Month: December 2008

For the past several years, I’ve hit December 26th or 27th and the realization hits me that Christmas is over and I missed it. Not literally, of course. I physically pass through the timeframe of December 25th, but “that Christmas feeling” passes on a different plane. The pace of life is a factor. It’s like the advice Ferris Bueller gave us back in the 80’s: “Life moves pretty fast. You don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

What’s lacking is Christmas spirit. Not religiosity, but a human spirit of connectedness. I think online shopping has some relation. There’s nothing like being elbowed aside by an old lady for the last Wii game to get one feeling jolly.

I don’t have the answer, but I’ll seek it today and report back. I’m not looking for a miracle, simply an expansion of my Grinch heart to just one size too small.

…and a nut! Well, I did a couple hours ago. For the second time in an earth spin, my snowthrower um, threw a curve at me when I was looking heat. Yesterday, a simple spark plug swap renewed my Ariens vigor, but tonight a missing screw rendered 12” of my 24” auger limp, seriously hampering the removal of white stuff. With nearly another foot covering my long, horseshoe driveway, shoveling was a painful option, so I searched a toolbox and junk drawer and scored a screw, but not a nut to hold it in place. I scanned for anything that might be held together with a similar combo and hooked up with the removal of said pair from my table saw. The fit was perfect and about 10 seconds later I smoked a cigarette. Only kidding of course. I don’t smoke, but I did burn through my driveway and feel pretty, pretty, pretty good about it.

No, I don’t think Caroline Kennedy is qualified to take Hillary Clinton’s vacated Senate seat, but if her name was “Joe” would the criteria questions even be posed?

I’m glad I don’t have to say “Blagojevich” for a living.

Rick Warren? Really?

Unless Detroit changes the game and pulls a “Moore’s Law” x 10 on their propulsion systems, they are going the way of the Edsel.

The Yankees have spent $243.5 million in salary on two pitchers this off-season. C. C. Sabathia and A. J. Burnett raise expectations that the Yankees won’t suck and that’s great news for Red Sox fans. Oh, and they’re not done spending.

As for the Sawx, they’re posturing with agent Scott Boras in pursuit of one Mark Teixeira. News reports indicate it’s going to take $180 – $195M to land the slugger. With this economy’s trend, I suggest Mark get as much up front as possible. Who’s going to pay these salaries when fans lack the cash to buy tickets or even cable to watch?

Long the second class citizens in town, the Celtics and Bruins have reinvigorated the [Insert some corporate bank name here] Garden. The C’s have won 17 straight and are 25-2, while the B’s have snuck up on the NHL and jumped to #2 in the ESPN Power Rankings, whatever that is.

It’s still snowing.

In defense of pie.

As Christmas approaches, I’ve battled the consumerist demons ripping from my American DNA, but I didn’t buy this token of the Decline of Western Civilization.

And finally, She’s Got The Jack.

Remember taking a “spongebath” as a kid? The technique was basically taking a bath with a facecloth or sponge and was usually employed during constrained supply of:

1. Time
2. Water

It’s been quite a week. After release from the refugee camp at mom’s house Wednesday courtesy of Unitil, Kyle and I arrived home to hot air, but no hot water. Oh, and Megan shoved a refrigerator full of castaways down the disposal which caused a serious case of Polyvinyl chloride constipation, but I’m straying…

It seems that draining my electric water heater to protect it from freezing wasn’t such a good idea. When power was restored, the unit fired up inside a dry chamber and burnt itself out. It was fixed for $168 Thursday afternoon…

Now a cold shower has a time and a place, but that time was not Thursday morning and the place not where I shower, so morning at the improv ensued… I’ll spare you the details except to say I have a huge pot where I heated water and it provided 3 liquid sink cycles for shaving, bathing and even hair washing! I was pleased with the state of hygiene I attained, although it wasn’t exactly spongeworthy or the best of hair days so I did pass on after work drinks. Instead I came home and snaked out a clogged drain pipe for an hour from a cramped position on a ladder in my basement. Good thing I didn’t have to sponge off after that.

“YOU CAN GO FUCK YOURSELF!” That was about ½ a song into Wilco’s set opening for Neil Young Saturday night. Yeah, seems I could have been a bit more diplomatic in my request that the woman next to me stop talking in my ear. [Edit: As pal Jeff points out in his comment, the woman blurted out the opening all CAPS barrage, not me…]

Anyway, I won’t repeat Jeff’s review of the show, but I will say I love the sonic booms that curse through the wires of “Old Black,” Mr. Young’s trusty 1953 Gibson Les Paul Goldtop and anyone who can play a guitar and a mouth harp simultaneously is no poser.

I’m about to leave the refugee camp for work, but one quick story will tie all this together… Friday while out with the lovely ex and the kids, Gigi said, “I want to go!” when she heard I had two extra tix. “He sings that Fenway (Sweet Caroline) song, right?” Uh, no. That’s Neil Diamond, the guy whose picture is paired with the Neil Young review in the Worcester Telegram…

…but I do. Posting from my mom’s basement, the entire clan is here, forced from the Hollywood Bungalow by a natural disaster. Since 1am Friday night, I laid awake, thinking a huge overhanging tree would come crashing through my roof into my attic bedroom. Gravity pulled large limbs to a rest on my roof as I listened to trees shatter through the night. The sound of one cracking tree limb is a grabber. A nocturnal cascade of hundreds accompanied by reigning shards of ice crashing down is better than a triple espresso for alertness.

You know when you see on TV stories about people displaced by natural disasters. That’s us, albeit on a small scale… We are fortunate that our home wasn’t damaged and none of us were hurt. And Wilco/Neil Young is still on tonight in Worcester! Here are a few pics I grabbed yesterday just getting Megan and Maddy to their mom’s house and a warm fireplace… There was beauty in it.

My mind was spinning in a black hole collapsing into itself like a “we fucking told you this would end the world” Hadron Collider disaster. Just behind my drive-in movie screen forehead was a low-budget indie flick of a short-circuiting electric wireframed milk crate tumbling through black space… That was what I saw Monday night when I shut the bedside light and closed my eyes. It was beautiful. A “My God, it’s full of stars” 2010 moment, but at the same time, I question what the hell’s going on in there… I suppose a freakish “Tron” trailer is better than seeing a gerbil on a treadmill, but is that activity due to too many hours of computer stare downs, excess MSNBC, or an unhealthy buildup of swimmers? Discuss.

If you stare into the darkness long enough, you see things. Today I’ll flip the energy-efficient lights on here at fifteenkey.com long enough to scratch out a catch-up post.

Mouse In The House
Speaking of scratching, the end of November brought eviction papers for “Templeton,” a mouse that was trading counter crumbs for nano-tootsie rolls. I didn’t want to kill the little guy or gal, so I searched for “humane mouse traps” and purchased the um, “Humane Mouse Trap” from Greenfeet. On arrival, I loaded it with a peanut butter and saltine cracker. Grabbing coffee the next dawn, I noted the trap had sprung, but there was neither a mouse nor a cracker… Hmmm… For round 2, the sliding door opposite the trap door was secured with a piece of packing tape. Templeton watched me pour coffee through green eyeshade the next morning as I contemplated where to relocate him. It was very cold and both Megan and Kyle protested the possibility of a frozen Mickey, so we provided room and board for a few more days. Finally, after the mini-beast nearly chewed his way out of the green plastic prison, Kyle and I drove him a few miles away and released him into a very nice old Leominster neighborhood near a house with a barn. I had envisioned the little guy crawling quarter inches at a time to reach shelter, but as soon as he hit the ground, he leaped like Mike Jordan in two half circles a foot high and two long toward refuge. Of course, any number of wild or domestic creatures could have snacked on him between freedom and sanctuary, but my conscience was clear… as is my kitchen counter.

Bring out yer dead…
Like the The Dead Body That Claims It Isn’t in “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” said, “I’m not dead.” That’s my attitude toward the marketing shovel AARP has been whacking me with since summer. Hey, I’m not joining. Check back if I make 60.

“You would make a great Girl Scout!”
Yep. That’s what the note addressed to me said. Over the summer I won 4 tickets to see “The Grinch Who Stole Christmas – The Musical” at a Girl Scout charity golf tournament silent auction. Last week when an event reminder popped up here, I checked Quicken to see what I had paid. $0. Then I remembered entering an amount, but never being charged. I emailed the event organizer and asked her what happened. She took care of it and in fact I paid $345 for 4 great “Dress Circle” seats to a very mediocre production. Megan and I caught intermittent naps, but Kyle and grand-daughter MacKenzie seemed somewhat amused. Oh, the Grinch was okay and young lady who played “Cindy-Lou Who” was a fine little performer, but the songs in this musical made me think there really is a war on Christmas.

iWannabe
Unwilling to bolt Verizon for AT&T;, the Über-cool iPhone was not a contender to replace my “Jack Bauer Edition” Treo 650. The LeoTreo had served me well, but at 3 years old, (that’s like 100 in technology years) it literally had a few screws loose and was on the life support of USB power only. With “Templeton” in the trunk on his way to self-determination, Kyle and I visited the big-red store for one more swing at the Blackberry Storm and another round with the intriguing Samsung Omnia. I really wanted to like the Storm, but after about 2 hours of monkeying with it over 3 days, I have to agree with New York Times columnist David Pogue and many others who conclude, the BlackBerry Storm Sucks.

“Omnia” means “everything,” and my new phone pretty much has it:

• Great call quality
• Touch screen navigation
• Accelerometer for portrait or landscape use
• Super web experience including YouTube clips of Kyle singing the hits
• Corporate email and VPN capability
• Mobile Word, Excel and PowerPoint
• Bluetooth integration to my car
• Wi-Fi! (Storm doesn’t)
• 5 MP auto-focus flash camera

Two uncertainties remained as the boy and I exited, phone in hand for a trip to GameStop: How would the on-screen keyboard experience be and could I customize the phone interface to my liking? Winterface is a sweet UI I’m trying out and the keyboard works just fine. I think LeOmnia may be a keeper…