A Strange Season

It's hot!!! It is December and we are dealing with 80° leaf raking! I know this is the south and global warming is good for homeless people but this is nuts.
Saturday I did some spring cleaning while the fam was out of the house. Man o man, the dust was amazing! I even cleaned under the bed. I think we are going to go without a box springs for a while. I wonder if the trash service will pick that up.
I found a tv station I did not even know I had. It is called versus and it is basically MMA-WEC all the time. It used to be like hunting and fishing channel but now they don't suck.

Uneasy tilt

I have to admit that I have written many more blogs than actually appear on this site. I am told that I don't write enough but the truth is that I don't click publish enough.

I wonder if old people ever become comfortable watching young people ignore their advice and make painful or expensive mistakes.

Tap Out

Thanks mostly to the History Channel's show Human Weapon, I have started watching MMA. For the uninitiated MMA stands for Mixed Martial Arts. I grew up watching boxing with my dad in the big days of Mike Tyson so boxing is nothing new but Ultimate Fighting Challenge is crazy. (or is it Champion? Who knows)

The flying kicks and jujitsu are fun to watch. While I will not likely ever punch, kick, or arm bar anyone I have a challenge for any of those MMA guys. Go countless rounds with my 4 month old. Each night I think it will be the night that I am going to have energy to do something productive after he is put to bed. Each night I am beat into being a dribbling idiot by a baby.

He is relentless! Just when you think you are doing well he starts screaming. By the time I get him to give up the awake game I have nothing left to offer. I am barely able to type this series of sentences out. I may reply to an email or check some of my RSS feeds but basically I am out. I tried writing the lunch money check tonight and had to use a calculator to do some subtraction. I wrote the date in the amount and almost started writing October on the, what do you call that line where you write out the numbers in words? I sometimes have to look up how to thirteen or is it nineteen? Oh, its nineteen. This always makes me think of that robot dancing guy on Star Search that danced to the song Nineteen by Paul Hardcastle. Na Na Na Nineteen.
Wow, I will check woot.com and go to bed.

Not even Survivorman would be able to focus after a few rounds with this baby. I can't wait until he is a teenager and I can wake him up in the morning so he can watch me drink coffee. My son that is, not Survivorman. That would be uncomfortable for both of us I am sure of it.

The rested and guilty

If Nature abhors a vacuum; then why doesn't she just sweep?

Are there rehab programs for workaholics? Not that I am a workaholic. I have a day job. I have a part time side job and occasionally take side project work for friends and co-workers. I have multiple volunteer jobs at multiple levels in the cap. What's wrong with that? I am not a workaholic. Stop looking at me like that.

We all start at denial. I can blame genetics or at least poor role models because I come from a family chock-a-block full of workaholics. They are all ate up with it and don't even know it.

I prefer to think of myself as a driven underachiever with a guilt complex. Years of being called lazy by other workaholics puts some unrealistic thoughts into your head.

What would rehab be like? I won't go and you can't make me. I can see some sort of reality t.v. show based on the Workaholic's Rehab center. The people in the rehab would be sneaking into the administrator's offices to use their computers to check e-mail. Maybe they would start servicing the laser printer or file paperwork.

The Doctor would come by and say:

Doc: I hear you were working today.
Me: No, I was relaxing like you told me to.
Doc: Well, the nurse said you filled all of the paper trays in the copier.
Me: That is relaxing for me. That is not work, who calls that work?
Doc: I also heard you bribed a janitor for the keys to the server closet.
Me: I thought it was a media room.
Doc: Then why did you organize and label the patch panel?
Me: Was that wrong?

I used to think that if I made X number of dollars that I could sit back and enjoy life. I was kinda right. It is actually more about debt to income ratio than about salary. We hit a magic debt to income ratio for a few years and things were nice. I stopped working outside of my day job completely but then a cascade of mergers and buyouts happened to me and that all went out the window. The magic ratio is gone and despite our higher salaries we have more expenses than ever..

So.... I work. I should be working now. Never mind it is really late in the PM and I am at home. At least my addiction doesn't kill anyone.

Highlights

I have seen some funny stuff while on a weekend get-a-way.

I saw some sort of lawman wearing a Judge Dread style outfit with chains, knobs, radios, and all manner of what-not. He swaggered as he purchased his miniature sand tarts at the fru-fru coffee shop in Alexandria.

I saw a little kid with a Mohawk. I remember thinking that this is the first step toward a mullet.

In a town called Waterproof I was passed by a car that literally looked like it just left the scene of a crime. It was going about 90mph with no back glass, no seat belts, and three thugs looking like they were high.

I can't forget the corn. This is the most corn laden road I have ever seen. If it were not for the swamps I would have thought I was in Iowa.

I have come up with a motto for the good people that live in the small town of Iowa, Louisiana.
"Iowa, the town so nice no one will correct your mis-pronunciation"

I saw a sign for a dentist who's name is apparently Dr. Booty. The business name is Booty Dental. I don't know Dr. Booty but I have some advice. Our town has a fetish of sorts for pirates and dressing up like pirates. I think Booty Dental should specialize in gold teeth as in a pirate's treasure is called booty.

This post reflects the scatter state of my mind currently. I will try harder to write later.

Do not be alarmed!

Shunsa on the go. I have just turned on blog by email so let the
misspelled bad grammar begin.

--
Scott Hunsaker

Safari is as wrong as IE 7

Like fried squash, deer meat, and iced coffee I have now tried the public beta of Safari. Just like all of those other things it left a nasty taste in my mouth.

I don't know what I expected really. I guess I was hoping for some sort of jazzy Mac'd up version of FireFox but I was wrong. I have used Safari on a Mac before and just assumed that it was crippled because it was on a Mac. I was hoping that maybe a Windows version would "fix" it but not so.

The install was very fast and it played nice with my PC. When I uninstall it I will get to see if it goes quietly into the night or if it tries to rip out files it did not put there like iTunes used to do.

The first thing I noticed was that it screwed up every single font on the page. I guess it is some sort of "softer side of the internet" approach but I don't like it. It is like there is a thin film of goo over the window.

The next couple of items maybe dismissed by those of the Mac cult as things I only think I need but I don't have to live like that. Where is the Back and Forward drop-downs? Why can't you kill the search box? Why does the address line assume I want it to auto complete something there with no way to kill this feature.

The only feature worth noting is shot in the foot by the developers. The Private Browsing mode has potential. It cloaks your browsers from the junk trying to pry at your machine. Sadly the auto complete address line is still there no matter what you do and once you close and reopen the Private Browsing is turned back off again.

I have to say that I would consider using IE 7 before I would use Safari on a regular basis. The funny thing is that I won't be using IE 7 or even allowing it to be installed. I am a FireFox guy for now.

Your life has changed. Do you want to save the changes? Yes, No, or Cancel

Sometimes even the strong buckle under the crushing weight of the world. What chance do I have?

I think I am still running from the past couple of years. Rita, the baby, and a strike to build your dreams on. Sounds like a movie you would find in the cheap bin at Wal-Mart but it has been my life for almost 2 years now.

Some thoughts from the past 2 years:

1. You can never have enough insurance
2. Medicare part D has to be the most complicated garbage I have ever seen.
3. ICU is not a happy place
4. Alabama truly is a nice place to live
5. Nomex has to be the worst fabric ever made
6. You can never depend on the government or the Red Cross for ANYTHING.
7. News of a baby turns your home into a dumping ground of baby junk from other recent parents

A perfumed city

Spring is setting in my lovely town. A heavy flower powered perfume fills the air. Sun rains down and the peoples are a-buzz like there is some sort of carnival in town.

The reality is that I am allergic to most everything I encounter. I sneeze until I bleed and then sneeze some more. The sound of sirens of all type are everywhere. And let me tell you about the buzzing people: They are insane!

Today we all went to the playground. My son is five years old so playgrounds are great for him. When I was five I would have given up a lung to get to leave the dregs of the side of highway suburbs to go to a playground. Of course I outgrew playgrounds around age ten. Apparently the thought that swings and tiny slides are for small children is just another of my old fashioned notions.

The park today was filled with teens and near teens. In fact, there was a "Happy twenty first birthday" sign posted for all to see. I don't think the sign was a joke. Some kids I could have mistaken for the starting defensive line of the school football team were playing "you're it" in the "Tyke's Area" of the playground.

I was amazed to see a 13 year old girl on top of a 15 year old boy in the slide outlet area. They had apparently made the 3 story tall slide trip down together headfirst embraced as they were. I won't say that I am shocked but it was not what you normally see at a playground. At least they had their clothes on.

Well I have jury duty in the morning. I am sure something interesting will come of that.

Eye See You

Hospitals suck. I am sitting in the ICU waiting room in a big ugly hospital. I hate hospitals but this one has several qualities that make it tolerable. I am sitting in a huge leather comfy chair. It is nice enough. I am drinking free coffee. This is a positive considering how much I love coffee. I am also blogging using the free guest Wi-Fi internet. All of these are positive things.

The negatives are easy to discern. I am here for a reason. The reason is that my Dad had a heart attack, balloon angio-something or another, and the subsequent few days in ICU. This stinks.

Dad is going to be okay but it is still not fun for anyone involved. This place is crazy. A line forms at the door for visitation time. We all line up and wash our hands in turn like we are in elementary school. We put on our name tags and file into the ICU secret special area. There are no chairs in ICU apparently. Your entire visit is conducted standing. Very strange.

I have no larger than life lessons drawn from this experience so far. I also don't have any advice for those going through what we just went through. I have no profound statement to make. This is all I can say about things.

Jimmy and the Broom

I met a guy today. His name is Jimmy. He lives in the woods. At least that is what he said. I don't see any reason why Jimmy would lie to me. He just met me today when he asked me for $6.85 so he could buy some smokes and a beer. I paid him to sweep the sidewalk. I don't know what to think about this.

Alphabetically Speaking

I used to deride products with nonsense letter-number combos like the V2100 or the GX260. I now take all of that back. The names of cell phones like Chocolate, Pearl, and Blackberry drive me crazy.

The names are not descriptive and they are not usually something you want to talk about with other adults. I can not imagine being a sales person and having to ask a grown man if he would like a Cryzr, or Roker.

My phone is a Cingular 3100. That is a solid name and one that I am not embarrassed to say.

Days gone by

Mrs. Jackson's kindergarten class had one entire wall of nothing but closets. In the far corner was the coat closet. The teacher would pick some suck-up to be the person to stand on a chair and put the coats on the rack. I don't remember ever having the honor of coat hanging person. In today's world of ORM and ergonomics I am sure they have replaced the pig-tailed class tattle tale on a metal folding chair with some age appropriate coat hanging solution.

I mention this because I was a spacey kid. As the third of four kids at home, I was content to sit undisturbed for hours. I would day dream about dashing into the coat closet to find the hidden door that led to a room with a vent that led straight out the top of the building. The process involved putting on some sort of suit with a cape and flying out of the closet and around the play ground. I kid you not. This is real and vivid still in my memory.

In the first grade we had a substitute teacher for most of the year. A temper filled red headed woman that happened to go to my church. I had a Kool-Aid backpack with a Velcro flap that would never stay closed. I thought that if I jumped on it that it would eventually close tight enough so as not to spill out. Mrs. Jones thought I was insane for jumping on my backpack and suggested to my parents that I needed some help.

In the third grade my teacher believed I was retarded from the start. Why else would a kid wear camo t-shirts and have an official G.I. Joe fan club belt buckle. She tried to have me put in "special classes" so as not to deal with me. My parents would have nothing of this.

The freak, I mean teacher, decided to take matters into her own hands. She brought a refrigerator box from home and cut out the back and top. She put my desk in the box and there I stayed next to the actually retarded kid in the washing machine box in the back of the class. I pretended the box was the inside of a tank and accomplished even less work than ever.

The third grade had an economy of sorts. You could earn stickers and display them on a plastic box. I had one sticker for every 15 that my peers had on their boxes. When I would earn one it would not be a "scratch and sniff" one because those were for the good kids. I don't think I learned anything that whole year and my cursive handwriting and multiplication skills prove it.

In sixth grade I named my backpack Mr Picasso and made him talk to the other kids. I even had a voice for it and everything. I tape-recorded T.V. shows on cassette for later consumption since we were not rich enough to have a VCR. I never learned the board-foot formula and clearly failed 7th and 8th grade English and Math while still advancing to high school without a single repeat.

All of these stupid memories were brought to mind while I went through a box of school records my mother had kept. This all makes me realize that I don't have to worry about my son. He is goofy and a day dreamer. He has funny voices and silly dances. He likes Lego and stuffed monkeys.

I don't have to sweat his phonics or attention span too much. If I can make it through 12 years of bottom of the barrel teachers, never doing homework, and day dreaming the day away then my much smarter son will do just fine.

The holy union

I wish Little Debbie and Mr. Coffee would just go ahead and get married. They have been together so long we all assume that they were married but doing some Internet Research on the Internet I discovered they are not married. Can you imagine a mocha flavored oatmeal cream pie? That would be awesome!

I am running on near intravenous Community Coffee Caf'e Sepcial and a steady stream of low quality carbohydrates. I worked through lunch today and that is hard for a fat man to take. I have also given up Coca Cola which both explains my mood and complete addiction to coffee. It has been 2 weeks since I had the sweet burning sensation of an ice cold Coca Cola. I don't crave them or anything but I just don't have a replacement beverage for it yet.

If you are wondering why I am not drinking coca sodas anymore I will splain. I had this idea that I was drinking too much High Fructrose Corn Syrup. There is no way I can put as much sugar in my coffee as comes in a can of coke. In a round about way I have just reduced my caloric intake. It maybe misguided but it is at least a better defined principle than the grapefruit diet.

Just for the taste of it!

My next action

I have been a bad blogger. I never make the time to blog for this reason or that. I run the risk of losing my blogger street cred or something.

I have good reasons for my lack of bloggy blogg blog. Just before the holidays I moved my "stuff" back into my office from my exile office. It only took a year and 3 months but I have returned my office to better then pre-Rita condition. Fake hardwood floor, a randomly chosen WASPy flavor of beige wall color and a mini-van full of Swedish office furniture and there you go. I have put the Evil Genius Control Room on a GTD inspired diet where only the most useful remain.

I still need to get a love-seat, put some electrical outlets in the closet, and put install track lighting, but I think it is coming together nicely.

With my new office comes new responsibility. I have taken to learn the Getting Things Done method of stress-free productivity. The idea that we spend so much time thinking about what we need to do instead of actually doing it really spoke to me. I am impressed so far. It is a little like learning Karate from a comic book for me considering my modalities of learning but I am working through it. My RAM is freeing up. I don't have all of my 43 folders yet but with Darron's help I'm gonna get those other 31 folders!

IT so you don't have to.