Cranial Hyperossification

In the Porridge

noreply@blogger.com (GDad) — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 14:34:00 +0000

I've been in A Mood all morning.

Well, the rain falls down without my help, I'm afraid
And my lawn gets wet though I've withheld my consent
When this gray world crumbles like a cake
I'll be hangin' from the hope
That I'll never see that recipe again

The boy was slow to get out of bed.
The traffic was awful.
I am literally bellyaching.
My neck is stiff.
I was just on the phone with my dental insurance company, and a chipper computer told me, "Your unique individuality is what makes you you!"

Back to this again.

My Dream for the Future

noreply@blogger.com (GDad) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 12:12:00 +0000

I want to be a job creator. I will get a lease on some retail space and hire a bunch of surly young people. My shop will be called, "GET THE #=(( OUT OF MY STORE!" I will completely take advantage of the at-will provisions of my state's employment law, and I will provide no product or service that people want.

I will also be incredibly scrupulous about following the letter of any regulation so I keep the gubmint off my back.

This will only work if I am already independently wealthy, though. I suck at business plans.

Overtime vertime time ime

noreply@blogger.com (GDad) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 04:00:00 +0000

Son, by virtue of being in the marching band, is also in the basketball pep band. They are to play at the half and end of the JV games and the beginning and end of the varsity games. Tonight, I sat up waiting for him to get home. At 9:30, which is when our household starts winding down for bed, I texted him to ask him when he'd be home. Then I waited.

Around 9:45 I got a text that the battery in the truck was dead and that he needed a jump. The school is two miles as the crow flies, but about six miles as the wolf walks, and those six miles involve traffic lights. When I got there, Son and Ashton were sitting in the car. Son had been planning to give Ashton a ride home. Ashton lives about a half mile from the school, and Ashton's mom showed up just as I did, but evidently, she "doesn't jump cars."

Now he's finally in bed, and I'm planning to copy my roadside assistance card tomorrow.

Le Cauchemar Peu

noreply@blogger.com (GDad) — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 02:00:00 +0000

Last night, I dreamed that Son got a speeding ticket near where my grandmother lives. As some sort of driving improvement program, we needed to attend a city council meeting for the town where she lives. Then I ripped up his license so my insurance wouldn't go up.

That's a far cry from the nightmares of my childhood.

See the Doctor Now

noreply@blogger.com (GDad) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 01:30:00 +0000

I can recommend Doc Martin on Netflix. It's a big-city-success-goes-back-to-small-town-roots story.

The Only Water in the Forest is the River

noreply@blogger.com (GDad) — Sat, 21 Jan 2012 15:02:00 +0000

The other day, neighbor Rusty called me to ask for my help in getting his new Blu-Ray player attached to his home network, because he signed up for Netflix, and he wants to be able to stream to his teevee in addition to watching movies on his laptop. I went over, thinking it would be a quick job, as I always think, erroneously, when I go over to Rusty's to help with "computer" things.

I was the one that set up his wireless network, so it should have been pretty easy - connect the player to the wi-fi network with the right password, and then connect it to the Netflix account, right? Well, that would be true if the Blu-Ray player had the wi-fi hardware built in. It did not, but you could buy a USB adapter for only $49.99! I went ho0me and grabbed a USB wi-fi doodad from my own collection, but that didn't work. Of course.

Rusty let me off the hook for a while and went out to run errands, which included giving an earful to the sales drones at the place where he bought the device. I went home and advised him to call me when he got the right hardware.

Later that evening, he called to let me know that he had acquired the right thing. It was a pair of devices that connect wiredly to the router and to the Blu-Ray player and wirelessly between them. A few minutes later, we had the whole thing up and running.

Then Rusty asked me if everyone else was home. I indicated that they were, and he said that he needed to get something over to my house. I was a bit suspicious of the end result, but I accompanied him back to my house, with him carrying a mysterious package.

We got into the house, and Rusty unveiled an inflatable canoe that he found on some auction site for a few bucks. He wants us to use it in the new pond. I think we should go out looking for a narcoleptic Peruvian.

Video Vriday - Sixth Grade

noreply@blogger.com (GDad) — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 13:41:00 +0000

Son's high school band director also directs the sixth grade band at Small Town Elementary School. Here's a video of the sixth-graders in concert from Wednesday.

Feedback

noreply@blogger.com (GDad) — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 00:30:00 +0000

I've been told I was diplomatic today.

I was running a meeting of a diverse group of people with strong ideas that clashed, and evidently, everyone felt heard and acknowledged. Chalk one up for me.

PIPA

noreply@blogger.com (GDad) — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 12:17:00 +0000

No PIPA. No SOPA.

Spielen mit Deutsch

noreply@blogger.com (GDad) — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 18:22:00 +0000

There's a guy here that has NO INSIDE VOICE that is talking right now. He keeps saying "spoof login," but he's pronouncing it as though it is "spüflagen."

MLK

noreply@blogger.com (GDad) — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 11:00:00 +0000

Here's to MLK.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

noreply@blogger.com (GDad) — Sun, 15 Jan 2012 16:30:00 +0000

Two Weeks In

noreply@blogger.com (GDad) — Sun, 15 Jan 2012 01:00:00 +0000

I had to go to the midsized regional bank office this morning to get GPop's passport out of the safe deposit box. He is going to Emory University this week to help out with their bookstore busy week during their first day of classes. He needed the passport, because he will be part of the group that is taking care of things for President Carter's book signing event at the store.

Son wants GPop to get some kind of magic emblem from Mr. Carter, because when Son was 5, George W. Bush came to Son's school for some "I love the kids" event and patted Son on the head. Son wants the antidote.

Foto Phriday - Elevator Follow-Up

noreply@blogger.com (GDad) — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 11:00:00 +0000

As Tallguy Martialartist has said in the past, "Pictures, or it didn't happen." Here is the last bit of blood from the Elevator Discovery.

Dream Sue-age

noreply@blogger.com (GDad) — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 22:22:00 +0000

When I first started at Mega Corporation One, I worked with a very soft-spoken woman we'll call Guinevere. She was, and still is, a single mom living about 30 miles in out from Capital City in what most people would call the boonies, but which I call "a little bit out from where I live." We got shuffled around, and I sort of lost track of what she was doing for a while.

A few years back, she had a bad time of it where she got increasingly convinced that things were happening that nobody else could perceive, and she ended up taking some time off to deal with the issue. I'm pleased to report that she has resumed working at Mega Corporation One, albeit in a different role and in a department well removed from where she was before.

Last night, I dreamed that she called me on my cell phone. She chatted about the weather or whatever for a moment, then informed me that she was billing me for $50,000. She wouldn't say for what, but she was making it sound like some sort of legal threat. I distinctly remember writing the details on a yellow program from some concert.

I was pretty disturbed by this when I woke up.

Inscrutible

noreply@blogger.com (GDad) — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 15:30:00 +0000

(I am discussing something with a coworker. )

Boss: (to me) I want to talk to you for about five minutes.

Coworker: Oh, I'm done. You can have him.

Boss: It will take more than five minutes, and I have to go to a meeting. (walks off)

Me: ?

Convention, Part II

noreply@blogger.com (GDad) — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 11:00:00 +0000

Another interesting group at the Huntin' and Fishin' Convention was the Amish or Mennonite family whose clothes were all camouflage. Because when you mix a slightly isolationist religion with survivalist types, it's a recipe for FUN!

The Convention Shack

noreply@blogger.com (GDad) — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 18:01:00 +0000

Capital City has a pretty big convention center that is connected to Mega Corporation One via a series of covered walkways and tunnels. Sometimes, if I'm bored and lucky all at the same time, I'll choose to go to lunch there when an interesting convention is in town.

For the purposes of this entry, please use this guideline. "Uninteresting" is roughly equivalent to "full of people who could be representative of my current social or professional circles." Conversely, "interesting" is shorthand for "full of people who are at least one removed from my current professional or social circles."

Today, there was in interesting convention. It was the Huntin' and Fishin' Extravaganza, with such topics as How to Attract Visitors to your Web Site, How to Drive Actions on your Web Site, and How to Shoot a Buck at Seventy-Five Yards with a Brand X Crossbow. Needless to say, there was a good mix of people there.

I was over there with coworker Suzi. When one guy walked by with a laptop bag, a fringed leather jacket, and the middle-aged opera queen affect, I motioned with my eyes and muttered, "What? Gay IT Daniel Boone over there."

Suzi giggled, looked, and replied, "Let's call that 'role play.'"

My Cursed Finger

noreply@blogger.com (GDad) — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 11:48:00 +0000

The injured finger is also the one that had surgery three times to remove a cyst that kept coming back. I don't know if it will ever heal back to preinjury status, but here's a picture of the uninjured and injured versions.

Happy Birthday, Stepmom

noreply@blogger.com (GDad) — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 16:00:00 +0000

What I Learned from Facebook

noreply@blogger.com (GDad) — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 02:00:00 +0000

All of those kids in elementary school, middle school, and high school that I thought were making ironic fun of the construct of the racist/sexist/whatever joke were actually sincere. That makes me a little sad.

Alternately, they're engaged in lifelong performance art, like Andy Kaufman.

Happy Birthday, Mom

noreply@blogger.com (GDad) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 11:37:00 +0000

BZZZZZT!

noreply@blogger.com (GDad) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 02:30:00 +0000

At least a buzzer didn't go off, Dad's nose didn't light up red, although the little finger doohickey made his finger light up.

On December 21, stepmom's mother went in for a routine valve replacement surgery. The doctors said that it would take a couple of hours, and that she would be fine and ready to be home for Christmas. There was some kind of complication, and the doctors nicked her aorta with some device, which caused her to die on the operating table after about seven hours.

When Dad went in for his "routine surgery that would last a couple of hours" (not really a direct quote - more of a paraphrase), stepmom was pretty worried. Dad asked me to be there, since I have the most flexibility of all of my brothers, and even though this will piss off the one brother that reads this even as he agrees with it, the most empathic presentation as a person.

The doctors took him into the OR around 8:30. I was still en route. I got to the medical district in Medium City, but I arrived first at Children's Hospital. I got directions to the General Hospital and fumbled my way around in the psychiatric wing, the burn unit, and finally the surgery center. ("There's none of the enemy left, right? Right!")

I found Stepmom and sat by her for a while. She was bouncing back and forth betwixt her iPhone and her book. I asked how long they said it would take. Originally, it was "a couple of hours." Now it was "sometime around 3:00."

Lots of people-watching opportunities in a hospital waiting area.

My grandma called more than hourly. You normally don't think of an 85-year-old as "impatient." At one point, I said, "Grandma, I know you're worried. I PROMISE you that we will call you as soon as we hear one word about the situation." Fifty-five minutes later, I called her to tell her we hadn't heard anything yet. Then I reminded her that based on an earlier conversation, she might want to try Marmite. I swear I'm not an evil person.

The doctor, a short man with a very heavy Russian accent and a yarmulke, which I mention only because my dad is not the world's most ardent embracer of diversity, emerged from the OR at 5:30 to tell us that all was well, and that we could see him in "thirty to forty minutes, but you should make it closer to forty."

GDad and Dad

noreply@blogger.com (GDad) — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 01:48:00 +0000

Dad is fine. The operation took a lot longer than expected.

Where's GDad?

noreply@blogger.com (GDad) — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 22:18:00 +0000

Sitting in Medium City General Hospital with stepmom, waiting on the outcome of the surgery my dad is undergoing. I hope the occasional chest flutter I feel is not the same thing Dad has.