WARNING: I Am Learning How To Do Computer Stuff. Blog Layout May Change Often.

I am just figuring out all this HTML business, so it is only natural for me to experiment with it.  I am halfway thinking about changing the background every day.   If you are one of those people who is diametrically opposed to change, I am sincerely sorry.  But change means no more mustard yellow and that is a good thing, I think.  Just in case you are still hurt about this, I drew you a picture of a raptor to make you feel better.  <--------------------

Today's background is a picture I took of one of my shirts.  I know it's cool, but don't get too attached to it.  It may be totally different tomorrow.  

I am also learning how to add videos to my blog.   If you think my sense of humor is random in written word, just wait until you see my videos.  

Anyway, if you have any suggestions or things you would like to see on my blog, please let me know.  I am now somewhat competent to oblige your wishes.  

Thing of the Day: Oscillating Fan. Rating: AWESOME

Dear Oscillating Fan, 

I commend you for your selfless efforts at keeping me comfortable.  No matter how hot it is, you patiently sit there and blow air at me without stopping to question the fairness of the situation.  You don't mind staying awake all night and all day, tirelessly blowing air on me.  Even when I trip over your cord, knocking you violently to the floor, you keep on faithfully doing your job.  

Sometimes I forget to unplug you when I leave the house.  You don't ever get upset about this.  You seem to simply assume that I want you to keep blowing on things, even in my absence.  

The other day, I thought it would be fun to see what happened when I stuck a piece of paper in you.  I wanted to see if I could make confetti.  I feel terribly guilty about this.  I don't know why I did it.  I shouldn't have amused myself at your expense.  You saw me coming at you with the paper and did not even flinch.  You trusted me, and I stuck a piece of paper in you and messed up your rotor.  I am sorry.  

When I realized that I had hurt you, I tenderly removed the mangled pieces of paper from your inner workings.  I told you I was sorry and you looked like you understood.  When I put you back together and plugged you in again, you started blowing air on me like nothing had ever happened.  I admire your extraordinary capability to forgive.  You are a good fan.  

I would like to do something nice for you, but I don't know what types of things oscillating fans enjoy.  I have had a couple ideas, but every time I ask you if you would enjoy them, you just shake your head.  I tried to surprise you by cooking you dinner, but you just spit it back in my face.  That was kind of rude, but I suppose I can forgive you because you are such an awesome fan.   

Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for being so nice to me.   If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to ask.  

on the way to the pool

these two guys will show up in larger drawing later on down the road

Space Jet #7 (ROUGH!)

This is ROUGHLY the cover for Space Jet #7. It's not done yet. This is close to what it will be, but the clouds may have to change. They're terrible resolution. Which is a shame, cause I LOVE those clouds. Anyway, this is close to what it'll look like. Look for it August 23rd.

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I finally got to call the Poison Control Hotline

I woke up late yesterday.  That meant that I had to do my 15-mile run during the hottest part of the day.  Raw stupidity coupled with an unrelenting devotion to my olympic pipe-dream got me out the door.

Yesterday also happened to be the day I discovered that my city's Parks and Recreation department does not believe in water fountains.  As a consequence, I found myself desperately thirsty and far away from home.  When the "Oh-my-God-I-am-so-thirsty-I-could-just-lie-down-and-die" stage of thirst hit me, I was still several miles from anything resembling a populated area.  

Just when I thought I was going to actually die, I came upon the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life:  a sprinkler.

If only I had known what a fickle stroke of luck this was.  

I am not psychic, so this particular sprinkler seemed perfect: close to the road, far from the house and partially obscured from view by an immaculately groomed hedge.  I stopped and nonchalantly walked toward my target.  

I was pleased to see that the hose was not attached to the sprinkler head - far easier to drink from.  I wouldn't have to chase it around the yard, biting at it like a dog!  (If you have ever tried to drink from a moving sprinkler, or have seen a dog try to drink from a moving sprinkler, you will surely understand my jubilation at not having to do so).   

My high spirits were soon tempered by the realization that turning on this particular hose was no small task.  There were an unimaginable number of switches, levers and wires attached to the inconspicuous black box from which the hose emanated.  If that wasn't enough, the entire apparatus needed to be plugged in to an electrical box that was in clear view of the house.

I almost gave up...  - Almost.  

At that point, I had invested too much to quit.  I fiddled nervously with wires and switches, like a criminal hot-wiring a car.   When I thought that I had the right combination, I made a dash for the electrical box. 

Once I plugged the system in, it was pretty easy.  I flipped one last switch and a stream of cold, clear liquid came gushing out of the hose onto the ground, obliterating a tastefully arranged patch of tiny blue flowers.  

Retrospectively, I can see that there were more than enough clues at that point to figure out what was about to happen to me, but we all know that thirst is inversely proportional to logic.  Only after my hydration status had returned to normal could I see the error of my judgement.  

I stuck the end of the hose directly into my mouth and began choking down water as quickly as I could.  

It was already too late when my brain registered an incongruity between the way that water is supposed to taste and the taste of the substance I was currently ingesting.  The only way to describe it is "Suave 'Ocean Breeze' shampoo mixed with tree sap."

At that point I realized that the property owners were the kind of people who put pesticides in their lawn-irrigation system with nary a thought of the health and well-being of parched runners.  Bastards.  

I stood there for a moment, the hose dangling limply in my hand.  What had I done?  

This is a tricky situation to find yourself in.  At first I thought it would be a good idea to get help, but how would I explain the events leading up to my present situation?  I imagined myself knocking on the property owner's door:

Me.  "Um... hi.  I just drank about a pint of 'water' from your fancy little irrigation system there.  Would you mind driving me to the emergency room to get my stomach pumped?  Yes?  Well, could you at least tell me the name of the chemicals that are going to kill me?" 

The explanation for my plight was prohibitively embarrassing.   Since embarrassment is also inversely proportional to logic, I decided to just run home.

The last 3 miles of my run were a blur of shame, panic and pesticide burps.

When I finally reached my apartment, I crawled up my steps, not unlike the scary child from The Ring, and oozed slowly through my front door.  

Boyfriend was alarmed:  "What happened to you??" he gasped.

"I'll tell you later," I moaned.  "Just get me the number for poison control."

Boyfriend was visibly distressed at this request, but when someone who looks like a character from a horror flick asks you to do something, you don't ask questions.  

Like 911, the Poison Control Hotline is reserved only for people in the midst of an emergency.  This being the case, I had always thought that calling Poison Control would be exciting - like being part of a special club.  I think most people feel this way deep down.  Well, if you ever wondered, calling Poison Control is not nearly as fun as you'd think it would be.   

Following is my best recollection of the phone conversation between myself and Poison Control:

Poison Control:  "You have reached the poison control hotline for Montana, Colorado and Idaho, this is Roberta speaking.  What seems to be the problem?"

Me:  "I think I may have ingested a large amount of pesticides."

Roberta:   "What kind of pesticides?"

Me:  "I don't know."

Roberta:  "You don't know?  Do you have the container that the pesticides were in?"  

Me:  "They were in a sprinkler."

Roberta:  "A sprinkler?"

Me:  "Yeah.  I was running."

Roberta:  "you were running from what?"

Me:  "No, I was running, like on a run... um... exercising?"

Roberta:  "you were exercising?"

Me:  "Yes, and it was really hot and I stopped to get a drink from someone's sprinkler."

Roberta:  (silence)

Me:  "It tasted like Ocean Breeze shampoo mixed with tree sap."

Roberta:  "I don't really know any chemicals that fit that profile, ma'am.  How much did you drink?"

Me:  "Uh... probably about a pint?  I was really thirsty."

Roberta (after another prolonged silence): "... How do you feel now?"

Me:  "Stupid."

Roberta:  "Do you feel lightheaded or nauseated?"

Me:  "Oh... uh.. kind of."  

Roberta:  "Are you hallucinating?"

Me:  "I don't know...  are you real?"

Roberta:  "Yes, I'm real."

Me:  "How do I know you aren't just saying that?"

Roberta (annoyed):  "Ma'am, are you hallucinating or not?"

Me:  "Um..."  - I figured I had about a 50/50 chance of getting it right - "No?"

Roberta:  "Well, since I don't know what chemical you may have ingested, the best I can do for you is tell you to sip some water, lie down and wait to see what happens."

Me:  (on the verge of tears) "am I going to die?"

Roberta:  "No ma'am, I don't think you are going to die.  You might throw up, though."

Me:  "Okay."

Roberta:  "Call back if you have any more questions or if you start to feel feverish or hallucinate." 

I had a lot more questions, but I doubted that Roberta, the possibly imaginary receptionist from poison control could (or wanted to) answer them.   

I hung up the phone and sat down on the kitchen floor.  Boyfriend peeked his head around the corner.  "Is everything alright?" he asked.  

"Well, that depends,"  I replied.  "Are you real?"

Thing of the Day: Remote. Rating: NOT AWESOME

Remote, you have one function:  controlling the TV from a distance so that I do not have to get off the couch.  It kind of defeats the purpose when you insist on being held 7 inches away from the sensor before you’ll do your job. 

I know the TV is big and intimidating, but you have to stand up to it.  Tell it what to do.  It understands that you are only taking orders from me.  

Here are the things I expect you to be able to communicate to the TV:

“Wake up, it’s movie time.”

“Play the movie.”

“Stop the movie for a little bit.”

“Stop the movie forever.”

“Speak up.”

“Please use your inside voice.”

“Please display your menu.”

“Please select this particular item from your menu.”

“Speak English.”

“Go fast.”

“Go backwards.”

“Stop what you are doing, it is no longer movie time.”

If you are uncomfortable saying any of these things to the TV, I may find it necessary to open up your position to a more assertive remote.   I am sorry, but this is a job that requires the candidate to be able to manage effectively from a distance.  If the TV doesn’t respect you, it will not listen to you, and if the TV does not listen to you, I actually have to use my muscles to walk over to it and tell it what to do myself.