tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66744992024-03-14T11:49:03.959-07:00~ DougressionsOld-school useless blogging since 2004 (when it was merely called "blogging")Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00622075019954975761noreply@blogger.comBlogger1506125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6674499.post-80574423117337015212023-04-10T07:40:00.001-07:002023-04-10T07:52:18.830-07:00Barely saved by daylight (a Daylight Saving Time tale)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7bQ-27AiumQc3_NGmIQOjd10s-IfKsHq2wqVElS2cxZPWS6VTQk03dDYEdU40ahUDcRIRBR2yXZGS_JciN4xhaqJwulSwT4NUNa7jqI597iqoXr9IGxg_I6Bad_b3LE77cVzMKH3XU9kffyBOGG4LlevxBvo3rmFDQwSJ_JBnOVsVcANgg1w/s3780/26291D1E-8F20-4A39-BAAC-C27C8A00B6C3.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3780" data-original-width="3024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7bQ-27AiumQc3_NGmIQOjd10s-IfKsHq2wqVElS2cxZPWS6VTQk03dDYEdU40ahUDcRIRBR2yXZGS_JciN4xhaqJwulSwT4NUNa7jqI597iqoXr9IGxg_I6Bad_b3LE77cVzMKH3XU9kffyBOGG4LlevxBvo3rmFDQwSJ_JBnOVsVcANgg1w/w160-h200/26291D1E-8F20-4A39-BAAC-C27C8A00B6C3.jpg" title="Morning in the neighborhood" width="160" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morning in the <br />neighborhood (yeah,<br />there are palm trees<br />but this in not <i>our </i>view,<br />just so it's clear)</td></tr></tbody></table>Come with me, gentle reader, back a few weeks ago, for a tale of a conspiracy of circumstances almost causing chronological catastrophe (eh, kind of). However, before we start that, we need to set the scene with a bit of background on our morning routine.<p></p><p>On school days we have an alarm set to sound to get us up so we over an hour before needing to leave the house. Getting our son up on school mornings can be particularly challenging, so we factor in time to: </p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>actually get him out of bed (which sometimes literally involves dragging him off)</li><li>prepare him a warm breakfast (or at least something that can be warmed in the toaster over) and putting together his lunch</li><li>give him adequate time to eat (which often involves at least ten minutes of him just sitting at the dining room table, zoned out while presumably still waking up, allowing whatever we made to get cold) </li><li>get himself ready (brush his teeth, wash his face, etc., while factoring in he'll goof around in the bathroom until we step in to get him back on track) </li><li>get himself dressed (which he drags out to the last minute because he hates his school uniform)</li></ul><p></p><p>As my wife and I both work from home that routine is all geared around getting him to school on time. Even on good days we're often just getting out the door on time.</p><p>The vast majority of those days I'm already awake when the alarm sounds. My body is simply accustomed to waking up then (and even on the weekends generally I cannot sleep in); the alarm is more the indication of needing to actually get up than something to rouse me.</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE9d-5heODwiXcMAA2ZGhodkM28Vj6eLoaSAKzYeUc2yn7prFLa5kfHPvWX5QFAV-jg3aYjj0ZiM623DWmzbJOuyCBxmDxY_pxwu6xv_coTrZrwtVzK2gx7T8VjYKnAKR3nK7_kJNVinAeJ_crR2_feDmnnmAGgXxjcduP8OBb2XakVLMwx78/s2048/IMG_2091.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE9d-5heODwiXcMAA2ZGhodkM28Vj6eLoaSAKzYeUc2yn7prFLa5kfHPvWX5QFAV-jg3aYjj0ZiM623DWmzbJOuyCBxmDxY_pxwu6xv_coTrZrwtVzK2gx7T8VjYKnAKR3nK7_kJNVinAeJ_crR2_feDmnnmAGgXxjcduP8OBb2XakVLMwx78/w200-h150/IMG_2091.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morning at the bedroom window<br />(not as attractive as the palm <br />trees so that's why I didn't <br />put it up top but included here,<br />as it's the actual view)</td></tr></tbody></table>Being awake at that time of the morning allows me to somewhat track when the first light of sunrise starts showing on the east-facing windows of our bedroom, which had been getting a little earlier each day since December. In the week before changing the clocks for Daylight Saving Time the sky outside was starting to turn orange right around the time of the alarm.<p></p><p>AND <i>that </i>brings us to... the Friday before we "spring forward". Our son didn't have school for an administrative day, so we'd disabled the alarm on that day, as we didn't need to go through any of that normal routine and could let my wife and him sleep in a bit. (I'd be up anyway.) A little bonus sleep before the fall!</p><p>On that Sunday of course the clocks "sprang forward" to Daylight Saving Time, and everything seemed a bit off as it always does that day. Sunrise was now around the time we'd need to leave on a school day rather than around getting up time. But hey, the sunset was later so we had more daylight at the end of the day. That's the whole point, right?</p><p>On the Monday after "springing forward" I remember waking up and laying in bed for a couple minutes. The alarm had not sounded, and the house was a bit cold still with the unusually cool March we had, so I figured I had a few minutes before I needed to get out from under the warmth of the covers.</p><p>Then it occurred to me: <i>It's starting to get light out. With the time change it should still be dark.</i></p><p>I grabbed my phone from my nightstand. (I don't have a clock there anymore.) It was about ten minutes until we should be <i>leaving the house</i>. We'd overslept!</p><p>We'd forgotten to re-enable the alarm after Friday's break. And my typically reliable body clock was still back on Standard Time.</p><p>I muttered an obscenity and quickly woke up my wife, then got our son out of bed. I apologized as I dragged him to the bathroom and got him ready myself, while my wife threw together his lunch (with extra snacks). She grabbed a banana and granola bar for him to eat in the car ride, and put a little milk in a thermos bottle. I got our son dressed fast while my wife quickly got herself ready to drive him to school. They got in the car and were on their way about fifteen minutes after my realization, so only about five minutes behind schedule.</p><p>When my wife got home from dropping him off I asked if they made it on time. As it turned out, traffic was lighter than usual and they were actually slightly early, presumably because most other people were running even later than we were.</p><p>Now with a few weeks to adapt, my body is waking up before the alarm again. Nonetheless, we now make a habit of making sure the alarm is set the night before. Parenting is always challenging, and often is barely pulling it all together in time, but schools really should not be making it even more difficult by disrupting that routine just before the time change. Clearly we <i>can </i>be ready in much less than an hour if we must, but that's no way to live.</p><p>(Changing the clocks twice a year is in its way absurd but that at least serves some purpose that can be beneficial. At least I assume so, having lived with it my entire life, but as I wrote last year <a href="https://uselessdoug.blogspot.com/2022/03/daylight-saving-time-proposal.html">it might be a harder sell if we didn't already do it</a>.)</p>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00622075019954975761noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6674499.post-9903623375713420742022-09-17T07:48:00.000-07:002022-09-17T07:48:33.273-07:00When your child shows you a tiny bug on the table...<p>Yesterday our son made a very small boat-like envelope out of paper after breakfast. He wanted me to tape the edges together, but as we needed to get ready for school I told him that would have to wait. </p><p>After he was dressed he then pointed to a tiny insect on the dining table which initially I didn't even see (it was maybe 1/16"). Then I squished it with my finger, because we had to get going. </p><p>He then started crying because it turned out that little envelope was meant to be a house for the bug I'd just killed. He had not mentioned that part yet.</p><p>I apologized profusely and suppressed explaining how unlikely it would be that we could have gotten the bug into its "house" and how it would have been a poor pet even if so. </p><p>The moment was only saved when he pointed out a different tiny insect (looked like a fruit fly) that was also on the table. The "house" could be its home instead. He wanted me to get some fabric to make a bed for it. I told him he could do that after school and to put on his shoes.</p><p>This is parenting an empathetic child. </p><p>Also a reminder to find out the plan before acting.</p><p>(Really, we do clean the house.)</p>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00622075019954975761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6674499.post-28346244241755505872022-06-30T06:12:00.002-07:002022-06-30T06:12:25.164-07:00A brief thought about the conservative movement<p>I think a lot about all the planning and effort the conservative movement has put into opposing abortion access and opposing any gun regulation over decades, and how if they had put even a fraction of that instead toward getting therapy for themselves we all would be far better off now.</p>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00622075019954975761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6674499.post-19396907288085718422022-04-20T06:47:00.001-07:002022-04-20T06:53:24.191-07:00Iron Man<p>Like most sentient beings our 8-year-old is well acquainted with the theme to the 1967 <i>Spider-Man</i> cartoon. I think he may have seen some clips on YouTube but mostly it's from me putting it on a playlist we played in the car many times. (The playlist also included the Ramones excellent cover.)</p><p>Last week I mentioned there was a song called "Iron Man" and he was interested, figuring it must be about the other Marvel superhero. I pulled up the Black Sabbath track on my phone and played it for him, and... he lost interest partway through and had me stop when it became clear it was not about that subject.</p><p>Fair enough.</p><p>Then yesterday he was humming the riff to "Iron Man" quietly to himself, despite it not having come up in the interim. So apparently that had made some impression on him. </p><p>And last night before bedtime he started singing this:</p><p>"Iron Man<br />Iron Man<br />Does whatever an iron can"</p><p>Then he chuckled softly, amused at himself.</p><p>Kids make you proud in the most unexpected ways sometimes.</p>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00622075019954975761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6674499.post-74906387579559920952022-03-14T08:49:00.002-07:002022-03-14T08:49:43.233-07:00Daylight Saving Time proposal<p>An imagined discussion of how it might go if someone were proposing Daylight Saving Time as a new idea now:</p><p>So you're saying we should all just get up an hour earlier?</p><p><i>Yes.</i></p><p>And get our kids up an hour earlier for school?</p><p><i>Yes.</i></p><p>And why do we do this?</p><p><i>So it's daylight a bit longer in the evening.</i></p><p>And?</p><p><i>Well, that can save some energy.</i></p><p>Only if we don't turn our lights on, which we probably will anyway.</p><p><i>You can be outside later.</i></p><p>Are you suggesting we're afraid of the dark or something?</p><p><i>No, no. But you won't need lights out there until later.</i></p><p>Yeah, I think you really need to go back to the drawing board on this one.</p>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00622075019954975761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6674499.post-68414986925615655132022-02-26T08:17:00.000-08:002022-02-26T08:17:06.674-08:00When I didn't meet Weird Al Yankovic<p>On the <i>Late Show with Stephen Colbert</i> the other night, the actor <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nkanvnCoBBU" target="_blank">Thomas Lennon told the story of how he met "Weird Al" Yankovic (in an office supply store)</a>, which, along the news of <a href="https://www.weirdal.com/news/weird-the-al-yankovic-story/" target="_blank">a biopic of Mr. Yankovic starring Danielle Radcliffe</a> being in production, reminded me of this:</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjIsRQO5TB-7PSFlA1uvqgAzYPpyb9clHCZwWbS-btxbcfwGbO4xC41EsLExA7JcaxwyNwTZLNgM1ADGd6vpfDfq_CsBp5bx3POGjSf9L8aWzMEC8MEbGISvWNY5-if7RGvHDXOKF8CU9LzSy_8oy7JBXglYSY4nI2o8sx3XfDtVwKRy9HWtQA=s800" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjIsRQO5TB-7PSFlA1uvqgAzYPpyb9clHCZwWbS-btxbcfwGbO4xC41EsLExA7JcaxwyNwTZLNgM1ADGd6vpfDfq_CsBp5bx3POGjSf9L8aWzMEC8MEbGISvWNY5-if7RGvHDXOKF8CU9LzSy_8oy7JBXglYSY4nI2o8sx3XfDtVwKRy9HWtQA=s320" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A custom Lego mini-fig my wife <br />got for me a few years ago, <br />not from the event chronicled here.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Back on November 9, 2018, my wife and I took our then-pre-school-aged child to Disneyland. It was not the first visit for any of us, but this was the first time any of us went there on the first day of the park having its Christmas decorations up (or, at least, having the big tree on Main Street; there were parts of the park where the decorations were still in-process). <p></p><p>Unsurprisingly, it was a warm autumn day in Anaheim, so it didn't really feel like the holidays but such is often the case in Southern California. Being a Thursday the park wasn't super crowded, which was nice, but being Disneyland there still were thousands of folks there with us.</p><p>At one point in the middle of the day I noticed that one of those people also at the park was "Weird Al" Yankovic. Yes, <i>the </i>Weird Al. Or just "Al" as I'll refer to him for the rest of this post; even though we aren't friends I feel like he wouldn't mind.</p><p><span></span></p><a name='more'></a>We were on Main Street and I had just taken our son to the men's room next to the fire station near the entrance. As we walked out there was Al walking toward us. <p></p><p>I recognized him easily, not merely because I follow him on Instagram, but because I'd been a fan of his since 1980 (when I started hearing him on the Dr. Demento show). I'd seen him in concert twice. There is only one Al, so it was not difficult to identify him. </p><p>Someone standing nearby stopped him to do a quick selfie with him, which of course he was happy to oblige. Then he passed right by us and went into the men's room, presumably to do what one does in there.</p><p>For a hot second I had the thought of taking our son back in but immediately I dismissed that; not only did that seem like stalking but there's no justification for spending more time in public restrooms than absolutely necessary. So we went back to meet my wife who was over at one of the shops on Main Street.</p><p>As my wife and son browsed in the store I stood by the door. I don't recall why, but I probably didn't feel like looking at overpriced merchandise (again). Glancing around the square, I noticed when Al came out of the men's room and lingered just outside by some benches. No one was approaching him. He stood there. And stood there. And stood there. Eventually it dawned on me that he was waiting for his wife and daughter to emerge from the women's room.</p><p>For a moment I thought, <i>He's right there, I could just go talk to him</i>. I even figured he'd be nice about it if I did. I pondered how to bring up how I'd been a big fan, but then sort of lapsed... and then I thought about... when I met Matt Groening.</p><p>You can go read all about that <a href="https://uselessdoug.blogspot.com/2014/12/the-time-i-met-matt-groening.html" target="_blank">in this post from 2014</a>, but the gist is when I met the Simpsons creator what I blurted out was less complimentary than it seemed when it was coming out of my mouth. </p><p>While I have little doubt that anything I may have said would not be the worst thing he'd heard, in that moment at the Happiest Place on Earth, with Al a mere forty feet away, I didn't want to seem like the Dumbest Fan on Earth by having a repeat of that Groening incident, even to someone who's purported the Nicest Guy in Show Business. </p><p>So I just stayed there in the doorway of the shop, trying to not be obvious about how I was looking at the restrooms. A minute or two later his family met him by the benches and they disappeared into the crowd, and we didn't encounter them again for the rest of our visit.</p><p>And it's okay. Frankly, I take a tiny bit of solace in having this story about not making an idiot of myself to someone I'd admired to tell rather than another tale of sticking my rhetorical foot in my mouth... again.</p><p>And hence why above I do not have a photo with Al to include here but instead the one of the custom Lego mini-fig which clearly is him but which clearly is not authorized so its name is... euphemistic.</p><p>Not all of us can be as cool as the <i>Reno 911!</i> star and become besties with the phenomenal "parody enthusiast."</p>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00622075019954975761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6674499.post-61613531980387902942022-02-06T07:49:00.004-08:002022-02-06T07:50:30.143-08:00Jury Duty in the Time of Covid (a case for pessimism)<p>When I received a jury summons last March, it was particularly unwelcome. It's not like most people look forward to jury duty, but in the middle of a pandemic where we'd spent a year working from home, where our son spent all of first grade on an iPad in his bedroom, and where we'd not gone pretty much anywhere, the thought to going to a courthouse and being around a bunch of strangers in an enclosed assembly room was worrying. This was prior to vaccines being widely available, and way before our child would be eligible for that.</p><p>So I postponed my service as far out as I could (five months) to August.</p><p>By then my wife and I had been fully vaccinated. While the state of Covid in our area wasn't as bad then, again, our son was not yet so I postponed it a second time, again the five months I could. By the first week of February 2022 we were hopeful he'd be vaccinated and the pandemic should be in a much better state. </p><p>Oh, how quaint we were. Well, at least our son got his shots, but Omicron made February arguably worse than August would have been.<span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p>Having used my two postponements, when last week rolled around I had no choice. Each night I'd need to check the jury website and see if I was required to report to the court the next morning. The last time I'd had a summons, a few years ago, I lucked out and went the whole week without getting called in. However, this time I was convinced I would not be so lucky. I not only believed I'd get called in but that I'd end up actually on a case that would last days. It just seemed like that's what karma would have in store for me for two postponements.</p><p>The first night I checked... and I did not need to report. One down.</p><p>The second night I checked... and I did need to report the next day. Eh, at least it didn't drag me out to the Friday.</p><p>The court in question (in downtown L.A.) didn't require us to show up until 10 a.m., so that made it such that traffic wouldn't be bad. There was at least that. I had my iPhone and AirPods and lots of podcasts; I packed a new book I'd gotten for Christmas; I had two bottles of water. I was ready for the day.</p><p>The number of prospective jurors called in were such that we could socially distance and sit with several seats between people. Masks were required, of course. Obviously the court employees were dealing with this daily and had measures in place as well as they could. Still, for me this was the first time I'd spent being in a room with this many people since before lockdown in March of 2020. </p><p>I wasn't freaking out; as noted, I had resigned myself to this fate before the week even started. But my wife is immunocompromised and if somehow I did contract the virus through being in a courtroom and brought it home to her there was no telling what effect it might have (even being fully vaccinated and boosted). And if our son caught it he'd have to miss school, and his school had been fortunate to have very few cases and none in his class.</p><p>But I do believe in doing my civic duty (I had served on juries in the past, many years ago), so I sat there in the assembly room with my KN95 on. I listened to a podcast, then stopped while the clerk took attendance (where everyone merely raised their hand; nobody spoke), and afterward read the introduction to the book. Then the clerk said we could have a 20-minute break... even though we hadn't really done anything yet. I sat and kept reading, then used the restroom toward the end (and there was no one else in the men's room at the time). Then back to my seat and more reading, and waiting.</p><p>As it got closer to the noon lunch break I figured it was unlikely we'd get called to a courtroom just before that and suspected we'd get a longer break. Then the clerk called our attention and noted that the judge was coming down. She explained that for distancing reasons the initial process took place in the assembly room. I then pieced together that we weren't waiting to see if we'd get called to a case; we were already assigned to a case when we'd been told to report, and the only question would be which 12 would be selected (or not dismissed) by the attorneys.</p><p>The judge came in and addressed us from the front of the room, thanking us for coming in, especially given the circumstances.</p><p>He then told us the parties had just settled and the case would not be going to trial, and we would be dismissed as soon as the clerks got the paperwork ready.</p><p>While this was not quite as good as if I hadn't needed to report at all, it was about as good as it could get. I only had to sit in the room (with no one talking) for about an hour and a half, merely long enough for one podcast and the introduction to the book. I didn't even bother to crack open one of the bottles of water I'd brought. We were released and I was back to my car in the parking garage across the street before noon, and so I didn't even have to endure the late afternoon traffic leaving downtown.</p><p>Some people say one should think optimistically. I offer this as evidence that expecting the worst has its benefits. But only if one can truly be pessimistic; unlike how a jury can be manipulated, karma is not faked out by pretending.</p>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00622075019954975761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6674499.post-25164360994045662262021-10-13T22:09:00.001-07:002021-10-13T22:09:30.532-07:00Square math and the middle-aged mind<p><i>[Continuing my theme of revealing things to undermine what little confidence the world has in me...]</i></p><p>The other day my second grade son was watching a cartoon about blocks that do math. It was on Netflix I think; he has mastered all the streaming apps on the TV, and when he has free-viewing time (when Mommy and Daddy need a break) he is more than capable of selecting a show to watch, so I was not paying much attention to how we go there. <i>[Wow, I'm really knocking it out of the park with this introductory paragraph! How can the reader not want to see where this is going?]</i> In this instance, it was something that seemed more toward teaching pre-schoolers or kindergarteners about math--well below where he is in school, but maybe he gets nostalgic for that period of his life; it was at least educational, and certainly far less bad than a lot of shows he could have selected.</p><p>As I noted, I was only vaguely paying attention and likely <i>because </i>of that seeing the blocks make square shapes made me think about squaring numbers--1x1, 2x2, 3x3, etc.--and remembered that a number <i>squared </i>is the only way when represented with blocks that it creates a literal square; the units on the vertical axis and horizontal axis obviously must be the same or it's merely a rectangle. <i>[Finally got to the topic, proving that first paragraph was a digression before I even started. Readers love that.]</i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu1H-TxbiBy_94Pdu_3TejHep6YlyL7T8px03qZIc3RunjuVMsfzB7NZsoWeAQCZa0KvmFH_3O8v3ucQAvKc4dGZ8ig0G271jaGdKmuh2qi_8-smK9txTdnSyI-auiuU7qhT8RXw/s365/squares.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="127" data-original-width="365" height="111" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu1H-TxbiBy_94Pdu_3TejHep6YlyL7T8px03qZIc3RunjuVMsfzB7NZsoWeAQCZa0KvmFH_3O8v3ucQAvKc4dGZ8ig0G271jaGdKmuh2qi_8-smK9txTdnSyI-auiuU7qhT8RXw/s320/squares.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>Squaring numbers is a concept still a few years in the future for my son, but obviously way from way back in elementary school (probably) for me. Still, I hadn't thought of it in such rudimentary terms since... well, probably since I was in elementary school over four decades ago. <i>[Yowza! I am <u>old</u>.]</i></p><p>I then paused and thought about the results of those squared numbers:</p><p>1, 4, 9, 16, 25, 36, 49, 64, 81...</p><p>And how they incremented in a pattern--by 3, then 5, then 7, then 9, then 11, etc. </p><p><span></span></p><a name='more'></a>That is: <p></p><p>1+<b>3</b>=4+<b>5</b>=9+<b>7</b>=16+<b>9</b>=25+11=36+<b>13</b>=49+<b>15</b>=64+<b>17</b>=81, and so on. </p><p>Each previous squared result <i>plus </i>the next highest odd number gives the next squared number in the sequence. </p><p>I'm not suggesting I discovered anything remarkable here; that's just how squares work. To get from a 1x1 squre to a 2x2 square (and then to a 3x3 square, and then to a 4x4 square, etc.) you must add one more block to each row and to each column, <i>and then one more</i> for that new corner at the intersection of those new blocks, which will always make the number of added blocks be an odd number. To be precise, it will be the odd number that is one higher than the dimensions added together. To get from a 2x2 square to a 3x3 square, that's 2+2+1=5 added; 3x3 square is 3+3+1=7 added).</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsOwr70kQFUQnoATZIqUJt9y5HOJhcBjbUAbaYLZd2nuz24pLyPu2Pk2FUoczo3yZtKxBb1yy0FKGBfZpqhu8ZjygxAIFnWfhz6ObmxVbZTJ7A7NPkgGyWyZm_JL5ZLG9cBG-A6g/s301/squares+in+squares.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="118" data-original-width="301" height="118" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsOwr70kQFUQnoATZIqUJt9y5HOJhcBjbUAbaYLZd2nuz24pLyPu2Pk2FUoczo3yZtKxBb1yy0FKGBfZpqhu8ZjygxAIFnWfhz6ObmxVbZTJ7A7NPkgGyWyZm_JL5ZLG9cBG-A6g/s0/squares+in+squares.jpg" width="301" /></a></div><br /><i>[Yes, another diagram! Because my description certainly is not clear!]</i><p></p><p>The beauty of this is that's not how I was thinking about it in that moment; I was just taking the differences (4-1=<b>3</b>, 9-4=<b>5</b>, 16-9=<b>7</b>...) and seeing the pattern rather than just do what I did above and contemplate the actual squares that inspired the whole thing. I was not going all the way back to just thinking about it like a kid nor thinking about it sufficiently like an adult who graduated college; I was thinking about it like a middle-aged person who had not thought about this sort of thing in a long time.</p><p>The better way to put this for an equation (<a href="https://nzmaths.co.nz/resource/square-number-differences" target="_blank">which I found online</a>, and you should go read that instead) is to think in terms of taking the higher squared result number and subtract the lower squared result from it, which gives the odd number... which is the square root of each added together.</p><p>B<sup>2</sup>-A<sup>2</sup> = B+A</p><p>81-64 = 9+8, or 17.</p><p>Again, back to the literal square blocks: If you had a 9x9 square and you <span style="color: red;">removed 8x8 of those</span> that you'd have <span style="color: #15831a;">a row of 9 left and a column of 8 left</span> (not including that top corner square already part of the aforementioned row).</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3UCrUGvwUudQ1b56byjnrWfpqDRtX9SJ12EDB_rgBtAwUW5XFjOeNepyW9F7VLJGnXaixTauG9SvAkPATgL7n-_XZ4k7G73Xx5S2GzF9C0F0tKG63V9bL-7BUWY0Sp3xTnA77Rg/s238/squared.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="238" data-original-width="238" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3UCrUGvwUudQ1b56byjnrWfpqDRtX9SJ12EDB_rgBtAwUW5XFjOeNepyW9F7VLJGnXaixTauG9SvAkPATgL7n-_XZ4k7G73Xx5S2GzF9C0F0tKG63V9bL-7BUWY0Sp3xTnA77Rg/s0/squared.jpg" width="238" /></a></div><br /><p>Similarly, back to my quasi-formula: If you had an <span style="color: red;">8x8 square</span> and needed to make a 9x9 square, you'd need to <span style="color: #15831a;">add a row of 8 on the side and a column of 8 on top and then one more for the corner</span> for a total of 17 more.</p><p>Again: Not something that is remotely impressive for a middle-aged college graduate to be thinking. <i>[Oh yeah, we see that.]</i> Heck, it wouldn't be that impressive for an actual fifth grader who was actively learning about it. <i>[Leave the kids out of this.]</i> </p><p>But let me make it worse by noting this about my math classes back in high school: I didn't quite get to Calculus but I did get to the class just below it (Elementary Functions, as I recall). I was not great and only passed because the curve was so low that 55% was a C, but I did get there. My point: I had moved way past this level of equations in my academic career, all those years ago, and thought of math in more abstract ways. </p><p>And then never really used it (as I went on to be an English major <i>[not that the way this post is going suggests I was a good one]</i>), and my brain largely dispensed with advanced mathematics <i>[to the extent it was ever really in there]</i> because it can only hold on to so much.</p><p>But then that other day that cartoon (again, that is really well below even my son's level) prompted me to think about math again <i>[kind of a stretch to say that was "math"]</i>, in this way that was neither efficient nor thorough when it came to what <i>squaring </i>a number is, but in that moment I found it genuinely (albeit modestly) interesting. <i>[Not in a way that any other human would or should.]</i></p><p>The only reason I can imagine I found that to be interesting <i>[again, being pretty liberal with that term]</i> was that I don't tend to make time to simply ponder something anymore, with the demands of being a full-fledged grown-up with a family and a job. My mind wandered away from a screen (even though it was still on in the room where I was sitting) and out of everything I could have been inspired to think about in that moment, this was where my mind went. It wasn't impressive, but at least it was still capable of going somewhere, and I guess I was a tiny bit happy it still can.</p><p><i>[That I then spent some time composing this post to talk about this suggests that my mind should not be allowed to wander mildly anymore. Lock it up or give it a shove.]</i></p>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00622075019954975761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6674499.post-76416367514918277722021-10-09T08:21:00.001-07:002021-10-09T08:21:34.464-07:00Whatever happened to my (demented) brain?<p>The other morning a song popped into my mind, seemingly out of nowhere. I've <a href="https://uselessdoug.blogspot.com/2008/12/best-that-you-can-do.html" target="_blank">written about this phenomenon before</a>, so this is not new, but the song in question was not a radio staple... unless you listened to a particular radio show back in the day. What was it? </p><p>Eddie and the Monsters' 1983 novelty track, "Whatever Happened to Eddie?" (sung by Butch Patrick, who played Eddie Munster on <i>The Munsters</i> TV show back in the mid-'60s).</p><p><iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/pVgCt6cR6c4" width="480"></iframe></p><p>(There's also <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vRPEQKNAxpk" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">a full music video</a> they apparently made, if you dare.)</p><p>Where would I have heard that? Why, the Dr. Demento Show, of course. For the uninitiated, Dr. Demento was a DJ who spun comedy and novelty records on his weekly program, and each Halloween he'd have themed episodes where "Whatever Happened to Eddie?" would be a mainstay (at least during the period where I was an avid listener; more on that in a moment). I suppose with Halloween coming and us putting up decorations, that may have triggered something there in the recesses of my grey matter, even though I had not heard the song in many decades. </p><p><span></span></p><a name='more'></a>~<p></p><p>Back in 1980, at the end of my adolescence, I was turned on to Dr. Demento (the live version he did here in L.A., Sunday nights on radio station KMET; he also had a syndicated version played on stations across the country) by my friend Gary, and for several years that became my near-exclusive listening. </p><p>I would record each full show on cassettes (having to find the best moment to stop and flip over the tape as to not have it run out in the middle of a song), then with the then-impressive technology of dual tape decks I would spend time during the week copying the songs and standup and sketches I liked to another cassette for longer-term listening. I more or less gave up listening to the radio the other six days and just amassed a collection of tapes to play over and over. And I'd type (with a typewriter) lists of the tracks on each cassette on pieces of paper so I knew what was on what. A ridiculous amount of my free time went into this endeavor. </p><p>This process lasted a few years before "regular" radio crept back into my listening, and then KMET dropped the live show in 1983. By the middle of that decade I was not listening much to even the syndicated show. By the end of the decade I was not partaking of novelty music anymore. Adulthood had come and I had moved on.</p><p>Despite that period only really lasting around four years of my life, and despite listening to thousands and thousands of "serious" songs over the intervening decades, there are many times now when a song from that time just pops to mind, for no discernible reason. And despite having not listened to any of those old recorded-from-the-radio cassettes in decades or heard the songs elsewhere, I can remember an alarming amount of lyrics. By contrast, I struggle to recall the names of other parents at my son's school, but a 37-year-old comedy track? Sure, that's forever in my brain. (Admittedly, I spent far more hours playing those tapes and gave those songs far more repeated listens than I have spent trying to memorize other parents' names, so it actually would be amazing if my brain did recall the latter better.)</p><p>Really, this points to the power of what your brain can consume during those formative adolescent to teen years, and how consuming it with sufficient repetition is what forms lasting memories. And, if you're lucky, how those can become... demented.</p><p>~</p><p>Nowadays it's easy to find novelty content all over the internet, or to just Google any such song and find it (as evidenced above), but back then we had only a few hours a week of what the good doctor spun to fill that. (Back then I didn't have much money to go buy albums, but even when I did, the novelty tracks he'd play weren't always easy to find in record stores.) </p><p>Yes, I do still have all those cassettes in a bin somewhere out in the garage. Perhaps someday when I get around to cleaning that I'll pull them out and compose another post... although I don't still have a tape deck on which to play them (assuming they still could be played).</p><p>And yes, I am still friends with Gary. Like these demented songs, our friendship has persisted.</p>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00622075019954975761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6674499.post-86727983267543708712021-09-18T11:48:00.004-07:002021-09-18T17:52:39.667-07:00Looking back at September 14, 2001<p>The <a href="https://uselessdoug.blogspot.com/2021/09/looking-back-on-september-11-2001.html" target="_blank">previous post</a> took a look back at what I'd written in my journal on the day of the terrorist attacks, but while I had the notebook out (from the box in the garage where it normally is) I glanced a few days further and noticed what I composed a mere three days after the attacks, which I offer below without edits, as a document of its time. (I'm not suggesting I have changed my overall view in the intervening decades, especially after seeing how that period played out, but I'd probably write in a slightly less jaded tone these days.)</p><p>Spoiler: As you'll see, I was not on the nationalistic (some might say jingoistic) train sweeping much of the country at the time, but I was riding the commuter rail at the moments of writing this.</p><blockquote><p><span></span></p><a name='more'></a>According to an email forwarded to me, today we are supposed to wear red, white, and blue in some show of unity and patriotism, showing we as a people will not tolerated terrorism.<p></p></blockquote><p></p><blockquote><p>Hmm. I didn't think we were tolerating terrorism regardless of our wardrobe. Shows what I know.</p><p>As it turns out, I am wearing a navy blue shirt, but that I had more or less decided that yesterday--not to participate in any event, just because it seemed something to wear: it was the shirt's turn in the rotation. Glancing around the train, I don't see a lot of compliance with the preferred dress code. Maybe they didn't read their email.</p><p>Over the past couple days I've also received messages trying to organize activities ostensibly aimed at showing those nefarious terrorists that the U.S. is not crumbling, that we are wounded but not crippled. Another message requested everyone light a candle at 7 p.m. tonight, in some sort of national vigil. Okay. Then the message closed noting that media coverage was critical. While I grasp the only way the intended targets are likely to see the event is if it appears on TV, when I read that line it took on a tone not of mourning but of publicity stunt.</p><p>There's also been messages being forwarded that tout the greatness of all the U.S. has done. This is good, of course, but it strikes me as though we're trying to convince ourselves of what should already think all the time, not just after a tragedy.</p><p>I appreciate that a lot of people are irrevocably emotionally wounded. There were moments Tuesday morning that I was on the verge of tears myself. However, the gestures are just trying to make ourselves feel better, that's all. And the more I see someone trying to tell me how to mourn, the less I feel part of the so-called land of the free. The kicker was the effort to forward the Lord's Prayer around, instructing the recipient to pray for the sender. Not only does it strike me as counterproductive to be laying Christian dogma down on everyone as the hope--wasn't it religious fanaticism that was at the core of what spurred the terrorists into action?--but if one is in a position to be forwarding the message, one is in relatively good shape and prayers would be better focused on the victims' families and friends.</p><p>Ah, but maybe I'm just a cynical bastard.</p><p>Today I ignored the moment of silence at noon and the candle ceremony (of sorts) at 4 p.m. I wasn't trying to be standoffish, I just wasn't paying attention to time. Not that I would have made an effort anyway, but it wasn't out of disrespect; I was just trying to conduct my life as usual, without allowing the acts of madmen to succeed in disrupting the days any more than it <i>[sic]</i> has to.</p></blockquote><p></p><p>What is perhaps more noteworthy than these admittedly trite thoughts is the many references to forwarding messages, and remembering how in those days prior to Facebook and Twitter the way things "went viral" were through people sending on such emails to everyone in their address book--and how the email platforms allowed one to send to such large recipient groups without being rejected as spam.</p><p>It was a different time.</p>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00622075019954975761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6674499.post-57039298821826444302021-09-11T08:32:00.003-07:002021-09-18T17:53:29.887-07:00Looking back on September 11, 2001<p>On this 20th anniversary of the attacks, many people have been remembering where they were and what they were doing when they heard. Like everyone who was old enough to be aware, I recall that morning very well, even though I was thousands of miles away from the tragedies.</p><p>My morning routine at the time is worth noting for how I learned of the news.</p><p>I lived alone in a studio apartment. To allow myself to sleep in as late as possible and still get to work on time, I had it down to only the essential actions. When the alarm sounded I'd immediately get up and get in the shower, then brush my teeth, get dressed, run a comb through my hair, grab my bag, and head out to walk to the train station a few blocks away. I'd get something for breakfast after I got to the office, so I had that whole process from waking to out-the-door down to around 35 minutes. </p><p>The key: In that 35 minutes, I did not turn on the TV or even a radio. It was all about getting done as fast as possible, and that would only have been a distraction. (Obviously this was before smartphones and news alerts.)</p><p>I walked to the train station unaware of anything happening in the world. While waiting on the platform, someone did say, "Crazy morning, huh?" I recall nodding just to acknowledge but not knowing what the person was referring to. Even then, that was a comment that could be taken a number of ways.</p><p>I did have a Walkman-type AM/FM/Cassette player in my bag, and after getting on the train and taking a seat I put on my headphones and tuned in to the Kevin & Bean show on KROQ (something I still did back then). Rather than their usual silliness, their tone was of shock and disbelief. That's how I learned about what had happened: from a rock station's morning show that ordinarily devoted maybe five minutes per hour to actual news.</p><p>I listened for a while, trying to take it all in. Then I did what I usually did on the ride, and pulled out a pad of paper and pen, and jotted down thoughts in my journal. I went back and looked at what I wrote that morning, which I offer below not because it is particularly profound or insightful, but as a record of the moment.</p><p></p><blockquote><p><span></span></p><a name='more'></a>Well, the end may now begin.<p></p><p>The only thing anyone will be discussing today is the terrorist attacks of the World Trade Center in Manhattan and the Pentagon, just a few hours ago.</p><p>I've heard on the radio that they've evacuated the office among a number of other skyscrapers in downtown L.A., even though there has been no threats or acts on the West Coast, as a precaution. I'm continuing in on the train since I'm most of the way there now.</p><p>Two hijacked airliners crashed into the towers of the W.T.C. and the entire country has essentially shut down: air traffic grounded, the stock market has halted trading, and just in general, surveying my immediate surroundings, there's a somber pall hanging over everyone; not surprisingly, I have seen no smiles on any faces.</p><p>I'm sort of glad to hear some music on the radio now. Listening to the news was getting difficult.</p></blockquote><p></p><p>This next section I wrote on the train ride back home. </p><p></p><blockquote><p>I'm now riding back home after walking most of the way to the office, meeting up with a woman who works in the convenience store in the building and with one of the secretaries, both walking from there. The guards are not allowing anyone inside, and apparently they evacuated the building quickly, before H.R. could issue a message.</p><p>I stopped by the Burger King on the way to the station. It was crowded, although perhaps that's normal. Still, I think a good number of the patrons were office refugees like myself. The woman behind the register kept telling everyone to have a good day after taking the order, in a dull monotone that bespoke the absurdity of the statement. I sat and ate for a few minutes, glancing out the window. I had nothing but time by then.</p><p>The train is full, but again, that may be normal for this time of day. The mood is a bit lighter, but that's probably a matter of the calm after the storm. We've had a little time to digest the news, to realize that terrorists have granted many of us the day off (as it were), to snap back to reality of a sort. The shock of being reminded how fragile our existence is has been replaced by the usual sense of taking it for granted, because it had to.</p><p>(On the radio a few minutes ago, playing music as a respite from it all, [the oldies station] pushed it just a bit in a way that I don't think everyone noticed: they ran James Taylor's "Fire and Rain." So? Given the tragedy involved plane crashes, the line "...flying machines in pieces on the ground" could have been less than sensitive.)</p><p>Tomorrow we'll go back to pretending life is normal, that we're safe, that everything is okay.</p></blockquote><p></p><p>That jaded conclusion was not exactly accurate; we did not go back to pretending life was normal the next day. It was not entirely inaccurate in its sentiment, however; eventually we did return to a normal that was only somewhat like what had been normal. But looking at what I wrote <i>the very next day</i> in my journal, I am reminded I was back to blathering on about my normal inane concerns because I had that luxury. (I did acknowledge it was out of necessity because I needed some mental escape, so it wasn't just pretending nothing had happened; it was a way of dealing with that new normal.)</p><p>In a way it's quaint to look back and see how naïve that initial jadedness was, because even as awful as that day was and the days immediately afterward were, in the months and years since then so much got so much worse. But the notion that everything pre-9/11 was hunky dory is a delusion that the intervening decades have helped some of us to better get over. There is perhaps at least that.</p>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00622075019954975761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6674499.post-58263227101656763732021-09-01T06:00:00.001-07:002021-09-01T06:00:30.667-07:00A Modest Proposal: Overturning Roe v Wade edition<p>The reason conservatives want the Supreme Court to overturn Roe v Wade and ban abortion (and those conservatives make no effort to make policies to help children) is simple: They want more babies born so they can eat the babies.</p><p>Not all conservatives, of course. Only the wealthy ones can afford baby meat.</p>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00622075019954975761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6674499.post-83955438844974166152021-05-19T20:52:00.001-07:002021-05-19T20:52:41.614-07:00Kids ask the most probing things: The dangers of nature shows<p>Tonight, as a family we were watching an episode of <i>Crocodile Hunter</i> (yes, from the '90s) where Steve and Terri were on a beach where green turtles were mating in the shallow waters. The hosts talked about how during the hours-long mating the females are responsible for bringing both turtles to the surface to breathe because the males are too focused on what they're doing.</p><p>Without missing a beat, our son asked (with complete sincerity) "Is that what Daddy was like after you guys got married?"</p><p>After several minutes of uncontrollable laughter, we could only say: "Not exactly." </p>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00622075019954975761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6674499.post-17430225065883341392021-04-27T07:32:00.002-07:002021-09-18T17:54:32.373-07:00The simple joys of being a middle-aged dad: Flash Gordon theme edition<div style="text-align: left;">Somewhere in my past the chorus to the theme (by Queen) from the 1980 <i>Flash Gordon </i>movie got quasi-embedded in my brain--particularly that couplet: </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;">Flash! A-ah! </div><div style="text-align: left;">Savior of the universe! </div></blockquote><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/LfmrHTdXgK4" width="320" youtube-src-id="LfmrHTdXgK4"></iframe></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Over time my brain changed the second line to "<i>Defender</i> of the universe" (which I think works better in the meter, but that's another topic) but the melody remained, and the key (of course) was the "A-ah!" vocalization after the hero's name. It's not as though I was a huge fan of the movie (I was not) nor a huge fan of the song (it's fine); but that part was just an earworm that was in me permanently.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />For no good reason other than my own amusement, occasionally I'd adapt it and substitute another single-syllable word where the "Flash!" was, to elevate the term in a ridiculous way; e.g., "Cheese! A-ah! Defender of the universe!"--although I have no recollection of using that one in particular. It's always spontaneous, tossed out in the moment when an appropriate word comes up in our conversations, as a jocular interjection, so they never stick with me.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><a name='more'></a></span>As a parent I have done this in front of my now 7-year-old son just to be silly more times than I could recall, but it's not like I do it daily or weekly. Again, it's never premeditated nor meant to make any larger point than some dumb attempt at humor, so I genuinely could not say how often it has occurred. But apparently it has happened enough to make an impression. <br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The other day we were playing outside and when we went in the house he went to the bathroom to wash his hands (a habit we have drilled into him through intentional repetition). At the sink, completely on his own, he burst out "Ice! A-ah! Defender of the universe!" (based on a word that came up in our play adventure just before we came inside). He then repeated that when he came out, with an accompanying dance move--a nice addition that I don't recall ever including.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There’s no reason anyone else will get this, and that’s as it should be, but I find it immensely amusing to see how I’m ruining my son while he’s still young.<br /> <br />It’s not my proudest moment as a parent, but I won’t lie: it’s up there.</div>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00622075019954975761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6674499.post-63177430379338844992020-06-12T09:47:00.007-07:002020-12-31T09:55:29.327-08:00Say It: Black Lives Matter<p><i>[Although I haven't been posting lately here on the blahg, over on the Book of Faces I do still occasionally post privately to only friends, mostly so relatives who live at a distance can see pictures of our son. This is what I posted there, shared here because it's important.]</i></p><p>You’ve probably noticed my hiatus from posting, and it is due to the murders of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor and Tony McDade and countless others that have spurred the current protests. It has been a very difficult time, not merely as a human capable of empathy, but because of my life. I’m not only one who has benefited from the centuries of white supremacy that led to the troubling society we have, but I’m also the father of an amazing Black boy and husband of a phenomenal Black woman, the two people I love most. I have an extended African-American family who through the grace of God is still with us. It’s not abstract anger about the news; for me it’s very personal.</p><p>And we’ve had to keep parenting during a pandemic.</p><p>I know many of you enjoy these photos of my son and wife. (Yes, mostly our son.) They are a source of joy in this world. But they’re also a Black boy and Black woman in this world, which you need to understand means it’s a more dangerous world for them than for many of the rest of us.</p><p>I know you care about them. I know you believe their lives are just as important as your own. But I need you to declare that not only about their lives but the lives of all Black people matter. Now.</p><p>I ask you to leave a comment on this post stating Black Lives Matter.</p><p>I need to know you are with me on this.</p><p>This is not jumping on some bandwagon. This is simply what should be an obvious view in our society, but clearly it’s not. However, I must believe that it’s possible we can get there, and I beseech you to type three little (but critically important) words below to tell me you believe it too.</p><p>Saying Black Lives Matter does not suggest that other lives don’t. It means you believe they matter just as much.</p><p>Black Lives Matter. Now and forever. Please join me so I can see who my friends really are.</p>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00622075019954975761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6674499.post-24795375548856844622019-10-19T00:06:00.001-07:002019-10-19T00:06:25.963-07:00Taking your medicine<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A single moment can change your day, and it doesn’t even need to be that big a moment.<br />
<br />
Take yesterday morning. It was the first time that our kindergartner could wear something other than his school uniform or his PE clothes, and unlike most mornings he eagerly got dressed. The theme was dots (or circles) and he had his red Flash shirt (with the lightning bolt through a circle, but in the design the circle diffused into dots). He even picked out shorts and socks that had some such pattern. He was really into it.<br />
<br />
As we were wrapping things up before it was time to leave, Mommy asked if he’d had some medicine and he had not; this week he had been coughing some with occasionally runny nose. As she finished getting ready in the living room, I went and poured some into the little cup. She sent him over to the kitchen where I was, and he looked at the cup and said, “That’s more than zero.” I didn’t think much about that and simply replied, “Yes, now here.” As we were running short on time and he was hesitating, I put the cups to his lips and tilted it so the medicine would run down into his mouth.<br />
<br />
He then closed his mouth and it spilt down on his shirt and shorts in large globs that did not look like dots.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>In frustration I exclaimed, “Well, that could not have gone worse.”<br />
<br />
Mommy came over to see what was happening and quickly realized he’d have to change clothes—which obviously we really didn’t have time for, but he couldn’t go to school with glaring medicine stains. So she had to scramble and find some other shirt with some circular patterns… which proved to be a Star Trek shirt with the various Federation starships and their round designs. This was not what he was excited to wear, and there were tears.<br />
<br />
However, mostly the tears were because he felt like I hadn’t listened, and that when he commented on the medicine being more than zero he suggested it seemed more than could be consumed in one drink. I was too frustrated to appreciate that at the time, of course, and clearly it wasn’t that clear from what he specifically said, but in retrospect I see it.<br />
<br />
Here I was feeling the pressure of him not being late for school and pushing him to take the medicine faster and it completely backfired, and had I just taken an extra moment it would have saved time over how things actually played out.<br />
<br />
So as we went out to Mommy’s car and I buckled him in his car seat he was not super happy with me. As my wife and son drove off I got in my car to drive to work and remained very bothered by the incident, dwelling not only on how I should have been more patient with him but also on how I’d ruined his first special dress day. Obviously he bears responsibility for how he responded, by closing his mouth and causing the spill, but ultimately he’s the kid and I’m the parent; I’m the one who’s supposed to know better. And that’s undoubtedly why it kept bothering me most of the day.<br />
<br />
This evening when they got home, I asked my wife how he was on the morning ride, and she said he didn’t bring up sadness about having to wear the different clothes. And I was not surprised. Yes, he was upset in the moment but this wasn’t so big that he wouldn’t be able to get on with his day. Regardless of what he wore, at least it wasn’t the polo shirt that he hates (and reiterates daily so we don’t forget).<br />
<br />
As the adult of course I sat in the driver’s seat of my car and listed all the ways the incident so easily could have been avoided (remembering to give it to him before getting dressed, or handing him the cup and allowing him to sip it), and felt guilty about having gotten upset myself.<br />
<br />
That’s the thing about being a parent (at least in my experience): You’ll make mistakes, sure—you’re human—but you’ll feel bad about them not just in the moment but afterward because you’re supposed to be doing better. In the grand scheme this was not a moment that he’s likely to remember, but I will.<br />
<br />
It’s almost certainly not the biggest parenting mistake I will make over the course of his life, and maybe that’s also part of what concerns me. But perhaps that I’m not screwing up so bad that this incident would stay on my radar in such a way suggests I’m not doing too horrible a job.<br />
<br />
Or I’m due for a colossal fuck-up. I guess time will tell.</div>
Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00622075019954975761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6674499.post-648813868076607542018-12-12T22:43:00.001-08:002018-12-12T22:47:36.363-08:00Play it LOUD, Daddy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Last night on the drive home our preschooler had a full-on crying fit... because I wouldn't play <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ALHe12x_I0U&fbclid=IwAR1xUXzxVu3oc4NbOhdg8eZtCghFjjR-laD31pukdnrrdS7JteF2b9B7BuY" target="_blank">"Here and Now" by Letters To Cleo</a> at full volume in the car.<br />
<br />
"I like it super loud" was his argument for why I should increase the volume. Which I countered with, "No"--but while still playing it louder than I would listen to, say, NPR.<br />
<br />
Then for tonight's drive the iPod played a mix of songs that I kept at a very modest volume... until he decided he wanted <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T-Xpq7CtZPk&fbclid=IwAR3_IG2Q8aXHQ8se3AetcKJhg0XTW_81TFMyzmi_dAbkw2qLvmSRFiOx9TA" target="_blank">Grant Lee Buffalo's "Truly, Truly"</a> turned up--not that he'd ever heard that before; it may simply have been what came on at the moment he wanted the music louder in general. And the volume stayed up for... the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bwkxy4yGCfQ&fbclid=IwAR0ZRoHGqftwtmiJKJ6OE_MHKd6BGRyNlkllBWvTGIWqjF3pb-iqzXypWpg" target="_blank">Carpenters' version of "Reason To Believe"</a>. When he wanted "super loud" I said, "How about semi-super loud?" That distracted him as he then had to ask what that meant.<br />
<br />
Then to close our commute he requested that we listen to the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rhJZrRV5YKo&fbclid=IwAR1zhFYHeUi9S1PRcaS9gVy4jTKIz7GfEgsyIBt46GMLqpaZ7DSpsZ3pvQ0" target="_blank">Bauhaus cover of "Ziggy Stardust" </a>twice in a row. That he accepted at just normal volume--which, again, was louder than I'd do for NPR. Because Ziggy played.. gui-tar.</div>
Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00622075019954975761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6674499.post-38470205766373178122018-11-14T23:26:00.000-08:002018-11-14T23:26:00.548-08:00Knock knock<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Actual knock-knock joke our preschooler told at dinner a couple weeks ago (with our responses):<br />
<br />
Knock-knock<br />
(Who's there?)<br />
<br />
Banana<br />
(Banana who?)<br />
<br />
Knock-knock<br />
(Who's there?)<br />
<br />
Banana<br />
(Banana who?)<br />
<br />
Knock-knock<br />
(Who's there?)<br />
<br />
Pickle<br />
(Pickle who?)<br />
<br />
Pickle you glad I didn't say "Banana"! [Cackles with laughter]<br />
<br />
~<br />
<br />
Happy National Pickle Day.</div>
Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00622075019954975761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6674499.post-814223364108648342018-11-04T10:53:00.003-08:002018-11-04T10:53:51.794-08:00Exactly how were we *saving* daylight?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
If since March 11 we've been "saving" daylight then conceivably we should have a seven-month stockpile from which we could redeem some of that saved-up daylight and not have it be so dark when we leave work tomorrow.<br />
<br />
"Daylight Saving Time" my ass; it was Daylight <i>Having</i> Time and we squandered it during summer when there was plenty of daylight already.<br />
<br />
(Clearly linguists were not consulted when the policy was named.)</div>
Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00622075019954975761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6674499.post-20549530698471545202018-10-09T23:02:00.004-07:002018-10-09T23:02:35.991-07:00A couple moments with my son<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Tonight after I put our son in bed and turned out the light he said, "Let's talk about our day, Daddy." And so I asked him about school, and he answered. Then he said (for the first time ever), "How was your day?" And I told him it was fine, which is as much as he needed to know about what it's like to be a grown-up, despite how mature he sounded when asking.<br />
<br />
~<br />
<br />
Earlier in the evening, without establishing any context, he had talked about how "my friends say 'poo' which has an 'o' on the end, but 'poop' has a 'p' on the end" and he was quite certain he was right and they were saying it wrong, and his pedantry was too cute for me to mention either variant is acceptable. Nor did I elaborate on how either is just what grown-ups say around young children to avoid saying words they don't want to have to explain to the teachers.<br />
<br />
But whatever elicited his remark it surely revolved around how either "poo" or "poop" is something that is hilarious in preschool. And I'm glad he's not growing up too fast to stop enjoying that.</div>
Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00622075019954975761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6674499.post-62408653036148086572018-09-16T08:47:00.000-07:002018-09-16T08:47:02.880-07:00Karma has no room in LA traffic<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
(My descent into turning into my father is complete. I'm going to talk about how long it took to get somewhere.)<br />
<br />
Setting the stage: For my typical morning commute to work I take mostly side streets, and the key point is where I must cross a set of tracks for a light-rail line (as there are only a limited number of crossing points). Recently construction on the closest large boulevard has closed that and caused much more traffic to the smaller two-lane street I use.<br />
<br />
At the intersection just before the tracks there is the street that proceeds straight north to the tracks and a perpendicular street where cars coming east turn left or cars coming west turn right to get on to the aforementioned northbound street. But with all the extra traffic cars back up in all three directions, because not only can the tracks be blocked when trains go by but just on the far side of the tracks is another intersection with a traffic light. So that light turns red, the northbound street backs up all the way to the previous intersection, leaving no room for more cars to proceed through at that one.<br />
<br />
At least they shouldn't. But that doesn't stop some oblivious or inconsiderate drivers from pulling into the intersection even though there isn't room on the other side, thereby blocking the intersection when the light changes and the westbound cars (that aren't turning) cannot go.<br />
<br />
I try not to be such an person, which seems like should be karmically good.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>Friday when I was on the northbound street approaching the intersection the light happened to be green and cars going that direction were actually able to get through... but just before I got to the intersection I spotted a westbound car turn right on the red (because apparently the car two in front of me left just enough room for such a move) and thus I had to pause to see if I could complete getting across the intersection, which allowed an extra moment for the light to turn yellow and I stopped (rather than run the risk of blocking the intersection).<br />
<br />
After a moment of sitting there it became evident that there would have been room for me on the other side had I run the yellow light. But hey, I was first in line for that direction when the next green light came so it didn't seem too bad.<br />
<br />
However, with the westbound or eastbound cars turning north when they had the green, that filled all available space on the other side when the light turned green for me. And the red light at the far intersection past the tracks kept them not moving until after the light turned red for me, so a whole cycle went by without me (or any other northbound cars) being able to move.<br />
<br />
Then the far light turned, the cars on the other side proceeded, and more eastbound/westbound cars turned and when the far light changed to red again... the other side of the intersection was full again. So when I got the next green light again I couldn't move for yet another full cycle.<br />
<br />
And then the same happened again. The synchronization with the far intersection left it so the northbound cars kept having their green when the far one was red or when the tracks were blocked for a train. So at the third green I just turned right and went east... then turned around on another side street and headed back so I was going westbound and was able to turn right on to the northbound other side of the intersection at the next green.<br />
<br />
Obviously the lesson here was not to bother going northbound, which I won't do for the duration of the construction on the boulevard. But more important is how being considerate of others and not running the barely yellow light only resulted in me having to spend eight minutes to traverse a distance that, had I just gotten out of my car and walked, I could have traveled in literally eight seconds. And all because some westbound car couldn't wait its turn as I had originally approached the intersection.<br />
<br />
This is what turns otherwise nice people into cutthroat assholes behind the wheel, when consideration only results in getting screwed over. I will strive not to allow myself to succumb to that, but fate is not making it easy.<br />
<br />
~<br />
<br />
(Yes, I too am somewhat astounded that I spent the time writing about this, but I appreciate you reading all the way to the end anyway.)</div>
Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00622075019954975761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6674499.post-80703567931007026222018-09-15T07:06:00.001-07:002018-09-15T07:08:10.624-07:00Dino jingle<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
While reading a book about dinosaurs to our preschooler last night we came upon Ceratosaurus, and he said, "It sounds like 'Cerritos'." And I agreed that it did somewhat resemble the name of that Southern California town.<br />
<br />
Then he sang the "Yes... Cerritos Auto Square--dot com!" jingle from the commercial for the car dealers, which presumably he'd heard on the radio while riding with Mommy.<br />
<br />
This is why I only listen to the iPod or NPR when I'm driving in the car with him. Kids are sponges.</div>
Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00622075019954975761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6674499.post-7677044652601945752018-09-06T21:10:00.000-07:002018-09-06T21:10:06.063-07:00Are you ready (to not watch) some football?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
With the NFL season starting tonight, I wanted to state for the record:<br />
Even though I've watched football since childhood but I will not be watching any games this season.<br />
<br />
And it is because of the owners aligning themselves with Trump regarding the kneeling protest (and mandating those on the field must stand during the anthem). Giving that moron even an ostensible victory was too much.<br />
<br />
I concede the CTE situation should have made it unwatchable already, but this proved the last straw.<br />
<br />
That said, I don't think less of those who do continue watch or consider them inherently pro-Trump or against the protest by doing so. This is merely what I'm choosing to do (or not, as it were). </div>
Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00622075019954975761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6674499.post-87910592325586583662018-09-03T12:47:00.002-07:002018-09-03T12:47:45.509-07:00When you don't get your sleeping child an In-N-Out milkshake<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Last weekend while running errands our preschooler (unsurprisingly) fell asleep in his car seat. He'd eaten many snacks beforehand so when my wife and I were hungry we went through the <a href="http://www.in-n-out.com/" target="_blank">In-N-Out</a> drive-thru (to allow him to keep sleeping while we ate in the car) without worrying about getting him something.<br />
<br />
Then over an hour after we left there (and had gone to two other destinations, where I stayed in the parked car with him while my wife ran into the stores) he awoke in the back seat... and noticed the empty milkshake cup in the cupholder with the chocolate and vanilla residue showing through the lid.<br />
<br />
He then started saying he wanted a milkshake, over and over. And I kept explaining we were no longer near where they made the milkshakes. And he kept saying he wanted one. And I kept explaining. And he kept saying he wanted one.<br />
<br />
Finally, with his lip pouting so far out one could rest objects on it, he muttered, "Worst day ever. I don't get a milkshake."<br />
<br />
We <i>are</i> really bad parents. We should have disposed of the evidence before he woke up.<br />
<br />
~<br />
<br />
Epilogue: I gave him a little ice cream bar from the freezer when we got home and then things were fine.</div>
Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00622075019954975761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6674499.post-91821432055090663392018-08-20T07:19:00.000-07:002018-08-20T07:19:00.608-07:00Music in the '50s to the '80s, and the '80s to today: Running to standstill?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Last year U2 toured in honor of the 30th anniversary of their album <i>The Joshua Tree</i>.<br />
<br />
I remember 1987 (I was just out of high school) and how much songs from that album dominated rock radio back then. It was almost nauseating, and I was someone who liked their music (but wasn't a huge fan).<br />
<br />
I also remember what I thought of songs from thirty years earlier (1957) at that time (1987). I'd listened to plenty of the oldies station in my younger days to be familiar with the likes of Jerry Lee Lewis' "Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On" or the Everly Brothers' "Wake Up Little Susie" or Sam Cooke's "You Send Me" (I could go on). I liked all that music as well, but being from more than a decade before I was born it did seem... old. Again, it was very good, but... old.<br />
<br />
Here's the thing: It is now just a little over the same amount of time passed since 1987 as had passed from 1957 to 1987. However, when I think about the music of 1987 now, it doesn't seem old. Intellectually I grasp that it is, but it doesn't seem old in the way 1957's music seemed in 1987--even though that same oldies station now plays mostly songs from the '80s (and wouldn't consider playing anything from the '50s).<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>The obvious difference is I experienced it firsthand; it was that halcyon time of burgeoning adulthood when one's music tastes tend to get particularly ingrained, and where one has many of those experiences one remembers with nostalgia in one's middle years. I'm sure that is <i>part </i>of it.<br />
<br />
The less obvious part is this: I think rock music today still kinda sounds like music from 1987, from a structure and production standpoint--certainly moreso than songs from 1987 sounded like songs from 1957. Clearly the '50s were still early in the rock era and the recording techniques had not developed to the point where they were in the '80s, so it is easy to see how those periods would simply sound different. Contemporary technology has progressed so much farther since 1987 that you'd think it would make 1987 sound like 1957, but I don't think it does.<br />
<br />
Let's look at it this way: I'd argue one could take a current rock song and time travel back to 1987 and get a programmer to put it on the radio, it would not stand out that much from the music of the time. Whereas the same theoretical experiment of taking a typical 1987 song back to 1957 and putting on the radio then would result in it really sticking out like the proverbial sore thumb. (Yes, there were retro acts who would fit in fine, but that was not the whole of rock radio at the time.)<br />
<br />
As to whether this still-sounding-similar is why rock has not been the dominant popular music genre for quite some time, or <i>because </i>rock has not been the dominant popular music genre for some time it still sounds similar, I dare not say. Or maybe it's simply that the acts today grew up listening to that and of course that influenced their sound and that's the model they follow.<br />
<br />
I should concede that as a middle-aged parent I don't keep up with the cutting edge of contemporary music that perhaps is progressing in impressive ways, and undoubtedly I'm overlooking many current popular rock artists who don't just sound like they'd fit in three decades ago, but as regards what gets played on the radio (to the extent anyone listens to the radio anymore) it seems like the sound has only incrementally changed.<br />
<br />
Perhaps it's more that I have been alive for the past three decades and acclimated to the day-to-day tiny adjustments to the world over that span that make it seem like progress has been little, whereas the 30 years prior to that I was either not yet born or very young or still not an adult, and that past seemed so vastly different because I had not lived through it all in the same way. It's possible that arbitrarily picking any point in time and comparing that to a point 30 years earlier where one had lived through that period as an adult (or from late teens) would seem more similar than the same sort of comparison of a period one had not lived through, and there's nothing particularly special about picking the late '80s as when rock's sound seemed to become encased in amber.<br />
<br />
But that's really what it boils down to: It <i>seemed to</i> stop evolving. This isn't about the actuality of what has happened, because obviously it has changed; to my ears it merely has the semblance of not changing that dramatically, and it's entirely likely it's just an inadequacy on my part--perhaps due to being middle-aged. <i>I</i> am what would still fit in back in the '80s.<br />
<br />
So if you're a rock fan in, say, your seventies/eighties now (and recall the '50s through the '80s) or your teens/young twenties (and look back at the '80s the way I did the '50s), please let me know what you think.<br />
<br />
Not that either of those groups reads blogs, but on the off-chance you come across this, please chime in.<br />
<br />
~<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">For me personally, 1987 was far more important as the year I discovered <a href="http://thereplacementsofficial.com/pages/home" target="_blank">the Replacements</a>--a band that still means far more to me than U2. However, while they did re-form and tour a few years ago, it wasn't specifically about the 30th anniversary of a particular album, and thus weren't the inspiration here.</span></div>
Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00622075019954975761noreply@blogger.com1