Floor no more!

Thumbs way up.

Gaze your eyes upon this marvel:

You might wonder why I would be so excited about a rather tacky-looking part of our house. Well, cease your wondering and hear this: last night I finished the last non-closet piece of hardwood flooring in the house. Considering that we started laying the floor almost a year and a half ago, this is quite a cause for celebration! You might notice that the final row of wood there is way skinnier than the other rows. I ended up ripping it lengthways. It got pretty tricky in the place where part of the drywall comes down lower than the rest - I had to chisel out a section of it so I could squeeze the strip in place. Lucky for me I'm so danged handy and clever.

So that's Done with a capital D (and a -one tacked on right after). Like I've surely said before on here, I'll say again - you should buy me a beer! Seriously, you should get me one.

I've got some closets left to finish, and in the remodeling of our main bathroom there will be some tile to lay, but getting to this point is a huge milestone. When projects drag this long, I tend to lose sight of the end, and suffer a lack of hopeful imagination. To be perfectly honest, if we ever buy another house, and someone tries to pitch to me that the house "has potential", I will probably go momentarily insane and give them the most painful wedgie ever experienced (this side of the Mississippi, of course).

Oh, and in case you're wondering what type of floor this is, it's cherry birch. I think the "cherry" part of that is really just the stain, 'cause the wood doesn't have a hint of red underneath.

So, in sum:

-All room-hardwood done,

-Buy Joe a beer, and

-Consider it wise (had to find a way to start this one with a C)
(and -onsider) to never tell me a house "has potential" unless you realize the same is true for your underpants.

Tales of Two Victories

Howdy y'all! Glad you could make it back after over a month of shirking on my part. You might read the title and assume more of a continuity between the ensuing tales than actually exists. Really they're only connected in that they're both part of my life, and both tell-worthy. Oh, and I'd better go ahead and throw this up there:

WARNING: Graphic images of man-over-nature conquest. Not for viewing during meals. Strong caution to anyone with a soft spot for annoying flying pests.

I haven't said anything on here about our trip to Tennessee in early November. It was great. We stayed with these people, this guy and his wife, and this guy. Other than a night in Chattanooga, TN, we spent the rest of the nine-day trip with these good friends. So good to see them all.

It was while we were with the Cavins in Murfreesboro (yes, that word has too many r's) that I decided to venture out for a game of disc golf. Though it was a difficult course, I was enjoying myself until about hole 13. First, I threw a disc into some bushes. Not a game-wrecker in and of itself, mind you. So I go to retrieve it.

New paragraph for dramatic emphasis. While bending down and pushing a side a branch, something flies into my ear. Yes, you read that correctly, a bug assaulted my ear. So I did the logical thing and began to freak out. I cussed the bug. Didn't help. Hopped around while bug-cussing. Nothin'. Pulled on my ear and ear lobe, attempting to widen the hole so bugzilla could make its exit. (Verbal abuse strategy still being executed at this point.) Nada. I figure maybe I can dig the sucker out with my pinkie finger. Nope. And now my ear is hurting a little bit from jamming my finger in. Not to mention burning from my own creative brand of tongue-assault.

I should also point out that there is a periodic throbbing from the beast flapping some kind of wings. Magnified, of course, by the proximity to my eardrum. Kind of like when you stick earphones in and don't realize all your volume controls are maxed out. But way more maddening because THERE'S A FRICKIN' BUG IN YOUR EAR.

Now, by this point I've started to make some observations and hasty doomsday conclusions. One, my disc golf game is pretty much over, because my ear is starting to hurt, and for all I know, I've busted my ear drum by digging around in there. Second, if I have in fact busted my eardrum, I might have to go to a hospital and the rest of the vacation is ruined. If it's not perfectly obvious to you already, I was ill-equipped to handle a bug in the ear.

I make for the car. Hopping, fuming, and pulling my ear all the way in hopes of evicting my unwelcome tenant and salvaging my game. I don't think too many people witnessed the spectacle. I race for the Cavins' house. By this point I'm unsure whether the intermittent throbbing is a result of the bug refusing to give in to death by earwax or the whooshing of wind past my busted eardrum.

I finally arrive at Casa Cavin. I burst inside and, upon seeing Kathryn, tell her gravely that I need her help. She comes into the bathroom and I bring her up to speed on the situation at hand.

"There's a bug in my ear. Either it's still alive, or I busted my eardrum and now it's throbbing from the wind."

"How would you have busted your eardrum? Did you jam something down in there?"

"I stuck my finger in to try and get the bug out."

"You wouldn't be able to reach your eardrum with your finger."

"Oh. Okay, good."

"Plus, your ear would be killing you."

"Okay, it doesn't hurt that bad. So it must still be alive in there."

At this point, we formulate a plan. From high school biology, I remember that bugs can be killed with rubbing alcohol. From high school lifeguarding, I remember that the stuff you use for swimmer's ear is basically just rubbing alcohol. So the first step is to drown the perp with alcohol. I lean over, pour some in, and there's a moment of extra-intense throbbing. Finally, it stops, and I know that whatever is in there is dead.

Jenny has an idea of how to get the thing out. Kathryn has already looked in my ear and can't see a thing. So we use a sucker bulb (the kind used to clean boogers out of babies' noses) to squirt, no, violently flood my ear with water. Kathryn did it once and it didn't work. I'm like, "okay, let's try it again, but you don't have to do it so hard this time." Jenny's all, "actually, sorry, it does need to be that hard." Take two. The water rushes painfully in. Bingo! It worked. Kathryn can see something big in my ear, so she grabs a Q-Tip and fishes it out. Guess what was in my ear. You ready for this?

A fly. A very large housefly. Or bushfly, perhaps? We've surmised that it was likely mutated and bred for being huge and nasty and evil. Wanna see it? Lucky for you, I've got before and after pictures!

Before (this is once the fly is first out of my ear):

After (once the fly got all that was coming to it):

So yes, justice was done. And I'm posting this on the interwebs as a warning and example to any and all (bugs, mainly) who think it might somehow be a good idea to get into my ear and buzz around and not leave in a timely fashion. Beware!

Now, on to another victory - baby! Kathryn and I are very excited that this coming Thursday we'll find out if we have a bell-pepper sized boy or girl! This is probably the biggest milestone yet of the pregnancy, though of course the pregnancy itself is a huge milestone given that for the 11 months prior to getting pregnant, we weren't able to get pregnant. God's been so good.

Something about knowing whether we'll have a boy or a girl makes this thing so much more real. Not that it hasn't seemed real yet. When your wife only ever wants to sleep, eat (only of necessity, though) and puke, it's pretty hard to ignore the reality that there's a baby in there. But soon we'll actually know something about our baby. Something more than he or she has a head and arms and legs and a beating heart, which are all amazing in their own right. It seems like the real beginning of discovering who this wonderful little person will be, and who the Lord will be making him or her. (It will also be the beginning of not having to constantly type "him or her" or "he/she" or "Floriberto/Floriberta".)

I wonder what else you will be, little one. A jock? An artist? A nerd? (Well, we kind of already know that one.) A comedian? (Again, no one is questioning this one.)

Will you be shy? Outgoing? Subtle? Pull-no-punches? Inquisitive? Fearless? Boundlessly energetic? Boundary-pushing? Bold?

I know you will be loved. Indeed, you already are. I know you will be brought up to be on constant lookout for the Lord, finding him in both unlikely and time-tested places. I know we will teach you to present those discoveries to the world so people can taste the goodness the Lord has baked deep into creation. I know you'll be someone who cares deeply about people, and constantly learns to better put their needs ahead of your own. I know you'll be a joy to know and see.

I'm excited about the surprises you'll bring us. About the ways you'll teach us to love and trust and not be so jaded about life.

I can't wait to hold you and kiss your little head. People will probably think I'm running for office.

I'm sure that moment will come soon enough! In the meantime, Mommy and Daddy have lots to do to get ready! This includes making sure your room has a floor. Aren't we the best?

Okay, readers, I'm talking to you again. Thanks for stopping by! I'll try not to make it forever between posts, but we all know how that can be. Until next time, remember what we've learned today:

-The only good bug is a mutilated bug, and

-Coming soon, Boy or Girl Peebles! We'll let you know!

Icees and Marriage

After nearly 8 years of marriage, Kathryn and I are still learning new things about each other. Couples with more years under their belts have said the same thing. They've said, "After nearly 8 years of marriage, Kathryn and Joe are still learning new things about each other." See? It's what everyone is saying these days.

The occasion for today's revelation was a romantic luncheon at Gattitown. We got our hopes up when the Icee machine didn't have an "Out of Order" sign like it did last week (yes, we're star customers at G-Town these days - for some reason, Kathryn feels less preggie-sick when she's eaten pizza), but upon closer inspection, the mix wasn't ready yet. Drat! Foiled again!

So we set to eating lunch. At one point, I go for a drink refill and notice that the Icee machines are ready to go. Sweet! I get one small cup of cherry Icee for me, one of Coke Icee for Kathryn, since those are, of course, what both of us most like. I set them down on the table in their respective places and go back to get napkins. I come back and Kathryn is laughing, saying "Are you joking? You're not going to drink all that cherry." I said, "Why not? I like cherry."

(I'm starting a new paragraph because this is the part where the story really takes off.) She says, "How in the world do you like cherry? Everytime we get Icees from Sam's, you always insist that we get Coke."

"Of course," says I, "because you like Coke more than cherry." "Nay," replies the wife, "I like cherry better than Coke." "Really?" "Really." "Hm."

Says Kathryn, "So you really don't like Coke better?" "No," quoth yours truly, "I prefer cherry." "Hm."

Anyways, I could go on and describe the part of the conversation where we candidly worked out our feelings on Blue Raspberry, but that's either another blog post in itself or not worth going into.

Wow. Who'd a thunk it? Nearly 8 years of marriage and we'd been doing this crazy little Icee dance, neither of us getting what we truly wanted, both of us trying to sacrifice a little to try and please the other person. To think that all this time, we could have both been savoring more of that frozen cherry goodness, instead of settling for less. Boggles the mind. Whether or not the lesson in all of this is, as the psycho-babblers love to put it, "COMMUNICATION!", I've certainly learned something about my wife, and I'll take it on serendipity.

Needless to say, this one has almost certainly already gone down in Wikipedia as the Great Peebles Icee Surprise of 2009, and will be told and embellished for generations to come.

Names

Hello again, friends and families! I'm still here, and have just been pretty swamped taking care of a sickly Kathryn and her stomach-baby. Lately, my motto has been, "Hate the pregnancy, love the baby." Wait, hang on...

Okay, I'm back. Ironically enough, I was called away to attend a nigh-puking Kathryn. (Actually, I didn't type "wait, hang on" before going to help her, if you're wondering why someone would keep a sick pregnant woman waiting while he finishes a thought. I typed it in after I came back because it was just too appropriate.)

Anywayz, despite all the sickness and tiredness, we're excited about baby and you'll undoubtedly be hearing all about it on here.

I'll kick off the baby-blogging by asking for a little help with names. Specifically, boy names. Girl names seem easy to me, because you just end them with -ylie or -era or -va and they sound pretty. Piece of cake. But boy names, that's harder. I'd like it to sound masculine enough, without being overused, and it has to go okay with the name Peebles. Sure, those last two apply to girl names as well, but still, for some reason, we're finding boy names harder to add to our list of potentials.

So I thought I'd turn to my fan-base for a little help! I'll get the ball rolling with a few leading contenders, and then maybe we'll get some good suggestions rolling in. Sound good?

Here's what I've got so far:

-Floribert (I think maybe it's Italian or something... seriously, this one really grows on you)
-Phoseph (You know, if I wanted to honor myself, but in a subtler way than Joseph II)
-Gandalf (No one would dare mess with someone wielding a powerful name like Gandalf)

So... post a comment with your ideas! If you don't, I'm likely to use one of the aforementioned names!

Housies!

It's official, folks - we've got people living with us! As Kathryn noted, Ryan and Chalyce moved in last night. Whoop! Despite apparent subconscious anxiety and an overall challenge of succintly describing "them living with us", I'm super-stoked.

Let me deal with the latter of those caveats first: how to refer to them. It's trickier than you might think. Some people throw out the term roommate without any regard to etymology. (I know, I know, it's a crazy world we live in. Words aren't just words, you know.) But hello, they're not sharing our bedroom. So "roommates" is out. I also thought, Hey Joe, maybe call them "cohabitants". Unfortunately, this word has a connotation that prevents it from being appropriate to our context. So that's out too. I think I've figured it out, though. I'm gonna go with housie. (Disclaimer: we haven't actually sat down to have the DTR talk yet, so this is subject to change.) It even checks out okay on Urban Dictionary if you go with the second meaning.

If you know me, you'll know that it's rare that Urban Dictionary and I see eye-to-eye. But this time, we're cool.

So we've got housies! People who live in our house in a non-weird way in a part of it that's enough on the other side of the house that we all have some privacy but also we share a kitchen and living space and generally get to know good friends better by living in close proximity! Housies! Yay!

Those of you who know me better than just my dramatic history with Urban Dictionary might be thinking, how is Joe's subconscious handling all of this? You might be wondering that because you knew that I grew up as kind of a loner-nerd and have only become super-cool in the past few years. Yes, I know this comes as quite a shock to those of you who have only known me in recent years, but I used to be socially awkward.

How does this play into being around people all the time, and not just in public? I'm going to have to work that one out. I'm not worried about stuff coming to the surface as far as wanting more isolation than I'll be able to have, I'm just trying to be ready for it if it does come up.

Then again, my subconscious may have had something to say about it all, based on my dream last night.

I dreamt that I got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. (Our bathroom is across the hall from our bedroom.) I open the door to go in, and Ryan is standing there. One of us says, "Oops, sorry". (I forget who. By the way, the part of the house they're living in is on the far corner from our bedroom, and it has its own bathroom.)

Pretty wild stuff. Probably a bit of a letdown with all the buildup, too.

So. Here's to good times with the new housies! Here's to building community and people not being fazed by other people's crap! Here's to sharing lasagna, pillow fights, and having someone else to mow the yard! (Heh, heh.) Or something like that.

Here's to a true thumbs-up event.

It's a tie!

COWPIE #5 has officially ended, the votes are in, and folks, we have a tie!

This means a verdict will effectively never be rendered about whether it is better to:

a) cram as many random elements into a chunk of writing with no regard for how they will resolve (a la Joe), or

b) come up with a cool (albeit nerdy) idea and a direction for the book, and properly pique readers' interest in getting to the ending you already envision (Kathryn-style).

To each their own! Well done, Kathryn. Until next time...

COWPIE #5! Book hook

Howdy folks! Welcome to another quality installation of the COWPIE phenomenon! menon. mahna. Anyhooz, you remember the drill. Read this entry, and the one over here, and post a comment to vote for your favorite! Or post an entry in a comment to join in the fun! Voting closes Sunday night (otherwise this would go on forever - gotta count all these manually, you know).

Here's the prompt for this go-round:
Write the first few sentences (120 words or less) of a book. Could be any type of book. Most gripping entry wins.

So that's what I did. Microsoft Word will back me up: I've got 120 words - precisely - of the most hand-wringing, seat-edge-inhabiting, mind-gripping prose this side of the Brazos. Ready to blow your Chacos off. But prepare yourself: it's going to be a veritable roller-coaster of emotion. No sooner will you have devoured 120 juicy, delicious, well-seasoned, not-too-overdone, with a hint of cumin, savory words, than you will suddenly and inescapably be overcome with disappointment that what comes next will, in fact, never come next. It will literally be said, for years to come, "that's all he wrote."

But cheer up. In the meantime, you've got a COWPIE to devour! Enjoy every last fresh, steaming word. Without further a-doo...

(Actually, go ahead and take a minute to let that last string of jokes wear off before moving on. Okay, ready? You sure? Proceed.)

Chapter 1

11:55. It’s nearly time, Maurice. Oh well. Nothing more you can do now. Even if there were still time for agonizing, that wouldn’t make them understand. Friends. Bah. Each and every one of them false. Each and every one of them, regrettably, about to lose everything.

11:57. Fools. You warned them, Maurice. Weird science, they said. Fuzzy math. Bad religion. Petty politics. They wouldn’t listen to reason or pleading.

11:58. You can do this. You must do this – it’s the only way.

11:59. Was that a slight breeze outside? Is it possible? Down here? Can’t be –
but that means –

12:00. Time.

Maurice unzipped and stepped outside his tent. Taking one last look around, he ran like he’d never run before.

Regarding telephones

First, a grievance:

It's difficult for me to conceive of areas of our country from where you can still get a busy signal when making a telephone call. I suppose it's the sheer age of call waiting and voicemail technologies that make this particularly astonishing to me. I'd love to see some kind of nerdy statistic to support my bafflement, like "a decade of our time is equivalent to two centuries of ancient time" in terms of the development and adoption of new technologies.

I don't know why it drives me so batty to get a busy signal when I call a person or a business, but it does.

Next, the irony:

I can't receive text messages on my cell phone. A number of people have pointed out to me that "everyone gets text messages", so I wonder if this handicap, combined with the increasing representation of gray on my facial and cranial hair, ages me prematurely. (I think I'd actually be okay with this if it hastened retirement or discounts on food or coffee, but I doubt it will.)

Times like this make me reluctantly appreciative of God's sense of humor. Not to mention his amazing sense of economy at providing these kinds of dramatic entertainment at my expense. Blessed are the poor - for they will find they are rich enough to be made fun of.

One man's trash...

(from the draft pile...)

I recently sold this beauty to an older couple from Hearne:

Somehow, even though my life isn't ultimately defined materially, it still seems that the cars I drive have a kind of influence on the way I perceive my identity. Or at least, the way I perceive the way I'm perceived.

Take the Escort, for example. In a kind of "Blessed are the poor" meets "I'm so awesome because my experiences of early-life-stage middle-class poverty-approximation totally outdo yours" way (you know, the conversations where people try to one-up each other on what their parents made them drive as starter cars, and the like), I'd really grown into an appreciation of the kinds of reactions I would get as I started up that car close to a group of friends, and puttered away, carried along by an engine that was tens of thousands of miles past due for a tune-up. (Seriously, this was the car that could always be heard coming from at least a couple of blocks away, with its mighty 1.8 liter V4.) As an added bonus, I would make sure they got a good view of the back bumper as I drove off - or at least, the half of it that still remained. (Sorry, no pic here - the one above was my "best foot forward" teaser for the Craigslist posting.)

But it was as much fun to drive as it was for others to experience me driving. Consider all the "personality" that the new owners had to find compatible with theirs in order to want to make it their own:

-Windows didn't roll down. (This is because, after a while, the kind that you crank yourself start wearing down on the inside, and once it starts taking a strong man to roll and unroll them, the parts just aren't made for that kind of brute strength.)

-A/C didn't work on the top setting. (And the second highest-setting certainly wasn't cutting it in Texas summer heat.)

-Engine idled rough. More precisely, it shudder-heaved. (Best to slip it into neutral at stop signs and stop lights.)

-Transmission fluid and oil leaked. (No biggie - just add a little more every other day.)

-Visors weren't really movable anymore. (Sunglasses a must.)

The poor dear had begun to show her age, too. Peeling paint, rusting metal. A handful of dents and dings (other than the bumper, all of these were inherited from the previous owner, a.k.a. "Sistah".) But, having been built Ford tough, this was hardly cause to raise an eyebrow.

Ah, the memories. It wasn't my first car, or even my second, but it certainly was one of the most memorable. And who can put a price tag on such experiences? Actually, in this case, that would be about $450. So we'll hope for the best, but if it goes kaput, then at least the old couple aren't out too much money. May it treat its new owners well and not become rural yard art.

So, goodbye, my weird friend. It's been interesting. I say that because it sounds better than frustrating. But now I've got stories to tell, and that's something that money truly can't buy.

It dances, I geek out!

(This post brought to you by the "up" thumb.)

This is not news, really, though it was to me. If you haven't heard of the Sony Rolly, check out a demo of it here.

I don't know exactly why, but this strikes me as one of the best possible uses of technology. Sure, it might seem like some kind of technology with medical application would easily be more important, and I would agree to a degree since I am a contact lens wearer, but a lot of those technologies are aimed less at enabling disabilities and more at prolonging the inevitable. Whatever, right? That could just be a dumb opinion of mine that will change "when it happens to me", but bodies weren't meant to last forever, and we can't make them that way.

Rant over, geek start. This little dancing robot is so cool. (I've got robots on the brain lately since a friend of mine did this cool little project.) I think that's because it reminds me of the genius and purpose of art - and what it is and isn't. A conference on the arts I attended last year stressed that art shouldn't have utility; instead, it is what it is. It will resist attempts to use it for what it's not created to be. It's useless, but in a good way. It's there to be enjoyed and appreciated. (At least, that's what I took from the conference, whether I'm butchering the concepts or not.)

Rolly plays music and dances. So I guess it's useful in terms of having something around the house that plays music. But I don't think you can use it to make a call, or take a picture, or manage your calendar. You just enjoy it, and that's the beauty.

I don't care if you buy one or not. But if you do, I'll probably invite myself over and sit and watch it for hours. And drink your beer, if you have any.

Rise of the Machines

No, I haven't seen the new Terminator movie. (Not the same title, anyways.) That's not what this is about.

Check out this little nugget of ridiculosity. Virginians are not allowed to smile when getting their picture taken at the DMV. New computer software aimed at improving prevention of fraud and identity theft by comparing mugshots over time won't allow it.

It's not the first time we've made machines and forced ourselves to accommodate to them. I sit at a desk all day with a comfy chair and wrist pad and perfectly adjusted monitors so that I can stay sitting longer and be more productive. (Don't get me wrong, I like my job.)

But this one is harder for me to stomach, somehow. Just wait. Next they'll (it's kind of fun to lump all the nasty people in power into one steaming pile and suggest that all of them are out to keep us down and make our lives miserable) be banning people from driving whose knees bend the other way. Sound far-fetched? The dark future is coming, my friend.

Renaissance of the Nerds

Ever since this went down a few weeks ago, it seems as though Kathryn and I have been going through something of a nerd-renaissance.  (And yes, I was able to spell that last word without looking it up.)

I'll be brevious.  Recently Kathryn and I were driving and a bird flew across the front of our car.  It stayed in view after that, and pulled a sort of horizontal 180 degree flip, followed by a wicked upswing that was all the more impressive given the short amount of time it all happened in.

Here's the conversation that ensued:

Me: Did you see that bird?

Kathryn: Yeah, that was cool.  It did like a feinting wonky.

Me: You mean a Wronski Feint?   (Kudos to the Muggles who didn't let me down by giving me something to hyperlink to.)

Kathryn: [laughs]

In the conversation that followed, Kathryn admitted to sometimes intentionally botching up Lord of the Rings character names so that I could get them right and correct her.  Sorry Chica, but after blowing me out of the water a few weeks ago in our house Nerd-Off, nobody's buying it!  Plus, I think if we were trying to make Jesus cry by taking something he said and making a general 'principle' out of it, we could take the time when he said he'd be ashamed of us if we were ashamed of him and apply it generally to identity issues, such as being true to ourselves (which is essentially the same as being true to whatever personality or trend we follow anyways) - in which case, not being true to one's own innate nerdness is, by some form of logic, tantamount to messianic desertion.

Nerd out.

COWPIE #4 - T-shirt bleach stenciling contest!

Howdy folks, and welcome to another quality installment in our COWPIE series! This week's challenge:

Make our own t-shirt designs using bleach stenciling.

This particular prompt gave me a unique opportunity to blend the worlds of philosophy and fashion in a way that only a person with such little respect as myself for either world could possibly even imagine. As such, I make quite the many-layered statement (alas, if only I'd worn layers to deepen the metaphor), as you will soon see below. Not only that, but my particular approach to sticking it to the people who stick it to the man is particularly clever, if I do say so myself.

That self-said, I present you with my latest "piece":


Before I leave you to ponder the depths you've just been awakened to, let me show you Kathryn's next...


So there you have it. Enjoy, and be sure to vote for your favorite! Tune in next week for our challenge of making a 15 second television commercial for something you’d use on a daily basis (can be real or made up). Later!

JoeZone is back!

Greetings, all of you, on this fine Earth Day. Not only is today significant in terms of saving the planet, but it also happens to be a Wednesday, a.k.a. Hump Day. Put those together and you get Hump Earth Day.

While that revelation is certainly worth a gratuitous blog post in and of itself, I wanted to bring glad tidings of renaming my blog (the whole "make-the-title-so-long-that-you-fall-asleep-reading-it" bit had run its course) and adding a cool photo header! (I feel so 21st century!) Kathryn and I snapped some cool pictures in Corpus Christi last weekend, ultimately inspiring the makeover. (Our new digital camera is so cool!) So "JoeZone" is back and as cool as ever, just like these guys.

Anyways, you've got things to do, and I've got a t-shirt to bleach before 12:01 am tomorrow morning, so I'll blog atcha later.

COWPIE #3: Worldwide Issue Song

It's here! COWPIE #3 and my song. I'm so pumped - music writing is fun!

The prompt: Create a song, no longer than one minute, addressing an important global issue of your choosing.

I chose global warming! Or sustainability. Though, to be perfectly honest, I really thought we didn't want to sustain the warming of the planet. Whatev.

(Note: There is now a video inserted, though originally I just did the song for the contest. This is me coming back later and adding the video that Kathryn later put together since a widget I'd used to play the song in the first place no longer works.) After you listen, check out Kathryn's entry and listen to her song, and then vote (once) in the comments on one of our blogs to select the winner!

I'm posting the words here in case any parts of the song are hard to understand. You might try just listening first so you don't spoil fun surprises! Don't worry, you'll want to play this song several times anyways (at least), so there will be plenty of opportunity later to make sure you understood me correctly (which is important, of course, so that we all do our part). Also, this or this might help you understand the reference at the end...

Lyrics
Is it getting hot in here, or is it just me?
There's nasty greenhouse gases and rising seas
If something doesn't change we'll all be cooked alive
Don't know 'bout you but that ain't how I wanna die

We've got to take action before it's too late
There's polar ice caps melting while you hesitate
Let's change the policies that are too lenient
Move it or lose it - the truth is inconvenient

(So now let's...)
Go green, save forests, use better bulbs
Check tire pressure on those vehicles
Reduce, reuse, recycle, but what is more
You've got to believe the power is yours

(Earth, fire, wind, water, HEART!)

You've got to believe the power is yours!

COWPIE #3 Teaser

Yes, I know that COWPIE #2 hasn't officially closed voting yet, and no, this isn't some lame attempt on my part to get more votes because I'm afraid I'm not nerdy enough. (I'm actually quite secure in my nerdiness, thank you very much.)

I wanted to give y'all a heads up of what to expect for next week's COWPIE challenge. Since we got our first additional participant in the challenge this week, we want to be sure to give y'all enough time in case anyone else wants to get in on the fun, especially because next week's prompt is a little more demanding:

Create a song, no longer than one minute, addressing an important global issue of your choosing.

There you have it - you have been officially teased! Remember to vote for your favorite "Number Two" COWPIE entry!

COWPIE #2: Nerd-off!

Boy howdy, it's time for another COWPIE! This week's prompt is to write a Top 10 “Why I’m the most nerdy” list. Once you've read my post and Kathryn's post, then please cast a vote!

(edit) THIS JUST IN: Cory has also submitted an entry! Check it out here. You can vote for his on either blog by specifying that you're voting for Cory.

But first, a quick note about a change in voting procedure: to vote, simply post a comment on the blog you think should win. You only need to vote once, and votes can be anonymous. This way we don't have to keep switching back and forth between each of our blogs and wondering if we voted for ourselves on both. (Look, I'm not implying anything about Kathryn's last-minute come-from-behind tie on the first COWPIE - I'm just sayin'.)

That said, enjoy, and... Nerd On!

Top 10 Reasons Why Joe Is the Metanerd of the Peebles Family

10. Nerdy sound bites. Remember that commercial where the hard-luck kid walks home from school in the rain and then goes to Chuck E. Cheese to redeem his pitiful day? When they get to the arcade, he says to his older brother, "You're on my turf now!" Apparently, I thought this was the thing to say one time when I was playing YMCA soccer and was facing off against kids I knew from school. Turns out it's really just the thing to say if you want to give the cool kids another reason to laugh at you.
9. Just an old-fashioned nerd-song, coming down in four-part nerdery. In college I was part of a barbershop-gospel quartet called AcaFellas. Yeah, you can go ahead and just cast your vote now, and then continue reading the rest of the top-ten list.
8. Front-row Joe. While we're on the subject of music, I should mention that I love singing along with any bass line during movies (especially when in the theater). No, that's not Dolby, that's Joe the human soundtrack, pimpin' it with some groovy Movie Booster Aca-Bass.
7. Average times per week that I visit Wikipedia for longer than a couple of minutes: more than 7. You do the math. Or let me, ‘cause you know, math + anyone = nerd…
6. Preach it, brother. Speaking of math, in high school algebra class one day I got the inspiration for a sermon at church (our church would let young guys preach from time to time): an algebraic equation about a + b being greater than c or something like that, comparing it to Jesus saying “the greatest among you will be your servant”. (And yes, I absolutely worked the whole thing out into a sermon.)
5. Fashion sense, or lack thereof. Other than my honest ignorance that black and orange don't go well together (no, it wasn't Halloween, but it was 8th grade), there was my personal policy of staying at least six months behind any trend of any kind. The first major cave-in to trend-pressure was ankle socks. To my surprise, ankle socks were actually AWESOME.
4.Typical Friday night in high school: TGIF (Urkel, anyone?), maybe study a little, go to sleep.
3. Favorite sport: Disc golf. Yes, I love to frolf. Let me know if you need to borrow my bag or get some instruction on proper driving technique sometime. Anytime. Seriously- I'm usually not that busy.
2. Video games. Not only did I own and play video games obsessively, but I also had favorite books, TV shows, and movies that were all video game-based or -themed. (Did I mention the bed sheets that were video game character-themed?)
1. How do you spell N-E-R-D? I got my high school letter jacket my sophomore year. For UIL Spelling. Yes, before I ever lettered in choir, I lettered in spelling. Now that's layers. L-A-Y-E-R-S, layers. Wonderful, nerdular layers.

COWPIE #1: Funny childhood story

Welcome to the COWPIE! Be sure to read this post and Kathryn's post and then vote on both sites! My voting gadget is on the upper right side of your screen. Enjoy...

COWPIE#1: Tell a Funny Childhood Story

When we were younger my parents would leave my sister, Emily, in charge if they ever both had to leave to run errands. She only got the job because she's 5 years older, which is actually age discrimination and should have been prohibited by equal opportunity laws. At any rate, I was some number of years away from any kind of familial-organizational restructuring (via college or marriage), so I swallowed my misgivings against my parents' business sense and channeled them towards my sister the way that only a little brother can.

One such occasion occurred shortly after my dad had just recently finished a homemade paddle, intended solely for me (I remember vividly watching through the glass patio door as he sawed the wood, whistling while he worked). Now, it wasn't long after Mom and Dad left that Emily imagined me to have done something wrong. (Creativity runs in the family.) She insisted I should get swats for it. From her. I respectfully declined, or something like that.

Nevertheless, she went and found the newly made, yet-to-be-broken-in paddle and began to yell at me to come get swats. Nope, I said. Yes, she said. Nope, nope, nope. Then the next part happened in slow motion: frustrated at her attempts to administer discipline in her newly acquired role as interim dictator, she raised the paddle to the sky and then smashed it to the ground. It broke, of course.

Emily and I looked at each other and instantaneously put aside our differences, because now there was a situation. We both knew a broken paddle would raise too many questions, so we raced to find the glue. Found it. Then we painstakingly applied it to the paddle and made sure it didn't leave marks. We did a pretty decent patch job and breathed a sigh of relief because we were able to finish all this before the 'rents returned.

Fast forward a few weeks. I was just going about business as usual, having a good time being myself when my Dad suddenly imagined me to have done something wrong. This time, there's no avoiding the paddle. (This was a conclusion I had gradually come to over time, through trial and error.) Dad gets the paddle. I assume the position. Here's the wind up, now the pitch (you know what's coming, right?)... the paddle splintered! Right down the fault line we had so carefully worked to conceal. Our cover blown, I braced for the moment when Dad's realization would become my annihilation. But the moment never came. Instead, Dad was laughing hysterically and my hindquarters were silently rejoicing at their multiple-swat reprieve.

It was months or years later, of course, when Dad was finally imparted a fuller understanding of why these events transpired as they did. But until that time, all that friends and family heard was the tale of Strong Arm and Solid Bottom.

Ready, Set, COWPIE!

Hello, patient ones! Sorry I've been so long in lobbing some near-awesomeness up into the blogosphere, but all your waiting is totally about to pay off. Kathryn's already posted this on her blog, but I'm posting it on here to doubly pump up the hype. (If you've already read this on hers, make sure you read the end of this, because I'm writing some stuff after what she wrote, and Google Analytics is watching!) Without further a-doo...

Get Those Noses Ready...
Introducing the first installment in another quality creative endeavor: our brand-new Contest Of Weekly Peebles’ Internet Exchanges! Yes, COWPIE! What’s more, you get to be a part of the magic and fun!

Every week, the Peebleses are challenging each other to a duel. One of us (this first week is Kathryn) will choose a topic for both of us to blog about, and then we will commence preparing our blog entries. Have a challenge suggestion? Leave it as a comment!

The Rules

-Written contests have a 500-word limit.
-Blog entries must post to websites at 12:01 AM every Thursday.
-Votes (this is where you come in!) must be cast by 11:59 PM every Sunday night. Go vote on both of our blogs, but vote the same on each!

The First Challenge

Write about a funny story from childhood.

Not an April Fools Joke. Seriously.

You may be looking at your calendar and noticing that today is April Fools'. Rest assured, that has nothing to do with this. I'm about as serious as I usually am in saying that. But really folks, COWPIE is a real thing that we're going to be doing. If it were an April Fools' joke, then I wouldn't go to such great lengths to convince you that it's not. Even I know that's not funny.

But, in the spirit of April Fools', here's a real April Fools' joke.

I recently won a Nobel Prize! After I saw that all it took was a cool Power Point slide-show, I was inspired to make a video about the dangers. You know, all those really dangerous ones that are totally making the planet a sucky place to live. So yep, I met the President and the UN and scientists and stuff like that, had all the vegetable and fruit trays a guy could possibly want, and what's more, got this really cool plaque that I'm totally going to buy a shadow box or something for. And...

Psych! APRIL FOOLS'! Y'all, I totally was making all that up! Seriously! I bet I totally had you going. Next year, I bet you'll be on your guard. Won't matter, though, on account of I'm such a crazy character.

Anyways...

I guess I should make one final push for COWPIE. I hope you're as excited as we think you should be! Butter up some popcorn, wash the dog, and get ready, because COWPIE debuts in less than 24 hours! Kathryn, you best check yourself, because it's ON.

A picture consists of 242 words

I wish I could draw. My mom thinks I can, but then again, she thinks I can do anything. (Thanks Mom!) I think her unwavering faith in her son, in this case, comes from drawings of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles that I used to make in junior high. In no way were the drawings even close to the same level of skill of that guy's, or even my friend Matt's - whose "works" I was copying. But apparently beauty is in the eye of the beholder. What can you say but... Turtle Power! (Seriously, now I can't remember if this is just the first time I've blog-linked that song - sad, right?)

Anyways, the draw to draw that inspired this post in the first place came as I was reading this about the lending crisis and why banks won't or can't lend money right now. About the time the article mentions the Obama administration's efforts to "jump-start [the] crucial machinery" of the banks and markets to get the economy chugging along again, I began assembling this mental picture:

A small group of people in suits, all looking grave, yet resolute, addressing a crowd. One man (probably Obama) among those in suits, speaking to the crowd in grave, yet resolute tones. Behind the suited group addressing the crowd, another small group of suited people, bent-over examining the gears and guts of a ginormous, ridiculous-looking machine (approximately the size of a decently large sports stadium), scratching their heads, puzzling anxiously about how to get the thing running again. I imagine some in the crowd of observers are watching the speakers, and others are watching the group of people scrambling to fix the machine - in either case, watching expectantly. Somehow (this is why I'm not an artist - I have no visual imagination), whether with labels or through some slick, subtle artistry, the viewer realizes this is some kind of massive deep-fryer. Pan out (again, if this is a picture, I realize there's no such thing - but I bet good artists can attract your focus to parts of the picture in stages) and you see a massive farm and garden, bursting with all kinds of delicious food, ready to be harvested and possibly even plucked off the branch or vine and eaten. You look again at the crowd and realize that everyone looks kind of hungry and irritiable, as if they've forgotten how to eat (the master artist has rendered the crowd with a dazzling feat of complexity, of course).

I am enough of an artist to know that this is the point where I sit back and let you savor the rich irony of the picture I've just painted. Go on, savor it.

Thumbs for the road: life is like a (fill in the blank)

So my post title is probably a bit confusing. Here's what I'm trying to accomplish in the following few moments of your time:

-Give a "thumb report" for something crazy that happened yesterday, and

-Make some deep, I'm talking real deep observations about what life is like (I'll explain more about the "thumbs" theme tie-in when I get there).

Thumbs way down

So, apparently I'm terrified of mice. Last night I was working in our extra bathroom to start pulling up the floor (we're prepping it for a plumber who can go in and move some pipes so we can put the toilet in a location that makes more sense than the one it's currently in). This involved taking screws out from the hardibacker board I'd so carefully put down a few months ago, as well as starting to saw through the plywood subfloor (I know, boring details, but I promise it gets good). All of this must have been quite unsettling to the poor mouse who'd made his home in the area recently, because seconds after I hear some kind of pitter-pattering sound behind me, I see THE STREAK. (At this point, I feel it necessary to point out that the animal was still a rat rather than a "mouse on steroids" as Kathryn later put it.) THE STREAK evokes THE SCREAM. THE SCREAM is immediately followed by THE FLIGHT. During THE FLIGHT there is somehow THE SECOND SCREAM. Soon enough I'm in the same room with Kathryn, which upon entering earns me THE LOOK and THE PUNCH.

Here's the same story, this time told from Kathryn's perspective (this portion of our program is brought to you by Vantage Point - own it on DVD and Blu-Ray now!). "I was in the kitchen making a pizza. In the other room I could hear the sound of the drill, which had been going, off and on, for a while. One of the times when it stopped it was immediately followed by Joe screaming. Over the course of the next 2 seconds, here's what ran through my mind: Oh my gosh! How many appendages did Joe just cut off? Can I find a container to put ice in? Will I be able to find the severed parts? Where will we go? Is St. Joseph's the closest hospital? What's the quickest way there? About this time Joe comes in and I do a quick scan - he doesn't appear to have any bloody stumps anywhere." At this point both stories converge with THE LOOK and THE PUNCH.

In my defense, that mouse came out of nowhere. Seriously, it's like he materialized right through the wall of the bathroom vanity and charged right through my line of vision. Also, this mouse was in no way "mousy" - the thing was big enough to be a small rat. And I have seen mice on the run before. They look like little blurs. Not large, ravenous rat-mammal uber-blurs. I swear the thing was ravenous.

Anyways, since my wife works with lab-mice on a daily basis, I went ahead and let her take a look in the bathroom to see if she could spot it. (I figure since I'd led the charge on the roach wars I could take a more cautious approach this time.) Later on I put my adrenaline-induced frenzy aside and placed a baited trap in the area where we saw some mouse droppings. Nothing yet, but I think we'll get the beast in due time.

Thumbing a Ride on the Road of Life

I've had some thoughts stewing around in my head for a few days about what life is like. (You know - life is like... "a journey" or "a box of chocolates" or "it is what it is" - those types of things.) The impetus for these thoughts have been life circumstances that have forced me to become more comfortable living with unfinished things. Goals not yet accomplished. Tasks sidetracked. Sidetracked sub-tasks sidetracking other sidetracked sub-tasks. Those types of things.

Buying a house that was so much further from being done than I realized when I bought it is one of the things that's got me on this train of thought. Another is a project I may soon take on at work (which would involve slowly redoing a large database and website) that could drag on for months or years. Paying off debt and getting financially stable is another fun one.

And then there are things people start that they don't even get to see finished. Like people who already have kids. They know that at some point they'll die and the life they helped start will continue on after they're gone (what a horrible thing that sometimes it happens the other way around). Who are we to think we can accomplish anything? What do we know about finality and worth?

I know people who are addicted to "getting things done" because "it feels good to". I'm not going to lie - I've got a pretty long list of things I'd really like to get done - not necessarily because I'm eager for that sense of accomplishment, but because I'm tired of having things on my list. But lists never clear and stay cleared - we know that, right? I don't know, maybe there are some super-nazis out there who push through and get stuff done on schedule despite the odds and challenges, but I certainly don't operate that way.

Really, I think this is the kind of thing that leads people to say things like, "Life is a journey, not a destination." (Or Ralph Waldo Emerson - whatever.) I guess maybe people who buy into that would see the value in challenges being character-making, and they would rank that above personal achievement. Or maybe they'd take a balanced stance and say personal achievement (arriving at your destination) only gains its value when it's viewed holistically, together with the character-making process of facing challenges (being on the journey).

I looked around a little bit to see some people who have been quoted with thoughts on the subject. (Note: I wouldn't necessarily trust that this guy got his sources right, since apparently Emerson ripped his quote off of Steven Tyler.)

I like the Martin Buber quote because he mentions the secret destinations. It's hard to think of a journey, much less a destination, when most undertakings involve so many detours that you go from "we'll get there when we get there" to "by the time we get there, we'll already need to be somewhere else."

By the time you settle into a new technology, a newer is already taking its place, making it obsolete. By the time you finish the house, you're moving to a bigger one or taking a job in another town. By the time you pay off debt, something (or someone) breaks and you're scrambling to pay for repairs.

That's why when Jesus says, "It is finished", that has to be a really big deal. He's either full of total bull crap or he's totally the man who succeeded in something we've all been failing at all along.

It's nice to know that, in this world, at least somebody is getting something done.

Ride on, King Jesus, ride on. Just as long as I can hitch.

Daily Thumbs Report - February 4, 2009

Thumbs Down

Finding a roach on the curtain behind our heads, above our bed, first thing in the morning.  BLECH.  Thankfully, it was on the other side of the curtain.  But I think it'd been there most of the night, because I remember looking up at one point and noticing some kind of blob above my head.  Not cool.

Thumbs Up

Store-brand Irish Creme non-dairy creamer.  Pick any store-brand, they're all pretty consistently good.  I wouldn't try applying the up-thumb to other types of non-dairy creamer; many of them are so fake they're nasty.  And this one's probably fake too, but somehow it just works anyways (enough for me to buy a thing of it to keep in my desk at work).

Thumbs Down

Weak coffee.  So we have two types of coffee in the office, one generic (it's actually pretty good, though I don't think it's your typical Folgers or Maxwell House or any of those) and also Starbucks Verona - very nice.  Except when people think that since it's bold they can only use part of the packet for a whole pot of coffee.  At that point it's not real coffee, at least not any more than Pierce Brosnan is a real singer.

Thumbs Up

Martin's Barbeque.  Sausage wrap, fries, tea with free refills, and a 24% tip: $5.10.

Thumbs Up

Navasota Theatre Alliance.  Kathryn's involved in a play called George Washington Slept Here.  Last night I went to watch them rehearse.  Fun stuff!  I'm looking forward to seeing the finished product.  Teaser: Kathryn will be showing off her Lamplighter barnyard skills...

Thumbs Down

More roaches.  We got home and I got to clean up the carcasses of five dead roaches from around the house since I sprayed strategically all over the house before we left for Kathryn's rehearsal.

Thumbs Up

Dead roaches.  The best kind, of course.  If nothing else, the sheer number of dead ones tells me that my strategy of spraying this stuff in strategic locations paid off.

Thumbs Up

I don't intend to end this blog post on a gross note.  So I'll leave you with a positive, warmly happy story:  

A family was sitting around their living room one sunny afternoon, enjoying life and each other, laughing at the antics of their crazy, but lovable ham of an uncle.  Suddenly, their new puppy, recently rescued from the animal shelter, scampered into the room happily, sliding on the floor and into a fluffy bean bag chair.  Promptly, the too-cute puppy turned its head to the side and made a quizzical face.  The beautiful family in their sunlit living room all burst into laughter at the utter adorableness of the puppy and enjoyed a moment they will cherish forever.