Author: docthink

no one of consequence

Baaaaaaak

Back from vay-cay. Did you know that you can leave Washington, D.C. behind? Really, you can. The blackberry doesn’t function well on the island. Really there is only one spot in the house that I can get even a single bar. And not consistently, either.

It did work wonderfully at the beach. But then who cares? Do you think the IT guys will notice the sand and the rust? Naaah!

And then we didn’t even have TV. I guess there was some issue regarding something in London, but we didn’t have CNN. Or MSNBC. Or even Katie Couric.

I did spend time with the local weekly. Learned about crazy real estate prices and the upcoming visit by a candidate for governor. Turns out the island doesn’t usually get statewide candidates. The candidate–they said he was the frontrunner–was going to appear at a place called, “The Chicken Box.” Oh, and all about High Tide.

Back in D.C. Having a tough time with the reality-check thing, though. Everyone always says D.C. isn’t the “real world.” I’m not so sure about that statement, though.

Posted on by docthink 1

Wonder-fest

My birthday is the day that I get way sucked up to. In the office, people say “happy birthday.” They want to take me to lunch. Send me cards. Acknowledge the date of my birth. And at home, it is the absolute suck-up fest. I become wonderful. The day is wonderful, because I was wonderfully born on it. It is all wonderful, and all me.

The 14-year-old was wondering and wonderfulling on my birthday.

Him: Happy Birthday. You are the best parent in the world.
Me: Well, I’m your best parent. And also your worst.
Him: No, you’re just great. And it’s a great day because if it wasn’t for this day, many years ago, I wouldn’t be here.
Me: So is it YOUR birthday?
Him: NO! It’s your birthday.

Hmmmmm, it seems that even when it’s about me, it’s not. Well, he’s wonderful, too.

p.s. speaking of wonnerful, the Doc is going off on a R&R journey until mid-August. I will return to my thinkin’ when I return.

Posted on by docthink 0

Wimp

That would be me. The Boy Scout is off camping for a week, and here I am. Moping around. Looking for him. He wasn’t in his bed this morning. Or yesterday morning, for that matter.

He wasn’t at the PlayStation for a ga-zillion hours today. His juice glass and cereal bowl were not left dirty in the sink. No DSU’s on the floor in the bathroom. No play by play about today’s episode of The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy. I don’t know what happened on today’s show!?! He didn’t ask me about my day. He does that, you know.

The dog misses him, too. He paces a bit when the rest of us come home without the Boy Scout. He checks in his room, too. He looks at me and asks with his eyes, “Where the hell did you put him?”

So I bought a crock pot.

Posted on by docthink 1

I’m Thinking of a Number…

…between one and inane.

I got to spend 30 minutes today trying to get a password to a new application. Yes, 30 minutes until I requested the help of Jesus, Mary, and all the saints. In vain.

After doing all types of tricks to try and get an acceptable password and FAILING, I finally went to the manual in order to try and avoid another “The password validation failed due to the following reason(s):” message. (And, yes, it was in that cloying green color!) Below is from the manual:

“Here is a list of all the different rules that result in an acceptable password:

  • Passwords shall contain no more than three identical consecutive characters in any position from the previous password.
  • Passwords shall not be identical to any of the previous 6 passwords
  • Password must contain at least 8 characters and 14 at the most. * (Why no more than 14??)
  • Password must contain at least two digits. *
  • Password must contain at least two upper case characters. *
  • Password must contain at least two lower characters. *
  • Password must not start with a number. *
  • Password must not end with a number. *
  • Password must not contain tabs, spaces.
  • Passwords must contain a special character, with the exception of: commas (,), backslashes (/), double quotes (“), single quotes (‘), ampersands (&), curly braces ({}), or pipes (). *
  • Passwords shall not contain any proper noun or the name of any person, pet, child, or fictional character. * (I did NOT make this one up!!!)
  • Passwords shall not contain any employee serial number, Social Security number, birth date, phone number, or any information that could be readily guessed about the creator of the password. *
  • Passwords shall not contain any simple pattern of letters or numbers, such as “qwerty”, or “xyz123”.” *

* indicates rules that I broke on different attempts to create a password before finding the goofy manual. Also, wrong things not among the rules but still offering the dreaded error message: no using the same letter two times in a row. So there may be additional hidden rules as yet uncovered.

Passwords are important security mechanisms. But not if they are so impossible to remember–because of STUPID rules–that you can’t remember them. So instead you see people with stickies under their desks, beneath their keyboards, or even right on the monitor because THEY CAN”T REMEMBER THEIR PASSWORDS.

That, at least to me, doesn’t seem very secure. [DKSAdkf12d& also not acceptable. I am still trying!]

Posted on by docthink 1

We Love You Coach Andy

Man, it’s tough to be under a microscope. Especially if you are like 7-feet tall. Like one of the soccer coaches of our past.

The 14-year-old has since give soccer away for the gridiron, but in his “younger days,” he was pretty good on the soccer pitch. He played some travel soccer-but he didn’t love it like it needed for all that effort. And he wasn’t having fun. So he moved back to the rec league, where he was placed on an established team with a great big guy running around the field with the kids who was the Coach. Coach Andy intimidated me by his stature and deep rolling voice–oh, and the police car he drove.

Turns out that he is a very funny guy who cared about all the kids on the team and made sure that my kid was welcomed, even if he was the only one from a different school. It was fun for my son to play, because that is what they did, played. And when he fell hit the grass and rolled around in pain, and I would yell, “Get up, you aren’t getting a penalty, stop acting like a European soccer prima donna,” Coach Andy would turn around and note–with a grin–that I was being a bit tough.

Coach Andy is really a good guy. It is really crummy that his remarks at a recent community meeting on the awful murder in Georgetown is what is putting him in the news. The thing is he shouldn’t have voiced what folks–black and white–readily admit is true. He can’t say it because he is The Man. And I feel bad for him, because if you knew him, you would love him, too.

Posted on by docthink 0

Go Shawty-It’s Your Birthday

Don’t know if there was any drinking of Bacardi* at the White House when George W. Bush celebrated his 60th birthday. But interesting to me, is that Curtis Jackson III, shares the President’s July 6th birth date. Better known as 50 Cent, Curtis blew out 30 candles on his recent cake.

Makes you think what else these guys–President of the United States of America and buff-and-tough rapper–have in common. I mean other than the obvious; their rakish good looks (GW, 50) and pumped physiques (GW, 50).

Well for starters 50 grew up in the ‘hood and moved to the Connecticut suburbs. GW started in the Connecticut ‘burbs and moved to da hood.

Another thing, both balance their popularity on their cred. 50–no matter how rich and suburban–needs to be the tough, gun toting gangsta to sell his CD’s, movies, games and gear. GW–no matter the relationship between Iraq, WMD and Bin Laden–needs to maintain his tough, gun toting international gangsta image to sell his policies and Republican party revolution. Critics think that these are bad image for their fans/supporters to emulate or respect. Other people don’t think that it is so damaging.

Who woulda guessed that these two men, 30 years apart, would be so alike. Must be something true about sharing the constellation of the Crab.

* See/hear if you don’t know the song. I predict that grandmothers will be dancing to this song at weddings in 10-15 years. You read it here first!

Posted on by docthink 1

Naming Convention

We are on the cusp of the “season of birthdays.” There are eight family birthday’s between the end of July and Labor Day. This causes my problem. As an author.

I write about the children portion of my family members as the 14-year-old and the 11-year-old. But they will soon be the fifteen-year-old and the twelve-year-old. My problem? What happens when the (now) 11-year-old becomes 14? Will he then be the 14-year-old? But what about the 14-year old from three years ago (work with me on this time travel thing)?

I know what you are thinking, “STOP DOING THIS BLOG before then.”

Posted on by docthink 1

Disproportionate Response

The 14-year-old was off to football camp this week. Overnight camp. At a college. Sleeping in a dorm. Eating in the cafeteria. Being cool.

The 14-year-old was being fickle, however, in choosing his camp dates. So we had to do last minute walk-up registration. And do you know what you miss at walk-up registration? Well, in addition to $30 (late fee!), you also end up missing the pre-registration packet.

In the pre-registration packet, you not only get the schedule (and NO, I did NOT know that camp broke mid-day on Wednesday causing a work-logistics thing), but you also get the list of what to bring. Like sheets and a towel.

Oops! Didn’t realize that we needed to have something on the plastic mattress item in the triple room that was the size of a good-sized master bedroom closet in Potomac, Md. And no A/C. So sleeping on the mattress would be like sleeping on a garbage bag after you have worked out. Don’t forget about the 150% humidity. I told the 14-year-old that I would go home and get some sheets, and he should pick them up at the desk later.

Four days later, he is checking out with the other parent. Turns out he never got the sheets, pillow, towel, and soap that I had left for him. I was so pissed. I had spent almost my entire Sunday checking him in to camp and then another round trip with the linens. Grrrrrr! How dare he not listen when I was hooking him up. HOW DARE HE!

In the meantime, we had torrential rains in the D.C., area. And while the 12 inches of rain came slamming into the roof of the old house, the roof leaked. And then part of the ceiling upstairs came down. And, I wasn’t mad. Just picked up the sponge-ey soaked wall board and threw it in a big, black construction trash bag and dragged it out to the curb. Indeed, I was feeling lucky because the next morning was trash day.

But damn that 14-year old for not sleeping more comfortably on the sheets I brought.

I am a bad parent.

Posted on by docthink 2

Time Free Zone

The 11-year old: Can I please play RTC on the computer?
Me: No.
Him: Would it help if I said please?
Me: (lying) No.
Him: Please?
Me: Well I don’t want you in front of that computer all night. You can play until 6:15.
Him: Great!
Me: Now you need to be able to tell time. To time yourself. I don’t want to have to come in there at like, seven and tell you to get off. Understand?
Him: No problem.
Me: (at 7 p.m.) Get off!

Happens every time. Like clockwork. Well at least something has to do with time.

Posted on by docthink 4

Time Bound

Today, for Father’s Day the 11-year-old composed a most delicious breakfast of eggs and toast with a side of ham. And quite a good meal it was. He not only planned and prepared the meal, but also plated and served. Presentation IS everything.

I had a drink with a friend on Friday who shared some photos of her beloveds from an professional photo shoot. She wanted to capture in film the moments that she sees as a mom. No phony canned expressions of a traditional portrait. The pics were great–her babes are 9 and 6.

I got to thinking about the pics we have of the kids at different ages. Now that the 14-year-old is man-sized, seeing pictures of him as a 3rd grader doesn’t connect with his current being. We were listening to a recording of him from two summers ago–from before he started singing at a register so low that only dogs can hear. The voice on the recording didn’t belong to my son.

Then I started thinking of my own mom. In her head I am still in high-school. She talks about things that I “like” that I haven’t actually liked in say, oh, 20 years?

You can’t freeze time. You can remember the past. But what and who we were, isn’t what and who we are. I used to hold both of the 14-year-old’s feet in my one hand. I can’t get my hands around one of his size 13 sneakers. I used to poke the 11-year-old in his squishy, baby belly and receive the most beautiful tinkles and bubbles of his baby giggles. Now, his belly laughs come from deeper in his belly–some day soon to come from a lower octave.

Capturing a moment or an afternoon in film can help to loose up a memory at a later time. Reconciling that moment to the person, though, gets harder and harder.

Posted on by docthink 0