avablog

There’s a Mexican breakfast dish called huevos divorciados that is so f*#king tasty, it almost makes you want to get divorced just so you can remarry and then get divorced again. Pictures on the way….

It’s been a long day. Fourteen hours ago I was standing on a dock on Isla Mujeres, Mexico, waiting for a ferry to take me to Cancun to catch a plane. I spent the last three hours driving home from Chicago, much of it through a blinding snow squall. Life can be so unfair.

Pictures soon. Pinky promise.

when you’re busy living in the world as you want it to exist. You lose sight of all those people out there who’re living in their own world(s). I had one or 25 good spine-rattling shudders while reading this piece in the NYT:

“Every human being, no matter the age, should be allowed to have consenting mutual sexual relations with anyone they wish,” a man calling himself Venn wrote. “All age of consent laws must, and forever, be abolished.”

Those same types of comments online are now turning up in court. For example, a man known by the screen name Brother Peteticus is among those who have argued online for legalizing sex with children. In real life, he is Phillip J. Distasio of Rocky River, Ohio, who was arrested last year on charges of raping two autistic boys who were his students. In court this month, Mr. Distasio, 34, portrayed himself as following the dictates of his own religion, and made arguments frequently expressed by the online community.

“I’ve been a pedophile for 20 years,” Mr. Distasio said at the pretrial hearing. “The only reason I’m charged with rape is that no one believes a child can consent to sex. The role of my ministry is to get these cases out of the courtrooms.”

Forget the overpriced tickets, the expensive snacks, the lines, and the whole “going outside” thing. Here’s the best reason to avoid the movie theater. (Don’t pretend you don’t have a second of empathy for the shooter.)

Well, 29-year-old James Joseph Cialella Jr went to see David Fincher’s The Curious Case of Benjamin Button at the UA Riverview Stadium 17 movie theater in South Philadelphia on Christmas. Seems like the Riverview isn’t the best theater to see a movie in, read some of the hilarious reviews of the “ghetto theater” on Google or Yelp. A family seated in front of Cialella began to talk during the film, so he told them to be quiet. But that didn’t stop the younger son from making comments. He even threw popcorn angrily at the talkative son, but the talk did not stop. Cialella became so enraged that he pulled out a Kel-Tec .380-caliber handgun and shot the father in the left arm.

It’s nice to be back in the land of high(ish) bandwidth. It’s always a pleasure to visit Decorah, and G.G. and Harvey are great hosts (if not the best Taboo partners). But Georgie’s 256k Internet serice takes a little getting used to. As the Klevar women would be quick to point out, it wouldn’t kill Kevin and me to spend a little time in the wetware world anyway. At least they’d point that out if they knew what wetware is.
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To protect and to serve (lunch).

The challenge: Seven things about me (with selected item inspiration from Aprille). Ready, set….

1. I was thrilled that this meme gave me a chance to finally use the ordered list tags on WordPress. Maybe this tells you so much about me that you needn’t read further.
2. I truly believe that I’m 2.5-3 times more awesome than I actually am.
3. I’m of the opinion that no less than 85% of my current personality was formed on the day in 1982 when my parents told my brother and me they were getting divorced. For better or worse.
4. I hate half-and-half pizzas. They represent indecision, and indecision is weakness. Don’t get a large half-and-half pizza; get two medium one-topping pizzas and save the leftovers for breakfast and/or lunch the next day.
5. I sometimes belch really loudly at home to irritate my wife. But also because I like to see how loudly I can belch.
6. When I adjust the volume on my stereo receiver — or anywhere there’s a numeric digital readout — I like to leave it on an even number. Same goes for adjustments in Photoshop. Exposure? +2. Or +.6. Never .7.
7. I don’t tell my wife I love her nearly as much as I should (or, by extension, nearly as much as my love for her would indicate I should). I often find myself wondering why this is so, and while I’m wondering about it, I think, “Since you’re sitting here wondering about why you don’t say it more often, why not just say it instead?” And then I don’t say it, and I realize I’m a bad husband.

I’m now supposed to tag seven other people. Gosh. OK. Uh…. Danny. Greg. Ben (we all know you have a blog, Ben!). Cindy. Wendy. WebbUSA. Nathan. Merry Christmas!

We had a nice, albeit cold, weekend, with lots of visits from friends and some gift opening with Grandpa Chuck and Uncle Scott. A short work week ahead, and then off to Decorah on Wednesday for more of Santa’s largess (Firefox wants to spell check “Santa’s” as “Satan’s”).

Midwesterners spend a lot of time each year contemplating weather-related minutiae, particularly in the winter. For my part, the early morning today was consumed by contemplation of which combination of frozen precipitation is worst to shovel. I’ve decided that one inch of sleet topped with another inch of snow should probably place near the top of the worst mix list, and here’s why:
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Hello, unborn baby. I thought you might like to see a picture of what your mom looked like when you were 17 weeks old. Pretty neat, huh?

Just because.

I mean, really. You’re a white supremacist who’s naming your kids all sorts of insane things, and you put up a stink and make it into the papers for all to see? Clearly, I’m coming at this from the wrong perspective, like white supremacy is a bad thing. I should change my views. Surely there’s a huge community of white supremacists out there in the Lehigh Valley who’re very supportive of this family, and I think that’s just great. Why, when the race wars sweep this country, they’ll be all set for battle. The downside? These names are now unavailable for our next kid:

• JoyceLynn Aryan Nation Campbell
• Honszlynn Hinler Jeannie Campbell
• Adolf Hitler Campbell

Sad.

The AppleTV just keeps getting better. My tech benefactor hooked me up with a Boxee invite this week, and I installed it on the ATV at noon today. It’s a slick interface. Built on the vaunted XBox Media Center, Boxee plays all sorts of video formats and streams radio and video from places like Hulu and last.fm on the ‘Net. And the best part, for me, is that Boxee is a super simple install, so long as you have a 1GB USB stick around. The last.fm integration alone is worth the Boxee download, but I haven’t had a chance to play with all the bells and whistles. I’m eager to see how the product improves over time, as the current release is still an invite-only alpha.

I think, maybe, when one has 2.5 times as many photographs on Flickr as does the Library of Congress, it’s time to approach one’s photography with a little more discernment.

Even if you’re not into photography, there are some really fantastic historical images in the LOC’s stream. And if you’re cool enough to have a Flickr account, you can actually contribute tags to the photos to help in classifying them. Flickr calls it “The Commons.” It’s actually kind of fun trying to think up tags that don’t already appear with the image.

Hello again, unborn baby. It’s your dad.

I’ll no doubt catch all manner of heck for this admission (from your mom, mostly…maybe G.G., too), but it occurred to me as I drove back to work from home today that your impending arrival hasn’t consumed me the way the birth of your sister did. Which isn’t to say I’m not excited about it. Nor that I don’t think about it at all. I just find myself being surprised now and then by the realization that I haven’t been thinking about it all the time. It seems like I’m shirking a parental duty, somehow, and it doesn’t feel right.
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It’s interesting that one of the main problems people have with breastfeeding is that some folks do it for too long. As my readers know, I start to feel a little weird about the endeavor once the child is old enough to verbalize her hunger. But what’s the big deal? I mean, if no one’s being hurt, why should I be uncomfortable with it? I know that Leah intends to breastfeed our next child until age two, just like Ava. As I recall, Ava was pretty much ready to give up the teat by two. Even so, we were the ones who decided when the milk train would leave the station, not Ava. How long would she have persisted, given her druthers? It’s weird to think of her breastfeeding now; I’m sure Leah would come up with a word other than “weird.” (Clicking through below will bring up an image that may not be safe for work, depending on how…militant you feel about breastfeeding.)
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Ava’s such a wonderfully sharing little girl. Hugs, kisses, her artwork…oh, and even her illnesses. As of this afternoon, I officially have strep throat, as does Ava. This is her second bout in as many weeks. I can’t recall the last time I was on antibiotics; it’s probably been 10 years. The nurse practitioner we saw today (Leah’s been feeling punk, too) said she’d never seen a throat as red as mine (flatterer!). So I’m now on something she called a “z pack,” which is supposed to have me back on my feet in five days. We’ll see. The real bummer is that I missed Kathryn and Rob’s holiday party. Now I have to come up with an excuse to go see her mirror.

Leah gets pretty strung out when she’s home with a sick Ava all day. It’d be different if they could get outside and go somewhere, but we’re trying to get Ava to rest, and in case you’re not aware, it’s frickin’ COLD out there! Today, Leah was scrambling for ways to entertain Ava that didn’t involve plunking her down in front of the TV. Rachel’s craft book to the rescue!

Ava lost interest in this project a couple minutes in, but Leah stuck with it and finished her little egg carton Santa in fine fashion. I’m home with Ava tomorrow, so hopefully I’ll be able to find something as fun to occupy our time.

So I was home with Ava today as she suffered through another day of being sick. I sure hope this fever breaks soon. Anyway, she got a little restless at one point and asked if she could paint. So I set up all her paints and some paper on a tray on the ottoman, and she went to work. I dunno if she was in a fit of mad, fever-induced genius, but this is what she came up with:

Seemed like a pretty passable owl to me. And of course she signed it with her usual “Ava P.” I can’t wait to show it to Aunt Rachel.