A face to a name...

Having discovered last year that my biological dad had died, a dormant curiosity started to grow into something I could no longer ignore.

When my wife found his on-line obituary, a number of significant details were revealed that helped in my quest to discover some of my hidden past; names, dates, locations, hobbies, vocations... It was all there.

With this information, I created a saved search in eBay to help locate a yearbook that might contain a picture of him as a young man. Last week, I got a hit. After all this time, would the information I used to create this search be accurate and produce the image I most wanted to see? Last night, as the auction came to a close, I put in a ridiculously high bid for the yearbook. The wife was looking over my shoulder and joked that I might be outbid. I fixed that by increasing the bid amount by another ludicrous amount, then increasing the amount once again. I felt fairly confident I would be the victor. I was. After looking at location of the sender, and realizing I didn't want to wait a week or more to see if the yearbook contained the picture of my deceased father, I contacted the seller and asked if he would be willing to meet me at a public location and complete a cash transaction. The seller was agreeable to my proposal.

Today, I went to pick up my treasure. I had an hour and 35 miles to think about what this yearbook might have in store for me. What would I hope to gain from seeing his picture? Would I see any of myself in him (or he in me)? I've always been told I look like my mother, so I didn't expect that to be the case. It certainly wouldn't change my life history to this point. Would it make a difference in my life, going forward? I questioned what it means to be a father. I hope I am the best father I can be to my own son (or any child I father); how did he feel about me and my existence? As my wife pointed out this morning, my mom may be in the yearbook. What other answers or questions may be posed when I look through this snapshot in time?

I pulled into the Safeway parking lot, searching for the Ford F150 I was told to look for. In Monroe, that's like telling someone on Rodeo Drive to look for someone wearing a Rolex. I saw plenty of Ford pick ups, and was busy looking for model numbers, when I happened to look out over the parking lot to find someone waving at me. I steered my trusty (rusty) vehicle toward the waver.

I got out of my car, to be greeted by the man who had the yearbook in question. We shook hands, and he asked if I wanted to look it over before purchasing. I told him I was buying the book, regardless of condition, which was quite good. I opened the book and quickly started flipping through the pages in an attempt to figure out the layout. Most yearbooks present the seniors class, then the rest of the classes fall out in descending order. Of course, to be difficult, this annual listed the sophomores first, so I had to flip through those kids, and the juniors to get to the senior class. In the lower corner of each picture was a label, whose purpose I initially couldn't determine. So many seemed to have the same name. I finally narrowed down my search to the page I fully expected him to appear, but I couldn't find him. Was he an absentee on picture day? By now I was making a few random utterances to the seller, but only so that I wasn't rudely ignoring him. I told him that my mom might be in the yearbook, but I certainly wasn't looking for her yet.

THERE! I finally saw the name, now I was able to track it back to a section on the page where my biological father was. He was not looking directly into the camera (no one was), but it was him. Mission accomplished, I was surprisingly overcome with emotion, and found myself unable to speak. The seller commented that this was an emotional time for me. I finally managed to utter that I was looking for a picture of my biological father, and that he'd died last year. I was struck mute for a few minutes and, try as I might, I couldn't keep a few tears from falling. What the hell was wrong with me?

I'm sure the guy probably felt a little uncomfortable so, I finally looked up at him, thanked him for his willingness to meet with me, and let him depart with his travelling companion.

I got back into my car, and flipped through the yearbook. Was my mom in it? She was, but as a junior, not a senior as I'd expected. Strange looking at your mom as a 16-year-old.

Any big surprises in the yearbook? One. A fellow senior classmate, would later become my bio-dad's second wife. I wonder how well they knew each other in high school. They certainly couldn't have known that they would marry in the not too distant future...

I have a real sickness…

Just perusing eBay and dreaming, when I came across this. 

I love this car! 

 

I know it must have cost a small fortune to get it into this condition.  I sure wish my Impala was this nice…

I Love The Dead

Sorry to borrow a song title from Alice Cooper but, given the context of this post, I couldn't help myself.

For some reason, I've always been fascinated with history. Of course, history is generally what happened at a specific time to a place and its people, but it also includes how people died and where they were interred.

Because of this, I've always been fascinated with graveyards. I love walking through graveyards, viewing the grounds, reading the headstones or grave markers, trying to get a sense for what that person's history might have been like. It's impossible to encapsulate someone's history with a simple marker (surely more condensed that your standard 140-character Tweet), but sometimes you can find out a person's place in life based on the information provided there at the gravesite.

Mind you, I'm ALWAYS out of the cemeteries well before dark, but daytime viewing is not a problem.

Among the many cemeteries I've been to, some that stand out are those I've visited in Portovenere, Italy; Oxford and London, England; Marblehead, MA; and Vicksburg, MS, to name a few.

It's interesting to see the cultural and historical differences between the various cemeteries. Reading the headstones can indicate what might have been happening in that area during the time the person passed. War, disease, weather. It's all there.

The two most beautiful cemeteries I've been to are those in Marblehead, MA and Portovenere, Italy. Both overlooked the water, whose views have probably provided a calming influence to those visiting the grounds over the many centuries funeral services have been conducted there.

The cemetery in Marblehead contained the remains of numerous Revolutionary War dead (including a black soldier, which I thought VERY progressive for that time in history), and the remains of a woman who was born in 1620, the year the pilgrims landed. The headstones are carved in slate and have lost little, if any, of their original detail. They are as easy to read as they day they were carved. I've visited a cemetery in the mid-West in the early 90s, and I couldn't make out a single word on many of the headstones there. It's a shame that these folk's names, many including Civil War soldiers, are lost to time and weather.

This leads to the next link/article that details additional details of Michael Jackson's final resting place, Forest Lawn Glendale, in Southern California. I'll include the link, and will post the full article in the event the link is broken at some point in the future (nothing lasts forever).

I found the history of the creation of Forest Lawn particularly fascinating.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/32648572/ns/entertainment-music/?gt1=43001

updated 2:54 p.m. PT, Tues., Sept . 1, 2009

GLENDALE, Calif. - Michael Jackson’s life played out on a world stage, headlines screaming his every move, frenzy following his footsteps.

His death, memorial and investigation amplified the delirium and prolonged the anguish of family and fans. On Thursday, he is scheduled to be interred at Forest Lawn Glendale in what will be a hidden monument in a mausoleum made of marble and mortar.

There will be only silence. No marquees, no spotlights, no paparazzi.

He will be enveloped by the grandeur of the grounds, the majesty of the buildings and the significance of history.

In the Great Mausoleum, he will join Hollywood legends of yesterday like Clark Gable, Jean Harlow, W.C. Fields and Red Skelton, as well as “The Last Supper Window,” a lifesize stained glass recreation of Leonardo da Vinci’s masterpiece, and Moses, a reproduction of Michelangelo’s sculpture for the tomb of Pope Julius II in Rome.

On a hilltop nearby, in a building the size of a sports arena, hang two of the world’s largest paintings, “The Crucifixion” and “Resurrection.”

Like so many of the people in it, the park has also become fabled. Founded in 1906 by a group of businessmen on 55 hillside acres in the town of Tropico (later Glendale), there was no forest and no lawn, just a traditional dusty graveyard with granite tombstones and elaborate messages.

By the time Hubert Eaton arrived in 1912 at the age of 31, according to Forest Lawn literature, he had graduated from college in Missouri, punched cattle in Montana and lost a small fortune on a silver mine in Nevada. He took the job as sales manager at the cemetery so he could repay his mine backers.

He convinced people to buy plots before they died. After just a year, he had increased sales 250 percent. After three years, his sales had multiplied so much, he was able to buy a stake in the company and was named general manager.

Despite resistance from his board of directors, monument makers, the community and customers, Eaton eliminated tombstones so grass could be planted and lawns mowed; he renounced the name “cemetery,” changing it to “memorial park”; he started collecting world-class art or detailed reproductions; and he added mausoleums, acres, trees, florist, gift shop and chapels that are used for funerals and weddings.

In 1933, Eaton was the first to combine a mortuary with a cemetery, overcoming opposition from morticians, casket makers, and the state. Today, the Glendale park covers 300 acres and employs 150 people.

The park was divided into sections like Slumberland, Babyland, Graceland and Inspiration Slope. You can find places for immortality, affection, tranquility, mercy, harmony, fidelity and devotion.

A patriotic theme was incorporated in the early 1950s with the Court of Freedom, the Freedom Mausoleum and sections with names like liberty and victory.

For decades, Forest Lawn, like so many other cemeteries, had a whites-only policy, but park spokesman William Martin said he didn’t know what year that ended.

‘Elegance and good taste’
The number of Forest Lawn locations has grown to 10 — Hollywood Hills, Glendale and Covina Hills are the three largest.

“They have a reputation for excellence. They are highly respected in every regard. They take excellent care of their facilities. They handle a high volume of families. Most of their employees are long-term and dedicated to their work. Those things say a lot about a company,” said Ron Hast, executive editor and publisher of the Northern California-based Mortuary Management with Funeral Monitor, who was one of Marilyn Monroe’s pallbearers in services in 1962 at Hollywood Forever Cemetery.

Martin, who has been communications manager at Forest Lawn Glendale for nearly four years, dodges most questions, including names of famous inhabitants, how many people are interred there or how much room is left. He is even tighter lipped about Jackson.

When asked if there had been increased interest in Forest Lawn since the Jackson family announced its plans, he said, “The public interest has been raised. That’s putting it mildly.”

Hast operated a transportation backup service for Forest Lawn for 25 years. He doesn’t know exactly how many people are there, but it is “tens of thousands.” The celebrity list is long and includes George Burns, Gracie Allen, Walt Disney and Nat King Cole, he said.

Hast said the park is a good fit for Jackson, because they are experts at handling celebrity security “and they will do it with elegance and good taste.”

Scott Michaels, owner of Dearly Departed Tours in Los Angeles, believes Forest Lawn Glendale has a double standard when it comes to celebrities. “They protect their celebrities vehemently, but they brag about them,” he said.

“Not too long ago, they had an exhibit in their museum about celebrities buried in their cemetery,” Michaels said. “These people wanted to be famous when they were alive. Fame didn’t end with their deaths. We still watch their movies. It’s frustrating for some not to be able to pay their respects.”

Martin acknowledged there was a time when Forest Lawn boasted about its celebrity crowd, but no more.

“We don’t advertise, we don’t market it,” he said. “It is just inappropriate.”

Over 70,000 people have been married at Forest Lawn parks. Ronald Reagan and Jane Wyman and Regis Philbin and his wife Joy were married at Wee Kirk o’ the Heather church at Glendale.

Privacy for the family
Cemetery Web sites and blogs have been buzzing since Jackson’s family announced the Forest Lawn plan. Hits to Lisa Burk’s blog at www.gravehunting.com have gone through the roof, she said. Interest in him “blows everything else out of the water because he was so internationally known.”

She said if the Jackson family wants privacy, they will get it at the mausoleum. “It’s impossible to get in there. It was before and it will be worse now.”

Even though visitors see a portion of the mausoleum when they go see the Last Supper show — a 10-minute presentation about the stained glass window, put on regularly 365 days a year — most of the multistory building is restricted. It is well monitored and some areas are only accessible with pass keys, Hast said.

Author Mark Masek went to Forest Lawn in mid-August to take photos of the mausoleum for his Web site on celebrity graves, www.cemeteryguide.com.

Two black vans blocked his exit from the grounds, Masek said, and a pair of security guards stood by while he deleted all the photos he had taken. “I fully cooperated and did everything they asked me to,” he said.

In his book “Hollywood Remains to be Seen,” a look at 14 area cemeteries, “I had pictures for every cemetery except the two Forest Lawns,” he said, “because they prohibit commercial photography.”

Finding celebrities and their markers or monuments at Forest Lawn Glendale has kept a lot of people busy over the years. Cybermaps abound with detailed lists, directions and photos. Dozens of books have been published guiding the starstruck to dead stars.

That won’t change. In fact, it would seem Jackson’s presence at Forest Lawn will provide new challenges for everyone involved.

Beer and Brats. What could be better?

With more than a little time to kill, Miguel suggested we head out to Leavenworth for a brat and beer bacchanal.  Sounds good to me.

I drove to Miguel's house last Friday, and we headed out at 9 am.  First stop: Mickey D's for a little breakfast.  I rarely, rarely, rarely go there (I think it's the one of the worst of the big fast food places, 2nd only to Dairy Queen), but I do like the occasional Egg McMufffin or Filet o' Fish.  Bags of garbage delivered, we hit the road and ate as we drove. 

I've only been on Highway 2 during a non-snow season 3 times before, and each time I head out there, I'm always amazed at how beautiful it is.  River and mountain scenes, small towns barely clinging to existence, and depending on the time of year, leaves turning color before dropping to the ground. 

We pulled into town and got parked at 11:30.  Let's get this party started...  Let's eat!  The first place we found that could satisfy our beer/brat urges was a place called Munchen Haus.  I ordered Helga's Giant Kelbassi (1/3 pound, Polish, Beef & Pork).  It came with a small order of German Potato (What would Dan Quayle do here?) salad.  I was given one of those funny little vibrating coasters and was told it would let me know when my order was ready.  To order a beer, I was instructed to walk around the corner, into the patio, and order from the bartender there.  Doing as I was instructed, I walked into the patio and ordered a fantastic beer from Hirschbrau.  I don't remember what it was I ordered, but it was quite tasty.

When I was alerted to the fact that my dog was ready, I walked over and picked it up.  It was huge, and looked grilled to perfection.  The beauty part in all this was that they had the biggest selection of mustards I've ever seen.  If you know anything about me, you know I love my condiments!  They all sounded so good, but there are only so many condiments you can put on a dog before it overwhelms the link.  I went with three different flavors, one one each side of the bun, and one stripe down the middle.  I sprinkled some onions over the top of the entire dog, layered on some sweet relish, a quick squirt of ketchup, and a nice healthy layering of sauerkraut!  Now THAT'S a dog!  It was, in a word, fantastic.  Through the various layers, I could taste the individual mustard flavors, and found them to be some of the best mustards I've had.  The beer was equally good.  I don't remember what we paid for this meal, but it was money well spent.

After stuffing ourselves, we walked around the town.  Lots and lots of places to shop or eat, but not much else.  I guess in a small town that has made itself into a bit of Bavaria, it's not surprising that most businesses are geared completely around tourism.  We walked to the end of town and looked down into the valley were a small river flows past town.  We could see people in the park down below us, and people wading in the river.  With the mountains as a backdrop, the entire scene was idyllic.

OK, enough of that crap, let's get back to the eating and beer drinking.  Where to go, where to go...

Ah, let's head on up to the Italian place for a beer.  It seemed the entire building we found ourselves walking toward was geared mainly to the Italian side of things.  We walked into a meat shop that closely resembled some of the shops we saw while we were in Italy in 2003.  We left the meat shop and headed up the stairs to the Italian restaurant.  Nobody there.  Strange, but it was a little off the beaten path.  Plus, who goes to eat Italian food in a German town?  We got seated at the bar, and ordered a couple beers.  Nothing out of the ordinary, but they were good and cold.  Feeling a bit bloated, we passed on appetizers, and eventually got our bill, paid, and departed for parts unknown. 

Back out into the 92 degree heat.  It was definitely warm, but not miserably so, and the winds kept things comfortable.  We walked to the main square (if you can call it that), where artists of various flavors displayed their work (mostly photography).  We cruised through some of the stores that caught our interest, but nothing compelled either of us to buy anything.  This went on for a while before we decided to get more beer and possibly a bite to eat, though neither of us was hungry.

Are next haunt was a restaurant that is located in the basement of one of the buildings on the main drag, Andreas Keller Restaurant.  Upon entering, we stood and waited to be seated.  And waited.  And waited.  And waited.  We could see 3 other parties seated in a space that could hold quite a few folks.  There were a LOT of empty tables.  The waiter looked at us (the waitees), and indicated that he'd be with us shortly.  Define "shortly".  Finally, he gathered us and seated us in a booth, handed us a couple menus, and disappeared.  We peeled the menus and were appalled at the prices.  I can see slightly higher prices in a tourist town, but these prices were ridiculous.  Given that we weren't all that hungry, it came down to ordering smallish portions, so as not to damage our innards or our wallets.  I decided on the Red Cabbage, Miguel ordered the German Spatzle with mushroom sauce, with each of us selecting a beer worthy of our sophisticated palates.  And then we waited.  And waited.  And waited.  Finally, a staff member came by with some plates, forks, and a tub of what appeared to be stone-ground mustard.  OK, that's all well and good, but what if we didn't order anything that required the mustard.  Do they through it away, or do they take it back to the kitchen and scoop it back into the big mustard bucket?  And then we waited some more.  I told Mike we should leave, which he was willing to do, but I said let's give them 2 more minutes.  4 minutes later, we decided to beat feet and Mike stood up to go, when the waiter started heading in our direction.  Damn!  Now we were stuck.  We should have just told him we were leaving, but we stayed.  He took our order and, suprisingly, it wasn't too long before we had our beer and "food".  My red cabbage was a pile of mush.  I've had pleny of red cabbage in my day (and I love it), but it's never been mushy.  This slop was barely a step above baby food in terms of its consistency.  I didn't expect a huge portion (and in this I was not disappointed), but for $4, it was severely over priced (even if it had been properly cooked).  Miquel's portion of spatzle was no larger than my red goo, and to charge $5 for noodles and an extra $2 for mushroom sauce, was beyond the pale.  This is the kind of restaurant that can screw their customers over because they are likely first-time (and last-time) suckers.  Tourists from far away places will likely never make it back to town, and any tourist that does make a return visit to Leavenworth, would likely never come back to this pathetic excuse for a restaurant.  When the waiter finally returned with our bill, he circled our table 3 times within a 5-minute period, presumably to make sure we weren't skip out on paying the tab.  It was this final treatment that fried my ham.  Oh, and as it turned out, we didn't order anything that required the mustard they brought out to us.  What do you think they did with it?

Cut loose onto the streets of Leavenworth once more, we continued to walk up and down the streets, occasionally stopping into any store that looked interesting.  Once in a while we'd see a dog that would seem nice to meet, so we'd strike up a conversation with the owners and get to meet some cool pooches.  As we walked past one store, I looked in to see custom pancacke griddles.  One had snowflakes embossed in them (all the same design snowflake), so that wasn't too interesting.  Right next to it, there was a pancake griddle that had the heads of 7 different zoo animals.  Knowing that the wife likes pancakes, and we'd soon have a boy to make them for, I had to have it.   For $32, I thought it might be a little more expensive than what I might pay if I were to order it directly from the manufacturer, but I wanted to bring it home with for the wife.  (I did check the price when I got home, and I would have paid $35 for the pan, plus whatever shipping charges I might have incurred.  Shockingly, I got a better deal in the tourist village).

If you've been to Leavenworth for more than 4 or 5 hours, things start to seem a bit repetitious.  With the day winding down, we decided to grab one final beer before heading out. 

We headed back to the place where we started our day.  We skipped right past the hot dog spot, and walked up to the bartender.  I asked the gal behind the counter if they had beer XYZ and she said she didn't think they did.  One of the employees went to check to see if they had any kegs in the back, and when he returned, he reported that they had, in fact, run out.  Oh, well.  I ordered another beer (not nearly as tasty), and after consuming our pints, we got back on the road. 

All-in-all, it was a great afternoon, with only the one unpleasant experience at the Andreas Keller Restaurant. 

The traffic was light, and we got back to Miguel's house around 8:30.  After saying our good-byes, I pointed the wagon in the direction of home and pulled up to the house at exactly 9 pm.  It was a long day, and I was beat.

Oh, and the wife loved the pancake pan.

Older is better

I don’t know why I do, but I love vintage stuff. I’ve been really jonesing lately for old Pioneer audio gear that has no practical purpose in today’s world of all things digital. Honestly, I really can’t stand digital music in the form of a single, downloadable file that you stick onto an iPod or some other such device. I don’t mind the CD, because with the CD, you get the artwork, liner notes, and a CD that you actually OWN. I can see the appeal in the convenience of having your music on a little player you can take with you on a walk, or plug into an adaptor in your car, or home stereo system. I get it, I just don’t like it. I have a single CD player in my car, and I’m totally fine with that.

Why then, do I have an irrational craving for a Pioneer reel to reel tape deck? They are huge, awkward to use, provide less musical fidelity, and are prone to needing to be adjusted for the vagaries of the whole tape format. Couple that with the fact that finding recording media requires a bit of a hunt to get it. Assuming I bought one and had 10” reels on the thing, how much music could I get on a single reel of tape? 5 hours? 6 hours? I have no idea, but if you get sick of what your listening to, to find a different recording on the tape requires fast or reverse forwarding until you find the desired spot on the tape. Think of it as looking for the beginning of a song on the old cassette tape. Fast Forward. Stop. Play. Is that what I was looking for? Nope. Do I need to FF or Rev to find the spot. Repeat ad nauseum until location is found. Does anyone want to go back to that? I love the > or < buttons on CD players. Finding the next track is EASY.

What happens if a tape breaks? Do I really want to put the reel onto a splicing machine? God, no, what a pain! Given that we’re taking about tape, you KNOW there’s going to be tape hiss. Is that what I want to listen to? Not really, but I can live with it, though not ideal. Why then do I want a reel to reel player? Because they look coooool!

Feast your peepers on this bad boy… Sadly, these units run into the many 100s of dollars, and I’m just not ready to shell out that kind of dough for what I suspect might be a passing fancy. Still…

I’ve also gotten hot and bothered about the old Pioneer turntables… Again, what’s with the old stuff? Now, there are many purists who say that a well-recorded, quality wax pressing sounds superior to CDs: they are warmer and richer sounding than CDs sound. I know a number of strides have been made in CD recording technology, so that may not be as true as it once was, but playing albums really is a visceral experience. You pull the sleeve from the 12” album cover, place the disc on the platter, give the disc a good cleaning, then carefully lower the needle down onto the wax, as you sit and examine ever square inch of the album art, reading every word of of the liner notes (including credits). Ahhh! Another afternoon, wonderfully spent.

Lay some ocular heaviness on this bad boy… I knew you could. And…? Yeah, you know you want one…

OK, stepping away from all things stereo, I was looking around the other night for a new fridge. Ours has a tendency to either run too cold, freezing all our produces in the fridge or… run not cold enough so that food goes south faster than we’d like. With a bebe on the way, we need something that regulates its temperature a lot better than what we’ve got going. I start poking around for fridges, and I don’t even know what got me side-tracked, but I found a website that sells restored antique kitchen appliances. OMG!! I want a fully restored 40” gas stove from the mid-50s. I saw some I absolutely loved, but fully restored, these bad boys run anywhere from 3 to 8 thousand dollars. That’s $3,000 - $8,000 for those of you keeping score at home. These stoves look so cool, and have so many configurations that today’s stoves simply do not have. Double ovens, double broilers, some other combination, they made ‘em then to last.

When they are fully restored, they look so good, and would neatly fill up the spot in our kitchen that doesn’t look completely filled by the 36” stove that currently resides there. With all the heavy metal and polished stainless steel, these babies are the Cadillacs of appliances.

I found several websites for companies that restore antique appliances, and one of them touted the benefits of the antique appliances, and I’m sold. Just need to pull together some serious scratch. OK, maybe when I’m back to working. Until then, I can dream, can’t I? Come dream along with me…

I am giddy at this one, because this is a 1954 O'Keefe & Merritt model, in light yellow. Given that our house was built in ‘54 and the kitchen is largely wall-to-wall yellow tile, I can’t think of another unit that would better complement our kitchen than this one. Look at how that baby is lit up. Some units even have salt and pepper shakers built in to the control head.

You can have these appliances restored in a multitude of colors, so whatever strikes your fancy, you can probably get a custom appliance to match (provided, of course, you can come up with the dough for one of these).

As a culture, I think we’ve allowed ourselves to be seduced by all things quick and convenient. Unfortunately, this comes at the expense of quality and esthetics. 99 times out of 100, I will go with the older item, so long as the quality is there. Depending on the item, safety has to be taken into consideration, but I doubt playing a record will cause undue harm to my health.

Can’t wait for the day when I can listen to the reel-to-reel tapes I made from the albums I recorded on my vintage turntable, all while eating something tasty on my vintage, refurbished stove.

Ahh, the good life!

I'm Rich! I'm Rich!

Just picked up the mail. One of the envelopes was from our local electric utility and stamped "UNCLAIMED PROPERTY". Well, that already sounds pretty good to me.

I rip open that bad boy and find that there's a balance on a previous account on the condo I sold last year.

How much is my windfall? $88.54.

More than I've made all year, and probably all that I'll make all year...

Finally!

This morning was the first time I felt my son kick. The wife had made earlier attempts to get me to feel him, but each time I laid my hands on her stomach, he'd stop moving.

This morning she had me place my hands on her stomach and after a few seconds, I felt what I thought was a hiccup. It was the boy!

Second birthing class...

Did a couple exercises, and watched a "film", in which they showed a woman delivering a baby and... the placenta. I just about fell over and died. I thought it would be clear and flat, but instead it's round and purple/reddish and attached to the umbilical cord. Blech!

I definitely will not be on the business end of things after the baby is delivered.

Am I old? Another great birthday...

I celebrated my birthday yesterday. It was a great day, starting with opening my gifts, followed by heading out to a local pancake house the wife likes. I know, I know, it's my birthday, but I was happy to go along with that, knowing what she was going to sacrifice on my behalf...

After breakfast, we went to the Greenwood car show, which we go to every year. Love it! Took a lot of pictures, but because the wife is in a somewhat compromised state, I pushed through it much faster than I would normally.  Lots of women there, most tortured to the same degree as the wife.  I love old cars.

Afterward, we stopped off at the Fred Meyer to pick up a few bags of potting soil, before coming home to plant the Improved Meyer Lemon plant, which was one of my birthday gifts.

We later headed out to dinner at The Kingfish Cafe, one of my favorite places, and I ate myself into a near food coma. Why do I do that? No matter, the food was great and I enjoyed the best wings I've ever had!

Afterward, we came home to check on the dogs, and to take a little nap. Nap done, we headed out to catch a show of improv comedy. The idea is not exactly something I would have been drawn to, but it was much more enjoyable than I expected. At the intermission, the wife was getting her headache back, and given the long day, we were both exhausted, so we decided to leave and head home.

A great day, and I have the wife to thank for it. Thanks, babe.

First birthing class tonight...

Tonight was the first of 8 birthing classes. Pain. The first six are 2 hours long, the last two are 3 hours long. I'm sure we'll get a lot out of them, (I learned a few things tonight and suspect I'll learn more with each session), but it's strange being in a room full of strangers talking about some fairly personal stuff. Not exactly something I enjoy doing.

I'm already a bit nervous about being in the delivery room as it is, I think I'll be terrified by the time we actually get down to show time.

Why? Why? Why?

Or maybe the subject line should be Where? Where? Where?

I'm off for the week until classes start next Monday. I thought I'd be productive and get some much neglected yardwork done. The camelias are in desperate need of some pruning as they are about 9 feet high and need to come down about 2 feet or so, and trimmed up on the front and sides.

I shower, get dressed, and head into the garage looking to tool-up. First things first, I need the extension ladder. Hmmm... it's not here where I last left it. I check the Gorilla racks. I'm not sure how it might have gotten there but, knowing myself, I wouldn't have put it there. Maybe the wife put it there. No ladder.

I search everywhere in the garage and come up empty handed.

This leaves only one possibility: The wife loaned it to one of her friends and didn't bother to get it back. More accurately, the friends didn't bother to get it back to us.

I've gone looking for MY tools only to find them weren't there. Wife moved 'em, didn't bother to return them.

Went to wash the Impala a week ago, and wound up washing the wife's car. While I was about to start that, she headed over to the Impala with a dry rag, and was going run the rag across the hood to get it damp. Get away from that car... Thank god I was paying attention. I told her to NOT do that.

This, my friends, is why I don't allow the wife to touch ANY of my things. If it's not yours, you don't touch it...

Does that make me an ass? Maybe, but at least I know where my things are...

So, no ladder, no yardwork. I suppose I could do other things around the yard, but the buzzkill is complete. I'll work getting the indoors taken care of.

Leen meen keen macheen

A local business was having another Keen sale today, along with some Arcteryx, NAU, and Horny Toad things. We went last fall and picked up some shoes and bags for amazing prices. This year I went alone as the wife had already headed out for the airport to pick up some friends.

These are samples, but unworn, and sold for a fraction of their retail prices. I picked up 2 pairs of nice leather shoes (regular retail $100/pair) and a pair of cycling shoes (regular retail $115/pair) for $100 total.

I'm a happy dude...

Elvis CD $3

Nothing but outtakes from various 1957 recording sessions. For the curious only.

2 shirts/$4

I was asking for $5/each, but I want to get rid of this (stuff)...

It's now raining...

It had lightly sprinkled before, but now it's flat-out raining.

Any hopes that I might sell more of my (stuff), have gone right out the window. I am forced to sit here until the bitter end, slightly chilled and bored. Oh, the joy!

8 CDs/$20

I don't even know which ones left (I did see a Gladys Knight and the Pips and my wife's Counting Crows). Keep on buying!

Strangely (or not), no one has shown any interest in my circa 1976 Kirby vacuum, with attachments. I suspect I'll have to lug that POS back into the house at the end of the day.

7 CDs, $15 bucks

I know the math doesn't work out, but they offered $15. Didn't want to lose the sale (I really want to unload this stuff), so I took it.

4 CDs, $10

Sold 4 to the next door neighbor.

3 CDs 2 DVD, $17

Just sold some more (stuff). A few DVDs (Ray, Altered States, Mickey Mouse Club, $3/each) and 3 CDs (Roger Daltry's Greatest Hits, Leon Russell, and a classical guitar disc, $3 each; 2/$5).
Not gonna make a million bucks, but it's less crap I have in the house, a little pocket money, and hopefully someone will get to enjoy the new purchases.

My shit's worth $3

We're having a neighborhood garage sale today. I've dragged what little I have to sell (the wife didn't cull through any of her crap and she's out of town this weekend), and propped it up on the porch (to stay out of any sprinkles that are forecast).

It's somewhat humiliating to have someone come half way down the walk, look at my stuff, then turn heel and head for another house.

That said, I've already made my first sale (Meatloaf's autobiography) and am $3 richer for my efforts...

I don't expect to make a lot of money today, but we'll see.