Our back yard now features a wooden play structure. Like, with two swings and a slide and a raised fort and a spot for a sandbox underneath the fort. (See the SC-F2 here.) It's a bit excessive, but Emma really likes swings and slides, and having them nearby makes Melissa's day much easier.
The playset has two swings: one baby swing and one belt swing (the kind you're used to). I expected the belt swing to go unused for a few years, but soon after we got it, Melissa told me that swinging alongside Emma is great stress relief. I thought she was being silly, but I tried it. It's embarassingly theraputic. Once I'm swinging, it's all I can do to resist going high and jumping off, but that would set a bad example for impressionable young Emma. Must resist.
Wednesday, March 17, 2004
Wednesday, January 28, 2004
Guess how many ping pong balls.
"Where did you work before here?" Evan lit Colby's cigarette as the door eased shut. Abe sat down against the wall.
Colby squinted in the light, casting a sneer that may have been his crooked-toothed version of a grin. "I am not at liberty to say."
"Huh. Maybe we don't want to know. Harrassment, fraud something like that?"
"April Fool's prank." The sneer was definitely a grin.
"No kidding." Then Abe's jaw dropped. "Wait... 'Guess how many ping pong balls?'"
Colby was suddenly interested in tbe power lines running across the street.
"Jesus," Abe squeaked. "That was you?" Colby's gaze shifted to the northbound traffic.
Evan was almost panting. "What? What what what? Tell me!"
Abe turned to Evan. "Okay, I heard this story, I assumed it was... a story. In the lobby of some bank's corporate headquarters, on April Fool's Day morning, there's this huge crate hanging from the rafters. High ceiling, far from the stairs, would have taken a forklift to get it up there. There are hinges on the bottom edges, like it's ready to drop a whole lot of something.
"Under the crate is a digital timer on a little stand, counting down to noontime. Next to it is a sign that says 'Guess how many ping pong balls.'
"As the morning goes on, everyone in the office is talking about it, and they keep gathering in the lobby to stare at this huge crate. It's gotta be big enough to hold tens of thousands of ping pong balls, and everyone's laughing at the thought of an avalanche over the receptionist's desk, flowing out into the street.
"People start taking bets, and a lot of people are betting 'zero', figuring that's the obvious April Fool's joke. But nobody knows, and it's getting closer to noon. Anticipation builds.
"Around eleven one of the employees shows up late. When he sees what's going on he gets all shaky and pulls someone aside. He tells them he's seen this before. At his last company, he says, somebody set up this prank with himself in the crate, then committed suicide. At noon the body dumped onto the floor in front of the entire office.
"The guy telling this story leaves, shaken. His story makes the rounds. People start to get uneasy. They stop making bets. As noon approaches, everyone's heard the story, and still nobody can keep their eyes off the crate.
"But nobody thinks it's funny any more. The head of security starts thinking they should take this thing down, but by now it's almost noon. As the last seconds tick away, everybody gathers at the perimeter of the lobby, keeping their distance from the center.
"At noon the timer beeps, and something in the crate clicks."
As Abe paused for dramatic effect, Evan held his breath, wide-eyed. Colby just stared into the distance, trying to suppress a grin.
"The bottom swings open, and a cloud of paper drifts to the floor. It's all coupons for ten dollars off a new set of tires at a local tire shop. Limit one per customer."
Evan tilted his head. "Huh?"
Abe continued. "Everybody's so relieved there's no dead body, it takes a couple minutes for them to catch on. But then they go outside, and in the parking lot every tire of every car has been slashed."
Evan turned to Colby, who was outwardly grinning by now.
"You... You did that?"
"I am not at liberty to say." Colby snuffed his cigarette against the wall, leaving an ugly mark.
"I can't imagine that went over well. Did they press charges?"
"I am not at liberty to say."
Evan stammered, "But, but... Why?"
"They pissed me off."
Opening the door, Abe snorted "Remind me not to piss you off."
"Don't piss me off."
Colby squinted in the light, casting a sneer that may have been his crooked-toothed version of a grin. "I am not at liberty to say."
"Huh. Maybe we don't want to know. Harrassment, fraud something like that?"
"April Fool's prank." The sneer was definitely a grin.
"No kidding." Then Abe's jaw dropped. "Wait... 'Guess how many ping pong balls?'"
Colby was suddenly interested in tbe power lines running across the street.
"Jesus," Abe squeaked. "That was you?" Colby's gaze shifted to the northbound traffic.
Evan was almost panting. "What? What what what? Tell me!"
Abe turned to Evan. "Okay, I heard this story, I assumed it was... a story. In the lobby of some bank's corporate headquarters, on April Fool's Day morning, there's this huge crate hanging from the rafters. High ceiling, far from the stairs, would have taken a forklift to get it up there. There are hinges on the bottom edges, like it's ready to drop a whole lot of something.
"Under the crate is a digital timer on a little stand, counting down to noontime. Next to it is a sign that says 'Guess how many ping pong balls.'
"As the morning goes on, everyone in the office is talking about it, and they keep gathering in the lobby to stare at this huge crate. It's gotta be big enough to hold tens of thousands of ping pong balls, and everyone's laughing at the thought of an avalanche over the receptionist's desk, flowing out into the street.
"People start taking bets, and a lot of people are betting 'zero', figuring that's the obvious April Fool's joke. But nobody knows, and it's getting closer to noon. Anticipation builds.
"Around eleven one of the employees shows up late. When he sees what's going on he gets all shaky and pulls someone aside. He tells them he's seen this before. At his last company, he says, somebody set up this prank with himself in the crate, then committed suicide. At noon the body dumped onto the floor in front of the entire office.
"The guy telling this story leaves, shaken. His story makes the rounds. People start to get uneasy. They stop making bets. As noon approaches, everyone's heard the story, and still nobody can keep their eyes off the crate.
"But nobody thinks it's funny any more. The head of security starts thinking they should take this thing down, but by now it's almost noon. As the last seconds tick away, everybody gathers at the perimeter of the lobby, keeping their distance from the center.
"At noon the timer beeps, and something in the crate clicks."
As Abe paused for dramatic effect, Evan held his breath, wide-eyed. Colby just stared into the distance, trying to suppress a grin.
"The bottom swings open, and a cloud of paper drifts to the floor. It's all coupons for ten dollars off a new set of tires at a local tire shop. Limit one per customer."
Evan tilted his head. "Huh?"
Abe continued. "Everybody's so relieved there's no dead body, it takes a couple minutes for them to catch on. But then they go outside, and in the parking lot every tire of every car has been slashed."
Evan turned to Colby, who was outwardly grinning by now.
"You... You did that?"
"I am not at liberty to say." Colby snuffed his cigarette against the wall, leaving an ugly mark.
"I can't imagine that went over well. Did they press charges?"
"I am not at liberty to say."
Evan stammered, "But, but... Why?"
"They pissed me off."
Opening the door, Abe snorted "Remind me not to piss you off."
"Don't piss me off."
Tuesday, January 13, 2004
Tune fork.
When I listen to an album often enough, I get used to the sequence of songs. I'm sure everybody does. When one song ends, during the delay between songs, the next song begins playing in my mind. Once the song actually starts up, the one in my mind skips back to sync up and everything's happy.
When I listen to a compilation album, my mind frequently becomes confused, because the "next" song is not what I'm used to. This has always been true, and again I expect everyone experiences this.
But it's only recently that I've noticed that, once I've listened to a compilation album enough, each song has two "next" songs: the next song from the original album, and the next song from the compilation album. When the song ends, both songs start playing at once. Depending on which I'm listening to, one gets synced up and the other gets discarded.
I realized recently that, in the delay between songs, my mind rushes to remember which is the right next song. My mind hops back and forth between the two, first letting one dominate and then the other, forming a strange hybrid composition. And when the next song actually starts, if that's the one dominating in my head, the musical portion of my brain is at peace. If not, I feel a vague dissatisfaction.
Stupid brain.
When I listen to a compilation album, my mind frequently becomes confused, because the "next" song is not what I'm used to. This has always been true, and again I expect everyone experiences this.
But it's only recently that I've noticed that, once I've listened to a compilation album enough, each song has two "next" songs: the next song from the original album, and the next song from the compilation album. When the song ends, both songs start playing at once. Depending on which I'm listening to, one gets synced up and the other gets discarded.
I realized recently that, in the delay between songs, my mind rushes to remember which is the right next song. My mind hops back and forth between the two, first letting one dominate and then the other, forming a strange hybrid composition. And when the next song actually starts, if that's the one dominating in my head, the musical portion of my brain is at peace. If not, I feel a vague dissatisfaction.
Stupid brain.
Friday, November 28, 2003
Connectivity!
Three weeks after moving in, we finally have internet access in the house. I'll resist the urge to use multiple exclamation points, lest I be revealed as overly dependent.
We'd had a cable modem in the old place, so as an existing customer I expected a fairly easy transition. This is because I'm new to planet earth and I don't know how things work here. I was thrown off because Comcast is "a cable company dedicated to changing the way you think about your cable company."
When we moved in, cable TV was already working, but my cable modem couldn't connect. A nice tech came out and said he just had to remove a filter from The Green Box Out Front and we'd be all set. However, he found The Green Box to be a foot deeper in the soil than it was supposed to be. The tech said he couldn't open it, and illustrated by pulling on the front panel.
"No problem," he said, "I'll just transfer this to Construction, in a couple days they'll send out a truck and raise the pedestal. Then they'll remove the filter and you'll be all set." Still giddy from the oxygen levels on this planet, I bought into his scheme.
Thus began three weeks of Fun on the Phone, in which we were ensured, time after time, that we'd hear from people who, in retrospect, I suspect never existed. The snickers in the background should have tipped me off.
Today, a different nice tech came out, and within several minutes he determined two things. First, it's really easy to open The Green Box despite its depth in the soil. He just pulled on the rear panel, not the front one. Thus, the filter was trivially accessible all along.
Second, he found that the filter wasn't in The Green Box anyway, but was instead in a panel in the side of our house, protected by obscure Flat Head Screwdriver technology.
So it was a wild goose chase, or possibly a red herring. I'm too busy to figure out the difference, because I'm so online now.
We'd had a cable modem in the old place, so as an existing customer I expected a fairly easy transition. This is because I'm new to planet earth and I don't know how things work here. I was thrown off because Comcast is "a cable company dedicated to changing the way you think about your cable company."
When we moved in, cable TV was already working, but my cable modem couldn't connect. A nice tech came out and said he just had to remove a filter from The Green Box Out Front and we'd be all set. However, he found The Green Box to be a foot deeper in the soil than it was supposed to be. The tech said he couldn't open it, and illustrated by pulling on the front panel.
"No problem," he said, "I'll just transfer this to Construction, in a couple days they'll send out a truck and raise the pedestal. Then they'll remove the filter and you'll be all set." Still giddy from the oxygen levels on this planet, I bought into his scheme.
Thus began three weeks of Fun on the Phone, in which we were ensured, time after time, that we'd hear from people who, in retrospect, I suspect never existed. The snickers in the background should have tipped me off.
Today, a different nice tech came out, and within several minutes he determined two things. First, it's really easy to open The Green Box despite its depth in the soil. He just pulled on the rear panel, not the front one. Thus, the filter was trivially accessible all along.
Second, he found that the filter wasn't in The Green Box anyway, but was instead in a panel in the side of our house, protected by obscure Flat Head Screwdriver technology.
So it was a wild goose chase, or possibly a red herring. I'm too busy to figure out the difference, because I'm so online now.
Tuesday, November 25, 2003
Fractions of an acre.
The house is almost entirely unpacked. All that remains is the office, which is a big mess, and half of the garage, which is filled with empty boxes. I haven't bothered to set up the office since Comcast is seriously dragging their feet on our internet service. It's kind of sad that I don't feel much need to set up the computer in the absence of connectivity.
Emma's first birthday party was Sunday, and we had a bunch of people over. (Well, about 14 people, but that's a lot for us.) One person saw our back yard and said "Whoah, it's like I'm back in the midwest!" That was either hyperbole or a very bad memory. Ours is a very nice yard by the standards of this area, but it's nothing compared to elsewhere. The bay area has lots of ways of distorting your perception, and this is one of them.
Emma's first birthday party was Sunday, and we had a bunch of people over. (Well, about 14 people, but that's a lot for us.) One person saw our back yard and said "Whoah, it's like I'm back in the midwest!" That was either hyperbole or a very bad memory. Ours is a very nice yard by the standards of this area, but it's nothing compared to elsewhere. The bay area has lots of ways of distorting your perception, and this is one of them.
Thursday, November 20, 2003
Five fingers, five binary digits, 0-31. Obviously.
Not normally the kind of thing I go for, and quite a bit later than everyone else, but I finally got around to taking The Geek Test. Some friends of mine scored in the 30's and 40's, so I figured I should find out where I fall.
I'm at 23.27416%: Geek. I scored high in the computer-heavy sections, but a lot of the rest was left blank. A few random things like "I watch documentaries" and "I've read [Asimov/Lovecraft/Tolkien]" and "I've studied a language on my own."
'Course, there was only one check-box next to "I program." I suspect that, if I could put the appropriate number of checks next to that, I'd score much higher.
And they didn't even include "I have a weblog", "I've written my own weblog framework", or "I've created a programming language specifically for web programming", all of which should rightly cast me into the bowels of Pathetic Geek Hell.
Unless "I'm married" and "I have a kid" can reduce your score. Dunno.
I'm at 23.27416%: Geek. I scored high in the computer-heavy sections, but a lot of the rest was left blank. A few random things like "I watch documentaries" and "I've read [Asimov/Lovecraft/Tolkien]" and "I've studied a language on my own."
'Course, there was only one check-box next to "I program." I suspect that, if I could put the appropriate number of checks next to that, I'd score much higher.
And they didn't even include "I have a weblog", "I've written my own weblog framework", or "I've created a programming language specifically for web programming", all of which should rightly cast me into the bowels of Pathetic Geek Hell.
Unless "I'm married" and "I have a kid" can reduce your score. Dunno.
Monday, November 10, 2003
Ah, homeownershiphood.
I've discovered a surefire way to make it rain. All I have to do is move.
Earlier this year we moved from a one bedroom apartment to a two bedroom apartment in the same complex. We asked two friends to help, and they generously obliged. On moving day, it rained.
This past weekend, we moved into our new house. We had scheduled a truck and one of the aforementioned friends to help us move. On the day (Saturday), it rained. A lot. We moved quickly, though, dodging raindrops, so there's no water damage to speak of.
The funny thing is that it doesn't rain very often around here.
Anyway, we're sleeping at the new house now. We're still battling to get phone service hooked up, which is worrisome since we have all sorts of deliveries and service installations coming in the next few days. Plus we need to hire an electrician to deal with crappy wiring and pest control to deal with minor dryrot and some engineers to do seismic retrofitting (all of which which we knew about when we bought). Plus we should figure out what's up with the garage door (it doesn't open consistently).
On the plus side, the baby seems to love the new house, and has had no trouble adapting. 'Course, maybe she just thinks we're on vacation and is expecting to return "home" soon. Or maybe she's too distracted by all the boxes and general disarray, and the fact that her parents are too busy to say "Emma, don't climb on the pile of CD's, DVD's, VHS tapes, and casettes! Stop throwing them on the tile floor, I don't care how cool the sound is." It's like a field day for her.
Plus the stairs. She loves the stairs. And she's surprisingly good at using them, for somebody who can't even walk consistenly yet. We still stand nearby as she goes up and down, but we pretty much never have to intervene. Survival instinct: check.
Earlier this year we moved from a one bedroom apartment to a two bedroom apartment in the same complex. We asked two friends to help, and they generously obliged. On moving day, it rained.
This past weekend, we moved into our new house. We had scheduled a truck and one of the aforementioned friends to help us move. On the day (Saturday), it rained. A lot. We moved quickly, though, dodging raindrops, so there's no water damage to speak of.
The funny thing is that it doesn't rain very often around here.
Anyway, we're sleeping at the new house now. We're still battling to get phone service hooked up, which is worrisome since we have all sorts of deliveries and service installations coming in the next few days. Plus we need to hire an electrician to deal with crappy wiring and pest control to deal with minor dryrot and some engineers to do seismic retrofitting (all of which which we knew about when we bought). Plus we should figure out what's up with the garage door (it doesn't open consistently).
On the plus side, the baby seems to love the new house, and has had no trouble adapting. 'Course, maybe she just thinks we're on vacation and is expecting to return "home" soon. Or maybe she's too distracted by all the boxes and general disarray, and the fact that her parents are too busy to say "Emma, don't climb on the pile of CD's, DVD's, VHS tapes, and casettes! Stop throwing them on the tile floor, I don't care how cool the sound is." It's like a field day for her.
Plus the stairs. She loves the stairs. And she's surprisingly good at using them, for somebody who can't even walk consistenly yet. We still stand nearby as she goes up and down, but we pretty much never have to intervene. Survival instinct: check.
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