March 2005 Archives

Have you noticed that I haven't had a new post in the "read" category for the past few months? I haven't read more than a Maxim article since we had baby number two, and I can feel my intelligence dropping.

I have, however, been watching a lot of TV. One of the shows I've been following this season is American Idol. I've watched it for several seasons, but I think this latest version may have more overall talent than any of the others. Even if the accumulated talent is better, there doesn't seem to be a single contestant rising up to challenge frontrunner Carrie Underwood for the crown.

Because I see potential in all of the remaining ten participants, here are some suggestions for each one that could be all they need to take home the gold.

Anthony Fedorov - Dude, if you're going to have an obvious physical handicap, you should at least try to get some sympathy for it. From now on, use one of those artificial larynx devices whenever you have to do any non-singing communication, such as when you repeat your phone number on-air. I know you don't really need it, but once the fans hear the robotic buzzing and realize what your voice could sound like, they'll better appreciate you. Oh, and try to sing something other than eighties power ballads once in a while.

Anwar Robinson - How old are you? So far, you've yet to sing anything from this decade...or even the last twenty years of the previous century. The one upbeat song you did (when you could have picked any number one hit, ever) was a song originally performed by a female, thirty years ago. You know, people are still making new music. It didn't end in the seventies. There are good songs being produced every day. If you keep singing songs your mama liked, Anwar, you'll soon be back home watching the show with her, from the living room couch. Talent doesn't overcome boredom.

Constantine Maroulis - Yeah, way to stay true to your roots, rocker. Seal, Sting, David Cassidy...I guess you hail from the "adult contemporary" school of rock. I can't figure out why the girls like you, but since they do, I won't suggest changing your appearance. I can suggest, however, that you perform at least one actual rock song someday. Otherwise, you might as well whip your own ass, to save your embarassed bandmates the trouble of doing it when you return to NYC. Who knows, within the context of a rock song, your random screams will actually make sense for once.

Jessica Sierra - The voice is there, but your look could use some help. You just don't look near as hot as you sound (you have some sexy pipes), but you dress like you're trying to look as sexy. Something about your style shouts "underage prostitute." Start dressing for class and grace, and let the fans deal with the conflict between your sultry sound and a dignified look. You don't have to play to our baser instincts. Then again, the boobies were nice a few weeks ago.

Nadia Turner - Hey, the mohawk rocked. It was the song that stunk. You know you don't have the best voice (and if you don't know, Paula will remind you with her backhanded compliments each week). So don't pick complicated songs. Stick with the fun, upbeat, "get up and dance" tunes, and teach faux-rocker Constantine what attitude is all about. By the way, you have the best bod in the competition so you might as well use what you have. Carrie Underwood may have better range than you, but she'll never have your legs or abs.

Nikko Smith - For you, Nikko, it's all about song choice. So far, you've been spot on. By sticking within the realm of Stevie Wonder and his soundalikes, you've found your groove. So why were you voted off once already? You have the sex appeal of a 60-year-old nun. Can you sing without your glasses? I mean, this isn't karaoke, is it? And it wouldn't hurt you to lose the hat and three-piece suits, either. Maybe you could dress like the youngsters for once and show the world that you can be a little Nelly sometimes, not just another singing Steve Urkel.

Bo Bice - Bo, are you dating Carrie? I'm guessing you are. Two frontrunners from different sides of the tracks, the innocent farmgirl and the jaded rocker. It's like a John Hughes movie. But the reality is that your possible flame is going to wipe the stage with you if you don't start relating to the fans. Sure, you're one of the most talented and experienced guys up there, but did your band play anything written after 1979? You had the choice of every number one song last week, and you picked a Jim Croce tune. Um, he's dead, right? So he's not even around to appreciate your tribute. Let me ask you, have you ever heard of grunge? It was a rock style popularized in the nineties that combined the balladry of hair rock with the harder guitar riffs and angry tones of acid rock or punk. It screamed disenfranchisement, and fathered the current spat of alt-rock and new metal. You have the look, dude, why not try one of the songs? I think you'd rock doing a Pearl Jam ditty. And the twelve-year-olds hitting redial on Tuesday nights won't stand for much more peace rock.

Carrie Underwood - Well, since you're so obviously leading the pack (heck, Simon predicts you'll be bigger than the Beetles!), you don't have much to change. I would try to either lose some weight or ditch the clingy clothing. It's okay to look modest, but nobody digs fat chicks (ask the re-slimmed Kelly Clarkson!). Also, no more big hair. I know it was a tribute, but it looked a little too natural on a farmgirl like yourself. Other than that, keep on keeping on, and hope you don't run out of Faith Hill/Martina McBride songs before the competition ends.

Scott Savol - Dude, you're not cool. Why even try? I know Ruben already used up all the "charming chubby guy" mojo, but there's still room for a guy like you in the show. You just need to lose the shades and forced stylization and stop acting so tough. Smile a little, speak up, and be who you are. No, you don't have a chance at winning. But you can stay on longer than Nikko and Anthony if you find a role to play in your audience's hearts. "Thug" isn't the right choice. Try "big buddy" and see what happens. Oh, and your song choice could use some work, too. Think contemporary, people! Don't you know it's teenage girls who are voting for you guys?

Vonzell Solomon - Vonzell, I have a crush on you. Maybe it's because you're everything my wife isn't (mainly, tall, black and on TV). Or maybe I just remember your great performances in auditions and know you'll soon bust out with something memorable. Either way, my only request is that you push your voice a little harder and dress a little sluttier. Did I say that out loud? How naughty of me. Finally, please don't wear any more cowboy hats, no matter who gave them to you. I'm pretty sure there weren't many six-foot-tall black cowgirls in the old west, so that's a niche that the audience may find hard to relate to.

A co-worker of mine went to Switzerland a year-and-a-half ago for a wedding. Of the many exciting stories he told about his journey, one of the most interesting things he observed while overseas was the casual way in which the Europeans stored their eggs.

"Americans overreact with eggs," he said. "They didn't refrigerate their eggs in Switzerland, and they were just fine. But here, we keep them cold all of the time."

His statement was backed up by an episode of Good Eats that I saw a few months later. It was an episode about eggs, and host Alton Brown mentioned again that Americans take unnecessary measures in egg storage. He stated that Salmonella has been just about eliminated due to advances in egg harvesting procedures, and that eggs can keep for quite some time if kept in a dry, dark place.

With all of that in mind, I really thought I was in good shape decorating and storing our Easter eggs the way I did. I boiled the eggs about a week ago, and let them sit on the counter until this past Easter weekend. I didn't feel the need to put them in the fridge for two reasons: 1) What's the point of decorating eggs if you're going to hide the finished works of art behind a closed door? and 2) After what I'd heard about egg storage, I was sure they'd be fine being room temperature for a week.

Apparently, eggs only stay good stored that way if they're not cooked.

Yesterday, I went to eat one of the decorated eggs, only to find a smelly green matter underneath the shell. The egg had definitely funkified, and was no longer edible. I wanted to take a picture of them (I'm a master egg-stainer, and wanted to show off my work), but my wife threw them all away this morning.

The good news is that this lesson in egg-onomics (that's so not funny, but I had to use an egg pun in here somewhere) only cost me about twenty-five cents, since I bought the eggs in bulk and only hard-boiled eight of them. It could've been worse...I could've decorated the entire three dozen eggs.

A month ago, when my family was in town for Josie's birth, my mom and I had an exchange I found funny. She was commenting on how much TV I watch. I said, "Mom, I work for a television network!" She replied, "But you've always watched too much TV." I couldn't argue. "It was research," I claimed. "Look where it got me!"

Although the amount of TV I watch has remained pretty much the same throughout my life, my viewing choices have constantly changed. I thought it would be interesting (though only to me) to look back and see how my television tastes have evolved over the years. (If "evolved" is even the right word...)

When I was in early elementary school, I watched the only shows I was allowed to watch, most of which were family shows. Family Affair, The Courtship of Eddie's Father, My Three Sons, and the occasional Disney movie or variety show on Sunday night (The Captain and Tenille Show, The Barbara Mandrell or Sonny and Cher Show). I occasionally snuck downstairs to watch The Incredible Hulk, Batman and The Monkees, but it took some subterfuge. I also began my love affair with cartoons, which has yet to end (and thus won't be mentioned again in this post--it's just a given that I was watching cartoons through every one of these genre changes).

When I hit ten or eleven years of age, I became a sucker for fantasy films (Neverending Story, The Last Unicorn) and cheesy space epics (series like Star Trek and Buck Rogers, and movies like The Black Hole and The Last Starfighter). I had already developed some escapist tendencies, and movies like these (along with the fantasy novels I was reading) helped me get away from my crazy real world.

By the time I hit middle school, my tastes had morphed into a love for the classics--mainly, classic horror and sci-fi. I loved black-and-white shlock-fests like The Killer Shrews and Manos: Hands of Fate. I was also addicted to rubber-monster movies starring the likes of Godzilla and Gamera, especially the team-up variety (Destroy All Monsters, King Kong vs. Godzilla, etc.). All of the stuff from that era of my life was eventually parodied on Mystery Science Theater 3000, but I originally saw it all on Saturday afternoons on a hosted horror/sci-fi show out of Chicago called "The Son of Svengoolie."

High School should've meant less TV and more time spent with friends and chasing girls. It didn't. I didn't have much interest in girls yet, and my friends were too geeky to have killer parties (or to own cars). So being older just meant that I was allowed to stay up later and watch even more television, in the form of action-adventure series like Automan, Manimal, The Misfits of Science (starring Courtney Cox!), Night Rider, and The A-Team.

With college came the first real change in my viewing habits. I have to admit that I did watch less TV in college. I finally discovered girls (the beginning of the end), which not only meant less television viewing time, but it also meant that I started watching what my dates wanted to watch. I became a sucker for hour-long primetime soaps like Beverly Hills 90210, Melrose Place, Party of Five, and My So-Called Life. Yes, I even grew sideburns like Dillon and Brandon. I was such a tool.

By about my fifth year of college, I had developed enough of a social life that it was hard to sit down for a full hour of TV. I fed my need for the boob tube by watching half-hour chunks of "Must-See TV." I became a sitcom fan for the first time in my life (not counting when Cheers and The Cosby Show were on--I watched those two shows like everyone else). I started tuning in to Friends, Seinfeld, The Simpsons, and eventually newer sitcoms like News Radio and Spin City.

When I finally moved to Atlanta a while back--after my seven or eight years of college--my television tastes changed yet again. I had no friends in the city, so it was just like high school--where I stayed home and watched TV every night. Only now, I craved the company of my fellow twentysomethings...so I watched shows featuring people my age. I pretty much became a WB addict. Jack and Jill, Felicity, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, and even the Jennifer Love Hewitt show, Time of Your Life. Pathetic, I know, but it helped dull the pangs of loneliness.

When my wife, Alecia, moved to Atlanta to join me, I made yet another change. She was a fan of the (then) new trend of makeover shows. I watched them with her. E! Fashion Emergency and other fashion makeover stories like that, but also Trading Spaces, While You Were Out, etc. I actually still enjoy shows like that, but I only catch them when she's watching them (nowadays, her faves are Curb Appeal, Design on a Dime, Designer's Challenge and Decorating Cents). Although a lot of guys may laugh at shows like that, I have to admit they've helped my sense of style, in and out of the house. After a few seasons of What Not to Wear, I can break down the flaws in a wardrobe like nobody's business (and I can make semi-stylish choices when it comes to wall colors and furnishings). So, yay for me.

The most recent evolution in my viewing habits has been obviously influenced by the ReplayTVs in our house. With two kids, we have no time to watch anything longer than a sitcom, but the PVR technology means we can save hour-long shows and watch a little bit at a time. So my wife and I have gotten into several action/dramas and reality shows. The action/dramas include Alias, Lost (the best show on TV), Carnivale, Deadwood, and Desperate Housewives (hey, it has a little action!). The reality shows are Survivor, The Bachelor, and an occasional episode of Faking It. I find that I'm still watching what my wife watches, but now it goes both ways. She's just as into Carnivale and Lost as I am, despite both of them being shows I'd never have picked for her tastes. We seem to have met in the middle, which is good, considering we've been together seven years.

Now that I've spelled out all of my television-viewing history, I can't help but wonder what will come next. More than that, I wonder if anyone actually read this whole post. How boring it must have been! I heartily apologize.

Maybe I'll go back to writing about my scrotum in my next post. That has to be more exciting...

Several of my co-workers seem to think that I'm a sucker for marketing. I won't argue. When I see a bizarre new flavor or clever packaging, I am more likely to try that new product. I don't know why, I'm just wired that way. Maybe the monkey in me likes shiny things and bright colors.

The irony here is that I work in marketing. I spend every weekday (and some weekends) working to trick people into consuming our product, even when it's substandard. So you'd think I'd be a wary consumer, on the lookout for tricks of the trade. But my vulnerability is so apparent that my friends joke about it (and send articles about marketing tricks, like the previously mentioned low-sugar cereal claim).

So where am I going with all of this? Today I saw a marketing ploy that not even I would fall for...or would I?

Sitting on the counter in our company breakroom was a bottle of Palmolive Aroma Therapy Dishwashing Liquid.

What the hell...?

Where are they going with this? This "Lavender and Ylang Ylang" scented substance isn't a hand creme or bath oil (though they apparently make those, too). It's dish soap! How stressed are you that you need therapy while doing the dishes? How much can scented dish soap possibly ease your stress?

The thing that doesn't make sense to me about this soap is that liquid detergent seems to be geared towards two groups: the people who dirty lots of dishes but don't own dishwashers, and the people who don't make enough dirty dishes to even need a dishwasher. If you're in the latter group--the people who only wash a few dishes each day--you're probably not spending enough time scrubbing pots and pans to get the full effect of the aromatherapy, anyway. This product isn't really going to change your life. And if you're in the group that dirties tons of dishes, but doesn't yet own a dishwasher, you may have more stress than a single dose of aroma can cure. These would be the rugged (or poor) folk--families with tons of kids but no luxuries. I mean, who doesn't have a dishwasher in the year 2005?

You want to know the worst thing about this wacky product? It's basically setting a trap for husbands to fall into. I can just see it now. A husband comes home from work to find his wife at the boiling point. The kids have been bouncing off the walls, the housework is piling up, the collection agencies are calling about the unpaid bills. "Help! I'm starting to lose it!" she cries to her husband. "Don't worry, I know what will make it all better," he replies.

"Why don't you wash some dishes!"

Oh yeah, that's going to put some unlucky schlub in the hospital. Thanks, Palmolive.

I was going to post today about how much I'm liking this season's TV actioners, and why you should've watched Carnivale, Deadwood, Lost and a few others. But I can't focus on those now that all my illusions have been shattered.

It started when co-worker Susan sent me this article. It's a piece on CNN.com that unveils the truth about the new trend of "low sugar" cereals. And the truth is that they're not at all healthier than their sugary opposites. So if you were tempted to pick up a box of "Low Sugar" Froot Loops, Apple Jacks, or Frosted Flakes, don't bother. They've replaced the sugar with other awful carbs, so the foodstuff isn't any better for you. It's all a marketing ploy. The article states, "Company officials said they were responding to parents' demands for products with less sugar and that they aren't claiming these cereals are any healthier than the originals." Nice trick, Madison Avenue. Joke's on us, I guess.

But that wasn't the only illusion that was shattered this morning. I then read an article about how reviewer quotes used in movie commercials are sometimes taken out of context! No! Can it be true? Okay, so I've known forever that there was a scam going on with these quotes. First off, you can always tell if a movie is good by the font size of the quote's source. If it says "Best film of the year!" but you can't read the reviewer's name or newspaper, it means the studio had to scour some pretty obscure sources to find a positive review for the film. Then there's always the story about the movie studio that created a fictional reviewer to give great quotes for their crappy movies. So it's not really surprising to find out that some quotes featured on commercials are actually part of a longer, more negative review. But it's still fun to see what the original quote actually was, before the studio butchered it.

I don't normally put up link-of-the-day type posts on this site. Since I regularly read MetaFilter, Boing Boing, Entensity and a few other "link collection" sites, anything I put here would just be a repeat of one of those sources, anyway. I figure, if you want that sort of thing, bookmark those sites.

But today's MetaFilter introduced me to a site that looks like it was designed specifically for me. Ladies and gentlemen, feast your eyes on A Guide to Ethnic Fried Doughs Around the World.

Okay, the site wasn't really made for me. Sure, I LOVE any and every form of fried dough (and I consider myself quite the connoisseur of donuts and elephant ears), but I have to admit that I've never really traveled the globe. So the "around the world" part is really meant for someone much more traveled than myself.

But maybe, if I someday decide to tour the world, I can use this site the same way a normal traveler would use a Frommer's guide...

(The post below is a total waste of time for both writer and reader. But I needed something in the queue to test out the "chron job" function on my server. That's the auto-scheduler for posts.)

Even before we saw the old Friends episode that discussed the topic, my wife and I have each kept a tongue-in-cheek mental list of our "top five." These are the five celebrities (female for me, male for her) that we're each allowed to sleep with if the situation should ever arise.

Unlike Ross, on that Friends episode, the situation won't ever arise for either of us. So there's no need to laminate the list and carry it with us everywhere. Actually, laminating would be foolish, since the lists seem to change daily. (Okay, at least annually for my wife.)

My wife's list is always populated with the latest English-accented superstars (or Australian, Irish, etc.). She's quite the Anglophile, though she's never been abroad. I'm not sure if there've been changes to her list recently (besides Colin Farrell being bumped back up the list after his Scrubs appearance).

Alecia's top five list:

1. Colin Firth (I'll never get that one)
   
2. Colin Ferrell
   
3. Ewan McGregor
   
4. Hugh Jackman
   
5. Christian Bale

My list changes constantly--in fact, it changed the other day while watching Lara Croft Tomb Raider: The Cradle of Life (bad movie, but Angelina's super smoking in it).

My top five list:

1. Nicole Kidman
   
2. Charlize Theron
   
3. Angelina Jolie
   
4. Evangeline Lily
   
5. Natalie Portman

If I had to list more than five, this may have included Adriana Lima, Salma Hayek, Jennifer Garner, Pamela Anderson, and Jennifer Love Hewitt. Yeah, even my own wife ridicules me for those last two.

So I went to my vasectomy class last Thursday afternoon. I had an appointment in the morning to have my horn looked at, so I just took the whole day off and made it a doctor day. (Didn't know I have a horn? Well, I do...but only for two more weeks!)

Several friends of mine have expressed surprise that there's a class for people getting vasectomies. It makes perfect sense for me. It's voluntary permanent sterilization, which is a big choice to make. You should know all of your options before undergoing the procedure. Also, it involves someone cutting open your scrotum...twice. If you're a guy, and you consent to that without asking a single question about it, you're fucked in the head.

Soon after showing up for my 3:30pm class, I was ushered into a hospital conference room along with a dozen other soon-to-be-sterile men. The group was composed of men from all races, all walks of life. Actually, I take that back. There were no Asian men in the room. I don't know what that has to do with anything, but it's true.

Anyway, before meeting the instructor, we all sat down to watch an educational video on the topic at hand. As the opening credits rolled and I saw "Copyright 1974" scroll past, I knew we were in for some high quality entertainment. I'm lying. The fact that the video was as old as I am had me a little freaked out. You're telling me they haven't improved sterilization methods since the free-love seventies? I find that hard to believe. Are my doctors just behind the times?

The video was pretty funny, but I did my best not to laugh. It told the story of a burly construction worker and his vasectomy. The star looked a lot like the Starsky from Starsky & Hutch, except that he wore even tighter pants and shirts. The film opened with him looking over a pamphlet at work before being busted by some co-workers. "What's this you're reading? A vasectomy? You're getting castrated?" one of them asked with a leer. "Hey guys, looks like we'll have a new girl on the team," another shouted. Ah, manly banter. Good stuff.

The rest of the video showed our hero going through the many steps of his sterilization: talking it over with his wife, meeting with his doctors, and finally, getting the surgery. The best part was watching him shave his scrotum before going under the knife. Okay, that was only the best part if you're one of the freaks out there who surfs "scrotum shaving" sites. I've never seen them, but I know they have to be out there. If a perversion exists, it lives online.

Another highlight of the film came after the lead character had his surgery. First, he laid in bed for a few days, while his wife brought him his meals and his ice packs. She would hold the tray of food while he would lift the covers, rearrange his little soldier, and lay the ice pack gingerly on his shorn nuts. It was a very tender scene. Then, the wife would hand him his food and he'd chow down. Okay, I may be demonstrating my annoying anal-retentive side, but shouldn't Joe Blow have washed his hands or something before eating? I dunno if I could fondle my member, then use the same hand to eagerly stuff a mini-burrito in my mouth. But that's just me.

When our hero was able to get out of bed, the first thing he did was accompany his family to a local fair (it would've been hilarious if it was a fundraiser for spaying and neutering pets, but no dice). While at the fair, irony reared it's ugly head. See, they had one of those "test your strength" machines. The man's son tried it first, but couldn't get the ball to ring the bell (haha, I said ball). The demoralized youngster looked up at his father with expectant eyes. "Can you ring the bell, daddy?" he asked. The father shook his head with a confident, knowing smile. "Sorry, pal," he replied. "Daddy's not strong enough...(dramatic pause)...today." It was so touching, I almost cried.

The video lasted about fifteen minutes (during which I only broke into childish giggles once). After that, the instructor came in to give us some extra info and take any questions we might have. Is anyone surprised that I had some questions? Is anyone surprised that I was pretty much the only one who did? I swear, it was like a communal urinal in there. You know, the troughs they have at football stadiums, where everyone stands around and pees in the same vat, without ever acknowledging that there are other guys there or making eye contact with any of them? It was like that. When the instructor asked for questions, every guy in the class stared at his feet, awkwardly mute.

But I wasn't about to let their embarassment effect me. I'll ask questions about my scrotum. I'll ask every question I can think of before I let some stranger stick a knife in it. Hell, I have a blog, I'll share those questions with the entire world!

ME: So you mentioned that we'd get general anesthesia, in the form of a shot of lydocaine. Where do they inject it?
INSTRUCTOR: (sarcastically) In your ear.
ME: No, seriously. Where do they put the needle?
INSTRUCTOR: In your scrotum!
ME (to the rest of the room): And that doesn't worry any of you?!

ME: Also, you mentioned that we had to shave...down there...before the surgery.
INSTRUCTOR: Yeah, you don't want the nurses to do that for you, they may write something in it. (heh heh)
ME: Okay, then my question is, do we have to shave it all? Under the testes, above the penis, on the inner thigh? Some of us may have more work ahead of us than others.
INSTRUCTOR: Um, no. Just the scrotum.
ME (under my breath): Still not a task to look forward to.

ME: I see here that there's a small risk of "chronic epididemitis" if we return to normal activity too soon after the surgery. Can you explain what that is?
INSTRUCTOR: Sure. Basically, its a build-up of scar tissue in the testicular region that results in recurring pain in that area.
ME: Recurring, as in "forever"?
INSTRUCTOR: Yes.
ME: Wow. I'll ask for more days off of work.

ME: On the tape, it said there were multiple ways of blocking the vas deferens. What way do the doctors here use?
INSTRUCTOR: They cut a chunk out, then cauterize the remaining ends.
ME: Will there be smoke?
INSTRUCTOR: ...

ME: I'd heard about "reversible vasectomies." Is that a completely different procedure?
INSTRUCTOR: Absolutely, and one not covered by insurance. But if you want one that's reversible, you shouldn't have one at all. There are other methods of birth control.
ME: Yes, those have worked so well for us.

ME: The sheet says there's a 1-3% chance that the vasectomy won't take. What's that about?
INSTRUCTOR: Well, some people just heal differently. In some cases, the vas deferens grow back together. But don't worry, we offer free sterility tests for up to 18 months after the procedure. If you're concerned, come in and get tested.
ME: Hm. I guess that beats discovering that you're a good healer when your wife starts experiencing morning sickness.
INSTRUCTOR: Yeah, and most places charge for those after the first one.

ME (after the instructor assures us it will be painless): Can I ask you a personal question?
INSTRUCTOR: Um, okay.
ME: Have you had a vasectomy yourself?
INSTRUCTOR: No. Oh, definitely not. But I've had a root canal. I think I'd rather have a vasectomy than another one of those.
ME: Sure. I've had a root canal, too. It didn't make me walk funny the next day. I'll let you know in a few weeks which is worse.

The instructor ended the class with an almost funny story about the guy who made them change the "twenty ejaculations" rule. You're not supposed to have unprotected sex after your surgery until you've ejaculated twenty times. This is to get any stubborn sperm cells out of your system. But this guy took the rule to heart, and was soon admitted into the ER with some severe pain in his nether regions. See, he tried to get all twenty of his ejaculations out of the way in one day. Ouch. But sort of impressive.

So now the rule is "twenty ejaculations or six weeks."

Man, it's a good thing that no one reads this blog with any regularity. If they did, I'd feel incredibly guilty for not writing more than once every two weeks. Seriously, I knew I'd break my New Year's resolution of writing more often, but I didn't know how bad I would crush that promise.

The sad thing is that I have a lot to blog about, lately. But I have so much to blog about because this is a very busy, stressful, chaotic time in my life, which means--you guessed it--I have almost no time to spend blogging. What a catch 22. Lots of stories, but no time to write them (due to time spent making more stories).

Anyway, I guess I can't complain. I just spent three minutes on the garbage above that could've been spent talking about my vasectomy class. Obviously, if I had more time to write, I'd just waste it talking about how I now have more time to write. I'm a moron.

I will get to the vasectomy class story soon, though. It's too funny not to talk about. Oh, by the way, for those of you who know me who weren't aware: I'm getting a vasectomy. Too much information? Hey, you guys were the ones calling us mormon and joking about how we're a baby factory. We thought you should know what your teasing has led to. (Kidding, of course. It's our dislike of kids that led to me being sterilized.)

Okay, so I lied. Whatever was wrong with my computer is still wrong.

Yesterday, I was playing Half Life 2, and I came to a room with a lot of monsters in it. The room also had lots of explosive barrels, so I got the bright idea of picking them up with my gravity gun and hurling them at the monsters. (When they hit, they explode, and the monsters run around on fire for a while before dying. Strangely satisfying.)

Anyway, I picked up a barrell and heaved it...right into the wall next to me. The explosion cost me my hearing and more than half of my health points. So, I did what any sane gamer would do--I reloaded my last save point so I could be back at full health, then tried it again.

I found out I'm not very good at barrel tossing. I practically killed myself three times, reloading after every near death. And in the middle of the third reload...my computer went dead. Whatever the problem is, I found a way to make it crash again.

So, after money spent on a new power supply as well as many hours of time spent tweaking settings, my computer still crashes. The good thing about it is that it's now letting me play a while before it happens. In a way, it's almost like a babysitter that only lets me play for a certain amount of time, and then it's time for bed, young man. Of course, the bad thing about it is that it's probably a motherboard going bad, which means more money will be spent soon...

I finally figured out what was wrong with my PC. It had been crashing everytime I hit a load screen in Half Life 2 or Rome: Total War, so I'd been tweaking the hardware and system settings for weeks to no avail. Yesterday, I stumbled onto what seems like the problem (bad overclock settings for my video card), and was able to play some new games.

Of course, gaming with two kids and a wife means staying up late enough to outlast everyone, then locking yourself in the office and keeping the volume low. So around 11pm last night, I snuck over to the PC and loaded up Half Life 2. I played with the video settings on the low end, but the graphics were still awesome. And the gameplay and storyline were just as much fun as in the first Half Life.

Unfortunately, it may have been a little too much fun. I played for almost four hours. Not only did that cost me some much-needed sleep, but it also made me nauseous. Yes, I'm one of those people who gets sick if I play a first-person shooter for too long in one sitting. It hasn't been a problem since college, when the occasional frag-fest with my roommates would have me up all night in front of the computer. (I just realized how gay that last sentence sounded.) But Half Life 2 was good enough to push me to my physical limitations again.

I'm not sure how far along I am in the game. I just completed the boat mission and arrived at Black Mesa West (or is it East?), if anyone who plays the game is reading this. I would assume I still have many hours ahead of me, but I refuse to look at a walk-through to see where I am. No, I don't refuse out of a staunch desire not to cheat (I already used "god-mode" to beat the helicoptor a few minutes ago). I just don't want to see any spoilers that may kill a surprise or two for me. I really play Half Life for the plot, so checking a walkthrough would be like reading ahead a few chapters in a mystery novel.

By the way, if you're not a gamer and this post totally bores you, check back soon for my posts on Marvel Comics' Ultimate universe and my fave TV shows of the season (including Carnivale, Lost and 24). Bet you're just drooling with anticipation...

Since I've been so exhausted and backed up with work, I haven't been able to put up a decent post in the last few days. Well, today will be no exception.

In place of a real, illuminating and entertaining post, I offer a list of the week's ups and downs. This rollercoaster-style list is sponsored by Superman Ultimate Flight, which, last summer, became the only amusement park attraction in over twenty-five years to actually make me sick. (Thanks for helping me rule out Man of Steel as a possible career move, guys.)

= A positive event.
= A negative event.

Got our final free meal from the mom's club's Helping Hand program (where generous moms sign up to bring meals to new parents).
The meal was chicken enchiladas...for the third straight night. I hate to be ungrateful, but are all these moms sharing a cookbook?

Saw my first snow of 2005, even if it was only .000005 inches, and only lasted ten minutes.
Had to commute to work in "the blizzard" and deal with the freaked out Atlanta drivers.

Scheduled a night nurse to come take care of Josie next week, courtesy of the very generous Marketing girls at work.
Was reminded--by the constantly screaming, non-sleeping baby--that we still have five nights between now and the nurse's visit.

Replaced my power supply (to fix the crashes that are preventing me from playing Half Life 2), and even added a cheap USB 2.0 card.
Realized that my diagnosis of the problem was wrong, as my computer crashed yet AGAIN while trying to load my new game. (Next up: the motherboard.)

Had a great Monday, getting caught up on a bunch of overdue and absent projects.
Had a shitty Tuesday, when the lack of sleep caught up to me at the exact same time that I got called on in a meeting to come up with an idea on the spot.

Bought some new jeans at the Gap Outlet to wear in place the only pair that still fits me, which is now deteriorating from too many washes.
Found out, once we got home, that I should have tried the jeans on with shoes, as they're about three inches two long (or maybe I'm shrinking?).

Started conversations with my landlord about the possibility of buying the house we're currently renting. He raised the excitement level by promising a sweet deal.
Realized that we probably still won't not qualify for a loan, and the negotiations might just stall us long enough so that we miss a shot at another great rental we found.

Found out my mom and dad were interested in buying us a double stroller.
Found out two days after I plopped down $150 for a double stroller.

Froze, as my cube at work must be at least twenty below zero. I NEVER get cold, and I'm freezing so bad I wore my wool Navy pea coat all day today.
Realized it could be worse...in about ten days, our department will be moving. The new arrangement has me giving up my window and sitting across from one of the most annoying girls I know.

Watched another great episode of Lost. Man, that show gets better each week. I wish I'd come up with it.
Found out the supposedly original show I did come up with and pitch to programming is not only an idea they'd already seen, but one they didn't like the first time.

Came up with a story for a comic book series that actually seemed original and fun.
After mentioning it to my boss, was told that it sounds like a rip-off of Elf, but with Leprechauns. (It's not, I swear!)

Finally made it out to the comic shop to pick up my pull list.
Discovered that I've knocked enough titles off of my list that there were only about five books waiting for me--hardly worth the drive.

Found a little bit of time to post a quick update to the site.
Realized I couldn't think of anything coherent to say. Posted a stupid list, instead.