Two weeks

Despite the name of this blog and my self-proclaimed love of crushed beans and hot water, I haven't had any coffee to speak of in more than two weeks. I don't feel tired and I only miss it occasionally. How long can I go with out it?

Close, but no cigar

Thanks to that music and food extravaganza, On the Waterfront, all of downtown where I work is being transformed into a nuthouse of stages, food booths and beer gardens. And they use all the parking lots to do this, making it even more difficult to park. So today, I have to play beat-the-meter-maid by moving my car every two hours from parallel spots on the street. I found a spot at a sweet location right across the street from my office. When I opened my door and swung my leg out, an SUV smashed into my open door, just missing my leg.
It was a bit unnerving.
Thankfully the driver is a co-worker and has insurance. The door still shuts, but now the chime rings incessantly when I drive.

Rats off a sinking ship

Another person in a long line of colleagues and friends in the print journalism business told me today that she's looking to get out, perhaps into public relations. If she's successful, she'll be the eighth person I know to jump ship within the last year or so. Can't say I discouraged her. Everyone who's left tells me how much more pleasant life is without manic deadlines, unreasonable taskmasters, erratic directives and a general sense of doom about the future of your livelihood. But I don't mind doing it for now. It's a job and one that gets me home for dinner every night, and that's about as rare as an extra edition in this business.

Culinary review: Brownies

Tonight I redeemed collected coupons for a pizza at Domino's and they threw in their new Oven Baked Brownie Squares for free. Let me tell you about these things. Not since the McGriddle has a fast-food chain created such a delicious-yet-disgusting treat. They're basically tiny gooey chocolate cubes, crunchy on the outside, and you dip them in a fudge sauce that looks like used motor oil or a cup of really strong espresso. And wowza.
The fact is, they taste like exactly what they are: a chemically engineered treat, created by food scientists to hit the right tongue papillae and manipulate our gustation processes with the precision of a laser-guided rocket. It works and your tongue explodes with the sweet taste, but somehow, it just doesn't feel right.
I don't think I'll ever eat them again.

That was fast

To my dear readers who know Megan Edwards, onetime Auburn cross country runner and former newspaper journalist, you may be interested in this exciting bit of news. She's getting married. On Friday. Hope you're not doing anything.

Standing tall

I was sitting at the dining room table reading while Nicholas busied himself with his newest toy, a miniature washing machine. All of the sudden he calls me, "Daddy, daddy!" I turn my head; he's standing on top of the coffee table. When I look at him, he announces, "I'm tall." Despite the clear violation of The Rules, all I can do is laugh.

School days, school days

So Meegan finished her second week of school on Friday, and let me tell you, I am exhausted. No really. Her nursing program is relentless and demanding. She studies every night for hours and still flunked a quiz. Oh, but flunking in OSF's school means getting a 77 percent. Because Ds don't pass at all (so that's an F) and the lowest C is a 78. A 78, people!
It couldn't be more difficult if she were learning the mystic secrets of Kung Fu with one of those long-goateed gurus who teaches his pupils some esoteric truth by making them carry well water in thimbles up a 500-foot staircase to fill his bath.
But the reason I am tired is because I take care of Nicholas while she's studying. Hey, it's really tiring!

Wife beater

I really can't stand Wal-Mart, but not because it's re-making our global economy by tearing it down. The real reason I hate it is I CAN NEVER FIND ANYTHING and the place always looks like a horde of Mongols just pillaged it. But when in Rome you've got to do as the Romans do. So, I try to fit in. Tonight when I went, I wore my shirt open with a wife beater underneath, chest hair exposed and gut protruding. I always try to go for "slovenly" when I'm there. Stained shirts, plastic flip flops, pajama pants, something. I think maybe there's a master's thesis in here somewhere: The Accoutrement Choices of Wal-Mart Customers and the General Decline of the West.

Pacific Air 121

Well, the cold hard truth is that the weekend is nearly over and I haven't seen Snakes On A Plane yet. I know, I know. After all the hype, all the waiting, all the uproarious laughing at similar ridiculous titles (Best: Komodo Dragons On A Short Bus), I guess I'll have to wait a little while longer. But the real terror is knowing that at 30,000 feet, you can't get off the plane. You're stuck with those snakes.

I know, I know. It's weird

I haven't had any coffee in 48 hours. After the initial mind-numbing withdrawal headache subsided, I'm feeling, well, not so drowsy all the time. Odd.

Toilet training: Retreat!

That's enough toilet training. For two days I took Nicholas back and forth to the bathroom, bribed him with M&Ms and toy trains, but it just wasn't clicking. After he peed on the floor for the third time in one day, I gave up. I don't think he cares that much about having a mess in his pants yet. You can lead a toddler to the toilet, but you can't make him pee.

For my sensitive readers

You may not want to read the last few posts as they concern matters that may make the lightweights and singles squeamish. Those of you with young children have nothing to worry about as discussing matters of bodily function is just normal conversation.

Toilet training: You gotta spice it up

Potty training can get kind of boring, so you have to find ways to entertain yourself, as Nicholas demonstrates in the photo. I was beginning to get discouraged about what has turned into a routine M&M dole with no actual toilet use, since I just remind him every 15-20 minutes to go upstairs to the bathroom and he obliges for chocolate. It's especially disheartening after Nicholas peed on the floor twice this morning with little concern. After some strong encouragement NOT to pee on the floor, but pee IN the toilet, a few minutes ago he announced "I will pee in the potty" and marched upstairs himself and dribbled a bit. So he got a new toy train, Spencer, the Duke and Duchess' private engine from the Thomas adventures (my dear readers who have preschool boys know what I'm talking about). So maybe we are making some headway.
Next challenge: No. 2.
I probably won't blog about that.

Toilet training Round 2: Dad 1, Nicholas 1

M&M reinforcement works like a charm! Nicholas is now sitting on the toilet quietly waiting. Unfortunately, we didn't make it there fast enough last time around. Oh well. We're moving right along though.

Toilet training Round 1

NOOOO!
That's Nicholas' response to any suggestion of potty training. But, the introduction of a big glass jar of M&Ms into the conditioning efforts has met with mixed success. So far, the promise of an M&M has encouraged Nicholas to sit on the toilet with the lid closed and to briefly attempt to sit on the little toilet seat emblazoned with Dora the Explorer, which was purchased just for these efforts.
It's gonna be a long day. B.F. Skinner, don't fail me now!

Without a hitch...

First night in big boy bed? No problem. Nicholas was eager to crawl under the covers and have his dad read books next to him on the bed. Then he went to sleep and didn't get out of bed once. Not even when he woke up in the morning. He just cried for someone to come get him (his usual morning wake-up routine). Of course, his wake-up came at 6:20 a.m., more than an hour earlier than usual. My guess is that he used to wake up in his crib and lie there for a while before making noise. Now he just wants to get up. I mean, he is a big boy after all.
Tomorrow's challenge: potty training.

End of an era

I just assembled Nicholas' first big-boy bed. He thinks it's great, especially to jump on. The only problem is, it's about three feet off the floor with mattress and boxspring on it. So we have to get some sort of guardrails for it to keep him from rolling off. In case you're wondering, it's a twin bed with a silly name from Ikea. I wonder if those resourceful makers of cheap furniture really name their products in Swedish or if they just make the stuff up. Nicholas' bed looks just like that one on the right, but it's half as wide. I think Nicholas will sleep on it tonight. We'll see.

Blogging, the gift that keeps on giving

Woo-hoo! This blog is spawning disciples. Take a look at Droppin' Science, the blog of Chaddy. But you better go before Galileo drops the orange. You'll like Chaddy; he's a scientist. He'll probably do more posting next week when he's bored out of his skull in Nevada where he'll be building sewer treatment plants.
BTW, tight blog name, Sir Chadwick.

SpySpace

One of the most annoying aspects of MySpace is the ads. Every time I navigate to a new page there's an ad for True, which from the ads is obviously a singles' meat market. It's kind of annoying because there's always a tempting scantily clad woman on the page. It's kind of like trying to stay pure while your walking down Bourbon Street in Mardi Gras. Not too easy.
But here's the best ad I ever saw for this Web site because it kind of blows the lid off, doesn't it? I don't know if that's really such a great advertising come-on. Thanks for warning me that convicts and lechers are trolling your site.

TV time

Welcome back to another exciting episode of Nate goes on TV. Today, you'll find our hero discussing a new life-saving method that could shake the medical community to its very foundations! Click on the link and then scroll down to the "related media" link for video.

The rich are different from you and me

Last night was my boss' going-away gathering at a tavern a block from work. There was the customary newsroom gift of a mock newspage heralding the departing employee's exit. For Adam, who heads to Melbourne, Fla., it was a doctored photo of the Baywatch crew with him as David Hasselhoff. But the best part of the night was our suprise A-list guest. I was looking out the door when who walks in but the wealthiest and most powerful man in town, Sunil Puri.
And he sat down next to me.
He was pretty much a gregarious salesman type, making self-effacing jokes and teasing and gesticulating and laughing the whole time. He owns most of the county and is building a $1.4 million house with Brazilian redwood floors and a guard shack. He didn't like it much when the newspaper wrote about his 17,000-square-foot mansion, detailing its six fireplaces, seven bathrooms and its three basketball courts worth of that redwood. But he was good natured about his disgust to us, mostly because none of the mopes at the table were responsible for the story.

Ouch

Well, the blazing heat is over for us in the Midwest, but the pain continues. During our four-day run of temps in the upper 90s, we blasted the central air like a CO2 fire extinguisher here at the homestead. Of course, even though the air conditioning ran all day, it couldn't keep the thermostat temperature below 80 degrees in this 100-year-old house. The upstairs rooms, where the cool air moseys to when it gets around to it, blazed even hotter. I even ran out to Wal-Mart in a feverish (and unsuccessful) attempt to buy a window unit.
Finally the rains came and the temperatures abated. But now last month's electric bill arrived.
Guess how much?
$412.
I've never even had a car payment that high.

Nicholas' turn

One of my fellow bloggers, Anna, has challenged me to write more about my son, because her blogging about her two preschool boys is pretty entertaining. So here goes. Tonight I let Nicholas stay up until 9 p.m. because we went to a party with extended family. He stuck his fingers in every dollop of icing on the cake before he ate his slice. Then he ran around bashing balloons and laughing at us when we inhaled helium and sang songs to him. He had a good time. But what I wanted to blog about was his bedtime. After stories, I usually read him a few verses from Psalms. He has Psalm 121 memorized and usually recites it with me. It was the Psalm the hospital chaplain taped to his incubator during his first week of life. And other than making sure I follow the routine at bedtime, he's usually pretty quiet when I read and pray. But tonight he had a lot to say.
As I read Psalm 139, he interrupted me.
"Jeeses loves da by-bul," he told me.
"Yes, he does," I replied.
"Jees is God."
"Yes, he is."
"Kwe pway?"
"Yes."
So I stammered out a prayer through my tears as I thought about Nicholas' little seed of faith. I said amen and started saying goodnight, but he said, "no talking." It was his turn to pray. He said:
"Hevedly Fader, pleez hep us. pees mak us strong. in jeez name, amen."