The Random Yak

1.  Searching the Holiday List website for something to blog about, you mistakenly read this week’s observance as “Feeding Pets to the Homeless Week.”  (Note: It’s really “feeding pets OF the homeless week”)

2.  Last night you dreamed about The Pirates of Penzance hiding from the British Navy by burying themselves in chests at the bottom of the ocean (and getting out fine when the warships left) and you woke up thinking only “that was kind of clever, really.”

3. There’s no half and half at the office, and you forgot to bring the carton(s) you bought yesterday, requiring a 9am run to Trader Joe’s because there’s absolutely, positively no chance of any productive activity happening until you can get to the coffee.  (Particularly since today was The Opening Of A New Pound and any coffee lover knows that’s always the best pot.)

4.  InsomniaCat spent the lion’s share of last night demonstrating her newly-learned ability to slam the bedroom door – and then scratch the heck out of it until you get up and let her in.  Or out.  Depending which side she ended up on.  (Note: a pillow shoved into the door, holding it open, will foil her plans and spoil her game, at least until she figures out how to move it.  I’ll keep you posted.)

On the positive side, however, I managed to remember (in time) that today we also celebrate 08/09/10.  Even better if you can remind someone at 11:12.

Like I just did.

I always wondered why I like cilantro chopped fine and cooked, but not in its raw form.  In fact, the raw form always reminded me of something I could never quite place.

Finally someone explains and the lights go on.  I also learned a couple other important things:

1.  That funny, couldn’t-quite-place-it taste?  That would be soap. (And yes, I do know what soap tastes like.  Say a certain class of words around my mother and you will too.)

2.  It’s not my fault, and (at least with regard to cilantro) I’m not crazy.  Assuming I have the genetic predisposition to associate cilantro with soapy flavors, it really does taste different to me than to people who like it.

Most of all, I’m just glad to understand why I like cilantro in soups and chipotle’s rice, but not in salads or other raw presentations.  Cooking breaks down the chemicals that my brain associates with soap.

Does this mean cooking the soap would make it taste better too?

Once again, the month sneaked up on me.  Before we get any farther in the weeds, please be advised that August is official:

Cataract Awareness Month (After the cat runs spastically around the house for 20 minutes and flops on the floor, sleeping?  Yeah…cataract.*)

Win With Civility Month (Participate if you want to.  But bear in mind, the civil don’t rip people’s arms out of their sockets when they lose. Me, I’m letting the Wookiee win.)

Get Ready for Kindergarten Month (I hear it will teach you everything you need to know.)

and

Immunization Awareness Month  (Ever seen a kid get immunized?  Trust me, there’s no need for a special celebration.  They know.)

*Note: this is only amusing if your father, like mine, referred to sleeping people as “racked out”

Not much on the charts this month, but that just means you have more time to enjoy the sun and the pool.

The following conversation almost made me snort coffee through my nose:

SETTING: Church, Sunday morning.  The Random Yak and Yak the Younger are waiting for a class to begin.  As usual when there is waiting, coffee is involved.

Yak the Younger:  (Overhearing someone make a circular argument) Did he really just say that?

Random Yak:  Of course.  You should always argue in tautologies, because you’re never wrong.

YtY: … except when you are.

Admittedly, this is only funny if you share my sense of humor.  Fortunately I do.  Also fortunately, I was able to avoid spewing coffee all over myself and the people standing near me.  I expected the kid to get the joke.  I didn’t expect him to one-up me on it.

On the positive side, there’s some evidence the Grasshopper might become a master after all.

Courtesy of The Random Friend Who Shall Be Known As Juan:

Everything that’s wrong with mass-market publishing today*

* (Except for everything it doesn’t mention)

An LED flashlight.

In packaging that read:

LED Flashlight! Glows in the Dark!

Really?  ‘Cause I was looking for one of the dark ones.

Seen on Saturday’s trip to meet friends for Dim Sum in San Francisco’s Chinatown:

A falcon sitting in the front passenger seat of a minivan, waiting for its owner to get back to the car.

No, not a parakeet.  Not a cockatiel, not even a parrot.

A falcon.  And a rather large one at that.  Complete with belled jesses.  In fact, though it wasn’t actually a Saker Falcon, it looked remarkably like this:

But in a car.  Parked on the street.  At a meter.

The bird seemed remarkably interested in people passing by on the street, and not at all scared.  In fact, it tried to snatch my friend’s iPhone out of her hand when she paused to snap some photos – and probably would have succeeded but for the pesky window glass that got in the way.  (Yes, the window was up.  Yes, another window was cracked enough to give it air.)

Once it realized the iPhone wasn’t going to become a new chew toy, the falcon seemed about as interested in watching us as we were in watching him.  He seemed to think some of us looked better upside down (like owls and other predatory birds, falcons have remarkable flexibility in their necks) and didn’t seem aggressive, though I have no doubt anything smaller than a German Shepherd would have a different opinion.  (As I said, it was a very large bird.)

As we walked away, my friends and I tried to decide whether this was par for the course in Chinatown or whether to file it under “strange, no matter where you see it.”

The unanimous vote was for “strange pretty much anywhere.”

***

Note: Saker Falcon Image retrieved from Wikipedia Commons, uploaded/shared by owner/user Qatari and used here under the Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 license.

Did you ever have one of those days where it seemed like The Crazy was hiding behind every corner,  just waiting to jump out and play?

Yeah, today’s been like that.

Doesn’t seem to matter where I go or what I do, someone’s seriously bringin’ the crazy.  Worse, they’re all trying to outdo one another.  It’s as though my life just became one big granola contest, and I’m the unwitting Judge of the Fruits and Nuts.

A few examples:

1.  Random_Person_001 calls to ask if I can give a referral.  Yes, I respond. I give referrals all the time, how can I help you?  (Note:  Random_Person_001 already knows what I represent, and that I don’t represent the kinds of issues this person has.  Hence the request for referral rather than representation.) 20 minutes later (I’m not kidding) I still have no idea what Random_Person actually needs.  I am, however, considering reclassifying Random_Person to Random_Weirdo…but decide not to because that would require renumbering.  (I already have Random_Weirdos_001-375)

2.  Not to be outdone by the private sector, the U.S. government decides to sue Arizona…for enforcing Federal law. (While NOT suing state entities that flagrantly flaunt it.)

3.  A major online video game company considers forcing users to use their real, live names when interacting in the game’s online forums…while prohibiting the use of real life names on their in-game characters.

4.  Another blog I read (but do not link to for reasons of preserving the anonymity of this space) recently linked here:  SlushPile Hell. That’s a whole lot of crazy.

I could keep at it, but I think for the moment I’ll batten down the hatches and try to get some of the weeds cleared out.  If things keep going this way, I’m going to need room for a hunting blind.  The herd of Crazy definitely needs some thinning.

* Note: the original title for this post was “Bringin’ the Crazy Back” but before I even finished typing that in I realized my error.  The crazy never went anywhere.  It was just waiting behind the next tree, as always, so it could pop out and yell “SUPPLIES!”  (though statistically, 4% of you get that reference.  The rest of you have a film to see.)

Today is National “Embrace your Inner Geek” day (as opposed to embracing the outer geek, which gets awkward at the office).

In honor of the occasion, permit me to share ten geeky things about myself that most of you will not know:

1.  As a child, I wore bermuda shorts.  In plaid.  With argyle socks.  And … I liked them.

2.  I also wore glasses.  Big, coke-bottle glasses that made me look like Stapler Guy.  (Note: if you recognized that reference…you are also a geek.  I still don’t want you to touch my stapler.)

3.  I got nothin’ against James Cameron, and Imma let him finish…but Star Wars was the best Sci-Fi movie of all time…OF ALL TIME.  (Note: the outer geek owned originals of Star Wars comix issues #1, 2 and 3.  Read them until I had them memorized.  The inner geek cries horrified tears that The Random Mother tossed them in a box that went to charity instead of letting me keep them…)

4.  The Yak was household champion at Astrosmash and Snafu.  (and can still hear the Random Father’s howls of glee when he beat us at Tank Battle.  Curse you, OP panzer!)

5.  When the kids down the block got a newfoundland and a lab, my parents bought me … a lhasa apso.  (For those not in the know, this is basically what you get when you animate the business end of a rag mop.) I thought it was the best dog in the universe.  Even Chewbacca had nothing on Chipsie.

6.  My piano teacher fired me.  Not because I couldn’t play, and not because I wouldn’t work (though I admit more laziness than I should..mostly because piano wasn’t cool then) – but because I never showed up for lessons.  Note: She was the kind of piano teacher that comes to your home.

7.  When The Random Sibling did something bad, I told on him.  When I did something bad … I told on myself.  (Note: I’m not sure whether that really qualifies as “geeky” or just annoying, but I’m filing it under both just to be safe.)

8.  I separated my M&Ms by color before I ate them.  (…sometimes I still do, but I don’t think it’s a geek thing any more.  Now it’s OCD.  If you don’t believe me, I have a list of 327 reasons why I’m right – I’m just not publishing it until it’s fully alphabetized.)

9.  I was the only kid in my neighborhood who couldn’t ride a skateboard without incurring some horrific craniofacial injury.  (Still true.)

10.  I was also the only kid in my neighborhood who could spell “craniofacial” and use it properly in a sentence.  At eight.

Looking back, I’m not as much surprised by how much has changed as slightly disturbed by how much remains the same.  The inner geek is still there, still strong, and still amused by Star Wars and video games.  I’m still terrible at the piano, and just last week I told on The Random Sibling.

In other words…you can add more numbers to the geek’s age, but geeks never really grow up.  It’s part of what makes us awesome.  At the age when the “cool kids” are working on their second and third divorces, getting grey hairs that send them screaming to the stylist, and worrying if they’re drinking the “right” coffee or beer, the geeks of the world are the ones in the corner, snickering behind our Dr. pepper and Oreos.  As a partner at my first law firm told me: “In the end, it’s the geeks who make good.”

He wasn’t right about an awful lot, but he was right about that one.  It’s good to be the geek.

July 2 was national “I Forgot Day.”

I meant to post about it well in advance, so you would know you had a legitimate excuse for anything you might not have remembered.  It’s not often we get a “get out of responsibility free” card, so I thought you’d want to hear about it.

But…I forgot.

Oops.

Yak the Younger leaves town for a week and I toss responsibility to the winds.  He’s still gone, but what comes up always comes down, and sometimes I’m standing under it when it does.  Like now.  When I realize I’ve neglected the blog.

Although I’ve deprived you of more than a week of gleeful celebration, let it be known that July 2010 is official:

Air-Conditioning Appreciation Month (101 in the shade last weekend. I’ll say I’m appreciative!)

Wheelchair Beautification Month (Hey! You kids!  Get outta here with those spray cans and stop tagging Gramma!)

Tour de France and Women’s Motorcycle Month  (I think a woman’s going to win the tour this year….because Harley beats Schwinn no matter how hard you pedal.)

and

National Child-Centered Divorce Month (Yes kids – it’s YOUR fault! BWAHAHAHAHA!)*

*(I am told I need to apologize for that last comment.  Please do not blame your divorce on the children.  Blame it on the dog instead.)

Please join me in blowing a collective virtual raspberry at Gavin Newsom and the city of San Francisco, in editorial response to the new city policy banning Coca-Cola and other sweetened beverages from vending machines on city property.

This latest in a long line of nanny-state prohibitions replaces high-test colas, sweetened waters and juices which contain less than 100% (read: unsweetened) juice with such nutritionally responsible alternatives as soy milk, rice milk, and “other similar dairy and non-dairy milk.”

BLEAHRGH.

Mayor Newsom’s spokesperson, Obviousman Tony Winnicker stated that “there’s a direct link between what people eat and drink and obesity.”  (Thanks for that…from all those still needing help with difficult concepts like ‘water is wet’ and ‘make sure the mace can is pointing at someone else before you depress the trigger’.) The ban on sugary drinks is intended to help encourage healthier habits among the residents of San Francisco.  In reality, I’m guessing all it does is lower the (probably limited) revenues the city receives from its vending machines.

Other proposed legislation would impose a tax (or “fee”) on retailers who choose to sell sugary sodas, in an effort to discourage soda sales.  Although the Newsom administration claims people are still free “to choose to drink unhealthy sugary sodas,” one might reasonably wonder how long that freedom will continue, at least without serious penalties.

I can understand regulating firearms.  Or fireworks.  Or hand grenades.  Or a variety of other items and objects people use to cause mayhem and destruction.  I can even understand a certain number of regulations intended to prevent people from hurting themselves or others.  But taking away soda? Seriously?  One would think, in a morally bankrupt state like California, our elected officials might find something more productive to waste their substantially overpaid work hours on.

Like teaching our children to spell soda.  And “tax.” And “unreasonably restrictive government regulations.”  (OK, it is the public school system.  I guess that last one might be a stretch.  But “@*&%$#*&^ deal” is banned by my site regulations.)

Seriously, guys.  Next time I go to San Francisco, I’m taking a 12-pack of Cokes in the trunk, and I’m handing them out to every homeless person I see.  Along with a fiver, so they can buy some Twinkies to go with it.

Hear me, Newsom, and all the others like him:  You can have this Coke when you pry it from my cold, dead hand, and not a moment before. Feel free to come and find me if you’d like to make something of it.  I’ll keep some soy milk in the fridge for you.*

* Note:  My new refrigerator has informed me (in excellent, grammatical Japanese) that soy milk is disgusting and beyond what I’m entitled to ask of any reasonable appliance.  I’ll put some ice water on tap for you instead.

It’s been weedy on my side of the mountain lately, but I thought I’d toss up an update or two:

In Random Family News: we gave a gift to Heifer International in honor of Yak the Younger’s birthday, and when asked which animal he’d like to give, he chose a water buffalo.  Why?  Because they didn’t have a yak, and it was the next best thing. Awesome.  As a side note, this also enabled us to deliver a rousing duet of “The water buffalo song” at the dinner table … at which point The Random Spouse announced we’d gone completely ’round the bend and vacated the room … smiling and moving slowly, as one should generally do in the presence of something that might or might not suggest the need for institutionalization.  Or cookies.

We have enough high explosives safe and sane fireworks to make quite a dent in Sunday evening, and I’m looking forward to the annual Random Family Barbecue-and-Boomfest.    Also, The Random Parents are coming in for the weekend, so we’ll be busy with a variety of “let’s not go outside because it’s really 100 degrees out there so doesn’t a movie sound nice” type activities.

The Random Refrigerator finally gave up the ghost about a week ago, so we replaced it with a Samsung French-Door Space Station (with “flex drawer” for sodas!) that not only makes ice but also filtered water (yeah, the old one had a broken ice maker when we bought the house, we never bothered to fix it) and it has super-cool-awesome-LED lighting.  And did I mention it makes ice??  The only negative is that last night, when I went in for a late drink, I distinctly heard it talking with the microwave about its plans to take over the world.

I’ve decided to name it “Hal.”

But please join me in welcoming our new refrigerated overlords.

Hey, at least we’ll have ice.

An old joke, but appropriate to the spirit of the day.

June 28, 2010: Please Take My Children to Work Day

I’m not sure whether this one originally started as a plaintive cry from stay-home parents who’d finally had enough of their laundry-throwing, frosting-licking, habanero-stealing offspring, or just a joke.  But either way it sounds like a reasonably good idea.  Particularly if the people we’re talking to are teenagers working at summer jobs.

I can hardly think of a better way to encourage them not to have children too soon.  Six hours keeping little Billy out of the deep-fryer while simultaneously trying to keep a courteous tone in your head and make sure you know if the customer wants fries with that burger and shake … knowing Mom’s at home eating bon-bons and enjoying a few rare moments of silence … would convince even the most kid-friendly teenager to think twice.

As for the teens themselves, and anyone else forced persuaded to take their – or someone else’s – children to work today, I offer this advice:

Silence is golden, but duct tape is silver.

…but I saved her using my L33T World of Warcraft skillz.

There might be a bigger Gamer-Geek Tale of Awesome in the world today, but I don’t think so.

The link in a nutshell:  12 year-old Norwegian boy, out for walk in woods with sister, encounters angry moose.  (Note: moose are dangerous. They will actually try to kill you.) When the moose attacks, the boy remembers from Warcraft that a tank “taunts” to get the monster off weaker party members.  He does so (though I’m not exactly sure how he pulled it off) and when his sister runs away, Norwegian Tank Boy does what any good hunter does when danger rears its massive, shaggy head…

…he feigns death.

At which point the moose loses interest and leaves.  Making Hans Jørgen Olsen one of the few hunters I know who can also tank properly.  Nicely done, Hans.

*We apologize for the continuing movie references in the titles.  Those responsible have been sacked…(queue the llamas).