Rollo Tamatzie

I'm sure most people have heard about Ashlee Simpson's "Milli Vanilli" moment on Saturday Night Live last week. Here's a little something to rub some salt in the wound.

Monday morning is garbage day 'round these parts, and as LJ doesn't much care for touching icky things (like garbage and children*) it falls to me to make sure the garbage gets out in time. It's also my responsibility to take the empty recycle back around the house after the trash collectors come. A couple of days ago, as I was engaged in this very task, I saw something that stopped me in my tracks. A small white bowl half filled with water was sitting in the middle of our back deck. That's funny, it's almost as if it were purposely put here for...no, both our cats live indoors. LJ had been moving to unlock the back sliding door to let me in, but when she saw what I was looking at she hurriedly locked it again.

Tap tap tap...

Reluctantly she let me in.

"LJ, why is there a bowl of water on the deck?"

"Umm, I don't know."

"LJ?!"

"It was raining, and the cute little siamese kitty that comes around looked thirsty!" she pouted.

"He looked thirsty in the rain?," I questioned, more interested in teasing LJ than in realizing the greater ramifications of what she had just said. Then it hit me. "Why are giving water to the neighborhood cats? Are you going to start giving them food next? Wait...you...you're one o' them Crazy Cat Ladies, aren't you!!"

And I realized then that I was right, I had indeed married a Crazy Cat Lady. You know the type--one of those lonely old ladies who happens to have preternatural powers of feline magnetism, drawing every stray cat within a 50-mile radius to her back door begging for milk. That doesn't include the two dozen cats that live in the house with Crazy Cat Lady, and that will inevitably inherit all her earthly possessions when she dies.

At this point, I am powerless to do anything about the "Crazy". After all, this is a woman who has mercilessly mocked a Cinnamon Toast Crunch box for being too empty**, and just today I heard her give someone directions using actual human beings as landmarks**--"just head up that hall and take a left at the lady in pink." Thankfully, the "Cat Lady" condition is still in its early stages, and I may be able to slow further progression. I know it's only a matter of time until some very cute, very pitiful looking kitten kneads its way into LJ's Crazy Cat Lady heart, and she will try to convince me that we need to keep it. When this happens I will use LJ's previously mentioned aversion to icky things to my advantage by refusing to clean out the cat box if she adopts another kitten. I don't know how long I'll be able to keep the Crazy Cat Lady in my wife at bay, but I'm hoping that we'll at least have a couple of good years left.



(*)Some statements are partially or wholly misrepresentations of actual facts and opinions. Or outright lies.
(**)Some, however, are not.

Things I'm good at:
1) Biochemistry
2) Mocking people
3) Taking out the garbage
4) Tying my shoes
5) Making strawberry pie

Things I'm not good at:
1) Seeing invisible dirt
2) Cleaning the invisible dirt off of things (sorry LJ; it's invisible!)
3) Calling people regularly
4) Remembering to e-mail people back
5) Updating this page

I haven't entirely abandoned updating, although given my history, I may as well have.

Go ahead and look at this random picture...



...and be off on your merry way.

"Yahtzee!"

"Which is better, a Yahtzee or your bowel movement?"

"Well, I don't get 50 points for a bowel movement."

Yesterday on ESPN I saw:

Two people playing pool.

Two WOMEN playing pool.

Two BEAUTIFUL ASIAN women playing pool. On TV.

Would someone please, PLEASE tell me how that could be any better?*

I'm not sure if it's even possible.



*It's cheating to just make a pizza with two beautiful Asian women playing pool on TV on it. That's obviously better. It's also cheating to make two hott LJs playing pool on TV, because LJ doesn't play pool well enough to be on TV. But if she did, and there were two of her, that would totally take it.

Tonight I spent part of my evening at my sister-in-law's house, where all visitors must be free of communicable diseases and have undergone full-body sterilization by autoclave before entering. These stringent--and in some cases fake--measures are to ensure that my newest nephew maintains a low exposure rate to microbes of mass destruction. Apparently that's just one of the many worries one faces when dealing with a newborn, particularly with impatient newborns that decide to hit the "eject" button six weeks early, such as my nephew.

I was first able to hold the little sack of potatoes a little over a week after he was born. My major impressions of him from this evening are much the same as they were then:
1) Wow, he's really little! (Kind of like one of those new cell phones...)
and
2) He doesn't really have any cool features at all, does he? (...quite unlike those new cell phones.)

This second observation came as a great surprise to me. There are a good number of people in this country who seem to think that babies are pretty hot stuff. This is made obvious by the existence of shows like A Baby Story, which get good enough ratings that networks continue to produce them. Add to that the fact that people everywhere keep choosing to have babies, and the only logical conclusion is that babies must be even more awesomer than sun-shaped nipple decorations.

As it turns out, prematurely born babies are terrible at logic, and therefore do not understand just how awesome they're supposed to be. It's shocking, really, the number of cool things this kid DOESN'T do. The short list:

-Shooting lasers: That's right, nary a source of coherent light is to be found on the little grub. Other things that he doesn't shoot include, but are not limited to, magma, acid, and pancake batter. There is one thing that he shoots, but such subjects don't belong on a mature site such as this. (Hint: It begins with "P" and rhymes with "eepee")

-Sticking to walls: Sadly, the secrets to the success of Spiderman and rubber balloons have somehow evaded my nephew. I think we're all the worse for it.

-Decoding secret messages: It turns out that a baby who can't even decipher himself is a poor choice for a codebreaker. I was way off on that one.

-Low introductory APR: Apparently the premature ones come free, so you don't actually have to finance them.

-Deploying built-in dragchute: At least I'm pretty sure that's why my sister-in-law seemed so grumpy about the custom-made nephew launcher I suggested. Really, thought, the flying through the air part isn't a problem as long as the landing is taken care of. What? You know I'm right.

I could go on. I think some of these may be applicable to all babies, but I can't make that assertion with certainty at this point.

Though the lack of the above abilities is rather disappointing, my nephew does at least have one cool feature. Because of his premature status, he is attached to an apnea monitor while he sleeps. It's an unfortunate situation, but the upshot is that the instrument leads remain attached to him even when off the monitor, leaving long black and white wires dangling from him at all times. While he's not actually a battery-operated nephew, these wires give him the appearance of such. It's amusing to take the remote control for an RC car and imagine that you're using it to send commands to robo-baby. This isn't entertaining for long, as you pretty much have the option of pushing either the "cry" button or the "mess diaper" switch. It isn't a bad start though, and maybe more features will be added in future patches. For my part I think I'll wait to get one until the six-cylinder model comes out.

Yeah, that's a lot of states. A couple these were only touched briefly on my way in transit to another state, but in most cases there was actually a person to visit or a place to be in each state. I know it's more than some people I could mention. From my extensive state-visiting experience, I can say that in my clearly qualified opinion--which is in no way skewed or biased--the Pacific Northwest has the best of the lot.

West Virginia also deserves mention, as it's the setting of my new favorite music video. I'm thinking straight to number one on TRL within the next couple of weeks.

firefox rocks my socks.

Since getting married to LJ, I've noticed a marked increase the frequency of ambushes of sheer weirdness. Like this one.

"Shoot! I just spilled orange juice on the counter. Go get me a sponge."

"Here, I'll take care of it."

"Why did you bring a dirty bowl that had butter in it?"

"I rinsed it out first. And I'm gonna wring the orange juice into it."

"But we're in the bathroom. There's a sink right here."

"Umm....I was being thorough."

"I need to clean the mirror now. I'll get the windex and a tree, so I can make paper towels out of it."

"You're a mean one."

"No I'm not. I was just being thorough."

If you've ever wondered who would win in a battle between a samurai and a knight, take a look at this essay. If you don't really care who wins, read it anyway. Rather than being simply speculative, the article contains lots of info and intelligent analysis of both types of warriors; definitely worth a read.

Dear gravity,

I just wanted to let you know I didn't appreciate that little stunt you pulled with the oatmeal the other night. Cleaning that chunky goo off EVERY SURFACE IN THE KITCHEN was not amusing in the least. As a result of this and other incidents, I have determined that you represent a significant threat to the Republic of Me and I am declaring war upon you and other physical constants which may or may not run counter to my interests.

That's right, Boltzmann's, Planck's, and all your other cronies in the Axis of Constants are going down. Checkmate. Bingo. Yahtzee. Just like that.

So it isn't possible to travel faster than the speed of light? When I get through breaking light's hip, your grandma will be able to limp faster than it. By the way, I'll be breaking her hip too.

Although Rational Thought isn't a physical constant, it's clearly going to have to take a major hit as well. An unfortunate casualty of war, but it's collateral damage that I'm willing to live with.

In closing, I would just like to say "bite me."

Love,
Your friend Me.

So it's been a good chunk of time since I've updated last, and for no good reason at all. While there has been plenty going on lately that might be noteworthy, I had a particularly large and important project which I wanted to wrap up before playing with the ol' blog again.

That aside, I've gotta say I'm a little too happy about the advent of iTunes for Windows. Definitely worth mentioning, when nothing else is.

...if you have a choice between regular heaven or pie heaven, I'd go with pie heaven.

Because, you know, it might be a trick, but if it's not...

Mmmmmm boy!

I'm a few days into my Oregon vacation, and I just got back from a weekend trip to the coast. It just so happens that I have an uncle with a house right on the coast, and he was generous enough to invite the fam out for a weekend. Free lodging + Oregon coast = what time should we meet you there? The gorgeous surroundings gave LJ and I a chance to play with our new toy; I also used the ol' digicam to capture a few pictures for e-sharing.

I've seen many attractive places in this country and around the world, but the striking ruggedness of the pacific northwest always stirs me in a way that no other scenery can. Simple rocks and trees evoke a spirit of noble independence, and the Pacific Ocean itself never ceases to impress. Of course there's the obligatory sunset over the ocean shot. (Take that East Coast dwellers!)

We visited a tide pool to get a close-up look at the local fauna; the local fauna did not disappoint. Here's sea stars having a party, a pissed off hermit crab (you can tell he's pissed because of his angry eyebrows), and a gregarious bunch of mussels. Good for them.

I managed to sneak up on LJ while she was taking a picture and capture these three images of her in one shot. As a sidenote, I'm enjoying her new hair color.

Still not sure why I chose to move away from here...

So yesterday I'm finishing off a gyro at the ever-wonderful Dave's Taverna when a friend from college comes over to say hi. She told me a story about my package ("and I don't mean the kind that you mail," as she put it) that I hadn't heard before.

Call me old fashioned, but I don't think it's unreasonable to expect that one's "package" keep one updated on these sorts of things. I'm a little disappointed and a little more scared that the ol' happy parts are generating stories without my knowledge. Clearly we have some very important issues to work out.

On a mostly different note, I realized from other parts of that conversation that I have a few pieces of unwanted photographic and video "evidence" of yours truly which I will have to hunt down and destroy. If you are in possession of such blackmail fodder and happen to be reading this, I'll be paying you a visit sometime soon. Well, maybe not soon, but at least eventually.

Well, here it is finally: the unnecessarily long entry in which I apologize for lack of updates and rehash all the incredibly exciting things that have happened to me in the past couple several twenty-four days. These types of entries, not excepting this one, generally irritate me. They seem to be less interesting, probably because they lack the inspiration and focus of more regular, shorter entries.

Two weekends ago, LJ and I took on a live-in pet sitting job. Our charges were two dogs, seven cats, and a rabbit. Skipping over any pretense of going smoothly, the job quickly took a turn for the interesting when LJ went out to check the rabbit on the first day. “Dan, the bunny’s not moving....lot of flies on the bunny.” Yup, we’re stellar pet sitters. To be fair, though, it turns out the rabbit was rather old anyway, and had already exceeded the expected lifespan for his kind. After performing my duties as a bunny mortician, the rest of the week was punctuated by a colorful assortment of semi-solid emanations from various pet orifices. I recall a time when I had the impression that German Shepherds were a particularly intelligent species of domesticated dog; I’ve found it much more difficult to convince myself of this knowing that at least one of them doubles his poo as a convenient doggie snack. So…cat barf, dog crap, pet hair…and to top it off, the rabbit is still dead.

Last weekend heralded an action-packed road trip to LJ’s grandmother’s place. To be helpful, LJ and I decided to tackle some yard work, specifically getting rid of the pesky monkey grass around the base of a dogwood tree. After a frantic half-hour of clawing at the ground in a semi-futile attempt to tear up the tangled network of roots, we managed to get most of the tufts dislodged. It’s been said that no good deed goes unpunished. Indeed. When LJ informed her grandmother that we had done some weeding, the latter remarked about how her yard maintenance people are always trying to pull up her monkey grass. She had actually transplanted it from a neighbor’s yard because she likes the way it covers the dirt around her dogwood tree. As a bonus gift I walked away a with a blue-ribbon sunburn, the likes of which my back has rarely, if ever, seen. Did I say rarely? Better make that medium rare. What? Like you’ve never made an asinine pun in your life...

While in the area, we made a quick side trip to Busch Gardens for some amusement. It is, after all, a park that is purportedly full of the stuff. I was unpleasantly surprised to see so many people blatantly ignore the non-smoking regulation that I thought was in place at the park. Perhaps it was a special "Foul the Air Day" theme or some such nonsense. If I choose to patronize a smoky bar or restaurant, though I don’t find the smoke to be pleasant, it’s to be expected and tolerable. When I choose to spend time in (what I thought to be) a non-smoking establishment, however, the smoking seems more antisocial and rude. It’s not entirely unlike spitting on other people: disgusting stuff that was in someone else’s mouth is now on me, and I don’t want it to be.

On the subject of bad things, the villains at IKEA will surely burn for eternity in the raging fires of hades for their vile plot to sell me eclectic decorations and home furnishings by offering them at reasonable prices in a no-pressure, no-hassle atmosphere. Scum like that just make me sick. Among our finds were a new coffee table and some lights. We wanted to get lights with red glass; sadly, they don’t come that way, necessitating some ad hoc adjustments of our own. Here’s the finished product.

That should be enough catching-up for now. Special thanks to adam and ney for pestering me incessantly until I finally updated. Now leave me alone about it already.

“Are you okay?”

“What was that?!”

“I thought something fell on you.”

“I thought it was down here, so I came down to see if you were OK.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“I’ll check back upstairs. Oh, that explains it. Hon, why is the laundry detergent in the toilet?”

“Are you serious?”

“The All’s just sitting here in the toilet, looking comfortable.”

“I wanna see it!”

“It’s already out. Do you want me to put it back in the toilet for you?”

“No. Did I remember to flush.”

“Umm, I’m not sure. I hope for its sake you did. So how’d it get in there?”

“I think it was sitting on the counter. It must have fallen off the towel.”

“Hm. I bet Tide would never do that.”

I've abruptly found myself without the major component of my current social group. It seems that the people I spend the most time with have headed south for a little boondoggle, leaving me with a little free time alone. Now to figure out how I'll spend the next 120 hours.

So far this morning I've made pancakes. (Thank you More-With-Less. You've changed my life! /cheesy testimonial) That's a good start.

After making myself a sandwich out of a leftover pancake, I've decided that someone at McDonald's is on crack.


In high school I could type 40 words per minute. At that rate, I'll be able to type 288,000 words in 120 hours. Could I actually go 120 hours without sleeping and still type intelligibly? Could I miss that much work without getting sacked? Of course. Look for my new big-ass novel later this summer.

Last summer I was able to power clean 225 pounds. Sadly, my current schedule isn't always conducive to keeping a regular lifting regimen, and I've backslid a little bit. If I lift five times a day for the next week, I'll to get myself back up to my previous record. Or I'll die. Best not to put that theory to the test.

I could always do something useful with my time--go to work, pay the bills--as uninteresting as that may be. I may as well give it a try. Of course I'm also willing to entertain any other suggestions.

Last weekend was a good weekend. I had the privelege of flying north to be in a wedding. Here's a quick run-down of the tuxes present at this particular celebration: the groom was from Chile, the best man hailed from Chad, and the other groomsman was born in Ecuador. Then there was cracker Dan representing the Anglo-Saxon mutts.

As far as weddings go, this one was pretty decent. Salsa dancing, some cueca action, and tasty beef simmered in chipolte--who knew Baptists could throw such a bumpin' party? Of course it didn't hurt that LJ was decked out in her slinky black salsa dress. Tasty.

Yep. That was a good weekend. Not much at all like this weekend, since it's 6:00 in the morning on a Saturday and I'm at work. It's OK. I'm not bitter. At least that's what I'll keep telling myself.