Lately, I've browsing the local news sites. I take a bus to and from work everyday. Well, the Denver RTD employees are in contract negotiation, and there is a potential strike looming. That would be dang inconvenient, since The Wife is working out of town. Transportation to work could be limited. It's a good thing that I can telecommute.
Anyway, I came across this story on the 9 News Website. Some woman was weaving dog hair and turning it into sweaters. She says that Poodle hair does not work well, but Golden Retriever works fine. After reading this bit of information, I stared at our three mutts. I honestly don't need a dog sweater. I am sure that I wear enough of their hair as it is.
Now cat slippers. That has potential.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Ewww? Or touch my pooper?
I have to say that Seth Cohen has been a bit weak this year, but in single moment, he reached the stars. That line was the most hi-lar-ious six words I heard on network TV in a long time.
Ok, it tickled the adolescent in me. Sue me.
Ok, it tickled the adolescent in me. Sue me.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Why Am I Writing This?
Sunday morning, I received a phone call from my mom. It was her weekly check-in. She is back in Illinois, living with an older gentleman in the northwest suburbs of Chi-town. In this household, she pays her way in groceries and other living expenses. One thing she does not have to worry about is paying the phone bill. The Wife and I got her a Sprint phone during the Holidays (Yule, Christmas, Kwanzaa, Chanukkah, Chrismakkah, whatever.) She is a bit of technophobe, but she is getting the hang of it. Anyway, I digress. I am talking to mom on the phoen, and she tells me that I should go and see pictures of my brother's puppy. It is found at oakhaus.blogspot.com.
I hang up the phone, (after the assorted give kisses to everyone finale) grab my handy Toshiba, and go look at the site. Now I have great love for everyone in my family, but we are fairly private people. So I go to the site and find my brother has been blogging for 5 years. Now it is possible that in the past, someone told me he was doing this. It is very possible, because I am so spacey and self-centered in my own pocket universe (which includes The Wife, The Kids, The Dogs, The Cats, and The Bird) that I knew about the blog and promptly forgot it. That is the most likely excuse.
So I check out my Brother's site and read...and read...and read. My Brother has always had the writing bug. To some extent, so have I. Reading his site, Pop Culture Gadabout, I was struck how he always had something to say about something. He writes about what he loves. TV, music, movies, comics, his wife, his pets, anything that strikes his fancy. He put it down on his site. He even had people comment on things. I guess he had gained some friends in the blogverse. It got me thinking.
(And I will get to my point. I hope)
The Wife has been pursuing a new career in insurance sales. She has discovered that she has a knack for it. It is not great income yet, but it has potential. She's been driving around various hickvilles of Colorado, pursuing leads and knocking door to door. While driving, CD's by Sales Guru Zig Ziglar are playing. Ziglar is very entertaining, and has a great voice for motivational-type CD's. (It's deep Texas with a bit of preacher intonation.) Anyway, Zig says that if you want to do something you love, but have a hard time getting of your dead butt to do it, you need to make it habit. You need to force yourself to do that thing every day, for 21 days. At that point, it will become the habit you need to succeed at it.
I want to be a writer. I used to write PC and video games for years. I actually was very good at it. (Not that I made any great money at it. Another time, another story.) I wrote freelance for some magazines. Heck, I even spent time in the trenches writing abou hig school sports for a local paper. I like writing. I just hate the process.
I have ideas that I want to write, but life and all its fears made me hide instead. I got lazy, and complacent. I found excuses to avoid it. I can't write, I have take care of my family life. I have to work. I have to... So when I saw my Brother's blog, and saw what he had done, I woke myself up. He has a life, with all it's pitfalls and small glories. He even told of some of those triumphs andtragedies, amongst the reviews of Robert Crumb Comics and Punk Rock Cd's. He could still take the time to write. So, the next day, I decided I should leap. I created "Stripe the Gremlin" so I could develop a habit. I can write something in this site for 21 days. I know I can. I can get over my myself and my doubts.
Like I say in this post's title, I am not sure why I am writing this. I just know that I am going to write it anyway. 19 more days to go.
I hang up the phone, (after the assorted give kisses to everyone finale) grab my handy Toshiba, and go look at the site. Now I have great love for everyone in my family, but we are fairly private people. So I go to the site and find my brother has been blogging for 5 years. Now it is possible that in the past, someone told me he was doing this. It is very possible, because I am so spacey and self-centered in my own pocket universe (which includes The Wife, The Kids, The Dogs, The Cats, and The Bird) that I knew about the blog and promptly forgot it. That is the most likely excuse.
So I check out my Brother's site and read...and read...and read. My Brother has always had the writing bug. To some extent, so have I. Reading his site, Pop Culture Gadabout, I was struck how he always had something to say about something. He writes about what he loves. TV, music, movies, comics, his wife, his pets, anything that strikes his fancy. He put it down on his site. He even had people comment on things. I guess he had gained some friends in the blogverse. It got me thinking.
(And I will get to my point. I hope)
The Wife has been pursuing a new career in insurance sales. She has discovered that she has a knack for it. It is not great income yet, but it has potential. She's been driving around various hickvilles of Colorado, pursuing leads and knocking door to door. While driving, CD's by Sales Guru Zig Ziglar are playing. Ziglar is very entertaining, and has a great voice for motivational-type CD's. (It's deep Texas with a bit of preacher intonation.) Anyway, Zig says that if you want to do something you love, but have a hard time getting of your dead butt to do it, you need to make it habit. You need to force yourself to do that thing every day, for 21 days. At that point, it will become the habit you need to succeed at it.
I want to be a writer. I used to write PC and video games for years. I actually was very good at it. (Not that I made any great money at it. Another time, another story.) I wrote freelance for some magazines. Heck, I even spent time in the trenches writing abou hig school sports for a local paper. I like writing. I just hate the process.
I have ideas that I want to write, but life and all its fears made me hide instead. I got lazy, and complacent. I found excuses to avoid it. I can't write, I have take care of my family life. I have to work. I have to... So when I saw my Brother's blog, and saw what he had done, I woke myself up. He has a life, with all it's pitfalls and small glories. He even told of some of those triumphs andtragedies, amongst the reviews of Robert Crumb Comics and Punk Rock Cd's. He could still take the time to write. So, the next day, I decided I should leap. I created "Stripe the Gremlin" so I could develop a habit. I can write something in this site for 21 days. I know I can. I can get over my myself and my doubts.
Like I say in this post's title, I am not sure why I am writing this. I just know that I am going to write it anyway. 19 more days to go.
Spring has Sprung!
Photo of Harley in the backyard by The Wife
(Ok. so maybe this picture is from last year, but you get the idea.)
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Be-dazzled
Speaking of The Apprentice.
The Wife and I were watching TV on Sunday when we happened to catch a commercial that made our collective jaws drop. Tana, the runner-up from the third season of The Apprentice was shilling for a product called The Bedazzler. This nifty invention adds rhinestones to clothing. On one of The Apprentice tasks, Tana was searching all over New York to find one of those things. (A point she mentions in the commercial.) All I can say is that if Tana wants to add more time to her fifteen minutes, more power to her.
The Wife and I were watching TV on Sunday when we happened to catch a commercial that made our collective jaws drop. Tana, the runner-up from the third season of The Apprentice was shilling for a product called The Bedazzler. This nifty invention adds rhinestones to clothing. On one of The Apprentice tasks, Tana was searching all over New York to find one of those things. (A point she mentions in the commercial.) All I can say is that if Tana wants to add more time to her fifteen minutes, more power to her.
TV Headache #1 - Tell Me Why I Don't Like Mondays.
Here in the Buchanan household, we likes our TV. We likes it fine. We got a Dish; a Dish Network dish. It has one of those boxes where you can control two different tv's in the house. It also has a hard drive, which can store 100 hours of programming. Let me tell you, that hard drive gets used...alot. I do think it's because that like Entertainment Weekly says, we are in a Golden Age of Television. There are so many quality shows, you really can't go wrong any day of the week. We don't want to miss anything.
That's why I am so mad at Monday's.
Ok. Here's the deal. Starting this week, the WB has brought back a Treat, with the return of Everwood. I think it's one of the best shows on the tube. It started out kinda quaint, but it has improved over the years. All the actors shine on it. (Everyone in the Buchanan family likes Everwood: The Wife, Lawrence Jr, and Laurita.) It is a show where you can laugh and cry in a hour, usually within in minutes of each other. Good stuff. So the hard drive stores it in TV#1. Meanwhile, in stark contrast on Fox, is "T-Bag Time" and the "Jack Bauer Power Hour" (Prison Break and 24) Those are can't miss, and fall on to TV#2 on the drive.
Now...here is the thing. I don't watch reality shows. I don't care for them. I find them irratating and self-serving. American Idol, The Amazing Race, Surivivor...and whatever, I can do without. So can The Wife. She faces enough reality trying to sell insurance to trailer-park people. So who needs'em
Except.
For some unknown, ungodly reason, The Wife and I are fans of The Apprentice. We started watching it while waiting for E.R. one night, and we've never let go. We've seen the triumphs of Bill, Kelly, Kendra, and Randal (That Rat B...well never mind.) We watch Caroline and George bow to "The Donald." We marvelled at how "The Donald" can think any product is "just great," all so that it's parent company can be used for some lame sales-marketing task. It amazes the both of us how these supposed business brains can make the stupidest mistakes.
Now here's the thing. The Wife is working late, so we really can't watch anything. One part of the hard drive is taping two hours of "non-stop" suspense. The other is taping two hours of heartbreak and joy. Where does "The Donald" go?
Nowhere it seems. We are Donald-less. Next week, the same problem.
Oh great. I forgot about the VCR. I could of taped it.
Oh well. I guess I'll have to look elsewhere.
That's why I am so mad at Monday's.
Ok. Here's the deal. Starting this week, the WB has brought back a Treat, with the return of Everwood. I think it's one of the best shows on the tube. It started out kinda quaint, but it has improved over the years. All the actors shine on it. (Everyone in the Buchanan family likes Everwood: The Wife, Lawrence Jr, and Laurita.) It is a show where you can laugh and cry in a hour, usually within in minutes of each other. Good stuff. So the hard drive stores it in TV#1. Meanwhile, in stark contrast on Fox, is "T-Bag Time" and the "Jack Bauer Power Hour" (Prison Break and 24) Those are can't miss, and fall on to TV#2 on the drive.
Now...here is the thing. I don't watch reality shows. I don't care for them. I find them irratating and self-serving. American Idol, The Amazing Race, Surivivor...and whatever, I can do without. So can The Wife. She faces enough reality trying to sell insurance to trailer-park people. So who needs'em
Except.
For some unknown, ungodly reason, The Wife and I are fans of The Apprentice. We started watching it while waiting for E.R. one night, and we've never let go. We've seen the triumphs of Bill, Kelly, Kendra, and Randal (That Rat B...well never mind.) We watch Caroline and George bow to "The Donald." We marvelled at how "The Donald" can think any product is "just great," all so that it's parent company can be used for some lame sales-marketing task. It amazes the both of us how these supposed business brains can make the stupidest mistakes.
Now here's the thing. The Wife is working late, so we really can't watch anything. One part of the hard drive is taping two hours of "non-stop" suspense. The other is taping two hours of heartbreak and joy. Where does "The Donald" go?
Nowhere it seems. We are Donald-less. Next week, the same problem.
Oh great. I forgot about the VCR. I could of taped it.
Oh well. I guess I'll have to look elsewhere.
Monday, March 27, 2006
A Watched Pot
Man.
The one thing about living near the Rockies is it takes way too long to boil water for spaghetti.
The one thing about living near the Rockies is it takes way too long to boil water for spaghetti.
A Tail of Two Bunnies
Ok.
The day is over. It's finished. Kaput, they might say.
You walk to the RTD Bus Station with backpack full of hardcover books and a glazed expression on your face. You got two minutes to catch that bus, or it's a thirty minute wait. You're standing at the traffic light; waiting for the appearance of the "white man" telling you it's ok to cross. Suddenly, you feel a large presence next to you. It's encroaching on your personal space. The lines have been crossed. Your bubble has been burst wide open. You turn to look, thinking you'll just make a casual glance. You see fur. Lots of white fur. And teeth. Big teeth. Square teeth. White Teeth. You see them in pairs. It's two large Bunnies.
A voice comes from somewhere, gravelly and worn.
"Hey, Easter Bunny. Give me a hug."
A dirty man with clothes streaked in dust and road, with hair as scraggly as barbed-wire is aproaching. What do the Bunnies do?
These Bunnies turn. With shiny plastic eyes, they stare at this wreck, this scruffiness, this refuse. Softly, the Bunnies tap their fuzzy slipper feet on the ground, and with no other sound, they embrace the man in their cottony arms.
The man walks away.
You continue to the bus station. You only got a minute left to catch it.
The day is over. It's finished. Kaput, they might say.
You walk to the RTD Bus Station with backpack full of hardcover books and a glazed expression on your face. You got two minutes to catch that bus, or it's a thirty minute wait. You're standing at the traffic light; waiting for the appearance of the "white man" telling you it's ok to cross. Suddenly, you feel a large presence next to you. It's encroaching on your personal space. The lines have been crossed. Your bubble has been burst wide open. You turn to look, thinking you'll just make a casual glance. You see fur. Lots of white fur. And teeth. Big teeth. Square teeth. White Teeth. You see them in pairs. It's two large Bunnies.
A voice comes from somewhere, gravelly and worn.
"Hey, Easter Bunny. Give me a hug."
A dirty man with clothes streaked in dust and road, with hair as scraggly as barbed-wire is aproaching. What do the Bunnies do?
These Bunnies turn. With shiny plastic eyes, they stare at this wreck, this scruffiness, this refuse. Softly, the Bunnies tap their fuzzy slipper feet on the ground, and with no other sound, they embrace the man in their cottony arms.
The man walks away.
You continue to the bus station. You only got a minute left to catch it.
Things to Do in Denver When You're On a Lunch Break, Part 1.
I've been on this eating plan for a while called the Six Week Body Makeover. It's been taking longer then six weeks, but I do feel madeover. One of the things they recommend is taking a 45 minute walk. You should do this 5 or more times a week, they say. So come lunch hour, I bug out of my office and walk the hub of downtown Denver, otherwise known as the Sixteen St. Mall.
The Sixteen St. Mall is a closed street; the only vehicles allowed are these Hybrid Shuttle Buses, cops, and the occasional "whoops" driver. It travels from Wynkoop to Broadway and according to Downtown Denver Partnership, it is sixteen blocks and a mile long. My office is is somewhere in the middle. On some lunch hours, I walk down to Wynkoop to the Tattered Cover Bookstore, one of the largest Independent stores in the good ol' U.S. of A. (I'll talk about this store sometime soon.) On the other end at Broadway is my favorite sammich place, Jimmy Johns. In between, there are stores and food places and hot dog stands and pushy necktied business people and street corner musicians wearing Mouse ears and plenty of homeless. There are also a few empty buildings that could use some life. Some sly entrepreneur or Trump-Apprentice Wannabe (but not Brent) should come in an open up some sort of business.
So, after walking this street for 15 months now I thought I would do is bounce an idea around and see if it sticks. Here is what I would like to see in the mall. Entrepreneurs and money-men take note. This business will do great!
An Ice Cream Shoppe/Parlour/Place
It surprises me that someone has not opened up a Cold Stone Creamery or a Baskin Robbins or even Dairy Queen. I can only thing of two places in the Mall where you can get some. The first is Sonic. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a good Sonic Shake once in a while. I still want the pure ice cream experience; frying meat does not get me in an ice cream mood. The second is some Deli with some name that I can't remember. It's a deli; what more can you say. Oh and I guess you can get Ice Cream at McDonalds. Still, there is no place that offers 20 or more flavors, like "Cake Batter" or "Pink Bubble Gum." When I walk into an Ice Cream Parlor, I want to smell the vanilly whiff of waffles baking and curling. I want to walk into the door feel the cold circle around and embrace like a favorite aunt. I want to see teens in paper hands handing out tasty samples in little pink plastic spoons. Is it really to much to ask?
So all you Denver entreprenuers with your venture capital and open accounts. Let's get cracking. This is a gold mine; a veritible Denver Mint. Any lunch hour you can see lines at Starbucks and Jamba Juice. An Ice Cream Parlor will have them there all-freakin-day! Listen to Larry. He's got ideas. He can't follow through with them cause he is basically po' white trash, but he is an idea man.
Consider this one a free-bie. Heck, they will all be free-bies, cause as I said. I am broke. I can't even finance a gumball machine.
If you do take this ball and run with it, let me know. A place like that needs good counter help. I'm available after 4:30 and on weekends. Since I'm on week 29 of the 6 Week Body Makeover, you won't even have to worry about me touching the merchandise.
The Sixteen St. Mall is a closed street; the only vehicles allowed are these Hybrid Shuttle Buses, cops, and the occasional "whoops" driver. It travels from Wynkoop to Broadway and according to Downtown Denver Partnership, it is sixteen blocks and a mile long. My office is is somewhere in the middle. On some lunch hours, I walk down to Wynkoop to the Tattered Cover Bookstore, one of the largest Independent stores in the good ol' U.S. of A. (I'll talk about this store sometime soon.) On the other end at Broadway is my favorite sammich place, Jimmy Johns. In between, there are stores and food places and hot dog stands and pushy necktied business people and street corner musicians wearing Mouse ears and plenty of homeless. There are also a few empty buildings that could use some life. Some sly entrepreneur or Trump-Apprentice Wannabe (but not Brent) should come in an open up some sort of business.
So, after walking this street for 15 months now I thought I would do is bounce an idea around and see if it sticks. Here is what I would like to see in the mall. Entrepreneurs and money-men take note. This business will do great!
An Ice Cream Shoppe/Parlour/Place
It surprises me that someone has not opened up a Cold Stone Creamery or a Baskin Robbins or even Dairy Queen. I can only thing of two places in the Mall where you can get some. The first is Sonic. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a good Sonic Shake once in a while. I still want the pure ice cream experience; frying meat does not get me in an ice cream mood. The second is some Deli with some name that I can't remember. It's a deli; what more can you say. Oh and I guess you can get Ice Cream at McDonalds. Still, there is no place that offers 20 or more flavors, like "Cake Batter" or "Pink Bubble Gum." When I walk into an Ice Cream Parlor, I want to smell the vanilly whiff of waffles baking and curling. I want to walk into the door feel the cold circle around and embrace like a favorite aunt. I want to see teens in paper hands handing out tasty samples in little pink plastic spoons. Is it really to much to ask?
So all you Denver entreprenuers with your venture capital and open accounts. Let's get cracking. This is a gold mine; a veritible Denver Mint. Any lunch hour you can see lines at Starbucks and Jamba Juice. An Ice Cream Parlor will have them there all-freakin-day! Listen to Larry. He's got ideas. He can't follow through with them cause he is basically po' white trash, but he is an idea man.
Consider this one a free-bie. Heck, they will all be free-bies, cause as I said. I am broke. I can't even finance a gumball machine.
If you do take this ball and run with it, let me know. A place like that needs good counter help. I'm available after 4:30 and on weekends. Since I'm on week 29 of the 6 Week Body Makeover, you won't even have to worry about me touching the merchandise.
They must call you "Campbells", cuz you're "mmm-mmm good"
Great.
It's my second post, and I am going to look like a perv.
I just read that FHM named their Top 100 Sexiest Woman, and that their number one pick is "Scarlett Jo." I would have to put my two cents in and agree whole-heartedly. She has a certain old Hollywood type glamour, yet you get the idea that she would gladly sit with you in your purple Chevy Cavalier waiting for an Italian Beef at the drive-thru lane of "Portillo's". She definitely has something, and my inner "Gollum" wants it.
(Of course, I am happily married, with a lovely wife and two great kids. So really, I can look at the menu, I just can't order.)
It's my second post, and I am going to look like a perv.
I just read that FHM named their Top 100 Sexiest Woman, and that their number one pick is "Scarlett Jo." I would have to put my two cents in and agree whole-heartedly. She has a certain old Hollywood type glamour, yet you get the idea that she would gladly sit with you in your purple Chevy Cavalier waiting for an Italian Beef at the drive-thru lane of "Portillo's". She definitely has something, and my inner "Gollum" wants it.
(Of course, I am happily married, with a lovely wife and two great kids. So really, I can look at the menu, I just can't order.)
Welcome to Stripe the Gremlin
A big howdy to ever takes the time to read this. Not sure why I decided to this, but I've had too many crazy thoughts in my head lately; I need to get them written down somewhere. Anyhoo, welcome to Stripe the Gremlin. I have no idea what will go up here. I am not even sure it will be interesting to anyone but myself. Well, let us get this show on the road, and see where it takes us.
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