Thursday, July 31, 2008

This Is Why People Never Email Me Back

First off, if you’ve been reading here for a while (hi, Mom!), you know that I don’t venture too far out of my cave and point out things on the Internet that I enjoy. Links, videos, photos, etc. I am not a “link” blogger, culling the interesting from the mundane on the ’Net, a là Kottke or Rex. Folks like that do the “Here’s a cool link!” thing much better than I could hope to. I have a long neglected tumblr site and del.icio.us thing-y I ruthlessly ignore for that sort of thing. Occasionally, sure, but mostly I just do my thing here and leave being a “taste-maker” to people better suited to it.

Second, yes, I sent the following an email and yes, it was really late when I wrote it, thanks for asking. And yeah, I’m one of those people that scribbles entirely over-long emails. Shoot me dead and leave me in a ditch if you want, but that’s how I roll.

Third, just go read her.

Kyran—

I just feel compelled to tell you that I’ve taken to stopping people on the street and saying, “Hello, good stranger! How are you today? That is a lovely hat you are sporting! It goes really well with those khaki Dockers. I’ve seen you before in front of the Deli, since we both work here on the same street. Now, I may be way off the mark and forgive me for being so bold, but have you lost a little weight? You look more svelte than usual.”

“Thank you, please let go of my hand.”

“I’m merely shaking your hand.”

“True, but the time for shaking has long past and you still have ahold of my hand. To a casual observer it might seem like we are just standing here in front of the Deli, holding hands.”

“Good point. Anyway, I have stopped you here on the street because I simply MUST tell you about this web site I happened upon the other day.”

“Um. OK. What is it?”

“It’s called Notes to Self and it’s written by a delightful writer named Kyran and her prose is sublime. You MUST drop everything and get yourself to a web browser and begin paging through her archives in search of gems and assorted shiny baubles of writing. She also writes poetry, but you know me, I’m not that into poetry and what’s even more odd is that I like her stuff in the first place, since I usually don’t go for so-called ‘serious’ writing and generally stick to people on the web who are ‘funny’ writers, given my proclivity for keeping things completely superficial and light and airy like a good chocolate mousse. But she’s that good. Why are you still standing here? Let’s get you to some WiFi! You can borrow my iPhone!”

“You must be right about this site, though; the foam at the corners of your mouth as you babble about it speaks volumes about your enthusiasm for it. And I haven’t left because you still have ahold of my hand.”

And then I get arrested because the person was clandestinely dialing 911 on his cell phone in his pocket with his other hand.

But I always make bail and once the person actually goes and reads your stuff they agree it’s wonderful and drop all charges against me.

Usually that’s what happens.

—jon

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

My New Hobby

This is my newest hobby.

Whenever one of my apps crashes, OS X pops up with a little message window asking if I’d like to report the incident to Apple. Details and the like which could help the engineers fix problems in their apps. Being the helpful fellow that I am, I usually press “Okey-Dokey” and send the report to Apple.

These are the kind of Crash Reports I’ve started to send to the Mothership. In this case an Apple app called Server Admin that I use, oddly enough, to administer our server (who’da thunk?) had crashed:

Server Admin is a like a petulant toddler who refuses to sleep well.

It crashes hard *every* time my machine takes a nap. Upon awakening my computer, Server Admin will have kicked up its little feet and keeled over and unceremoniously died and become completely unresponsive. Sometimes I can’t even start the app back up and have to resort to rebooting my machine.

Now I am all sad inside and want to start drinking heavily.

Again.

And I can’t put my family through that again.

Last time this happened, my family and friends staged an intervention and they all gathered around and explained that they loved me and were here for me, but that I had to change. And then they put me on a bus to Tuscon.

And I’ve tried, really, I’ve tried.

But seriously, every time Server Admin crashes, I feel myself slipping back into that dark place and I begin to reach for the demon gin bottle.

So fix this, will ya?

Thanks!

xoxoxo,
jon

Should help, no?

Sunday, July 27, 2008

Yes, Certain People in My House Screamed

That’s a letter sized (8.5” x 11") piece of paper behind it to show scale and contrast.

Soon after this photo was taken, it growled and then ate one of my kids.

Luckily, I have a lot of kids.

Seriously, this thing was huge and there may have been screaming and people jumping out of their skins when we first saw it.

OK, I kind of screamed.

A little.

Fine, I yelled a lot, but I still don’t think the neighbors should have called 911 and told them, "It sounds like he’s on fire, he won’t stop shrieking."

What is this thing? Looks like a beetle and it really did make a weird clicking/hissing noise when we gently poked at it. Are there any entomologists in the house that can tell me why this monstrosity is here in the foothills of Salt Lake City?

(Besides snack on one of my kids, that is.)

Thursday, July 24, 2008

Do NOT Disturb the Beast as It Slumbers

This is my darling and adorable Ellis (5) when I walk into her room to wake her up every morning.

Cranky does not even begin to describe her mood in the mornings. She is the Destroyer of Worlds. Seriously, she scares me in the mornings.

The following is a for reals True Story!*

I creep gently into her room last week and gently shake her shoulder.

“Ellis,” I whisper, “Baby, it’s time to get up.”

Nothing. She doesn’t even budge.

A little louder, “Ellis, schmoopy-pants, it’s a school day. Let’s get going.”

She makes a little grunting sound. She moves her shoulder and body away from my hand as if I’m on fire.

“Ellis! School! Come on! Let’s shake it, baby!” I am the very picture of chipper and good cheer. I shake her a bit more and rub her back.

She moves away again until she’s wedged up against the wall.

“Hey! You can’t get away from me. Come here! Let’s go!” and I move the cover from off her body.

She violently pulls the covers back over her head.

She hasn’t yet opened her eyes at all.

“Ellis. Fru-foo Muffin. Let’s go!”

More grunting, but she’s begun to stretch.

“Hey! Look at that! You are awake and stretching. Excellent! I’m going to go pour you some cereal. Be back in a sec.”

I go pour cereal and start making her lunch. I come back to her room and she has gotten up, turned off the lights and closed the door.

And locked it.

“Ellis!” I yell through the door, “This isn’t helping anything. I can unlock the door.”

I run fetch the key, unlock the door and see that she’s deeply hidden herself under the covers.

“OK, I’m done playing Gibble Monkey, I’m going to pick you up by your toes now.”

“DON’T CALL ME GIBBLE MONKEY! My name is Ellis.”

“I know that, E. but hey, look, you are awake! Let’s get dressed. What do you want to wear today?” I should have tried this angle earlier. She loves picking out her clothes.

“Dress.”

“Which dress?”

“Pink dress.”

“Which pink dress?”

“…”

“Ellis? You there, sweetie?”

“…”

She’s back asleep. Maybe. “OK, I’m getting out your jeans and the green shirt.”

“NO! NO! NO! I WANT THE PINK DRESS!”

“OK! Let’s get cranking on that! And can we hurry? It’s starting to get late.”

For the first time, she cracks open her eyes. It’s a demonic stare, aimed directly at my forehead. I turn around to her closet to get her dress and realize that I have made a tragic error.

She wore the pink dress earlier this week, it’s dirty and buried in the laundry basket. Quick! Grab the cute khaki skirt and the pink polo shirt! Maybe she’ll buy off on it.

“Uh-oh, Ellis, looks like the pink dress is in the wash. How about this darling skirt and cute pink shirt?”

“NO!”

Hellfire.

“OK, here. How about this. Get up and come choose what you want to wear.”

She flings the covers off and makes a beeline for the dirty clothes hamper in the corner and begins to dig, “I want to wear the pink dress.”

“Ellis, Poopy Cluster. You can’t. It’s dirty. Look, there’s cupcake frosting on the front. You can’t wear that. How about you choose between the skirt and polo shirt and this dress?” A blue dress she loathes, what the crap am I thinking trying to pass this off on her? She’s going to hit me. And when she hits me, she’s exactly at the height of my crotch and that HURTS like you wouldn’t believe.

“DON’T CALL ME POOPY CLUSTER. My name is Ellis. It’s not that dirty. Wash it.”

“Ellis, I can’t wash it right now. We don’t have time to do that. We are about to start really running late now. We have to get a move on.”

“I can wear this. It’s fine!” and she stretches once more, grunts loudly and huffs out the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Pee.”

“OK, remember to wash your hands and here, take the skirt and shirt and put them on while you are in the bathroom.”

“Wanna wear the pink dress.”

I follow behind her out into the hall, “I know. But it’s DIRTY. Please put on the skirt and shirt. Please.”

“Peeing now. GO AWAY, DADDY!”

“I’m putting these clothes on your bed. Put them on and come eat breakfast. I’ll go pour the milk on your cereal.”

“I want oatmeal.”

“Ellis, we don’t have time for oatmeal. Cereal or nothing.”

Five minutes later she shows up in the kitchen, wearing the pink dress.

“Ellis. It’s DIRTY. You can’t wear it again until we wash it.”

“Where is the oatmeal?”

“No time for oatmeal. Here is your cereal.”

“What kind of cereal?”

“Cinnamon Life.” Just like every day this week.

“I want Regular Life.”

“Are you doing this on purpose?”

“What?”

“Never mind. We are officially late now.”

Pop quiz time!

1. Did the Beast wear the pink dress to school that day?


2. Did she get a new bowl of Regular Life cereal?


3. Did my head explode?

Pop quiz answers!

1. Yep. A wet washcloth did quite the number on the dried frosting. Sure there was a bit of a stain, but you could hardly tell if she kept her arms crossed. All day.


2. Yeah. That one was easy. I gave her a fresh bowl of Regular Life cereal and ate her old bowl of Cinnamon Life in the car on the way to her school. Ooh, Extra Credit BONUS question! Did I spill half the bowl of Cinnamon Life cereal in my lap when we pulled up to the school and then have to go back home and change my pants? Duh, of course.


3. A little bit.

*Not a true story.

** That’s not actually true. That whole story is true. Except I changed the names.

*** Um. Yeah, turns out all the names are real. It’s all true.

Monday, July 21, 2008

Yes, She Still Brings the Snark

Carrie (18): You know how Jim’s parents said they’ve been “working” with him to improve his social problems?

Reha: Yeah.

Carrie: There is a lot of work left to do.


[For the record, I like Jim. Sure, he eats my food whenever he’s over to our house, but he’s a good kid.]

Favorite Entries

If you are new around here, the following entries have been reasonably well received. You might want to peruse these.

• Help Wanted
• From the Office of Mis-directed Email
• A Word from the Small Person in the House
• RNT Product Review: Chocolate Mix Skittles Left Me Sterile!
• Jon’s Report Card circa… A Long Time Ago
• Dear Gratuitously Naked Conversationalist at the Gym:
• A Peek Inside the Writer’s Guild and Producers’ Negotiations
• We Regret the Error
• Letters from a Homeowner to His General Contractor
• What I Did There
• Hermaphrodite Administrative Assistants and Receptionists Need Not Apply
• Giving Me an IM Account Was Obviously a Huge Mistake
• Official Ransom Note Typography Vista vs. Mac OS X Shootout
• I Need a Real Hobby
• Beat Down
• Big Fat Lies
• True Love
• Now MY Ovaries Hurt
• Don’t Get Her Started
• Disturbing Trend
• Had to do it
• Mooshy stuff
• Ransom Note Typography End User License Agreement “EULA”
• Diva-licious!
• Just so we’re clear
• PETA may have a point

Holy Crap! Look at all this STUFF down here. It's awesome!

 

Really, I'm glad you made it down here. Almost no one ever comes down here. I'm like in a freaking dungeon down here. I get lonely. But not you. YOU made it all the way to the end of the page. For this I think I've a little crush on you. I don't know, is "love" to strong a word to use in this situation? Well, if it's not "love," then it's very strong "like." I'm totally in like with you for coming down here. You are awesome. Please love me back! I know, I know, I shouldn't be all needy, it's not attractive at all, but you don't know how it is to be stuck down here. Who scrolls all the way to the end of a page anymore these days? Anyway, thanks for shedding some light down here in the depths. I appreciate it. Shoot me an email and I'll send you a dollar, OK?

©2005-2008 Jon B. Deal All Rights Reserved. I'm not kidding around here, I know people who know other people who would be willing to beat you up or similarly infringe on your rights, should you happen to infringe on my rights.