Ode to my car...

It has been a long time since I've written anything. Anything at all. It was a long Autumn, and looks to be a long Winter. I loaded up the family to go visit my parents. My mom and dad are in the 70s, and health is a short commodity these days. It is about a 3 1/2 hour drive from Eau Claire to Green Bay - due East - and the weather looked fine when we left home. However, it didn't stay that way for long. By the time we reached Chippewa Falls, only 20 minutes away, it had started to snow. Less than an hour later, our trip had come to an abrupt stop.

Unfortunately, (above) this is what is left of my 2008 Mercedes-Benz GL450. The car probably saved our lives. The outside is a mess, but the cabin was intact and all the occupants, although scared, were alright. Including five children, the eldest only 12 years old. My youngest son, who has Down Syndrome, kept saying "I'm scared Daddy - that really scared me." but he was okay, not a scratch. Elizabeth and Emma (all of five years old) needed to be hospitalized to get their neck and back checked out, but they were okay. Just suffered minor whiplash from the collision.

I've always thought cars were a really bad investment. And, frankly, have regretted buying this Mercedes-Benz since the day I drove it off the lot. But, I must admit, it kept my family safe. All in all, things could have been much worse.

Unfortunately, I never did make it back to Green Bay to see my parents. Which is really too bad. I miss my parents, and fear this may be the last Christmas I could spend with them.

I hope 2009 brings good health and fortune to our family. We could use the change of pace.

F'ing Cold!!!!!

I recently had the good pleasure to go camping with my 10 year-old son. It was a Boy Scout campt, and accomodations were minimal -- not what I am used to when I travel. Upon arrival and unpacking our provisions, I realized that I forgot my damn sleeping bag. This is normally not a big deal in the middle of summer... but this was northern Wisconsin, and a very clear night. Shit! There is a well known effect, black-body radiation, which saps the warmth from everything when there is no cloud cover. The deep blackness of the night sky absorbs the heat emitted from the Earth.... resulting in, you guessed it, really fucking cold.

We had a nice camp fire until about 10:30 pm, but then it gave way to the stifling cold and the boys and dads retreated to our humble tent-like shelters.

Fuck!!! By 11:00 pm, my body temperature was telling me to look for a source of heat. As 1:00 am rolled around, panic set in that I wouldn't get any sleep at all. By 3:30 am, the mucus in my nose was frozen into corn-flaked sized projectiles. It was a looooong night. I did manage to sleep from about 4:15 am til 5:00 am, when I think the temperature reached a minimum.... 45 degrees F. I was covered with a thin beach towel, with about as much warmth as the Wicked Witch of the West. Fuck!!! I was cold. At that point, I stumbled out of the "shelter" and made my way to the car -- a brilliant move, I wish I had thought of it hours ago! -- to retrieve the chemically activated hand warmers nestled in my first-aid kit in the back of my car. I stuffed those in my pocket and headed back for shelter, it was about a quarter-mile trek back from the car to the campsite.


With my modest warmth in hand, I managed another 45 minutes of sleep... until we awoke to do the polar plunge at 6:00 am. Shit! Does anyone sleep on these campouts?!

I had a wonderful, but somnilent, time at camp with my son. I wouldn't trade it for anything... except maybe a sleeping bag.

At the crack of dawn, I started a fire and managed to raise my body temperature by a few degrees.

Iron Chef - Kid Stadium

For all the parents out there who have struggled to get their kids to try different foods, here is a fun way to develop their prepubescent pallets. I am a fan of The Food Network which has a series called Iron Chef America where contestants can challenge a venerable "iron" chef to a cook off. Each contestant is given 60 minutes to prepare several dishes from a secret ingredient which is revealed at the beginning of the show. The secret ingredient is usually something exotic like swallows nest, eel, cow pie, or something equally improbable.

I've taken this idea and put a fun twist on it for my 12 and 10 year-old sons to experiment with food and cooking in a controlled environment, namely my kitchen, where I have immediate access to a fire extinguisher, first-aid supplies, and a garbage can. As the "responsible" parent, I choose the secret ingredient. Examples of past secret ingredients include: peanut butter, popcorn, steak, etc. Last week we had our "celery and carrot" challenge. Each contestant makes three or four dishes with the secret ingredient, and is judged on:

• Taste (15 points)
• Presentation and plating (10 points)
• Originality (10 points)

The kids had 60 minutes to prepare their dishes at which time I get to [gulp] sample each dish, and score them. Here is what they came up with...

Chef Austin's Dishes

Chef Austin's first dish (left) was "cowboy stew" made with rehydrated beef jerky (no kidding), pearl onions, carrots, and celery. This dish was simmered for several minutes to reconstitute the beef jerky, which imparted a flavorful, albeit strange, taste to the stew.

Chef Austin's second dish (right) was "frogs on a log" which was carrot morsels on a bed of veggie dip, encapsulated by a fresh stalk of celery. This was a nice variation of the classic "ants on a log" treat that so many kids have come to hate.


Finally, Chef Austin's last dish was a sesame spinach and grilled celery salad (below). The celery was drizzled with extra-virgin olive oil and grilled to imperfection, on top of a bed of fresh spinach drenched in pungent sesame seed oil. Unfortunately, this dish was so over-seasoned with sesame seed oil it had to be gently carried outside because the pungent sesame seed oil was starting to peel the paint off the walls! Unfortunately, it was inedible.... very inedible, in fact it was probably toxic. So it was judged on originality, and presentation, but not taste.








Chef Mitchel's Dishes
The reigning champion and venerable Chef Mitchel has taken a safer approach to the carrot and celery challenge.

We start with a celery and carrot sandwich (below). Finely chopped carrots and celery mixed with veggie dip served on calcium fortified white bread. A cute little bite out of the corner helped to score points for presentation.


Next up on Chef Mitchel's menu was a "sunshine celery and carrot" medley (below). This delightfully fresh and fun dish was garnished with tangerines. Each carrot was carefully cut to size and embedded in a stalk of celery. The combination of carrot and celery together in one tidy package gave a crunch-crunch goodness that was sure to loosen a few fillings.









Chef Mitchel's final dish was a geometrical tribute to celery and carrots (below). Inspired by the architectural lines of Frank Lloyd Wright, this dish combines thinly sliced strips of celery, with carrots and a glob of vegetable dip. Definitely playing it safe with this dish, but the presentation was fun.






And the winner is...
It was a close competition: Chef Austin took some challenges with the sesame spinach and grilled celery salad, unfortunately, the toxic nature of the dish made a sour burp a welcome experience. Chef Mitchel took a safe approach and literal interpretations of each plate, each of which were edible - in fact, the celery and carrot sandwich was quite good!

In the end: Chef Mitchel was awarded
31/35 total points, and Chef Austin earned 29/35 total points.

In the final analysis
We always have a lot of fun with Iron Chef - Kid Stadium and my boys have developed a new found taste for celery (which I didn't think was possible). More importantly, we made some great memories, have new stories to share, and learned some basic kitchen skills. Oh, and it encourages some creative thinking.... which may come in handy in their future endeavors.

Grace....

I don't consider myself a particularly religious man. I was raised Catholic, and raised my children in that tradition. As a scientist, it is a particularly thorny issue to struggle with the apparent dichotomy between the natural sciences and religion. Personally, I find the beauty imposed by the natural order of things to be divine. For example, the evolution of brightly colored flowers which serve to attract the birds and bees that dutifully spread their pollen. Those species of flowers which were differentiated from others thrived in a competitive universe.

I realize that life is an imperfect endeavor. Looking upon my life, I have many things to be thankful for, including a loving family, friends that care deeply about my well-being, a job that I find stimulating and wonderful, among other things. This reflection leads me to ask about what is "god's grace" and is there such a thing? I've come to the conclusion that god's grace provides me with what I need. God's mercy spares me from what I deserve. Perhaps as I get older I am beginning to reconcile the not-so-distant relationship between science and religion.

Too much love?

Is it possible to love something too much? I love my children and would do anything for them. But, sometimes it is the simplest things in life that bring us happiness. My son Parker, for example, loves his stuffed animals. Well, to be fair, he plays favorites. His favorite toy is his stuffed Woodstock -- you know the flittering little yellow bird that keeps Snoopy company.

Woodstock has been Parker's consummate friend for the past three years. As a result, Woodstock is suffering from signs of being doted upon day after day. Much of his feathers (yarn) have fallen out as if he has just been through extensive radiation therapy.

The moral of the story: sometimes when you love someone with such intensity, we must remember to show them the love and care they need -- or it is quite possible that all their hair (or feathers) will fall out!

Bearly surviving.

For Christmas last year I received a book, The Extreme Survival Guide, which was a very thoughtful gift. It was, however, in some sense a commentary on my life -- more or less as she viewed things -- essentially saying, "here read this, you're gonna need it!" The book is intended to be a practical guide covering a breadth of topics ranging from, how to survive a shipwreck, or what to do if you are stranded on the side of the road in Alabama (not sure which is worse), to more practical things as how to deal with a bad hair day, or endure a really bad cup of coffee.

To be honest, I never thought I would have much need for such a tome. My life is relatively uneventful for the most part. My only death-defying act I am capable of is driving my scooter at dusk, when the mosquito density is so thick that I am bound to get one in my eye resulting in a bloody crash into the neighbors back yard at 12 mph. Thus, I feel no compelling reason to commit The Extreme Survival Guide to memory.

However, this past Memorial Day, I had just the opportunity to crack open this book. I was sitting on the deck in the back of my house enjoying a glass of red wine. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed what appeared to be a large dog, I thought perhaps a German Shepherd because of its large brown snout - which is the only thing I saw at first glance. I took another sip of wine and peered over for another look. This time it was very clear what I was seeing --- b-b-b-b-e-a-r..... bear! Holy shit, a HUGE black bear, about 20 feet from me turns and looks directly at me. It scared me, so much so that I damn near spilled my wine!

He (or she... I really didn't bother to lift its tail to confirm this...) ambled through my back yard until I stood up to make my daring escape. Then, it left out a startled "grunt" and ran into the woods at an alarming rate. I had no idea these creatures were so fast! I was so addled from the encounter I ran into the door -- literally, ran into the door, not through it -- after gaining my composure and turning the door knob I managed to run through the door and tell the kids. B-b-b-b-e-a-r!! Look! And they did, confirming my sighting was not some wine induced hallucination.

I immediately called my oldest brother, to explain what just went down. He suggested that I immediately call the Department of Natural Resources to report it.... which I thought was a really stupid idea. Once the DNR sees all the garbage I've been throwing in woods behind my house I will have some explaining to do. No wonder there is a bear infestation in my back yard.

Needless to say, I am no longer taking midnight strolls through the woods.... at least not without my bear spray. Thanks Extreme Survival Guide I never thought I would need to know how to deal with a bear encounter -- even one at 20 feet away was close enough for me.

Random thoughts from a random guy

I keep a diary of random, and often remarkably stupid, thoughts and ideas that amble about my synapses. I titled it the "Annals of Random Thoughts, by Dennis" a hefty tome worthy of its namesake. Allow me to regale you with some excerpts.

On exercise.
No doubt, I need to exercise more frequently. Unfortunately, I have a prosthetic hip which makes running even more burdensome. From time to time I get what is commonly known as "restless leg syndrome" (RLS) which is a compelling and equally irritating urge to move my legs in bed. Being the eternal optimist, I decided to start wearing sweat pants to bed, because RLS is the closest thing I get to exercise... I may as well dress the part.

Makes my blood boil...
I have many blessings in my life, unfortunately, hypertension is not one of them. A recent visit to the doctor revealed that I have seriously high blood pressure. So, my doctor prescribed a diuretic to help lower my blood pressure. I found it amusingly ironic that the instructions on my pill bottle say "take one tablet with a full glass of water." On my next visit to my physician, I explained the apparent folly to my doctor which was met with a blank look, five second pause, and then a guffaw that brought tears to his eyes. Really, it wasn't that funny... just a casual observation. I told him he should try it some time.

Never stop looking for rainbows!

The upper midwest has suffered severe flooding, thunderstorms, and generally shitty weather the past two weeks. I know that "shitty" is not an accurate meteorological term, but it is the best adjective to describe the abject weather conditions. Amidst the chaos of fallen trees, hail, and horizontal rain, I experienced an odd perspective that can only be seen through the eyes of a child.

Driving through the pouring rain with a wall of ominous clouds looming on the horizon, my eight your old son, Parker, says from the back seat "look for rainbows daddy" --- to which I replied "What!?" He repeated -- "raining, look for rainbows daddy!" -- you see Parker has Down Syndrome and often has a different perspective on the current circumstances. His eternal optimism was encouraging me to look for the rainbows among the looming storm clouds... they have to be here somewhere, so lets find them.

Seeing life through the eyes of a child is a wonderful thing sometimes. Parker reminds me of that from time to time to keep me grounded in what is important in my life.

Keep looking for rainbows!

How to get your 8 year-old to eat veggies

Getting kids to do things that the inherently don't want to do is always a challenge. It is a battle of the wits... unfortunately I lost more often than not. I have, however, discovered a way to get my eight-year-old to eat his vegetables.... which is no small task! Here is the procedure. First, you must buy reasonably healthy tortilla chips, baked is be preferred. Then, find some taco dip with onions, olives, tomatoes, cilantro, lettuce, etc. Then, join in the fun!



Okay, so that totally works ... with lots of "Mmmmmmm" and "Yaaaaa" sounds its the best! Now, how can I disquise liver?!

A Father's Day gift to me...

I have three sons... all of which are healthy, creative, and inquisitive. Since tomorrow is Father's Day, and I am a very proud Dad, I thought I would share a picture of my little like-minded curmudgeons, whose ages are 12, 10, and 8. My youngest son, Parker, has Down Syndrome - as you may have noticed from the photo - but he is a source of happiness, and immeasurable love in our family. He has brought many more smiles than heartache. My older two sons, are the best big brothers he could wish for and I am deeply grateful for their loving, tolerant, and compassionate attitude that they show Parker - all of which has overflowed into their normal social interactions with other kids and made them better persons for it. And, of course, their mother is the most patient, caring, and loving mom they could ask for, and to whom I am eternally grateful.


Thank you boys, for being the source of strength, love, and meaning in my life.

All my love,
Dad

Whistle a new tune.

After a brutal winter, I am relieved to see people wearing shorts, tube-tops, and two-piece swim suits... well, not guys anyway. But riddle me this Batman, when is it ever okay to wear a black g-string with a white mini-skirt. Don't get me wrong, this girl is cute, but seriously? I think you have to be Latina to pull off that combo... others, don't even try. Of course, if she was trying to draw attention to yourself, it was working. Every card-carrying male in the office was trying to avert their eyes from this foul temptress, but it was like a car accident that we were drawn to out of morbid curiosity.

Which brings me to the next question, and this is just a dumb guy observation. When a girl who's wearing a g-string rips a big fart, does it make a whistling noise? Like holding a blade of grass between your thumbs and blowing real hard!? I think there is a great business plan for The Whistling g-string. Imagine the marketing campaign that could revolutionize women's underwear.

Girls, are you tired of the socially awkwardness of your flatulence? The uncomfortable feeling that comes from the need to grin and bear it? You never have to be embarrassed again, with the new Ronco Whistling G-string. Just whistle a happy tune as you pass wind, and your g-string will be your duet! Available in D-minor, middle-C, F-sharp, and G. It's great fun at the office -- get a few friends and form a quartet! Never have to suffer that uncomfortable bloating and pressure again with your new Whistling G-string. Your order comes with tuning fork, a bottle of skids-be-gone cleaner, and a training CD for practice. All for only $19.69!!

The camera adds 10 years

I have recently been made aware of a cool feature in Google Maps, called Street View. The basic idea is simple. When you are searching some maps, you can optionally see what it would be like to view it from the perspective of a pedestrian on the street. This virtual view is great when you are going to be visiting a new city and would like to just explore from the comfort of your recliner, or when you are just feeling nosy.

I think the Street View feature is pretty cool. Unfortunately, Aaron and Christine Boring (yes, that is their real name) from Pittsburgh were enormously distressed to find their personal dwelling in plain sight of any virtual passer-by. In fact, they are suing Google for $25,000 in damages and "mental suffering" that ensued from the release of the photos of their property (photo source: www.techcrunch.com). I am not a real estate professional, but I would venture to say that Google is not the reason their property has diminished in value. A bit of landscaping wouldn't hurt.

The Borings claim that Google showed a "grossly reckless invasion of their privacy" by disregarding a "Private Road" sign. This calls to mind the adage "the camera adds 20 pounds..." but in this case apparently it subtracts $25,000 from your property value. Give me a break.

It is hard to believe any claim of mental anguish this would have caused the Borings. Presumably the Borings are quite private people, judging from the clearly posted signs, for whom all this unwelcome publicity must be causing them great anguish. Why would they invite this sort of ridicule? More importantly, how was it brought to their attention that their property as viewed from Street View looked, well, unsightly? Were people randomly looking on Street View as part of some national scavenger hunt? Perhaps a more likely explanation is that vintage car collectors spend countless hours scouring our virtual front yards in search of that elusive carburetor for a 1962 Chevy Impala.

Geek.

People who know me will attest that I am an self-avowed geek. I am not embarrassed by this observation any more than I would be about saying I have brown hair. I am a geek. I possess a love for learning, especially in the field of science, and intellectual pursuits that is simultaneously challenging and amusing. I try to adopt an attitude of "I don't care what other people think, I find this stuff interesting" and if others think I am weird for it, then so be it. This is not to say that I am an elitist. Far from it -- I just don't care what others think of me.

One of my favorite things to do after work is to go down to the pub for a pint of Guinness. It is an opportunity to relax, mingle and talk with someone besides myself. Eventually, the conversation will lead to the "so, what do you do?" sort of question in my direction. I then stammer, stutter, and try to best describe what I do in 50 sentences or less, and usually make myself look like a complete idiot in the process. My addled response is not a reflection on my job, you see. I am fortunate - very fortunate - to be gainfully employed at a job that I absolutely love, and find ripe with challenges to which I can ply some intellectual rigor. But I find it difficult to describe what I do for a living to someone who is not in the same profession. This loss of words usually leads me to declare myself to be a nuclear psychologist, or pharyngeal phlebotomist, or somethings equally improbable, eliciting the usual "oh.. that sounds interesting" sort of reply. Once on an airplane ride from San Jose to Minneapolis, I responded with I am a rocket scientist, when asked by the stately older gentlemen sitting next to me. Much to my surprise and dismay, he was a bona fide rocket scientist and took delight in the serendipity which brought us together for the next 4 hours. As luck would have it, he was a Professor of Aeronautics at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) and System Engineer at NASA's Goddard Space Flight Center. No shit. [gulp] After 10 minutes of explaining that I really wasn't a rocket scientist, we had a good laugh and talked for the next two hours about Markov queueing models and their application to space communication systems. There was a remarkable number of similarities between his work and research and mine, so it turned out to be very pleasant after all.

Why go through all the trouble? Here's why. When I do tell people what I do, I am very excited and enthusiastic about it -- that's just how I am. I discovered that this fervor is uncommon, in so much as most people don't share my enthusiasm for their jobs. What usually ensues is a discussion about how they really dislike their job, and if they had only finished college, or chose another career, etc... things would be different. This usually leaves them feeling like garbage and wanting to guzzle another pint of Guinness. It makes me profoundly unhappy to see other people beat themselves up. You see, I really don't care what others think of me -- but, I do care what others think of themselves. I am not a lottery winner, but I am really lucky, and if my good fortune makes others feel like crap, then I'd just as soon keep quiet.

Missing eye patch?

It amazes me what some people find attractive. Really. We, as a society, seem to be inculcated with images of female stick figures strutting around in little more than lipstick and a faint smile wrapped around a gaunt face. Some, perhaps most, men find it enticing to watch these exoskeletons amble about, but I am not one of them. Case in point: the missing eye patch.

One of the ladies in my office wears a g-string that would be more useful as dental floss than an undergarment. I know this because she makes a point to hike the strings well above her pelvis, in a manner very similar to how an octogenarian man hikes his pants up to his nipples. This leaves the string portion of a g-string clearly visible to any casual observer. What is unclear to me, is how this would make her more comfortable? Really. I just want to ask, "excuse me, miss - I believe you are sitting on my eye patch."

Off my game

What the hell is my problem today!? I am walking around the office as if I just ingested a pint of Drano. Not thinking clearly. I just went to the coffee machine to get a fresh cup of black nectar. It is really a very simple machine. Just select the coffee, insert the pod in the machine, push the start button -- that's it... doesn't require an advanced degree to make this thing tick.

Mindlessly, I chose my coffee flavor, "double-dutch chocolate Columbian rhubarb" or something equally improbable, inserted the pod, then paced stupidly around the coffee room. Then, having realized I hadn't pushed the start button, I corrected my mistake and continued to amble around the break area. Ten seconds later my mindless wanderings are interrupted by this incessant dripping noise -- shit no coffee cup! [dash across the room] Slamming the coffee cup into the machine just in time to capture the remaining 1/2 ounce of coffee dispensed by the machine. Shit! Now I have to do it all over again, only this time it warrants more of my attention.

Mmmmm.... Pi

Yesterday was Pi day -- yes.. Pi. March 14 -- or 3.14 -- to be clear. If you missed it, don't despair, Pi is a universal constant. It is the wonderful constant which is inescapably stuck explaining the relationship between the circumference and diameter of a circle. He is an irrational number, making him boorish and an unpleasant party guest.

Some of us, I am not saying who, actually stayed up until 1:59 am (the next three digits of Pi -- 3.14159...) to see if Google was going to pay homage to this number with a Google Doodle. I wouldn't know because I fell asleep sometime before 12:30 (sigh).

This nice article by David Austin walks through a brief history of Pi. "Now get in the kitchen and bake me a Pi" -- Eric Cartman

You must be shittin me... $4300!?

As if the first 400 news reports of Eliot Spitzer's indiscretion were not enough to churn our collective stomachs, but paying $4300 for a hooker... what a dumb-ass! It is the type of nauseating stupidity that makes me break out in a cold sweat. We expect more from our politicians! This is exactly the type of wasteful spending and small-mindedness we need to stomp out. That $4300 would have made a nice down payment on a European sports car which would, in turn, fetch him lots of action. His lack of foresight and planning is an understandable disappointment to all New Yorkers.