Sometimes I use something and realize a new to me feature that was probably there all along. I've used Google maps plenty of times, and lately, while looking for a house, Momma has used it many more times.
The Google mapping I did was to search the route between where I work and where I'll soon be living. I actually knew exactly what my search would tell me in regard to the route, but I was curious about the distance. It's definitely walkable which was part of my curiosity.
The feature I mentioned above is in a small drop down menu. When you search a route you can choose how you plan to traverse that route, whether you are driving, walking, using public transit or riding a bike.
It only makes sense, and I wasn't amazingly surprised that it existed, but I was a wee bit pleasantly surprised. Now let's work on pleasantly surprising myself with an affordable bike in the near future.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
so many words say so little
Given my fairly strong agnostic tendencies one might be surprised to know that I live in some amount of fear of jinxing myself. Mine is probably not that peculiar. And perhaps it's somewhat a self esteem issue. I feel that argument could be made.
The thing is that I often feel like I ruin things by enjoying them. That's really not exactly how it goes. Let's try this. If I get too excited about a prospect, no matter what I put into making it work, it will fail. And even that doesn't fully describe it.
And when this sort of thing happens, as it so often seems to, it's easy to pretend that it's not of my own making, that my own prejudices and habits don't guide me all too often. No, perish the very thought.
But then I find myself working my magic and pulling my strings, and things start coming together. I get excited because my minimal effort is paying off. And if I give no more than a minimal effort I should probably expect minimal reward. At the same time, I'm still letting myself be a defeated hump, so any progress should naturally be seen as a huge step, regardless of the minuscule nature of what I seem to come up with.
All of this must be sooooo cryptic, mostly because I planned for it to be. I feel like I'm finally making my move. And it feels freeing and like the start of something new. I've finally made an effort, and I wonder if it wasn't all meant to be, like I was coiling my springs, waiting cat like for that moment when I finally knew it was time to pounce.
And then I remember that I should have jumped some time ago, and I've succeeded in grabbing the lowest fruit.
But dammit! right now is my time. I'm sure I said that one at least once before, but it was followed by another turn at the wheel, wearing my rut ever deeper. This time it's for reals. I've lined shit up in rows, and though it may really only be one row, I'm quite prepared to knock down the pins.
And with that I take my bag of cliches and wander away from all of this. Actually, I'm not really wandering away. I'm really just gonna slap some tags and a title on it and post. But first I'll proof read it, and I'll miss something.
The thing is that I often feel like I ruin things by enjoying them. That's really not exactly how it goes. Let's try this. If I get too excited about a prospect, no matter what I put into making it work, it will fail. And even that doesn't fully describe it.
And when this sort of thing happens, as it so often seems to, it's easy to pretend that it's not of my own making, that my own prejudices and habits don't guide me all too often. No, perish the very thought.
But then I find myself working my magic and pulling my strings, and things start coming together. I get excited because my minimal effort is paying off. And if I give no more than a minimal effort I should probably expect minimal reward. At the same time, I'm still letting myself be a defeated hump, so any progress should naturally be seen as a huge step, regardless of the minuscule nature of what I seem to come up with.
All of this must be sooooo cryptic, mostly because I planned for it to be. I feel like I'm finally making my move. And it feels freeing and like the start of something new. I've finally made an effort, and I wonder if it wasn't all meant to be, like I was coiling my springs, waiting cat like for that moment when I finally knew it was time to pounce.
And then I remember that I should have jumped some time ago, and I've succeeded in grabbing the lowest fruit.
But dammit! right now is my time. I'm sure I said that one at least once before, but it was followed by another turn at the wheel, wearing my rut ever deeper. This time it's for reals. I've lined shit up in rows, and though it may really only be one row, I'm quite prepared to knock down the pins.
And with that I take my bag of cliches and wander away from all of this. Actually, I'm not really wandering away. I'm really just gonna slap some tags and a title on it and post. But first I'll proof read it, and I'll miss something.
it could be worser
My place of employment is a fairly attractive place in what I find to be an attractive part of town. We are staffed with a fair amount of attractive people, though the girls are much moreso than the boys if we were to make a chart.
The last round of hiring in the front of house was almost all girls. There was this one guy who is pretty cool especially since he started getting my jokes, and all the girls get so moist when he's working. I could see it if it weren't all too much, and I just realized my issue. He's too manly, and I'm just not into the whole bear thing as such. I'm not saying no automatically however, but that's really not the point. Or maybe it's just his hair, or perhaps it's the all black outfit with brown shoes.
His brother is actually in the round of new hires and one of two very cute and of course straight guys. And it's the other guy that is at issue.
I get along great with most girls. I probably always have more than I realized, but I always assumed (lied to myself) that it was because I was such a great and open minded guy. I realize now how very gay and probably normal it is for me to get along better with girls. None of them are options in the buffet of people I'm going to want to either get dirty or act all grown up with, in both the dirtiest and maturest states those ideas can cover. Unless they're homophobic, then they're safe, and I can let down my guard a little bit.
I think sometimes I have a type, and then there's guys that don't really fit that that still sort of put my brakes on, and it's the other guy that's at issue in this latest round of hiring. He seems sort of like a tool, maybe a bit of a frat boy wannabe. I can't really say as I've not really spoken to him. I did sort of talk to him one night about the hat he'd chosen to wear when he clocked out and changed out of his work clothes. And honestly, that's sort of a sign there that he isn't a team player, and the other foh people will likely start to get that, but that isn't really the point.
The hat came down over his eyes, and his beautiful blue eyes are a huge part of his appeal. And I, without really thinking about it, said something negative about the hat. I was accidentally flirting.
And I don't do that. Really.
And what if he does figure out that I have a purely carnal crush on him? Just from the few shifts I've worked with him I can pretty much guarantee he isn't the coolest cucumber in the walk in. But then we squeeze past each other in the tight confines of the dish room in the middle of a busy shift where you might bump hips in passing but a clear "coming through" or a firm "hot pans" are all the courtesy anyone gets or expects, and you smell his cologne in the brief moment as you reach around the ill placed I beam to slip those pans into the sink full of water and grease and noodles.
I mentioned the other new server, the brother of the more veteran that the girls think about with their hand held shower heads. The girls all like the big, tall brother, and I like the less tall one. I don't think any of them would toss him out of bed on a cold winter night, but they'd wish for the other. I likely wouldn't toss either of them out, but I would get freaked out if they approached me together.
Because I don't really dig on the taller brother I can talk to him. Because none of the guys in the kitchen other than me are what I'd consider even drunkenly doable I can very easily talk to them. Most of them are actually much farther down the food chain than me, and I hope it burns them up to know that the girls wish they were all gay and me not so much.
And when we finally get two hot guys at once I remember my problem, that I can't act normal around them. I could be fifteen in the '80's, straight and trying to hit on Molly Ringwald for all the sane I'm able to muster.
The last round of hiring in the front of house was almost all girls. There was this one guy who is pretty cool especially since he started getting my jokes, and all the girls get so moist when he's working. I could see it if it weren't all too much, and I just realized my issue. He's too manly, and I'm just not into the whole bear thing as such. I'm not saying no automatically however, but that's really not the point. Or maybe it's just his hair, or perhaps it's the all black outfit with brown shoes.
His brother is actually in the round of new hires and one of two very cute and of course straight guys. And it's the other guy that is at issue.
I get along great with most girls. I probably always have more than I realized, but I always assumed (lied to myself) that it was because I was such a great and open minded guy. I realize now how very gay and probably normal it is for me to get along better with girls. None of them are options in the buffet of people I'm going to want to either get dirty or act all grown up with, in both the dirtiest and maturest states those ideas can cover. Unless they're homophobic, then they're safe, and I can let down my guard a little bit.
I think sometimes I have a type, and then there's guys that don't really fit that that still sort of put my brakes on, and it's the other guy that's at issue in this latest round of hiring. He seems sort of like a tool, maybe a bit of a frat boy wannabe. I can't really say as I've not really spoken to him. I did sort of talk to him one night about the hat he'd chosen to wear when he clocked out and changed out of his work clothes. And honestly, that's sort of a sign there that he isn't a team player, and the other foh people will likely start to get that, but that isn't really the point.
The hat came down over his eyes, and his beautiful blue eyes are a huge part of his appeal. And I, without really thinking about it, said something negative about the hat. I was accidentally flirting.
And I don't do that. Really.
And what if he does figure out that I have a purely carnal crush on him? Just from the few shifts I've worked with him I can pretty much guarantee he isn't the coolest cucumber in the walk in. But then we squeeze past each other in the tight confines of the dish room in the middle of a busy shift where you might bump hips in passing but a clear "coming through" or a firm "hot pans" are all the courtesy anyone gets or expects, and you smell his cologne in the brief moment as you reach around the ill placed I beam to slip those pans into the sink full of water and grease and noodles.
I mentioned the other new server, the brother of the more veteran that the girls think about with their hand held shower heads. The girls all like the big, tall brother, and I like the less tall one. I don't think any of them would toss him out of bed on a cold winter night, but they'd wish for the other. I likely wouldn't toss either of them out, but I would get freaked out if they approached me together.
Because I don't really dig on the taller brother I can talk to him. Because none of the guys in the kitchen other than me are what I'd consider even drunkenly doable I can very easily talk to them. Most of them are actually much farther down the food chain than me, and I hope it burns them up to know that the girls wish they were all gay and me not so much.
And when we finally get two hot guys at once I remember my problem, that I can't act normal around them. I could be fifteen in the '80's, straight and trying to hit on Molly Ringwald for all the sane I'm able to muster.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
it's that time in where I live
Tomorrow is my turn to get up early for the testing. Big Brother has reached that point of homeschool life when we take him to be tested.
We printed up a copy of the test, though I must admit we could have paid more attention to what we were looking at. We did want the test on paper to better simulate the testing environment, though I can't say we sanitized the place and put in buzzing lights to truly get the feel.
As mentioned we copied the test, and we could have thought more about, maybe looked at the totality of options available when printing a multi page document. One might ask themselves if they really need those several mostly gray pages with only the words, "DO NOT MARK ON THIS PAGE." We certainly didn't, but apparently The Boy needed drawing paper, so he got some, and he certainly marked on those pages. Hope the law don't get after us.
We didn't print the answer pages, so that was paper saved . . . oh, wait. We got lucky and ran out of paper just as the last actual test page was printed. I actually had to find a random still blank sheet to feed into the printer at the last moment.
After this week we'll certainly have plenty of scrap paper. I imagine it will be perfect for drawing on the back of, and Momma has used some amount of paper in her ongoing home search, so she can now print the information about her possible soon to be dream home on the backs of the testing pages, though that may at times not leave her with a lot of room on the back to write any notes, though there are plenty of test pages with a single question occupying about one quarter of the paper to go along with the red stripe at the bottom holding both the page number and either the arrow or the stop sign.
They didn't offer the answer sheet that the kids get with the little bubbles to fill in, so he just circled his answers.
And that's that. Now I get to wake much too early and take the boys and go . . .
And if anyone reading this knows what local phrase I've parodied sorta to get the title of this post they will win a prize. It's a line I often tweak, but that likely won't help most anyone, so I can't say it's a clue, but it's something.
We printed up a copy of the test, though I must admit we could have paid more attention to what we were looking at. We did want the test on paper to better simulate the testing environment, though I can't say we sanitized the place and put in buzzing lights to truly get the feel.
As mentioned we copied the test, and we could have thought more about, maybe looked at the totality of options available when printing a multi page document. One might ask themselves if they really need those several mostly gray pages with only the words, "DO NOT MARK ON THIS PAGE." We certainly didn't, but apparently The Boy needed drawing paper, so he got some, and he certainly marked on those pages. Hope the law don't get after us.
We didn't print the answer pages, so that was paper saved . . . oh, wait. We got lucky and ran out of paper just as the last actual test page was printed. I actually had to find a random still blank sheet to feed into the printer at the last moment.
After this week we'll certainly have plenty of scrap paper. I imagine it will be perfect for drawing on the back of, and Momma has used some amount of paper in her ongoing home search, so she can now print the information about her possible soon to be dream home on the backs of the testing pages, though that may at times not leave her with a lot of room on the back to write any notes, though there are plenty of test pages with a single question occupying about one quarter of the paper to go along with the red stripe at the bottom holding both the page number and either the arrow or the stop sign.
They didn't offer the answer sheet that the kids get with the little bubbles to fill in, so he just circled his answers.
And that's that. Now I get to wake much too early and take the boys and go . . .
And if anyone reading this knows what local phrase I've parodied sorta to get the title of this post they will win a prize. It's a line I often tweak, but that likely won't help most anyone, so I can't say it's a clue, but it's something.
Saturday, April 03, 2010
is friended a word?
Another wrinkle has worked its way into my ongoing internal discussion about the two halves of my life, the out here but not there thing. A mother of one of The Boy's team mates has sent me a friend request on that social networking site we all love so well.
It's that damn internet's fault, making me searchable. I'm certain she could do more searching, and I've realized much before this that I am in fact more out than I can now have any control over. This was a deciding factor in my decision to stop coaching those three-ish short years ago. Okay it was one of any number of equally important factors at the time. Sadly, other coaches proved to me that, at least in my opinion, the league would be better served having me there.
I'm not sure exactly how to go about ignoring the friend request. I can't say that I have any real reason not to accept friendship from someone, but it's Facebook for fuck sake. I've gotta be able to be myself there.
Now I have to admit that I still haven't checked my privacy settings in quite a while and don't know what they're set to. I do remember the big to do that Fb was selling our children or something, and I got a message from someone on the inside explaining what they did and that I could go to this page and set it myself if I damn well wanted to. It was actually a nice message, or nice enough at least. And I did go and at least review my settings, but I don't know as of this moment which package I chose to go with.
I do know about my pictures. I may not be able to tell you without looking what all is there, but I've seen them all, and I know. There are a couple that other people might choose not to include. And it certainly makes me seem as though I drink more than I want most people to think. And there's that one from the birthday party and more than a couple in which I might look kinda gay.
And that's the thing, the information that gets out. I can only control it so much, and I only want so much to control it. I don't want to live a lie ever again. I don't want to have to be in the closet, and I don't want to have to have a sign over my head flashing HOMO whenever people see me. It's an essential element, and I can't know for certain how it informs and influences my choices and my approach to people and situations, but that's not really the question. I want to just be me with the homo part just that, a part of the whole.
And I'm left with not really knowing what to do. I'm going to tend toward my original plan of ignoring this person's likely well intended request. I mean, how do you tell someone, "I'm sorry, but I can't be your friend. You've stumbled on a part of my life where I'm able to be out and open, and since I don't really know you, even though I'm your child's very first ever soccer coach, I must respectfully ignore your request because of things I'd rather not discuss with you that, depending on your sociopolitical leanings and/or religious beliefs, may cause you to abruptly and distinctly change your opinion of me. I hope you understand."
It's that damn internet's fault, making me searchable. I'm certain she could do more searching, and I've realized much before this that I am in fact more out than I can now have any control over. This was a deciding factor in my decision to stop coaching those three-ish short years ago. Okay it was one of any number of equally important factors at the time. Sadly, other coaches proved to me that, at least in my opinion, the league would be better served having me there.
I'm not sure exactly how to go about ignoring the friend request. I can't say that I have any real reason not to accept friendship from someone, but it's Facebook for fuck sake. I've gotta be able to be myself there.
Now I have to admit that I still haven't checked my privacy settings in quite a while and don't know what they're set to. I do remember the big to do that Fb was selling our children or something, and I got a message from someone on the inside explaining what they did and that I could go to this page and set it myself if I damn well wanted to. It was actually a nice message, or nice enough at least. And I did go and at least review my settings, but I don't know as of this moment which package I chose to go with.
I do know about my pictures. I may not be able to tell you without looking what all is there, but I've seen them all, and I know. There are a couple that other people might choose not to include. And it certainly makes me seem as though I drink more than I want most people to think. And there's that one from the birthday party and more than a couple in which I might look kinda gay.
And that's the thing, the information that gets out. I can only control it so much, and I only want so much to control it. I don't want to live a lie ever again. I don't want to have to be in the closet, and I don't want to have to have a sign over my head flashing HOMO whenever people see me. It's an essential element, and I can't know for certain how it informs and influences my choices and my approach to people and situations, but that's not really the question. I want to just be me with the homo part just that, a part of the whole.
And I'm left with not really knowing what to do. I'm going to tend toward my original plan of ignoring this person's likely well intended request. I mean, how do you tell someone, "I'm sorry, but I can't be your friend. You've stumbled on a part of my life where I'm able to be out and open, and since I don't really know you, even though I'm your child's very first ever soccer coach, I must respectfully ignore your request because of things I'd rather not discuss with you that, depending on your sociopolitical leanings and/or religious beliefs, may cause you to abruptly and distinctly change your opinion of me. I hope you understand."
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