.plan

This whole internet thing is a busy place. I’d like to capture all the interesting happenings around the web in a jar, like so many buzzing bees, and find the time to both form an opinion on them and write that opinion down. But, alas, that isn’t going to happen.

To compensate, I present a couple of short shots at some of the interesting things I’ve been reading about lately. Now, I’ve heard that doing this short form of communication is often called “blogging” but breaking all of this up into separate posts isn’t really my style (if, in fact, I have a style at all). I’m long-winded, even if I need to combine many short thoughts to form one longer, and likely incomprehensible, one.

So here it is, all in one big bunch, my short jabs of the week.

Just Desserts
This is incredibly disgusting as well as awfully stupid. That’s a perfect combination.

Kids
I love the quote that Hope, over at the Appalachia Amulni Association, left about children.

The rest of her day leaves me with something to look forward to. I know the wife will appreciate this one.

Talking Football
Shannon Sharpe will be leaving the football field for the broadcast booth. Oddly enough, he’s quite likely to make more money talking about football than playing football. I was fan of his during his two year tenure with the Ravens — his easy going style and flair for smack talk was never anything less than amusing — and even I didn’t appreciate the incredible career he’s had. His big mouth will one day be enshrined in Canton.

Say Something Good for a Change
At the bottom of yesterday’s Bleat, James Lileks chats about the positive aspects of the Iraq war, noting that we only hear about the negative.

And he champions a possible solution, which includes a radio show he in which he participates.

Well, I’d like to have that. Let’s get rid of one or two of the useless, rehashed interviews on CNN and replace them with something a touch inspirational. I’d guess that something positive is happening over there but you wouldn’t know it if you watched TV … or read the newspaper … or listened to the radio.

In the Stop Making Us Look Bad Department

This sign says it all, really.

Father’s Day
Now I don’t want to make a habit of begging for presents, but I absolutely love this shirt. It’s unapologetic, kind of like me.

The twisted and tangled branches of my family tree and that of my wife mirror each other in many ways. For example, we both have a sister named Deb and a brother Jim. Both trees sport marriages and remarriages, blurring the line between sister and half-sister, brother and half-brother until the difference isn’t always apparent and never important. One of the more interesting coincidences is that we are both the youngest sibling of our family by far.

When I say by far, I mean it. My closest sibling is seven years older than me (hey Deb). My wife’s closest sibling is eleven years older than her (hey Jim). From the perspective of human dynamics (and, incidentally, the wife and I met in Human Dynamics class), we are considered only-children. That is, during playtime, we played pretty much all by ourselves.

At the same time, our brothers and sisters were born much closer together. They grew up together. They went to the same schools. They used the same sliding boards and fought over the same box of Cheerios.

Now I don’t want anyone to get the impression that either my wife or I aren’t close to our siblings. In fact, I believe my wife and I are probably closer to our siblings than they are to each other. It’s just that our childhood disagreements were less likely to be about playground equiment and cereal than, say, who stole a peek at their brother’s Playboys.

Before anyone starts to feel sorry for me, I turned out just fine. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want a brother or sister with a birthday a little closer to mine. I might have been willing to relinquish the role as the youngest for a little brother or sister. It always sounded like a good idea to have a younger one around to teach and protect (much like my sister did with me), rib and amuse (much like my brothers did to me).

Now that the chances of getting a younger brother or sister are pretty slim (what do you say, mom?), all of this takes a different perspective. It’s no longer me waiting for a play buddy. It’s my son. He’s the one waiting and he doesn’t even know it.

Well, he won’t have to wait long.

A second little Wootton is about six months or so from completion. A new little son or daughter awaits the wife and I. A new little child awaits his or her first meet and greet with their big brother.

To say we are looking forward to number two is an understatement. We have our trepidations. We worry about diaper duty times 2, we worry about finances, and we worry a lot about Cambell having competition for attention. But mostly, were pretty excited that the family is expanding.

See, I don’t look at it as sharing the spotlight, although Cam is sure to think that at some point or another. That sounds like something is being taken away. I look at it as a present. He gets a friend for life — a friend with a bond that only comes with family. We, on the other hand, get another shining light and toothy smile in our lives. I hope we keep plenty of Cheerios handy.

I can’t believe I’m still watching Survivor. Like millions of others, I dedicated my Sunday night to watching the finale of this season’s Survivor. Somehow I’ve managed to see them all. I’m almost ashamed that I enjoy the spectacle of it all so much.

But I do. The harsh conditions, the interesting cast of characters, and the emotional turmoil that results is entertaining. And let’s not forget the bug eating. Yum.

It’s a guilty pleasure made worse by the fact that each season tends to end the same. A bunch of grumpy jurors with major chips or their shoulders confront two finalists that used nefarious means to get to the top. It’s a classic setup, in that the favor of the disgruntled losers plays a very big part in the eventual winner, and I’m very much surprised that everyone hasn’t gotten the memo.

This is a game. In fact, it’s a game about betrayal. Your exit from the tribe is never going to end anything but badly. You didn’t want to leave. You were forced out, not only by the two folks in front of you but by everyone to your left. Don’t look so dismayed. I know you want to place blame. I understand that you might want sympathy but quiet the sour grapes.

I believed that this season, being the one with the cast of all stars, would be different. A second visit would surely clear these details up. I was wrong.

Lex couldn’t believe a friend could betray him after betraying two of his own buddies, throwing his tribe into a losing spiral in the process (oh, the irony). Cathy couldn’t believe good old Boston Rob would sell her out. Look around. You weren’t the only one. Tom couldn’t imagine that he would be set up. Surprise, surprise.

But the spectacle still bemused me, enough so that both the wife and I voted in the contest for the second million (I should note, that my vote went to the winner of this second bundle of dough. Now go buy another shirt.). Maybe I should compete. I’d love my chance at a finale speech. Put away those self-serving glares. I’m here because I lied, cheated, and betrayed; I played the game. Any questions?

The wife and I purchased a brand new potty for the little one today. It’s pretty snazzy, if I must say myself. It’s sports a cute little transformable stool for him to stand on (no, not that kind of stool), a pee shield, and works in either a standalone manner or as part of our bigger, much more adult-sized toilet. We’re a little excited.

Now we are quite aware that we (and, ahem, quite possibly Cam as well) is ahead of schedule but he’s been giving us unmistakable signals that he’s ready to start leaving the whole sit in my feces things behind. For example, today he peed in our toilet 4 separate times.

The great thing about it is that he has such a good time doing it. Congratulations rain down from his parents as he gets up, flushes the toilet, and waves the pee pee goodbye. A good time is had by all. Don’t worry. The festivities are bound to be more subdued in about twenty years.

We’re pretty realistic about his chances of success with his newfound toy — we’ve read a bit about the normal timetable and we haven’t really approached the whole subject of number 2 quite yet. But, hey, I have no trouble getting the party started a little early, especially when that party could signal a temporary stoppage of my diaper changing duties.

All things are right in the world. Ross and Rachel ended up together. We always knew they would. Friends could end no other way. Friends couldn’t end any other way. The final episode left things just as they should be.

Still, I can’t feel a little bummed. Good television shows are dropping like flies. Almost half the shows I regularly watch won’t be coming back around for another run at my TV.

First, it was Ed, my favorite show of the last few years. While it isn’t entirely official, Stuckeyville looks like it will be an empty place from now on. It’s a shame, really. While it stuck around for four years, it never really grabbed a huge audience outside of the wife and I. By far, this is the show I will miss the most.

Then it was Sex in the City, one of my wife’s favorite shows. Both the wife and I were late arrivals to the City, at least in the sense of watching it on a regular basis. I’m normally in charge of the TV watching in our house but this was one show that turned the tables. The wife will miss Carrie more than I. After all, I have Deadwood to take its place.

And now, it’s Friends which, in my opinion, was one of the most consistently funny shows for its extended lifetime. An author over at the Slate used the term soapcom to describe it. That sounds about right to me. The soap style relationships and ongoing storyline is what I believe made the show special. It’s a model that I’m surprised hasn’t been copied more, or with at least more success. Scrubs is probably the closest thing to Friends on TV right now in that sense. It’s no coincidence that it’s one of my favorite shows. I only wish that NBC would give it Friend’s old time slot.

With Frasier closing up shop this year, I’m losing a fallback option and there really isn’t much left. Outside of HBO’s new content, not much has grabbed my interest. There’s only so much CSI I can watch. There’s only so much reality TV I can stand.

Don’t get me wrong. My TIVO is in no danger of drying up for content (I am, after all, 4 episodes behind in this season of 24). It’s just that the departure of so many shows leaves a gaping hole in the quality of my TV schedule, particularly in terms of staying power. I’m more than pleased with all the happy endings but I guess I’m a touch wistful about saying goodbye to old friends, particularly when I have to do it all at once.

Well, apparently I continue my habit of being remiss with my blog updates. To compensate, let’s see if I can fill in the blanks all in one post. Let’s start approximately two weekends ago on the weekend of April 24th.

On April 24th, the wife threw a birthday party for me on account of me turning 70 and all. The timing of this event was appropriate, as it took place during my birthday weekend which is itself part of my longer birthday week celebration. I had a grand time, which was unsurprising. There’s not much to complain about when people are celebrating me. In any case, I had a couple of side notes:

* – First of all, I really have to thank everyone who attended. Your presents rocked! By last count, I received $0 in cash. I’m not quite sure if my recent purchase of a camper made my wants apparent but the result was that I now have a bunch of cool stuff that I didn’t before. Thanks.

* – I know I didn’t get around to everyone but that’s the nature of the beast. Hopefully, you got a tour of my new toy, as my brother convinced me to open it and show it off. Hopefully, your child (if you had one) or you (if not) got a chance to run through the tunnel a couple of times. If not, there’s always next year or, if I can help it, a summer cookout on the way. At the very least, let’s hope you found the cooler of beer. A couple of dark green bottles of Yuengling were available to help you forget the horrors of it all (this applies to those I did get around to greeting as well).

On the following Sunday, I attended the simultaneous birthday parties of both my stepfather and stepsister. I’ve never been a huge fan of simultaneous celebrations myself (as my birthday is mine, Mine, MINE) but the rapid-fire nature of their special days and the logistics of getting everyone together definitely favored the event. They didn’t seem to mind — no one blew out the other’s candles, for example.

Fast-forwarding to last weekend, the weekend of May 1st, a friend and I took off to Greenbrier State Park. A weekend of fishing, hiking, and generally being mountain men was ahead. Our wives and children were left home to tend to the fort. Here are a couple of short notes from that trip as well:

* – Take it from me. You don’t want to learn you are traveling in the wrong direction by inspecting welcome signs from adjoining states.

* – The answer to the question “How far are we away?” is not “Two thumbs.”

* – Thank God the weather help up. It was striking to find the park so empty on days as wonderful as Friday and Saturday (at least until nightfall). The beach was entirely empty. Note to self: make a reservation for this time next year.

* – A fishing trip is not considered a failure when all you catch is pity fish. For the second straight fishing attempt, my rod and reel remained almost entirely silent. However, the nice elderly gentleman who literally dropped three 12 inch trout in our lap kept our spirits up. A couple of fish decapitations later, our stomachs agreed.

* – It’s nice to get away. It’s nice to have a forum to express manliness between bottles of beer. It’s nice to know that two men can feed themselves for a weekend sans their wives and sans a stove.

* – It’s also nice to return home. It’s great to feel the welcome of warm arms and hear the giddiness of a couple of shrieks. Hey hubby. Hey daddy. Welcome back.

Ok, now I feel all caught up.

I turned 70 today and, yes, I’m still counting down. It won’t be a habit unless I continue to do it.

Birthdays are great and, thankfully, I still feel young enough to believe that. I’m not concerned about any rapidly approaching expiration dates (beyond that of the milk I drank this morning) and I’m far from ready to spend too much time pondering the past or considering the future. The present is pretty grand in itself. It features all the things I really need – a great wife and kid, several lasting friends, a generous family, a paying job, and my health. I’m happy to hang out in it.

As birthday wishes rain down (I just received a personal rendition of Happy Birthday from my father. I believe he’s a baritone.), I’ll put all that getting old stuff aside in favor of playing with my toys. Oh yes, toys. What would a birthday be without them?

Wow, I’ve been busy the last couple of weeks. It’s not hard to notice the lack of activity around here. Life got in the way of my time here and it shows, or doesn’t show depending on your perspective.

The real culprit is work. I’d love to be able to plan out the fits and starts in my schedule but that never seems to be. Work has robbed me of nearly all my free time over the last couple of weeks, leaving me with a bunch of half written blogs now aching to be revised with a eye toward the past tense.

It’s a bummer.

I like to keep the content around here fresh, both because it keeps me actively writing (and — imagine the horror — even thinking) and because I fear I’ll lose what little audience I have if there just isn’t anything interesting around to read (which, by the way, isn’t guaranteed even if I am actively updating).

In the near future, at least, it looks like I’ll be able to keep life at bay, allowing me some time to whittle away at the keyboard. Maybe I’ll even get off my butt and write a blog or two. Stranger things have happened, you know, like this.

I just noticed that both my last entry and the first link in that entry feature a picture of my son wearing the very same clothes. This reminds me of the feeling I get when realize that I’m currently wearing the outfit found on my work badge mugshot and that my badge is three years old (not that this has ever happened). If you didn’t happen to notice this, it really isn’t true. I swear.

If you did, let me assure you of a couple things:

1) He has more than one set of clothes. Yes, I like this outfit – it says casual with just that touch of dressy stud that khaki pants brings – and, yes, I likely dressed him both days. But there are other outfits. Even if there was only one outfit, Christmas and his birthday would surely bring some other choices. The fact that he’d have until at least December is an entirely separate issue. I am not biding my time, mostly.

2) The pictures were shot at different times, presumably days and laundry tubs apart. He should smell wonderfully clean in both pictures, assuming that the hidden diaper in each shot was cooperating at the time.

3) I did not realize this coincidence ahead of time but, even if I had, the result would only have affected the planning. I have two incredibly cute pictures. How can I not share them both?

It isn’t easy being a parent of the greatest child in the world but I’m coping. There’s all those smiles to return and all those laughs to take in. It can be exhausting. See? Even he needs to take a break now and then.

To be honest, he deserves the break much more than I. The little guy celebrated his recovery from a recent bout of pneumonia by acquiring a nasty stomach virus. He spent more than a week fighting it, a fight that required a few trips to the doctor’s office and a second round of nebulizer treatments. The little guy has been a sport but, until recently I didn’t realize how much it took out of him.

Why is that? Well, this weekend the little child I remember emerged. That child burdened by sickness and daily doses of medicine was left behind. A smiling kid replaced it. He smiled more on Saturday than he has in two weeks. A beacon of cheerfulness wiped away the exhausted eyes that illness had brought. To say that makes me happy is an understatement. It warms my heart to see him laugh and play. I’m thrilled to see evidence that he’s truly feeling better.

And it’s a good thing too, as the wife and I spent the weekend visiting her family in Pennsylvania. It was an impromptu visit – we waited until Saturday morning to decide that it was just nice enough to test out the newly purchased camper – but an enjoyable one, at least from a visitation standpoint.

We took in some delicious food at the sister-in-law’s restaurant. We camped in the front yard of the brother-in-law. I got to visit my dad and he got to spend some time with the well version of little Cambell.

From a weather standpoint, let’s just say that the weatherman and I will have words. The temperature wasn’t all that bad — it was scheduled to get into the lower 40’s. However, I must have missed the fine print. The winds kicked up on Saturday night and were unrelenting.

Little did I know how susceptible a popup camper is to wind. The canvas of the camper battled with nature, constantly shifting to and fro. It made just enough noise to keep the wife awake most of the night but, thankfully, not enough to do the same to our sleeping child. I’m claiming ownership of the sleeping gene. I’m frankly amazed that the kid slept through what seemed to be an inside view of a tornado.

By morning, evidence of the overnight rains were hard to find. The canvas of the camper was dry to the touch, literally blown dry the morning gales. Closing the camper wasn’t a picnic as angry winds fought my every move. The experience itself was much akin to squeezing a balloon into a matchbox; you could never get both sides in at all, much less at once.

But all the extra effort and all the weather didn’t do much to dampen my spirits. I had a happy kid in the back seat, a sleepy wife next to me, and a brand new RV behind me as I headed down the road. If all weekends could end that way, I’d be a happy camper.