.plan

The wife has been pleading for a vacation. Days off have been in short supply since January, when the event of my son’s birth caused me to take more vacation than I had accrued. In the time between then and now, I’ve been working off borrowed time. That doesn’t leave room for many weekdays spent outside of my office.

Still I hear her pleas. While a real vacation won’t become reality for a few more months, that doesn’t mean we can’t compromise. A day trip was on the docket. The only question was where. A dinner time discussion about St. Michaels on Friday filled in that blank. It turned out that a family outing was already planned for the next day. We decided to join in.

The trip to our destination wasn’t notable, which is a blessing when you must cross the Bay Bridge on a Saturday morning. We did, however, stop off for a short lunch at Ruby Tuesdays, an event that was notable only because of the quaint reaction solicited from my mother and stepfather, regular visitors to our destination.

You could see the lost look in their eyes when they realized that THE PLAN has been changed. We never do it this way. We are supposed to pick up some ice cream when we get down there. What are you doing?

It reminds you how set we are in our ways. My wife and I surely have habits such as these, traditions that are marked as much by the events themselves as the ritualistic way we repeat them. Thankfully they were open to change. The baby was hungry.

Speaking of the baby, our worries about the little tike began almost immediately upon arrival. To start it was nasty hot. Stifling humidity was thrown into the mix to create a truly entertaining sweat. I’m sure I would have had a better time if I wasn’t so worried about the child bursting into flames at any moment. I’m not sure which part of mother nature is responsible for the weather in Maryland. All I know is that it is moist and warm.

Our other worry involved the scheduled boat trip. I wasn’t really concerned about the trip itself; I’ve taken this trip before and I always feel quite at home on the water. It was a big vessel, not a rowboat. What really bothered me was any potential contingency plans. What would I do if something went wrong? I can swim. My child isn’t so lucky and, at such a young age, isn’t the best fit for a life jacket.

In the end, we swallowed our fears. The light breeze brought about by our travels was a welcome relief from the heat.

Afterwards we did a little shopping. St Michaels has a bunch of little stores selling a little of this and a little of that. We visited quite a few of them, generally more thankful for the cool breeze of a waiting air conditioner than the wares available for us to peruse. The wife and I picked up some garlic salsa I have yet to taste. My stomach growls at the thought.

Our shopping did not last long. The heat was a cruel companion, no doubt aided by the fact that I was carrying a 16 pound child on my back. I was sure that smoke was rising from my wife’s bottom. I had better get her home before she begins to smolder.

I had fun. While a single day on the shore is sad replacement for the vacation we so sorely need, it was a nice respite from the daily drone. Maybe next time we can go somewhere magnificent, like our neighbor’s soon to be built pool.

The 4th of July is one holiday that is steeped in tradition in my family. It brings me visions of parades and the assorted folks of the Wootton brood sitting around munching on shelled creatures. There’s Pop Pop busily cleaning crabs for Grandmom. Brother Jim is anxiously piling up his crabmeat for a big sandwich at the end. When do we leave for the fireworks?

This year we didn’t stray too far from the path. The wife and I skipped out on the parade, more or less. We didn’t actually witness it first hand. However, we were part of it for a short time at the end, also known as “why is everyone going so damn slow”.

We had new visitors in the form of my brother and his children. The long trip from Idaho had landed them in the middle of a holiday weekend. It was time to do what good Baltimoreans do. We eat crabs.

Crabs are one of those foods that add the cleaning of the carcass to the eating ritual. As a Baltimore native, I don’t even notice or acknowledge this fact. It’s just what you do. The eyes of my brother’s children remind me that this even-headed approach to butchery isn’t universal.

Excuse me. You rip what open? What is the heck is that?

Both children were a little freaked out about the whole process. It probably didn’t help that their father offered to eat an eyeball if they would take the smallest of tastes.

The uniqueness of our meal settled in when I offered to play ball with my nephew after dinner. He ran out front. “I’ll be waiting.” He had no idea just how long he would be doing so.

The evening’s fireworks were preceded by threatening rain clouds and, eventually, more than a couple drops of rain. The family huddled under a nearby tree before a dash to better cover. The rain would pass after a short time and return briefly for a second visit. In the end it gave up, allowing explosives to brightly paint the darkened holiday sky.

Unfortunately, one staple of the day was missing. Grandmom and Pop Pop are no longer around to celebrate; their trademark house along the old parade route sold long ago to unfamiliar owners. I have no doubt they watched from the heavens, though. I bet they had a much better view.

Every once and a while, I come to my blog page and notice an absence of content. This is particularly true in the beginning of the month. My little calendar announces this absence in a fairly unspectacular fashion. The little 1 is blue. Everything else is rather lacking in color.

In this case, it is the fault of a very busy weekend. I spent very little time at home during this week’s bookend days. I’ve spent the days between now and then in a mode that can only be termed recovery. I’m almost done with that now. I could be wrong, however.

I hope to get some details of this weekend up soon. The events are notable – if only to me – and should provide me with some easy content, content that straddles the diary line a little too closely for my manly tastes.

In the meantime, here’s my favorite phrase of the month, courtesy of James Lileks.

Yum. Stew on that one for a while.

I wonder when my son and I will have this conversation. It’s not a matter of if. It’s a matter of when.

I’ve always assumed that my offspring would be inflicted with the technology disease as I carry. You might be able to draw parallels between his interests and mine. You might see him tapping away on a keyboard next to daddy. He might spend time, sword in hand, helping dad to rid the world of digital evil.

Then again, you might not. He might rebel against my computerized lifestyle. He might forego a mouse for a good pair of hiking boots. He might choose a hammer and nail over a joystick. He might look at X-rays instead of an Xbox.

You just don’t know.

In truth, I hope he finds a good middle ground. There’s plenty to discover, on both sides of that glowing screen. I’d hate to see him think of the wonders of the real world as secondary just because of the easy access of fantasy worlds at home. What I do know is that technology will influence his life.

The toys and tools available to him dwarf what was available to me in my childhood years. Cable was a burgeoning concept. Round disks that played music were called records. A computer in the house was something for the rich kids. The internet – heaven forbid – wasn’t even on the radar. All these electrical doodads will do more than just divert his attention. It will change the way the way he looks and experiences the world. His rose colored glasses may be painted with the screens of a PDA.

When he does reach computer age – which should be in about a year or so at this rate – I’ll be there watching, observing. We both have a lot to learn. I’d guess that a laptop in his sandbox may be more realistic than you think.

If there was ever a fantasy world I would have liked to step right into, lightsaber in hand, Star Wars is it. I want to pilot that X-Wing. I want to face the Hut full of jelly and save that princess with buns in her hair. I want to be the swashbuckling hero. Unfortunately, it doesn’t sound like I can do any of those things in Star Wars Galaxies, a game that launched just last week.

Galaxies sounded like a gamer’s dream. User controlled cities, controllable vehicles like land speeders, and space combat headed the feature list. As the years rolled by, features became future promises and even future expansion packs. What’s left sounds more like Everquest with Ewoks than the incredible game I hoped to rush home and play.

I say “hope” because I’ve yet to purchase the game. Another reason has kept me from the retail shelves. The rapidly shrinking feature list should give you a clue. From the initial reports – and the reports of some folks in the beta – the game is buggy. Some things are incomplete. Some things are completely broken. Day one found many gamers waiting for the registration screen. Subsequent days have been filled with server downtime.

For many massively multiplayer role-playing games – Dark Age of Camelot excluded, server instability in their infant days is par for the course. That doesn’t make it right, particularly when Joe consumer is sitting at home $50 lighter. For this game, it almost seemed to be the plan. The game isn’t ready to play. They are, however, more than ready to begin collecting money.

And somehow, I’m still interested. I won’t spend my hard earned money to beta test their software. However, I hope one of my friends does. I need someone on the inside. Someone to approach me in a year and assure me that my dream of what this game could be is close to becoming reality. Much like the suits at Sony, I need a guinea pig.

The Star Wars license with a $15 a month fee is the closest thing that the massively multiplayer gaming community will see to a sure thing for a long while. Look ma, I can be a Wookie. They can’t screw it up. They just can’t. That doesn’t mean they won’t give it a college try.

I would have gladly paid their sum to play the game that I really wanted to play. As it turns out, though, they haven’t finished it. I won’t pay them a cent until they do.

Someone unexpected said “hi” to me this morning. Normally a simple greeting isn’t something to get excited about. In this case, I make an exception. That person was my son. Hi was his first word.

I’m not dissapointed that his first word wasn’t “mama” or “dada”. God knows he has heard those two words a lot; both mom and dad are anxious to see which one he calls out first. I’m just happy to communicate. I’ve been greeting him with a “hi” for a week or so. I’m glad he returned the favor. One word down. About 600,000 to go.

Cam is in one of his activity spurts. For weeks, he doesn’t seem to change much at all. Then – all of a sudden – he starts doing a myriad of new things. He grabs at everything in sight. Clear the table. Here comes his roving hands. His legs pump up and down, just searching for something to topple. He’s so close to turning over that the countdown is now measured in days, not weeks. Daddy tries to move him that extra inch by force of will alone.

It’s an exciting time. He’s moving up and moving on. It’s an incredible thing to witness, even as those cuddly baby days slowly slip on by. Soon mom and dad will no longer spend their days perched above a bright-eyed child. We will be too busy chasing him through the house.

I look forward to it, in a “how much more tired can I get” sort of way. Watching him grow up will undoubtably be one of the grandest experiences of my life. His hello of this morning is but a glimpse of the world to come.

Cam, hello. It’s going to be great getting to know you.

When my wife informed me that a plague of locusts were making their way across Idaho, I didn’t believe her. I needed to see it for myself.

It turns out that they are everywhere. The news showed them crowding the street, making the roadways slick and slippery for passing cars. A nearby lake had swimmers practically bathing in the little suckers. Mormon crickets are making the folks of Idaho think of biblical times. I imagine that’s one of the reasons that why my brother and his family will be happy to touch down in the good state of Maryland this Saturday. Hopefully, it isn’t the only reason.

It’s not like we have much more to offer here. They may think of Moses when crossing the street. We have Noah on our minds. Maryland can claim two full days of sun since the beginning of May. I could swear that I saw a fellow building a large boat on my way to work. It was hard to see through all the trees — and the giraffes.

In any case, I’m looking forward to a visit from my brother. I like to think I’m reasonably close to all my siblings, even as they have moved their separate ways. I miss them and their respective families. It’s nice to catch up. We’ll do some swimming, spend a day catching a rollercoaster or two, and muse a bit about nothing at all. It will be a fun time.

I just hope he leaves those bugs at home. That’s one part of Idaho I can do without.

A funny thing happened to the wife and I on the way to see Finding Nemo. We went to see the Hulk instead.

I couldn’t argue with the kind stranger who surprised us in the movie theatre parking lot. “You want to see a movie? Here.”

What are these? Free tickets to see the sneak preview. Wow. Let’s go see some green.

It’s not every day I go see a sneak preview; Tuesday night isn’t exactly when you expect to the latest new release. A large section of seats were reserved for the press. The theater was packed. The wife and I found the last pair of open seats that were actually placed next to each other. I wonder if all those people were as disappointed as I.

The Hulk is a movie with an identity crisis. It can’t decide if it is an action flick or a dramatized play. Is this the story of a child’s green monster or the dark tale of a disturbed man. The first hour of the film goes by without one sighting the big green guy. Hulk. Smash. Get on with it.

You can see Ang Lee‘s touch on the film. Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon was a love story with some over the top action sequences. The Hulk comes off in a similar fashion. It’s a dark, foreboding story with a not so jolly green giant.

The problem is that the story didn’t really need to be there. We didn’t need to hear the ravings of Bruce’s father. We didn’t need to know about his father at all. It should start with the smashing. It should end with the smashing. Everything in between should just be a reason to get to the smashing.

Speaking of smashing, a lot of people had issues with the special effects. I was not one of them. Aside from the believability of a tall green monster parading around San Francisco, I thought they looked great. The movement of the Hulk, especially when tossing a tank, crushing walls, and, well, smashing was right on. The sight of him leaping from place to place brought back memories of the comic.

Unfortunately, the rest of the movie did not. I wouldn’t take my kid to see it; the story is just too dark and disjointed. I’d take him to see Finding Nemo. Next time that’s where I’ll take myself as well.

Not too long ago, I submitted a column to a web site I visit every week. GameSpotting, the site in question, is a freeform feature run by the GameSpot crew. They basically run around to each member of their staff and ask them to write something, anything about games. Recently, they began to take reader submissions. Mine didn’t get in.

Why didn’t it get in? I’m sure there were all sorts of reasons. It mentions too many retail chains. Its more of a narrative than an article. The timing of my submission wasn’t the best. E3 loomed right around the corner and, in addition to the folks of GameSpot turning their attention to the big gaming event, they didn’t run a GameSpotting column for a couple of weeks. Lastly – and I have to allow for this – it just wasn’t very good.

In any case, their four weeks are up. The rights of my writing have returned to me. For better or worse, I’ve placed the object of my rejection below. Feel free to peruse and even compare it to what they have up this week. Enjoy. I promise I’ll do better next time.

You make my GBA whole. You make it easy to carry along. The glow emanating from my new Game Boy Advance SP fills me with delight. The difficult quest I undertook to acquire it helps it shine that much brighter.

Just days after the release of the GBA SP, I was found wanting. I thought I was patient. I thought I could wait until late April, when my birthday would surely usher in a finely wrapped package. I was wrong. It took only the faint flicker of a friend’s display to prove it. They say timing is everything. My bad timing had left me empty handed.

Darkness falls, on both the game and my GBA screen.

But I would not let hopelessness set in. I could get one of those tiny little silver systems. I had only to try. I was determined, even if resolve hasn’t always been my closest friend in the past.

Determination once led me across town to pick up that last copy of WaveRace from the not-so-local Electronics Boutique. Determination taught me how many Best Buy trips it takes to acquire a copy of Dark Age of Camelot on the first day of its release (hint, it’s no less than four). Determination sometimes does me wrong. In this one case, it did me right.

My quest began in the morning. Phone call after phone call resulted in failure. The local malls were sold out. The boutique on the corner wouldn’t be getting any more shipments for weeks. You could almost hear the eyes roll around in the clerk’s head as he let down another anxious customer. Sorry buddy, not today.

Finding this on the first day of its release was no walk in the park.

Best Buy was cleaned out, so much so that it was difficult to find the sign. Compounding my problems, I had promised to visit relatives in the hills of Pennsylvania this day. A road trip awaited. The lack of a lighted screen would be torture. Surely, I could find one on the way.

Strike two occurred at a small town mall. It seems that eyes roll there much like they do back home. Saddened by the news, I had no choice but to continue my journey. My plans were in ruin. I should have thought ahead. My old GBA taunted me from the dark depths of its screen.

Thankfully, a Walmart, cleverly hidden on a lonely stretch of road, ended my pangs of regret. The sharp eye of my wife picked out a location that needy gamers often skip entirely. The pot of gold at the end of my rainbow was a striking silver. My treasure was finally in hand and I couldn’t have been happier.

The backlit screen makes all the difference. Where I once peered deeply into my own reflection, I now bask in the bright glow of screen below. The goodies it reveals warm my heart.

There’s no game where this makes more of a difference than in Castlevania: Circle of the Moon. The background is dark. The foreground is dark. Even the cartridge and package are dark. Maybe they were trying to warn me up front. The addition of a little light reveals a whole new experience. Little did I know that the walls were made of some type of heavy stone. It turns out that little thing flailing from Nathan Graves was a whip after all.

Samus is also searching for a brighter light.

And my sunny joys are not limited to that game alone. Much that was once old is new again. Happy soldiers stare back at me in Advance Wars. Ghosts shift warily behind the tracks in Mario Kart. Samus can finally spend a little less time looking for an extra flashlight in Metroid Fusion.

The included battery back and slick design round out the package. It’s truly the backlit star of the portable world. I have but one question: why didn’t we get it sooner?

A problem for Nintendo and a blessing for gamers, the SP has raised the bar for what constitutes a portable game system. Just as the Xbox will make any future console that doesn’t include a hard drive a second class citizen, any future portable system simply must include a rechargeable battery. A backlit screen may have been an option before; it is no longer.

Were my travels worth it? It depends on who you ask. If you ask my boss, the flash of silver looks much like a PDA and well, that’s all I need to know. My next status meeting just became a whole lot more entertaining.