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."