Travel

Sorry I didn't get the promised music post up yesterday. I'll get it up later this week - it really is a great artist!

I'm on the road most of this week. Yet another rheology paper brought to you by Euphrony, Rheologist at Large. This week I'm in The Big Easy, New Orleans jazz and seafood are floating around me - I like that. A few quick points:

• I miss being elite. I was an elite flier with Continental, owing to a lot of travel in 2007. But 2008 had much less flying and I just lost my elite status. What that means is that I had to pay for my checked luggage, did not get to cut in the security check line, and my bag did not get a lovely sticker that tells the baggage handlers to make sure mine is one of the first onto the belt at baggage claim. Ah, well, such is life among the masses.
• I decided to take the airport shuttle to the hotel instead of a cab, which costs twice as much. In return for being cheap I got to wait 45 minutes for the shuttle to arrive.
• My hotel room is an "Accessible" room, meaning it is made for a person in a wheelchair. They asked if I was okay with that at check-in, noting it would have a shower and not a tub. Sure, I said, no problem. I didn't realize that meant the shower is zero-entry (as in nothing dividing it from the rest of the bathroom). I'm still okay with that - I just wish they had a shower curtain to keep water from spraying the toilet and towels. On the plus side, the towels. Ahhh, so soft. And big, too! I'm a six-foot guy and the towel stretched from my chin to the floor. Now that's a towel!
• The conference this year is one I regularly attend. It's usually in Houston, but they moved it this year (for whatever reason). It would seem that a different group is organizing it this year, and it seems pretty slip-shod by comparison. Hope things improve, and we'll see about the quality of the presentations and the attendance in this recession.

TTFN!

Philosophy Phriday

Here are a few random, only slightly connected, tidbits of information that I both want to pass on and to talk about. What are your thoughts?

International Justice Mission: Global Prayer Gathering
I just posted a bit over on I2A about IJM's Global Prayer Gathering, going on this weekend in the D.C. area. I wish I could be there - it sounds phenomenal! In any case, if you're like me and interested in IJM's work but cannot go to the GPG, you can geek out and follow the live blogging from the event. I'll be checking in all weekend.

Sara blogs
Well, she's gonna give it the old college try. Sara Groves, as many of you know, is one of my all time favorite artists. I love her music, and the thoughts she shares in interviews have always made me wish that she blogged. Well, she didn't want to, but to really share her experiences in Rwanda Sara has decided to start her own blog. Go check it out. With a little encouragement, maybe she'll get the hang of it and blog even more.

Cowboy tactics?
Speaking of IJM . . . I mentioned (on I2A and I think here as well) a nice article that was published in the New Yorker about IJM and their work. One of the big problems that some people have with IJM is the way they organize and work with local authorities to raid brothels and businesses that hold people (children and adults) in slavery. The critics label these as cowboy tactics (and directly or indirectly relate them to the Bush administration and their initiation of the war in Iraq) and allege that such strong-arm tactics terrorize the "rescued" prostitutes and slaves and open them to abuses from the local authorities. And, to be fair, there is some truth in that. Gary Haugen (IJM's founder and president) likes to describe the law systems of most developing nations as remnants of colonial legal systems that were designed to keep the local population in check and under the authority of the colonial power. IJM works to change this, but many places the police are seen as at least as bad an option as the brothel owners who enslave and torture the women and children they sell.

The question remains, though: what are they (IJM) and we to do? America is currently demonized for our perceived cowboy tactics (rightly or wrongly, we can debate about for years to come). My experience with the people at IJM (albeit limited) is that then are people of peace and of prayer. They cannot simply stand by and watch as people live in slavery (no more than some people could in the U.S. 150 years ago, or in England 200 years ago). They seek out men of peace in troubled areas, to effect change in corrupt and misapplied legal systems. Every person who works for IJM probably spends more time in prayer every day than most Christians do in a month. And, to be fair, some of their critics will never be happy unless IJM concedes to their thesis that the violence and abuse inherent in the sex slavery they fight stems mainly from the criminalization of prostitution itself. In other words, as long as IJM wishes to remain a Christian-based organization, they will also have detractors.

What are your thoughts on this?

So what?
I heard this interview on NPR a couple of weeks ago, and it has really stuck with me. They are talking with author Thomas Ricks, whose new book finds little to like about the ability of the U.S. to withdraw from Iraq, no matter what political party is in control of the White House. His big point is that, from his analysis, withdrawal in the near future (at least the next few years) will almost inevitably lead to genocide in Iraq. A debatable point, but one worthy of discussion.

He mentions, though, that as he recently talked about this to a group of people one person in the audience interjected "So what?" and another chimed in "Genocide happens all the time" (you can here this at about the 5:20 mark in the interview). The audacity, the selfishness, the carelessness of those remarks struck me and sticks with me. Several who commented online took the view that genocide is simply a way of life in some cultures, something that Western culture does not understand, and that Westerners should not try to force change on these other cultures.

Okay, honestly, I cannot express the anger that burns in me when I think of this callous attitude. It happens? So what? Nonsense! Yes, it does happen - in fact, there are multiple places (Darfur, parts of DRC, etc.) where it is happening today, and is being ignored by the global community. And their response is let it!?!? It's too much for us to handle, so let's just ignore it? Maybe it will die off on its own, eventually? I wonder how their thoughts might run if, for example, extreme racial violence broke out in LA or New York, with one group purposefully and indiscriminately inflicting terror and killing off another group? Would their blasé attitude change if it affected them, their families, or their friends?

Okay, so I've been ranting a little bit in this post. Maybe my thinking is off-base in some way on these topics. Maybe there are some things I just don't understand? I know that to be true. Does anyone have any thoughts on these topics? I'd love to hear them.

Tags: Sara Groves, Gary Haugen, Global Prayer Gathering, Genocide, Prostitution, Slavery, Brothels

True story

We here at Euphrony Rambles have been willfully ignoring the internets this week. Aside from posting a guest post from Jason Gray over on Inspired to Action I have not looked at blogs or touched my own. To put it simply I've been freakin' busy at work (translate, at lunch I veg - if I take that much time for lunch) and at night I've been too tired and wanting to do stuff with the fam.

Sad thing is, I've got enough posts for a month rattling in my head. So today I simply give this short disclaimer and a short true story that serves no purpose whatsoever. Enjoy!

When I was a freshman in High School, we took a band trip to Carlsbad, New Mexico. As part of the trip we, naturally, went through Carlsbad Caverns. About half way through the caves, I got a sneezing fit. If you've never heard me sneeze then let me give you a small description. I'm not a small sneezer; no, no mere achoo or stifled snort. I sneeze like a storm coming over the plains - you can see it coming, and you know its big. This was just such a sneeze.

The little group I was with finished walking through the caves, and we were goofing around waiting in the gift shop for the rest of our band group to come through. After about an hour in the shop I overheard someone who was just coming out of the caverns talking to a friend. They said, "Hey, did you hear that sneeze!"

True story. I guess I should be glad no stalagmites came down in the aftermath.

As I indicated above, there is no storal to this mory. But stay tuned - on Monday I plan on having a review of a great new CD that's coming on soon. You won't want to miss it. Or maybe you will. Who knows?

Say what?

Accents: Can you understand them, or is it all bliberty bloop to your ears?

Kudos to "Amy Walker" in the above video above, for smoothly transitioning through so many accents so quickly. I've known people from all of these places, and she does a decent job with the accents.

But back to the original question. Can you understand people speaking with an accent? I know some people who can't understand anything spoken by someone from a different region. I'm oppositely inclined, having yet to hear an accent I could not adapt my ear to within a few minutes. (Proviso: If there is a speech impediment, all bets are off.)

What's the hardest accent for you to understand? And for another example of trouble with an accent, look at this video of a Kiwi trying to train Vista's speech recognition program.

Tags: Accents

I would be broke if . . .

I would be broke if I tipped at restaurants commiserate to the mess my children make. Today at Chili's, Lil'er E managed to toss his 1) milk, 2) water, 3) oranges, 4) corndog, 5) multiple spoons and forks, 6) coloring page/menu, 7) some french fries, 8) chips . . . I felt a little guilty, as I ran out the door.

Feeling blessed (even though its been one of those days)

My last 24 hours, starting with the most recent events:

• Driving home from wok in the rain this afternoon. It took me twice as long as normal - nearly an hour. Arrgh!
• I had to walk through a cold rain to get my lunch - brrrrr.
• I got in to work at 9:00 (two hours late). As I'm walking in from my car I notice that my pants had ripped, along the seam from my right front pocket down about three inches. I just had to deal with it (subtly letting my arm hang down and cover the hole and keep it from gaping open to show my undies). It probably happened when . . .
• I was finally ready to leave for work at 7:00; walking out to my car I get in and back out of the driveway. Something was wrong - I could feel it by the way the car pulled. Sure enough, the right front tire looks like a pancake. I get the tire aired up, check to see if it'll hold long enough to get to the shop, and head out. Discount Tire gets me a whole new set of tires (the one had a slow leak for a while, but finally went out on me, and the others we nearly bald). So it makes me two hours late for work; but that's okay because . .
• Lil'er E woke up at 5:20 this morning. Mrs. E tried first to get him back down, then I took a turn. By the time he was in bed again, I was running late to get ready for work. Luckily, I had only had to stay up with him until 11:30 to get him in bed. But the day had already been a long one because . . .
• I found out the company I used to work for, and left at the first of December, just had it's second round of layoffs in my division in the last month. Several people I know are now looking for jobs. I feel bad for them, and from what I hear it's like walking though a morgue over there - no joy, everyone wondering when the next bomb is going to hit. But it does make me feel blessed. I wasn't looking for my current job - they came looking for me. If they hadn't, I would still be in my old job, either with a pink slip or wondering when one was coming my way.

An overall crappy day, but I'm feeling blessed. God's been taking care of me and the Euphrony's. Thanks - I know we don't deserve it, but we do appreciate it, God.

Sometimes there is no happy

I read this post in The Rabbit Room last week, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since. The writer, Jonathan Rogers, is amazing in his honesty with this post. Here is an excerpt from that post.

. . . Looking at Susan O’Farrell’s notebook I was struck by something so obvious I couldn’t believe I had never noticed it before: that second ‘r’ in her last name could easily be made into a ‘t’ so as to read O’Fartell. Get it? Fart—right there in the middle of her name! I pulled the pen out of her spiral binding and scratched the ‘t’ in its place, a little larger than it needed to be, just to be sure my efforts wouldn’t go unnoticed. . .
Susan’s eyes widened when they fell on her notebook. Then they filled with tears. . .
But as Susan scanned the room, I made a very mature calculation. I realized that I was literally the last person in the room Susan would suspect of such a meanness. If I played it cool, she would never know I was the person who had hurt her. . .
So I never told Susan what I had done. I let that suffering girl believe that, on top of the rejection she felt every day, she had an unknown enemy actively seeking to hurt her. I felt the cowardice of it, but I couldn’t bring myself to do anything about it. . .
I don’t suppose I even heard her name mentioned until one day in high school an old classmate from Miller Elementary asked, "You heard about Susan O’Farrell, I guess? Dead. She had some disease. Had it for years."

Man, do I ever relate with this. I was the good kid. To this day I do my best to make people feel included and not outside the group - Mrs. E is the same, and it is one of the things I love most about her. And yet, like everyone else, I pulled stunts like this. I've grown a lot since childhood; now I can see more clearly how best to act and do so with courage - but I'm still that little twerp sometimes.

The thing of it is, I can't forget these things. I remember the time this stupid, clumsy kid got a nice box collection of records with lots of stories on them - got them from some friends of my parents who were big time antique collectors - and leaving their house I sat them in the car and sat myself on top of them. Broke every one. I never told my parents, though I imagine they knew, and hid the broken collection away for years. I remember with crystal clarity the taunts I casually tossed (with bravado as my "friends" did the same") to girls in junior high. I know every detail of the time I got really mad at my parents for inviting a boy to my birthday party that I didn't want to invite - and the way I ostracized him the whole time. The list goes on.

All this from me, a kid whose last name is synonymous with feminine hygiene.

I should have known better how to treat people, because I knew how I did not want to be treated. And most often I did good - but the rest of the times I carry with me, not so much as a burden of shame (I'm past that, though regret will always linger) but more the polish of wisdom from experience. It's one reason that I feel so strongly about Matthew 5:23-24 and the desperate need for men to be reconciled, to each other and to God.

It's also a big reason that I (and Mrs. E) want our children to learn that there is a better way to act, a better way to treat people, than what seems so common - in children, of course, but also in too many adults I know. We don't try to burden Lil'E with more responsibility and maturity than she can handle, but we do try to get her to think about what her actions mean to other people.

Because, sometimes, there is no happy ending. No reconciliation, no amends made. Sometimes, we just have to live with ourselves and the knowledge of our sin. And that can be a heavy burden, indeed.

Things I cannot do

Stroll
Seriously, strolling is the bane of my existence. Well, one of the banes, along with strong perfumes and disco music. When I walk as slow as I can - when I feel like I'm moving in slow motion like in the movies - I'm still moving faster than half the people around me. This is one of the reasons I don't like clothes shopping, because all you do is slowly stroll through racks that are placed close enough for a small child to fit between (but not a full grown man). I mean, seriously, I was walking around work on Monday - limping is more accurate, with my freshly trimmed ingrown toenail scrunched tenderly in my shoe - and my limp was faster than anyone I saw walking around that day.

What makes my inability to stroll even worse is when I get trapped, like when I'm walking down a hallway. Invariably I will encounter "the group", two or three people walking together and talking, side by side, completely blocking off the hallway. As they are deep in conversation, they are oblivious to the fact that they are walking slower than a snail and that someone is trying to walk by them. Yea verily, I am afflicted by the slow stroll of others. This is apparently a genetic problem, as I most definitely inherited this walking style from my mother. She's 73 and can still outpace me.



Sleep late (and by late I mean 7:30 a.m.)
Here's the deal - I'm prone to getting bad headaches, migraines, and they ain't fun. I've a new(ish) friend who mentioned that he has only gotten two or three headaches in his whole life, and the first wasn't until he was in his thirties - I can't fathom such a life (but he makes up for it with terrible food allergies). Anyway, like I said, I'm prone to headaches. When I sleep in, unless I'm really sick, I'll wake up with a mild headache. This headache will defy all medicine, growing and concentrating into a migraine by mid-afternoon. When I was younger I could sleep in, till around 9 in the morning; but the older I get the earlier I have to get up to avoid the headaches. Now a days I really can't sleep much past 7:30 without consequences. Luckily the kids help me out by never sleeping that late, anyway. I guess they just really love and care for their daddy.

Bungee jump
Okay, so technically, this is more a will not than a can not. If you were to tie me to a bungee cord and push me off a ledge, gravity and the cord's elasticity would take over. But the point is that you would have to tie me and push me. No way, baby - not gonna do it.

Anything you can't do?

My new favorite quote

In many cases, as far as viscosity is concerned, the Brookfield is to the quality-control laboratory what the Hoover is to the home.
Howard Barnes, "An examination of the use of rotational viscometers for the quality control of non-Newtonian liquid products in factories", Applied Rheology 11, 89-101 (2001).

I read this line today in the referenced paper by Howard Barnes. And I just about died laughing. (Can you tell I'm writing a new paper? And I have to turn it in tomorrow? And I'm a little brain-dead?)

You don't get it. I know you don't. But that's okay. I'm the rheologist around here, after all, and not you.

No, seriously, I'm still laughing. And you're probably wondering about my sanity. But that's okay, too. I'm the nerdy engineer around here, after all, and not you. (Or, not most of you.)

To fill you in on the aspects of this, let me tell you a few simple things. First, Howard Barnes. He is a crusty old Welshman, with many years of willingness to take a critical but tongue-in-cheek look at rheological issues. Seriously, to hear him dead pan some of these lines is just hilarious. If you are a rheologist.

Secondly, the Brookfield. Brookfield Engineering makes a variety of viscometers and rheometers (there's a difference, folks! Amazingly, Wikipedia is missing pages which describe the differences.) for industrial use. They're a nice company, and I know a couple of nice people who work there. The viscometer to which Barnes is referring is a truly ubiquitous instrument, used anywhere a fluid-like substance needs to be tested. And it's good for it's purpose. I won't bore you (TOO LATE!) with what distinguishes it from other, more rigorous viscometric methods. Suffice to say, it differs.

And that brings us to the third point. The people who use a Brookfield typically have no clue that there is a difference. I would liken it to reading the temperature off a thermometer. Never mind that the thermometer you are using is encased in ice melting in the Death Valley summer sun - when you see it reads 32°F, you dutifully write down that number and dare anyone short of God to challenge its validity. I have lost literally weeks of my life explaining this to people who don't understand why the data they're getting doesn't match with data from other sources or what was expected for the sample. Literally, weeks I'll never have back.

And that's why I'm laughing. Because someone else feels my pain.

Uh, hey, where did everybody go? I guess I lost you somewhere up there. Goodnight every body!

Tags: Brookfield, Viscometer, Howard Barnes, Quote

Dream a little dream of me

About a month ago I wrote about some weird dreams I had been having. Now, I could tell you some dreams that Mrs. E has had over the years and you would be going to the ER in need of a laugh-ectomy. But she knows where I sleep, and I want to live to see another day, so I will share more of my own personal strangeness.

Have you every noticed how really horrible fairy tales are? I mean, swindlers, child abandonment, being eaten by wild animals, self-mutilation - come on, this ain't kiddie lit! Take, for example, the lovely story by Hans Christian Andersen, "The Little Match Girl" - you can read it on-line here. I read that to my daughter when she was three, reading out of a big book of fairy tales. I'd never read the story before, so you can imagine how I felt as I concluded the story by retelling how the little girl froze to death on a street corner on New Year's Eve! And it was because she was afraid to go home to he father because he would beat her! Is it any wonder that we aren't all in desperate need of therapy?

Needless to say, one of the most enduring childhood dreams in my memory relates to a popular fairy tale. I had this dream I don't know how many times, and I still remember it like I had lived it only yesterday. In my dream I was Jack, and I had a beanstalk to climb.

Yep, that was the fairy tale dream I had.

Except it didn't go as well for me in my dream as it did for Jack in the fairy tale. And, considering the above observations, that means things went pretty bad for Euphrony and the Beanstalk. You see, I climbed the beanstalk, no problem. But my skills as a thief weren't as good as ol' Jack's and I didn't manage to get away with anything from the giant's castle.

Oh, and apparently my woodsmanship was not up to snuff, either, because I couldn't chop down the beanstalk. So, that means that the giant chasing me made it down to the ground safely - leaving me on the run in fear of becoming a man-pie at the giant's next banquet. I ran for safety and tried to hide at my grandparent's house, underneath a bed, and would occasionally peek out the window to see if the giant has given up yet. (As a boy I figured my grandparent's was a pretty good place. I mean, I would stay there and get a breakfast of Malt-o-Meal, biscuits and sausage, have sweet tea in the evenings, and pretend to take a nap while actually spying through the door to watch General Hospital with my grandma. Is there any better place to be?)

So that's how the dream would end, me cowering under a bed and the giant stomping on nearby houses trying to find me. I think one of the last times I had this dream (which I actually had into high school!) I woke up but couldn't move a muscle - I was frozen in place by what is known as REM atonia, which is scary as all get out.

Is it any wonder that I turned out the way I am? Some of you may still think I need to lay off the crazy juice, but I'm afraid I have to break the news to you - I don't need no juice to be crazy, it comes all on its own.

Anyway, do you have a fairy tale that has left you in need of a little catharsis? Do tell . . .

Captain, she canna take much more!

STOP! DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU DO NOT HAVE CHILDREN AND/OR HAVE A WEAK CONSTITUTION.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

I'm glad he was wearing his little corduroy overalls. They absorb a lot without much getting through. This is very, very, very important when a hull breach occurs.

What on earth is Euphrony talking about? Well, the other night - just before Wednesday night classes started at our church - my son's diaper had a hull breach. And I'm talking total failure, here. It's amazing how a kid almost two can run around and play, not a care in the world, while half of his leg gets coated in poop oozing out from its failed containment system. And, of course, not being at home, I had no change of clothes with me. I say "I" because Mrs. E (to her benefit) was absent this experience. It's truly amazing how a child of a mere 28 pounds can produce his own body weight in scat in a single "sitting". I feel I should call the EPA and report the trash can I threw that diaper in a Superfund site. But, alas, that is not my problem now.

Overall, though, Lil'er E has been less of a #2 problem than was his big sister. When she was a newborn she would wait until we started to change her diaper before letting go. And when I say let go I mean it - it was projectile poop. Seriously, we had to clean crap off the walls five feet away from the changing table. More than once. In a single day. What a parent won't do for love. In comparison, Lil'er E has been a tame excrement factory. At least, nothing flies across the room with him.

Well, maybe I should amend that last sentence. I should say that the brown stuff rarely flies with him. A couple of weeks ago Mrs. E had put the two kids in the bath together - always a fun playtime for them. She stepped out the the bathroom for a minute and as she did I was walking up to the bathroom door. What I saw I will never forget. There was Lil'E jumping out of the tub. Little brother had "dropped a snickers bar" in the bathwater. And picked it up. And threw it on the bathroom floor. And was he ever laughing the whole time.

Ah, memories. I'll cherish these when I'm 102 and the kids have to change my diaper.

If I could . . .

So, here I was thinking the other day about how I have a hard time seeing some of my favorite artists in concert. The reason, I was guessing, is that many of these artists tend to perform in small, acoustic settings. And Houston just doesn't have anything set up for small venue acoustic concerts that includes Christian artists in the mix. (By "Christian artists" I mean artists who predominantly produce CCM style music. I know that there are plenty of artists that hit the small Houston venues who are Christians.)

So, as I said, I was thinking (a dangerous pastime, I know) that I would absolutely love to open something like a coffeehouse which would regularly feature live acoustic performances from some great Christian artists (and by "Christian artists" i mean - well, we've talked about that). I can name a laundry list of people who I would invite in to play. Jason Gray, Pierce Pettis, Andrew Peterson, Steven Delapoulos, JJ Heller, Cindy Morgan, Sara Groves, Shaun Groves (no relation), Derek Webb, Sandra McCracken, Charlie Peacock, Matt Brouwer (he's here in Houston, so that shouldn't be hard), Fiction Family (seriously, have you heard this collaboration between Jon Foreman of Switchfoot and Sean Watkins of Nickel Creek?), Andrew Osenga, Emily DeLoach - and that's just for starters.

I only forsee two problems with ever pursuing this dream:

1. I have no business acumen and less ability to promote events. Seriously, I'm lousy at selling anything or running a business.
2. I detest coffee. I mean, I even hate the smell of the stuff. I'd get nauseous being in a coffee house for too long. (Maybe I could go with more of a pub theme?)

So, other than those two setbacks, I could be well on my way to my dream.

What would your dream job be?

Things you don't know about me, and probably don't really care about (but I'm telling you, anyway)

When I was around three years old I got sick and was extremely dehydrated. My parents had to put me in the hospital, the dehydration was so bad. They hooked me up to an IV, and I didn't eat anything solid for I don't know how long. My mom had to sleep with her arm draped over me; this was to keep me from getting out of bed and trying to drink from the toilet.


(I only have vague memories of this event, but my parents tell this story to this day.)

Finally, the doctors said I could have some plain, dry bread to eat. I was hungry, and they said I could have BREAD! Not good enough, in my three-year old mind. So I tell my parents, in what must have been my best "I'm 3 and know it all so do what I say" voice:

Man shall not live by bread alone. So put some ham on that!

Now, I bet you all feel like you know me a little better.

FYI, I'm still just that smart. And I'm still just that much of a wisenheimer. And how many of you would use "wisenheimer" in a sentence?

Any funny stories about you as a kid?

"At least he won't remember it when he grows up"

Today was the Christmas program at Lil'er E's pre-school. As usual, there was a screamer, crying for mommy and daddy. It was Lil'er E. He actually tried to make his escape from the stage and run to us in the audience. Luckily (?) he wasn't alone - there were more screamers this year than in the past three years combined. F.U.N.

So, here he is. Hey, at least Old Saint Nick is jolly.


The elves look happy, too.


Oh, and I noticed something else, too. It would seem that my son is cursed with Male Pattern Baldness. Oh, the shame to be marked at such a young age!

Music Monday: Discussion Questions

1. Would more people recognize and enjoy new musicians if radio stations would announce the names of the song and artist, like they used to many years ago?
2. If Rudolph is really the most famous reindeer of all, then why does the song assume we don't recall him?
3. The book can be found written either way, but does your family call Reindeer # "Donner" of "Donder"?

Discuss. (Partial credit will be given.)

(This is part of the Bloggable Music Network's Music Monday.)

Repair Cat

When you think of brilliant people capable of fixing anything, who comes to mind? That guy at the car shop around the corner, your uncle Bob, Scotty from Star Trek? How about Fluffy? (Yes, my cat is named Fluffy. You got a problem with that?)

Well, here's the story of how Fluffy, Repair Cat, managed to fix my broken iPod.

Side story: So, I quit my job last Monday. You know that, I assume. On my way out I had to empty my work computer of personal files - including music. Did I mention that all of these files were not on any other computer? And I was in the process of transferring these to backup at home - with my iPod as the transfer device. And then I come home and a couple of days later (before I could backup the files and music) my iPod started displaying the "Sad iPod" icon. Which, I'm told, means my hard drive is fried.

Yes, my iPod crashed! With irreplaceable files and music on it! AHHHHH!

I go in to the local Apple store at the mall, make an appointment, and talk to the people at the "Genius" Bar. Personally, I think they have more bar than genius there, but . . . Anyway, they listen to my iPod (repair by intuiting?) and tell me I can get a new/recycled one for only $210, and too bad about the songs and data.

Not being satisfied with losing hundreds of dollars worth of music, I decided to do some investigation on my own. It turns out that there are a great many people dissatisfied with the service at the "Genius" bar. It turns out that many people who see the "Sad iPod" have a much simpler problem than a crashed hard drive - its as easy as the hard drive cable has come loose. Now, most people find the solution to be opening the iPod, unplugging and replugging the cable. Other, less sophisticated repairmen, find flinging the iPod against the wall an effective solution. Being a tad more adept than a monkey, I decided to get up, get some tools, and pop open the iPod.

However, a funny thing happened on the way to the repair table. Fluffy (you remember, my cat) decided to trip me. The iPod slipped from my grasp and fell three feet to the floor - thonk! I figure, some people find this to be a fix so lets give it a try. Sure enough, the iPod starts right up. Thanks, Fluffy! I really appreciate your help. And thanks, but no thanks "Genius" bar people - I'm going straight to the cat next time.

Tags: iPod, Repair, Sad iPod, Cats

Thursday (in bullet points)

• Wake up, shower, dress, then wake Lil'E.
• Prod Lil'E into eating, dressing, and getting out the door. Drop her off at school, while she complains about not remembering all the lyrics for "Feliz Navidad".
• Run by Sonic for morning drink-stop.
• Return home to wake Mrs. E and Lil'er E. Prod Mrs. E into acting alive while getting Lil'er E ready for pre-school.
• Take Lil'er E to pre-school, then return home.
• Begin enjoying hours of mid-day datetime with Mrs. E.
• Head out from the house, and eat lunch with Mrs. E at The Cheesecake Factory.
• Shepherds pie at The Cheesecake Factory is good, but not like what I've had in Scotland.
• Stroll through the mall and pick out a new light jacket that does not have my old company's logo on it.
• Leave the mall and go bowling with Mrs. E. Proceed to be totally embarrassed as I average 85 over two games, get beat the first game by 40, and slide down the alley after a foot fault turned into a total loss of dignity.
• Realize that bowling only once every 18 months does not leave one in decent shape to be a consistent bowler. Big surprise.
• Leave the bowling alley and head by Sonic for the afternoon drink-stop. Drop Mrs. E off at the house to let her have a few minutes alone while I go pick up Lil'er E from school.
• Drop Lil'er E off at the house, realizing he would be totally flipping out while waiting to pick up big sis.
• Leave to pick up Lil'E from kindergarten. Come home and help with her homework.
• Play with the kids for a few minutes, then bundle the family into the car to go see Bolt at the Movie Tavern.
• Watch the kids enjoy lots of popcorn, fries, corndogs, and a movie about a dog. On a school night.
• Come home, tuck the kids in bed, relax with Mrs. E, and write this blog.

G'nite!

Things to do while in the dentist chair

Euphrony had his semi-annual dental check up and cleaning yesterday. As I sat with my mouth open and mind wandering for 40 minutes I had plenty of time to come up with ideas of how to fill the time. Below are a few suggestions for time in the hot seat:

1. Stare into the big, bright light directly in front of your face (with a follow-up visit to your optometrist).
2. Tap your toes to the best mellow hits of the 70's, 80's, 90's, and today!
3. Contemplate one's navel (but not the lint).
4. Count ceiling tiles (my dentist has large tiles, so only four were visible, along with two fluorescent light banks and one air vent).
5. Think of things to do in a dentist chair and mentally write a blog post about it.
6. Sleep (requires some talent to keep mouth agape and not snore in the process).
7. Go through a mid-life crisis (nice because it gets compressed into a short time frame, and you're already in pain from the dentist picking at your gums).

Any other suggestions?

Tags: Dentist, Lists, Activities

Use Form 1706b (I think)

You think bureaucracy in the U.S. is bad? Well, it gets much worse.

I was talking to a couple of guys at work this morning - one of whom is Chinese and in his fifties. We were complaining about the crazy way bureaucracy works at the job, especially with human resources (that's got to be one of the worst misnomers ever). He then started telling us about working in China in the early 1980's, where the HR department is actually two departments of the communist party. Everything in your life went through your job "HR" people.

Everything.

He told us he had to submit an application to get married. It took a couple of months to get approved; and they told him that he could get married, but not live together until the next calendar year.

But that was better than for his parents, he continued. In the 50s and 60s the "HR" people kindly suggested who you should marry. In fact, they would often offer you a promotion if the marriage did not seem one you would want. Of course, turning down this proposal would result in your being laid off - but hey, you had a choice!

Things are pretty cynical around here right now, with work bureaucracy getting downright ridiculous. This made me feel a modicum of gratitude for being where I'm at instead of someplace worse.

101 reasons to learn a lesson

This past Wednesday, at work, I received 101 lessons as to why people should learn a lesson. Specifically, I received 100 lessons from people who did not learn the lesson from the first person's mistake.

On Wednesday morning, my work e-mail received what would seem to have been a spam e-mail. It was one that we had been recently warned about, appearing to originate from someone within the company and asking to have access granted to various security systems. Having been both forewarned and armed with the knowledge that I had no business granting such access, I deleted the e-mail.

The the first lesson came. In the form of a reply to the original e-mail by a person questioning why they were sent the e-mail. Of course, this person hit "reply all", thus sending it to everyone. Isn't it annoying when someone blindly uses "reply all" like that?

Ah, but then the real fun started rolling in. Over the next four or five hours I continued to receive e-mails from people protesting their inability to perform such a task and the likelihood that they were sent the original e-mail by mistake. All of them hit "reply all". I also got e-mails from people who were begging people to stop using "reply all", who also (naturally) had hit "reply all". The best of these was sent in a eye-catching blue, 100 point font - to everyone. In total, 101 "reply all's" were sent out. To everyone.

Oh, and when I say it was sent to everyone, I mean to everyone. Every single employee of this great company for which I work. All 38,000 (give or take) employees. All of it internal e-mail. I could practically smell our e-mail server melting from here. Other e-mails took significantly longer to get through the system. If it weren't so comedic and absurd, it would be downright frustrating.

Anyway, I survived without becoming e-mail cannon fodder. Either people finally wised up (unlikely) or the IT group put a block on everything related to this e-mail chain (more likely).

So, what's the record for the number of "reply all" junk e-mails for you?