tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76113102024-03-23T13:47:12.696-04:00on like popcornColinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421796945348885980noreply@blogger.comBlogger629125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7611310.post-66191868679058884802010-03-06T20:46:00.006-05:002010-09-07T21:24:44.263-04:00Moving, PicturesAfter the most unceremonious blog outage in personal history, I return with a batch of Holga pictures and a new link for you:<br /><br /><a href="http://colindullaghan.com/blog/">http://colindullaghan.com/blog/</a><br /><br />That's where you'll find my posts from now on, since I've decided to switch to a WordPress blog with more features and fanciness.<br /><br />Here I feel inclined to rhapsodize about all the good times On Like Popcorn and I have shared, going back some five years, even. But there's no need. All those old posts are right there at the new address, down to the last inconsequential comma. All your comments are intact and everything.<br /><br />So it's all the same, really, except that I hope to start updating more often again, and I also hope if you were kind or amused enough to bookmark this site in the first place that you'll now take a moment to bookmark the new site as well.<br /><br />I promise to try and have something interesting to say somewhat regularly. See you over there.<br /><br />To sign off, here's one last batch of Holga pictures - all taken during our vacation to Beaufort, South Carolina a few weeks ago. (They'll also be at colindullaghan.com, naturally.)<br /><br />Enjoy.<br /><br /><object width="400" height="300"> <param name="flashvars" value="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2Fonlikepopcorn%2Fsets%2F72157623444024259%2Fshow%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2Fonlikepopcorn%2Fsets%2F72157623444024259%2F&set_id=72157623444024259&jump_to="></param> <param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=71649"></param> <param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=71649" allowFullScreen="true" flashvars="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2Fonlikepopcorn%2Fsets%2F72157623444024259%2Fshow%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2Fonlikepopcorn%2Fsets%2F72157623444024259%2F&set_id=72157623444024259&jump_to=" width="400" height="300"></embed></object>Colinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421796945348885980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7611310.post-55054981303409865702010-01-06T22:55:00.002-05:002010-01-06T22:58:09.563-05:00The Holga, She Still GoelgaFrom time to time now I seem to end up with a mysterious line through the center of my pictures, but considering I've now taken dozens of rolls of film with what basically amounts to a plastic toy, it's kind of amazing that the darned thing works at all. <br /><br />In fact I'm a little surprised it hasn't just disintegrated into little shards of hipster optic detritus. I'm still really liking shooting with the Holga, though. I hope you're similarly enjoying the results.<br /><object width="400" height="300"> <param name="flashvars" value="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2Fonlikepopcorn%2Fsets%2F72157623156709308%2Fshow%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2Fonlikepopcorn%2Fsets%2F72157623156709308%2F&set_id=72157623156709308&jump_to="></param> <param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=71649"></param> <param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=71649" allowFullScreen="true" flashvars="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2Fonlikepopcorn%2Fsets%2F72157623156709308%2Fshow%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2Fonlikepopcorn%2Fsets%2F72157623156709308%2F&set_id=72157623156709308&jump_to=" width="400" height="300"></embed></object>Colinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421796945348885980noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7611310.post-55873740554331295312009-12-31T19:44:00.003-05:002009-12-31T21:06:04.746-05:00My Top (Okay, Only) 5 of 2009I'll admit it: We don't get out much. You see, we had this <a href="http://onlikepopcorn.blogspot.com/2009/02/we-are-three.html">daughter</a> back in February, and that more or less monopolized our 2009 to the exclusion of much in the way of media and entertainment.<br /><br />(I understand there's a big fuss about vampires, provided they're young and attractive, and also Kanye West had a breach of etiquette of some kind, and apparently Tiger Woods ran into some marital difficulties.)<br /><br />But we did still manage to eke out a few movie nights and music purchases this year - just enough to scrape together a Top 5 list for each. And, tell you what, just because it's 2009 and everything, at least for a few more hours, I'll list our top 5 items in a category that was new to a lot of us this year, and hopefully not too irritating yet: iPhone "Apps." <br /><br />Oh, but you'll have to look past the fact that most of our films and albums weren't technically released this year. In fact, a few are downright crusty and aged. But we still *saw* or *listened to* them during the last twelve months, so I say it still counts. <br /><br />Feel free to comment on any you liked as well, or just to tell me I have terrible taste.<br /><br />I know, I know.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Movies</span><br />1. <a href="http://www.apple.com/trailers/fox_searchlight/fantasticmrfox/">Fantastic Mr. Fox</a><br />I have a hard time seeing how you could not love this movie. Every frame is a painting, and every scene's dialogue is at least a pretty good prose poem. Some folks who are smarter and pickier than I am said it didn't do anything for them, so maybe I'm just a sucker for George Clooney and Meryl Streep. And artful cussing, that too - using the word "cuss" instead of actual, you know, cusses.<br /><br />2. <a href="http://www.apple.com/trailers/picturehouse/panslabyrinth/">Pan's Labyrinth</a><br />I just saw this a couple weeks ago, during the inaugural meeting of our local small town Indiana film club (motto: "Hey ya'll, watch this") and was pretty blown away. It's dark, and deep, and beautiful, and you can't tear your eyes off the screen - even when you want to.<br /><br />3. <a href="http://www.apple.com/trailers/touchstone/theproposal/">The Proposal</a><br />Now, those first two I saw while sneaking out of the house and leaving Lope to cope with Veda. The <span style="font-style:italic;">majority</span> of the time, friends, I'm not nearly that jerky and instead stick around and help out. Which means that any movies I see are ones that she wants to see too. Which means some of them are, ahem, "chick flicks." (She may be a dizzyingly talented artist and the famousest Dullaghan in this household by a longshot, but she's still a girl.) Anyway, this one was pretty good. Betty White... you gotta love Betty White.<br /><br />4. <a href="http://www.apple.com/trailers/independent/theproposition/">The Proposition</a><br />Remember before, when I was saying that stuff about Lope and chick flicks? Forget it. I just remembered, while searching for The Prop...osal (similar starts, you see) that she and I got this from Netflix several months back, and it was brutal and poetic and as manly as a hank of chest hair soaked in diesel fuel. Can't say I *enjoyed* it, per se, but it <span style="font-style:italic;">is</span> really good, and I did see it in 2009, which puts it in select company. The TV version of <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0479760/">Sweeney Todd</a> (Ray Winstone, not Johnny Depp) was also excellent and fits a pretty similar description. That one came on the cable box one morning while I was waiting for Veda to wake up again.<br /><br />5. <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0107048/">Groundhog Day</a><br />Oh man, Groundhog Day. You've seen it - everyone has. In fact, a <a href="http://www2.kenyon.edu/Depts/Religion/Fac/Adler/Misc/GroundhogDay.htm">host of religious leaders</a> have acclaimed it as enlightening and spiritual. We saw it again the other night, bearing that in mind, and I'll tell you - it holds up well.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Music</span><br />1. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Fantastic-Mr-Fox-Original-Soundtrack/dp/B002TVLN1I/ref=sr_shvl_album_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1262305648&sr=301-1">Fantastic Mr. Fox (Original Soundtrack)</a><br />See how I never mentioned how great the music was in this movie while I was gushing over how great the, uh, movie was? That was so I could save my gushing for here. I find it amazing that these songs can add so much to the film and yet stand so well on their own. The Bobby Fuller Four song that played over the credits had me feeling so good I was ready to jump up, slap the projectionist and demand that they replay the movie all over again.<br /><br />2. Elizabeth Mitchell - <a href="http://itunes.apple.com/us/album/you-are-my-little-bird/id219402664">You Are My Little Bird</a> (2006)<br />Another non-new release (my little way of guaranteeing my 2009 lists don't match anyone else's), but worthy of inclusion on just about anybody's favorite album list. Especially if you've got kids. Ol' Elizabeth (she could be 25 for all I know) has the voice of your favorite aunt, or Sunday School teacher, or just that person you overhear singing to herself in the grocery store, and you absentmindedly follow her clear through the produce and into the cereal aisle before realizing you forgot to pick up pickles or anything else. She also picks really good songs to cover, in my opinion, including numbers by Bob Marley, Jimi Hendrix and, ahem, Burl Ives.<br /><br />3. Explosions in the Sky - <a href="http://itunes.apple.com/us/album/the-earth-is-not-cold-dead-place/id318951781">The Earth Is Not a Cold Dead Place</a> (2008)<br />This I love because, well, because it's awesome, but also because I got it on the expert recommendation of the dude behind the counter at the <a href="http://www.lunamusic.net/">world's best music store</a>. I said I liked "electronica, but played on real instruments," and from that sub-par prompt he pulled out this. "Like Sigur Ros without words," he told me, rightly.<br /><br />4. Sapient - <a href="http://itunes.apple.com/us/album/letterhead/id279093900">Letterhead</a> (2008)<br />Also purchased at Luna, and arguably <span style="font-style:italic;">because</span> it was at Luna. You see, the opening track has this huge, thumping, exciting beat to it, and since I was previewing it on the record store's headphones (instead of my tinny laptop speakers), I really "got" it. The rest of the album has proved similarly thrilling, even if it's not the type of thing I ordinarily listen to anymore.<br /><br />5. Bobby McFerrin - <a href="http://itunes.apple.com/us/album/medicine-music/id675602">Medicine Music</a> (1990)<br />That's right. That would in fact be a two-decade old album on my Best of 2009 list. But, like I said, it's new to *me,* and it was available really cheaply used, and Penny said we would like it. We did. Veda too. Rare is the day that cannot be made better by a playing of these songs.<br /><br />Honorable Mentions: <br />Grizzly Bear - <a href="http://itunes.apple.com/us/album/veckatimest/id314837656">Veckatimest</a> and <br />St. Vincent - <a href="http://itunes.apple.com/us/album/actor-bonus-track-version/id310715541">Actor</a><br />Both excellent, and both recommended to me by <a href="http://ryan-noel.blogspot.com/">my hippest friend</a> (everyone should have a Ryan in their lives, but don't go trying to poach mine), but nudged out of the Top 5 because they didn't get as heavy a rotation here at the house as the others, and because they're both already on everybody else's '09 list, because they're that good.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">iPhone Apps<br /></span>1. <a href="http://itunes.apple.com/us/app/google-mobile-app/id284815942?mt=8">Google</a><br />Ought to come with every iPhone. I hope non iPhone people (Blackberries? Droids?) can have it too, because it's why smartphones were invented, as phar as I'm concerned. Want to know something? Ask your phone. Your words will come up in the window, you'll hit the button, wait a second, and then you'll know.<br /><br />2. <a href="http://itunes.apple.com/us/app/remote/id284417350?mt=8">Remote</a><br />Apple actually makes it - gives it away free, matter of fact - and if you play music from your computer through speakers (or through your house stereo via Airport, like we do), it's the ultimate party trick/actually useful service. Even shows you the album art of whatever songs you're playing, and lets you turn the volume up or down, in addition to skipping tracks at will.<br /><br />3. <a href="http://itunes.apple.com/us/app/toycamera/id288895702?mt=8">Toy Camera</a><br /><a href="http://onlikepopcorn.blogspot.com/2009/09/takayuki-fukatsu-improved-my-weekend.html">Takayuki Fukatsu</a> makes the best, easiest way to take amazing photos with your phone. He just does. I don't know if he does anything else, like darn socks or play Reveille or anything, but he's so good at this one thing I'm fine if he doesn't.<br /><br />4. <a href="http://itunes.apple.com/us/app/bloom/id292792586?mt=8">Bloom</a><br />Courtesy of ambient pioneer Brian Eno and musician/software designer Peter Chilvers, This one is... uh... I'll just let the creators describe it."Part instrument, part composition and part artwork, Bloom's innovative controls allow anyone to create elaborate patterns and unique melodies by simply tapping the screen." And they're right. Also good for mesmerizing infants.<br /><br />5. (tie) <a href="http://itunes.apple.com/us/app/pandora-radio/id284035177?mt=8">Pandora</a>/<a href="http://itunes.apple.com/us/app/slacker-radio/id298307011?mt=8">Slacker</a><br />Don't like any of my Top 5 albums? Great! Just get either of these free applications, to access their free service, and hear free songs based on whatever you *do* like. A lot of which you may not have heard before. Funness ahoy.<br /><br />Honorable Mention:<br /><a href="http://itunes.apple.com/us/app/kids-jokes-jokes-for-kids-by-kids/id304078370?mt=8">Kids Jokes</a><br />Ever wish your phone was a wrapper from some Laffy Taffy? Now it can be. Click the button and see the latest jokes for kids, *by* kids. They send 'em in, somehow. My favorite so far, and what earned it the mention here:<br />"What did the fish say when he ran into the concrete wall?"<br /><br />"Dam."<br /><br />Dam. Thanks for reading my list, friends, and I hope you found something worth investigating. Pretty much everything on here was something I only knew about because somebody else was nice enough to clue me in, so it's the least I could do to return the favor.<br /><br />Happy New Year's.Colinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421796945348885980noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7611310.post-47973691981511648742009-12-25T13:13:00.006-05:002009-12-25T13:42:59.483-05:00Merry Christmas 2009A little backseat holiday caroling from your little friend Veda. <br /><br />Enjoy, and if I don't talk to you before New Year's, have a happy start to 2010 too.<br /><br />Now it's time to get back to more merriment and food and gift-giving and food and family togetherness and food.<br /><br />Merry Christmas!<br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxI-KQNyscYqodgDWe_XLCqWAaI3QdzbRIZRMOpQinSc_7GA_2TdaS6iAhD_xbrs49nmUYSLQOO-YA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Colinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421796945348885980noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7611310.post-73314875439980279892009-12-18T09:27:00.003-05:002009-12-18T10:17:06.294-05:00Advertising May Not Be the Highest Art Form, But It's the Best-FundedI tell people I write ads and they kind of get uncomfortable. They don't know what to say; it's like I just confessed to torturing kittens for a living. But not all ad people are smarmy hucksters, you know? <br /><br />The guy who stencils casino urls on the sweaty shoulders of boxers? Not me.<br /><br />The one who clutters up your commute with hideous billboards bearing messages that amount to "made you look"? Not me either.<br /><br />Whoever is making beer ads full of jiggling, bikini-clad narcissists, or packaged-goods commercials featuring the stereotypical slackjawed husband and the disgusted, but brilliant wife, or all those Axe ads that demean everyone involved, on both sides of the tv screen - I claim no responsibility for any of it.<br /><br />I hate all that stuff at least as much as you do. (Even more, I'd wager. But not at GoldenPalace dot com, because I hate their stupid ads.)<br /><br />I've been in this business over ten years now, which feels weird to say, but it's true. And the people I've met and worked with aren't interested in hijacking your attention with some <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/10/28/colonel-sanders-at-the-un_n_337629.html">sleazy promotion</a>. We really just want to tell our clients' stories in the most interesting and compelling way possible. To cut *through* all that crap people *think* we do - using smart, considerate, useful messages that (naturally) stand out beautifully.<br /><br />Yes, there are a few of us who are go-for-the-throat salespeople, and would gladly take the consumers and shake them upside down by their ankles until the change rained from their pants pockets, if they thought it was a "viable communications strategy," but they're the spurned rarity in most agencies I've worked with.<br /><br />(In fact, while a lot of us, myself included, are really impressed with the cleverness of a recent restaurant's campaign called "<a href="http://www.expenseasteak.com/">Expenseasteak.com</a>," which lets you forge receipts for business purchases like staples and copy paper so you can actually spend company money on lavish lunches at the client's eatery, a good many of us - myself included - think it's actually not advertising at all, but something else altogether. Like, oh, fraud.)<br /><br />But I'd been waiting for an example of how real ad people think about the work they do, because I knew that without some kind of evidence it would probably sound more like I was just defending my livelihood and trying to justify all the mental mugging and kitten-torturing I <span style="font-style:italic;">really</span> do all the time.<br /><br />Moreover, I knew that hearing ad people talk about what they're doing as though it were art, when really it's just "some stupid ad for face cream," (just as an example) could sound pretentious and self-deceiving. And in truth, it kind of does.<br /><br />But it's real, I tell you, and nowhere have I seen that made more evident than in this video. It's a gorgeous piece of filmmaking, done by devoted, talented folks who really wanted to put something beautiful in the world. And they did it, just to prove my point, on behalf of "some stupid face cream."<br /><br />Otherwise, who would have paid for it? And paid for the tv time so you could see it? Nobody, that's who.<br /><br />So even though, yeah, there's a logo and a product shot at the end of this, the point is (or can be seen to be) that we get to see something pretty for thirty seconds instead of something stupid. Something we wouldn't have gotten to see before. Because somebody cared about what they were making, and not just shaking the change out of your pockets.<br /><br />And I say, if you're in the market next time and you need some face cream, you should consider getting this kind. These guys paid for something you liked. (Assuming you did like it, of course.) And next time you want to buy, oh, body spray, I think you should consider *not* getting the kind that paid for something you hated.<br /><br />It may be a flawed model for consumership, and there are a lot of other factors that could and should play into a buying decision, but voting with your dollars is in my opinion a good start.<br /><br />We get to participate in a form of modern-day art patronage, just by pulling something off a shelf at the megamart. Which sure beats being shaken down for our change. <br /><br />Don't like the ads? Don't buy the stuff. Eventually, the manufacturer will make the connection and stop cluttering up the world with dumbness. (Unless everyone else likes the ads but you. It's a democracy, of course.)<br /><br />And please remember that we aren't all out to get you. Some of us are trying to tell you something that could make your life easier or more enjoyable, the only two noble efforts there really are.<br /><br /><object width="560" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/yhuWTzF-Q3s&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/yhuWTzF-Q3s&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object>Colinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421796945348885980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7611310.post-46855929080509012152009-11-23T19:06:00.003-05:002009-11-23T19:46:12.038-05:00Vedaminute, 11.22.09<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzpYBUoyaOC7DNEoOO4AmROtma5gC9nStEWjh5tCFkQPAXRhu_9aP27XgynZyVzPaHrHYyohGC58vw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>There are other good videos from this weekend, including one in which Tom proposes to Niki, and she accepts, at the Marine Corps Ball Saturday night, but I'm not sure they'd want me posting that one just yet. So we'll just stick to the basics for now.<br /><br />Veda, crawling, cutely.Colinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421796945348885980noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7611310.post-72398731774819778912009-11-17T00:10:00.005-05:002009-11-17T00:17:19.906-05:00I Wanna Be Illustrated-Not sedated, mind you. Illustrated. And preferably by whoever used to do the covers of Time magazine in 1939.<br /><br />To browse that particular publication, you'd picture former Vice President Nelson Rockefeller, noted public servant, statesman, businessman, art collector, and philanthropist, as looking about like this: <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXaIJPzlCY70OdtUUSgkT_TgtceDtIDyD_YKbIzKiEtL67vCUB1SANO-MVCRuz0mAI2iabMQxwbj7HOl2gUcqmtfnSjBCowck5YW8Y_wJr1E9fhTMlSnbdHrVE0Q1PTXUZkrZN1w/s1600/Nelson_Rockefeller_on_TIME_Magazine,_May_22,_1939.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 243px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXaIJPzlCY70OdtUUSgkT_TgtceDtIDyD_YKbIzKiEtL67vCUB1SANO-MVCRuz0mAI2iabMQxwbj7HOl2gUcqmtfnSjBCowck5YW8Y_wJr1E9fhTMlSnbdHrVE0Q1PTXUZkrZN1w/s320/Nelson_Rockefeller_on_TIME_Magazine,_May_22,_1939.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404936199038004402" /></a><br /><br />Poke around a little <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nelson_Rockefeller">further</a>, though, and you get this picture of the man:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihBBvH7i-BjBSxhJ2Kp7p4ln3XVvJKgcHaZOkW2X5YrKQlLbbxtQXPWnuDFyieMJ0oz5WD_ZqSzupqcvq0Qu0Ik9QAqh0zuKOs4bTrk2FRdewZqp5HyWalxZGPm0jzkz2UGNnV_w/s1600/Nelson_Rockefeller.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 301px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihBBvH7i-BjBSxhJ2Kp7p4ln3XVvJKgcHaZOkW2X5YrKQlLbbxtQXPWnuDFyieMJ0oz5WD_ZqSzupqcvq0Qu0Ik9QAqh0zuKOs4bTrk2FRdewZqp5HyWalxZGPm0jzkz2UGNnV_w/s320/Nelson_Rockefeller.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404936771627759458" /></a><br /><br />Still a dapper gent, don't get me wrong, it's just that he seemed to have lost a little of that matinee-idol quality in the transition from paint to photo.<br /><br />Makes you wonder what that artist could do with <span style="font-style:italic;">your</span> ugly mug, don't you think?Colinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421796945348885980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7611310.post-15199301596869023462009-11-13T15:53:00.002-05:002009-11-13T15:57:33.981-05:00Germans in the WoodsIt's a little late for Veterans Day, but I just watched this two-minute movie, created by Rauch Bros. Animation in collaboration with StoryCorps, and had to share it.<br /><br />Here's the summary from StoryCorps: <span style="font-style:italic;">"86-year-old WW II veteran Joseph Robertson remembers a German soldier he killed at the Battle of the Bulge."</span><br /><br />Apologies if you can't view it in this post; try clicking the post title to link to the page where I watched it.<br /><br /><object width="400" height="300"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=7529622&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" /><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=7529622&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="300"></embed></object><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/7529622">Germans in the Woods</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/rauchbrothers">Rauch Brothers</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p>Colinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421796945348885980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7611310.post-47829167419376291852009-11-05T15:37:00.008-05:002009-11-05T22:35:33.457-05:00Such a Nice GirlBefore Veda was born, and even since, one thing that's been on my mind a lot is how she'll "turn out."<br /><br />I'm interested to see, of course, even though I do get a little squeamish about how I might affect the outcome. It's much easier to imagine yourself sitting back and beholding this little person sprouting up into a full-blown human being without your interference, you see - anytime it occurs to you that you, personally, will have a hand in the process it seems almost terrifyingly certain that you'll screw it up.<br /><br />I'm sure this is universal among new parents, too. Your baby is just perfect the way she is, of course, and somehow getting even perfecter every day. (Mainly because she doesn't know what incredible goobers she landed as parents.) When the day comes that Veda can observe what I do, how I approach this task of living life, and take little baby notes, hoo boy. It's all downhill.<br /><br />(Even the word "task," just there, felt like a wrong turn. Shouldn't I have said "opportunity" to live life? "Gleaming, shiny, blessed exalted lottery prize of consciousness"? But no, I go with "task." Arduous, agonizing, ugly obligation. Way to go, Pop.)<br /><br />Can you imagine when she's able to ask me questions, and solicit my opinions on worldly matters such as justice and literature and how much jelly goes on a PBJ? Oh man. All I can say is, enjoy your ignorance while it lasts, little one.<br /><br />***<br /><br />Sometimes you're afraid to even make predictions. After all, <a href="http://onlikepopcorn.blogspot.com/2009/02/blank-dullaghan.html">before I'd even met Veda</a>, I was on record as hoping she'd be happy, and here nine months later, what do we have? A little girl who draws comments from strangers: "Such a happy baby!"<br /><br />Stuff's spooky, man. What if I'd hoped wrong? <br /><br />I like the happy thing, though. I say we keep going with it. Even if that's the only quality Veda is ever noted for, fine. Her name means "knowledge and wisdom," which are also nice to have, but you can do without either, in my experience. Even when we were naming her, I felt a little peculiar about, you know, deciding someone's destiny and all. I actually ran across a picture of a couple of Vedas on a baby names site, and was happy to see that it still left a pretty wide range of personalities she could one day embody.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_3xNiZUToXN8jJVT1mxahiaQxM4MCABbNvm5usckmJ_2fW5aGy3Q6g09LszJgP1As5j2Iufx3zjtVczy_bVoGxi9l9FXQe9kkKE9AfrmN3XE1vuWiM_ayDnxnE-vglqgPrJVMeQ/s1600-h/facesofVeda.png"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 160px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_3xNiZUToXN8jJVT1mxahiaQxM4MCABbNvm5usckmJ_2fW5aGy3Q6g09LszJgP1As5j2Iufx3zjtVczy_bVoGxi9l9FXQe9kkKE9AfrmN3XE1vuWiM_ayDnxnE-vglqgPrJVMeQ/s320/facesofVeda.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400815818998494754" /></a>Lotta leeway there.<br /><br />I momentarily thought it would be funny, a while back, to go the other direction and try to point out characteristics I hoped she *wouldn't* have, especially if I could name celebrities who fit the bill, even including unflattering pictures if possible.<br /><br />But I quickly ran into trouble there. It turns out that most people have some redeeming qualities, encouragingly enough, and I honestly had a hard time finding *anyone,* obvious folks like Hitler and Stalin excluded, who I could say is or was such a failure as a human being that I prayed my daughter never resembled them. <br /><br />It's actually a pretty awful thing to say. About anybody. Especially celebrities, you could argue, since you don't even know them that well. Plus they've got parents too, and you just know some of those moms and dads already shake their heads when they think about how their little boys' and girls' lives are going, so why pile on?<br /><br />And besides, I may be Veda's dad, but who am I to say how she should or shouldn't be? I want her to be happy, yes, but free too. If I could click a button and ordain her fate right here and now? No way. As I thought about it, I pictured her as a 16-year-old one day, in 2025 (!), browsing her floating hologram web terminal, and finding an ancient post by her dumb ol' dad, saying he was crossing his fingers she didn't turn out, oh, to play the accordion.<br /><br />She'd eye the virtual screen with horror, read and re-read the words, then cast her saddening gaze over to the pearly white music case leaning against the wall by the corner, and vow never to play "Beer Barrel Polka" again. Ever.<br /><br />I just can't do that to her.<br /><br />So what I settled on instead were <span style="font-style:italic;">circumstances</span> I hoped never to see her in. That seemed safe enough. "Love the sinner, giggle at the sin," right? Finally, the funny pictures started to fall into place. Right away I noticed several snapshots I hope never feature Veda's face in them:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFKmiIj2F2JkvVgUnS1dI_wq-ccNnOHaPoBKzY6YtWlh6oovNAmAb04HT4GQdHQfsWgnGLfD4OI1iuUANLgcvpHsH5tQ8CFnFyRYwUhtLkHwWzHXXEIl7zNW5OQN5WWCaZnxYBqw/s1600-h/1217081mugyear10.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 256px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFKmiIj2F2JkvVgUnS1dI_wq-ccNnOHaPoBKzY6YtWlh6oovNAmAb04HT4GQdHQfsWgnGLfD4OI1iuUANLgcvpHsH5tQ8CFnFyRYwUhtLkHwWzHXXEIl7zNW5OQN5WWCaZnxYBqw/s320/1217081mugyear10.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400818544750382290" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBi5tHPiC-E3mysbtXSumB1ApZV_Plb-UBp2on0bTf11F7UNHq2jQGBFUOEX1JtpYdu20uOXADlMCuJyQumtapNw5hFpn4jhwM0MNZorXvzdJJ_ZzR75u2yxbAtlJpnukQ2eBf1A/s1600-h/1217081mugyear17.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 253px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBi5tHPiC-E3mysbtXSumB1ApZV_Plb-UBp2on0bTf11F7UNHq2jQGBFUOEX1JtpYdu20uOXADlMCuJyQumtapNw5hFpn4jhwM0MNZorXvzdJJ_ZzR75u2yxbAtlJpnukQ2eBf1A/s320/1217081mugyear17.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400818551151838274" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmSbw57Nbwd_yvnB6T-E7aZaxUAZ3Htia5rnsNXegSqffE1Aku4AjOL_VBAYxjxa6tMazwF5ULUDak06jGyhq0cyfF4hO_CTKC7Fz7vsBMvrJNqLDQAJP3KuL1Wty-2kPmChr11w/s1600-h/2926209.28.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmSbw57Nbwd_yvnB6T-E7aZaxUAZ3Htia5rnsNXegSqffE1Aku4AjOL_VBAYxjxa6tMazwF5ULUDak06jGyhq0cyfF4hO_CTKC7Fz7vsBMvrJNqLDQAJP3KuL1Wty-2kPmChr11w/s320/2926209.28.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400818556142446210" /></a><br /><br />Again, these may all be fine, decent individuals, at least some of the time, once, maybe, but I think we can all (even these people's parents) agree that Mistakes Were Made in the events leading up to these photographs. And they're mistakes I'll do my best to prevent happening to my daughter.<br /><br />I'll also refrain from making any political statements, but will say that I hope Veda is never captured making this face during the swearing-in of her successor to public office.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtH_I-ZEiyuVsLbe8qPnkroWfeQuSH6IVLdqD9MWUxYwJ3NhJfNnM9metwl4UHpZjS8DaDZsTLEcIr_0IrMNoRNLMuktba_8A4zZH0G7a9yIi4ml3E4LsnegUUre7jueEM2q-X9Q/s1600-h/BigWhoop.png"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 217px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtH_I-ZEiyuVsLbe8qPnkroWfeQuSH6IVLdqD9MWUxYwJ3NhJfNnM9metwl4UHpZjS8DaDZsTLEcIr_0IrMNoRNLMuktba_8A4zZH0G7a9yIi4ml3E4LsnegUUre7jueEM2q-X9Q/s320/BigWhoop.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400818561415741730" /></a><br /><br />Overall, she's basically free to be whatever she wants, as long as it makes her happy and doesn't land her on a celebrity mugshot website. Unless, of course, she got arrested for, oh, I don't know, conscientious objection or something. Something virtuous and principled.<br /><br />Preferably without a swastika tattooed into her forehead, though.<br /><br />A dad can only ask for so much.<br /><br />***<br /><br />Basically, little one, just don't turn out like <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carl_Panzram">Carl Panzram</a>. This charming fellow was described as "rage personified" -- by himself, in his autobiography -- and is said to have told his executioner, right before he was hanged for the murder of 22 people, "Hurry it up, you Hoosier bastard! I could kill ten men while you're fooling around!" <br /><br />Ah, no.<br /><br />But if, on the other hand, Veda as a young woman takes a liking to music, and makes incredibly charming out-of-genre covers of current pop hits, well, so much the better. Consider that particular choice of actions Officially Dad Sanctioned.<br /><br /><object width="560" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/5mf7cQfhJSA&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/5mf7cQfhJSA&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object>Colinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421796945348885980noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7611310.post-27855292472052167392009-11-02T20:18:00.008-05:002009-11-02T20:40:25.912-05:00No-Goodniks<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWKKSqa73Ya3pT0Z_MVDmuefJV0gP4a9YyuAd1bsneyYkwV7fpq6LKdQ61IkYLFD1Qk3IkjMsYBG-Rokmi07Y5vT_nyUHIVy3_9oOcmxLec5eJwbnaUR2hERjQSO1lZYUVp8b-pg/s1600-h/title-rocky.gif"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 135px; height: 130px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWKKSqa73Ya3pT0Z_MVDmuefJV0gP4a9YyuAd1bsneyYkwV7fpq6LKdQ61IkYLFD1Qk3IkjMsYBG-Rokmi07Y5vT_nyUHIVy3_9oOcmxLec5eJwbnaUR2hERjQSO1lZYUVp8b-pg/s320/title-rocky.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399685396479410834" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2AtCJplabstffvsfXXCzj-dERSpLP2xkBSvGEd50E_6rAGV-iQ8OevMXoGqjewMHvYOFtqi6E8uJoDZ417GlENrW7NuFSoVgrlcZ1hpjF3AfTQo5YPJD595qgwdwNNmBNBHQ1iA/s1600-h/title-bull.gif"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 182px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2AtCJplabstffvsfXXCzj-dERSpLP2xkBSvGEd50E_6rAGV-iQ8OevMXoGqjewMHvYOFtqi6E8uJoDZ417GlENrW7NuFSoVgrlcZ1hpjF3AfTQo5YPJD595qgwdwNNmBNBHQ1iA/s320/title-bull.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399684601794347714" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjfBoHE15ChzVLPCUGKiosQGxhNz9X4vHQEpLysU9erIqriPxQ6q0HO39CUSPWMtirJyKVojEtlPtNZkJjYjLOomGWKyQ31Ipi7JiezEKg4r1coZK7XroCh3N4IaWP__HGG-y8FQ/s1600-h/title-boris.gif"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 160px; height: 165px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjfBoHE15ChzVLPCUGKiosQGxhNz9X4vHQEpLysU9erIqriPxQ6q0HO39CUSPWMtirJyKVojEtlPtNZkJjYjLOomGWKyQ31Ipi7JiezEKg4r1coZK7XroCh3N4IaWP__HGG-y8FQ/s320/title-boris.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399685904632731426" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjitdgFsSXLljHciK_rtHl_fMUUv_l_X45TAdoQsDShboQsphPdNpJ3EHolIhPC81gF-MeUo9raVSo_wLj7Y8pOL_AOqT3kQnGgFPp6p2qsxvQcQBCF-Qs3hNexFNREl5dxPJ7PZw/s1600-h/title-nat.gif"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 257px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjitdgFsSXLljHciK_rtHl_fMUUv_l_X45TAdoQsDShboQsphPdNpJ3EHolIhPC81gF-MeUo9raVSo_wLj7Y8pOL_AOqT3kQnGgFPp6p2qsxvQcQBCF-Qs3hNexFNREl5dxPJ7PZw/s320/title-nat.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399684606500296178" /></a><br />A few things to bear in mind if you decide to go as the cast of Rocky and Bullwinkle for Halloween:<br /><br />- Almost nobody knows who Rocky and Bullwinkle are. The show went off the air in 1973, it says <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Rocky_and_Bullwinkle_Show">here</a>, so actually I'm not entirely sure how <span style="font-weight:bold;">I</span> even know about them.<br /><br />- Even fewer people know who Rocky and Bullwinkle's nemeses are, Boris Badenov and Natasha Fatale.<br /><br />- When dressing up like Boris, bear in mind that it helps to be short and swarthy, only with sheet-white skin.<br /><br />- When dressing up like Natasha, bear in mind that a purple dress and high heels don't provide much protection against October weather, especially in contrast to Boris's overcoat. This will make trick-or-treating less than appealing.<br /><br />- When dressing your 8-month-old up like Rocky the Flying Squirrel, bear in mind that a costume built for dogs is actually pretty perfect, since it doesn't constrict the poor child very much and allows her cute face to be seen clearly.<br /><br />- When dressing your dog as Bullwinkle, forget the white gloves and just go with clip-on antlers. Where were you going to find gloves that size anyway?<br /><br />- Overall, if your family costume is this complex, involving multiple species and props such as a black-spraypainted 12lb. shot-put, try to get a plain background for the photos. Otherwise you can't see the bomb very well, or the antlers, and you kind of just look like a bunch of weirdos.<br /><br />Happy Halloween, though!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO_pf90EquaZI1-vWqR1dCXzos8FXLBC4HDJN_Dk45M1EHOytI9oUzIQmuaGt6BIqs8k-bQtOoosk5mtzBOUupFf3P_bxj9h0bWiG4rGvAwQAAjuKktxW3hhG7cLQrLjkDErJfFg/s1600-h/bnbr.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 251px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO_pf90EquaZI1-vWqR1dCXzos8FXLBC4HDJN_Dk45M1EHOytI9oUzIQmuaGt6BIqs8k-bQtOoosk5mtzBOUupFf3P_bxj9h0bWiG4rGvAwQAAjuKktxW3hhG7cLQrLjkDErJfFg/s320/bnbr.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399684616099532642" /></a>Colinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421796945348885980noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7611310.post-74840107840092373092009-10-21T19:58:00.003-04:002009-10-21T20:01:13.872-04:00Next Up, BloggingVeda may have said her first words tonight, if this counts – we were heading out of the restaurant, and Penny told her to say "bye bye."<br /><br />After a few moments' hesitation, Veda waved her little arm and said, clear as a bell, "Buh-baaah..."<br /><br />We were flabbergasted and got so excited we accidentally scared the poor kid. She did it a few more times as we buckled her into her car seat.<br /><br />She's going to make a great flight attendant someday.<br /><br />Or a sheep.Colinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421796945348885980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7611310.post-76037797088092138302009-10-18T20:26:00.003-04:002009-10-18T20:42:21.356-04:00At Your FingertipsI just got done unloading and loading the dishwasher, then doing the same thing with the washing machine, then wiping down the sink and the countertops and bringing in Vince, who had been sitting placidly on the porch for quite a while but suddenly tore off into the bushes, barking and growling and all agitated about something. He came back in as Captain Muddypaws, of course, and had to sit still while I cleaned him off, and then I threw away the paper towel and gave the kitchen one last glance and headed in here to write this.<br /><br />And the whole time, I was thinking about getting online. It occurred to me shortly after I started the dishes that there was something good I could be looking up on the web – the original animated clip of Where The Wild Things Are, from the 60s or 70s I think, mentioned in some article I read yesterday (online, naturally) and now suddenly urgently interesting.<br /><br />I also wanted to take a dish/laundry break to grab my computer or phone and browse the pictures Penny's sister took at her concert last night. I know she got them off her camera this afternoon, and surely has posted them to her Facebook account by now.<br /><br />But I kept on cleaning. At first it seemed like way too long to wait, you know, and I figured maybe I'd take a break after the dishes but before the laundry, and look up all that stuff I was so instantaneously curious about. In the end, though, I was able to hold off until the whole job was done.<br /><br />And that, as I thought it might, made the Wild Things clip and the concert pictures much more exciting in my mind. Five or ten minutes' delay – just long enough to start a new load of laundry – got me giddy (okay, maybe not *giddy*) with anticipation.<br /><br />And I got to thinking about how it came to be this way. The giddiness, mild as it may be, is clearly a result of my having more or less nonstop access to the Internet. Mostly I'm home, and other than that I have my iPhone, unless I'm in a pool or something, which only applies about .5 hours a week. So anytime I want to know something that can be known by consulting The Ether, I pretty much do.<br /><br />After all, it's free, right? Well, "unlimited," I should say. I pay the same amount for access whether I get online or not. So there's really no reason – no financial reason, anyway – not to indulge my curiosity the moment it surfaces. And, as Lope would be the first to tell you, that's just what I do.<br /><br />For a moment, though, as I sorted whites from darks and emptied lint and blotted paws, I resisted. This time.<br /><br />And now that I'm done with the tasks, and tapping away online, have I looked up the video clip, or the concert pictures? Nope. Instead I went right here and wrote this. Because that other stuff will be there when I get finished.<br /><br />I had a feeling I'd knock this little observation right out of my head as soon as I jammed something else in. Which I'm trying not to do so compulsively.<br /><br />Sort of.Colinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421796945348885980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7611310.post-66513746429658081112009-10-17T22:53:00.002-04:002009-10-18T11:13:25.865-04:00Attack of Mom<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><object type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="260" height="195" data="http://www.flickr.com/apps/video/stewart.swf?v=71377" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000"> <param name="flashvars" value="intl_lang=en-us&photo_secret=53a3f1d229&photo_id=4020501949&flickr_show_info_box=true"></param> <param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/video/stewart.swf?v=71377"></param> <param name="bgcolor" value="#000000"></param> <param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/video/stewart.swf?v=71377" bgcolor="#000000" allowfullscreen="true" flashvars="intl_lang=en-us&photo_secret=53a3f1d229&photo_id=4020501949&flickr_show_info_box=true" height="195" width="260"></embed></object><br /><span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/onlikepopcorn/4020501949/">Attack of Mom</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/onlikepopcorn/">This Guy Colin</a></span></div>Veda is besieged, happily, by Lope.<br clear="all" />Colinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421796945348885980noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7611310.post-10040369593544329732009-10-13T15:18:00.013-04:002009-10-13T15:42:43.098-04:00I Took Your AdviceOkay, so maybe it <span style="font-style:italic;">was</span> time to get out and get some fresh air. So this weekend, that's just what we did.<br /><br />We sat out on the sidewalk on a pool float and looked at all the leaves...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2n0ENvS1hEZ-CEHIHvXYU1oXY4XCtK8gXc8BWYvfxjc1aBOAdlJ7yfGbCLrB2ayM0pT4gumpLkqhd1l1JFtq13ahnfaZKEW-R2RxoDxP-wkdH4kBPZ9ynNdIeJ80ZBVD6V2_2aw/s1600-h/IMG_1298.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2n0ENvS1hEZ-CEHIHvXYU1oXY4XCtK8gXc8BWYvfxjc1aBOAdlJ7yfGbCLrB2ayM0pT4gumpLkqhd1l1JFtq13ahnfaZKEW-R2RxoDxP-wkdH4kBPZ9ynNdIeJ80ZBVD6V2_2aw/s320/IMG_1298.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392166724408503586" /></a><br /><br />And went to the coffee shop to hang out with some little friends...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGrr5zkd93AKw1yCVgplILch3BsA3zOwhvmbaYnX8tGx_5GmCydIAimx0vH-_PFunEobl8C8G7dzh3ulNEWAnoawNYmTJAbO47PoGdGzfkP-3g0uWYkULJiOVgDNpggF_jgcBtRw/s1600-h/IMG_1415.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGrr5zkd93AKw1yCVgplILch3BsA3zOwhvmbaYnX8tGx_5GmCydIAimx0vH-_PFunEobl8C8G7dzh3ulNEWAnoawNYmTJAbO47PoGdGzfkP-3g0uWYkULJiOVgDNpggF_jgcBtRw/s320/IMG_1415.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392167141634365154" /></a><br /><br />Even had a date on Friday night, at our favorite local restaurant Cerulean, thanks to ace sister-in-law and emergency babysitter Brittany.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPww75tONRToscqP-wzZifMuNtj0Wyo6Qr-9rWRc27T5Lr3pceLH_w9GLxLrIScYTj7uBQpFPawjL1GPzR7dwDIdxwPY3ew1xtFxj6AJmI84rogd5mCtMF6H76pgqC34x1bP9AAw/s1600-h/IMG_1426.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPww75tONRToscqP-wzZifMuNtj0Wyo6Qr-9rWRc27T5Lr3pceLH_w9GLxLrIScYTj7uBQpFPawjL1GPzR7dwDIdxwPY3ew1xtFxj6AJmI84rogd5mCtMF6H76pgqC34x1bP9AAw/s320/IMG_1426.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392167492756140722" /></a><br /><br />We got to go for a hike in the woods with Vince...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwGsyKTDRsW9IgJ0nlu8dBlcIoScSgsF5bdsLjqFsoJcCkDd8pgqZMDdL1wWr6CIN6JgssVJn0VZZdXs8FZZ4EWwFwVYcBYF84y63gl15qkdErnQLRDdcA84AEgXUA_wSuf8rFzw/s1600-h/IMG_2013.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwGsyKTDRsW9IgJ0nlu8dBlcIoScSgsF5bdsLjqFsoJcCkDd8pgqZMDdL1wWr6CIN6JgssVJn0VZZdXs8FZZ4EWwFwVYcBYF84y63gl15qkdErnQLRDdcA84AEgXUA_wSuf8rFzw/s320/IMG_2013.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392167878209304834" /></a><br /><br />And go to Mentone (see, it says so right there on the right) for a baby shower for Veda's new cousin Elijah.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_44ZEC4gp81MnRqVlo9Pjmhh7DiVX5uDft8UFMyrMKNAw4U1r7k9KphSkhQbc0IoXw4TOppqmgtuYIknSqlptsNXZqWnnheOpc2JaIEG7NbeT2MBbQgi6cb0Xf_5m4nkJ58gwZA/s1600-h/IMG_8938.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_44ZEC4gp81MnRqVlo9Pjmhh7DiVX5uDft8UFMyrMKNAw4U1r7k9KphSkhQbc0IoXw4TOppqmgtuYIknSqlptsNXZqWnnheOpc2JaIEG7NbeT2MBbQgi6cb0Xf_5m4nkJ58gwZA/s320/IMG_8938.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392168376385588754" /></a><br /><br />There we got to eat cake, and see relatives,<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL9i8_tgFRxVBAaTllfhIGGRY059-B7UxQO7LtL4-5zP07pCEIcWCnd38N6Cuc4vxa9qHf02I0LlhdFM1M-D6V4E_Qui5Hfg1aSCVairaUbS2uynJTTBiltQJl_pzmKKnC-eOayQ/s1600-h/IMG_8968.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL9i8_tgFRxVBAaTllfhIGGRY059-B7UxQO7LtL4-5zP07pCEIcWCnd38N6Cuc4vxa9qHf02I0LlhdFM1M-D6V4E_Qui5Hfg1aSCVairaUbS2uynJTTBiltQJl_pzmKKnC-eOayQ/s320/IMG_8968.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392168816366491666" /></a><br /><br />...and even play a little football out in the field right across the street.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAmSvccspV2FQ8Dwxm8TDEEMPOE6vfwz6vz2VUlJ5yuH9dI8c_tBosnwdH5v0PngKpbWP8q32XrN3oHSjSBGvc9nzG94Ui7gUEM-OrHqHvG74gSci-EuECoAaH9Dpacwb7SGLtXg/s1600-h/IMG_8962.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAmSvccspV2FQ8Dwxm8TDEEMPOE6vfwz6vz2VUlJ5yuH9dI8c_tBosnwdH5v0PngKpbWP8q32XrN3oHSjSBGvc9nzG94Ui7gUEM-OrHqHvG74gSci-EuECoAaH9Dpacwb7SGLtXg/s320/IMG_8962.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392169038401259890" /></a><br /><br />On Sunday we went to Elkhart - <span style="font-style:italic;">way</span> out of this little town of ours, to an, um slightly bigger little town - and have lunch with different relatives at Panera bread, where Penny's towering uncles quipped that they'd never eaten at anyplace like this, and I asked "like what?" and they said, "healthy."<br /><br />And on Monday, in honor of Columbus Day, we voyaged <span style="font-style:italic;">waaay</span> out into uncharted territory and went back to Elkhart/Goshen. That's where the apple orchard is, and that's where Veda got her first experience with heavy farm labor, which we plan to make a big part of her life from now on. We even got to bring Grandpa along, who drove all the way up from South Carolina and made Veda smile pretty much nonstop. He got a bunch of Indiana produce to haul back south with him.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPj2SlA_r_ZA7Q1zEnxGzNbDamwHw2zf2cwQi8yrs-hkZZQ9JKLrhs4EOHAKqJ9MGeTQHTFRVLvP4haF1PCi-4C4Myw4RliAwWmumJG1FhWuI3kwRR70oIoSFY70J_sLZHUHGEzw/s1600-h/IMG_1690.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPj2SlA_r_ZA7Q1zEnxGzNbDamwHw2zf2cwQi8yrs-hkZZQ9JKLrhs4EOHAKqJ9MGeTQHTFRVLvP4haF1PCi-4C4Myw4RliAwWmumJG1FhWuI3kwRR70oIoSFY70J_sLZHUHGEzw/s320/IMG_1690.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392171474688607890" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD_elMW1Fl6svIvgtI6LM8iQx8YuOai1vzF4VsuqPGqRxHmwITWYnDakYKEl2g-JBjx77HPpogUhzRg8D0Dqj1M662kz9cP-qktEOC2P62XcNIRsX3N8TgKVQypRdiWQNRWbrVRA/s1600-h/IMG_1675.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD_elMW1Fl6svIvgtI6LM8iQx8YuOai1vzF4VsuqPGqRxHmwITWYnDakYKEl2g-JBjx77HPpogUhzRg8D0Dqj1M662kz9cP-qktEOC2P62XcNIRsX3N8TgKVQypRdiWQNRWbrVRA/s320/IMG_1675.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392171469283923842" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhutIt5qzQajUJObgmEHuM12m5VIlfx0rHrKej04pij5YzeEVfjwyIgbt7DPUQKgPZxJ36O4esnwmTWaOF58dTcqQ79jWq4FBDb9cGjM51Wrah73oGE1ajk810QURgs34rDb2ez-Q/s1600-h/IMG_1645.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhutIt5qzQajUJObgmEHuM12m5VIlfx0rHrKej04pij5YzeEVfjwyIgbt7DPUQKgPZxJ36O4esnwmTWaOF58dTcqQ79jWq4FBDb9cGjM51Wrah73oGE1ajk810QURgs34rDb2ez-Q/s320/IMG_1645.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392171460146016050" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKeqKGDl0VuwS0mE4eMIGy-M059vFGm4qWdlWV0CZ0UnUuDAXNSumvyy7nuJnE_rSFByhVJ2Q70_NXB6Rz5UG2j6e-rCcAmir7i0Ssk7Kcv-TVF1G5Ir6WaYKP035t9h_wg_v2-A/s1600-h/IMG_1701.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKeqKGDl0VuwS0mE4eMIGy-M059vFGm4qWdlWV0CZ0UnUuDAXNSumvyy7nuJnE_rSFByhVJ2Q70_NXB6Rz5UG2j6e-rCcAmir7i0Ssk7Kcv-TVF1G5Ir6WaYKP035t9h_wg_v2-A/s320/IMG_1701.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392171490357204834" /></a><br />...All of which was a lot more fun and enriching than, you know, staying home and calling your relatives Nazis. Makes for better pictures, too.Colinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421796945348885980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7611310.post-72899998129281124182009-10-09T15:30:00.004-04:002009-10-09T15:58:09.201-04:00Rainy Day Activity IdeaSo I get a nonstop stream of hardcore emails from my Fascist uncle, right? Really fantastic stuff, like bald-faced lies about Obama and death warrants and gun bans and the like, and these awesome, hateful, fearmongering screeds about godless bureaucrats and worthless poor people. It's pretty outstanding.<br /><br />But they're really piling up in my inbox, and starting to smell. And I figured there must be some alternate use for them, like how Martha Stewart could always make elegant formal wear out of used coffee filters and stuff. I always wished I was that resourceful.<br /><br />So here's what I've got: (You can do this at home, as like a craft project with the kids. Just, um, wrap your computer mouse in papier-mâché or something.)<br /><br />1. Find the latest/greatest/most offensive email you've got lying around.<br />2. Select all the text, and copy and paste into a new Word document.<br />3. Do a "Find and Replace" function, replacing every instance of "Conservative," "Realist" or "Hardworking American" with "Good German."<br />4. Once that's complete, replace all instances of "Liberal," "Secularist," "Immigrant," "Muslim" or "Welfare Recipient" with "Jew." (You can also do a Pelosi/Satan switcheroo for added authenticity.)<br />5. Select and copy all the new text, and place into new email.<br />6. Reply to all.<br /><br />Let the fun begin!Colinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421796945348885980noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7611310.post-12952940821028401122009-10-07T20:50:00.004-04:002009-10-07T21:29:12.043-04:00The Wheels on the Bus Go... CRAZY<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY3C2Gf8MmQ1Gwz7IaKuSDhj5djZSRhlOBLrWbbqd-b2YpHcUgiuokGBn-R54sJWwPuWwSVBdcJ3WNHpTvHkrMOqY5Vsy_nv3svXoS-oUNKnLw-FyqpZxo5eCPBF2cTBlvx65_bQ/s1600-h/bus.gif"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY3C2Gf8MmQ1Gwz7IaKuSDhj5djZSRhlOBLrWbbqd-b2YpHcUgiuokGBn-R54sJWwPuWwSVBdcJ3WNHpTvHkrMOqY5Vsy_nv3svXoS-oUNKnLw-FyqpZxo5eCPBF2cTBlvx65_bQ/s320/bus.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390035032292082450" /></a>That's one messed up bus we're singing about in that song, you know?<br /><br />I mean, you've got the wheels doing their thing, of course: 'Round and 'round; 'round and 'round. All over town.<br /><br />And that's cool. Otherwise we'd have stranded passengers waiting forever, hoping to get picked up or dropped off by a completely immobile vehicle, and nobody wants that.<br /><br />Then there are the wipers, swish-swish-swishing, and I'm fine with that too. Swish swish swish, swish swish swish. It could be raining. That's a real possibility. Wiping makes sense.<br /><br />The problems start with the horn, though. If the horn on the bus goes "Beep, beep, beep; Beep, beep, beep; Beep, beep, beep" (and they do this "all over town," mind you), then I've got to ask, "What's the emergency?"<br /><br />A single honk would probably suffice, no matter what the roadway issue might be - especially with that mondo bus horn the driver is packing. You've heard the horn on one of these things before, right? They reach up and yank that cord, man, and it's like the trumpets of Odin just let loose in your skull. <br /><br />"Beep." Yeah, right. It's probably more of a "BLARE BLARE BLARE OH SWEET BISCUITS AND APPLE BUTTER WHAT JUST HAPPENED I THINK I PEED" for the poor pedestrians, right? None of this discreet "beep beep beeping," no sir. This thing is downright terrifying. Some maniacal driver deafening bystanders, nonstop, for no discernible reason. Great.<br /><br />Even if there were something <span style="font-style:italic;">truly exceptional</span> to honk about, honestly, like, say a wounded manatee had somehow beached itself in a busy intersection, and we needed to notify authorities both transportational and environmental, I still think just a couple of horn blasts - or, come on, now, a simple call over the CB radio, driver - would get the job done.<br /><br />"Yeah, this is bus 973. We've got a sea cow down at Anderson and Park. Yep. Send the Sierra Club and a front-loader." Presto. Problem solved. No need for violating noise ordinances "alll over town."<br /><br />Sheesh.<br /><br />Plus, don't forget, this nut is making the doors go "open and shut" at the same time, more or less nonstop. And that's happening all over town too. In the rain. Is he <span style="font-style:italic;">trying</span> to make the entry steps slippery? Does he <span style="font-style:italic;">want</span> us to slip and fall and fracture our patellas? You have to ask.<br /><br />It's really no wonder that the babies on the bus are going "wah wah wah," when you think about it. Incessant crying? Of course! The circumstances warrant it! Here you are, just a tot, thinking you're making some uneventful jaunt across town, making use of your public transportation infrastructure, trying to get out there and mingle with a different sort of crowd, and what do you get? A horn-blowing psychopath, tearing down Anderson Avenue, in the rain, ramming manatees, with the freaking DOORS OPEN. And shut. And open. And shut. "Wah wah wah" is right.<br /><br />Those mommies on the bus - you know the ones I mean - telling these poor babies to "Shh shh shh" should be ashamed shamed shamed. That's a perfectly natural response to a crisis situation. To tell you the truth, I want to cry just <span style="font-style:italic;">thinking</span> about it.<br /><br />But I suppose it's all the same to the driver, this loonball. What's his story? Where's his reassurance to his understandably panicked passengers? How does he comfort their fears as the wheels go round and round, thumping over endangered ocean life like there's no tomorrow? Just what does this sick individual have to say for himself?<br /><br />"Move on back, move on back, move on back."<br /><br />I'm telling you, you're better off hitching a ride with the itsy bitsy spider. At least he has the good sense not to travel in a downpour.Colinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421796945348885980noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7611310.post-44666435360182480222009-10-05T17:36:00.004-04:002009-10-05T17:47:24.206-04:00The Five Stages of Summer's End1. What? It's supposed to get down to <span style="font-style:italic;">40</span> tonight? <span style="font-style:italic;">40</span>? And only up to what tomorrow? 55? That's ridiculous. I bet it'll still be nice. I'm still gonna wear shorts.<br /><br />2. [later] It's <span style="font-style:italic;">forty friggin' degrees</span> out right now! This is crap! Completely unfair. I <span style="font-style:italic;">hate</span> that weatherman.<br /><br />3. Just one more month of nice weather. C'mon. Three weeks. I don't want to put the bikes up just yet. A week. We can have a week, right? One measly week. If - no, <span style="font-style:italic;">when</span> it gets warm again after this weird fluke cold snap, I'm gonna get out the bicycle and ride around the park. Swear.<br /><br />4. Ah, who am I kidding? Winter's here. Fantastic. Might as well roast some flippin' chestnuts over an open flippin' fire right here. I can feel the frostbite setting in already. Whatever. I don't even care. I <span style="font-style:italic;">told</span> you summer was over.<br /><br />5. You know, chestnuts actually sound pretty good, though. And hot chocolate? I mean, now that there's that nice autumn chill in the air, I can definitely see the appeal. It'll be cool... we can go to an orchard, get some apples... ooh, and pumpkins! We'll totally carve some pumpkins. And I really like some of my winter clothes. That coat I got last year on clearance - where did I put that awesome thing? Is it with the sleds?Colinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421796945348885980noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7611310.post-21535583742726309432009-09-28T16:42:00.002-04:002009-09-29T10:46:10.065-04:00Takayuki Fukatsu Improved My WeekendThis weekend we went to Indy and took Veda to the zoo for the first time ever. Penny had a hunch the little one would like animals, since Veda laughed hysterically at her Aunt Lauren's horse-sized dog, and this hunch was proven correct. We all had a great time watching the lemurs, and the donkeys, and the Scottish Highland Cow, and especially the goats. (They were very nice and let Veda pet them, even when she tried to poke their weird rectangle-oval eyes out.)<br /><br />We also got to go out for Thai food, which was a risk for Mom and Katie, since neither was sure they'd like it. Fortunately, the dishes we ordered were indisputably tasty. After that we got to head over to a party - a bona fide party, with adults and everything - and catch up with friends we've known since the dawn of time.<br /><br />Unfortunately, my sister was there (well, that part's not unfortunate), but she roped me into a game of Beer Pong (I know, I know) in which we got skunked by the opposing team. That meant we had to drink all the beer on our side (some of which had been seasoned with ping-pong-ball residue, mmm) and that I ended up with a headache the following morning, because I am old.<br /><br />Still, that next morning we got to have lunch with some friends we've known only since the Precambrian Era, not quite the dawn of time, and enjoy delicious waffles. So that was fun.<br /><br />And then we drove our waffle-stuffed, headachy selves back up to Winona Lake, pausing outside Roann, Indiana when we noticed Penny's sister Brittany sitting next to a river. This was not something you ordinarily expect to see on that particular stretch of road, so we turned around, pulled over and discovered that Britt and the rest of the family had been kayaking that morning, and were just now getting ready to have lunch at a nearby diner. So we did that too.<br /><br />Then we met back up at Penny's mom's house for a little while, during which time Veda barfed on Penny's arm and I tried to keep our niece Gianna from jumping into a fountain. Good times.<br /><br />But all throughout, I got to play with my latest favorite toy, which is the <a href="http://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewSoftware?id=300911252&mt=8">QuadCamera application for the iPhone</a>. Whoo man. The iPhone doesn't have a particularly great camera, really -- not much better than any other cell phone, I don't believe, and actually worse than several. But it has that most prized and essential feature, which almost all other cameras lack, which is that you have it with you most of the time.<br /><br />So this application, conceived by Mr. Takayuki Fukatsu, effectively makes the iPhone's mediocre camera *fun-ly* mediocre, much like my beloved Holga, and takes a series of photos in rapid succession, which are then conjoined in a fun, mosaic-looking collage that actually resembles some Holga shots.<br /><br />It made me look at everything a little differently, which is just about all you could ask of a camera (especially a phone-camera application that cost less than a cup of coffee), and it made an already great weekend even more enjoyable.<br /><br />Thanks, Takayuki.<br /><br /><object width="400" height="300"> <param name="flashvars" value="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2Fonlikepopcorn%2Fsets%2F72157622469194918%2Fshow%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2Fonlikepopcorn%2Fsets%2F72157622469194918%2F&set_id=72157622469194918&jump_to="></param> <param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=71649"></param> <param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=71649" allowFullScreen="true" flashvars="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2Fonlikepopcorn%2Fsets%2F72157622469194918%2Fshow%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2Fonlikepopcorn%2Fsets%2F72157622469194918%2F&set_id=72157622469194918&jump_to=" width="400" height="300"></embed></object>Colinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421796945348885980noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7611310.post-27075494005889196652009-09-23T15:44:00.004-04:002009-09-23T15:51:30.986-04:00Make Room<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbXlBvOF8Wb56MKrrtl7hpA00Yrp7QknpxVGbkj5_0JteZ21Vatf5egkYAIM9pqdDdZrK0ErNkvm8h-B3kJ6XkMFQ_sCYY4QGvkrhHibeLwFdgyt5LzL_JsWp13gQveiBT8B8E-Q/s1600-h/chart3.png"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbXlBvOF8Wb56MKrrtl7hpA00Yrp7QknpxVGbkj5_0JteZ21Vatf5egkYAIM9pqdDdZrK0ErNkvm8h-B3kJ6XkMFQ_sCYY4QGvkrhHibeLwFdgyt5LzL_JsWp13gQveiBT8B8E-Q/s320/chart3.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384751938018908914" /></a>Just doing a little I.T. admin around the house here, trying go gauge when we'll need to get a new external hard drive to house all Penny's projects, plus all the music and photos we steadily add to the digital stockpile.<br /><br />Noticed an interesting phenomenon, involving a sudden spike in disk consumption right around February of this year. It would seem <span style="font-style:italic;">something</span> caused us to start taking a lot more pictures...<br /><br />(Incidentally, I predict that as Veda starts walking, talking and taking over small countries with the power of Raw Cuteness, we'll shoot even more photos - and especially video - than we already do. A new 1.5TB drive, which we'll need here in a few months, should fill up by the time she starts kindergarten.)Colinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421796945348885980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7611310.post-62519366645154092282009-09-22T20:33:00.001-04:002009-09-22T20:33:51.197-04:00Vedaminute, 09.22.09<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><object type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="260" height="195" data="http://www.flickr.com/apps/video/stewart.swf?v=71377" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000"> <param name="flashvars" value="intl_lang=en-us&photo_secret=c7a7046f22&photo_id=3945600115&flickr_show_info_box=true"></param> <param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/video/stewart.swf?v=71377"></param> <param name="bgcolor" value="#000000"></param> <param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/video/stewart.swf?v=71377" bgcolor="#000000" allowfullscreen="true" flashvars="intl_lang=en-us&photo_secret=c7a7046f22&photo_id=3945600115&flickr_show_info_box=true" height="195" width="260"></embed></object><br /><span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/onlikepopcorn/3945600115/">Vedaminute, 09.22.09</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/onlikepopcorn/">This Guy Colin</a></span></div>Teething is no fun. Well, unless you have a rubber shoe to help you through it... (Make sure your sound is on.)<br clear="all" />Colinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421796945348885980noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7611310.post-21148823363256629672009-09-15T11:21:00.002-04:002009-09-15T13:31:32.024-04:00Vedaminute, 09.15.09<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><object type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="260" height="195" data="http://www.flickr.com/apps/video/stewart.swf?v=71377" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000"> <param name="flashvars" value="intl_lang=en-us&photo_secret=07d82d5242&photo_id=3923324126&flickr_show_info_box=true"></param> <param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/video/stewart.swf?v=71377"></param> <param name="bgcolor" value="#000000"></param> <param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/video/stewart.swf?v=71377" bgcolor="#000000" allowfullscreen="true" flashvars="intl_lang=en-us&photo_secret=07d82d5242&photo_id=3923324126&flickr_show_info_box=true" height="195" width="260"></embed></object><br /><span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/onlikepopcorn/3923324126/">Vedaminute, 09.15.09</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/onlikepopcorn/">This Guy Colin</a></span></div>Maybe it'd be fun to post a little one-minute clip of Veda every day, or at least every day I think of it. This Flickr Pro account should let me, I think, and hey - it's not like she has any trouble supplying sixty seconds' worth of cuteness each day.<br clear="all" />Colinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421796945348885980noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7611310.post-81774642810702736412009-09-13T17:32:00.009-04:002009-09-13T23:24:30.816-04:00Calculated Guesses<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVg30-peCOJVqf7teRmRqflpZO9x7cr8uIicLe2hU3irOmJqe_Ejtjp9BKcPVDIsR-tWSVSIl0zpmYbKfociJu6qV4vx7TJ-TdA1jRMLGx-z96bVeVV9YVW6QOkKpMznVO_zxjWA/s1600-h/Picture+2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 206px; height: 206px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVg30-peCOJVqf7teRmRqflpZO9x7cr8uIicLe2hU3irOmJqe_Ejtjp9BKcPVDIsR-tWSVSIl0zpmYbKfociJu6qV4vx7TJ-TdA1jRMLGx-z96bVeVV9YVW6QOkKpMznVO_zxjWA/s320/Picture+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381116376198144258" /></a>The newest version of <a href="http://www.apple.com/ilife/iphoto/whats-new.html#faces">iPhoto</a> is pretty impressive. In addition to cataloging our whole library - that's about 33,000 photos and counting, plus another 4,000 or so movies - and letting us quickly flip through six years of images, it uses face recognition software to group your shots by who's in them.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIKgGgY2FcCj2NhgDWQhSG7QzFtFHMwvHoIt_xMNiYcYsmLxVIy-gBxh8V78mF3EZ6Zmu6yZerJywWILCNh0l3HFI7G6yncf6PveD0EE1X4yLUckGaArG5rfWkW-eEJBxFjt2a1A/s1600-h/Picture+3.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 205px; height: 205px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIKgGgY2FcCj2NhgDWQhSG7QzFtFHMwvHoIt_xMNiYcYsmLxVIy-gBxh8V78mF3EZ6Zmu6yZerJywWILCNh0l3HFI7G6yncf6PveD0EE1X4yLUckGaArG5rfWkW-eEJBxFjt2a1A/s320/Picture+3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381121925002758226" /></a><br />Of course, you have to teach it what your friends and family look like at first, with a couple of rounds of labeling folks the old fashioned way, but after that the program really seems to get the hang of it. After just a few minutes it can identify your loved ones much faster than even you could (...if not quite as reliably). <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWdF_LQCxGJj6NZZpj9bt6h5PCAFubdF1YX9HJT7MpEShdYr77i6fZCx6DQ6wyeVjyBJ_JABT6Y_SW5Hw7pwAusTWIsGB6xZSF5Z10CaWDremir3pCPjAWB18iDnGNCDBMTw_4Tg/s1600-h/Picture+5.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 204px; height: 205px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWdF_LQCxGJj6NZZpj9bt6h5PCAFubdF1YX9HJT7MpEShdYr77i6fZCx6DQ6wyeVjyBJ_JABT6Y_SW5Hw7pwAusTWIsGB6xZSF5Z10CaWDremir3pCPjAWB18iDnGNCDBMTw_4Tg/s320/Picture+5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381121942430120434" /></a><br />I mean, think about how long it would take to go through thirty-freakin'-three <span style="font-style:italic;">thousand</span> images, looking for, say, one of your awesome uncle Mark. This way you just find a couple, tag 'em as such, and ta-da: dozens more potential pictures for you to either confirm or reject. And most of those results will feature the sunny grin, the curly hair, the distinctive mustache that mark Mark. A few may be off, but that's part of the fun.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjreUlWPEx3iapo76wQ4-IEtyxlXBRya0MHcFFn0JhmB0jGyypcIzDtW4R01cezs4s-zHWSfvrtVmBCMtl7RWCdGNMIvodKm99kuwYsbsL9bE4neJLv6l1hR_8-NSrhgxvWd2gIqQ/s1600-h/Picture+6.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 207px; height: 206px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjreUlWPEx3iapo76wQ4-IEtyxlXBRya0MHcFFn0JhmB0jGyypcIzDtW4R01cezs4s-zHWSfvrtVmBCMtl7RWCdGNMIvodKm99kuwYsbsL9bE4neJLv6l1hR_8-NSrhgxvWd2gIqQ/s320/Picture+6.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381121952881870578" /></a><br />It's getting pretty good at spotting Penelope. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif2ozUXRvZIMjn8tarqe9EY0aDzG2Hp1QWCQ6TgtbVGGwheIxqL3cWvBo0K03YBW-Gd0jdq6JRdJszNdROaFLX2PXr7KuGWfvRBRk6UDaEmJGkIKPCyMVjlyC1WkefJLacvCNikA/s1600-h/Picture+2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 165px; height: 122px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif2ozUXRvZIMjn8tarqe9EY0aDzG2Hp1QWCQ6TgtbVGGwheIxqL3cWvBo0K03YBW-Gd0jdq6JRdJszNdROaFLX2PXr7KuGWfvRBRk6UDaEmJGkIKPCyMVjlyC1WkefJLacvCNikA/s320/Picture+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381124225056670850" /></a>Part of that may be because it has 2,037 confirmed Lope-pics and counting, but still -- wearing sunglasses, reflected in a mirror, through a car window, sipping a mocha latte, making funny faces, out of focus, in the dark, whatever -- it always seems to guess that it's Penny.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXdMRu15eud5MBE3DkxZW16xzp_SJBAxzAnqbb-VSK0GC0_lNHAO0gKOAxPJeZut4Eiq_-3z39xB8dWy8MIxKQVdd1v3HfnISRhU8GfoaowebKwE8Iv0zZm-bYY82OLti6qHfmtg/s1600-h/Picture+1.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 237px; height: 187px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXdMRu15eud5MBE3DkxZW16xzp_SJBAxzAnqbb-VSK0GC0_lNHAO0gKOAxPJeZut4Eiq_-3z39xB8dWy8MIxKQVdd1v3HfnISRhU8GfoaowebKwE8Iv0zZm-bYY82OLti6qHfmtg/s320/Picture+1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381124220701666514" /></a><br />On me it's a little less certain. Maybe it's just that I have less distinctive features than she does, or perhaps that I'm not in as many pictures to begin with, but iPhoto continues to mistake me for some pretty unlikely candidates.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHq2YZNSxCKqO8qb2SYGIPtnChVxH6sAr_mCjwhlQsjRUmQjmdbQ4w-smM6zPT41-Trcvm1NHpcDGV8Basn9k6P7YrAL3cWSeubrYfmhDOR_iyt8TrUQQ3FXedqn210G9sAEMa3A/s1600-h/Picture+8.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 207px; height: 206px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHq2YZNSxCKqO8qb2SYGIPtnChVxH6sAr_mCjwhlQsjRUmQjmdbQ4w-smM6zPT41-Trcvm1NHpcDGV8Basn9k6P7YrAL3cWSeubrYfmhDOR_iyt8TrUQQ3FXedqn210G9sAEMa3A/s320/Picture+8.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381123057101000018" /></a><br />For instance, I have a hard time seeing how I resemble an elderly Asian man. Or former president Bush. Or a truck tire. But algorithms don't lie, I guess, so on some level I apparently do look somewhat like Tony Dungy. Aside from his Super Bowl ring, among other traits.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6vWGYTCjej7gxNfuBXGq7Bvc3FOLaxIcf3uRr0DBWoCHFGNe45Q-FnNZWBS09iRgk0cPkHg5s0H4u_nBYfSDs0DTgZYk1vWTnr5nNNtVOUDEybnzX1jfA6VUvJoL_t3Mb0oL3SA/s1600-h/Picture+9.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 206px; height: 204px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6vWGYTCjej7gxNfuBXGq7Bvc3FOLaxIcf3uRr0DBWoCHFGNe45Q-FnNZWBS09iRgk0cPkHg5s0H4u_nBYfSDs0DTgZYk1vWTnr5nNNtVOUDEybnzX1jfA6VUvJoL_t3Mb0oL3SA/s320/Picture+9.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381123058106528770" /></a><br />Alright.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_fWv-EJywXByRrdJoyzgq8eK7wtyh0C23h6KrPNja6IF5HCqdlw6LepXcUZLbfYGUG3W2KNtKbiaj2sCP1mF-0Amxu0yrdB_FoM0tmcjVLvaf3S8v-s7snm3Mmjz6os9rrdUvTg/s1600-h/Picture+10.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 205px; height: 207px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_fWv-EJywXByRrdJoyzgq8eK7wtyh0C23h6KrPNja6IF5HCqdlw6LepXcUZLbfYGUG3W2KNtKbiaj2sCP1mF-0Amxu0yrdB_FoM0tmcjVLvaf3S8v-s7snm3Mmjz6os9rrdUvTg/s320/Picture+10.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381123066700119106" /></a><br />I have to give credit for one thing, though: By round 3 of identifying Veda, iPhoto mainly mistook her for just two people -- me and Penny. Which stands to reason. I'm kind of surprised it can I.D. babies at all.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgATQpYMp2UHPxcGladnryJKkyVUKZdv7kWpjBdaRfV-ViGQl-meLaSHmifEcG_LIDo6_FDM4Bh4aXgFDsUBNw_vt1RPbOYIrXNSjJF_2IOtL6i8K3mxuEUQIkcvbTVlflk1-Nd_w/s1600-h/Picture+11.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 205px; height: 207px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgATQpYMp2UHPxcGladnryJKkyVUKZdv7kWpjBdaRfV-ViGQl-meLaSHmifEcG_LIDo6_FDM4Bh4aXgFDsUBNw_vt1RPbOYIrXNSjJF_2IOtL6i8K3mxuEUQIkcvbTVlflk1-Nd_w/s320/Picture+11.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381123070333242610" /></a><br />So if you think I've got some photos of you in my library, rest assured that I'll soon find them all. And I can chart your hairstyles over the years at the click of a button.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEsfsEt2kO0sNOzSbRULSqVQgrAafRI7eHekxfK2fIRqznri-qwdQzVJd8OkqH-E0OIGLnQlT8GnZsrtmjSXGeqkd9gVI9vzRlXuTMSyePHqkmPUk-OAbd9nlVwo7Oyc4ZGky40A/s1600-h/Picture+12.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 205px; height: 205px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEsfsEt2kO0sNOzSbRULSqVQgrAafRI7eHekxfK2fIRqznri-qwdQzVJd8OkqH-E0OIGLnQlT8GnZsrtmjSXGeqkd9gVI9vzRlXuTMSyePHqkmPUk-OAbd9nlVwo7Oyc4ZGky40A/s320/Picture+12.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381123082263032866" /></a><br />Or even, with no personal offense intended, compare you to a truck tire.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6m7s5RxJZxu1mPUyxqGdyUZJ7I-6CyxvIVivU4K-p58QLTrBj8b3js8v9_MuOnQHy0-o-8B1X9qL5nwop94q8HxBbweQ-IoqJGWmi3yLf7GUbSKOwFbqPgFeqdRJmvOBTvkKLyA/s1600-h/Picture+5.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6m7s5RxJZxu1mPUyxqGdyUZJ7I-6CyxvIVivU4K-p58QLTrBj8b3js8v9_MuOnQHy0-o-8B1X9qL5nwop94q8HxBbweQ-IoqJGWmi3yLf7GUbSKOwFbqPgFeqdRJmvOBTvkKLyA/s320/Picture+5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381124230566580578" /></a><br />Computer says it, so it's got to be true.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_S18rXEounijbuvEOQ7PapH-zN3qjneKuXWq8FXwIA7AjeiXDk0XgCeqp5hGishJ1-MxCFCK-gtOhyphenhyphengd2_L-Qyu4QF7YhHvEb878w0czMvld0vRR5wJbCqB8WOF1ZzqbT1PfrIg/s1600-h/Picture+6.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 286px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_S18rXEounijbuvEOQ7PapH-zN3qjneKuXWq8FXwIA7AjeiXDk0XgCeqp5hGishJ1-MxCFCK-gtOhyphenhyphengd2_L-Qyu4QF7YhHvEb878w0czMvld0vRR5wJbCqB8WOF1ZzqbT1PfrIg/s320/Picture+6.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381124241769149426" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUjijtLiJEzbfeBow3Xin7OMdeQrvRPJzxOms9-HT2Pytu_vn7fEh0dTBeFT4aNFqKIMAEw12HhRDixxj0EUnzIlmOlJy4njVjRBb9o9ytM9GzSHbWE3z72KOMO3kY1Cze6YiAzQ/s1600-h/Picture+8.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 155px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUjijtLiJEzbfeBow3Xin7OMdeQrvRPJzxOms9-HT2Pytu_vn7fEh0dTBeFT4aNFqKIMAEw12HhRDixxj0EUnzIlmOlJy4njVjRBb9o9ytM9GzSHbWE3z72KOMO3kY1Cze6YiAzQ/s320/Picture+8.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381124247437408306" /></a>Colinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421796945348885980noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7611310.post-85043120874251865482009-09-03T12:55:00.004-04:002009-09-23T14:23:52.079-04:00Hit By a ComparisonI don't know about you, but I love hearing the same joke twice.<br /><br />I really do. I have this penchant for deconstructing jokes, which I understand is never a good idea (E.B. "The Man" White said it best: “Analyzing humor is like dissecting a frog. Few people are interested and the frog dies of it.”), but I just can't help myself.<br /><br />So I figured what might be funnier than explaining comedy would be just sampling two flavors of it.<br /><br />(Fortunately, it's not two versions of the exact same joke, but two riffs on the same topic: being hit by a car. That should be a little more interesting to the casual bystander.)<br /><br />Both are YouTube clips, which are legal to post here, but I recommend just listening to the audio of each. The video element doesn't add much to stand-up comedy in most cases, in my humble opinion.<br /><br />We'll go in chronological order, so the first will be Eddie Murphy from 1982, and the second will be Dane Cook from 2005.<br /><br />Both are hugely successful comics, though neither of these guys are technically part of the comedy pantheon, so I think it's a reasonable comparison. (Eddie probably gets a little more respect among comedians than Dane does, though. His early routines got criticized for being a dumbed-down version of Richard Pryor's stuff - which Eddie acknowledged by admitting Richard was his hero - while Dane's comedy draws flak for being more theatrical than cerebral, and he runs around on stage yelling a lot. He's also accused of plagiarizing jokes from Louis C.K.)<br /><br />Hey, and both are pretty profane, just so you know.<br /><br />1:<br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/-PAdDJbxEOU&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/-PAdDJbxEOU&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />2:<br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/BVY8-dQqKOE&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/BVY8-dQqKOE&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />So which is funnier to you?Colinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421796945348885980noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7611310.post-2046927026844672712009-08-29T22:17:00.006-04:002009-08-29T22:52:03.124-04:00On the Meaning, Purpose and Nature of Cuteness<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHkHum3s4P6Qb0pMrNYVwI7WrTBmygnE27maG6CqBtO4A0RiTDVO9ZfoXsKzMlkk63moHdg55XfX2h-_To7tpkhLXCG-Ge63wrs35Sr2s-SZFPK2ZGI5AdZylTK1E0UWP7ZtK20g/s1600-h/IMG_0483.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHkHum3s4P6Qb0pMrNYVwI7WrTBmygnE27maG6CqBtO4A0RiTDVO9ZfoXsKzMlkk63moHdg55XfX2h-_To7tpkhLXCG-Ge63wrs35Sr2s-SZFPK2ZGI5AdZylTK1E0UWP7ZtK20g/s320/IMG_0483.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375576236946592562" /></a>Define "cute." Go ahead. I'll wait.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">It's kind of like... uh, pretty, but in a wholesome, innocent way. And boys can be it too. For a while. Old boys -- men, I guess -- can't really be cute, or at least can't be called it, but women can. Girls too. Girls especially. Beautiful? No, that's something different. "Tiny" isn't quite it either. Man, there was a tiny spider crawling on my sunglasses the other day when I went to put them on, and it wasn't cute at all. At all. The ebola virus is pretty compact as well, I'm told.</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNrDaegHNBEgGIAReQA_QlST0l0UAaxrzygJFgIpvRkYtroN7KLzg_RQ-smwRaqihWN3i6msGLL6YcULw9-6R5dhrqxv55C1duEOiElVkIsf5pLQUsa34PeO2nyCbQ7C7Hk0b7WA/s1600-h/IMG_0355.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNrDaegHNBEgGIAReQA_QlST0l0UAaxrzygJFgIpvRkYtroN7KLzg_RQ-smwRaqihWN3i6msGLL6YcULw9-6R5dhrqxv55C1duEOiElVkIsf5pLQUsa34PeO2nyCbQ7C7Hk0b7WA/s320/IMG_0355.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375576250726809586" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">But yeah, we're on to something. Pretty *and* little. And non-threatening. Very important. "Exquisite..." hmm, maybe. Nah. It's like that idea, but on the opposite end of the fanciness spectrum. If "exquisite" is a gourmet truffle with coffee liqueur, "cute" is a strawberry cupcake.</span><br /><br />I guess you just know it when you see it. "Things That Make You Go 'Aww'" was going to be my original title for this little rambling, but I was hoping to stay a little more scholarly-sounding than that.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIV-aCNvwOJt1k8vK2-of2VSmAGE11d5jACPBSxEP5TJRNmiS7U1Reofbh1ZCZ2lj4M0Mx8O3l2b5g8ZYM6K-GsHfHh2bbWrjbm5L4uWWOHyzIakFC3D3_yyCMnTkomie-GjdU_Q/s1600-h/IMG_0527.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIV-aCNvwOJt1k8vK2-of2VSmAGE11d5jACPBSxEP5TJRNmiS7U1Reofbh1ZCZ2lj4M0Mx8O3l2b5g8ZYM6K-GsHfHh2bbWrjbm5L4uWWOHyzIakFC3D3_yyCMnTkomie-GjdU_Q/s320/IMG_0527.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375581712796431474" /></a><br />How is it that we all have full use and mastery of this word, yet nobody really knows how to define it? A mystery for the ages, no doubt. "Cute." <span style="font-style:italic;">Kyoot</span>. You know, that "things that make you..." definition might be the best we're going to get. Cuteness could be serviceably defined as the quality belonging to anything that elicits instantaneous and otherwise inexplicable affection.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1J_ii1KA4SzCgHg4f126xuT9F2Ow_kdTvJBjiwAYnzWgr1o8KPZNj4V3wQE2tJUMzDravh0wR_MUKhK8J9KYP8KBHqhNKDVeGlNDtWif9LFYc4NbIoc3fU_XOGL711Lzx-JOt9g/s1600-h/IMG_0389.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1J_ii1KA4SzCgHg4f126xuT9F2Ow_kdTvJBjiwAYnzWgr1o8KPZNj4V3wQE2tJUMzDravh0wR_MUKhK8J9KYP8KBHqhNKDVeGlNDtWif9LFYc4NbIoc3fU_XOGL711Lzx-JOt9g/s320/IMG_0389.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375581697389201218" /></a><br />"Cuter than a pail of kittens" was the phrase bandied about in the crime thriller we just watched the other night. And they weren't even talking about a baby, or a panda, or a virus or anything else that might fit our earlier attempt at a description -- the cute item in this case was actually a plan to rob a cargo jet of some Swiss gold bars. Not that small, this plan, nor particularly aesthetically appealing. Especially not with Gene Hackman at the helm. (Sorry, Gene. You're still probably the most effective living actor in modern cinema, if that's any consolation.)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5sAFygBOPFWb1R2Pw-LBkEKkke9wes_U6tym0n0Ry6EpLQ8RCYKWhjpkxaBZ70xOYgImV4RISHpy6xzns4aN_OUa3NLivdFvBHgJkoiFRTZGANy3gfe3lka3PP8HeMrrKxhyphenhyphenFRw/s1600-h/IMG_0474.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5sAFygBOPFWb1R2Pw-LBkEKkke9wes_U6tym0n0Ry6EpLQ8RCYKWhjpkxaBZ70xOYgImV4RISHpy6xzns4aN_OUa3NLivdFvBHgJkoiFRTZGANy3gfe3lka3PP8HeMrrKxhyphenhyphenFRw/s320/IMG_0474.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375581706817333538" /></a><br />So a scheme can be cute, but Gene Hackman cannot. Nor a truffle, nor a death spore.<br /><br />The local newspaper is running a "Cutest Baby" contest, of course, and this being 2009 and all they've got online voting and everything. Log in, browse some babies, place your votes. Winner gets a savings bond, or a Babies Backward R Us shopping spree, or something like that. It's too late to enter Veda this year.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUpQhmA5tprF7fi-07wnvNkUP4ICVZT3KEEPC0s57XuQpXbYVMf6ofdeweU2uMopfyvqVd0qwuhYLzmmp9JcUaeo5nZ2vUzh7raN86iGypesL6nLzf1PeS1sj4HSDZMvWckKLUQQ/s1600-h/IMG_0363.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUpQhmA5tprF7fi-07wnvNkUP4ICVZT3KEEPC0s57XuQpXbYVMf6ofdeweU2uMopfyvqVd0qwuhYLzmmp9JcUaeo5nZ2vUzh7raN86iGypesL6nLzf1PeS1sj4HSDZMvWckKLUQQ/s320/IMG_0363.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375581689039373282" /></a><br />I saw the other contenders, though, and it's a formidable field indeed. There are some devastatingly cute kids in this region, by the looks of it. Our friends -- you know what? I was going to rattle off the names of some of the cute kids our friends have produced so far, but now I'm not going to. I'd surely leave one or two out, just by sheer forgettance, and the parents could feel rightly jilted.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1KDMhlApbSmnVLLtf4IBrmrHEO6e1TeYFQL_xFeUjJWXDAX87DQbCtiIR8wMC7k5uXAtO1EKf_isOOIY-Ty2nzxHSgnyXW-lqtAH2IlSWoDbRYCgWoJB002FkudjpIWIeGKHMOw/s1600-h/IMG_0534.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1KDMhlApbSmnVLLtf4IBrmrHEO6e1TeYFQL_xFeUjJWXDAX87DQbCtiIR8wMC7k5uXAtO1EKf_isOOIY-Ty2nzxHSgnyXW-lqtAH2IlSWoDbRYCgWoJB002FkudjpIWIeGKHMOw/s320/IMG_0534.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375576258246834306" /></a><br />Folks are funny like that.<br /><br />Then again, I had somebody comment on Veda being cute just this morning, and I didn't really know what to say. She is, of course -- the most radiantly adorable human being who has ever been born to anyone, anywhere, ever -- but it's still kind of strange thing to hear. People say it to moms and dads almost as a pleasantry; it's like complimenting someone's wallpaper. "This floral pattern is just lovely, Bernice. I never would have thought to paper right over the brick like that. Gives each begonia just that little bit of texture. Hey, baby's cute too."<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFCjghnWSMkN3qlDnnGePHtHR4T9hr2wVonCuOCElK6OeIBfpCuzrw3MwEaWDHF-iJPdoI_KYu691OwWMdyGrx2BWBU-Zt9idtiebh0J1skjdBtRbPJ0ELNx_eAAuqjnH2y0alcg/s1600-h/IMG_0565.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFCjghnWSMkN3qlDnnGePHtHR4T9hr2wVonCuOCElK6OeIBfpCuzrw3MwEaWDHF-iJPdoI_KYu691OwWMdyGrx2BWBU-Zt9idtiebh0J1skjdBtRbPJ0ELNx_eAAuqjnH2y0alcg/s320/IMG_0565.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375576267272948434" /></a><br />"Thank you very much, Glenda." That's what you say -- you thank people for saying your baby's cute. It's not intended this way, I know, but when you think about it it's almost like you're acknowledging their politeness, and by extension their insincerity, by thanking them. "Thanks for saying my kid's cute" could imply that the kid actually *isn't*, and you both know it, possibly because he looks like a little Gene Hackman, but that you sure do appreciate this bystander pretending otherwise.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFSfL2R7HaGFvS3qMHZW26TQWtRJ51hGmnH7ad2W2qfkgkxXldOwXMMU_6NyDi6Gq_5QymVe_BmfsZFQbmLQ8laWcNcCz6hHNcdGgHwRAGD3qQGHJZDa1FcuG5nq9cUZO9fo8lFA/s1600-h/IMG_0584.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFSfL2R7HaGFvS3qMHZW26TQWtRJ51hGmnH7ad2W2qfkgkxXldOwXMMU_6NyDi6Gq_5QymVe_BmfsZFQbmLQ8laWcNcCz6hHNcdGgHwRAGD3qQGHJZDa1FcuG5nq9cUZO9fo8lFA/s320/IMG_0584.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375576275820373666" /></a><br />"Yeah, I know" is no good either, though. (Despite that fact that every parent *does* know.) It's just a little too smug, a little too self-satisfied for common discourse. But why is that? Why is it rude to smile and nod at someone who called your kid cute and simply affirm that you agree?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR3cdVIbtCAgrUE0EL-h7sO-pAZsdSQzOOkfQMNkjUBPQpurGXU_XQKrDQkwAhU-1Nwaoof0FE04Mt_K7h4eQMbiUaXRgXmyoypjHUQMxhON-u0oQrb6T600Xc0DOJ0nPN6iSkMQ/s1600-h/IMG_0768.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR3cdVIbtCAgrUE0EL-h7sO-pAZsdSQzOOkfQMNkjUBPQpurGXU_XQKrDQkwAhU-1Nwaoof0FE04Mt_K7h4eQMbiUaXRgXmyoypjHUQMxhON-u0oQrb6T600Xc0DOJ0nPN6iSkMQ/s320/IMG_0768.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375578102269778610" /></a><br />I'll tell you why. It's because babies are seen as miniature people. Scale models of their parents. And saying someone's kid is aesthetically appealing, eliciting that good ol' instantaneous and otherwise inexplicable affection, is generally interpreted as a compliment to the parents as well.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4qR8fmvKObdxmxFiJX8lJl_NJPfGcd2HXG4ItdJhm3E32vhNyCnaYF0AdLHuPe_qOxLVLauO70ZykNnmeQytX4fXaxeuGm9iCpZ0Mqtvq7Cc9UZnsjbRn3GXmPs-ocnutlNa3hg/s1600-h/IMG_0844.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4qR8fmvKObdxmxFiJX8lJl_NJPfGcd2HXG4ItdJhm3E32vhNyCnaYF0AdLHuPe_qOxLVLauO70ZykNnmeQytX4fXaxeuGm9iCpZ0Mqtvq7Cc9UZnsjbRn3GXmPs-ocnutlNa3hg/s320/IMG_0844.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375578130913228178" /></a><br />This is horseshit. Just because someone thinks my baby is cute doesn't mean they think I am. Not by a longshot. (Even though people do sometimes say in their next breath, "she looks just like you," which I'd say is a come-on by any standard, yeah?)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx3VtjCHnSZahG08bIy3sPmJEBk0-HVzPB_OZm54nT7MWbfDaj5fj4JMVynEoJ1isovdkYWBkFobmXyLvxt46S6KgfhJOn_hSzlCaCUtQQFXI_7b2ImPQucYEAnMQUcSELSlqk7A/s1600-h/IMG_0775.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx3VtjCHnSZahG08bIy3sPmJEBk0-HVzPB_OZm54nT7MWbfDaj5fj4JMVynEoJ1isovdkYWBkFobmXyLvxt46S6KgfhJOn_hSzlCaCUtQQFXI_7b2ImPQucYEAnMQUcSELSlqk7A/s320/IMG_0775.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375578108528804162" /></a><br />Yet still it's treated -- responded to, anyway -- as flattery for the folks. Like making a fuss over a fancy hat or something. "Hey, cute baby." "Oh, goodness, this old thing? It's kind of you to say so, but I don't believe it for a second. Poor soul's probably still covered in dust from the attic. Thanks all the same."<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMKw-BeTAOhWN8_iPZu7JKiBuTFl7m56NAbdF6O3PLprQh8gR4ZaHzab2Gkun2kzZIG6fjKj72AQyMGZi2nnbvLSyrMKT8AF_LmZxpb92zVE8bdxBlltWNvy537L2_ymLLFxl8rg/s1600-h/IMG_0829.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMKw-BeTAOhWN8_iPZu7JKiBuTFl7m56NAbdF6O3PLprQh8gR4ZaHzab2Gkun2kzZIG6fjKj72AQyMGZi2nnbvLSyrMKT8AF_LmZxpb92zVE8bdxBlltWNvy537L2_ymLLFxl8rg/s320/IMG_0829.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375578121881600914" /></a><br />So is that why all those parents entered their babies in the Cute Contest? To make themselves feel more attractive? As if a victory there will confirm their pulchritude in print -- a solid bullet point they can then rush to add to their resumés?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA5QHkmTtuKGSXIETqHY8UZPo2eWh7mETDEXRM8K32wClAuY6c8pmSsCLOcdHAblLleMcp666EK-mmu8rnfj1caIsNIw3BSx-aHVAfkeukOUMKzIEott-iAXkQXwhAKgQwN82ujg/s1600-h/IMG_0859.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA5QHkmTtuKGSXIETqHY8UZPo2eWh7mETDEXRM8K32wClAuY6c8pmSsCLOcdHAblLleMcp666EK-mmu8rnfj1caIsNIw3BSx-aHVAfkeukOUMKzIEott-iAXkQXwhAKgQwN82ujg/s320/IMG_0859.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375578142137928626" /></a><br />"Let's see here, Mr. Robertson. Looks like you've got ten years' experience, two advanced degrees and -- hold on a minute -- a cute baby too? My goodness, why don't you just hop around here and take my desk until we can find you something nicer. I should have hired you the moment you walked in, flashing those wallet portraits so prominently. Quite a find you are."<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_07CgpTyOEfoUIrBhG39q8g8IzhWtg2T9QA_IQd7Bc6M1duiajmFOFWKuhyphenhyphenAc1v4gU851Q6PajIx8kgi_j79bdWAwhRrCZsuDC4xTV8P8wqFMtJiXif_eDNZohyCVtnxXz2XbEQ/s1600-h/IMG_0580.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_07CgpTyOEfoUIrBhG39q8g8IzhWtg2T9QA_IQd7Bc6M1duiajmFOFWKuhyphenhyphenAc1v4gU851Q6PajIx8kgi_j79bdWAwhRrCZsuDC4xTV8P8wqFMtJiXif_eDNZohyCVtnxXz2XbEQ/s320/IMG_0580.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375581679189124418" /></a><br />Probably not. No, it's probably more the case that you thank people on your child's <span style="font-style:italic;">behalf</span>. It's not like Veda can say "thank you" yet -- the little ruffian's manners are deplorable -- so it's up to Lope or me to respond for her. That makes more sense.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4rzIj-ckuDDnPjoTqTBXLTdoJUPA8mWFbWsC3w2Mc0HajDyhvffzywgtJwbHqXvAC4cWEooJQbuU6sW19brh2bNRfY5CgQOs5SDGFd3KvWROl9WuY7IyXgpA2VNQPSSaluFjYCg/s1600-h/IMG_0909.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4rzIj-ckuDDnPjoTqTBXLTdoJUPA8mWFbWsC3w2Mc0HajDyhvffzywgtJwbHqXvAC4cWEooJQbuU6sW19brh2bNRfY5CgQOs5SDGFd3KvWROl9WuY7IyXgpA2VNQPSSaluFjYCg/s320/IMG_0909.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375579740087341170" /></a><br />I'll tell you what I <span style="font-style:italic;">want</span> to say, though, particularly now that I've given it some thought. "Glad you think so." And here's why:<br /><br />I think I've figured out the purpose of cuteness. The whole point. Yep. Defining it may still be tricky, and the "how" remains a little sketchy, but I'm pretty sure I've got the "why" nailed down.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhDQdHqKiYhe5DDVLi46VIvXocuESlo7o7IzTtPplDiCGKjLnbw-7ydvaiiCeaLCtSc-tbf0nGIqnByzmvAeFBbY1ghs5si15D_p526L85KITZxSmQRWUouqNhsmkdegLrlk8Xcw/s1600-h/IMG_0946.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhDQdHqKiYhe5DDVLi46VIvXocuESlo7o7IzTtPplDiCGKjLnbw-7ydvaiiCeaLCtSc-tbf0nGIqnByzmvAeFBbY1ghs5si15D_p526L85KITZxSmQRWUouqNhsmkdegLrlk8Xcw/s320/IMG_0946.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375579745405510562" /></a><br />It's not to impress the neighbors. And it's not to prove that you, too, the parent, were one day fun to look at, despite your current state of decay and disrepair. It's not even to guarantee the baby's survival, a theory I've heard propounded on more than one occasion. (Think about it -- it kind of makes sense that Veda's big eyes, chubby cheeks and infectious smile would keep us from abandoning her to the wolves, until you realize she's <span style="font-style:italic;">way</span> too cute for that. To avoid getting jettisoned, she'd only need to be about a sixtieth as cute as she actually is, and I just don't buy into this kind of evolutionary overkill. Cute can't be a defense mechanism; it's more like a charm that fills every cell of your baby and mesmerizes anyone who comes too close.)<br /><br />Cuteness isn't to win you a Babies Backwards R Us loothaul, either.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC-SDeTkhUpuj_a33IA4xEHoTPM1pjYaa_fk1-xP6OIXYZIBYSRa1HFKFgZXlx9GCojqmSbrKTANTKt6C-OzaDH_pJgG8qsHJanQT4FEuQMpLdAkjKWugPAihdg4MTVvbkOQ2sKA/s1600-h/IMG_0958.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC-SDeTkhUpuj_a33IA4xEHoTPM1pjYaa_fk1-xP6OIXYZIBYSRa1HFKFgZXlx9GCojqmSbrKTANTKt6C-OzaDH_pJgG8qsHJanQT4FEuQMpLdAkjKWugPAihdg4MTVvbkOQ2sKA/s320/IMG_0958.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375579754376836098" /></a><br />No, I think it's the simplest, oldest motivation in the world that explains babies' cuteness. It's to make other people happy. Some people were put here on Earth to bring joy and contentment to the humans around them, and I think babies do it better than just about anyone.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeUlJc2EML7DU6LyDLfrKTFZrcrABicEfF-TguJts2TqlkROGE-mA-q8ehKP3dMU9KiXWoMziFrrpONRi7IUMwe4BQC6cpmOD8XuDbQmYM68vdtpJ12hW2Evx64BfP8sxSfRBbVA/s1600-h/IMG_0990.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeUlJc2EML7DU6LyDLfrKTFZrcrABicEfF-TguJts2TqlkROGE-mA-q8ehKP3dMU9KiXWoMziFrrpONRi7IUMwe4BQC6cpmOD8XuDbQmYM68vdtpJ12hW2Evx64BfP8sxSfRBbVA/s320/IMG_0990.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375579770361439074" /></a><br />It reminds me of that quote I loved so much a few years ago and talked about in an <a href="http://onlikepopcorn.blogspot.com/2006/03/just-discovered-in-small-book-of-irish.html">earlier post</a>. <span style="font-style:italic;">"Live in an endeavor to fence against ill health and other evils of life by mirth; being firmly persuaded that every time a man smiles, but much more when he laughs, it adds something to this fragment of life." (- Laurence Sterne)</span><br /><br />Yep. That's Veda's job right now, and she's extreeeemely good at it. So I'll probably keep thanking people when they say she's cute, but really I'll be thinking, "Way to go Veda! Another satisfied customer!"<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCseI2U2sAlLRK3to07nHGdzMPWNE1KRTnOPule9n80O827DcWusqQAiNT1q2-mzatgsOg3xT2o1Z5rZv_M2hyphenhyphenMS-NRvc5UnoCpgoIyEutc9neUZ6gWPuQa0ib9ahqdwQ5gP-05Q/s1600-h/IMG_7883.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCseI2U2sAlLRK3to07nHGdzMPWNE1KRTnOPule9n80O827DcWusqQAiNT1q2-mzatgsOg3xT2o1Z5rZv_M2hyphenhyphenMS-NRvc5UnoCpgoIyEutc9neUZ6gWPuQa0ib9ahqdwQ5gP-05Q/s320/IMG_7883.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375579779147856754" /></a><br />And she'll look up at me and smile, and I'll melt all over again. I still can't really define it, but I know that's just how these things work out.Colinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421796945348885980noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7611310.post-16225605999380432022009-08-29T16:47:00.004-04:002009-08-29T16:56:14.748-04:00Ninth Street Courtship<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqVanTipvXggQP7EfXEZSEoqVNbFY19hCD-8FZxuAJVXJ-5-3ovtD72uRPhKxgzWWbuplKaJANdrD0DIf1grQf-mIt7nnANd9KQWBGyamzS_DrJR8paV76r3l6jvENBUtA2buhSg/s1600-h/GraceHill.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 314px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqVanTipvXggQP7EfXEZSEoqVNbFY19hCD-8FZxuAJVXJ-5-3ovtD72uRPhKxgzWWbuplKaJANdrD0DIf1grQf-mIt7nnANd9KQWBGyamzS_DrJR8paV76r3l6jvENBUtA2buhSg/s320/GraceHill.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375492377076645106" /></a>Just got back this Holga picture, taken from the bottom of the street by our house. I'll admit the sepia tone is cheating a bit, but doesn't it look like this could have been discovered tucked inside an old bureau or something?<br /><br />If you ignore the lightpost, I mean?<br /><br />Not sure who the two people are, either, but I sense a budding romance.<br /><br />In other news, Brittany (our little sister) starts college at Grace (at the top of this hill) this week, and today's move-in day.<br /><br />It's really fun to help her get situated. Penny's pretty unstoppable with ideas for how the girls should configure the room.Colinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11421796945348885980noreply@blogger.com1