Eeek!

A mouse. Mice.

They scurry to and fro, and make merriment. Dust lover. Waste dweller.

One little bastard has just run in and out of my basement office in plain view.

I search the beams and boards in my basement ceiling, searching for their routes...where are they making their ingress and egress to my kitchen? Are these cobwebs 83 years old, or 83 minutes old?

I plug every crack and crevice with steel wool...I don't intend to give them any free shortcuts as they ramble throughout my home, the world of humans, a place where they are most unwelcome indeed. Do they eat the poisonous biscuits when two little girls (and two messy adults) scatter crumbs everywhere?

Sophie and I just finished reading, as our bedtime story of late, "Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH." Do I feel remorse when I see the half-eaten Tomcat brand bait block? No.

Lo, I am become Death, the destroyer of mouse worlds.

Nearing Solstice

Hi.

Not much happening here these days, except for the constant frenzy of activity involved with working at a mail order place during the holiday season and the usual zillion tasks surrounding the upbringing of two children.

I'm only a few short days away from the winter solstice...then things should really get ugly. Just as the seasonal climate shift lags behind the apogee and perigee (i.e., the hottest months of summer happen well after the summer solstice), so does my typical seasonal pattern of depression. I've been seeing a pretty good therapist (who is also helping me with job related issues, as in considering possibilities other than my current somewhat dissatisfying position), so I'm optimistic that this year will be less traumatic than others have been.

Usually by February/March I am more than slightly off-kilter.

I am debating taking the RHCE exam in early January. I can't decide whether I prefer the thrill ride of system administration or the caffeinated buzz of programming. We're also planning a midwinter sojourn to Isla Mujeres (see previous post), and so I'm trying to decide how much grief I want to receive from my employer...as in, do I really think I deserve two weeks off in January?

RHCE is expensive, but it's pretty well-respected as certifications go, and part of me really craves some credentials.

Since I have been reading about the link between sleep deprivation and obesity (check), diabetes (not yet), etc. etc. (we'll see!), I think I'm going to go up and get into my bed and drift away into the sweet dreamscape.

Ta ta for now.

Faith Hope and Love

Which reminds me of a Meatloaf classic: "Two Out of Three Ain't Bad"

Maybe one and a half on a bad day. Can you guess which one I'm missing?

I stumbled across my wife's blog about Catholicism today. My first reaction was "Oh wow, she's really into this stuff" followed by "Where's she getting all this extra time to run TWO blogs?" Then I noticed she hadn't posted anything on the Catholic blog between March and a few days ago.

I have a standard remark about my wife's conversion to Catholicism. "I spend all my adolescent years trying to get away from Catholic women, and what happens? My wife converts."

But seriously folks...

Something she wrote here made me think about responding on her blog, but since it would clash with the curtains over there I thought I'd just write it on my own blog.

She writes:
I am, however, offended deeply at the notion that God gave me depression to teach me these lessons. I can’t bear to hear people say that God gave a child cancer for the purpose of building character or correcting a fault. The verse is “God turns all things to good,” not “God does all things for good.” This may seem like a minor adjustment to the notion of how God works in the world, but it is a crucial one.

For me, the best thing about abandoning my faith in the supernatural is being set free from questions like these. Because I no longer worry about why God lets one baby die from malaria and another live, or how that might be turned to good, or that maybe S/He could have chosen a kinder lesson for the moral improvement of the parents or whatever. Things happen and I don't have to try to make sense of a supreme being who lets bad things happen to good people, or good things happen to bad people, or lets anything happen, really.

I'm not trying to dispute anything my wife describes in her post. In fact, I could really relate to her description of giving things over to God via accepting them into her heart, or however she eloquently phrased it. I feel the same kind of peace when I accept reality for what it is instead of trying either to push it away from me or to consider myself as separate from it in the first place. I think we work through a lot of things in similar ways, but I don't see any "God" in any of it, and she does.

No, the thing that struck me was just a profound sense of relief. These theodicean sort of questions really used to bug me. I can't really claim to be totally free, but thank God I'm free from this!

The worst thing about deciding I'm done with faith is the gulf it creates between me and the missus, and the difficulty it poses in raising our kids. But hey, if James Carville and Darth Matalin can get over their differences, what's a little religious disagreement between friends?

Oh, how it slays me

This has been in the back of my mind ever since I saw it a few years ago:
Watch me

Eggmaster Simpson

Had a hard time deciding between the Rock and Roll Tshirt or the Linux Penguin Tshirt.

Long Live Rock!

Where the hell am I?

Uh, mostly in the World of Warcraft, although tonight I plan to take an extended trip to the world of Harry Potter.

DD1 and I are going to a midnight release "event" at a nearby Barnes & Noble. I'm not sure what the "event" part will be other than standing in line wringing our hands with the other hundreds of HP fans. I may wear a sign around my neck saying "Spoilers will be physically assaulted" and a very gruff, mean expression on my face.

The upside of going to the midnight release is that I will have my copy of the book before my wife has hers. Yes, you read it right; we buy two copies of the book and give one away after we've read it in parallel. Wrestling each other for a single copy would be extremely undignified, especially in front of our children.

I'm having a good summer. In spite of all the food I'm eating, my body shape seems to be plateau-ing at small-weather-balloon level. This week I tried lifting weights; I was so sore a few days later that I have not yet returned to them. Maybe tonight or tomorrow since the soreness has left me more or less.

Wifey asked me (in a roundabout way, i.e. by suggesting it in her blog) that I should tell the story of my correspondence with Daniel Pinkwater. And I will do that. Some other time.

Ta ta for now.

Will the real Eggmaster please stand up?

In September, 1987, a young man from mid-Michigan took occupancy of a dorm room in Ann Arbor. Dissatisfied with his given, Christian name, he turned over the potato-shaped construction paper name tag that had been taped to the outside of the door of his cell and (perhaps not knowing the implications for his future ability to have, uh, "meaningful interactions" with "members" of the "opposite sex") wrote the word "Eggmaster."

Shortly thereafter, his roommate (not to be one-upped in nerdliness) flipped his name tag and wrote "Warp," which didn't stick and--by the consensus of his fellow subterranean dorm-dwellers--was changed to "Psycho." That turned out to be the keeper, although I always liked "Warp."

Flash forward to the year 2007. The Eggmaster googles himself and finds, to his horror (or, at least, his extreme irritation), that in the twenty years since he took the fateful step of becoming the Master of all Eggs great hordes of pretenders to the title have sprung up.

I'd like to know if any of these other so-called 'eggmasters' can date their nicknames prior to September, 1987. It's not like I can forbid anyone from using this nickname, but I had hoped when I chose it that the name would be random enough to be somewhat unique...that I was blazing a trail into uncharted realms of dorkdom.

Isla Mujeres, an earthly paradise

In February 2007, we accepted an invitation from our good friends S&R to come stay with them on Isla Mujeres, Mexico, just off the coast near Cancún. This level of adventurousness and spontaneity is not typical for us...maybe it was the bleak Minnesota winter that forced us to such drastic action.

It was the best family vacation I've ever had. A few hours after I got there, I knew that I would be coming back. S&R moved to India--damn them--and so it fell to us to find some other friends to bring South of the Border. Luckily, I have two dear, old, gullible friends with two girls roughly the same ages as my kids.

I'm posting this photo-travelogue primarily for their benefit...so they can see what they're getting into. And so without further ado: Isla Mujeres, paradise on Earth.

Our island adventure began with a 20-minute-or-so ferry ride from the puerta in Cancún to the island. The ocean bottom here alternates between unbelievably vibrant shades of turquoise. Here I am with DD1 feeling happier than I had in months:


Getting off the ferry, we were approached by this dude, a malatero, who interpreted my very rusty-spanish request for a "taxi" as "we want to take a 10 minute walk to our hotel while you push our belongings (and children) on a rickety old bicycle-shopping-cart-hybrid".

Actually the walk was pleasant enough and the girls were very into this mode of transportation.


So after the friendly dude departed with his cart and 100 of my hard-earned pesos (I had no idea what to tip the guy so I erred on the side of "tourist is hemorrhaging pesos!"--the guy was trying to set a date to come and take us back to the ferry a week later) we walk around to the beach side of our bungalow to see this:


Yes, folks that's the Gulf of Mexico, its constant cooling breeze blowing right through the bungalow.

A typical day for us was to get up when the kids got up, let them play on the beach outside our place until sunburn hours commenced (say 10 or 11 AM), after which they had to stay in the shade of the palm trees or be inside. Wifey or I would walk into town to get fresh produce for the day's lunch, check email, shop, etc. Or maybe we'd all play a board game or whatever. Then at about 3:30 or 4:00 we'd all head over to Playa Norte, which is the main swimming beach.


We'd hang around at the beach, swim, drink margaritas and eat snacks from the vendor dudes who wander around the beach. Then we'd either go out for dinner or head back home for something we'd prepare in the kitchens there.

The island is long and narrow, and we're only a 5 minute walk from town. For trips down the length of the island, there's a municipal bus, or taxis. Other than that there are not many cars on the island. Most of the tourists enjoy renting these golf carts or mopeds...the girls loved this:

And it was so charming (and a source of great national pride) to see my fellow Americans loading 5 or 6 hefty inebriated corpses onto these golf carts and attempting to pilot same back to their posh hotels.

OK, some randomness in the ordering of the images here...
This is a nice place to get a coffee or a light meal; breakfast was good. They also have a clever sort of lending library in here; you can buy paperbacks for some nominal fee and return them when you like.


Across the street is the "cyber cafe" where I did most of my spam-weeding-out and office-fire-extinguishing:

Very "Neuromancer".

This is a shot of the girls spontaneously breaking into joyful dance at the home of the four 'loncherias' adjacent to the local municipal market. This was a favorite place for lunch...very friendly people and good 'authentic' Yucatán cooking.


On the day before we left (or maybe that day, I don't remember) I decided to take some photos of a walk into town. Undeterred by the threatening storm clouds, I set out:

That's the "back" (street side) of the bungalows. We stayed in the unit to the right, which is the southern unit. There is a nice little garden of succulent plants also populated by geckos and iguanas which the girls loved to look at.



walking about 200yds brings you to the municipal "convention center"/indoor basketball court. There were games going on a few nights a week. This shot is looking back up the dirt road that leads to Hotel Secreto (posh), Hotel Media Luna (posh), and our place (best). On the right is the chain link fence that encloses the site of some massive new condo development...I hope it does not destroy the character of Playa Media Luna...actually I think it will be ok.

Here is the East entrance to the municipal market...a favorite spot of mine. You can see the loveable and omnipresent character-toon-a-tron for the BIMBO bakery corporation.


Inside you find three or four produce and general grocery stalls where you can practice your Español (me permite tomar un foto, Señora?) and buy fresh mangos, papayas, hammock cords (essential!!), freshly made corn tortillas (they smell so good), beans and rice. It's so awesome.


And, of course, you will want to show your devotion to Nuestra Señora at the gaudy yet reverence-inspiring shrine to same:

This is a shot as you leave the back entrance of the mercado...great job the camera did focusing on the nearby arch...I was trying to get a shot of the covered pavilion where the loncherias are.

Finally, I had to end my photojournalistic efforts with this shot down the "main drag" (foot traffic only) of the town. There are so many good, cheap restaurants along here, along with tequilerias, hotels (see balconies top left), silver sellers, art dealers, etc. etc. It was starting to rain heavily and I needed to get my camera back to the bungalow before my clothes soaked through.


And that's that!


Down the main drag about 5 or 6 blocks is the main plaza, replete with catholic church (and painted concrete Mary on top), civic building (where you bribe the local police perhaps?), and a supermercado where you can buy...well, super stuff that the little stalls at the mercado municipal don't have room/facilities to stock. Toilet paper, diapers...things like that.

There's an ATM that will let you get 3000 pesos each day (I guess this depends somewhat on your bank's max limit, but I got 3000 a pop)...pesos:dollar is roughly 10:1.

Later on I'll post some pics of the inside of the bungalow so you can see the living conditions.

I have to say...this vacation was life-changing for me. I had never really done any world traveling prior to this, and seeing people living happily in conditions vastly different than Minnesota gave me a new perspective that has allowed me to re-evaluate my own life and work choices. Also it was a great chance to get to know S&R, and I know we're looking forward to reconnecting with our old friends next winter.

My magnificent sideburns, and Mr. Grumpypants frown.

Out of the dung heap a lotus grows...

I am waiting for the lotus, but I believe I have found the dung heap.

Back in therapy for my long-standing depression and anxiety issues. It's been several years since my last round of talk therapy, so this Spring seemed as good a time as any to do some mental gardening. (OK, so it was more like "Oh my god, I can't take it anymore, give me that therapist's email address!")

Luckily I seem to have landed with someone who tracks with me through all my mopey trains of thought. So wish me luck. It's amazing how quickly the weeds come up in here, but it's also oddly reassuring to know the soil is still fertile. Oh, it's fertile alright.

Gimme gimme gimme! I want I want I want!

OK, I simply must have this kind of house:

http://www.enertia.com/

This idea appeals to me in so many ways that my heart is all aflutter.

Eggmaster is dead! Long live Eggmaster!

OK, I quickly discovered that wordpress.com is not where I want to be. They wanted me to pay for the privilege to edit the CSS for my blog!

So...for the few people who have actually returned to read my blog a second time, please update your bookmarks. I'm on the blogspot tip now!