Wednesday, January 2, 2008
"It's getting better all the time..."
So the new year is upon us, have you resolved to ameliorate your physical, mental, financial, spiritual, or emotional being in an effort to transform into that vibrant enlightened human you have always dreamed of becoming? Or, are you like me: too stupid and lazy to accept any challenge to overcome personal foibles?
I can clamber atop my high-horse and spew about how I am going to: read ten books this year (what a husband and wife can't share new years goals?), pursue my dream of playing music professionally (and by professionally I mean I am going to try and get at least one gig this year or sell one of my songs to a famous artist for thousands of dollars—easy enough huh?), be more patient and understanding, and write more—perhaps finish some of my ideas for a change. Or I can bore you all to tears about how wonderful our first Christmas with the G-man was, but I will leave that story up to Pixie.
Instead I am going to direct your attention to the brand new guitar I purchased over the Holidays. I am quite pleased with it's performance, but am most happy with the small amount of money I spent on it. The story of how the guitar came to be in my possession is long and full of anti-climaxes, protagonists, antagonists, a midget named Harry and fourteen pounds of potato salad. But I will spare you the details and just say that I won't be buying instruments at Guitar Center in the future.
Sorry to disappoint you Jacob, but I did not buy a Breedlove. I purchased a smooth playing, folk-style guitar manufactured by a company named Godin. One of their many fine products, the Art and Lutherie guitar, has reminded me how much I miss playing my six-string acoustic. The price of said guitar has reminded me of how much of a cheap ass I am. It was a win-win buying this axe. Not only did I spend way less than I was going to spend, but I got a better sounding guitar. Hey, and it's pretty to boot.
So while most people have resolved to buy expensive Gym memberships that will undoubtedly fall by the wayside February first, I am going to crack a beer and work on becoming a literate rock star with a lot of patience.
Oh yeah I hope everybody had a great Holiday with their family and friends. I know we did.
I can clamber atop my high-horse and spew about how I am going to: read ten books this year (what a husband and wife can't share new years goals?), pursue my dream of playing music professionally (and by professionally I mean I am going to try and get at least one gig this year or sell one of my songs to a famous artist for thousands of dollars—easy enough huh?), be more patient and understanding, and write more—perhaps finish some of my ideas for a change. Or I can bore you all to tears about how wonderful our first Christmas with the G-man was, but I will leave that story up to Pixie.
Instead I am going to direct your attention to the brand new guitar I purchased over the Holidays. I am quite pleased with it's performance, but am most happy with the small amount of money I spent on it. The story of how the guitar came to be in my possession is long and full of anti-climaxes, protagonists, antagonists, a midget named Harry and fourteen pounds of potato salad. But I will spare you the details and just say that I won't be buying instruments at Guitar Center in the future.
Sorry to disappoint you Jacob, but I did not buy a Breedlove. I purchased a smooth playing, folk-style guitar manufactured by a company named Godin. One of their many fine products, the Art and Lutherie guitar, has reminded me how much I miss playing my six-string acoustic. The price of said guitar has reminded me of how much of a cheap ass I am. It was a win-win buying this axe. Not only did I spend way less than I was going to spend, but I got a better sounding guitar. Hey, and it's pretty to boot.
So while most people have resolved to buy expensive Gym memberships that will undoubtedly fall by the wayside February first, I am going to crack a beer and work on becoming a literate rock star with a lot of patience.
Oh yeah I hope everybody had a great Holiday with their family and friends. I know we did.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Just another day
So my berfday was good. I ate some steak, got a few presents, and played with G-man. All in all it was a good day, though it was definitely the dawning of a new era. I guess I have felt it the past few berfdays, but it really hit home this year. I am getting old, and the anniversary of my joining this world just doesn't seem so, well...grandiose anymore.
I used to love waking up in the morning on my berfday. I would jump out of bed and bounce, no frolic—yeah I like that— everywhere, all day. The gifts, the attention, I always held that one day close to my heart. The one special day where I was king. I felt untouchable, like I really was somebody important. The past few years this special feeling has wanned. This year that declining trend continued. I'm not complaining (too much), but it just felt like any other day. G-man was the focus of my attention ( I wouldn't have it any other way), among various other boring responsibilities, like waiting for the window guys to show up and finish their job and trying to avoid the mountain of laundry looming in the basement. The bottom line is I just couldn't get into my berfday suit, so to speak.
I don't even want to think about next year. I will turn thirty. I don't feel ready to be thirty. I still feel young. People over thirty can't be trusted. Take my wife...please. Where's my violin.
Anyway, I hate to complain so enough of that whiny foo-fa-rah.
I was thinking of buying myself a nice acoustic guitar for my berfday. I don't want to spend too much money, but I think I can allot a small bit for a new guitar. I gave my old acoustic to my father. He fiddles around (yes, you can fiddle on a guitar) and doesn't have a good guitar of his own. He is constantly borrowing mine so I finally decided to make the old bastard happy. Besides I will get it back when he dies.
Jesus, did I just say that? What kind of son am I?
It made him happy, and I like seeing my folks happy so what the hell, it's only a guitar.
I would love to get a Gibson, but those are a little out of my price range. I could trade in one of my electrics and sell some blood, a kidney, some sperm, my soul and take out a small loan to cover the rest.
Maybe a Taylor will do instead. Then again a Fender is more in my price range. Plus, I have to have a case to house the guitar. That is another hundred dollars. Who knows, I might not even buy one at all. There are bills to pay and diapers to buy.
What a conundrum.
I used to love waking up in the morning on my berfday. I would jump out of bed and bounce, no frolic—yeah I like that— everywhere, all day. The gifts, the attention, I always held that one day close to my heart. The one special day where I was king. I felt untouchable, like I really was somebody important. The past few years this special feeling has wanned. This year that declining trend continued. I'm not complaining (too much), but it just felt like any other day. G-man was the focus of my attention ( I wouldn't have it any other way), among various other boring responsibilities, like waiting for the window guys to show up and finish their job and trying to avoid the mountain of laundry looming in the basement. The bottom line is I just couldn't get into my berfday suit, so to speak.
I don't even want to think about next year. I will turn thirty. I don't feel ready to be thirty. I still feel young. People over thirty can't be trusted. Take my wife...please. Where's my violin.
Anyway, I hate to complain so enough of that whiny foo-fa-rah.
I was thinking of buying myself a nice acoustic guitar for my berfday. I don't want to spend too much money, but I think I can allot a small bit for a new guitar. I gave my old acoustic to my father. He fiddles around (yes, you can fiddle on a guitar) and doesn't have a good guitar of his own. He is constantly borrowing mine so I finally decided to make the old bastard happy. Besides I will get it back when he dies.
Jesus, did I just say that? What kind of son am I?
It made him happy, and I like seeing my folks happy so what the hell, it's only a guitar.
I would love to get a Gibson, but those are a little out of my price range. I could trade in one of my electrics and sell some blood, a kidney, some sperm, my soul and take out a small loan to cover the rest.
Maybe a Taylor will do instead. Then again a Fender is more in my price range. Plus, I have to have a case to house the guitar. That is another hundred dollars. Who knows, I might not even buy one at all. There are bills to pay and diapers to buy.
What a conundrum.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Root Rock Reggae
This was an exciting week. We got new windows, I met a local radio personality, our sewer backed up (see Pixie, I told you it wasn't me), I taught G-man how to high-five, and I made it to the last island on Sims 2: Castaway.
Monday we had all but one of our new windows installed. The large picture window in the living room had a defect or something, so they are waiting for a new one from the factory. I was excited to have the new windows installed but there were a few minor problems and a major one involving a marble sill. They smashed it as they were trying to take out the old window. They replaced it with some kind of polymer-resin sill, that they cut a half-inch to short. We are going to have them replace the new sill with one that actually fits without causing air leaks. Hopefully it will be marble. The installers are going to come back on the Eighteenth (my berfday) to finish the job.
As the windows were being installed, a local radio celebrity knocked at the front door inquiring about the company who was installing our windows. I invited him inside and showed him how they did it and recommended the company to him. He stopped back by this morning and told me that I should receive a fifty dollar gift certificate from the window company for referring him. So I got that going for me. Oh yeah the local radio personality's name is Fred LeFebvre on news talk 1370 WSPD.
For the past two weeks we have had a foul odor in the basement. Pixie pointed it out to me, to which I promptly replied the odor only seemed to appear when she was present. After I woke up with a pounding headache and a lump that looked a lot like her wedding band I investigated. The smell was coming from the utility sink. I removed the covering and saw that there was standing water at the base of the trap. I went to our local hardware store, bought a cheap snake and proceeded to cover myself in foul water whilst trying to unclog the drain. I knew, after a half an hour, that it was a job for a plumber. I just hoped it would not be too expensive. I called a plumber that one of Pixie's students recommended, but he said he couldn't make it out to look at it until next week. I thanked him and called a company named Able Master Sewer. The owner, Fred (not LeFebvre), and I discussed the problem and he told me he had a busy schedule but he could make it over between four and six. I hired him. At four fifty, he called a and said he had a quick job and then he was coming over. He recognized the problem and within an hour he was done. We had roots in our line. A lot of roots in our line. He suggested we clean out the sewer line every two years and then got back in his magic sewer van and flew off to the next job. The guy was great, I would highly recommend him to any of my Toledo readers. I now have a bag of roots in my garage and a pungent odor remaining in my basement. Apparently he might have to come back and flush out our system because the back up was there for a long time (more than two weeks) we just never noticed it before. Our house has a combo system. We don't have a sump pump, it is more like a big loop underneath the house that allows the water from the yard and sewer to go to the main city pipes. Old and outdated, yet I'll never have to replace it, it works beautifully when not clogged.
I showed G-man how to high-five last week. I only showed him how to do it a few times, now I can stick my hand out and say "Give me five." and he does. I swear the kid is a genius. I love my boy. Now if I could just teach him to make money so I can retire.
I made it to the last island on Sims 2 : Castaway. It took me almost two hours Sunday night to get there. Unfortunately the game had a glitch that wouldn't allow me to save. Oh well. I'll try again tonight, maybe.
Monday we had all but one of our new windows installed. The large picture window in the living room had a defect or something, so they are waiting for a new one from the factory. I was excited to have the new windows installed but there were a few minor problems and a major one involving a marble sill. They smashed it as they were trying to take out the old window. They replaced it with some kind of polymer-resin sill, that they cut a half-inch to short. We are going to have them replace the new sill with one that actually fits without causing air leaks. Hopefully it will be marble. The installers are going to come back on the Eighteenth (my berfday) to finish the job.
As the windows were being installed, a local radio celebrity knocked at the front door inquiring about the company who was installing our windows. I invited him inside and showed him how they did it and recommended the company to him. He stopped back by this morning and told me that I should receive a fifty dollar gift certificate from the window company for referring him. So I got that going for me. Oh yeah the local radio personality's name is Fred LeFebvre on news talk 1370 WSPD.
For the past two weeks we have had a foul odor in the basement. Pixie pointed it out to me, to which I promptly replied the odor only seemed to appear when she was present. After I woke up with a pounding headache and a lump that looked a lot like her wedding band I investigated. The smell was coming from the utility sink. I removed the covering and saw that there was standing water at the base of the trap. I went to our local hardware store, bought a cheap snake and proceeded to cover myself in foul water whilst trying to unclog the drain. I knew, after a half an hour, that it was a job for a plumber. I just hoped it would not be too expensive. I called a plumber that one of Pixie's students recommended, but he said he couldn't make it out to look at it until next week. I thanked him and called a company named Able Master Sewer. The owner, Fred (not LeFebvre), and I discussed the problem and he told me he had a busy schedule but he could make it over between four and six. I hired him. At four fifty, he called a and said he had a quick job and then he was coming over. He recognized the problem and within an hour he was done. We had roots in our line. A lot of roots in our line. He suggested we clean out the sewer line every two years and then got back in his magic sewer van and flew off to the next job. The guy was great, I would highly recommend him to any of my Toledo readers. I now have a bag of roots in my garage and a pungent odor remaining in my basement. Apparently he might have to come back and flush out our system because the back up was there for a long time (more than two weeks) we just never noticed it before. Our house has a combo system. We don't have a sump pump, it is more like a big loop underneath the house that allows the water from the yard and sewer to go to the main city pipes. Old and outdated, yet I'll never have to replace it, it works beautifully when not clogged.
I showed G-man how to high-five last week. I only showed him how to do it a few times, now I can stick my hand out and say "Give me five." and he does. I swear the kid is a genius. I love my boy. Now if I could just teach him to make money so I can retire.
I made it to the last island on Sims 2 : Castaway. It took me almost two hours Sunday night to get there. Unfortunately the game had a glitch that wouldn't allow me to save. Oh well. I'll try again tonight, maybe.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Does any body really care about time?
As I promised two of my most avid readers, I am going to talk to you all today about Neo-Capitalism and The Great Potato Famine of Ireland, not to be confused with the Great Potato Fems of Northern Yorkshire or the Grand Potato Heads of Tuberville.
I have very little time to post tonight because...well, because I want to go down to the basement, drink a beer and play my 12-string guitar (which I just got back today, thanks for asking Walt). So, I will keep this brief. After all, brevity is next to breviary (a book of prayers, or psalms, i.e. next to Godliness) and brew ( that worked out nicely) in the Merriam-Webster Pocket Dictionary, which I have read and re-read for tymes know. Okay the end of that last sentence was a joke, albeit a bad one.
So, here we go; an extremely brief look at Neo-Capitalism and the Great Potato Famine of Ireland.
Neo-Capitalism was founded by a large, rugged transvestite named Ralphina in the year of our lord seventeen seventy six. He was fed up with humping piles of shit around for the King and thought that privatizing the humping of said shit would stimulate shit production.
Okay this is when Graham Chapman would come in dressed as a General of the British Royal Army and shut down my blog for being entirely too silly. I can't say I would argue with him. This has got to be one of the worst ideas I have ever had (and oh boy is there a lot of them). I mean really, who wants to read about some boring shit like privatization of government, giving almost complete control back to the people allowing us the chance to finally live a decent, free life?
On second thought I think Von Hayek had a good idea.
Okay, on to the Po-ta-toes, dar-de-dar-de-dar.
The famine was caused by Phytophthora infestans or as us simple folk like to call it, Potato Blight. This caused copious potato crops (the main source of food in Ireland thanks to Britain's fondness for beef— side note this is how the Gin got the name Beefeater) to rot and become worthless— a lot like what happens to people who attend Ohio state. Anyway, the failed crop just exacerbated the problems, both politically and financially, of an already struggling Ireland causing them to lose a large portion of their population. This event is also referred to as the Great Hunger.
Okay, I think I fulfilled my obligations to my curious readers. That is to say that my readers are inquisitive, not necessarily odd, although Pixie is a tad weird. Now that I think of it, so is Mel.
I hope you have all learned something new today. I know I have. I learned that a rushed post, when all I can think about is 12-string guitars and beer, doesn't usually turn out so good.
Oh well.
I have very little time to post tonight because...well, because I want to go down to the basement, drink a beer and play my 12-string guitar (which I just got back today, thanks for asking Walt). So, I will keep this brief. After all, brevity is next to breviary (a book of prayers, or psalms, i.e. next to Godliness) and brew ( that worked out nicely) in the Merriam-Webster Pocket Dictionary, which I have read and re-read for tymes know. Okay the end of that last sentence was a joke, albeit a bad one.
So, here we go; an extremely brief look at Neo-Capitalism and the Great Potato Famine of Ireland.
Neo-Capitalism was founded by a large, rugged transvestite named Ralphina in the year of our lord seventeen seventy six. He was fed up with humping piles of shit around for the King and thought that privatizing the humping of said shit would stimulate shit production.
Okay this is when Graham Chapman would come in dressed as a General of the British Royal Army and shut down my blog for being entirely too silly. I can't say I would argue with him. This has got to be one of the worst ideas I have ever had (and oh boy is there a lot of them). I mean really, who wants to read about some boring shit like privatization of government, giving almost complete control back to the people allowing us the chance to finally live a decent, free life?
On second thought I think Von Hayek had a good idea.
Okay, on to the Po-ta-toes, dar-de-dar-de-dar.
The famine was caused by Phytophthora infestans or as us simple folk like to call it, Potato Blight. This caused copious potato crops (the main source of food in Ireland thanks to Britain's fondness for beef— side note this is how the Gin got the name Beefeater) to rot and become worthless— a lot like what happens to people who attend Ohio state. Anyway, the failed crop just exacerbated the problems, both politically and financially, of an already struggling Ireland causing them to lose a large portion of their population. This event is also referred to as the Great Hunger.
Okay, I think I fulfilled my obligations to my curious readers. That is to say that my readers are inquisitive, not necessarily odd, although Pixie is a tad weird. Now that I think of it, so is Mel.
I hope you have all learned something new today. I know I have. I learned that a rushed post, when all I can think about is 12-string guitars and beer, doesn't usually turn out so good.
Oh well.
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