I haven't mentioned it but since the last time I wrote about cats we've added two (count em, two!) to the family. That makes a total of five cats and, as much as I love cats, I think that's at least two too many. And this isn't even counting the neighbourhood strays who take advantage of the cat door to snatch a free feed.
The first to join us was Casper (I call her the Little White Bastard) or LWB for short. She came to live with us a week or so before Heino came over for his visit. The typical story 'if you don't take her we'll have to put her down'. Sonya bought it.
It's always hard to tell if the story is true or not; certainly there are enough people out there who'd think nothing of bunging half a dozen kittens in a sack with a rock and dropping em in the nearest canal. But are those the kind of people who would even bother trying to farm em out? I suspect not.
Casper took to Heino but how could she not? To know Heino is to, well, to know him!
The most recent arrival is Tiny Guy. This is his 36th day with us. You might wonder about my naming of cats; I've mentioned it before methinks but I don't go for the tame names 'Tiger', 'Casper', 'Tom' and so forth. I'd much rather give a cat a robust name like Voskoboinikov or Kafka or Katzen. But lots of luck trying that with this lot; their idea of originality is to take a pale tabby and call him Tiger! Or take a black cat and call her Shadow.
Hence the disparity of names. If they persist in having the imagination of a square of toilet paper I'll dumb it down for em; hence, Shadow is Kitten and I always call her that, Kitten and never Shadow. Tiger is 'The little guy' and since I can hardly change his name now when he knows he's 'The little guy' he remains that even though he's a big cat now. I'm sure you can now see why the latest addition is called Tiny Guy.
Tiny Guy was not house trained when he arrived. Not a big deal. How much can a kitten of six weeks pee at a time anyway? Not a lot I can tell you! He's almost house trained now but occasionally forgets himself. Hence, the other night, I espied him squatting on a cushion. Now I'm sure you know the drill here. Grab the little bastard immediately and spirit him away to the cat box. The power of association is amazing and they do quickly learn the appropriate location.
Which left a peed upon cushion. I showed it to my wife and she said 'oh, is that peepee?'. After spluttering in amazement I replied. 'Peepee? Bloody peepee? Who are you talking to? It's cat piss and don't you forget it!'. She laughed.
Perhaps you had to be there!
Monday, April 14, 2008
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Is it over yet??
where 'it' is, of course, the US presidential election.
This is the second such election I've lived through whilst residing in the US. To be honest, I didn't notice the first one (2004) all that much. For one, I wasn't entitled to vote in it; for another, being unemployed for the first half of the campaign, I wasn't listening to the radio. Since I never watch TV news that left very few ways for the campaign to get at me.
Not so this time around! At first I thought it was interesting but as time wore on it becomes tiring; Obama this, McCain that, Hilary the other. And that's after the field has thinned down. When Huckabee and Romney and Edwards were still in it the cacophony from the Republicans had to be heard to be believed.
Now it's the Democrats vying for maximum attention, as though the ability to shriek the loudest will win the nomination.
Uh huh; six months or so of this and they're still deciding the nominees! How I pine for the relative sanity of a system where the party chooses its candidates out of the public eye.
Already I've offended those few US readers who still read me; how dare I criticise the system? But you know what? If you want to have a say in who stands for your party then join the damn party! Let me have none of this voter registration where I have to tick a box saying whether I want to vote in the Republican Primary, or the Democrat Primary, or am independent! Particulary not when it's an exclusive choice, as it is in Arizona. If I plump for the Dems I can't cast a vote in the Republican primaries and vice versa! And don't ask the taxpayer to foot the bills for the primaries!
But this is the way it's always been here; therefore it's the only way it can ever be. I'm just as guilty of this thought as those I criticise. The Australian system seems completely natural to me, because that's the system I grew up in. And preselection battles in Australian politics can get nasty at times. Nevertheless, an Australian election campaign is short and sharp, mercifully so. After it's done we get on with life and can forget the entire dirty business for another three years!
I still haven't decided who to vote for though it should come as no surprise that I lean toward the left. The problem is that what counts as the left in US politics is still pretty right to me! Of course, even in Australian politics, the left is pretty right these days. And yet I feel I must vote for someone; to take the easy way out and not bother to vote at all is to make no choice at all! And if that be the case, then why become a citizen?
This is the second such election I've lived through whilst residing in the US. To be honest, I didn't notice the first one (2004) all that much. For one, I wasn't entitled to vote in it; for another, being unemployed for the first half of the campaign, I wasn't listening to the radio. Since I never watch TV news that left very few ways for the campaign to get at me.
Not so this time around! At first I thought it was interesting but as time wore on it becomes tiring; Obama this, McCain that, Hilary the other. And that's after the field has thinned down. When Huckabee and Romney and Edwards were still in it the cacophony from the Republicans had to be heard to be believed.
Now it's the Democrats vying for maximum attention, as though the ability to shriek the loudest will win the nomination.
Uh huh; six months or so of this and they're still deciding the nominees! How I pine for the relative sanity of a system where the party chooses its candidates out of the public eye.
Already I've offended those few US readers who still read me; how dare I criticise the system? But you know what? If you want to have a say in who stands for your party then join the damn party! Let me have none of this voter registration where I have to tick a box saying whether I want to vote in the Republican Primary, or the Democrat Primary, or am independent! Particulary not when it's an exclusive choice, as it is in Arizona. If I plump for the Dems I can't cast a vote in the Republican primaries and vice versa! And don't ask the taxpayer to foot the bills for the primaries!
But this is the way it's always been here; therefore it's the only way it can ever be. I'm just as guilty of this thought as those I criticise. The Australian system seems completely natural to me, because that's the system I grew up in. And preselection battles in Australian politics can get nasty at times. Nevertheless, an Australian election campaign is short and sharp, mercifully so. After it's done we get on with life and can forget the entire dirty business for another three years!
I still haven't decided who to vote for though it should come as no surprise that I lean toward the left. The problem is that what counts as the left in US politics is still pretty right to me! Of course, even in Australian politics, the left is pretty right these days. And yet I feel I must vote for someone; to take the easy way out and not bother to vote at all is to make no choice at all! And if that be the case, then why become a citizen?
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
When the lazy meets the implacable
I've hinted a few times that Morgan is living with us again. Sadly, it's true. She's been back here 6 months today. I suppose I should be glad she waited until Heino had gone back to Australia. Had I known, I'd have gone on bended knees and begged him to stay.
Of course, Mom solemnly assured me that she was 'only going to stay for a week' while she made other arrangements. And, of course, I solemnly pretended to believe.
At the time of her pregnancy, a couple of years ago, it was decided (I wasn't consulted) to move her to another school to finish her high schooling. She didn't do her homework and I was given to understand that she scraped through by the skin of her teeth, having delivered her final assignment within half an hour of the third and final deadline.
She went into the workforce for a few days but found the kinds of jobs for which her education qualified her not quite to taste. It is apparently beneath her dignity to stand behind the counter at Blockbuster. I can't say she's had a lot of jobs.
As a parenthetical note, I applied for a job at Hollywood Video a few years ago; at least I can talk intelligently about movies though I fear most customers wouldn't be particularly interested in a dissertation about the merits of Edmond O'Brien[^] as an actor!
I don't have a lot of sympathy with Morgan. Did you really need me making that clear?
Half a year after moving back here Morgan has played the role of the earnest student to the extent of getting ten grand from the state to cover her living expenses. She's even, once, and with much fanfare, bestowed a hundred bucks on us. Once. Where the rest went I cannot say though I have my suspicions. As for her success as a student? Let's just say that, having been advised by her tutor that she's unlikely to pass, she's chucked school up. One might have expected a concerted effort in the two months of the academic year remaining; expected it if one did not know Morgan! Especially since she has to return the money!
So now we have a 20 year old with no job and no qualifications to speak of on our hands.
Now it's quite likely that my previous history with Morgan coloured later events. Likely? Bloody inevitable! I don't really mind if she's occupying the room above ours if she could only bring herself to be inobtrusive. Minor things like, perhaps, cleaning her plate after eating. Or even moving the damn plate from the table to the sink. Not hosting the dance of the hippotami at midnight when we're trying to sleep. Or how about cleaning up her kids toys if he's too young to do it himself? But no, not a bit of it. Nope, she eats half a meal and leaves the plate there on the table. I've been there before[^] but the previous time it was with a wife and one sometimes has to give in. This time around I feel no need to give in, particularly when she seems to have time on her hands.
As for the toys, I've gotten into the habit of kicking them out of the way, so long as Ryan isn't actually playing with them or nearby. What care I if Morgan feels outrage? If she's that outraged then she can damn well tidy up after her offspring!
Sonya, mother of the monster, is in a bind. At one level she knows Morgan is a lazy bitch, on another level she's her daughter. Thus, I've gotten into the habit, having observed in the morning as I leave for work that last nights plate is still on the table and observed when I get home in the evening that it's gone (I promise this sentence will soon end), of saying 'look me in the eye and tell me Morgan cleaned up the plate'.
Sometimes she *can* look me in the eye!
Meanwhile, I reckon my wife has done her stretch and she shouldn't have to be cleaning up after a 20 year old. As for me? Damned if I will!
Of course, Mom solemnly assured me that she was 'only going to stay for a week' while she made other arrangements. And, of course, I solemnly pretended to believe.
At the time of her pregnancy, a couple of years ago, it was decided (I wasn't consulted) to move her to another school to finish her high schooling. She didn't do her homework and I was given to understand that she scraped through by the skin of her teeth, having delivered her final assignment within half an hour of the third and final deadline.
She went into the workforce for a few days but found the kinds of jobs for which her education qualified her not quite to taste. It is apparently beneath her dignity to stand behind the counter at Blockbuster. I can't say she's had a lot of jobs.
As a parenthetical note, I applied for a job at Hollywood Video a few years ago; at least I can talk intelligently about movies though I fear most customers wouldn't be particularly interested in a dissertation about the merits of Edmond O'Brien[^] as an actor!
I don't have a lot of sympathy with Morgan. Did you really need me making that clear?
Half a year after moving back here Morgan has played the role of the earnest student to the extent of getting ten grand from the state to cover her living expenses. She's even, once, and with much fanfare, bestowed a hundred bucks on us. Once. Where the rest went I cannot say though I have my suspicions. As for her success as a student? Let's just say that, having been advised by her tutor that she's unlikely to pass, she's chucked school up. One might have expected a concerted effort in the two months of the academic year remaining; expected it if one did not know Morgan! Especially since she has to return the money!
So now we have a 20 year old with no job and no qualifications to speak of on our hands.
Now it's quite likely that my previous history with Morgan coloured later events. Likely? Bloody inevitable! I don't really mind if she's occupying the room above ours if she could only bring herself to be inobtrusive. Minor things like, perhaps, cleaning her plate after eating. Or even moving the damn plate from the table to the sink. Not hosting the dance of the hippotami at midnight when we're trying to sleep. Or how about cleaning up her kids toys if he's too young to do it himself? But no, not a bit of it. Nope, she eats half a meal and leaves the plate there on the table. I've been there before[^] but the previous time it was with a wife and one sometimes has to give in. This time around I feel no need to give in, particularly when she seems to have time on her hands.
As for the toys, I've gotten into the habit of kicking them out of the way, so long as Ryan isn't actually playing with them or nearby. What care I if Morgan feels outrage? If she's that outraged then she can damn well tidy up after her offspring!
Sonya, mother of the monster, is in a bind. At one level she knows Morgan is a lazy bitch, on another level she's her daughter. Thus, I've gotten into the habit, having observed in the morning as I leave for work that last nights plate is still on the table and observed when I get home in the evening that it's gone (I promise this sentence will soon end), of saying 'look me in the eye and tell me Morgan cleaned up the plate'.
Sometimes she *can* look me in the eye!
Meanwhile, I reckon my wife has done her stretch and she shouldn't have to be cleaning up after a 20 year old. As for me? Damned if I will!
Shameless
A month or so ago Cox Cable (may they rot in hell) moved Turner Classic Movies[^] out of the Analog Channel range into the Digital Tier. No warning; it just wasn't there on channel 42 one evening, replaced with a placard advising that if we wanted to continue receiving TCM we had to get a digital reciever.
Apparently they *did* advertise the change in advance, in the print media. Who do you know takes the paper on a daily basis anymore? I sure don't. Even back in the pre internet days I didn't take the paper on a daily basis (Saturday Age[^] yes, other days as the fancy took me). I still read the Age online every day but it doesn't quite compare to the pleasure of relaxing over the pages on a Saturday morning with a plate of bacon and eggs and a couple of coffees!
After a bout of swearing it was time to take stock of the options. You understand that with the kinds of films I most enjoy the loss of TCM was a major loss indeed! Long story short I ended up subscribing to the Cox Digital service, including two set top boxes, to feed Bigboy, our HTPC. We stuck with Cox because any other option meant we lost analog cable, watched by Morgan and Andrew. They want digital they can earn it!
Also, based on a mistaken assumption, I subscribed to the five bucks a month movie tier. The mistaken assumption was the result of Cox's choice of channel number for TCM; it's now on 199 and channels 190 to 198 are part of the movie tier; I assumed that not only had the bastards moved it out of analog but had added it to the extra fee subscription service. Wrong assumption but, in the event, not a bad outcome. The extra channels include Sundance and Independent Film Channel and so far it's been worth the extra five bucks.
Incidentally, when I still lived in Australia I was a subscriber to Optus Cable. They also ran (may still do for all I know) TCM. Good times.
Anyways, an unexpected pleasure from the change is the discovery of Shameless[^]. The first episode I caught was the second episode. Alas, they don't seem to have the nous to run the episodes in the original order!
I have to admit it was a bit of bastardry to suggest to my wife that she might enjoy watching with me; she can't understand a word they say though I did assure her they were speaking English. I fear I have rather more experience watching British TV than she does but some of the accents are a bit extreme even for me.
This is rather different British comedy than I'm used to. None of the gentility of the sixties and seventies, no sir, this is robust language at its best. I'm pretty sure I don't want to see it broadcast on PBS - the sound would be half bleeps! I'm being dragged kicking and screaming into the 21st century. But it's all good stuff! You really wouldn't be dead for quids would you?
Apparently they *did* advertise the change in advance, in the print media. Who do you know takes the paper on a daily basis anymore? I sure don't. Even back in the pre internet days I didn't take the paper on a daily basis (Saturday Age[^] yes, other days as the fancy took me). I still read the Age online every day but it doesn't quite compare to the pleasure of relaxing over the pages on a Saturday morning with a plate of bacon and eggs and a couple of coffees!
After a bout of swearing it was time to take stock of the options. You understand that with the kinds of films I most enjoy the loss of TCM was a major loss indeed! Long story short I ended up subscribing to the Cox Digital service, including two set top boxes, to feed Bigboy, our HTPC. We stuck with Cox because any other option meant we lost analog cable, watched by Morgan and Andrew. They want digital they can earn it!
Also, based on a mistaken assumption, I subscribed to the five bucks a month movie tier. The mistaken assumption was the result of Cox's choice of channel number for TCM; it's now on 199 and channels 190 to 198 are part of the movie tier; I assumed that not only had the bastards moved it out of analog but had added it to the extra fee subscription service. Wrong assumption but, in the event, not a bad outcome. The extra channels include Sundance and Independent Film Channel and so far it's been worth the extra five bucks.
Incidentally, when I still lived in Australia I was a subscriber to Optus Cable. They also ran (may still do for all I know) TCM. Good times.
Anyways, an unexpected pleasure from the change is the discovery of Shameless[^]. The first episode I caught was the second episode. Alas, they don't seem to have the nous to run the episodes in the original order!
I have to admit it was a bit of bastardry to suggest to my wife that she might enjoy watching with me; she can't understand a word they say though I did assure her they were speaking English. I fear I have rather more experience watching British TV than she does but some of the accents are a bit extreme even for me.
This is rather different British comedy than I'm used to. None of the gentility of the sixties and seventies, no sir, this is robust language at its best. I'm pretty sure I don't want to see it broadcast on PBS - the sound would be half bleeps! I'm being dragged kicking and screaming into the 21st century. But it's all good stuff! You really wouldn't be dead for quids would you?
Monday, April 07, 2008
I'm not a geek, honest!
Give or take a week I've now spent one tenth of my life living in the US. I've resisted the temptation to calculate it down to the exact day; I think it's bad enough that I've narrowed it down this closely. And this isn't even counting the time (almost six months) I spent in the US when I was still really living in Australia.
I probably shouldn't admit this but I fear Melbourne will seem even more alien, next time I'm there, in September, than it did last time[^]. I'm definitely not admitting that hearing the Australian accent on Australian films and TV shows *does* sound odd in my own ears!
To say nothing of the slight puzzlement I feel watching the aforesaid visual entertainment and seeing someone drive a car whilst sitting on the right hand side of the vehicle. I suppose it's overlaying five or so years of recent experience onto older experiences; when one sees drivers on the left all the time it becomes the 'natural' way.
I still cannot cross the road without looking the 'wrong'[^] way.
Of course, I still tell people around here that *I* don't have an accent; they do! Most are polite enough to laugh. I still enjoy the shock when I open my mouth and speak; I look 'normal' enough to pass for a local, if one discounts the unfashionably long hair. I'd reckon about one in ten times I say something and the listener, if s/he has never heard me speak before, will register shock and awe.
But they ain't completely got me yet! I still find the American Hamburger a disgusting thing; likewise ketchup!
Of course, one tenth of my life is *still* only one tenth of percent[^] of the age of the pyramids.
I probably shouldn't admit this but I fear Melbourne will seem even more alien, next time I'm there, in September, than it did last time[^]. I'm definitely not admitting that hearing the Australian accent on Australian films and TV shows *does* sound odd in my own ears!
To say nothing of the slight puzzlement I feel watching the aforesaid visual entertainment and seeing someone drive a car whilst sitting on the right hand side of the vehicle. I suppose it's overlaying five or so years of recent experience onto older experiences; when one sees drivers on the left all the time it becomes the 'natural' way.
I still cannot cross the road without looking the 'wrong'[^] way.
Of course, I still tell people around here that *I* don't have an accent; they do! Most are polite enough to laugh. I still enjoy the shock when I open my mouth and speak; I look 'normal' enough to pass for a local, if one discounts the unfashionably long hair. I'd reckon about one in ten times I say something and the listener, if s/he has never heard me speak before, will register shock and awe.
But they ain't completely got me yet! I still find the American Hamburger a disgusting thing; likewise ketchup!
Of course, one tenth of my life is *still* only one tenth of percent[^] of the age of the pyramids.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
BBC 7
I've just discovered the pleasures of BBC 7, which is remarkable considering where I live. Gotta love the internet.
Actually, I'm surprised I can get it; I thought I remembered reading somewhere on The Register[^] that it's supposed to be limited, via IP filtering, to residents of the UK. Perhaps they haven't worked out that the IP block I share is based in Phoenix and I'm not about to tell em.
Whatever. I've been enjoying listening to 'The Goon Show', 'I'm Sorry, I'll read that Again', 'Beyond our Ken', 'Hancocks Half Hour' and others. I could have done Wikipedia links for each of those programs but I already know most of you have navigated to a more interesting page!
Actually, I'm surprised I can get it; I thought I remembered reading somewhere on The Register[^] that it's supposed to be limited, via IP filtering, to residents of the UK. Perhaps they haven't worked out that the IP block I share is based in Phoenix and I'm not about to tell em.
Whatever. I've been enjoying listening to 'The Goon Show', 'I'm Sorry, I'll read that Again', 'Beyond our Ken', 'Hancocks Half Hour' and others. I could have done Wikipedia links for each of those programs but I already know most of you have navigated to a more interesting page!
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Kicking the tyres again
I mentioned quite some time ago that we'd gone house hunting[^]. At that time the numbers stubbornly refused to add up and we've been stuck here.
But what with the precipitous drop in housing prices and the consequent rise in rentals the numbers do finally add up and it's starting to look like we can have our cake and eat it too; to wit, keep this place as a rental and get a real house to live in.
This is not a change unfraught with concerns; I still remember the feeling, upon signing the contract for my first house, of 'hell, I owe the bank $120,000!' It's also requiring a bit of a mental reorientation for myself; me as a landlord??? Perish the thought for this lefty. But things change over time and I keep reminding myself of that saying attributed, I think, to George Bernard Shaw 'if you're not a socialist before you're thirty you have no heart, if you're still one after thirty you have no head!'.
Okay, so I'm lagging a bit!
We've been looking at various houses, off and on, for more than half a year and seen a few we liked, a few just that little bit out of range, a lot way out of range and a lot more we just didn't like. To say nothing of those priced more optimistically than realistically!
We saw one yesterday that I'm still chuckling over. It was a vacant posession but the agent had arranged for it to be 'staged'. You know the deal. Back in Australia they advise one to have a pot of fresh coffee just brewed; not for the refreshment of prospective buyers but to give it 'that' smell. They also advise fresh bread for the same reason. I can't say I've seen any house here where those tricks were employed though a sickly sweet smell does seem popular. Thank god no one's gone for cinammon!
I wouldn't presume to suggest a kickback but this is the first staged vacancy I've seen this time around.
The house had been staged by stocking the pantry with various brands of breakfast cereal and strategically placed bottles of red wine. I kid you not, I've never seen quite so many bottles of wine strewn around the place. It looked like an alcoholics paradise. I have to wonder who they thought they were pitching the place to; it was a family home, not a bachelor flat[^]! They even had a tray sitting on the master bed with a bottle of red wine and two champagne flutes! That's the detail that made me chuckle. No one of any taste whatsoever would sip red wine from a damn champagne flute!
Nice try guys but no cigar.
We found a place we both really liked within our means. Pool and all. Another phone call tomorrow to the mortgage broker to be sure we can finance it and, with luck, we'll place an offer this week.
But what with the precipitous drop in housing prices and the consequent rise in rentals the numbers do finally add up and it's starting to look like we can have our cake and eat it too; to wit, keep this place as a rental and get a real house to live in.
This is not a change unfraught with concerns; I still remember the feeling, upon signing the contract for my first house, of 'hell, I owe the bank $120,000!' It's also requiring a bit of a mental reorientation for myself; me as a landlord??? Perish the thought for this lefty. But things change over time and I keep reminding myself of that saying attributed, I think, to George Bernard Shaw 'if you're not a socialist before you're thirty you have no heart, if you're still one after thirty you have no head!'.
Okay, so I'm lagging a bit!
We've been looking at various houses, off and on, for more than half a year and seen a few we liked, a few just that little bit out of range, a lot way out of range and a lot more we just didn't like. To say nothing of those priced more optimistically than realistically!
We saw one yesterday that I'm still chuckling over. It was a vacant posession but the agent had arranged for it to be 'staged'. You know the deal. Back in Australia they advise one to have a pot of fresh coffee just brewed; not for the refreshment of prospective buyers but to give it 'that' smell. They also advise fresh bread for the same reason. I can't say I've seen any house here where those tricks were employed though a sickly sweet smell does seem popular. Thank god no one's gone for cinammon!
I wouldn't presume to suggest a kickback but this is the first staged vacancy I've seen this time around.
The house had been staged by stocking the pantry with various brands of breakfast cereal and strategically placed bottles of red wine. I kid you not, I've never seen quite so many bottles of wine strewn around the place. It looked like an alcoholics paradise. I have to wonder who they thought they were pitching the place to; it was a family home, not a bachelor flat[^]! They even had a tray sitting on the master bed with a bottle of red wine and two champagne flutes! That's the detail that made me chuckle. No one of any taste whatsoever would sip red wine from a damn champagne flute!
Nice try guys but no cigar.
We found a place we both really liked within our means. Pool and all. Another phone call tomorrow to the mortgage broker to be sure we can finance it and, with luck, we'll place an offer this week.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Cornville
North of Phoenix on the I-17 interstate, on the way to Flagstaff, you pass through a hamlet called McGuireville. Ordinarily I wouldn't even notice McGuireville save for two signposts; the one pointing to Montezuma's Well and the other to Cornville!
I thought I had some photos of Montezuma's Well to show you but if I still have them I'm damned if I can find em. I'm quite sure I took em, I just can't find em. Another time, when we go back thataway.
That's a side trip from where I was going with this post anyway. I could never help laughing whenever we saw the sign to Cornville! The name struck me as both risible and terribly lacking in imagination. I mean, who on earth would name a town, no matter how humble, Cornville? And lest you think this is another of those Aussie knocking the Yanks posts, I'll point out that we have some pretty unimaginatively named places back in Australia too. I'm sure Snake Valley got the name because someone found a snake or two there! And who, having named a place Emerald Hill, would change the name to South Melbourne?
Nonetheless I'd chuckle whenever we saw the signs to Cornville. You can imagine my surprise then, upon consulting a pamphlet my wife picked for 50 cents and titled 'place names in Arizona and why they are so named' (their capitalisation, not mine), to discover that apparently it was named after early settlers named Cohn and a mistake was made in Washington, changing Cohnville to Cornville.
Of course this begs the question; do I believe everything I read in pamphlets? Wikipedia repeats the story[^] but who knows where the person who wrote the Wikipedia page got the story from? Same source possibly (the pamphlet is undated though it has an ISBN number. It looks considerably older than Wikipedia).
The short answer is no, I'm way too much the cynic for that. Nonetheless, I'd like to believe the story. You can't beat a good apochryphal story! I still like the story about the word 'Kangaroo'[^] though it's unlikely to be true. That's the one that goes thusly; Englishman in first settlement at Sydney Cove sees a Kangaroo bound by and, never having seen anything like it in his life, turns to a conveniently located Aboriginal and asks 'what was that?'. The Aboriginal answers 'kangaroo' and the Englishman, secure in the knowledge that everyone speaks English, assumes it's the local name for the animal. Of course, the Aboriginal had no idea what the Englishman said and answered 'I don't know what you're saying'. The Wikipedia version of the story is more specific than the version I heard.
As I say, not terribly likely but I'd like to believe it!
I thought I had some photos of Montezuma's Well to show you but if I still have them I'm damned if I can find em. I'm quite sure I took em, I just can't find em. Another time, when we go back thataway.
That's a side trip from where I was going with this post anyway. I could never help laughing whenever we saw the sign to Cornville! The name struck me as both risible and terribly lacking in imagination. I mean, who on earth would name a town, no matter how humble, Cornville? And lest you think this is another of those Aussie knocking the Yanks posts, I'll point out that we have some pretty unimaginatively named places back in Australia too. I'm sure Snake Valley got the name because someone found a snake or two there! And who, having named a place Emerald Hill, would change the name to South Melbourne?
Nonetheless I'd chuckle whenever we saw the signs to Cornville. You can imagine my surprise then, upon consulting a pamphlet my wife picked for 50 cents and titled 'place names in Arizona and why they are so named' (their capitalisation, not mine), to discover that apparently it was named after early settlers named Cohn and a mistake was made in Washington, changing Cohnville to Cornville.
Of course this begs the question; do I believe everything I read in pamphlets? Wikipedia repeats the story[^] but who knows where the person who wrote the Wikipedia page got the story from? Same source possibly (the pamphlet is undated though it has an ISBN number. It looks considerably older than Wikipedia).
The short answer is no, I'm way too much the cynic for that. Nonetheless, I'd like to believe the story. You can't beat a good apochryphal story! I still like the story about the word 'Kangaroo'[^] though it's unlikely to be true. That's the one that goes thusly; Englishman in first settlement at Sydney Cove sees a Kangaroo bound by and, never having seen anything like it in his life, turns to a conveniently located Aboriginal and asks 'what was that?'. The Aboriginal answers 'kangaroo' and the Englishman, secure in the knowledge that everyone speaks English, assumes it's the local name for the animal. Of course, the Aboriginal had no idea what the Englishman said and answered 'I don't know what you're saying'. The Wikipedia version of the story is more specific than the version I heard.
As I say, not terribly likely but I'd like to believe it!
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.
Ricardo Montalban
It would hardly come as a surprise to longer term readers that I know little about contemporary movies, and care less. Well, not entirely true; I saw quite a few movies at the local cinema in 2002, movies such as Monsters Ball, Blackhawk Down, LOTR:FOTR, the remake of The Time Machine and so on. But for the most part my interest is focussed on movies from the 1920's through to the late 1950's. Methinks you already knew that!
Of course this places me at a disadvantage when playing Trivial Pursuit; for some unaccountable reason the Australian Edition seems to expect knowledge of contemporary (or contemporary for the time, mid 1980s) movies. For all I know the US edition or the British Edition might have a similar focus but no one plays Trivial Pursuit anymore, do they?
It became a standing joke amongst my friends of the time that whenever called upon to name the actor who played such and such a role I'd always, after a moments reflection, come up with Ricardo Montalban. It seemed as good a guess as any and consistency would eventually see the odds go my way and Ricardo Montalban be the correct answer! Indeed, they'd confer whenever it fell to my lot to answer movie questions, to ensure the answer wasn't Ricardo Montalban!
Of course this places me at a disadvantage when playing Trivial Pursuit; for some unaccountable reason the Australian Edition seems to expect knowledge of contemporary (or contemporary for the time, mid 1980s) movies. For all I know the US edition or the British Edition might have a similar focus but no one plays Trivial Pursuit anymore, do they?
It became a standing joke amongst my friends of the time that whenever called upon to name the actor who played such and such a role I'd always, after a moments reflection, come up with Ricardo Montalban. It seemed as good a guess as any and consistency would eventually see the odds go my way and Ricardo Montalban be the correct answer! Indeed, they'd confer whenever it fell to my lot to answer movie questions, to ensure the answer wasn't Ricardo Montalban!
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!
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Someone famous was born on that day after all
I'd be amazed if you remembered this[^] post. Humour me, go and read it, I'll wait.
Today whilst taking in my daily dose of internet websites I found an article bemoaning the difficulty of persuading a nation (the USA) to take an interest in the 200th Birthday of one of it's sons. Of course a great many Americans were born in the year 1808 but could you name many of them? I certainly couldn't have though I'd heard of this one.
I asked Sonya the same question and she had no idea. So I filled in a little detail; he was a first president. Quick as a flash she came back with George Washington. I fear that answer was more than somewhat innacurate; George died in 1799. One might have expected suspicions to be raised on such an obvious clue let alone the use of the term 'a first president' rather than 'the first president'. So she racked her brains some more. Thus through a ragtag assortment of other former US presidents. Not a one of them correct. So I gave her the other hint; not only was he the first president, he was the only one.
Bingo! Jefferson Davis[^] she blurted out.
What I found interesting was the US centric guessing; not a hint that there might have been presidents elsewhere.
So it seems that Terry Lane (to hark back to the original link up there) was wrong; someone of consequence *was* born on June 3. Robin will be delighted to hear of it!
Today whilst taking in my daily dose of internet websites I found an article bemoaning the difficulty of persuading a nation (the USA) to take an interest in the 200th Birthday of one of it's sons. Of course a great many Americans were born in the year 1808 but could you name many of them? I certainly couldn't have though I'd heard of this one.
I asked Sonya the same question and she had no idea. So I filled in a little detail; he was a first president. Quick as a flash she came back with George Washington. I fear that answer was more than somewhat innacurate; George died in 1799. One might have expected suspicions to be raised on such an obvious clue let alone the use of the term 'a first president' rather than 'the first president'. So she racked her brains some more. Thus through a ragtag assortment of other former US presidents. Not a one of them correct. So I gave her the other hint; not only was he the first president, he was the only one.
Bingo! Jefferson Davis[^] she blurted out.
What I found interesting was the US centric guessing; not a hint that there might have been presidents elsewhere.
So it seems that Terry Lane (to hark back to the original link up there) was wrong; someone of consequence *was* born on June 3. Robin will be delighted to hear of it!
Monday, February 25, 2008
When you run out of Cherry Ripes
what's left except to go to the source?
Yep, I've booked for another trip to Australia. Alas, it's almost 7 months from now but it'll give me something to look forward to, particularly considering it'll have been, by then, 3 years since I was last in Australia. Methinks Melbourne will have changed somewhat since then.
Frequent flyer points are a wonderful thing though this trip uses almost all of em up.
That poor bastard Heino gets to put up with me for a fortnight and I've already told him I don't want any of that gourmet food[^]; I want Aussie fast food for the entire two weeks. It'll have to last me a while.
Fish and Chips, Dogs Eye with Dead Horse (Pie 'n Sauce), Chiko Rolls, Australian Hamburgers, Sausage Rolls, Pasties, Snot Blocks (Vanilla Slices), Neanish Tarts, Roast Pork Sanga at Myers with lots of crackling, and Steamed Dimmos (steamed Dim Sims; you're not a lot wiser after that explanation are you?).
I'm positively drooling at the thought!
Followed by Violet Crumbles, Chokitos, the Cherry Ripes aforesaid, Flake bars, Aeros, Polly Waffles, Wagon Wheels and Golden Roughs etc.
I wouldn't want you to imagine all the above foodstuffs will be consumed at the same meal; it'd be physically impossible (and ones physician might also have a thing or two to say). But I do have to cram a few years of deprivation into one glorious fortnight!
To say nothing of the pleasure of strutting once more down Swanston Street, bearing left at Collins Street and thence through the Block Arcade and Royal Arcade. Even Gog and Magog (the saddest pair of wooden statues you've ever seen) will be a welcome sight!
I'm kinda hoping the cute girl who used to work at the pharmacy in the Royal Arcade is still there but somehow I doubt it; that was a decade ago!
I have to admit to a certain curiousity about Birrarung Marr[^] given that it was opened after I left Melbourne. Knowing that Angel[^] is there adds to the interest. I well remember sitting on a tram in St Kilda Road, when Angel was still at the National Gallery, and listening to two earnest young things raving about how 'plastic' it looked.
In short, I plan to do exactly what I've done in the past when visiting Melbourne after leaving; enjoy! And will I go look at the house I used to live in in Footscray[^]? You bet I will!
Yep, I've booked for another trip to Australia. Alas, it's almost 7 months from now but it'll give me something to look forward to, particularly considering it'll have been, by then, 3 years since I was last in Australia. Methinks Melbourne will have changed somewhat since then.
Frequent flyer points are a wonderful thing though this trip uses almost all of em up.
That poor bastard Heino gets to put up with me for a fortnight and I've already told him I don't want any of that gourmet food[^]; I want Aussie fast food for the entire two weeks. It'll have to last me a while.
Fish and Chips, Dogs Eye with Dead Horse (Pie 'n Sauce), Chiko Rolls, Australian Hamburgers, Sausage Rolls, Pasties, Snot Blocks (Vanilla Slices), Neanish Tarts, Roast Pork Sanga at Myers with lots of crackling, and Steamed Dimmos (steamed Dim Sims; you're not a lot wiser after that explanation are you?).
I'm positively drooling at the thought!
Followed by Violet Crumbles, Chokitos, the Cherry Ripes aforesaid, Flake bars, Aeros, Polly Waffles, Wagon Wheels and Golden Roughs etc.
I wouldn't want you to imagine all the above foodstuffs will be consumed at the same meal; it'd be physically impossible (and ones physician might also have a thing or two to say). But I do have to cram a few years of deprivation into one glorious fortnight!
To say nothing of the pleasure of strutting once more down Swanston Street, bearing left at Collins Street and thence through the Block Arcade and Royal Arcade. Even Gog and Magog (the saddest pair of wooden statues you've ever seen) will be a welcome sight!
I'm kinda hoping the cute girl who used to work at the pharmacy in the Royal Arcade is still there but somehow I doubt it; that was a decade ago!
I have to admit to a certain curiousity about Birrarung Marr[^] given that it was opened after I left Melbourne. Knowing that Angel[^] is there adds to the interest. I well remember sitting on a tram in St Kilda Road, when Angel was still at the National Gallery, and listening to two earnest young things raving about how 'plastic' it looked.
In short, I plan to do exactly what I've done in the past when visiting Melbourne after leaving; enjoy! And will I go look at the house I used to live in in Footscray[^]? You bet I will!
Friday, February 22, 2008
Valet Service
Well, I meant to continue writing about our Los Angeles trip but what with one thing and another (that's code for a bunch of 1940's movies recorded while I was away) I didn't get around to it.
One of the things I noticed was just how much valet parking there seems to be in LA. We have it here in Scottsdale to a small extent but nowhere near as much as I saw over there.
I'm not sure I get the why of it here. You have to understand, if you've never been to Scottsdale/Phoenix, just how large the car parks are at the malls. At the local strip mall across the road they have a Walmarts, a Bashas Supermarket and various smaller businesses spread around a car park that's at least twenty times larger than the floor area of the businesses themselves. I've never seen it anywhere near capacity, not even on Christmas Eve.
They don't do valet parking over there but that's illustrative of the sheer size of the car parks here. Over on Scottsdale Road, at one of the restaurant strips, they have similarly large car parks and yet somehow it seems to be acceptable that the restaurants will cordon off a couple of acres or so of nearby parking and insist it be valet usage only. Of course that means that those of us who choose not to use valet service have to park a considerable distance away. Because, of course, the catch to using valet service is that one is expected to pay someone you've never seen before to get into the drivers seat and park it god only knows where, in hopes that upon emergence they'll find it and bring it back.
Having surrendered the ticket to the youth to reclaim your property, you stand around like a spare part waiting for it to arrive. And when it does arrive you have to tip the guy. Now payment for services rendered I understand. I even understand that this whole valet thing is (or is at least seen as) a service. Hence the payment. But it seems that one has to nonchalantly slip the five bucks or so over while you and the recipient both pretend nothing has happened. Is the taxman watching? Is it technically illegal and are we in fear of arrest? I have no idea but I fear I've never learned the art of slipping someone a tip and making it look like nothing's happened.
Like I say, I just don't get it. Doubtless, when I've graduated to my walking frame, it might make sense but for now it's just an exercise in trust that I get to pay for!
I shouldn't be too superior about it though; one of the nice things about staying in Las Vegas on the strip is that one pulls in to the front of the hotel, hoists ones suitcase(s) out of the boot and hands the keys over. They park it god knows where and you don't see the car again until it's time to leave three or four days later. Of course, in Las Vegas you don't *care* where the car is at the time.
Los Angeles takes the valet parking thing to greater extreme but I can partially understand why; space is at much more of a premium and there's merit in the idea of paying someone to park ones vehicle in a crowded car park whilst one is doing something more enjoyable. I imagine it decreases the incidence of dings as well; do you really want some careless slob parking by ear?
But what took my breath away was when we passed Longs Drugs on Lincoln Blvd; there, at a damn chemists shop of all places, they have valet parking!
One of the things I noticed was just how much valet parking there seems to be in LA. We have it here in Scottsdale to a small extent but nowhere near as much as I saw over there.
I'm not sure I get the why of it here. You have to understand, if you've never been to Scottsdale/Phoenix, just how large the car parks are at the malls. At the local strip mall across the road they have a Walmarts, a Bashas Supermarket and various smaller businesses spread around a car park that's at least twenty times larger than the floor area of the businesses themselves. I've never seen it anywhere near capacity, not even on Christmas Eve.
They don't do valet parking over there but that's illustrative of the sheer size of the car parks here. Over on Scottsdale Road, at one of the restaurant strips, they have similarly large car parks and yet somehow it seems to be acceptable that the restaurants will cordon off a couple of acres or so of nearby parking and insist it be valet usage only. Of course that means that those of us who choose not to use valet service have to park a considerable distance away. Because, of course, the catch to using valet service is that one is expected to pay someone you've never seen before to get into the drivers seat and park it god only knows where, in hopes that upon emergence they'll find it and bring it back.
Having surrendered the ticket to the youth to reclaim your property, you stand around like a spare part waiting for it to arrive. And when it does arrive you have to tip the guy. Now payment for services rendered I understand. I even understand that this whole valet thing is (or is at least seen as) a service. Hence the payment. But it seems that one has to nonchalantly slip the five bucks or so over while you and the recipient both pretend nothing has happened. Is the taxman watching? Is it technically illegal and are we in fear of arrest? I have no idea but I fear I've never learned the art of slipping someone a tip and making it look like nothing's happened.
Like I say, I just don't get it. Doubtless, when I've graduated to my walking frame, it might make sense but for now it's just an exercise in trust that I get to pay for!
I shouldn't be too superior about it though; one of the nice things about staying in Las Vegas on the strip is that one pulls in to the front of the hotel, hoists ones suitcase(s) out of the boot and hands the keys over. They park it god knows where and you don't see the car again until it's time to leave three or four days later. Of course, in Las Vegas you don't *care* where the car is at the time.
Los Angeles takes the valet parking thing to greater extreme but I can partially understand why; space is at much more of a premium and there's merit in the idea of paying someone to park ones vehicle in a crowded car park whilst one is doing something more enjoyable. I imagine it decreases the incidence of dings as well; do you really want some careless slob parking by ear?
But what took my breath away was when we passed Longs Drugs on Lincoln Blvd; there, at a damn chemists shop of all places, they have valet parking!
Monday, February 18, 2008
Gone bowling
Today we did the Hollywood Tourist thing. We didn't start out that way though; originally we planned to visit the observatory at Griffith Park. Alas, we hadn't done our research; it's closed on Mondays even if it's Presidents Day. But it's an interesting location anyway and you'll recognise it if you've ever seen Rebel without a cause[^] or, more recently, Bowfinger[^].
Well, given that we couldn't get inside and see the planetarium show we wandered back down the hill and headed into Hollywood. The next place we visited was the Hollywood Bowl.
That's me dagging around on the stage. Sonya was quite surprised that we could just walk in and climb around on the stage. We had the entire joint to ourselves; not another soul in sight.
And from there we ended up at Graumanns Chinese Theatre. I've been there before but not when it was quite so crowded as today. Doubtless you know the general idea; selected stars leave hand and footprints in cement out the front and we hoi polloi get to goggle wide-eyed at the results. Sonya wanted to do the theatre tour this time; 12 bucks a head. Which is about 11 bucks more than it's worth. Sure, we got to see inside the theatre. Which we could have done anytime by purchasing tickets to a movie. And we got a brief lecture on the history of the theatre. Then we got a sales spiel detailing the cost of VIP tickets vs non VIP tickets at the new Chinese 6 theatre spin-off. I think we proved the truth of the old adage about a sucker being born every minute!
Nonetheless, an enjoyable day. A pity our time in Los Angeles has come to an end; we're driving back to Phoenix tomorrow. But I think I can spin one or two more blog entries out of the last few days. Stay tuned!
[^]
Well, given that we couldn't get inside and see the planetarium show we wandered back down the hill and headed into Hollywood. The next place we visited was the Hollywood Bowl.
[^]
That's me dagging around on the stage. Sonya was quite surprised that we could just walk in and climb around on the stage. We had the entire joint to ourselves; not another soul in sight.
And from there we ended up at Graumanns Chinese Theatre. I've been there before but not when it was quite so crowded as today. Doubtless you know the general idea; selected stars leave hand and footprints in cement out the front and we hoi polloi get to goggle wide-eyed at the results. Sonya wanted to do the theatre tour this time; 12 bucks a head. Which is about 11 bucks more than it's worth. Sure, we got to see inside the theatre. Which we could have done anytime by purchasing tickets to a movie. And we got a brief lecture on the history of the theatre. Then we got a sales spiel detailing the cost of VIP tickets vs non VIP tickets at the new Chinese 6 theatre spin-off. I think we proved the truth of the old adage about a sucker being born every minute!
Nonetheless, an enjoyable day. A pity our time in Los Angeles has come to an end; we're driving back to Phoenix tomorrow. But I think I can spin one or two more blog entries out of the last few days. Stay tuned!
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Marilyn
I promised last night I'd talk about Marilyn Monroe after we'd revisited her tomb. Which we did today. She's buried in quite the smallest urban cemetery I've ever seen. Which means that I've seen smaller cemeteries in out of the way places but this one is in deep Los Angeles. A local might dispute that and if s/he did I'd have no comeback but I'm judging it by the scale of a world map and on that scale it surely is in Los Angeles.
You drive up Wilshire Boulevard into Westwood, turn right off the Boulevard into what looks like city car park territory, do another quick right turn and suddenly you're in a cemetery. It's surrounded by twenty storey office towers. Here's a context shot I took.
If you've lived in Melbourne this image might seem vaguely familiar. It certainly seems so to me. Doesn't it look almost exactly like the view along St Kilda Road looking south from Commercial Road?
I'm not completely unfamiliar with cemeteries in downtown settings though we don't have any such in Melbourne. I've visited cemeteries in Boston right in the heart of the commercial centre. There are one or two in Manhattan within spitting distance of Wall Street.
Once in the cemetery you're in a quiet world. Here are buried Walter Matthau, Jack Lemmon, Dean Martin, Frank Zappa and other luminaries; also Robert Nathan. Who? Robert Nathan of course, who wrote the novel which became the screenplay for one of my favourite films, Portrait of Jennie[^].
Perhaps the most famous corpse there is, of course, Marily Monroe. I find it difficult to understand the fame she's accrued. Had she lived another two decades she'd most likely have been forgotten but of course she didn't live. Thus a mystique accumulates around the corpse of much ado about nothing much! Here's a shot of her tomb.
You drive up Wilshire Boulevard into Westwood, turn right off the Boulevard into what looks like city car park territory, do another quick right turn and suddenly you're in a cemetery. It's surrounded by twenty storey office towers. Here's a context shot I took.
[^]
If you've lived in Melbourne this image might seem vaguely familiar. It certainly seems so to me. Doesn't it look almost exactly like the view along St Kilda Road looking south from Commercial Road?
I'm not completely unfamiliar with cemeteries in downtown settings though we don't have any such in Melbourne. I've visited cemeteries in Boston right in the heart of the commercial centre. There are one or two in Manhattan within spitting distance of Wall Street.
Once in the cemetery you're in a quiet world. Here are buried Walter Matthau, Jack Lemmon, Dean Martin, Frank Zappa and other luminaries; also Robert Nathan. Who? Robert Nathan of course, who wrote the novel which became the screenplay for one of my favourite films, Portrait of Jennie[^].
Perhaps the most famous corpse there is, of course, Marily Monroe. I find it difficult to understand the fame she's accrued. Had she lived another two decades she'd most likely have been forgotten but of course she didn't live. Thus a mystique accumulates around the corpse of much ado about nothing much! Here's a shot of her tomb.
[^]
I only took the one shot so you can't see it but this slab of marble is not parallel with the surface of the earth as one might expect. Nope, it's half way up a wall. Above and below are named nobodies. If you touch the marble belonging to the named nobodies it feels slightly rough to the touch; if you touch Marilyns it's smoother than a babies bum. That's what 45 years of fans caressing a chunk of marble will do! I suspect that a century hence a depth of an inch will be measurable!
Well I wrote somewhat disparagingly about Marilyn but one cannot deny the way the idea of Marilyn has influenced some aspects of western culture, as witness the scenes in Tommy[^] (another movie I love).
And I'm not completely immune to the allure of the goddess herself; I watched a year ago Bus Stop[^] though that was as much because some of the action takes place in Phoenix as because Marilyn was in it. I'm still puzzled by some of the shots that purport to have been shot in the Phoenix of 1956 but show topology that doesn't feel right for Phoenix.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Cherry Ripes
So today we went and did the Universal Studios tour. When Sonya was planning this trip she dithered about whether we ought to spend the extra thirty bucks a head to get 'head of the line' tickets. I said go for it. Eventually she did. As it turns out, we really didn't need them; the place was hardly packed. But, as I pointed out, we weren't to know that ahead of time and it would have been mighty galling to be one of the crowd of unwashed. Instead we got to the head of the line every time. Well worth the extra moolah!
You might, if you're a longtime reader, have noticed a recurring theme with our holidays - Sonya does the leg work of planning and booking and I'm along for the ride. Suits me just fine I might add. Of course, if ever I can persuade her to go back to Australia with me the boot'll be on the other foot!
I enjoyed the Terminator show, especially when Sonya jumped as things came out of the screen. The 3D illusions these days are pretty good though you're still wearing special glasses. The big difference is it seems to be done with polarised lenses these days instead of having one red and one green lens. Makes it that much more convincing. That said, I felt the depth of field was all wrong; there's Arnie in extreme foreground and there's the rest of the world quite some feet behind him with very little intermediate. The kid who plays the John Connor part is still an annoying little turd.
Of course it's also done with special seating; they lift the seat all of an inch but keep the camera moving down so you feel as though the motion is much greater. Then, at the climax, explosion onscreen and echoing throughout the theatre, they drop the seat that entire inch and the jolt shocks the heck out of one! Most effective.
Then we did the Universal backlot tour. Sure enough, there was the Bates motel with the old American Gothic mansion up the stairway. A pity you're on a tram at the time and they don't stop. On the other hand, thirty or fourty years of tourists all getting out and touching would do to the exhibit what's happened to Marilyn Monroes tombstone over at the Westwood Cemetery. (More on that tomorrow when we visit there again).
Thence to the Shrek 4D show. Cute, and I did enjoy the first Shrek movie. I haven't seen the second yet. But this time they overdid the bouncing seats. It *is* possible to have too much of a good thing!
You'll remember I commented on the traffic last night? This time we took Sunset Boulevard heading west, just about sundown. And I kid you not, there must have been five miles of stop and slow and stop traffic heading back the other way.
My wife has no chance whatsoever of convincing me to move here, even if we could afford it!
However, perhaps there is a chance. We dined at the Boars Head pub on Santa Monica Boulevard. Last week I'd caught her checking if there was anywhere in LA where we could get fish and chips and that pub came up. So we gave it a whirl. In the event I didn't order fish and chips (couldn't bring myself to do it) and besides they had braised lamb shanks! It turned out to be the right decision. Sonya pronounced the fish and chips excellent, but what does she know? She was born here in LA! I had a few mouthfuls and was disappointed. The British may have invented fish and chips but I maintain that Australia and New Zealand raised them to the level of haute cuisine!
I did enjoy the lamb shank.
At which point I thought I'd had the high point of the evening. How wrong I was, for as we walked back to the car Sonya noticed, in the gift shop attached to and part of the Boars Head pub, a Kangaroo warning sign of the kind seen so frequently on Australian country roads. In we went and there I found Cherry Ripes, Flake Bars, Timeouts, Violet Crumbles, Tim-Tams and Turkish Delights. (All are Australian candy bars save for the Tim-Tams, they're chocolate biscuits (cookies)).
So it's Robbie pig heaven time! Night y'all!
You might, if you're a longtime reader, have noticed a recurring theme with our holidays - Sonya does the leg work of planning and booking and I'm along for the ride. Suits me just fine I might add. Of course, if ever I can persuade her to go back to Australia with me the boot'll be on the other foot!
I enjoyed the Terminator show, especially when Sonya jumped as things came out of the screen. The 3D illusions these days are pretty good though you're still wearing special glasses. The big difference is it seems to be done with polarised lenses these days instead of having one red and one green lens. Makes it that much more convincing. That said, I felt the depth of field was all wrong; there's Arnie in extreme foreground and there's the rest of the world quite some feet behind him with very little intermediate. The kid who plays the John Connor part is still an annoying little turd.
Of course it's also done with special seating; they lift the seat all of an inch but keep the camera moving down so you feel as though the motion is much greater. Then, at the climax, explosion onscreen and echoing throughout the theatre, they drop the seat that entire inch and the jolt shocks the heck out of one! Most effective.
Then we did the Universal backlot tour. Sure enough, there was the Bates motel with the old American Gothic mansion up the stairway. A pity you're on a tram at the time and they don't stop. On the other hand, thirty or fourty years of tourists all getting out and touching would do to the exhibit what's happened to Marilyn Monroes tombstone over at the Westwood Cemetery. (More on that tomorrow when we visit there again).
Thence to the Shrek 4D show. Cute, and I did enjoy the first Shrek movie. I haven't seen the second yet. But this time they overdid the bouncing seats. It *is* possible to have too much of a good thing!
You'll remember I commented on the traffic last night? This time we took Sunset Boulevard heading west, just about sundown. And I kid you not, there must have been five miles of stop and slow and stop traffic heading back the other way.
My wife has no chance whatsoever of convincing me to move here, even if we could afford it!
However, perhaps there is a chance. We dined at the Boars Head pub on Santa Monica Boulevard. Last week I'd caught her checking if there was anywhere in LA where we could get fish and chips and that pub came up. So we gave it a whirl. In the event I didn't order fish and chips (couldn't bring myself to do it) and besides they had braised lamb shanks! It turned out to be the right decision. Sonya pronounced the fish and chips excellent, but what does she know? She was born here in LA! I had a few mouthfuls and was disappointed. The British may have invented fish and chips but I maintain that Australia and New Zealand raised them to the level of haute cuisine!
I did enjoy the lamb shank.
At which point I thought I'd had the high point of the evening. How wrong I was, for as we walked back to the car Sonya noticed, in the gift shop attached to and part of the Boars Head pub, a Kangaroo warning sign of the kind seen so frequently on Australian country roads. In we went and there I found Cherry Ripes, Flake Bars, Timeouts, Violet Crumbles, Tim-Tams and Turkish Delights. (All are Australian candy bars save for the Tim-Tams, they're chocolate biscuits (cookies)).
So it's Robbie pig heaven time! Night y'all!
Thursday, February 14, 2008
That spot on my pants is water!
Tonight I'm in Los Angeles on a short holiday with my wife. It's her fortieth high school reunion this weekend and we thought we'd grab a couple of days away before it; and a couple of days away afterward. Thus we drove from Phoenix to LA.
I'm feeling quite pleased with myself actually; I drove from Indio (about 140 miles out) all the way through downtown LA to the hotel. I can now add Los Angeles to the list of cities whose peak hour traffic I've survived.
On the way over I noticed a billboard off to the side of the road; the message was 'That spot on my pants is water!'. I have no idea *what* they were advertising, the message alone was sufficiently arresting that I noticed nothing else. Of course I read it out to Sonya and she looked puzzled as she asked 'What???'. I repeated the message, at which point I'm sure she was convinced I'd lost my marbles. And of course, by this time, the billboard was behind us. It probably didn't help that I'd voiced, a mere five minutes earlier, a desire for a 'monkey face' and had to explain what I meant (it's a kind of layer cookie/biscuit with the shape of a face on one side).
We took the opportunity to visit the General Patton museum beside Interstate 10, where, in the garden out the front, I took this photo.
Your guess is as good as mine what it means!
I have to say that my wife has no chance whatsoever of convincing me to move to LA if the traffic we experienced after checking in to the hotel is anything to go by. I don't exaggerate when I say that it took us over an hour to drive from the corner of Lincoln and Wilshire to the corner of Westwood and Wilshire, a distance of maybe three miles. I could have walked it faster!
I've said it before and I'll probably say it again; Phoenix people who complain about Phoenix traffic don't know they're alive!
I'm feeling quite pleased with myself actually; I drove from Indio (about 140 miles out) all the way through downtown LA to the hotel. I can now add Los Angeles to the list of cities whose peak hour traffic I've survived.
On the way over I noticed a billboard off to the side of the road; the message was 'That spot on my pants is water!'. I have no idea *what* they were advertising, the message alone was sufficiently arresting that I noticed nothing else. Of course I read it out to Sonya and she looked puzzled as she asked 'What???'. I repeated the message, at which point I'm sure she was convinced I'd lost my marbles. And of course, by this time, the billboard was behind us. It probably didn't help that I'd voiced, a mere five minutes earlier, a desire for a 'monkey face' and had to explain what I meant (it's a kind of layer cookie/biscuit with the shape of a face on one side).
We took the opportunity to visit the General Patton museum beside Interstate 10, where, in the garden out the front, I took this photo.
[^]
Your guess is as good as mine what it means!
I have to say that my wife has no chance whatsoever of convincing me to move to LA if the traffic we experienced after checking in to the hotel is anything to go by. I don't exaggerate when I say that it took us over an hour to drive from the corner of Lincoln and Wilshire to the corner of Westwood and Wilshire, a distance of maybe three miles. I could have walked it faster!
I've said it before and I'll probably say it again; Phoenix people who complain about Phoenix traffic don't know they're alive!
Monday, February 11, 2008
Taxing times
My daily drive to work takes me past many a strip mall, enough that I barely notice them anymore. But there's one that does catch the eye.
There's a company with an office there who do tax returns. It's now tax time in the US so what more natural, it seems to have occurred to the manager, than to have two guys standing outside advertising to the passing horde. Ordinarily I might not have noticed even that much but for the fact that one is costumed as Abraham Lincoln, complete with stovepipe hat and beard. The other? He gets to parade before us in a green costume, done up to look like the Statue of Liberty. Poor bastard even has a torch to wave at us as we drive by. And wave it he does!
Being a cynical old bastard it occurs to me to wonder how effective this is. Do people really drive down Tatum Boulevard, see Abraham Lincoln and Liberty and think 'oh, I *must* take my tax returns to those people!'???
I suppose, in a way, it's working, inasmuch as I've noticed and am now writing about it. But do I have the slightest idea which company it is? Do I care? And will I take my taxes to them? Not on your life!
There's a company with an office there who do tax returns. It's now tax time in the US so what more natural, it seems to have occurred to the manager, than to have two guys standing outside advertising to the passing horde. Ordinarily I might not have noticed even that much but for the fact that one is costumed as Abraham Lincoln, complete with stovepipe hat and beard. The other? He gets to parade before us in a green costume, done up to look like the Statue of Liberty. Poor bastard even has a torch to wave at us as we drive by. And wave it he does!
Being a cynical old bastard it occurs to me to wonder how effective this is. Do people really drive down Tatum Boulevard, see Abraham Lincoln and Liberty and think 'oh, I *must* take my tax returns to those people!'???
I suppose, in a way, it's working, inasmuch as I've noticed and am now writing about it. But do I have the slightest idea which company it is? Do I care? And will I take my taxes to them? Not on your life!
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!
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
I'm definitely ready
for the return of summer.
Firstly, even if this is my 7th Northern Hemisphere winter it *still* feels wrong to be shivering in February.
But mostly I'm just tired of shivering. It's been getting as low as 40 F at midnight and that's way too low for my tastes. Stop laughing, those of you living in snowlands; I've never lived where it snows and I suspect I never will.
I do recall winter mornings (in July!) in the early 60's in Melbourne where it did get cold enough that the water in the puddles would be frozen if we got to school at 8 AM. That was the nearest we ever got to ice-skating. I remember walking to school past frost laden lawns and pretending that I was smoking. And I remember feeling miserable as I shivered then. I still feel miserable shivering!
Give me my Phoenix 100 F at midnight instead! I'm ready for it.
Firstly, even if this is my 7th Northern Hemisphere winter it *still* feels wrong to be shivering in February.
But mostly I'm just tired of shivering. It's been getting as low as 40 F at midnight and that's way too low for my tastes. Stop laughing, those of you living in snowlands; I've never lived where it snows and I suspect I never will.
I do recall winter mornings (in July!) in the early 60's in Melbourne where it did get cold enough that the water in the puddles would be frozen if we got to school at 8 AM. That was the nearest we ever got to ice-skating. I remember walking to school past frost laden lawns and pretending that I was smoking. And I remember feeling miserable as I shivered then. I still feel miserable shivering!
Give me my Phoenix 100 F at midnight instead! I'm ready for it.
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??
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
