Different Directions

I'm trying to keep the garden plants alive, but Your Sister says they know fall is coming, and it's their time to wither. Well, that's sad. And I won't have it. I'm watering and composting and babying. I'm keeping them alive as long as I can. The latest plucked jalapeno is turning red on the dish rack and grows more evil as it brightens.

I ran my second 5k route this week yesterday as Your Sister sold soccer tickets at the school. When I cleaned up, I sat with her as the boys started playing, and we talked to another teacher. Her marriage is ending, and we know both spouses. It's sad. I tried to offer notes from my divorce, but the circumstances are too distinct. I'm not much help.

I also was told a couple I had known from my late high-school days are breaking up, and that reeks of madness. They have four grown kids. What happened just now to wedge them apart? What do they need now they didn't need before? The bookending separations weigh me down more than it should. The latter couple were the parents of my first real girlfriend, and that family treated me better than I could possibly ask. Their split hits me harder than that of the teachers. It's seismic. I hold Your Sister a little closer these days.

I slept badly in the sick bed as a precaution last night, and I'm dragging this morning. Wah.

Picture of the Day
That's no moonwalk, that's a space station trooper.

Drawing Conclusions.

I didn't expect someone to kick off Sketchtember by requesting I draw myself as a superhero. I've gotten the Reed Richards/Mr. Fantastic comparison before; we both have the gray temples, and I'm thin and tall. It would make for an easy costume one year in Atlanta. Instead of practicing piano or running, I banged out the sketch when I got home last night. I recently discovered iTunes offers a free streaming station for old radio shows, and I listen to it whenever I'm in the workshop. I love those old shows: mystery, comedy, thrillers, westerns -- doesn't matter. I gobble them up.

Your Sister's first public meeting went well. The school holds an open house Thursday, and I again offered to pretend to be a parent and commandeer her allotted facetime. But she isn't wary of any parents so far, and she's not worried about meeting them. She recently heard back from an administrator about a persistent whiny parent who objects to her teaching Kite Runner. She's taken it way too far, including calling up the superintendent to gripe. Your Sis prepared a syllabus of required reading -- hers and all the other English teachers -- for the school board to scan. The administrator said the memo and accompanying letter went over well, and I don't see that parent gaining any traction in her book-burning campaign. I suppose she could go to the governor ...

Look, I hate the book -- it's simple pulp masquerading as capital-L literature -- but I can see its use in the classroom, especially when we have troops on the ground there. It does the mountain kids good to read about the other side of the world. A full fifth of her students could be over there within a year. We did run into a recent grad who's joining the Marines within a month.

Picture of the Day
The Venn Diagram of Mythical Creatures

Angered by Corn

Again, I have grubs and worms eating my cobs. I sprayed this year with Liquid Seven, a pesticide so toxic that it requires eye and mouth protections and gloves and suggests you wash your clothes after application. I sprayed the garden four times. I still have grubs. I am confused.

We plucked some cobs last night from the oldest stalks and cut away the damaged kernels and the attached creatures. The good stuff boiled up fine and ate even better. But I'm bedeviled by the monsters. Did I pluck the cobs too late? Does our heavy rainfall dilute the pesticide? Do we have mutated worm families? No other plants were bug-ified. It's a mystery.

Also, I can't help but compare my corn to those from the stores, and I know -- I KNOW -- the grocery cobs are unnatural. They are engineered (engine-eared?) to be fat and large. My cobs are lean and small. But the kernels are, as the French say, pretty fucking awesome, yo. My last stalks should give us corn in mid-October.

The garden is peaking, and we've eaten tomatoes, cucumbers, and corn within two days. Pieces have gone into the Spaghetti Bucket. We also have new jalapenos that we eye warily. We hear them snicker at us, eager to rake our eyes with their evil residue. We'll show you, peppers of peril. We'll show you.

Sketchtember has begin on the Book of Face. Your Sis is doing better and hopefully will be out of the sick bed tonight.

I have your t-shirt suggestions on my office wall, and I'm running through notions.

Travis called me last night to say he heard the news about Disney buying Marvel and wondered what the geek universe thought of it. Some factions are greatly afeared, but if Disney can stomach the primetime offerings of ABC (which it owns), they should have no problem with the comics Marvel publishes. Marvel recently started making their own movies and worked out deals with studios to distribute; Disney has a distribution system with very little original content, and they are desperate to lure teenage boys. This makes a lot of sense for both companies.

Picture of the Day
By Jove!

Bossh Office: District 9

Once again, the two different versions of The Empire Strikes Back bounty hunter dissect a movie. This week: District 9.

Chipper Bossh: Finally, sci-fi in the traditional sense: metaphors for the human condition and analogies for political actions wrapped in alternate-universe technology. I don't ask for much really. So many sci-fi movies are really action films with lasers. This has more to say.



Surly Bossh: I was happier when it said less and got on with the blood and bullets. It sucked at the beginning. I saw some people leave the theatre, probably because they got bored.




Chipper Bossh: The early documentary style was fine for explaining the premise: A spaceship parks above Johannesburg in 1982, and the aliens are ghettoed. They can't assimilate in human society and exist on the fringe with no options. They are angry. They are desperate. But that's not where the movie goes really. And I like that. It picks a novel route through a cliche forest.


Surly Bossh: Coulda gotten to the good stuff earlier is all I'm sayin'. When it gets bloody, it gets REALLY bloody.





Chipper Bossh: Yeah, I think it goes too far with that.






Surly Bossh: It's like we're not even the same lizard.






Chipper Bossh: I was happy with the human drama, the agency stooge who gets in over his head and has no one to turn to. I enjoyed seeing the Nigerian criminal influence in the shantytown. I could have watched a miniseries just on the ramifications of aliens shoehorned into human society.



Surly Bossh: That Nigerian crime boss was kinda cool. The movie should have been about him.





Chipper Bossh: My point exactly. The film could have been told from any number of perspectives. That's a sign of good storytelling, I think.





Surly Bossh: So you're not gonna admit this is essentially the African Alien Nation?





Chipper Bossh: You know, I'd like to see a series of stories about how different societies handle a sudden alien influx. How would North Korea handle it? London or Russia or India? This idea has wings. We could have an anthology of this.




Surly Bossh: As long as we get another half hour of special effects and violence, I'm all for it. For all your talk about traditional scifi, this sucker's a running gunfight in the last half hour. Thank God.





Chipper Bossh: So we both like it?






Surly Bossh: Suppose so. Surly out.







I spent a week getting ready to completely change out the laundry room light. It went out the same day the water heater died, and I've let its mystery fester in my brain for a year now. I checked online tutorials on wiring and walked through the hardware stores to check their stock for whatever contingency pops up. Saturday morning, I was prepared to work four hours to finish this. I was going to run new wires to the fixture and the two light switches if it came to it. I was girded. I pulled the car out of the garage so I could reach the attic door, closed off the room, and psyched myself up.

Then I checked the fixture's wire caps, and noticed one was loose. I tightened it, reconnecting the wires from the fixture to the switches. And it worked. The light came on and the switches are fine and house has not burned down. It took five minutes. I now had half the day free.

When Your Sis was through meeting a teacher buddy over coffee, we went to the movies and Krispy Kreme. She's fighting the new school bug. Probably not swine flu. Maybe Pigs In Space flu. She used the Netti Pot you gave me, and it's helped her sleep better. She is, however, in the sick bed, and I wake up thinking she's back in Maine.

A student lent her a copy of Twilight, and she promised to give it a try. I'll debrief her when she's through. Some of the other teachers swear by it. My dental hygienists talked about it the entire time I was in the dentist chair Friday.

We went to this year's first football game on Friday. Fall is sneaking up on us.

My theatre liaison called me again to get me to join the fall play. I again begged off, citing my workload and the upcoming mom care. He said they really need me and are willing to push back the opening weekend to make it convenient for me. A tiny voice in my brain is telling me to do it. I, however, had a nightmare last night about working in two simultaneous productions, and it shut that voice right up. He also asked me about casting either of two actresses from the play I directed. I gave him my notes with the disclaimer that they may have behaved differently for me because it was my first time. I can and did confidently recommend one of them, and this play now has three people I'd enjoy working with and that internal play-eager voice is starting to get on my nerves.

Moving Picture of the Day
This was the original film expanded into District 9 here. It's about five minutes long. Same director and writer and at least one actor.

Running. Noses.

Apparently the body I have at 6:30 a.m. is not the same body I have at 6:30 p.m. When I ran last night for two miles, I found myself back to pre-summer running ability. A mid-18-minute run on the same route that I have recently run under 17 minutes. I have to build this evening body into shape. But I know it can be done, and that assertion will see me through.

Your Sis has the obligatory cold delivered by students who have traveled. She's fighting it with tea and ice cream and sleep. We hope to make the first home football game tonight. The gynecologist said there was an abnormal smear, and they want to run tests. She's not concerned. I am a tad freaked as I am generally stupid about lady parts. But I won't let on. I'll follow her lead on this.

I've built up some preliminary work for the FaceBook art project called Sketchtember. One new drawing each day. I get up before work and start the sketch, let it sit all day, and polish it at night. I'll practice piano if Your Sister is working late.

Picture of the Day
Aquatic high five.

Sometimes I'm Genius

We were watching Episode 3 last night on the Spike Channel, which has become the Star Wars network in the last year. They show MMA, Star Wars, and bad movies. I was thinking about how the films would be different if they were made in order and what angles the first trilogy might take now. And it hit me. Return of the Jedi becomes a hundred times better if Vader changes tactics and tries to turn Leia.

Think about it. Luke lost his aunt and uncle and his hand. In exchange, he got off Tattooine, became a Jedi and a top figure in the Rebellion, and got the adventure he always craved. Leia, however, between Episode Four and Episode Six, lost her whole planet, her adopted family, her standing as an ambassador and princess, and her scoundrel boyfriend. She barely managed to escape kinky slavery to a bag of goo and learned Vader is her father. She's dizzy from trauma. She's weakened.

Vader has already bested Luke in Bespin and no longer sees him as a threat. While he gives Luke one last chance via the Force telepathy at Bespin, he instead senses Leia as a Skywalker. Her innate Force connection was just sparked by Luke calling to her for a rescue. She's now an active Force user with nothing but raw potential. Vader is astonished and delighted.

Now Return can put her back on the Death Star alongside Vader as in the first film. Luke and Lando try to lead the starship assault, but the Rebellion surrender and stand down when the Death Star is proven to be fully operational. Han and Chewie are captured on Endor's Moon. Leia, on the Death Star, is under the sway of Vader until she has a breakthrough moment (maybe in Vader's badass techno cocoon chamber) and uses the Force to escape. Now she gets to save the boys and avenge Alderran. This lets her rescue Han twice in the same film (scoundrels together) and use her nascent Force power alongside Luke's Jedi training to take down the Emperor and Vader. They kill Palpatine, not Vader. This is key.

Vader is now confronted by his two children who convince him the battle is over. The confrontation leads to Vader realizing the mess he made by joining the Emperor and turning back to the good side of the Force. He's still messed up from fighting his kids. He still dies. But he dies having purged himself of the evil influence and bonds with BOTH his children, not just Luke.

Meanwhile Han and Chewie and Lando switch objectives. Lando goes to Endor while Han/Chewie execute another textbook, hair-brained, so-crazy-it-works assault on the Death Star as the remaining Alliance ships decimate the Destroyer Fleet. Then we get the chub-chub song as Luke and Leia burn Vader's suit and see their father alongside Ben (her old friend, remember) and Yoda. End credits.

Now, admit it: You'd pay to see that, right?

Picture of the Day
"Hello, Mister Lucas? How'd you like to make another billion?"

Potpourri for One Hundred

Mom's surgery is scheduled for Sept. 8. That seems too blase for me, and I wonder if she again shrugged it off. She knows she needs this and has needed it for years now. It's out-patient procedure. I'm sure it could be done earlier.

Your Sister is a tad bushed after the start of school. She has smaller classes than she expected and is delighted by them. She already has essays to grade and lesson plans to craft. This was an early morning for her.

On a lark, we put a regular DVD in the Blu-Ray player to see if it would make a difference. It does. A lot. Again, we were stunned by this new contraption. It might be the connection cable. The regular DVD player has the standard multi-wire hookup whereas the Blu-Ray uses a special HD cable. Either way, we may never go back to the old DVD player. We watched more West Wing before I tucked her into bed. We're now back to the routine of different bedtimes. I stay up in the workshop either working online or drawing.

The newspaper carried the announcement of the latest theatre auditions. This is a play I had to talked to my liaison about as he's directing it. He tried to cobble together his "dream cast" last year, much too early for anyone to commit with any credibility. He also sent out emails to ensure a decent turnout. I like the guy, and he's been very good to me. But I'm done. There are other things I need to do. Like learning the piano.

My illness is lingering a bit, but it's fading. I probably won't trust myself to run until early next week.

Picture of the Day
Ghost trollops continue to sext me their tawdry images.

Ugh.

I forgot that I can get an upset stomach after giving blood. Combine this with doing much yardwork Sunday, eating an infernal stir fry that night, eating two slices of Nutter Butter cheesecake Monday, and then running that night, well, it's no surprise I got sick before I could finish 3 miles.

Simply getting sick while running is no fun. It's no picnic when you pull over to be sick and fall into a patch of thorns. And then be sick amid said thorns. And have to climb out to stagger back home. So, no, I was not in the best of moods when I entered the house and said hi to Your Sister. Laundry quickly ensued.

I still have Sunday's chili pepper residue under my fingernails. It flares up now and then. I can see why this stuff can quash a riot. Also, why chefs use gloves when they work with the stuff. Lesson learned.

My Mom is finally scheduling gall-bladder surgery after years of discomfort. She called me Sunday to confirm I would babysit her after the procedure and to ask if we should do it within the next few weeks. I practically yelled at her to do it immediately. I think she got the hint. She knew this was inevitable, and I suppose she feels stupid for not doing it when Dad was healthy. I might spend the last half of this week in my old house, sleeping on the very small beds.

Picture of the Day
The healthcare-reform rhetoric is getting ugly.

A New Blog Presentation

Big thunderstorms shut down our satellite TV for only the third time ever. We gave up on broadcasts and continued watching the West Wing DVDs. Within four episodes, the show breaks away from the breezy style and gets down to business. Some of the crest-swelling rhetoric is ham-fisted now, but the cadence of the the dialogue is rock solid. I miss Toby Ziegler. That character needs to be moved to another show as Richard Belzer's Detective Munch drifted from Homicide to X-Files to Law and Order: SVU. Toby doesn't get cute office flirts or abstract ruminations. He's is a laser for political reality and Constitutional dogma. He's driven and bitter and committed to proper government. I'm moved to write a fan letter.

I gave blood on Saturday at a local church. I didn't make an appointment and took along the John Adams book to wait for my extractions. I'm a pro at this now; I could take someone else's blood if I had to. Your Sis planned for us to see Inglorious Basterds after she managed her schoolwork, and I whittled the day away with chores.

+ + +

Now we present our new movie-review feature hosted by the original and latest toy versions of Bossh, the Empire Strikes Back lizard bounty hunter. We call it Bossh Office.

Today's film: Inglorious Basterds

Surly Bossh: What. The. Hell? No one told me this thing was subtitled! Like I can read anyway. I don't even speak whatever it is people speak in Star Wars. Interlac? Skywalkese? I'm a lizard, people. I speak lizard. And a scoash of Esperanto. I don't speak German or French, and I don't want to hear three hours of people speaking German or French. No one mentioned this in the ads. This was Das Boot all over again. I'm so in a snit.

Chipper Bossh: Chill, dude. It's an authentic immersion into the languages of WWII. I was fascinated by watching people act beyond the limitations of language. After an hour, I was practically speaking French myself. I haven't been able to do that since high school.



Surly Bossh: Yeah, and after that 90 minutes, you had another 90 to go. This fucker's interminable. You want to learn French? Try this: The film is el longo. No one told me this either. By the time Brad Pitt showed up in Germany, my bladder wanted to run screaming like a mousedroid.

Chipper Bossh: And how about Pitt? Good to see him doing comedy again. He's always funny. He can play dumb like no one else.

Surly Bossh: How about he's in the movie for about ten minutes? The whole film is people sitting around tables and having half-hour conversations. Then the director remembers, "oh, yeah, I've got funny Americans around here somewhere," and we get them for about three seconds.

Chipper Bossh: It's not about them.






Surly Bossh: The f'ing film is NAMED for them! It's not Inglorious Nazi People! It's not Surreptitious French Businesswomen! I paid for Basterds!





Chipper Bossh: And we got them. But we have to see why the Nazis are so bad and how they interact with conquered France. A tone must be set. Besides, that SS officer actor did a great job. He was charming and competent and clever.




Surly Bossh: He rocked the casbah is what he did.






Chipper Bossh: But we never forgot he was evil, and we awaited his hopeful bad end. Tarantino is great at presenting complex characters who show us why they are good or bad. Or a mix of both. The whole film is about complexity. These people have to be smart to survive this war. Everyone does. The film shows us smart people matching wits in polite conversation and on the front lines. It's about violence of the will and the hand.

Surly Bossh: And that violence was awesome! Lots of blood and gore. Kick ass.






Chipper Bossh: I could have done without it, but I suppose this is what we get from Tarantino.





Surly Bossh: Dude, we're cold-blooded. We're supposed to like violence.






Chipper Bossh: Oh, I didn't demand a refund or anything. Tarantino doesn't flinch from either free-flowing conversation or the evil that men do. Some are saying this is his best film, but I think it's too early to tell. Still, it's a satisfying film that made me squirm and laugh in the same minute, and that's good filmmaking. There were some touches that were unmistakably Tarantino's, and I enjoyed them all.

Surly Bossh: I enjoyed maybe ten percent of this film because those scenes were what I thought the whole film would be. Instead, we get heaps of tense yap-yap and David Bowie on the soundtrack. Bowie? In a WW II movie? Gimme a break. Surly Bossh out.

+ + +

I knew Sunday would be a big day for yardwork, and I skipped running this weekend. I'm also going back to the fall running schedule for the evenings. I can't run with all this impending school traffic. In the mornings now, I'll go back do daily drawing.

The garden was hammered by the rain, and we lost some plants. I weeded it Sunday. How much rain did we have? I'm growing kelp. I mixed coffee grounds, compost, and soil to brace the surviving plants. Later that day I mowed and weeded the yard, and I rewarded myself with the rare Pepsi.

I plucked a bell pepper and some jalapenos for the stir fry, adding carrots from a neighbor's garden. Now I stripped all the seeds out of the jalapenos. I know I did. Still, I was ablaze when we ate the meal. Sweating. Sniffing. Crying. My voice cracked. This was inhuman. But tasty.

Your Sis has today to go before she gets students, and she's mostly ready. This weekend allowed her to batten down the necessaries.

Responding to Responses

Constant Reader writes:

and speaking of t-shirts. you've seen my ob/gyn "we deliver" faux ups t-shirt. i'd love to commission a certain graphic artist who's blog i follow to brainstorm something new and hilarious... just putting that out there.

I have not seen said shirt, but I'd love to. I'd also love to make a shirt design. Let me brainstorm, and I'll post sketches for you.

congratulations on 4 years. and faster runs. just bought a new pair of running shoes myself after my first powderpuff practice of medical school. no suprise here...they're making me a linebacker. but i did sack a QB today.

Your Baby Daddy has taught you well, Padawan. We watched a little preseason football last night, and Your Sis is itching for the real deal to start.

We hosted Kathy and Travis for dinner in yet another summer-extending evening. She made a curry dish using a Malaysian/ZuluNatal mix and a homemade cucumber yogurt sauce. She knows her stuff, that one. Tania, their exchange student, is headed to Universite Paris X-Naterre and is probably on her way to becoming an ambassador. She wants to study Spanish and Russian. Somewhere is a yokel teen boy with no clue what his one-time summer fling is doing now.

What's the news on your car?

Picture of the Day
Everyone wants to stay on vacation.

Party-versary

Four years ago, as I write this, You, Lauren, and Your Sister were getting dolled up for the formal wedding ceremony. I was herding the set-up crew. About 12 hours later, we were watching The Village alone as no one took our party invitation seriously, and we opened wedding gifts til 2 in the morning. You've done a lot in four years. We've done some too.

I ran my 2-mile course in 16:56, a new record. I hustled down the first hill and chugged up the same hill to end quickly. I cut more than 30 seconds off my time from yesterday and more than 20 off my previous best. I've noticed these last two days that I'm warm for hours afterward. My metabolism is burning something, and this morning it's last night's smores.

Another teacher party saw us sipping homebrew beer (not ours), eating zucchini muffins (not ours), and making and gobbling smores (not ours). We all decided to copy this once a month on a Friday to be determined by vote. We volunteered to host the first wingding. Already, also, the buzz has begun on new administrator foibles and how the teachers should handle them. Nothing that directly affects Your Sister as yet.

She already warned me she'd work this weekend, and I have plans to fill my time. I intend to do a little of a lot.

Picture of the Day
The Innards Metro.

Eating and Running

I made a deal with myself: Buy a new game, spend an equal amount of time on the piano or drawing. I may have to craft a schedule. Mayhap. Perchance. Possibly.

The garden bounty means lots of veggie segments to add to the Spaghetti Bucket. What we don't add to salads or side items is frozen in Tupperware. When that container is full, we make sauce. Last night, that sauce was dinner. It was good too. Your Sis added tomato paste to coagulate it, and it went over noodles. I grew up around gardens. I have my own garden. I may never get over eating stuff I grew.

Your Sis has a big workshop presentation today, and she spent last night prepping for it. I killed time reading. Popular Mechanics features an article on the Mythbusters. After reading that, I polished off the West Wing scripts I started at the beach. If I thought we could get away with it legally, I'd add them to my theatre script suggestions. We've talked about performing famous TV episodes, and I liked the idea before I saw some actors struggle with comic timing and delivery. I'd love to do a West Wing episode onstage. There are three roles I could do easily: Josh, Toby, and Sam. I could do that. That would be ripping fun.

The scripts hold up better than some filmed episodes. The first season was a light romantic comedy with a flute-heavy theme song. Then the second season started with an assassination attempt, and the series turned to stronger stuff. The banter remained, and the wit kept the show afloat in bad times.

You know, this might be the material for that radio play I wanted to try. Maybe maybe.

I also just found out that there is a second script anthology from the show. It must be mine. I have spoken. And typed. But the speaking came first, and you must take my word for it.

I ran this morning, and I'm creeping closer to a sub-17-minute run time for 2 miles. That's good progress. That makes me feel good. Then I read in the paper where high-schoolers are running 5ks in the same timeframe. That makes me want to dive into a McDonald's burger bin. Still, I'm in good shape, and I want to revive my biweekly 5ks soon. The mornings are getting darker, so I need to get started.

Picture of the Day
Your non-medical science of the day: the sun's closest and farthest distances from the earth.

We Didn't Know Enough

A last-minute invitation led us to bar trivia, and thus the week was kicked off.

But first, are you OK? I hope you didn't wake up to surprise aches. Also, did you slug any nurses yesterday? Not that we blame you.

I took a copy of Monster of Florence to Jack of the Wood and held a table for the others. Your Sister, Angela, and Dan arrived about an hour later and much trashy food was devoured. Our team name was an joke between Your Sis and I from a recent trip to Target: Big Sushi and the Free-swinging Bananas. We did OK at trivia, and even lead one round, but we faltered quickly to the middle of the pack. I did win a t-shirt for shouting out an answer in the verbal round; I knew Patti LaBelle sang lead on Lady Marmalade.

I mentioned to the others my plan to perform at the next work convention. This devolved into a small argument with Your Sis about why I don't sing around the house.

My take: She hates all the songs I want to sing.
Her take: If I've never heard you sing, how can I hate the songs?

Anyway, she's a wrong, wrong person who is wrong. I suggested some songs I could learn within three years, including '80s songs. The Police, for instance. During my inebriated ride back, the Police came on the radio, and Your Sister dared me to sing. So I warbled. The song ended, and Your Sister looked at me with menace. Big wifey menace. She thought I was good, and she was mad I hadn't done this in the decade we've known each other. (Psst: Again, wrongness. We sang a Chicago song a few months back.) I think her hearing was warped by the evening in the bar. Also, who can't sing Every Breath You Take?

We chose the stain we want for the new bookshelves, and hopefully we'll have them up before next month.

School begins soon for her, and the teachers are restless. We did the bar thing with one teacher lady, and another is throwing a pre-semester party Wednesday. They want to wring all the summer joy they can before heading back to the salt mines.

The script committee chairman asked us members to come up with a list of ten plays I consider feasible and popular. We'll then whittle our lists to one and choose the season from that. I doubt there will be a next season. They've squandered their money and burned out the actors. Like me. I don't want to even walk into the new building to see a play, much less volunteer to work a show.

Picture of the Day
Behold the next House.

Return to Norm

I don't know how I cobbled together four Vaders, but I have. The most recent one, I do know, was a gift from Your Sister, and I carried him in my shoulderbag during the work convention. He's a vintage, late '70s figure. Vinyl cape and all.

Your Sister introduced me to a game called Bananagrams. It's like Scrabble, except there's no board or letter values. It's fun, and I would have enjoyed it so much more had she asked to play it after letting me unpack the PS3. It sat in the TV room and siren-sang to me for almost an hour.

We watched Dark Knight on the new Blu-Ray player, and it was gob smacking. It truly is an upgrade in graphics and sound. We gasped at the cityscapes more than any explosion. Every window was clearly delineated. Every building was crisp and sharp. The close-ups of the actors threaten to fish-eye. Theatres should go digital to approximate this level of quality. It's a different viewing experience, but I don't see us replacing our DVDs. We'll use the Blu-Ray for special films and documentaries.

The WiFi allows us to use the TV as a PC monitor, and we surfed FaceBook from the couch. Extraordinary.

The garden is awash in roma tomatoes. We have clusters of them dragging the vines to the dirt. We're harvesting the jalapenos too. The squash and cucumbers are on their last legs, but the corn is still going strong.

Picture of the Day
Back to work.

The Big Birthday Present

I now own a PlayStation 3.

I am a loyal Sony consumer, stretching back to the PS1. I got a PS2 on its launch day as part of a young-reporter effort at the daily newspaper. About eight of us tracked them down as they hit the shelves, and we all wrote about it for a mega-article. My model works to this day. Its built-in DVD player was too good to pass up, and I bought the Fight Club DVD before owning a player.

The PS3 has a Blu-Ray, and that too sealed the debate between this console and the Microsoft competitor. The PS3 also has free WiFi access, and we have it coursing through the house. It was financially too good to pass up. We bought Dark Knight on Blu-Ray today and will try it out tonight. It will be the first HD viewing on the fancy-shmancy TV we got for Christmas.

Your Sister asked that whatever we get still allow us to play Guitar Hero. I assured her that would happen. She was content with that, and we bought the new gizmo.

Back Home

But first, Thursday.

I started my 37th birthday sore as hell from the surf class. I ran for at least 3 miles on the beach, this time with shoes. The refreshingly flat terrain should have made the run far easier than my usual route, but the varying stability didn't help. Still, I ran farther than I did when I was a mere 36. Take THAT, Gregory 36!

The overcast day encouraged us to hit the ocean for longer than before. Mom slept under the pier (which makes her sound like a hobo) where we had relaxed during the entire week in the sand. We found a Barnes & Noble, and Your Sis swiped my books before I could pay for them. I cursed her scaly hide.

We drove an hour away for the kayak tour. Mom was freaked, but she found it fun and relaxing when she accepted the fact there were no rapids. It was a nice tour, similar to our Outer Banks kayak trip last year. Oddly enough, it also took place on my birthday. A late Cracker barrel dinner led to ice cream, and I had birthday-cake flavor.

We lit out at 9 this morning and dropped Mom off a little after 1. We got home around 3, and we're already unpacked and laundered. Tonight: beer, wings, and rasslin.

I'll post trip pics on Facebook later this weekend. Promise.

Surfing Bird

Your Sister and I surfed today. Compared to your session, she said we faced much heavier waves. It was harder to get to our stationary guide, and we rode back to shore for much longer. The paddle out to the guides was brutal stuff. I was a horrible study during the first batches of surfing. However I picked it up quickly after a short break.

We were out there for three hours, learning the pop-up method with our boards on the sand. Then we paddled a few times to get the hang of it. I was given a skinny board and rolled off constantly. Before I got to crouching on a board at sea, I was beat up and frustrated. Worse, My Mom was watching. Doesn't everyone hate failing in front of mother?

But the hang was gotten (all ten of them), and I managed at least five good surf stands before our time was up. The guide would aim us at the shore, wait for the right wave, yell for us to paddle, and shove us free. Then, usually, we'd hop up and fall off and gobble ocean and limp back to him, growing more tired each time.

It's less than four hours later, and I am beat up. My ribs are bruised from fighting the board with my torso. My arms are jelly. I don't think I'm burned. I'll take that victory. I knew I was hungry after. The cheeseburger at Denny's never had a chance.

The downpours started an hour ago, and the kayak tour was delayed til maybe tomorrow. I'm grateful for the rest. I am all kinds of sore.

Delayed

It was a tough day for Mom. It's Dad's birthday, and it hit her hard throughout the day. We tried to help. Nothing seemed as effective as letting her talk it out, and we would interject with a vague affirmation every five minutes or so.

The kayak trip was postponed at the last second by a whopper of a storm. Tomorrow looks the same, and the surf class will probably be a washout. I hope the rescheduled class and kayak tour aren't on the same day; I'd fall apart before collapsing into bed that night.

I'm reading a lot; the new Rolling stone, the latest Esquire (the best monthly magazine in North America), a West Wing script book. I'm not tanning much. I blame Your Sister's SPF Cardigan lotion.

Mom wanted spaghetti, and an Italian restaurant was unearthed, and we ate our weight in various dishes. I type to you as a beached sea creature, painfully drawing breath over my distended belly regions.

Sorry you can't rendezvous with us, but Allah knows you've done your share of traveling lately.
We caught about ten minutes of Star Wars last night before calling it a night. It was the Mos Eisley scene. Wretched hives and jedi mind tricks and Greedo shooting. So you're with us in shiny blue spirit, if nothing else.

The Day Flies By

We journeyed to the Ripley's Museum for an hour or so. The pictures I took are too huge for this laptop to allow me to edit, but I'll post them next week. I petted a horseshoe crab. Whoo.

The hotel owns a bar next door that offers free buffet on Monday nights. We availed ourselves. We availed a bit early though and had to kill 90 minutes before the spread was unveiled. That's why we packed our chessboard, and Your Sis and I went head-to-redhead for a surprisingly long game. She's deliberate (read: oh-so-slow) and till withered before a masterful checkmate. Then we gorged on Southern cooking.

I also went head-to-Cromagnon head with the bartender over Mom's drink. She can't have alcohol, and I ordered her a virgin daquiri. The barkeep made a real one. We didn't notice until I checked the receipt and repeated my order. He claims I didn't specify. After some manly growling, we truced our way to the right order. We three called it an early night, and Your Sis and I just returned from walking the night surf.

It was a light day. We're trying not to burn. The plan is to sign up for a surfing class for Wednesday morning at 9 in Myrtle Beach. As Your Sis is planning it, I have no further details. Call her if you can be-bop down.

Mom insisted on buying me 'sand shoes' after watching me empty out my old Converses. And so I am newly shorn. No, wait. Shod. Newly shod. Your Sis says I now look like I'm on a vacation. My Hobbit feet apparently sing with relaxation. And Red Stripe beer.

I'm typing this in front of a desk mirror, and I agree with her: I do look relaxed. Younger even. I look like I'm up to something.

Another Week, Another Town

We arrived in Surfside Beach Saturday around 4. My Mom packs a lot for one person. For three people, too. We barely all fit in the Matrix. The beach is also crammed as folks get in their last vacation time before the SC schools go back in. We assume the hotel will thin out tonight and tomorrow, and already we can see signs of departures. More ocean for us.

This is where Mom and Dad vacationed for almost 20 years. They came here every year, and Mom's is trying to shake the hesitance and enjoy the time. The place is haunted by Dad. They had a routine: eat, beach, eat, walk, sleep. They didn't hit the sights nor did they go tourist. They came here to do very little and enjoy every minute of it. They considered moving here to such an extent that they even priced golf carts, the mode of transportation for the locals. I walked with Mom this evening, and every block had a story of their onetime plans to relocate.

She's handling it well. There's was a moment of despair soon after we arrived, but she collected herself after I joked that we could go back home. She's looked forward to this too much. She's a beach baby from her high-school days, and this is a return to what she was before Dad and her days as Mrs. Dad. It's heady for her.

So we're spoiling her. We take the receipts before she can grab them at meals, and we make her choose the local eateries. She reclaimed her favorite spot under the pier. She introduced us to the hotel staff whom she knows by name. This land is her land, this sand is her sand. We're here to introduce her to short tangents of activities. We're looking at a kayak tour and varying coastal cruises. Your Sister is checking out the surfing classes for me, but we may skip them to give Mom as much downtime as possible. We don't want to overschedule the trip.

As a symptom of how few brains I have, I ran on the morning sand barefoot. Now I'm reunited with my old friends, the sand blisters. It's as bad as the Washington trip. Having survived that, I know I can live through this stupid pain. We also suffered through a Sunday beach serenade by an acoustic performer who changed every song into the slow tempo of American Pie and didn't actually play that song. He also blew out his voice in the first three songs and relied on his back-up musicians to carry the load for the next 90 minutes. Also didn't know the lyrics to all his songs. When you ask people to sing along with the music, it helps if you can join them. I ducked out and hit the water. Your Sister joined me. Together we drank a league of salt water. Cheers.

If I nail down a surf-class date, I'll let you know. Mom would be thrilled to see you on her territory. The weather looks perfect all week, but we're rationing our sun-and-water time to minimize the sunburns. Tomorrow morning, we're going to the aquarium. I hope to have some pics available here later in the day.