with pleas like, "I have to sell one of my nine Porsches to make ends meet," until someone told them they weren't helping their case much. At the time, my wife and I had a total income of about $15,000 a year. You can probably guess how sorry I felt for those poor guys. Now there's an article in USA Today that seems to praise Karl for taking less money in LA so the team (and himself) can get a ring. WHY DIDN'T HE DO THAT WHEN HE WAS HERE? He had two chances to get a ring here, if he would have been a team player--and no one will ever convince me that he was a team player. So I hate sports. I love to be active. I'm a skier, I love to swim and hike and bike. And I even love to play basketball and football--except when it turns in to a huge, egotistical competition--which is almost always. But I'm just not into organized sports.

Ok. Having said all that, I must say that I like Urban Meyer, the new head football coach for the Utah Utes. He is taking the team in a new and exciting direction. I loved coach McBride. I knew him personally and think he's a great guy, and we were kind of miffed when he was let go the way he was. But I really think Meyer is better for the team. He's really turning it around, and the players seem to have a great respect for him.

Music Theory for Guitar - Introduction

This is a reminder to me, so I don't forget this link.
Music Theory for Guitar - Introduction

Next time on "Dinky the Bachelor"

My wife and kids went to her mother's house this morning. I have to work tomorrow afternoon so I had to stay. I have the house all to myself...let's see...what should I do first? I think the first thing will be to stuff a pork roast with garlic and sundried tomatoes, and put it with some little red potatos in the crock pot for a few hours. Wild huh? She hates pork roast, especially when I cook it because I love spices and she likes plain food. Man! am I gonna live the high life tonight. I might even get a two-liter of soda and drink it straight from the bottle.

The Object of my Desire

R.E.M. played the Today Show this morning and I fell in love with Peter Buck's 360 Jetglo Rickenbacker. So I talked Mike into going with me to Guitar Center for lunch. I was disappointed to find that they didn't have any Rics there, but they're the best store on the planet because they'll let you play anything. I played around with a Gretsch Tennessee Rose and then I found the Schecter Omen 6. I love that thing! It had a beautiful walnut satin finish that reminded me of Lindsey Buckingham's Rick Turner, and it sounded wonderful. It's marked down to $300, so feel free to buy it for me for Christmas (pleeeeease). I played it on a nice little Crate amp...nothing spectacular, but I liked it. (Hint, Hint)

The Game

I've been bingeing again. I went to an all-night LAN party last Friday in which I was introduced to Battlefield 1942. I took my 7 year old. He's a gamer like me and we loved it. He was also excited that he got to stay up late for once. He tells everyone he stayed up till 4 am because that's when we went home. In reality, he fell asleep at about 11 pm on the blanket and pillow I brought for him. I, myself, am too old to try such a stunt again anytime soon. I'm still feeling the effects. I can't pull all-nighters anymore like I used to in college when I had a paper due the next day. I hardly ever started a paper sooner than the night before, so I would frequently stay up all night, write the paper, and get up from the computer and go to school. Then I'd work an eight-hour shift before going home. I can't do it anymore. This just about killed me. And now I'm addicted to the game. Can't get anything worthwhile done.


My Bands

I posted a list of the bands I didn't listen to back in the eighties so it's only right that I post one of the bands I did listen to (The bold entries are the ones I just couldn't get enough of, the bands I worshipped.):

ADAM & THE ANTS * AFTER THE FIRE * AZTEC CAMERA * THE B-52'S * BALAAM AND THE ANGEL * THE BANGLES * BAUHAUS * THE BEET FARMERS * BERLIN * BLACK FLAG * DAVID BOWIE * THE BUTTHOLE SURFERS * THE BUZZCOCKS * THE CHURCH * THE CIRCLE JERKS * THE CLASH * LLOYD COLE & THE COMMOTIONS * ELVIS COSTELLO * THE CULT * THE CURE * CUTTING CREW * THE DAMNED * THE DEAD BOYS * THE DEAD MILKMEN * THE DEAD KENNEDYS * DEPECHE MODE * DEVO * THE DREAM ACADEMY * D.R.I. * ECHO AND THE BUNNYMEN * THE ELECTRIC EELS * THE ENGLISH BEAT * EURYTHMICS * FALCO * THE FALL * FISHBONE * FINE YOUNG CANNIBALS * FLOCK OF SEAGULLS * THE FLYS * FRANKIE GOES TO HOLLYWOOD * PETER GABRIEL * GAYE BIKERS ON ACID * GENE LOVES JEZEBEL * GENERAL PUBLIC * GENERATION X * THE GO-GOS * THE GERMS * HAIRCUT 100 * MURRAY HEAD * HUMAN LEAGUE * ICEHOUSE * INXS * JOE JACKSON * THE JAM * JOY DIVISION * NIK KERSHAW * KILLING JOKE * LADY PANK * LEVEL 42 * MADNESS * MEN AT WORK * MEN WITHOUT HATS * MIDNIGHT OIL * MINISTRY * MINOR THREAT * THE MISSION UK * MODERN ENGLISH * MR. MISTER * THE NAILS * GARY NEUMAN * ORCHESTRAL MANOEUVERS IN THE DARK * PETSHOP BOYS * THE POLICE * THE POGUES * THE PROCLAIMERS * PSYCHEDELIC FURS * PUBLIC IMAGE LTD. * THE RAMONES * R.E.M. * THE ROMANTICS * 7SECONDS * THE SEX PISTOLS * SIMPLE MINDS * SIMPLY RED * SIOUXSIE & THE BANSHEES * THE SMITHS * THE SMITHEREENS * SONIC YOUTH * THE SPECIALS * SQUEEZE * THE SURF PUNKS * THE TALKING HEADS * TALK TALK * TEARS FOR FEARS * TENPOLE TUDOR * 10,000 MANIACS * THOMPSON TWINS * THE THREE O'CLOCK * THE TOASTERS * WASTED YOUTH * THE TOY DOLLS * TSOL * U2 * UB40 * UNDERWORLD * THE VAPORS * WORLD PARTY * X * XTC * YAZ *

I can't remember all of them so I'll be updating this from time to time.

Autumn in New York

It's still pretty warm at night. The other day at 4am there was still no need for even a long-sleeve shirt, and last night I slept with the covers off--when I finally slept. But Fall is in the air, nevertheless. I can feel it, like the atmosphere at Christmastime. I think I fell in love with Autumn in New Jersey. I was a nanny to a five-year-old boy back in 1986 on Long Island, New York and then West Orange, New Jersey. The most beautiful parts of Jersey are an ocean of deciduous trees. Just beyond the back yard was a forest of green, which, in September, became a pallette of rusty reds and browns. Those months were hard. I was an immature country boy, lost in the big city of New York with people I didn't know. There was the age difference and the geographical difference between us and then there was the cultural difference. The Family I lived with were Orthodox Jews. In some aspects it was a wonderful learning experience. The grandfather of the little boy became a great friend. We painted two apartments they owned in Queens, just above Flushing Meadows Tennis Courts. We'd take breaks and look over the Manhattan skyline and talk about a lot of things. He struck me as a wise man. I was at the same time awestruck by the city and dismayed by it. It seemed to contain at once inexpressible beauty and unfathomable horrors to me. I expressed this to him and we talked about human nature and their penchant for short-term happiness that often led to crime and pain. He was the only one in that family who seemed to understand me. I clashed with the others and eventually was kicked out. They hadn't paid me very much so I didn't have enough to fly back to Idaho. I got a job as a checker at a supermarket in Morristown.

Luckily I had made friends among the other nannies who attended church with me. It was with these people that I really enjoyed myself. We'd play football in the park or go to the diner and talk until late at night. We went to a couple of clubs in New York, and watched the skyline from across the bay at Liberty Park, the elegant Statue of Liberty lighting the view.

I'm glad I lived there in Autumn. Nature added a beauty that really livened my experience. I went back a few years later in the dog days of Summer and wondered why I had ever found it beautiful. But it is. I remember the whole experience with a lot of joy. The darker times like almost being robbed by a con man, or the smelly back alley behind the apartments, or the beautiful but despondant hooker I saw scrambling for a john, or feeling so alone and lost that I'd sit in the park and sob are all part of it. They act as a kind of balance that enhances the beauty. My fondness for that time and the great experiences--screaming for joy when the Mets won the series, attending the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade and shouting to my friend who was in it, eating lunch at the top of the World Trade Center--would not be as great without them.

For the last couple of months I wanted to get in touch with the family I worked for. It's been 17 years and I just want to let them know there are no hard feelings. I'm not sure how they'd take it, though.

He's Normal

My 3-yr-old doesn't need hgh therapy after all. The tests came back today and they are all normal. Thank goodness!

South Dakota

The other day I was reading on the couch and my five-year-old came to me and said, "Dad, will you fly me to South Dakota and leave me there?" I was more than a little astonished. I didn't know he knew South Dakota existed. I asked him why and he said he didn't want to be here anymore. I guess he and his mother had a squabble about breakfast. He wanted hash browns, or something, and she didn't want to make them. Whatever the reason, he was all set to go to South Dakota, so I told him to get ready. Fortunately, a few minutes later he told me he had changed his mind, which is good because I wasn't sure where we were going to get the money for a plane ticket and I didn't want to drive.

First Words

A couple of weeks ago, Princess Rufflebutt, now a month and a half old, said her first word. We were in bed in the wee hours of the morning, my wife and I awake because the princess was awake, and we heard, loud and forceful, the word "Gong!" We assume that that will be her preferred method of alerting us to her various needs...until we get her an actual gong that she can ring, of course.
It doesn't end there. This morning she called me a goof. Well, that's how my wife interprets it. To me it sounded more like "goff" or "golf." But when it comes to calling me names, my wife is the authority. So I'll have to trust her.

The Smoke Gets in My Eyes

I thought the smoke had started to clear when I got to work this morning because I wasn't smelling it inside the building anymore. But it seems to have all accumulated downtown. We made the mistake of going there for lunch and now my eyes are burning. We need a good wind to clear it out but the weather service doesn't expect one for at least three days. Luckily, the smoke hasn't reached my home, which is about fifteen minutes from here on the other side of the valley.

Put Your Balls to the Wall

A few days ago, some friends and I got on the subject of 80's "Hair Bands." I have never liked that style of music but I couldn't help being immersed in it back in the 80's because, while I was succumbing to the allure of Flock of Seagulls, The Cure, The Thompson Twins, Aztec Camera, etc., my friends were treading the other path. It actually ended our friendship
rather dramatically. Suddenly, I was a "faggot" that they couldn't acknowledge as a friend. (I still laugh when I think of them calling the bands I liked gay in light of one of their icons, Rob Halford, of Judas Priest. I wish I could ask them what they think of him being so involved in the gay pride movement.)

Anyway, for some reason it became imperative that my friends and I compile a list of those "metal" bands, since we couldn't find a comprehensive one on the web. Here is what we came up with. I know that some may not agree with all of our choices, but this is how I see it:
Anvil * Accept * Aerosmith * Angel * Autograph * Axe * Bad English * Badlands * Bang Tango * Black & Blue * Blue Murder * Bon Jovi * Britny Fox * Bullet Boys * Cinderella * Survivor * Poison * Queensryche * Europe * Nightranger * Kingdom Come * Whitesnake * White Lion * Great White * Kix * Skid Row * Winger * Slaughter * Mr. Big * Faster Pussycat * Love/Hate * LA Guns * Y & T * Dokken * Ratt * Motley Crue * Warrant * Quiet Riot * Tesla * Krokus * Twisted Sister * Extreme * Saigon Kick * Stryper * W.A.S.P. * Enuff Z NUFF * Metal Church * Electric Boys * Tuff * Fastway * Runaways * Damn Yankees * Lynch Mob * Steelheart * Helix * Dream Theater * Scorpions * Wrabbit * Manowar * Vixon * Firehouse * TNT * Danger Danger * Vyper * Vinnie Vincent Invasion * Kick Axe * Loudness * Rough Cutt * Warlock * Warrior * Jackyl * Raven * Riot * Saxon * MSG * Testament * Venom * XYZ * Jetboy * UFO * Kiss * Alcatraz * Van Halen * Def Leppard * Sherriff * King Cobra * Giuffria * Triumph * Nelson * Trixter * Helloween * Killer Dwarfs * Pretty Boy Floyd * Keel * Dangerous Toys * Lizzy Borden * Doro Pesch * Armored Saint * Sleeze Beez * Phantom Blue * Grim Reaper * Anthrax * Warrior Soul

Cough Cough

A couple days ago, on my way home from work, I noticed a peculiar cloud hovering just on the other side of the Wasatch Mountains. Peculiar because it was the only cloud in the sky. It was dense and contained like a cloud but it could only be a forest fire. Sure enough, the forest service was doing a controlled burn which jumped the fire line and is now out of control. Now the whole valley is filled with smoke. I feel like I'm back in LA. My lungs hurt, I have a headache, and my sinuses are burning. The smoke is concentrating here in my closed-in edit bay. See the pictures here.

"We Aren't Cartoons"

I'm not the father I'd like to be. I remember when I was a kid thinking that my dad didn't spend enough time with me. He'd promise to do things with me and then he'd forget and those things would never happen. Now I understand a little more. It's difficult when there are so many things I want to accomplish to remember that all I really wanted was to be a father. Also, I tend to bury myself in the computer. Yesterday I was looking at this blog and the pictures that I posted and my five-year-old came down and asked me why I always go to this site. I said I like to look at the pictures of him and his brothers and sister. He said, "Well, why don't you come and look at us. We aren't cartoons, we're real." Then he asked me to read the book we got from the library, The Bungalo Boys: Champions of Ice Hockey I told him we'd read it after dinner, which I was cooking right then. We never did read it. Last night, in the middle of the night, I felt bad about that. So this morning, I got up a little earlier than usual, knowing he would be up, and we read the book together. Of all the things going on in my life, all the goals and aspirations, none are more important than my kids. They're so amazingly smart, and, as this incident reveals, they have a lot to teach me.

Plans

I have so many plans. Scratch that. I have so much I want to do, but my ADD-ridden brain stops short of coming up with any plans. I go to work and work is so slow that I figure I can sit down with my notebook and formulate some plans. But when that notion comes to mind, I get a queazy feeling and all motor function shuts down and I sit there, paralyzed, until I tell my brain it's ok, that it can go back to surfing the net or watching a movie. I think I have come up with so many interests so that I don't have to do any real work, like plan my life. I could go on. But this is one of the my excuses...writing here. I need to get busy planning. I'll continue this later.

P.S. If you get me one of these, I'll be your friend for life!

High Hopes

My three-year-old may need growth hormone therapy. He's been off the bottom of the growth percentage chart almost since he was born. He's only grown half an inch in the last few months. I don't know much about the therapy but I've learned that the cost can be around $20,000 a year and sometimes as high as $30,000. According to HGH-pro.net, this is because there is currently a monopoly. If there were more competition, the price would come down. We'll do it if it's necessary, but I don't want to. I don't know for sure, but I understand that the process is not very fun for the child. I hope something happens and he starts growing on his own. There's a history of shortness both sides of the family. My dad is 5'6" and my mom is 5'4". My father-inlaw is shorter than that, I believe. I was 5'6" until I graduated high school, then I shot up to 5' 11" (my current height) in about a year. There's nothing wrong with being short, but if being "too short" can be avoided, by all means, let's avoid it.

Autumn

Fall is my favorite time of year. I love the colors and the temperature, the sweaters and light jackets, the promise of sleep at night at last because the blazing heat is gone. I fell in love with Autumn when I was living in West Orange, New Jersey. The landscape there was a sea of bright colors. So when I got a chance to go up to our television transmitter site in the mountains to shoot pictures of the changing leaves, I jumped. I love going up there. The whole Oquirrh Mountain Range is owned by Kennecott Copper so the public isn't allowed up there. People don't know what they're missing. It's beautiful. I've seen elk and a mountain lion up there. There's also a lot of history. Johnson's Flat is up there. That's where Johnson's army camped while they were stalking the mormons who'd settled Salt Lake.

This is a shot of me with the Salt Lake Valley as a backdrop. If you look really closely, you can just make out downtown Salt Lake in the haze in the middle left.

This is on the other side of the mountain range looking down at Stansbury Park. The Great Salt Lake is just out of frame on the right.

Pictures as Promised

Here are the pictures I promised:

Just to let you know...

I should have pictures of the baby and the boys posted by tomorrow. So stay tuned if you're into that kind of thing.

Word Order

I found this on Sarah McAuley's blog, Smoke and Ashes, and I think it's fascinating because it seems to be absolutely true (I hope she doesn't mind me posting it here)

"Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in
waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht
the frist and lsat ltteer be at the rghit pclae.
The rset can be a total mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit porbelm.
Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but
the wrod as a wlohe."


P.S. Hey! Maybe that's the secret to speed reading...?

Les Miserables

I saw the movie today. I don't know where I've been but I didn't even know it had been made into a movie. I have read the book twice but have avoided seeing the musical, even when it came here. I'm afraid of seeing such a wonderful, moving book set to music. I was a little reluctant to see the movie, but hey, it was free. I wasn't disappointed. The performances were superb, as was the production and direction. Liam Neeson was a perfect Jean Valjean. The movie itself was a nice little condensed version of the book. I don't think it stands alone, but it compliments a serious reading of the novel. Though there are understandably too many holes in the movie for it to be considered complete, it is a powerful synopsis.

Allow me to get sappy for a moment. I know, I never do that, but here goes: I think Les Miserables is one of the greatest stories ever written. In a world that is afraid to delineate morality, Hugo's work is a bright beacon. To Kill a Mockingbird approaches it, but Les Miserables goes even further to define charity and human goodness in clear and certain terms. The Bishop's act of utter unselfishness toward Valjean near the beginning of the film had me in tears so that my buddy, Dick, who's uncomfortable with that kind of thing, had to leave the room. Hugo was a genius. Charity, in its true sense, as Paul describes it, is the greatest virtue and the only one that can save our poor, doomed planet, and Victor Hugo knew it. But he didn't stop at showing us the transformation of Valjean. As all poets know, sometimes the best way to describe something is to tell us what it isn't. Inspector Javert is the anti-Valjean. He seems so pristine, so concerned with justice. But he has no mercy in him, and no charity. Without charity, we're nothing. Charity can turn a hardened, animalistic person into a saint. I love that message and the way Hugo tells it.

Ok. Church is over. You can go home now.

Of Interns and Autobody work.

I don't know how interns in other fields are but I've dealt with a lot of them in my 13-plus years in the television industry--heck, I even was one at one time--and they are a strange and fascinating bunch. When I was at Idaho 8, KIFI, then an NBC affiliate, we had two interns, female college students from the school up in Rexburg, ID. They didn't feel like they had to help out, they were always in the way and very annoying. One time, during the live update between the 6pm and 10pm shows, one of them fell asleep on the floor behind the newsdesk. The anchorman, Jay Hildebrandt, had to step over her and hope her snoring wasn't loud enough to be picked up by the microphones. He was too nice a guy to kick her (which is what I would have done) and wake her up. He just read the brief and got up, stepping over her again on his way back to the newsroom. Her excuse was that she's allergic to milk--it puts her to sleep--and she had drunk some earlier. Hmmmm.

Yesterday, we shot the U of U coach's show with the new football coach Urban Meyer. I went into the studio, and this 18 or 19 year old pimple-faced kid, basketball shorts down almost to his ankles, came in asking me to see how many players were here and who they were and lots of other questions. To avoid punching him in the throat, I went in the other room to catch up on old times with the audio guy. I'd seen the intern before but I've been filling in for the cg operator instead of being at my usual post behind camera one, so I haven't worked with him until yesterday. We were taping two shows because the U has a bye next week so four players came in. I went to get another chair for them to sit in and when I returned, intern boy had moved his chair directly behind my camera. Now, I know I should have just asked him to move, but he'd already ruffled my feathers as had some of the permanent staff from that department so I wasn't in a polite mood. I just squeezed in between the camera and the intern and put on my head phones. During the taping, I had to move around a lot as I was on the chase camera. Everytime I did, I stepped on this kids toes. Also, my butt had to be no more than a couple of inches from his nose and I was so tempted to let one go in his face. Finally after the first segment of the second show, and after many frustrated glances toward my buddy Dick on camera two, I turned to internboy and said, "Am I in your way?" He just sat there! He snorted something that I didn't catch and went back to reading his newspaper. Dick could see I was about to blow a gasket so he told the kid he'd better move back, which he did. He avoided me the rest of the day. I kind of felt bad about it. I guess I can be a real jerk sometimes. . . ok, all the time.

Today I got up and made the kids breakfast. Mrs. Chickenshorts is still physically and emotionally low from the c-section but I had some things going on today so she had to go register our new van anyway. As she was backing the car around the van and out the driveway, she hit the metal fence post. She didn't want to see the damage so she came and got me. I didn't see it at first and was relieved, but she said she'd hit it pretty hard so we looked again. The front quarter panel had a nice six-inch gouge in it. It didn't bother me a bit. It's an older car that has served us very well but I have no particular attachment to it. Not so with Mrs. C. She broke down and started crying. I hugged and told her it was all right, that it didn't bother me at all (not that that would concern her--she doesn't take any of my crap), but she started going on about how we have nothing nice. Everything we have is sticky, dirty, or broken. Then she got in the car and left. When she got back and I got done with my thing, I went to the Auto Zone and got some Bondo and patched the gash. I guessed on the paint color since they didn't have the specified Plymouth color and I did pretty well. Except for the lousy patch job (and the dent that I couldn't pull out), I can't tell from the color that there was a ding there. I'm feeling quite manly now. I actually sort of fixed something!

I've been putting off starting the drawing I should have begun a week ago. I think it's harder to get motivated when I'm getting paid. I'm not sure why that is.

I'm gonna be an uncle...again.

I just got this in an email from my brother:

Hi everyone.
This is Eden speaking.
Well, actually talking.
I wanted you all to know that I am going to be...
A BIG SISTER.
(In May)
Love you all.
Love, Eden


How exciting!

My inner child.

I found this here.

My inner child is sixteen years old!

Life's not fair! It's never been fair, but while
adults might just accept that, I know
something's gotta change. And it's gonna
change, just as soon as I become an adult and
get some power of my own.


How Old is Your Inner Child?
brought to you by Quizilla

Sept. 11 & 12, 2001

Before I'd ever heard about blogs and blogging, I kept a journal. I think I have six or seven full journals. Since I didn't have this blog on that terrible day two years ago, I'm posting what I wrote then.

9/11/01. Thurs.

I went into work this morning at 6:45 am to work on the End Zone. As I walked past the monitor in the tape room, I saw that the Today Show was covering some sort of fire at the World Trade Center. The blaze was consuming the upper aprt of the tower just below the top floor and it was huge. There was an extremely large hole gaping in one side. I watched, hoping to find out the cause, and the helicopter taking the pictures flew around so that the other tower came into view. It also was ablaze. It was then that I learned that two commercial jets, both Boeing 767's, crashed into the twin towers withing 18 minutes of each other. There was video of the second crash. Little information was available at that time but the crash was obviously deliberate: The plane had come around at an angle to strike its target with great precision--a very difficult maneuver in such an aircraft.

As time went on, a report of another crash came in. This time, a Boeing 757 crashed into the Pentagon. Shortly after (or before, I can't remember which) this happened, I watched a live transmission of the second tower collapsing. It was gone. I couldn't believe it. It was some kind of dream. The other tower was still standing. I figured this was because the flames were so high up that they didn't do much structural damage.

Then another plane was reported heading toward D.C. It crashed before reaching its target, whatever that was. Then I watched in utter amazement as the other tower gave way. Like the other one, it came straight down, its floors collapsing upon each other like dominoes. The wide shot showed the whole of lower Manhattan engulfed in great plumes of smoke and dust.

I was devastated. I felt like a piece of me was gone. I don't understand it fully because I was only in New York for a few months and only in the World Trade Center twice, but this has been a hard experience for me. I cried when the buildings were gone and again when I thought about all of those people. When details of what went on in the hijacked planes began to emerge, I began to get angry. Flight attendants were stabbed, the pilots and co-pilots killed, and the passengers had to endure this for anywhere from 40 minutes to an hour and 40 minutes before dying.

There hasn't been a hijacking in this country for ten years and today there were four. Over two hundred people were killed in the plane crashes alone. In the WTC, there were anywhere from 20,000 to 50,000 people. At last count there were up to 800 people missing at the Pentagon.

We are at war but we don't know with whom. Many people think it was Osama bin Laden. I don't know. It's a cowardly, sneaky enemy whoever it is.

For the first time ever, the FAA shut down all air traffic. They aren't sure when it will resume.

Sept 12, 2001

I went to bed last night thinking that sleep would erase the surreal nature, the eerieness and mystery from the situation. It didn't. When I woke up, the crash and collapse of the WTC were replayed in my head and as I watched them, I was still stunned. It's still quite unbelievable. I don't think I'll ever get over the fact that those two structures, endowed with such strength and permanence could be gone.

As I knew they would, several personal stories began to emerge today, all of them driving me to the verge of tears. The thought of people jumping from 80 stories to their deaths to avoid being burned alive haunts me. CBS showed several people who had lined up to hold up pictures of their missing loved ones and plead for help from anyone who might be able to give some information. Hundreds of bodies are being pulled from the rubble with few survivors. The major networks have been carrying only news with no commercials. All of the reporters and anchors look exhausted. It will be interesting to see if that's all that is broadcast tomorrow as well.