I wanna go fast

A Little Experimentation

2012-01-31T11:43:00.001-05:00

As I've been preparing for the start of the 2012 season, I've had a lot of questions about the changes I'm making to the car: new differential (4.30 and urethane bushings), beefier clutch, wing, and moving back to stock sway bars. Will the new setup work? Will it take 2 or 3 events to figure out how to drive it? Will I trust it too much and stuff the car?

There are a lot of moving parts up there--no real scientific method was used, other than trying to maximize the allowed points for my class. The wing was the most obvious aero choice, but it's not being accompanied by any corresponding front aero, so the biggest question I had was if I was seriously upsetting the handling of the car. Most folks tend to agree that adding down-force means adding spring-rate, but that's not in the plan or the budget, so...eek?

Last night I had an idea. One that's probably been done by countless others, and with better results, but it was new to me. I fired up Gran Turismo 5 on the PS3, hooked up the PlaySeat & Logitech G25, and built a '91 Eunos Roadster to match my real car's configuration from last year (except for that whole 1.6L ~ 1.8L thing):

Power: ECU, header, exhaust, intake
Suspension: -20mm ride height, -2 deg camber, 0 toe, 12.5kgf/mm front springs, 5.8kgf/mm rear springs, 7 front sway bar, 4 rear sway bar
Tires: Intermediate racing
Drivetrain: stock clutch, semi-racing flywheel

I added ballast and moved it rearward to achieve 51/49, and biased the brakes forward 7/5.

The car was nearly undriveable. Heavy braking resulted in an extremely twitchy tail (just exactly like in my real life car), and it took all my concentration to get the car around the High Speed Ring without crashing. That's ridiculous, as it's one of the easiest tracks ever. The best lap I could manage was a 1:26.3, and I was actually starting to get into a consistent rhythm.

So then I went and updated to this year's intended configuration:

Power: same as a bove
Suspension: same, except sway bars: 2 front / 2 rear
Tires: same as above
Drivetrain: single-plate clutch, semi-racing flywheel
Aero: Wing w/ downforce set to 13 (an intermediate setting)

I expected to have drag issues on the straights, but didn't. I can't decide if this is a limitation of the game or because speeds are not truly significant enough in a Miata to really affect top speed, but the difference in the corners was immediately noticeable. No longer did the tail want to swing out under braking, and the steering was a tick heavier entering corners. I've notoriously had a habit of tossing the car into a corner and powering out, but the end-plates on the wing prohibited that. I could only pour the car into the corners, which is a good thing.

Ultimately, after just 3 laps driving with the new configuration, I'd taken almost 2 full seconds off my lap, and was far more confident entering turns 3 and 4. I was able to carry a full 10mph more through turn 4 and get on power far earlier in turn 5. I only put in about 6 laps, but was turning consistent 1:24.7 laps.

That's a 1.6 second change doing nothing but adding downforce and reducing sway bars (forgot to change the old configuration to a 4.10 rear end). I'd say it was better than expected, but it's hard to say how well the video game will translate to the real world. But right now I'm feeling a little more confident in the changes I've made. In fact, if I scale the 1.6 / 1:26.3 to ??? / 2:19.8 (my fastest at VIR), I get a 2.59 second gain, or 2:17.2. That's huge, and could make this the best year ever.

So now the question remains: is GT5 a good enough simulator to test real-world performance mods?

UPDATE: The gearing in GT5 was completely wrong for a stock Miata. After correcting it and updating one configuration for a 4.10 rear, I re-ran the test. With a little practice I was able to get the old config (no wing) down to a 1:24.9, and the wing config down to a 1:24.3. It will still carry a full 10mph more through both T3 and T4, but the gearing and wing offset each other everywhere else.

6!

2012-01-13T10:16:00.002-05:00

Next weekend my little guy will turn 6. I am excite.

The guy's had a big year, with two trips to DC, the Inaugural (or only?) Baltimore Grand Prix, the advent of a step-mother, and the start of big-boy school. He got a dog, came to the track for two race weekends, spent a bunch of time in the mountains with his grandparents, and made lots and lots of friends (including his first negative-influence friend).

He's seen all the Star Wars movies almost as many times as I have, and can damn near match me at Star Wars Trivial Pursuit. He's into video games--particularly the Star Wars and LEGO titles.

And this morning he called me out.

Every day I ask him how his day was, and every day getting him to tell me is like pulling teeth. "It was good." "Green frog today." (that's how they track behavior at his school) But I want more, and so begins the daily ritual of questions:

1. What class did you have today?
2. What did you do at recess?
3. Did you eat all of your lunch?
4. What did you do at after-care?

Invariably I'm met with one- or two-word answers, and it drives me mad. So this morning we were talking about how much I want to know about his day, and how I can't be there to see all of these things and therefore have to rely on what he tells me to paint a picture. And he replied: "But when I ask you about your day, you just say, 'I worked.'"

Boom. Served.

And now I realize I have an obligation to be more open with him. How it had escaped me up to this point is beyond me. Maybe I just figured he was too little and wouldn't care or understand, but he has a genuine interest in knowing about my day, and I'm seeing the reflection of my answers in his.

And so, when I get home this afternoon, I'm going to sit down with my son and tell him about all the great things I saw on 9gag today.

O Tannenbaum

2011-12-13T13:17:00.002-05:00

This past weekend we got a tree. A fake tree. I swore for years I'd never do fake--I like the smell and look of a real tree, along with helping support local business folks. Every year I'd take the Jetta over to the local Jaycees lot and pick out a Fraser Fir (cats, dontcha know).

Then I got a car I actually liked (the MINI), and did not want to put a sappy tree into, so I began relying on the kindness of others for SUV's to bring the tree home. Because of my desire to limit friends' vehicles exposure to that same horrid sap, I started picking purveyors closer to home: Lowe's. So much for helping local business. Even after getting a truck of my own, I found it just so much easier to go back to Lowe's and plop down another $30. And each year, I'd keep the tree up until just after the free tree-recycling collection, necessitating a trip to the dump. So ~$33 / year for 13 years,or roughly $429 BEFORE adding lights, which got replaced in their entirety at least 3 times.

So a real tree was starting to become actual work, and I wasn't accomplishing my goals of helping the community (or the environment), and it wasn't helping that my house has something like -25% humidity during the colder months, making it impossible to keep needles from ejecting like porcupine quills after just 1 week.

For K and li'l A, I wanted better this year. We decided to look at some tree options, but we were disheartened at the lack of pre-lit LED trees. Figuring we'd waited too long into the season, and refusing to support the incandescent market, we decided to go once more to Lowe's and get one last real tree. The money saved would help us through the season, anyway. We'd picked out a tree and gone into the store for one last look at lights when we found it: one lone 7.5' pre-lit warm-white LED tree. And it's beautiful.

Last night we decorated it as a family, selecting our favorite ornaments from our blended family's past and our new present. The tree is beautiful, in spite of the hot mess of empty boxes, and our home is finally becoming that: ours.

Happy holidays to all of you, and may this year find you embracing traditions new and old.

Miata #3 (Yes, it is a sickness)

2011-12-02T09:44:00.001-05:00

The 2011 racing season ended for me on November 6, 2011. I went out with a bang...or 2 or 3...finishing in first place both days, winning me 2 more tires to start the 2012 season. However, the clutch died on the last lap of the last session of the last day, a session that also saw the end of the transmission's useful life. I pulled the drain plug to find pieces of gear teeth. Boo.

Thus began the hunt for a new transmission, and it would lead me to curious places.

I started my hunt like any enterprising person would: craigslist. I found a fellow looking to sell an engine & transmission together for $900, a reasonable deal that would allow me to swap trannies and begin to develop a new race motor for when the current one pukes, which it ultimately will. So I went to look at it, and the guy offered to sell the whole car with it for $1500 total. The catch is that the car won't start due to an unknown electrical short.

We verified the cylinders hold compression, the body was in reasonable order, and bought it.

I now own 3 Miatas. Holy crap. And no transmission for Bridget (the orange car). HOLY CRAP.

So a plan was hatched to turn the new car, "Stacey", into a Chump Car racer, and if she survives, an aero-laden Time Trials & Performance Touring (D) beast. And given what I've learned along the way from building the current car, I'm confident I can achieve both goals for less than 1/3 what I have in Bridget.

My shed is so full of spares that Bridget is half-built already. Spare racing radiator, suspension components, differential, seat, harness, seat-back brace, etc. Pretty much all I need to do is gut it and put a cage in it. Oh: and make it go. Which is turning out to be quite an ordeal.

Stacey's former owner was an ASE certified mechanic. Apparently they don't teach electrics. Turning the key did nothing at first, so I pulled all the wiring under the dash and found hot wires to nowhere, grounds to everywhere non-structural, an alarm system, bisected ignition wires, and a hot mess of a radio harness. I yanked all of it and tried again, and got a buzzing sound from the main fuse box. Progress...?

A battery swap and a key-turn made the main fan run. Um...wtf? The fan is wired to ignition? So I pulled the fuse for the fan, re-keyed, and the starter engaged! Now that's progress. But still the engine will not start.

I did a little more hunting around the car and found that, after running the starter for a bit, the exhaust pipe reeks of fuel, so I feel fairly confident it's not a fuel-delivery issue. Laying a spark-plug on the head produced no spark, in spite of the dude having just recently swapped coil packs.

So it seems something is wildly mis-wired.

Unfortunately I'm out of room in the trailer to continue diagnosing it, and I can't back it out because Bridget is up in the air behind it (with no motor). And Bridget can't have her motor back until a new tranny is sourced. But now there's a new car blocking me from getting the motor out of the trailer and...yeah...I've kind of screwed myself. Sometimes I think it would be easier if I were just addicted to crack.

I can has wife!

2011-10-31T16:18:00.003-04:00

K and I were married October 16, 2011 (sorry, thieves, we bumped it up from June 2014). It was perfect, though the boy was running a festive fever.

The honeymoon saw us visiting the beautiful US Virgin Islands, where we drank all the rum. Pics soonish (after the hangover wears off).

Yay married!

New Name

2011-10-10T12:58:00.001-04:00

I changed the name. Maybe it's dumb, but I don't care.

Intellectualism?

2011-10-04T16:57:00.001-04:00

I wrote this moons ago, but now I'm bored, so I'm publishing it.

I am constantly amazed at how perception defines reality. It's an axiom I've long understood, but occasionally the ramifications still manage to escape me. For instance!

I've noticed that many of my friends ballyhoo the writing of a few others whose sole claim to epistemic fame is the density of their words. Irrespective of the import of said words, the capacity to overwhelm the reader with verbal diarrhea is heralded as the highest achievement of intellect. We heap accolades on public orators who do little more than recite speeches with dramatic pauses.

It scares me, then, when people tell me I'm smart. Sure: I know a few things, and I feel fairly confident that I can formulate a proper sentence, but there are people who dedicate their lives to intellectual pursuits. I fix computers and race cars. I'm not in a post-doctoral program. I don't have a good understanding of economics. I can't follow basic sports stats.

But I am guilty of sesquipedalianism. I proselytize. I am a pedantic grammarian. I have used "floccinaucinihilipilification" properly on a college essay. And I didn't have to check the spelling.

And yet, for all of it, I see no logical flow to my words. Maybe it's because I almost never review anything before I post it, or maybe it's because I have the attention span of a squirrel on crack. Irrespective, people tell me I write well. Da's wack, yo. You can look back over the entire course of my ramblings and find the most basic patterns repeated ad nauseum (seriously: how many times can you find where I've used 3 points to prove an argument, and each of those three points is supported by 3 supporting statements, the third of which is generally pretty freakin' weak?).

What's even more upsetting to my equilibrium is when people tell me that I'll like someone else's writings because they're smart, too. I usually don't think they're very good writers at all (remember, I hate my own writing)--they're just neatly packaging an argument that people want to hear.

Here's the long and short of what this big ol' meanderin' mess is all about: the decision to confuse readers with complex sentence structures does not display a writer's intelligence. Rather it demonstrates that one is an ass.

So, new name?

2011-10-03T14:49:00.001-04:00

Help me out here, I need a new name for this thing:

Rainbows! Puppies! Moving Forward!
LifesocrazyAAAAAGH!
'Sometimes We Feel Guilty Because We Are Guilty' & Other Lessons of Catholic School
Life Soup. It's delicious because it's sticky.
Sometimes I Poop Too Much.

You can see that I'm not making much headway with this...

Rainbows! Puppies! Marriage!

2011-09-30T11:22:00.001-04:00

Hey cats & kittens, it's time to rename the dusty ol' blog. Can't really cling to the past because the future's coming like a freight train. I'm getting married ~~in two weeks~~ pretty darn soon (remember: if you're looking to thieve my junk, the wedding is in June 2014--you might want to write that down) and some light cleaning is in order.

I won't pretend for even a moment that Amanda's influence on my life is gone. It will never be gone. I spent 14.5 years with her and we produced one amazing little guy, but daggone am I excited about the next phase of my life.

K is beautiful, intelligent, funny, dorky, nerdy, and perfect. Alastair adores her almost as much as I (and has frequently told me that he'll marry her too, once he grows up).

People have been asking me if I'm nervous. I'm not. I'd be a fool to be blithely walking into any commitment without fully vetting my fiancee, and we're incredibly compatible. The minister performing the ceremony says he's never (in over 20 years) seen a couple so compatible--at least from our standardized couples' test scores. She may choose to believe it has nothing to do with us both being Year-of-the-Rabbit Virgos, but I know what's what.

Nor am I sad to end my bachelorhood. Dating is horrible. Everyone has games and walls and baggage, or worse. K brings none of that. Since the majority of our relationship has been from a 140 mile distance, we've had to be extremely open and honest. And she's astonished me every step of the way.

I love you, K, and I'm so ready to be your husband.

I, Criminal Again!

2011-09-29T15:14:00.001-04:00

Remember this? Way back when...? Well I went and got all criminalistic again. Back in July, I was coming back to work from lunch when I apparently decided I absolutely needed some trifle from Target. Taking an exit I'd not used in many moons, I found myself pulling up to what looked like a yield, stopping (or maybe not, who knows any more--it was July forgodsake), and pulling out to the flashing of blue lights. Yay me! I'd been stopped for running a stop sign!

I of course told the cop I was certain I'd stopped, and he told me he was certain I hadn't, but that it wasn't his job to argue with me. I got a citation and a court-date of last Friday.

It rattled me for a number of reasons. One was that I was absolutely certain I'd seen a yield sign. Two was that I felt like I remembered there being a stop sign where I thought I'd stopped. Three was that I try not to do things to fall afoul of the law.

So later that day I went back to the scene of my ~~murderous spree of gang violence~~ traffic citation and took lots of pretty pictures. I then talked to another cop on the scene who remembered the intersection the way I had before I'd been caught. He was just as surprised as I'd been that the only visible stop sign in the intersection had been replaced by--not one, but 8 smaller yield signs for a new pedestrian crosswalk. Of course, for as much as he agreed that the new traffic pattern was confusing and probably not proper, he refused to be a part of my court case and told me that my beef was with Officer Mason, who'd written the ticket. Great, thanks.

So I took the pics I'd snapped of the intersection, compared them to Google's street-view pics, and determined my memory had been impeccable. Yay memory! Then I looked at some satellite pics and realized that, based on where the old stop sign had been, there could not have been any way for Officer Mason to see me stop where I believe I had, which technically was still the only safe place to stop in the whole intersection.

Armed with my evidence, I prepared myself for the impending date with the Richmond Court system. And then they took away the only remaining stop sign and changed the whole intersection to a yield. I took pics of that, too, and added them to my arsenal of defense materials. I printed my spotless driving record, I wore a suit, and I drank all the coffee. I was ready.

When I got there, people began mistaking me for an attorney. Apparently most people don't take traffic court seriously. When the time came for my case to be heard, I approached the bench with my packet of glossy 8x10's in hand. I greeted the judge with a smile (which was returned--she was in a good mood!), and the DA spoke up. I'll paraphrase...

Your honor, the intersection in question has since been changed from a stop sign to a yield sign, which is what I'm guessing Mr. Amos has pictures of there... In the interest of fairness, we're asking for null process in the charges against him and the 5 other people in here for same offense.

I had no idea what that meant, but it sounded good. Then the judge smiled at me and said, "Have a nice day, Mr. Amos." I even turned to Officer Mason and the DA and told them to have a nice day on my way out. I was honestly a little disappointed I'd not even gotten to open my bag of pics.

But it occurred to me later: he'd busted a minimum of 6 people in there at the same intersection for running the same invisible stop sign. And that was just the people who'd shown up! How many just sent in a check? And then I looked up 'null process'. It's not the same as 'case dismissed' at all. It just means that the DA isn't interested in pursuing the charges at this time. Granted it'll likely never come up again, but if I get pinched for speeding tomorrow, this null process ticket could be used against me.

But in the end, I still walked away from court with only a Kinko's fee for printing 6 8x10's, and that ain't bad.
---
BTW--for those who don't know, I'm getting married soon. I'd go into further details, but I'm told thieves would just love to hear about our honeymoon plans, so you'll all just have to wait for details until after the wedding (which for you criminals out there is expected to take place some time in June 2014).

UTCC/NASA @ VIR

2011-07-26T20:58:00.004-04:00

Hyperfest may have been NASA's big event, back in June, but nothing on the year's racing schedule touches the grandeur of the Pirelli Ultimate Track Car Challenge presented by Grassroots Motorsports. It holds a special place in my heart because last year I was there becoming an instructor and competing for the first time in Time Trials.

Since then, I've missed just one NASA Mid-Atlantic competition weekend, and my results have steadily improved to put me in 3rd place for season points (up from 5th last year, and only 5 points out of 2nd this year!).

This year I intended to go and do my usual Time Trials & instructing weekend, but I got a call about a month ago asking if I'd like to drive someone else's prepared vehicle in the UTCC on Friday. It was this:

Obviously the only possible answer was "yes", followed by "hell yes". It was an opportunity to learn how to pilot another vehicle, get some additional track time, and maybe possibly build a bit of name recognition since the magazine does a blurb on every vehicle and its associated team & driver.

And what an experience! The Wreckless Abandon crew made one hell of a fast truck. With a bulletproof motor that could pull almost anything in a straight line, NASCAR cup brakes, the widest slicks I've ever seen, and a suspension that was remarkably capable, I was able to pull times that were competitive with my best ever times in the Miata.

I managed to haul that 3900lb beast to a 2:22.339 lap, 8 seconds faster than the truck had ever turned laps at VIR, and considerably faster than the last place finish the guys were expecting (you don't show up with a $500 vehicle to a super-car shootout with much hope).

Even without the quick laps, it was the talk of the paddock. The tech inspection crew didn't want to approve it to go on track at all, but there was hardly a moment all day when there wasn't a small crowd around it. The Grassroots Motorsports guys spent a good amount of time chatting us up about it, and a data-acquisition company called RaceKeeper decided to volunteer their system for one of my sessions. They came back later and told us the video will be featured next month as Grassroots Motorsports' video of the month, and that they were shocked at how much steering was required to get it around the track.

I did have two off-track excursions in it (one of which may be part of the video), once as a result of boiled brake fluid, and once when fuel was starved from the pickup sensor under heavy braking, but all in all it was a solid setup that I'd drive again in a heartbeat.

Saturday & Sunday brought a return to normalcy with TT and instruction, or so I thought... It turned out that my first student was a Grassroots Motorsports employee, and the car was a one-off factory concept Subaru. Called the Legacy GTk, it was an Outback with a Legacy GT drivetrain, but with an enlarged cargo area specifically for a child's shifter kart. The actual concept was that you would take your kid to the track, drop him/her off at the kart track, and then go turn laps on the grown-up side. Not a bad concept.

We had a great day in the car, which surprisingly featured almost 100% working accessories (extremely uncommon in concept cars), the most important of which was the AC. With temps hovering just above 100F, any relief was welcome.

My other student did not fare so well. I got sick from the heat and had to solo him early. Fortunately he's a great learner and a fantastic driver, so I wasn't too concerned.

But somehow in the fray, and in spite of turning good laps, I managed to lose an hour of my day. Just gone--no idea where it went or what happened. I invented a very convincing story in my head, that I'd gone out for a 2nd session with my group 2 student, and can still vividly remember that phantom session, but evidently heat can do some horrible things to your brain.

Fortunately the day ended with a thunderstorm shortly before my last session, and I had a very convincing run that was good enough for 2nd place. It helped having a rabbit to chase...

Sunday, however, was an exercise in futility. Hoping to beat the heat with a solid early run, I overdrove and went off in Turn 5 in the first session, then overdrove and went off in Oak Tree in the 2nd.

That meant my 3rd session would be automatically disqualified (so I turned one lap at an abysmally slow pace for a 2:37), and I had no choice but to stick around for the 4th and final session if I wanted to post a time.

That sucked harder than anything because ambient temps were back to about 100F by that late session, and the two offs had not done my alignment any favors. The best I could manage was a 2:23.5, a full 3 seconds off my best lap from the previous day, and just barely good enough for 3rd place for the day.

Ultimately the weekend was a success, bringing me up from a 20-point deficit to a 5-point deficit for 2nd place, two free tires, two fantastic students, riding in a car that doesn't properly exist, and piloting a truck that's just too freakin' awesome to exist.

Shout-outs to the guys at NASA Mid-Atlantic, Hoosier Race Tires, Grassroots Motorsports, Wreckless Abandon Racing, and my beautiful fiancee who endured the heat all weekend and whose car got mauled by a trailer late Sunday afternoon. I love you, babe!

Phases of My Adulthood as Viewed from Wine Selection

2011-07-12T10:29:00.004-04:00

Under age: Wine? Gross; it's like drinking sand. Who does that?
21 years old, living at home: No bills! Freedom! No wine: BEER ALL THE TIME! WOOHOO!
22 years old, living in an apartment: Can't really afford wine. Go to Olive Garden; take remains of enormous bottle home; drink for a week! Woohoo!
25 years old, living in a house: Must have wine for special occasions. Never drink it because it cost real money. Pretend to understand what constitutes "good" wine; attempt epic wine snobbery.
30 years old, owning a house: I make decent money. BUY ALL THE GOOD WINES AND DRINK THEM! WOOHOO!!
35 years old, with a child: Bills! School fees! Retirement planning! Drinking with friends is a long-forgotten treat. Fuck it: I'll take the box.

Shall I tell you about my weekend?

2011-06-30T14:56:00.002-04:00

Hello. It's been a while. How are you? Yeah? Kids doing ok? They enjoying the summer? Good...good.

Alastair and I had a pretty big weekend. Well actually, we've had a pretty big month. We started it off with a trip to VIR, where we had something of an engagement gathering of my parents, K's parents, the boy, the dog, and well: us. Twas fun, if a bot hot.

Then, because I'm a lunatic, I decided to approach a very minor oil leak in the race car by tearing the motor out of the car and completely disassembling it...in 12 days. With an overnight out-of-town trip in the middle. It was dumb, but it paid off: with 1 day left, it all got put back together in time to make Hyperfest (a big madhouse of car enthusiasts at Summit Point in WV), where I drove the untested motor, new clutch & flywheel, and hexagonal used tires to 2nd place. Yay!

So this past weekend, because I'd spent so very much of June dedicated to racing, I decided to dedicate entirely to my boy.

You may have heard about it, but Pixar had this new movie come out last weekend called Cars 2. Defying all of my personal rules about lines and crowds, I decided that this was one movie that must be seen on opening day. Surprisingly there were no major crowds to speak of, which was great considering how vocal Alastair was through the movie. He wasn't talking over it or being rude, but giggling and cackling like a loon at all the awesome. And it was awesome. The movie itself was ok, with some jokes for grown-ups tossed in for good measure, but watching his little face! My heart was bursting with joy.

So then Saturday morning we capitalized on that joyful attitude and made our very first ever day-trip to the beach! We took the Miata at his behest, packed to the gills with toys, food, and beach paraphernalia. All the way down he kept telling me that he wasn't going to get in the water--he was just going to play with his sand toys. I told him that was fine, but after 5 minutes of digging in the sand, he asked if we could go get wet for 'just a minute'. 2.5 hours later, I had to drag him out of the water. He loved the waves crashing over us, and went underwater innumerable times.

Even when we got out, he was clamoring to go back in. Which of course we did, high tide be damned! We weren't even 5 minutes out of the parking lot before his head drooped and he was out. I've never seen anyone sleep for an hour with the top down at 70mph.

And then, in spite of the sunburn (letting him spray my back was maybe not the best idea ever), we got up and went to King's Dominion on Sunday, where we met up with one of his pre-K buddies for a day of roller coasters. I hadn't realized how much of an adventure freak Alastair can be until I watched his buddy.

No disrespect to him at all, but that kid just did NOT want to have anything to do with speed or heights. Ghoster Coaster: ruled out. Swings? No thank you. But Alastair didn't mind one bit doing the slower / lower rides, and they had an absolute blast together.

Then, on top of everything that had come before, Alastair got to spend 2 days at his grandparents' house while I went on a last-minute business trip.

And lemme tell ya something...

THE NEXT PERSON TO TELL ME HOW EVIL CORPORATIONS ARE CAN KISS MY ASS.

My company has a manufacturing facility in a small rural backwater. We employ roughly 90 people at this facility, which was moved there to take advantage of lower real estate prices. Not the most noble of reasons, but the benefits are immediate and immeasurable for this community.

The town that hosts our plant is so small there are functionally only two last names. They plaster everything for a several-mile radius as you enter and exit the area. I joked with someone that that would make dating difficult, and she confirmed that they are facing a situation right now where an ENGAGED COUPLE is having to cull county records to see if/how they are related. Personally, I'd rather establish that before getting down on bended knee, but...

The area is so economically devastated that people cannot afford to feed themselves, let alone their pets. This has evidently lead to problems with people abandoning or downright killing their dogs. In response, the community has held "ugly puppy" contests just to keep the dogs alive.

The only other sources of income in the area are tobacco, a smattering of corn, and travelers with busted tires. And my company. There's no local* McDonalds. No Walmart. It's a choice between making a salary working for my company or scraping by. They do not even produce the raw materials that go through their machinery. It's all trucked in and out.

So let me re-iterate: we are giving 90 people a chance at a better life. No, let's rephrase: we're giving 90 people the ability to put food on their table.

That might not seem like a lot of people, but in an area as desolate as this one, it's huge.

*these things exist a couple of towns over, so while they may be accessible by car, I didn't see a single car in the employee parking lot made in the past decade.

Cha-cha-cha-Changes!

2011-05-09T16:48:00.002-04:00

So...some things have happened recently.

1. The boy and I repeated our pilgrimage to DC last month. It was awesome, and portions were quite adventurous. It needs its own dedicated post, but for now an aside will have to suffice, because...
2. We got a dog. Well, a puppy, to be precise. A black lab / pit bull mix. He's adorable, about 6 months old, and is working on house-breaking right now. He's also just about done teething, so everything is getting chewed. It's an adventure, and the cats are none-too-thrilled, but we love Sparky (short for Dammit) to death.
3. We went to the circus! But I had to leave early because...
4. I got engaged! Yep, folks, that's right: I'm marrying K. The date is set for October of this year, with honeymoon expected to be in the US Virgin Islands--hurricanes permitting.

I'd have posted all of this earlier, and in much greater detail, but the good folks at Blogger decided my blog was a 'splog' and nuked it. So after much bitching to get it back online, I'm left with very little energy for actually telling the tales, but fear not: I will. It just might take me a while.

Nightmares & Dreamscapes

2011-04-05T13:22:00.003-04:00

So I don't know if I've mentioned it here, but I've been seeing someone pretty seriously for the last 6 months. One thing that's been truly curious about this phase--and pertinent to the overarching theme of this blog--has been my dreams.

Since K and I started dating, I've had a series of nightmares unlike any before. I spent years having the whole "unprepared for an exam" dream, but these are less recurring and more of a loose narrative that feels so real I wake up genuinely confused. And to make matters worse, I've learned to recognize the dream while having it, which sometimes makes the dream shift into believing that I'm awake and discussing it. So "Inception".

Six months ago, the dream was simple: Amanda was still alive and had just come home from Texas. Somehow nobody had bothered to tell me she was still alive, and my life was just as it was at the time: beginning to date K. In that particular dream, I remember trying to keep them completely unaware of each other. Because how much of a mind-fuck is that?

Then later on, as my relationship with K progressed, that dream slowly began changing to one where I had to explain to Amanda--who at this point would still legally be considered my wife--that I'd fallen in love with someone else. So very "Cast Away".

Last night I had a new version of the dream. Amanda had come home, I told her how my life had changed, about K, about Alastair. And while she wasn't really happy about it, she understood and decided to look for another place to live. She also volunteered to not pursue custody, essentially freeing me to live the life that is unfolding before me. (And of course, to add an extra layer of weirdness to last night's, I had one of those "waking" moments where Amanda was still there.)

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what my brain is trying to tell me: I can move on. Finally I'm not living in the shadow of What Was, but in the glory of What May Be. I don't expect to be done with these dreams any time soon, but it's been wildly fascinating to see how they've changed as my love for K has grown.

2 years

2011-03-25T10:37:00.003-04:00

So today marks 2 years. 2 years ago I told my coworkers that Amanda had leukemia, and that I'd be spending a fair amount of time in Texas. Then a short while later I found out that wouldn't be true. It was a crazy day. I hated every single aspect of it. I've torn it apart in retrospect and still found absolutely nothing redeemable about that day. About that whole trip to Texas.

And yet I really don't have anything poignant to say today. Maybe I'm just exhausted. I've been up late almost every night working on one car or another, and it just hasn't left a lot of time for reflection.

There's a mood and tone that I feel is appropriate for discussing Amanda's death, but I just can't seem to evoke it today, and I don't want to speak from a fabricated emotional state.

I miss Amanda, but I love our son, so she's not really gone.

Sasha

2011-03-10T23:59:00.002-05:00

Ten years ago, give or take a week, I was getting ready for my sparkly new job one morning when my kitty, Sasha, wheezed. It was terrifying and unsettling and lasted about 15 seconds. Amanda insisted I take her to the vet, but I couldn't risk being late for a job I'd had for less than two weeks.

She got to the vet within the next 48 hours (details are hazy now), and began a 6-month ordeal that would end tragically with her death.

Sasha had a disease called 'lymphangiectasia'. It's not curable, but we didn't know that then. We also had no freaking clue what she had, and neither did the doctors.

Her first trip to the vet, she had an x-ray that revealed a massive pleural effusion (fluid on--not in--the lungs). They pumped one liter of fluid out of her, and she was right as rain for the next month. But you don't remove a liter of fluid from a 13lb cat without worrying.

The next month, they pulled another liter out of her chest, and sent us to a specialist. The specialist removed half a liter (only a week after the previous drain), and still no answers came. We did our own research, growing ever more disheartened and loving our girl as hard as we could.

Then one day the disease got its name. We were told she should never have lasted the first month, let alone the 5 she'd already had. They told us that the drains would eventually cease to be effective, that her lungs would harden and it would become increasingly difficult for her to draw breath, and that we would one day have to put her down.

And then she sprung a leak. Late one night, as we were lying in bed, Sasha jumped up on us, began lunging back and forth, and we both realized the bed was wet and smelled like chicken. She was soaked through with her own fluids. Her body could no longer hold it in.

All manner of emergency medicines and vets were employed, but two weeks later she was gone.

Not an hour after the vet ended Sasha's suffering, I tearily set about removing Sasha's food and water dish to find a pill that she'd rejected the previous day. Amanda completely lost it, convinced that missing that one pill had undone our beautiful, loving girl.

Looking back to 2001, I realize now that losing Sasha was pre-ordained. I had to learn those emotions in order to deal with the fusillade of self-doubt that would creep into my heart after Amanda died. Should she have gone to Texas? Couldn't she have survived indefinitely on blood transfusions? Did the treatments she received there kill her? What about the original doctor who never bothered with blood tests?

And then I remember Sasha. Sasha had an incurable disease. No amount of pills or doctors could prevent her death--they could only delay it.

This month marks 2 years since Amanda died. I cannot believe so much time has passed. I could not have imagined then how relatively normal my life is now, and yet sometimes those tendrils of doubt reach up from the darkness and attempt to consume me. Amanda had an incurable disease. Amanda had an incurable disease. Amanda had an incurable disease.

First Race Weekend of 2011

2011-02-25T12:37:00.003-05:00

Sanctioning Body: NASA-MA
Class: TTE (Time Trials)
Position, Day 1: 5 of 8*
Position, Day 2: 5 of 7*

Not how I wanted to start my season.

I had committed to running Hoosier tires this year based on results from the end of my season last year, which had me finishing in the top 3--high enough to win tires. Running Hoosiers was a gamble because they're (a) more expensive, and (b) take 3 points away from what could be engine or suspension mods.

Since I had committed to a plan that would see my tire budget decrease, and since NASA had raised the minimum weight of my car to just about exactly my last-known competition weight, I also decided to buy scales. A hefty investment, to be sure, but I couldn't afford to be even 5 lbs under weight, or I'd be bumped into the next class (given the results from TTD, though, I would have won on Sunday).

The scales told me that I needed to add 30 lbs to meet weight. They also told me that the weight desperately needed to be on the passenger side. And as it just so happened, I had a seat that had been removed from that side which, when combined with the weight of its belts, put just about exactly the right amount of weight back in. Score!

But!

In doing the initial balance, I detached both sway bars. And while I remembered to reattach them, I did not remember to re-torque them. This, of course, resulted in both coming loose on track, which caused the right rear tire to pogo on right turns, which did not help lap times. By the end of the 3rd session on Saturday, it was impossible to get any grip in the rear. A quick glance under the car revealed two end-links laying flat on the control arms. Oops. Off to the parts store!

Once that was fixed, I was ready to go back out on track and tear it up. Except instead of doing that, I locked up the tires under braking at end of the front straight on the first hot lap of the session.

Even without posting a single lap on Saturday with a properly-functioning suspension, I was still only 0.4 seconds off my fastest-ever lap. These tires are sticky.

Sunday I would have only two sessions, and I had a lot of work to do to put myself into contention. I had the car ready to go, having put the flat-spotted tires in the rear and triple-checking torques.

I started out behind the #53 Spec Miata of Grant Cain. Grant's a great kid, and I enjoy running with him. But apparently he was having some handling issues, because he just couldn't put down a hot lap. I caught him in the climbing esses, and when I went inside him at South Bend he drove off into the grass. Sorry Grant! 5 laps into the session, though, I ran out of gas. Rounding oak tree after passing a car in a higher class, the engine sputtered. I parked it, 0.3 seconds off my fastest-ever pace.

Which, as it turns out, would be the best I would do all weekend. The second session was a mess. On the first lap I had chased down a car 2 classes ahead of me, and when I began my pass I saw a car in the grass. I let him pass me again to avoid a black flag, since I realized I was passing under yellow. For the next 3 laps, the yellow was displayed at South Bend, with emergency vehicles at Oak Tree. In spite of this, though, I was turning 2:25.0 laps, within 0.15 seconds of my best ever lap while puttering through a straight-away!

The second the flags were gone, I punched it. I was putting down the lap of my life. I had come through South Bend at 94mph, an absolute record in my car, and had even managed to control wheel-spin at Oak Tree. I was 1.6 seconds head of pace for the weekend, which was going to be a 2:23.4 lap, when I spun at Roller coaster. It was ugly. And even though I made eye-contact with a corner-worker, he didn't give me any indication that I was about to merge right into the path of 2 oncoming faster cars. An accident was narrowly avoided, pride was severely wounded, and my weekend was done.

Analyzing the data afterward, I now know that, with only the new tires, my best theoretical lap is 2:22.8, two full seconds faster than I've ever done. It's still not enough for 3rd place (the worst I can do and still potentially win tires), so I've done what every red-blooded American does when confronted with a problem: thrown money at it.

Right now I'm waiting for a full replacement ECU, header, and intake to arrive. When they get here, the car is going to the dyno and a reclass request will be filed. This car will make more power, and as long as I can wrangle that power, I will post better results.

Here's looking forward to March.

*9 cars were registered in class, but did not all compete on both days.

And now he's 5!

2011-01-24T23:52:00.002-05:00

Alastair's 5th Birthday Extravaganza Weekend Celebration Holy KaPow was fun fun fun fun fun!

We woke up Saturday morning at the leisurely hour of 8:30, made delicious cinnamon graham waffles filled with butter, syrup, strawberries, and whipped cream, fixed up a whole mess o' bacon, and then set to the presents.

He got loads of Star Wars toys from the Galactic Heroes line, a bunch of Mater's Tall Tales (Cars Toon) stuff, NERF guns & swords, video games for the Wii & PS3, a new slot-car track, and a PlayMobil dragons & knights set that Amanda had given me years ago, but that I'd never opened.*

After we'd busted open all the loot and rocked out to some Lady Gaga for a while, we headed over to the Little Gym for his first class with 5 - 12 year-olds. A little different from his largely-unstructured classes of yore, he had trouble catching the rhythm of the class, but I think he'll have it down in no time. Plus, having a bit of angsty energy helped set him up for his...birthday party!!

After a quick lunch and a nice nap, we headed back to the Little Gym for his party. That he'd won on my birthday. Weird, right? Anyway... 1.5 hours of basically unrestricted free-play with 8 of his friends, Ukrop's cake (represent), and no major injuries! Parents were free to join the fun, but most just took the opportunity to watch the action. I raced several of the kids across the air-trak (it's just a big, long bouncy) and managed to lose every single time.

Then it was home for hot dogs (his bday dinner wish) and down to the Richmond Coliseum for Arena Racing. Seriously, you need to check this out. 2.5 hours of 1/2 scale stock cars on a postage-stamp banked indoor track. There are 4 adult races and 2 junior races (ages 9 - 13). It's a fantastic way to blow a few hours without breaking the bank, and it serves my ulterior purposes of getting him more interested in following in my lunacy.

Did I mention that he loved it? 'Cause it was a HUGE hit. But it was also a very late hit, ending at about 9:30pm. My little boy--my newly-minted 5 YEAR OLD--was so sleepy he nearly passed out reading Goodnight Moon.

He was so good all day, and so good all night. He thanked his friends for coming to his party, thanked everyone for his gifts, and even told me that he'd gotten enough gifts, in spite of my mandate that none of his friends were to bring anything for him. He's got a good heart, that boy.

I LOVE YOU ALASTAIR!!

*I realized later that effectively this was Amanda's gift to him. Kinda neat that even almost 2 years later, she's still able to reach out to him.

On Being 4: A Retrospective

2011-01-21T12:52:00.003-05:00

Today is the last day I get to squeeze and hug on a 4-year-old. And it makes me a little sad to realize how quickly my little guy is growing, but he's had a pretty good year, all in all.

3 was a rough year for Alastair--understandably so. His little world, already in upheaval since shortly after his 2nd birthday, took a major blow that no child should have to endure. When 2010 rolled around, I decided to make the year as much about Alastair as I could. And we did a lot of super awesome fun stuff.

We saw monster trucks and the circus, took the train to DC to explore the Smithsonian museums, went to the beach for a week. I took him to the track so that he could see race cars (he even got to camp in the trailer with me), bought him a balance bike that he quickly mastered AND a speedy little go-kart that will see much more (ab)use in 2011.

We went to the Fair and King's Dominion and Busch Gardens' Christmas Town, traipsed through Maymont Park and Lewis Ginter Botanical Gardens regularly, got like 6 whole days of sledding (before I destroyed my back being an IDIOT), and kept up classes at the Little Gym all year.

There was preschool and playdates and sleep-overs and parties and all manner of mind-blowing awesomeness.

He got a playset built in the back yard--a big one with a rock wall, swings, and a sliding board (h/t to the Foleys).

And as the year was drawing to a close, he got to see the entire original Star Wars trilogy.

For all the little individual experiences, I came away with a little man who's excited about what being 5 could mean. He knows some things will be repeated: we already have tickets to the monster trucks & Kings Dominion season passes. But he also knows that new things await. He's excited about Kindergarten and seeing the remaining Star Wars films (he's seriously obsessed) and spending more time at his grandparents' new getaway home in the mountains.

Tomorrow he will be surrounded by friends and have way too much cake and stay up too late to watch small stock cars at Arena Racing. He will be super exhausted and overwhelmed with all his new toys and probably drive me just about batshit crazy with his fatigued ramblings. And it will be one of the best days ever. For as much as he might be excited about his birthday, I am absolutely ecstatic about our future adventures. I love my little man!

Happy 5th birthday, Alastair!

Monkey Make You Crazy

2011-01-06T15:20:00.002-05:00

He's a clever one, that boy.

During his first semester of preschool, Alastair had at least two notes sent home about his behavior. None extolled his virtues...

Yesterday he got yet another note sent home, but instead of reporting him taking things or cutting up or even having to go sit in the hall, this one said he'd been exceptionally good all day, that I should be proud of him, and that I'm doing a great job as a parent.

He was SO excited when I got home, he gushed about his good note. The sitters also expressed their pride in him, and we talked about how good it is to be good all night.

Then I dropped him off at school this morning and got a little more info...

Apparently, just before school let out yesterday, his teacher told him he'd been very good. Sensing opportunity, he asked if she could send me a note about how good he'd been, since all of his previous notes had been negative. Seriously: he took the initiative to ask for written positive reinforcement. He's 4.

I'm not sure whether to be proud or terrified.

Sledding! In Richmond! In December!

2010-12-16T20:32:00.003-05:00

Today was a big day. It snowed, like for really reals, and for the first time in my 35 years on this planet, I was actually prepared. One might even say over-prepared.

Last night, with the threat of snow looming large over the Richmond area, Alastair and I trudged over to REI, braving Short Pump traffic at its worst, and got all manner of snow stuff: 3 different pairs of gloves for him (one for sledding, a pair of mittens for cold days, and a pair of gloves for when he bitches about mittens), matching balaclavas, new snow mittens for me (because I've finally decided to be done with cold fingers), and snow pants & gaiters. It was a pricey trip, but well worth it, since his grandparents bought a house at Wintergreen and he'll likely be spending a fair amount of time in the snow over the next few months.

We also managed to pick up another Zipfy mini-luge at Target a month or so ago. If you don't know what a Zipfy is, you're missing out. These little sleds are seriously fast, pretty easy to control, and light enough to carry up a hill dozens of times before being "over" the whole snow thing.

So with Zipfy and snowmobile/sled in hand, we trudged over to Bryan Park this afternoon for a couple hours of bliss and sweat. And for the first time ever, we both stayed dry. I didn't even realize that was possible until today. He had one wet wrist, and that was it.

And we totally rocked the park with a new trick: he'd start out in my lap on the Zipfy (no easy feat--they're barely large enough for one), and about halfway down the hill I'd scoot backward off the sled and give him a quick shove. His butt fell neatly onto the seat and he completed the run solo. We did it over and over again to laughter and cheers from the other winter frolickers.

Then we came home and took a much-needed nap. Because snow is awesome, but damn is it ever exhausting.

NASA Fall Finale @ Summit Point

2010-11-12T21:58:00.003-05:00

My 2010 racing season ended on a high note and with a plan of action for next season that will make it both the best and least expensive yet. Booyah.

This event was to be all about blowing through the last of 2010's consumables: tires, brakes, oil, etc. I don't like to put old stuff back on the car in the Spring, so everything had to go. Hell, there was even 11 gallons of fuel left over from October's VIR trip. No sense letting that rot, either.

Oh but was it cold. I was thoroughly unprepared for how cold it would be in the trailer. I didn't have enough amperage to run two heaters at once, and the fan/heater job was only good at keeping the temps around 55 at night. On an air-mattress, that's COLD. There's nothing to insulate you from below, and my dumb ass didn't pack a sleeping bag. Just sheets & a blanket. Brr...

I was so cold and had slept so poorly that I couldn't be bothered to check tire pressures Saturday morning. I figured they had to be pretty good, though, since I managed a 1:29.7 in my 2nd session, my fastest to date. That lap turned out to be my fastest for the day, and good enough for a 3rd place trophy!

My paddock-mates insisted on checking my tires in the afternoon, and we found that each was at least 2 pounds down from optimum pressures, which meant that Sunday would be faster. It was.

With proper pressure, I went out Sunday morning and knocked off .2 seconds from Saturday's best, but on a lap where I had to give up the end of the front straight for a caution flag. I knew I could do better.

In my 2nd session, I turned a 1:29.141. Six tenths better than Saturday, and only 1/10 off the first place pace from Saturday. Fortunately for me, the guy who set that pace didn't come back Sunday, and each day is a separate event. Saturday's 2nd place driver told me that he couldn't possibly match my pace, and the only other car that could do it wasn't classed properly. So I won. I won the final event of 2010.

And even though I only competed in 6 of 15 events, I accrued enough points to be in either 5th or 6th for the season.

My average finishing position was 3.33, with an average field-size of 7.66 competitors. And if the guy with the fire-breathing turbo Miata gets classed out of TTE, the average becomes 2.83 out of 7, which is good enough to win a free tire from Hoosier at every single event.

Better still? Using that average, and assuming I'll be able to make all 15 events, I should finish next season well over 100 points ahead of the points-leader for 2010. Even a consistent 4th place finish could warrant a 1st place trophy for the season.

And since Time Trials isn't nearly as abusive on hardware as HPDE's (fewer laps means less fuel & less wear), consumables can last much longer. Add instructing and camping to the mix and--barring major incidents--next season should cost less than the first two events of this season alone.

Last Weekend at VIR

2010-10-19T14:07:00.003-04:00

Well, ok, not actually last weekend, but the weekend before...

A scant week after my final HPDE of the 2010 season, I headed down to VIR for my penultimate Time Trial weekend of the season. The neat thing about doing back-to-back events is that (assuming the car isn't broken) there's very little to do between events. Just pack some food, hitch up, and go.

The other neat thing is that the brain stays in performance-driving mode. Going a month between events gives you too much time to cool down. Too much time to look at video and data, over-analyze both, and settle back into a routine of drinkin' beer and watching TV. But a week? Just enough time to still be excited about the previous week's activities, just enough time to assess what the car is telling you.

I pulled 3 whole seconds off my previous best TT lap time at VIR. And that previous best was in July, just over two months ago. That's huge. Yes, I pulled 25lbs out of the car, but all of it from the wrong side to be helpful. In fact, the car is now wildly imbalanced, almost 185lbs off to the left, with only the left-front wheel carrying over 600lbs at rest.

And my 2:24.873 lap probably wasn't a fluke or a trick of the timing beacon: I'd managed a 2:24.9 earlier in the weekend. Traqmate says there's a 2:24.1 out there, which means there might actually be a 2:23.8. Either way, it was only good enough for 3rd place on Sunday (1/10 of a second out of 2nd place--argh!).

And I'm learning a lot each time I do a TT. I'm learning that once I've blown my own mind with a hot lap, it's time to be done. No more scrounging for that last ounce of performance, as I did twice. Both times I went off in big dramatic fashion, and both times my sessions were disqualified.

I'm also learning that a "full day" of TT can comprise 1 or 2 sessions, that the hardware can last a lot longer than initially expected because of the shortened days, and that there's a lot of room left to make the car go faster. I'm still 40lbs overweight for the class, and can make a few mods to the car without jeopardizing my classing.

And finally I'm learning, each and every time I get in the right seat, something new about instructing. I've now had two students go "off", both because they weren't really listening to what I was saying. They got mired in their own thoughts, fears, and desires, and tuned me out. Concentration exercises (e.g., forcing the driver to identify something unique about each flag worker) help get their focus back where it belongs, but each new student is presenting a new set of challenges that I'm having to solve on the fly. It's scary, frustrating, and a lot of fun.

So I can now claim four Time Trial events (each weekend is two separate events). And in that short period, my first podium finish. Three weeks from now I'll be at Summit Point for the final weekend of the 2010 season. If I can put down consistent laps, I should be just able to get 3rd place again. Wish me luck!

Security Elevation...Feature?

2010-10-14T10:13:00.002-04:00

--Nerd Alert--

Last night I migrated from an old failing Windows 2003 file server to a shiny new[er] one. I got the printers, the shares, the permissions, and all the stuff you'd expect. Yay success!

Except somehow I managed to overlook that it was also the site's DHCP server. Oops. Fortunately Microsoft makes a handy-dandy DHCP migration tool that exports all the old databases and imports them into the new environment. Which is great so long as you include it as part of your planning process. Trying to run it after the fact results in spectacular failure.

I took the old server out of the domain, renamed it, re-IP'ed it, and rejoined it to the domain "just in case" we needed it. Rejoining it should also, in theory, deal with any lingering SID issues that might abound in a globally-distributed domain where replication intervals can become an issue.

Once that process was done, I removed, renamed, re-IP'ed, and rejoined the new server, using the old servers name and IP address. Simple server swap, right?

But now I needed to install DHCP services on the new one, which should have come up deactivated and required an Enterprise Admin account to activate. It didn't. It came up hot and is serving out addresses without explicit activation. That's crazy!

The whole point of needing an Enterprise Administrator to activate a DHCP server is to eliminate the risk of internal poisoning of your namespace. If any local site admin with privileges to add or remove a computer to the domain can activate a DHCP server, then you have no security. Somehow Microsoft's engineers believe that "security" for a core infrastructure service should be based on IP address and not SID.

Alastair's First Track Weekend!!!!!

2010-10-04T11:40:00.003-04:00

I took Alastair to Summit Point this weekend. I was nervous about it, concerned that an over-amped driver coming off the track might blaze through the paddock and mow him down, or that he'd wander off to places unknown, or that he'd just be bored to tears and whine all weekend.

He was awesome.

My parents met us at about 4:30pm on Friday, helped pack a few last-minute items, and we were off to the mountains of West Virginia. The drive took a little longer than usual, but traveling w/ a 4-yr-old tends to add time to any trip.

We got to the track a few minutes after 8pm, and it was pitch black. Alastair was a huge trouper about getting everything set up for the night, and as a reward got to ride in the Miata around the paddock area. We even went and watched the go-karts for a little while before coming back to the trailer. When we got there, he told me that he needed to go to bed. And indeed he did--it was 9:45pm!

We slept fitfully, having only brought one pillow for the two of us to share, but the next morning we were both quite chipper, in spite of the cluster that awaited...

First off, the track was super slick on Saturday morning. I got out late and only turned a few laps before parking the car--it's just not worth the effort sometimes. Then, as I was preparing to get in the right seat to instruct Mr. Gohlke, another guy came up and told me I was his instructor. Um... uh oh. Turns out there'd been a mix-up at Registration, and I'd been assigned a completely green student. Which meant we had no idea who was supposed to instruct Daniel. And naturally, we only had about 2 minutes to resolve it before the session began.

Oh, and? Alastair had to be left alone, by himself, in the trailer during the session. With more than a little trepidation for his safety, I fired up a movie, stuffed my helmet on my head, and headed out for what would be an eventful first instruction session.

My guy was very green (it was his first track day ever), but seemed to have a good knowledge of what the car could do. Unfortunately, about 2/3 through the session, we spun. No biggie, but it was early enough in the day that I decided to park him and let him cool down a bit. He was shaken, but no harm had been done. Daniel fared a bit better with his instructor, only scaring the guy half to death a few dozen times as he reacquainted himself with the car (we got the situation resolved later--switched students, and Daniel got promoted to Intermediate AND got solo-ed).

I came back to find things going quite well, and indeed things remained very stable throughout the day, except for a couple of minor issues. The day went so well, in fact, that Alastair asked if he could camp in the trailer again that night. So we said adieu to my parents for the day and prepared for the night.

But first...

...we got to put Alastair's go-kart on the race track. Holy. Freakin'. Cow. I thought he'd be bored after doing 1/3 of a lap, but he wanted to keep going and going. He drove almost the entire track before the temperature started to drop, including Karussel, Corkscrew, almost the whole front straight, the Stonehouse Straight, Hook, and Trigger. We had to cut under some track-walkers at one point, and as we came down the main straight, a crowd gathered to watch him toodle along. Seeing his fans, of course he decided to wave.

And then it was time for me to go karting. Daniel and I entered the 1-hour enduro race at Summit Point kart, and for 30 minutes I held the lead, passing the reins to Daniel in horrible form with a late black-flag and a boot that stuck on the brake pedal. We ended the race in 3rd place, 32 seconds behind the leader, but still on the lead lap (in fact the very last kart on the lead lap).

Alastair cheered through it all, pausing along the way to make some friends and share toys.

We capped the night with grilled hotdogs & beans, took a nice long shower, and Little Man asked weepily to go to bed immediately thereafter. He was worn out.

The next morning I was assigned yet another student. Another instructor had suffered an injury in the night, and I got to take a solo check-ride in a blazing fast Hyundai Genesis. And in the afternoon I had a guy in the Advanced group ask me to ride along with him. So for an event where I was accepted as a provisional instructor with only one student, I ended up having 4 students!

Everybody got to ride in the Miata at least once--dad on the first day, Randy on the 2nd, Daniel rode twice (I think). And in my last solo driving session, I set a personal lap record of 1:45.195. It was a fantastic weekend. Alastair was a delight and didn't gripe about the 3-hour trek up or back, the car held up (even if the tires didn't--all 4 were showing cord by Sunday afternoon), and everybody made it home safely.

And ya know what? I get to do it all again this weekend at VIR!

Tomorrow Marks 18 Months

2010-09-24T14:37:00.002-04:00

Hard to believe she's been gone that long. Harder, still, to believe that she last slept in our bed in February '09.

I've been moody this past week. But I've also been productive. Her closet is mostly empty, and now even has a few of my things in it (in addition to her 803,972 pairs of shoes). Her pictures and some of her nick-nacks have been removed from the bedroom.

Somehow it has been an amazing process to look through her things this week. I've tried to do it before, but always got lost in sentimentality within the first 10 minutes. This time, I'm good for about an hour, and things that never had any real significance at all are finally just empty objects. Brushes, decorative boxes, pictures of people I never met.

And because I've spent so much time in my bedroom this week, I noticed how empty it sounds without all those things in it. It's weird, but the sound-signature in the room changes ever so slightly when any item is removed. Spend 7 years in a room without changing anything, and then take something out. See if you don't notice the same thing. This has actually made it hard for me to navigate to the bathroom in the dark--I'd never realized how much I relied on the sound of the room for that.

But I don't regret it. It needed to be done. More needs to be done. I can't hang on to artifacts. As Trent Reznor reminded me the other day, they're "just a fading fucking reminder of who I used to be."

And even crazier? I've found an inner peace in doing this cleaning. Sure, the room is bare right now, but somehow I feel like I'm finally laying Amanda to rest. Well, more so than I have before.

School starts tomorrow!

2010-09-13T13:11:00.003-04:00

My little guy starts pre-school tomorrow. I'm super excited for him, and more than a little bit nervous that I'll forget to put some essential item into his tote-bag, but I figure it's high time to look back over the summer and reminisce a bit...

King's Dominion

We started the summer off by buying King's Dominion season passes. What a great idea! We've been no fewer than 4 times, and it's been a pretty easy way to mark his physical growth, which has been frankly astonishing. In June, he was just barely at 42"; able to ride the Ghoster Coaster (the Scooby Doo for you KD oldsters), Avalanche, and a couple of rides in Water Works. We spent a lot of time in the kids' area back then, when things like simple carnival rides were still really amusing to him.

We went back a couple of weeks ago for my birthday, and he'd grown 3 full inches. Since June! Holy crap! He's now big enough to ride Ricochet, which has instantly become his favorite ride. Without a doubt, we're gonna do season passes again next year.

The Little Gym

We renewed our membership at the Little Gym for pretty much the entire next year. A few weeks ago, one of the teachers completely accidentally figured out how to get Alastair excited about the gymnastic routines: let him lead the class. Since then, he's been far more engaged in the activities, though his little temper flares when the other kids don't do exactly what he's shown them. Oh, buddy, life is gonna be hard for you...

And he won a free birthday party! So come January, the only thing I have to worry about is providing them a guest list. Woot!

Virginia Beach

We capped our summer with a repeat of last year's big vacation: a week at the beach. Post-Labor Day rates made it really easy to justify spending a whole week, and the lower temperatures of September made the idea super appealing. It was awesome. He played in the sand, made beach friends, had two games of Putt Putt, ATE AND LOVED SUSHI, and was so exhausted on the last night that he didn't have one last swim left in him. He just wanted to go to bed. SO cute.

Go-Kart

He'll be old enough for league racing at the local dirt roundy-round next year, so I took the opportunity to get him started with a relatively fast electric kart. He's really taken to it, and I'm FINALLY getting him to the track for a whole weekend of motorized fun in early October (more on that later).

I know I'm forgetting a bazillionty things, like July 4th and countless other minor moments of awesome, but we've had a really good summer together. He's done two different Vacation Bible Schools, just graduated into a new Sunday School class, has started to actually play with other kids (instead of just co-playing). Yadda yadda yadda. My little boy is growing up. I love him so much!

Yes and Hell Yes

2010-08-15T01:02:00.003-04:00

Alastair earned his first paycheck today (not counting his turn in a WIC commercial in 2006).

He was at The Little Gym, starting to get slightly disruptive as his class moved over to the final station of the day, and definitely not listening to the teachers. Instead of running around like a lunatic, though, he decided to sit next to the main teacher, Miss Shayla, whereupon he proclaimed to the class, in a highly affected "adult" voice, "I'm Miss Shayla, and I'm going to tell you what we'll be doing at this station."

Bent over in laughter, Miss Shayla told him to go ahead and lead the class. He organized a pretty good routine (all normal stuff they've done a million times before), and class continued rather uneventfully.

Both teachers came out to tell me what a riot my kid can be, and after class was over, he was excited to tell me all about it, too. So I told him that he should ask if he gets a paycheck.

He ran right over to the counter and asked, perfectly seriously, "Do I get a paycheck?" Explosive laughter. And yes, they wrote him a paycheck. He clutched it all the way home, and talked about it all afternoon.

That's my boy: exhibiting a strong work ethic at age 4.

Previously, on ahamos...

2010-08-13T14:12:00.003-04:00

I've started and stopped a number of posts recently. Things have been...well, they've been mixed, really. There's been some good, some bad, some AWESOME, and some meh.

There have been a bunch of behavioral issues with Alastair, but those are being directly addressed. He'd spent too many nights and weekends being passed from one set of hands to the next, and while it made for a dynamic summer for both of us, it also made it tough for us to find time to enjoy each others' company.

For 2.5 weeks, however, he's not sleeping anywhere else than home; he's not going to bed late; he's not watching anything with a screen after 7pm; he's getting to nap at 1pm; and he's eating what he's served, which is generally healthful. It might sound totalitarian, but we're actually having a ton of fun:

Last night we trekked down to World of Mirth (a fantastic local toy store), where we found some really cool dinosaurs. We bought a big spinosaurus--with articulating jaw--and a pachyrhinosaurus (which he initially misidentified as a styracosaurus). We also bought a bitchin' marble roller coaster thing, and I can't wait to start building it with him.

We also introduced the "clean plate club" at home. Members get dessert at dinner. Holla!

We've gone to King's Dominion in the evenings.

And this weekend is gonna be a non-stop action fest! First up, as usual, is Saturday morning Special Breakfast and The Little Gym. Then there's the Filipino Festival right across the street from my house. After nap is the Richmond Kickers' final game of the season, and it's gonna be a big ol' party lasting into the evening hours.

Sunday starts off with brunch at the Jefferson Hotel, which is like Special Breakfast times eleventy. This will lead directly to nap (for both of us), hopefully followed by either a mess o' karting or Maymont or, if it's raining a movie.

I'm keeping him occupied at all times, keeping him focused on productive activities, and trying my hardest to guide him positively and not negatively.

I'm a little bit bummed that our experiment can't last a full month, but I'm pre-paid for a track weekend right before my bday. After that, though, we're gonna get lots more time of focused and dedicated daddy/boy time, with a week-long trip to the beach in early September.

It's only been 4 days since I started working on his habits, and we're already making some serious progress. The first two nights, he was up over and over again 'til way past 11pm. For the past two nights, though: he's dropped right off to sleep. When he goes to sleep earlier, he also stays asleep longer, making him much more pleasant in the morning. With the "clean plate club", we've had much better success at not only eating, but eating at a reasonable pace. And most importantly, the smart-talk has dwindled. He had been floating in a state of either 100% bliss or foul mood, with almost no transition time. Emotional extremes. That is evening out--thank God.

We're gonna keep driving the party bus and beating the routine into his head until it clicks, and minimize the interruptions to that routine to less than half what they had been. I'm through putting up with impediments to my child's development--he is all that matters.

Followed by a whole lot of AWESOME

2010-07-28T22:08:00.003-04:00

So yeah: MazdaDrivers put on a craptastic event. And I have it on good authority, and from multiple sources, that they won't have the chance to fail so dramatically again.

But Trackdaze and NASA? Epic.

I hit the Trackdaze HPDE @ Summit Point Main a couple of weeks ago, and while attendance was way off, the experience sure wasn't. With fewer than 20 cars in each run group (and only about 10 on the 2nd day), the track was wide open, and I had almost no mechanical issues. I ran out of gas once, had one set of questionable tires go away completely, and the worst thing I had to deal with all weekend was some INSANE rain on the way home. It rained so hard that the trailer roof leaked again. Grr...

Two really cool things came out of that weekend, though.

1. I got to run my first ever session of passes without point-bys. Late in the 2nd day, I ran with the instructors with my window-net up (first time ever on track). I learned that the net is really distracting and that there must be a much higher level of trust between drivers when there's no pre-negotiated agreement on passing.

2. I became 100% convinced of my need for a Traqmate. So I bought one. I'll get back to it, but holy crap is it awesome.

Both of those things became instrumental to the event I just completed: NASA's Sweaty Summer Slam @ VIR. This 4 day event(!) was not only the longest I've ever done, but comprised entirely new activities for me.

I took the Level 1 and Level 2 Instructor Clinics, and spent Saturday and Sunday teaching others how to drive their race cars. The classes were long, but very content-rich; the on-track exercises were...startlingly realistic; the students were amazing.

I finally got to experience that moment I've heard about from other instructors: when a student goes from driving a car on the track to track-driving. "Magical" doesn't quite describe it, but it's close.

I also began my competitive track career in Time Trials. I managed to finish in 4th place in my first ever event, and 5th place on Sunday (after disqualifying myself by going off-track).

Know what made that 4th place possible? The Traqmate. It also enabled me to put down my fastest VIR lap ever on Sunday morning during warm-up, at 2:26.1 (still off pace for SM, but I'm getting there). What was really surprising, though was learning that, if I'd done everything to the best of my ability, I could have managed a 2:25.2. That's cookin' with gas!

I got a new camera, too: a GoPro Hero. The old Aiptek broke off its mount at Summit Point (video here), leaving only a threaded plug attached to the mount. The GoPro got some good footage, but after I added the Traqmate data, that footage went from being entertaining to being, as one coworker put it, a Business Intelligence tool. And she's not wrong. Check out 4 laps from my fastest session, beginning with my personal lap record.

From a Time Trials perspective, though, the real benefit of the Traqmate is the display unit. It updates all the way around the track with predictive lap times, telling you instantly if you're moving faster or slower than your best. That's powerful stuff.

And since we're on the subject of pure freakin' awesomeness, I got a new truck. The F-250 was just getting a touch too unreliable for repeated trips to West Virginia (those mountains are TOUGH!), and the Mazdaspeed3 filled no practical voids in my life, so I decided to consolidate down to one vehicle.

I did some research, and it turns out that many trade rags are in agreement: the Dodge Ram 1500 is the best half-ton truck being made today. Coil springs, anti-sway bars, independent suspension, and let's not forget: a bitchin' 5.7L V8 Hemi. The truck is rated to tow 10,000lbs, so it's a little bit future-proof with regards to trailers (my trailer is rated to 7000lbs, and probably weighs within 10% of that, fully loaded).

It tows like a dream, and I just got towing mirrors, a backup camera (to assist hitching), and a weight-distributing hitch with built-in sway control.

And Alastair LOVES the new truck. He sits high and proud in the middle of the back seat, and has a commanding view of the road. But his favorite part is the 7.3 second 0 - 60. "Wow, daddy! I didn't expect it to be fast!"

Oh, and? Alastair starts preschool September 14. Before he does, though, we're gonna go spend Labor Day week at the beach. Off-season rates are less than 50% of summer rates, so it's a steal, and this will be the last year we'll be able to escape during the school year.

So yeah: Summer 2010 is kicking all kinds of ass (and you don't even know the best part...ha!).

An exceedingly strange track weekend

2010-06-14T11:39:00.003-04:00

This is gonna be long and probably boring. Sorry.

Last week was scramble time. I accomplished oil changes on the Miata, the truck, and even the Mazdaspeed 3. I changed plugs & wires on the truck, brakes & fluid on the Miata, and buttoned everything up just in time to haul down to VIR for the annual MazdaDrivers event on Grand East.

This is one of the only (if not in fact the only) events all year to use the Grand East configuration, which has 34 turns, a ton of elevation changes, and a glorious turn called The Bitch. It's a 4.2 mile lap that takes just under 3:30 to complete, and it's full of exciting challenges. It's also ungodly expensive because it takes a lot more staff to man the flag stations.

To offset that expense, I was excited about repeating the whole camping-in-the-trailer thing that I'd done last month at Summit Point, but I couldn't remember if there were electric drops in the paddock. So I sent an e-mail. HUGE mistake. VIR was willing to provide me a camping space for $50 / night, which is nuts because I don't need water hook-ups or any of that fancy crap. So I declined, but they forwarded my name to their head of security, so I knew they'd be on the look-out for me to be camping unauthorized. So I booked a hotel room. Boo. There goes another couple hundred dollars into this overpriced weekend.

So I got everything ready, came home early from work, kissed my boy, and hauled down to VIR in the 90+ temps. Smooth sailing all the way down, I'm rockin' out to good tunes, no cops in sight the whole way.

I get there, and there's a sign on the front gate: Electricity $25. DAMMIT! I just committed to $200 for a hotel that's 15 minutes from the track. Lesson learned: NEVER ASK PERMISSION. EVER.

Anyway, after unpacking my trailer, I find a list of driver/instructor pairings, whereupon I realize I've (once again) been bumped back down to the Intermediate group. In Intermediate, passing is only allowed on approved straight-aways. Not cool (and really boring, frankly). I got pissed off and sent a fiery email to the event coordinator.

Saturday morning I got the issue resolved to my relative satisfaction, met my instructor, and prepared to have a weekend full of awesome. Only it was not to be. After waiting more than 5 minutes for my instructor, I finally went looking for him. He was resting casually at his paddock space, thinking I was still running in the other group, which wasn't scheduled to be on track for another 30 minutes. As he was scrambling to get in the car, he smashed my rearview mirror with his helmet. Oops. My side was still intact, and I could see out the back, so we were ok.

And then I overdrove the car so badly he had to ask several times for me to keep it under control. I got passed all over the place. It sucked.

2nd session, I finally got things to settle down a bit, started to pick up the pace, and he told me afterward that he enjoyed the ride and would sign me off for solo. Yay! Good driving to come! Only not!

Just before the 3rd session of the day, high winds came rolling through. Everyone was advised to take down their tents and awnings and seek shelter immediately. This is no easy task when winds are already blowing above 30mph. Oh, and I was busily trying to swap to my rain tires because of bruised looking clouds on the horizon.

But the storm mostly blew over, and we got out on track for an abbreviated session. Yay?

For the 4th session, my rain tires were already on, and the rains finally came. Woohoo! It was wet. It was treacherous. It was FREAKIN' AWESOME. For about 2 laps, whereupon a silver M3 decided to attempt a barrel roll with predictable success. Black flag all, day over.

To make matters worse, the black flag came out right as I and another Miata were passing a corner station. The worker waved the flag at the Miata in front of me, and we both thought he was being flagged. He pulled way off line, slowed, and pointed me past. So I passed him. This upset the event coordinator, who wanted to have harsh words with me. Oh yeah? Bring it, fucker--I'm done with you anyway. He and the Chief Steward and I had a nice long talk about it, and the Chief Steward conceded that the flagging was not clear, and that there is technically no rule about passing under black. Mr. Coordinator-Fancy-Pants looked at the ground and tried to walk away, whereupon the Steward called him back to discuss the many things that MazdaDrivers do differently from EVERY OTHER CLUB, and how difficult it is for the VIR corner workers to keep up with the weirdness. Again: suck it, jerk.

Sunday began with an RX-8 missing a shift, slamming the wall on the front straight and spewing parts all over the place.

Then our first session came, and it was by far the best experience of the whole weekend.

2nd session, on the out lap (not under yellow, though) another BMW M3 felt inspired to go off in the exact same spot that the first one had done Saturday. Only he didn't flip. What he did do, though, was one of the dumbest things I've EVER seen a human being do: he got out of the car to see if it was damaged. On a hot race track with cars passing 20' from him, in an area known for spins. Black flag all. AGAIN.

3rd (and final--at least for me) session, I got stuck in a long train before finding another Spec Miata to play with. We were putting down some frickin' awesome laps before...another black flag all. Apparently a 'Vette overheated in the climbing esses, and the driver decided to hop out at the top of the hill to pop the hood.

Seriously, what the hell is wrong with these people? I know it's hot, but the lapses in judgment by far exceeded anything I've ever experienced at an HPDE. As a refresher: YOU NEVER GET OUT OF YOUR CAR ON A HOT TRACK UNLESS IT IS ON FIRE AND BURNING TO THE GROUND.

So that was fun. Then, as I'm packing everything up, another biblical storm comes and knocks out power to the trailer, where the temps climb quickly into the low 90's. Storm passes, I head out at 4pm. At 6:10, I'm climbing a hill and noticing that, not only is the truck slowing, it's overheating. A glance in the mirror shows huge plumes of smoke billowing from the driver-side trailer tires. Oh God.

Both tires are blown, one is obliterated. I have one spare, an a jack that's just strong enough to lift one side of the Miata. This won't end well.

In my haste to deal with it, I forget to leave the truck running. Strange noises begin emanating from the hood, but I'm in full-on panic mode, so I don't notice that for a couple of minutes. When I do, the truck wheezes back to life, runs terribly for a couple of minutes, and then settles back down as the coolant does its job.

Back to the tires...

I'm less than 1 inch from the paved surface of Rte 360, a busy highway, and no room between the trailer and the ditch on the other side. Just as the panic begins to get bad, I hear a dude whistling for my attention. Frank, as it turns out, lives right next to where I'd stopped, and just happens to be a tow-truck driver.

I told him my plight, and he told me that everyone seems to get flats right next to his home (and it's true--there were TONS of tire carcasses all over the place). He measured my bolt-pattern and came back with a very small wheel & tire that fit perfectly. He stood in the highway and directed traffic around me as I raised the trailer (after first taking the Miata out so that the jack wouldn't break). He helped put his wheel and my spare on, gave me good tips on where I could find air to get everything up to optimal pressures, and wished me good luck. He even helped re-pack the trailer. Frank is a fantastic man. If you ever break down 10 minutes south of Chula, ask for Frank. He'd give you the shirt off his back and ask for nothing in return.

Anyway, I got moving again, tried several times to stop and find someone to sell me tires--always without success--and eventually limped the whole thing home at about 35mph.

Incredulous that I'd made it to my driveway on Frank's badly dry-rotted tire, I parked the truck and sighed in relief...only to hear dripping. A quick check under the truck showed a river of oil.

So it wasn't the best weekend ever.

Never Forget

2010-05-31T10:23:00.003-04:00

Jack Ramsey Amos, USAAF. B-24 Nose gunner/bombardier. KIA January 31, 1945 in a bombing run on Ploesti. He never met his son, my father.

Albert Paul Chamberlain, US Army. Infantry. Stormed the beach in Normandy, said it was impossible to tell when daytime ended and nighttime began because all the explosions lit up the sky, and the number of airplanes overhead darkened it. My grandfather never told his wife the horrors he saw, insisting to his dying day that he spent his military days waterproofing tanks. She knew better, though, because for decades he awoke screaming in the night.

My son carries both of their names. We will never forget.

A Memorial Weekend, Indeed

2010-05-28T15:22:00.002-04:00

I don't know what you have planned for your weekend, but Alastair and I are gonna make a big bag of awesome out of the next 3 days.

Tomorrow, we're heading up to King's Dominion. Neither of us have been there since August of 2008, and he's big enough to ride a lot more rides now. We're gonna do the grown-up go-karts, all the kids' rides, and eat 'til we puke. It's gonna be stupendiferous.

Then Sunday morning, we're getting up bright & early to take the race car down to Dinwiddie for an autocross. This will be Alastair's proverbial toe-in-the-pool of racing weekends. I'm hauling the generator in the trailer, and while I'm racing, he'll have his choice of either staying in the trailer (with the AC on) or playing under the awning. And as a super duper uper shmuper bonus, he's gonna get to drive his ride-on F1 car on the course. Bad. Ass. We tried to do this back in March, but he ended up getting to the autocross too late to drive it.

Sunday night he'll stay at Amanda's parents', but then Monday afternoon we're going to a dinosaur tea party. I have no idea what the hell that means, but it's sure to be awesome. There will be other kids there and he'll act silly and it will KICK ASS.

Come on, Friday, hurry your punk ass up and be done: I have an awesome weekend to get started!

10th Anniversary

2010-05-19T10:05:00.004-04:00

10 years ago, May 19, 2000, I married my college sweetheart. We'd been engaged one day shy of 6 months, had just moved into a new house, and I had (only 4 days prior) started a new job. It was a bit of a whirlwind.

Our wedding ceremony clocked in at 27 minutes, something our mid-20's friends REALLY appreciated. After a bit of a delay for pictures, Amanda and I took an English taxi to Henrico County's Belmont Golf Course for our reception. There was a vicious thunderstorm outside while we ate cake and danced and acted silly inside.

At the end of the reception, we gathered with our friends on the back patio at the facility and burned enormous illegal sparklers, then retired to our house for even more partying.

The next day, after everyone left, we took our sweet time packing for Asheville, pausing to open a number of really awesome gifts (including a bunch of Star Wars Lego sets!). We spent days in Asheville, staying at the Grove Park Inn and visiting the Biltmore and Chimney Rock Park. We decided then & there to return for our 5th anniversary (whereupon we further decided to return for our 10th).

And then we spent almost 9 years of wedded bliss together.

And then she died.

My plan for today had been to return to Asheville in her absence. Maybe take Alastair, maybe not. I had wanted to scatter her ashes at Chimney Rock.

But that would mean planning it. And planning to discard her ashes (which aren't even in my care) is just too much to consider. She's gone, and I know that, and sentimentality is not the same as memory, but letting go is so damned hard. I recently opened her closet to help a friend find a dress for a wedding. I was horrified to discover that some of her clothes are already moth-eaten, but they're still her clothes. Which is dumb, because there's no more "her".

It's so much easier to just leave the closet closed.

Maybe I'm getting old

2010-05-14T14:30:00.002-04:00

But I'm having a really hard time relating to people who get overly emotional about their politics. I know I used to, and there are things that I still feel very strongly about (in fact, probably most things), but I just don't see the point in getting angry at another human being because they vote differently.

Perhaps if I lived in a country where people were dying for their rights, but I'm not--my forebears already did that for me. They did it to secure a chunk of land where people would be free to disagree and discuss those disagreements civilly. To find common ground. They even wrote a big ol' Constitution guaranteeing our rights to do so, providing an amazingly flexible framework to secure those rights and freedoms for generations to come.

It comes as no surprise to most that I'm generally conservative, at least fiscally. I believe that people will succeed or they will fail. Irrespective of outside influence (i.e., welfare programs), the same people who would have failed on their own will continue to do so with help.

I believe in Capitalism and voting with my dollars.

I also believe in personal freedoms, and here my views (evidently, though I don't understand how) become quite liberal. Leave people alone to make their fortunes, their mistakes, their LIVES. Gay, straight, bi, whatever: live & let live.

But all too often I see real-live grown-ups getting pugilistic over this nonsense. Gay? NOT IN MY BACK YARD! Capitalist? UNFAIR AND I HATE YOU! And in the end Godwin's Law becomes more and more quickly proved: if you don't agree with me, I'll call you a Nazi. Cute.

And what do you say to that? "Yeah? Well you're a Nazi, too!" The argument is stupid, trite, and frankly irrational. And yet I hear it on things that both political spectra believe.

Don't-Ask/Don't-Tell is an amazing example of political ass-hattery. When it was instituted, the Right was up in arms. How dare this crazy liberal president dictate policies on sexual orientation to the military--it'll never work! Now? How dare these crazy conservatives defend the policy--it doesn't work! But...but...I really haven't heard anyone other than the mouthpieces defending the policy. So...we all agree. Right? But why can't we just say, "Hey, we agree: this policy is teh dum"? Is it because that would show weakness in the face of our political adversaries? 'Cause I gotta tell ya: that argument is teh dum.

So I call myself a conservative, right?

But yeah: the Tea Party shit has got to go. Seriously: it's embarrassing. I know there are some good people out there who have similar beliefs to my own, but the Glenn Becks and Sarah Palins of the world really make it look quite silly, as if all conservatives believe only that Obama isn't a citizen, Global Warming isn't real, and evolution is just a fancy myth perpetrated by the left.

The Boston Tea Party was a revolutionary decision that halted trade and had life-or-death consequences. That's why it worked. There was risk. This crap is just a media frenzy, and for all the wrong reasons.

It's lazy political action, like yelling at people on Facebook. If you want to make a difference, quit yelling and start talking.

Dear 2am

2010-05-12T09:41:00.002-04:00

We've seen a lot of each other over the last two weeks, and while the experiences we've shared have been both intense and intimate, I think it's time for us to start seeing other people.

You're just not healthy for me. You affect my daily life far more than you should--I think about you ALL THE TIME, which is making it hard to concentrate on work, Alastair, my social life outside of you. And let's face it: you're pretty abusive.

Please return my letter jacket and Primus t-shirt.

Panic! Panic! The Sky Is Falling!!

2010-04-30T09:40:00.001-04:00

I've amended my APRIL FOOLS post to to clarify it for American audiences. The Japanese version was better.

It's Race Season!

2010-04-20T10:11:00.002-04:00

Hot damn, but that was an awesome way to start the season!

I just spent the weekend at Summit Point Raceway in West Virginia. There was racing, Time Trials, HPDE, and karting. There were TONS of Miatas, and I got to steal a bunch of really good ideas for my dashboard setup.

But the highlight of the weekend, at least for me, was the door-to-door action in the advanced HPDE group.

It's always a little scary in the first event of the year. Do I remember the track? Do I remember how my car handles at the limit? Do I, in fact, even remember what the limit is? Turns out: yes, yes, and mostly.

Summit Point Main is the only track I've ever run and never had proper instruction. I figured it out on my own and by watching other faster drivers. And I've gotten pretty consistent with 1:33 laps, occasionally churning out a 1:32. I know the car can do at least a 1:30, and looking at data I know now where I'm leaving time on the table.

But Sunday, man o man! I got hooked up with a couple of guys who were turning similar lap times, and we had a nice long chat about various ways around the course, agreeing that we'd look for each other in the 2nd session. Well, we found each other and ran together for about 15 minutes. And it was awesome! There was a Porsche 944 that's being prepped for 944 Cup, a seasoned Spec Miata (though in new hands), and my orange popsicle. We traded places, took turns side-by-side, ran nose-to-tail, and had an absolute blast. And I got it all on video.

A white Porsche Cayman S was following the action and got some good shots of one particularly dicey lap. Once I'd gotten by the other Spec Miata, he had a hard time keeping up and severely over-drove the car, eventually spinning off in Turn 10.

Now, I've run with guys before. I've found people with similar cars or similar talent and played with 'em for a few laps, including one great session at VIR last summer, but this was really the best fun I've had to date. Back then, I was running in Intermediate, which meant no passing in the corners. But now we can actually practice real racecraft, going 2 or even 3 wide white-knuckled through some really scary turns. And at this level, there's a trust between drivers that didn't exist before.

There's a guy I met last fall who was kind of overwhelmed in our group, spinning off once (or twice?) and having a hard time controlling his way-overpowered Porsche 997 GT2. But I made him pass me on the inside of a terrifying turn to show him that he could do it, and afterward I think he got a level of confidence that was sorely missing. If you don't trust yourself and the car, you're gonna go off or spend your whole day driving slow.

Hard to believe I have 9 more weekends to look forward to this year, and yesterday I picked up a new car that we're gonna build for Chump Car & LeMons, two series for <$500 race cars. And this weekend I'm heading down to North Carolina to pick up a 24' enclosed (and insulated) trailer. Time to start tailgating and stop paying for hotels!

2010 is gonna be the BEST track season ever.

Long and exciting. Yours?

2010-04-05T11:07:00.004-04:00

How was your weekend?

Mine started Thursday night, care of Good Friday and curious holidays in the private sector.

Alastair and I went to bed Thursday night with excitement in the air: a trip to the zoo was planned for the morning, and Maymont Park in the afternoon!

Somehow, in all my life, I'd never actually been to a zoo. I'm unclear as to how this oversight might have occurred, but occur it did, so when we got there, I was more mesmerized than Alastair, who's now been at least 4 or 5 times. And of course, since he's been there a number of times, he knows where everything is. I felt like I was the kid for half the day!

We saw lions, tigers, bears (oh my...<--sorry, it's obligatory), emus giraffes, all manner of monkeys & apes, bats, and well, everything else you'd expect to see at a zoo. And we rode the sky-car over the rhinos, which, while exciting, were evidently nowhere near as exciting as their poop. I swear: Alastair talked about rhino poop for two solid days.

We also saw an Audi R8. That was my favorite.

Then, while he napped, I started tearing the Miata down in preparation for a timing belt & water pump swap. I figured if I disassembled it Friday afternoon, putting it back together on Saturday would be a snap. Which it was, until it wasn't.

After nap we met a friend and her two girls at Maymont, where mysteriously all the animals except the birds, bears, and fox were...missing. No idea where they were. Dad & Randy showed up to walk the park with us, and it was a delightful way to spend the afternoon. The kids entertained each other, the grown-ups got to talk, and then unfortunately one of the girls did an epic swan dive over her own foot. A bloody knee and 8 zillion tears (now with dramatic over-sell action!) later, we were all spent.

Saturday was even more awesomesauce for Alastair, who got to go to two Easter egg hunts. One at church (grr...) and one at his friend's house. While he was at the church one, and while he napped, I toiled away on the car, getting it almost back together.

We had a fantabulous time at his friend's house--truly, they're like peas in a pod, and it is so much fun to just watch them play.

After I dropped him off at Grammy's for the night, I went home, Daniel showed up to help with the Miata...and it wouldn't run. Dammit.

Teardown & rebuild: nothing.

Daniel wished me luck and went home (it was already pretty late), and at midnight I started another teardown, this time with the idea that I'd leave it torn down overnight and approach the timing issue in the morning with fresh eyes. Yeah, not so much.

When I got down to the belt, I had a revelation that I could abandon all the fancy marks I'd made on the belt if I could calculate TDC, which I fortunately could do because I happened to have a compression checker. Yay me!

At 2am, the car was buttoned up, and she roared to life (sorry neighbors!).

The next morning she threw the alternator belt. FML. At least that was a 5-minute fix.

P-Nut's Easter Party! Woohoo! Monument Ave Easter Parade! Jello shots! Champagne! RedBull & vodka! Ow my head!

Before Alastair came home, I happened upon a stranded motorist in my neighborhood. Her car had overheated, and she was about a mile away from home. But she was blocking traffic, and the cops were less than amused. So I went home, got my truck & trailer, and hauled her to her house.

Pizza with a boy for dinner, 834.2 loads of laundry, and one completely spent daddy.

It was a damn fine weekend, even with the extra 5 hours of work on the car. Now on to the remaining 5 hours worth of work, and next weekend's the circus!

The Book of Seder

2010-04-02T20:32:00.002-04:00

Amanda really enjoyed my satirical efforts, and had wanted to repost this on her blog annually. So, never one to deny my wife...

---

And so, as the Seder feast approached, Jesus called unto his disciples and said, “I have received news which is my Father’s news, and that is to be given unto you. That you are to collect the eggs of hens throughout all the land, and bring them to the temple on Seder-eve. There the eggs will be emptied without breaking, and brightly colored so as to show the love of my Father.”

And so the disciples set out upon the land to collect the offerings of hens. And it was so, that they rejoined unto each other on Seder-eve at the temple, each with his measure of eggs. And Peter asked, “Lord, how are we to drain the eggs without breaking them?”

Jesus replied, “Does not the ewer empty with even the smallest hole? We shall prick tiny holes in each end, and blow with forceful breath upon one end, that the yolks shall flow forth. And we shall collect the yolks in great urns, so to bake treats for the children.”

And they began to drain the eggs, with Jesus draining many times his measure. But the disciples were discouraged, for their eggs broke. And they asked unto the Lord, “Lord, our eggs are breaking. Soon there will be no more eggs. How can we present broken eggs in the temple?”

Jesus considered this and replied, “Not all eggs need come from hens, though those that do not must be rich indeed. Peter, look in that urn, and bring forth what you find.” And Peter peered into the urn, and drew forth strange material, shiny and smooth. “Lord, what is this treasure you provide us?”

“Plastic.” And so they continued, filling the plastic eggs with small treasures, baked goods beyond measure and coins bearing Caesar’s image. The eggs of hens were brightly painted to capture the splendor of the Seder feast, and the plastic eggs were filled.

And on the morning of Seder, Simon went to fetch a hare for the noon-day feast. And Jesus said unto Simon, “Cook not the hare, for he represents the work of my Father on this day. Nay, praise the hare, and place an egg before him, that you have painted. And when you see a hare before Seder, say unto any who stand near, ‘Happy Easter’, for the Lord my Father has brought the beasts of the land upon the East winds, so to feed his children the Israelites.” And he asked of Luke, who had thus far sat quietly, “Luke, go to Mary’s house, and request from her that which she has been keeping for me.”

And Luke went to Mary’s house, and retrieved Jesus’ bunny-suit. Then Jesus did say, “Let us go to the mall, and pass out our eggs, but hiding several for the children to find. And afterward, let us dine together, as a family might.”

And so Simon went to fetch an ox, which was not protected by the word of God, and they feasted heartily. And afterward they ate chocolate.

Hard to share

2010-04-01T21:21:00.004-04:00

Hey kids-kadoo, this was an April Fools post. Seriously, before you even look at the title or the content, look at the date. Or read the comments. Or the tags. It's your call, but if you can't do any of that, call -->ME<-- and ask.

There are a lot of really good things going on in my life right now. And with those really good things must come the occasional really hard decision.

A few months ago, shortly after qualifying for my 1A race license [this only exists in Gran Turismo 4, a PlayStation 2 game], I was approached by a Mazda factory rep. The guy had seen some of my in-car footage and at come out to watch me at two events (didn't know it at the time), and was interested in recruiting me do drive for the company. [seriously? Racers work their WHOLE CAREER for this kind of opportunity. I've been driving less than 5 years, and only done 12 events.]

Unfortunately everything had to be very quiet until all the contract details were worked out, but starting in June I will officially be a Mazda driver. With that, however, comes a series of multi-month training trips that will have me all over the globe for the next 3 years or so, competing in various international racing venues as I go. [this is all complete bullshit]

It's exciting, and it's really what I've always dreamed of doing.

But what about Alastair?

It's been no secret that we've had some exceptionally rough patches, even before Amanda died. The "Special School", some physical roughness that I can't seem to shake, and with less than 18 months to prepare, I've still not even budged on picking a school for him. To the backdrop of all this I need to add the potential of a custody battle [this part comes straight from the book The Art of Racing in the Rain--you should read it]--let's just say that our impasses haven't gone unnoticed.

So when I said before that 2010 was going to be his year, I meant it: he's going to get a better daddy. The last couple of months have been such hard work, and hopefully the good times we've had will be firmly cemented in his memory, but the fact is that I cannot provide the level of care and attention that he so desperately needs. And for that reason, shortly after his birthday I contacted an adoption agency. Tomorrow we meet the potential new family.

It's the hardest decision I've ever faced, but I have no doubt that it's the best choice for him. [ok, for real now. If you've read this far and are still clutching your pearls, I can't help you.]

And Then I Went for a Run

2010-03-28T13:43:00.004-04:00

The Ukrop's Monument Ave 10K holds a lot of symbolism for me. 4 years in a row, it's had a big impact on my life.

The first year, 2007, was the first time I ever tackled it. Amanda and I ran it together, and while I vowed never to do it again because of all the damned walkers who insisted that they should be in Group A, Amanda decided that it was an event that she would do annually. We really did have a great time running it, and we ran into a bunch of friends afterward, and it was really just a lot of fun. I fell off the training wagon shortly thereafter, figuring I was done.

But not Amanda. It was when she was first starting to prepare for the 2008 race that she realized Something Was Wrong. An initial run outside saw her get no more than 4 blocks before she came home with a racing heart and feeling very ill. She decided to skip the race and gave her bib to her friend Kim Thies the night before being admitted to the hospital. The race was run the same day our hell began in earnest.

Last year, the race was 3 days after her death. I'd just returned from Texas the night before, had just told Alastair that his mother was gone, and we spent the night with my dad, who lives on the 10K route. We got up the next morning and cheered on the runners, several of whom were running in Amanda's memory.

This year, because she loved that race so much, I decided the best way for me to commemorate the anniversary of her death was to run the thing myself. I'd put down a pretty good pace in '07, and figured with 3 months to train, I'd match that time.

Two months into training, my back decided that running was not my friend. I hurt so bad I could barely walk, and had to give up running for 3 weeks to get the pain back under control. With two weeks left before the event, I started again, managing only 3 miles the first run, and just over 4 in my last training session. I was devastated. I went into the race yesterday very upset that I was going to fail her memory. She'd endured so much pain just to survive, and I was going to let a little pain prevent me from doing something to honor her memory. It was sickening.

The whole race I felt off-pace, and when I got to 4 miles, it became a misery to put one foot in front of the other. At 4.5 miles (roughly), I stopped to kiss my boy, who was sitting once again on my dad's porch. It was a serious struggle to get going again, and at 5.2 miles, after getting a sip of water (and choking on it badly), I gave up and walked a couple blocks.

People look at you strangely when you stop running and start walking, especially in some of the faster run-groups--I actually got a couple of scornful looks. I really could have used some encouragement, and I found it thinking about Amanda. I picked my feet up and ran again, promising myself I'd walk again before the finish line. I never did, and ended up crossing the timing line 6 seconds faster than I did in '07. My final time was 52:11, and as soon as I crossed the line I started crying. It's really really hard to cry when you can't inhale, and I felt like there was a stone on my chest. But I'd finished, and I'd done it for her, and I was so upset and just couldn't get the emotions out.

And I'll do it again. Absolutely.

I really appreciate all the support of my friends who contributed to my fund-raising efforts. All told we raised $790 for Massey Cancer Center. Whenever I felt down and out in the race, I'd think about all of you and your support, and it gave me strength to push just a little bit farther.

A Very Pleasant Distraction

2010-03-28T12:36:00.002-04:00

or

Planes, trains, and no goddamn race cars. Can you please shut up about the race cars? I'm sorry I told you there would be race cars. Jeez. We have one at home.

To mark the anniversary of Amanda's death, we went and did some of her favorite things. It got us out of the house, out of our routine, away from the Internet and work and all the things that give me time to sit and reflect on my loss. And it was fabulous.

We got up bright & early Thursday morning, the electricity of impending adventure filling the air in the house as we scrambled to eat a quick breakfast. We got to the train station with only 5 minutes to spare (perfect for traveling w/ a 4-yr-old, but Amanda would have been vomiting with angst). The ride up was gloriously uneventful. Alastair was delighted and maybe a touch bored with train travel, though he had to admit it was far more comfortable than going by car--he could get up, pee, play with toys, and even had a fold-down table for his snack!

That same manic energy pervaded at the thought of underground trains, and he was making hardened DC locals giggle at his continual announcements on the Metro that our stop was next.

We checked our bags at the hotel and wandered off to the Air & Space museum, only to realize upon entering that there was no coat-check, and that we would have to throw our lunch bag away if we wanted to enter. This was not an ideal solution, and neither was walking the 7 blocks back to the hotel, but walk we did. Now, a 4 year old can do 7 blocks. He can even do 14. But asking him to do 21 because you didn't realize you'd need to store your lunch bag makes him crabby & tired. It will also make you crabby & tired because at some point you'll be carrying him.

Ultimately we got to Air & Space, and his mind was blown. All the airplanes hanging from the ceilings were cool, but the walk-through exhibits left him gape-mouthed, and the rockets! The scale-model of the shuttle! Exploration of space and hands-on exhibits and...and...and...! We even spent the $14 to ride in the flight simulator, which got us off our feet for a while and was actually pretty convincing, if a touch nauseating.

That child spent 2 solid hours in Air & Space. Every time he'd ask if we could leave, his eyes would catch something else that he HAD to explore. And of course, we HAD to go check out the gift shop, where he got a little toy space shuttle that became the GREATEST TOY EVER (if only for 24 hours).

Exhausted, we walked back to the hotel again, ate our lunch, checked in, and I passed out cold for an hour while he played on the floor. Honestly, where does the energy come from?

After my nap, we took the Metro to the Natural History museum, where I'd promised dinosaur bones. This child--this 4 year old child--walks into the dinosaur exhibit and immediately begins accurately identifying skeletons. Skeletons! He'd never even seen bones in his whole life, but he's identifying bodies by bones. Holy junk!

It took some prodding to get him into other parts of the museum, because really: what can compete with dinosaur bones? But explore we did, and with some pretty awesome results. When he saw the right whale suspended above us, he immediately identified the seemingly-inverted jaw-structure. He watched a video on octopi and marveled at the cephalopod remains. We identified species from "Finding Nemo", including the giant jelly-fish. He had an AWESOME time.

Once again we hoofed it back to the hotel, got ready for dinner, and headed out to the District Chophouse to meet some very dear friends.

The District Chophouse, I must mention, is one of my favorite places in the world to eat. Amanda and I discovered it quite by accident on a trip to see Curve play at the 9:30 Club back in '98 or '99, and I have never been to DC again without stopping there for a meal. Amanda quite enjoyed it, too, just as she enjoyed trains, museums, and travel, so it was important to me that we eat there.

Alastair hated it.

Oh well.

After a delicious dinner, it was time to take the Metro one last time for the day, take a bath, and put a boy to bed. I went downstairs with the worst possible book in the entire history of the world, and proceeded to weep openly in the lobby. Pro tip: on the anniversary of your wife's death (esp. to cancer), DO NOT read The Art of Racing in the Rain.

Friday morning, we got up, headed downstairs to a really wonderful buffet breakfast, donned our swimgear, and headed out in the cold windy rain to the rooftop pool. Now, before you think I've completely lost my mind, it bears mentioning that this particular pool is both heated and enclosed within an inflatable structure, so I was not endangering my boy too much. We splashed around for about an hour before dashing our way back through the cold wind to prepare for our final museum: the American History musuem. And that's where the wheels came off.

I had made the mistake of telling him that there were trains, motorcycles, and race cars. Because dammit, there used to be race cars there. Oh, sure: there were 4 big, completely awesome trains, a bunch of old cars & motorcycles, a Mack Truck, and even a trolley, but I failed my child because there were no discernible race cars. We even found a helicopter there--something he'd desperately wanted to see (but didn't) at Air & Space--but no race cars.

And he let me know his dissatisfaction. For hours. Dear sweet Jesus, we have a fucking race car at home. One that he can crawl all over with NO repercussions. It's not roped off, it's not behind a glass wall. He can sit in it, wear my helmet, and flip all the switches. But there was no race car in the museum. STAB STAB STAB.

Ahem.

We got out of American History with less than an hour before our train back to RVA, high-tailed it back to the hotel, grabbed a quick McD's lunch, scrambled with our bags through two Metro lines, and got to Union Station with 10 minutes before our train boarded. Again, Amanda would be puking and probably not speaking to me, but with Alastair the timing couldn't be better.

And he passed out on my lap for about an hour of the ride.

And he wants to go back. We had a really great time, and he's been running his mouth to anyone who'll listen about all the awesome stuff he saw, and he's excited about the possibility of going back. AND he started getting really excited about going back to the beach, too. Every time we were in the hotel he'd start yammering about how much the room was like the one we had at the beach.

So I think it's gonna be an AWESOME year with my bold little adventurer. And I can't wait. All aboard!

sigh...

2010-03-24T16:15:00.003-04:00

So now it's been a year. Tomorrow will mark the anniversary of her death, but today marks the anniversary of our last conversation. You'd have to rewind all the way back to March 7 to find the anniversary of our last embrace, and somewhere in the middle of that is Alastair's last
physical contact with his mother.

Last night I found several old videos that I'd forgotten taking. They covered Alastair's birth, our first overnight trip with him, and one perfectly serene video of them gibbering at each other.

To say that I was upset would severely undersell the sentiment. I'm very good at repressing memories and emotions, but when they well up, they do it with a vengeance. And now, for the first time in a long time, I feel lost again. Rudderless and alone.

Tomorrow Alastair and I are taking the train to DC. We're gonna distract the hell out of ourselves with trains, subways, museums, rich food, friends, and swimming. Then Friday we're coming back after doing EVEN MORE museums.

Saturday I'm running the Ukrop's Monument Ave 10K in Amanda's memory. A number of truly fabulous people have contributed to my fund-raising efforts (and you can, too!), and a bunch of folks are also running in her memory.

I'm touched and deeply grateful for all the support and prayers of the last two years. I'm grateful to be super busy at work. I'm grateful for my boy and all the joy he brings me. I'm grateful for 14 1/2 years with a beautiful, smart, sassy lady.

Miss you, 'Manda.

19 Days? Really?

2010-03-19T16:37:00.002-04:00

Has it really been that long since I last posted?

The last couple of weeks have been a whirlwind. The sun came out and dried up all the rain. The boy's been in a great mood. Facebook Scrabble occupies HOURS of my night. And of course there's the Wii. Oh, and it bears mentioning that my weekends have been off the chizzain.

And work? Oh my God I've rarely been so busy. I'm in the middle of several pilot deployments right now: Google Apps, WebSense hosted security, SAML 2.0 Single Sign-On. And since we're investigating SSO, it's causing us to re-think our login processes for other hosted solutions.

We're booting our offsite backup storage vendor, too, so that's a major overhaul in the works. And, as if all that weren't enough, I'm rolling out Active Directory to new international sites AND I'm still the only dude supporting the servers.

Busy much?

But it's good, because I'm too busy to let my head really wrap around the fact that it's March.

I have the 10K coming up next weekend, and I had to take almost the last month off from training because of a worsening back problem, but yesterday I got my first chance to run on the street. And that's when the emotions really broadsided me. I was less than half a mile from the end of my foreshortened run when I started tearing up. The emotion of WHY I'm running this thing took over. The fact that I was listening to a sad song about lost love probably didn't help,
though.

So anyway, there's all my excuses for not posting. I would promise a post for the anniversary, but I will be out of town visiting museums with a very special boy. But I'll try.

Hope everybody had a good St. Patrick's Day. I drank far less than I should have, but hopefully I can correct that this weekend.

Odd little weekend

2010-03-01T14:21:00.004-05:00

First a big shout to all the Jibans. You guys rock.

We've had a big week. Last weekend was action-packed, we saw the doctor on Thursday, and Alastair got to see a movie on Friday night.

We started Saturday morning bright & early with a trip to the dyno. I've had the Miata for 4 years and never once stopped to actually check the motor. Alastair helped out by getting up early, eating his breakfast really well, and generally being very amenable to the morning's activity (we watched one pull before he asked to go back into the relatively quiet office, where he got to play with the shop puppy).

Then it was off to the Little Gym for "Bring a Friend" week. Alastair's friend Kaden met us there, and they had such a great time playing together. It's fun to watch them play in an environment where you're not really responsible for their behavior.

But then lunch was an absolute chore. We went to Panera, where he took forever-and-a-day to eat a sandwich, twice as long to eat his yogurt, and then dropped most of his cookie on the floor. He wasn't happy, and his unhappiness made me unhappy, so nap time was most welcome.

I dropped him off at his Grammy's after nap and headed down to Williamsburg for a night of bowling (followed by an afternoon of karting).

The boy I picked up yesterday afternoon was the same bad-mood boy I dropped off, augmented by a bad spill he took on the driveway as we left. And a runny nose. Oh joy, we're gonna be sick again.

Toys R Us, Mexican for dinner (sopapillas for dessert), and a bit of Mario Kart before bed.

A fairly busy weekend, so really it wasn't surprising that we got on each others' nerves a bit.

But then we both woke up with nightmares this morning, and he's been coughing horribly all day. My nightmare consisted of me being in a group therapy session (something I've never done), puling about how much I wish I'd been there in Amanda's last conscious moments. The therapist then asked me if there were any two or three things Amanda could have said to me that would have been life-changing. In other words, could my having been there have really made a big difference?

And it's been on my mind all day. I suppose I wish she could have explicitly named the school she wanted him to attend, but if I'd been there, would I have been quick to call her parents, or would I have pulled the plug too soon, thereby robbing them of the opportunity to say their goodbyes? But really, the way it went down is the way it needed to. Her father was there, and he's much more level-headed in those types of scenarios than I am. He was able to make the necessary calls and arrangements.

Why this would wake me up in a cold sweat is truly vexing. It's perfectly rational stuff to wonder--it's not like I was dreaming of being chased by an ax-wielding madman.

Alastair's nightmare was that Vivienne had died. He woke up extremely upset that she was gone, and I curled up in the bed with him and assured him that she was just fine, that she wouldn't die for a long long time.

I'm not really sure what to make of this. I'm guessing our choreographed nightmares are as much a result of our dietary choices as anything else, but the fact is that he's been talking about death more and more. I hadn't seriously considered putting him into counseling because most of it is geared for slightly older children, but given how much of his time it seems to take up, he might be ready for more help than I can provide in understanding the meaning of death.

What a difference a year makes, ahamos edition

2010-02-26T21:29:00.003-05:00

This week last year was one of hope, travel, and possibility. Just like this year, it began with a birthday party for one of Alastair's friends, but that's where the similarities end.

I had just started a new job. Just over a month into it, I was learning the ropes and still putting names to faces. I'd done a ton of learning in a short time, and it energized me. I like what I do when it's full of challenge and growth.

Alastair had just turned 3.

I was putting the finishing touches on the race car, truck, and trailer in anticipation of a March 1 track event.

And Amanda was en route to Houston to begin clinical trials.

The energy in the house was amazing. She was still hoarse, and not thrilled about leaving her boy(s), but the prospect of a medical team that wasn't about to write her off--one that might have real results to offer instead of just maintenance--put her in pretty good spirits.

We were in a good place.

Sunday Alastair and I went to the same party. And that night he had a night terror (and another one last night).

He talks about death a lot now. He's adamant that he doesn't want either of us to ever die.

I've been at my job for over a year, and the shiny has largely worn off.

Racing season starts soon, and I've done nothing. Absolutely nothing. I've seriously considered selling all of it, but since I've pre-paid for 4 events, I guess that's not a really viable option.

But I don't feel like I'm depressed, so much as I feel like this is just winter blahs. It's hard to say.

The widow I recently met stirred up a lot of emotion that I thought was long-settled. I certainly don't blame her for it--they're emotions that I've put off or simply ignored for far too long.

And even now, almost a year later, I still don't know how to properly express them. My feelings are like one of those crazy fish balls: thousands of fish swimming in a tight and nigh impenetrable ball. Only what predators do I have to worry about? The tuna of conscience? The shark of responsibility?

At Alastair's check-up yesterday I was asked if he'd been lead-tested. I realized that I had no idea. Not because I'd never been told, but because that, like so many other details of our lives, was something I could always rely on Amanda to remember.

I'm rehashing stuff I've said before. And I'm guessing I will again.

I miss my wife.

What my mom did

2010-02-26T15:02:00.003-05:00

I feel like I've told this story here before, but in my 18.3 second search of previous posts, I couldn't find it. Seems a bit bass-ackward that I'd spend more time re-typing than searching, but that's how I roll.

So last year, a week after Amanda's memorial service, my mom had her annual Easter party. She does it up pretty big, with Easter egg hunts, tractor rides, horse rides, play-fishing, and other random "only at the farm" events. It was fun for us in '08, and was the last event we did as a family with Alastair before the hospitalizations began.

I told her we'd try to make it, but after mom's arm-clenching at the service (she wouldn't let me out of her sight for almost an hour after the service was over) I just didn't want to deal with her. So we went to the Monument Avenue Easter Parade instead. It's fun and decidedly less stressful.

See, mom tends to make everything about her. Last summer--oh goodness, I guess now I mean summer-before-last--when she came to visit Amanda in the hospital, my dad was there. Mom didn't feel like she got the personal attention SHE deserved, so she left. The day after Amanda died, I called to share the bad news, and she boo-hoo-hooed for several minutes on end about how much this affected HER. How upsetting it was to HER. Then she showed up at the airport after being expressly asked not to, and made me drive her weepy self all around the airport parking lot because "in her sorrow" she'd forgotten where she parked.

And did I mention she was high at the service? She's been high for every service we've both attended for, well, probably all of my life. She was high at her dad's, high at her mom's.

Anyway, I didn't want to deal with her fruitcakery on Easter. BFD, get over it.

So when we got back from the parade, I called to apologize for not coming. I got a 20-minute lecture on how disappointing it was that we abandoned her on her biggest day of the year. Mind you, Amanda had been dead for less than 3 weeks. Then she hit me with the big 'un: "You know, you're lucky Amanda died so you'll never have to know the pain of divorce."

Um.

Ok, seriously?

FUCK YOU.

We haven't spoken since. Now, that's not exactly abnormal for our "relationship". Several times we've let almost a year pass without communication, but I feel no desire to ever speak to her again. Every time we speak, it's poison to my soul.

Amanda and I had long-since agreed (actually before Alastair's birth) that mom would never have unsupervised time with Alastair. Her lies are so thick and told with such sincerity that they were hard for me to unravel--I will not have that pain inflicted upon my son. In the wake of such a charming encounter, I see no reason for her to ever be allowed to speak to him. Supervised or not, her presence is toxic.

I resent my mother.

Where to begin?!

2010-02-26T12:23:00.002-05:00

I worry a lot about what kind of father I am.

Alastair is a great child. Really, he is. He's easy-going, well-mannered, and very gentle. He apologizes for his wrongs, shares well, and tells me all the time how much he loves me.

So I feel bad when I reprimand him, but then I wonder if maybe the reprimanding is why he's so well-behaved. It's a catch-22: I want to be lax and non-restrictive with him, but that is exactly what I think leads to ill behavior. I distinctly recall some early interactions with my mother as being very negative, and I don't want him growing up afraid of me, but I also don't want him growing up with today's whacked-out sense of entitlement. Respect must be earned. Privileges may be revoked. These are truths of life, and treating a child like a prince or princess will not prepare them for the world.

On the other hand, I want my little boy to be my little prince forever. I shower him with love and hugs and affection. He's all I have, and the only reason I'm still even remotely sane after 11 months without Amanda. Hell, he's probably the only reason I didn't kill myself after she died.

So I hate myself whenever I'm short with him. TV shows and movies don't help, where they always show a father and son who've grown distant. I couldn't bear to be distant from him.

And yet he apologized to me the other day for "always making me angry." Oh how I died inside! Have I become what I fear most? Overbearing and unyielding? I try to pick my battles carefully, and I told him that he doesn't always make me angry--that I only get upset with him when he doesn't listen (just like his sitters, his grandparents, and everyone else in his life). And my being upset is nowhere near as vehement as it was a few months ago.

I've said before that this is going to be Alastair's year. I mean it. He's not gonna be little for much longer, and I don't want to miss a moment. We got a Wii recently, and now, in addition to our nightly monster truck racing and wrestling, we try to sneak in a game of Mario Kart or a bit of flying in Sports Resort. He loves it, and both games force me to relax and let him just be a crazy little kid.

And this morning he learned that what works in the games does not always work in the real world. In Mario Kart, it's just fine to slam into things. In the kitchen, on his Lightning McQueen ride-on, slamming into things hurts his crotch. So yay for learning!

Right now my poor little guy is suffering from a bit of a fever. Yesterday he had his 4-year checkup, and he had to get 4 shots, including his MMR, which made me the sickest I've ever been in my life. But he got great marks everywhere else, weighing in at 41lbs and measuring 41.125" tall. His vision is like mine: 20/30, and he's my sweet angel.

I love my boy.

Please Stand By...We're Experiencing Emotional Difficulty

2010-02-26T00:10:00.003-05:00

I have so very much to say, and on so very many things, that I let the day go by without posting anything. Mind you, February 25 did not go by unnoticed, and my heart has been heavy.

I love my boy, I resent my mother, I miss my wife. There's more, but that's the crux of what's been on my mind.

M-M-M-Monster Jam! Thunder Nationals!

2010-02-16T16:35:00.003-05:00

Yup. I did it. Put aside my high-brow tastes and took Alastair to see the monster trucks. And ya know what? It was pretty awesome.

I made a decision a few weeks ago that 2010 will be Alastair's year. Last year we didn't do very much. I let our Children's Museum membership lapse, we did one trip to the beach, and hit Busch Gardens on the hottest day of the year. But this year he's old enough to really get excited about exploring new things, so we're gonna try to pack it all in and see what works and what doesn't.

It's gonna rock hard core.

He's been watching the monster trucks on TV for the last two years or so. He has at least 50 of the toy trucks, a monster truck ramp, and a rotating platform smash & crash stadium thing-a-ma-bob. So when I found out they were coming, I bought tickets. Nosebleed section, just in case the show scared him.

He had toys of 2 of the trucks that were there, so he brought those with him, along with a fancy set of headphones that he never took off his head ("Daddy, I'm gonna keep my headphones on the whole time. I promise.").

And to be honest, the monster trucks themselves were perhaps a bit anticlimactic. He can't play with the real ones, they're really loud, and he'd seen 'em on TV. The only thing the live experience could add was the nauseating smell of exhaust and tire smoke. But the jet-powered go-karts, now THOSE caught his attention. And the battling robots? Oh, yeah.

But the absolute best part of the whole show was the R/C monster trucks. There was something of an intermission during which a few dudes brought out some really high-dollar R/C trucks--the kind that really do go about 60mph. They set up ramps and one of them was able to jump all the way over 5 cars while doing two back-flips. And the crowd went wild. More so than for the real trucks, honestly.

As it was winding down, Alastair started to get kind of tired of the whole show, and told me that he wanted to go. Turns out we were watching the last truck do its last performance, so he made it through the whole show. Good for you, buddy! Then we got as close as we could to one that was parked near our seats, and I got a great picture of him grinning like a loon in front of it.

If you have a young boy, go see the daggone monster trucks. And make them wear hearing protection--those go-karts made the whole building shake, and when the monster trucks do donuts, it's positively deafening.

Next up: the circus!

My Thoughts on Lost S6 Premiere

2010-02-03T21:06:00.003-05:00

I've not seen these ideas discussed elsewhere (but frankly I'm too lazy to look much farther than the first 20 comments on Pajiba), so here are some randoms:

1. Jack recognized Desmond not because his mind is splintering, but because they have met before. When Jack was running up and down the bleachers in that stadium, they chatted briefly. Long before Desmond went sailing around the world. AND HOLY MOTHERFUCKING SHIT, YOU GUYS!!!!! DESMOND IS WEARING A WEDDING BAND! You only catch it in a couple of frames, when he's standing to let Jack into the seat, but it does flash brightly.

2. But maybe Jack's mind really is splintering, a la Daniel Farraday and Desmond Hume.

3. Fake Locke / Smoke-Monster wants to go home. He is, however, hundreds of years old, so home cannot be so simple as "Paris" or "Madrid". It has to be some place unaffected by the passage of time. Hell? Possibly. Heaven? Equally possible. If so, then Jacob is (was) either an angel sent to keep him trapped or a demon sent for the same purpose. Odds seem likely that Jacob was an angel, given FL/SM's conniving efforts to escape through the centuries.

If FL/SM is a demon, and the island was an energy prison of some sort, that would explain the need to continuously move it, as God would seek to protect man from the evil, yet man's fall from grace would also explain the continuous need to seek it out.

Sorry to drop the obvious heavy-handed religious themes here, but either Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse are the smartest two guys in the whole history of story-telling, or it's gonna go Matrix on us. I don't see any other way out.

4. Richard Alpert. FL/SM said he was glad to see him out of those chains. Was Alpert a slave on the Black Rock? This I have seen covered, but it seems unlikely to me. I've long thought Alpert was a crew-man on the ship, that Jacob was its captain, and that at some point there was a serious mutiny. There are not other "others", but two groups that can both trace their history to that one ship. Those who served, and those who mutinied.

5. The split time-line. I can't be the only person who noticed that the 2004 non-survivor passengers are being forced together in spite of their good landing. There are threads tying them all together, and I'm curious to see whether or not they need the island physically to be forced into interaction. Perhaps the differences in the alternate time-line were imposed by whatever energy/spirit/whatever in order to produce the same results. Sort of a manifest destiny, if you will.

Everything hurts

2010-02-02T09:09:00.006-05:00

Epic snow-pocalypse #2 for this wintry season, #3 in the last 12 months. Richmond, as a rule, just doesn't get snow. We're nestled between the mountains and the ocean, and most big systems either stall out in the mountains or sweep just north of us. But we've had 3 snow-storms with accumulation in less than a year, with more expected this weekend. Holy crap.

Since it doesn't snow much here, there's not much call for having fancy snow-toys. Yeah, sure: we have an inherited old sled (the kind with the wooden deck and metal rails), but it's heavy, doesn't glide well on anything other than packed powder, and requires maintenance. Screw that!

When it does snow, the 3 or 4 places in town that stock toboggans are inundated with requests. I didn't want to be "that guy", and I knew my little boy was statistically unlikely to see much more of the white powdery stuff around town too terribly often, so I splurged.

Wednesday of last week, I ordered these two pieces of pure awesome:

For Alastair, the Zipfy Freestyle Mini Luge. It's bigger than it looks, but still by far the smallest thing out there on the slopes. Alastair had little trouble keeping it upright, and was actually doing some moderate steering by the end of the weekend.

We did find another little boy who had one, and we got to do some racing.

For me, the Flexible Flyer PT Blaster. This one is actually smaller than it looks. I had thought--based on some reviews--that I'd be able to put Alastair in front of me, but that turned out to be extremely cramped.

This things FLIES. Holy crap. No seriously: holy crap. It was the fastest thing out there, went farther than anything else, and could steer. Everyone who rode it raved about it. You should buy one.

My in-laws kept Alastair most of the weekend, taking him Friday night and keeping him thru Sunday afternoon, so I got a chance to try out both sleds before taking him out (didn't want to trudge all the way out only to realize they were both duds). But when we did get out, whoa.

I was scared to let him go down by himself the first time, since almost all hills in Richmond end with creeks, so I tried running down the hill beside him. I was able to stay right at his side at almost a full run, but at the bottom of the hill, I didn't correct for the flat ground and face-planted. Not wanting my son to get his first exposure to freezing water, I flung my arms out like a diving football player and managed to catch him as my face hit the snow. TOUCHDOWN!! And the crowd went wild--literally. I got cheers for my save.

We moved over to another area with a longer run-out and spent over two hours trudging up and down, trading toboggans, and having THE BEST TIME EVER. He got the hang of his mini-luge in a hurry, and we didn't leave the park 'til after dusk.

Monday I had to stay home with him because the babysitters were unavailable. I needed to get a bit of work done, so I figured we should try Forest Hill Park (I'd heard good things about the crowd-levels and quality of hills there). Man o man is that place out of control! Mostly in a good way, but still a bit bonkers.

Their snow has been packed into moguls on one side, and nearly-flat surfaces on the other. Of course Alastair was drawn to the moguls. So here's my son, not yet 24-hours into his first sledding adventure of his whole 4-year life, jumping moguls. Fairly successfully, too. Sure, he fell plenty of times, but he also landed that Zipfy like a pro. Twice he mashed his face into the snow, and both times came up grinning like a loon. The first time was good enough to elicit cheers from the crowd. He'd gone straight down like a rifle-shot, hit a small mogul, launched off a larger one, flew sideways through the air, and came down pretty hard. There was a collective gasp from the crowd when he launched, and cheers when he sat up (with snow mashed behind his sunglasses). No tears, no whining. He just rubbed his head and said "ow", grabbed his luge, and headed back to the top. My kid is hard-core.

After an extremely late nap, we dashed back to Bryan Park to get in as much more fun as we could before the cops closed the park, and with temps in the 40's and 3 days of sledding behind it, the hill was slick and fast. FAST. And extremely dangerous. Alastair got clobbered by an adult at the bottom of the hill. Solid hit to the ribs that flattened him. He did not get up quickly, and when he did, oh boy was there some crying. The guy felt awful, but really it was Alastair's fault: he likes to sit at the end of his runs and relish the moment. Everybody understands that it's the responsibility of the walkers to get out of the way of the sleds. Everybody but my son.

But after that, he got it. And we found that little boy who had the other Zipfy, and the three of us had race after race after race. Alastair is fast and stable on that thing, but in a race he looks around too much. One time he careered into the other little boy, cutting him off and making him fall. Alastair "won" that race, but I'm pretty sure he should have been penalized.

Again we sledded until it was too dark to do so safely, and I hauled his wet tired butt out of the park on my sled.

My ass hurts, I'm exhausted, and they're calling for more snow this weekend. Hells yes.

Jason's Deli

2010-01-29T21:40:00.004-05:00

I can't for the life of me figure out why I go there. Every time I do, I end up crying.

The day after I got to Houston, Amanda and I trekked out to do some window-shopping. We stopped at Jason's Deli for lunch--neither of us had ever eaten there, and we were FAMISHED. I had a muffaletta, which I'd loved so much at Central Grocery on our trip to NOLA, and we had a great day. An exhausting day, even for me--I can't imagine how much so for her.

And that was the last time we ever ate out at a restaurant together.

Sure, we hit the hotel restaurant on my last night, but that really wasn't eating out, not in the same way that actually leaving the building is. Just like eating at the rodeo really wasn't eating--anyway, you get the point.

So there's a Jason's Deli near work, and I stop there every once in a while for a quarter-muff. They're all decorated exactly the same, so just sitting down at the table transports me back instantly: Amanda sitting at my left, hot & tired from a 2+ mile walk on a very sunny day, us running our mouths trying desperately to avoid discussing her condition.

And as if that weren't enough to undo me every time, yesterday there was a family with a 18-month-old boy sitting near me. He was so cute from behind, with his little toddler mannerisms, and I realized that I'd blinked and missed my son's last couple of years. He's 4 now. How did that happen?

And the man behind me is telling his mother about what matters in life, that money is great and all, but that time is the most valuable asset. Time. How it slips away!

So there I was, trying not to get choked up about Amanda or my no-longer-toddler, when the little boy turned around and I realized he had Down's Syndrome. And I realized that I'd never seen a really young child with Down's, and how many challenges that little boy would face, and I couldn't handle it. I came completely unglued.

10 and counting

2010-01-26T12:21:00.007-05:00

I sat down to write this last night, but the phone rang and it was curtains. So it's a day late. Deal with it.

So Alastair's birthday weekend was 135% awesome. We didn't do everything we wanted to, but that means we have leftover activities for the next couple of weekends, so score!

I came home early Friday to open gifts and play with him, then we did dinner at the Olive Garden, where they sang to him. He opened more gifts at my dad's.

Saturday we did Special Breakfast at River City Diner, hit The Little Gym (it was Show Week, with awards and everything!), had a big birthday party at home, and ended the evening with dinner out with Kim Thies and her two daughters.

Sunday was Maymont, lunch at Crossroads, and bouncies. Bad-ass weekend for any toddler--I mean little boy.

But then came Monday, the 10-month-iversary of Amanda's death. It was an absolutely miserable day at work, and I didn't have any time to think about it. Only later in the evening did I have a moment to begin to reflect on this time of year, her, and what made us compatible.

Amanda and I are/were independent loners. We operated on the periphery of several social groups, but never became central to any. We both hated being the center of attention for too long and tended to withdraw whenever we got too far into any "scene". But for all of it, somehow our introversion did not manifest between us.*

We did not lead, we did not follow, but we forged our own path together, often taking us on wonderful adventures. Like our trip to Chicago. Nobody understood why in God's name we would choose to drive, but doing so put us--completely by accident--at Falling Water. Bonus! And we got to see the Blenko glass factory in West VA and a Lavender festival, which was a lot more fun than it would sound like. Similarly our decision to visit New Orleans in November was questioned by many as being curiously off-season, but the locals all lauded our choice as being the best time of year for the weather and small crowds.

Amanda and I both ardently refuse(d) to join any activity that's overwhelmingly popular, distrusting it as group-think, which has historically been associated with some very dangerous people and activities. We didn't touch Harry Potter. We both distrusted organized religion. We did not--with one exception--attend political rallies.

Our introversion did cost us, though. I got kicked out of a band for not going to Hooters with them (Hooters objectifies women. Period. And I will never step foot in one--I could give half a shit how good their wings may be.). At the government I avoided the parties as non-compensated forced socialization, often remaining at my desk where I could get some work done. Amanda refused--REFUSED--to go out with coworkers at night, not wanting to be ridiculed at work for her behavior outside of work.

In the months since her death, I've gotten pulled further into a few social circles than I've been comfortable with. It has taken real effort to withdraw, but keep the groups at arm's length. And now, for the first time in ages, I feel relatively comfortable again. Just involved enough to know what's going on, and just uninvolved enough to stay above the fray. And I feel like this stance is giving me the freedom to be me again. I like being me. I don't have to "man up" to the appropriate testosterone-level or soft-pedal my views.

But the really cool thing about being myself? When Judgment comes (in whatever form you want to believe), my hands will be clean. I try to live kindly and responsibly with everything I do. As Amanda did. As my son (hopefully) will.

Like Conan said in his final week on the Tonight Show: if you work hard and are kind, amazing things will happen.

*I see this same curious independence forming in Alastair. He likes being around other kids, and interacts with them, but doesn't really join in their play. He plays on the periphery, and doesn't need them to validate his actions. Hopefully this will translate into peer-pressure-resistance, as it did with both of his parents.

He's 4. Holy crap. HOLY CRAP!

2010-01-22T12:39:00.003-05:00

Somehow my child has put 4 years behind him. And in that 4 years, so very much has happened.

I don't really need to rehash the last two years. They've been ugly and unpleasant. But through it all, the one constant has been my love for that boy. He's my angel, he's smart as a whip, and he converses like a little adult.

We've conquered some hurdles in the last 6 months that I'm pretty excited about, like the transition to underwear, his adoption of the letter "L", and math skills. He's learning all manner of awesome stuff, and successfully tied a pair of shoelaces for the first time yesterday.

And now he's 4! It just doesn't seem real. My baby boy, my ninja-attack monkey, is counting to 100 by 1's, 2's, 3's (ok to 99...), 5's, and 10's! This morning we had our first count-down from 10.

And this year, we are gonna blow it out of the water. 4 is gonna be awesome. By the time he turns 5, he's just gonna want to take a rest for a while. Beach, camping, hiking, racing, go-karts, gaming, preschool, amusement parks, all manner of awesome. We're gonna rock this bitch.

Dear God

2010-01-05T20:48:00.002-05:00

A Chipotle Receipt, as read by Alastair:

Dear God,
I love you. You made the earth. Please let mommy come back down to earth, because I love her. You are my best friend. Amen.

Ho Ho Ho

2009-12-27T15:57:00.002-05:00

Did you get what you wanted? I didn't, but then I really can't. So I settled for some gift cards, a 20-pack of races at G-Force, and time with family. Oh, and I won my white-elephant gift (Chinese auction / Yankee Swap), so I have yet another RC car.

Alastair racked up! Poor little guy's so worn out from Christmas that he's still napping after 2.5 hours. Win!

Christmas @ 9 Months

2009-12-25T16:29:00.003-05:00

Today is Christmas. Today is the 25th. Which means it's another month-iversary of Amanda's death. We're at 9 now, and my emotions have been all over the place recently.

Amanda was really big on Christmas. This and Halloween were here ab-fave holidays. Decorating, listening to silly music, the electricity in the air, and watching the mirth of a child shredding wrapping paper were things I know she looked forward to every year. And while I've felt lost in preparing for this day, there have been times when I could swear she was standing right behind me this week.

Alastair really started talking about her a lot a couple days ago, and hit me with a big discussion of death last night. He asked me if she would be here today, and we both started crying. Then we got into what death means (again), and I told him (again) that everything dies, that all animals and even the kitties will die. "Even Vivienne?!" "Yes, even Vivienne." Flood-gates: open.

He sobbed openly at the prospect of Vivienne dying, and we laid on the floor for about 10 minutes just talking about life and getting old and trying to stanch the flood of tears. I tell ya: losing a parent may be pretty bad, but losing that cat? End. Of. The. World.

But we opened gifts today, and all was well. He got a Leapster, a bunch of cars, some Lego's, a Geo-Trax train, and other oddments, and is in absolute heaven. I'm sure Amanda was watching him today, and I'm sure she couldn't be prouder of her little man. I just hope she's proud of me, too. I'm tryin'.

Into the Breach!

2009-12-13T11:49:00.003-05:00

Last night I went, for the first time ever, to William & Mary's Yule Log ceremony. They've been doing it for almost 80 years, with a brief pause for WWII, and it's become firmly rooted in the annual student life.

The president of the college reads a Christmas book (this year it was "The Grinch") while dressed as Santa, there's singing, and the yule log is marched into the Wren Building where it is placed into the big fireplace. The students are each given a piece of a holly branch, into which they place all their cares of the year. They then process into the building and cast the branch into the fire.

I had a lot to cast off this year, so it sounded like a great idea.

Vivian and I got there a few minutes late, so the story was almost over, but we discovered to our grateful surprise that we had wandered into the right side of the Wren Courtyard to have easy access to the front of the line. And that's when it got ugly.

As soon as the great doors were opened, a crushing force of probably 2000 people began heaving from the right, and as we were on the left, we nearly got toppled. And trampled.

A voice cried out from behind us, "Into the breach!" And a force from behind pushed us forward just as hard as the previous push to the left.

And then it stopped. We'd moved all of 5 feet. There was confusion all around, though somehow visible was a clear line of force coming at a diagonal from the center of the courtyard. Tall bodies were at incorrect angles.

Then it came again. And again. Time and again a force from the right would be followed by a force from behind, and each time we could have lifted our feet without falling, it was so crushing. And then the tide would ebb.

After about 6 or 7 surges, we finally got to the steps. By this time, the group around us had become a cohesive unit, working to secure our position while turning strong backs to the advancing crowd. We struggled to keep the pressure off the women, continue to advance, and even swapped places to provide the best cover for each other.

Two or three more strong surges were necessary to get up the 5 steps and through the door, and even then Vivian had to pull me bodily through the throng and into...a big empty room.

Ok, seriously? We just did battle with 2000 people, left men behind, and all for an empty room? It took a minute to absorb the new surroundings, but we soon realized that the small throng in front of us were waiting patiently to reach the great fireplace.

When we did get there, probably less than a minute later, we realized why it was so hard to get in: each person or group of people was posing for up to 20 seconds for their friends to take pictures of them standing in front of the fireplace.

Really, people? In 20 years, you're telling me you're going to look back at that picture and say, "Wow, that really brings back memories."? Because you're standing in a big empty room with a twig, smiling like an idiot. Move the fuck over.

But I really did enjoy the experience. I missed out on it during college, being way too self-absorbed and above such stuff. And I feel like I really was able to throw some of my craptastic year away.

Rosenham Experiment, anew

2009-12-09T17:22:00.003-05:00

Just in time for the holidays, my first bout of soul-crushing depression in a while. Thanks, brain, and fuck you, too!

To celebrate, I've written a short story (don't you worry: I may hate myself sometimes, but I'm not dumb enough to turn this story into fact. Seriously. No, I mean it.):

Load, rack, bite, pray, squeeze, end.

Did you like it? It's not as epic as Hemingway's "Baby Shoes", but it clocks in at one word fewer.

Anyway, I've not been very nice to Alastair these last few days. He's been sick, so I've been home with him, but that notwithstanding, he's continued to poop his pants, each time justifying it by telling me that either he was too busy to go to the bathroom, or he didn't want to bother me.

My responses have not made me proud, and it's weighing on my soul. We go through hours on end of perfect angel child, then he craps himself--but "just a little bit", which in his mind is perfectly acceptable because some of the adults in his life have been inconsistent in their responses.

But he's sick, too, so maybe he's not in such great control of his faculties. And that makes me inconsistent, which he uses to his advantage because he's really fucking smart.

I honestly don't know how other single parents do it. I keep thinking we're through with this, then that we're just around the corner from being through, then just being angry all the time. I love my boy, but sometimes he drives me nuts.

In other boy news, we put his tree up in his room yesterday. Fancy battery-op LED lights, and a bunch of Alastair-specific ornaments. He loves it.

And I've pretty much made up my mind that he's getting a LeapPad/Leapster/WhateverTheHeckIt'sCalled this year. I'll get him the system, one game, and the recharger for Christmas, then a couple more games for his birthday.

8

2009-11-25T10:06:00.002-05:00

Today marks 8 months, and tomorrow is Thanksgiving. My favorite holiday, and the one with the most tradition in my family.

For decades, my great aunt held Thanksgiving dinner in her house. Their sprawling quasi-basement/bar area easily held 30 or more people, year after year, and we (my dad and I) only missed it once, when I was in college. It was a tradition that Amanda fell into easily, as her family had no strong tradition for the holiday, and it was something we were excited to pass down to Alastair.

But then my great aunt had a hip replacement. And her daughter convinced her to sell the house. And that year we were uninvited. I was devastated, and it really upset Amanda to see me like that.

Well, the un-invitation caused ripples in the family (turns out we weren't the only ones), and we were surreptitiously re-invited the next year by my grandmother. We went, taking Alastair (he was 10 months old), and had a nice time, though it was clear that we were not expected.

The following year Amanda and I decided we didn't need the heartache, and like the big trouper she was, she suggested we try forging our own tradition. We baked a turkey, we made all manner of fixin's, and we had a fabulous Thanksgiving dinner at home. A new tradition was born!

And then she got sick.

No turkey making, no trip to Greensboro. We spent the day out of town with her parents, and it was nice, but cancer is a gloomy bitch and tends to overshadow even the nicest of days.

This year we (Alastair and I) were officially re-invited to Greensboro Thanksgiving. And we were excited about it. (Ok, I was excited about it.) But now I'm fighting a cold, and our accommodations fell through. So I should be glum, but I am not (well, ok, maybe just a little bit).

Why?

Because the future is no longer just a giant black spot. That's all I could see in April and May. I tried surrounding myself with shiny objects: new car, new PS3, new fancy gaming chair, pretty young ladies. But none of it mattered. I cooked, I cleaned, I cared for my boy, and I distracted myself. Normal stuff, I guess.

I also had no concern for whether I lived or died, which made my track weekends much more interesting.

But now I see in color again. The tones are still muted, and the lighting's a bit dim, but it's there. And I can see that it's vibrant and beautiful.

For all of my family and friends, who have helped make the last two years bearable, I give thanks. For my beautiful boy, I give thanks. For the 15 years, the love, the joy, and even the sorrow of my dearest, I give thanks. And for the future, the opportunity that it holds, the new paths yet to be discovered, I give thanks.

Happy Thanksgiving

'Manda Moment

2009-11-11T23:44:00.002-05:00

I just had the best Amanda moment. I was watching the news, and they were reporting on an attempted burglary where the homeowner shot at the perps as they entered the house. He hit one, and that dude's in jail.

Bored by this, I turned off the TV, which takes about 5 seconds to complete. The last thing I heard was a woman--evidently a neighbor--saying "I just hope this sends a clear message that he was tired..."

Instantly I heard Amanda guffawing at that out-of-context gem. And then repeating in her most absurd South Side drawl, "Yeah, I shot his ass. I was real tired."

And just writing that I still can't stop laughing.

Introductory Martial Arts Class

2009-11-04T11:41:00.001-05:00

Last night, Alastair and I went to a free introductory martial arts class. We had gotten a card at a Halloween festival and I figured it would be something he'd enjoy doing. Amanda and I had also talked a lot about getting him involved in martial arts, both for the dexterity/agility and the self-discipline elements.

As the date approached, though, Alastair got less and less excited about it. I looked online and found that parents were encouraged to take the class right along with the children, and that got him really excited again.

But it was a lie.

When we got there, we spent a few minutes watching the prior class finish their lesson. It was kind of fun to watch, but I didn't see any particular rigor applied to the style or the movements. It seemed a little hokey, to me.

When it was our turn, Alastair was called first. He and another little boy sat at the very front of the class, closest to the teacher. I was placed at the very back of the class, just about as far from him as possible. The teacher then told him that if she caught him looking for me, it would be a sign of disrespect to her. Um, uh oh. This might not end well...

But he was pretty good. He didn't sit still, because he can't, but he did the moves, the kicks, the punches, and seemed to enjoy it. He didn't enjoy the discipline, though, and had to be told a couple of times to face forward. And he REALLY didn't enjoy the fact that we weren't doing it together. He didn't cry, but he was very confused.

At one point the instructor was talking about the goals of the class, and they included a citizenship program that students could participate in. It comprised doing 7 chores around the house every day, and she had one girl stand up and recite some of her chores. Um, ok, but Alastair already does all of those things: he cleans up his toys, he takes his dirty clothes to the hamper, he takes his dirty dishes to the counter, and he puts his milk cup in the refrigerator if he's done with it.

Later, the class was going through a range of 16 moves, with the teacher calling the number and the class repeating. Well, Alastair knows his numbers pretty well, so he started calling the numbers right along with her. Self-discipline be damned, even the teacher found it funny enough that after a few numbers, she stopped counting and let him lead!

And that was the only positive experience I was able to take away from it.

My back hurts, Alastair was confused, and we got a really late start to bed-time.

I don't think we'll stick with this. He's just too little for that kind of regimentation, and given what he's been through this year, I think we need to focus on hugs and fun. Discipline can come a little later. Besides, he already gets a taste of it at the Little Gym.

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Unexpected

2009-11-03T15:08:00.001-05:00

I was lying in bed last night after staying up way too late, as I am wont to do, and my mind was doing its usual refusal to spin down. And, as usual, my thoughts went to Amanda, what I had with her, what I'll miss about her, and the things she'll never get to see.

But then something different happened. While I was reminiscing about short walks around the halls of North 6 at MCV (Cletus the IV pole on one side and I on the other), I smiled. I didn't get upset. And then I realized that I was not upset, which usually undoes me. But it didn't.

I was able to happily remember little moments of peace, serenity, and joy in the midst of all the pain. That's a first.

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Shoelaces

2009-10-28T13:52:00.002-04:00

Know what I hate? When you tie one shoe just slightly tighter than the other. 'Cause then you feel like the other is too loose. Or maybe the first one's too tight, but your perception is all screwed up because comparatively it feels like the second one's about to fall off.

Consider the options:

1. You re-tie the looser shoe. By tying it as tight as the tighter shoe, do you inadvertently over-tighten both, making your feel feel cramped and sending you on a wild goose chase of tying and re-tying your shoes all day long until you give up and go barefoot?

2. You re-tie the tighter shoe. Great: now you have two loose shoes. Nice work, asshat.

3. Suffer silently, wondering when the looser shoe is going to fall off, or if your toes will shrivel and die on the tighter foot.

I've been going with Option 3 for the last 4 hours. It's misery, but I don't want to spend all day bent over my damned shoes. I bet you'd like to think velcro would make it easier, but you'd be wrong. It's infinitely more annoying with velcro, and adjusting will piss off all of your coworkers.

UPDATE: I have now re-tied the loose shoe twice, once way over-tightening it. Then I realized the whole imbalance was due to a wrinkle in my sock. I win at life.

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Hey, Leukemia, F You

2009-10-25T16:39:00.001-04:00

So I've been thinking about what you got vs. what everybody else got. And you know what? You got shit. That's right: shit.

You got her body. I got her love. Alastair got her spirit. And God got her soul.

You distracted her for a year. I had her for 15. God gets her for eternity. Hell, even Alastair had her longer than you.

You got our tears, but you couldn't even fill a fucking pond with the collective tears of the hundreds who wept for her. I could fill an ocean with my love.

You got death, where I got life. I have a beautiful son whom you can't touch (don't test me).

And what do you have to show for it? Nothing. I have the memories and the joy, and Alastair looks just like her.

Amanda taught me how to reason critically, how to love, and how to be a good husband and father. She taught you that you were a chump to be laughed at and made light of. She taught you that you couldn't stop her.

If ever I worked so hard to gain so little, I'd be humiliated. So yeah: joke's on you, leukemia. Punk.

And the best part? She's not even sick any more. Man, you suck. If I were you, I'd probably go jump off a cliff or something.

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Slacker

2009-10-22T12:21:00.001-04:00

I'm getting pretty slack with this blog thing again (but to be fair, so are most of you), but this weekend will mark 7 months, and I'm going to be in the midst of a major system migration at work, so numbing my brain in front of a computer will not be high on my priority list on Sunday.

So where am I these days? Still struggling at times. I've started purging again. Last week I completely filled my dumpster with abandoned crafting materials, clothing that was inappropriate to donate, and random objects that had no particular significance. In doing so, I stumbled upon some boxes of clothing that I didn't know about, and within one of those boxes was her scent. Her pre-cancer scent. Or so I believe. Was it real, or did I just want to find it so badly that any smell reminding me of her would suffice to fool my brain?

Then a couple of days later I did it all over again, discarding a plethora of skin-care products, her nail polishes, expired medicines, and old sheets. Once again the dumpster is pretty much full, and it looks like absolutely nothing has changed in the house.

I cry less, and Alastair has really been asking a lot of questions. He made a new friend a couple of weeks ago and asked if Andy loves Amanda. I told him that Andy never met Amanda, but that he loves his mommy. It was a tough conversation to have, and more recently he's been telling me that I'm not allowed to die. Kid's going through some pretty tough emotions right now.

I overcame one of my stupid mental blocks and decorated the house for Halloween. Not as all-out as in some years past, but we put out a bunch of skulls, candles, and even a few lights (in his room).

Tomorrow I'm taking the day off to spend with him. We get far too little time together, so I'm super excited about it. Then Saturday will be hell-day at work, followed (hopefully) by heavy consumption of alcohol.

Hope everybody has a great weekend. Go squeeze your kids, your spouses, or your favorite pet. Except fish.

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I Understand There Was Music, Too

2009-10-13T16:17:00.004-04:00

We went to the Folk Festival this past weekend. Alastair and I were accompanied by Beth and her boy Andy (new friends!), and we spent about 3 hours rolling down hills, eating corn-dogs & funnel cake, petting goats & bunnies, climbing all over a 32-pounder cannon, and wandering around the festival area. Saw a couple of old friends, some ultra-hippies, and Alastair even made a puppet.

I heard some music a couple of times, but we never really stopped long enough to check out any one act. The boys would get restless, and the parents would either move on or give chase. Next year I'm gonna give Alastair a backpack full of bricks to carry. That ought to slow him down a bit.

But it was fun. We came home itchy and tired, but we'd had a great time, and Alastair and Andy really seemed to hit it off quite well.

And then, there was this (oh sweet glorious boy!):

Thanks, Beth, for the awesome pictures!

The Kind of Shit That Keeps Me Up at Night

2009-10-13T16:10:00.003-04:00

It's said that breaking a mirror brings 7 years of bad luck. Fair enough, but are there technicalities? Loop-holes? What exactly constitutes a mirror?

For instance, a mirror is generally considered to be glass with silvering affixed to one side. But what if the mirror is plastic, like on some toys, or even like those used to reflect light from a flashlight? If you smash a flashlight, is that 7 years of bad luck?

What about if you scrape the silvering off the back? Does the glass still count? Or does removing the silvering count as breaking the mirror? Does an object cease to be a mirror at some point, or is it grandfathered?

Personally, I get so wrapped up in stuff like this that I don't even like to break mirrored drives on servers. It's called a mirror, and I don't want to mess with that.

6 months.

2009-09-23T10:49:00.009-04:00

Rather than just a depression rumination on how I'm feeling, I thought I'd go for a depressing review of what's happened on each end of the year for the last 24 months.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007: We'd just returned from a beach trip with my dad & Randy. Alastair slept nary a wink, which meant we slept nary a wink, but we got to spend some great time together at the B&B, in the hot tub, on the beach, and playing with our little man.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008: Two days after Easter, and 11 days away from hospitalization. Amanda's skin-tone was non-existent, she was unable to climb stairs without being exhausted, and going through heart tests that were revealing nothing.

Thursday, September 25, 2008: The day of my bad review, and the day before my last full day of work at my old job. Also, the day before we learned that Amanda's chances were next to nil. On the 26th, we had a meeting with MCV's transplant team, where we discovered that her transplant, which had been scheduled to start the following Monday morning, was canceled. We then went to Dominion Shooting Range for a Fuck Leukemia party and enjoyed a great night out with friends.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009: The big day of suck. I awoke excited about the prospect of going to Texas on Friday, and set about getting stuff at work ready for my upcoming absence. About two hours into my day, I got a call from Ed saying that things were pretty bad, and that I might want to consider coming out to Texas that day, if possible. I changed my flight information, told my coworkers for the first time what was going on (I didn't want to come to work every day and spend 30 minutes giving updates on her condition), and headed home to pack a bag. On the way to pick up my mother-in-law, Ed called back and told me to get there as soon as possible, because "she's not gonna make it". I spent the next several hours completely numb, and the rest is well documented.

Friday, September 25, 2009: Here I am, crying at my desk. Somehow I've made this all about me again... Alastair is potty-trained, has really been expressive about missing Amanda recently, but seems to be doing all right. I'm a mess, and my baby's still gone.

First LONG car ride since infancy

2009-09-23T10:18:00.002-04:00

This weekend was my family's reunion. This occurs every year, but last year we skipped it, and the previous year I have no idea if we went or not. Really don't care.

But this year we decided to go. Reunions in my family are always a mixed bag. They're generally just about exactly two hours long, the food is great, the meeting absolutely unequivocally MANDATORY and boring, and the kids run amok for a while. The running amok is fun, but the meetings make me stabby.

And the whole she-bang, which ends just as unceremoniously as it begins, is over 3 hours away. This would be our first test of Alastair on a long trip, and he did great! I put him in a diaper, just to be sure, but he was a champ and held his bladder for 2.25 hours without complaint.

We got there and he was introduced to his 7-year-old cousin Ryan, with whom he became instant buddies. They ran their mouths through lunch, had lots of fun, then ran off to play with trains. He sang the Boobies song and Doodoo in My Closet. He had a blast.

We stayed with my cousins Cory and Rebecca, and since they have 3 cats, Alastair was ready to stay there forever.

Sunday, just as quickly as we'd come, it was time to go. But this time we'd make two important changes to our drive: we'd pick up my dad and we'd stop at VIR to watch some racing. VIR was a big hit. They had a Porsche Club of America HPDE on South Course, and motorcycle racing on North Course. Dad got some pictures, which I hope to publish soon, but Alastair loved watching the PCA event. There was, after all, a racing MINI Cooper*! The motorcycles were fun, too, but the noise got to him after a while (at one point he was yelling at each motorcycle to "Stop it! Stop making all that noise!").

30 minutes after we left, we stopped at a gas station, where we took a potty break. After I'd, uh, handled his business, he turned to me and said, "Daddy, I wish Mommy wasn't in Heaven." It broke my heart, but I was so glad to hear him expressing his feelings for her.

The rest of the trip was fairly uneventful. Alastair finally got sick and tired of riding in the car about 40 minutes from home. I looked back to see him silently weeping. We immediately found a place to let him run around for a few minutes.

And, since he'd been so good, we came home to mac & cheese!

As an aside, it's incredibly challenging to take a young child to a public bathroom. Toilets are not shaped for little people, and I invariably wound up touching things I didn't want to touch. Either he ended up sitting side-saddle on the seat, or I'd suspend him in mid-air with his pants around his ankles, hoping he'd pee in roughly the right direction. But my fave is taking him to a urinal, where he always tells me "Daddy, that tickles!" when I try to help him aim. It's so completely embarrassing, and of course, his doodad is just exactly high enough to clear the porcelain. At the track, in the midst of peeing, he says, "Daddy, I'm getting splashed!" So yeah, we had to take something of an impromptu bath at the sink.

*For the MINI nuts--er, enthusiasts--who still read this, it was none other than Tony Nuzzo's car.

And then, on Friday

2009-09-21T14:52:00.003-04:00

I came home and Alastair said, "Daddy, I love you." It took a few minutes, but I realized he'd pronounced the letter "L". Whoa.

So now he can handle every phoneme in the English language. Huzzah!

He's been tossing out L's all weekend. Singing the alphabet, spelling his name, slowly pronouncing his whole name, and professing his love.

And then we watched race cars. More on that later.

I love my boy!

You Sitting Down?

2009-09-17T16:05:00.002-04:00

Hold on to something. Something good and stable.

Ok, ready?

Alastair is... potty trained!

Never Forget

2009-09-11T10:27:00.001-04:00

Overcoming Fear

2009-09-09T14:18:00.002-04:00

I talk a pretty big game. I live and die by VB script, but when it comes to scripting, I feel much more comfortable querying than modifying. I'll pull information from Active Directory all day long, but please don't ask me to batch-mod 1000 users. I'll probably barf in abject terror. What if it goes wrong? The scripts generally run so fast that I can't stop them before they complete. What if I inadvertently disable 100% of user accounts on the domain, or delete an entire OU (I've seen both happen)?

But yesterday I took the plunge. Because of some buffoon's inability to properly code his/her software, I had to remove the dashes and parentheses from all phone numbers in AD. Easy enough to query, not so easy to modify, especially for the timid.

But I found a few tricks, cringed and hyperventilated while testing on a couple of accounts, and then closed my eyes and pressed the "Nuke" button.

Ho. Lee. Shit.

202 instantaneous changes, and no glitches. So I expanded it to all 10-digit numbers (essentially all US phone numbers). Again: no glitches.

So now I'm positively giddy. Today I undertook to change postal addresses in bulk. Every user now has his or her site's mailing address, including international (which meant learning about ISO 3166 A-2 country codes).

I am in nerd heaven right now.

Item not as advertised

2009-09-06T23:05:00.002-04:00

Smell is an extremely powerful sense for humans. It, more than sight or hearing, has the ability to evoke memories, to repulse, to seduce, or simply to produce a sense of peace. Every time I smell axle grease, I'm instantly transported back to France, where I spent 37 days backpacking in '97. That smell reminds me of all the train stations in which I spent countless hours, but particularly Gare du Nord and Gare de l'Est.

Amanda had a smell, too. I don't know whether it was soap, perfume, lotion, or a combination of the above, but it was hers and hers alone. I knew she was near by that subtle scent, and it brought me instant peace and calm. But that smell is gone. It's not in her clothes, her suitcase, or her bathrobe. It's just gone.

Shortly after her first round of chemo, she changed her bathing habits, using new lotions and abandoning perfumes. Her old stuff either made her gag or wasn't seen as conducive to her health, so she changed it. I can't fault her for it, but her scent changed with it. The new one did not bring peace or calm, and I think to a small extent played a part in our distance during her battle.

But that's not the worst of it: both the old and the new Amanda smells were gone from this house before she died. And I've searched. I've gone through drawers, hunted through baskets of old laundry that never got put away, and dug deep into the coat closet. Gone. Poof.

5 months

2009-08-26T23:03:00.002-04:00

I didn't miss it. I know it was yesterday, but I didn't miss it. I spent 20 minutes of it curled up on the floor crying about it.

I've been allowing my emotions to take more control lately. For so long I've just put the emotion of losing my best friend, lover, and most trusted ally in a box. I've rationalized that since I already knew she was dying, there was no sense being upset about it after the fact. But then my mind started wandering back to the ICU waiting room, when they were extubating her, and how desperate I was to get back to her side.

And every time my mind goes there, my heart just shatters. I miss her so much.

Every day I face challenges, be they insignificant or gargantuan, that would be so much easier to deal with if she were still here.

And more and more I find myself stewing in grief.

But the crying feels really good. It feels pure and cleansing and horribly wonderful. It feels like the first thing I've done to heal me.

And since I've started letting myself cry again, Alastair and I have been getting on better. We've been doing more whimsical fun stuff, like going out for ice cream or buying random new toys or just having 30-minute pillow-fights. And every time we undertake some flight-of-fancy, it's because Amanda has popped into my head and almost told me that it's something we should do.

I feel her presence far more these days than I have in a long while.

MDK

2009-08-24T16:05:00.002-04:00

Today I drove an armored truck through a nursing home. Then I hunted praying mantis babies, nuked Bolivia, and harpooned exotic whales. And that was all before lunch.

After lunch, I assaulted a group of school-children with a mace. 'Cause nothing's funnier than the screams of the innocent!

I is a bad.

Somewhere along the way, though, I managed to find time to move Alastair's absolute favorite toy--his train table--from the hottest room of the house to the coolest room of the house, fixed the broken pieces, re-arranged his favorite toys to be more accessible, and helped him set up some pillows so that he can be a wild daredevil without fear of smashing his head. Next up will be getting rid of the big shelf in his room and replacing it with a table that he can sit at and color.

You know, because I so evidently hate him.

We're Poopin!

2009-08-22T21:57:00.002-04:00

After just over a month of regression, we're back on track. Alastair and I have been working hard, as have his grandparents and sitters, on getting back to July.

Cajoling, bribery, offerings at the deity of poop, you name it, we've tried it. Friday morning we had a moment that stuck. I told him that he needed to work on telling us when he needed to poop--that if he managed to get through that one day without pooping in his pants, we would go to a birthday party at a bouncy-castle place. 3 minutes later, he pooped in his pants. Not the recent smears, but real honest poop. I cleaned him up, made him poop on the potty, and left for work. But I didn't wave goodbye to him. Oversight or anger--didn't matter.

Last night when I got home, he'd been really good about pooping a little bit throughout the day, and he pooped really well twice for me before bed, each time telling me that he wants me to always wave when I'm leaving.

Today we had no fewer than 3 poop adventures, and we kept the same diaper clean and dry all day long.

And he's been quite proud of himself all day for it. He's been showering me with affection, and while the day wasn't perfect (he was trying to push a little girl this morning with his belly--believing that it wasn't pushing since he wasn't using his hands), our potty times have been flawlessly executed, without acrimony.

There's been no evidence of desire to avoid the potty, no time-wasting once there, and he's just been in a great mood about it.

And this is actually where we were a month ago, before we both got sick and went on vacation. While I loved our vacation, I think the timing of it and our shared illness threw him off. He started hoarding and holding it again, and before long we were back to full-on constipation, in spite of the Miralax.

There's been little further discussion of the Special School, though he did ask me the other day where it is. I told him West Virginia. He said he thought it was in Alaska.

Here's the deal

2009-08-14T12:51:00.003-04:00

I have a lot on my mind. But I ain't sharing, because every time I do, people get pissed off. Mad props to the last commenter on the previous post--personally I won't even bother to reply when people don't like what they see. Don't like it? Don't read it.

I'm not in a good place, these days. I'm way too easily distracted, and way too many things are coming together at the same time.

I'm going to be at the track for 4 days in 2 weeks, and I've done nothing to prepare. That makes me testy. I'm also "going native" (shifting employment from contractor to contractee) at almost the same time, going through a major overhaul of our work systems, and still floundering as a single man with a toddler. Summer is coming to an end, and with it my lock on stable overnight child-care. My son and I are still getting over this bizarre summer cold crap.

I've been having fits and struggles with depression. It's like I'm pushing through some unseen envelope of grief right now. Why now? Why not, I suppose. I'm finding grief to be like that one person you should stop being friends with. The one that shows up unannounced, sometimes with friends, drinks all your beer, and simply expects to be allowed to spend the night. But you can't get rid of them, because they've been your friend since forever, and tie you to your happier memories of yesterday. Well, that and they just won't take a damned hint.

Worry No More - or at least less

2009-08-14T12:45:00.001-04:00

My friend has gotten good results from her blood test. Turns out she's just crazy. I can handle crazy.

Oh, well.

2009-08-06T13:57:00.002-04:00

I've had it my head to undertake two epic masterpieces of blogging today:

1. A Complete History of Chicks I've Made Out With

and

2. Axial and Sheer Load Output-Shaft Testing: A History with Testing Conditions, Desired v. Achieved Results, and Future Plans

Frankly, though, I think both would be so patently offensive that I've decided to just leave you with the following:

Whee, its raining!

I am SO gonna burn in Hell for this

2009-08-05T18:58:00.002-04:00

I am now officially a hypocrite. Just brand an H on my hand and be done with it.

Amanda and I decided before Alastair's birth that we would not lie to him. We would not fall victim to the conventional trappings of child-rearing and get our kid's hopes up over imaginary crap. No Santa Claus, no Easter Bunny, no Great Pumpkin. None of that crap. Because do you remember how you felt when you realized it was all a bunch of BS? Yeah: like your parents were a bunch of liars. Nobody likes a liar.

So we eschewed it. We explained that there is no Santa Claus, but he's kind of a joke that some people tell.

But then came Mr. I-Will-Only-Poop-In-My-Pants and his thereby alluded-to problem. We tried patience. We tried non-patience (a lot). Then we realized he was constipated, so I gave him an enema and he takes Miralax daily.

For a while, things improved. For almost two weeks we had no poop in the pants.

Then, a couple of weeks ago, we had a full reversal. He poops and pees his diapers every single night now. And not after bed, either: we're talking the time between dinner and bed, which is only about 45 minutes.

So Amanda made up a story to scare him. She told him we might have to send him to a SPECIAL SCHOOL if he didn't start pooping in the potty, and only in the potty.

Last week, in frustration, I revived that story. And I elaborated until he sat there in tears, begging not to be sent away.

You see, THE SPECIAL SCHOOL is terribly ominous to a child with an overactive imagination (all the more so because it comes from a daddy with an overactive imagination):

It's always cold.
There are no toys, no stuffed animals, no friends.
All you do--all day long--is sit on the potty.
There are no movies and no TV.
The teachers are all mean.
The food is bad.
You will probably be there thru Christmas, so no presents.
No family can come to visit.
The bus is coming Friday. If he hasn't pooped in his pants by Friday, I won't send him.

Last night, after sobbing over THE SPECIAL SCHOOL for 15 minutes, my son looked at me and said, "I think I need to poop on the potty." And he did.

I am very worried

2009-08-04T22:27:00.003-04:00

for a good friend. And she knows it, but I've shied away from even whispering why. But I'm sure she knows exactly why, so I'm done mincing words.

I'm afraid my dear friend may have leukemia. Please please please be wrong. I can't do this again.

But her symptoms are almost exactly the same as Amanda's: heart palpitations, lethargy, dizziness (including a fall). She will be undergoing stress tests, and she is convinced that nothing is wrong--just like Amanda.

I haven't asked about pallor or vision problems, but I will.

She is waiting for the results of blood work. Please pray.

God please just let me be overly sensitive to these symptoms...

Free Gov't Money

2009-07-31T08:56:00.003-04:00

Let me see if I've got this straight.

The government offers $1B for old cars during a recession. 7 days later, they run out of money as 250,000 new cars are sold.

The government is surprised at this.

Pretty simple, so far, right?

Except how in the blue hell do they act surprised when they say, "Come and get your free cash!" and people take them up on it? Didn't Hawaii learn the same lesson with their free health care for children? Didn't the feds learn the same lesson with the vouchers for analog-TV converters? Henrico County with the cheap iBooks (if you don't recall, that was a stampede that got national media coverage)?

When are you liberals gonna learn that if you offer something for free, people will swarm and swamp it? You want to bitch about Bush's tax refunds, but there was no swarm to deal with--just a cheque. At least with a tax refund, you know right off the bat how much money is going out. It's pre-capped. With this cock-up, Congress is now looking for more money to fulfill their "obligation" to this goofball program.

Oh, but before you get too excited about bilking the feds, make sure your car fits through the myriad caveats and EPA estimations and re-estimations and re-re-estimations of your MPG.

Daddy/Boy Beach Trip 2009

2009-07-29T13:24:00.003-04:00

Sunday

Picked Alastair up from his grandparents' house just after 1pm and got on the road. Told him to take a nap, and he dropped off instantly. We arrived at the beach around 3:30pm after probably 273 "Are we there yet"s, unpacked the car, and headed to the hotel pool.

It's a salt-water pool, which was interesting. My first fear was that it was just a really disgusting pool that tasted like everyone else's sweat. Thank God that was wrong. Anyway, Little Man enjoyed floating around in the pool, but was terrified of getting his head wet.

After an hour or so, we went down to the beach and he played furiously in the sand. We went out knee-deep into the ocean and he told me which waves he was scared of for probably about 10 minutes (doesn't sound like much fun, but it was super cute).

Then we went to dinner at The Raven, where my dad took me when I was a child.

Monday

Headed over to 17th St. Surf Shop for some rash-guards, new flip-flops for me, and a new, less European swimsuit for me. You're welcome, Evelyn.

Then we hit the pool for a bit, then the cool indoor pool "The Lazy River", which has big fake rock formations, grottoes, and an actual current that pulls you along a narrow channel on one side of the pool.

By the time he was ready to go play in the sand, storm clouds were rolling in. The beaches were evacuated, the pools were evacuated, and a little boy had to (shudder!) play with his toys for a while. During the storm, the outside air temp dropped at least 20 degrees, making it impossible for us to go out and play on the beach, or spend more than a couple minutes at the outside pool.

We settled for more time on the Lazy River, which was great because we now had water wings, a floaty ring, AND a boogie board.

We capped the evening off with night-time swimming in the Lazy River, and that little turkey who was terrified of getting his head wet was standing on the side of the pool and leaping out to me. A few times I told him I wouldn't catch him, and he leapt anyway! Full submersion! Over and over again for almost a solid hour.

My kid rocks!

Tuesday

It takes exactly 1 hour to get from the beach to Busch Gardens. It takes exactly 30 minutes to get parked.

We went to the Sesame St. area, which frankly sucked. Alastair was none too pleased that Bert and Ernie did not speak. That weirded him out big time. There was also not a scrap of shade in the Sesame Street area. A few rides, a few climb-on attractions, blazing hot rubber matting everywhere, but no shade. And it was almost100F yesterday!

We watched two people collapse from heat problems, but we did manage to ride a few rides: Oscar's Wiggly Worms (surprisingly nauseating); the sky-car, which might have been Alastair's favorite; a couple of rides in Land of the Dragons; the carousel; and the train. We saw the clydesdales, the wolves, and the eagles. We caught a show in the Fest Haus while eating 23lbs of chocolate cake. I bought him a constable helmet for no good reason at all. We climbed all over the tree-houses in Land of the Dragons (though he did not like skylarking on the rope bridges).

We were in the park for just under 5 hours, and he passed out immediately upon getting on the highway.

It was a great trip. And we are both now sick. With no hot water (the tank broke Friday).

And amazingly, through all the fun, my dumb ass never once remembered to pull out the camera.

End User License Agreement

2009-07-22T18:27:00.003-04:00

Contract terminated: I've exceeded its terms and conditions. While I did seek and accede to the exception, I do ultimately regret it. Principally because after the breach I violated the terms and conditions of the subsequent EULA, leading to a somewhat meaningless initial transgression. Boo.

If you visit the maximum security Prison of Lachrymosity, watch out: the guards and the inmates are equally dangerous and unpredictable.

On Coffee

2009-07-17T10:26:00.002-04:00

I grew up hating coffee. Couldn't stand even the smell as a child.

When Amanda and I started dating, 2 "bad" habits of hers made me scoff and mock: smoking and coffee. She eventually stopped smoking, but her need for caffeine was set.

After we graduated from college, I took a 37-day trip across Western Europe. I was all of two days into my trip, sitting in a brasserie in Paris, when it occurred to me that I was denying myself a quintessential element of the Parisian lifestyle. So I ordered an espresso and drank it black. I loved it. Why hadn't anybody told me the stuff was actually good?

So for 35 days of my European adventure, I drank espresso or coffee. I kept this a secret from Amanda until one night of drinking at Avalon. She ordered a cup of coffee, and before she could muck it all up with cream & sugar, I grabbed the cup and took a sip. I had never before (and frankly never again) seen THAT expression on her face. She looked like I'd just pulled back the mask to reveal my secret lizard identity. It was priceless.

A few months later, we moved in together. She started buying coffee, or at least what the supermarkets at the time were calling coffee: Folger's. Ok, that's not coffee. But it was cheap and it got the job done. For the first time, I found myself adding milk & sugar to mask the taste. So we drank that for about a year, and one day I simply sprung for a bag of some better coffee (I don't recall what brand), and was blown away at the difference. I refused to go back to the $3 cans, and Amanda refused to pay for $6 bags. So I made my own independent grocery trips just for coffee.

Then one month after we were married I started hating coffee again. It just tasted horrible. I continued to endure it for a month before I bothered to realize why: the milk had gone quite rancid. And yet we were both drinking it. Ew. So I stopped putting milk & sugar in my coffee and became an instant coffee snob.

I drink my coffee black, and I like to try exciting new flavors. We did cold-brew. We tried burr-grinding. A couple of years ago I started hearing about pure kona. I bought a $25 bag and was astounded at how much different it tasted (it wasn't acrid at all: totally smooth), and frankly had a hard time going back to Starbuck's bags.

So that's the back-story. A year or so I read the story of the Starbuck's CEO's trip to New York. The one where he learned about Clover coffee makers. Apparently there was a local coffee shop with a line out the door. Intrigued, he got in line and had what he considered to be the best cup of coffee in his life. So Starbuck's bought Clover and began deploying what few Clover machines there are into their own stores.

Richmond has a Clover. It's not at Starbuck's: it's at Ellwood Thompson. I've put off trying it for two reasons: 1) I was not too jazzed about paying $4 for a single cup of coffee, and 2) what if it wasn't good?

Well, yesterday I decided to try it. Though the first few sips were quite intriguing, I quickly realized that I didn't like it. Was it the specific brew? I'd never had Ethiopian Yergacheffe, but somehow there was an undertone that tended more toward the brewing process. I managed to finish 75% of the cup before realizing there was heavy sediment at the bottom, which is a big turn-off for me, and one of the reasons I can't deal with permanent metal filters.

So there you have it: I don't like the fabled Clover coffee. Which is a good thing, because I don't think my budget can handle an additional $20/week habit.

And no, I will not be traveling to SE Asia to try civet coffee. I have to draw the line somewhere.

Impossibly High

2009-07-10T09:09:00.002-04:00

I've decided to set the bar impossibly high in my next (?) SO: she must have similar taste in music. Amanda and I had just-divergent-enough tastes that we actually rarely played music in the house. Her faves were Tori Amos (duh), which I could take--the early stuff was good; Ben Folds, which made my teeth hurt; Everclear, oh dear; and a random smattering of Christian bands, which she knew not to play while I was in the house. I, conversely, was not allowed to play Primus or Dream Theater while she was home. Fair enough.

Music, however, has always been my solace, and the correctly chosen album or song can either amplify a mood, alter it altogether, or ruin my freakin' day.

Since she died, I've begun to devolve into my college-years music Nazi self. Perhaps not so harsh as I once was, I have nonetheless once again found myself judging others for their plebeian tastes. This does not bode well for dating.

If you know a woman who occasionally says, "Ooh, you like Primus, Curve, and Madonna, too?!", send her my way. Must also like beer. Bonus points if she hates Kevin Smith movies and only likes early Radiohead. No freaks.

New Music, Round 2

2009-07-07T09:31:00.002-04:00

A week or so ago, I ordered 3 new CD's. I'd done so well the first time around, I figured I still had the juju. Yeah, maybe not.

In order of current preference:

1. Metric - Fantasies

This took a couple of listens. I really like thrashing guitars and discordant melodies, neither of which were delivered on this album. But there's a lot of catchy hooks in their songs, making them easy to want to sing along with (of course, I do not sing along; nope, not me). But the more I listen to it, the more it grows on me. The slow songs are too slow for my taste, but I still find my toe bopping along.

So this one has been on repeat more than the other two, and I think I like it a little more with each listen. Not too bad (especially since I can't freakin' stand the recent shoe-gazing tripe coming out of studios these days, i.e., the Shins, the Yeah Yeah Whatevers, and the rest of 'em).

2. Silversun Pickups - Carnavas

I'd read a fair amount about the guitar rigs after a few listens to Swoon. I had correctly surmised the lead guitarist uses a Big Muff distortion pedal, and I kept encountering inquiries about a song from Carnavas: Lazy Eye. Evidently it's a good one, so I bought the album. Talk about a difference between two albums from the same band. This one is much less aggressive, and that caused it to spend a week on the floor. I gave it another listen yesterday, and it's not bad, it's just different in a direction that I wouldn't have expected. Frankly I don't think the instruments are played as well on this album. There are some strange, almost off-beat notes that feel forced in a couple of places. All in all, it's not bad, just...I don't know...weird? Meh. Yeah, that sums it up: meh.

3. The Mars Volta - Octahedron

Ok, I liked Amputecture. I do not like Octahedron. It's still painfully avant garde, but that's frankly boring at this point.

---

I've also pulled out some of Amanda's last purchases, and I can't handle them. Feist does little to nothing for me, and Arcade Fire is just plain dreadful. I remember watching them on SNL with her and wondering why she thought that was good. Sheesh.

---

Finally, in Amos-family music news, Alastair has now begun to be hyper-aware of lyrics. Oh, dear. One of his favorite albums as a baby was Scissor Sisters Ta-Dah! Uh, yeah... "Daddy, he said 'fuck'!" "Yes, he did, but you don't have to repeat it."

Holiday Boy

2009-07-06T14:44:00.003-04:00

With apologies to other parents, I have the best little boy ever.

Alastair came home from Grammy's house on Thursday afternoon, just in time to hop in the car for the 100-minute drive to Irvington. He was fabulous in the car, and super excited about seeing the parade, the fireworks, and going to the public playground. He ate well, played well, and even went to bed without any fuss or muss.

Friday morning, Irvington had their July 3 (ID-1) parade. My dad's house is the 2nd house on the right side of the parade, so we get started and finished early. Alastair ate it up, watching the neat old cars, the few floats, the Shriners in their little cars (by FAR the hit of the parade), the Army trucks, and the godawful loud fire trucks. He stuffed his face with Tootsie Rolls, Now&Laters, and other candy, and when it was over we trudged up to the town commons, where everybody in town was gathered with the parade vehicles. We'd scored tickets for hotdogs, and he plowed through his and a bag of Sun Chips like a machine. He then proceeded to play to his heart's delight for almost 90 minutes on the playground before we finally walked back to the house for a nap.

2.5 hours later, he was up and ready for some ice cream at The Local. Then it was back to the playground for almost another hour before heading to Kilmarnock for their monthly First Friday walkabout. There he met up with a group of 5 girls, with whom he was instantly infatuated, and their dad offered to take him for a while. For 45 minutes, I let my child be karted around by strangers.* When he came back, he was in absolute boy heaven. They'd taken him to a bouncy castle, and he had managed to convince one of the girls to go in with him. Score!

Later still, when we went to dinner, we discovered those same 5 girls were seated only 2 tables away. They fawned over him before leaving, and his evening ended with pure joy.

Saturday was the Farmer's Market, and he & I walked up with Dad & Randy. We bought a really cool fish painting for his wall, and shared a cinnamon roll. We also spent at least another hour at the playground before walking back, this time taking time to examine the cornfield.

After lunch & a nap, we once again headed over to the Local, but this time for juice and a cookie. He'd never had fruit punch before, and LOVED it. Another hour at the playground, and it was time to head back to the house to prepare for dinner and fireworks at the Tides Inn.

Since dinner was at 6:30, and the fireworks would be after 9, we had plenty of time to kill. He ate everything like a champ, including rock fish, crab imperial, beef terayaki, and a whole slice of key lime pie.

To kill the intervening 90 minutes, we headed down to the dock. We watched with gleeful fascination as the jellyfish swam underfoot, marveled at the yachts, and identified buoys in the creek. Then he told me that he wanted to go on one of the boats. I asked him which one, and he pointed at the one with the astoundingly gorgeous girl on the back deck. Uh, yeah buddy: good choice! I made him ask if he could come aboard, and we got to tour the most beautiful sailboat I've ever been on. Good job, Alastair!

Then he ran around with about 20 other kids on a croquet pitch while waiting for the sky to darken, and was a super champ about the fireworks. Ah, his glorious face! I had as much fun watching his smile as watching the fireworks.

Sunday morning, he was even a champ about being stuck in traffic for over 45 minutes.

To cap his exciting weekend, I took him over to his friend Kaden's house for a cook-in (it was raining). He played to his heart's delight for a couple hours, got to sit in a real fire truck, wear a real fireman's helmet, and ate terribly.

My little boy is a good little boy. Amanda, if you have Internet access, you should be very proud.

Purge

2009-06-28T13:57:00.003-04:00

Today I began The Purge. I've had it in mind to take some of Amanda's favorite shirts, books, and oddments, and put them into her big steamer trunk. This plan had not yet been implemented because it meant two things:

1. I'd have to clear out the crawl-space to find the trunk.
2. I'd have to decide what to put back into the crawl-space. Or, read differently, what to throw away.

The third implied portion of that scenario is deciding what's important enough to go into the trunk, which bears heavily on items 1 and 2. So it's a suck/suck situation, but one that has to be started at some point.

Today was that point. I pulled out box upon box of her old things: baskets of old t-shirts that I'll probably discard because they were, after all, in storage; boxes of her writings; boxes of her schoolwork; boxes of randomia, and boxes full of magazines. And that was just one side of the crawl-space--turns out the trunk was on the other side. Grrr...

So anyway, I kept it together for the most part, but I did break down in tears when trying to preserve all of her actual creative writings. Amanda was deeply secretive about her creativity, and often either left her work unsigned, or signed it A.P. Liddell. It's pretty tough, though, to decide to keep something if it has no name on it. Was it for a class? Was it someone else's writing that she just printed out? For all the world I wish she could have left me better instructions on what to do with all of it.

But then I was left with the realization that her secret nature would truly have wanted it all destroyed. I can't do that. What I did do was to dispose of all her college works except for her Theatre 407 (Direction) materials. I didn't even open the high school boxes, but was able to clean out enough space from the college & work boxes to at least boil all that stuff down to one box.

So I've done something that seems unthinkable: I've boiled 17 years of education down to 2 boxes, neatly tucked away in the attic. It makes a lump rise in my throat just to write that. I mean, this was my wife. She represents 15 years of my life, and I've just put 17 of hers into 2 boxes that will probably never be seen again. How freakin' horrid!

But to have not done it would be equally unthinkable. I can't live in a house full of ghosts, and these things, absent the woman, have no real significance other than as space-fillers. And we is well outta space, lemme tell ya.

The emotional roller coaster left me unable to concentrate on the task of filling the steamer trunk. I did at least pull it out and take a quick glance through its contents. The good news is that it's less than 50% full, so deciding which of its contents to keep shouldn't be quite so daunting. But that will have to wait for another day. Maybe with some darvon.

Dear World: Seriously?!

2009-06-26T09:10:00.003-04:00

So I pick a day to go off the airwaves, to pay respect and tribute to my wife, and this is how you repay me? Dead celebs, corporate intrigue, friends battling life's darker issues? Not cool. NOT COOL.

So yeah, everybody knows by now that Farrah Fawcett died. I think it's great that Ryan finally proposed to her, and that she died surrounded by love. That's terrible, but awesome at the same time. It made me sad for Amanda, too, that I wasn't at her side more during her final days.

But then came the news. You know, The News. Michael Jackson has died. Somehow, Farrah's death slipped completely off the radar in favor of a retarded man-child paederast's passing. I've seen people say his death strikes closer to home because Farrah was "before their time". Really? What has Michael Jackson contributed to the world since the early 80's? Child molestation charges, baby-dangling, hospital-masks, mosquito-net hats, and a pet chimp named Bubbles. Farrah wasn't before your time, she just wasn't crazy with a capital Q. Qrazy. (Here's a challenge for everyone: name 5 crimes that society abhors more than child-rape. Too hard? Ok, try naming just one.)

But yesterday wasn't done with me yet. No sir. No, I got pulled squarely into corporate intrigue yesterday, and it made me queasy. In fact I had to leave for a while and settle my brain. I had to assist in the firing of a VIP. Buh. I hate firings, and not just because I've been on both sides of the desk. I hate firings implicitly. A decade ago, I worked very hard to make a case against a coworker who was genuinely damaging business. When I succeeded, I didn't sleep well for several days. He was a jerk, but I'm just not cut out for HR stuff.

And then I read Boo's blog. Sweetie, I'm so sorry to read what you're going through. I'm sorry I haven't kept up with your life. Please feel free to call me; Amanda's friends are my friends.

And then I read Prisco's blog. And if I do make it out for Parissa's marathon, I'm going to find you and have a drink with you, sir. Congrats on the loss--cause you know that just finishing the race first doesn't mean you win, right? I can certainly relate to the hollowness of your victory, but do not lay down arms. Take a lesson from Parissa and use the energy that you created for this endeavor to push your fellow bibliophiles into new arenas. I think Pajiba has genuinely grown and benefitted from the experience.

I read everybody else's blogs, too, and my heart goes out to everyone. I love you all, my friends.

Edit/Update: Forgot to mention that I've found a word that rivals "facetiously" in pure awesomeness. "Abstemious", and yes, it does have an adverb form. Found this little gem while watching the surprisingly good 1984 movie "The Bounty", featuring Anthony Hopkins, Mel Gibson, Daniel Day-Lewis, Liam Neeson, and Laurence Olivier.

3 months

2009-06-24T23:19:00.003-04:00

Tomorrow, June 25, will mark 3 months since Amanda's death. There's not a lot to say about it, so I'm going to take the day to say nothing. No blog, no facebook, no car fora, no random Pajiba comments.

Tomorrow will be my Internet moment of silence.

Why you should run far far away

2009-06-24T12:57:00.005-04:00

1. I pathologically count:
a. stairs (Sunday night at Legend, upon realizing that I'd lost count of the stairs while going down, I almost had to go back up)
b. letters
c. syllables

2. I compulsively reorganize letters into BABBABAB | BABABBAB structure, where A represents vowels and B consonants. If there are not enough of a given letter type in a given phrase, I will insert random strings to make the arrangement (those strings are inherently variable, but once assigned, cannot be used to simultaneously express vowels and consonants).

3. I get unduly excited about exotic words.

4. I apparently have an aversion to odd numbers, particularly primes. I cannot leave the AC on 73, even though it is more comfortable than 72 or 74. I cannot leave the car stereo on 43, either, though it is just right. I look at those numbers and get all angsty.

5. I am fascinated that there's a relationship between cubes of numbers that can be roughly expressed as the sums of cubes, divided by 6 and subtracting 1, is equal to the base number.

6. I completely understand the scientific method, but my frenetic tendencies prevent me from ever successfully using it. Thus, what should take 30 seconds to fix usually takes me days, because half-way through implementing the fix I've come up with at least 5 other ways to go about it. Each of those ways, once conceived, must obviously be thoroughly explored.

7. I think "facetiously" is the best word in the English language. I'll let you figure out why.

8. Palindromes get me very excited. Numerical or alphabetical: it doesn't matter.

9. I see number strings as representations of completely unrelated things. E.g., 232, no matter where I see it, is the guitar fingering for D-major.

10. I remember numbers. All numbers. Especially numbers I've been forced to read out loud.

11. I have a binary clock.

12. Can't end on a prime number, even if it is palindromatic. Although I am giggling to myself that coincidence put my binary clock at #11.

We're fine here...how are you?

2009-06-22T08:52:00.003-04:00

Last week was bad. But looking back at it, it shouldn't have been. I got to listen to new music*, got my Alabamapink shirt (mine fits fine!), and played with my boy. I was blue.

Was.

Then the weekend came, and it was smacktacular. Alastair and I had cinnamon rolls and maple-link sausages for special breakfast. And it was awesome. He was super lovey in the afternoon, and didn't want me to go when I dropped him off at his grandparents' house. Such a sweetie.

Saturday night rocked its socks off. Maybe more on that later, but suffice it to say that there was much drinking, 3 bars, and a party. I didn't get to bed until almost 4am, and I was D*R*U*N*K (I metabolize alcohol very slowly, and generally if I drink to get drunk--which I didn't--it hits me like 3 bags of hammers right about the time I get home). Sunday morning, 4.5 hours later, I was H*U*N*G. Buh.

Sunday was the autocross. I think it was my 4th for the year, and I posted 7th place with a very poor performance. The guy who won, and by a very large margin, hosted the party we went to Saturday night (Did I say 'we'? Hmmm...). When we left the party, he was so hammered that he was trying to eat to soak up the alcohol. Though he, too, felt like boiled poo on Sunday, he still got out there and showed us how it's done. Damn, Brent: we're sorry to see you go.

Then I took my dad & Randy out to dinner--Father's Day and all, came home to watch the F1 race, and passed out.

I'm looking forward to picking up my boy this afternoon, and maybe getting out to the cul-de-sac for some Jr F1 racing. Jenson Button's got nothing on my boy.

*Rarely do I buy 4 albums and wind up liking more than 1 or 2 of them.

1. Lady Sovereign - Public Warning

This one's been in heavy rotation on the iPod. I'd heard "Love Me or Hate Me" and "Random" on mix CD's that Amanda received from the Pajibites. And Susan, too, I think. Anyway, freakin' hilarious. I love it. Perfect party vibe, and great for getting the spirits up when feeling blue. I don't think you can be unhappy when listening to this album. Unless you don't like it. Can't help you there.

2. Lily Allen - It's Not Me, It's You

I've given this a couple of listens, and while it's great up to track 8 "F*** You", it falls a little flat near the end. Still superb, and a great follow-up to Alright, Still. Somehow her emotion conveys perfectly into her music, and listening to this album is more like watching actors than listening to a singer. Weird, but I really like it. And "F*** You" is the greatest song ever.

3. Silversun Pickups - Swoon

This took a couple of listens, but is now probably the album I've listened to the most of any new music purchase since college. It's a little dark, extremely depressing, but also not depressing at all. It's that album you listen to when you're feeling blue, because it amplifies all your emotions.

At once evocative of both Smashing Pumpkins and Lush (with just the right amount of Curve tossed in for good measure), it perfectly combines my favorite musical influences of the mid 90's without being overly burdened by nostalgia. My first listen made me look up the members of the band, expecting to find the names James Iha, Jimmy Chamberlin, D'arcy, and maybe Miki Berenyi. Except they're all old now, and decidedly not cool.

This album is the first in several years to make me want to tune my guitar. I freakin' love it. Texture that doesn't fall into lock-step with vocals until it needs to, a wall of distortion and ambiance, and what can only (ONLY) be a Big Muff pedal. It can't be anything else. Oh God I'm going to have to listen to it right now.

4. Franz Ferdinand - Tonight

This one isn't resonating with me. I really liked their first album. It was different, had that FF beat that's so unmistakable, and just ripped. The second album fell flat, and though there are a few good songs on this latest album, it just feels like more rehashing. Though the techno breakdown near the end of the album gives me hope that they're going to start exploring some new areas in the future.

I think I just need to listen to it a couple more times, but so far it's only ok.

FML

2009-06-19T11:32:00.003-04:00

Genius level conversation:

Me: Real numbers desk, how can I help you?
Other Guy: Hi, yes. Um, what's 1/0?
Me: Um, undefined.
OG: Yes, but what is it?
Me: UNDEFINED. It's insolvable.
OG: Oh. But, um, if you could solve it, what would it be.
Me: Dude, no: it's undefined.
OG: What about 1/(1-1)?
Me: Seriously?
OG: All right, then, I have one other question. What is the square root of -1?
Me: Dude.

Emended for Daniel PickyPants.

...is a frustrating mess

2009-06-17T14:04:00.003-04:00

If Amanda were here, she would tell you that I'm generally an upbeat guy, but that every once in a while, I get lost in a gloomy funk. What makes my funks dangerous is that they spiral inward on themselves, rather like a maelstrom. When I get sucked in, I realize it, which makes me introspective, which makes me gloomier. Rinse, repeat. I can go days without speaking, only to emerge fresh, clean and happy a week or so later.

I've found that my periods of soul-crushing depression tend to follow closely behind my moments of greatest exultation. And, in the course of the subsequential introspection, I have discerned the reason (it's pretty obvious): the person with whom I'd most like to share my greatest triumphs is gone.

It started yesterday, but today everything hurts. I found myself standing in the corner of my office right after lunch. I felt simultaneously 3' tall and 10' tall, detached from reality, and wondering what to do, if anything. Coffee helped, but the music I chose to listen to on the way to get coffee only further amplified the pain, as it was music that we enjoyed together in the waning days of Amanda's good health.

There are a few memories from my 33 years that I try very hard not to allow into my conscious thoughts. They will put me into a 7 - 10 day cycle of depression that leaves me a hollow shell. But Amanda's illness and death do not constitute a simple single memory that I can put on a shelf in a carefully sealed mental box. They represent only the terminus of a 15 year bright-spot of my life.

So what to do? I certainly can't go home like this. But I can't not go home, either. I can put on a brave face for Alastair, but he's pretty clever and sees right through me. So maybe we'll cuddle up tonight and watch a movie.