Prom 2008 - "Now With Breathalizer!"

Yep...it's that time of year again. For our third consecutive year, Erin and I chaperoned the prom. Actually this is the second consecutive year that Erin has been one of the organizers of prom, so with each year, she gains more responsibility and the speech about how I'd better not do or say anything stupid gets a little bit longer.

This year's prom theme was "Viva Las Vegas." What could better suit a student at an elite college preparatory school than a thorough instruction in the art of roulette or Texas Hold-Em. I kid, but prom this year was a rousing success. This year's prom had several key differences from previous years, and I think in all cases these changes were beneficial.

The first major difference was that instead of a formal sit down meal, there were food "stations" placed around the room. These included a veggie/dip table (read: the table nobody went to), a fajita table (read: the table covered with little chunks of discarded meat), a turkey carving station (read: a man with a big knife and short temper for snotty high schoolers), a pasta bar (read: a table for people trying to carb load for the rest of the night's activities), and finally, my personal favorite, a dessert table (read: where you'll find me for most of the evening).

I was assigned check-in duty for prom, which stationed me directly across from the dessert bar. As the food stations opened up, I noticed that the long lines were at the main courses, but the dessert bar was looking lonely. I also had a creeping fear that the desserts which looked good to me might disappear at the hands of these greedy little monsters who had actually paid their way into prom, so I decided to make my move. While everyone else was eating dinner, I snuck (rather unsuccessfully) over to the dessert table and loaded up a platter of desserts.

This plan worked flawlessly and proved to be endlessly entertaining to the other parents and teachers assigned to check-in duty. Erin was off doing other things, so I ran little risk of getting smacked around for what was later deemed embarrasing behavior. I also noted that since it worked so well, I should make it a ritual every 15 minutes or so. I tried different desserts with each visit, and it actually became quite a challenge once I discovered that if I emptied one plate on the dessert table, they brought out new, DIFFERENT desserts to replenish it with.

After my checkin duties were done, Erin and I made our way to all of the other food stations. It was difficult to scoop up the pasta or fajita meat, in part because of the diabetic tremor I had developed after two hours of dessert. I also noticed that I was having trouble controlling my bladder and my vision was blurry in one eye. Such is life.

After we had eaten our real dinners, I decided I needed my real dessert. As I made my way back to the dessert station and got a couple of cookies placed on my plate, one of the deans at Erin's school scolded me and ordered that I take no more cookies. She laughed in that, "I'm just kidding with you, but you really are disgusting" kind of way. I was undeterred.

Following the meal, the kids could either stand on the dancefloor and be deafened by the soothing sounds of today's Top 40, or they could make their way to any number of gaming tables around the room. These tables turned out to be an enormous success. There was no money involved, and you simply played for bragging rights, but these high school kids ate up getting to sit at a real gaming table with a professional dealer who, in some cases, looked like a hired lady. It was a hoot.

The kids who stayed on the dance floor also provided me endless entertainment. One of my coworkers noted that his daughter's school now broadcasts live video from prom on a local cable access channel. This seems like an interesting idea. He commented that he was somewhat taken aback by the fact that kids no longer dance facing each other, choosing instead to have the girl in front of the guy with her back to him. Apparently strip clubs are now providing dancing lessons.

I figure this makes the girl feel better about all the lunch money she blew getting her "tramp stamp," the common name of those lovely tattoos in the small of girls' backs that are so popular. I tried to explain to Erin why this type of dancing is so popular with the younguns, but she still didn't quite get it. I then tried to show her, but this only resulted in her smacking the top of my head and threatening to have me neutered.

At the end of the evening, as they did on the way into prom, the deans gave each kid a breathalizer. The students had been warned about the test on the way INTO prom, but they weren't aware of the test on the way out. We manned the exits at the back of the hall, figuring at least one kid would catch wind of the exit exam and make a run for the back door, but it didn't happen. This year's prom appeared to be a problem free experience, as far as alcohol goes.

Erin and I spent a lot of time discussing what the theme for next year's prom could be. This mostly involved me making suggestions featuring inappropriate slogans. For example, I suggested that they bring in Pop-A-Shot basketball goals and have T-shirts that say, "I scored at prom." I made other suggestions as well, but in the interest of maintaining our family friendly readership, I'll stop now. I figure I've already garnered myself a couple of nights on the couch with this post as it is.

Adios

On my final day in Juarez, I was forced by incurable hunger (I hadn't eaten since breakfast) to venture into the streets alone to find lunch. I decided initially that I would go to a Burger King that didn't appear to be too far away, based on Google Maps. It was in the same vicinity as the Wendy's I'd previously visited, so at least I knew the area.

As I approached the Wendy's, I decided that the BK was still several miles away, and no part of me wanted to get any closer to central Juarez than I had to. I also noted, at this point, that there was a restaurant called Barrigas near the Wendy's, which we had eaten at on our previous trip a couple of weeks ago. I decided that I'd rather have decent Mexican food than lame fast food, so I headed into Barrigas.

My food was good, although not exceptional. I spent the whole meal a little paranoid. During my dinner at Kiki's the previous night, a couple of El Paso natives told me multiple times that they thought I was crazy to wander around Juarez alone. They said things like, "Don't you know they have shootings in broad daylight?" and "If you have a wreck, you have a 50/50 shot of ending up in jail."

What I've discovered is that I actually feel much safer in China, in part because I don't have to drive. Mexico requires you to have "special" Mexican insurance, and if you have a wreck, it's immediately a criminal matter. Coupled with the fact that the traffic in Juarez is horrendous, and things like turning left from the right lane are common, and I just don't like taking the chance of having to deal with the cops over an accident. My drive back to the plant from lunch was made even more complicated by another sand storm, so visibility on the highway was extremely low. What a nightmare.

Erin inquired as to why I didn't just eat lunch at the plant. Excellent question. Basically I have a greater fear of being killed by our cafeteria than I do of being pistol whipped by a Mexican cop following a fender bender. When this plant opened a few years ago, there were several deaths due to improper food preparation in the cafeteria. No exaggeration. Deaths. "I'll have the chicken fingers...(24 hours later)...I'm dead now. Dang." There is a van parked in front of the factory that sells various burritos and such. Apparently they're very tasty...if you don't mind eating perishables from the back of an unrefrigerated minivan in 90 degree heat. Hell hath no fury like Montezuma...

Dinner last night was a mini-pizza and many brews (dig my homonym) at a place called BJ's Brewhouse. It was all tasty, made even better by the fact that it was all half price due to a happy hour special. Half price mini-pizzas are probably more dangerous for me than half price pints, but I was glad to test both. I crashed at the hotel early, wanting to get a good night's sleep before my 8am flight.

As I sat staring at my wedge salad and supreme mini-pizza, a thought crossed my mind. Over my many trips during the past few years, I've heard some dang seedy tales regarding what guys do on business trips. I've heard tales of drunkenness and debuachery. I've heard tales of strip clubs and girls in Asia. I've heard of guys putting weed on an expense report as an "entertainment" expense.

But what dawned on me last night is that my wife need not worry about me hanging out at strip clubs or smoking a joint. These are not my vices. No, my vice is corporately expensed food. When I travel, it's nearly impossible for me to eat in a proper fashion, knowing that I'm not paying for it, and I have nothing better to do. If it's fried, I'll take it. If it's green...and fried...I'll take it. If it comes smothered in cheese or some sort of butter based sauce, I'll take it.

And then each night, once I'm so stuffed that I can't remember what city or country I'm in, I wedge myself back into the rental car, I go back to the hotel, turn on the TV, and lay in the middle of the bed in various stages of undress with my arms and legs sprawled out like I'm making a snow angel on the covers, moaning quietly to myself in gastric misery. And I think, "If only Erin and Grant were here, life would be perfect." Indeed...

Howler Monkey

Bret call this new trick "Grant's Howler Monkey"

Mexico -- Round Dos

Monday, April 28

Well I've obviously ticked my employer off in a big way, because I find myself marooned, yet again, in Mexico today.

After a whirlwind weekend which involved seeing my cousin's family complete with their new son in Greencastle, followed by a visit to Chicago to see my good friends who are relocating to Singapore, I boarded a plane at 5:45am this morning and arrived in El Paso at 10:00am (noon Indy time).

I dropped my luggage at the hotel, had a quick bite to eat (at a place called Cheddar’s, in honor of my wife having previously waitressed at a restaurant of the same name in Indiana), and then proceeded to the border crossing. After receiving my visa in an uneventful fashion, I headed into Juarez.

The drug wars in Mexican border towns are at a fever pitch at the moment, and many passengers on my flight were discussing various strategies for getting into and out of Juarez in as quick a fashion as possible. After having no trouble with my visa, I had a somewhat false sense that things would go smoothly.

As I headed back out onto the street, I immediately saw six or seven policemen with machine guns tearing some guy’s car apart while he lay handcuffed in the street. Ok, no big deal…Just another day in Mexico, right? Then I stop at the first stop light. Two cars behind me, I see a pickup truck off to the side come barreling toward the guy waiting in line at the light. The truck plows into the guy, obviously on purpose. Both vehicles then pull into oncoming traffic and go racing around me through the red light, causing much dust and screeching of tires.

Now a little more shaken, I made my left turn and headed for the main road to our factory. Two more lights and the previously attacked car came barreling by me, jumped a curb at high speed and proceeded the wrong direction up a four lane road.

I'm not one for swearing unnecessarily, but can someone please get me the **** (choose your own word) out of here?

Tuesday, March 29

After a much needed night’s rest (and a really necessary beer at Logan’s Steakhouse), I awoke this morning and began my trek across the border for yet another day. Today went much more smoothly. I did witness a truck full of Mexican federal agents standing in the back carrying machine guns wearing what appeared to be black ninja outfits. This didn’t seem all that concerning in the grand scheme of things.

I tried a different route to work, which was semi-successful. My goal in altering my drive was to avoid left turns. It seems that in Mexico, you can turn against a red left turn light. I found this out as a semi-truck driver came at the back of my rental car at 80 miles per hour and began blaring the horn until I made my turn against the light. It appears that everyone does this, but it scares the bejeebies out of me. I’m under no delusion that Mexican drivers would stop before hammering into your passenger side door, especially if they saw the Texas license plates the moment before impact.

My new route only had one left turn, so I thought I’d found a master plan. When I arrived at the intersection, it had been designed such that you had to make a right turn and then an approved U-turn to go left. This is great! NO left turns! Except that it took me a moment to figure out the system. I started to attempt a left turn, only to be alerted to my mistake by a police car on my tail whose lights were set to “Stun The Gringo.”

The rest of my new route turned out to be pretty good, although the “major” street shown on Google Maps would qualify as a “major” alley in most places. I will probably continue to use this new, left-less route for the remainder of my visit, as it also avoids the part of the expressway that turns to dirt for a few yards, as discussed in my last visit.

I ventured out to Wendy’s, of all places, for lunch. The dilemma was that none of my Mexican colleagues seemed very interested in going out at 12:45pm, and I was about to eat the table (after I’d thoroughly sanitized it, of course). So I grabbed my Mexican car insurance from my laptop bag (I’ve been advised that you should have this on your person while driving, for if you leave it in the car and someone absconds with your vehicle, you’re up somewhat of a crick) and headed out.

My first thought was that I didn’t have any pesos, so I needed to find a place which took Mastercard. My second thought was that I’d go back to the nice Mexican restaurant I ate at on the previous visit to Juarez. As I approached this restaurant, which is only maybe three miles from our factory, I noticed a Wendy’s. As I approached the door, I took note that they accepted credit cards, so I was good to go.

After lunch, I began the few miles back to the factory. It was chaos. People pulling out in front of me, people honking, more trucks driven by ninjas with machine guns aimed out the windows. Madness. I’ve decided that if I ever want my dad to have heart failure under what will not appear to be suspicious circumstances, a drive through Juarez might just be the ticket.

This evening I ventured into El Paso proper for a meal at Kiki’s, a restaurant I discovered while perusing the web in my free time at the factory. I knew I’d found a restaurant close to my heart when I saw their sign which read, “Kiki’s – We now have silverware.”

I’ll post pictures of all my adventures later in the week. Kiki’s was, as hoped, a brilliant place for El Paso cuisine. My meal reminded me a lot of my beloved Pancho’s in Indy. I had Chicken Muchaca, which was the special. It was chicken, peppers, onions, cheese, and tortillas, but it was far better than the same type of dish would be at a generic Mexican restaurant. I drew some looks as I took pictures, and I ended up spending my meal talking with a couple at the bar who were native El Pas…uh…El Pasians(?) who had been eating there for 25 years. They were surprised that I’d tracked the place down as a business traveler. I explained to them that I’m far more willing to drive all over creation for a good meal than the average business traveler.

And with that said, I think I’ll head over to Outback for dessert…

SOOOOOOOOOOO BUSY!!

We are sorry for the lack of posts lately, but to say that we have been busy would be a gross understatement. Bret's week long trip to Mexico coupled back to back with the week long retreat I led, and we're already hurting. But these last two weeks were just the beginning.

This weekend was madness (in a good way), and there's no sign of things slowing down until mid-June. Every single weekend is crazy booked, which is hard to believe as Bret and I are not popular people. Not even good looking. Or rich. So what gives?

In the next two months, we've got three trips (a Mothers' Day Weekend, a family wedding week in Key West (da beach baby!) and a visit to family in Northern California. On top of that, Bret is on (as of this morning) his second work run to Mexico in the last three weeks. I've got to finish up school (and test and papers and portfolios), throw my school's prom (how did I end up signing the dotted line on that one for a second year?), and let's not even get me started concerts, parties, and camping trips with friends. Yikes!

This weekend started us off on our whirlwind with a bang. Friday night, we had dinner with Grant's birthmom and sisters which is always a treat. We love them so much; they are very dear to our hearts.

On Saturday, we finally got to meet cousin Brakston (heart-melter) and say bon voyage to the members of the Long Family as they head off to Singapore for FOUR years! The weekend included lots of food (a Hawkins' family favorite), a roadtrip to Chicago, Grant's worst hotel stay in history, and a stop--yet again--at the Beef House.

Grant, in all of this, was a trooper (I think he thought all of the parties were for him as each location had new toys with which to play). He gets bigger and smarter and funnier every day... and more willful! He gets so angry sometimes. He almost NEVER cries real baby tears. He cries "I am so honked off right now" kind of tears. It's almost screaming or yelling. Or, at the very least, very, very forceful pouting.

Here are some pics and such to make up for the lack thereof over the last few weeks.

Grant hugs his birth sister; he adores them!


Grant has always loved music, but right now, he could spend all day at our piano or my guitar. They are baby crack!


Grant standing (about to touch something he shouldn't)


To come this week: Grant's howler monkey video and tantrum video!!

"Weirdo" Addendum

Erin informed me this evening that the previous post, while funny, may seem a little, uh, mean.

I'd like to be clear that while I found the behavior of the gentleman in question odd, to say the least, I would have been perfectly friendly if he had approached me in conversation. Instead, he was, shall we say, hostile to the greater Steak 'n Shake environment around him. In other words, he didn't seem like the small talk type.

So here's to you, Steak 'n Shake iPod camouflage guy. If you ever need a hug or just a shoulder to cry on, give me a call. I'll send Erin.

Wierdo

The other night I went to Steak 'n Shake by myself. Erin was off at a conference, Grant was with Grandma, and I was hungry and incapable of feeding myself with goods found in our house, so I went to Steak 'n Shake.

Upon arriving, I noticed a man seated at the rear of the store. He had long, stringy hair, camouflage pants, a camouflage jacket, and what appeared to be brand spankin' new tennis shoes, as bright as the day is long. (Why is it that these types always have one article of clothing that appears to have received all of the care and attention of which the rest of their being has been deprived?)

He also had yellowish-brown tinted glasses, but they weren't just any glasses. They were one step short of being protective glasses like those worn by people practicing firing a handgun. He wasn't smiling, he wasn't frowning. He was staring. Dead ahead. He also had a pair of over-the-ear style headphones, attached to what appeared to be an iPod in his shirt pocket.

As I stood at the entrance, my initial thought was "Geez...So that's where I was headed if Erin hadn't arrived on the scene."

The hostess greeted me and then started back toward this guy's section. Sure enough. She seated me in front of him, and just off to the side. The man wasn't seated "properly" in his booth, instead choosing to sit sideways with his legs sticking out in the aisle. I took my seat with my back to him, but I could still just make him out from the corner of my eye.

Beyond the fact that I'd have to spend my whole dinner wondering if this guy was planning to lop off my head on the way out of the restaurant, I was also disturbed that my addition to his section had created, quite obviously, the "crazy single guys" section of the Steak 'n Shake.

Families would enter. I'd see parents' eyes meet with mine or his. I'd see them look at their children. There would be a brief conversation with the hostess. Then they'd head for their seats on the far side of the restaurant. I had inadvertently been sucked into "the dude's" vortex.

While trying to avert my gaze, I noticed him stand up and approach the waitress' station a few times, sticking his coffee mug out in front of him. He hadn't ordered any food. Only coffee. Gotta stay edgy. He would then ask the waitress to refill his cup, and he did it in the very-familiar-to-me "I forget I'm wearing headphones" voice -- a few decibles above crazy. At one point, one of the waitresses filled his mug, he looked into it, and stuck it back out asking for it to be "completely" filled.

He eventually stood up and walked straight out the front door of the restaurant, leaving nothing but his smell at the table. I thought, "Hmm...Nobody's chasing him to pay his bill. I can't say as I blame them." After about 5 minutes, he returned and took his seat.

All I can figure is that he had to go make sure the bodies weren't thawing.

A New Haircut

I cut Grant's hair last time, and it was an easy task. This time, my "terrible twos" one year old decided enough was enough. I got a few clips in before I started worrying about seriously puncturing his head.

He was left with large spots of hair all over his head. He looked like a sick puppy.

After what was a "less than fun" event at the local Great Clips, he has a new buzz cut fade, just in time for summer.

Here's the before:


Here's the after (he's saying: "what the heck are you doing?", isn't he?):

Mama misses his curls. Thanks goodness they grow back.

Single Dad

Sorry for the slow week of posts. Erin is on a work retreat, therefore I'm doing single daddy duty for the week.

Things I have learned this week:

1. If your child cannot walk, you cannot let him go down the slide without the second parent present. In other words, you cannot place him at the top of the slide, and then run to the bottom in time to catch him without him incurring some level of injury. Or so I've heard.

2. Poop can act as a kind of "baby alarm clock" at 4 A.M.

3. Chicken and dumplings can be used as hair gel.

4. No matter how much work I put into bathing, feeding, and changing the boy, I am no substitute. It is possible for him to say, "Mama?" several thousand times in one afternoon.

5. If you try to step over the baby gate while coming down the stairs, it will stop you. And you will think twice before doing it a second time.

Please come home, Erin. I understand now.

Bret

Grant's Newest Cousin

We are so thrilled to celebrate (finally, right Heidi?) the adoption and soon to be homecoming of Brakston Lawrence Taylor, Grant's newest cousin.

Heidi and Boomer live just an hour a way or so, and they are currently in Guatamala picking up Brakston (forever family day is today!!). We couldn't be more excited for them. We're also excited that there is yet another adoption in the family!!! What a beautiful boy!



Brakston: we can't wait to meet you!!

Fly Away Home

Here's a video leftover from our Birmingham extranvaganza...

More Factory Days

(Thanks to one of my coworkers for the pic of the previously discussed mural...)

Day two at the factory was only slightly more productive than day one. I wandered around quite a bit, just trying to learn the process and gain some insight into how our products get built. Hopefully it will help me to understgand in the future when the factory dudes call screaming because we used some type of part that requires the line operators to do a handstand while holding a 15 pound piece of plastic with their feet for it to be installed.

We had another great lunch at a Mexican restaurant in Juarez. I'll try to track down a web address for it later. What I really want is the ability to do those "zoom from Earth to an individual car" on Google Earth like they do on CNN, since I can pinpoint these places I've been on those maps. Perhaps I'll get that figured out soon.

For dinner last night we ventured out to a place called Jaxon's here in El Paso. It was good, basic brewpub food with a Southwestern flair, which mostly means that everything came with a chile or some type of extracted rattlesnack venom as a spice. It was too late for me to care whether the food was good or not, and I ended up eating a spinach salad and a couple of beers. I did get some sort of continentally sized brownie with ice cream for dessert. My coworkers marveled that I would pass on another beer in favor of a brownie. How little they understand about me.

I'm now stuck on an hour flight delay waiting to leave El Paso. Given the mess with the airlines over the past few days, I guess I'm glad that it's only delayed because the flight crew is trying to get the FAA required amount of sleep before the flight. My coworkers are/were booked on flights from El Paso to Chicago on the dreaded MD80. They're not expecting to get home on time.

I will say that this trip made me appreciate my Mexican brethren in our factory. They were organized, efficient, and hard working, as near as I could tell. I spent yesterday in a room doing an assembly with four guys and a girl from China, three guys and a girl from Mexico, and me. When the Mexicans and Chinese took their hands off each other's throats, it was a model of world economy efficiency.

(I ended up getting home safely this evening... Good to be back...)

Factory Day Numero Uno

7 AM

I got up way too early this morning to meet my coworker and cross the border into Mexico. After an uneventful trip across the Zaragoza Bridge from El Paso into Juarez, we only had a few miles of driving before reaching our factory.

My colleague suggested that it was my turn to drive today, which was fine. It reminds you how easy things are in the U.S. though. While the traffic in Mexico is much better behaved than the traffic in China, there are still some oddities. At one point, I was on a four lane road which abruptly turned to dirt. I had to cross a small field of dirt and grass (all in a major metropolitan area, mind you) before the road picked back up again. No explanation. Just no road there.

My Chinese buddies made the Mexico factory guys take them to a local Chinese restaurant for lunch yesterday. Nothing about Chinese food in Mexico sounds appealing to me, so we're headed out shortly for lunch at a recommended Mexican restaurant. Should be fun.

I have discovered this morning that they have an interesting soft drink down here called "Manzana Lift." It's bottled by Coke, and it tastes like a sparkling apple drink. Good stuff!

2 PM

We had an excellent lunch at a Mexican steakhouse. I had a great slab of beef, along with a cheese enchilada. The whole thing was very tasty, and the beef easily would have been up to our usual standards in the U.S.

During lunch, the wind began to pick up. There are 45 MPH winds forecast for today, which have also prompted dust storm warnings. By the end of lunch, you couldn't see across the gravel parking lot at the restaurant. On the way back to the factory after lunch, there were two cars, both inverted, in the middle of the expressway. Apparently they were blinded by sand, traveling at high rates of speed, and ended up entangled. It was VERY ugly.

5 PM

As frequently happens on these trips, the day was pretty useless from a work standpoint. Parts aren't here on time, people aren't ready, etc. I'm lobbying to go out to another local Mexican restaurant tonight back in El Paso.

One thing I noticed today in the factory is that there's a giant mural painted on a wall as you enter. It is a map of the U.S. and Mexico, and there is a giant Chinese flag waiving off to one side. From the Chinese flag there is an arrow pointing first to Mexico and then from Mexico to the U.S., symbolizing the flow of our products in production. For some reason, it seemed a little eerie...

In other news, apparently Juarez is currently Mexico's most violent city. There have been scores of deaths related to the drug trade, and the U.S. is getting ready to issue a travel warning regarding visiting here. Makes me want to set out on foot for lunch tomorrow...

Hola

"Out in the west Texas town of El Paso..."

Ah, yes. The dust. The heat. The lack of a neighboring city of any size. It can only be El Paso. In reality, El Paso is merely where I've chosen to sleep this week. I'm actually spending my days, starting Wednesday, in our factory in sunny Juarez, Mexico just across the border.

Imagine...Ten Chinese guys, three Americans, and a factory full of Mexicans. It has the makings of the perfect "buddy comedy."

"Follow the zany hijinks of Kwon-Foo "Jerome" Chen, Bret Hawkins, and Javier Blanco as they inhibit production on an entire product line for a major manufacturer. There'll be laughs (mostly bodily in nature), there'll be tears (mostly by company management), and there will be the potential for an international incident. Tune in."

I departed Indy this afternoon at around 3:00pm. I boarded a small plane for a relatively long trip across the middle of the country to my stopover in Houston. There were a couple of notable oddities about the flight, or rather its patrons, that give a picture of how my afternoon went.

First, soon after we took off from Indy, the plane began to smell as though someone had used their colostomy bag as a whoopee cushion. It was really awful. My flights to Hong Kong have rendered me less than sensitive to the smell contained within an airplane seat cushion during a long distance flight, but this was, possibly literally, a whole different animal.

The second item of note was that the gentleman sitting across from me had a monocle. He also had "normal" glasses, but occasionally he would remove them in favor of the shiek Inspector Clouseau look. Where do these people hide in "real life?" I haven't recently encountered anyone with a monocle outside of The Count on Sesame Street. (Sniffle...I miss my boy...)

I'm now awaiting my, already delayed, flight to the land of taco shells -- El Paso. I sat down for dinner during my wait when the gentlemen across from me said a swear in my general direction and then tried to hide. I gunned him down with a stare, and he confessed:

Airport Dude -- "What are you eating?"
Me -- "Uh, a 'stuffed' slice of pizza."
Airport Dude -- "I've never seen anything like that. Is it normally eaten with your hands?"
Me -- "In an airport, surrounded by the likes of you, it is."

I was incensed. Luckily the gentleman departed before I ate a giant chocolate chip cookie and slice of key lime pie.

Bret + Long Layover + Expense Account = B I N G E

More when I cross the bridge tomorrow...

Are you serious?

This car, with the plates "that car," was on the road as we headed down south. See, things do get nuttier the farther south you head.



I don't know if I was scared or amazed.

Chicken Little

Here is Grant talking like a chicken. To die for cute!

Spring Break

A week ago we loaded up Big Whitey (our family friendly name for our giant, white, shoulda-been-sold-to-a-retirement-village mini-van) and headed south for Birmingham. Spring Break gives us a great opportunity to go hang out with family, get warm in the 70+ degree weather, and eat everything not bolted to the countertop at my aunt and uncle's house.

This year's visit was no different. We had a wonderful time seeing everyone down there, and I did, indeed, eat most of their food. When I wasn't eating their cupboards bare, they took us out for a couple of great meals. The first was at a place called Dale's Southern Grill. An upscaled version of the classic meat and three, this place provided us the opportunity to try fried pickles, fried green tomatoes, and various other Southern cuisines. I love eating at these types of places while in the South, since we don't have anything similar in central Indiana. How hard can it be to soak stuff in butter and breading, then fry it? I think perhaps someone needs to take the opportunity to open someplace like Dale's in Indianapolis. You could even make Lipitor one of the sides.

The other big meal out was at a place called Newk's. We all had various sandwiches and pizzas, although there wasn't enough evidence of excessive use of a deep fryer for my liking. The crazy part of the Newk's experience for me was that I looked up midway through my lunch and saw a couple of old friend's from high school waiting in line. Given that we were over 500 miles from where all of us went to school, it was crazy running into them in Birmingham. One of them had moved to Birmingham five years ago, and the other one was visiting him. It was great to spend a moment catching up with those guys, although the presence of kids, wives, gray hair, etc did remind me that high school is drifting into the past at a rapid pace. In any case, it was great to see Mr. Keene and Mr. Corbin.

After saying our goodbyes to Birmingham, we headed north to Cullman, Alabama, home of the Ave Maria Grotto. Now I've been seeing the signs on I-65 for this place since I was a kid, but I had no idea what it was. Who uses the word "grotto" with any regularity? "Grotto" always evoked an image of a man straining. I have no idea why. Erin found out about the Grotto on her own and insisted we stop. The basic story is that this monk named Joseph Zoettl created miniature versions of various sites from around the world. They've been collected and placed on a hillside behind a monastery in Cullman. Monks in Alabama. Who knew?

As it turns out, the Ave Maria Grotto is relatively fascinating if only for its scope. There is a whole hillside covered in little buildings and shrines made out of old shells, buttons, hunks of rock, broken dishes, etc. The buildings are literally made out of whatever Brother Zoettl had lying around. If you went to someone's house where they had a front porch stacked with various old appliances, bedding, dishes, and car parts and started having your kids make little buildings, you might end up with something similar. But the work is definitely fascinating, and it's interesting in that Zoettl made so many little buildings. It's definitely worth a stop if you're ever trying to break up the monotony that is northern Alabama.

Part of the Ava Maria Grotto

After departing Cullman, we headed northeast toward Scottsboro, Alabama. Most people's knowledge of Scottsboro ends with the Scottsboro Boys, but as it turns out, they now also have the distinction of being home to the Unclaimed Baggage Center. How this ended up in Scottsboro, Alabama -- hours from the nearest major airport -- is beyond me.

The Unclaimed Baggage Center is a store filled with all of the stuff left in bags which are collected up by the airlines. Seeing the amount of unclaimed baggage lying next to baggage carousels around the world, I expected this to be a cornucopia of untold riches, and to some degree, I was correct. On one floor, they had piles of clothing, shoes, and books to peruse. On another floor they had a wall of golf clubs, luggage, CDs, DVDs, and various other electronics. You could find a cell phone charger for any model from the past 10 years at this place. Somewhat disturbingly to me, they had piles of earbud headphones available as well. My mind replaced the image with a giant pile of flowing ear wax. Ick. There is some unclaimed baggage that should just be pitched, and this would include earbuds and underwear. This place sold both.

Initially I was excited to look through the piles of treasures, hopeful to load the back of Big Whitey with loot. But after I got started, I realized that the trip wasn't going to be as fruitful as hoped. For example, they had a handful of iPods. Most were one generation old, and most looked as though they'd ridden on the floor of the lavatory for the duration of a flight from Atlanta to Kyrgyzstan. Price? Approximately $50 off their original new price. Maybe 25% off.

Now if I'm going to load up my cart with treasures, I want to pay, oh, 10% of the original price, not 75%. Clothing appeared to be the same story. CDs were $6 with no artwork...the disc only. Since I heard several others griping about the prices in the store, apparently my reaction was common. Apparently the place is selling stuff, otherwise I can't imagine it would stay open for long. In the end though, it was a disappointment. I guess the only cheap way to get this stuff is the old fashioned way -- to grab it off the baggage claim carousel and run like mad.

After leaving Scottsboro, we headed for Chattanooga. We had planned to spend a couple of days in Chattanooga, and we had booked a room at the Holiday Inn an the Chattanooga Choo Choo complex. Priceline netted us the room for $45 per night, and the reviews online were good, therefore I was optimistic about our stay.

The lobby of the hotel was very nice, having been restored with a great deal of care. As I was checking in, a manager of some sort came over and chatted with me. He then had the attendent put us in a "new" room that had recently been renovated. He made a big deal of the room being new and in a nice building, so I was grateful.

As we drove to Building 3 at the back of the complex, I became aware that the Choo Choo complex has the feeling of a once great entertainment venue that is now merely staying open. Everything looked a little worn, and places taht looked as though they were begging for crowds of people with drink in hand, were strangely solemn. It was like being in an amusement park when it's closed off-season. We drove across two empty parking lots before finding our building, which had a handful of cars parked out front. The outside of the building was nothing special, but there was a nice pool with a jacuzzi in the middle...again, all empty. (It was in the 50's that day, so this was understandable.)

As we approached our room, we passed a room that was barking. Not one dog, but multiple dogs. This is never a good sign with me. I can appreciate people loving their pets, but I don't need to stay in a hotel with them. Luckily they were well away from our room, so it wasn't a problem, but it did leave me with a questionable feeling.

Our room turned out to be fairly nice. Like much of the rest of the complex, it was nothing spectacular. It had, indeed, been renovated. But there were still plenty of hints that it was an old building. The AC didn't work quite right. The tub dripped continuously. The bottom of the bathroom door was water damaged. We were paying $45 per night though, so it didn't bother us much. In China, they'd be telling me "5 Star...5 Star!"

Chattanooga turned out to be pleasant enough. It's obviously a city undergoing a downtown renaissance, with lots of new buildings and restaurants. We had a good, but not unique dinner at the Big River Grille & Brewing Works. Grant had the grilled cheese and left enough food on the floor to feed the previously mentioned Kyrgyzstan for a year. We had some teriffic barbecue at a place called Porker's. (This might be the only restaurant in America for which I could serve as a pin-up model.)

Our last night we had pizza at a local place called Lupi's. The food at Lupi's was great, but the long wait for our food to arrive didn't settle well with Grant. He spent the majority of the meal flinging various bits of bread and pizza all over downtown Chattanooga. At one point he scowled, grabbed his bib, gave it a yank, and through it on the floor all in one motion, as if to say, "I've had it with all of you."

Our favorite meal in Chattanooga was breakfast at a place called Aretha Frankenstein's. I read a great review of this little place online, so we hunted it down. (Plus the image of the "Queen of Soul" with bolts in her neck makes me giggle. Inexplicably, Aretha's website is titled "So Damn Happy." Sounds like somebody found the Zoloft jellybeans to me...)

The restaurant was situated in a neighborhood, away from the tourist center of the city. It featured only a few tables, but the food was great and the atmosphere was fun. There were lots of music posters everywhere featuring "my bands" so I enjoyed that. The only issue was that, again, the small kitchen meant a long wait for food. Grant serenaded everyone with various shrieks while we waited. He and Erin both fought colds for the entire trip, so he was in no mood to sit around waiting to eat. I do have to love a place that bills itself as featuring "breakfast, lunch and beer." Sounds like the food pyramid to me.

We hit several of the major tourist attractions in Chattanooga, including taking a ride on two trains. The first was an hour long ride provided by the Tennessee Valley Railroad. The other was a trip up Lookout Mountain on the inclined railway.

Mommy and Grant before boarding the train

The inclined railway chugs up Lookout Mountain at a 72.7% grade. It reminded me of the train up to Victoria's Peak in Hong Kong, although it was significantly steeper. Surprisingly, Erin had a much greater issue with this railway than I did. By the end of the trip, she had bent the steel on the rail in front of her. She was not pleased that we had purchased round trip tickets.

The view from the top was great, but it's one of those attractions that you do primarily to say that you've done it. I did find it fascinating that the gift shop featured multiple cookbooks featuring "Hillbilly" or "White Trash" cuisine. These items appear to sell hand in hand with magnetic rocks and fudge.

With a similar mindset, we headed over to Rock City. My knowledge of Rock City was only that the classic "See Rock City" ad was painted on barns all over the midwest, and you frequently see little bird feeders with the same message in our neck of the woods. As it turned out, this ended up being our favorite attraction on the trip. I carried Grant on my back for most of the visit, which meant that I had to pull him out of the carrier several times due to narrow squeezes through the rocks. (In reality, he was merely providing me an excuse. My aunt Karen's chocolate cake was the real culprit.) Erin and I both agreed that Rock City might make a good pit stop while on a drive to Florida in the future.

Daddy packing Grant around Rock City (one of Erin's fav attractions ever)

Upon leaving Chattanooga, we made our way across Signal Mountain to the town of Whitwell, Tennessee. Whitwell is the home of the Children's Holocaust Memorial, as featured in the film "Paperclips." Basically a group of middle school students started collecting paperclips as symbols of each life lost in the Holocaust. They have placed the paperclips inside an authentic German transport boxcar, along with many other related items. It's a touching memorial and was worth the stop.

We next proceeded to Fall Creek Falls state park in Tennessee. A colleague of mine had suggested that this was a very scenic park. We did enjoy the couple of waterfalls we visited, but Erin and Grant both felt pretty miserable, so we ended up heading home. My only comment on Fall Creek Falls was that Tennessee should take a lesson from Indiana on how to present a state park. We had to hunt for an information booth, where I received hand drawn maps of the trails. I never did get a good map of the roads within the park. It was definitely a little tricky finding our way around the hills without a good map.

Some of the Falls at Fall River Falls State Park

Our final stop was at Barren River State Park in Kentucky. We happened to be passing through the area and made a brief stop so that I could show Erin and Grant where I almost died as a 6th grader. My family had descended on Barren River for Thanksgiving. My cousin and I decided to take on one of the hills on our skateboards. The net result was that I spent Thanksgiving throwing up and watching the room spin. (Although truth be told, I probably would have spent the holiday throwing up anyway, due to an excessive intake of cobbler and pie.) I banged my head pretty good, and I was glad to see upon returning to Barren River that the hill was, indeed, a steep one. (I greatly feared that I would return to find a nice shallow grade that even a small child could negotiate on a skateboard. I was vindicated.)

Overall we had a very nice visit with our family, and we were impressed with Chattanooga. It's sort of a shame that Erin and Grant both felt pretty lousy by the end of the trip, but I think we found some places we'd like to visit again in the future. I can now say "I seen Rock City" with pride.

The End

Birmingham Visit

This past weekend we made the trek down to Birmingham to visit family and sites, of which there are many of both in Alabama and Tennessee. I'll do a more comprehensive post once we return, but here are a few highlights thus far.

1. Erin got to eat in her first truck stop. (Here's a shout out to my good buddies at The Tennessian in Cornersville, Tennessee! 10-4...breaker breaker...whatever...)

2. Hanging out with Grant's cousins at a T-ball game. I was dismayed that they didn't keep score and you got to take as many swings as necessary to connect with the ball. What's wrong with these people? I'd have benched half of those kids in the first inning.


3. Driving all over the South with the world's cutest baby...


I'll post more once we return. There have been some bizzaro experiences...

Music List

Just so you know, I'm under no delusion that anyone reading our blog actually cares what music I listen to or like. But another website that I frequent was having people submit their favorite album from each year since the beginning of time (better known as the 1950's), so I put my list together. I figured I'd post it here for anyone who's curious. Feel free to make fun of me.

I would like it noted that the presence of three Kingston Trio albums can be seen as either a) the influence of my dad on my music taste or b) the dearth of good music from 1958-1962. Since I like a lot of other stuff from that era, I'll go with a).

And yes, R.E.M. really were that good in the 1980's. They would have made a 6 year sweep if Zen Arcade hadn't come out in the mean time. (Actually 1988 should have probably gone to Surfer Rosa by the Pixies, but the cover features a partially nekkid woman, so I figured Erin would make me change it. Imagine...Censored by a journalism teacher...sheesh...)

Each album also has a link to its picture, review, clips, etc on Allmusic.com, just to prove that somebody else actually likes this stuff...

1957 - Buddy Holly - The 'Chirping' Crickets
1958 - The Kingston Trio - The Kingston Trio
1959 - The Kingston Trio - At Large
1960 - The Everly Brothers - The Fabulous Style
1961 - The Kingston Trio - Close Up
1962 - Peter, Paul & Mary - Peter, Paul & Mary
1963 - The Beatles - Please Please Me
1964 - Jan & Dean - Dead Man's Curve / New Girl in School
1965 - The Byrds - Mr. Tambourine Man
1966 - The Beach Boys - Pet Sounds
1967 - The Byrds - Younger Than Yesterday
1968 - The Kinks - Village Green Preservation Society
1969 - The Beatles - Abbey Road
1970 - Simon & Garfunkel - Bridge Over Troubled Water
1971 - The Who - Who's Next
1972 - Big Star - #1 Record
1973 - Brian Eno - Here Come the Warm Jets
1974 - Big Star - Radio City
1975 - Pink Floyd - Wish You Were Here
1976 - Kansas - Leftoverture
1977 - Cheap Trick - Cheap Trick
1978 - Cheap Trick - Heaven Tonight
1979 - XTC - Drums and Wires
1980 - The Jam - Sound Affects
1981 - Mission Of Burma - Signals, Calls and Marches
1982 - Duran Duran - Rio
1983 - R.E.M. - Murmur
1984 - Hüsker Dü - Zen Arcade
1985 - R.E.M. - Fables of the Reconstruction
1986 - R.E.M. - Lifes Rich Pageant
1987 - R.E.M. - Document
1988 - R.E.M. - Green
1989 - The Cure - Disintegration
1990 - The Beautiful South - Choke
1991 - My Bloody Valentine - Loveless
1992 - Pavement - Slanted and Enchanted
1993 - The Posies - Frosting on the Beater
1994 - Guided By Voices - Bee Thousand
1995 - Pavement - Wowee Zowee
1996 - Manic Street Preachers - Everything Must Go
1997 - Radiohead - OK Computer
1998 - Neutral Milk Hotel - In The Aeroplane Over The Sea
1999 - The Olivia Tremor Control - Black Foliage: Animation Music
2000 - The Hives - Veni Vidi Vicious
2001 - The Shins - Oh, Inverted World
2002 - Broken Social Scene - You Forgot It In People
2003 - The Wrens - The Meadowlands
2004 - Franz Ferdinand - Franz Ferdinand
2005 - The New Pornographers - Twin Cinema
2006 - Mission Of Burma - The Obliterati
2007 - Of Montreal - Hissing Fauna, Are You The Destroyer?

Diff'rent Strokes

The longer Erin and I have been married, the more apparent it has become that we grew up in different worlds. Now the obvious difference is that I grew up here in the midwest with our hometown values and Bible-belt sensibilities, while she grew up in California.

But the differences run deeper than that. It seems to me that Erin somehow missed out on some of what we Hoosiers would consider "the finer things."

1. Erin grew up eating avacados and hummus (which my dear mother pronounces like the Islamic group). I grew up eating baloney sandwiches. She also never ate Spaghetti O's or American cheese. I repeatedly am given a lecture about how American cheese isn't really a cheese. Whatever.

2. Erin got to go to Disneyland "all the time." In Indiana, elementary school kids would sell their kidneys for a trip to Disney World. (Nobody here even knew DisneyLAND existed.)

3. I grew up listening to my parent's music from the 60's. Erin didn't know who Simon & Garfunkel were until we got married. Oy. (Incidentally she did know all the lyrics to every "song" ever released by Salt 'n' Pepa.)

4. Erin and her mom were very, uh, open in talking about, uh, what happens when people, er, go to, uh, bed with each other. I was born through spontaneous combustion. That's all I needed to know.

5. I got to ride my bike throughout the neighborhoods surrounding my own for hours at a time. Erin got to make one loop. And she carried a handgun.

This list is endless, really. I'm sure this isn't the last post on this topic.

Lucky Night

The whole time--that he was "eating" his ice cream cone--he had a look that said, "Did you know you gave this to me? This wonderful thing with sugar... you gave it to me, right?"

Thanks for the pics, Kate.

Happy Easter

Happy Easter! Despite the frigid temps yesterday, we all headed to church. I know that God loves me, but during the Easter season, that message of love is loud and clear. So thankful!

Grant, who is just a tad too young to get the whole hunt for eggs idea, settled for fisting a few eggs and a rubber gumby-like rabbit toy. Next year, he'll be at a perfect age. I did discover, while talking to some friends at church, that I have been robbed. They all mentioned that their Easter egg hunts as kids involved the plastic eggs, and those eggs were filled... with money! One girl became indignant (I was incensed myself), and she declared, "Money? I was robbed. Mine were only filled with candy!"

Candy? How about not filled AT ALL!! I searched for hard boiled eggs, usually 11 or so as one was most likely dropped during the decorating. Candy? Money? Easter Egg hunts outdoors? Am I missing something? I searched for the stinky eggs around our house where they were hiding--without money or candy--in plant dirt and under rugs.

Crazy Days

It's funny the things you notice yourself doing as you get older. This afternoon, I went into the bathroom. (I'll pause here. I realize there's a large percentage of you going, "Oh no. Another bathroom story.")

Anyway, I went into the bathroom to tuck my shirt in. I simply slipped into one of the stalls, loosened my belt and slacks (since I'm now in my 30's, they're slacks, not jeans, right?), pulled my shirt tail out, repositioned it, and carefully placed it back in its assigned place. I then buttoned up, prettied myself in the mirror and went on my merry way.

This was concerning to me due to the fact that this resurrected memories of my father doing something similar. As a kid, I can remember my dad entering our kitchen after work and performing the same general set of steps in front of mom and everyone, while discussing what was for dinner as she slaved over something on the stove.

I can remember staring at him as his pants hit his knees thinking, "Why the hell is he dropping his pants in the kitchen?" and "Why are we talking about dinner? Pull your damn pants up!" Now I understand, and it appears that I now have something else with which to bond with my father. Thanks, dad.

I also noted this week that my perception on what constitutes a "crazy day" is changing as I get older. What I'm finding is that it takes a great deal more for a day to qualify as "crazy" now, with child, than it did a couple of years ago.

My mom informed my wife that she'd had a "crazy day" babysitting Grant a couple of days ago. Now for this term, "crazy," to qualify for Erin and me, there has to be an event requiring either an insurance claim or an ambulance. Otherwise, it ain't crazy.

What qualified as crazy for my dear, retired-other-than-babysittin' mom? Grant spit up on himself and then later she spilled a little milk on our kitchen floor (which is hardwood, and didn't therefore even require much cleaning.)

I long for those kind of "crazy" days.

Darwin Award

My wife frequently notes that I expend much more energy on these pages discussing her faults than I do my own. Therefore this entry is a brief attempt to even the score...for this week.

Erin has started a new diet over the past few days, therefore I'm doing what I can to rid the freezer of all remaining dairy treats. This includes various popsicles, Klondike bars, ice creams, and sherbets. Last night I decided to have a few scoops of rainbow sherbet. I grabbed the scoop, ran hot water on it, and scooped out 2 or 6 scoops (who's counting?).

As I began to throw the scoop in the sink, I noted a tablespoon's worth of sherbet left in the scoop, so I put the scoop in my mouth to get that last bit. At this point, I began an exact reenactment of that scene in "A Christmas Story" where the kid becomes attached to the icy flag pole.

It didn't occur to me that this would happen (obviously). I had warmed the scoop prior to use, and the sherbet wasn't sticking (initially) to the thing, so I figured I was safe. When I noticed that the scoop appeared to be sticking to my lip just a bit, I did the natural manly thing and gave the scoop a good yank.

I noted a sort of burning sensation in my mouth as I did this, but didn't think much of it. I sat down to eat my sherbet and noticed that with each bite, a new kind of red colored sherbet was forming in the cup. At this point I checked my mouth with my hand and discovered that I was bleeding profusely, having left a good portion of the left side of my lower lip on the ice cream scoop.

After spending last night trying to stop the bleeding, I awakened this morning to discover that I have a nice fat lip from the incident. Erin's sympathy ran just deep enough to inform me that I'm a moron. Sometimes she's right.

Fro-tastic

I love when his hair is all picked out into a little afro-poof. He's just too cute!

a few pics from the last few weeks

Grant has two new things he does that make my all time favorite list:

1. If you give him a stuffed animal, he holds it like a baby and pats it on the back. This skill has translated to people as well. Now, when I pick up Grant, he sometimes pats my back with his hand. His own little love pat. I die of happiness.

2. The most constant of new tricks in our house is the "question"? Grant has asked for months, "What's that?" But now, when he wants to know why, who or any of those types of questions, he holds his arms up. Here's a pic to explain:


Again, could he be any cuter?

Too Cute!

Grant and MaMa

That's me. MaMa. Grant says it like this: "Ma.......(wait 5 seconds)... ma."

I just came home from work, made four pounds of spaghetti (half for us, half for a couple in our house church who just had a baby), somehow managed to spill salsa all over the fridge (and get it in my eye... which hurts, in case you're wondering), and right now, I'm listening to Grant's soft baby ramblings as he drifts off to sleep. I'm tired. Really, really tired.

Last night was our last night at gymboree. The center close to us is closing, but if we want to drive to the other side of town, we're golden. No thanks. We'll take advantage of the free toddler class at the library now that it's warm enough to play outside.

Here's a few pics from our last class.

(you think Grant loves you until you see him with Mrs. Megan. Grant LOVES Mrs. Megan. LOVES).

In other Grant news (for the sake of journal keeping for future reference):

1. He LOVES the "this is the church, this is the steeple" hand game. LOVES. He tries to do it which is really cute.

2. He also tries all the hand motions to both "Twinkle, Twinkle" and the "Itsy-Bitsy Spider" (which for some strange and stubborn reason my mom insists is the "inky-dinky spider").

3. He is one "spirited" kid. Spirited, of course, means sweet and lovable. I hope that's what he thinks it means when I call him "a pill." Sometimes, these days, I need a pill. A real one with lots of medicinal help.

4. He still makes his animal sounds: snake, cow, lion and fish top the list. He still loves to shake his head "no" like his mommy. I still haven't decided to get Grandma back for that one. YET. He just added sheep to his list, but it's less than perfected.
5. His list of words is growing slowly: socks, mama, dada, uh-oh, book and his all time favorite (hear it 50 billion times a day)... what's that?

6. He's not a picky eater... but he still hates texture. He'll spit out a cookie because he doesn't like the way it feels. We hope he comes around soon, but food is a big issue in our house these days.

7. Grant pulls up on everything, but still, no sign of first steps by himself. No hurry. He's "spirited" now, so I can't imagine what he'll be like when he can outrun ma........... ma.

There Will Be Blood

OK, so now that we've introduced all of Erin's family to each other...

When I was in the 8th grade, my family took a three week vacation to Europe with the Indianapolis Children's Choir. (I was a founding member of this fine organization, which now includes approximately 2 million kids in a 6 state range. When I was in it, there were 4 choirs. Now they have one choir specifically for kids between the ages of 6 and 6-1/2 who sing through a mechanical voicebox like a robot. It's amazing...)

Anyway, last night after dinner, I suggested that Erin had never seen the pictures from this trip. I inquired as to where the pictures were stored, and my mom informed me that she kept them under the sink in the bathroom. I'm proud that my mom treasures our family history enough to leave it beneath a set of 40 year old pipes.

Dad quickly lept to his feet and returned a short time later with a projector, screen, and a moldy box of slides. Why slides, you ask? Excellent question. I have no clue. The trip was back in the late 80's, and while there weren't digital cameras or the Internet, we also weren't limited to slides. I suppose it's a better option than a box full of tintypes, but not by much.

I was somewhat shocked that my parents still owned an actual projector and screen. I suppose when you've got the space in your attic for your kid's placentas, you've got room for a projector. (For those who haven't heard the story, my parent's are both science teachers. You can make your own joke about the scarring effects of discovering remnants of your own birth while searching for Christmas lights.)

After setting up the projector, dad whipped out the first canister of slides and threw them into the machine. We saw approximately 2 and a half slides of London before the projector jammed. This made us all laugh, because we all have fond memories of my grandfather desparately trying to show us slides of family vacations while continually fighting a jammed projector. His solution was always to stick something sharp and metal into the still-powered projector in an effort to free the stuck slide. This always made us laugh and wait for the inevitable electrocution.

Without any sense of irony, my dad immediately began searching for something sharp and metal to perform a similar operation. His first attempt at fixing the projector only took a couple of minutes. After a couple more slides from England and Whales, we moved on to France. Apparently the projector didn't dig the French, because it immediately jammed again. After spending a few unsuccessful minutes trying to fix the stuck projector, dad gave the back of the canister of slides a good whack.

This did appear to move the canister, at least part of it. The canister began to bend while still attached to the projector. After a couple more good whacks, the slides sprayed out of the canister and onto the floor, leaving a mangled shell of the canister which previously held them. As dad began cleaning up the slides and preparing to move onto the next batch, I noticed that there was blood on the side of the projector.

Another trait of my grandfather's was that he could injure himself doing virtually anything. He was a doctor and performing minor surgeries on himself didn't apparently bother him, because he routinely had to reattach various appendages to himself after making basic household repairs. With this in mind, it was no surprise that there was blood on dad's projector at this point.

I inquired about the blood, at which point we all noticed that dad had a large slice in the side of his hand where he had fought with the slides and lost. Rather than clean his wound, or even admit its presence, we moved on to Germany and Austria. Two more slides, blammo. At this point, Grant was becoming weary of the whole event, so we had to begin packing. I felt bad leaving my folks with a pile of slides and a busted projector, but I feared that if we stayed, I'd be asked to "hold the flashlight." And that's a whole other post.

And also, for those who are interested, here's a link to a little news from the homeland. Make sure you read all the way to the end of the story. Thanks to my aunt and uncle for the tip. There's strange things afoot in Southern Indiana.

Another New Blog and the Beauty of Adoption

I have another new family member to add to my list of bloggers: James and Kathy David. And guess what... they're adopting a sibling group (a set of siblings--2 or 3, right?). Congrats!

Welcome to the blogging world, folks!

Okay, Taylor family... it's time for you to start too.

Cousin Stalkers

I've already admitted that I have a problem.

Truth be told, I have about 15 blogs I check with some (read: daily) frequency. In our amish-no-cable-on-a-strict-budget household, I find myself wandering from one blog to another. I don't surf randomly. Rather, it starts like this: I check a blog of a relative or close friend. Let's say I visit my cousin's blog (Holdridge Clan: it has to be scary how many hits you have from Indiana, huh?). I read; I watch a video; I laugh or smirk. But then, if I've got five minutes on my hands, I'll start viewing the blogs he has listed of his friends. I don't check his friends' blogs with any regularity, but they do pass the time from time to time. I don't know his friends, have never met them, but about every three months or so, I stumble upon their pages and catch up with anything I find interesting (who knew there was a Gap Baby Model Search Grant could have won).

But, admitting that I'm a major nerd-stalker is not the purpose of this post.

You see, this last Christmas, we were all hanging out with Bret's family down in Bedford (you always have to say "down in" when you refer to Bedford; that's a rule in my book about Southern Indiana I'll write some day). Grant and I were playing in the corner, when I heard the following statement come out of one of Bret's relatives (you know who you are... but you'll remain nameless for now): "Yeah, it was funny how he called her belly a torpedo. She is so little, so she's all baby." I thought that sounded familiar. But then, I heard, "and those girls, they are just too cute. Violet and Lauren, what great names."

It was at that moment that I realized I wasn't alone in blog stalking geekdom. Bret's family members were talking about my family members, and somehow this crazy thing called the internet had made the world a little bit smaller.

So, I've got a new blog to add to my list. My other cousin couple--Bryna and Riley--also have these adorable, pinchable kids, and they've just decided to join the blog world. Like the Holdridge Clan, they also live out in gorgeous Monterey, California, and yes, like the Holdridge Clan, they are beautiful, beautiful people (inside and out). Though, they are all really good looking out there, huh? I totally got shafted on the good genes.

So for our friends and family out there who frequent our blog, there's a new link in our list of people you should visit. We'll talk about them (in a good way) over Easter dinner. Bryna and Riley's Blog

More Proof

I just sat through a meeting with some fellow engineers where much time was spent on "how people use products."

Basically we were just discussing how the everyman (wasn't this the term that got Ford in trouble with the Edsel?) chooses and uses various electronic gadgets in the home. What I discovered during the course of the meeting was just further proof that engineers exist in a world all their own.

For example, many engineers can't be bothered to tuck in their shirts or take a bath with any regularity, but they will spend countless hours choosing what quality of cable should run from their DVD players to their TVs. Who else cares?

Some engineers consider themselves "just like any other user" of electronics, but does anyone else actually care about the quality with which the chip resistors are soldered to the main board of their TV?

Has the phrase "fieldtrip to Fry's" been uttered in any other boardroom?

Do people in other professions drink their beverages, hot, cold, caffeinated or otherwise, in nothing less than two liter quantities?

Are most people able to reference their computers by their location in the home (i.e. the computer in the kitchen, the computer in the office, the computer next to the toilet)?

When asked by the sales guy if they require help, do most people threaten violence? Engineers would sooner steal electronics than be assisted in buying them.

I'm continually awed by engineers. There's geeky, but this is a whole new level. I'm confident that if we truly want to design products for "the everyman," engineers should probably not be able to use them at all. Or at least not without some major irritation.

My Sheets

I've had it.

It's been a long running battle, and now I'm choosing to either cede defeat or at least try something completely new.

Since we've been married, Erin and I have battled over the sheets on our bed. We have a fundamental difference in philosophies. I like to sleep under sheets (like a normal human being) while Erin likes to wrap up in a comforter. This wouldn't seem like a huge dilema, but it is.

The problem is that in the past, Erin has placed normal king sized sheets over our bed, and then about 10 minutes after we go to bed, she throws her sheets off onto my head and snuggles up in her comforter. She's all snuggily while I'm suffucating trying to get half a set of king sized sheets off of my head.

We've tried numerous things. Her favorite solution is to simply start with her side of the sheets piled in the middle of the bed, but if I sleep on my back, as I frequently do, this leaves my left arm approximately a foot higher than the rest of my body, since it's resting on all her sheets. Her latest solution was to simply put the sheets only on my side of the bed, leaving her half of the sheets hanging off my side of the bed. This worked for one night, until the weight of the sheets on the floor pulled my sheets off and left me bare, laying in a freezing, shivering heap in my own bed.

I finally suggested this morning that it was perhaps time for me to buy my own house. Or at least a shed out back to sleep in.

Suggestions? Neither of us has slept well in five years. Something's gotta give.