So, I just received an e-mail from a friend today who's finally, after 5 years of writing, revising, hoping, praying, worrying, thinking, and praying some more, having his book published. What's more, he's having all three of his books published (he wrote a trilogy) and getting paid a nice advance for the work. Wow. Congrats to you, BW, and more importantly, how cool has God been throughout this whole process? He'll be the first to tell you that the process I described above resulted in success mainly because of steps four and seven.
I've been with him, albeit in a small way, on the journey, mainly through supportive e-mails and prayer. I think one of the best benefits of prayer, especially in situations like this where you're praying for something good to happen for a friend for a long time, and you wait and wait and wait for that good result to come, is that when God finally does come through, you can react to the news of His faithfulness with joy unalloyed by any hint of baser emotions.
I've found, in myself, that sometimes there's a tiny hint of jealously when a friend or relative succeeds. It's an unworthy emotion, I know, but it's there all the same. It doesn't happen in all cases, by any means, so feel free to keep telling me of your successes. What's more, I haven't narrowed down what the root cause of it is. Is there a word for jealousy at someone's success? It seems like there should be.
Anyway, when you pray with and for someone to succeed, I think that you invest a small part of yourself in that person and in their goal. Therefore, when they succeed, when God comes through in a miraculous or mundane way, it's as if you've succeeded along with them, and you can share in theire joy fully. BW, I'm proud of you, proud that you stayed faithful, and glad that I was able to come along with you, at least in a tiny way, and share in your success.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
A red-letter day
In light of today's auspicious occasion, I thought I'd regale you with a tale or two from my youth.
What stands out to me most about my father is not just one occasion, but all sorts of little ones that, piled one on top of another, create a palimpsest of joy that is the hallmark of any happy childhood. One time when we were driving somewhere--I think it was on the freeway that heads south out of Riverside to Palm Springs. We were together, planning to meet my mom, sister and brother who were already at our destination. That whole ride down, my mind was alive with questions, from wondering about sharks and jellyfish to various internal organs, to astronomy and space. Dad had an answer for every one of those questions, usually one that made me think even harder, but what's more, I remember thinking how great it was that he was listening to me--not just what I was saying, but to me, his son.
Dad would always be the one to wipe off all of the counters in our house, polishing them until I could see my reflection in the surface. He never complained, and still doesn't, about working incredibly long hours at a job packed with responsibility and unhappy people. He would go out into the snow with us and toss snowballs, and he always wore that black sweater with the flourescent green chevrons on the front when we went skiing. Dad never got sick, he never got uncontrollably angry, and he was never, ever ticklish--no matter how hard Bobbi and I tried to make him laugh.
As I raise my daughter, I think back to the gift my father has given me--an example of how to be a role-model, confidante, authority figure, and friend, all in just the right proportions and at just the right times in my life. Happy birthday, Dad.
What stands out to me most about my father is not just one occasion, but all sorts of little ones that, piled one on top of another, create a palimpsest of joy that is the hallmark of any happy childhood. One time when we were driving somewhere--I think it was on the freeway that heads south out of Riverside to Palm Springs. We were together, planning to meet my mom, sister and brother who were already at our destination. That whole ride down, my mind was alive with questions, from wondering about sharks and jellyfish to various internal organs, to astronomy and space. Dad had an answer for every one of those questions, usually one that made me think even harder, but what's more, I remember thinking how great it was that he was listening to me--not just what I was saying, but to me, his son.
Dad would always be the one to wipe off all of the counters in our house, polishing them until I could see my reflection in the surface. He never complained, and still doesn't, about working incredibly long hours at a job packed with responsibility and unhappy people. He would go out into the snow with us and toss snowballs, and he always wore that black sweater with the flourescent green chevrons on the front when we went skiing. Dad never got sick, he never got uncontrollably angry, and he was never, ever ticklish--no matter how hard Bobbi and I tried to make him laugh.
As I raise my daughter, I think back to the gift my father has given me--an example of how to be a role-model, confidante, authority figure, and friend, all in just the right proportions and at just the right times in my life. Happy birthday, Dad.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
The weather feels . . . Hillsdale-y
So walking outside this morning to replace the cover on the grill from last night, I had a distinct sense of nostalgia. The rainy cold weather, the snap in the air--all of it took me back to my college days. I've probably written about this before, but the powerful associations with Hillsdale and fall in the Midwest will probably stick with me the rest of my life, at least until Evie's old enough to go back to school.
Instead of getting in the car and going to work, the weather tells me I should be waking up at 9:55, heading to a Victorian Lit. class captained by a disturbingly cheerful Sunny D. Instead of figuring out my time sheets, the cold air tells me I should be figuring out how to cut Falke's latest article by 15 words so it fits on the page. Instead of tapping away at a keyboard blogging, I should be pounding away at an N64 controller, Mario Karting.
There is one silver lining in all of this, though it does have a trailer of a black cloud attached: I'll be going up to Homecoming this year, staying with a good friend and trying hard not to let the nostalgia overwhelm me further. For those of you who can't be there, I'll be your eyes and ears, blogging about significant and less-significant events that will be taking place. And for those of you who can be there, let's get together and relive the memories together.
Instead of getting in the car and going to work, the weather tells me I should be waking up at 9:55, heading to a Victorian Lit. class captained by a disturbingly cheerful Sunny D. Instead of figuring out my time sheets, the cold air tells me I should be figuring out how to cut Falke's latest article by 15 words so it fits on the page. Instead of tapping away at a keyboard blogging, I should be pounding away at an N64 controller, Mario Karting.
There is one silver lining in all of this, though it does have a trailer of a black cloud attached: I'll be going up to Homecoming this year, staying with a good friend and trying hard not to let the nostalgia overwhelm me further. For those of you who can't be there, I'll be your eyes and ears, blogging about significant and less-significant events that will be taking place. And for those of you who can be there, let's get together and relive the memories together.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Blogging on blogging
You know, I think I've revealed a funadamental truth about myself when it comes to blogging, and that truth is: my life is fairly regular, safe and predicatable. It's unfortunate that those words hold a perjorative sense, but hey, I'm stuck with English for now, thanks to lazing about in Japan for 9 months instead of dilligently studying kanji like my friend Tony no doubt is right now. I think that the sameness of the days contributes to the feeling that nothing is really changing, when in reality (now that I think about it a little deeper), things are changing around me all the time.
Take Evie, for instance (a subject I can't get very far away from). Just two weeks ago, she had lots of words, but rarely, if ever, said more than one at a time. Nowadays, she's stringing two and three words together, and most certainly can understand almost everything said to her, as well as, I suspect, much of what's said around her.
Or, take my work, where the crush of tasks to be done continues to pile up, as usual. Things can be going along swimmingly for awhile, creating the illusion of regularity I mentioned earlier, then Bam! People leave, new ones come, clients leave, clients sign on with us, etc. etc.
I forget the thinker who came up with the concept of "Punctuated Equilibrium," but I think that, no matter what you think about evolution, the idea can be applied to everyday life as well. The basic theory, as I understand it, comes from evolution, where instead of a slow, gradual change in a species, resulting in a fox slowly changing into a wolf, for example, evolutionary change happens very rapidly and is punctuated by a catastrophic change in conditions. Thus, you can have a fossil record of trilobytes stretching back for hundreds of thousands of years, and then, in a century or two, they're all gone--either they evolved into something else or they're extinct.
Life seems to move in the same way---lots of stability punctuated by fierce bursts of rapid change. My only wonder is, when and how will my life change in the same way?
Take Evie, for instance (a subject I can't get very far away from). Just two weeks ago, she had lots of words, but rarely, if ever, said more than one at a time. Nowadays, she's stringing two and three words together, and most certainly can understand almost everything said to her, as well as, I suspect, much of what's said around her.
Or, take my work, where the crush of tasks to be done continues to pile up, as usual. Things can be going along swimmingly for awhile, creating the illusion of regularity I mentioned earlier, then Bam! People leave, new ones come, clients leave, clients sign on with us, etc. etc.
I forget the thinker who came up with the concept of "Punctuated Equilibrium," but I think that, no matter what you think about evolution, the idea can be applied to everyday life as well. The basic theory, as I understand it, comes from evolution, where instead of a slow, gradual change in a species, resulting in a fox slowly changing into a wolf, for example, evolutionary change happens very rapidly and is punctuated by a catastrophic change in conditions. Thus, you can have a fossil record of trilobytes stretching back for hundreds of thousands of years, and then, in a century or two, they're all gone--either they evolved into something else or they're extinct.
Life seems to move in the same way---lots of stability punctuated by fierce bursts of rapid change. My only wonder is, when and how will my life change in the same way?
Thursday, September 06, 2007
On Seeing Dr. Arrnn again
Yesterday, though a monster day at work, Megan and I made time to attend a Hillsdale reception hosted practically in my own backyard. This marked the first time I was able to attend one of these functions, although I have attended similar "Hillsdale events" back in the day, including "THE Hillsdale Event," the inauguration of Larry P. Arrrrrrrrnn and the subsequent initiation/christening of the Good Ship Hillsdale.
That was a night to remember. The College went all out, setting up a giant pavilion in the Quad, putting in A/C and false floors and transforming my humble Ultimate pitch into a rough approximation of a convention center ballroom, or the deck of a sailing ship. Drinks, both alcoholic and non-, flowed freely as the Captain doubled our daily ration of spirits for this occasion. SAGA outdid itself with bacon-wrapped filet and the biggest shrimp I've ever laid my oxymoronic eyes on. After speechifying, a band played and my girlfriend (now my wife) and I danced the night away in the soft summer evening.
The reception certainy echoed that initial inauguration--say what you will about the Captain, but at least he throws a decent shindig. Probably the high point of the evening, aside from seeing old friends and professors again (Dr. Conner is looking particularly well), was a brief conversation my wife and I had with the Captain himself. He was very complimentary, particularly of the old gang of miscreants and malcontents that I used to run around with (we called ourselves the "BackPage Staff" then). Dr. Arrrrrn even went so far as to say that he learned a lot from how we treated him, the Administration, and even the rules of the College itself, and paid us the very flattering compliment that he used our example as his model for student engagement at the College in the present day.
If that's the case, where's the Backpage? What happened to the funny?
Oh well. My wife and I both left invigorated, reminded of just how special a place Hillsdale is, and particuarly how special the people there are.
That was a night to remember. The College went all out, setting up a giant pavilion in the Quad, putting in A/C and false floors and transforming my humble Ultimate pitch into a rough approximation of a convention center ballroom, or the deck of a sailing ship. Drinks, both alcoholic and non-, flowed freely as the Captain doubled our daily ration of spirits for this occasion. SAGA outdid itself with bacon-wrapped filet and the biggest shrimp I've ever laid my oxymoronic eyes on. After speechifying, a band played and my girlfriend (now my wife) and I danced the night away in the soft summer evening.
The reception certainy echoed that initial inauguration--say what you will about the Captain, but at least he throws a decent shindig. Probably the high point of the evening, aside from seeing old friends and professors again (Dr. Conner is looking particularly well), was a brief conversation my wife and I had with the Captain himself. He was very complimentary, particularly of the old gang of miscreants and malcontents that I used to run around with (we called ourselves the "BackPage Staff" then). Dr. Arrrrrn even went so far as to say that he learned a lot from how we treated him, the Administration, and even the rules of the College itself, and paid us the very flattering compliment that he used our example as his model for student engagement at the College in the present day.
If that's the case, where's the Backpage? What happened to the funny?
Oh well. My wife and I both left invigorated, reminded of just how special a place Hillsdale is, and particuarly how special the people there are.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Greenish-pale thoughts
So I've been sick lately--spent most of Sunday in a chair at my wife's grandmother's trying to trick my body into sleeping so I wouldn't have to experience the feeling of losing last night's dinner, or what was left of it, again. And again. And again. Although it might seem like I only write in this blog when I'm sick or guilty, I want you to know that that's not the case. I also write in this blog when I don't have much to do at work, which lately hasn't been often.
That also contributes to why I'm writing today. Something I'm starting to realize is that I (I won't presume to speak for you, or even my fellow americans) have a slightly overblown sense of my own importance to the place where I work. Living in Japan, and talking to Europeans when there, made me realize that this is not a common attitude worldwide, though it is a common one, I've observed, in Americans. I'm at work today, despite a recent recurrence of the symptoms from Sunday, and so this sense of the importance of my work is much on my mind right now.
Is it something you've observed in yourself as well? Do you feel like you have to be at work, or at least know what's going on there, 24/7 or 24/5 as the case may be? In my case, I think it was something ingrained in me when I was little--I was the kid that always wanted to go to school, and would pretend to be better than I was in order to go. My sister had a much more sensible attitude--when my Mom took time off work, she would conveniently be "sick" until it was too late in the day for her to go to school, and then she'd pop up, cured and ready to spend the day with her mommy. Maybe this sense comes from being the first, and theoretically, most responsible child, I don't know.
I just know that I think I'm going to go home early today--right after this important meeting with my colleague.
That also contributes to why I'm writing today. Something I'm starting to realize is that I (I won't presume to speak for you, or even my fellow americans) have a slightly overblown sense of my own importance to the place where I work. Living in Japan, and talking to Europeans when there, made me realize that this is not a common attitude worldwide, though it is a common one, I've observed, in Americans. I'm at work today, despite a recent recurrence of the symptoms from Sunday, and so this sense of the importance of my work is much on my mind right now.
Is it something you've observed in yourself as well? Do you feel like you have to be at work, or at least know what's going on there, 24/7 or 24/5 as the case may be? In my case, I think it was something ingrained in me when I was little--I was the kid that always wanted to go to school, and would pretend to be better than I was in order to go. My sister had a much more sensible attitude--when my Mom took time off work, she would conveniently be "sick" until it was too late in the day for her to go to school, and then she'd pop up, cured and ready to spend the day with her mommy. Maybe this sense comes from being the first, and theoretically, most responsible child, I don't know.
I just know that I think I'm going to go home early today--right after this important meeting with my colleague.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Guilt-free writing
Sometimes I think the purpose of a blog is to be made to feel guilty by one's friends. If that's true, then it's certainly working well in my case, although I'm sure they can't complain because their snarky comments have resulted in another blog post. Seriously though, thanks for the prodding (good natured, I hope!) and pushing to keep up with this thing. It's too bad I can't make any money off of "blog posts apologizing for not writing." The problem is, they're too common.
The other difficult thing about blogging is that the big things--work, family, recreation--seem to change very slowly, or not at all, now that I'm settled into married life. Of course, as soon as I typed that sentence, I realized how false it was, as Evie's growing and changing faster than I can keep up. Didn't someone once say that one of the main benefits of children is keeping you young?
Nowadays, she's walking and talking, when she isn't running and crying, that is. She's made the full transition from " helpless bundle of needs and wants" to "bundle of needs and wants that can sometimes fulfill its own needs and wants." She's become a little person instead of a little thing, and her personality is starting to show. Luckily for us, it appears we've lucked into a very sweet, very smart person.
In terms of developmental milestones, for those of you keeping track (Hi Mom!), she can string words together--like "Too Bright!" or "Read Snowflakes!"--as well as pick up and remember new words in a jiffy. She's started to request using the potty, although this is sporadic at best, and the main reason she requests it is to use the toilet paper and throw it in the pot. She loves having "Medicine" put on her ouchies, of which there are plenty, and has started to show an aversion to bathing. Her brown eyes sparkle with intelligence, when you can see them underneath a fierce mop of light brown curls (we have yet to cut her hair).
As for me and Meg, well, that's the subject for another post. Thanks for reading, and for your patience.
The other difficult thing about blogging is that the big things--work, family, recreation--seem to change very slowly, or not at all, now that I'm settled into married life. Of course, as soon as I typed that sentence, I realized how false it was, as Evie's growing and changing faster than I can keep up. Didn't someone once say that one of the main benefits of children is keeping you young?
Nowadays, she's walking and talking, when she isn't running and crying, that is. She's made the full transition from " helpless bundle of needs and wants" to "bundle of needs and wants that can sometimes fulfill its own needs and wants." She's become a little person instead of a little thing, and her personality is starting to show. Luckily for us, it appears we've lucked into a very sweet, very smart person.
In terms of developmental milestones, for those of you keeping track (Hi Mom!), she can string words together--like "Too Bright!" or "Read Snowflakes!"--as well as pick up and remember new words in a jiffy. She's started to request using the potty, although this is sporadic at best, and the main reason she requests it is to use the toilet paper and throw it in the pot. She loves having "Medicine" put on her ouchies, of which there are plenty, and has started to show an aversion to bathing. Her brown eyes sparkle with intelligence, when you can see them underneath a fierce mop of light brown curls (we have yet to cut her hair).
As for me and Meg, well, that's the subject for another post. Thanks for reading, and for your patience.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Updates
Sorry for the fall off in blog production. A number of family issues, one of which I'll tell you about shortly, kept me away from the computer. That, and indolence, laziness, business, whatever you want to call it. Thanks for the encouragement, Hack, to post--I'll try not to let June go by without posting more than once.
So the other Monday (Memorial Day) we were returning home from a trip to G-ma Fouts' farm, where we had spent the weekend. A peaceful place with waving corn, country roads, and comfort food, we were returning from the trip happy, satisfied, and slightly early in the afternoon, ready to do a bit of light gardening and visiting Linda and Ed for Budnt cake before putting the babycakes to bed. Well, that was the plan, anyway.
The reality was, I found myself in bed with incredible stomach pain. My best analogy for the pain would be if a 98-lb weakling was punching me lightly and repeatedly in the stomach, and then that weakling slowly started to gain muscle mass until he was as powerful as Mike Tyson in his prime and just as crazy (he is punching me in the stomach for no reason, after all). And for the medically inclined out there, he wasn't focusing on just one area, but working the whole abdomen.
So I tried to soldier through it at first, laying on the floor while Evie played on me and Megan folded laundry. Tried to get some rest in bed while the two of them went to eat that Bundt cake. Tried to take my mind off of it by playing a video game (Puzzle Quest, an RPG-Puzzle game where Bejeweled is the main engine). Eventually, I called my parents to ask for advice, and, alarmingly enough, they recommended an immediate trip to the Emergency Room.
By this time, the 98-lb weakling had worked his way up to middleweight class. I climbed into the car, Megan zoomed off, and we were on our way to the ER at Lutheran Hospital. By this time, it was 8 p.m. and I still had an article to finish up for Play Magazine that was due that night. After the preliminaries, they took me back to a room and I proceeded to writhe and groan while a nurse with tiny eyebrows stuck me first in one arm, then the other when my right arm veins decided they didn't want to be an IV site after all. After we were left in relative peace, I dictated the rest of my article to Megan, who relayed it to Linda, who proofread and e-mailed the article to my editor. Free to suffer in peace, Megan and I spent the next 7 hours waiting to be x-rayed and CAT scanned, and for a doctor to come and examine me. Thankfully, nurses with syringes of powerful painkillers made the wait much less painful, though not less fearful.
I was semi-coherent during this time. After the first shot of morphine, the pain subsided enough to let me sleep, then after the first scan they needed me to drink some stuff that would help my internal organs show up better. That brought the pain back on again, and another shot of morphine. After the second scan, the doctor said that they had ruled out any of the emergency causes of the pain (appendix, kidney stones, gall stones, etc) and that, since I was feeling better, they were going to discharge me and give me a perscription for Vicodin. When I asked about the pain, they said that I should take the Vicodin if in pain and see my family doctor ASAP for a referral to a GI specialist.
Somewhat disheartened, but mostly just tired, we went home at 4 a.m., woke Linda up and sent her home, and I rested for two days waiting for the pain to come back, which it never did. I still have the bottle of Vicodin, and a new appreciation for what Megan went through with Evie.
Oh, and my editor decided not to use the article. Good times.
So the other Monday (Memorial Day) we were returning home from a trip to G-ma Fouts' farm, where we had spent the weekend. A peaceful place with waving corn, country roads, and comfort food, we were returning from the trip happy, satisfied, and slightly early in the afternoon, ready to do a bit of light gardening and visiting Linda and Ed for Budnt cake before putting the babycakes to bed. Well, that was the plan, anyway.
The reality was, I found myself in bed with incredible stomach pain. My best analogy for the pain would be if a 98-lb weakling was punching me lightly and repeatedly in the stomach, and then that weakling slowly started to gain muscle mass until he was as powerful as Mike Tyson in his prime and just as crazy (he is punching me in the stomach for no reason, after all). And for the medically inclined out there, he wasn't focusing on just one area, but working the whole abdomen.
So I tried to soldier through it at first, laying on the floor while Evie played on me and Megan folded laundry. Tried to get some rest in bed while the two of them went to eat that Bundt cake. Tried to take my mind off of it by playing a video game (Puzzle Quest, an RPG-Puzzle game where Bejeweled is the main engine). Eventually, I called my parents to ask for advice, and, alarmingly enough, they recommended an immediate trip to the Emergency Room.
By this time, the 98-lb weakling had worked his way up to middleweight class. I climbed into the car, Megan zoomed off, and we were on our way to the ER at Lutheran Hospital. By this time, it was 8 p.m. and I still had an article to finish up for Play Magazine that was due that night. After the preliminaries, they took me back to a room and I proceeded to writhe and groan while a nurse with tiny eyebrows stuck me first in one arm, then the other when my right arm veins decided they didn't want to be an IV site after all. After we were left in relative peace, I dictated the rest of my article to Megan, who relayed it to Linda, who proofread and e-mailed the article to my editor. Free to suffer in peace, Megan and I spent the next 7 hours waiting to be x-rayed and CAT scanned, and for a doctor to come and examine me. Thankfully, nurses with syringes of powerful painkillers made the wait much less painful, though not less fearful.
I was semi-coherent during this time. After the first shot of morphine, the pain subsided enough to let me sleep, then after the first scan they needed me to drink some stuff that would help my internal organs show up better. That brought the pain back on again, and another shot of morphine. After the second scan, the doctor said that they had ruled out any of the emergency causes of the pain (appendix, kidney stones, gall stones, etc) and that, since I was feeling better, they were going to discharge me and give me a perscription for Vicodin. When I asked about the pain, they said that I should take the Vicodin if in pain and see my family doctor ASAP for a referral to a GI specialist.
Somewhat disheartened, but mostly just tired, we went home at 4 a.m., woke Linda up and sent her home, and I rested for two days waiting for the pain to come back, which it never did. I still have the bottle of Vicodin, and a new appreciation for what Megan went through with Evie.
Oh, and my editor decided not to use the article. Good times.
Friday, April 27, 2007
A photo
Here's Evie in her favorite sweater at the playground. She's 13 months. Notice the tiny balls on her sweater--she loves to put them in her mouth, and will carry the sweater around with her even when she's not wearing it.
She's trying to put her finger in a little hole, by the way.
Quick hits
--So I'm completely, utterly enraptured by an online game known as Warfish recently. The game itself isn't much to speak of, it's mainly the chance to interact with friends like JS, ND, and even RD and CR. An online version of RISK, Warfish lets you play Risk at a distance with your friends. Turns aren't played concurrently, and they don't have to be played while anyone else is online, but sometimes, when JS, ND and I are all on at the same time, it can almost seem live, but you have to refresh your browser window in order to be able to see if anyone has moved yet. Sometimes I have to restrict myself from hitting that refresh button, just so that I can get some actual work done.
--For those of you following along, it's been almost a month since I've posted. Along with flagging discipline comes a healthy dose of guilt--credit my wife with getting me out of this funk and back into blogging, even if it's just, in her words, a short post.
--Evie's doing well. Her number of new words increases daily. Lately, she's taken to counting, even though she's not sure what she's doing, what she's counting, or even how to say the numbers properly. It is, as you'd imagine, very very cute. I'll have to see if I can get one of her most recent pictures up here on the blog. I'll try it in a post right after this one.
--If you're a praying sort (and I know a lot of you are), please keep us in mind when you talk to the Big Fella. Nothing major going on, but we're between churches right now, and are wandering in the wilderness as we attempt to find one.
--And that's a wrap!
--For those of you following along, it's been almost a month since I've posted. Along with flagging discipline comes a healthy dose of guilt--credit my wife with getting me out of this funk and back into blogging, even if it's just, in her words, a short post.
--Evie's doing well. Her number of new words increases daily. Lately, she's taken to counting, even though she's not sure what she's doing, what she's counting, or even how to say the numbers properly. It is, as you'd imagine, very very cute. I'll have to see if I can get one of her most recent pictures up here on the blog. I'll try it in a post right after this one.
--If you're a praying sort (and I know a lot of you are), please keep us in mind when you talk to the Big Fella. Nothing major going on, but we're between churches right now, and are wandering in the wilderness as we attempt to find one.
--And that's a wrap!
Monday, April 02, 2007
A quick Evie story
So my daughter has just started figuring out how to control the sounds coming out of her mouth. She's the proud owner of several words: Mama, Dada, Baby (her first!), Baa (ball), Up (usually said in a whiny tone) and, her favorite, No. She loves putting a "b" sound in front of many other words. Thus, "Grapes" becomes "Bapes," "Cups" becomes "Beps," etc. etc.
One of our friends gave Evie a musical toy for her birthday in February--Lulu the Word-Spinning Spider. Lulu's pretty cool--she'll play a guessing game with her charges where your baby's tasked with trying to figure out what word she's spinning via a small light display on her tummy. Lulu will also walk you through each of the letters of the alphabet as you pat her tummy, or, in what's Evie's favorite move, she'll sing the entire alphabet song.
Evie loves music, and has begun singing along to some of her favorite lullabies. The other day, when we patted Lulu's tummy and she sang the alphabet song, Evie started to sing along. It went something like this: "Bee, bee, bee, bee, bee, bee, beeeee."
Basically every letter was a B--ya gotta love that.
One of our friends gave Evie a musical toy for her birthday in February--Lulu the Word-Spinning Spider. Lulu's pretty cool--she'll play a guessing game with her charges where your baby's tasked with trying to figure out what word she's spinning via a small light display on her tummy. Lulu will also walk you through each of the letters of the alphabet as you pat her tummy, or, in what's Evie's favorite move, she'll sing the entire alphabet song.
Evie loves music, and has begun singing along to some of her favorite lullabies. The other day, when we patted Lulu's tummy and she sang the alphabet song, Evie started to sing along. It went something like this: "Bee, bee, bee, bee, bee, bee, beeeee."
Basically every letter was a B--ya gotta love that.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Marketing . . . myself
Well, sorry for the lack of posts. In my defense, I've been busy delving into my sister's time sink of choice, Facebook, in the last couple of weeks. It's a nice way to share and show photos, info, etc. without the hassle of Picasa, Flickr, or whatever else I would need to sign up to use in order to post them here on the blog. So, check me out on Facebook for pictures, and continue coming here for random reviews, musings, etc.
In the category of musings, I find that my life has been somewhat taken over by a fun little Beta program called Warfish. Basically an online, very simple version of Risk, the game's free to play and allows me to test my mettle against two of my bestest friends, J and N. Sadly, our first foray into Warfish resulted in an early exit for me, but I can attest to the fun of playing the game against actual human beings rather than the computer I spend my time playing against in games that I review. I can actually remember getting the shakes as I was about to start one of my endgame turns--it was that fun. That was actually the turn where everything went south--a big gamble I took didn't pan out, and N ended up taking the game. So if you see an invitation to Warfish.net from me, accept it and let's play a friendly game.
In the category of musings, I find that my life has been somewhat taken over by a fun little Beta program called Warfish. Basically an online, very simple version of Risk, the game's free to play and allows me to test my mettle against two of my bestest friends, J and N. Sadly, our first foray into Warfish resulted in an early exit for me, but I can attest to the fun of playing the game against actual human beings rather than the computer I spend my time playing against in games that I review. I can actually remember getting the shakes as I was about to start one of my endgame turns--it was that fun. That was actually the turn where everything went south--a big gamble I took didn't pan out, and N ended up taking the game. So if you see an invitation to Warfish.net from me, accept it and let's play a friendly game.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Long week
Man, what a week. From client emergencies to late nights, this was one of the longest weeks on record. Not to complain or anything (because it's sure better to be busy than the alternative), but just to share with you my state of mind as I type away here for the next 4:30 or so.
I think I'm going to focus more on telling stories on this little blog of mine. I went to a presentation of a woman from The Radio Ranch the other day (yesterday) who talked about how marketing these days needs to be emotional, not just reasonable. She cited numerous examples of how creating these emotional ads helped get better results for clients, appealed to potential customers, etc. etc.
I wanted to ask her what to do with the individual who wants nothing to do with emotion, but instead wants to cram a list of features into a 2 x 4 inch newspaper square, or :30 seconds of radio time. I mean, we all have to eat, don't we, and since the client is footing the bill, it pays (pun intended) to listen to what they want instead of telling them that they're stupid and that their advertising won't work. I dunno--the client management part of my job is certainly the hardest part, and I speak of managing internal and external clients here.
So to finish up my story, I raised my hand, but she chose to answer someone else's question and I didn't have a chance to ask it in person. Oh well--I'm not sure she would have had a good answer for me anyway.
I think I'm going to focus more on telling stories on this little blog of mine. I went to a presentation of a woman from The Radio Ranch the other day (yesterday) who talked about how marketing these days needs to be emotional, not just reasonable. She cited numerous examples of how creating these emotional ads helped get better results for clients, appealed to potential customers, etc. etc.
I wanted to ask her what to do with the individual who wants nothing to do with emotion, but instead wants to cram a list of features into a 2 x 4 inch newspaper square, or :30 seconds of radio time. I mean, we all have to eat, don't we, and since the client is footing the bill, it pays (pun intended) to listen to what they want instead of telling them that they're stupid and that their advertising won't work. I dunno--the client management part of my job is certainly the hardest part, and I speak of managing internal and external clients here.
So to finish up my story, I raised my hand, but she chose to answer someone else's question and I didn't have a chance to ask it in person. Oh well--I'm not sure she would have had a good answer for me anyway.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
2 books, 2 weeks
Just finished two books in the last two weeks: The Life of Pi and The Tragedy of the Whaleship Essex. One's true, one's not, both deal with folks getting shipwrecked and having to subsist in extremely harsh conditions. And I enjoyed both immensely, but for different reasons.
The Life of Pi is lyrical, prosaic. It attempts to place the narrator's suffering in a philosophical context. As such, it takes on (at times) the feel of a Gabriel Garcia Marquez novel, usually when its protagonist, Pi, is undergoing the harshest suffering. Told from the perspective of someone looking back on their ordeal, there's no surprise that Pi survives the wreck. Rather, the surprise is that he survives with so much of his humanity intact, particularly when he survived on the same boat as a 500 lb. Bengal tiger for 200-odd days.
Essex, which is a true story, takes a more historical approach. Exhastively researched and entertainingly told, it's not just the story of a shipwreck, but also a lens into life on the island of Nantucket in the 1700s and 1800s. Philbrick (the author) clearly and cleanly lays out the story, drawing logical conclusions on what the men were most likely thinking and feeling from the time the boarded the ship, through their harrowing ordeal across the Pacific, and after they make it back to their community.
I highly recommend both books.
In other news, I'm open to suggestions for my next book--feel free to post your recommendations as comments.
The Life of Pi is lyrical, prosaic. It attempts to place the narrator's suffering in a philosophical context. As such, it takes on (at times) the feel of a Gabriel Garcia Marquez novel, usually when its protagonist, Pi, is undergoing the harshest suffering. Told from the perspective of someone looking back on their ordeal, there's no surprise that Pi survives the wreck. Rather, the surprise is that he survives with so much of his humanity intact, particularly when he survived on the same boat as a 500 lb. Bengal tiger for 200-odd days.
Essex, which is a true story, takes a more historical approach. Exhastively researched and entertainingly told, it's not just the story of a shipwreck, but also a lens into life on the island of Nantucket in the 1700s and 1800s. Philbrick (the author) clearly and cleanly lays out the story, drawing logical conclusions on what the men were most likely thinking and feeling from the time the boarded the ship, through their harrowing ordeal across the Pacific, and after they make it back to their community.
I highly recommend both books.
In other news, I'm open to suggestions for my next book--feel free to post your recommendations as comments.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Hopes and Dreams
Go Fla., Kans., G'Town., A&M!
Just got a call from a couple friends and a family member of mine (I swear I'm not making this up) who are in a bar, enjoying all of the games, and wondering where I am. As I told them, I'm at the same place I was last year--stuck at work and staring at a computer screen.
Let's not let this happen again next year, shall we, future Billy?
Just got a call from a couple friends and a family member of mine (I swear I'm not making this up) who are in a bar, enjoying all of the games, and wondering where I am. As I told them, I'm at the same place I was last year--stuck at work and staring at a computer screen.
Let's not let this happen again next year, shall we, future Billy?
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
It's March, so get MAD!
Really looking forward to March Madness this year. It's an annual tradition here at my office--we get everyone in the office (and some who aren't) to fill out a bracket, and post them all on my wall. Then, as the games are played, my friend Mark and I highlight the winners and award points based on rounds, so for round 1, you get 1 point for a correct pick, round 2, 2 points, etc. You get the idea.
Last year's bracket was an absolute mess (thank you very much, George Mason). I think the contest came down to the 15-year-old daughter of one of our staff, and a former college basketball player who fancied himself an "expert" on the game. Needless to say, the 15-year-old ended up winning the whole shebang.
So as not to give anything away (to my Hillsdale friends who read this blog, despite the intermittent updates), I won't be posting my picks or even my leanings here until after the tournament has already started. Sorry. But feel free to post your picks in my comments section!
Last year's bracket was an absolute mess (thank you very much, George Mason). I think the contest came down to the 15-year-old daughter of one of our staff, and a former college basketball player who fancied himself an "expert" on the game. Needless to say, the 15-year-old ended up winning the whole shebang.
So as not to give anything away (to my Hillsdale friends who read this blog, despite the intermittent updates), I won't be posting my picks or even my leanings here until after the tournament has already started. Sorry. But feel free to post your picks in my comments section!
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
The Answers
Ok, here are the answers to my previous contest--looks like we had no winners this time. I'll also disclose (because I'm sure you're dying to know) which of these I've read and which I've just . . . skimmed.
Molly (Ulysses--skimmed)
Scout (To Kill a Mockingbird--read)
Benjy (The Sound and the Fury--read)
Ralph (Lord of the Flies--read)
Humbert Humbert (Lolita--skimmed, felt scummy after skimming)
Tom J. (Grapes of Wrath--read)
Daisy (The Great Gatsby--read)
(NO idea--haven't read Beloved) (Beloved--haven't read, probably won't after reading Jess' comment)
Caufield (Catcher in the Rye--read)
Big Bro (1984--skimmed, liked Animal Farm better)
Stay tuned for future contests! Someone'll win that no-prize yet!
Molly (Ulysses--skimmed)
Scout (To Kill a Mockingbird--read)
Benjy (The Sound and the Fury--read)
Ralph (Lord of the Flies--read)
Humbert Humbert (Lolita--skimmed, felt scummy after skimming)
Tom J. (Grapes of Wrath--read)
Daisy (The Great Gatsby--read)
(NO idea--haven't read Beloved) (Beloved--haven't read, probably won't after reading Jess' comment)
Caufield (Catcher in the Rye--read)
Big Bro (1984--skimmed, liked Animal Farm better)
Stay tuned for future contests! Someone'll win that no-prize yet!
Friday, March 02, 2007
Wicked!
An interesting exploration of the nature and root of evil, Wicked sets out some interesting characters and a well-defined setting, but eventually collapses under its own weight, melting away without much fanfare. The story of Elphaba, aka the Wicked Witch of the West, Wicked follows in the tradition of books like For Love of Evil or the one about the three little pigs told from the wolf's perspective--only it's much better written. Maguire avoids an easy hole to fall into right from the start by not telling the story entirely from the witch's perspective.
By doing so, he lets us see his most compelling character, Elphaba, that much more clearly. The Witch--complex, driven without knowing why and uncompromising without knowing what she believes in--commands your attention from the very first. Born with green skin and sharp teeth to a missionary family in Munchkinland, Elphaba seems marked from the very first to stand out. The story traces the rise of the Witch: her short, unhappy childhood; her days at an academy for girls spent studying biology from a garroulous Goat; her battle against the Wizard of Oz and his secret police; and her eventual destruction at the hands of an apple-cheeked girl from Kansas.
Along the way, we learn that she and Glinda, the "good" witch of the North, were actually friends at the academy--though at first Glinda spurns Elphaba because of her poor upbringing and sharp wit. We meet Nessarose, the Witch's sister, last seen wearing the ruby slippers underneath Dorothy's house, and find that she's actually a pious, upright, and moral person, with no arms. And we discover why and how the Witch came to be, and about her relationship with the Wizard of Oz and the Emerald City.
The best part of this novel is seeing how skillfully Maguire brings the land of Oz to life, infusing it with culture and character and populating it with all sorts of interesting folk. There are depths to Oz that the movie only hints at, at least to Maguire's fertile imagination. It's an interesting excercise in world building, something that's remarkably difficult to do for even the best authors. That Maguire has created something new out of Baum's novels is all the more remarkable.
Where the book suffers the most is in the uneven pacing of its plot. An inordinate amount of time is spent on minor characters, and particularly on Elphaba's time at the girls academy. By the time she actually moves out west and sets up shop, you're wondering how the story can be brought to an appropriate close because it quickly becomes clear that there's a lot of story left to be told and too few pages to do it in. Sadly, this turns out to be the case--the ending feels rushed and the book unfinished, almost as if a publisher, tired of waiting for the book, simply demanded that Maguire finish the book or return his advance.
Perhaps the musical was better. Any thoughts?
By doing so, he lets us see his most compelling character, Elphaba, that much more clearly. The Witch--complex, driven without knowing why and uncompromising without knowing what she believes in--commands your attention from the very first. Born with green skin and sharp teeth to a missionary family in Munchkinland, Elphaba seems marked from the very first to stand out. The story traces the rise of the Witch: her short, unhappy childhood; her days at an academy for girls spent studying biology from a garroulous Goat; her battle against the Wizard of Oz and his secret police; and her eventual destruction at the hands of an apple-cheeked girl from Kansas.
Along the way, we learn that she and Glinda, the "good" witch of the North, were actually friends at the academy--though at first Glinda spurns Elphaba because of her poor upbringing and sharp wit. We meet Nessarose, the Witch's sister, last seen wearing the ruby slippers underneath Dorothy's house, and find that she's actually a pious, upright, and moral person, with no arms. And we discover why and how the Witch came to be, and about her relationship with the Wizard of Oz and the Emerald City.
The best part of this novel is seeing how skillfully Maguire brings the land of Oz to life, infusing it with culture and character and populating it with all sorts of interesting folk. There are depths to Oz that the movie only hints at, at least to Maguire's fertile imagination. It's an interesting excercise in world building, something that's remarkably difficult to do for even the best authors. That Maguire has created something new out of Baum's novels is all the more remarkable.
Where the book suffers the most is in the uneven pacing of its plot. An inordinate amount of time is spent on minor characters, and particularly on Elphaba's time at the girls academy. By the time she actually moves out west and sets up shop, you're wondering how the story can be brought to an appropriate close because it quickly becomes clear that there's a lot of story left to be told and too few pages to do it in. Sadly, this turns out to be the case--the ending feels rushed and the book unfinished, almost as if a publisher, tired of waiting for the book, simply demanded that Maguire finish the book or return his advance.
Perhaps the musical was better. Any thoughts?
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Musings
Glad to see people are starting to come back and read this. That started me thinking about the point of a blog. All of the marketing literature/white papers that I have read have talked about how you can use your blog to make money (via selling adspace through Google's AdSense program) but you have to have A+ content and a committment to posting. Also, the conventional wisdom about the Internet is that bloggers are like a pack of rabid journalists with instant access to the hearts and minds of loyal readers. Apparently, we're the new creators of myth, rumor, and the occasional grain of truth that spreads around the 'Net in waves. And then you have my view, which is that blogging is really just a way of sharing your thoughts with whomever might be willing to listen, be they friend or stranger.
I don't know . . . what do you think? Why do you blog? Is it for fun? Profit? Both? And is it meeting your expectations?
For me, this has been a lot more work and anxiety than I ever expected, a great example of how a seemingly simple committment can balloon into something much larger than you ever imagined. Granted, my committment to the blog is largely internal--I'm not selling anything, and I have yet to break a legitimate news story. But something in me doesn't like starting something and not finishing it, especially since you, my readers, presumably want to hear what I have to say.
Anyway, sorry for the rambling nature of this post. Hope it sparked some thoughts in you, at least.
I don't know . . . what do you think? Why do you blog? Is it for fun? Profit? Both? And is it meeting your expectations?
For me, this has been a lot more work and anxiety than I ever expected, a great example of how a seemingly simple committment can balloon into something much larger than you ever imagined. Granted, my committment to the blog is largely internal--I'm not selling anything, and I have yet to break a legitimate news story. But something in me doesn't like starting something and not finishing it, especially since you, my readers, presumably want to hear what I have to say.
Anyway, sorry for the rambling nature of this post. Hope it sparked some thoughts in you, at least.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Bonkers
Wow, it looks like I have even fewer readers than I thought--or maybe just fewer readers than I thought with literary pretensions. I'll leave it up for a couple more days, just to see if there are any stragglers out there, and give you the answers next week.
In the meantime, why don't I tell you a quick story about Evelyn. She's started to really figure out how this world works in the past few weeks. From walking, to putting things inside of other things, to refusing to eat certain foods at certain times (I don't think there's a food out there that she's consistently refused, except for the "meat" baby food. After tasting those items, I can understand why). We'll often find things where we didn't expect them, like a screwdriver in the refrigerator, or a stuffed animal in one of our pots. And of course, getting into the bathtub can be quite an adventure as well, just because we're never sure what might actually be in there.
The other day, Megan and I were having a conversation about, oh, I don't know what. Evelyn, as is her wont, decided that she needed either or both of our attention right then. And I mean, RIGHT THEN. She didn't take kindly to our admonishment to wait a few seconds, seeing as she doesn't understand the concept of time and all, and so decided to get our attention in a more forceful manner. She walked over to our bathroom cabinet, stood extremely close to it, and bumped her head gently into it. And by gently, I mean VERY gently--I don't think it would have bruised an overripe avocado. Then, she turned to us and cried, loudly, as if saying, "see what happens when you don't pay attention to me? I bump my head and get hurt!"
Megan and I were both trying not to laugh at this point, and needless to say, Evie got what she wanted--our attention. Since then, she's done it a couple more times, never hitting her head hard, but just enough to pretend that she's hurt. Ah, parenting. . .
In the meantime, why don't I tell you a quick story about Evelyn. She's started to really figure out how this world works in the past few weeks. From walking, to putting things inside of other things, to refusing to eat certain foods at certain times (I don't think there's a food out there that she's consistently refused, except for the "meat" baby food. After tasting those items, I can understand why). We'll often find things where we didn't expect them, like a screwdriver in the refrigerator, or a stuffed animal in one of our pots. And of course, getting into the bathtub can be quite an adventure as well, just because we're never sure what might actually be in there.
The other day, Megan and I were having a conversation about, oh, I don't know what. Evelyn, as is her wont, decided that she needed either or both of our attention right then. And I mean, RIGHT THEN. She didn't take kindly to our admonishment to wait a few seconds, seeing as she doesn't understand the concept of time and all, and so decided to get our attention in a more forceful manner. She walked over to our bathroom cabinet, stood extremely close to it, and bumped her head gently into it. And by gently, I mean VERY gently--I don't think it would have bruised an overripe avocado. Then, she turned to us and cried, loudly, as if saying, "see what happens when you don't pay attention to me? I bump my head and get hurt!"
Megan and I were both trying not to laugh at this point, and needless to say, Evie got what she wanted--our attention. Since then, she's done it a couple more times, never hitting her head hard, but just enough to pretend that she's hurt. Ah, parenting. . .
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