Hey, the Internets are bigger now!

Today's excitement was the delivery of a used IBM 21" monitor. Old-school CRT action. Probably draws as much power as the 'fridge. But dang, it's definitely bigger than my old one. And bright...I seriously need to download the user manual and figure out how to adjust the color profile...

In other news, Tina the Galivanting Monkey has the same problem I do, only about 30 times worse. The problem? Staying up too damn late surfing the internet. I had no advice for her, since I do it too. But if you've got some advice on how to get my sorry butt in bed at a decent hour, please pass them on.

It's bike to work week!

Are ya bikin' to work? Me, not so much. Well, I'm going to ride tomorrow, which I suppose kind of counts. But not on Friday, the official "bike to work" day. Why? Because it'll be too hot, and too crowded. And for hot and crowds I've got Roller Derby on Saturday and Red Hook's Haul Ash on Sunday and that'll be quite enough, thank you.

5th grade girls + squirrels = funny

So I'm in Logan's classroom this morning doing a dog and pony show about banking and savings accounts. And to get the kids thinking about why we save money I ask "are there any animals that save things?" And these are the answers I get (all of them from girls, 'cause 5th grade boys don't like to answer questions...):

Girl #1: Monkeys. Monkeys save bananas. [giggle]

Me: Okayyyy...anything else?

Girl #1: Squirrels.

Me: Great! What do squirrels save?

Girl #1: Nuts! [all girls in the class erupt into laughter. The boys look kind of embarrassed]

Ah, yes. I vaguely remember being 10 and 11, when "Nuts" cracked me up...

 

More movie chat

Did I mention the one disappointment of Iron Man? I didn't? Well, it's that they saved the song for the credits, and then only used the instrumental bridge / guitar solo. I mean sure, the song and the super hero have basically nothing in common other than the name. And sure, having Ozzy sing

Now the time is here
For iron man to spread fear
Vengeance from the grave
Kills the people he once saved

wouldn't really match the whole "I want to save mankind" theme of the movie, but still...maybe they're saving that for the sequel.

In other news, while Speed Racer has been panned mercilessly by the critics, two people I work with saw it and liked it. And the kids want to go. So maybe that'll be Sunday afternoon's activity...

I am Iron Man!

Well, no, I'm not. But man, I sure would like a trip in the suit...

As part two of our stimulating of the economy we went to see Summer Blockbuster #1 this weekend. Took a pass on Speed Racer, and not just because of the lousy reviews...also because it didn't have Mrs. Chicken's fave actor Robert Downey Junior (who is no relation to Morton Downey Junior, even though they have the same middle and last names).

I don't have the mental capacity for a full-on review, nor do I think you have the patience to read it, so suffice it to say it was good escapist fun, as long as you don't try to analyze the physics of it like Logan. And Stan Lee's cameo was perfectly cast, I must say.

Doh! And again, Doh!

Totally spaced posting yesterday, putting yet another hole in my Blog 365 suit. And I liked that suit, too. so I'll post twice today, just to make up for it. And to make it easier than reading one long post. Well, maybe not easier, but what the heck.

So yesterday was our turn to "Stimulate the Economy" thanks to the perfect storm of the government rebate check, a computer going on the fritz, and the PTA auction. Starting with the computer (since the check is pretty obvious)...

Thursday night I booted up my desktop and it, well, didn't boot. Or, rather, it initialized, then the "Windows" screen with the progress lights going across it appeared, then after 10 seconds or so I got a flash of the famed blue screen of death and then it flipped over and started initializing again. It did this over, and over, and over. Didn't matter if I booted in Safe Mode, Last Best Configuration, or whatnot. I even tried booting from the WinXP install disk and got nothing. Then, on about the 73rd try, it finally booted all the way. So I recorded and loaded my shows ASAP, then ran the spyware and virus software and did a chkdsk on both drives. Well, OK, I didn't do those, but the computer did.

So, deciding that this was the beginning of the end for my 5-year-old Dell, I decided a trip to Fry's was in order. And several hundred bucks later I walked out with a new case, mother board, AMD chip, an assload of RAM, a 500 GB hard drive and a DVD burner with the fancy-pants "Lightscribe" labling stuff. Now I just have to put it all together...

As for the auction, well, you have to go in with the attitude that the money is all for the kids anyway, and whatever you get is just gravy. And we got a fair amount of gravy. First off, during the silent auction, Paige bid up a bunch of Fred Meyer gift cards to beyond face value because hey, we're going to use 'em anyway. Then we got some credit at Funtasia for the boy's birthday party, and in the Live auction ended up in a bidding war with the principal for a long weekend at a cabin near Mt. Baker. "Keep bidding" said Paige. "She'll go higher" said Paige. And she did, and she won, and then the guy who owns the cabin came up and told the auctioneer that he'd throw in a second weekend if we paid our last bid. Which was, oh, $250 over what our original stop point was. So we were stuck. But hey, it's for the kids, right? Right.

WTF?

I'll admit I'm not up on current pot smoking technology, but has security in today's high schools gotten to the point where you can no longer construct a bong in wood/metal shop? Or is it the fact that these kids were home schooled and therefore unable to access the necessary wood and/or metal-working tools that drove them instead to desecrate a grave and allegedly use the skull of an 11-year-old who died in 1921 to smoke their pot?

The wonder of reality tv

As I think I've mentioned before, while I loves me some TV I find I don't watch it as much as I used to. But there are a few shows I try to watch regularly, and in their standard time. Heroes, for one. And Spike's The Ultimate Fighter for another.

Heroes is pretty obvious: I like sci-fi, I like super heroes, it's well written, and that Claire chick is cute. So why Ultimate Fighter? Well, I think it's because it involves all the guilty voyeuristic pleasure of The Real World - a bunch of hyped up young people crammed into a house - and adds the special ingredient of focused violence.

I've watched this show since day 1, and while the in-house antics are occasionally (OK, make that "almost always") annoying and obnoxious, I keep coming back. And what keeps me coming back are two things: the fights and the fighter interviews. Let's look at why, shall we?

The fights: I have always harbored dreams of being a badass. I took Judo for, oh, a month or two in Junior High and never earned a belt. I took a week of Aikido in High School. I've been in one "real" fight that I can remember and was completely useless (in my defense I was drunk and already on the floor...surprisingly I cracked wise about something and the next thing I knew the guy was straddling my chest [or as the MMA guys call it, "in full mount"] and choking me). And yet in my fantasy life I'm a bad mofo and not to be messed with. Which is why it's my fantasy life and not my real life. So I'm captivated by guys who can actually beat the crap out of each other (and get the crap beaten out of them) and seem to enjoy it.

The fighter interviews: While some of these guys are moderately thoughtful and well spoken, a lot of them are complete knuckleheads. The knuckleheads are easily identified by their hyper macho posturing and the 90 degree turn to their TapOut baseball hats. And, as in life, the guy with the biggest mouth is usually the one on the short end of the stick. Or the pain end of the beatdown. Or both. Take, for example, this week's matchup between Matt Brown and Jeremy May. Pretty much everyone expected Matt to win...he just plain looks dangerous. But Jeremy couldn't shut up about how great he was, finally busting out with a genius remark that "I think I'm gonna put the hurtin' on him. In a good Christian way..."

For the record, Jeremy didn't make it out of the first round before he was TKO'd. As expected.

Maya's 2-wheelin'!

So Miss Maya has finally kicked the training-wheel habit, and here's the tiny, grainy celphone video proof!

Breakfast deliciousness

Man, I totally should have posted about this on Sunday, but I got all caught up in that chicken fight thing. Anyhow, we tried a new breakfast place on Sunday and oh my God...

So we Chickens have been fans of breakfast for a long time. Well, to be honest I think I'm more the big fan and Paige just humors me, but whatever. When we first shacked up back in the day we'd go Graze at Mae's up on Phinney Ridge. Then in the mid-90s the lines at Mae's got to be annoyingly long so we started hitting Beth's down on Aurora. But eventually the novelty of a 12-egg omelette was outweighed by the lingering stench of stale cigarettes and we moved on again. By then we were living in Broadview, so we tried out the Rickshaw purely for the novelty of eating an American breakfast in a Chinese restaurant, but again the smoke chased us out. Then it was on to the Salmon Bay Cafe in Ballard, Cindy's Pancake House on Aurora, and finally Pete's Egg Nest on Greenwood.

We loved (and still love) Pete's because it's homey, they do a Greek omelette that Paige loves, and the bacon is wonderful (only place I've ever been asked how I'd like my bacon prepared). The drawback is that it's small, and on the weekends the wait can be as long or longer than Mae's.

Well, this weekend we flipped Egg Nests and headed to Patty's Eggnest down on Holman Road (it's next to the QFC in a space that used to be a Burgermaster). And, as I said before, oh my God. The wait was reasonable (probably 5 minutes max at 10:30 on Sunday), the service was relatively prompt, but the food was great. I went with the standard eggs up, toast, sausage and hash browns - hard to screw up, yet nicely tasty. While the browns were a bit soggy in the middle that wasn't a huge detractor. The toast was thick Texas-style wheat bread, the eggs were nicely runny, and the sausage looked hand made (meaning it wasn't just Jimmy Dean links or something). Logan went with his standard short stack of pancakes, which appeared to be very pancakey. Paige and Maya ordered the berry French Toast which was also Texas-style and smothered in berry sauce (a mix of blueberries and raspberries with maybe a few blackberries thrown in for good measure) and what Paige called "the best whipped cream ever." Basically dessert on a plate.

So, have we shifted egg nests for good? Well, Patty's definitely has it's advantages: better parking, more tables, shorter wait, and damn fine whipped cream. But Pete's has it's perks too...we like the atmosphere and the family-run feeling. And the bacon...can't discount the bacon. That said, Patty's is closer, and we've got a couple gift certificates for it, so in the short run I think they win.

Thoroughly drawing a blank today

Thoroughly. The most interesting thing to happen today, other than it being sunny, is that Paige bought Logan his first stick of deodorant. Because he's, um, almost 11. And apparently the kids today stink more than we did back in the '70s. Or else my mom didn't care as much...I don't think I started rocking the Speed Stick until I was 13.

Well, as a friend's kid says, if ya got's the B.O. you gotsa use the D.O.

Lazy Sunday

And I have nothing exciting to add to the blogosphere...Maya kind of learned to ride her bike today, on flat ground and with assistance on the start, but I don't have photo evidence. Instead, I have Peter Griffin fighting a giant chicken.



Thanks, Hulu!

Happy Anniversary, sistah!

Technically the actual anniversary was over a week ago, but tonight was the party. My sister has now officially been married for 20 years, and to celebrate her husband through a party with most of the wedding party (my other sister couldn't make the trip, and one of Dave's brothers also couldn't be there).

I vaguely dreaded the party because, well, I don't really remember much of the wedding. And not, I don't think, for a good reason like "I was wicked hammered the whole weekend" or anything. More like "I was a Junior in college and thinking about other stuff". I remember driving home for it, in my roommate's Fiero with my then-girlfriend Sarah. I remember the painful plastic shoes. I remember the reception being in the Faculty Club at the UW and one of the bride's maids telling me that if I did donuts in the Fiero it would throw a rod straight through the engine block.

But that's pretty much it. Don't remember the people, don't remember the guy playing trumpet, don't really remember anything at all.

But hey, my lack of memory is no reason to skip free drinks and food, right? Right!

More on the shootin' 'n' stuff

So Wednesday I said, and I quote:

I'd go on about the various conversations I overheard, the insane noise of the guys with the large handguns next to us, and so forth, but I'm tired. Maybe tomorrow.

So now that I'm less tired, here it is.

So Sam's is a gun shop and range in one of those pseudo office park things: two buildings sharing a parking lot set back from a busy road. Didn't see what was in building #2, but building #1 was all Sam's. In true mullet style, it was business in the front (the gun store), party in the back (shooting range). With a classroom of sorts upstairs, which really doesn't fit the whole mullet metaphor. Maybe the classroom is the trucker cap...

Anyhow, there was only one guy working last night (I didn't catch his name, but he wasn't Sam), and he was a bit harried when we showed up. He was also rather surprised that the boys weren't in uniform (which is standard for these "Blue Moon" outings), but he let us in anyway. Having never been to an indoor gun range I wasn't sure what to expect. It was, well, spartan. Not in the "sweaty hairless men wearing togas" way but rather in the "not a lot of stuff around" way. Kind of reminded me of the waiting room for a mufler shop or something. A couple snack machines, some tables, and a counter. Oh, and windows looking in on a bunch of guys shooting. Guess that's not in the usual mufler shop.

As we got there there were three guys who had just finished their practice and were doing the classic male post-adrenalie bull shooting. As I recall two of the three were in the military (not sure what branch, but I think it was either Army or Marines) and the third had either just signed up or was just about to head out to Basic. So the other two were giving him very helpful tips on what to say to various Drill Sargeants. Advice that I'm seriously hopng he doesn't take...he seemed smart enough to know that that would be a bad idea.

After collecting the "if my kid shoots himself in the head I won't sue you" waivers we went up to the trucker cap room to review range safety with the boys and eat some pizza (I hadn't had Pizza Hut's thin crust pie in, oh, 25 years, and was reminded why: it ain't too good). Once dinner was done and we'd reviewed everything the adults went down stairs to get briefed on the rifles (.22 caliber magazine-fed with a 10-round magazine, in case you're interested...no idea of the make), pick up safety glasses and ear protection, and to buy ammo and targets. Once that was all secured we brought down the boys, broke them into pairs and got to the shooting.

The range is made up of two rooms side-by-side (with a big-ass concrete wall between them, naturally), each with six bays (I think...the one we were in did, anyway). When we started we were alone in one room, running the boys through 4 at a time. I had the shortest rifle and so had the two shortest kids - Logan and his friend Matthew.

After each kid had shot a couple of targets three other guys came in. I don't know what they were shooting (it was a hand gun, but other than that I'm not sure of the details), but damn was it loud! Logan was in there when they started. He's not a fan of the loud, and was sticking his hands over his earphones. Which made it hard to aim, I must say. Or pull the trigger. Eventually he understood that he had to let go of his head to finish his magazine, at which point he left and didn't come back in until they were gone.

As for the conversation between the three, it appeared that one of them was shoing the other two a couple pistols and explaining their advantages. I will say that in addition to the insanely loud noise they did a great job of putting holes in paper. Much bigger holes than the .22 did. Apparently one of the guns he was shooting was a good home-defense weapon for the women folk (OK, he didn't say "womenfolk", but it was kind of implied) because of something to do with the safety and the fact that it wouldn't go off accidentally but if you needed to shoot it in a hurry you wouldn't have to fumble for anything. Not sure how that works, but apparently it works well. And loudly.

I'm guessing we'll go back again, 'cause it was a pretty darn cheap outing: 60 targets plus 400 bullets for something like $35 thanks to the Boy Scout discount.

Physics is cool...

And would no doubt be cooler if I understood the science behind this, but what the heck.

The joys of guns and ammo

So in his book Conservatize Me John "Monkey Disaster" Moe goes to a gun range to squeeze off some rounds from a handgun. Fortunately he calls ahead and learns that if he wants to rent a gun he needs to bring a friend along (presumably because the suicidal won't bring friends to the scene of their, well, suicide). John calls a friend and hauls him along.

If only he'd waited until his son Charlie was old enough to be a Boy Scout he could have skipped that step.

Tonight was "Blue Moon" night for Troop 123. The Troop meets on Wednesdays, and in months where there's a fifth Wednesday they do something special. Bowling, for instance. Or swimming. Or tonight, shooting. So we packed in to a few cars and headed north to Everett where at Sam's Gun Range they comp Boy Scouts the cost of the rifle rental and just sell you ammo and targets. For the eight boys and four adults to each fire off 20 to 40 rounds (the kids got more)? A meager $35 or so. Definitely a sweet deal.

I'd go on about the various conversations I overheard, the insane noise of the guys with the large handguns next to us, and so forth, but I'm tired. Maybe tomorrow.

How did I not know about this?

Thanks to Frogma for directing me to the wonder that is garfield minus garfield. Amazing how much better that comic is without the cat...

The hike report, now with pictures!

So I promised a recap of the epic struggle of man and boy against gravity and sand, and I aim to deliver. With photos, even!

The excitement started Saturday morning with a relatively peaceful 2 - 3 hour drive east on I-90. The pass was clear, the sun was out, the kids were quiet, all was well in the world. We met up with the other drivers (Scoutmaster Mark and friend Paul) at a rest area east of George, then caravaned off the freeway and in to the wilds of the Columbia Basin Reclamation Project.

After a few turns and a mile or two on a "primitive road" (which means "dust and washboard", in case you've never driven on one) we made it to the parking lot and loaded up. Here's the boy, loaded up. And yes, he did take off the coat about 5 minutes in to the hike.

Half way across the parking lot and what did we find? Dinner, that's what!

OK, it wasn't really dinner, but it was a sweet looking coyote leg...Anyhow, from there we were off down the trail. The dirty and dusty trail. And by dirt I mean sand, and by dust I mean Mt. St. Helens ash. Which, if my math is correct, erupted 27 years ago. You'd think they would have cleaned that ash up by now...

Well, eventually (I didn't bring the Garmin so I have no idea how far we hiked...I'm going to guess it was about 3 miles) we made it to the lake and set up camp. Logan behaved exactly as predicted: moaned and groaned while wearing the pack (although for the first mile or so that was understandable, since he was saddled with a 6 pound tent...eventually he twisted his ankle a bit and the bigger guys took pity on him and took the tent and his Thermarest and he perked up a bit), then had plenty of energy once it was off. Once the camp was set up the boys went off to play a fun little game called, I believe, "chuck the little guys off a dune". After taking a nap Paul and I wandered over to observe this game, only to scare them back to camp.

Well, almost all of them. Logan stayed around long enough to pose for a picture with the old man.



Once everyone was back in camp the boys did a (very short) orienteering course. Logan and his tent-mate did the course together, with tent-mate manning the compass while Logan wandered around looking for the waypoints:

Which was an interesting choice, since some of the sage brush was as tall as he was. Or taller.

Eventually night began to fall, dinner was eaten (or, in Mr. Finicky Logan's case not eaten...I swear to God he's the only kid I've met who prefers his Top Ramen without the flavor packet. But then, my Top Ramen sample is pretty small...) and it was time for dessert. One big advantage to backpacking now as an adult is that I get to go with guys who know what the hell they're doing, and can produce a chocolate cake using a camping stove and a plastic bag. It was a cake-mix cake with canned frosting, but hey, that's what I have for my birthday so I wasn't complaining. Neither was Jeff, whose birthday we were celebrating.



The boys made a fire (which didn't turn out in the photos), then went off in to the dark to play "German Spotlight." Why "German Spotlight" 60 years after WW II? Well, because apparently it's OK to make fun of Germans, where "Vietnamese Spotlight" or "Gitmo Spotlight" didn't have the same ring. Anyhow, the game involves a guy (the German) with a flashlight, and the other guys hide in the dark and try to sneak up on him. It's great training for when they're inducted into the special forces and have to take out guards in terrorist training camps. Or sneak back in to the house after hours. One of those.

The next morning, after a gourmet breakfast of French toast and sausages we encountered our second predator, this time much smaller. Don't know if scorpions like syrup, because this one didn't hang around long enough to ask and by the time we found the second one we'd cleaned up the dishes. Oh, and I don't speak scorpion (although I do know most of the lyrics to "Blackout")

Then it was time to pack up and hike back to the cars, drink some good ol' city water, eat some crackers and fruit leather, shake off some of the dust, and drive home. With the requisite fast food stop, naturally (at the Ellensburg Arbys where they were 0 for 3 on the order, screwing up all 3 sandwiches).

All in all a good trip, but I definitely appreciated my bed last night!

The hike recap will have to wait

Why? Well, it's late, I'm tired, and the bed is calling. Because it's oh so much more comfortable than a Thermarest on lumpy ground.

Hike report

Logan survived the hike, with the expected whining, and found a new friend: a ladybug!