I am writing this post using my wii because for some dumb reason, my laptop is not connecting to the internet. I think it has something to do with one of those automatic updates, and I am trying hard to reverse it, but who knows when or if I'll get it back. Stay patient with me please, I may have some interesting things for you when I get back up.
Thank you
The Editor.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
Squizzle the Monkey
Not exactly sure where the weekend went, but it's gone. I called about a job but am still waiting to hear back. The Boss is finishing her last few shifts in Orem this week and by Friday, she'll be back in the valley. I've been fighting a neck ache from staring at the computer, a backache from mowing three lawns on Saturday for my nephews, and a headache from trying to once again reshift my visual focus. I had spent all the time since my transplant with the right side being dominant and I had pretty much stopped using the left eye. When I got my lenses, it took the better part of a week to get adjusted to stereo vision. And now I've spent a weekend with my left eye dominant. Yesterday, I just left my remaining lens out, and spent the day with ice packs on my neck and back.
Gripe. gripe, gripe. What else am I supposed to do with my time?
Today the Boss is off, and she's getting a solid dose of Squizzle. I think that at some point during her pregnancy, the Boss must have had some mutant ice to crunch because the boy is not normal. He may have devolved back to chimp form.
This morning, he climbed out of the tub by himself. I watched to see what he would do. He closed the lid on the toilet seat, climbed on it and from there he pulled himself onto the sink counter. Then he plopped his naked butt down in the sink, pushed the plug in, and turned on the water. This is not a large sink, mind you, but Squizzle seemed to think that it was his own private hot tub. Why not? He screamed like a soccer player trying to draw a yellow card when I finally jerked him out of there.
I thought I was going to have to lock the door to keep him out. His little stumpy legs would spin like he was running when I picked him up and as soon as I set him down, he'd peel out and head back for the bathroom. It reminded me of something out of a Tom and Jerry cartoon.
Then this afternoon he pulled a doozey.
He came into the kitchen while the Boss was doing bills. She watched as he opened the dishwasher and climbed up onto the door. He then pulled out the bottom rack of the dishwasher, posted his right foot on the edge and hefted his chubby little chimp butt up onto the counter.
Not done yet. Not by a sight.
He climbed into the kitchen sink this time and once again turned on the water. He grabbed the drain plug from the window sill and stuck it in the other side of the sink. He sat there contentedly splashing away while the sink filled up. He slogged from sink to sink, laughing and having a grand time. After a minute this became boring and so he turned around, opened the cabinet and pulled out a measuring cup.
Who knew that a plastic measuring cup was the greatest toy in the history of man kind? Squizzle started laughing before he even got back in the sink. He filled the cup and then dumped it over his own head, soaking down the three square inches of himself that were not already waterlogged. And yes, he was still in his diaper. A few more dumps of the cup were fun, but then the boy discovered that using the cup to fling water across the kitchen floor was ten times more fun than just pouring it out.
I'm not sure were he would have taken it from there, but the Boss and I were no longer interested in waiting to find out. She pulled him out of the sink and I grabbed a mop.
Monster!!
I have caught him trying to open the dishwasher three times since then and caught him on the counter once. Life as we knew it is once again over.
And all I can think is what a crummy freaking time it is to not have health insurance. We haven't had a trip to the emergency room for some time, and with this many runts, we are well overdue. With my luck, I am certain that it will be ten minutes before the Boss's new benefits kick in.
That isn't all the Squizzle related funny, though. Yesterday Moe and Puzilla decided to dress him up in his church clothes and send him on "Dates" with their dolls. As they were negotiating the difficult process of selecting wardrobe and affixing it to unwilling participants, Moe fired off what may have been the line of the month.
Turning to Puzilla, she said, "We gotta do Squizzle first, because he's more stubborn...And he's real."
Yeah, he's real all right...A real pain in the...Uh, oh! Gotta go. Just caught him trying to power bomb from the top ropes...er...I mean the top of the sofa. And I'm pretty sure my headache is now turning into a stroke.
Can't live with 'em, can't sell 'em on Ebay.
Gripe. gripe, gripe. What else am I supposed to do with my time?
Today the Boss is off, and she's getting a solid dose of Squizzle. I think that at some point during her pregnancy, the Boss must have had some mutant ice to crunch because the boy is not normal. He may have devolved back to chimp form.
This morning, he climbed out of the tub by himself. I watched to see what he would do. He closed the lid on the toilet seat, climbed on it and from there he pulled himself onto the sink counter. Then he plopped his naked butt down in the sink, pushed the plug in, and turned on the water. This is not a large sink, mind you, but Squizzle seemed to think that it was his own private hot tub. Why not? He screamed like a soccer player trying to draw a yellow card when I finally jerked him out of there.
I thought I was going to have to lock the door to keep him out. His little stumpy legs would spin like he was running when I picked him up and as soon as I set him down, he'd peel out and head back for the bathroom. It reminded me of something out of a Tom and Jerry cartoon.
Then this afternoon he pulled a doozey.
He came into the kitchen while the Boss was doing bills. She watched as he opened the dishwasher and climbed up onto the door. He then pulled out the bottom rack of the dishwasher, posted his right foot on the edge and hefted his chubby little chimp butt up onto the counter.
Not done yet. Not by a sight.
He climbed into the kitchen sink this time and once again turned on the water. He grabbed the drain plug from the window sill and stuck it in the other side of the sink. He sat there contentedly splashing away while the sink filled up. He slogged from sink to sink, laughing and having a grand time. After a minute this became boring and so he turned around, opened the cabinet and pulled out a measuring cup.
Who knew that a plastic measuring cup was the greatest toy in the history of man kind? Squizzle started laughing before he even got back in the sink. He filled the cup and then dumped it over his own head, soaking down the three square inches of himself that were not already waterlogged. And yes, he was still in his diaper. A few more dumps of the cup were fun, but then the boy discovered that using the cup to fling water across the kitchen floor was ten times more fun than just pouring it out.
I'm not sure were he would have taken it from there, but the Boss and I were no longer interested in waiting to find out. She pulled him out of the sink and I grabbed a mop.
Monster!!
I have caught him trying to open the dishwasher three times since then and caught him on the counter once. Life as we knew it is once again over.
And all I can think is what a crummy freaking time it is to not have health insurance. We haven't had a trip to the emergency room for some time, and with this many runts, we are well overdue. With my luck, I am certain that it will be ten minutes before the Boss's new benefits kick in.
That isn't all the Squizzle related funny, though. Yesterday Moe and Puzilla decided to dress him up in his church clothes and send him on "Dates" with their dolls. As they were negotiating the difficult process of selecting wardrobe and affixing it to unwilling participants, Moe fired off what may have been the line of the month.
Turning to Puzilla, she said, "We gotta do Squizzle first, because he's more stubborn...And he's real."
Yeah, he's real all right...A real pain in the...Uh, oh! Gotta go. Just caught him trying to power bomb from the top ropes...er...I mean the top of the sofa. And I'm pretty sure my headache is now turning into a stroke.
Can't live with 'em, can't sell 'em on Ebay.
Friday, August 6, 2010
NOOOOOO!!!!!
So how am I supposed to judge a day like today?
Last night we went to Grandma's work party at Murray park. Free dinner is always a good thing, and the kids love the fishpond and other games. But I must admit that it is a mixed emotion to go each year. This work party was one of the last things we did together as a family before my brother was killed so there is always a bit of association there. And since they hold it around the same time every year, it serves as a reminder that the anniversary of his death is coming up again.
We could have had it a little easier with the dates on that one. His birthday is in January, and his death was on the same day of the month in August; so we get a fresh round of scab-peeling every half year or so. Not my idea of fun, but at least it's symmetrical.
For the last couple of days, my lenses have been bugging me and I had been hitting the 'roids hard to keep from having an allergic reaction. I put them in to go to the party and they were all right for the most part. Then on the way home, the right eye started burning and irritating the heck out of me. It felt like there was a piece of highway gravel stuck in there and it reminded me that I needed to get more lens solution. I asked the Boss if we could stop at Walmart and by the time we got there, I could hardly keep my eye open.
I learned very early on that with my crazy shaped corneas it is always a good idea to keep a complete lens kit on hand at all times because even my custom fit lenses can pop out. And they usually do so at the most inconvenient of times. So I pulled my case out and got ready to remove the irritated lens.
I had foolishly not grabbed my removal plunger, leaving me to try to pry the little sucker out with my fat fingers. While thus engaged, I felt the lens shift, and my eye started to feel better, so I put my case away and the Boss and I headed into the store.
Guess where the lens had "shifted"?
Now you may rightly say to yourself, "If he's so stinking blind, how is it that he did not immediately notice the absence of a lens?" There are two answers to this.
First, I did notice the decline in vision. In fact I said to the Boss, "This lousy lens isn't doing crapola right now. I can't see any better than without it" (perhaps I should have seen this as a warning sign).
And second,when my eyes get irritated like that, it doesn't matter if the lens is in or not, I don't see well. So it was not unusual for me to have bad vision and the thought that the lens was gone did not occur to me. I was too happy not to be still flushing boulders from under my eyelid. I ignored it until we got home and then I went to the bathroom to pull the lenses out for the night.
When the plunger came up empty, I started to royally panic. I made the Boss do a full scale examination to see if perhaps it had rolled up under one of the lids or behind the eye but it was long gone. We scoured the bathroom floor, the sink (I have an OCD tick that makes me put the plug down to ensure a dropped lens won't go down the drain), my clothes, the bedroom floor, outside to the car, the floor of the car, the seat, the dashboard... gone, baby.
Gone.
I have the hurting suspicion that sometime during the night a sweeper at Walmart dusted up a little blue plastic miracle without any idea of what it was. At that very moment I was probably curled into the fetal position feeling like I'd taken a shot to the "Solar Plexus" as the boys of professional wrestling euphemistically describe it. It was a long night filled with some really good panic attacks of the variety I ain't seen in years.
Then this morning, I got a call from the Boss. She had left early for work and on the way she had already gotten a replacement lens ordered (2 weeks to wait might seem like an eternity until I compare it to five years...then, not so much), had found a way to get it paid for, (You know who you are; Ooh Sainted One)and had the good news that I may have legitimate, full time employment. It would be mule work for a disaster cleanup company.
Now it's not writing but there is a steady paycheck involved and who of you that read this blog would argue that I, of all people, am not qualified to "Clean Up" after disasters? Might even help to rectify my "why me" attitude. I'm only blind, fat, broke and ugly. These people will have had their homes flooded, burned, or otherwise demolished. Is it wrong to assume that it would be good for me to see people more messed up than me?
All I know is a job is a job, and I'll take it if officially offered. Cash is cash, and I could sure use me some of that....
Last night we went to Grandma's work party at Murray park. Free dinner is always a good thing, and the kids love the fishpond and other games. But I must admit that it is a mixed emotion to go each year. This work party was one of the last things we did together as a family before my brother was killed so there is always a bit of association there. And since they hold it around the same time every year, it serves as a reminder that the anniversary of his death is coming up again.
We could have had it a little easier with the dates on that one. His birthday is in January, and his death was on the same day of the month in August; so we get a fresh round of scab-peeling every half year or so. Not my idea of fun, but at least it's symmetrical.
For the last couple of days, my lenses have been bugging me and I had been hitting the 'roids hard to keep from having an allergic reaction. I put them in to go to the party and they were all right for the most part. Then on the way home, the right eye started burning and irritating the heck out of me. It felt like there was a piece of highway gravel stuck in there and it reminded me that I needed to get more lens solution. I asked the Boss if we could stop at Walmart and by the time we got there, I could hardly keep my eye open.
I learned very early on that with my crazy shaped corneas it is always a good idea to keep a complete lens kit on hand at all times because even my custom fit lenses can pop out. And they usually do so at the most inconvenient of times. So I pulled my case out and got ready to remove the irritated lens.
I had foolishly not grabbed my removal plunger, leaving me to try to pry the little sucker out with my fat fingers. While thus engaged, I felt the lens shift, and my eye started to feel better, so I put my case away and the Boss and I headed into the store.
Guess where the lens had "shifted"?
Now you may rightly say to yourself, "If he's so stinking blind, how is it that he did not immediately notice the absence of a lens?" There are two answers to this.
First, I did notice the decline in vision. In fact I said to the Boss, "This lousy lens isn't doing crapola right now. I can't see any better than without it" (perhaps I should have seen this as a warning sign).
And second,when my eyes get irritated like that, it doesn't matter if the lens is in or not, I don't see well. So it was not unusual for me to have bad vision and the thought that the lens was gone did not occur to me. I was too happy not to be still flushing boulders from under my eyelid. I ignored it until we got home and then I went to the bathroom to pull the lenses out for the night.
When the plunger came up empty, I started to royally panic. I made the Boss do a full scale examination to see if perhaps it had rolled up under one of the lids or behind the eye but it was long gone. We scoured the bathroom floor, the sink (I have an OCD tick that makes me put the plug down to ensure a dropped lens won't go down the drain), my clothes, the bedroom floor, outside to the car, the floor of the car, the seat, the dashboard... gone, baby.
Gone.
I have the hurting suspicion that sometime during the night a sweeper at Walmart dusted up a little blue plastic miracle without any idea of what it was. At that very moment I was probably curled into the fetal position feeling like I'd taken a shot to the "Solar Plexus" as the boys of professional wrestling euphemistically describe it. It was a long night filled with some really good panic attacks of the variety I ain't seen in years.
Then this morning, I got a call from the Boss. She had left early for work and on the way she had already gotten a replacement lens ordered (2 weeks to wait might seem like an eternity until I compare it to five years...then, not so much), had found a way to get it paid for, (You know who you are; Ooh Sainted One)and had the good news that I may have legitimate, full time employment. It would be mule work for a disaster cleanup company.
Now it's not writing but there is a steady paycheck involved and who of you that read this blog would argue that I, of all people, am not qualified to "Clean Up" after disasters? Might even help to rectify my "why me" attitude. I'm only blind, fat, broke and ugly. These people will have had their homes flooded, burned, or otherwise demolished. Is it wrong to assume that it would be good for me to see people more messed up than me?
All I know is a job is a job, and I'll take it if officially offered. Cash is cash, and I could sure use me some of that....
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Something The Boy Said
Went to Orem to help the Boss with a little work project yesterday. The city of Orem held a fun run to benefit a police charity. It was called "Run a Crook Out of Town" and we set up a table at the start/finish line with ice water, treats, and coupons for free meals. As the primary sponsor (and the only one present) Village Inn got some nice publicity and community good will.
As a family, we got fed, the kids and I got to get out of the house, and the Boss got paid for three hours of work on her day off. That is a miracle that never would have happened under the Clown.
When we pulled into the parking lot, Peff scored big points with his Old Man when he gently requested that his mother move the car, for she had thoughtlessly parked closer to a red car than a blue one. According to the brainwashing propaganda (also known as the TRUTH!) that I endlessly indoctrinate him with, Red (school colors of the hated Utah Utes) is the color of evil. Blue (school colors of BYU) is the color of loyalty, courage and righteousness. It was a beautiful moment that would have brought tears to my eyes if my tear ducts hadn't been seared shut by overdoses of steroids.
Next up for the Peff? A t-shirt that reads "Me too, Max. Me too."
Of course his turn for the funny was not finished. He ordered the smiley-faced pancakes for dinner, and then asked his mother if he could "blind" his face. I figured he wanted to pluck the blueberries and eat them first, but he was actually after the salt to shake over them. Don't ask me, it's not my fault.
***Editor's Note to Self
I gotta find a way to keep this kid from going to work for the CIA....
***
At dinner, the kids were very good and on their best behavior; except for Squizzle who was so excited by the idea of a drink all for himself that he spent most of the time hooting and laughing and having a grand time. Luckily for us we were there between the lunch and dinner rushes so there was not a lot of others around to be annoyed.
And speaking of annoyed...
After we had finished dinner, I took the kids for a spin around the parking lot while the Boss took care of some work matters before the race. Having been pent up for an hour on their best behaviour, they decided that they needed to cut loose and make a little noise. Moe commented that Squizzle's happy chatter in the restaurant was funny at first but "Got a little annoying after a minute."
I agreed, of course, but the reference to annoyance caused me to foolishly bring up one of my favorite movie quotes from "Dumb & Dumber": "Hey! Wanna hear the most annoying noise in the world?" (Followed by high pitched, nasal squealing equivalent to nails on a chalkboard).
The kids, having never seen this movie, thought it was hilarious and immediately began to create their own unique, individual "most annoying noise in the world".
Most were high pitched wails or screeches of some order or another, and Puzilla in particular, figuratively shattered several storefront windows. Squizzle got back into the spirit adding his own distinctive "Yawp" and I soon found myself suffering from a head-splitting migraine of monolithic proportions.
Thus inspired by "art" I coined a new term...the "Symphannoy". I thought about calling it the "Annoychestra", but Symphannoy has a pop to it that I can't quite explain. It just sounds better.
In theory only, of course.
In practice, it probably rates as the aural equivalent to Peff's salt in the eyes. Whatever you call it, it is torture.
Water boarding, indeed. I've said it before and I'll say it again. Turn those terrorists over to my five kids for twenty minutes, and they'll gleefully spill their guts about where Bin Laden is.
Destroying Angels isn't just a clever nickname, folks.
As a family, we got fed, the kids and I got to get out of the house, and the Boss got paid for three hours of work on her day off. That is a miracle that never would have happened under the Clown.
When we pulled into the parking lot, Peff scored big points with his Old Man when he gently requested that his mother move the car, for she had thoughtlessly parked closer to a red car than a blue one. According to the brainwashing propaganda (also known as the TRUTH!) that I endlessly indoctrinate him with, Red (school colors of the hated Utah Utes) is the color of evil. Blue (school colors of BYU) is the color of loyalty, courage and righteousness. It was a beautiful moment that would have brought tears to my eyes if my tear ducts hadn't been seared shut by overdoses of steroids.
Next up for the Peff? A t-shirt that reads "Me too, Max. Me too."
Of course his turn for the funny was not finished. He ordered the smiley-faced pancakes for dinner, and then asked his mother if he could "blind" his face. I figured he wanted to pluck the blueberries and eat them first, but he was actually after the salt to shake over them. Don't ask me, it's not my fault.
***Editor's Note to Self
I gotta find a way to keep this kid from going to work for the CIA....
***
At dinner, the kids were very good and on their best behavior; except for Squizzle who was so excited by the idea of a drink all for himself that he spent most of the time hooting and laughing and having a grand time. Luckily for us we were there between the lunch and dinner rushes so there was not a lot of others around to be annoyed.
And speaking of annoyed...
After we had finished dinner, I took the kids for a spin around the parking lot while the Boss took care of some work matters before the race. Having been pent up for an hour on their best behaviour, they decided that they needed to cut loose and make a little noise. Moe commented that Squizzle's happy chatter in the restaurant was funny at first but "Got a little annoying after a minute."
I agreed, of course, but the reference to annoyance caused me to foolishly bring up one of my favorite movie quotes from "Dumb & Dumber": "Hey! Wanna hear the most annoying noise in the world?" (Followed by high pitched, nasal squealing equivalent to nails on a chalkboard).
The kids, having never seen this movie, thought it was hilarious and immediately began to create their own unique, individual "most annoying noise in the world".
Most were high pitched wails or screeches of some order or another, and Puzilla in particular, figuratively shattered several storefront windows. Squizzle got back into the spirit adding his own distinctive "Yawp" and I soon found myself suffering from a head-splitting migraine of monolithic proportions.
Thus inspired by "art" I coined a new term...the "Symphannoy". I thought about calling it the "Annoychestra", but Symphannoy has a pop to it that I can't quite explain. It just sounds better.
In theory only, of course.
In practice, it probably rates as the aural equivalent to Peff's salt in the eyes. Whatever you call it, it is torture.
Water boarding, indeed. I've said it before and I'll say it again. Turn those terrorists over to my five kids for twenty minutes, and they'll gleefully spill their guts about where Bin Laden is.
Destroying Angels isn't just a clever nickname, folks.
What the Weekend Wrought...
Well, the weekend was not without its interesting moments, so I have some catching up to do. Saturday, the Boss got her permanent assignment from work, and she'll be working much closer to home starting on the thirteenth of this month. Not a moment too soon; says I. The Boss said she'll miss the folks in Orem, but she certainly won't miss the two hour daily commutes. She met with her supervisor who had many complimentary things to say, not the least of which was that he was unimpressed with most new hires ability to match his expectations, but that the Boss was already exceeding his hopes and was knocking it out of the park.
Those of us who love her are not the least bit surprised.
After she got done, we went to her sisters house where we tested the quality of their new home's construction by piling just short of fifty people onto the staircase to take a family photo or ten. As soon as they are finished, I'll post one for posterity sake. We had some more shots of the kids done, and having seen some of the advance snaps, I am very happy with how they turned out.
***Editor's Note
I will take this time to offer a shameless plug and laud the professional competency and excellent craftsmanship of our photographer, Phil Massey. Phil does great work at prices even my broke budget can afford. He has top of the line equipment and the know-how to use it. He does everything from bridal shots and weddings to family portraits, get-togethers and reunions; no group is too big. If you live in Utah, you may occasionally see some of his nature shots featured on local newscasts during the weather segments. In the coming days, I will be posting a link to his web page and contact information if you are in need of a photographer. There are other photogs out there, but only Phil Massey comes with the Fatdaddy Seal of Approval.
****
Monday, I went with my brother in law to mow a lawn for our nephews. They are out of town this week and asked if I'd cover their lawn mowing business while they were gone. They basically have one customer every day, it takes about an hour to do each one, and they are pulling in a little more than a hundred bucks a week. They have bought their own equipment, and are frankly making more money than yours truly.
Very impressive gig, and I am starting to wonder whether or not I ought to go into the amateur lawn care biz. One look at my own yard would probably dissuade any potential customers, I'm afraid. One of the downsides of getting my eyesight back was that I realized what a disaster my yard is. I had no idea that I'd been mowing weeds, not grass.
Pitiful.
Also on Monday, I got more writing assignments from my freelance gig and it looks like there is a chance that I might have enough work to make it worth my while. I still wish I could find someone willing to pay me three cents a word for this drivel however. Now that would be a sweet set up!
Yesterday was a loaded day that I think will require its own post. I will put that together later this afternoon after I get the kids up and rolling, so check back later in the day for some funny stories about our trip to the Boss's work.
Those of us who love her are not the least bit surprised.
After she got done, we went to her sisters house where we tested the quality of their new home's construction by piling just short of fifty people onto the staircase to take a family photo or ten. As soon as they are finished, I'll post one for posterity sake. We had some more shots of the kids done, and having seen some of the advance snaps, I am very happy with how they turned out.
***Editor's Note
I will take this time to offer a shameless plug and laud the professional competency and excellent craftsmanship of our photographer, Phil Massey. Phil does great work at prices even my broke budget can afford. He has top of the line equipment and the know-how to use it. He does everything from bridal shots and weddings to family portraits, get-togethers and reunions; no group is too big. If you live in Utah, you may occasionally see some of his nature shots featured on local newscasts during the weather segments. In the coming days, I will be posting a link to his web page and contact information if you are in need of a photographer. There are other photogs out there, but only Phil Massey comes with the Fatdaddy Seal of Approval.
****
Monday, I went with my brother in law to mow a lawn for our nephews. They are out of town this week and asked if I'd cover their lawn mowing business while they were gone. They basically have one customer every day, it takes about an hour to do each one, and they are pulling in a little more than a hundred bucks a week. They have bought their own equipment, and are frankly making more money than yours truly.
Very impressive gig, and I am starting to wonder whether or not I ought to go into the amateur lawn care biz. One look at my own yard would probably dissuade any potential customers, I'm afraid. One of the downsides of getting my eyesight back was that I realized what a disaster my yard is. I had no idea that I'd been mowing weeds, not grass.
Pitiful.
Also on Monday, I got more writing assignments from my freelance gig and it looks like there is a chance that I might have enough work to make it worth my while. I still wish I could find someone willing to pay me three cents a word for this drivel however. Now that would be a sweet set up!
Yesterday was a loaded day that I think will require its own post. I will put that together later this afternoon after I get the kids up and rolling, so check back later in the day for some funny stories about our trip to the Boss's work.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Breathing Room
Well, I finished my last article at about two thirty in the morning. It would have been done by dinner time, but the Boss and I decided that we had to have some fun or we'd go Kazoo. The Boss's sister and her family are in town from New York, so we spent a few hours playing Mexican Train dominoes. I got destroyed; I never won a single round. Uncle Chris whooped all our butts.
Peff and Beckett played Mario Party on the Wii for a while, and I once again forgot to ask Beckett the secret of his NCAA prognostication prowess. If nothing else, I fully intend on giving him a serious case of knuckle-nuggies to see if I can't get some of his elfish magic to rub off.
The Boss's sister who lives in California is also in town this week, marking the first time in about three years that all the sisters are in the same place at the same time. We have scheduled a photographer to come take a family portrait on Saturday night as work schedules, arrival and departure times, and other activities mean that we'll all be together for about three hours on Saturday night. Probably a good idea to have a camera there for that one, huh?
The Boss is still loving her new employment and the feelings are mutual. She was quite flattered (and equally uninterested) when she was told by a contact from the clown's place that several of the other local owners had inquired as to her interest in returning to the clown's services under their franchises. One inquiry was regarding her interest in a promotion to a multi-store supervisory role.
I suppose that if the dump truck full of money they backed up to the door was large enough, she might at least give it some consideration, but she's definitely moved on. The work at Village Inn is so much more laid back and so much more suited to her personality that it would take some heavy duty pay increases and probably some lawyers writing up contractual stipulations (such as no phone calls between the hours of 8 and 8, if you please) for her to even give it more than a thought.
It is flattering, though. At least someone in that company appreciated her talents.
Anyway, the big girls are off at cooking camp. The Boss's mom found it and it was a cheap and fun form of summer-get-out-of-the-house entertainment. They go in the morning and are home by lunch time. Yesterday they made pizza, including crust from scratch, guacamole, salsa and homemade ice cream in a bag. They poured the homemade mix into a small Ziploc, and then put that into a gallon Ziploc full of ice chunks and rock salt and then told them to shake the heck out of it. Apparently it works pretty well.
Moe spent the better part of three hours delivering the play by play, including details about each recipe, which she recited from memory. Sometimes that kid scares me. For Haggis, it marks the third straight week she has been at one camp or another. Two weeks ago it was Oakcrest, a camp for LDS girls from all over everywhere. Last week was our local ward's young women's camp and now she's spending her days at cooking camp (even though that one isn't a sleep over camp). She came home from girls camp last week as filthy as a sinner in church. I didn't know girls could get that dirty.
When I was a kid, I once went to Yellowstone with the scouts. We called one of the younger kids "Baskin-Orson" because dude had twenty one flavors staining his shirt by the end of every day. Haggis might not have hit twenty one, but she still managed to get as grimy as I thought any girl could. That child plays hard, and no mater what I think about her attitude when it comes to helping around the house, she puts everything she has into having fun. I think this month has been good for her self esteem. She seems happier than she has been, and she has friends all over every where. Now if I could only keep her off of facebook.....
Well, better go. Squizzle has decided that an empty milk jug makes the perfect club and I get the impression that he's going on a Zoe hunt....
Peff and Beckett played Mario Party on the Wii for a while, and I once again forgot to ask Beckett the secret of his NCAA prognostication prowess. If nothing else, I fully intend on giving him a serious case of knuckle-nuggies to see if I can't get some of his elfish magic to rub off.
The Boss's sister who lives in California is also in town this week, marking the first time in about three years that all the sisters are in the same place at the same time. We have scheduled a photographer to come take a family portrait on Saturday night as work schedules, arrival and departure times, and other activities mean that we'll all be together for about three hours on Saturday night. Probably a good idea to have a camera there for that one, huh?
The Boss is still loving her new employment and the feelings are mutual. She was quite flattered (and equally uninterested) when she was told by a contact from the clown's place that several of the other local owners had inquired as to her interest in returning to the clown's services under their franchises. One inquiry was regarding her interest in a promotion to a multi-store supervisory role.
I suppose that if the dump truck full of money they backed up to the door was large enough, she might at least give it some consideration, but she's definitely moved on. The work at Village Inn is so much more laid back and so much more suited to her personality that it would take some heavy duty pay increases and probably some lawyers writing up contractual stipulations (such as no phone calls between the hours of 8 and 8, if you please) for her to even give it more than a thought.
It is flattering, though. At least someone in that company appreciated her talents.
Anyway, the big girls are off at cooking camp. The Boss's mom found it and it was a cheap and fun form of summer-get-out-of-the-house entertainment. They go in the morning and are home by lunch time. Yesterday they made pizza, including crust from scratch, guacamole, salsa and homemade ice cream in a bag. They poured the homemade mix into a small Ziploc, and then put that into a gallon Ziploc full of ice chunks and rock salt and then told them to shake the heck out of it. Apparently it works pretty well.
Moe spent the better part of three hours delivering the play by play, including details about each recipe, which she recited from memory. Sometimes that kid scares me. For Haggis, it marks the third straight week she has been at one camp or another. Two weeks ago it was Oakcrest, a camp for LDS girls from all over everywhere. Last week was our local ward's young women's camp and now she's spending her days at cooking camp (even though that one isn't a sleep over camp). She came home from girls camp last week as filthy as a sinner in church. I didn't know girls could get that dirty.
When I was a kid, I once went to Yellowstone with the scouts. We called one of the younger kids "Baskin-Orson" because dude had twenty one flavors staining his shirt by the end of every day. Haggis might not have hit twenty one, but she still managed to get as grimy as I thought any girl could. That child plays hard, and no mater what I think about her attitude when it comes to helping around the house, she puts everything she has into having fun. I think this month has been good for her self esteem. She seems happier than she has been, and she has friends all over every where. Now if I could only keep her off of facebook.....
Well, better go. Squizzle has decided that an empty milk jug makes the perfect club and I get the impression that he's going on a Zoe hunt....
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Write, Write, Write...Fight, Fight, Fight
Sorry about a small delay in posting again. Judging from my hit counter, only about four of you noticed anyway. It's all my fault. I was really good about hitting this every day until my eyes came back. Then I started to see how much I had to do and I got lazy about my writing.
Then this week, my part time work got suddenly nice and busy. With the end of the month approaching, they started to have some difficulty with other writers not having the time to deal with their workloads, so I got the spill-over. It was great, but I got a little brain-fried. Can you believe someone is paying me three to five cents a word for the same stuff that I used to put out just for grades? And the same stuff I dish out here for free?
I cranked out a about a dozen 350 word snaps for a sports site and a mental health blog, so it was the kind of stuff that is right up my alley. Sports and nut jobs. I might as well have just posted a link to this blog....
I suppose that it is due to the down number of visitors, but no one has yet commented on the new look of the blog. I was giddy when I saw the flames template. Now I can watch my blog, like my life, go up in smoke and flames. If you are not a fan, bear with me, I'll get bored sooner rather than later and change it.
Again.
Couple of funny things. We used one of the last of my freebie redbox coupons last night on Percy Jackson. The books were great, and the movie was good, it was just nothing like the book. It will be interesting to see how they resolve some of the plot conflicts that the movie has with the books because as it stands now, there are some major differences. Anyway, right at the start of the movie, Zeus accuses Poseidon of having his (Poseidon's) son, Percy, steal his (Zeus's) lightning bolt. The two of them are standing toe to toe and glaring at one another as thunderclaps are menacing the cloudy sky. Then Peff stood up from where he was sitting on the floor and starts jumping up and down shouting "Fight!Fight!Fight!...Fight!Fight!Fight!"
Classic. I'm pretty sure that it is a Manly Code obligation that if you see a fight about to happen, you should gather any and all other males around the combatants while chanting "Fight! Fight! Fight!" Peff clearly has this in his blood.
As the Boss says, "He's a boy."
And speaking of boys, Squizzle has been a busy little chipmunk of late. He says about ten different words, from "Dog-Dog" which can mean either hot dog, or Zoe, depending on who or what happens to be around at the time (right now, Zoe is. We are watching her until Thursday) to his current favorite "Num-Num" which stands in for anything he wants to stuff in his cry-hole. He is also fond of "Ball" which is an actual ball, an onion, orange, apple, or anything else remotely globe shaped that he can get his hands on. He has also discovered how to open the dishwasher AND the freezer which brings up a whole new set of fun and amusement.
And here I was thinking that when the kids start school this Fall and take Peff with them to kindergarten, I might get some quiet time to get some work done.
Ha.
Ha ha.
Ha ha ha.
Plop...Plop
(These are the sounds of my mother and aunt collectively laughing their heads off)
Well, enough for now, it's close to the end of the month deadline and I'm thinking I might get a little more work thrown my way.
Enjoy!
Then this week, my part time work got suddenly nice and busy. With the end of the month approaching, they started to have some difficulty with other writers not having the time to deal with their workloads, so I got the spill-over. It was great, but I got a little brain-fried. Can you believe someone is paying me three to five cents a word for the same stuff that I used to put out just for grades? And the same stuff I dish out here for free?
I cranked out a about a dozen 350 word snaps for a sports site and a mental health blog, so it was the kind of stuff that is right up my alley. Sports and nut jobs. I might as well have just posted a link to this blog....
I suppose that it is due to the down number of visitors, but no one has yet commented on the new look of the blog. I was giddy when I saw the flames template. Now I can watch my blog, like my life, go up in smoke and flames. If you are not a fan, bear with me, I'll get bored sooner rather than later and change it.
Again.
Couple of funny things. We used one of the last of my freebie redbox coupons last night on Percy Jackson. The books were great, and the movie was good, it was just nothing like the book. It will be interesting to see how they resolve some of the plot conflicts that the movie has with the books because as it stands now, there are some major differences. Anyway, right at the start of the movie, Zeus accuses Poseidon of having his (Poseidon's) son, Percy, steal his (Zeus's) lightning bolt. The two of them are standing toe to toe and glaring at one another as thunderclaps are menacing the cloudy sky. Then Peff stood up from where he was sitting on the floor and starts jumping up and down shouting "Fight!Fight!Fight!...Fight!Fight!Fight!"
Classic. I'm pretty sure that it is a Manly Code obligation that if you see a fight about to happen, you should gather any and all other males around the combatants while chanting "Fight! Fight! Fight!" Peff clearly has this in his blood.
As the Boss says, "He's a boy."
And speaking of boys, Squizzle has been a busy little chipmunk of late. He says about ten different words, from "Dog-Dog" which can mean either hot dog, or Zoe, depending on who or what happens to be around at the time (right now, Zoe is. We are watching her until Thursday) to his current favorite "Num-Num" which stands in for anything he wants to stuff in his cry-hole. He is also fond of "Ball" which is an actual ball, an onion, orange, apple, or anything else remotely globe shaped that he can get his hands on. He has also discovered how to open the dishwasher AND the freezer which brings up a whole new set of fun and amusement.
And here I was thinking that when the kids start school this Fall and take Peff with them to kindergarten, I might get some quiet time to get some work done.
Ha.
Ha ha.
Ha ha ha.
Plop...Plop
(These are the sounds of my mother and aunt collectively laughing their heads off)
Well, enough for now, it's close to the end of the month deadline and I'm thinking I might get a little more work thrown my way.
Enjoy!
Friday, July 23, 2010
The Problem of Pain
Spent most of yesterday at the employment center learning all the new tricks for resume writing. Did you know that it is now accepted practice to not list references on a resume? The theory is that if an employer wants them, they'll ask. Who'd a thunk it?
They told us that you basically get twenty to thirty words to grab the attention of an employer and if they aren't blown away...your chances are. I also learned that for the most part the old hard copy, hand-it-to-the-receptionist resume is pretty much dead. They all want electronic resumes they can stuff into a data base from LDSjobs or workforce services or Monster or whoever, and then they pull out likely candidates based on keywords that they are looking for. Words like "Self-motivated", "Team player" and "Detail oriented".
This meant that I had to revise my entire resume and remove all my best keywords like "Fat, lazy, bum" and "wife welfare".
We were also told that for every twenty resumes you submit you'll get maybe one interview, and most people need three interviews before getting hired. Toss in the fact that you are now encouraged to write "job specific" resumes for every company you apply at and that means that I can count on writing an additional hundred resumes before finding a steady job. Seems like you ought to get a six figure salary just to cover the search efforts.
Maybe I should just grab a job at some fast food hole other than the Clown's place. Of course even they now want kindergarten transcripts, blood samples, a credit report and a permission slip from your mother. What a freaking pain!
Speaking of pain, I am surrounded by it. About a month ago, my dad started limping a bit. It got worse and worse until about two weeks ago when he could hardly stand up. Then (and only then) he acquiesced to my mother's demands and went to see a doctor. I got a text from my brother T (who is still living at home) who told me that dad had blown his knee apart and would require surgery.
***Editor's note
I should get a copy of the MRI report and post it on here. It's like a medical encyclopedia of knee problems. Partially torn MCL, displaced ligaments, sprained ligaments, bruised, torn and displaced cartilage, torn meniscus, edema...the whole thing runs for about two pages. Completely brutal.
****
I told T that I was undecided on what surprised me less, that Dad had walked around on that chewed up piece of hamburger for over a month, or that he couldn't tell the doctor when or how he tore it up in the first place. Frankly the ONLY thing that surprised me was that Dad went to a doctor at all. "Chuck Norris should fear our Dad", I sent to T via text messaging.
Dad's older brother was in town from Virginia and happened to be sitting next to T when my text arrived. He made T text me back to say that no one was a real man until they survived a fall from a two story roof (Which my Uncle did about a year ago at the spring-chicken age of seventy).
Chuck Norris, hell. Pain should fear my family. Or as T put it, "Pain should be bringing us the finest wines and cheeses and calling us 'Sir'!"
Job hunting, blasted out craters for knees, falling off of rooftops...none of it holds a candle to my grandmother, the sainted and revered Matriarch of our clan. 90 years young and as tough as she is sweet. Two days ago, she was taking out her trash when she fell. Fortunately the neighbor was outside and saw it happen. He ran over and made sure she was OK, helped her up and escorted her into the house. Grandma insisted she was fine, and the neighbor came back to check up on her later in the afternoon. Grandam said she was tip top and went to bed. When she woke up yesterday morning, she fell again getting out of bed. When she couldn't get up she punched her "I've fallen and I can't get up" button (Greatest invention in the history of the world, in my opinion) and had the service call my aunt. Not an ambulance, not a doctor.
When my aunt got there, grandma said she was fine even though she couldn't stand up. Her ankle was black and blue and starting to swell. Against Grandma's objections, she was taken to the hospital where it was discovered that at some point in the last two days, she'd broken her ankle and now required surgery.
Now, I'm thinking that if you're going to break a bone at the age of ninety, then the ankle is a solid option. Beats heck out of a busted hip, which is pretty much a deal breaker, if you know what I mean.
Grandma didn't even want to do the surgery. I suppose she figured she'd maybe tape an aspirin to it, rub some dirt on it, and limp it off. Who knew that my sweet grandmother was one of the original authors of the "Manly Manual" code?
Nails, I tell ya. Strait up, iron nails. "They're what's for dinner".
In any sense, my dad (who was supposed to be on his back with his knee elevated for the next 7 to 10 days), decided to take mom to Burley to be with grandma.
Who didn't see that one coming?
Like Dad's going to lay on a couch for seven days and not go berserk. After the surgery, I gave Mom an over-under of three days and the smart money was on the under. I think he almost made it a day and a half.
Pain?
Indeed. Go bother Chuck, would ya?
We're busy.
They told us that you basically get twenty to thirty words to grab the attention of an employer and if they aren't blown away...your chances are. I also learned that for the most part the old hard copy, hand-it-to-the-receptionist resume is pretty much dead. They all want electronic resumes they can stuff into a data base from LDSjobs or workforce services or Monster or whoever, and then they pull out likely candidates based on keywords that they are looking for. Words like "Self-motivated", "Team player" and "Detail oriented".
This meant that I had to revise my entire resume and remove all my best keywords like "Fat, lazy, bum" and "wife welfare".
We were also told that for every twenty resumes you submit you'll get maybe one interview, and most people need three interviews before getting hired. Toss in the fact that you are now encouraged to write "job specific" resumes for every company you apply at and that means that I can count on writing an additional hundred resumes before finding a steady job. Seems like you ought to get a six figure salary just to cover the search efforts.
Maybe I should just grab a job at some fast food hole other than the Clown's place. Of course even they now want kindergarten transcripts, blood samples, a credit report and a permission slip from your mother. What a freaking pain!
Speaking of pain, I am surrounded by it. About a month ago, my dad started limping a bit. It got worse and worse until about two weeks ago when he could hardly stand up. Then (and only then) he acquiesced to my mother's demands and went to see a doctor. I got a text from my brother T (who is still living at home) who told me that dad had blown his knee apart and would require surgery.
***Editor's note
I should get a copy of the MRI report and post it on here. It's like a medical encyclopedia of knee problems. Partially torn MCL, displaced ligaments, sprained ligaments, bruised, torn and displaced cartilage, torn meniscus, edema...the whole thing runs for about two pages. Completely brutal.
****
I told T that I was undecided on what surprised me less, that Dad had walked around on that chewed up piece of hamburger for over a month, or that he couldn't tell the doctor when or how he tore it up in the first place. Frankly the ONLY thing that surprised me was that Dad went to a doctor at all. "Chuck Norris should fear our Dad", I sent to T via text messaging.
Dad's older brother was in town from Virginia and happened to be sitting next to T when my text arrived. He made T text me back to say that no one was a real man until they survived a fall from a two story roof (Which my Uncle did about a year ago at the spring-chicken age of seventy).
Chuck Norris, hell. Pain should fear my family. Or as T put it, "Pain should be bringing us the finest wines and cheeses and calling us 'Sir'!"
Job hunting, blasted out craters for knees, falling off of rooftops...none of it holds a candle to my grandmother, the sainted and revered Matriarch of our clan. 90 years young and as tough as she is sweet. Two days ago, she was taking out her trash when she fell. Fortunately the neighbor was outside and saw it happen. He ran over and made sure she was OK, helped her up and escorted her into the house. Grandma insisted she was fine, and the neighbor came back to check up on her later in the afternoon. Grandam said she was tip top and went to bed. When she woke up yesterday morning, she fell again getting out of bed. When she couldn't get up she punched her "I've fallen and I can't get up" button (Greatest invention in the history of the world, in my opinion) and had the service call my aunt. Not an ambulance, not a doctor.
When my aunt got there, grandma said she was fine even though she couldn't stand up. Her ankle was black and blue and starting to swell. Against Grandma's objections, she was taken to the hospital where it was discovered that at some point in the last two days, she'd broken her ankle and now required surgery.
Now, I'm thinking that if you're going to break a bone at the age of ninety, then the ankle is a solid option. Beats heck out of a busted hip, which is pretty much a deal breaker, if you know what I mean.
Grandma didn't even want to do the surgery. I suppose she figured she'd maybe tape an aspirin to it, rub some dirt on it, and limp it off. Who knew that my sweet grandmother was one of the original authors of the "Manly Manual" code?
Nails, I tell ya. Strait up, iron nails. "They're what's for dinner".
In any sense, my dad (who was supposed to be on his back with his knee elevated for the next 7 to 10 days), decided to take mom to Burley to be with grandma.
Who didn't see that one coming?
Like Dad's going to lay on a couch for seven days and not go berserk. After the surgery, I gave Mom an over-under of three days and the smart money was on the under. I think he almost made it a day and a half.
Pain?
Indeed. Go bother Chuck, would ya?
We're busy.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
One Down...
Woke up this morning to find that the job bunny had left me an assignment in my email box last night. My first one. I had to write a 300-350 word article for a Canadian city's tourism blog. It was a little weird expounding the virtues of a travel destination that I have never traveled to. Then again, I suppose that I did write the occasional paper in college on books that I hadn't actually read, so it isn't THAT much of a stretch.
***Editor's Note
There is a reason that I got a Bachelor of Science in English as opposed to a Bachelor of Arts in English.
Officially it was because I couldn't clep my Mandarin. Rather than add another three semesters to my graduation date, my advisor just switched me to a B.S. instead which required no language credits.
Unofficially it is because a BS degree seemed so much more appropriate for me; personally. What I mean is...am I, or am I not the Dark Prince of Bull Shhh...tuff?
***
Anyway, I'm not yet familiar with the rules and regulations regarding what I write for them and what I can and cannot copy or link to; so for now we'll say that I wrote a lovely little piece on the fishing in a small, local lake and that pending editorial review and client acceptance, I'm now ten dollars and twenty three cents richer than I was when I woke up.
Woo Freaking Hoo! Save me a spot at the high roller table, boys; the dice are a' calling my name!!
Yeah. Or not. Ten bucks for an hours worth of writing isn't a bad deal,really, and I think that once I get used to the system and the style guides, I'll crank them out quicker still.
It ain't much but its a start.
I spent yesterday at LDS employment looking for a full time gig. Not looking so hot. I thought it was rough when doctors said "Wow."
Every time I explain my situation and why there's a five year gap in my employment history, people say "Gee. That's just terrible. How do you keep going? I sure wish I had some way to help, but..."
You and me both, buddy. Tomorrow I go back to rework my resume and then next week I go for two days of interview and networking skills. I've already taken classes on this stuff before I graduated, so I'm expecting it to be mostly review, but I hope that I'll get something new out of it. If nothing else, they'll keep me too busy to mope about being a shiftless bum.
Well, it's the Boss's day off today and she's just waking up after closing last night. Time to go run some errands. More tomorrow.
***Editor's Note
There is a reason that I got a Bachelor of Science in English as opposed to a Bachelor of Arts in English.
Officially it was because I couldn't clep my Mandarin. Rather than add another three semesters to my graduation date, my advisor just switched me to a B.S. instead which required no language credits.
Unofficially it is because a BS degree seemed so much more appropriate for me; personally. What I mean is...am I, or am I not the Dark Prince of Bull Shhh...tuff?
***
Anyway, I'm not yet familiar with the rules and regulations regarding what I write for them and what I can and cannot copy or link to; so for now we'll say that I wrote a lovely little piece on the fishing in a small, local lake and that pending editorial review and client acceptance, I'm now ten dollars and twenty three cents richer than I was when I woke up.
Woo Freaking Hoo! Save me a spot at the high roller table, boys; the dice are a' calling my name!!
Yeah. Or not. Ten bucks for an hours worth of writing isn't a bad deal,really, and I think that once I get used to the system and the style guides, I'll crank them out quicker still.
It ain't much but its a start.
I spent yesterday at LDS employment looking for a full time gig. Not looking so hot. I thought it was rough when doctors said "Wow."
Every time I explain my situation and why there's a five year gap in my employment history, people say "Gee. That's just terrible. How do you keep going? I sure wish I had some way to help, but..."
You and me both, buddy. Tomorrow I go back to rework my resume and then next week I go for two days of interview and networking skills. I've already taken classes on this stuff before I graduated, so I'm expecting it to be mostly review, but I hope that I'll get something new out of it. If nothing else, they'll keep me too busy to mope about being a shiftless bum.
Well, it's the Boss's day off today and she's just waking up after closing last night. Time to go run some errands. More tomorrow.
Monday, July 19, 2010
So Where Are They?
The Boss was up at four this morning to get to work by five. Being the loving and kind husband that I am, I rolled over and went back to sleep for her. Which was fine for about an hour or so. Then Peff woke me up.
"Dad?"
"Hmm?"
"Haggis says there are monsters under the bed."
"Well, Haggis is full of it."
"Really?"
"Really." I said, waking up a little. I have a stock in trade answer for this one that I developed when the girls were toddlers and very concerned about the presence of monsters in their rooms. It worked for them, why not Peff?
"I can personally guarantee that there are no monsters in this house, son. When your mother and I bought it, we paid extra for state of the art monster detection and repellant systems. They are imbeded in the insulation between the walls. No monster could be in this house."
"Yeah, Dad, I know. I looked and there was nothing under there."
"I'm thrilled my money was well spent, though I'm beyond curious as to why you are waking me up at the 'plumber's crack of dawn' to tell me there are no monsters in the house. Go back to sleep."
"Um, Dad?"
"WHAT?!"
"How do you turn the monster alarm off? I wanna see one."
And that, my friends... is one more example of the differences between boys and girls.
I reviewed my "Manly Manual" just now and sure as heck; Age (6), section (2), subheading (a) reads:
"Monsters are the end all-be all of cool. You gotta see one."
Guess it's time to dust off that "Gremlins" DVD, huh?
"Deagle, Deagle, Deagle...."
"Dad?"
"Hmm?"
"Haggis says there are monsters under the bed."
"Well, Haggis is full of it."
"Really?"
"Really." I said, waking up a little. I have a stock in trade answer for this one that I developed when the girls were toddlers and very concerned about the presence of monsters in their rooms. It worked for them, why not Peff?
"I can personally guarantee that there are no monsters in this house, son. When your mother and I bought it, we paid extra for state of the art monster detection and repellant systems. They are imbeded in the insulation between the walls. No monster could be in this house."
"Yeah, Dad, I know. I looked and there was nothing under there."
"I'm thrilled my money was well spent, though I'm beyond curious as to why you are waking me up at the 'plumber's crack of dawn' to tell me there are no monsters in the house. Go back to sleep."
"Um, Dad?"
"WHAT?!"
"How do you turn the monster alarm off? I wanna see one."
And that, my friends... is one more example of the differences between boys and girls.
I reviewed my "Manly Manual" just now and sure as heck; Age (6), section (2), subheading (a) reads:
"Monsters are the end all-be all of cool. You gotta see one."
Guess it's time to dust off that "Gremlins" DVD, huh?
"Deagle, Deagle, Deagle...."
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