Buzz 99

"We Couldn't Have Done It Without Each And Every One Of You!!!

2008-03-19T13:42:00.000-07:00

I, and everyone else at my company, recieved this e-mail today:

-----Original Message-----
From: *************
Sent: Wednesday, March 19, 2008 11:57 AM
To: Everyone
Subject: THANK YOU!!! - St. Patrick's Day Bake Sale

To All in *********:

The St. Patrick’s Day Bake Sale was a SUCCESS!!!!

Zillion and more thanks to the many, many wonderful people who helped with the St. Patrick’s Day Bake Sale through your scrumptious donations of goodies and also, through your support in coming by the tables and/or purchasing from the “Goodie Cart” that ******** brought around.

If anyone is looking for their container or platter, please come to the 1^st Floor Receptionist area.

Thanks so much!

We couldn’t have done it without each and every one of you!!!

-----End Message-----

This is the part that gets me:

We couldn’t have done it without each and every one of you!!!

Despite the triple exclamation points, they could have done it - and in fact did do it – entirely without me. I didn’t donate anything to the sale, I didn’t buy anything from the sale, I didn’t encourage anyone else to donate to or buy anything from the sale, and I in fact mocked the leprechaun voice that came over the overhead system, begging and pleading for employees to “coom and boy sahmthin’ at thee Synt Pahttie’s Deh bike seeyul.”

I would prefer she thank “those of you who donated items, bought items, and did not mock the leprechaun voice.” It would be more honest.

Yes, We Can.

2008-02-05T12:38:00.000-08:00

Don't Fear Starbucks!

2007-12-28T10:52:00.000-08:00

Great article from Slate magazine on the overwhelmingly positive economic impact Starbucks has on local, independent coffee houses nationwide, much to Starbucks' chagrin.

"...a new Starbucks doesn't prevent customers from visiting independents in the same way Wal-Mart does—especially since coffee addicts need a fix every day, yet they don't always need to hit the same place for it. When Starbucks opens a store next to a mom and pop, it creates a sort of coffee nexus where people can go whenever they think "coffee." Local consumers might have a formative experience with a Java Chip Frappuccino, but chances are they'll branch out to the cheaper, less crowded, and often higher-quality independent cafe later on. So when Starbucks blitzed Omaha with six new stores in 2002, for instance, business at all coffeehouses in town immediately went up as much as 25 percent."

It makes sense. Living in Sacramento since the birth of the coffeehouse craze, I'm thinking back on our limited coffeehouse choices back in the early 90's: a few Java City outlets, and a handful of independents such as New Helvetia, Cafe Mirage, Espresso Metro, and Capitol Garage. At some point, Starbucks came. Lots and lots of Starbucks. Every freakin' corner it seems like.

But what else happened? A million more independents (and chains) seemed to come right along with them. Those mom and pops from the 90's have multiplied exponentially since Starbucks came to town.

I love it when assumptions get busted, or at least strongly challenged. Proves we really need to think for ourselves in this world, do our homework, and not just assume things are true. We hear about Starbucks killing the local coffeehouses, and we all shake our heads and curse The Man. Turns out maybe that's not so true.

DuVoiced

2007-10-23T10:41:00.000-07:00

I know probably not everyone else thinks I'm as clever as I think I am, but I thought my response to this poster on a professional listserv was hizzle-arious! It was the only response this poor fella got. I should confess, my fellow snarkers on that list gave me no props for it :(

But seriously, what kind of idiotic name for a company is "DuVoice"?

DuVoice - 2007-10-09 15:42:00 <[Phil]…>

I was looking for a stand alone unified messaging system to support my 10 SX-2000s and came across DuVoice. Has anyone had any experience with DuVoice both good or bad. Thanks, Phil

****************************

re: DuVoice - 2007-10-10 16:57:00 <[Buzz]…>

My parents got DuVoiced when I was five years old. It wasn't a great experience, I'd look somewhere else.

The Great Pizza Orientation Test

2007-10-19T12:00:00.000-07:00

If you're not reading The Sneeze, it's one of the funniest blogs/zines on the web. The Great Pizza Orientation Test had me rolling.

Apparently, Domino's Pizza lets you do all your pizza ording online, and not only do you get to specify what you want on one half of the pizza as opposed to the other, you get to choose left side / right side! Steve from The Sneeze put them to the test...check it out!

Bike Safety, Helmets, Etc.

2007-10-17T11:57:00.000-07:00

A couple of bike riders were recently killed in Washington and Oregon, and many bike bloggers are abuzz about it. Through reading about these tragic cases, I was reminded of one of my favorite bike sites:

http://www.bicyclesafe.com

in which Michael Bluejay offers his classic tutorial right on the main page: How Not to Get Hit by Cars!

We should be teaching kids and, in fact, all bike riders How Not to Get Hit by Cars, but unfortunately all we seem to do is wag our fingers at them about wearing helmets.

I always hated wearing a bike helmet, but wore one dutifully in my early 30's because of the belief that it would very likely save my life in the event of a crash, and it would be woefully irresponsible to do otherwise. But after doing some research about the actual effectiveness of that little piece of styrofoam on my head, in respect to saving my life or preventing serious injury, I gave it up.

So if you're a cyclist who hates wearing your helmet, or you like to nag people (like me) for not wearing a helmet, or suggest that I'm a bad example for the youth of our community for not wearing a helmet (yes, I've been told that!), then take some time to read bicyclesafe.com's summary of the whole helmet issue at

http://www.bicyclesafe.com/helmets.html

Oh, and make sure to always wear a crash helmet when driving your car...where you're much more likely to get killed or have a serious injury.

Obama Logos

2007-09-27T20:29:00.001-07:00

Only because I've had a hard time finding large Obama O's online, I scanned my own. Here you go...spread the love!

Click for large

Click for medium

Click for small

Hollywood's Worst Manager

2007-08-29T09:20:00.000-07:00

In the tradition of assholes crawling out of the woodwork to comment on the celestial movements of entertainers - in this case Owen Wilson's suicide attempt - comes this gem from Hollywood's worst manager:

Many Hollywood insiders believe Wilson's setback will be short-lived and that he will continue to enjoy big-screen success.

"He's loved," Bernie Brillstein, a veteran Hollywood manager who worked with John Belushi and Chris Farley, said Tuesday.

Brillstein said the apparent suicide attempt is "serious, but it's a singular case. Anyone can have a bad day, a very bad day."

A singular case Bernie? I'd say you of all people ought to see a pattern here. Does the former manager of John Belushi and Chris Farley really need to interpret pig entrails to divine the fate of actors in crisis?

And Bernie, I'd agree that anyone can have "a bad day, a very bad day," such as your former clients, dope fiend actors who also died in their 30's. John Belushi and Chris Farley had a couple of very bad days, I reckon. I'd go as far as to say the sunny optimism of this manager is a fucking death knell. Please keep Mr. Soothsayer from prognosticating the relative chances of reaching my next birthday. I'd sooner wear my pork chop underwear to a Michael Vick party.

What's Wrong with America?

2007-06-29T09:45:00.000-07:00

What's wrong with America? No, not Chip, Mathieu and Randy bypassing idiots in the wrong line at the drive in movies (which is a story for another day), but several other things. One of which is U.S. companies who go out of their way, in fact hire law firms, to help them do everything possible to avoid hiring American workers.

This is an issue the left and right can probably find a lot of common ground on. However, when you watch news footage of this story on Fox News or Lou Dobbs, you see clips of hotel maids and farm workers. That’s typical right-wing reactionary bullshit scaremongering; these are not the people who are taking American jobs. We're talking chiefly about computer programmers and information technology professionals, and many companies are doing anything possible - within the bounds of current law - to NOT hire American workers.

In a nutshell, hiring software engineers and other professionals from overseas is much, much cheaper than hiring American workers. (American workers...sheesh! What with their outrageous demands for fair pay, health insurance, and a retirement plan...COMMIE BASTARDS! My great grandpappy was the last generation of REAL Americans, where you worked for slave wages in dangerous conditions, and when you got sick you just up and died and left your family destitute...no pansy-ass complaining about it!) However, for employers to offer a permanent job to a foreign worker, they must go through the U.S. Department of Labor’s PERM (Program Electronic Review Management) process by proving that they have diligently searched for an American worker to fill the job.

Watch this video compiled by the Programmer's Guild about law firm Cohen & Grigsby lecturing clients on how to get over on the system. It’s making huge news, and rightfully so!

The rest of the trip

2007-06-14T15:32:00.000-07:00

OK, so I didn't blog the whole trip like I said I would, but I thought I'd just wrap this little adventure up. Well, the rest of the conference went pretty smoothly - no hiccups like the first night. My buddy Vincent from San Francisco and I pretty much hung out for the rest of the trip. We didn't always go to the same workshops, but we always connected for lunch, breaks, doing stuff at night, etc. We went to Tropicana Field on Tuesday night to watch the Devil Rays whoop the San Diego Padres in a weird interleague match.

Got interviewed for a Nortel marketing video about using their products, equipment, services, etc., and walked away with a free iPod Shuffle! Not bad payment for about a 25 minute interview. Not to mention the fact I'm still earning my salary. Life is good, business is great, people are wonderful, as the bumper sticker says.

Mr. Frank Abagnale (real life guy Leonardo Di Caprio's character was based on in Steven Spielberg's "Catch Me If You Can") was the conference's keynote speaker for the closing session. No time to write all about it here, but Mr. Abagnale was one of the best speakers I've ever heard in my life. I'm still blown away by it. Said goodbye to Vincent about noon (he was not flying back until today), and spent the rest of the day on airplanes. Great to be home, and adjusting to the time change OK. Will post pictures Vincent took at the baseball game when he sends them to me.

Tampa, here I be

2007-06-10T20:34:00.000-07:00

So I made it to Tampa last night. Nothing like spending all damn day on the plane. Was nice not to have to deplane in Austin, but it still kills an hour out of your flight. I'm just starving, man, getting the rental car, driving around, getting lost looking for the hotel. Finally check in to the Marriott Tampa Waterside. I'm not sure I've stayed in a Marriott before. The view is fantastic (harbor, cruise ships, beach, etc.) but it's still just another hotel with two double beds and HBO. I've been in much nicer, not to sound like too big of a shithead.

So I check in, inhale a cheeseburger and fries at the hotel's "Champions Sports Bar and Grill" ("Good Food, Good Times, Good Sports" is their motto). I must say they lived up to the bill. The food was excellent and I got to see the Devil Rays play the Marlins in an interleague game, apropos of being in Florida.

Today connected with a fellow telecom guy from San Francisco, here at his first conference. A very nice guy, and it's good to have someone to pal around with. Shot a little bit of pool today, and had some Thai food for lunch. I'm usually such a loner at these things. So attached is an awful picture of me that my new buddy (name of Vincent, coincidentally) took at the big "Party at the Aquarium" event.

Already I'm annoyed at how this conference is going. See, at the conference there are dozens and dozens of workshops you can attend. First I'm pissed that the first workshops start at 8AM. Fuck that 8AM shit...that's 30 minutes before I get to work on a normal day! But the workshops that start at 9:30 a.m., I can swing those. But how do you know which workshops are on Monday at 9:30? Well, you have to look through the entire catalog and find the ones that do! 20 pages of fucking catalog!!! Same for 10:45, 1:30, 3:00, etc., for all three days of this deal. How about a handy little fold up schedule you can slip into your badge holder, like all the other Global Connects before this? No, we don't think something attendees have always found useful and helpful would be a good idea this year. Oh, and by the way, the opening session will not run for one hour, as it says in the schedule, but for two hours. Gee, 25 different people coming up on stage winning awards, making speeches, showing videos, giving presentations, took longer than an hour? Over two hours, this damn session was. No break, no water, no food. It was weird, I don't know how it could have been any shorter with the schedule they had planned. It's like planning a baseball game and telling your spectators that nine innings should take about an hour. It's just impossible, any idiot knows that!

I know I sound like a whiny little brat, and I'm grateful my employer foots the bill for me to get these professional development experiences, but hell, this thing was just ill-planned. They've been doing it for 25 years, and have always done it better than this. It's the human failings that bother me. Human failings that affect ME, that is.

Anyway, after this overlong opening session, we're supposed to get on buses to cart us all down to the Tampa Bay Aquarium for food, drinking, dancing, and manta rays. There is literally a mad dash of 2000 people out of this banquet room for the buses, with no organization, no one in charge saying "line up here, get on this bus, get on that bus," etc. It was a damn fiasco I tell you. Good food when we got to the aquarium, and the hors d'oeuvre plates they give you to eat off of may be slightly larger than a silver dollar, but definitely smaller than a coaster. My new buddy Vincent is not a drinker either, so we're a good, boring, match. I'm actually having a fine time. I tend to avoid these big party deals when I'm by myself.

So there's my story, and all my bitching. Finally talked to all three kids today, as well as the missus. I'm enjoying my time away, but it will be good to get home.

Tampa, flight #2

2007-06-09T19:45:00.000-07:00

Man, LAX is a pit. I’ve been to the airport many times, but after Sacramento’s brand new gleaming “Terminal A,” LAX is like the cinder block bathrooms at the park: you don’t want to have to go there, but they serve their purpose…barely! Maybe there are nicer parts of LAX, but there is no evidence of them from the terminal where Southwest puts you out on your way to Tampa. The bathrooms are small and filthy. The floors are dirty, the carpets are stained, and there’s not a heck of a lot of space to hang around.

Figured I’d supply up before the long flight to Tampa (which we’d reach by way of Austin, Texas; thank God I don’t have to deplane again!), so I replaced the bottle of water security at the Sacramento airport took from me. Got some gum too – work those jaws to keep the pressure at bay. $3.74 for a small bottle of water and a pack of gum. Ouch! I didn’t know if the flight would serve lunch so I figured I’d pick up a sandwich at LAX’s “Back Lot Deli” and stick it in my bag just in case. This is me we’re talking about here, so it WILL get eaten at some point. The deli had some sad looking turkey, herb, and cheese on focaccia bread entombed in a plastic tray. I was about to pay, when I glanced up at the menu and saw this pathetic excuse for a meal was goint to set me back over $10.00 with tax! No drink, no chips, no squat. I said “oh hells no” and dumped it. Although it was only ten in the morning and I’d had breakfast already, I made do with a sausage egg McMuffin from the airport Mickey Dee’s. Not proud of myself, but it only set me back $2.74. Figure I can make it through the flight with my four favorite food groups (sausage, eggs, cheese, and muffins) providing my body with a golden glow of satisfaction for the next few hours.

Got lucky on this flight. Rolled in at the end of the “A” group and headed straight for the back of the plane and took a window seat in the penultimate row (the last row where you can recline the seat). Despite the flight attendants’ adomonitions that “every seat will be filled,” the woman on the aisle and I have an empty seat between us! We’re both typing away madly on our laptops. She’s apparently doing some kind of good in the world helping design a proposal for a community park, while I’m doing worthless blogging! The prick in front of me just tilted his seat all the way back, making laptopping a pain in the ass. Oh well, I guess you don’t fly Southwest and complain about being cramped!

To Tampa

2007-06-09T07:39:00.000-07:00

So I'm traveling today. Conference for work in sunny Florida for a few days. Alarm goes off at 5:00 a.m. for a 6:10 shuttle pickup. Ouch. While waiting outside for the shuttle, my stalwart companion Henry got himself out of bed to come wait outside for the shuttle with me, while Amy and Jo slept. What a great kid he is.

So it's a good thing I got to the airport a full 90 minutes before my flight departed. Otherwise I wouldn't be able to have so much quality time sitting at the gate among my fellow passengers dutifully spaced one seat apart up and down the row. I suppose before long I'll have to remove my bag from the empty seat next to me as the people start to fill in. Finally worked one of the coveted "A" boarding passes for Southwest as well! Just takes a little prior planning. And as my father says: "prior planning prevents piss poor performance!" If I ever said that to any of my kids I think they'd kick me in the shin.

Ooh, only 45 minutes until take off! I have to take a piss. But if I get up I have to bring my bag with me, for fear of confiscation. Then I'll lose this awesome seat. Arrgghhh! These are the things that vex my otherwise blessed life.

"People's Opinions"

2007-05-22T14:13:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry, but I'm thinking that spokesmen from global multi-billion dollar corporations have better sense than this. You've all seen Cingular's ads: "fewest dropped calls," right? Well, rightfully, the other mobile service providers dispute this, and there's a lot of secrecy about the testing, hush hush about the number of towers, backbiting, and that kind of thing.

I've felt Cingular has had a crappy network ever since we here in Northern California called them "Pacific Bell Digital Services." Since my Nokia 3100 under AT&T Wireless (now Cingular "Blue"...no, wait! Now, AT&T Mobility...), I've had great service and coverage (just don't try to merge a Blue account with an Orange account). But in my opinion, Cingular Orange - the original Cingular/Pac Bell remains crap. Fewest dropped calls? Whatever. My biggest problem with them was dead zones all over the city, invoicing problems, and awful customer service.

Anyway, J.D. Power & Associates and Consumer Reports recently did big cellular service studies, querying tens of thousands of users nationwide. The results for Cingular? Less than stellar. These tens of thousands of customers consistently rank Verizon and T-Mobile over Cingular. Cingular's response to this?

“Those results are not based on actual testing of the network,” says spokesman Mark Siegel. “They’re just soliciting people’s opinions.” (The Voice Report, April 2, 2007)

Just soliciting people's opinions! Oh pish posh, "people's opinions" he says, brushing them off his lapel like a piece of lint. We don't care about people's opinions. These jerks all spend about a billiion dollars a year extracting the last moist droplet of people's opinions out of them. God, Verizon and T-Mobile must be laughing their asses off right about now.

Whatenstein?

2007-05-17T16:31:00.000-07:00

I coach my daughter's t-ball team, so the kids are all five and six years old. I've got a little five year old varmint, let's call him "Freddy," who is a very sweet kid. On the second day of practice way back in February - after getting to know and love me on the first day of practice - he brings me a little homemade card that says "Coach Buzz" and "Freddy" and a bunch of other crazy letters, numbers, symbols and pictures that mean something important to a five year old. He had punched holes in it, and tied yarn through it for decoration. Very cute, and of course I saved it. It's the kind of thing that makes coaching little kids such a blast!

The other thing that makes coaching so fun are stories like this one. Freddy has a penchant for the scatological. It hasn't gotten too out of control this season, but there's the occasional butt, fart, or poop joke coming from him. He'll pick up one of my little orange cones and sit on it, pretending it's going up his butt...stuff like that. He doesn't do it often enough or crave attention for it badly enough to make it a big issue for the team, it's just something I've noticed. I'll bet at home it's ten times worse though, if I know kids at all.

During our last practice, Dave, a father of another player who was helping me run the practice, relayed the following story to me:

"Freddy's a funny kid. He says to me during practice, 'Don't call me Freddy, call me Frankenstein!' I thought that was pretty funny. So a few minutes later I say 'Hey, Frankenstein!' But he runs over to me and says 'No, don't call me Frankenstein, call me Shitenstein!'"

Now maybe there's a deeper problem going on here, but as much as I like the kid, it's just not my place to worry about. We'll let mom and dad deal with that one. Still, for the last two days I've been cracking up thinking of this five year old kid: Shitenstein.

My Bike Commuting Story

2007-05-15T14:30:00.000-07:00

As posted on Bike Commute Month's website...

Living about five miles away from work, I’ve always felt a little guilty clogging up the streets and the air driving alone in my car every day. Plus, being too cheap to pay for downtown parking, I have had various schemes and sneaky spots close to downtown to stash my car during the workday. While the car commute was a paltry 15 minutes, the walk in from these parking places added an additional 10-15 minutes. Transit wasn’t a desirable option for me either; at that time, the last bus left my neighborhood too early.

So after work one day, while walking to my car, a neighbor of mine on his mountain bike passed me on 16th and H Streets. We waved, and I continued on to my car, which was just a couple more minutes away. Eventually, I passed my neighbor again…on Carlson Drive in River Park, about three or four minutes from home! It dawned on me that if he and I worked at the same place and walked out of our offices at the same time, him jumping on his bike as I began my 10-15 minute walk to my car, he would beat me home every single time! Commuting by car, stinking up the air, clogging the roads, inducing no exercise, was actually the *slower* way for me to get to work each day. That was in the spring of 2005, and I started biking soon after this revelation. My morning commute by bike is about 20-25 minutes, so I’m getting to work faster now on the bike than by car.

My bike commute at that time was straight down H Street from River Park (near CSUS). At first I was nervous about traffic, and took the sidewalk for portions of the trip that I felt to be dicey. As I started researching bike safety and that kind of thing, I realized my best chance of staying safe was obeying traffic laws, and riding in a safe, visible, predictable fashion. Hopping on and off sidewalks was not part of that equation. I also realized my chances of meeting a violent end as a bike rider were really no worse than my chances of doing the same as a car driver, considering the number of trips taken and time spent in transit. In fact, longevity chances increase with the added exercise of riding a bike, rather than the sedentary action of driving a car, especially for those who don’t get a good deal of additional exercise. So armed with these facts, and an increasing level of comfort riding on the streets - exercising my full rights as a *member* of traffic, and not an obstacle for traffic - I have found bicycle commuting to and from work to be two major highlights of my day. And yes, I just ride in my work clothes: khakis and a either a polo shirt or a long sleeve button-up. It’s usually cool enough in the mornings, and I’m not riding far enough to work up a major sweat.

Eventually, I expanded my horizons and began seeing the bike as an enjoyable, green, and fitness-inducing method of getting most of the places I need to go. I now take the American River Parkway home from downtown each day, adding three extra miles to my commute while enjoying a little bit of natural paradise right here in the middle of the urban jungle. The bridges, the river, the marshes, the egrets, ducks, deer, and geese I routinely see on my ride home sure beats watching taillights the whole way. I get teased showing up amid the SUV’s for my monthly little league board meetings, but I laugh it off. I’m also riding with my 11 year old son each morning two miles to his school on my way in to work, and then he rides home on his own.

I don’t do as much additional regular cardiovascular exercise as I’d like (jogging, swimming), but the bike riding alone keeps 10 or 15 pounds off that used to be there. If my commute were longer, I would probably be in better shape. But 10 or 15 pounds ain’t bad, I suppose. And truthfully, I don’t want a huge workout right before my day begins. But I don’t mind getting a few extra miles on the way home, which is why the American River Parkway is such an important part of my day. Oh, and the bike is a 1998 Marin mountain bike that has since been retrofitted with skinny tires, raised handlebars, and a cushy seat. (And that seat was one of the best investments I ever made!)

I bumped into that neighbor recently, and I realized I had never told him that story. He was surprised, and glad to hear it. Without any slogans, signage, organization or political action, the simple fact of one community member riding his bike has inspired others to ride, keeping cars off the streets, pollution out of the air, bodies in better health, and bringing a tad more livability to our region. And judging by still other neighbors I see riding now, perhaps I’m doing the same.

Post a Day Project Abandoned!

2007-04-25T10:03:00.000-07:00

Yes, I've officially decided this post a day thing was a stupid idea. If I had the time or the inclination to write something interesting every day, I would do it. But I don't, so I won't. Hey, want to read a fascinating e-mail I sent to my Nortel e-mail list? Oh, yes you do!

Since we’re all telling OTM stories, I’ll tell mine. It’s long, sad, and sordid, but I know Ken will read it at least.

I make no claim for being a “real” tech, but I use CLI because the tech who installed my first Nortel switch in 2001 showed me how to do things that way. At the same time I noticed I had this fancypants OTM thingy, I tried to do a MAC, and was baffled by how long it took and how difficult it was. Not wanting to learn two completely separate ways to do the same thing, I stuck with CLI. I have had to painfully learn to use OTM a few times over the years to do things like mass changes (CLS RMMO for all phones, for example), and I acknowledge that changing 700 phones manually in CLI would be ridiculous (although I could probably find a way to write a ProComm script to do it).

Then I noticed that between the “real” PBX data, the “real” PBX CPND database, the OTM database, the OTM CPND database, the “Employee Editor,” and the the weird web client interface (this is version 1.2 we’re talking about…I’m on 2.1 now), none of these things matched up. Ever. And Corporate Directory doesn’t work for dog crap. Yes, I’ve set all the synchronization up, yes I’ve been to Global Knowledge OTM training, and yes, techs with OTM expertise have come onsite. No one can figure this nonsense out. The real culprit may be that we continue to make changes in CLI, and have not abandoned it altogether. “Hey, here’s this easy way to do things…please abandon it and start doing it the hard way!” No way. We use Microcall for Call Accounting, and Visio maps for cable pair/TN/name/DES documentation. Yes, that’s a lot of places to do stuff, but it’s what we’re used to.

I would throw OTM down the stairs except for one single, vital feature: Virtual Terminal. Whevever I can get on my LAN (hotel jacuzzi, South Beach, Peet’s Coffee), I can get into OTM’s great Virtual Terminal feature where one can (GASP!) perform CLI commands. No need for dial up connection or anything like that. Maybe there’s a better way to do even this, I don’t know.

Here’s the crazy thing though. OTM 2.1 won’t work (or at least isn’t supported) on Windows 2003 Server. My organization is requiring that we give Windows 2000 Server its walking papers. So I may be upgrading this rotten product to TM3 just so it will work on the new operating system! I will fight this, trust me.

I learned telecom on an AT&T/Lucent/Avaya Definity, and as much as I curse and spite Avaya for being a nitwitted, boneheaded organization, and ultimately losing a growing lifetime customer because of their organization, their people, and their policies…their equipment worked darned well. Switch management on a Definity was so easy, I taught several furry bipedal primates to do it. And whoa! You can change a set NOW without disabling the line. I miss them the way you miss an ex who was mean to you.

Bike Commute Month

2007-04-19T13:37:00.000-07:00

I'm getting geeked about Bike Commute Month. I'm not a big rah-rah guy, but I think I'm going to try to pimp this thing to my coworkers. Spent half the day preparing my big e-mail, getting the flyers ready to put up, researching info, etc.

This Post A Day thing is getting ridiculous. I feel like I have absolutely nothing valuable to say in the space of such a short post. I put virtually no thought into it. I don't even proof the posts, I just put them up here. What's the matter with me, why the hell am I even doing this? I guess I thought it would put me in the habit of writing, get the juices flowing, that kind of thing. Well, nothing's flowing. It's just one more thing I have to do each day. It feels like a burden, a chore, a pain in the ass. I resent it. Arggh!

April 2007 - A Post a Day: 4/18

2007-04-18T10:41:00.000-07:00

So Amy says to me this morning..."this shooter, Cho, from Virginia Tech...they say he wouldn't talk to anyone, wouldn't make eye contact or respond to people." Her point was it sounds like selective mutism, which is what Henry has. Henry's not as bad as all that, and in fact - despite this anxiety disorder - is a pretty happy kid who enjoys the company of friends (whom he has no problem talking to). It's hard for me to see any kind of kinship between our own sweet son and a mass murderer, or me to feel much sympathy for a brutal killer.

April 2007 - A Post a Day: 4/17

2007-04-17T11:15:00.000-07:00

I'm a little bit freaked out by the shootings at Virginia Tech. How one fucked up loner decides to commit this unspeakable tragedy, taking 32 innocent lives, shattering hundreds, thousands more in respect to the victims' friends and family, and dropping PTSD on hundreds more students and faculty at the university. Some heat is getting laid down on the university officials about whether or not they went about alerting the students the right way. Maybe they did, maybe they didn't. The bottom line is that if a nutjob is determined to take out a bunch of innocents, he's going to find a way to it. I wish that shithead would have just put a bullet in his own head before all this began. Ugh.

The Kind Father

2007-04-16T13:10:00.000-07:00

'The kind father'

Why can't some dads be more nurturing? A son looks back at his painful childhood in a new book, hoping to become a more 'sensitive male'

By Cynthia Hubert - Sacramento Bee
Published Sunday, March 18, 2007

When he was 13 years old, Calvin Sandborn silently wished that his abusive, alcoholic father would die.

Soon, the Oroville boy got his wish.

A part of him was relieved, but he also was filled with guilt and dread. Was it his fault? What would his life be like now? What would happen to him and his family?

Calvin started to sob, until his ex-Marine brother David set him straight. "We're the men in the family now, boys," he quotes David as telling Calvin and his other brother Tom that morning. "We have to take this like men."

So that day, and for a good part of his adult life, Calvin stopped crying. He "bucked up," burying his emotions deep inside of him.

All of that macho repression, he now insists, took a heavy toll on his emotional life and relationships.

Through countless hours of therapy and years of introspection, Sandborn finally has found peace. His book, "Becoming the Kind Father," tells his story.

Sandborn's father, Tom, was anything but kind, especially when he was drinking, the author says in the book. He criticized and belittled his sons, and taught them to keep their feelings to themselves, the author says.

That patriarchal approach to parenting, says Sandborn, has created too many men who are psychologically crippled, unable to sustain deep relationships and prone to depression, addiction and eruptions of anger.

The book is an effort to help men identify the roots of their feelings and deal with them.

Sandborn was well into middle age before he was able to do so, he says in an interview from his office in British Columbia, where he directs the University of Victoria's Environmental Law Clinic.

His epiphany came about a decade ago, when he was in his late 40s, after his anger and alienation cost him his marriage and he ended up in therapy. As Sandborn began to sort through the reasons for his problems, he saw his father's face. That, he says, was the beginning of a long journey that has transformed him into a kinder person, one who is less critical of himself and others, who is happier and more forgiving. He has even forgiven his father.

"I love my life now," says Sandborn, who hopes his newfound skills will be a legacy to his three daughters and toddler grandson.

Sandborn admits it: He has, in essence, transformed himself into a sensitive male who listens to his inner child.

It's hardly a new concept, but it's worth revisiting, says Jonathan Pochyly, a parenting specialist and pediatric psychologist at Children's Memorial Hospital in Chicago.

"I do think that boys who learn how to manage their emotions and express them have an easier time in life," Pochyly says.

And for most boys, the key role model is dad.

"All men are sons and, whether they know it or not, most sons are loyal," psychologist Terrence Real writes in his book "I Don't Want To Talk About It."

Among the "toxic legacies" that angry and repressed fathers leave to their sons, Real says, are emotional isolation, drug abuse and workaholism. Often, these problems are symptoms of depression, he writes.

"Many men try to hide their condition, thinking it unmanly to act moody," Real writes in a 2000 paper published in Psychology Today. "And it works. National studies suggest that doctors miss the diagnosis in men 70 percent of the time."

William Pollack, in his book "Real Boys," also challenges the idea that boys should be raised like "little men." Teaching boys to be silent and tough, he argues, damages them emotionally and sets them up for anger, depression and alienation in later life.

From early childhood, boys learn that to be successful, they should never demonstrate weakness and never show emotions other than anger, Pollack writes. They are taught that success means taking risks and being macho, and that their goals should be to achieve status, dominance and power.

"Boys start to believe in this false sense of self," Sandborn says. "They start to feel that they are no better than their performance, than their car or their big contract or their salary. They don't have real relationships with themselves, so they can't have relationships with other people."

More of today's fathers are taking a healthier approach to raising their boys, Pochyly says.

"I do see fathers out there who make a conscious effort to be emotionally supportive of their sons," he says. "I see a trend toward fathers being more involved than their own fathers were with them. I see fathers who are not shy about showing affection, telling their sons that they care, encouraging them to talk about their feelings."

Yet in his practice, Pochyly says, the vast majority of children come to appointments with their mothers, not their fathers. And in alpha-male environments such as sports teams, macho traditions seem to prevail.

"I see more fathers today who are not hesitant to run out onto the baseball field if their kid gets hurt," he says. "But I also see a lot who would rather yell 'Shake it off!' or 'Let's go!' "

For Sandborn, who grew up in Northern California and attended Chico State, most childhood memories of his father resonate with pain and sadness.

To young Calvin, nothing the boy ever accomplished was good enough for his dad. "He'd point at the six blades of grass I missed with the mower as if he'd just found my victim's corpse," he says. If he left a dirty spot on a dish, dad would make him wash the whole load again. It was impossible for Calvin to clean the car or adjust the television correctly. He was stupid, a "knucklehead," a slacker.

Looking back, Sandborn views his father as a tragic figure. "He blamed himself for his job losses and bankruptcies and alcoholism, all of the failures of his life," he says. "He never did forgive himself."

Despite his father's lack of support and with his mother's strong encouragement, Calvin achieved many successes in life. He was his high school's valedictorian, a National Merit Scholar, a community leader and eventually a lawyer. But his father's voice constantly played in his head. He had trouble forming lasting friendships and relationships. His outbursts led to the demise of his marriage and inflicted pain on his children.

"I didn't drink. I wasn't out of control like my dad," he says. "But I was angry a lot. I dealt with it by shouting at my family." He spent years criticizing himself and calling himself names.

Eventually he was able to drive his father's voice from his head and replace it with a healthier mantra.

"I speak to myself now with the same encouraging, patient words that I try to use with my own children," he writes.

"That decision to be a kind father to myself transformed my entire life," Sandborn says. "I used to be very tense all the time. Now, I'm much more relaxed. I have close friends now, and real relationships. I'm not angry anymore."

--From the Sacramento Bee article where you have to register to read it.

April 2007 - A Post a Day: 4/15

2007-04-15T09:08:00.000-07:00

Man, I've been flaking. This post a day stuff is a pain in the ass. Met baby Owen...wow, what a great kid. You can already tell he's intelligent, handsome, with firm moral character and compassion for all living creatures. OK, maybe you can't tell all that yet, but he's pretty great.

Vincent's going to start doing Kung Fu twice a week now. I pity the sixth grader who tries to mess with him. He's working hard on a book he's writing and illustrating as an assignment for school. Kid's a great writer. His brother and sister are following in his footsteps. Josie's just now starting to sound things out phonetically. She's creating some kind of form with all kinds of entries: "yes, no, yes, no, no, yes, no..." etc. We don't know what the hell it means. The best part is she's spelling out the days of the week: Wadsday, toosday, thersday... I'm so proud of her. Those kooky misspelled words are like the first wobbly steps when learning to walk. For a year she's enjoyed writing, but it's always "How do you spell Friday?" So you have to give it to her two letters at a time. She's flexing her own writing muscles now, and we think that's awesome.

This looks like it's going to be my first five day work week in a long time. Bummer.

April 2007 - A Post a Day: 4/12

2007-04-12T15:21:00.000-07:00

I think after this "post a day" nonsense is over I may start a series called "things you don't see every day." Today, while riding my bike to work down a quiet section of H Street, I hear exultant yelping and shouting behind me. I turn around, but can't tell where it's coming from. Eventually, a dark SUV passes me with all windows rolled down. Within, a solo driver, an African American man, is rocking out to...who else? Van Halen! "Won't you tell me...where have all the good times gone..." Playing a little air drums Alex VH style, and letting out the Diamond Dave trademark "yeah," "wow," and "oh yeah!" Something you don't see every day.

Also this, written prominently in dust on the back of a station wagon: "NUCKO" and underneath that, smaller, "Ginger Power." What the hell does any of that mean?

Oh yeah, the baby was born. Apparently there was a bit of a scare, as the u-cord was wrapped twice around his neck, and he needed about 20 minutes of work by the docs before he was out of the woods. Apparently all is good, and he's happy and healthy now. I hope to meet him soon.

April 2007 - A Post a Day: 4/11

2007-04-11T19:49:00.000-07:00

Just got word that Amy's brother and his wife are getting ready to pop that first baby out! Pretty exciting stuff, since we're really close to the proud parents, and it's the first baby from any of Amy's nine brothers and sisters. This little guy is going to have a lot of people who love him, we just need him to get here! Matt said "do you want us to call even if it's the middle of the night?" We said "hell yes!" It's funny how excited I am. I mean, I like babies as much as anyone, but I've been overly excited about this particular youngster. I've known Matt as long as I've been dating his sister, and he's one of my favorite people. To see him with a great woman, getting ready to have this kid, is just a very good feeling. I want Amy and me to be the kind of aunt and uncle that the kid sees as more than relatives, but truly as extensions of his own family. I want him to forget which of us he's related to biologically. So let's keep our fingers crossed and have good thoughts for a safe and sane delivery...hopefully something exciting to blog tomorrow.

April 2007 - A Post a Day: 4/10

2007-04-10T21:41:00.000-07:00

I'm making a pointed effort to spend more time with Kyra, our remaining guinea pig. I'd kind of like to get another one, a baby, so Kyra has company, but Amy isn't keen on it. Henry's room does stink with that cage in there, it's true. We'll see. Regardless, I'm going to try to be better about cleaning the cage, using all bedding instead of a bedding-hay mix, thinks like that to make the room less stinky. I wonder if Krya feels sad.

This is a picture from when they were a few months old. Lyra was the orange and white one.

April 2007 - A Post a Day: 4/9

2007-04-09T09:49:00.000-07:00

In my little neighborhood tucked into a bend in the river in East Sacramento, people are up in arms about the occasional car break-in and incident of graffiti. There is a neighborhood e-mail list that people frequently use to lather each other up into seizures of hysteria over these issues. There is talk of armed volunteer neighbor patrols and video surveillance at every corner. Usually I stay out of these frays, but when a neighbor started in with the PWT (poor white trash) angle, I had to pipe in. Here is the rant I sent:

I've lived in various parts of Sacramento and Los Angeles, and RP is far and away the nicest, safest, sanest, friendliest place I've ever lived. Has anyone read the Sacramento Bee lately and taken notice of the crime being committed in other parts of the city, and other cities? My wife and I have lived here since 1999 and are happily raising three children in River Park. In that time, I don't ever remember even hearing about an assault on a neighbor. Sure, there's been a bit of property damage, auto break-ins, and the kind of thing that happens everywhere, but this is without question a neighborhood I feel comfortable walking, bike riding, and letting my kids run around in. As John notes, Paradise Beach is a long-time party haven. If we feel threatened by partygoers engaging in illegal activity, we should call the police. Maybe the police will come, and maybe they won't, but the more we call and bug them, the more likely they are to respond. Yes, graffiti is ugly and adversely affects quality of life. Graffiti at the park should be brought to the attention of the City of Sacramento by either filling out their online form:

http://www.cityofsacramento.org/code/forms/graffiti_complaint/

or by calling Parks and Rec at 808-5200. If we don't see action within a couple of days, ask folks to kick in a few bucks and get a painting party together.

And as far as the writer who condemns the "PWT" coming into the park, which part of these people do you have a problem with? The poor part, the white part, or the trash part? If by trash you mean engaging in criminal activity, then why not just call them criminals, and report them to the police. But it's not a crime to be poor or white, so while I don't speak for anyone else but myself, I would appreciate it if you saved your hateful little acronyms for different e-mail lists.

For the writers asking for armed night patrols and 24-hour surveillance in River Park, there are places where entry is stricty controlled and your movements are watched: prisons, corporate and government offices, and gated communities. One of those places may be a better fit for you than River Park.

Just my two cents...thanks.

April 2007 - A Post a Day: 4/8

2007-04-08T22:52:00.000-07:00

One of our two guinea pigs, Lyra, just died. Thought they were supposed to live 3-4 years, but she went early. Noticed tonight, for the first time, that she didn't run away when I reached in the cage to stir their food hopper around. She was moving slowly, and seemed sluggish. Amy picked her up and her eyes were a little goopy, although she was alive. Figured she was sick, had a cold, whatever. Said we'd take her into the vet tomorrow. Their cage is in Henry's room, and Amy was in there a while later and came out and said "I think she's dead." Just like that. Josie's asleep, but Vincent was still up finishing homework. He took it really hard, like he always does when we lose a pet or something. Poor sweet kid.

April 2007 - A Post a Day: 4/6

2007-04-06T10:44:00.000-07:00

Just remembered something about last night. Josie asked a question on the way home from the game: "Were there any girls playing?" Made me want to cry. Poor kid. Her t-ball team has five girls and eight boys. To her, there is no real segregation of the sexes in school or sports...yet. What she doesn't know yet is that if she continues to play baseball in River Park, by the team she reaches Rookies there will be maybe three girls and ten boys on her team, in the Minors maybe one or two girls at the most, and by the time she reaches the Majors, maybe one or two girls spread through all four teams. Part of my involvement in our baseball league is to make it more fun and more available for girls. There are certainly no rules against girls playing, and I've never really seen any discrimination, but not a lot of girls want to join the "boys club," it seems to me. I hope that by my coaching Josie and other girls on a co-ed team, and by being involved on the board, we can encourage girls to play longer in our great neighborhood league.

We talked about how the sexes eventually split up when it comes to sports, the reasons why, etc. Still, it made me so sad to see my little girl realize, at the end of a great 2 1/2 hour baseball game, all the rooting and cheering and screaming, "Hey...there were no girls playing! What gives?"

April 2007 - A Post a Day: 4/5

2007-04-05T23:00:00.000-07:00

Great night tonight. River Cats opening game of the season, and Amy, Henry and Jo and I all went. Since it was opening night as well as dollar hot dog and ice cream night, it was packed. Nevertheless, there's almost nowhere I'd rather be than at a ballpark watching a game. Kids, girls softball, triple A, major leagues...whatever. The kids were reasonably well behaved, but we were crammed in pretty tightly and I think Amy was getting a little claustrophobic. I offered to split after the 8th inning with the Cats up by three. Amy, although she enjoys baseball too, was grateful I think. Once we reached the car we turned on the Radio and, of course, at the top of the 9th the Tacoma Raniers tied up the game with three run shot by their top prospect Adam Jones hit a three run shot to tie the game. Then in the bottom of the ninth - by this time we're home and the kids are in bed - the luckless Raniers loaded the bases and walked the last batter on a full count to lose the game. A walk-off walk, I guess you'd call it.

Shouldn't have left early I suppose.

April 2007 - A Post a Day: 4/4

2007-04-04T15:45:00.000-07:00

OK, so I skipped a day. Sue me. Today I wrote on my t-ball team's coaching blog so with this here, I've still got four posts in four days.

Drove out to Mercy Folsom yesterday to see Dad in the hospital. Second hip replacement he's gone through (different hip), and he seems to be doing great. Hopefully home on Thursday.

Had a t-ball game yesterday and had a blast as always. I'm impressed that these 4, 5, and 6 year olds are able to pay as much attention as they are. Baseball is tough for little ones, for it's tension and anticipation combined with only occasional action. But these guys are doing pretty darned well. To see them in their little uni's out there, bent over in their stance...it's a thing of beauty. Trying to remember the few who need some extra BP.

First day back to work today. Not a terrible place to be, and the paycheck and bennies are nice, but it sure was great lazing around the house for a week.

April 2007 - A Post a Day: 4/2

2007-04-02T22:38:00.000-07:00

Wow, it's only the second day of this project and already it's a pain in the ass. Been off work since last Wednesday, and go back this Wednesday - two days from now. Not looking forward to it. Kids are on spring break so I'm hanging with them a bit. Ran some errands, played a little baseball, played some video games, now watching TV. It's a good life I tell you.

Dad had his hip replacement surgery today (yes, the other hip). I'll go visit him in the hospital tomorrow. I guess he'll be tooling around on a walker for a few weeks. Doesn't look fun, this aging thing.

Prison Break season finale was tonight. Whot tha ???? What the hell is SONA, and why does scary old guy want Michael to break out. Oy.

April 2007 - A Post a Day

2007-04-01T15:07:00.000-07:00

OK, for no other reason except to keep myself writing, I'm going to (plan to, try to, attempt to...no damnit, I'm going to!) do a post a day. I know millions of people are hanging on my every word, waiting with baited breath for details of the minutia of my life. So here goes - every day for April.

April 1 - a baseball day. Umpired a rookie division game at 11:00, followed by Josie's t-ball game at 1:15. I get a lot of props from people..."whoa, umpiring, then coaching, and doing the schedule, way to go!" I tell them I have a mental illness. I enjoy this stuff too much.

I was a little nervous about umpiring the game. It's a pretty easy job - no balls or strikes to call. Just have to watch out for the errant foul, as I have no protection. So I'm not behind the plate, but off to the side. I've been advised to stand to the batter's side, but I like being closer to first base. Only one umpire, so you're all the time running out to watch that play at first, second, etc. I had to dodge a couple balls today, but otherwise made it through unscathed. Coaches were all cool, no blow ups, no issues with parents screaming at each other like at that game last year. I'm weird, I like this stuff too much.

Josie's t-ball team did great as always. We have such a good group this year, and the kids are really playing well.

OK, April 1 is in the bag. More tomorrow.

Pedal Power

2007-02-23T09:27:00.000-08:00

From The (London) Times, February 21, 2007, Comment/editorial page.

Pedal Power

Road proceeds should be invested in repopularising the bicycle

In all the sound and fury about roads in the past few weeks, there can be few groups left that have not had their say, though the arguments of cyclists have quietly glided by. When London’s transport supremos launched the extended congestion charge zone this week, they noted in passing the dramatic increase in cyclists that the capital has seen. In the past five years, the number of people cycling in London has risen by almost 50 per cent. These people are not the mad, bearded loons of popular myth, their coat-tails flapping crazily as they pedal round the Elephant and Castle. The modern cyclist is making an elegant and intelligent response to pollution and traffic congestion.

More than half of all car journeys in London cover distances of less than two miles. The car is a creature comfort, but the experience of a short drive in Central London is not necessarily a comfortable one. Many drivers endure grinding stop-and-start, culminating in fury at not being able to find a parking space. They are short of time. Yet many of those who are unemcumbered by children or shopping would save time — and money — by cycling.

On an average journey of four miles in Central London, cycling is the fastest mode of transport. And, fumes and accidents apart, it is much healthier. Regular cycling is said to halve the chances of suffering from heart disease. Campaigners argue that regular cyclists can achieve levels of fitness comparable to those of noncyclists ten years younger. It is a way to reduce stress and demonstrate an environmental conscience at the same time. How modern.

Some pedestrians will dismiss this two-wheeled idealism. They experience cyclists as a menace. Those who ride on pavements, who head in the wrong direction down one-way streets, and who smugly jump traffic lights with no care for others, are certainly stoking contempt for this bespoke form of transport. But the majority should not be tarred with that brush. British cyclists are to be admired for their courage, if not always for their manners.

The risks are daunting. They include aggressive drivers, terrifying junctions, and cycle lanes that stop abruptly with no apology except the word “Ends”. Cyclist fatalities across the UK rose to three a week last year — the only form of transport to show an increase. Cycle lanes need to be better protected from motorists. There would also be safety in numbers. At 2 per cent ridership, London lags far behind cities such as Berlin (10 per cent), Copenhagen (20 per cent) and Amsterdam (28 per cent), where the cyclist numbers influence driver behaviour.

Many British cities suffer particularly badly from 1960s road layouts. But some of those are being reversed. The flow of a gyratory system has been successfully altered in Shoreditch, one notorious London blackspot. Traffic lights and crossings have improved matters at Blackfriars Bridge, the scene of a cyclist death in 2004. But this is not enough. London has a unified transport authority. It must join up the dots. It is unacceptable for the world’s foremost capital city to have a patchwork of cycle routes which peter out timidly on the road to nowhere.

It may seem paradoxical that an intermediate technology is now the future. But it would be churlish not to encourage cycling as the cheap, green answer to so many contemporary troubles. May those who cycle be blessed with clean consciences, stronger arteries and safer journeys.

Monkey Dads are Nurturers

2007-01-23T14:47:00.000-08:00

At UC Davis, monkey dads are nurturers

By Carrie Peyton Dahlberg - Bee Staff Writer
Published 12:00 am PST Tuesday, January 23, 2007

In a double row of cages at UC Davis' primate center, families of little brown titi monkeys lead a peculiar life.

Dad pretty much raises the kids. Mom tends to reject them, except at feeding time.

Researchers are hoping this world of kindly dads and intolerant moms, of males who are merely attentive and others who've become downright clingy, can shed light on the biology underlying human behavior.

"This is about as close as we can get to being related to us in an animal that's monogamous" and that can be studied easily in a lab, said Karen Bales, a UC Davis psychology professor.

Bales, who is fascinated by parenting behavior, especially male parenting, came to Davis in 2004 largely because of the titi monkeys housed at the California National Primate Research Center.

They are the nation's only research colony of a South American species well-known for their steadfast monogamy, along with a rough brand of mothering that could come right out of a tabloid tell-all.

"In most monogamous species, the dads are really good. It's just taken to an extreme in titi monkeys because the moms are kind of bad," Bales said. "Sometimes you watch a titi monkey mom and you feel like she doesn't like her babies."

Titi babies tend to ride draped across a parent's shoulders, and when mom wants the kid off her back, her favorite strategy for shifting responsibility is to make the baby cry.

"She'll rub it up against the side of the cage, or in the wild against a tree branch, to make it cry, or nip it a little, and then daddy will come get it," Bales said.

Both parents will come running to their baby's cry if researchers place the infant on the ground, but mom will often pick it up and hand it to dad.

There are exceptions, and the primate center's 64-titi colony currently houses one unusually doting mother.

It's also got a smattering of kids who spend lots of time toting younger siblings, and Bates and Sally Mendoza, a UC Davis psychology professor who focuses on monogamy, have a theory about why.

Mendoza, who's been studying titi monkeys for decades, was trying to create a handful of standoffish titi males by suctioning out a small section of their brains that seemed to regulate social behavior.

Instead, the surgeries three years ago inadvertently created ultra-social males, clingy guys who hover beside their mates, "eating together, sleeping together, everything together," Mendoza said.

She thinks she may have disrupted a part of the brain that regulates addictive behavior, basically making the monkeys unusually addicted to their sweethearts.

As dads, the surgically altered males seem especially tolerant of their kids, which in turn could be creating more hands-on big brothers and sisters.

"It could be just a chance thing. We don't know yet," Mendoza said. But the fathers are raising "a group of kids which are carrying their siblings as much as 25 percent of the time, which is unusual."

Now, Mendoza and Bates want to look at the long-term impact of these superdads on future generations. Will their offspring be more attentive fathers?

The researchers have applied for a grant to compare the children of these titi monkeys with those of "bad" dads, the ones who groom their youngsters less, carry them less often and have a lower offspring survival rate.

In time, they'd like to know not only what creates the healthiest kids, but also whether there are ways to undo the damage inflicted by poor parenting.

Ultimately, Mendoza believes the neurobiology of monkey relationships -- what's happening in the brain when boy meets girl or when a baby arrives -- will provide a key to understanding human health.

"We know that sociality has a big impact on every disease process," she said. "Just about any disease you can imagine is probably made worse by not having a completely functional, supportive social environment."

But we don't know what exactly happens in our minds and in our bodies to confer extra protection to those with strong social circles.

Among the puzzles, said Mendoza: How does a love relationship stack up against friendships in bolstering health and disease resistance?

In her efforts to better understand pair bonding, she and Bates have also been looking at the titi monkey equivalent of young love. They've been doing brain imaging studies comparing long-established couples with pairs matched by researchers after their first 48 hours together.

The preliminary results might not surprise anyone who's ever been in the throes of new love.

"These are different states of being," said Bales, with the newly matched undergoing a storm of changes in "multiple, multiple brain areas" after boy meets girl.

There's much greater activity in parts of the brain that regulate social recognition, anxiety, aggression, the reward-pleasure system, and, of course, sex.

Titi monkey Ramona, right, sits in her cage with her 1-year-old daughter Hermione at the UC Davis primate research facility. Researchers are studying the monogamous monkeys and their parenting habits. Sacramento Bee/Randy Pench

--From the Sacramento Bee article where you have to register to read it.

And sorry for two monkey posts in a row. That usually doesn't happen.

Monkey King

2006-12-31T18:37:00.000-08:00

This just needs to be out there...

Rich Kelley

2006-12-15T09:25:00.000-08:00

I debated on whether to post this stuff or not, whether it would be interesting to anyone but Mathieu, Randy and me. I've long wanted to write, really write, about our experiences with Richard Kelley, but I haven't made much headway in that department. I did start a sort of memoir about this period in our lives, but like many of my endeavors, I burned out quickly after an initially heated period of interest. Maybe someday...

The nutshell version of the story is this: Mathieu, Randy and I became, in the late 1990's, friends with a 75 year old gentlemen who would take his daily coffee at the same coffee house where we squatted to eat our sack lunches. Over a period of several years, our friendship with Rich grew as deep as his health grew poor. He had no family, and he lived alone in a County Housing Dept. apartment building designed for the poor and infirm. He had no siblings, no children, and had only briefly been married in his youth before his bride of six months left him for another man, and left him with the clap. He was a rail rider, hobo, amateur wrassler, ranch hand, and dishwasher. But most of what he did with his life was spend it in prison - we found out years into our friendship - for a youthful offense, so he said. But he was one of the funniest, nicest, most interesting people I've ever met. He inspired in me the idea that even someone with hardly anything can achieve a full, rich life with the right attitude and a good sense of humor. He truly taught me the meaning of friendship and gratitude.

While we were never able to truly trace out his history, the best we could piece together was that sometime in the early 1980's, out of prison, he began drifting around the West working odd jobs. in 1989, upon the occasion of his 65th birthday and the veritable jackpot of social security retirement payments (the most money he had ever seen on a regular basis in his life), he abruptly quit drinking, and began living the good life of a nice walk, a little fishing, some painting and movie watching, lunch, and coffee. By the 1990's the fishing and painting were over, and his life then consisted of a daily two-mile circuit of his apartment, La Bou (La Bo, as he called it), Capitol Park Cafe, Espresso Metro, and home. We met him at Espresso Metro at 11th and K Streets downtown. Where we used to chat between our table and his, we eventually joined tables as he became one of the gang. Countless adventures followed, but those will have to be chronicled another time.

The point I'd like to get across more than any is this: He was our friend. He was not a charity case, not an individual we ever felt sorry for. We never attempted to befriend him to do a good deed, earn our way into heaven, to act sanctimoniously. We just loved him, because whether he deserved it or not, he was a lovable person. And he loved us back.

Eventually, as his health failed, we essentially became his caregivers. We managed his health care, his transportation, his appointments, his finances, his dealings with the social security office, the bank, the nursing home, the senior center, and finally, the funeral home. When people would gush about what wonderful young men we were for caring for this old man (and we got that a lot), I would bristle. We weren't wonderful young men caring for a helpless old man. We were friends looking out for one of our own. And as much as we gave to Richard, we got back in spades. It was a friendship that was very pure, and very difficult. It was priceless.

Once I start writing about Rich it's hard to stop. But stop I must, for now. I've got a thousand pages of stories and memories about the old codger in my mind (such as the time we took him camping and he got lost in the woods as night fell), but this blog post will have to do for now.

Below are some mostly boring notes I began taking in early 2004 as Rich entered his 80th and final year, and his health took its worst turn yet. He lived alone, he was a pack rat, and after triple heart bypass surgery he couldn't really be trusted to take his medicines correctly, get to medical appointments, or indeed adapt to even the smallest changes to his former routine. Plus, his apartment was beyond two security gates and a guard. We literally had to sneak in every time we needed to go to his apartment to take care of him (if he was too sick to come down and escort us up to his place, he was too sick to live there...so said the County Housing Dept.). Most of the notes below are clarifications from me, and a couple times Mathieu, as to his health conditions, medications, doctor's appointments, surgeries, and senior programs, written mainly to stay on top of it all. As anyone who has ever cared for a sick, elderly person can attest, this becomes a full time job. The last two notes are blogs I published on a different site.

Rich died in November, 2004. Mathieu kept his ashes.

*****

1/5/04:

Rich continues to take Enalapril Maleate 5mg tablet once a day for high blood pressure. Dr. Bach told Rich to STOP taking his previous prescription of Doxazosin Mesylate 2mg tablet (twice a day?) altogether, because one of the new meds does the "Doxa's" job already. Rich, for some strange reason, doesn't like to get rid of old prescription pill bottles. [Pill bottles? He didn't like to get rid of anything!] He has a system whereby he turns them upside down when he's done with them. So right now, he has the Aspirin, Atenolol, and Enalapril turned right side up, lined up, front and center in his medicine cabinet. He knows to take all three once a day in the morning. When the prescription for the Isosorbide comes in, one of us should add that bottle to the other three. If we can get him to get rid of the old pill bottles it would be a good thing, but you know how he is.

ASK THE DOCTOR: Should Rich be seeing someone about the cancer? All we know is Rich used to go in for a shot from a "Dr. Chin" once a month. Then, Rich said they implanted a capsule of some kind in his arm, and he didn't need the shot anymore. Well, Rich isn't doing anything about the cancer now, so let's see what we should do about that.

Can one of you take Rich on the 14th? Keep this e-mail and bring it with the other stuff. We have a "Rich folder" in Mathieu's office.

*****

1/27/04:

Rich had triple bypass surgery, performed by Dr. nnnnnnnn nnnnnnnn on January 16. The surgery was successful, and they released Rich on January 22. Since then he has not been doing well. All we wants to do is sleep. He's not eating, not showering, he is disoriented and not following aftercare procedures.

The medications he's taking now, in addition to the four below, are:

Lipitor - 10mg, to help lower cholesterol in patients at risk for heart disease where diet and excercise alone are not working
Amiodarone Hcl - 200mg twice a day to correct irregular heartbeats
Toprol XL - 25mg for, high blood pressure, angina, and heart failure.

He was also prescribed Hydrocodone/APAP (Vicodin) for pain, but to my knowledge hasn't taken any. He doesn't know he has it, and I've hidden it away under his bathroom sink. The nurses agree, it's better if he doesn't take it. He doesn't seem to be in actual pain.

This brings to seven the number of medications he's taking daily.

He has an appointment with Dr. nnnnnn on 2/9 at 11:00 a.m. at 500 University (830-nnnn), and with Dr. nnnnnnn on the same day at 1:20 p.m. at the Sutter Memorial medical building, 5301 F St., Suite 111 (452-nnnn).

*****

2/3/04:

The nurse today said Rich's vitals all checked out OK, and he seemed healthy. She did call me back later though, after she had reported to the doctor's office, to say that Rich should stop taking his Atenolol, because his pulse was lower than they want to see it, and stopping the Atenolol will help that. I went over and removed all those pills from his case, and threw away the bottle.

I also gave him an extra Amiodarone Hcl, which he's supposed to be taking twice a day anyway. He's just been taking one a day, because he takes everything else once a day. This prescription is actually supposed to change soon, from twice a day to something else, maybe once a day. I'll check next time I'm there.

This brings the number of medications he's taking to six daily.

As always, Rich needs to keep eating, drinking, and walking. He should walk a little further each day.

Doctor's appointments are on 2/9. Randy, if you can take him I'll come too.

Next time someone goes to his place, he needs a new 1/2 gallon of 2% milk, and more chocolate Boost shakes. Money for this stuff is in the purple folder in Mathieu's office.

*****

3/8/04: [Notes from Mathieu]

Rich was fairly chipper today, while going thru several medical checkups. He is still getting a somewhat good bill of health. Dr. nnnnn reitterated to Rich that it is up to him to get better, thru activity. He suggested a phase 2 cardiac rehab which is 3 times a week, but would need transportation to and from…We obviously, cannot keep up that type of time and care, Buzz is going to follow up on this. His medication has changed slightly, and Sherwood is aware of this and is also confirming this with Dr. nnnnnn. [We eventually got Rich put into a nursing home, as he wasn't able to take care of himself, post surgery, at his apartment.]

His next Appt. with Dr. nnnnnnn is 4/9/04 at 9:00am and this one is at the very least 2 hrs and probably 3 hours. I have put the instructions for this Appt. in his folder in my office. When Rich goes to these appt's remember to bring his Medi-Cal card.

*****

3/8/04:

Talked to Dr. nnnnnn , the oncologist. Cancer-wise, Rich is fine. He doesn't need to see him. If Rich is still around in a year, and his health is good, we should call for an appointment.

*****

4/8/04, [Notes from Mathieu]

Rich Update,

I spoke with Kathy nnnnnn (491-nnnn) of Sutter Senior Care and we discussed big plans for Rich.

I went to see Rich yesterday and gave him a huge pep talk and once again encouraged him to go ahead with this program, which he of course agreed to "After all we’ve done for him" stuff. It was actually a very good visit. He had turned them down, the day before at his first orientation day at the program center on U street.

[The first time we left him for orientation at the senior day program, he went AWOL...walked out and took a cab home. The program was supposed to take care of his medical needs after his pending release from the nursing home. They would have even driven him there twice weekly, but the first time the van came to pick him up he refused to come down from his apartment. We eventually realized the old son of a gun was simply incapable of adapting to modifications to his daily schedule on his own.]

I am going to take Rich Monday morning at 9:00 to the Program for his second orientation appointment. I thought that it would be better for him if we accompanied him there. While there, they are going to work with him to figure out more of what he needs... I don’t know how long it will last. They will take him back to Sherwood unless we decide to take him.

Tuesday morning we (?) need to pick up Rich and meet Christine Calhoun a nurse, that is part of the team, at Rich’s apartment by 10:30, getting Rich around 10:00 at Sherwood. She is first evaluating his medical records and speaking with the staff that have been working with the old man. After that, she needs to meet us at his apartment to evaluate his living needs and other aspects, we need to be there for filling in the gaps and support.

If all goes well, Rich can start April 15th, cross your fingers. I will have to talk with Cora at Sherwood to find out if he can go home the night before or after his first visit to Sutter Senior Care on April 15.

There is more, but I wanted to get most of this documented.

Senior Sutter Care (Pace Program) Ph# 446-nnnn

nnnn n Street

Kathy nnnnnnn 491-nnnn

*****

[These below were blog posts from another site. Ostensibly, to share the information with fellow site users Randy and Mathieu, but also to give other friends a peek into what the situation was like with us and Rich]

Irish Rich Kelley update 8/20/04

The 80 year old non-AA going recovering alcoholic who lives in squalor in a midtown apartment is doing OK. His pills needed to be delivered to him yesterday, but he wasn't at Cafe Ambrosia as per usual. I tried twice, and ended up sneaking out of work an hour early and heading to his apartment at 13th and E. I got him on the intercom, but sometimes it takes ten minutes for him to come down. The secret code - stolen from the SBC repairman - got me in the first gate, and I piggybacked through second gate behind some other down-on-their-luck tenants. Past the security guards (hey, it pays to just "act as if" you belong there...it also helps to have a mailbox key and importantly check the box), and onto the tiny smelly elevator where the door doesn’t always shut all the way, the cables creak, the "1" and "6" buttons don’t light up, along with the other tenants and their bicycle. That’s three security doors and two guards, mind you, but Matt and Randy are just as good as me...maybe better!

To Rich’s credit, he was waiting for the elevator when I got up. He asked how I got in, and then told me I’d be a good "second-story man." I think that means a cat-burglar or something. Anyway, he had been good on his pills the past week, only missing one day. I made the empty/full pill case switch and did some bookkeeping. The housing department had arranged for cleaning of all the building’s interior and exterior windows, which means that the opaque haze of who knows how many years worth of grubbiness had been made sparkling (Rich doesn’t clean shit...he's semi-tidy, but he's not a "cleaner.") The sucker has a breathtaking view of midtown-downtown from the southeast corner of an eighth floor apartment. It’s seriously a $2K per month view, even though it's a filthy one-bedroom, for $188.00 per month (it just went up $2.00). But what does old Richie do? He leaves the goddamned curtains closed 24/7. I don’t get it...I really don’t. He’s not a shut-in. He goes out every day. He likes the sun and the world. There’s no one to see in from that height, but closed those falling-apart curtains remain. If I lived there (and I pray to God I never will...) I would not even own curtains.

*****

Irish Rich Kelly 6/29/04 Update

The kids at Metro (sorry, "Cafe Ambrosia...fuck, it will always be Espresso Metro to me) say Irish Rich is doing just fine. He's been in every day, and seems to be particularly "with it." This is good news. Next on the agenda is a 10:00 appointment at Sutter Seniorcare on July 6. Randy agreed to go (drive?), and I feel like Mathieu deserves a pass this time, although he's of course welcome. Randy, if you pick me up at work at 9:30 we can intercept the codger before he leaves his apartment.

I think our tact with Sutter has to be: "The program is working. He's doing his pills just fine...please keep bringing them. We'll be better about the appointments." We have to accept the fact that Rich will NEVER agree to anything that alters his daily routine one iota. If we take him to an appointment, we have to stay with him the whole time. It may not seem like he needs the seniorcare program right now since his health is in fair condition, but consider if, rather WHEN, he gets sick again. This is where Sutter Seniorcare will really kick in and take the load off our shoulders.

By the way, I think he still needs a physical. Maybe they can do it on the 6th.

And let's plan a trip for Rich, us, and our families! There is plenty of cash for this.

*****

I Started a Blog, Which Nobody Read

2006-08-22T21:33:00.000-07:00

This has been making the rounds lately, a hilarious song by Washington DC-area band Sprites, who may have come out of the They Might Be Giants school of quirky indie pop, about starting a blog that nobody reads (certainly strikes a cord here at Buzz 99!). But as always, here at Buzz 99 we go that extra mile for you - our embarrassingly few readers. Here, and nowhere else (that I've been able to Google anyway), we have the full lyrics to the song, personally transcribed by our crack team, for your reading-while-you're-listening enjoyment.

I started a blog, which nobody read
When I went to work I blogged there instead
I started a blog, which nobody viewed
It might be in cache, the topics include:

George Bush is an evil moron
What's the story with revolving doors?
I'm in love with a girl who doesn't know I exist
Nobody hates preppies anymore

I started a blog, but nobody came
No issues were raised, no comments were made
I started a blog, which nobody read
I'll admit that it wasn't that great
But if you must know, here's what it said:

One hundred of my favorite albums
Two hundred people I can't take
Four hundred movies I would like to recommend
Ten celebrities, four of whom I might assassinate

I started a blog, I sent you the link
I wanted the world (you) to know what I think

I started a blog, but when I read yours
It made me forget what I had started mine for

Relationships Explained

2006-07-21T15:31:00.000-07:00

Godspeed, Rhode Gear

2006-06-29T20:24:00.000-07:00

Today I had a little moment as I reflected on yet another rite of passage in my family. As a fairly bike-centric individual, it was with some emotion that I recognized the last trip I will give a child in our Rhode Gear mounted bike seat, as I gave Josie - my third and last child - her final ride to preschool in the seat that her older brothers wore out before her.

As a lifelong bike lover, I made three grand purchases in one fell swoop right before my wedding to Amy. Feeling disappointed with the road bike I bought new in 1991 and rode all through college – skinny tires, inability to handle anything but semi-smooth roadways, a too large frame – I felt I needed a well fitting mountain bike: fat tires, ride anywhere, no restrictions. The road bike was wasting away in the garage with bent rims, flat tires, and cobwebs, but a small influx of cash – due, sadly, to my mother’s death – led me to the idea to put my whole family immediately back on two wheels.

Vincent was almost three when Amy and I married, and I envisioned long, leisurely bike rides through the Land Park neighborhood where we rented a house. I surprised her for our wedding with two brand new Marin mountain bikes from Sierra Outfitters, and a Blackburn utility rack with a Rhode Gear removable bike seat for Vincent. I pondered long and hard about what style of toting mechanism to use for bringing Vincent along on our rides, and hopefully helping foster a love of cycling in his eager little mind. At this time, the options were pretty much limited to mountable ride-behind seats, such as the Rhode Gear, and towable pull-behind trailers. The word on the street was that trailers were safer, as they cannot fall over. With a ride-behind seat if you fall the kid falls. However, the pull-behind trailer made your riding “footprint” about twice as long, they were much more expensive, and I just plain didn’t like the idea of my little guy riding way back there behind me, enclosed in his screened bubble, strapped in with a five-point harness and helmet, down at ground level. How much fun is that? No, I wanted him right up there with me where all the action was.

I wanted us to be able to talk as we rode.

The seat was a hit. We rode all around that neighborhood, up to William Land Park, wherever, usually with him singing at the top of his lungs “It’s a mall worl’ after all, it’s a mall worl’ after all,” having come back from Disneyland shortly after the wedding for the family-friendly portion of the honeymoon.

A few months later we moved to River Park, and Vincent got his own little bike with training wheels. A year or two later the training wheels came off, he was up on his own two-wheeler, and he now had a little brother to take over the Rhode Gear seat. Henry may not have been quite as enthusiastic about riding at first, but he was a good sport about it. I searched high and low for a helmet small enough to fit a kid not yet one year old. It’s a good thing too, because although many, myself included, dispute the ultimate benefit of bicycle helmets to prevent serious injury – something for which they are not designed – Henry’s did indeed prevent a very ouchy boo-boo when I idiotically fell over up at the shopping center, while simply mounting my bike and preparing to ride. He, dutifully strapped in to the Rhode Gear, fell with the bike headlong into the super-stuccoed pillar in front of the old River Park market. Chalk one up for the pull-behind trailer advocates, but he survived to ride another day.

Henry learned to love that bike seat as his brother did before him, and as his sister did after him, even if they all found the soothing cycling motion a great nap inducer. However, when Henry graduated to his own training-wheeled bicycle, he didn’t take to it as enthusiastically as I had hoped. He wanted to continue riding in the Rhode Gear, for which his new sister Josie was now old enough. Yikes! Two kids, one bike seat. What’s a dad to do?

The answer was the Trail-a-bike, for which I thank my own dad and stepmom. This is one of those half-bike deals with one wheel, its own pedals, handlebars, and a long attachment arm that clips onto your seat post. With the handlebars to hold on to (not to steer), pedals to pump, the Trail-a-bike really gave Henry the feeling of riding a two-wheeler, even though he was only doing about half the work. So with Amy’s bike (she traded in the Marin mountain bike for beach cruiser...smart woman) and mine both equipped with a hitch for the Trail-a-bike, Henry could ride behind me when necessary, or behind Amy when I had the Rhode Gear seat attached for Josie: the third kid to enjoy riding behind Dad in it.

Now Vincent and Henry are both confident cyclists, and Josie herself has graduated to the Trail-a-bike, and looks so proud riding back there “on her own” like a big kid. Then why does she still ride to preschool in the Rhode Gear bike seat? After starting seriously commuting by bicycle in the spring of 2005 and putting major miles on that Marin, I discovered my pants were starting to get worn out on the inner thigh. (Insert your own joke here.) I figured it was due to the excessive biking, and a new pair of Dockers every month might be the price I pay for fitness, fun, and environmentally friendly transportation. Amy disagreed: what we saved on gas we spent twice again on Dockers. Finally I discovered the culprit was the Trail-a-bike hitch rubbing ever so slightly against my pants. I removed the hitch and voila, no more ruined pants! However, this meant no more pulling any kids on the Trail-a-bike behind my bike.

Since many days I ride Josie to preschool on my way to work, we decided we needed to hold on to the Rhode Gear seat a little longer, knowing it would only have to hold out until the end of her preschool tenure. The reflectors have fallen off, and its foam headrest is hanging on literally by threads. Until I figured out how to wrench the Blackburn rack back into shape after repeated bruising by the Trail-a-bike’s attachment arm, I actually bungee corded the Rhode Gear to the rack (probably not too bright a move, but I was able to convince Amy it was safe). The way Josie’s outgrowing it, the petite girl looks like a gargantuan. But we only had to hold out until the end of June! Just a few more months...weeks...days!

And today was that day: the last day. The last time one of my kids rode in the Rhode Gear. Funny that I’ve dedicated all this space to this particular milestone, when the admittedly more massive milestone comes tomorrow, when our last kid has her last day of preschool. Hugs will be given, tears will be shed, pictures will be taken. But today was about retiring the Rhode Gear bike seat after three kids outgrew it. That damned seat has meant so much to me, I couldn’t bear to see its last ride go unacknowledged. Godspeed, Rhode Gear. Godspeed.

Pool Basketball: Sport of Kings

2006-05-30T22:06:00.000-07:00

Once again, the season turns to Pool Basketball: Sport of Kings, Endeavor of Champions. It is a raucous, sublime, vigorous, and deeply spiritual exploration of the endurance of the human spirit.

When choosing teams, care must be taken to equally balance the sucky players and the strong, without hurting anyone's feelings.

All kids out of the pool. Too bad!

Sorry Herm, that doesn't have a chance of going in.

An ancient rite of passage: the son challenges the father.

How many bodies are under the water there?

No tattz = no skillz!

If RG doesn't give up the ball, he's going to be penetrated.

For God's sake, somebody get open!

Methinks somebody got popped in the schnazz.

Another brilliant competition of what we call "the beautiful game." Healthy, spirited, manly competition. The craziest part is that only one of these men is gay.

I Hate It When I Agree with the Republicans!

2006-05-26T11:11:00.000-07:00

As a bicycle commuter, somewhat of an "anti-car" guy, and a liberal, I'm shocked when I come down on the side of right wing, SUV driving, cell phone yakkers. I guess what I care more about is hysteria and bad science. I submitted the following to a local publication for consideration for their "guest commentary" column. I just got word that they would publish it, and they even offered to send a photographer over to my crib to get a head shot! Aw shucks, I'll just supply my own picture. I'm sure the one in my blog profile will do! --Buzz

[California State] Senator Joe Simitian’s SB 1613, which proposes a ban on hand-held cell phone usage while driving, but still allowing hands-free usage, is impotent legislation without data to back up claims that such a law will save lives. Studies have shown that using hands-free cell phones while driving are no safer than using hand-held phones. The danger is driver distraction, not the absence of one hand on the wheel.

In a recent ten month period, the California Highway Patrol claims 978 automobile collisions occurred while drivers used hand-held phones, and 110 occurred while drivers used hands-free devices. Sen. Simitian claims this proves hands-free devices are safer; however, this is an irresponsible claim, as a causal relationship is utterly absent. I could argue that of 1000 collisions, 995 drivers wore white shoes, while five wore purple. Therefore, purple shoes make for safer drivers. The reason fewer collisions involving hands-free devices occurred is more likely because fewer drivers use such devices in the first place.

Other states have passed such laws banning drivers using hand-held cell phones, while allowing hands-free usage. Where is the data proving traffic fatalities have decreased as a direct result of such laws? Such data was available in abundance after seat belt laws took effect, which is an example of good compulsory safety laws with measurable benefits.

If cell phones truly contribute in significant numbers to fatal traffic accidents in California, and if our citizens seriously wish to reduce such numbers, the devices should be banned in cars altogether. But consider that by the CHP’s same study, cell phone usage was a contributing factor in only 3.6% of traffic accidents caused by distracted drivers. 96.4 % were distracted by other factors, such as eating, dealing with children, talking to passengers, among others. Will all such activities be categorically banned while driving? Why not simply outlaw the motor vehicles themselves, since they are by definition the common denominator in all traffic accidents?

SB 1613, which requires drivers to fumble for headsets, while still allowing them scroll through their phones’ address books, punch in the numbers, and engage in distracting conversations, is a ridiculous idea and an insult to anyone looking to use real data, and real results, to solve real problems. California’s elected representatives should be smart enough not to support such a measure.

Radio Indie Pop

2006-04-27T12:47:00.000-07:00

I feel like I need to take a minute here to give some props to Rob Sacher and his free internet radio station Radio-Indie-Pop.com. I've been riding my desk more than usual at work lately, and I recently came across Rob's kick-ass site. I've been a happy camper ever since. It's a simple flash media player hooked up to dude's amazing music database. All you need is a broadband internet connection, and you're off and running. Of course, it appeals to certain musical tastes, which seem to fall under the large general umbrella of indie rock/pop (or what we used to call alternative, when that term meant something).

Different playlists run on different days. For example, Monday is acoustic and introspective indie rock day, where you'll hear some of my favorites: Elliott Smith, Bright Eyes, Rilo Kiley, and Wilco among many others. The rest of the days of the week have different themes. You'll eventually hear The Postal Service, The Shins, Stephen Malkmus, The Flaming Lips, Guided By Voices, Nada Surf, Radiohead, The Raveonettes, The Jesus And Mary Chain, The New Pornographers, The Strokes, Pixies, The Dandy Warhols, Sleater-Kinney, Sonic Youth, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club...shit, there are too many great bands to name. One cool thing is if you prefer Saturday's "loud indie rock" stuff (Franz Ferdinand, Yeah Yeah Yeahs) better than the mellower stuff on Mondays...fuck it, just click on Saturday. Doesn't really matter what day of the week it actually is. Also, and how cool is this, besides the daily channels, you've got the all Ramones channel, the Alt-Country channel (Son Volt, The Jayhawks, Ryan Adams, Mason Dixon, Old 97's), the Retro Underground channel (Jane's Addiction, New Order, The Smiths, Talking Heads, The Cure), plus channels dedicated to brand new and unsigned artists (currently Dave Doobinin, The Picture).

Why am I pimping this thing so hard? Only because of how cool it is. I've been through the gamut of Yahoo Radio, RadioIO, WOXY when it was free, in search of a good source of free internet radio with the music I like, and nothing has come close to Indie-Radio-Pop. Here's the kicker: dude accepts ZERO advertising! It's all perfectly legit and legal, and he's not even begging for donations (yet). Rob is apparently an old-school NYC music guy who has run kickin' music clubs, bars, record labels, and a number of other worthy ventures. He claims Elliott Smith penned XO in his bar. Props to you Rob, keep up the good work!

Grandpa Bud and Inky

2006-03-17T09:06:00.000-08:00

My four year old daughter has experienced two serious losses in her life. Her grandpa Bud when she was about two years old, and our betta fish Inky some time after that. Bud was the family patriarch, and an all around great guy; his loss was hard felt in our family. Inky? Well, he swam around a bit in his tiny bowl for three years, but to be brutally honest, I didn't get all worked up about his loss. Of course, losing a pet - no matter how boring - is always tough for a kid.

I remember going to visit my Uncle Brook's cabin up in the mountains when I was about nine years old. My aunt and uncle were gone when we arrived, but their black lab Peppy was laying dead on their doorstep. I had only really met Peppy once before, but I was devastated by the loss. It probably had more to do with the shock of finding her stiff on the cabin's doormat, but I remember being practically inconsolable for the rest of the day. I sobbed for hours over this, and I remember other family members first feeling sorry for me, and then kind of saying "OK, time to get over this...it wasn't your dog, you barely knew the dog...," that kind of thing.

But of course, kids respond to death - everything really - in unexpected ways. Time has passed, and Josie's actual memories of Bud and Inky have doubtless faded into her subconcsious. However, like all families who have lost loved ones, we live with the memory of them all the time. Josie has been singing the following song lately. I think it translates to verse better than most poetry I've read on MySpace.

I love Grandpa Bud and Inky
I barely remember Grandpa Bud
I'm not a baby any more
I'm a kid, but you're not
but you still love me
and I love you!
I remember when Inky was dead
and before we buried you
we wrapped you in a paper towel
and put you in the freezer
to save you for a little while
before we buried you in the backyard
I miss you so much
'cause I need a black fish
to be in my show
called "Inky"!

My Virtual Rainbow Windsock

2006-02-27T16:15:00.000-08:00

I'm walking to work the other day, and I scan the USA Today headlines in the machine in front of La Bou, as is my habit. USA Today is a crappy newspaper, but I love it because it makes me think of hotels. Whenever I travel, I love getting that crappy USA Today newspaper. "Americans Like TV...see page A3," or "Lots Of People Will Watch The Superbowl...see page C9." It's getting almost indistinguishable from The Onion. Still, I glance at the headlines because it's habit, because it makes me feel happy thinking about hotels, and because sometimes I get some genuine information that I've otherwise overlooked (Whoa, miners are trapped...an earthquake leveled Pakistan...Americans like TV!). The other day I was standing there feeling happy until I got to the headline that read "Drives to ban gay adoption heat up in 16 states." It stopped me in my tracks.

Now, although I'm politically progressive on most (but not all) issues, I tend not to get real worked up about stuff. I support gun control laws, church/state separation, immigrants' and womens' rights, environmental causes, and all that good stuff. But the thing that really gets my dander up is gay rights. When the hell did I become so worked up about the queers? I guess sometime after adolescence, when common sense seems to return to many people. I was a straight, white, Southern Californian teenager in the 1980s, and there was simply NO worse, or funnier, insult than to call someone a fag. Everything was faggot this, and faggot that. Tony bogarted the joint? "Faggot, give it here!" Don't like another kid? "Fucking queer, fuck off!" I'm ashamed to admit we used to goof on each other by writing "AIDS Victim" on pieces of notebook paper and taping it to the backs of unsuspecting students at my high school. While all this is bad, it gets worse. I'm most ashamed of being a teenage wannabe gay basher.

In the San Fernando Valley, it was said that gay men used to cruise their cars up and down the alley off Ventura Boulevard behind a famous drag joint called the Queen Mary. Legend had it they'd flash their lights at each other, and that was the queue to pull over and give each other blow jobs or something. A particularly bold friend of mine named Alex, a more mild mannered friend named Rob, and I cruised "faggot alley" one night, flashing our lights and following cars. Just for kicks, mind you. We had no weapons, and we didn't think we were looking for trouble. When we finally hooked a fella, we proceeded to embark on a slow speed chase through the Studio City hills. We were laughing our asses off. We'd slow down, speed up, whip around a corner then kill the lights and duck, only to end up behind the unsuspecting gentleman two blocks later, lights a-flashing.

Eventually, we ended up back in the alley, we stopped the car, and Alex and I jumped out and sat on the hood. The middle aged man pulled up a few feet away, attempted some small talk, to which we responded politely, and he eventually invited us back to his place. Alex and I then jumped off the car yelling "you'd better get the hell out of here, faggot! We're going to kick your ass!" The terrified man high tailed it out of there, and we felt a thousand feet tall. Rob was cowering in the back seat, rightly sickened by this whole game and wanting no part of it.

Would we really have fought this guy? Hell no. Although, if he had gotten out of his car and challenged us, we might have felt we had to. Were Alex and I repressed homos? Well, I can't speak for Alex, but I wasn't. I swear to God I wasn't queer, but I sure liked to make fun of them. I didn't get it from my parents, good liberals all of them. Really, I got it from my peers. Of all the research I've read, the thing that scares me the most is the idea that kids are influenced much more by their peers than by their parents. We all want to think that if we read to our little angels, never shame them, feed them only organic food, coach their little league teams, and take them to multi-cultural day at the university, they'll turn out to be virtuous do-gooders. Well, research says we're wrong. All that good stuff is fine and dandy, but one friend suggests cruising faggot alley and all of the sudden, your little angel is a gay basher.

In the last 20 years I've had plenty of gay friends, gay relatives, known gay parents, lost people to AIDS, and it blows me away how hateful and horrible I was as a teenager. I suppose certain ugly traits are inherent in kids, whether they're smoking crack, having sex, cutting school, getting drunk, ridiculing gays, blacks, or Jews (I did all that shit). Nevertheless, I've made peace with who I was, a bad person, by becoming who I am now, a good person. Now, I never did hate gay people - I didn't know gay people, except my cousin and his partner (and they seemed alright).

Now I understand, of course, that no one chooses to be gay any more than I've chosen to be straight. But the hatred that I demonstrated as a teenager is alive and well in this great land of ours, and it saddens and sickens me that the rest of the country didn't grow out of these ugly affectations back in the 1980s when I did. I think of the African American's struggle for freedom, the Jew's millenia-long persecution, the virtual enslavement of women...how is this discrimination against gays any different? Outlawing their ability to adopt children, when states' foster care systems are overflowing with kids, are you kidding me? When some adoptive mothers freely and carefully choose gay couples to raise their babies? When exactly zero evidence exists that kids raised by gay parents are worse off in any way than kids raised by straight parents? (and we all know what a great track record straight parents have, right?) USA Today, you damn near spoiled my week with that news!

I probably owe it to that gentleman in the alley behind Ventura Boulevard to hang a rainbow windsock on my front porch for the rest of my life. Whoever you are out there fella, I'm humbly sorry for my actions that dark night. Whether it's a couple of ignorant kids in an alley, or a bunch of ignorant assholes in the states of Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Georgia, Indiana, Kansas, Kentucky, Michigan, Missouri, Ohio, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Tennessee, Utah, Vermont, or West Virginia, there's just no getting around humankind's ability to treat one another like dogshit.

Damn, I've Been Busy

2006-02-10T14:44:00.000-08:00

Nothing to post for a long time now. I've been really freakin' busy. Work has actually lightened up, so I have my regular load of being busy and not the freakish load from January. But it's always a bitch raising kids and dealing with baths, homework, feeding them, etc. Damn kids!!! (Just kidding, my darling little angels.) The real kicker has been the beginning of baseball season. As the scheduler for the local youth baseball league, I am up late trying to figure out how to put too many teams into too few fields. I do have software to help me with this, but holy shit! this is a big job. Oh well, it won't last forever, it's actually not that deplorable, and it's an important job that needs to be done well. This isn't to mention that Henry will practice with his new team twice a week, and Vincent with his on a different three days each week. Did I mention I'm one of the coaches on Vincent's team? What the hell is wrong with me?

Anyway, more bitchin' wisdom on some other sweet-ass topics will come soon, I'm hoping. Ghost...

Blog For Choice Day, 2006

2006-01-23T21:40:00.000-08:00

OK, so it’s not “Blog For Choice” day, but the day after. I figure I might as well put my two cents in and support the cause. Of course, here at Buzz99 we support a woman’s right to choose what happens to, and in, her own body without her needing to get the approval of any other person or governmental entity. It’s really one of the most black and white issues we deal with in this country. Most folks are pretty much for it or against it, although the anti-choice crowd tries to insert as much gray into the issue as they can. Who can blame them? It’s all they’ve got. But the way I see it, there are no gray areas. Either a woman has control of her own reproductive system or she does not. Period.

But it’s hard to argue about. It’s like arguing with a vegetarian, or a religious zealot. They believe it is simply wrong to kill and eat animals, I don’t. They believe their religion is the one and true path to righteousness, I don’t. You’re not going to change their mind. (And by the way, why aren’t the animal rights people and the fetus rights people ever the same people?)

In my mind, it boils down to this: you’re either for fetus rights, or you’re for women’s rights. I don’t know how you can be for both. If you’re for fetus rights, women are pretty much incubators. If a woman gets pregnant, that’s it - no ifs, ands or buts, she’s having a baby. But if you are for women’s rights, it has to include the right to decide when to have a baby, whether or not she gets pregnant. If you deny her that right, she will never be much more than a slave to the patriarchy, as she has been throughout most of human history.

But despite the feminism angle, I’m certainly glad the choice is available. I have three children: one was not planned, two were. I adore all three and I’m glad they’re here. I’ve been on the daddy-end of abortion as well, and despite the fact that those fetuses may have turned out to be wonderful people too, I’m still glad I only have the kids I have. If the women in my past had not had the right to make that choice, my life would have led me in a different direction, and not in the direction it did lead me: a place where the kids I do have were welcomed with open and loving arms (even the unplanned one!). If my girlfriend at 18 had that baby, I’m certain that my current three would never have existed. It’s hard to get into the metaphysics of hypothetical children – children who might have been, but are not, and children who are, but might not have been. But I firmly believe the best course for all of us was having the children we wanted to have. And how could I deny that choice for anyone else?

Enemies Of The State?

2006-01-20T10:52:00.000-08:00

Over at the SleepyChildren blog, Sleepy has a very nice essay on the ridiculous state of what passes as news these days. Namely: missing or dead white women. Rather than being a rant or identifying this practice as an elaborate conspiracy theory to keep us from thinking about Iraq, Iran, the NSA, etc. (which, of course, it does), he correctly identifies the real culprits. Check it out and read it for yourself.

Why My Kids Play Baseball

2006-01-15T13:11:00.000-08:00

Last week, my two sons attended a baseball hitting clinic at Sacramento City College. For three hours a day, for two days, they did nothing but hit baseballs. Seriously, hitting only. No catching, throwing, fielding, pitching, or base running, just hitting. This was more my idea than theirs, and, admittedly, Henry didn’t really want to go. At six, he was among the youngest age group even accepted at this clinic. In the end, they both had a good time, learned a lot, had fun, and hopefully improved their hitting skills in anticipation of the upcoming recreational youth baseball season. (I would say little league season, but Little League is a brand name, like Funyuns or Preparation H. My kids play in the Cal Ripken Division of “Babe Ruth Baseball” in River Park. “Little League” is played over in East Sac.)

I also lobbied to get on the board of directors for the baseball league. I get to sit in the private room of a local brewpub once a month and argue with other dads – and moms too, thankfully – about how best to run the league in our area. The kids and I are out there on the weekends and every chance we get hitting, throwing, catching, running, and fielding. They like it; but trust me, they’d usually rather be home playing computer games.

I realize that I seem like a typical American, suburban, sports-dad. But I’ll tell you from experience, among the hundreds of parents I’ve known from my kids’ baseball and soccer teams over the years, the typical sports-dad is just a guy like anyone else who wants his kids to have fun and do something positive with their time. It is the great exception who will yell at his kid, the umpire, the coaches, and act like an all around prick. Vincent will turn 11 this year, and this will be his sixth baseball team. Henry will turn seven, and this is his third team. Josie will start T-ball next year (I’m convinced she’s the best athlete of the bunch).

Why am I so into this sports thing? Well, I think some parents will tell you the answer for themselves is no more complex than the fact that “this is what I did as a kid too.” For me, I never played baseball, soccer, or any kind of organized sports. It may not be fair to my parents, or even true, but I consider this my downfall. My folks divorced when I was five, and my mom moved us down to Los Angeles at eight. My friends, both in Sacramento and L.A., all seemed to be on baseball and soccer teams, but not me. Did I ask to be? Did I beg and plead and whine to be allowed to don a little orange and white cap and play on the Alpha-Beta Supermarket Astros? I did not. I was shy, and not a joiner. The mindset for many upper-middle class white liberals in the 1970s was moving more away from organized sports than toward it, as Franklin Foer points out in the last chapter of his book, “How Soccer Explains The World.” My parents didn’t explicitly say “you may not play organized sports,” but they didn’t encourage it, and I didn’t ask.

The funny thing is though, I loved sports at that age. I played pickup football, basketball, and baseball at school or in the neighborhood with my friends whenever possible. I could name all the starting quarterbacks in the NFL, and hundreds of players in Major League Baseball. I was only an average athlete for my age and size, but I was crazy about sports.

Then my life took a bad turn in the sixth grade, as I started experimenting with marijuana and alcohol. By seventh, I was a full blown pothead; by eighth, you’d have to say I was a serious alcoholic and drug addict. My life spiraled downward, as I went from an honors student to someone who got kicked out of school after school. Life was about weed, cocaine, LSD, alcohol, speed, and of course heavy metal music (although I don’t hold this against Iron Maiden and Judas Priest…in fact I thank them for making my days livable). Fortunately, and this is really a story for another time, I was able to turn things around before I finished high school. A drug overdose was the punch in the face my parents needed to get me some help, and I wound up spending six weeks in a locked down drug rehabilitation center for teens. After intensive therapy, they spit me out and told me to go to meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous. I did, and it worked. It’s 20 years later, and I haven’t had a joint, a line, or a drink in all that time. That overdose was the best thing that ever happened to me, but by finding recovery I was incredibly lucky, or blessed, or both.

It may be this was my genetic destiny, regardless of whether my parents divorced or whatever quality of child rearing I felt they employed. But it scares me to death about my own kids. I got pretty fucked up, pretty young. If my kids go down this road, they may not be lucky or blessed enough to kick it, or simply grow out of it; they have my DNA in them after all. So even though this may not be fair, or even right, of all the things my parents could have done differently, I focus on this: lack of organized activities, and nothing to do after school.

So this is the reason my kids go to baseball clinics, so they can keep their skills up and hopefully participate in something fun. This is why I’m on the board of directors for the league, to make sure it remains a positive thing for kids, and not just an avenue for neighborhood fathers to compete with each other. This is why we’re out there getting our shoes muddy fielding balls in the winter. I want my kids to be on that team, to learn to get along with people, to meet lots of different kids, to wear those little caps with pride, and maybe every so often publicly achieve something that makes them feel good.

Last year, Vincent played third base for his team. Third can be a tricky spot because it’s hard for little kids to make a good throw all the way to first. It’s a long way, and eight-year-old first basemen will never come off the bag to stop a bad throw. They’ll watch it sail by, foot glued to the bag, while the runner tears off toward second. Vincent did a fair job of playing third, but one particular play stands out in my memory. His coach is I guy I still see around, and Bobby said to me the other day, “I’ll never forget that play Vincent made in that game against the Angels last year. He scooped up that screaming line drive and whipped it straight over to first. A perfect throw to tag the runner out! He just looked over at me beaming, you couldn’t wipe that smile off his face. He was so proud of himself!” It was Vincent’s feeling, not the play, that Bobby remembered. Plays of this caliber were the exception for Vincent, not the norm.

I’ll never forget it either. The spectators and his teammates were cheering like crazy, “Did you see that throw? That was a great play! Way to go Vincent!” It was the coach Vincent beamed at, not me…and that’s the way it should be. I’m glad his ego isn’t wrapped up in trying to please me; he knows I love him and am proud of him regardless. This one was for the coach and the team. He had stars in his eyes, he was so proud of himself. This is why my kids play baseball. Watching my little guys be a part of something bigger than themselves, and occasionally doing something really cool that people remember, something they can succeed at, something that occupies their time and gets them out into the sunshine. And maybe, just maybe, keeps them on the straight and narrow a little bit longer.

Appendicitis

2006-01-09T16:27:00.000-08:00

I'm stumped, and I need one of my faithful readers to help me. I'm producing a document for work. It will probably be about 20 pages long, and I have 12 pages done so far. This document is all about the work The Herm and I do. What kinds of services we offer, what kind of equipment we use, what our plans are for the next year, blah, blah, blah. The Herm can only dedicate about half of his time to this work (the actual work, not the document), as he has other work to do as well. Normally, I spend all of my time doing the actual work. But lately I have been telling people "Sorry, I can't do any work for you right now...I'm too busy writing a long, boring report about the work I do. Maybe in February I can do some work for you. Maybe March."

But I rant. At the end of this document there is some information I need to append. Thus, I will have an appendix. My question: If there is only one appendix, will this be labeled "Appendix A," or just simply "Appendix?"

I've asked Google, I've asked Wikipedia, I've asked Jeeves. (You know Jeeves, right? He's that British butler type who is so smart you can ask him any question and he'll know the answer. Kind of like Bruce Wayne's Alfred, except...well, British, and not as smart. "Ask Jeeves," my ass. More like "Ask a fucking terrible search engine.") There's no one at work to ask, although I suppose I could ask the legal team. I'd rather not.

But I can't stand it; I live in the information age and I need information, now! So help me out, people. I need one of you to post a comment and let me know the answer. Is a single appendix "Appendix A" or just "Appendix?" If you don't know, ask someone who might. Ask a better search engine. Consult Strunk & White.

I'd appreciate it. Thanks,

--Buzz

Princess

2006-01-01T20:44:00.000-08:00

My four year old daughter has been composing stories. Here is one of many that are entitled "Princess", transcribed verbatim by my wife. By the way, I don't post because it's cute, but because it's tragic and bizarre.

Chapter 1: Once upon a time there was a gorgeous princess, and she loved dancing so much until one day she became a dancer and she wore the prettiest gown ever.

Chapter 2: The beautiful princess loved to dance in the clouds. She danced in the clouds forever. She danced in the clouds even when she was dead. She danced and danced and danced and danced.

Chapter 3: There was a beautiful princess and she didn't like going to school. She had to go to princess school, and she didn't like going because her mean brother went to the same school and sat right next to her at the same school. She was really sad because they do really really mean stuff to her until yay! the brothers died. They were really mean. They went out that day and they went to Disneyland and Fairy Tale Land and the zoo and the market and then they went to bed and they saw presents under the tree. They all got the same thing: a pair of clothes, some yo-yos, and they all got a princess gown, even the brothers. Even the new baby brother got one, too. Ha ha, hee hee, ha ha!

Chapter 4: They went out one day and found Santa Claus right on the steps until they found all the presents out the door.

Chapter 5: They went out one day until they found Santa Claus. He was just up right on the roof, sitting. The North Pole disappeared. Santa Claus told the little ones that the North Pole disappeared, so they went to another North Pole. They went and went and went and went and searched everywhere. They found the pirate boat. When they got back from going to the North Pole, they found it again. It did not disappear. It was just at the South Pole.

From the Josie Stories blog.

What Would The Herm Do?

2005-12-22T19:56:00.000-08:00

Rather than subscribing to the WWJD theory of living right, I find it works well enough to take the WWTHD – What Would The Herm Do? – approach. When I’m confronted with a difficult situation, I simply ask myself “What would The Herm do?” And then I do the opposite. Let’s see which side of this equation you fall on, by taking this simple quiz.

As you are heading up to the ATM, with your sick child waiting in the car, two men in a parked van request that you step over to their vehicle so they can talk to you. Do you:
1. Ignore them
2. Acknowledge them, but say or gesture that you’re unable to take interest in their situation, as you have errands to which you must attend, and a sick kid in the car
3. Go over to the van to see what they want
One of the men claims he has some really nice home stereo speakers, and he wants to give them to you for free. Do you:
1. Ignore him, knowing there’s not a person in this world willing to give you really nice home stereo speakers for free
2. Politely tell him you don’t really have a need for speakers at this time, that you’re in a hurry, wish him good luck, and go about your business
3. Say “Really? Free speakers? I’m all ears!”
The man tells an elaborate story about how they are A/V guys coming from an XBox demo, and they were only supposed to have four new sets of speakers delivered, but they were mistakenly given eight new sets of speakers. He then produces a catalog that indicates the speakers he’s offered to give you for free normally retail for over $2,000.00. He now asks what you would be willing to pay for the “free” speakers. (I should note here that you already own a really nice set of home stereo speakers, and also that money is incredibly tight right now, as you’re going through a divorce.) Do you reply:
1. “I thought you said these were free? What, are you trying to scam me? Go try it on someone else pal!”
2. “Gee, I’m not really in the market for speakers at this time sir, but thank you for bringing this offer to my attention. Good day”
3. “I’ll give you one hundred dollars for them”
The man says “No, I couldn’t possibly take one hundred dollars for these very expensive, really nice home stereo speakers.” You extricate yourself from the situation and proceed with your business at the ATM, at which point his heretofore silent “buddy” approaches you and continues to needle you about buying the speakers, what you could pay, etc. How does this all turn out?
1. You’re really annoyed, you tell the guy to fuck off, you collect your sick kid and go home
2. You graciously explain that you’re very low on money right now, that you don’t need stereo speakers, but you’re sure he’ll get a good price for them eventually. You collect your sick kid and go home
3. You end up giving him two hundred dollars for the speakers
You go home, feeling vaguely ashamed and confused, and your buddy Adolf helps you research these particular speakers on the internet, and you find literally hundreds of other people complaining that they are utter pieces of shit, and were bought in some kind of similar scam. Do you feel:
1. Vindicated, because you didn’t even consider buying the speakers
2. Relieved, because even though you were pressured, you didn’t buy the speakers
3. Like an idiot, because you bought the speakers

Now, look at all your answers and give yourself one point for every time you answered A, two points for every time you answered B, and three points for every time you answered C. Total up your points. If you scored:

5-7: You can spot scam artists a mile away, and you have no patience for them. You exercise sound judgment and possess good sense.
8-10: You’re a bit of a puss, but in the end you typically do the right thing.
11-15: You are The Herm

God bless The Herm. Our lives would be empty and meaningless without his antics. I'm almost willing to split the cost of the speakers with him in exchange for this story. Almost.

Five Things To Consider About Theodore Roosevelt, 26th President Of The United States

2005-12-20T13:44:00.000-08:00

Both his first wife and his mother died on the same day, Valentine’s Day 1884, under the same roof. His mother was 50, his wife, 22, having just borne his infant daughter two days previous.

He once gave a 90 minute speech after being shot in the chest, proudly showing his bloodied shirt to the crowd, and proclaiming “It takes more than that to kill a Bull Moose!” He was rushed to the hospital directly afterward, suffering from a broken rib and profuse bleeding.

Supported women’s suffrage, racial equality, workers’ rights, pure food and drug standards, and environmental protection – when all were feverishly unfashionable in national politics.

Practiced boxing, wrestling, jiu-jitsu, and would challenge White House staff and visiting dignitaries to contests of “single stick,” wherein each participant would wield a four-foot-long wooden staff and attempt to beat the shit out of each other.

Was bitterly disappointed he wasn’t wounded in the Spanish American War. Sent all four of his sons to fight in the trenches of World War One. His youngest, Quentin, 20, did not return.

Video Games Are Good For Kids After All!

2005-12-18T00:10:00.000-08:00

Great news parents! Video games are good for kids after all. Seriously, this has kind of been an issue in my family for a long time. I myself was allowed video games as a child: First Pong, then Atari 2600, then Nintento, etc. So of course now I'm a complete prick about the issue with my own kids. No, we don't have a video game system of any kind at my house, save one: the internet. I had no idea that literally thousands of games can be played for free online, having roughly the same graphical quality of mid-1990s 16 bit SuperNES games that cost $50.00 a pop. Some are sophisticated online role playing games like Runescape or Everquest. Some are goofy shoot-em-up variations designed to make your kids want to watch things like Teen Titans on Cartoon Network.

My main issue with video games is they seem to be the closest thing to crack for children. My oldest son Vincent can more or less be told "OK, time to turn the game off now." But for Henry, my middle child, it is literally like trying to pull a pipe away from a crackhead. Of course, when you think about it, what's worse: mindlessly staring at cartoons on TV, experiencing passive entertainment, or actually, actively doing something? We've decided that a limited amount of TV isn't going to kill them, so why not a limited amount of video games? Of course, I keep waiting for this magical day when my kids all decide to run outside together and start playing stickball in the street, or ollie ollie oxen free, but it just hasn't happened. I typically have to force them at gunpoint to come have a catch with me. And it's not because we don't let them leave the sanctified bosom of our home without a squadron of armed guards. It bothers me, this pervasive feeling held by some of my fellow parents who proclaim "well, in this day and age, a kid will immediately get kidnapped if you let them out of your sight for one single second!" No, I don't buy it, and the research doesn't suggest it happens on a scale that should trouble reasonable people much. I encourage my kids to "get out there. Walk over to the playground. Ride your bikes down to the park. Take the bus downtown! Hitchhike through Mexico in search of the perfect guitar!" (as a college friend did). They don't want to though. They'd rather be inside playing video games on the internet.

So as I said, it's a struggle. We enforce time limits, set a timer, give fair warning when it's almost time to stop. Still, for Henry, it's like taking food from a starving man. We've wrestled with the idea of making them play only complicated Myst-like adventure games where their brains will be dutifully excercised, their analytical and problem-solving skills honed, or (yawn) typing tutor or world history games that might teach them something useful. But can you say "I'm an oppressive, soul crushing micromanager?" However, here comes good news kids! Right in the middle of this dilemma comes startling new research saying video games are good for kids after all, and from an MIT professor to boot! Those guys are smart, right? Well, that makes all this bellyaching utterly unnecessary. OK, decision made. The XBox 360 is en route from Circuit City via FedEx, the PS2 is coming from Best Buy via UPS, and the Nintendo Gamecube is coming from Costco.com via Airborne Express. It's going to be a great Christmas!

Reality Bytes: Eight Myths About Video Games Debunked, by Henry Jenkins, MIT Professor

The Time I Almost Got Into A Fight At The Office

2005-12-11T21:55:00.000-08:00

Let me start by saying I work in an office, for the state of California, at an agency that employs just a few hundred people. I worked in a group a few years back that consisted of myself, Mathieu, and three women. Before Mathieu came aboard, it was just myself, my fellow analyst Elizabeth, and our assistant, Katie. Katie was young, friendly, and pretty darned attractive. Her job was to sit at the front desk in a kind of open area of our little suite and basically do the grunt work and clerical work that the other three of us didn’t want to do. Which is as it was suppose to be: hers was a clerical position and we were the analysts. So her job was pretty much to sit at this desk and be the front line responder to any of the other few hundred employees who might need something from our group. Katie mainly dealt with phones, pagers, building ID badges, and various reports and paperwork, and she would frequently have to help the other employees at the agency with such matters. She did her job well.

Probably the biggest problem we had with Katie was that, since she was both attractive and friendly, like bees in honey drown, the men of our agency would flock to her desk and salivate over her, and she didn't really know how to say "OK now, get lost, I have to get back to work." She'd smile and jibber-jabber with them all day long, and then roll her eyes after they left. It didn't bother me too much because, like I said, she did her job well enough. It's not like these nitwits were really keeping her from anything, and nothing inappropriate ever really went on. I should also clarify, with God as my witness, that I didn't have a thing for Katie. She was nice, she was pretty, but I wasn't harboring any kind of crush, secret or otherwise.

One of the fellows who had a penchant for hovering around Katie was a guy named Brad. Now, I have to admit that I never cared for Brad much. I will also, all modesty aside, say - and you can ask my friends about this - that I get along with folks pretty well. I'm not one of these people who hates everyone, or who has some kind of issue with every single goddamned person who walks through the door. But this Brad I didn't like. One reason I didn’t like Brad, probably the main reason, was because of an incident that occurred several years prior to the incident described in this story (which is several years old now as well). This first, more minor, incident happened one afternoon at work when I got in the elevator on the first floor, and Brad got out as I was getting in. When the doors closed I noticed that all seven buttons of the elevator had been pressed. Every single fucking button, and I worked on the seventh floor! There was another woman in the elevator, who had obviously shared a ride with Brad as the elevator came up from the basement. "What gives with the buttons?," I asked her. "Oh, Brad was messing with me and pressed all the buttons because he knew I was going to the seventh floor," she said, mildly annoyed.

She may have only been mildly annoyed, but I was fuming. I had to ride up the seven stories with the motherfucking elevator doors opening and shutting on every goddamned floor! Someone got on at three and I had to explain that Brad Thomasson, the fucking yay-hoo, pressed all the buttons. Now I enjoy a good prank as much as the next guy - especially when I'm on the giving and not the receiving end. Seriously, I'm not entirely without a sense of whimsy; I was probably 25 years old when this went down, and I wasn't a complete curmudgeon yet. But Brad was probably ten years my senior. What in the bloody fuck was a 35 year old man pressing all the goddamned buttons in an elevator for, slowing my ass down who was late coming back from a smoke break? I was so pissed I couldn’t see straight. I was fucking out of my mind with righteous fury. I was ready to kick his fucking ass! (although this is not the time I almost got in a fight with him). What I did, however, was e-mail his boss requesting that he, the boss, please try to ensure that his employees, going forward, controlled their urge to press every single button in the elevator, not knowing who might be about to hop in, or to what pressing matters the unsuspecting victims of this silly prank - like me - may need to attend. I should note that at that time, probably ten years ago now, Brad was a systems analyst, his boss was a data processing manager, and I was a receptionist. Was this mere hubris on my part? Perhaps, but I like to think of it as one person simply not wanting to take shit from another. I don't think I heard back from Brad's boss.

Back to Katie, and flash forward to 1998. I am now a systems analyst just like ol' fucko. I am no longer a receptionist, but in fact have my own receptionist: Katie. Well, Brad always has some kind of issue with his pager, or his cell phone, or the batteries for such, or he has coverage issues and he was going out of town and he needs a pager on a different frequency, and blah, blah, blah. Christ, this guy and his problems. But that's what Katie is there for. Katie got to deal with these people so the other analysts and I didn't have to. But what got to me - besides my continuing resentment about the elevator incident - was that Brad, and only Brad of all the dogs that liked to sniff around Katie all day, would grab a chair from the middle of our work area, drag it over next to Katie and plop down right freaking next to her. I'm talking all they needed to have was a ten second conversation about how she'll check out his pager and call him back later, and he's practically moving his plants onto her desk. Hear me on this, she's not showing him anything work related. There's no report they need to hunker down over, they're just having a stupid conversation about how she's going to fix his pager, and he's moving a chair over like they're about to get fucking married. It bugged me.

But it was strange, this closeness, and I noticed it two or three times over a period of a few weeks. It was just too damned intimate for an office relationship. Katie, however, didn't seem to mind. Katie was the kind of woman who all guys thought was flirting with them, and maybe even wanted to sleep with them, simply because she was attractive and friendly at the same time. (I swear to God I try not to act this way toward women. I don't claim to know much about women, but I believe this is why some really hot chicks get the "stuck up" rap. I'll wager many of them would say "Shit, if I'm friendly to a guy he thinks I want to bang him, so if I don't seem too chatty, that's why!") I mean, they sat so close, and so regularly, you would have to think that they either A) had some kind of romance or at least a serious flirtation going on, or B) were related or close to it. I know what you're saying. "Hey dumbass, maybe she liked him! Give it a rest!" Fair enough, but I didn't buy it. Katie was, at this time, probably 24 and, like I mentioned, very cute. Brad was probably 40, pudgy, and disheveled. This is partly what made it weird. He wasn't any kind of wannabe swinger. The hair was sloppy, he always had too much facial stubble going on, and he actually wore v-neck sweaters to work! Trust me, Katie didn't have a thing for him. So that left B) they were related or close to it. What else could I do but ask her about it?

"So, Katie, what's the deal with Brad? He's all the time coming up here and dragging that chair over to your desk right up against you. Is he, like, a close friend of your family or something?" "Eww, no way!," she told me, twisting up her face in horror. "He just does that and it bugs the crap out of me!" Fine, I thought, but you'd never know it bugged her. She just sat their smiling, talking, and never giving a hint that she had other work to do or that this prick was completely violating her space. It bugged me that Brad acted that way, and it also bugged me that Katie seemed to let him get away with it. I didn’t say any of that though. What I said was "Damn, what a jerk!" and also offered a feeble “you should tell him not to do that.” And that was that, or so I thought.

Next day, here comes Brad, again with some kind of fucking pager issue, and he grabs the chair that he always grabs (which, I must say, is I good 15 feet away from Katie's desk) and starts dragging it over to Katie's desk. Now, I'm not normally a hothead, and I can't say I've been in what you'd call a real fight since the fourth grade. But despite my shortness, I'm strong, confident, and I've always felt I could take care of myself without much of a problem when the time comes. So Brad grabs the chair and drags it over to Katie's desk and I say "Brad! Don't move that chair over there!"

He looks at me incredulously, and says, loudly, "What?"

"You heard me, don't move that chair over there!"

He rises from the chair, still looking kind of stunned, but defensive and challenging at the same time. "Why not?"

"Brad, you are sitting too close to her. That's too close. Now move the chair back!"

Now Brad comes at me and I go at him and we're soon standing chest to chest, necktie to necktie, squaring off. “What are you talking about ‘sitting too close to her?” he says, louder.

I respond, forcefully, “You are sitting too close to her! You need to move that chair back, and not sit so close to Katie!”

“What business is it of yours where I sit? It’s none of your business!” At this point we really are circling each other with our chests out. Crap, I’m thinking, am I really about to get into a fistfight here at my job? The state frowns on this kind of thing. This could be a career ending move. I’m not worried about my health, mind you; he's bigger than me but I’d knock this motherfucker out in a minute, and that’s really what’s worrying me more than anything. Got to make my point, make him do what I want, and stop the situation from escalating.

“Brad, you’re sitting too close to her and she doesn’t like it. It makes her uncomfortable,” I say, still circling.

“How do you know?”

“Because she says so Brad. She told me so!”

Now, I must admit, to my shame, that Katie was so mortified by this exchange that she literally fled to our little storage room, ostensibly to gather the batteries or new pager or whatever supplies Brad needed. She kind of hid out there until whatever was happening ended. But I wasn’t trying to be the hero, or impress her, or anything like that. It’s a good thing too, because my little act here did nothing but embarrass her.

My last words hung like a stone in the air. How could Brad argue with that? “You make her uncomfortable…she told me so!" A man can’t get more egg on his face than that. He moved the chair back and stood there kind of stunned. Katie returned from the supply room, sheepishly handed him the batteries or whatever, didn’t say a word, and he left. Meanwhile, my adrenaline has kicked in and I’m ready to swing on someone. I storm into my office and stare out my window, breathing heavily, until my heart returns to a sensible rate. I’m pacing, I’m clenching my fists. I finally chill out and go back into the main area where Katie is sitting kind of shocked. She doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t say anything at all. She's just sitting there looking dazed, fiddling with some papers. I’m sure she feels completely betrayed. She had told me the day before that she didn’t like Brad sitting so close, but I realized now she was never really in any kind of danger. She hadn’t asked me to kick his ass, or to have words with him, and I hadn’t told her I was going to. I just flew off the handle and embarrassed all three of us. Turns out Brad has a wife and kids, and pretty much just doesn’t really understand the whole “personal space” issue. He had never asked Katie out, or made any inappropriate comments. He just plain sat too close and I didn’t like it.

I apologized up and down to Katie, and she pretty much just tried to avoid talking about it. I felt like a heel. I knew Mathieu and Randy would love this story, but it wasn’t worth it. Katie was a grown woman who wasn’t in any real physical danger. She wasn’t my wife or my girlfriend. Where the hell was I coming from here? Speaking of my wife, I could already picture her shaking her head with that disapproving look: “Look what the idiot did now.”

In an effort to try to make things right with Brad, I sent the following e-mail:

From: Buzz
Sent: Tuesday, August 18, 1998 9:24 AM
To: Thomasson, Bradley
Subject: An Explanation

Brad,

Something Katie faces frequently working up here is male employees getting too "in her space." Although I know you mean no harm, we all have our personal boundaries. Katie is an attractive young woman, and we find that male employees tend to hover around her desk chattering to her, or standing or sitting closer than she finds comfortable. She, Elizabeth, and I have talked about this, and we have encouraged her to tell people "please don't sit so close to me," or "I need to get back to work now, if there's nothing else I can help you with." For whatever reason, she finds it difficult to be assertive like this. What happens is she ends up feeling uncomfortable and not saying anything about it. Elizabeth and I are kind of protective of Katie, and this is why I said what I said to you. Again, please understand that this is nothing personal, and I know you mean no harm. No hard feelings.

To which Brad replied:

Thanks

That’s it. One word. “Thanks.” I guess it’s better than nothing. It’s not for me to decide how he’s going to respond to my amends, or explanation, or whatever it was I wrote to him. I see now, of course, that it was a half-assed amends. I tried to deflect the blame onto Katie and bring my colleague Elizabeth into it to boot (who had nothing to do with any of this), even though everything I wrote to Brad was true. I did notice that after the incident some of his coworkers starting giving me dirty looks. Who knows what story he told them. I wouldn’t be surprised to know that the version of the story floating around Brad’s workgroup was that I was obviously sleeping with Katie, and had flown into a jealous rage when Brad tried to talk to her. Oh well, I did what I could to repair it. I can’t worry about what people think. Katie announced five months later that she was moving to southern California to work for a republican assemblyman. We never talked of the incident again. Katie eventually moved back to town, and still works for the assemblyman at his Capitol office. I see her around every so often. Enough time has gone by that I could probably joke with her about the incident now, but maybe it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.

Brad and I, however, continue to work for the same agency and our paths cross every now and then. It was awkward at first, but now we’ve got a few years under our belts. But no matter how many times I see him, no matter how much elevator small talk we engage in, I think of this embarrassing situation every single time I see him. (And no, he never pressed all the buttons in the elevator again…at least not that I ever knew about.)

What gets me is I know he probably thinks of the incident every single time he sees me also. I’d like to think he doesn’t, but I just know he does. How could he not? Wouldn’t you?

Things That Terrified Me As A Kid

2005-12-10T20:22:00.000-08:00

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Stanley Tookie Williams: Should He Stay Or Should He Go?

2005-12-07T21:58:00.000-08:00

This is a tricky issue for me. I'm not one of those liberals who, although pro-choice (in fact, in many cases, unabashedly pro-abortion), then quails when confronted with the "injustice" of eating an animal, or sending a confirmed, convicted murderer to meet his or her maker.

The Tookie case is tricky. The best point I've yet heard on this was someone on NPR who said "if not clemency in this case, then which case?" True, if ever a governor was going to stay the execution of a criminal on death row, this seems a good candidate. I mean, it's not like they'd be letting him out of jail; he's still on lockdown for life. Tookie apparently has done a whole hell of a lot of good since being redeemed by his Lord back in solitary confinement in the 90s. Although, show me a death row inmate who has not been redeemed, and I'll eat my hat. It's not just the supposed redemption, it's the writing, and the preaching, and the reaching out to others to stay away from thug life, yada, yada, yada. Don't get me wrong, that's all great.

However, there are many, many former gang members doing the same thing. Many who have committed heinous crimes, done their time, and are out on the streets preaching and reaching out to youth. Three were recently profiled in the Sacramento Bee, but in keeping with that paper's bullshit website, a search for the article - in order to link it for you - reveals nothing. It's not like the nation's inner city youth will without question lead lives of crime for the simple fact that Tookie won't write anymore books. Remember, he murdered four people. A 7-11 clerk, two motel owners and their daughter (herself apparently a mother of several young children). Murdered in cold blood, man. True, he says he didn't do it, but if you were about to be put to death for a crime you didn't commit, wouldn't you be screaming from the rooftops that you DIDN'T DO IT FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!!! rather than saying "hey, I'm really a good guy now." Of course he did it. Of course O.J. did it, that's why he's not out looking for the "real killer."

So there you go. I'm not so worked up about this that I'll get upset either way. I think the death penalty should be rare, and saved for the most heinous, clear cut cases with scientific evidence. And also applied fairly along racial and gender lines. Is this one of those cases? I don't know. If Tookie spends the rest of his life behind bars, doing good for society, I'm OK with that. But I won't shed a tear if they execute him for the murders he committed either.

Buzz 99

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