Christmastime has brought our family happiness, joy, and a barebones camcorder with onboard USB plug that allows us to capture videos like this:



Hopefully it works.

I have done nothing for the past week but sit around. This means that I have the urge to blog about stuff other people have done. One thing other people did this week was win the Apple Cup. I should say the RIGHT people won the Apple Cup. The game felt almost exactly like the 2005 one to me, although it was probably more entertaining, given the 6 TDs scored by the Cougs.

I have uploaded some recent pictures of the kid. When Mom came down here to help after the birth, I talked to her about having 9 kids. I'm not even the one that does all the work for having kids, and still it's mind-boggling that she spent almost 18 years either pregnant or breast feeding. I feel this uniquely qualifies her to write a book: Lean Manufacturing Applications in Çhild-Bearing. The 4th child also gave me some other ideas. For example, I feel that newborn diapers are an untapped source of renewable energy, especially with oil at $100/barrel. One thing that consitently annoys me is the magazines targeted at insecure parents that the hospital always gives away. These publications prey on a parents desire to know that their kid is gifted or at least normal, despite the fact that all children are above average. I half expected to see an article entitled "Early Warning Signs Your Newborn will be Lousy at Standardized Tests".

So we all came home from the hospital on Friday. Both Marie and Quinn were doing well, so the docs said there was no need to stay longer. It sounds like some people want to extend to 5 days, but Mari just wanted to go home. This has been her best c-section of the 4, which is certainly a welcome development. I have had a totally different mind set going into this birth which I attribute to Kai's concussion and also having to move. Basically, I was waiting for something to go really wrong. So far, nothing has. Everything came off without a hitch at the hospital, and Gma Ohki has been holding down the fort at home. The kids are all taking Quinn in stride. Jerome is relatively indifferent, Asha is doing motherly stuff, and Kai seems to like his new little brother just fine. Speaking of Kai, he continues to try to climb nearly everything in sight. The above picture is an example of something he does every day: scale the cupboard in front of the sink, balance himself on his midsection, and make mischief with the water.

I am compelled to include a quote from the economist this week, which said: "There are few international conferences at which delegates can hope to be presented with a souvenir ball of dried human faeces. Indeed the World Toilet Summit may be the only one". This was from an online story on toilets of the future. That's all for now.

Quinn is getting some treatments under the lights today. He is our Aquabats baby, as you can plainly see.

A few pictures from the hospital.

Last week, there was a subject that I really should have blogged about, but didn't - indecent exposure perpetrated by my company's intranet. Every once in a while, my company does a feature on one of the employees that is posted on the intranet site. This is the site that I have to log into every time I want to look up someone's phone number. Point being, it's not an obscure corner of the corporate web. When I went there last week I was greeted by the picture you see here, along with a story about an employee that does triathlons for charity, and also cares deeply about corporate "quality". I have pixelated the pic so as to protect the innocent. First thought: total beefcake! Second thought - who submits a picture like that to corporate? I can only hope he didn't know it would be used on the top page. I actually know the guy, and he is super nice. Luckily for him and us, no further triathlon pictures were included, since triathlons are notably rife with biker's spandex and speedos. I knew he was in shape, but I didn't know that he had set the company standard for tricep definition. For some reason, this kind of reminds me of that story Nig tells about Tamsin when she lingered briefly at the Orioles team store in front of a poster of Brady Anderson in compression shorts.

For some reason, the following story has been floating around in my head for some time, so I'm just going to write it.

Monkey Business: Hospital's Loss of Accreditation Could Cost it Millions

Shocked Memorial Hospital officials learned this week that the facility may lose its JCAHO accreditation for admitting and treating a primate in its pediatric care unit earlier this year. Loss of accreditation could cost the hospital millions of dollars in revenue, and precipitate an exodus of top doctors and other clinicians.

The bizarre chain of events that led to the current crisis began 4 months ago during a routine JCAHO inspection of Memorial Hospital's patient care areas. JCAHO inspectors, who normally are on the lookout for wrong-site surgeries and potential medication errors, were inspecting Memorial's pediatric wing when they noted strange sounds coming from one of the recovery rooms. The lead inspector then entered the room, drew back the curtains, and found a 3 year old monkey nicknamed George eating a bowl of ice cream. JCAHO personnel were apparently blunt in their assessment of the situation, saying "you have a monkey in your hospital".

Hospital president Ed Glosser says that the whole fiasco began with an innocent mistake committed by the admitting nurse. Says Glosser "the admitting nurse noticed that George was a monkey, and that he had no last name, but some guy with a yellow hat vouched for him, and let me also point out that George had a social security number". Subsequent investigations show that George did indeed have a social security number from an ill-fated stint as an apartment building window washer. More recently, George has stumbled on a burgeoning acting career, starring in a 98 minute vehicle called "Curious George".

It may have been George's value as an actor that led to his hospital visit in the first place. His caretaker, an eccentric middle-aged bachelor who favors yellow safari outfits, says he was worried sick when George swallowed a wooden puzzle piece. "George is my meal ticket, and I wasn't about to drive another 20 minutes to the vet when I've got a level 3 trauma center right around the corner. Besides, this was his second stay at Memorial. I didn't think they cared that he was a monkey". Hospital records confirm that George was also admitted 15 months ago, a fact corroborated by Glosser - "Yep, he broke his leg, got put in traction for 3 weeks, and then cleaned us out of ether".

JCAHO officials say they have been more vigilant in their search for animal admissions since the "George" incident, and are already investigating two more potential occurrences. An internal JCAHO source (who asked not to be named) said a field goal-kicking donkey named "Gus" had arthroscopic hoof surgery an a Los Angeles area hospital 2 months ago, and that Mr. Ed is currently being treated for severe laryngitis at that same facility.

Let me state up front that I don't really think I have anything useful to say this week, but I'll post anyway. Yesterday, I went surfing at an old man break about 20 minutes from our house. I've been feeling like surfing more recently - not sure why. Average age of old men at the old man break is about 55. They think it's a little weird to see someone like me paddle out, but they know what's going on when they see how bad I surf. The waves move slowly there, and a shortboarder could never get up. It was fun, although the waves were almost non-existent. The crowd reminded me of the tenor section at I-Wash. A bunch of guys that had been around forever, laughing at each other and making irreverent comments. It was a really laid-back vibe, though, and was fun to talk to them. Surfing has been a good hobby because it doesn't cut into family time that much (just sleep). Normally, I either go before work, or on Saturday morning at about 5:30.

Let me make a few needless comments about the Cougs. It has been nice that they are so bad this year because I am a lot less nervous about the games (Mari thinks it is cute/irrational that Wazzu football games make me pitsweat). Now, with the season pretty much in the tank, it was fun to sit back and watch the Cougs put some other team's season in the tank. My take on this week's performance: they aren't much better than they used to be, but at least they've figured out how to run the offense against a team that will swarm our receivers to take away the pass. I still don't think the Cougs will go to a bowl (if they do, could you please make it the Poinsettia Bowl?) since they would have to finish 3-1 and get some help, but it's still fun to watch the games.

Well, that's about it. Oh, our rented house almost burned down this week.

I am happy to report that I violated my company's dress code this week by wearing flip flops into the office. I know a guy at work who said he'd be going surfing on Friday morning, so I decided to tag along. He was going to a break I consider to be a short-boarder wave, so I decided to just body board. Although he did refer to me as a "sponger" and I got some dirty looks, I had a good time. The issue with going to work after surfing is that it's hard to get from a wetsuit into a worksuit. I decided to just pull on my jeans and shirt, and leave the shoes for when I got to my desk. This was ok, but I did wear my flip flops into the building before changing into company approved shoes.

We had Mom here this week, and had a great time spending time together and talking. I'm glad to have a Mom that I can talk to for a really long time about lots of stuff. One must admit that it's getting pretty bad for Dubya when even Mom has to give ground on issues like Rumsfeld and government spending. The other thing
Mom's visit did was require us to come to terms with our failing Select Comfort bed (the kind with the adjustable air bladder). We bought a new one few years ago when we bought a larger bed for our Pittsburgh house, so we have a queen size one for our guest bed. It's worked fine for a long time, but just recently (when my brother in law came to help us move) it started crapping out. He said he woke up in the middle of the night to find himself in direct contact with the bed boards and most of the air out of the bladder. No matter - I'll just call up these yokels from Minnesota who made the bed in the first place and get them to send me new bladders. Upon closer inspection of the 20 year warranty, however, this appeared to be a fruitless strategy. Although the company spares no expense in advertising the warranty, if you've owned the bed for longer than 2 years, you have to pay 20% of the replacement cost plus 4% for each year since you bought it. If you bought the bed 19 years ago and it breaks, you will pay 96% of the replacement cost. How is this a warranty? We bought the bed 8 or so years ago, so I decided not to waste my time calling them.

I thought originally that the pump mechanism was leaking, but I put a clamp on the air hose that went to Mom's mattress, and it still deflated. The air bladders are rather large, so checking for leaks was a pain. However, when I did (by spraying soap water all over), I found multiple leaks all over both bladders (see picture). I then marked each leak with a crayon, and slathered "GOOP" (a common sealant/adhesive) on the problem areas. This appears to have worked, but I still don't know whether the leaks are a one-time thing or they will continue to spring up periodically. In this age of self-assembling nano-materials and airliner fuselages made from composites, an air-tight mattress bladder doesn't seem like a real tall order. Apparently, though, it is.

Tonight we attended the baptism of one of Jerome's classmates. I was just getting settled into my seat when I saw Jerome file into our row, and noticed that he had his pants on backwards. This was immediately apparent because there are no boys (or mens) pants that have pleats on the butt. I spent a long time trying to figure out how this could have happened. I mean even if you don't notice that they feel funny when you put them on, you still have to reach around behind yourself to zip and button them. Turns out the pants are loose enough that he can just pull them on without unzipping them. It reminds me of when we were living in Philly, and Mari chastised me for putting Asha's pants on backwards. Asha had lots of pants that Mari made, and so there were no helpful tags. "You can always tell where the front is" Mari said "by looking inside at which side has the shorter distance to the center crotch seam". Fine, I thought, I can do this. One day I went to put Asha's pants on her and no matter which way I turned them, it looked like the distance to the seam was exactly the same. They also looked funny both ways, so I gave up. When I protested later to Marie she said "Oh, sorry. I accidentally made those pants with 2 butts".

Note to Cougs: please call me when coach has changed.

Yesterday, we had a full-on party for Asha's 6th birthday. Thanks to Mari's preparation and exhaustive researching of party options, we found party nirvana. At the local gym, the YMCA will run a gymnastics party for a very reasonable sum (less than Chuck E. Cheese, which we hopefully will never use). This involves zero prep on our part, and for an entire hour, and instructor just runs the kids around the gym and has them do exercises on all the equipment. After the kids were good and tired, we herded them into an adjacent rec room, fed them ice cream and cake, opened presents, and we were done. What's more, the kids loved it too (Asha - "I'm the happiest girl in the world"). For the record, I do realize that the YMCA idea is far more expensive than a stocking cap, a knife, a fork, some mittens (preferably sewn together with a long piece of yarn), a pie plate, some dice, and a hershey's bar wrapped 6 layers deep in brown grocery bags.

I always find it interesting when we get directives at work that tell us how to do stuff that we should already know how to do. One such example surfaced about a month ago when we got a "dress code". I will now list many items which I found in the dress code, followed (in parentheses) by the number of times I have seen them in the office:

miniskirts (0)

leggings (0)

shorts (1 - there is this one weird guy in engineering)

midriff shirts (0 ... ok fine 1, but technically, the dude in question just has a
very large midsection, and was not wearing a midriff shirt)

tee-shirts (0)

shirts with advertisements or slogans other than (insert name of my company here) or the shirt manufacturer (0, although the letter of the law dictates that snooty executives that are always showing up with Ralph Lauren-logoed shirts are in
violation, since Ralph Lauren doesn't actually make anything)

tank tops (0)

exercise or similar apparel (0)

sleepwear (0 - I have nodded off once or twice at work before, but I wasn't wearing sleepwear)

hats, visors or other non-religious head coverings (0 - note that in an office where I used to work, a Steeler's stocking cap would qualify as a religious head covering)

flip-flops or beach-type foot wear (0 - see earlier post on how HR tricked some employees into wearing flip flops to a company sales meeting, but that wasn't in the office)
slippers (0 - but that's not a bad idea. Maybe I could also get a smoking jacket)

Recently we also receive the new officially sanctioned company power point template (Yay!). One nugget of advice in the document that came along with the file: "When comparing (my company name) to a competitor, use warm colors to represent (company name) and cooler colors for the competitor." The presentation comes with a palette of acceptable colors to use for representing my company. The fact that we have people who devote time to this level of minutiae is perhaps one reason my company's stock price has tanked so bad this year.

Mom is coming to visit this week, which we are all looking forward to. Although we are done moving in to our house, maybe Mom can Feng Shui it up real nice for us.

Lastly, I found a link for a housing concept we are now considering: click here

I read an industry blog to try to stay current with market goings on. Besides being a good source of esoteric healthcare IT content, the guy who writes it is intelligent, witty, and tells it like it is. Anyway, he says that by far, the biggest challenge for bloggers is consistently posting. He's right - it takes a lot of discipline (discipline I don't have). I've noticed that I'm not the only casualty of early fall blogging. I'm sure that school starting, moving, pregnancies, etc. have all taken their toll.

Speaking of moving, we did the dirty deed again last week, for the 7th time since we've been married. I have now observed a number of signs that will clearly indicate that a person is moving too much:

1. You routinely consider having all your worldly belongings fitted with casters
2. You are familiar with 5 different techniques for utilizing "Mom's Attic" space on Uhaul trucks
3. Elder's quorum presidency members avoid eye contact when you draw near
4. You can take apart and re-assemble your bed frames in your sleep
5. You realize that the only difference between you and Odysseus is that Odysseus had a place that felt like home
6. You think that the green roll of saran-wrap stuff with a handle is, like, the coolest thing, ever.
7. You are constantly checking Craigslist for rental homes, just for kicks (Yes, I'm talking about you, Mari)
8. You consider hiring some "roadies" full time.
9. You own cardboard boxes that read: "China", "kid's cupboard", "hutch stuff", "glass dishes - THIS SIDE UP", "cooking wine", "jello molds/misc.kitchen", and "painting stuff".
10. Frequent movement of large sums for prorated rent, last month's rent, new damage deposit, returned damage deposit, etc. cause feds to think you are laundering money for the Arellano Félix drug cartel.

The move itself went as well as can possibly be expected, given that Mari was 7.7 months pregnant. My brother in law Yu flew in from Orem to help, and Stu came over on Thursday night (the 20th) which allowed us to get the piano and other heavy stuff done. In the end, moving is just a pain - that's all there is to it. It consists of hefting large bulky items with sharp corners up and down steps. It creates skinned knuckles, bruised shins, blood-blistered fingers, and sore backs. My brother in law was smart enough to swipe one of those ubiquitous back brace/suspender thingys from the loading dock at his company before he came. He said it made a big difference. Another thing that made the move go better is that I had a comp-day coming at work, and asked my boss for 2 more because of the silly weekend sales meeting. He capitulated.

Work is going ok, although my boss has been too busy to give me anything to do. I know this sounds strange, but he has been trying to get a product that I'm not familiar with out the door, so has been totally preoccupied. I did have a good annual review with my boss a few weeks ago. He gave me the highest raise that 'the man' allows, although 'the man' is a notorious tight-wad. He also gave me something called a long term incentive award. Essentially, it is a stock grant that takes a certain number of years to vest (also known as "golden handcuffs" because if you leave the company, much of your future award is lost). Considering that the total amount of this year's award was quite small, I think that "feldspar handcuffs" would be a more appropriate label. Not that I'm ungrateful - I appreciate anything that I get.
I happened to be out surfing with my boss's boss a couple of weeks ago, who was sure to reiterate that the award was 'really special'. I like my boss's boss (and my boss for that matter), but I made a mental note after that conversation: any pay scheme or award that must be explained to someone in order for that person to grasp its 'specialness' is probably ineffective. For me, it's nice for my employer to tell me they like me, but I'd rather they leave it to me to determine whether the money I'm paid makes me feel like a valued employee. At this job and others, I've been told "you are the only person at your level in the company who has been granted membership in the manager incentive program" and "you received the highest raise that we can give you". Maybe I'm being stupid, but I think bosses say things like this because they believe it prods listeners to a desirable conclusion: "I'm fortunate to make as much as I do". For me, it has the opposite effect. It makes me think they are trying to distract me from objectively evaluating whether I'm paid a market rate. I do think I'm fortunate to make a good salary, I just don't like corporate compensation mind games.

That's it for this week.

A return to the blogosphere. I guess I really should write about Kai's accident, since it has sucked up much of the space in our lives and minds during the past 3 weeks. The backdrop for the whole thing was that, having just returned from Pullman 2 days prior, I was trying to keep my head above water at work, while Marie and the kids readjusted to home again. I think most parents with any kind of tenure know what it's like to really worry that your child might die. After Marie called to say that Kai had fallen off the swing set, that kind of worrying set in. All I knew as I hustled from my job to the hospital was that he'd fallen, and had lost consciousness at least once. On the way there I happened upon Marie who was driving the van to the hospital, and was merging onto the freeway. I could see the kids waving at me, a reminder that kids (for better or worse) tend not to grasp the raw desperation of situations like this.

As we drove to the hospital I began muttering the same prayer over and over. It struck me how different this was from reality TV shows, where medical emergencies are accompanied by camera crews and eerie suspense tracks. We, on the other hand, were driving fast, but quietly waiting at traffic lights in the midst of hundreds of normal folks just doing the normal activities that make up a normal day. After arriving at the hospital, the emergency room staff sprang into action. They administered neck braces, plugged Kai with an IV, and herded the kids off to the waiting room. Not being blessed with medical training, I remember being worried about a few basic things - 1. Kai dying, 2.Brain damage, and 3.Paralysis. The first CT scan didn't show any damage to the spine, and we had made it to the hospital, so I stopped worrying about #s 1 and 3.

As soon as we sitting around and waiting for doctors to read scans, I started the true process of regret for not dismantling the swing set once I knew Kai climbed to unsafe heights on the thing. I suppose a person might encounter a number of similar regrets over a lifetime. Not the kind where I knew what was right and didn't do it, but one where I could've done something simple that would've prevented something needless and horrible from happening. After some time, the doctors said that all of his scans looked fine, and that the diagnosis was a severe concussion. They suggested he be transferred to Children's for observation overnight. Before we left the hospital, Kai looked up at us and said "I wanna get out" - the first thing he had said since the accident (besides "no"). As someone desperate for signs that he'd be ok, this was really encouraging to me.

After spending 4 or 5 uncomfortable hours in the Children's ER, Kai and Marie were finally admitted to the hospital and given a private room. They were about to send them home, but Kai vomited (the second time since the accident) a little while after arriving at Children's. Still everything looked good, and Kai really perked up that night when we started feeding him real food again. By Friday (July 27) everything looked fine, and Kai was discharged. It wasn't until the following Monday that we noticed he was tilting his head, and in certain situations, not pointing his right eye in the proper direction. This persisted, and Marie got an appointment with the doctor on Thursday, who felt he needed to see Kai that day even though it was late. The doctor showed grave concern at the way Kai's eye was behaving, and had us re-admitted to Children's. On Friday, we saw a new parade of neurologists, ophthalmologists, and trauma docs. After all sorts of exams, another CT scan, an MRI (for which Kai had to be sedated), and a 6 hour fast on Kai's part (prior to MRI), all docs eventually told us Kai has 4th cranial nerve palsy. As Marie said in her email, there is a 47% chance (precisely) that this will get better on its own. If it doesn't, Kai will have eye surgery, perhaps more than once. All in all, we're really lucky that it wasn't worse. It does strike me, though, that throughout all the time Kai was at the 2 hospitals, he never received any care aside from some fluids. This will likely end up as just a really expensive 2 night hotel stay.

It's been a little over 2 weeks since that last visit to the hospital, and Kai's eye has neither improved nor deteriorated. It's the same, and he doesn't seem to care at all. He just runs around and does everything he usually does. His new thing is apologizing - "Sorry, Papa", and stuff like that. It only feels like it's been a week since he was in the hospital, since I (and my family) were cheated out of last weekend by the evil planners of this year's corporate sales meeting. The theory they (executives) used was that if they used the weekend for the sales meeting, there would be fewer days of selling actually missed. I am here to say that I will be comped those 2 days, so help me suzabelle. Anyway, the meeting was held in sunny San Anton' - 98 degrees and muggy. The one time I ventured off the riverwalk, I regretted it, since I was instantly ensconced in sketchy liquor shops and Star Jones product endorsements. Something like Chestnut st. in Philly, but with a heavy dollop of latino and the South.

The meeting itself included some humorous moments. First of all, the organizers attempted to quell bitterness about being in a muggy, hot city during the weekend by distributing a lenient dress code. Said code indicated that it was fine to dress "cool and casual" for all meetings, meaning yes to shorts and flip flops. I recognized this for the sham that it was, opting for long-sleeved dress shirts and slacks. Sure enough, nearly everybody showed up dressed like me. The few unfortunate naïfs who sported cargo shorts and sandals were widely snickered at, mostly by HR representatives while they made notes in the appropriate employee files. I asked my boss beforehand, who said he was going to be wearing shorts. After seeing other attendees, however, he quickly scampered back to the hotel to change. Another amusing aspect of the sales meeting is that all presentations and group sessions must be choreographed with upbeat yet sappy bumper music (think "Beautiful Day" from U2). This wouldn't be so bad, except it seems weird for a 58 year old executive who doesn't know the Black Eyed Peas from Anne Murray to stride onto the stage while "Let's Get it Started" blasts.

It was good to reconnect with salespeople, since this is the only chance I get to see them anymore. Mostly, it was the same as last year - sales performance was good; quality, service, product development productivity all point to tougher times ahead. The food was relatively bad - one night we had a "street party" complete with mechanical bull and circus performers. Many dishes came from the BBQ, but all were below par. The kebabs were memorably bad. My attempt to separate meat from skewer resulted in a snapped skewer, and the piece of wood was thick enough to qualify as a dowel in Stu's world. I don't know how they got it on the skewer in the first place.

We finally had a regular weekend, and took the kids to Sea World early so that we could ride all the rides we don't usually go to because of long lines. Worked great, and we all had a good time.

Enough for this week.

Ever since moving out of our last house, I have had a sneaking suspicion that we would never see the remainder of our $1000 damage deposit again. After finding out that our landlord at our last house had purchased that home from a real estate con artist and had financed 100% of the purchase price, we knew we would have to move (this was back in September of last year). We negotiated a lower rent, and asked for $1000 of our $2000 damage deposit back. We assumed (correctly) that if our landlord was in financial dire straits, our chances of getting the damage deposit had taken a hit.

In any case, we moved out. After speaking with Mario (old landlord), we learned that carpet cleaning and other touch ups had cost about $200. Since we moved out in November, I began calling Mario in December to see when he was going to give us our $800 back. Let me say that Mario isn't a bad guy - he just has met with some tough times, and hasn't been very helpful in the process of trying to reclaim the deposit. At first, everything sounded ok - "I'll send you a check" Mario assured me. When it became obvious that no check would be coming, he admitted that he didn't have any money to pay me back with. He also said that some lady had hit him on the freeway, and most of our conversations revolved around the vain hope that State Farm would soon be sending him a big check. These conversations were not helped by the fact that Mario's english isn't that great, and my Spanish is non-existent. Since I had no way of knowing whether he was being straight with me, I resorted to calling him on a daily basis. If I called Mario 10 times, I would get through to him maybe once. Finally this week I happened to chat with Mario's wife, who said I should come over to their house on Thursday to collect the deposit. Thankfully, I think she put her foot down and told Mario that he had to give me back the deposit. Anyway, I drove over there at the appointed time and picked up our $800 (cash). Mario's wife was nice, and thanked me for waiting to get the deposit back (I had told Mario on numerous occasions that I could give him time as long as he could tell me when I would be getting the deposit back).

Unfortunately, the $800 which I had spent months trying to reclaim only spent about 40 minutes in my pocket (no, Dad, my money was not burning a hole in my pocket). Our friendly neighborhood mechanic's sixth sense (which most mechanics are blessed with) told him we would be coming into a sum of money. So, on my way home I stopped at the auto repair shop to pick up our Odyssey, which had A/C and brake problems fixed to the tune of $750.

While driving on the freeway this week, it occurred to me that I find it hard to resist the urge to put a face to a bumper sticker. For example, I want to see what the person looks like who put the "Republicans for Voldemort" sticker on her car. I also find it hard to resist glancing at:

- Aggressive drivers (to confirm that they do indeed look like jerks)
- Drivers of insanely expensive cars like bentleys, rolls royces, ferarris, etc. (to confirm that they do in fact look like elitist rich types).

Maybe I'm the only one that has this problem.

This week, I was lucky enough to be among the 100 or so members of the marketing department to receive an impromptu pep talk from a finance executive. We have these meetings once a month that are kind of like Deca lunch meeting, but without the lunch. This time, a VP from finance had been called in to explain next year's budget to us. The budget is already a sore spot for anyone that has had anything to do with it. Because of downward pressure on gross margins, achieving explosive profit growth will require big jumps in revenue, combined with no new spending on anything. This is not a business strategy - it is a financial goal that is palatable to shareholders. In spite of the comprehensive austerity campaign, Finance guy says that our business is considered the growth engine of the company. Accounting for only about 2% of revenues, we make up nearly 1/4 of the company's value, he says, because of the profitability of our business.

In a moment of spontenaety which the VP must have later regretted, he used the slide showing our balance sheet to launch into a discussion of Corporate's new definition of profit - "economic profit". Instead of just saying a business unit's profit = stuff sold minus how much it cost to make the stuff, the will now include a charge for financing assets. Think of it this way (my example, not his). You got a guy who has a taxi, and guy with a rickshaw. Guy with the taxi takes in $100 in a day, and the rickshaw dude gets $50. Let's say operating expenses are $25 for the taxi, and $10 for the rickshaw. Taxi guy makes more money, right? But the taxi costs a lot more than the rickshaw, so if the taxi guy has to pay $50 to finance his taxi, and rickshaw dude only has to pay $5 to finance his rickshaw, rickshaw guy make $35, and taxi guy make $25. Plus, rickshaw guy gets a nice lower body workout.

Finance guy makes broad generalizations about the markets that we operate in, saying that surely with all the stuff we do, we can just expand into adjacent spaces, and find all these new opportunities that will generate plenty of "economic profit". "You guys are in marketing! You're the creative people! ("creative" used as a pejorative) You can come up with all the ideas we need in order to generate more economic profit!". Wow - why didn't I think of that? There are just so many new opportunities lying around that require no people, no investment, and no assets. In fact, we receive engraved invitations from our competitors on a daily basis asking us to come and exploit these opportunities at their expense.

I am somewhat nervous as I listen to him, because I know that I have to ask him a question. "How can we be the growth engine of the company, and yet be financed like a rickshaw brigade?" (I didn't use "rickshaw brigade"). Well, says Finance guy, finance people have studied spreadsheets for many years now, and have discovered that it's possible to sell lots more stuff without hiring any more people. This is called "leveraging SG&A". Believe it or not, I'm done complaining.

The US beat Mexico today in what I'm sure was an extremely entertaining Gold Cup final. I'll watch it tomorrow morning when I work out. I was sure the US would lose this time, but I was happy to be wrong.

I read something from Nig a while back about the pews being too far from the wall, gifting an escape route to his kids. Thankfully, this is something our new church got right. I know this because every week, we place Kai on the inside between us and the wall, and every week the first thing he does is attempt to wedge his head through the gap between the pew and the wall. Now if our church would only retrofit the pews with chicken wire underneath, we would be set.

Below are some pics of the daddy/daughter campout. Props to anyone who knows what the heck most of these are pictures of.

Due to a number of parallels that are readily visible to any observer, I have decided to start naming my canker sores, hurricane-style. Canker sores will also be rated using a category scale from 1-5. Category 1 canker sores are minor affairs - small sores that cause little pain. Category 5 sores are rediculously large and painful. Because I am bitter, I will retroactively name my worst canker sore ever "Madge" (experienced on my mission in Japan). Easily a category 5, Madge started as a small tingle on the side of my tongue, but before I knew it, she had grown to a size of a shirt button. Madge caused such excruciating pain that I couldn't speak (Japanese or English) properly, since every time my tongue slid past my teeth, it felt like I had been stabbed in the mouth by one of mom's sharp crochet needles. Just last week, I had 2 category 4 cankers inside my lower lip. I think they qualified since they altered the shape of my already-large lips enough that it was obvious to the casual observer. After a night of tense negotiations, merger talks between the 2 cankers (which were right next to each other) broke down, and I was spared a category 5 mammoth. I wish Nigel would hurry up and become a doctor, so that I could embark on some ill-advised trials of anti-tnf drugs to treat what is usually just a minor annoyance.

This past week, I noticed that a dress shirt that I got at the Buffalo Exchange (for $14) was lacking those stiff pointy things that make your collar stay straight. As a result, I had this lame-looking curled-up collar. I was annoyed, and decided to fix the problem by constructing my own pointy stiff collar inserts. I scanned my desk at work for an appropriate material, and found a semi-transparent somewhat stiff plastic CD case. I got out my scissors and made two inserts. After some fiddling around, I finally got them shoved into the little slots on the back of my collar tip. It was later that I realized that it would've been awkward had my boss walked in on my little craft project. Boss: "What are you doing?". Me: "Oh, heh, heh. Well, you know those little stiff inserts on your collar? Do you need any? I can make you a pair, too."

A follow-up on the toilet seat covers. A couple of weeks ago, I walked into the john at work, and found a paper seat cover carefully folded and wedged between the wall and the handicapped handlebar on the wall (why was I using the handicapped stall? It's roomy and nice! Like a mini upgrade to business class). What was the guy who put that seat cover back thinking? Was it "Gosh, I removed a seat cover that I decided not to use. Let me fold it up nicely and put it back so that people who are already paranoid about toilet cleanliness can choose a paper seat cover that appears to be used" ?

Tonight I was getting ready to read Asha a story and asked Jerome if he wanted to join us (he usually doesn't). "No" he said from the top bunk. "What book are you reading?" I asked. "Oh - it's called 'How to Talk to Kids so They'll Listen, and How to Listen so They'll Talk'". He had gotten it from Mari's night stand.

Back when the ladies went to women's conference, Mari wrote out some instructions for Stu that I think are kind of interesting, so I'll paste them below.

- Lock the bathrooms and the master bedroom. Keep the front door locked because Kai can open it and get out if it is not.

- Check the gates, or have Jerome or Asha check them, before letting the babies out.

- Ask Asha or Jerome to watch the babies if you don’t want to be out with them. Don’t let the babies play in the flowerbeds. We just planted tomatoes and strawberries.

- Feel free to say “no” to Jerome and Asha. “I don’t think it is a good idea.” doesn’t work well for them because it suggests that it is just an opinion. They need clear instructions.

- Push Asha to finish her lunch and milk, or you will end up feeding her all afternoon. She is not allowed to eat 1 hour before dinner.

- Asha knows where most everything is and what I usually do. Just ask her if you aren’t sure about Kai.

- Kai’s schedule is pretty much the same as Hannah’s. He takes his nap in our bedroom so Asha can still play in the playroom. Tie his foot and take it off as soon as he goes to sleep (within thirty minutes). If you forget, and I sometimes do, don’t go in anymore because it would wake him up. He sometimes cries during his nap. Most of the time he will just go back to sleep. When he is ready to wake up, he will start talking cheerfully and you will know.

- Asha usually watches one show during Kai’s nap AFTER she reads two pages (Asha thinks it is ONE page because it is one opened page) of Peter and Jane. Have her read it to you out loud. She needs to read another two pages if she talks too much or does silly things. You can remind her about that before she starts.

- If Jerome wants to watch a show, I let him watch one once he finishes his piano practice.

- Please don’t worry about keeping the house clean. I would rather have you and the kids have a good time together.

An upfront warning. I’m going to write a few things that are regular, boring, blog-type observations, and then this post will lapse unavoidably into my brush with jury duty.

There are few things in this world that infuriate me as much as manipulative telephone support personnel. Because of this, I admit that last week I found myself lying like a cheap rug in a (doomed) gambit to resolve a software glitch that prevented video transfer between my camcorder and our new computer. The problem was this: we have a Hitachi video camera, and I wanted to transfer video from it to our new computer, which we recently got because our old one died (no, I didn’t kill the old one by drilling holes in the motherboard – I only did that once and I learned my lesson). Unhappily, the camera and computer didn’t recognize each other. Far from “plug-and-play”, it was more like “hey, haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”. So, I started calling people, googling cryptic error messages, reading obscure tech support strings, downloading drivers, and generally engaging in troubleshooting whack-a-mole. When I finally got on the phone with someone from Hitachi, my fuse had been shortened considerably. The tech dude insisted on confirming all system requirements, before latching on to my OS version as justification for refusing to help me.

Tech Dude: You have OS X 10.4.9, but our software is only compatible up to 10.4.7.

Me: You’re kidding, right?

Tech Dude: No

Me: Do know of any specific reason why 10.4.9 would cause problems?

Tech Dude: Well, not really.

Me: Let me tell you what’s going to happen. I’m going to waste a bunch of time rolling back my OS to 10.4.7, and then I’m going to have the exact same problem.

Tech Dude: I just can’t do anything while you’re on 10.4.9

Me: (Having just decided to lie, I see my next temple recommend interview flash before my eyes) I’m happy to tell you that while you were giving me your last answer, I just completed the installation of 10.4.7.

Tech Dude: You just installed a new operating system in the last few minutes?

Me: Yes

Tech Dude: Well, ok. How much RAM do you have?

Me: How much RAM do you want me to have?

Having exhausted all potential blocking strategies, Tech Dude relents and starts to troubleshoot. Alas, Tech Dude is much better at evasive maneuvers than he is at troubleshooting, and appears to be reading snippets aloud from and out-dated manual for an unrelated product. Even if his latest tack is feigned ineptitude, it works, and I give up on Tech Dude. I did eventually solve the problem, but it took another hour. In a nod to family tradition, I also curse the engineers at Ford.

It was surreal last week when Stu watched my kids so that Marie could go do women’s conference (Stu side note relating to last post– I like “Lawn Gnome”. It’s a great song, but was just over-used by my kids). Watching our kids was a super nice thing for him to do, and I enjoyed “stayin’ up late tellin’ manly stories”. One or two awkward moments, however, couldn’t be helped:

Me: Hi honey, I’m home.

Stu: Step completely away from my personal space.

In fairness to Stu, we need to consider as background the harrowing night he spent splitting a motel bed with Nigel a few years back.

Has anybody besides me noticed that the names on the aisles at the grocery store have been messed with? I was at an Albertson’s last week, and noticed one aisle professed to contain “new age drinks”. The store was essentially saying “we’re not going to tell you what’s really down this aisle, but in order to suck you into more retail space, we’ll label it with confusing names”. This is almost certainly an unwelcome extension of the “milk and eggs in the back corner” ploy. Come to think of it, grocery stores have a perverse incentive to use confusing signage since it makes me visit every corner of the market in order to find the blasted tahini.

I will now complain needlessly about annoying ads. First, the Kay Jewlers jingle – “every kiss begins with Kay”. Can we all please agree that this is presumptuous and not true? Next, that commercial where the kid gets his mom a gift from Best Buy, and she loves it. A helpful Best Buy employee chimes in “There’s a lot you may not know about your mom, but know this: she’s in to electronics”. I’m certain we can also dismiss this erroneous claim. Saying Mom is in to electronics is like saying Dom DeLuise is “in to” portion control. Witness the panic that ensued when the ctrl key was moved, or the rocky transition from Wordstar. I’m quite sure Best Buy knows nothing about my mom. A quick aside: Happy Mother’s Day, Ma!

For some reason, I often do really stupid things. Example one – I often attempt to do stuff like gather up notebooks, pick up my laptop, etc. while holding on to an uncapped pen. This results in lots of solid black graffiti on my dress shirts. I’m sure this allows many of my coworkers to feel mentally superior, given my inability to function without inadvertently writing on myself. Also, I sometimes forget important things when working on cars. Just last week, I checked the oil in my car. Finding it low, I added a couple of quarts. I drove home from the service station, parked the car at my house, and I was troubled to see oil dribbling from the crack between the hood and front bumper. It reminded me of Kai trying to eat too many gummy worms at once. I soon found that I had forgotten to replace the oil cap, so oil was shooting out of the top of the engine. This is similar to the time I was working on the Golf with Dad, and accidentally left a crow bar hanging on a hose underneath the hood. When we discovered it a week later (thankfully with no damage) Dad allowed as how even if I were someday to become a doctor, he probably wouldn’t want to be operated on by me.

We had the Father’s and Son’s campout this weekend. Believe me when I say it’s pretty cushy. The breakfast was put on by our overachieving elder’s quorum prez. The spread included 5 varieties of muffins, strawberries, freshly-squeezed orange juice, hotcakes, sausage, and milk. The EQ prez was hustling around taking care of business and looking smart in his Williams Sonoma couture apron. He took some ribbing for the apron, which one brother called “cute”. On another subject, one elder pitched (for himself and his 2 year old) the largest tent I have ever seen. It could have easily been a facsimile of the Moses-era tabernacle, complete with assembly hall (see picture).

Now, you will be regaled with a lengthy and frivolous account of the day I spent hoping I would not be put on a jury. Warning: there is no point to this account, at all.

I get up at 6am because I have to take the train in to town, and jury duty starts at 7:45. The large jury lounge is packed with other potential jurors by 8:00. We are treated to a video about how being a juror is part of our civic duty, and it’s even kinda fun. A kindly, spry judge who looks to be in his 70’s then addresses us. He scores the joke of the day:

“I was at the checkout line at the grocery store when I ran into a lady who had been on a jury in my courtroom a few weeks before. Her whole face lit up as she said “That was the most fun I’ve had in years!”. “Gosh” I thought, “this lady needs to get a life”.”

I’m intent on napping whenever possible, and this plan goes ok until my name is called and I am told to report to jury services. It seems I have been chosen for an important assignment, no doubt because I appear to be a mild-mannered, responsible citizen. I am to take a fat envelope filled with court documents to room 52 on the 4th floor, north wing, of the country courthouse next door, and join that group for jury selection. I set off, but get lost once I’m inside the building. I ask a man in uniform with a gun where I can find court 52 on the 4th floor. “Well, I don’t really work here…”. Wait. You’re loitering in the hall with a nightstick and gun, and you don’t work here? He thinks about it and starts in again “this is going to sound funny, but it’s going to be on the 3rd floor”. I set off again, but have to stop off at the restroom. This is a weird place. No toilet seat covers, floor is spotless and gleaming, but the cleanliness of the toilet could have been vastly improved had I challenged it to a nee-nu fight. I get to court room 52. We are all shown into the room, and 12 people are placed in the jury seats. The room itself is kitschy. Lots of wood paneling, fluorescent lights, and shelves sagging under the weight of neat rows of books that appear never to have been used. The “Great Seal of the State of California” sits front and center on the wall. I wonder why it is “great”. As I settle into my chair, I look at the defendant. My first impulse is to wonder what she’s accused of (it turns out to be petty theft, a low misdemeanor). She is a slender, diminutive blond-haired woman with a deep tan. She looks to be in her early 40’s. In general, she doesn’t look directly at anyone in the jury area, instead shooting them the occasional furtive glance. That’s not to say she acted guilty. To me, she looks more ticked-off than anything else.

The judge starts in after we are sworn to tell the truth (maybe Tech Dude should’ve made me take an oath). He certainly has the appropriate amount of gravitas, and commands the attention of counsel, the defendant, and potential jurors, addressing us in a rich, unhurried baritone. He’s a retired judge from up north, but is here in San Diego to help out because we have a heavy backlog of cases, and also because he has a child and grandchildren in the area and likes it here.

I glance at the reading material my neighbor has brought. The back dustcover reads: “Jammed with the tensions of imminent disaster. The whole thing unfolds with the timing of a quartz watch” - a far cry from the courtroom drama at the moment. Come to think of it, the only thing that really looks like a TV show is the jury. In most shows, the jury is composed of all different kinds of people, and they just sit there and say nothing. That’s exactly what the 12 people look like now.

The judge is deliberate as he explains everything to us. Stuff like “beyond a reasonable doubt means to have an abiding conviction”, “the defendant doesn’t have to testify”, “the people must prove their case”, etc. In our case, the judge vets the jury, and the lawyers use their preemptive challenges after hearing him do that. He asks for name, occupation, spouse occupation, etc. One lady says here husband is a “systems analyst”. Although I’ve heard this title many times before, I’m again struck by sheer ambiguity of it. What does a systems analyst do? All I know is that there’s some sort of setup somewhere, and that dude kind of takes a look at it.

I’m interested that there are a lot of people who really want to be on the jury. One lady even says “hey, it beats going to work”. A former US attorney and a lady who has a brother in law on death row are both on the original 12. Both are quickly dismissed by the defense attorney. The assistant DA is content with the jury from the start, and doesn’t remove anyone. The defense attorney ousts mostly young guys. In the end, I get my day in court (I leave about 4pm), but I’m never called up to the jury stand. That’s the end of it – I check out and go home. A couple of other observations:

-One time as I was hurrying down the hall toward the exit on lunch break, I glanced to my right and saw two people in shackles waiting in front of an elevator with an armed guard behind them. Although I didn’t slow down, I was still taken aback. It’s the kind of scene I usually see in a film, or on the news. For a split second I caught the eyes of one of the men. He was young, and appeared to be Latino. I thought about it a lot afterward. It’s hard to describe why, but I guess it’s because I was only a few feet from this guy, but our day to day existence could probably not be more different. I live a cushy life. I’ve got plenty of food to eat, a car that works, a job I like, and a loving family that I look forward to going home to every night. I go where I want and usually make my own choices. He was shackled and watched over by a guard. He doesn’t get to decide where he goes or what he does. He spends his days in a cell surrounded by very dangerous people (perhaps he’s one of them). He can’t go where he wants or do what he wants. I learn about how to navigate corporate stuff; he probably learns how to navigate the incarcerated world. I probably still haven’t explained it – oh well.

-It was genuinely interesting to take a break and get sucked into a totally different system where the gears are turning everyday just like they are in the corporate world. In my usual world, it’s presentations, revenues, profits, strategies, products, competitors and the like. In theirs, it’s preemptive challenges, plea bargains, jury instructions, and reasonable doubt (I guess there’s other stuff for civil cases). All the same, escaping did mean that I’d be able to avoid coming home for a week and doing my day job until late. The work still has to get done even if I’m on jury duty.

A couple of weeks ago, there was a slow moment at work, and I found myself staring blankly at my monitor. Excel was up, and I became acutely aware of the little visual cue Microsoft uses to show the user that a cell has been copied/cut, etc. You know - the one that makes it appear that a line of ants is marching tirelessly around the cell in question. First, I find it interesting that there is someone in Redmond (or at least there was when excel was created) who was the ant-line guru. He thought of highlighting cells like this, and researched the right way to do it, and decided which way the ants should march. Or did he? After 5 or so seconds of trying, I was able to convince my eyes that the ants had suddenly reversed direction, and were now going counter-clockwise. I could also make myself see that 2 columns of ants were emerging from the bottom left corner of the cell, marching up to the top right corner of the cell. This pointless exercise was interrupted by a call from my boss, who informed me that we would need to create an intricate revenue model of growth opportunities for our group president to discuss with the board of directors in 2 days. So much for slow moments. Thus began the latest itteration of a time-honored business tradition: the SWAG (scientific wild-a** guess). Managers walk a fine line when producing SWAGs. SWAG too low, and you get no funding. SWAG too high, and the SWAG presentation has the habit of showing up quarters or years later (like an uninvited guest) so superiors can use it for a paddle on your fanny. Because of the expedited nature of this SWAG, we deployed a SWAG escape pod - a slide buried at the end of the presentation loaded with assumptions and caveats. Such slides are almost always discarded by executives as the presentation makes it up the chain of command, but at least we have a paper trail. Enough on that.

This Friday was Career Day at Sundance Elementary. Kids were supposed to dress up as what they wanted to be. Asha was a ballerina. Jerome was torn between being a painter, a scientist and an olympic runner. Wanting to help him with his dilemma, I suggested a perfectly reasonable alternative. "What about being a marketing manager?". Jerome started laughing uncontrollably. "Oh dad", he said "nobody wants to be that". Suggestions (facetious) that he reconsider have been met with repeated doses of incredulity and guffaws.

I was about to quaff a bottle of Gatorade this week when I paused to read the label. One ingredient that caught my eye: "glycerol ester of wood rosin". Wha--? Has Gatorade gone so far as to actually put physical elements of well-known sports scenes into its energy drink? After all, the rosin bag is an obscure but recognizable prop in a baseball game. If they're gonna do it, here are some suggestions for new additives:

Partially hydrogenated zamboni oil
diamond-dry - http://www.diamond-dry.com/
Lena Blackburne Rubbing Mud - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lena_Blackburne
Bonds Trifecta - The cream, the clear, faxseed oil
Polyglycerol esters of NBA sweat mop
Mechanically separated pigskin

One thought I've had recently is that I often think of companies as people. For example, I see my last employer as an amiable septugenarian who is nonetheless cruel when you don't expect it. My current company is a little more complex, but I see it as a middle-aged man or woman was aggressive and successful 10 years ago, but is complacently coasting now that he/she is comfortable.

I was sad to hear this week that Mom is having rotator cuff surgery on the other shoulder, now. Time to dust off all the old jokes about Mom making rehab starts for AA West Tennessee Diamond Jaxx, being on a pitch count, etc. I also fear that one day, Mom will have a Jim Hurtubise-style conversation with her doctor, requesting that her shoulders be fused at the proper angle for "planting begonias".

As I was mentioning to Stu the other day, my kid's undying love for his Knogahyde ditty "Lawn Gnome" has begun to sap my productivity at work. As kids are wont to do, they play that track on the CD over and over. Asha has learned how to switch on the "repeat 1 song" feature on our CD player, which has compounded the problem. When I get to work, I have Lawn Gnome going through my head incessantly. It got so bad this week that I was forced to deploy the "Coup de'Tune", a maneuver where I forcibly remove a song stuck in my head by planting a different song. Lawn Gnome being what it is, I had no choice but to use "Enter Sandman" by Metallica. Unfortunately, this may have contributed to the dark tone of many emails I sent to work colleagues on Thursday and Friday.

Not having been blessed with Denzel Washington-like face symmetry, I was glad to have happened upon someone whose ears are at least as unbalanced as mine. The unlucky guy is former Mariners manager Jim Lefebvre, and I can tell you right now, those sunglasses aren't doing much for him. This is the reason I have uneven sideburns. I happened upon Lefebvre while reading an obscure story about how MLB is trying to seed interest in baseball by sponsoring a Chinese baseball team (Lefebvre is coaching).

Kai does some crazy stuff. For some reason, after he is done eating, he pops his right thumb in his mouth, and grabs whatever is handy with his left hand. He uses this object like a miniature blanket, pressing it to the left side of his face. Objects he has cuddled up with in the past week: a slice of sirloin steak, a square of tofu, a molded blob of peanut butter, a piece of chicken, and a soggy pit of nori.

I've been doing some cooking on the weekends. Good stuff so far - a pizza that finally works well, as well as some hamburgers stuffed with goat cheese. Oh yeah - a leg of lamb bbq'd wrapped in rosemary - that was good. That's all for now.

I will now start writing as if it has not been almost 2 months since I last posted. I find the catch-all word "management" to be annoying. What does it mean, and why does it matter to the average joe? I often seen banners or signs, especially on restaurants, that say "Under New Management". Why is that important? It would be more sensible to say "You know those worthless hacks that used to run this place? They're out and now someone competent is running this joint, so no more hair in your caesar salad". But even in that case, the sign refers to people that the vast majority of patrons have never met. Seems like a waste of money to me.

Also, this week I was in the company john, minding my own business, when I noticed that the paper toilet seat covers have an interesting message printed on their outer package - "Provided for Your Protection by the Management". So, who are these management blokes, and why do they think I need to be protected from things that inhabit their bathrooms? The message also insinuates that the paper toilet seat covers are a regular agenda item at board meetings.

Chairman: Next item - shall we approve expenditure of company funds on an initiative to protect the back sides of employees with disposable toilet seat covers when they use company facilities?

CFO: I for one, restate my continued opposition to such extravagances

COO: Not so fast. Have you been to the head lately? We've got some loose cannons that work here.

I'm sure I'm sharing too much information here, but I bet the seat covers are actually more psychological than useful for preventing public health problems. I only use one if I'm in a bathroom that I think is really dirty (proving that I, too, am irrational). Also, I think there should be a way to manufacture those things so that they don't automatically rip in half as one tries to prepare the cover for actual placement.

As I was leaving for a business trip a month ago I had a lingering cough so I bought a product advertised as an "expectorant". I was supposed to make coughs "more productive". This was encouraging, since I can think of no activity that is less productive than hacking up a lung. However, it didn't work. It got me thinking, though. Maybe they have the definition of expectorant wrong. Maybe it actually means "one who spits". That would make and expectoree "one who is spat upon". Famous expectorants in sports: Ruud Gullit, Terrell Owens, Robbie Alomar. Famous expectorees in sports: Rudi Voller, DeAngelo Hall, and John Hirschbeck. I guess that makes me an expectator, as in: "Dude, I totally saw Ruud Gullit spit on Rudi Voller".

On a related subject, I have also been thinking about low-dignity job titles. I think that "phlebotomist" takes the cake. I have an acquaintance at work that thinks it is "proctologist" (loosely translated: "butt doctor"), but I'll go with "plebotomist". For me, the fact the name is a comical, coincidental approximation of the actual job (going around the hospital putting phlegm into bottles) is the clincher. In researching this subject, I discovered a totally awesome word: sputum.

That's all for now. I do realize that I have hit a new low since this post consisted entirely of references to spit and bathrooms. Sorry.

So Nigel has inspired me to blog this week. I was reading a post of his that contained certain factual inaccuracies, which I intend to correct. Nigel, it was me who left you to fend for yourself at the top of Beaver Mountain, not dad. In saying it was dad, you have besmirched the reputations of both dad (who does get a bit irrational when it comes to skiing) and me (the 'mean brother'). And no, you can't have any 'Tato Skins.

I will now complain unnecessarily about marketing campaigns that annoy me. Back when we were living in Philly, I was routinely accosted by ad posters featuring disheveled men in pajamas. The copy read "Mondays Can Be Rough", along with the claim that because razor blades begin to dull after 1 week, users should change them that often. Turns out the Gillette Company, not satisfied with their already scandalous profit margins, was attempting to get people to use even more blades than they already do. I had a bad reaction to the campaign, and now take great pride in using my blades for as long as humanly possible. Of course, by the sixth week of using the same blade, it feels like I'm shaving with an emery board, but the sense of accomplishment is well worth the neck rash.

I'm also annoyed my most ads that come from Ford. For example, the mercury milan spokesmodel in the comical bustier-style leather vest with her effusive defense of that particular auto. The message I get is "you'd think a car like this would be crappy, but it's totally not. Really." Also, Ford-owned Saab and the whole "Born From Jets" thing. "Born From Jets"? You vetted thousands of ideas, spent millions of dollars, paid the ad agency even more, worked late into the night amidst lots of crumpled-up pieces of paper, and all you could come up with was "Born From Jets"? How about "Born From the Jets", which could either refer to the Tongan/Mormon 80's pop group, or the hapless NY football club.

This week I overheard a good old fashioned throwdown in a cubicle in the next isle over. In my book, a throwdown requires 2 equally overconfident people to take opposing positions on a factual subject that can be easily researched to determine who just made a fool of himself. One guy was a technical writer (Guy 1) trying to get the other (a product manager - Guy 2) to get all the mistakes out out of a user manual before he started revising it. Guy 1 insisted that the old manual was riddled with mistakes. Guy 2 insisted it was not, and asked for an example. Guy 1 made the preposterous claim that the customer service phone number on page 1 didn't even connect users to the service center. Guy 2 claimed that they could call the number, push "3" and get help. Inevitably, they decided to call the number and settle this thing once and for all. I listened as they put the call on speakerphone and dialed the number. Well, option 3 came and went with no help for Guy 2. In true throwdown style, Guy 2 was required to explain why it was rational to take the position he did, even though he was mistaken. Also, Guy 2 spent some time later in the day trying to figure out who had screwed up the customer support phone options, but nobody seemed to know.

That's enough for this week, I guess.

Last Post - 11/19

'Tis sad to say. We are all getting back into the swing of regular life after a Christmas where we had Mari's mom and sister here. I went back to work on Jan. 3. Day 1 back to work after a break is always a struggle, but by day 2 was a lot more productive. I decided to take Thu and Fri off, though, in order to do family stuff with the in-laws, who were going home on Saturday. We all had a great time, visiting Balboa Park on Thursday and Sea World on Friday. Unfortunately, by the time we sent them back to Japan on Saturday and I got into work this week, my momentum had vanished, and I had to claw my way back to productivity throughout the week. The lingering melancholy after some big fun thing is always the same: I have to get used to the little pleasures of life as opposed to the big ones that I was enjoying only a few days earlier. Say, a well-written piece on NPR during the drive home as opposed to spending time with family members I haven't seen in a couple of years. Now is a busy time at work, though, so that helps.

Today we had some good news on the nursery front. Recently, Kai's steadfast refusal to be reasonable about nursery had become a problem. Mari and I both teach in the primary, so Kai really does have to go. In spite of that, he is clingy and screams his head off when we leave. Complicating this is that, as everyone knows, there are 2 kinds of nursery leaders: the kind that kick the parents out and the kind that pine for them to stay when signs of resistance emerge. Ours are of the latter persuasion. In any case, we pulled out all the stops today, and came armed with his blanket and many bags of fruit snacks. I gave these implements to a bro. who serves in the nursery and told him to bribe Kai as necessary. It all went off without a hitch, which is a big relief - we just need to bring enough fruit snacks every week.

It's the time of year when I frequently hear co-workers discussing their new diets. Overheard: "I'm on South Beach"; "I'm on 1500 calories a day"; "I am allowed to eat 2 of these pita chips when I get hungry". These seasonal cycles can also be seen at Costco, where the crates of Belgian chocolates have been replaced by elliptical trainers.

Well, that's it. If I'm really ambitious, I might post some pictures later tonight. That is probably wishful thinking, though.