Fall

Ah, fall! That time of year when the air becomes crisp and the leaves blaze red before crackling in the wind and drifting gently to the ground. A time when autumn storms tear through the valley and leave the yard strewn with debris. A time when our dog Davey protests my shoddy lawn maintenance and begins, uh, doing number twos on the concrete patio because he does not like stepping on the wet leaves and sticks that now cover the grass. Stupid dog.

So yeah, fall is just great around here.

I do welcome the drop in temperature though. The changing seasons here are more subtle than the Midwestern clime where I misspent my youth. Although we did endure a heat wave about a month ago where the mercury climbed into the 100s for a few days, the last throes of a parching summer. Our California autumn is like a miniature spring, bringing green hills and new blooms for a few months before the grey, wet winter sets in. The new rain has coaxed some narcissus from the soil around the neighborhood and new rose blossoms in the front garden. Also, patio poop, as previously mentioned.

On the work front, I get a bit busier this time of year. The small to medium-size jobs roll in consistently, leaving just enough time for important things like canoeing, fishing and golfing. The fancy pants job I did over the summer will be published in early 2010, which will hopefully bring in more work of its kind. I have translated numerous academic papers and have discovered I enjoy it and I'm not completely terrible at it either. My biggest challenge with the Chinese to English language pair is that Chinese is grammatically, intellectually, and culturally organized in a fundamentally different way than English, making precision and fluency difficult in many contexts. Academic pieces, at least in my experience, tend to use standardized and scientifically-accepted terminology, making word searches for obscure diseases and mysterious biological processes a walk in the park (Thanks internets!). The structure in academic texts is also more straight forward, at least for Chinese authors who have been educated in the U.S. or Britain, making it easier for me to repackage the top-heavy sentences found in Chinese into smooth, readable English. Perhaps the culture creep of English-speaking academia can influence one's native language. There's a PhD thesis in there somewhere.

Meantime, I've got some bachelor time coming up while the wife travels for work. I'm thinking of exploring some smaller lakes in the area, doing some fishing and maybe fit in a few rounds of solo golf. I'll take some pics while I'm out.

Also, watch your step on our pat...NO! BAD DOG! BAD DOG! YOU DO THAT ON THE LAWN! ON THE LAWN!

What a bad dog might look like:

-Glen

Busy translator is finished being busy and will now commence complaining about pop culture and political figures of note

Two weeks ago I finished the large freelance job I had been hammering away at for two months. I ended up taking on a second article because one of the other translators bailed, which I can't really understand because this project represented an incredible opportunity to get paid and get published (free advertising, essentially). I can't really get my head around why people do things. The older I get the less I understand people.

Speaking of people behaving badly: is it just me or has there been a spate of professionals acting unprofessional lately? Here is a list of jerks and their various offenses:

1. Joe Wilson: Senator and retired effing COLONEL in the South Carolina National Guard decided to heckle the Prez during his speech to a joint session of congress. I really don't care what his view on health care is because everyone is entitled to his or her opinion but interrupting to call the president a liar is a tremendous violation of decorum and I would expect a retired COLONEL to understand how to behave towards his comander-in-chief, regardless of political affiliation. Yeah sure, in England, Ye Olde House of Parliamente doth become quite the unpleasant tumult indeed when they hassle that Optimus Prime Minister guy or whoever, but we beat them in World War I and the Spanish-American War or something so we won the right to clam up when our King (the President) gives a speech. You, sir, are a first class jerkface.

2. Mike Duvall: Ugh. This guy is just gross. This may be too local for any non-California readers, but this legislative clown bragged about various affairs near an open mic using terminology more shocking and disgusting than typical high school locker room chatter. I will go ahead and mention that he is a married, family-values Republican. In a state where we won't let the gays marry. Because that will harm the institution of marriage, what with the gays marrying and such, because they are gay. Ugh. You, sir, are an oathbreaking jerkface.

3. Michael Jordan: This one broke my heart a little. I am not a sports guy, but I grew up watching the Chicago Bulls dominate the NBA championships in the 1990's. My grandma (requiescat in pace) used to love watching the games with me as Michael "Air" Jordan effortlessly pulled off one incredible play after another. "That Michael is some player," she would say, shaking her head in disbelief and awe. I always thought he showed class on the court, but during his induction ceremony for the Hall of Fame he took the podium and proceeded to settle old scores. There is no question that his rambling outburst was petty (also, he couldn't be bothered to bring a few note cards and make a proper speech?), but even in the interest of preserving your own legacy, why go out of your way to crush people when they assemble in your honor? What a terrible lesson to teach young people. His father (requiescat in pace), would be very disappointed. You, sir, are a thoughtless and cruel jerk.

4. Serena Williams: I'm kind of on the fence about this one because I can empathize with her situation. When you're playing tennis at that level, a bad call can make or break a career. I have read that good officials will let small errors or questionable calls slide to prevent a match from being decided on a single call. Unfortunately, Serena set herself up by slamming her racket down (twice) early in her match against Clijsters. I understand why the foot fault call near the end of the match would be infuriating-Williams was behind and it was a questionable decision by the line judge. However, her language and gestures were the very definition of unsportsmanlike conudct. Being a professional means eating a bad call now and again. It's not fair but being an adult and a professional means showing grace under pressure. I think I am bothered too by her allegiance to a very conservative religious sect, the Jehovah's Witnesses, who limit their contact with non-adherents and who will shun followers who exhibit "immoral behavior." If you align yourself with a conservative belief system you will be subject to those rules and you must "practice what you preach" at all times, forever. Otherwise, get out. You, madam, are not really a jerk, but you could use some anger management and should perhaps convert to Buddhism.

5. Kanye West: Sigh. I don't even have the rage-born fortitude to type this one out because it's so incredibly dumb. Dumb, dumb, dumb. Let me ask the youth of today something: America's youth? Hi, increasingly cantankerous 30-year-old here. Do you think this Kanye West is a hep cat? I admit, I have enjoyed a few of the hip hop tunes he has dropped or released or whatever you young'uns are calling it these days. They are catchy and breezy, to be sure. But what about how he acts? Are you guys cool with that? Really? That doesn't come off as kind of stupid, grandstanding and shallow? What? Rockers in the 70's used to bite the heads off of bats you say? That's true, you got me there. But bloodlust and mayhem were integral to the identity of 70's metal bands and perhaps served as a criticism of and a counterbalance to the sugary pop garbage that polluted the pop charts of the time. Wait, what was I talking about? Oh yeah: you, sir, are a jerk and I simply do not care for your behavior. Good day!

Having said that, I'm off to watch Matlock and write angry letters to the editor on my mechanical type-writing interweb device.

America's birthday, canoeing and other hijinx

Our friends J and L visited us to celebrate America's 233rd birthday. Patriotic rituals are important for cementing nationalist sentiment but they also serve as an ideal occasion to eat various grilled meats, drink beer and play around with fireworks. We ate this:

And some of this:
L brought some veggies to cancel out the carcinogenic animal protein pictured above. The cheerful colors foreshadowed the pyromanical mayhem that would commence at nightfall.


I have cherished memories of the summers of my youth, full of charred fingers from quick fuses and the dull reek of smoldering sawdust punks. My dear home state of Iowa saw it proper to ban fireworks in its Health, Safety and Welfare Code, Section 727.2. This has left generations of proud Iowans no choice but to sneak down to Missouri or up to South Dakota like common criminals to smuggle in the requisite firecrackers and bottle rockets for the 4th of July. California, where I now live, has also gone the nanny state route and banned most of the fireworks that explode, fly into the air, or shoot out massive amounts of deadly sparks. You know, all the cool stuff a firework is supposed to do. Fortunately, the largest state on the left coast hasn't completely banned consumer fireworks. You can still get a few little spinners and fountains at the roadside stands that dot the parking lots around this time of year. I made sure to buy a bag to complete the Independence Day trifecta of beer, bbq and pyrotechnics.

Here I am contemplating colonial grievances against King George III FIRE!:

The women nag at us to wait for cars to pass before throwing fireworks into the street. Killjoys.

Sparklers. YAY!

I lit a bunch of these little strobe thingies that are bright enough to give you corneal damage. Here we frolic in the shadows cast by them:

L discovers the joys of pyromania:


Is that all it does?

Don't ever give those snap-n-pops to J. He will chase you around with a wild look in his eyes while chucking them at your flip-flop shod feet. It's terrifying.

All out of snap-n-pops, J stands ready with the lighter as I fumble for another pack of camelias.


I perform a dainty ballet move to escape the soon-to-be raging inferno of the strobe firework.


Happy Birthday America. You don't look a day over 225!

Now for some water sports! (giggle)

This is the canoe I bought from my beardy Alaskan pal Jack. He won't be needing it anymore since he'll be too busy wrangling babies and fighting grizzly bears in Alaska: the Florida of the North! I named the vessel Skidbladnir, after the legendary ship in Norse mythology. I scrawled the letters in runic to let everyone know that I am a nerd. That anchor looking thing underneath is Mjolnir, Thor's hammer.


You have to let the dog in first before tying the boat down. Get in there Davey!

Davey was pretty excited:


The wife helps move the mighty ship from it's proud abode (our dirty garage).

Tyin' her down. Good thing we have this little hippy Outback. Our old car didn't have a roof rack.


We finally arrive at the lake, which is actually an old cooling pond for a decommisioned nuclear power plant. Awesome.



Get in the boat Davey!

Davey wasn't so sure about this...

We plied him with treats. He kept lookout for any radioactive monsters while we paddled around and fished for a few hours.



I am glad to live in a country where I can shoot off fireworks and paddle around a potentially radioactive lake. Thank you president Benjamin Franklin!

-Glen

Busy translator is busy

I'm in the midst of a large and important translation project, which may get me A: published, and B: more work. So I've been too preoccupied lately to write anything funny or insightful or embarrassing for a little while. Alas, you will have to find other ways to feel better about yourself by reveling in my humorous tragedies entertain yourself on the internets.

Might I suggest typing a few words into Google and seeing where it takes you. The internet is like a magical gnome, beckoning you to explore new vistas of joy and sometimes, terror. If you're feeling brave, try switching off the safesearch filter and type in a phrase or two bursting with innuendo. Let me know how it goes.

See you in a few weeks.

-Glen

Going Away Party/Baby Shower/Open House

My friend Jack is having a baby and moving back to Alaska, a combination of events which is sure to inspire joy and trepidation in equal measures since they are happening at the same time. We threw a little shindig at our place a few weeks back in celebration of Jack's virility and to give him a final chance to enjoy the warm California sunshine before retreating back to the icy north. The party went a little something like this: (Photos courtesy of Gene Kwon)

There was hugging...


And guessing games. One game required estimating the baby's due date, weight and length. Most of the men had no idea how large a baby is at birth and so were hilariously off the mark. I was most concerned about the prospect of the 36-inch 22-lb. newborn behemoth suggested by one clueless contestant. Another contest involved guessing the retail price of a product that is called, and I'm not making this up, "butt paste." Think about it: Paste. For your butt.

Hilarious.


Party tip: you can make any cupcake more festive by adorning it with a small plastic baby placed on a dollop of pink frosting. Please note that the hostess will frown on your referring to such delicacies as "placenta cakes," even in jest.



Davey was pretty stoked to have everyone over. He spent most of the time running around, trying to eat things and doing that wookie-like whining/growling thing he does when he gets excited (he doesn't bark often).


I had to stand sentry over the good whiskey to guard against the shady characters we call friends.


I distracted potential booze thieves with a long-winded description of my refinishing project.
The booze thieves lost interest and shuffled back to the backyard for some ping pong.


Ping pong.

Here I try to eat a sandwich using only the power of my mind. It was delicious.


So as not to belittle my guests, I ate another sandwich using the conventional take-a-bite, sip-a-beer, take-another-bite method. A spectral baby carriage floats by overhead. Creepy.


Artsy.

A curious gnome watches on.


What's Jack thinking about? Another tri-tip sandwich? Another beer? Diapers? Butt paste?


Our house also doubles as a space ship as evidenced by the triangular protrusion pictured here.


Here I discuss the merits of a gnome-based home security system. J and L listen politely.


Davey tries to muscle in on Scott's beer. Bad dog.


The audience is enthralled and terrified by my wife's cautionary tale about the guests who kept feeding the dog random food. Spoiler: He turns into a terrible, gassy monster not unlike a gremlin.

I think her message was ignored.


Davey will feign good behavior, if bribed.


Hey guys, team huddle. Let's give Jack a bunch of baby-themed gifts! Also, how can we best use that butt paste to humorous effect?

Jack is showered with gifts.


Someone mentions butt paste again. Hilarity ensues. Will that joke ever get old? Maybe just for Scott, who has a subtle and refined sense of humor. He is also good at ping pong.


The Irish indoctrination begins early.


I got this shirt for Jack in hopes of spurring his future progeny to acts of derring-do. Actually, knowing Jack, his kids won't need any encouragement.



To show his appreciation for our gifts, Jack sings a touching ballad about fatherhood. Our friend L, in red, dances a jig. Merriment ensues.


All that dancing and merrymaking wiped everyone out.


The wife palms a mysterious orb as Davey performs his patented pancake maneuver.


Sufficiently bribed with plastic babies, steak and the promise of tummy rubs. Davey sits still for .02 seconds so Gene can take this picture.


Who's a good boy? Do you like a tummy rub? Who likes a tummy rub? Davey, that's who.


Everyone had a blast celebrating Jack's success at fulfilling his biological imperative to reproduce. He is going to be an excellent Dad seeing as he led a bunch of us California wussies through the Alaskan wilderness without anyone getting eaten by grizzly bears. Congrats Jack and best wishes from all of us!

On a final note, here's an adorable puppy:


-Glen

30

I am 30 years old today. The wife made me a delicious chocolate cake last night and we will hang out with friends and drink beer and eat steak later tonight.

Among our group of friends we have a saying that on your thirtieth birthday you are beyond reproach. That is to say, any misbehavior, shenanigans or faux pas are completely inadmissible in the court of "quit being a jerk in front of everyone." I still have to get revenge on a good friend of mine for hiding everyone's cell phone batteries while hammered during his 30th b-day bash at our house.

Hide your cell phones.

-Glen

I hate antioxidants

A blog about Glen, the face cancer host, and my exciting adventure while I try to eradicate him. I am ahead so far.

4/01/2009

Good god has it been a terrible day to be pre-malignant neoplasm. I bust my butt using my malformed DNA to grow uncontrollably and what does my idiot host do? He eats healthy, exercises, and uses sunscreen. This job sucks.

Without those precious free radicals bouncing around and mutating DNA, all I can do is sit here as a mildly unpleasant spot on my host's face rather than become the metastasized agent of biological doom that I was born to be.

I quit.

Signed,

Jeffery