...in 1 Corinthians 13, love is patient, kind, not jealous, and so on--this coming from the biblical purveyor of practical advice. The list, when read in its entirety, appears fairly comprehensive, but I think Paul intentionally glossed over his lack of experience in certain matters by nebulously hinting that love "endures all things." This is not to say the sentiment is untrue; on the contrary, love does endure all things. But, if Paul had been a parent, I'm sure he would have been more specific. For example, he might have said "love endures full-force projectile vomiting of curdled soy milk."
Yes friends, love does endure such unpleasantries when we speak of parental love, even if it brings about our own demise, because absent a toilet or bucket (Editor's note: you'll just have to imagine that eloquent phrase "better get a bucket. I'm going to throw up, " from Monty Python's Meaning of Life. Linky no worky. But, as I was saying...) ...no loving parent can hold an ill child at arm's length as if their little one was a leaking bag of garbage. No, the parental imperative to comfort requires that we hold them close and tell them it'll be ok, even if it means being coated from head to toe in partially-digested chicken nuggets.
According to our pediatrician, Bry's latest affliction has a viral "gotcha." Unlike most stomach bugs, which seem to pass in a mere 24 hours, this one pops up unexpectedly a day or two later just so you don't get cocky thinking you've beat it. Of course, I'm sharing in this experience, but my gastric training, honed by flying backwards in a windowless cockpit, has allowed me to control my vomitus urges. Fun.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Rock Star
My son is a rock star. No, not a Superstar (Editor's note: think Molly Shannon. The copyright nazis struck)... a rock star.
Dropping him off at preschool is like The Beatles at Heathrow. Ok, I expect a certain adoration on the part of the teachers; he is, after all, a damn cute kid. But, what defies explanation is his classmates' compulsion to swarm the little guy the moment he sets foot in the room. Every day we pause as we get to the classroom door. He peers through the window, gauging the crowd's temperament. "You ready?" I ask. "Let's do it" he responds, as if he's about to step out of a limo into a horde of paparazzi and screaming fans. The door swings open, and with it comes the cry "Bryaaaaaaaaan!!!" On cue, ten 3 year-old boys stop what they're doing, their heads popping up like little prairie dogs out of their burrows, followed by a mad dash to lay hands on King Julian (damn, they struck again!) of Room 502. At what age does the concept of the "personal bubble" take shape?
Dropping him off at preschool is like The Beatles at Heathrow. Ok, I expect a certain adoration on the part of the teachers; he is, after all, a damn cute kid. But, what defies explanation is his classmates' compulsion to swarm the little guy the moment he sets foot in the room. Every day we pause as we get to the classroom door. He peers through the window, gauging the crowd's temperament. "You ready?" I ask. "Let's do it" he responds, as if he's about to step out of a limo into a horde of paparazzi and screaming fans. The door swings open, and with it comes the cry "Bryaaaaaaaaan!!!" On cue, ten 3 year-old boys stop what they're doing, their heads popping up like little prairie dogs out of their burrows, followed by a mad dash to lay hands on King Julian (damn, they struck again!) of Room 502. At what age does the concept of the "personal bubble" take shape?
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Monday, March 12, 2007
Internet Luddite
It occurred to me as I futzed around with putting this blog together that I'm something of a "Luddite" when it comes to the whole internet thing. This is more than a little ironic to those who know me, given my enthusiastic embrace of all things tech. Yet as I browsed my IE favorites to find some links of interest to post here, it became readily apparent that I just don't do a helluva lot online. For example, I've never been on eBay. Ever. Of course I know what eBay is, but I must say I was momentarily tempted to take John Scherer of Video Professor up on his offer to try [his] product™ just so I could get his free CD on eBay. I mean, who wouldn't? You just put the CD in your computer and it plays just like a VCR! Now you're talkin'. But alas, he couldn't promise to make me a millionaire by selling baseball cards on eBay, so no deal.
Not only have I never been on eBay, I've never been on MySpace, though something tells me I'm not missing anything. Nor have I ever made a phone call using Skype, which despite my telecom background, seems like internet voodoo to me. Second Life is what I hope to experience after racking up high score on this life's quarter. And, truth be told, I'm not sure I can conceptualize "surfing" the net. Do people really ride a random wave from site to site? I don't get it.
My wife has asked the question "what the hell do you do on the damned computer?" more than once. Evidently not much, which doesn't seem to accurately account for the 8 to12 hours I might spend online in a given day. Ok, there's work, but that doesn't count. I mean after I log on in the morning and delete the 200 or so email messages that flooded my inbox overnight, I just sorta space out for an hour. Yeah, I just stare at my desk, but it looks like I'm working. I do that for probably another hour after lunch too; I'd say in a given week I probably only do about fifteen minutes of real, actual, work. By the way, I think it's no small coincidence that Ron Livingston, aka Peter Gibbons, is now my company's spokesperson... well, that's the word on the street. (Editor's note: [sniff] ah, yes, the unforgettable stench of the copyright nazis, said the aspiring intellectual property lawyer. Link broken forever.)
So if it's not work, then what? Well, I'd like to think of myself as well-informed, but am deeply suspicious of the MSM, so I get my infotainment fix from the Drudge Report. I know, I know... Drudge has his days when his site reads like the front page of the National Enquirer, but I like the diversity in content. If I'm feeling political, I wander to National Review Online; Jonah Goldberg is the George Will for my generation. I might even take a gander at a Bill O'Reilly clip over on Fox. But the single greatest waste of my time is a cesspool of a UBB known as alt.games.warbirds. [old man voice]Back in the day, I used to bring hell to those damn Naaatzeees [/old man voice] virtually, of course, in a MMO air combat sim known as WarBirds. But like most Americans, I have a short attention span when it comes to stuff like war, so now I merely engage in verbal dogfights, trading insults and the occasional word of practical advice with my virtual friends and enemies alike. While by no means the most prolific, I've logged 4591 verbal "sorties" since July 1999. Some of these were short "out n' backs," a word or two or maybe a smilie. Most, however, were fairly lengthy (no surprise given what you've read here), involving some sort of planning, gathering of intel and whatnot. Estimating an average of 30 minutes per post, I've logged just under 2300 hours--95 days--indulging in my favorite pastime of being an opinionated jerk. Maybe I should reconnect with my inner Amish and get back to life's basics.
Not only have I never been on eBay, I've never been on MySpace, though something tells me I'm not missing anything. Nor have I ever made a phone call using Skype, which despite my telecom background, seems like internet voodoo to me. Second Life is what I hope to experience after racking up high score on this life's quarter. And, truth be told, I'm not sure I can conceptualize "surfing" the net. Do people really ride a random wave from site to site? I don't get it.
My wife has asked the question "what the hell do you do on the damned computer?" more than once. Evidently not much, which doesn't seem to accurately account for the 8 to12 hours I might spend online in a given day. Ok, there's work, but that doesn't count. I mean after I log on in the morning and delete the 200 or so email messages that flooded my inbox overnight, I just sorta space out for an hour. Yeah, I just stare at my desk, but it looks like I'm working. I do that for probably another hour after lunch too; I'd say in a given week I probably only do about fifteen minutes of real, actual, work. By the way, I think it's no small coincidence that Ron Livingston, aka Peter Gibbons, is now my company's spokesperson... well, that's the word on the street. (Editor's note: [sniff] ah, yes, the unforgettable stench of the copyright nazis, said the aspiring intellectual property lawyer. Link broken forever.)
So if it's not work, then what? Well, I'd like to think of myself as well-informed, but am deeply suspicious of the MSM, so I get my infotainment fix from the Drudge Report. I know, I know... Drudge has his days when his site reads like the front page of the National Enquirer, but I like the diversity in content. If I'm feeling political, I wander to National Review Online; Jonah Goldberg is the George Will for my generation. I might even take a gander at a Bill O'Reilly clip over on Fox. But the single greatest waste of my time is a cesspool of a UBB known as alt.games.warbirds. [old man voice]
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Captain's log, star date...
...ok, I promise to never use that Star Trek reference again, though it seems fitting, doesn't it? Actually, the inspiration for this blog's title was my former life, a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...
I must admit that there are days in which I miss being Captain Y--. So much of our identity is wrapped up in what we do, and what I do now leaves much to be desired. Alright, I really don't have any reason to complain. After all, I do have a job in which I'm well-paid and enjoy the perks of telecommuting and extraordinarily generous flex time, which is saying something. But, there is that little matter of my company dumping 10% of its workforce again. This frustrates me because it's apparent such drawdowns are done to appease shareholders. Pardon me as this investor indulges in a bit of hypocrisy, but I think the recent market crash bears out the point that while a person is smart, [shareholders] are dumb, panicky, dangerous animals, and you know it. Stop me before I quote any more SciFi movies.
I must admit that there are days in which I miss being Captain Y--. So much of our identity is wrapped up in what we do, and what I do now leaves much to be desired. Alright, I really don't have any reason to complain. After all, I do have a job in which I'm well-paid and enjoy the perks of telecommuting and extraordinarily generous flex time, which is saying something. But, there is that little matter of my company dumping 10% of its workforce again. This frustrates me because it's apparent such drawdowns are done to appease shareholders. Pardon me as this investor indulges in a bit of hypocrisy, but I think the recent market crash bears out the point that while a person is smart, [shareholders] are dumb, panicky, dangerous animals, and you know it. Stop me before I quote any more SciFi movies.
Friday, March 9, 2007
Welcome!
My friend Kelley encouraged me to start a blog, probably because I was spamming her blog with my incessant comments; the topic was breakfast cereal, and who doesn't have strong opinions on breakfast cereal?
Anyway, I was reluctant to "blog" because, well, I consider myself to be a fairly private person and because I don't think I have all that much to say. Of course, I've already told you my life story in 88 words; so much for privacy. As for having something to say, while some blogs have a central theme or a point to make, this one doesn't. Maybe it will someday, but for now this is just a place for me to comment on things that strike my fancy and perhaps encourage conversation on those topics among the very few friends who may know about this, my dirty little secret. Of course if you're a complete stranger, you're welcome as well. Feel free to peruse and comment.
Anyway, I was reluctant to "blog" because, well, I consider myself to be a fairly private person and because I don't think I have all that much to say. Of course, I've already told you my life story in 88 words; so much for privacy. As for having something to say, while some blogs have a central theme or a point to make, this one doesn't. Maybe it will someday, but for now this is just a place for me to comment on things that strike my fancy and perhaps encourage conversation on those topics among the very few friends who may know about this, my dirty little secret. Of course if you're a complete stranger, you're welcome as well. Feel free to peruse and comment.
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