I'm telling you, this being in loco parentis stuff ain't easy.
You'll recall that a few months ago Andrew started showing off a girlfriend. A big moment in any lads life methinks, the first girlfriend. I still remember, vividly, that time of overcharged hormones and proprietary pride. Not PC these days? Nope. But a real feeling at the time nonetheless.
And you'll also recall that I, remembering that time of overcharged hormones, vividly as aforesaid, took certain steps[^] with a view to averting an unexpected step-grandchild from that particular quarter.
So fast forward to June and the long long (incredibly long to my way of thinking) summer holidays. It might have made sense, in the frontier days, to release kids from school for 3 months so they could work on the farm but I doubt video games and TV are half as productive.
Andrew and his girlfriend use the time, so they say, to watch movies up in his room. I confess to having trepidations about this, especially when the lights go out up there. You might be wondering, how do I know the lights go out if the door is closed? And there we have the second source of concern.
Thus to my wife and I, at random times throughout the evening, yelling up the stairs 'Andrew, what are you doing?'. I vary the formula sometimes by yelling 'Andrew, front and centre NOW!' followed by an ominous sounding 'tick, tick, tick'.
He emerges, sheepishly, and we dismiss him.
A few weeks ago he expressed annoyance at this rigamarole. I gave him various choices.
No girlfriend.
Don't bring her here.
Don't take her upstairs.
Don't close the door.
Put up with random inspection.
He puts up with random inspections.
No surprise there, eh?
Showing posts with label Andrew. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Andrew. Show all posts
Monday, June 15, 2009
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Supporting the rubber industry
There comes a time in the life of every conscientious parent (or one who stands in loco parentis) when action must be taken. Thus to last night when Andrew seemed unusually pleased with himself, after an evening spent with his girlfriend. I swear he exuded self satisfaction. As I said to Sonya later that evening, he had every appearance of someone who'd gotten lucky!
Perhaps it's too late; perhaps the horse has already bolted, but it seemed to me that perhaps it was time for concrete action. Thus to the supermarket this afternoon, to purchase the kind of thing that was once almost impossible to purchase without a marriage certificate.
Indeed, I remember once swaggering into the local chemist (pharmacy) to purchase a pack of the unmentionables. A young lady (this was about 1975 so she's most likely a grandmother by now) assisted me in my purchase. As I left the cash register the male chemist, a dour looking man in his late fifties, took me aside and requested that I make any further such purchases through him and not embarass the young lady.
I don't recall her being all that embarassed; certainly rather less than I was.
Now it's one thing to purchase em for ones own use; quite another to purchase them on behalf of ones underage stepson. Especially when it's not beyond the bounds of possibility that some moral simpleton may take both exception and action. It's no acccident that I'm very careful about certain things in this household.
On the other hand, we always have Morgan as the example, par excellence, of what can go wrong when one buries ones head in the sand. I discussed the issue with Sonya (he's her son after all) and she was in complete agreement with my proposed course of action.
So I took him aside after dinner, outside and just the two of us, and gave him a present accompanied by a very short speech. I wasn't particularly embarassed but I well remember being 17 years old. Indeed, I had the experience, as I've related before, of my mother taking me aside at not much older than Andrew now is, and her handing me a pack of the same items we're not talking about, with much the same speech. 'We're not encouraging you, Andrew, but we're realists. Take care.'
I give him credit; he wasn't much embarassed either and he had the grace to say 'thank you'.
I think he'll turn out just fine!
Perhaps it's too late; perhaps the horse has already bolted, but it seemed to me that perhaps it was time for concrete action. Thus to the supermarket this afternoon, to purchase the kind of thing that was once almost impossible to purchase without a marriage certificate.
Indeed, I remember once swaggering into the local chemist (pharmacy) to purchase a pack of the unmentionables. A young lady (this was about 1975 so she's most likely a grandmother by now) assisted me in my purchase. As I left the cash register the male chemist, a dour looking man in his late fifties, took me aside and requested that I make any further such purchases through him and not embarass the young lady.
I don't recall her being all that embarassed; certainly rather less than I was.
Now it's one thing to purchase em for ones own use; quite another to purchase them on behalf of ones underage stepson. Especially when it's not beyond the bounds of possibility that some moral simpleton may take both exception and action. It's no acccident that I'm very careful about certain things in this household.
On the other hand, we always have Morgan as the example, par excellence, of what can go wrong when one buries ones head in the sand. I discussed the issue with Sonya (he's her son after all) and she was in complete agreement with my proposed course of action.
So I took him aside after dinner, outside and just the two of us, and gave him a present accompanied by a very short speech. I wasn't particularly embarassed but I well remember being 17 years old. Indeed, I had the experience, as I've related before, of my mother taking me aside at not much older than Andrew now is, and her handing me a pack of the same items we're not talking about, with much the same speech. 'We're not encouraging you, Andrew, but we're realists. Take care.'
I give him credit; he wasn't much embarassed either and he had the grace to say 'thank you'.
I think he'll turn out just fine!
Sunday, March 15, 2009
A misunderstanding
Andrew had been rather secretive a couple of months ago, something I put down to being 17 years of age. It turns out that I wasn't far off the mark - there's a girlfriend in the picture!
This fact emerged slowly, at least from what I could observe. You understand that I, being a curmudgeon, have certain ideas regarding how far one should go in accomodating ones step kids, and that does not include ferrying the little bastards half a mile when they could perfectly well walk it.
Thus Sonya had met the young lady in question well before I did. Suspecting that perhaps Andrew was concerned that I might embarass him I promised that I would do no such thing; even if she came to dinner on Sunday night[^]!
And so to this week; when I arrived home from the office on Tuesday evening it was to find Andrews computer strangely neglected and nary a sign of World of Warcraft. This is so unusual an occurrence that I asked Sonya if he was feeling well. Nope, it turned out that he was up in his room with a girl! Ah ha!
A few minutes later they emerged.
She's cute. As an aside, I always like to lie about the meaning of that word. I'll describe myself as being cute and when the listener, understandably, demurs, I say 'well, if you'd read the dictionary you'd know it really means 'ugly but interesting''. How cute that no one has ever called me on it!
As another aside I couldn't help but notice that Sonya would call out to Andrew every so often as he lurked upstairs with her. I understand that Sonya even barged in on them once without knocking. Apparently the imminent arrival of a second grandchild courtesy of Morgan has taught her something!
The next morning at the office I mentioned having met the damsel and commented that she was 'cute as'. Shocks all round! How dare I notice the damsels backside let alone think it cute.
After laughing uproariously I pointed out that had I meant that I'd have said 'cute arse' and *not* 'cute as'.
Really, after half a year of my accent you'd think they'd know better!
This fact emerged slowly, at least from what I could observe. You understand that I, being a curmudgeon, have certain ideas regarding how far one should go in accomodating ones step kids, and that does not include ferrying the little bastards half a mile when they could perfectly well walk it.
Thus Sonya had met the young lady in question well before I did. Suspecting that perhaps Andrew was concerned that I might embarass him I promised that I would do no such thing; even if she came to dinner on Sunday night[^]!
And so to this week; when I arrived home from the office on Tuesday evening it was to find Andrews computer strangely neglected and nary a sign of World of Warcraft. This is so unusual an occurrence that I asked Sonya if he was feeling well. Nope, it turned out that he was up in his room with a girl! Ah ha!
A few minutes later they emerged.
She's cute. As an aside, I always like to lie about the meaning of that word. I'll describe myself as being cute and when the listener, understandably, demurs, I say 'well, if you'd read the dictionary you'd know it really means 'ugly but interesting''. How cute that no one has ever called me on it!
As another aside I couldn't help but notice that Sonya would call out to Andrew every so often as he lurked upstairs with her. I understand that Sonya even barged in on them once without knocking. Apparently the imminent arrival of a second grandchild courtesy of Morgan has taught her something!
The next morning at the office I mentioned having met the damsel and commented that she was 'cute as'. Shocks all round! How dare I notice the damsels backside let alone think it cute.
After laughing uproariously I pointed out that had I meant that I'd have said 'cute arse' and *not* 'cute as'.
Really, after half a year of my accent you'd think they'd know better!
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
Windows L
If you have an extremely good memory you might remember this post[^] about hosting a chat room or two on IRC.
It can get pretty boring watching a steady stream of lols and roflmaos and even roflmaopimps flying by and we used to take advantage of the naivety (or ignorance) of the less computer literate. Sometimes they'd be complaining about slow internet connections or drop outs (we used to call it moofing and I can't, for the life of me, remember what the acronym stood for). And so, sometimes, we'd advise the complainant to 'press the Alt F4 key'. Which, as you'll remember, closes the window! The trick worked more often than not and we'd all get a good laugh out of it.
A few weeks ago I called to Andrew. 'Hey Andrew? See the key with the Windows symbol on it?'. He peered and admitted he could. 'Well, hold it down and press the L key' I said. He's learning to be suspicious where I'm concerned so he demurred. 'Oh, go on, don't be a wuss' I responded and he entered that key combination. Which, as you all know, locks your computer and you have to enter your password to unlock it. I'd certainly picked my time, for he was in the middle of a World of Warcraft session (then again, when isn't he?) and loud were the wails as he realised he'd been 'had'.
A couple of weeks later I tried the same trick on him and it worked. He's a slow learner at times.
It didn't work the third time!
It can get pretty boring watching a steady stream of lols and roflmaos and even roflmaopimps flying by and we used to take advantage of the naivety (or ignorance) of the less computer literate. Sometimes they'd be complaining about slow internet connections or drop outs (we used to call it moofing and I can't, for the life of me, remember what the acronym stood for). And so, sometimes, we'd advise the complainant to 'press the Alt F4 key'. Which, as you'll remember, closes the window! The trick worked more often than not and we'd all get a good laugh out of it.
A few weeks ago I called to Andrew. 'Hey Andrew? See the key with the Windows symbol on it?'. He peered and admitted he could. 'Well, hold it down and press the L key' I said. He's learning to be suspicious where I'm concerned so he demurred. 'Oh, go on, don't be a wuss' I responded and he entered that key combination. Which, as you all know, locks your computer and you have to enter your password to unlock it. I'd certainly picked my time, for he was in the middle of a World of Warcraft session (then again, when isn't he?) and loud were the wails as he realised he'd been 'had'.
A couple of weeks later I tried the same trick on him and it worked. He's a slow learner at times.
It didn't work the third time!
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Restless
I think we all know what it's like to be restless. You know it, you can't sit still, you just have to be up and doing something even if it's as simple as taking a walk to the mailbox or around the block.
My grandmother would have characterised it as 'ants in the pants', which description struck me as irresistibly funny the first time I heard it. I may be getting toward old but it still happens that I get restless and just have to go for a wander around the neighbourhood.
When I'm watching a movie Andrew has the misfortune to be in my field of view, which is one reason I know just how much time he spends on World of Warcraft. The other night I noticed that his avatar (is that what they call em in WoW?), mounted on a horse, was galloping round and around the same scene time after time. He was also mumbling in the fashion teenagers do. We've stopped worrying that he's talking to himself because he's usually wearing a headset and chatting away with various other WoW players. I refrain here and in real life from comment on the content of the mumbling; it seems harmless enough.
So there he is mumbling away and galloping around and around in circles. And ten minutes later he's still galloping around and around in circles and mumbling. And yet again, ten minutes later. You get the idea.
I had to ask. 'Andrew, what on earth are you doing? I've watched you racing around...' etc.
'Oh', he explained, 'I'm talking to (name forgotten) and I'm restless. I can't stay in one place'.
Uh huh. 'Andrew, they're just pixels.' Sheepish grin, the grin he always indulges in when he knows he's been caught out.
Now I've seen everything. Virtual restlessness!
I'm pretty sure some of the things I do would be equally incomprehensible to my long dead grandmother.
My grandmother would have characterised it as 'ants in the pants', which description struck me as irresistibly funny the first time I heard it. I may be getting toward old but it still happens that I get restless and just have to go for a wander around the neighbourhood.
When I'm watching a movie Andrew has the misfortune to be in my field of view, which is one reason I know just how much time he spends on World of Warcraft. The other night I noticed that his avatar (is that what they call em in WoW?), mounted on a horse, was galloping round and around the same scene time after time. He was also mumbling in the fashion teenagers do. We've stopped worrying that he's talking to himself because he's usually wearing a headset and chatting away with various other WoW players. I refrain here and in real life from comment on the content of the mumbling; it seems harmless enough.
So there he is mumbling away and galloping around and around in circles. And ten minutes later he's still galloping around and around in circles and mumbling. And yet again, ten minutes later. You get the idea.
I had to ask. 'Andrew, what on earth are you doing? I've watched you racing around...' etc.
'Oh', he explained, 'I'm talking to (name forgotten) and I'm restless. I can't stay in one place'.
Uh huh. 'Andrew, they're just pixels.' Sheepish grin, the grin he always indulges in when he knows he's been caught out.
Now I've seen everything. Virtual restlessness!
I'm pretty sure some of the things I do would be equally incomprehensible to my long dead grandmother.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
The Water Trick
I watched this[^] last night. Not a particularly good movie though it did have some fascinating moments, such as the automated garage parking system shown in Reno Nevada in 1955! But then I get fascinated by such things. My equivalent of Bright Shiny Things[^] methinks.
There was one scene that made me laugh. One of the minor characters is tricked into a bet; he sits on the floor and someone pours a glass of water onto the floor between his legs. The bet is that the character who pours the water can wipe it up before the person sitting on the floor can stab him with a knife. Bet accepted, the victim sits and the water is poured. Then, on the count of three they go, one to wipe the water up, the second to stab the wiper. And, on the count of three, the wiper grabs the stabbers legs and drags him through the puddle!
Like I say, it made me laugh and as I chuckled I bethought of a victim upon whom I could play the same trick. Andrew of course. Thus at dinner I offered him a bet of two hundred bucks. Scenting a trick he demurred and admitted that he hadn't the two hundred bucks on his side. No problem I told him, if he lost the bet no money need change hands but if I lost he'd get two hundred smackeroos.
Greed took over as I demonstrated how he'd be sitting and soon he was in place on the kitchen floor. Just in case, we substituted a wooden spoon for the knife. Heh, I'm not that silly. I even let him choose how much water would go into the glass and he, being a greedy bastard, filled it to the brim.
The anti-climax is that it worked a treat and he's no richer now than he was before dinner. But I honestly thought Sonya would choke to death, she was laughing so hard.
And he took it well; methinks he's planning to try it on his friends.
There was one scene that made me laugh. One of the minor characters is tricked into a bet; he sits on the floor and someone pours a glass of water onto the floor between his legs. The bet is that the character who pours the water can wipe it up before the person sitting on the floor can stab him with a knife. Bet accepted, the victim sits and the water is poured. Then, on the count of three they go, one to wipe the water up, the second to stab the wiper. And, on the count of three, the wiper grabs the stabbers legs and drags him through the puddle!
Like I say, it made me laugh and as I chuckled I bethought of a victim upon whom I could play the same trick. Andrew of course. Thus at dinner I offered him a bet of two hundred bucks. Scenting a trick he demurred and admitted that he hadn't the two hundred bucks on his side. No problem I told him, if he lost the bet no money need change hands but if I lost he'd get two hundred smackeroos.
Greed took over as I demonstrated how he'd be sitting and soon he was in place on the kitchen floor. Just in case, we substituted a wooden spoon for the knife. Heh, I'm not that silly. I even let him choose how much water would go into the glass and he, being a greedy bastard, filled it to the brim.
The anti-climax is that it worked a treat and he's no richer now than he was before dinner. But I honestly thought Sonya would choke to death, she was laughing so hard.
And he took it well; methinks he's planning to try it on his friends.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Crap!
My stepfather kept pigeons from 1967 onward. I'm sure he'd have loved to keep them before then but the house in which we lived at the time, in Seddon, had hardly enough room for us let alone a pigeon coop. But once we moved to St Albans he had all the space he could desire and so the pigeon coop was born. I recall helping him build it, little knowing the misery that damn coop held in store for me.
His interest in pigeons didn't come as much of a surprise; as the youngest of a large family he had ample example in his older brothers. At least three of them, as far as I can remember, kept pigeons and we'd always end up standing beside the cages when we visited, gravely discussing the merits of that 'blue' or this pink one.
And of course they raced the pigeons. Small sums wagered each week and form gravely argued over. The locals in Yarraville and Footscray even had a 'pigeon fanciers' club house; a strange brick building down by the Maribyrnong Wharves that looked, for all the world, like a council toilet block from the twenties. It may have been exactly that at one time. (I just checked on Google Earth and it seems to have gone; I will, of course, double check in 68 days when I'm there again). But heck no, I'm not counting down the days.
It fell to my lot to clean the cages out every fortnight or so. I think he had 25 or 30 pigeons in total at any one time and you wouldn't believe how much shit they could produce in a week! A nasty smelly job at the best of times but particularly bad in summer. The thing being that it dries out fairly quickly and forms hard lumps all over the inside of the cage. We're talking a cage plenty large enough to climb into and an inch depth of dried shit. The technique was to take a plasterers trowel and hack away at the lumps. Then scrape it all up into bags. After fifteen minutes the air would be thick with dust which of course one breathed in. It got into my hair, stuck to my face; I swear it got into my underpants! And the smell was indescribable.
What I wouldn't give to go back and have to do it all over again!
Our two youngest cats, not kittens anymore yet not fully grown, haven't entirely outgrown the catbox. I don't know what Tiny's eating but when he leaves his calling card the odour is quite pungent. Unfortunately, due to space limitations, the catbox is close to where I sit when watching movies. Not much farther from there to where Andrew sits playing World of Warcraft. Strangely enough my smokers nostrils, 37 years older than his, seem much more sensitive.
I took it upon myself, much to Sonyas amusement, to teach Andrew the finer points of cleaning up a catbox. It seems only fair that he should make *some* contribution to the household but he doesn't see it quite that way.
Now there's the wasteful approach and there's the thrifty approach. I use the thrifty one; that's the approach where one doesn't toss out the entire contents of the catbox every day. It's perfectly possible to reuse most of the cat litter at least once by judicious removal of the lumps.
And if one is taking that approach there's the hard way and the easy way. The hard way is to pick em out with the bare hand. But I've been doing this for years and I'm an observant bastard. Taking a leaf out of the anti-doggie poo brigades book I use plastic bags. We haven't yet got the point of supermarkets imposing a surcharge on the bags so there are always too many of em around the joint. Would you believe it's next to impossible to get the checkout person to NOT put a gallon of milk in it's own plastic bag???
So you take a plastic bag in each hand, one open to receive the nuggets, the other around the nugget removing hand. It takes less than a minute to snag em all out of the kitty litter and at the end of the process one has a nice tidy bag of cat crap ready to be disposed of and a relatively odour free catbox. Sprinkle some fresh litter on top and the cats will be milling around waiting for you to get out of the damn way so they can have a crap!
The other night, on our return from dining out, we stopped by the supermarket to pick up a fresh bag of litter. Then followed the argument with Andrew about just *why* he should be the one to do it. I've given up with the persuasion; I tell him straight out that it's because he's the youngest and I don't care that it's not fair. Calling him Morgan also works!
Arrived home he rushed in through the door and made straight for the computer, doubtless in hopes that we'd have forgotten, in the space of three minutes, all about such unpleasant subjects. No such hope.
Reminded of the task that lay ahead he grabbed a bag and started picking out the nuggets aforesaid. I couldn't help laughing. 'Ok, what are you going to do now?' I asked, as he realised he had only the one bag and that wrapped around the busy hand.
Poor bastard had the grace to look sheepish.
His interest in pigeons didn't come as much of a surprise; as the youngest of a large family he had ample example in his older brothers. At least three of them, as far as I can remember, kept pigeons and we'd always end up standing beside the cages when we visited, gravely discussing the merits of that 'blue' or this pink one.
And of course they raced the pigeons. Small sums wagered each week and form gravely argued over. The locals in Yarraville and Footscray even had a 'pigeon fanciers' club house; a strange brick building down by the Maribyrnong Wharves that looked, for all the world, like a council toilet block from the twenties. It may have been exactly that at one time. (I just checked on Google Earth and it seems to have gone; I will, of course, double check in 68 days when I'm there again). But heck no, I'm not counting down the days.
It fell to my lot to clean the cages out every fortnight or so. I think he had 25 or 30 pigeons in total at any one time and you wouldn't believe how much shit they could produce in a week! A nasty smelly job at the best of times but particularly bad in summer. The thing being that it dries out fairly quickly and forms hard lumps all over the inside of the cage. We're talking a cage plenty large enough to climb into and an inch depth of dried shit. The technique was to take a plasterers trowel and hack away at the lumps. Then scrape it all up into bags. After fifteen minutes the air would be thick with dust which of course one breathed in. It got into my hair, stuck to my face; I swear it got into my underpants! And the smell was indescribable.
What I wouldn't give to go back and have to do it all over again!
Our two youngest cats, not kittens anymore yet not fully grown, haven't entirely outgrown the catbox. I don't know what Tiny's eating but when he leaves his calling card the odour is quite pungent. Unfortunately, due to space limitations, the catbox is close to where I sit when watching movies. Not much farther from there to where Andrew sits playing World of Warcraft. Strangely enough my smokers nostrils, 37 years older than his, seem much more sensitive.
I took it upon myself, much to Sonyas amusement, to teach Andrew the finer points of cleaning up a catbox. It seems only fair that he should make *some* contribution to the household but he doesn't see it quite that way.
Now there's the wasteful approach and there's the thrifty approach. I use the thrifty one; that's the approach where one doesn't toss out the entire contents of the catbox every day. It's perfectly possible to reuse most of the cat litter at least once by judicious removal of the lumps.
And if one is taking that approach there's the hard way and the easy way. The hard way is to pick em out with the bare hand. But I've been doing this for years and I'm an observant bastard. Taking a leaf out of the anti-doggie poo brigades book I use plastic bags. We haven't yet got the point of supermarkets imposing a surcharge on the bags so there are always too many of em around the joint. Would you believe it's next to impossible to get the checkout person to NOT put a gallon of milk in it's own plastic bag???
So you take a plastic bag in each hand, one open to receive the nuggets, the other around the nugget removing hand. It takes less than a minute to snag em all out of the kitty litter and at the end of the process one has a nice tidy bag of cat crap ready to be disposed of and a relatively odour free catbox. Sprinkle some fresh litter on top and the cats will be milling around waiting for you to get out of the damn way so they can have a crap!
The other night, on our return from dining out, we stopped by the supermarket to pick up a fresh bag of litter. Then followed the argument with Andrew about just *why* he should be the one to do it. I've given up with the persuasion; I tell him straight out that it's because he's the youngest and I don't care that it's not fair. Calling him Morgan also works!
Arrived home he rushed in through the door and made straight for the computer, doubtless in hopes that we'd have forgotten, in the space of three minutes, all about such unpleasant subjects. No such hope.
Reminded of the task that lay ahead he grabbed a bag and started picking out the nuggets aforesaid. I couldn't help laughing. 'Ok, what are you going to do now?' I asked, as he realised he had only the one bag and that wrapped around the busy hand.
Poor bastard had the grace to look sheepish.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
A small mystery
You'll remember that a few weeks ago I had to attend court as prospective juror. I made fun of the fact that they provide transport[^] to cover the two blocks from the free parking to the courthouse!
Not only do they provide the shuttle bus aforesaid, they also provide a free pass, sent in the mail along with the juror summons, good for a days travel anywhere in the Valley on any Metro Bus or Rail Route. I'm not sure which rail route they're talking about - I certainly haven't seen any trams running on the light rail[^] and there's no suburban rail system.
In addition, they also pay mileage on the assumption that one has driven in; the amount paid is so many cents per mile (I can't remember the number) based on ones zipcode. It's certainly an assumption; the cheque arrived in the mail a few weeks ago without my having to turn in the free bus pass and without my having to do anything to claim the money apart from appearing as summoned.
Methinks they know we don't use the buses. Indeed, I've been here more than five and a half years and haven't been on a bus yet. I don't even know how one pays the fare; is it cash or does one purchase a card somewhere? If paid in cash what is the price? Do they provide change?
The free bus pass has been sitting on the desk above my keyboard and below my monitor ever since receiving it. Today, for some reason, I moved it and found the following inscribed on my desk.
Andrew swears he didn't write it and I'm inclined to believe him; I'm not sure he knows how to spell the word. Somehow I can't see my wife writing it. That leaves one obvious suspect but I think not. If it were Morgan I'd expect the word to be carved into my heart rather than texta'd onto the desk.
So who?
Not only do they provide the shuttle bus aforesaid, they also provide a free pass, sent in the mail along with the juror summons, good for a days travel anywhere in the Valley on any Metro Bus or Rail Route. I'm not sure which rail route they're talking about - I certainly haven't seen any trams running on the light rail[^] and there's no suburban rail system.
In addition, they also pay mileage on the assumption that one has driven in; the amount paid is so many cents per mile (I can't remember the number) based on ones zipcode. It's certainly an assumption; the cheque arrived in the mail a few weeks ago without my having to turn in the free bus pass and without my having to do anything to claim the money apart from appearing as summoned.
Methinks they know we don't use the buses. Indeed, I've been here more than five and a half years and haven't been on a bus yet. I don't even know how one pays the fare; is it cash or does one purchase a card somewhere? If paid in cash what is the price? Do they provide change?
The free bus pass has been sitting on the desk above my keyboard and below my monitor ever since receiving it. Today, for some reason, I moved it and found the following inscribed on my desk.
Andrew swears he didn't write it and I'm inclined to believe him; I'm not sure he knows how to spell the word. Somehow I can't see my wife writing it. That leaves one obvious suspect but I think not. If it were Morgan I'd expect the word to be carved into my heart rather than texta'd onto the desk.
So who?
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Bright shiny things
Andrew was as happy as a dog with two dicks this evening. 'Look at this' he cried, pointing at his computer screen. Needless to say the screen was displaying World of Warcraft. I peered and beheld something resembling a sceptre. 'That's mine. See how shiny it is?' he said.
Uh huh. 'Andrew' I said, 'I'm not sure how to tell you this but it's just a bunch of pixels on the screen.'
Well he wasn't going to let *me* rain on his parade; no sirree. He launched into a description of the heroic battle he'd fought against thousands of basement dwellers all over the world to win his spoils. I could feel my eyes glazing over!
Description over and the will to live slowly returning I went into the kitchen, grabbed some tinfoil and a handy pen, wrapped the latter in the former and returned to Andrew.
'Hey Andrew' I said. 'See this? Mmmmm, nice and shiny!' as I handed it over.
At least Sonya had the grace to laugh!
Uh huh. 'Andrew' I said, 'I'm not sure how to tell you this but it's just a bunch of pixels on the screen.'
Well he wasn't going to let *me* rain on his parade; no sirree. He launched into a description of the heroic battle he'd fought against thousands of basement dwellers all over the world to win his spoils. I could feel my eyes glazing over!
Description over and the will to live slowly returning I went into the kitchen, grabbed some tinfoil and a handy pen, wrapped the latter in the former and returned to Andrew.
'Hey Andrew' I said. 'See this? Mmmmm, nice and shiny!' as I handed it over.
At least Sonya had the grace to laugh!
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
The combination lock
In something of a minor miracle Morgan's managed to keep a job for an entire week.
She announced on Saturday that she needed a lock for her locker, that others might not pinch her stuff while she was out on the sales floor. Yep, she's working at a local department store though which department I couldn't say.
Andrew thought a moment and announced that he had a spare combination lock. Sounded reasonable given that his most precious asset at the moment is protected by his World of Warcraft password! So up the stairs he went and down came a padlock of the sort that has four little wheels, each numbered 0 to 9.
Of course he'd forgotten the combination! So Morgan played with it for 30 seconds or so and gave up. There are, after all, only 10,000 possible combinations. She handed it to Mom and she, Mom, handed it straight on to me. Uh huh, that'd be right.
I immediately turned the wheels to 0000 and 'click' it was open! Amazed looks! 'How did you do that?' they chorused.
'Well', I replied, 'it was easy.' Dad (their dad not mine) bought it and gave it to Andrew. And they're both so lazy they wouldn't have read the instructions on how to set the combination. Therefore it had to be still set at the factory default!
Perhaps I ought to have played the role of Houdini rather than that of Sherlock Holmes; now they know how it was done they're not half as impressed. But I bet you are!
She announced on Saturday that she needed a lock for her locker, that others might not pinch her stuff while she was out on the sales floor. Yep, she's working at a local department store though which department I couldn't say.
Andrew thought a moment and announced that he had a spare combination lock. Sounded reasonable given that his most precious asset at the moment is protected by his World of Warcraft password! So up the stairs he went and down came a padlock of the sort that has four little wheels, each numbered 0 to 9.
Of course he'd forgotten the combination! So Morgan played with it for 30 seconds or so and gave up. There are, after all, only 10,000 possible combinations. She handed it to Mom and she, Mom, handed it straight on to me. Uh huh, that'd be right.
I immediately turned the wheels to 0000 and 'click' it was open! Amazed looks! 'How did you do that?' they chorused.
'Well', I replied, 'it was easy.' Dad (their dad not mine) bought it and gave it to Andrew. And they're both so lazy they wouldn't have read the instructions on how to set the combination. Therefore it had to be still set at the factory default!
Perhaps I ought to have played the role of Houdini rather than that of Sherlock Holmes; now they know how it was done they're not half as impressed. But I bet you are!
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Welcome back
When Andrew got home this morning (I presume it was morning though I was at the office at the time) he found the following taped to his monitor.
Welcome back Andrew!
I missed you!
Put there by yours truly of course. For, you see, last night was the first time in ages, possibly a year, that he'd been able to drag himself away from the computer, World of Warcraft and his own bed. His story is that he spent the night over at Austins. Which is probably true; the nearest thing we've seen to a girl is the bathing suit beauty draped over his computer desktop; a girl we don't get to see all that often due to the World of Warcraft aforesaid. Forty years ago that shot would have seemed racy but these days it's very tame. Which is just as well.
Apparently he laughed. I didn't have the heart to tell him I didn't think of the idea myself. Nope, my first wife came up with just such a greeting waiting on *my* computer monitor back in August of 1986 when I returned from my second trip to the US.
Sad to say I didn't get the point at the time.
Welcome back Andrew!
I missed you!
Put there by yours truly of course. For, you see, last night was the first time in ages, possibly a year, that he'd been able to drag himself away from the computer, World of Warcraft and his own bed. His story is that he spent the night over at Austins. Which is probably true; the nearest thing we've seen to a girl is the bathing suit beauty draped over his computer desktop; a girl we don't get to see all that often due to the World of Warcraft aforesaid. Forty years ago that shot would have seemed racy but these days it's very tame. Which is just as well.
Apparently he laughed. I didn't have the heart to tell him I didn't think of the idea myself. Nope, my first wife came up with just such a greeting waiting on *my* computer monitor back in August of 1986 when I returned from my second trip to the US.
Sad to say I didn't get the point at the time.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Another election
Today we had another election. Not a very big one as it happened and there wasn't anyone actually standing for office. Not even for the post of dog-catcher!
Well that was here in Phoenix; apparently there were a couple of mayors elected around the state. Nope, todays poll was to approve (or not) an extension of a 0.1% sales tax for another 30 years to pay for parks. Now there's a motherhood and apple pie kinda issue for you! Voting against that is like voting against peace! And, as it happens, I voted in favour of the extension. I like parks and open spaces as much as the next man and a lot more than Andrew does.
The subject came up over dinner and when he heard that I'd actually voted in favour of a tax he expressed incredulity. Thus to the purpose of the tax at which point I went for the kill 'well, Andrew, you wouldn't have any use for a park would you?' To which the smartarse replied; 'of course I do, amusement parks'.
Uh huh.
The polling place was as empty as it was last time[^]. You know, for folk that blather on so much about freedom and democracy my fellow citizens take an amazingly lax attitude to the process of actually bothering to line up and cast the vote they're so proud of having! Well, maybe this wasn't one of the more important votes but my point still stands.
This time I had a bit of fun with the accent; when the bloke at the left end of the table handed me the little coupon for the ballot paper and instructed me to hand it to the 'gentleman at the other end' I couldn't resist saying 'oh, you mean that bloke!'. Sure enough, that bloke handed me the ballot and I filled out my vote. It took all of 12 seconds! As I turned to put the ballot into the box the 'bloke' at the end piped up 'what took you so long?'. 'Oh, I had to think about it' was my reply. Laughter all round. Perhaps you had to be there. Personally I reckon they were bored to death waiting for something to do.
I now have three I voted today[^] stickers on my computer monitor!
Well that was here in Phoenix; apparently there were a couple of mayors elected around the state. Nope, todays poll was to approve (or not) an extension of a 0.1% sales tax for another 30 years to pay for parks. Now there's a motherhood and apple pie kinda issue for you! Voting against that is like voting against peace! And, as it happens, I voted in favour of the extension. I like parks and open spaces as much as the next man and a lot more than Andrew does.
The subject came up over dinner and when he heard that I'd actually voted in favour of a tax he expressed incredulity. Thus to the purpose of the tax at which point I went for the kill 'well, Andrew, you wouldn't have any use for a park would you?' To which the smartarse replied; 'of course I do, amusement parks'.
Uh huh.
The polling place was as empty as it was last time[^]. You know, for folk that blather on so much about freedom and democracy my fellow citizens take an amazingly lax attitude to the process of actually bothering to line up and cast the vote they're so proud of having! Well, maybe this wasn't one of the more important votes but my point still stands.
This time I had a bit of fun with the accent; when the bloke at the left end of the table handed me the little coupon for the ballot paper and instructed me to hand it to the 'gentleman at the other end' I couldn't resist saying 'oh, you mean that bloke!'. Sure enough, that bloke handed me the ballot and I filled out my vote. It took all of 12 seconds! As I turned to put the ballot into the box the 'bloke' at the end piped up 'what took you so long?'. 'Oh, I had to think about it' was my reply. Laughter all round. Perhaps you had to be there. Personally I reckon they were bored to death waiting for something to do.
I now have three I voted today[^] stickers on my computer monitor!
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Washing a car
I thought you might like to know what it's like having Andrew wash ones car. It's quite amusing and I think, secretly, Andrew doesn't mind the process all that much either.
Thus to last Sunday. I told you about his driving lesson but what I didn't mention (that post was getting quite long enough as it was) was that we'd, in addition to dragging him away from World of Warcraft for the lesson itself, also insisted he wash our cars.
Mine was washed first and, to be fair to him, he did a pretty good job. Of course, this is probably because he knows I'm going to inspect afterwards.
He didn't do nearly so thorough a job on Moms car. Woe, therefore, to him that I did a post-wash inspection. 'Missed a bit' I said, pointing at some large patches of dust many days from a wetting. 'Oh' he replied, crestfallen.
I disappeared back into the house and he set to with the washcloth a second time. A few minutes pass and he announces it's done. So out I go. 'Missed a bit' I crowed with delight, pointing at some patches of something adorning the paintwork just below the drivers door.
Back into the house while he tries a third time. Two minutes later he announces it's done and out I go again.
You guessed it; 'Missed a bit!'. Interestingly, this time around, they were the same bits he'd missed the previous time. 'I can't get those off' he protested. So I grabbed the washcloth to show him how. And of course, a single pass was sufficient.
Now I'll give him points for ingenuity; he's seen the old pickle jar opening trick. You know the one, someone can't get a lid to budge so they ask someone for help. The second person, seemingly without effort, twists the lid off and the first person lamely protests that 'they'd loosened it!'. Of course, how silly of me, Andrew had loosened the dirt; that was why I was able to move it so easily. I left him to complete the job.
Five minutes later he announces, for the fourth time, that it's done. And out I go. And yes, of course, 'missed a bit'. This time it was the same kind of dirt in much the same place but on the passenger side this time.
The next inspection was, mercifully for you the reader, me the inspector and Andrew the poor bastard, the last one. This time he'd managed to get all but the tiniest specks of dirt off.
I keep telling him that one day he'll be glad I'm so picky; I suspect the average boss won't tolerate half done jobs for very long. And if he learns nothing else, he's learning that a thorough job requires an eye for detail.
Thus to last Sunday. I told you about his driving lesson but what I didn't mention (that post was getting quite long enough as it was) was that we'd, in addition to dragging him away from World of Warcraft for the lesson itself, also insisted he wash our cars.
Mine was washed first and, to be fair to him, he did a pretty good job. Of course, this is probably because he knows I'm going to inspect afterwards.
He didn't do nearly so thorough a job on Moms car. Woe, therefore, to him that I did a post-wash inspection. 'Missed a bit' I said, pointing at some large patches of dust many days from a wetting. 'Oh' he replied, crestfallen.
I disappeared back into the house and he set to with the washcloth a second time. A few minutes pass and he announces it's done. So out I go. 'Missed a bit' I crowed with delight, pointing at some patches of something adorning the paintwork just below the drivers door.
Back into the house while he tries a third time. Two minutes later he announces it's done and out I go again.
You guessed it; 'Missed a bit!'. Interestingly, this time around, they were the same bits he'd missed the previous time. 'I can't get those off' he protested. So I grabbed the washcloth to show him how. And of course, a single pass was sufficient.
Now I'll give him points for ingenuity; he's seen the old pickle jar opening trick. You know the one, someone can't get a lid to budge so they ask someone for help. The second person, seemingly without effort, twists the lid off and the first person lamely protests that 'they'd loosened it!'. Of course, how silly of me, Andrew had loosened the dirt; that was why I was able to move it so easily. I left him to complete the job.
Five minutes later he announces, for the fourth time, that it's done. And out I go. And yes, of course, 'missed a bit'. This time it was the same kind of dirt in much the same place but on the passenger side this time.
The next inspection was, mercifully for you the reader, me the inspector and Andrew the poor bastard, the last one. This time he'd managed to get all but the tiniest specks of dirt off.
I keep telling him that one day he'll be glad I'm so picky; I suspect the average boss won't tolerate half done jobs for very long. And if he learns nothing else, he's learning that a thorough job requires an eye for detail.
Monday, March 03, 2008
How does Google work, again???
Morgan knows I blog. I'm not sure she knows why (nor for that matter am I sure either) but she does know that she gets the occasional mention. Naturally she's consumed with curiousity to know just what I've written about her but I have to admit I'm not in any hurry for her to read it. She does know that her special category is 'The bitch from hell'. I fear she's rather proud of that!
Thus, whenever she asks (which isn't all that often), I tell her to Google! Strangely enough she hasn't managed to find it yet. I wouldn't have thought it all that difficult a search. I just Googled myself and at the time of writing the first seven matches on my name are to things I've written. Number eight is an impostor. He must be. I couldn't afford to be a member of the Rolls Royce club, let alone be a member of the board!
Even Andrew chuckles that she can't find my blog and I think we all know by now just how resourceful he is!
Thus, whenever she asks (which isn't all that often), I tell her to Google! Strangely enough she hasn't managed to find it yet. I wouldn't have thought it all that difficult a search. I just Googled myself and at the time of writing the first seven matches on my name are to things I've written. Number eight is an impostor. He must be. I couldn't afford to be a member of the Rolls Royce club, let alone be a member of the board!
Even Andrew chuckles that she can't find my blog and I think we all know by now just how resourceful he is!
Juggling Pizza Boy
Today we took Andrew out for his first driving lession. It's taken quite a while to get him sufficiently interested in driving to get his drivers permit though both Sonya and I suspect that it wasn't so much a lack of interest as fear. Perhaps I've overdone it a little when pointing out that driving a car is a responsibility not to be taken lightly. Perchance telling him he'd be at the controls of a ton of steel quite capable of killing was over-egging the pudding.
On the other hand, better that than a devil-may-care attitude. I told him nothing more than the truth.
Be that as it may, I found it all somewhat hard to believe. It seemed we had the only teenager in all of North America who didn't want to drive! But what with his father pushing from one side, me pushing from another and Sonya pulling, we finally got him to the learners permit test. He failed the first time. He failed the second time. He barely squeaked past on the third try.
Thus to today. I found myself elected teacher so we used my car. As I pointed out, mine was paid for! Sonya held out for her car and methinks Andrew secretly would have preferred hers. Indeed, now that I think about it, perhaps Sonya had another reason; I've adamantly refused to let Morgan ever drive mine. Perhaps she was worried about ructions later when Morgan finds out. Well, Morgan will just have to face up to harsh reality and the sooner the better.
We took him out to an industrial area with an enormous, mostly empty, carpark. We swapped seats and I held the keys. Poor bastard jumps in to the drivers seat and instantly reaches for the ignition. But nope, that wasn't how it was going to be. First he had to go through the importance of seat position (he's taller than I am) and adjusting mirrors. Ever tried to describe, in words, the correct position for a mirror? We ended up with Sonya standing beside the car and asking him when he could see Mom and when he couldn't.
Preliminaries gone through and Mom safely seated in the rear, he was ready to go. But I was still holding the keys. 'Er, can I have the keys?' he timidly asked. 'Nope, you've forgotten something very important' was my reply. Hmmm, some head scratching as he anxiously rechecks the mirrors and the seat position. Nope, he can't imagine what's holding up the keys this time. He's watching me finger the edge of my seat belt and he still doesn't get it.
Now you have to understand that, as old as I am, I've never driven a car that didn't have seatbelts. Nor have I, so far as I'm aware, ever driven where seatbelts weren't compulsory if fitted. It's so automatic that I don't ever think about it unless I try and drive without fastening the belt; that feels so uncomfortable I can't even reverse a dozen feet without fastening it. I'm not even sure if seatbelts are compulsory in Arizona. But I ain't driving without em, nor are any of my passengers. I remember going through this with Morgan four or five years ago; 'but I trust your driving Rob' she'd protest. 'That's fine', I'd reply. 'But I don't trust my own driving - put the bloody thing on'. I also don't trust anyone else out there on the road. Maybe this is why I've managed thirty five years driving without a serious accident. Maybe not.
And if none of my passengers are driving with me without seatbelts then guess what my feeling is about a brand new driver on his first lesson? Sheepishly he put the belt on and I handed him the keys.
The lesson itself went about as well as can be expected for a first time out. No, he didn't total the car but yes, he swung so wide on turns that I reckon he must have ancestral memories of driving an oxcart! He didn't like getting out on the roads one little bit; there he had to contend with two other cars! But you have to push Andrew or he never tries anything. As I said when he complained that I was making him take too many turns, 'if I didn't you'd drive straight and never make a turn'. He would too! And you can bet we were careful not to overdo it. I can remember my first time on a public road. Nervewracking. At the end of half an hour we pulled over so Sonya and I could have a smoke and Andrew intimated that perhaps this was enough for the first time out. Sonya seemed to think not but I stood up for him; let's not overdo it.
Sonya congratulated me on remaining very calm through the experience. Like I wouldn't. Everyone has to learn, and wide turns, forgetting turn indicators, doing a left from the right hand lane etc are par for the course. There's a reason we chose the industrial car park! I thought he did very well.
I drove us back home via the supermarket; we needed to pick up dinner. Sonya didn't feel like cooking and she suggested a pre-made pizza. I hate pre-made pizza with a passion but the wise husband learns to shut up lest he find himself cooking dinner himself! Thus we grabbed a pizza and, since Andrew was with us, what more natural than to expect him to carry it? 'Keep it flat' I warned, as he showed signs of carrying it like it was a book. Thence to the other end of the supermarket to get some tinned cat treats; Andrew twirling the pizza and basically doing everything imaginable with a pizza short of cooking and eating it; all the time keeping it flat. Of course disaster struck; the box flew open and our dinner shot across the floor, topping side down! How fortunate it was sealed in plastic!
Andrew turned about three shades redder than I've ever seen in my life and ever since then his nickname has been 'Juggling Pizza Boy'. I'll stop ribbing him about it, eventually!
In the end, the pizza wasn't bad!
On the other hand, better that than a devil-may-care attitude. I told him nothing more than the truth.
Be that as it may, I found it all somewhat hard to believe. It seemed we had the only teenager in all of North America who didn't want to drive! But what with his father pushing from one side, me pushing from another and Sonya pulling, we finally got him to the learners permit test. He failed the first time. He failed the second time. He barely squeaked past on the third try.
Thus to today. I found myself elected teacher so we used my car. As I pointed out, mine was paid for! Sonya held out for her car and methinks Andrew secretly would have preferred hers. Indeed, now that I think about it, perhaps Sonya had another reason; I've adamantly refused to let Morgan ever drive mine. Perhaps she was worried about ructions later when Morgan finds out. Well, Morgan will just have to face up to harsh reality and the sooner the better.
We took him out to an industrial area with an enormous, mostly empty, carpark. We swapped seats and I held the keys. Poor bastard jumps in to the drivers seat and instantly reaches for the ignition. But nope, that wasn't how it was going to be. First he had to go through the importance of seat position (he's taller than I am) and adjusting mirrors. Ever tried to describe, in words, the correct position for a mirror? We ended up with Sonya standing beside the car and asking him when he could see Mom and when he couldn't.
Preliminaries gone through and Mom safely seated in the rear, he was ready to go. But I was still holding the keys. 'Er, can I have the keys?' he timidly asked. 'Nope, you've forgotten something very important' was my reply. Hmmm, some head scratching as he anxiously rechecks the mirrors and the seat position. Nope, he can't imagine what's holding up the keys this time. He's watching me finger the edge of my seat belt and he still doesn't get it.
Now you have to understand that, as old as I am, I've never driven a car that didn't have seatbelts. Nor have I, so far as I'm aware, ever driven where seatbelts weren't compulsory if fitted. It's so automatic that I don't ever think about it unless I try and drive without fastening the belt; that feels so uncomfortable I can't even reverse a dozen feet without fastening it. I'm not even sure if seatbelts are compulsory in Arizona. But I ain't driving without em, nor are any of my passengers. I remember going through this with Morgan four or five years ago; 'but I trust your driving Rob' she'd protest. 'That's fine', I'd reply. 'But I don't trust my own driving - put the bloody thing on'. I also don't trust anyone else out there on the road. Maybe this is why I've managed thirty five years driving without a serious accident. Maybe not.
And if none of my passengers are driving with me without seatbelts then guess what my feeling is about a brand new driver on his first lesson? Sheepishly he put the belt on and I handed him the keys.
The lesson itself went about as well as can be expected for a first time out. No, he didn't total the car but yes, he swung so wide on turns that I reckon he must have ancestral memories of driving an oxcart! He didn't like getting out on the roads one little bit; there he had to contend with two other cars! But you have to push Andrew or he never tries anything. As I said when he complained that I was making him take too many turns, 'if I didn't you'd drive straight and never make a turn'. He would too! And you can bet we were careful not to overdo it. I can remember my first time on a public road. Nervewracking. At the end of half an hour we pulled over so Sonya and I could have a smoke and Andrew intimated that perhaps this was enough for the first time out. Sonya seemed to think not but I stood up for him; let's not overdo it.
Sonya congratulated me on remaining very calm through the experience. Like I wouldn't. Everyone has to learn, and wide turns, forgetting turn indicators, doing a left from the right hand lane etc are par for the course. There's a reason we chose the industrial car park! I thought he did very well.
I drove us back home via the supermarket; we needed to pick up dinner. Sonya didn't feel like cooking and she suggested a pre-made pizza. I hate pre-made pizza with a passion but the wise husband learns to shut up lest he find himself cooking dinner himself! Thus we grabbed a pizza and, since Andrew was with us, what more natural than to expect him to carry it? 'Keep it flat' I warned, as he showed signs of carrying it like it was a book. Thence to the other end of the supermarket to get some tinned cat treats; Andrew twirling the pizza and basically doing everything imaginable with a pizza short of cooking and eating it; all the time keeping it flat. Of course disaster struck; the box flew open and our dinner shot across the floor, topping side down! How fortunate it was sealed in plastic!
Andrew turned about three shades redder than I've ever seen in my life and ever since then his nickname has been 'Juggling Pizza Boy'. I'll stop ribbing him about it, eventually!
In the end, the pizza wasn't bad!
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Wow, kewl!
The other night I caught Andrew checking out video cards on Newegg. He was looking at a PCI-E card for about $130 and when I asked why he replied that someone on World of Warcraft had advised him to get that model to improve his frame rate. A pity then that his PC doesn't have a PCI-E slot! I will admit that the AGP card he had was pretty long in the tooth; a Radeon 7000 series about four years old.
Perhaps I should have left it at that, having advised him that there was no way the chosen card was going to even fit into his PC let alone work. But it just so happened that we had a much more recent AGP card sitting around waiting for someone to use it. Not only that, my car still needed a wash!
So today, as I was relaxing over a plate of bacon and eggs, he brought the subject up. You should have seen the look on his face when I handed him a screwdriver and the card. 'You mean I have to do the work myself?'. 'Damn straight' I replied. No need any more to follow that up with homilies about the value of work experience; he's heard it all before. I reckon he could recite it back at me! Doesn't mean he believes it; just that he's heard it all before!
A few false starts and he had the old card out and new card installed. At this point I decided it was as well to become more actively involved; if he screwed up the driver installation guess who'd have to repair the damage? But as it turned out, he could have done that portion himself as well; finally the device driver installation world has cottoned on to the fact that not everyone knows or cares for the details of their hardware, they just want it to work now dammit! In short, it was a no-brainer install.
Thence to dxdiags, to check a few things. On the Display tab there's a couple of buttons, one to check 2D graphics, the other to check 3D graphics. Try em out. (Start button, Run, type in 'dxdiags' without the quotes and hit OK). The 2D graphics test (Test DirectDraw) draws some very boring graphics and asks, afterward, if you saw what it drew. The second test draws a bouncing white rectangle inside a somewhat larger black rectangle. It looks almost exactly like the bouncing ball in the old pong game from 1975.
Andrew saw it and said 'wow, kewl!' I couldn't believe my ears! Here he is, in 2008, surrounded by games such as WoW and he's impressed with a little white rectangle bouncing around inside a black rectangle, on the same screen that 5 minutes hence he'll be playing WoW on.
But I reckon if he saw a real pong game he'd yawn and pronounce it old fashioned. He'd be right.
Oh, my car got it's wash. By my reckoning he owes me 4 more car washes and he owes Mom 5 more. Sometimes, as he and I agreed, it sucks to be Andrew!
Perhaps I should have left it at that, having advised him that there was no way the chosen card was going to even fit into his PC let alone work. But it just so happened that we had a much more recent AGP card sitting around waiting for someone to use it. Not only that, my car still needed a wash!
So today, as I was relaxing over a plate of bacon and eggs, he brought the subject up. You should have seen the look on his face when I handed him a screwdriver and the card. 'You mean I have to do the work myself?'. 'Damn straight' I replied. No need any more to follow that up with homilies about the value of work experience; he's heard it all before. I reckon he could recite it back at me! Doesn't mean he believes it; just that he's heard it all before!
A few false starts and he had the old card out and new card installed. At this point I decided it was as well to become more actively involved; if he screwed up the driver installation guess who'd have to repair the damage? But as it turned out, he could have done that portion himself as well; finally the device driver installation world has cottoned on to the fact that not everyone knows or cares for the details of their hardware, they just want it to work now dammit! In short, it was a no-brainer install.
Thence to dxdiags, to check a few things. On the Display tab there's a couple of buttons, one to check 2D graphics, the other to check 3D graphics. Try em out. (Start button, Run, type in 'dxdiags' without the quotes and hit OK). The 2D graphics test (Test DirectDraw) draws some very boring graphics and asks, afterward, if you saw what it drew. The second test draws a bouncing white rectangle inside a somewhat larger black rectangle. It looks almost exactly like the bouncing ball in the old pong game from 1975.
Andrew saw it and said 'wow, kewl!' I couldn't believe my ears! Here he is, in 2008, surrounded by games such as WoW and he's impressed with a little white rectangle bouncing around inside a black rectangle, on the same screen that 5 minutes hence he'll be playing WoW on.
But I reckon if he saw a real pong game he'd yawn and pronounce it old fashioned. He'd be right.
Oh, my car got it's wash. By my reckoning he owes me 4 more car washes and he owes Mom 5 more. Sometimes, as he and I agreed, it sucks to be Andrew!
Monday, February 04, 2008
We won, they lost
Not a one of you would be surprised to learn that I couldn't have cared less who won the Superbowl, even if the game was played a mere 20 or so miles west of here, at Glendale. Where I come from we'd call it a suburb of Phoenix but I now know better than to commit that sin. I still remember the withering glance I got from a waitress in a restaurant in Huntington Beach when I made the mistake of saying it was in Los Angeles. Hey, I'm used to seeing world maps that show a blob called Los Angeles that encompasses the area within fifty miles!
Andrew spent the weekend in a Patriotic fervor, undaunted by Giants. Came the game itself and he shocked me by forsaking, for the second time in a week, World of Warcraft and gluing himself to the TV set. I suppose I shouldn't have been shocked; he'd been talking about the Patriots all week, with 'we're going to win' this and 'we're going to kick ass' that, and so on.
In the event the Giants won. A doleful Andrew emerged from his room and announced that 'they lost'. A pointed question or two to put that news into its proper context and I asked 'don't you mean *we* lost?'. No, he affirmed, 'we' didn't lose, 'they' lost.
This isn't the first time I've observed this phenomena. Last summer when the Phoenix baseball team (whatever they're called) was on top it was 'we won' but when they lost a game it was 'they lost'.
I fear it's going to take some time to make him understand the concept of the fairweather friend!
Andrew spent the weekend in a Patriotic fervor, undaunted by Giants. Came the game itself and he shocked me by forsaking, for the second time in a week, World of Warcraft and gluing himself to the TV set. I suppose I shouldn't have been shocked; he'd been talking about the Patriots all week, with 'we're going to win' this and 'we're going to kick ass' that, and so on.
In the event the Giants won. A doleful Andrew emerged from his room and announced that 'they lost'. A pointed question or two to put that news into its proper context and I asked 'don't you mean *we* lost?'. No, he affirmed, 'we' didn't lose, 'they' lost.
This isn't the first time I've observed this phenomena. Last summer when the Phoenix baseball team (whatever they're called) was on top it was 'we won' but when they lost a game it was 'they lost'.
I fear it's going to take some time to make him understand the concept of the fairweather friend!
Sunday, February 03, 2008
The Actress
I've mentioned once or twice that Andrew has become a big fan of World of Warcraft. I may even have hinted that it's become quite an obsession with him; to the extent that he's all but stopped watching TV and neglects his homework. Well, I can't blame the latter on WoW; lazy bastard would neglect homework on principle!
One of his Christmas gifts was an Xbox 360 from his father. Dad gets off lightly; he buys the box itself, basks in the moment of gratitude and it's over for him. We get the pleasure of forking out the monthly subscription fees to say nothing of having to purchase, the day after Christmas, another network switch and network cable, plus drilling holes in the wall to run the cable. Let's not go there with wireless; I find the technology irritating and unreliable.
And of course, having sprung for the extra networking hardware (we haven't subscribed to the online services), Andrew ignores his Xbox; he wants to play WoW. Bloody kids!
Well, one side benefit of having an unused Xbox in the house was that I belatedly remembered it can act as a Media Centre Extender. Ten minutes following easy instructions and 20 bucks for yet another remote control and Sonya was able to watch American Idol up in Andrews room from our HTPC while I continue to watch old movies on our 57 inch widescreen TV.
Gotta love technology. Indeed, I can't imagine ever going back to the old way we used to watch movies on TV; staying up to 2 AM to catch it live.
Somehow Andrew seemed uneasy with the idea of his mother sitting up there in his room watching American Idol. I feel uneasy about it too but for entirely different reasons; I can't stand American Idol (or Australian Idol or Philippine Idol for that matter. I suspect I'd hate Russian Idol just as much). Did you need me saying that to know it?
In Andrews case the excuse put forward was that his room wasn't in a fit state. My comment, that it ought always to be in a fit state, fell on deaf ears. Even when I invoked Her Majesty and remembered I was in the wrong country and quickly changed to invoking The President he seemed unimpressed. I have to admit, it does seem unlikely that either personage will visit but it never hurts to be prepared.
Thus to the other night, when Andrew suddenly discovered that he has an Xbox at about the same time that Mom intimated a desire to watch this weeks installments of American Idol. Just between us, I reckon it was sheer bloody mindedness; Mom wanted to watch his TV so he decided to use the Xbox himself merely to thwart her. But Mom is a martyr to her offspring and she meekly accepted the situation. Me? I'd have ridden roughshod over his objections, reminded him of a year or more of obsessive WoW and told him he could damn well wait. But that's me.
The following evening, when I got home from the office, he was back at the computer playing WoW. Case closed methinks!
At dinner I told him I'd heard his computer the previous night whimpering. 'Andrew, where are you? Why have you forsaken me?' and so on. Morgan (yeah, she's back living here) piped up with the best fake credulity I've ever seen. 'Really???'.
She couldn't be that stupid, could she??
One of his Christmas gifts was an Xbox 360 from his father. Dad gets off lightly; he buys the box itself, basks in the moment of gratitude and it's over for him. We get the pleasure of forking out the monthly subscription fees to say nothing of having to purchase, the day after Christmas, another network switch and network cable, plus drilling holes in the wall to run the cable. Let's not go there with wireless; I find the technology irritating and unreliable.
And of course, having sprung for the extra networking hardware (we haven't subscribed to the online services), Andrew ignores his Xbox; he wants to play WoW. Bloody kids!
Well, one side benefit of having an unused Xbox in the house was that I belatedly remembered it can act as a Media Centre Extender. Ten minutes following easy instructions and 20 bucks for yet another remote control and Sonya was able to watch American Idol up in Andrews room from our HTPC while I continue to watch old movies on our 57 inch widescreen TV.
Gotta love technology. Indeed, I can't imagine ever going back to the old way we used to watch movies on TV; staying up to 2 AM to catch it live.
Somehow Andrew seemed uneasy with the idea of his mother sitting up there in his room watching American Idol. I feel uneasy about it too but for entirely different reasons; I can't stand American Idol (or Australian Idol or Philippine Idol for that matter. I suspect I'd hate Russian Idol just as much). Did you need me saying that to know it?
In Andrews case the excuse put forward was that his room wasn't in a fit state. My comment, that it ought always to be in a fit state, fell on deaf ears. Even when I invoked Her Majesty and remembered I was in the wrong country and quickly changed to invoking The President he seemed unimpressed. I have to admit, it does seem unlikely that either personage will visit but it never hurts to be prepared.
Thus to the other night, when Andrew suddenly discovered that he has an Xbox at about the same time that Mom intimated a desire to watch this weeks installments of American Idol. Just between us, I reckon it was sheer bloody mindedness; Mom wanted to watch his TV so he decided to use the Xbox himself merely to thwart her. But Mom is a martyr to her offspring and she meekly accepted the situation. Me? I'd have ridden roughshod over his objections, reminded him of a year or more of obsessive WoW and told him he could damn well wait. But that's me.
The following evening, when I got home from the office, he was back at the computer playing WoW. Case closed methinks!
At dinner I told him I'd heard his computer the previous night whimpering. 'Andrew, where are you? Why have you forsaken me?' and so on. Morgan (yeah, she's back living here) piped up with the best fake credulity I've ever seen. 'Really???'.
She couldn't be that stupid, could she??
Monday, January 28, 2008
Where's the profit?
Last Saturday it seems my awakening was eagerly anticipated. You understand that the rest of the family enjoy it when I sleep in almost as much as I do; if I'm asleep I'm not annoying them with unreasonable demands aimed at cleaning up their own mess!
But overnight Andrews machine stopped talking to the Internet. Disaster! Without the Internet he had no access to World of Warcraft and, apparently, no other resources to distract him from the business of being alive. It's such a bummer sometimes, having to breath!
Of course my car is still unwashed[^]. Little did he know just how soon those chooks would turn into homing pigeons!
Two coffees, some bacon and eggs, four leisurely cigarettes and a good hour after rising I condescended to inspect the wayward machine, expecting nothing more complex than the need for an IP lease renewal or perhaps a reboot. But for some reason we'll never know the network chip on the motherboard has disappeared. BIOS shows it enabled, the little lights wake up when you plug the cable in but Windows Device Manager shows it not!
I tried the usual suspects. Uninstall the driver and let the plug'n'play manager do its stuff; no network! I suppose I could have reformatted the drive and reinstalled Windows (would have served the little bastard right to lose his music - he won't do backups) but I can be as lazy as he can at times. Sticking a new network card in was going to be much easier.
Thus to Frys Electronics, where I purchased a PCI 10/100 Twisted Pair card for $4.99 plus tax. But first there was the price Andrew had to pay to be considered. No promises to be forgotten once his computer was safely back on the Internet. I wanted immediate action and it had to be completed before I'd even leave the house on the errand of mercy.
Loud the wailing and loud the gnashing of teeth as he cleaned the kitchen and scrubbed the floor. It wasn't fair! Bretts father wouldn't have made Brett clean the kitchen. I quite agreed whilst asking if I looked like Bretts father.
When I got back from Frys he couldn't believe it when I handed him a cup and instructions on how much milk and sugar went into the coffee. Well, I was doing the hard yacka with his computer; the least he could do was make me another coffee!
What I couldn't believe was the price. The tax inclusive[^] price was $5.40 and I reckon the State of Arizona and the City of Phoenix made more money on the deal than anyone else invloved. The card is made in China, packaged in a cardboard box including a CD of drivers, shipped halfway around the planet, distributed to one of a hundred outlets and lands there marked at $4.99 retail. Either someone is making one hell of a loss or everyone's working on tenth of a cent profit margins! No wonder high tech jobs suck so much!
But overnight Andrews machine stopped talking to the Internet. Disaster! Without the Internet he had no access to World of Warcraft and, apparently, no other resources to distract him from the business of being alive. It's such a bummer sometimes, having to breath!
Of course my car is still unwashed[^]. Little did he know just how soon those chooks would turn into homing pigeons!
Two coffees, some bacon and eggs, four leisurely cigarettes and a good hour after rising I condescended to inspect the wayward machine, expecting nothing more complex than the need for an IP lease renewal or perhaps a reboot. But for some reason we'll never know the network chip on the motherboard has disappeared. BIOS shows it enabled, the little lights wake up when you plug the cable in but Windows Device Manager shows it not!
I tried the usual suspects. Uninstall the driver and let the plug'n'play manager do its stuff; no network! I suppose I could have reformatted the drive and reinstalled Windows (would have served the little bastard right to lose his music - he won't do backups) but I can be as lazy as he can at times. Sticking a new network card in was going to be much easier.
Thus to Frys Electronics, where I purchased a PCI 10/100 Twisted Pair card for $4.99 plus tax. But first there was the price Andrew had to pay to be considered. No promises to be forgotten once his computer was safely back on the Internet. I wanted immediate action and it had to be completed before I'd even leave the house on the errand of mercy.
Loud the wailing and loud the gnashing of teeth as he cleaned the kitchen and scrubbed the floor. It wasn't fair! Bretts father wouldn't have made Brett clean the kitchen. I quite agreed whilst asking if I looked like Bretts father.
When I got back from Frys he couldn't believe it when I handed him a cup and instructions on how much milk and sugar went into the coffee. Well, I was doing the hard yacka with his computer; the least he could do was make me another coffee!
What I couldn't believe was the price. The tax inclusive[^] price was $5.40 and I reckon the State of Arizona and the City of Phoenix made more money on the deal than anyone else invloved. The card is made in China, packaged in a cardboard box including a CD of drivers, shipped halfway around the planet, distributed to one of a hundred outlets and lands there marked at $4.99 retail. Either someone is making one hell of a loss or everyone's working on tenth of a cent profit margins! No wonder high tech jobs suck so much!
Monday, December 24, 2007
Chickens coming home to roost
It gets pretty dusty here in the desert. One is well advised not to wear white gloves in these here parts! It's pretty fine dust too; pulverised rock that seems to get in everywhere.
One place it gets into is the heatsinks and fan systems in our computers. Indeed, it's essential maintenance as we get into the warmer months to take them down one at a time, remove the fans and brush the dust out. It helps to use a vacuum cleaner and, as a job, it sucks!
Okay, that was a cheap joke.
It's pretty easy to clean up the CPU fan and heatsink, not so easy to get all the dust out of the Northbridge fans and, as a consequence, we don't seem to get more than a couple or three years out of a motherboard. It's no big deal though; it's the perfect excuse to upgrade to bigger/better/faster.
Well that is if it's my computer or my wife's. If it's Andrews, well, he doesn't seem to care as long as it can run World of Warcraft. I don't think he'd know a FPS measurement if it hit him on the head. This is fine with us; it means we can get away with lower end equipment for his computer.
Thus, came the disaster, from his point of view, back at the end of June. His computer started randomly hanging. Now you'll remember that I used, thirty or more years ago, to repair TV sets for a living. But let me tell you, isolating a fault in a modern computer motherboard is a few orders of magnitude more complex. Frankly, it's not worth the trouble, so we bit the bullet and bought him a new motherboard and processor.
Of course, it wasn't quite that simple. Though we only spent $140 it seemed reasonable to me that there should be some strings attached. He's 16 years old and it's surely time he learned that money doesn't just drop out of the sky. In short, he had to do something to earn the repairs. We agreed that he'd wash my car and my wife's once a month until January, for a total of 14 car washes. I thought pricing it at about $10 a car wash wasn't unreasonable.
All went well the first month, if you discount my inspecting my car after the wash and pointing out all the places he'd missed!
Second month it went okay. By the fourth month it was like pulling teeth to get him to uphold his side of the bargain. Finally, when it was down to a mere 5 car washes remaining, I threw in the towel, telling him not to bother. But I also warned him that I would reciprocate the lack of bother the next time his computer failed.
On Friday the computer shutdown with an 'overheating' warning. Unfortunately I was at the office and unable to enjoy the general consternation. But, acting under Mom's instructions, he, apparently gingerly, opened it up and brushed some of the dust out. Understand, we're talking a 16 year old boy who is apparently afraid of wielding a screwdriver! I fear I'm just not mentally equipped to understand that!
So I got home from the office to hear all about it. Of course I reminded him that he owed us 5 car washes and I wouldn't lift a finger for his computer until they were completed. And no, Andrew, 5 car washes in one day doesn't count. It's 2 a month plus the odd one.
I wasn't really surprised when he let the entire weekend go without raising a finger toward the cars; his computer seems to be running fine right now. But of course, without the regular maintenance, it will fail again soon.
One place it gets into is the heatsinks and fan systems in our computers. Indeed, it's essential maintenance as we get into the warmer months to take them down one at a time, remove the fans and brush the dust out. It helps to use a vacuum cleaner and, as a job, it sucks!
Okay, that was a cheap joke.
It's pretty easy to clean up the CPU fan and heatsink, not so easy to get all the dust out of the Northbridge fans and, as a consequence, we don't seem to get more than a couple or three years out of a motherboard. It's no big deal though; it's the perfect excuse to upgrade to bigger/better/faster.
Well that is if it's my computer or my wife's. If it's Andrews, well, he doesn't seem to care as long as it can run World of Warcraft. I don't think he'd know a FPS measurement if it hit him on the head. This is fine with us; it means we can get away with lower end equipment for his computer.
Thus, came the disaster, from his point of view, back at the end of June. His computer started randomly hanging. Now you'll remember that I used, thirty or more years ago, to repair TV sets for a living. But let me tell you, isolating a fault in a modern computer motherboard is a few orders of magnitude more complex. Frankly, it's not worth the trouble, so we bit the bullet and bought him a new motherboard and processor.
Of course, it wasn't quite that simple. Though we only spent $140 it seemed reasonable to me that there should be some strings attached. He's 16 years old and it's surely time he learned that money doesn't just drop out of the sky. In short, he had to do something to earn the repairs. We agreed that he'd wash my car and my wife's once a month until January, for a total of 14 car washes. I thought pricing it at about $10 a car wash wasn't unreasonable.
All went well the first month, if you discount my inspecting my car after the wash and pointing out all the places he'd missed!
Second month it went okay. By the fourth month it was like pulling teeth to get him to uphold his side of the bargain. Finally, when it was down to a mere 5 car washes remaining, I threw in the towel, telling him not to bother. But I also warned him that I would reciprocate the lack of bother the next time his computer failed.
On Friday the computer shutdown with an 'overheating' warning. Unfortunately I was at the office and unable to enjoy the general consternation. But, acting under Mom's instructions, he, apparently gingerly, opened it up and brushed some of the dust out. Understand, we're talking a 16 year old boy who is apparently afraid of wielding a screwdriver! I fear I'm just not mentally equipped to understand that!
So I got home from the office to hear all about it. Of course I reminded him that he owed us 5 car washes and I wouldn't lift a finger for his computer until they were completed. And no, Andrew, 5 car washes in one day doesn't count. It's 2 a month plus the odd one.
I wasn't really surprised when he let the entire weekend go without raising a finger toward the cars; his computer seems to be running fine right now. But of course, without the regular maintenance, it will fail again soon.
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