Tracey and I hit the drive-thru (er, "pick-up window") at Wendy's this afternoon while we were out doing errands. As soon as I pulled up to the menu, a girl's voice called out from the speaker, "Hi, welcome to Wendy's! May I take your order?"
Not having had time to examine the menu, I said, "Uhh..."
Without missing a beat, the girl replied, "We don't have any 'uhh.'"
It took a minute to register, during which I'm sure the girl was cracking up with her coworkers. I pulled myself out of my stunned silence and said weakly, "Ha, that's funny. Um, I'd like a junior bacon cheeseburger, please." Knowing Tracey also wanted something, I turned and gave her that classic spousal drive-thru look, the one that says Tell me what you want NOW, before I look like an idiot! (As if I didn't already.)
She, too, had been taken aback by the cleverness of the speaker-girl and had not had time to think about this. You can guess how she responded: "Uhh..."
Speaker-girl had finished punching in my junior bacon cheeseburger. "Will that be all?"
"No...my wife would like some 'uhh' too," I responded, pleased with my own quick wit. Hearing Tracey's order in my right ear, I continued, "Another cheeseburger, please."
"$2.46, please drive around to the window." I did.
When I got there, she was openly amused at our shared experience. "$2.46," she laughed. I chuckled, too, as I dug for some change in the ashtray. I grabbed two quarters, a nickel, and a penny and gave it to her along with two dollars.
"There you go, there's $2.56," I said, not expecting that the oddest part of the transaction was still ahead of me.
I am reasonably sure she was not joking when she handed me four pennies as change. I showed the four thin coins to Tracey with a quizzical look. We had another great laugh as we pulled away from the window.
Monday, August 29, 2005
Life without TV, version 2.0
Last spring, in my second-ever blog entry, I explained that we had made the drastic switch from digital cable in all its glory to absolutely no television at all, not even rabbit ears. We kept the box so we could watch DVDs, but that was it.
Well, it was wonderful while it lasted, but it was only a little more than three months later that our son Abel was born. And for those of you who don't know, little tiny babies nurse a lot at first. So poor Tracey would have to sit on the couch staring into nowhere for hour-long stretches a few times a day, and we made the decision that we'd plug in the rabbit ears. We both got used to it. Even after the baby learned to do his nursing business much more efficiently, we left the antenna in.
Until last week, when I unplugged it again. TV, in case you haven't noticed, is addictive. It's just too easy to turn it on instead of finding something better to do. I was finding myself watching Judge Judy a little too often. (I will not entertain any arguments that Judge Judy is not grade-A television; still, I don't want to spend five hours a week watching it.) Worse yet, Abel was starting to watch TV, too. Mostly PBS, mostly in the mornings, but other stuff on occasion. He had great affection for The Price Is Right. Usually, he just half-watched TV while he did other things, but sometimes, it really captivated him. I didn't like seeing that glazed look in his eyes, even on the rare occasions it appeared. That look was the final straw.
I am struck once again at how peaceful and quiet an evening without television really is. I read more. Tracey and I talk more. Abel barely notices the difference.
It's not as though we're about to slap a "Kill Your TV" sticker on our Subaru. (Only one sticker has made the car window cut so far.) We still watch movies regularly, and we're probably going to get Abel some Elmo DVDs. Speaking of which, a post about the universal appeal of Elmo is long overdue. But the nice thing now is that we only use the TV when we make an intentional effort to do so.
I'm still not sure what I'm going to do during football season.
Well, it was wonderful while it lasted, but it was only a little more than three months later that our son Abel was born. And for those of you who don't know, little tiny babies nurse a lot at first. So poor Tracey would have to sit on the couch staring into nowhere for hour-long stretches a few times a day, and we made the decision that we'd plug in the rabbit ears. We both got used to it. Even after the baby learned to do his nursing business much more efficiently, we left the antenna in.
Until last week, when I unplugged it again. TV, in case you haven't noticed, is addictive. It's just too easy to turn it on instead of finding something better to do. I was finding myself watching Judge Judy a little too often. (I will not entertain any arguments that Judge Judy is not grade-A television; still, I don't want to spend five hours a week watching it.) Worse yet, Abel was starting to watch TV, too. Mostly PBS, mostly in the mornings, but other stuff on occasion. He had great affection for The Price Is Right. Usually, he just half-watched TV while he did other things, but sometimes, it really captivated him. I didn't like seeing that glazed look in his eyes, even on the rare occasions it appeared. That look was the final straw.
I am struck once again at how peaceful and quiet an evening without television really is. I read more. Tracey and I talk more. Abel barely notices the difference.
It's not as though we're about to slap a "Kill Your TV" sticker on our Subaru. (Only one sticker has made the car window cut so far.) We still watch movies regularly, and we're probably going to get Abel some Elmo DVDs. Speaking of which, a post about the universal appeal of Elmo is long overdue. But the nice thing now is that we only use the TV when we make an intentional effort to do so.
I'm still not sure what I'm going to do during football season.
Friday, August 26, 2005
News and Notes
I've stopped making excuses about my occasional lapses into bog silence, and I've stopped predicting when and how things will return to normal. Basically, I decided I find it extremely boring when other bloggers talk about this stuff, and I wouldn't want to inflict that on any of you. Of course, what you just read is probably worse, but oh well.
Anyway, as of last Monday, I no longer work at the cafe, though I have some leftover chagrin I might share with you at some point.
I've used my extra time this week ripping up concrete slabs from a driveway, sealing a door from the outside (the insurance company was worried that a door opening out of a second floor bedroom into nothingness might be a "liability" or somehing), and starting now: CAMPING.
Unbelievably, this is the first camping trip of the summer for us, and actually the first since Abel was four weeks old. We've been looking forward to it for some time now. We even bought a new tent. So I'm gone until Sunday; enjoy your weekend.
Anyway, as of last Monday, I no longer work at the cafe, though I have some leftover chagrin I might share with you at some point.
I've used my extra time this week ripping up concrete slabs from a driveway, sealing a door from the outside (the insurance company was worried that a door opening out of a second floor bedroom into nothingness might be a "liability" or somehing), and starting now: CAMPING.
Unbelievably, this is the first camping trip of the summer for us, and actually the first since Abel was four weeks old. We've been looking forward to it for some time now. We even bought a new tent. So I'm gone until Sunday; enjoy your weekend.
Friday, August 19, 2005
Sermon this Sunday
For those readers who live in the greater Rochester area, I'd like to invite you to Artisan Church this weekend. I'll be giving a talk on one of our key values, "Roots." The service is at 5 p.m. Click here for directions.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Bob Jones University's crazy priorities
From the residence life guidelines of Bob Jones University (quoted verbatim):
Ahh, the south. Do these people worship Yahweh or Charlton Heston?
(Hat tip to Gary for inspiring me to check out BJU's website.)
Residence hall students may not watch videos above a G rating when visiting homes in town and may not attend movie theaters.That's right, kids. It is forbidden to watch Shrek, and oh, by the way, please remember to bring a trigger lock for your pistol. Exposing yourself to the evil machinations demonstrated in The Princess Bride would pose a risk to your faith, but you can carry a .45 caliber handgun, permitted you turn it in for storage.
All weapons must be turned in for storage. Trigger locks are required for pistols.
Ahh, the south. Do these people worship Yahweh or Charlton Heston?
(Hat tip to Gary for inspiring me to check out BJU's website.)
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Depressing heat
Rochester, NY: 92 degrees Fahrenheit
Las Vegas, NV: 87 degrees Fahrenheit
I think I'm going to take down my Las Vegas weather widget in Dashboard. It's depressing when the temperature here is noticeably higher here than it is there, and it's happened several times in the last month or so. Ugh.
Las Vegas, NV: 87 degrees Fahrenheit
I think I'm going to take down my Las Vegas weather widget in Dashboard. It's depressing when the temperature here is noticeably higher here than it is there, and it's happened several times in the last month or so. Ugh.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
The Price is (Still) Right
Granddad used to love The Price is Right; he watched it every day. Well, he watched part of it every day. Usually by the time they spun the big wheel for the first time his head was tipped back in his chair, his mouth open and emitting a faint snore. Out cold until you tried to change the channel, at which point he would wake suddenly and exclaim, "Hey, put it back! I was watching that!" I loved watching The Price is Right with Granddad.
Now I watch it with my year-old son Abel, born eight decades after Granddad. Abel loves the spinning wheel and the flashing lights and the jumping people. Today he waved back, two-handed, at the smiling showcase winner as she waved at the cameras in celebration.
I love the camp. The outdated suits Bob Barker wears, the unwillingness to update the set, the vague Ron Burgundy-era sexism that requires slender, busty women to parade around in swimsuits...and high heels.
And I chuckle at the advertisements, shamelessly aimed at people born, well, eight decades ago. Wilford Brimley plugging Liberty Mutual for your diabetes meds. (When he says diabetes, it rhymes with "try a Cletus.") Lou Rawls smoothly suggesting Colonial Penn for life insurance, no medical exam required, and you can never be turned down! If there has ever been a man with a more impressive voice than Lou Rawls, I haven't heard him. Several different versions of scooters for the elderly, as if buying a motorized chair will enable you to play tennis with your granddaughter. And the oily funeral directors imploring the newly-bereft to do right by their lost spouse and employ the services of this or that funeral home. Usually about the time I get really creeped out, the show comes back on and I can blot out the thoughts of impending mortality. Of course, Abel doesn't have to think about this stuff at all.
We watch it every other week or so, and I always imagine what it would be like to watch it together with Abel's great-grandfather Knox. I'm sure they would have enjoyed each other immensely.
Now I watch it with my year-old son Abel, born eight decades after Granddad. Abel loves the spinning wheel and the flashing lights and the jumping people. Today he waved back, two-handed, at the smiling showcase winner as she waved at the cameras in celebration.
I love the camp. The outdated suits Bob Barker wears, the unwillingness to update the set, the vague Ron Burgundy-era sexism that requires slender, busty women to parade around in swimsuits...and high heels.
And I chuckle at the advertisements, shamelessly aimed at people born, well, eight decades ago. Wilford Brimley plugging Liberty Mutual for your diabetes meds. (When he says diabetes, it rhymes with "try a Cletus.") Lou Rawls smoothly suggesting Colonial Penn for life insurance, no medical exam required, and you can never be turned down! If there has ever been a man with a more impressive voice than Lou Rawls, I haven't heard him. Several different versions of scooters for the elderly, as if buying a motorized chair will enable you to play tennis with your granddaughter. And the oily funeral directors imploring the newly-bereft to do right by their lost spouse and employ the services of this or that funeral home. Usually about the time I get really creeped out, the show comes back on and I can blot out the thoughts of impending mortality. Of course, Abel doesn't have to think about this stuff at all.
We watch it every other week or so, and I always imagine what it would be like to watch it together with Abel's great-grandfather Knox. I'm sure they would have enjoyed each other immensely.
Sunday, August 07, 2005
Happiness in Maine
I've been back home from vacation for a week now, which is about the amount of time it takes for all my good writing ideas to fade away. I had a really wonderful time visiting my home state and pining (no pun intended) to live there again, if only I weren't so rooted in a place 500 miles away.
We spent the week on Hogan Pond in the town of Oxford, a small little lake my father's side of the family has been visiting every summer since the 60s. It was a peaceful time with family both close and distant, many of whom met Abel for the first time since he was busy being born during lake week last year.
It's a funny thing, going back to Maine. Even with all its recent development (which sadly, has dramatically driven up the cost of living in Portland), Maine still lives a little slower than most other places. Cellular coverage is spotty outside the cities; wifi hotspots are few and far between; and the people just don't seem so intense. I like this about Maine, even though I also like good phone reception and checking my email.
The weirdest part about it, though, was realizing again that the place that was once the center of my whole life is a little more foreign to me each time I return. I'm sure everyone who moves away from home experiences this to some degree, but I somehow feel as though it's more acute for people who come from places like rural Maine. It's not just new neighbors on my old street; it's new houses and completely new lots that used to be trees. It makes me want to go back for real, to reclaim my heritage so it doesn't slip away from me completely. It also makes me doubt that I ever could go back, really. What's left for me there? Most of my family has even moved away by now.
It was all a grand melancholy time. I wanted it never to end. Here is the sunset on the last night we spent at the lake:
We spent the week on Hogan Pond in the town of Oxford, a small little lake my father's side of the family has been visiting every summer since the 60s. It was a peaceful time with family both close and distant, many of whom met Abel for the first time since he was busy being born during lake week last year.
It's a funny thing, going back to Maine. Even with all its recent development (which sadly, has dramatically driven up the cost of living in Portland), Maine still lives a little slower than most other places. Cellular coverage is spotty outside the cities; wifi hotspots are few and far between; and the people just don't seem so intense. I like this about Maine, even though I also like good phone reception and checking my email.
The weirdest part about it, though, was realizing again that the place that was once the center of my whole life is a little more foreign to me each time I return. I'm sure everyone who moves away from home experiences this to some degree, but I somehow feel as though it's more acute for people who come from places like rural Maine. It's not just new neighbors on my old street; it's new houses and completely new lots that used to be trees. It makes me want to go back for real, to reclaim my heritage so it doesn't slip away from me completely. It also makes me doubt that I ever could go back, really. What's left for me there? Most of my family has even moved away by now.
It was all a grand melancholy time. I wanted it never to end. Here is the sunset on the last night we spent at the lake:
Tales from the Mass Pike
It is a disturbing irony that the group of people who most need cruise control is the same group of people who seem blissfully unaware of its existence.
As anyone who has ever drive through New England knows, I'm speaking of Massachusetts drivers, more commonly known to people from Maine as "Massholes."
These people are the most infuriating, oblivious bunch you'll ever meet. I for one use cruise control all the time, and if I am in a car that doesn't have it, I obsessively check the speedometer every thirty seconds or so to make sure I'm maintaining speed. So you can imagine my frustration when I pass a car going up a hill, only to have that same car immediately slide out into the left lane to pass me on the way down the hill. Especially when I've already passed the car three times in the last five miles, and it slows down as soon as it gets back into my lane.
That's bad enough, but it's not nearly as maddening as being stuck behind a car in the passing lane going the exact same speed as the car in the slow lane. It's really astonishing. These people have no concept of the common highway courtesies that have kept drivers sane for five decades. They will coast along at whatever speed they wish, with no regard for which lane they are in or what the speed of the car in front of or behind them is traveling.
In Rochester, highway road rage is mostly caused by hockey fans in Irocs who think their genitalia will shrivel up if they are passed by a station wagon and thus accelerate every time you try. I've learned to live with that. But if I had to drive on the Mass Pike very often, my son would learn some very bad language sooner than I'd like.
As anyone who has ever drive through New England knows, I'm speaking of Massachusetts drivers, more commonly known to people from Maine as "Massholes."
These people are the most infuriating, oblivious bunch you'll ever meet. I for one use cruise control all the time, and if I am in a car that doesn't have it, I obsessively check the speedometer every thirty seconds or so to make sure I'm maintaining speed. So you can imagine my frustration when I pass a car going up a hill, only to have that same car immediately slide out into the left lane to pass me on the way down the hill. Especially when I've already passed the car three times in the last five miles, and it slows down as soon as it gets back into my lane.
That's bad enough, but it's not nearly as maddening as being stuck behind a car in the passing lane going the exact same speed as the car in the slow lane. It's really astonishing. These people have no concept of the common highway courtesies that have kept drivers sane for five decades. They will coast along at whatever speed they wish, with no regard for which lane they are in or what the speed of the car in front of or behind them is traveling.
In Rochester, highway road rage is mostly caused by hockey fans in Irocs who think their genitalia will shrivel up if they are passed by a station wagon and thus accelerate every time you try. I've learned to live with that. But if I had to drive on the Mass Pike very often, my son would learn some very bad language sooner than I'd like.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Apple releases new multi-button "Mighty Mouse"
Don't be fooled by the stupid name (and please, no more silly speculation that Steve Jobs is going to take over for Michael Eisner...), but check out this cool new multi-button mouse: Apple - Mighty Mouse. So long, "control-click."
A 360-degree scroll ball for up-down/left-right/diagonal scrolling and customizable touch-sensitive buttons in a seamless shell, all designed specifically for Mac OS X. Don't tell Tracey, but I'm definitely getting one of these.
A 360-degree scroll ball for up-down/left-right/diagonal scrolling and customizable touch-sensitive buttons in a seamless shell, all designed specifically for Mac OS X. Don't tell Tracey, but I'm definitely getting one of these.
Back from vacation
Hi folks, I'm back. I'm still unpacking and doing laundry and such, so I don't have much time to write anything now, but I just couldn't stand to see those dismal 14 page load days anymore.
I have plenty of inspiration from my week away, and I hope some of it will spill over into this space soon. Until then!
I have plenty of inspiration from my week away, and I hope some of it will spill over into this space soon. Until then!
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