Woody Cavenaugh

We just bought a kicking video camera for recording Phoenix football games. We couldn't justify it before, but since we're having a baby, we can say "Its for the baby", but really we're using it to record football games.

My job on the team - I say I'm "On the team", I'm really just married to the General Manager. I'm a semi-pro groupie, but I like to kid myself and say I'm on the team as a "media specialist". What that means is I film the game and I write blogs about the games. I want to be supportive.

Now that I've got the really nice camera that shoots the game in standard play at 7 megabits per second at 1920X1080. Standard play is next to the lowest camera setting. I'm no fool, one of the eventual outputs of this footage is uploaded via the internet to the league's game server. They want it 640X480 high quality Windows Media Player format, and hopefully not much more than a gig or a gig and a half in size.

My standard recording format of a game brings the size of the file in somewhere between eight and ten gigs. If I were to go full HD on that bad boy, it would take an act of congress to dumb it down to something streamable.

The camera comes with software. It takes the film I took (which is broken up into chunks), puts it back together and spits it out as in mpeg2 format. Raw data is 8GB, mpeg is 8GB.
And oh baby, it is BEAUTIFUL. Unusable, but beautiful. I've got to dumb it down before it is usable.

I'll use Windows Movie Maker to make it exactly what the league wants.
Me- "Take this mpeg video and make it small."
WMM - "You mean this really large sound file here?"
Me- "No, this mpeg video. It is right here, it is gorgeous."
WMM- "uh-hu, I see, getting into that whole 4/20 thing aren't you. Come back when the buzz wears off."
Me- "I don't use drugs, I haven't even had a beer today. Take my video and do your freakin' job."
WMM- "Sure fine, give me your video."
Me- "Here you go."
WMM- "There's no video here, only audio"
Me- "Yes there is."
WMM- "No there isn't."
Me- "Yes there is"
WMM- "No there isn't."
Me- "Yes there is"
WMM- "No there isn't."
Me- "Fine. I'll hook the camera back up and I'll let you import the raw footage yourself"
WMM- "Fine, you do that."
Me- "OK, there it is, all hooked up, go ahead and import that."
WMM- "You have to hook up the camera first."
Me- "I've hooked up the camera."
WMM- "No you haven't"
Me- "Yes I have"
WMM- "No you haven't"
Me- "Yes I have"
WMM- "No you haven't"
Me- "Yes I have"
WMM- "No you haven't"
Me- "Fine. What's wrong."
WMM- "You need to take a USB cable and connect it between me and the camera."
Me- "OK, done."
WMM- "*sigh*, The USB cable has a flat end that looks like this, and a square end that looks like this. They will have a symbol that looks like this, match the shape and the symbol on the cable to the corresponding shape and symbol on the camera. Its like the blocks you used to play with in pre-school."
Me- "I didn't go to pre-school, anyway, I've done that. Its done. The camera is here and it says "HI". The camera and I are just waiting for you to suck down the data."
WMM- "No pre-school, that explains a bunch. Look, is there someone technical around I can talk to?"
Me- "I've been an IT professional since 1994, I am technical."
WMM- "Let me guess, you were a UNCG ISOM major?"
Me- "No! Never! I worked my way up from support all the way up to administrator."
WMM- "Yes... Perhaps there is a young child I can talk to?"

At this point in my mind's eye I see a thousand Celtic warriors in wode streaming over a low rise onto the Microsoft campus in Redmond Virginia. But in reality, I sit at the computer, my face flush, my pulse racing, my blood pressure in psi. In my mind, I've got an axe in my hand, I'm pretty much naked except for the blue and I'm hacking through a hastily erected barricade. Its on fire. In reality, I'm pretty much naked except for the flannel bathrobe, counting to ten under my breath while doing some deep breathing exercises. The same ones my wife is learning for labor. I'm shaking, I'm sweating, and I'm getting no sympathy from anyone or anything.

The dog says, "Pet me please."
The cat says, "Pet me NOW."
The wife says, "The cat boxes stink, you should do something about that."
Windows Media Maker says, "Is there someone smart I can talk to?"

I've got an awesome camera, and 10GB of the Erie game. I have no idea why the Erie game is two GB larger than the Louisville game. I'm going to try some other piece of software. Hey, this is cool. I can tell it I want the output 640X480. I can tell it I want high quality just like the league wants, I can tell it AVI because that's an approved file type. GO!

The next morning I awoke to a completed AVI, the quality was pretty crappy, but hey it is 640X480 and the league will like....wait a minute.... The original mpg is 10GB, and is high quality full size wide screen perfection. This avi is low quality, 640X480 and 16GB. I need a drink. I need a whole mess of drinks.

Me- "You, Handbrake...freeware. You want to make me a movie?"
HB- "Mai Oui!" (Handbrake is French)
Me- "I need this dumbed down to high quality 640X480, and I want it no more than 1.5GB"
HB-"It is...how you say...piece of cake" (Handbrake is French, I'm not. I'm paraphrasing here)

Its 7am on an otherwise beautiful Tuesday, I've been working on this since 2:30am on Sunday morning. Windows Media Maker insulted my intelligence, my sanity, and my junk. Roxio, can do a bunch of cool stuff, but not small file sizes. Handbrake made me an MP4, but when I went to view it (in anything) it was sound only.

I'm naming my first heart attack "Phoenix". I put the mp4 on a fob handed it to my wife and said to heck with the whole thing, I'm walking to work. I need to clear my head. So I rode to work with my wife instead. I don't even remember why right now. Once I got to my desk I get an IM from her:
Her- "That mpg is BRILLIANT!"
Me- "You can see it?"
Her- "Yes"
Me- "And it looks good?"
Her- "It looks great!"
Me- "640X480?"
Her- "Yes."
Me- "Any chance we can vacation in Virginia this summer? I'm thinking I want to try my hand at Celtic battle reenacting. We're going to need a whole mess of wode. You can film it with our very fine new camera."

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 8:27 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

It was a scant few months ago that I managed to buy a couple pairs of low rise jeans, they were perfect more or less. I could wear them where I've always keep my waist and my crotch falls at my crotch and not half-way down my thigh.

These details are important when you are a fencing coach with massive thighs and really surprisingly short legs. The only thing they weren't good for was walking or teaching fencing. For working in the office, sitting in a chair, driving down the street, or dining in a restaurant they were perfect. The thing with me and walking is that the longer I walk the more oxygen enriched blood goes into legs and the tighter these pants become in my legs until they look like a masochist idea of tights.

But that's OK. I've got my other pants. My other pants are plenty lose in the legs but unfortunately are cut for someone who wears their waist about six inches higher than I do. In fact, if you were to go look at a sizing chart they would suggest that where I keep my waist is about six inches lower than it is supposed to be. Sizing charts, HA! So funny.

I'd made my peace with it all and life was good, I chose pants based on the activity of the day and they seldom let me down. If for some reason they DID let me down, I've got my emergency pants in my office that I can fall back on. Check and mate.

Then my world went spiraling into the absurd. I'd always heard that when there is a baby on the way there would be some "Eating for two". I had always assumed they were referring to the mom. During the first trimester my lovely bride lost nine pounds. Well, she says she "lost", but I know exactly where they are. They aren't lost at all, I've got them right here...in my pants. Or more precisely, just over my pants.

Sara had real trouble with nausea during that first trimester and doing my brave duty as Father-to-be-Man I swooped in for the rescue.
"What's the matter honey, your dinner not setting well? Don't worry, I'll save the day!" Twelve weeks of eating my food and hers too and suddenly things are getting a little out of sorts. Undaunted our hero devises a new plan,
"What's the matter honey, your dinner not setting well? Don't worry, we'll get a box!"
By twenty weeks I discovered that the phrase "get a box" translates into "Husband will eat it later."

And here we are at week twenty three. My skinny jeans are in a box, and I've unpacked my fat jeans. Yesterday at the OB's office Sara had gained a pound in the past two weeks, Father-to-be-Man packed on five. Those maternity pants are starting to look like a good idea. I mean, I've always carried my weight in just one place which happens to be where a baby would incubate on a woman. Who would notice right? I'd lose the ability to tuck in my shirts, but lets face reality here, there's no room in my pants for shirt tails anyway. Summer's coming, I can pull off the relaxed out of the pants look.

Yesterday I put on my largest pants, those pants that were in a box slated to go to Goodwill. These pants are the last line of defense between my underwear and an unsuspecting world. It took ten minutes, and a hand cramp to get them buttoned. An hour and a half later I realized that I was so tired from trying to get them on that I had completely forgotten to zip them.

Swell.

An hour after that I had to go to the men's room. You know, number two. Now I'm trapped in a tiny stall trying to get my pants buttoned up. By the time I managed to achieve this high minded goal I had two hand cramps, I was soaked in sweat, my face was red and more than one men's room patron suggestion that maybe I should get a room. It was about an hour later that I realized that I was so out of sorts from the battle of the button I had forgotten to zip my pants.

Swell.

I blame genetics and the knowledge that food taste good. Genetics purpose built me so I could move heavy things. A car, uphill, onto a trailer. I'm your man. Short powerful legs give me leverage to get low on something and power it up. Up-sized rib cage has more surface area to attach chest muscles too. Extra long torso gives me plenty of room for abs. All of my body fat stored in my stomach area-- Well, I'm not sure what they were thinking when they did that one, unless they knew that I was going to spend a lot of time in my adult hood living in the country out working in the yard naked as the day I was born. Yeah, that's probably it. They knew that was going to happen so they put all my extra weight in the front to protect my junk from sunburn.

Of course, its impossible for me to really verify this. I haven't seen my junk since high school. So here I am with a 29 inseam, 42, 44, maybe a 46 waist wearing extra tall shirts to cover me over the up and down and 3X to cover me in the around. Maternity clothing might not be too bad an idea after all. Its time to do some research! We've been wearing cloths for thousands of years, surely in all of fashion history there was a period of clothing that would suit my rather utilitarian build. The toga comes quickly to mind, as does the kilt, but the answer may in fact come from my taste in Steampunk.

There was a period in fashion where men wore pants six inches above where I wear mine and rather than being held in place with a belt (which wont work because of that whole breathing thing) are held in place with suspenders. I'm wearing the vest and cap already, it may be time to suck it up and embrace the breeches and braces as well. It is time to tap my inner gentleman. Only I'll never word it like that again, my hand to god.

Seriously. I promise I'll never say that phrase again.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 8:18 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Cavenaugh Family Upgrade

In October 1999 I purchased a five acre wooded lot with a 1000 square foot trailer on it. It was important to me to have a home before I got married. Granted it was a trailer, but our master plan was to build a house on the lot. February 29th 2000 I was married. Next step for the wife and I, build a house. This step is now complete. Cavenaugh Keep is now upgraded to a solid 2.0 Time to begin a new project. By the way, version 2.5 is in the planning stages and will take shape as a low priority project over the coming years. I'm thinking "Great Hall" as my inspiration.

At a dinner party recently I used my special "dink powers" to predict the future of several friend's children. Or at least those which I had spent any kind of time with anyway. Annie will be the first Czarina of America, she rules as fairly as she can, but no one can keep everyone happy all the time. She deals with unrest firmly, decisively and with finality. Her brother Jake using some of the wealth of his sister, goes on a quest to right wrongs as a mysterious "Batman" like vigilante figure. Often his quest puts him at odds with his sister, who never learns he's the occasional costumed thorn in her regal side. Will, forever striving to develop his seemly limitless potential, uses wealth he amassed in robotics development to buy the Real Doll company lock stock and barrel. One year later he unveils the Fembot Mk-1 to a hungry market. With the unbelievable success of the Fembot Mk-1 in the market place he secretly continues development for other purposes. By the time he perfects his Mk-4 he realizes he is ready to finally get revenge on all those who tormented him in his youth using a perfect robotic assassin corp. Though he and Jake battle many times over their lifetime, neither ever learns the identity of the other. Oakel meanwhile dons the silk pajamas of power becoming the next Hugh Hefner. No Fembot ever crosses the Playboy Mansion's threshold...so far as he knows.

And with that I have spoken my last, my scepter of Dinkdom smashed asunder forever, for there is a new Cavenaugh under construction. Its completion date estimated to be August 4th when a Leo Earth Ox is slated to enter a short validation cycle and after testing by doctors will go strait into production.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 6:08 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I can't tell you exactly how many people have come up to me and told me that those first holidays after a death in the family would be really hard. Dear friends, trusted coworkers, and practically strangers have all at one point come up to me to make this point. I hold no grudge, though I personally think it is a little cold to walk up to a friend, coworker, or stranger and say "Hi, you're life is going to suck this weekend. Have fun and see you Monday!"

They also have no idea of what they speak. I guess they are imagining the Normal Rockwell paining of the whole family sitting around the table smiling at the giant roasted turkey. Does anyone really have that kind of Holiday Season? Be honest.

My life before dad dying has had exactly three holiday season stages. They went like this:

Stage one: Between the ages of too young to remember and my teens we had a big breakfast where dad would cut a smoked ham and we were a family for just long enough to polish off our grits. Then dad would say "Have dinner ready by the middle of the day", and he would leave. Mom would be alone in the kitchen where the forces of good and evil battled over her mortal soul. I'm not kidding. I heard voices...terrible voices... I sat in front of the TV watching parades trying not to notice my mother speaking in tongues to the turkey and casting dark magic with the giblet gravy. Dinner would be ready promptly between one and three PM. Dad would stagger in at about five PM, pass out on the couch and wake up still drunk at about seven PM. We would all sit down and eat a cold thanksgiving dinner. In truth mom and I picked at it because we had been picking at it since it was done. Dad would proclaim that it was the "best ever", then pass out on the couch in front of the TV. we couldn't hear the TV for his snoring.

Stage two: I was older, and so was dad and his friends and their interest. Rather than gather in someone's tool shed or garden barn to drink they all had wood heaters now. So after the big breakfast with the smoked ham dad would pile me into the truck and we would go to some woods somewhere where there was some free wood to cut. Meanwhile mom was left in the kitchen to wage holy war against the forces of holiday tradition. All dad's friends would join us in the wood cutting. They would cut until about noon, I would load up everyone's trucks with the wood they cut. Then the drinking would begin. Just before dark someone realizes that their truck still hasn't been unloaded, so they all break up and drive drunk with a truck loaded heavily with firewood. Good times. Dad would always help me unload- or at the very least show me where he wanted it stacked. If he was sober enough to help me unload he'd go into his shed after unloading to make sure he was good and stinko before the big meal. It is now dark, mom would be a nervous wreck, the meal would be cold, dad would proclaim it was the "best ever" before passing out on the couch in front of the TV. Happy Thanksgiving.

Stage Three: I was in college, and would come home for the holiday. Dad stayed home, and often helped in the cooking of the feast. Mom would fight for God and heaven in the kitchen and dad would cook and drink in his garage kitchen. There is a whole other complete story I could tell about the stages of The Man Kitchen and I promise I will one day. Because dad was at home, we would actually eat the meal hot. Dad who is drunk would proclaim this the "best ever" and go pass out on his recliner. I would eventually get tired of Dad's snoring and mom's war stories. Then I would go hang out at the Pizza Hutt with my friends for hours leaving mom to pick the bones of another holiday tragedy.

Norman Rockwell was never invited.

Yes. This Thanksgiving was different. This year I brought my wife, we ate at my wife's least favorite restaurant (it was the only one open). Then we came home and all tried to get along while mom obsessed over getting the house ready for Christmas wringing her hands the whole way. I think she feared that if she stopped for just one second she would be forced to realize that dad wasn't there and melt down. My wife was melting down because my mother wouldn't just sit down and shut up for five minutes. I was melting down because that's what happens to solid rock when you surround it with that much molten mettle. Because I'm so stoney, hopefully neither of them noticed me melting while all of their melting down was happening.

At any rate I commemorated this holiday season much like my dad would have. I showed up hours late with a truck load of wood. But hey, at least I was sober.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 5:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I was told that dad had made friends with a local preacher. Dad has only liked two preachers his whole life and the other one was dead. When it was suggested that this preacher officiate his funeral, I was honored. If she's good enough for dad, she must be a wonder. Later I was told that she would be dropping by, she wanted us to share with her some personal stories about my father. Folks lets face it, I tend to like to think of myself as unflappable, of late I am well and truly flapped. I knew there was no way I could start reminiscing about my father so soon without howling like a hungry hedgehog. So I do, what I've done since the shrink suggested it in my childhood. I sat down and started writing. What follows are the things I handed to the preacher hot off the printer in georga 12 font.

• Lived by the creed, "If man made it, man could fix it". He took great joy in it, and a special pride in repairing things that stumped others. His son noted it every time he had to call his dad on the telephone for advice.
• Had a special quest to serve and protect the widow, no sewing machine went unfixed, no one went without fresh vegetables. He took great pride in his payment for a job well done, which took the form of the occasional cake or jar of jelly.
• His primary hobbies were his garden and giving away most of what he grew. For a few years he sold collards from the back of his old Ford truck. The profits he made helped to pay for the following years garden.
• He always had a great faith in the wisdom and opinions of his wife, especially when those opinions mirrored his own.
• He retired from the textile business where he worked for over 30 years in the same building for over seven different companies. The job never changed, only the company name on the check stub.
• Upon retirement he slowed down considerably. Fishing requires patience.
• When he spoke of influences in his life he often quoted his late father-in-law who used to say, "What you get out of life is what you eat". Anyone who has ever tasted Delwood's BBQ knows he lived well.
• One day two young men in suits riding bicycles came to his door and asked to come inside. Before opening the door he said to them, "In my house you are free to talk about any subject except religion and politics. Now, I'm about to sit down to lunch and if you'd like, you can join me." They ate a loaf of bread and a whole pack of bologna while he watched. All three had a wonderful visit and the young men never once broke the house rule.
• People were important to Delwood, every day at the exact same time all work and all fishing stopped and his closest friends gathered at the barn for what they called "Tea Time". In many ways it was just like English High Tea, only they never had anything besides water from the hose to drink, and they never had cucumber sandwhiches. They were never ones for fancy finger foods.
• Delwood took a great love of his wife's flower beds, although he often lamented how little there was to eat in them. If you walk those flower beds today you'll see his subtle influences; grapes, blackberries, strawberries, mustard greens, tomatoes, and peppers stealthily planted among the pansies, irises, azaleas, and daffodils.

Later we went to the first viewing where the immediate family decides if everything is ok with the body. While standing there looking at his corpse another thing came to mind that though too late for the preacher, was very much worth noting.

In the 30 some years that dad worked in a sewing plant he wore the height of men's fashions as often the unused samples were given to him and the other mechanics. He took great pride in looking good and his reward was the compliments he got daily from the many hundred women who sewed in the plant with him. I mention this because as his body laid there in the casket it looked better than it had looked in over a year. It was a great weight taken off of my mother and myself seeing that. Live well, die young, leave a great looking corpse. Dad thinks of everything.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 7:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Water can be an ice cube, it can melt into liquid, and heat into steam. Steam can cool, liquid forms, once it cools enough, ice. It is the natural way of things. Three distinct states of being and it never stops being water.

You take a piece of paper and light it on fire, the combustion releases the energy stored in the paper. The law of conservation of energy states that energy is never lost, it just changes from one state to another.

A caterpillar goes into a cocoon comes out a butterfly. Nature is full of examples of how things may change but the essence of what is remains unchanged.

That's why I think that the sober scientific minds of atheist are so laughable. I am amused by those who look down their noses across the pages of science books to dismiss the beliefs of the religious. The science makes very clear that death is a transition between one state of being and another.

Don't get me wrong, I'm equally amused by the religious. Those who regularly look down their self righteous noses across the pages of their ancient tomes at the atheist who refuse to believe whatever arbitrary thing they believe. I find it odd that they are so filled with the spirit or what have you, but still fear death so much and go to such great lengths to prolong the suffering of those dying by keeping them alive.

I know that energy cannot be destroyed or created, I know that a thing can exist in many different states and still be a thing. I believe that death is a transition between one state of being another.

Thus, though I will miss interacting with my father, I know he still exist in another form. Today we make arrangements to bury the cocoon he spent the last 67 years in. It will wear his best suit, it will have his pipe and a new pouch of tobacco. My ancestors were Irish, and though this world isn't as hard for me as it was for them in the past, I share their faith that wherever he is, it is definitely better than where he was.

Delwood Ray Cavenaugh
1941 - 2008

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 7:24 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I spent the better part of an afternoon working on a simple project using ingenuity and intellect. I needed to move the roof of the front porch on the old house. The plan was very strait forward. Dig out the area surrounding the legs so the concrete around them is clear to be raised. Connect the left and right legs together with a four by four secured by eight inch long lag bolts. Jack the legs up one at a time slowly back and forth bracing them with flat concrete blocks until they are out of the ground. Move the structure carefully out of the way. I worked slowly and carefully to make sure everything went just right. The four by four splintered, the lag bolts ripped out and plan "A" was a complete and total failure. I didn't even budge the thing. Time was wasted, effort was wasted, and I was feeling like a tool.

Then a moment of calm came over me and in this perfect zen instant the path was revealed to me. I was doing it wrong. Actually, I might have been doing it right, but not right for me.

I put away the shovel, post hole digger, drill, hand tools, and jack. I cleared away the blocks, the scraps of splintered wood, and any sharp pokey objects that do seem to like to tear my cloths. I went into the shed and brought out The Six Pounder. In a former life it was a splitting axe with a six pound head. That was before I broke the handle splitting wood. Some years ago I cut off the splintered end, wrapped the remaining eight inches of handle in leather and today it serves as an executive problem solver. The Six Pounder, solves problems my way, using my strengths to their best advantage.

My way is not very sportsmanlike.

After hours of wasted intellect and effort got me nothing, the porch was now laying defeated at my feet in a matter of minutes thanks to simply playing to my strengths. I think there was a life lesson in there somewhere for me. If you are a hammer, everything really does look like a nail. If you are an ax, every problem can be cut down to size, if you happen to be me, just let your force be your guide.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 6:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I grew up on the coast in commuting distance from a military base. My neighborhood was made up of active duty military, retired military, and civilians in fairly equal numbers. Growing up that way I was exposed to ideas and customs I might not have experienced in other places. One of these customs was the hurricane party.

The idea was simple. A hurricane was coming, its been suggested that people gather up supplies in a safe fortified location and hole up until the storm passes. Many people think that it might be smarter to combine supplies, and man power in a single place to wait out the storm, since there was nothing else to do after the power goes out, you could while away the hours being social. Thus in my neighborhood during every hurricane there was at least one hurricane party.

My dad prefers to spend his hurricanes sitting on the porch watching the action. After it is over, he will drive around looking at the damage, offering help to friends where is needed. Mom on the other hand prefers to fill the bath tub with water, pile supplies and a portable radio in the bathroom and (back then) gather me up to sleep on the floor and wait until the whole thing blew over. Mind you, though our bathroom was the only interior room in our house, it has a large mirror on each door, one above the sink, and glass shower doors. I never would bring it up to her even as a little tyke because I saw just how important it was to her to at least feel like she was safe.

Of all the hurricanes I grew up during, only one ever caused us any real damage at all and that was after I had left the area to seek my fortune in the Piedmont. The only other "adventure" I ever had any witness to at home on the coast during severe weather was one morning after when dad discovered... the body.

Our windows were boarded up so there was no seeing outside unless you went outside, and dad being naturally adventurous and indestructible, was out the morning after at first light to survey the damage. He wandered the backyard, to see no damage, just a few limbs down. Going to the front yard, he saw down the street some trees leaning, many limbs down, a few misplaced trashcans, and what appeared to him to be a pile of cloths at the edge of our yard next to the street. He went to investigate.

Moments later he was back inside instructing mom to call the ambulance, there was a body in the yard! Mom kept me inside, dad kept his distance and shortly later EMS rolled up. It didn't take them long to figure out that the person, though soaked, was very much alive...drunk and passed out. They asked dad if he recognized the person who was at this moment still very incoherent. He thought he had seen the man before as a friend of the neighbors, so an EMS person went over there to see if they had "lost" anyone.

"Hey!" cried the EMS person, "Here's another one!" In the neighbor's yard, between two cars a soaked to the bone woman was passed out. They began to make sure she was OK as well.

Several minutes of knocking at the door brought the neighbor around. (By this time I had slipped outside and joined my father a respectable distance from the action.) Apparently during the night when the eye was passing over, a couple thought it was safe to go home. Neither them or anyone else at that hurricane party were sober enough to comprehend or voice any of a number of concerns. The couple apparently fell down and passed out while trying to simply FIND their car in the yard.

To this day we still laugh about that. Good times.

The moral of the tale is that though a hurricane party is in and of itself probably a good idea, you really need to stay sober to take full effect of the the benefit. Also, those of you who tend to stay home during and venture out after should take a camera of some kind. You never know when a photo opportunity might arise.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 11:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

When planning to have a 10 year old around I picked through my music collection to find stuff that would be enjoyable to Sara and I as well as enlighten and entertain The Niece. I should have thought my clever plan through. Don't get me wrong I was successful in "enlightening" and "entertaining" The Niece, the problem was it never occurred to me she'd actually pay close attention to the lyrics.

This one should have been obvious..even to me. I only heard a upbeat happy tune that gets stuck in your head and makes you want to dance.

Sara managed to hit skip in the first few bars...then she explained to me why. I admit it. I was an idiot on this one.

Similarly Sara hit quickly skipped past "The British Army" before it got to the chorus.

Now, The Wild Rover as you can see from the lyrics is a fine song for all ages. Leave it to the Booze Brothers however to embellish just enough to make ME skip past it. For instance, the original lyrics went something like this:

I took from my pocket ten sovereigns bright And the landlady's eyes opened wide with delight. She said "I have whiskey and wines of the best And the words that I spoke sure were only in jest."

The Booze Brothers version went something like this:

I took from me pocket ten sovereigns bright
And the landlady's legs opened wide with delight.
She said "I have women and liqueurs of the best"
And she took off her blouse and showed me her chest.

I was perhaps too caution with Carbon Leaf's "The Boxer", but I was a little gun shy after three FAILS in a row. The Young Dubliners tune "Brown Dog" was heard with fingers poised over the skip button while Sara and I hoped and prayed there was nothing in there to cause trouble.

"Cindy" by The Chieftains with Ricky Scaggs and Kentucky Thunder should be OK. "...she's so sweet the honeybees swarm around her mouth..." this is ok I guess "...I wish I was an apple hanging from the tree, and every day that Cindy'd pass she'd take a bite of me..." Hmmm....perhaps we can slide the metaphor past a ten year old.

"Whiskey You're the Devil" I thought this one was OK. I mean it is an anti-drinking song after all. Right?

"When I was a fair maid" could have been OK, but I was worried about what she might ask her parents later if she spent too much time thinking about the story of a girl who pretended to be a man so she could be a sailor and was outed when a girl at port (thinking she was a he) tried to start a relationship of the personal nature.

Sligo Rag worked pretty well, "The Whiskey Never Lies" CLEARLY an anti-drinking song. "No Great Shakes" an honest song about relationships gone wrong. "Suite for a Drunken Sailor" All I would have to do is explain about The Captain's Daughter should she ask. Interestingly the issue with Sligo Rag didn't come from the 10 year old. It came from Sara. I had never noticed it, but they do sure use a lot of chimes in their music.

No worries though. I had an ace in the hole. In fact I had FIVE aces in the whole, in the form of five Great Big Sea CDs. "Captain Kidd", "Jack Hinks", "Mari Mac" "I'm a Rover", I could go on for hours. At "The Night Pat Murphy Died", I had to explain to her why they were so happy. I didn't know she had a think about funerals. Then we hit "The Mermaid" and I had to explain (via a lie) to The Niece that the line "That's how I get MY tail" refers to the fact that the mermaid turned him into a merman and they lived happily ever after. I think she bought it hook, line, sinker, and copy of Angling Times.

Next time around I think I'll just stick to Marc Gunn.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 12:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

After lunch The Niece suggested smoothies. We figured that was a reasonable idea so we went. We were just pulling out of the parking lot when she announces that she dropped her cup and some spilled. She was pretty upset because she knew that it was in the new car. Sara and I were quick to pass back every napkin we had and to reassure her that it was OK. Accidents happen, and cars can be cleaned.

Then she told us about the hole in her cup. Thinking quickly I told her to put her finger over the hole. When we got back to work, I could give her a new cup from the package I had in my cube. Good plan right?

Have you ever felt like sometimes the world was conspiring against you? Religious or not, you suddenly get the sinking feeling that some force greater than yourself was making your life difficult for their own amusement? Yeah. That happened here.

Every turn Sara made seemed to take us further and further from the office. Every road she took was blocked, being constructed on, finding herself behind someone lost, etc. We caught every stop light. Pedestrians were at every crosswalk. In the back seat The Niece was getting more and more hysterical because the drink was cold and it was freezing her fingers.

The panic was spreading to Sara who was dealing with traffic and trying to calm the girl child. I was breathing slowly and deeply, willing myself into a state of perfect calm. I made not a sound. I was also working furiously on plan "B", which was to drink my smoothy as fast as humanly possible and give my cup to The Niece. Every 90 seconds we had to remind her that in civilized places like Greensboro, you can't just throw your cup out the window.

I finished my smoothy just as we were pulling into the parking lot of the office.

I gave her my cup, which she put around her damaged cup. Mission accomplished! Then I took her inside to wash up. She was covered in peach smoothy. The whole way she kept talking about how cold her fingers were. So cold she couldn't feel them. At least they didn't hurt. But they hurt. Well, at least she could still feel them.

Sara stayed behind to do some damage control on the vehicle.

Sitting in the lobby, mission accomplished- so I believed. The only sound in the whole place was the gentle hum of the air conditioner and the wailing of a sobbing 10 year old. I willed myself to spontaniously combust. I couldn't go in after her. I could only wait, and suspect what she did to cause so much pain. I was pretty sure she cranked up the hot water to wash up. Hot water on cold fingers is never a good plan. Never ever.

Finally she came out. Her dress looked like an army of 10 year old boys used her for target practice at a peach picking. Her eyes are red from crying and she is clearly embarassed.

Sara IM'd me later that The Niece was sullen but otherwise OK, at least until she climbed into the shower. Then she sobbed loudly again.

Dinner was hotdogs from a street vender in Center City Park and an hour of playing in the water around the fountains before we discovered that she didn't bring dry shorts to change into. The hotdogs were pretty good, so I suppose it could have been a lot worse.

All in all I think we gained some valuable lessons. Children make lousey leak stoppers. Street vendors make good hotdogs. You can pack almost enough cloths to change into after playing in the water. 10 year old girls are not shy about undressing in front of you. I need a pair of peril sensitive sunglasses to wear when The Niece is around.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 9:04 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Over dinner The Niece is talking about something. Her speech is sort of stream of consciousness where you really have to pay attention to make all the jumps. At the time she was talking about some animal reality show where they rescue hurt pets (I think). She started going on about this dog with a hormone on its leg. Sara was confused as I was, but instead of just letting it go, she opted to try to get some clarification. Sara says, "Did you mean hematoma?" The Niece said yes. Now me, I figure if Sara had said "Helium" she would have said yes to that too, but OK we're moving on.

Sara wanting to be a good teacher, asked The Niece, if she knew what a hormone was. Pretty quickly it was clear that she didn't, and eventually asked, "OK, so what IS a hormone anyway?"
Sara explained that it was a chemical that the body makes to do stuff. I, hoping to be helpful, said, "It helps tell your body to grow". Sara adds, "and when you are older it will help with your woman parts." The Niece makes a face, "you mean like baby making parts?" Sara nods.

The Niece, who is TEN, says in a very determined way, "I'm having my tubes tied."

At this point, my sanity doffed its bowler hat and headed for the door. My jaw was resting on the table top and I had lost the ability to produce sound entirely.

Sara, who seemed to be rehearsing for a role as a Japanese Anime character said, "But you're 10!" The Niece responds casually around a mouthful of pizza, "Yeah, I mean when I'm like 20."

Sara looks at me and notes my apoplexy for the first time. She tries to calm me with a statement which she tried to make sound as sane and as casual as she could; "At 10 I said the same thing."

Unable to produce sound yet I texted her on my blackberry, "At 10 migratory wading birds as a delivery mechanism for human young was more than enough explanation for me." Now I remember why girls were icky in the first place.

The next morning while Sara was getting ready for work, I had to wake The Niece and send her to take a shower. I used a long stick to poke her with from across the room. Cooties are suddenly a real and present danger again.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 8:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I dodged an emotional scar. The Niece was playing Wii, I was puttering around trying to do a little bit a cleaning around the living room. I had something in my hand that I needed to take to the computer room. I took one step and suddenly my danger sense started quivering faster than a girl in her first prom dress. What do I do?

Stop.
Look.
Listen.

The Niece is no longer in the living room.
The bathroom light is on.
I hear the sound of running water.
It is NOT the sink.
The bathroom door is open.

Code blue emergency! This is not a drill!
Code blue emergency! This is not a drill!

In a code blue emergency you sit your fat ass down on the closest thing to you and you don't move until The Niece returns to the living room, and the game. You pray to all that is holy that they come out wearing everything they were wearing when they went in.

She came out. She was fully clothed, and remembered to flush. As an extra precaution I did not enter the computer room for the rest of the evening. It was a close call, and I don't need the extra therapy.

I do need a drink though.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 8:46 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

In the past two days I have eaten more pizza than I would eat in a normal month. I have determined that children only eat pizza.

Me: "What would you like to eat?"
Niece: "I don't know, what do you have."
Me: "Well, we have hot dogs, and sausage dogs, and peaches, and pizza"
Niece: "Pizza."
Me: "and steak, and shrimp, and beef tenderloin medallions that I can braise in a light port wine sauce and serve over polinta with a side of sauted summer vegetables.
Niece: "Pizza."
Me: "Its pretty cheap pizza."
Niece: "Pizza."
Me: "It has vegetables."
Niece: "I can pick it off"
Me: "Anchovies"
Niece: "Gross! I can definitely pick it off."

So we had pizza...again...It was peperoni.

Before this week is over, I'm serving chicken curry. If necessary I'll pour the curry sauce down her gullet. It will be fun!

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 7:59 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

In the back of my mind I always suspected it was true, but I really didn't know for sure until I found myself staring down the barrel of a visiting 10 year old girl on her first week away from home. I am not a level 10 parent. In fact I'm a level 0 parent. At this phase I should only be worrying about practicing to create them. Instead, I've gone from zero to OMFGWTF do I feed them??? (The answer to that one turns out to be "pizza" but that's an entry for another day.)

Today's entry is about me learning to understand the rules of the game.

Level One: The baby gets born, you are in complete control of an eating and pooping machine. Level one teaches you how to handle bio-hazards, and getting over any hangups you might have about being clean-ever again.

Level Two: You think you're so cool now that you've mastered the diaper? Now we're giving the child two speeds, sleeping and full throttle. We're also including the volume feature, it has two settings, sleeping, and screaming. At no extra cost we're throwing in a vocabulary word, "No".

Level Five: Now the child is away from your sphere of influence for eight hours a day and introduced to others their own age. They will teach each other everything you've been trying to protect your child from. If you've been a successful parent so far, this is where your child will pick up their first neurosis.

Levels Six through Ten: You know that little feature about your precious snowflake that you think is so adorable. It's now their number one neurosis. Children at these levels hate everything out of the ordinary, and will attack it voraciously.

Level Thirteen: Cost of ownership is upped by one third as they discover high end consumer electronics and boy bands. If you don't have a drawer filled with batteries already, you'd better clear some space.

Level Fifteen: Time to have "The Talk" as a preemptive measure. Include diagrams and lepers for bonus effects. Child earn bonus therapy time if you teach them to apply a condom to a garden vegetable. You earn bonus therapy time if they get it right on their first attempt.

Level Sixteen: Child's first car. You gain extra gray hair. If you have no hair on your head by this point, you'll suddenly sprout it in strange places. Their diary starts to read like a Jackie Collins novel; you gain one facial tick.

Level Seventeen: You get a taste of what's to come when you are forced to pay out for prom gear. You also gain a nervous habit when you realize that your child qualifies as the subject of an '80s hair band song.

Level Eighteen: Your child mentions for the first time the idea they've been kicking around with friends about NOT going to college and starting a band. You lose consciousness.

Things start to slow down once you get them through college, they land a job, move out of your basement, and they get married. You can relax now and exercise your one wish, that their children turn out just like they did. If you've been successful in child rearing you are comfortable in the knowledge that in your old age you aren't destined to eat dog food while trying to pay for your prescription medications.

You win if you manage to get buried in a real casket in a marked grave surrounded by family who are really sad to see you go. Congratulations! You have ascended.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 8:13 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I've been moping around a lot lately. I've got a lot on my mind, none of it earth shattering, but all of it coming from every angle. There is no escape. I've been trying to find words to express myself, it ain't gone well. Then I heard a song that I had heard a many a time before, only this time it was the exact right song at the exact right time. It came for a reason. I wanted to post a youtube video, but there was none to be found. I wanted to link to the lyrics but those weren't to be had either. You listen to the obscure, you get the obscure.

At any rate, the band is Kennedy's Kitchen. The CD is A Pocketful of Lint. The song is The Little Things in Life: The Dead Cat Song. Click on that last link, and listen to a sample. It tells a tale of a simple event that snowballs out of control. Absurd? Oh yeah! Funny as all get out actually, but it has a moral.

Its the little things in life that will kill you.

I just noticed that the CD liner notes include the lyrics. I'd post them because they are as important as they are hysterical, however, I also like this band and want to stay out of trouble with them. You buy the CD and read the lyrics for yourself. You'll thank me.

At any rate, the song played for me and it had a message and I'm still figuring out exactly what it means. What? Did you think these things just fall out of the sky on a silver platter? I wish.

Honestly, it sure would be a lot easier if it were a Simon and Garfunkel song.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 9:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Its been a while since I have updated the world on anything and I figured now may be a good time. There's no reason for that. I have no great announcements, no powerful observations, and no funny stories. It has simply been a while and I don't want to get rusty.

We traded the 1997 Saturn SL2 last week. For two hundred thousand miles it was a stalwart companion, great mileage, few breakdowns, utilitarian, and almost invisible in the crowd. The ten thousand miles after the two hundred thousand have been fraught with chaos and strife. We quickly realized that we were making a car payment every month on repairs and we were getting on a first name basis with the AAA guy. Time for an upgrade.

There was much research done. We love the Aptera but it isn't available on the east coast yet. We rented a Ford Edge and it was "teh sex" (whatever that is), the problem there was it was so new that there wasn't a good supply of used ones on the market yet. We rented a RAV-4 but found it wanting...mostly in the comfort area. We'd done eleven years of "economy" and we both felt we could do with a little compromise. I wanted an Avitar, but that didn't fly. It is stylish and great on gas, but there's that whole what to drive in poor weather question I didn't have an immediate answer for. Along similar lines there is the Can Am Spyder, the weather factor is completely overwhelmed by the cool factor. Plus hey, the price isn't bad either.

We did much research using a variety of tools before finally deciding that what we needed was a crossover vehicle with a couple of years and a couple of miles on it that was comfortable and not a gas hog. We will augment this with specialty vehicles as needed. We already have a truck (and something of an obligation to keep it because we have no other friends with a truck, and everyone needs a friend with a truck). We have life itself. What we needed was something that did everything else. We chose the Nissan Murano.

I was initially at a loss for a name, but we quickly discovered that the Murano was completely filled with these "troublesome little nooks" that I loved so much. So it was decided. I dubbed the "Firefly", and it was good.

I got a good price on the Saturn as well. Once I had it detailed I doubled its value and the $250.00 we got will probably go towards a warranty on the Murano or something. I don't believe in taking chances and I don't believe in coincidences.

Life is good.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 10:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

After last night sitting in a parking lot removing my left front tire, again, to put the belt back on, again, I decided that today would be the day I took the car in to be fixed. I never like taking the car in when I don't know exactly what's wrong, because I like to know the difficulty level and ball park cost before putting it in. However, I'm sick and darned tired of the belt popping off because one of the pulleys occasionally freezing up just long enough to put tension on the belt, tug the tensioner, and free up suddenly causing a a pop and off with the belt.

So today is the day! Transfer some of the tools etc over to the truck. Now we'll take the truck to the gas station to get the in bad need of being replaced tires filled with air. The truck doesn't start....damn. Acts like the battery, pop the hood, oh look, corrosion on the battery. Brush off the terminals and jump start. OK, we should be good now. Off to get air.

We leave the truck running, turn the car off, put air in the truck tires. Go to restart car. Guess what jumps off. My blood pressure can now be measured in PSI. Screw this noise, call AAA. We have an hour wait, so we turn the truck off. On a whim we check the truck again. Yup. Didn't start. So now we are at a convenience store with two non-working vehicles. I go inside and buy Murphy a 40.

I am pretty sure the battery is good but the terminals could use some cleaning. Cleaning the terminals I am shocked to find that the stock terminal clamps are pretty crappy and in this case completely worn out. On the negative post, it is even broken. I go back into the convenience store and buy a package of hose clamps. Once the post and wires were clean of corrosion, I used the hose clamps to tighten the wires on the battery terminals. Worked like a charm. Who's the man? McGuiver for teaching me to think outside of the box.

AAA shows up, and tows the car in a large spiral to the AAA service center. They can get to the Saturn today, cool. Now to go get the terminals fixed, and buy a set of tires, and check to see if the wheels are safe and sound. (They are rusted enough that I think the previous owner drove it on the beach.) The man at the AAA desk says, "Hey, you know we do that too."

So I'm sitting in the waiting room right now of the AAA service center in the most comfortable waiting room chairs ever created. I have wireless access, I'm walking distance from a Starbucks. This ain't a bad way to spend a really crappy morning.

Course.....I haven't paid the bill yet...

Mental note, the Fairlane now has a greatly boosted priority level. Sure it gets 16 stylish miles to the gallon, but two working vehicles are clearly not enough for the two of us when both end up in the shop at once. Hey, it will cost less than a replacement vehicle, and way more styling than an econo-box.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 11:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Today was a day marked by one of man's lesser know noble pursuits "improvisation". The plan was to fix the water break and continue on with the list. Before breakfast this morning the plan went swimmingly. I put on a pot of beef ribs for my dinner. Then I put on a pair of work gloves and I commenced to shoveling. I now have a partial mote around the front of the house in front of yesterday's water break. The dirt I dug from the mote I added to the wall of yesterday's toils. I also have blisters on my right hand the likes of which I hadn't seen since puberty. You can take that however you like.

Breakfast, three hot biscuits covered in strawberries topped with whipped topping, was had. It was as yummy as it sounds. So here I was ten AM, my hands near bleeding. Shoveling is out of the question for the rest of the day. Fine, I can get out the mower and do some mulching. By the time I got to the mower shed, I realized that it was too wet still for mulching. Before I realized it, I was, shovel in hand planting a dozen black walnuts. Should society collapse, my children will have a source of black die, and some highly nutritious nut meat. If society doesn't collapse my children will have black hands from getting the nut meat out, and some of the tastiest baked goods to be had.

From there I fell in on digging up an old Primestar dish. the company might not have survived the 90's and I have no idea what their service was like, but I will say this for them. They put the dishes in for the long haul. I dug until I hit concrete, I dug around the concrete. I broke a two by four in three places trying to use it to break the thing lose. This would be a job for a 4X4 and a chain but it was wet out, and the tires on the truck are getting a little thin. I had no desire to do all that work getting the truck into place with the chain only to slide across the surface of the ground frictionlessly. So I dug some more and finally decided to quit. My right hand was hurting and I needed some water.

While drinking my water and nursing my weaknesses, I noticed that the bumble bees were hard at work trying to tear my porch down. So I waged war against the bees with a tub of grease. I think I packed enough grease in every hole. I'll know tomorrow.

Today would be a perfect day being all wet and all to move those cedars, however for the moment I should avoid any more shovel work. Maybe I'll take a nap. Yeah, you know that actually sounds like a swell idea. Be back later.

Later: After my nap, I sent the beef ribs through the BBQ sauce and across the flames. Then I played a little Unreal Tournament while I waited for the sauce to caramelize. Oh joy! Oh Rapture! I could not eat more than seven at a standing. That leaves one lonely rib taunting me. victory will be mine. I just need to rest up first. Once the beef broth cools I'll skim off the tallow and make my soup. This I will freeze. I am not feeling soup right now. Heck I can't even polish off the last rib right now.

I'm feeling the urge to mark something off my list. I suppose I should put my pants back on, waddle outdoors and give it another go. No shovel this time. I'm serious.

Annoyingly useless Primestar dish, you now face The Tick. I had been thwarted earlier, but I am not the kind of guy to stay thwarted long. Clever monkeys took a lesson from the Egyptians. Creating a false door, or in this case a false concrete slab. Mortal men would have gotten the first foot thick slab out of the way and finding it was for nothing would give up. I am not mortal men. I came at it from the west side, and it mocked me. No one mocks me from the west like that. I went to the north side and it mocked me no more. I took a victory lap around the back yard dragging my prize, eighteen inches of forbidden concrete wrapped around the base pole of an annoyingly useless Primestar dish. I thought briefly of taking the receiver module as a trophy, but I am not a man to take trophies. They just end up cluttering up the place and need constant dusting. But I was left with a hole. What to do...what to do. I could use this hole to place a time capsule so when future space men opened up the hole to see the surprise left from the past they would find me. It was a good plan. So I filled the hole with the shattered pieces of the dish itself and covered that with shattered concrete and less shattered dirt. I'll show those future spacemen who was boss.

Now I'm all tired and sweaty again. Good thing I've been wearing the same cloths since Friday. Can you imagine the laundry load this would have created otherwise? Think I'll break out an ice cold cider and savor my victory. But only one, The conquering heroine returns tonight and I have to pick her up in the boro at Midnight tonight.

Its 5pm and the thunderstorms from the west are right on schedule. I guess I'll upload now. If you are keeping score at home, I completed nine of seventeen tasks on my list. Also, if by chance on Sunday evening right around 6pm you think you may have heard, right at the edge of hearing, a wail of heartfelt angst and despair...that was me. It means the water break is still broken.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 5:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I was dreaming that the corgi and the three cats were performing a cover of Motley Crew's "Cum on Feel the Noiz". It was really awful. They had no harmony whatsoever, and the dog didn't even know the lyrics. Finally I woke up. Unfortunately the cacophony didn't end there. The four animals were camped outside the bedroom door demanding that my lazy butt get up and put food in their waiting bellys. It was 10am and I was really worried about what moving was going to be like. I started slowly being careful not to make any sudden movements. No soreness. Cool. Who knew bananas and cider were such magical foods.

Satisfied I wouldn't find myself in excruciating pain, I shut the animals up with their breakfast. I then put on a pot of coffee and a pot of country style pork ribs. Breakfast for me doesn't begin until after the coffee is finished. Or at the very least I'm halfway through my last cup.

By the time I was ready to go out and begin working it was noon. Noon you say? I've wasted half the day away! Well, yes and no. I am in what I will optimistically call "amazingly poor physical condition". I know that it will take only a few hours of toil to completely destroy me. Would I rather lay panting in the shade of the front porch in broad daylight with hours of good daylight to go, or would I rather find myself laying panting in the shade of the front porch at dusk? I vote dusk. That way it at least feels like I've put in a full day of work.

Some see the glass half full, others half empty, I prefer to see free refills.

This is what I started with.

First thing I figured I ought to do is get the leaves out. Time to get the mower and the bagger. The mower had a dead battery so instead I got a battery charger and drop cord...then I got a rake. It turned up all the things I thought it would. Big black lizards with yellow racing stripes, little gray frogs, and tiny brown snakes. Those who know me know that snakes and I do not get along. As a child the sight alone of a snake would awaken my mutant powers of speed and teleportation. It also sent me into a blind panic. As I have grown I have slowly gone from always giving the snake right of way to what is now, the opinion that I'm here and you have to move on. I have shoulders. I win. If the snake disagrees, I'll still let him have his way of course. But I don't kill them. I'm soft hearted I guess. I'm sure if I was given a reason to kill a snake I would. Like if I were bitten. I would kill it before my heart exploded. The poison wouldn't stand a chance. My final thoughts would be of exploding and killing every snake in a quarter mile radius.

It was a good day. The lizards went away, the frogs went away, the snakes went away, and the leaves went away. Well, the leaves went away from the immediate area I was working in. Step two required a shovel. I still hadn't quite worked out which side of the water break the planters would go. I sort of wished my dad was there to lend me his advice. Probably his advice would be to get some dynamite and put in a real garden and not mess around with stupid flower boxes. Quickly I realize though, after digging up shovel full after shovel full of worms, if my dad had been there we would have filled a gallon pail with worms and made fast to the river where he would wage war against the river monsters great and small. On second thought, probably better he wasn't here.

I quickly realized that this project would require four more window planters, which will wait until pay day so I can figure out what to put in them. I opened up my giant bag of organic dirt to notice that it warned against using it in planters. Crap. I also noticed where it said not to touch the soil and to wear garden gloves. Crap. Literally. It is organic after all. Don't worry, I didn't get any on me!

I realized that I needed a break. I also needed a couple of things so I headed for the store to get the stuff I needed. On the way there I drank a bottle of water, on the way back I drank a bottle of hydrating sports drink. Once back I did the finishing touches on the last of the work I intended to do today. It was 4pm, 85 degrees in the shade, 83 degrees indoors. I sat down on the porch with a cider and I surveyed my hard work. I got out my list of seventeen items to accomplish this weekend and I marked off numbers six and seven. Mayhaps this is a multi-weekend task list.

Here's what I ended up with. Looks like crap don't it.

It really needs a truck full of pine bark mulch I can't afford. I will instead use the leaf mulch I will make with the lawn mower tomorrow. Yes, I know, bad idea, but cut me some slack I'm making lemon aid here.

The thunderstorm rolled in at 5pm. I sent a second cider down to see what happened to the first cider and I came inside to write this and get it published. Once done, I'll go back to the porch and watch the storm a while and cool off. My blisters have blisters. Worse yet, most of them are on my right hand. I do all my favorite things with my right hand. The computer mouse you pervs! I'm far too and hot tired to do anything else. I may have to call on a third cider to make sure the first and second are safe and well.

At any rate, during the hour and ten minutes it has taken me to upload these photos, I have had a first hand opportunity to see how my new water break faired. To sum up: I think I made it worse. So here's a plant stand with a gnome sleeping in it.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 4:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

With Sara off conquering Florida, I found I would have a few days to myself to do whatever. My first thought of course was to do nothing. My second thought was that I do that every day. Sara's gone for three days and I should do something I haven't done in a long time. Something that won't get me arrested, won't get me divorced, and maybe get me out of the house a little.

So today, being Friday, I played hooky from work. Yeah, it wasn't all that spontaneous. I announced my intention to play hooky on Tuesday during a staff meeting. That night I bought a family pack of country style pork ribs for my weekend. First thing this morning when I woke up, eight in the morning, I think. I made up a pot of coffee and I sat outside on the porch and I surveyed all that was before me and I let a plan form. Then I went shopping.

You can't make an omelet if you don't break a few eggs. If eggs were dollars I broke a whole bunch of them. However, being my father's son, I shopped twice, purchased once, and had a good lunch. I said I was going to do stuff that I couldn't otherwise do with Sara home. So, not only did I shop in stores without buying anything, I had a lunch buffet. Oh I am such the rebel.

My starting plan was to do some square foot gardening in boxes to the left and right of the front porch. The best boxes I could find for the job were nearly $40.00 each. So to stay in budget the best I could do was maybe buy two boxes so at least it would remain symmetrical. I suppose every month I could add two more, and then by winter I could have my whole garden finally in the ground. But there is also this pesky problem I'm having with drainage. OK, new task, I need to do something about my drainage problem. Water from the driveway shouldn't be able to wash down the driveway, up the ramp and deposit red clay on my doormat. It shouldn't but it does, and I need to fix that too.

New plan. Lets see if we can fix the drainage problem with a garden. Dad always said that if man made it, man could fix it. I'm not sure if man was totally responsible for my drainage problem, but they had enough of a hand in it that I felt like I had a fair shot at fixing it, or at the very least, not making it worse.

When I got home from a really relaxing day of shopping, eating, and planning, I still had two hours before I had to be at fencing. That gave me time to install a couple of shelves in the man cave, organize that, and what do you know, I still have time to do one other small task.

I chose the task "pave the end of the walk". The ramp to the house ends and the original builders put in some round flat concrete stones to bridge the gap between the end of the planking and the drive way proper. Due to the fact that the slats on the ramp ran diagonally I had a polygon shape to fill with something. I found some really cool oddly shaped concrete blocks roughly sixteen inches on its longest side. On the display they fit together like natural looking puzzle pieces. The display made them look really awesome, they were four dollars each. I only needed four so what the heck. I realized that this would mean there would be blank spots around. In the display they had neatly cut the pieces to fit in their display. I had nothing to cut concrete with besides an old splitting ax with a busted handle. Not a masonry saw, but way way cheaper than a masonry saw.

First I would need to dig out some of that dirt that has washed into the space so I can get a good flush fit. The entire place I live was carved by glacial movement. I know this because you can't put a shovel in the ground without hitting rocks. Sure, four paving stones, multiplied by all those lose rocks turned an easy job into a much more difficult one. Plus three of the four blocks had to be cut to fit. As you can imagine, with the tools I had that didn't go as well as one would hope. By the time I was finished I was borderline overheated, and exhausted. I sat under the porch nursing a bottle of water and surveying my accomplishment. I was tired. Real tired. Then Mario messages me.

He can't make fencing tonight, I will need to solo his class. Why oh why did I pick up that shovel? I left early for fencing. I had some small projects there to deal with too. On the way I picked up a big Gateraid, and a big bottle of water. I was going to need to hydrate if I planned to teach saber that night.

I had just put the finishing touches on my fencing cabinet work when my students arrived. The lesson was absolutely awesome and I managed to leave fencing more energized than I had arrived. Now to Bojangles, I wanted chicken, I really wanted the biscuits to go with strawberries for my breakfast Saturday morning. It was eight PM and I had managed to find the one Bojangles in all of creation who was out of chicken. How does one even do that? You're a frik'n chicken place for heaven's sake!

My back up plan was to go to food lion and pick up a box of chicken and two cans of refrigerated biscuits. As fate would have it, they had no chicken either, so I picked up three bananas for dinner, a six of hard cider for those hot evenings of surveying my hard work, and two cans of refrigerated biscuits. Apparently Sara prayed that I wouldn't do anything stupid this weekend while she was gone. I guess that chicken counts as stupid. Damn.

At home, I ate my bananas, drank a cider and played a game before hobbling sorely to bed. Saturday was going to be a hard day.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 11:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It is Sunday. Sunday means that the coffee taste better and I call my parents. The coffee tastes better on Sundays because that is the one day a week I can actually sit down and enjoy it. Monday through Friday coffee is my drive to work ritual. Saturday is a day where anything can happen. Sunday is, 90% of the time, the day where I can get up put on a pot of coffee and sit down with my first mug, where at 8am on the dot I call home just like I've done every Sunday since 1992 when I left my homeland to seek my fortune in the Piedmont.

Once off the phone I start up my other Sunday morning ritual of Celtic or bluegrass listening. That ritual began some years back when there was a bluegrass radio show on one of the local stations. The show went off the air but by then the ritual was established and I'm not going to let a thing like Buddy Michaels' show going away to change a good thing into a bad thing. Sunday is the day of the fiddle, and some day, sooner rather than latter I'll be practicing on the fiddle during this time as well.

Alright, we've established my Sunday, lets crack open the old anxiety closet and see what's on tap for today. Sunday is the only day of the week where I can, without guilt, explore my various and sundry emotional boogums. I've got a job to do the other six days and need to be on the clock as best as I can possibly be. Lately I haven't been very successful at that. So, lets do something light today shall we?

My mother mentioned that an aunt and uncle of mine came for a visit the day before. I hate that I miss those visits, as he's the one uncle I can relax around. He's not judgmental. Opinionated yes, judgmental no. It is always a relaxing visit with him. Plus he loves to eat as much as I do. The difference is, he's incapable of gaining weight, where on the other hand I gain weight for him and others just by being in the vicinity.

While we were talking about what they ate and how good it was, mom mentioned that my cousin...my professional writer cousin, had stumbled upon the humble blog of yours truly. Her voice was strained, but it didn't really sink in until after I had uttered the words, "Oh good!" For those following at home, mom is a nine on the Eneigram chart. Called "The Peacemaker", nines work extremely hard to avoid all conflicts. They don't vocalize opinions, and if they do have an opinion they will only verbalize it if the feel the group already agrees.

She taught...OK...tried to teach me that one should keep their opinions to themselves. The lesson, (obviously) didn't stick with me. My opinion on the matter is that if you keep your mouth shut all the time you allow yourself to be a victim. History teaches that "going with the flow" is one of the greatest sins of man. On this, clearly, mom and I would disagree completely, if we could actually have this conversation. So mom isn't what we would call a regular reader. Occasionally she stumbles upon something, but she won't read much because she doesn't want to feel humiliated by what I say.

So after saying the words "Oh good!" I had to immediately add, "I hope it was nothing that would be too embarrassing for you." Her response was as tactful as she knew how to make it. "I think she found one of your opinions." Translated into English, that statement means, "I can't believe that you say those things in public, and worse yet, on the internet where everyone can see it. Now your successful cousin with the three children has told your aunt and uncle and sooner or later the whole family is going to know my secret shame". OK, in all fairness I may have embellished the part about the secret shame a little. If you are reading this, it is no secret, but don't tell mom.

How do I feel about that? That's what my shrink is going to ask me next week. I hate that question. I was never really good with non concrete questions. It puts me on the spot. I have to find words to articulate intuition and words are poor tools to describe the feeling I get from seeing how everything works together and feeling strongly about something that I can't prove. All I can do is make my prediction of the outcome, and let time prove or disprove it.

How do I feel about my mom being humiliated by my publishing my thoughts, feelings and opinions for the world to see? I feel hungry. I feel ambivalent. My eyes burn. I want to fight. I want to flee. How do I feel about my mom being humiliated by my publishing my thoughts, feelings, and opinions for the world to see?

Same as I feel about everything else.

I know why I do it, I know why it is the right thing to do, I know why it hurts her, I know that where it may close some doors, it also opens others. I know that when the dust settles, I will have gained more than I have lost. I know all this because that is what my gut tells me. Only I can't prove it, I can't articulate it, and it frustrates me that I can't communicate it.

And that is why I started doing it to begin with.

Every person who agrees with me, every person who calls me an idiot, every person who finds a warm spot in their heart for me, every person who wishes I'd just shut up and go to hell, formed that opinion based on information I was able to articulate to them.

And that is what the past nine hundred and fifteen blog entries have been about. In exchange for being the black sheep of my clan, I will one day learn to understand the question "How do you feel" while being able to articulate an answer. So say I left my homeland to seek my fortune, say I banished myself, say I left to avoid being banished. It is little more than a label on a door. There are always other doors.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 10:20 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

They say that trouble comes in threes. If that's true perhaps I should go ahead and crawl under my desk now and wait for the inevitable.

1. You may already know about the car.

2. Dad's cancer which they thought they might have knocked out apparently evolved instead. Now they don't know if they should do more chemo, remove everything in his throat entirely or offer it voting rights in time for the May primary. (My guess is it will vote Republican.)

Dudes, its only Thursday as I write this. That means I have one more day of work and Saturday to get through wondering what is going to happen now. I'll bet you are wondering what the date has to do with it. I don't know...its arbitrary. I have proclaimed that the third event has until the end of the week to occur or it loses its right to occur entirely.

What else am I supposed to do? I suppose I could ignore it and treat every day as a new and precious thing with no connection to the night on either side. Then when the shoe falls I could just put my fingers in my ears, call it a random chance and go on day by day taking all the other random chances square in the nose.

That sounds way too much like walking blindfolded through a field of rakes.

So stop me, stop me, from giving up
stop me, stop me
from taking the world, oh for what it is
a state of peaceful shit

-Stop Me by The Booze Brothers (One of my very favorite Celtic rock bands.)

"Mildly depressed" can easily manifest as "kind of pissy" in the six. So I can smile a little when the spell checker suggest that "pissy" might be "prissy" or "sissy" misspelled. Smug git spell checker is spoiling for a rumble. The only people that get to question my manhood to my face are me, and maybe my urologist.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 8:55 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

For the second time since being married to Sara we opted to have Arby's for dinner. For the second time since being married the car broke down in the parking lot of an Arby's For those of you who believe in coincidence you are probably thinking "Wow, what are the chances?" For those of us who don't believe in coincidence we are thinking, "Huh, I wonder why that happened." To make matters more interesting in both cases events occurred to cause the car's belt to come off. In the first case the tensioner broke and took the belt with it, thus making putting the belt back on impossible. This time the belt came off whole. The tensioner seemed fine, so perhaps one of the other pulleys are having intermittent issues.

When dealing with any problem dad always taught me to explore the simplest answers first. OK. So why would someone lay a curse on me that caused my car to break down every time I went to an Arby's. That's just crazy talk! I have eaten at Arby's alone before and had no car trouble at all.

So why would someone lay a curse on me that caused my car to break down every time I went to Arby's with family. That includes all of the constants. Saturn, Sara, Arby's, and Me. I can't imagine why someone would lay such a specific curse upon me. I have always been kind to the folks behind the counter. They have the power to spit in my food if I cross them. I also have no preference for the ethnic group that prepares my food (unlike some I've blogged about recently).

Other clues? On the other side of the parking lot someone else was having car trouble. I should have found out what they were having problems with. That could have been an important clue. Since someone else was having car trouble at the same time in the parking lot of an Arby's perhaps I am not the target of the curse. I wonder if the Arby's symbol, seen recently hovering over the heads of customers in their commercials is also some ancient and pissed off symbol? It seems likely that someone would have noticed that by now. Ancient tombs or ancient tablets inscribed with a roast beef chain's logo would have made the news somewhere. This is probably not it.

It could be an Arby's competitor. Some company who wants to make people feel negative about eating at Arby's. It would have been easier and more powerful to make the people who eat at Arby's sick. This means that the ones responsible are ethical. That rules out most of the fast food world. I'm left with Subway, Chiplote, and Chick-fil-A off the top of my mind.

Arby's and Chiplote are not competitive, they don't serve the same foods or target the same demographic. That leaves Subway and Chick-fil-A. Subway is owned by Doctor's inc. Doctors wouldn't want to hurt people. But they are also a group that doesn't do "belief" they do their provable facts with questionable chemicals that fix symptoms with side effects that are generally mild and probably not worse then the symptom they are trying to suppress.

Chick-fil-A is a Christian run organization. They wouldn't hurt people as a first choice. They choose belief over fact. Hoodoo is a Christian form of magic that could work exactly like I have experienced. The company and Arby's both target the same demographic. Arby's sells salads and chicken sandwiches. They also sell yummy roast beef sandwiches as their primary product. Chick-fil-A's motto is "Eat more Chicken" and is illustrated by terrorist bovines. I think we have a winner here.

The spell is clever. It doesn't cause EVERY car to break down that goes to Arby's. First the car must have the entire family in it. Then the spell targets the weakest part of the car, nudging it towards failure. If the part is already in bad enough shape the spell is enough to cause it to fail completely. If the weakest link is strong enough nothing happens. This means that for most people there wouldn't appear to be a curse at work. This is the work of a very clever root doctor.

I love roast beef sandwiches as much as the next guy, but I just can't afford the car repairs right now.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 7:44 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I have had two non-western practitioner's in a row tell me that I need to slow down my through processes, take some time to switch off, or at the very least enter stand-by mode. Thus I am going to start going for a walk every day. I know they said "meditate", but I'm a long away from two semesters of "how to breathe". Both agreed that walking would work, and both agreed that a change of pace like fiddle lessons would probably help too.

Today was the first walk. No phone. No predetermined route. I went where my feet took me. One of the things I like to do when I drive (that's MY meditation time) is to put on some music. Lately my taste has been exclusively Celtic and Celtic rock, some of the bands I listen to call themselves Celtic Punk, but I would disagree. (A conversation for another entry).

My MP3 player has a random function. Most do, but mine is different. Most assume you mean "Play at random each song from the play list once. If set to repeat, at the end of the play list, start the list over". My MP3 player plays a little more randomly than that. It keeps no memory of what it just played. It can and has played the same song more than once. I like this feature. I have always looked for signs in portents in those things thought of as "random". I have little belief in this superstition known as "coincidence".

Today I heard; "Tennessee Stud", "Silk Road", "Long Journey Home", "The Whiskey Never Lies" (Twice in a row), "Dear", "Redemption Song", "Shindig", and "Follow the Lady".

By some coincidence three of the songs were covers with guest star performers from the same CD. The first three songs were about traveling. Then a song about the honesty that alcohol can cause twice in a row. This was followed by a lullaby about love and longing, a song about freedom, an instrumental named for a party, and a song about chasing your dreams.

Interesting...

When I returned, Kimi came by to ask a question and noted with some concern that I had dark circles under my eyes. It must have been all that sunlight, green grass, and fresh air- three things I am not all that accustomed to. Especially 41 minutes worth continuously while walking.

The western practitioner's, by the way, all seem to think if I take one of several pills and spend an hour in the gym every day I won't get any worse and may even see some improvement.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 2:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

131,268 People

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 9:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I am putting it here to make it real. When dad got sick I was already under a lot of pressure and he was the final straw. However, with his miraculous recovery, and the falling into place of so many other things I can put my own health back up on the list of things to stay awake at night worrying about.

For that I need goals. Oh look! There's one now. The North Carolina State Games are in Greensboro this year, and Fencing is on the agenda. I can do that. Especially if my only goal is to show up and fence. Just to make sure there is no added pressure I will fence the fun one epee and not my serious one foil.

If I don't leave in an ambulance, I win! That means I've got from now until June 17th to get myself into some semblance of fitting into my gear form. Fighting form is just too much effort and it makes me tired thinking about it. If I can show up and fence and my gear fits, and I don't leave in an ambulance, life is good.

Crap, that means I have to move doesn't it?

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 12:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Dad called me last night. That in and of its self is something of a miracle, in that he can now speak well enough to be understood on the telephone. Typically we limit our phone calls to Sunday morning at 8am, but he called me last night excited.

When they left the oncologist office they stopped by wally world to pick up a few things. One of the things they picked up was a box of ice cream sandwiches. It was hardly fair since he hasn't had solid food since December. Best he's been able to do was a donut and only then on a Monday morning when he's been off of radiation for a couple of days. His food comes from a can and is dumped into a tube which is installed in his stomach. Those of you who do the Slimfast/metafast/ensure thing know that if you drink that nutritional crap long enough you start to smell like it and it never smells like a good thing.

On the way home he just had to try to eat an ice cream sandwich. It went down. So he had another, which also went down. He couldn't taste it, but what the heck he could eat!!! That night he had a dinner of hog fish, stewed potatoes, and washed it down with a coke. It was his first meal since December and he felt like celebrating, so he called me.

As you can imagine it has taken a certain weight off of me. I can only worry about a certain finite number of things at once. When dad hit the top of the list my own personal health fell off of the bottom. Honestly, I think I have been eating on his behalf. Now my own health is back on the chart and what the hell did I do to my self....

I look like I ate a cow, I feel like an abandoned car, and I sorely need a haircut. But, what the heck, dad's good so I'm good.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 10:49 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I finally figured out something that had been nagging mildly at me each and every time I went home to the coast. I had always just assumed that I preferred it there because it was home, and that was that. But it kept nagging at me anyway. The feeling was either I had the wrong answer or an incomplete answer.

I was sitting on the back deck gazing up at the night sky with a cup of coffee in my hand and my wife on my head set. The constellations were laid out before me clear from horizon to horizon. I did like it better on the coast. Yes, it was the salt air, yes it was the sandy gray soil, yes it was the fact that I was born and raised there, but it was much more. It occurred to me that the places I was most at home were those places with long horizons. The only place I felt near as relaxed, was out west on the great plains. My soul craves open sky. Though it had never occurred to me before, the 'boro is just a little claustrophobic. The views I like best are those with the most visibility and the most visible sky. I am happy to visit the mountains but I do not truly live until I see the great wide open on all sides. I know to that if I moved to the plains eventually I would feel the nagging again. The sky would be right, but the air and the soil would be wrong.

It was verified driving north along the coast from Newport to Elizabeth city along highway 17. I hadn't felt so natural and whole in a long time. The only thing missing was the Fairlane, and the unobstructed views afforded by the lack of a B piller.

It makes no difference though, the money is here, my friends are here, my life and my wife are all here. I'm not going anywhere, but at least I know what that odd pull is now. Now matter where you go, there you are. Best to make peace with it.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 3:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I Am A: True Neutral Human Sorcerer (5th Level)


Ability Scores:

Strength-13

Dexterity-11

Constitution-14

Intelligence-11

Wisdom-14

Charisma-11


Alignment:
True Neutral A true neutral character does what seems to be a good idea. He doesn't feel strongly one way or the other when it comes to good vs. evil or law vs. chaos. Most true neutral characters exhibit a lack of conviction or bias rather than a commitment to neutrality. Such a character thinks of good as better than evil after all, he would rather have good neighbors and rulers than evil ones. Still, he's not personally committed to upholding good in any abstract or universal way. Some true neutral characters, on the other hand, commit themselves philosophically to neutrality. They see good, evil, law, and chaos as prejudices and dangerous extremes. They advocate the middle way of neutrality as the best, most balanced road in the long run. True neutral is the best alignment you can be because it means you act naturally, without prejudice or compulsion. However, true neutral can be a dangerous alignment because it represents apathy, indifference, and a lack of conviction.


Race:
Humans are the most adaptable of the common races. Short generations and a penchant for migration and conquest have made them physically diverse as well. Humans are often unorthodox in their dress, sporting unusual hairstyles, fanciful clothes, tattoos, and the like.


Class:
Sorcerers are arcane spellcasters who manipulate magic energy with imagination and talent rather than studious discipline. They have no books, no mentors, no theories just raw power that they direct at will. Sorcerers know fewer spells than wizards do and acquire them more slowly, but they can cast individual spells more often and have no need to prepare their incantations ahead of time. Also unlike wizards, sorcerers cannot specialize in a school of magic. Since sorcerers gain their powers without undergoing the years of rigorous study that wizards go through, they have more time to learn fighting skills and are proficient with simple weapons. Charisma is very important for sorcerers; the higher their value in this ability, the higher the spell level they can cast.


Find out What Kind of Dungeons and Dragons Character Would You Be?, courtesy of Easydamus (e-mail)

Detailed Results:

Alignment:
Lawful Good ----- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (21)
Neutral Good ---- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (23)
Chaotic Good ---- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (16)
Lawful Neutral -- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (21)
True Neutral ---- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (23)
Chaotic Neutral - XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (16)
Lawful Evil ----- XXXXXXXXX (9)
Neutral Evil ---- XXXXXXXXXXX (11)
Chaotic Evil ---- XXXX (4)

Law & Chaos:
Law ----- XXXXXXXXX (9)
Neutral - XXXXXXXXXXX (11)
Chaos --- XXXX (4)

Good & Evil:
Good ---- XXXXXXXXXXXX (12)
Neutral - XXXXXXXXXXXX (12)
Evil ---- (0)

Race:
Human ---- XXXXXXXXXXXXXX (14)
Dwarf ---- XXXXXXXXXXXXXX (14)
Elf ------ XXXX (4)
Gnome ---- XXXXXXXXXX (10)
Halfling - XXXXXX (6)
Half-Elf - XXXXXX (6)
Half-Orc - XXXX (4)

Class:
Barbarian - (-6)
Bard ------ (0)
Cleric ---- (0)
Druid ----- (-8)
Fighter --- XXXX (4)
Monk ------ (-19)
Paladin --- (-17)
Ranger ---- (0)
Rogue ----- (-4)
Sorcerer -- XXXXXX (6)
Wizard ---- XX (2)

I think I found the ties most interesting.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 10:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

In the event this is my last entry, I just want to say, its been OK I guess.</