avablog

When Kevin was in town this past weekend for our New Year’s celebration, I decided it might be a good time to upgrade Ubuntu on my PC (a PC which, I’ll note here, doesn’t get used a whole lot ).
Kevin’s a real guru when it comes to this Linux stuff. And thank goodness, because the Ubuntu upgrade didn’t go quite as smoothly as either of us expected it to. But it’s up and running now, and it works quite well.

Ubuntu comes along at an interesting time for me. With the advent of OS X, I’ve spent more time mucking around on the command line interface than I ever thought I would. In many significant ways, Ubuntu is a lot like OS X for x86 (and just in time for OS X on Intel, as it happens). The PC on which Ubuntu is running is a homebrew machine Kevin helped me build; it has a relatively fast processor, plenty of RAM, and a nice graphics card, so Ubuntu verily flies along. Frankly, for purposes of server admin, Web browsing, and e-mail, I’d be hard put to decide between Ubuntu and OS X on similar hardware. The downside to my present situation is that my PC (and 19″ CRT) use a LOT more energy than my Mini and iBook combined. It would be great to have a nice little laptop that could dual boot Ubuntu and OS X. Maybe one of the new iBooks?

Next time you’re attempting to pour an entire pot of boiling water into a bowl, don’t hold that bowl; set it on the counter or in the sink. Otherwise, you’re bound to drop the bowl and spill the scalding water all over your hand, resulting in a nasty burn that causes the skin on your thumb to slough off in big chunks.

This has been a public service announcement.

I admit it: I’m a Webalizer junkie.

One of the most interesting things about putting all of this information out on my site has been watching how people from all over the world interact with it. Even more than the number of page hits or KB transferred, I’m always curious to see which search terms ended up bringing people to the site (usually to the gallery and not the blog). My present favorite is “fake hair technical dread.” If you drop that line into Google, you’ll see one of my posts here down about #5 on the results list.

Why would anyone ever search for such a thing? I dunno. But I think it’s cool that nicheplayer.net contributes in some (very) small way to the information exchange that is the Internet.

This morning I was sitting on the couch with Ava out by the Christmas tree before the sun had come up. We were admiring the sparkles and the lights together, and Ava was pointing at different ornaments and saying, “Baby, baby?” over and over. She has a thing for babies.

After a bit I began staring out the window at the house under construction across the street. My mind wandered, and I had a vision of myself from far in the future. I was standing at the curb in some unknown city while Ava and another child I understood to be her as-yet-unborn sibling tried to help me into a levitating car that was waiting in the street. I was unsteady and a bit frail, and I could see Ava and her (brother?) exchanging sympathetic, slightly condescending glances behind my back as I grasped the top of the gently bobbing automobile and attempted to insert my leg into the passenger compartment.

After a few seconds I left that unsettling scene and traveled back in time to my grandmother’s home. It was a memory of the two of us sitting in front of her computer as I tried to explain the intricacies of her Outlook Express e-mail application. I recall thinking what it must be like to have the world accelerate and pass you by. I came to understand as I sat with her that what she was looking at was the equivalent of a new language, and that she had almost no concept of how to navigate it without my help. Without me, she was nearly lost.

It was only a minute or so before I pulled out of my daydream and came back to the sweet sound of Ava’s babbling. I wrapped my arms around her and gave her a big squeeze. She reached up and patted my head in an offhand way, like you’d pat a dog as you passed him while he dozed in a patch of sunshine on the floor. “Baby?” She pointed at a small wooden angel hanging from the tree. “Baby?”

There’s a woman in my office who’s having a birthday today. Her cube is right down the hall from mine, so I’ve been dealing with all sorts of noise and general raucous behavior this morning.

When I strolled back in from lunch, I took a peek into her cube and noticed her desk was cluttered with gift bags of various sizes. One in particular caught my eye. It was about the size of a four-slice toaster and featured a great image of Hermie the Elf and Rudolph from the classic Rankin Bass Christmas show. I knew immediately that I must endeavor to make that bag mine. But how? Empty its contents carelessly onto the desk while its owner was away? Ask politely if I might have the bag? Just walk in and take it right from under her nose as though I owned it?

Alas, I decided finally that the bag was not to be mine. Maybe I can track down a store from which I can stockpile some for next year.

A recipe Leah got from our friend Megan.

1 lb mild italian sausage (bulk or link)
1 c. onion (chopped)
2 cloves minced garlic

Brown sausage, onion and garlic; drain well; combine in a soup kettle
with the following ingredients:

5 c. beef broth
1/2 c. dry red wine
1/2 c. water
1 c. sliced carrots
8 oz. tomato sauce
2 c. chopped tomatoes or 1 14 oz. can diced tomatoes
1/2 t. basil
1/2 t. oregano
1 1/2 c. celery

Simmer over low heat for one hour (or longer if desired). Cook an 8 oz.
package of cheese or meat tortellini according to package instructions.
Add the tortellini and 1 medium chopped green pepper to the soup before
serving. Serve with fresh parsley or grated parmesan cheese.

The Webcam software I use lets me archive my captured images as a .mov time-lapse movie. Which is pretty cool. I hadn’t taken advantage of the feature…before today. Now, when you click on the nichecam link over there on the right, that page has a link to the movie footage from the previous day. WARNING: Unless you like watching birds and squirrels eating at feeders, you may opt to find another way to spend a couple minutes. Otherwise, enjoy!

Nota bene: I’m trying to come up with a way to automate the compression of these movie files. The upshot is, if you happen to look at the movie link between 7 and 7:30 p.m. CST, the .mov is going to take a looong time to load, as it’s a ~50MB file. The more you know…

EDIT: Turns out iMovie HD isn’t AppleScriptable. Great. Dunno what this portends for the future of the time-lapse movie, since I’ll have to resample the original timelapse movie every evening to get it ready for the Web. Surely there’s some way around this.

From the WildCam homepage:

All good things must come to an end, and the recent onset of the annual rains at Mashatu herald the end of our live broadcast from Pete’s Pond. The WildCam Africa feed closes at 5:59 a.m. Botswana time on Thursday, December 15.

Bleh. I saw a gnarly warthog on there once. Man, was he ugly. Phew.

I got an e-mail from an old friend today asking for my snail mail address so she could include me in her Christmas card mailing (don’t let the irony hit you in the arse on the way out). I dutifully replied with the address and a request that she not send me a Christmas card; an e-mail would suffice. I then directed her to yesterday’s post in the hope she’d gain a better understanding of where I’m coming from.

Turns out she’s a big fan of handwritten correspondence. She disagrees completely with my views, though she points out that she’s not left handed.

As I read her message, I conjured up a vision of her sitting hunched over a rough-hewn wooden table, turkey quill in hand, busily scibbling out her holidy greetings on crisp, crinkly sheets of parchment between quick dips in the inkwell as the dim light from her oil lamp flickers warmly on the walls of her study. Outside in the street, horse-drawn carriages rumble by, their occupants dressed head to toe in their holiday best. And lo! There’s old man Cratchett strolling by with handicapable Timmy on his shoulder, a plump Christmas goose tucked safely under his free arm.

So, I’ll sit snug and warm in my little house and await the mailman’s delivery of this holiday cheer. If my friend’s got the time and money to get this production off the ground, the least I can do is read what she sends (frankly, I could do less, but that would be just plain rude). Clearly, the onus is now on me to put together the most fantabulous Christmas e-mail of all time. Put up or shut up, as they say.

Here’s the portion of the show where I’m branded an ingrate. And / or a curmudgeon.

But first, some background.

I quit writing by hand — that is, with a writing implement held in my hand — when I left high school. I can state without exaggeration that I have not handwritten anything more than a shopping list, an occasional short greeting card to Leah on her birthday or our anniversary, or my signature in 15 years. Why? The mess. Notebooks with binders on the left-hand side. Other inconveniences that I, as a lefty, had simply put up with for long enough. I got my first Mac and threw all my pens and pencils away the very same day.

And then came e-mail, and I saw that it was good. And e-cards. More and more of my friends and family made the jump to the Internet, so I was never more than a couple minutes from dropping someone a quick note. So easy. So clean. So cheap (er, “inexpensive”).

I went home today for lunch and collected six Christmas cards from the mailbox. My hands were cold. I was carrying a full 25-lb. glass water jug. The front porch was covered with an extremely slick layer of snow. I had to fiddle with the keys to get through the door. I.e., there was a lot going on, and gathering all these odd-sized envelopes was the last thing I needed to do.

On top of that, you have to sit down and take the time to pry open all those envelopes, then dispose of them when you’re done reading. And there’s the cost for the sender of the cards, the postage, and even the time it takes to go out into the cold, dark winter night to pick out the greetings in the first place. What is this, 1980?!

“Scrooge!” “Grinch!” Yes, yes. I hear you. For the record: I do appreciate the thought behind these seasonal greetings. It’s nice to know that I’m crossing the minds of all these busy people out there at least once a year, even if it’s only for as long as it takes to address an envelope and lick a stamp. But if it really is the thought that counts, well, make it an e-mail next year. I can read it at my convenience, and you can even include a couple cute images of your kids or your pet cat dressed up like the dog from “How The Grinch Stole Christmas.” Heck, I wouldn’t even mind if I got the same e-mail you sent to everyone else on your list. Wouldn’t that be easier for you? Imagine hitting that gorgeous “Send” button one time and thereby disposing of your entire holiday communications obligation. ‘Tis the season of miracles, after all!

So far this year I’ve cleaned snow off our walks and driveway more times than I did all last winter. The glass-is-half-empty person in me says that stinks. The glass-is-half-full person says it’s not so bad; shoveling is good exercise.

I’ve had access to a new snowblower this year, but I haven’t used it. I’ve figured out that I can move less than five inches of accumulated snow off our (fairly expansive) driveway and front walks in just about 30 minutes. Not too bad. Over five inches, especially if it’s wet, takes longer.

The most important revelation this season, however, has been the plastic shovel we bought for Leah last year so she could help out. I had my manly metal shovel with the ergonomic handle, and we decided that Leah needed something a little daintier. Well, the fact is that the plastic shovel is one heck of a nice snow moving implement. If I may wax automotive for a second, it’s light, responsive, and stiff. It handles all the cracks and bumps in the driveway — of which there are many — with aplomb and comes back for more. Thirty minutes with the plastic shovel is a joy compared to even 10 minutes behind my old clunker, and the plastic model cost half as much.

I’m not saying this shovel makes me look forward to shoveling, but it makes the job much, much easier than last year. All hail the plastic shovel.

“Tannenbaum?” Whatever. We got our Christmas tree up and decorated last weekend. I have to admit, it turned out much nicer than I thought it would.

We showed up to our usual tree lot a bit late this year, I guess, because pickings were pretty slim. Frankly, it took some real vision to select the tree we ended up with; when I pulled it off its rack, it was a bit scraggly looking and all folded up and stiff. It was covered with snow. Even so, it spoke to me. Call it sympathy. Call it a Christmas miracle. Whatever. We had it trimmed up at the stump and strapped onto the top of the car.

It’s one thirsty tree. I did a little more trimming when we got it home and then screwed it into its stand in the parlor. It’s been soaking up water pretty rapidly the last couple days, and the branches did start to drop once all the snow melted off it and it got some fluid back in in its veins. It’s never going to have that classic Christmas tree shape, but I think that’ll actually work better for us, as we’ll be able to get more presents around the stand.

It’s fun to take Ava out to the parlor in the morning and sit with her. She stares at the tree and points at all the ornaments glittering in the glow of our LED snowflake lights, looking back over her shoulder at me with an inquisitive, expectant glance and saying, “tee?” Yes, Ava, it’s a tree.

Leah and I don’t entertain that often, so when we do it’s still quite a process. We’d been talking for months about having a couple of the neighbors over for brunch, and the date finally rolled around this past weekend. The menu included pear ginger muffins and feta tomato quiche. I’d never made either, but they turned out OK, I thought. There were no negative comments from our guests, but then I wouldn’t expect any.

I did wimp out and use a store-bought Pilsbury pie crust rather than make my own for the quiche. I’ve never ventured much into dough past pizza crust, and I wasn’t about to try a new recipe for a group of hungry friends…just in case. The Pilsbury product was fine, though I probably could’ve wrapped a little foil around the edge of the crusts to keep them from browning too much. Live and learn. Next time I’ll try making my own crust, which I hear isn’t nearly the daunting process I’ve built it up to be.

The shindig was at 10:30 on Sunday, and rather than run around that morning trying to get the muffins and quiche together, Leah and I decided to bake the muffins on Saturday night after we got home from a show we attended. I’m not saying that was a mistake, but we didn’t make it to bed until just after 1 a.m. Ava then decided to get up at 3 a.m. and nurse, so it wasn’t exactly a night of uninterrupted rest.

I thought the muffins, in particular, turned out well. They were nice and moist in the middle and had a little crunch to them on top. They also contained enough fat to keep us all warm against the bitter wind outside. One of our guests brought a nice fruit salad, and the other brought a bowl of pomegranate seeds and OJ for the mimosas (we supplied the El Cheapo sparkling wine from Hy Vee, an extra bottle of which still resides in the fridge). The pomegranate seeds were a wonderfully tart topping for the salad of grapes, banana, and pineapple.

It was a nice time. It was especially good to feel like we’d finally made good on our promise to have folks over to the house for a visit. Alas, our tree wasn’t decorated for the event, but it is up and decked out now. Look for fancy time-lapse shots of it in an upcoming post…

I don’t usually go in for celebrity deaths, but I like comedians. And Richard Pryor was one of the best.

Some people just get it. They wake up in the morning and go to bed at night, or vice versa, and during their every waking hour they just know the score. Richard was one of these people.

Proof of his genius abounds. Check out any of his standup, or grab of copy of his appearance on SNL where he does the job interview sketch with Chevy Chase. Gold.

The latest feature to hit my Gmail account is Web Clips. It’s an RSS feed aggregator that appears at the top of my inbox. I can enter in the addresses of whichever blogs or sites I want to track, and I’ll have access to those sites’ latest stories right from Gmail. Man, this is nice. No separate RSS reader to deal with, no switching back and forth to Boing Boing, FARK, Slashdot, and Digg all day.

Every time Google comes out with another feature, it’s like throwing a shovelful of dirt on Yahoo! Mail’s grave. Which reminds me; I need to go empty the spam out of my Yahoo! account before I’m suspended for lack of access.

I have very, very vague memories of going to see Santa when I was little. I don’t recall dreading the experience, but I know there are kids who do. The wailing child on St. Nick’s lap is as prevalent a Christmas meme as “It’s A Wonderful Life” reruns and mistletoe.

I came across this image on the Web today and thought it served as a good reminder that the holiday season is not easy or joyful or peaceful for everyone. It’s not the little boy’s tearful face that sends the image’s message, but the weary, slouched, slightly-drunk appearance of Santa. I imagine this being his 300th sitting of the day. His flask of vodka went dry about 90 minutes ago, and he has another 50 sittings to do before he leaves at 5. For this guy, Christmas comes one too many times a year. Let’s all keep him in our prayers, shall we?

I was at Walgreens the other day and couldn’t resist their sales on extension cords and Christmas lights.

You know how when you see one of those houses that’s been covered to the last square inch with Christmas lights and other holiday paraphernalia? Now I know how that happens. Walgreens was selling 80 ft. of extension cord for $15, and you could get 600 Christmas lights for the same amount. That’s over 140 ft. of illuminated holiday spirit!

I managed to contain myself and only got a 40 ft. extension cord and 74 ft. of lights, which was plenty to plaster my bird feeder with tiny bulbs from top to bottom. I think it looks great, and the birds don’t seem to mind it during the day. The best part is the reddish-orange glow the “tree” casts on the snow in the back yard at night.

This weekend we’ll go out and get our tree and other miscellaneous trimmings. Too bad Ava won’t have any memory of this Christmas, unless I manage to burn down the house; that would be memorable.

This morning I got up early to shovel snow so the high school kids would have a safe walk to classes, and we’d be able to get out of our driveway. Our shoveling tradition includes intermittent knocks on our bedroom window while I’m in the driveway; I then stop for a minute to look up and see Ava and Leah waving at me. I return the wave and then get back to work.

Ava was in bed with us early. One of our neighbors across the street was up before 6 running his snowblower (to move less than an inch of snow…why bother?). It was a reminder of how acute Ava’s sense of hearing is. She became very agitated as she wriggled around in bed with us, and it was clear she was a little scared by the odd rumbling noise outside.

She and I will often be sitting together working on something when she’ll suddenly stop and point upwards with an expectant look on her face. Sure enough, there’s always a plane or helicopter flying over the house. Ava’s become aware of it long before I noticed anything. All these noises area still so new to her, and now they’re even more exciting as we try to get her to associate words with them. She’s a smart little girl, that’s for sure.

When I finished shoveling this morning and came inside to get ready for work, Ava waddled into the bedroom where I was getting dressed. Leah was there too. Ava was babbling away about something or other, and at one point she turned toward the door as if making to leave. I said, “Bye bye, baby. Write if you get work.” Then, clear as day, Ava replied, “Bye.” Leah and I just burst out laughing.

And “The Office,” too, for that matter.

Thursday nights used to be killer for NBC. Friends, followed by Seinfeld. Or was it the other way around? In any case, that one-two small screen punch blew away everything else in their time slots for years.

But those days are gone, and now the Peacock is looking to retake Thursday night with a couple hot shows that have made NBC the place to be on Tuesday night (especially when they lead up to Law and Order). The Office and My Name is Earl are moving to Thursday night.

What does this mean for the viewers at home? Not much, probably, at first. The shows are popular and already have strong followings that’re likely to come along to the new night. I guess NBC wants to move Joey and Will & Grace (one a new show that’s doing pretty well, the other a tried and true earner) to another night, and in the process put The Office and My Name is Earl up against Survivor, The O.C., and Head of State on CBS, FOX, and ABC, respectively.

I’m no marketer, and I’m SURELY not a TV exec, but I am a bit staid when it comes to messing with things I like. The Office and Earl ain’t broken, so they’re not in need of fixin’. I anticipate that Leah and I will make the jump to Thursdays without batting an eye, especially since the shows Leah likes to watch on MTV on Thursday normally don’t begin until 9. I just hope the schedule change doesn’t hurt these new shows.

My parents, and my mother, in particular, did a good job of instilling in my brother and me the importance of giving to those in need. The idea was never crammed down our throats, but it sunk in over the years as we watched them go about their various philanthropic pursuits.

More than any time in the past, I find myself really revelling in gift giving this year. I really enjoy trying to come up with ideas for things that I think my family and friends might like or at least get some use out of. The thought of getting gifts, on the other hand, fills me with a kind of dread. Not that I don’t appreciate and feel honored by the thoughtfulness of the giver, just that I don’t really need any more stuff in my life. I look around at my little family and the things we already have, and it’s difficult to identify an honest-t0-goodness need. I know this places us in a very small, very lucky group, and that fact isn’t lost on me.

To a smaller degree, I suppose I see myself now — since Ava — living not for myself but for my daughter. She’s still young enough that she has legitimate, fundamental needs she has no way of filling herself. Food. Clothing. Shelter. Affection. And I want her to someday have the means to get a good education, if that’s what she decides she wants. I’m wavering on whether I’ll pay for a big fancy wedding; with any luck Ava will remain unmarried, elope, or opt for a simple, stripped-down affair attended by a few close friends and family. Maybe she’ll want to pay for it herself. The future is wide open.

I hope the people I bought gifts for this year enjoy them. I hope they get from them the pleasure I anticipate they will. And I hope Ava grows up straight and strong and not wanting for anything her beautiful little heart desires.