If Your Seeing It, It's You're Responsibility To Help Me!

I've had a terrible problem, lately. It's the accidental swapping of "your" and "you're." It's become very frustrating to me.

Your probably not seeing it as often as I do, but believe me, it's a big point of frustration for me. Spellcheck doesn't catch it, unless your using a grammar checker, too.

When I actually write, I catch most of them. I hope. But, it's been pretty common to find the mistake when you take a look at you're email or instant messages. That's where this problem really rears it's ugly head.

So, please... Please. If you see me use the wrong "yore," point it out. Please help me.

Next time we'll discuss my subtle placement choices for my commas.

Oh, really...

So, if the guy in front of me really is/was a sniper in the Marines, why does he drive a champagne colored RAV4?




Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

The Lost Poster

Down at the beach, there are some signs posted. Poor guy lost his kite board.

The sign has a picture of the board and lots of little tear-offs down at the bottom. So you can take Klaus's number and call to say you've got his board.

First, what are the tear-offs for? You found the board? Take the poster. If you're the guy who has it, no one else needs to see the poster. Right? Just call Klaus.

Second, why are six tear-offs torn off? Did six people really find a board that looks like Klaus's board?

Blogged via Blackberry, where backspacing is more trouble than it's worth. Please forgive any typos.

Hey! Look Who Invented The Smiley? :D

The other day, I was googling for something about emoticons and found this quote.


"I often think there should exist a special typographical sign for a smile – some sort of concave mark, a supine round bracket, which I would now like to trace in reply to your question."

Vladamir Nabokov, when asked how he ranked himself amongst living writers and those of the immediate past.


Obviously old news, but I think it's interesting that this statement (from a 1969, New York Times Interview) pre-dates computer usage, and emoticons, by so many years.

Tony's First Real Read

This weekend Tony picked out a book at the bookstore. A Goosebumps book called "Deep Trouble."

He has never liked reading before. But, he started reading this in the car on the way home. And, he never put it down until he was done.

He read it more after dinner at the restaurant, in bed, when he woke up, instead of watching a dvd, instead of playing his DS, etc. He even chose the book over fishing!

It too him 46 hours of elapsed time, according to him. Pretty speedy for a boy who's never read a real book on his own.

When he was done, he opened it up to the inside front cover and wrote "To Tommy. From Dad. I love you" and asked Kim (his Mom) if she would save it for him so he could give his first book to his son, someday. He likes the name "Tommy," I guess... Who knew?

The OC You Can't See

OC is one glamorous place! Shiny and clean and filled with the most beautiful people in the State of California. I mean, they didn't make a TV show about Stockton*, did they?

I had a pretty glamorous time Friday night! On Friday, the kids' school had it's annual Beach Blanket Blast. BBB is a carnival, of sorts, with a beach theme and plenty of wet and watery activities. Good thing, too. It was 97 degrees! And, much of the BBB is held on the blacktop playground.

My kids' school, in Rancho Santa Margarita, is deep behind the "Orange Curtain," where its streets, medians, and house colors are safely protected by the strict rules and regulations of numerous Homeowners Associations. It's almost too bad. So little creativity; a blessing and a curse. But, at least it makes sure the houses are so ugly.

I don't really go back there and mingle with people much, anymore. I go to pick up the kids, hang out with a friend or two, then move on. So, it was nice to see all the people that I'd missed over the past year or so.

Lately, we hear so much about the obesity epidemic. Everyone's getting fatter! Well, not in the OC (home of the beautiful people, remember?). In the OC, things are different. In the OC, they pass the obesity plague around like a bacterial infection that's not exactly fatal. You get it, then you get better, infect someone else, then get it again. I saw so many people who'd lost weight since I saw them last. Unfortunately, I saw an equal amount who'd put on plenty of pounds.

As to glamor (again), this event was not glamorous. It was a beach themed carnival. So, I can hardly expect people to be dressed up. Instead, we see the worst of the worst when it comes to fashion. People just don't know how to dress. Board shorts? Fine. Striped Board shorts and a t-shirt? Fine. Hawaiian shirt? Not my choice, but fine enough with board shorts. But, how do you even get out of the house with blue and orange striped shorts and a green and red Hawaiian shirt? Don't you have a wife? No? Well, you're not gettin' one, either!

Okay. Two words. Fanny. Pack. What's even in that thing? Cell phone? Nope. Clipped to the belt of said fanny pack... nice touch. The carabiner is pretty cool, too.

Work and personal cell phones. I'm sorry, too. I'm also saddled with a huge work phone. A primitive, full keyboard Blackberry. But, if I want to be fashionable, I put it in my pocket. That's why God made cargo pants and shorts; for you, Mr. Two Cell phone. Granted, God also made belts. But you really shouldn't wear them for a beach party. And, if you're not wearing the belt, you really can't have two cell phones hanging off of it, either.

Sandals and socks. The socks could have been black. I'll give you that much. Good work, fella.

You know, so far I'm really just talking about one guy, by the way. But, there were plenty of them that had various aspects of this ensemble. The Omega Males. Portly, multi-hued, cell phone laden, fanny pack wearing men; slowly leading up the rear so the Alpha Males can focus on bigger, better things (I guess we can thank them?)

Just like the Omega Males, there are females in sad states, too. The bigger they are, the louder the clothes. The louder the clothes, the louder the voices, too. I don't get this. I was big once. I focused on vertical stripes or none at all. Blend in. Muted colors or black from head to toe. And, I was quiet.

People needn't be ashamed of their bodies. But, there's quite a difference between having a few to lose while wearing shorts and a t-shirt and proudly parading a huge muffin top and camel toe at a school carnival. The former is living, the latter is... wrong?

Another thing that I noticed on Friday. The larger the women were, the more overtly sexual and suggestive things flew out of their mouths. This was particularly true as the groups got larger. They seemed to feed off of one another and egged each other on and attempting to quietly and "subtley" cat call the men who walked by. Very subtle, ladies.

The thing that struck me most was the endless string of fashion faux pas. Again, it's a beach party. It seems the easier thing to dress for. But, everyone wants to kick it up a notch. Hula skirts, every loud shirt with even one flower, bad shorts, and the endless scratch-slap, scratch-slap, of rubber zorries hitting the ground were about all that I could take.

Thank God for the kids. With all the water around, the kids were staying fashionable in shorts and bathing suits. T-shirts here and there. All in all, pretty tame and pretty fashionable. I can only assume it's because kids grown out of their clothes before the fashion changes. Or, maybe they know better and refuse to leave the house "dressed like that." Who knows? But, maybe they do just know better.

Maybe that's why the kids beg to run off with friends as soon as they get to the party. Not to be alone, but to be away from all all the adult "fashion?" Something to think about as you watch your kids run off with their friends. They are laughing, right? Think about it.


* since The Big Valley, at least. Audra was pretty hot...

Where Are They, Dammit?

All my old recipes are just gone. Not that there were that many that I loved, but I was going to make Chicken with 40 Cloves of Garlic (everyone's got a recipe, but I liked mine).

It wasn't that hard to make. Something like this...

1 chicken, cut up
2 tablespoons olive oil
40 cloves of garlic (not peeled, but separated from the head)
1/2 cup vermouth or dry white wine
salt and pepper

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

Season chicken with salt and pepper. Toss with a 2 tablespoons olive oil and brown on both sides in a wide fry pan or skillet over high heat. Remove from heat. Add vermouth and garlic cloves. Cover tightly and bake for 1 1/2 hours.

The garlic cloves are pretty good squeezed onto bread, but don't do it. Bread is the devil.


Back to my problem... So, I only noticed that this was gone because I looked for it. What other recipes are lost forever? What recipes will I never remember? Bummer.

OMG

I'm at a poetry reading. Purely by accident. I would never knowingly attend something like this.

It's got an open mic component going on. It's really horrible...

The headliner cancelled. It's all open mic, now. No one knows when to clap. These people put dramatic pauses in at innopportune times, yet never seem to end.

We've got an unusual mixture of vegans, smoking up a storm out on the patio, and talking their PETA talk. Inside, oldsters are gathered around complaining about the slow going here. It's not organized, per se. There are several, seemingly normal people here, too.

The have three "leaders" at this thing. An old skinny guy that's waaaay to educated to be rubbing it in with such big words, a modern day beatnik with a kangol rather than a beret, and a stunningly beautiful woman who must really want me (I tire of that...). Only the beatnik seems normal, like he's not taking himself too seriously.

Right now, there's a bearded lady talking at the mic. That's correct. A little white beard. Not just a few hairs. Her poem is about fruit flies mysteriously eating her cheese. Cheese flies, I'd call them.

Eli was up, just before. He spent his four minutes setting up his schtick. He has a big floppy hat, plaid pants, and a peacoat that's strangely big, yet too small to button. He sets up an amp and plays music over the speaker as he sets up. I think it's his act. The oldersters think he's taking too long to start. I think he's almost over. It's his performance art. One minute of a child crying "Mommy, I want to go home" plays. Eli apologizes for playing the wrong thing. He introduces himself and pushes a button. A song starts. Eli plays the violin along with the music. He's pretty good. Then it's over. He apologizes for being out of breath.

I'm skipping the reviews of two typical boring ones.

Freestyle White Rapper up right now. He raps about how he's a black poet rapper on the inside. That's not obvious. It must be deep inside. Trapped. That was the worst thing I ever sat through.

This is like a 90s SNL skit. You know how they were sorta funny, then didn't really have an ending? That's where I am. 1992, I think.

I'm skipping the reviews of two typical boring ones. I need more "acts" to keep my attention.

There's a bilingual one going on at the moment. It's very awkward. How is the guy breathing in that shirt? The buttons are almost popping.

In case you're wondering, I won't be doing any poety here at the coffee house.

Here at the coffee house
People are reading
This is so awkward
I'm thinking of leaving
Burma Shave

I'm about out of here. I feel bad. Is it better to mosey during a "good" one or a bad one?

Low Carb Cheesecake?

Over at JP's, Brenda suggested that I channel my cheesecake efforts into a low carb variety. I said "low carb cheesecake is like having a beautiful girlfriend that smells funny."

But, that's really a problem with taking most traditional carb-rich foods and translating them to low carb. They are never quite right. I thought I'd start from scratch, instead.

The biggest hurdle is really the crust. Cookies and crackers have no good lower carb substitution. Does it need crust at all? Maybe not. It needs something. A contrast of textures. A difference in mouth feel. Otherwise it's pudding. Pudding is not sensual. Cheesecake is.

Here's what spurred my change of heart. I've had vanilla on my mind. I'm smelling it everywhere. I imagine it. I'm dwelling on it. It's not the number one ice cream flavor for nothing. It seems basic to think about, but it's not so basic when you really smell or taste the good vanilla.

I have a small jar of Madagascar vanilla beans. I hate to open it because it's like I'm letting it all out. It smells heavenly. I can't not open it, either, because it smells heavenly.

But, with vanilla on my mind, I set to work on a cheesecake that so good that you won't care about the carbs that aren't there. A little non-traditional twist, here and there, but a cheesecake base so you know what you've got.

So, I've got a base recipe to work on, now. Whipped up a batch of filling, today. Made a crustless little number, to start. Vanilla bean cheesecake filling. Let's just say that it's a good thing I only made a little bit. I don't care how low carb it is, 1000 calories of low carb in a sitting is bad. And, this was bad. Naughty maybe. I wanted more.

Now for the contrasting element. I've got a few ideas. A few weeks of fiddling and perfecting, and you should see something good posted up here.

So, I guess it is possible, Brenda... There's hope for having a beautiful girlfriend that smells heavenly.