tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93172912024-03-13T03:07:48.396-07:00SANDWICHOSITYA dad blog about sandwiches, my kid, and cats. New fatherhood plus my thoughts on life through the lens of eating and enjoying and making the best sandwiches.
That's sandwichosity.Dude_Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15723411096863821278noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9317291.post-76479473454222272652024-02-16T12:58:00.000-08:002024-02-16T12:58:48.211-08:00Day Unknown - Success<p> Since I got cast out of my office into a cube I have been at a loss with what to do with it. I had this one plant in the before-times that never seemed to grow in the almost 3 years I have been here at the Company. But there's this engineer in the other building that has a plant that grows with no sunlight, only office fluorescent, and it wraps around all the four walls of his office. So I asked him to give me a clipping. I saw online you are supposed to <a href="https://www.skh.com/thedirt/plant-propagation-techniques/">propagate these things</a> in water for a few weeks, and once the little roots pop out, you can plant them in actual dirt. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjtl1ScYQyukwpko09dsPBLxA2yW2UxAq-mbJmqRF0SIwZxOORi7cXji6CTjos6BUVaXbW8Mfxet5qIcWcPWwFwZnHPkwqYycofmUd_jHBBioRAoVD4gGyQ68PipVQgxY-S8Jbhn5buk4CGin3aDs1VH5uF5cSV2UqaIbBiytXebwFy_5iAz_ffUg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="676" data-original-width="586" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjtl1ScYQyukwpko09dsPBLxA2yW2UxAq-mbJmqRF0SIwZxOORi7cXji6CTjos6BUVaXbW8Mfxet5qIcWcPWwFwZnHPkwqYycofmUd_jHBBioRAoVD4gGyQ68PipVQgxY-S8Jbhn5buk4CGin3aDs1VH5uF5cSV2UqaIbBiytXebwFy_5iAz_ffUg" width="208" /></a></div><p><br /></p>This one has a little sprout of a root now, but I am going to wait another week because my guy said to wait until they get a longer, an inch or more, that way they will really take when you put them in soil. These days, I am a bit of a plant in water too, waiting for dirt I can plow into and make something of myself. I am in a transition, having become disillusioned with the people I work for and in a search for a career more meaningful, or if not, just more satisfying than the one I have now. Funny how an incompetent manager will do that to you.<p></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj3CpZxsC11RwiIvLwGCeVHpW6sWl9k7x16t1nN2tFGPTmEkgTMipkLuNmY7I_6zgyYZcSjOskf3NENOzqNlI_cLnZLBOO1UsO26usBJ8ZEjecKZazu6dcDjKxeLg9sE_96PYUtiylJ9u7oqpAKcgiV8fYRf4OmuXcuUU4KEcWNEGCDNEND8CAACQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="656" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj3CpZxsC11RwiIvLwGCeVHpW6sWl9k7x16t1nN2tFGPTmEkgTMipkLuNmY7I_6zgyYZcSjOskf3NENOzqNlI_cLnZLBOO1UsO26usBJ8ZEjecKZazu6dcDjKxeLg9sE_96PYUtiylJ9u7oqpAKcgiV8fYRf4OmuXcuUU4KEcWNEGCDNEND8CAACQ" width="225" /></a></div><br />This is the first set of sprouts I got planted. They were from a wilted/dying plant we had at the house. I think the beefy super-plant from the other office is going to outgrow these, but we'll see what happens later. Thunderdome in the Potted Plant! Stay tuned.<p></p><p><br /> </p>Dude_Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15723411096863821278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9317291.post-84769263784078665862024-01-16T15:20:00.000-08:002024-01-16T15:20:20.322-08:00Day 8<p> I can’t tell if they are growing. No sprouts have started off the cut pieces but we are talking about plants here. They have a different timeline. </p><p><br /></p><p>Maybe since we were gone for 3 day weekend nothing happened. <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjkAFUqxfoAnjh1fOv-baEqpezIKFR_PsnXm9JMdTZ3PO-6uXZewE825H5A21b_7j6DTOQ17Y5HqZ6gJGNfNbIAi5fxZFdNKXlwyUusEKWMUHEZOkydUNzVsfAoqnt0dOwRlZbH6m9R0AuYs1K71LWCrpRYiuVdWhvYZzqNUV3HX9zz7WdGuPtmyw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjkAFUqxfoAnjh1fOv-baEqpezIKFR_PsnXm9JMdTZ3PO-6uXZewE825H5A21b_7j6DTOQ17Y5HqZ6gJGNfNbIAi5fxZFdNKXlwyUusEKWMUHEZOkydUNzVsfAoqnt0dOwRlZbH6m9R0AuYs1K71LWCrpRYiuVdWhvYZzqNUV3HX9zz7WdGuPtmyw" width="180" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Dude_Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15723411096863821278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9317291.post-91026235507989397872024-01-12T07:31:00.000-08:002024-01-12T07:31:45.498-08:00Day 4<p> This new plant is gonna take off. The other ones already look like death. </p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgRg9-z01QYgG_28GK0SVoiVMsKHf9-DiMk5OVpSDSpuMrUpvqETmuTGo5UyjI3iCishOODB0HVWQTlAtTuEgV0Qeze8YKd8z95xNlyxZ1mweG4qkMX8wiY6ay6SEJLGnfdCSTq74rDaaQcT4EMiE3d4iLS-vYQHBHgFaYpRWTqdqjJqZm2-CAOMw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgRg9-z01QYgG_28GK0SVoiVMsKHf9-DiMk5OVpSDSpuMrUpvqETmuTGo5UyjI3iCishOODB0HVWQTlAtTuEgV0Qeze8YKd8z95xNlyxZ1mweG4qkMX8wiY6ay6SEJLGnfdCSTq74rDaaQcT4EMiE3d4iLS-vYQHBHgFaYpRWTqdqjJqZm2-CAOMw" width="180" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>Dude_Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15723411096863821278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9317291.post-28956342176819699332024-01-11T07:02:00.000-08:002024-01-11T07:02:12.260-08:00Day 3<p> The newcomer is from a plant in my buddy Rich’s office in Engineering. He has this crazy plant wraps all around the room and it’s super healthy. I figure I would see what it did compared to my sickly cuttings and may the best plant win. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhEUKSHfl2gwSfmg4amnqqcjGoYM-y0mr6trCyFueZBEgg9pObunwQSY1WUdnGQ3L4JSVZwziZgN2NYBjIzepsM56FRWnKNm9WQCY3MSuUvozZugrzI5w04xDaiNCxEOnK_RPrlOLmg9zT_gAB0pyBjApVj4dlF6zQWqn5jdLswbZ1mAd71ytR6Og" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhEUKSHfl2gwSfmg4amnqqcjGoYM-y0mr6trCyFueZBEgg9pObunwQSY1WUdnGQ3L4JSVZwziZgN2NYBjIzepsM56FRWnKNm9WQCY3MSuUvozZugrzI5w04xDaiNCxEOnK_RPrlOLmg9zT_gAB0pyBjApVj4dlF6zQWqn5jdLswbZ1mAd71ytR6Og" width="180" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Dude_Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15723411096863821278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9317291.post-44970238306175516082024-01-10T07:21:00.000-08:002024-01-10T07:21:14.587-08:00Day 2<p> Still healthy. </p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjp25IJhPCjeitqaijVMQBqBuqTPh02ZF2ggjkBThYgAcMaANeZoIuq5yveNCZbTZwpSr2ZKhrgej7nUbH2BuUF0io3JqtT6pldWwsVRxyBC9j8rb1VhcgH2BhNbkzPXWRQhW7ReQj9I2DPzYp6Tg9ejYFvJfSk62S8F7E34OGWxfCupgzXHY-SZw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjp25IJhPCjeitqaijVMQBqBuqTPh02ZF2ggjkBThYgAcMaANeZoIuq5yveNCZbTZwpSr2ZKhrgej7nUbH2BuUF0io3JqtT6pldWwsVRxyBC9j8rb1VhcgH2BhNbkzPXWRQhW7ReQj9I2DPzYp6Tg9ejYFvJfSk62S8F7E34OGWxfCupgzXHY-SZw" width="180" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>Dude_Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15723411096863821278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9317291.post-24842688936942444642024-01-09T09:09:00.001-08:002024-01-09T09:09:49.405-08:00Day 1 cubicle plant experiment<div dir="auto">Will they grow?</div><div dir="auto"><br></div><div dir="auto"><br></div><div dir="auto"><br></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgO8dgqkSmADBh-04OnsPprQmdXCww50o6ACd9IgETwI-Ed6Y3sGef1I8ThEXaOoIOLWO1B3efseqTzzOPWwH2GEvuix2Mn7fG_mcaLRzTT0fliENqHzKx9qDeWxb-FQZ04qs_xWaWfsiIfld_veE-kLeC87dSSlccFLJDXLG7QrXdiUIBd7lVTFg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgO8dgqkSmADBh-04OnsPprQmdXCww50o6ACd9IgETwI-Ed6Y3sGef1I8ThEXaOoIOLWO1B3efseqTzzOPWwH2GEvuix2Mn7fG_mcaLRzTT0fliENqHzKx9qDeWxb-FQZ04qs_xWaWfsiIfld_veE-kLeC87dSSlccFLJDXLG7QrXdiUIBd7lVTFg=s320" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_7322146957879889426" /></a></div> Dude_Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15723411096863821278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9317291.post-28468953628291908372019-06-12T08:21:00.000-07:002019-06-12T08:21:43.467-07:00Over a year now of keeping this tiny human alive.I win! I win at parenting. This little munchkin made it to just about 14 months so far and I'm super pleased at our accomplishment. She's walking. She loves playing with the remote and the buttons on the AC we bought that are just her height. Its great. Its really great. Its really really really great. My brain has definitely gotten stupider from lack of sleep and general neglect. I say "UH OH!" out loud when anything falls on the ground like an idiot. And then there's a third thing too because the rule of comedy is that things are funny in 3's.<br />
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<br />Dude_Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15723411096863821278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9317291.post-52322844339409589192019-01-03T21:57:00.000-08:002019-02-05T07:55:29.111-08:009 Months, plus!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I made some things and I took some pictures. That first one there is a sweet tree-topper I made for Christmas. She's the cutest!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeup7GVb3xFaukKRR1-IyRE6f4SNRJ6cRX28e2ENNNhX3XSy5f8qRhuMEYArdCwpmDg1VzECfO_TWJoipaDnLqzyTmRpt0UsJ9vGNm7QUFxf8s4lmDpghpuMc1HeserGox4UoD_g/s1600/45800051-EA1B-4E5E-9482-C0A5E366A5EC.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1491" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeup7GVb3xFaukKRR1-IyRE6f4SNRJ6cRX28e2ENNNhX3XSy5f8qRhuMEYArdCwpmDg1VzECfO_TWJoipaDnLqzyTmRpt0UsJ9vGNm7QUFxf8s4lmDpghpuMc1HeserGox4UoD_g/s320/45800051-EA1B-4E5E-9482-C0A5E366A5EC.jpeg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All Hail Amelia!</td></tr>
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<br />Then there was this one time we went to SF and took BART. It went smoothly, lil bugger loved it. Not like that one time we were on there without the baby and this lady pulled a knife on some guy that she accused of groping her. She was way crazy. I mean, she was carrying this 8" chef's knife in her waistband. That just good planning on her part. I mean, you're not <i>not </i>going to pull a knife on somebody when you've been carrying it around all day. You're ready! Anybody bumps up against you and BLAMMO, knife time!<div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX6jMK_UEX3x5M7e8rkf9p87u5tcKzR9FJNyEgf58FgyZR1bBB0LMrEfneKrT1vbJHHkAXnDn8IfPh2MLQVa2Fy5LigM7Dk7l-KPSGoWuCBJTHrzIzX3tr5Z-s0AcZghdCfRjOZw/s1600/AE85D7A2-A254-462C-911F-F1D5FB90363E.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX6jMK_UEX3x5M7e8rkf9p87u5tcKzR9FJNyEgf58FgyZR1bBB0LMrEfneKrT1vbJHHkAXnDn8IfPh2MLQVa2Fy5LigM7Dk7l-KPSGoWuCBJTHrzIzX3tr5Z-s0AcZghdCfRjOZw/s320/AE85D7A2-A254-462C-911F-F1D5FB90363E.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First BART ride. She's pumped!</td></tr>
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<br />This baby is a smiler. She's just the best at smiling. I may be prejudiced, but you tell me, look at that picture and tell me that's not the best thing ever. The best!<br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWzpRZqvzh_noBzysHMxNR4jjtyLEWQm-W5y8mZ1cqpxoFIZcDYkb1plQaqb538WHGyZYQjpPtQ7KdrrtIjpk8zps2of7IOyn8amJ6hVnaEQM1NdsIplHCnuHKI7JN3F-IF9MaKA/s1600/CB76FCAD-3A6D-4634-8DDC-4B261E3AE23D.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="1002" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWzpRZqvzh_noBzysHMxNR4jjtyLEWQm-W5y8mZ1cqpxoFIZcDYkb1plQaqb538WHGyZYQjpPtQ7KdrrtIjpk8zps2of7IOyn8amJ6hVnaEQM1NdsIplHCnuHKI7JN3F-IF9MaKA/s320/CB76FCAD-3A6D-4634-8DDC-4B261E3AE23D.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Toothy smiles are my favorite.</td></tr>
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Dude_Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15723411096863821278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9317291.post-17210135374357554162018-09-24T19:27:00.001-07:002018-09-24T19:32:47.219-07:00Five months is like no time at allHoly crap, this is really crazy. It was like two minutes ago my baby was born and now she's five months old. She's walking, of course. She knows Mandarin as well as conversational Esperanto, and just last week she corrected me on the proper use of semicolons. Its crazy, they grow up so fast. I'll just clap my hands together real quick for a job well done on this parenting bit. I had help, sure, my wife deserves some credit, but really I've got to admit, it wasn't all that hard. All it takes is a little common sense, a whole lot of intuition and the rest just takes care of itself. Parents of the world, what were you saying about how raising children was hard?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smile like your baby that way people will know its yours and that you didn't steal if from somewhere.</td></tr>
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Ok, sure i'm being facetious. It's tougher than all that. But for the most part its been super fun and awesome. And more than a little credit is due to my awesome and patient wife who does most of the heavy lifting. She's primary food source and nighttime comfort provider. I change diapers, run bath time, make goofy faces while shes nursing and provide moral support. My job is easy. Be helpful when possible and stay out the way, and do no harm when not needed. Anticipate needs, that's big key. Hand wife spit rags, take out the trash, make or forage for dinner. Back-rubs go a long way. That's just good marriage advice from what I can gather, giving more back-rubs increases chances of your marriage working out exponentially.<br />
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And heck, even if you don't have kids and/or a wife, try giving out more back rubs and who knows? You might end up with both.Dude_Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15723411096863821278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9317291.post-44689497162384517442018-07-20T13:33:00.002-07:002018-07-20T13:57:34.067-07:00Heeding advice for dad bloggers...be a dad first!Hi there,<br />
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Its me, Miles. I had lofty goals about being a world famous dad-blogger and quitting my day job and just, like, blogging all the time. Content is KING, they say. And to create my content I've taken the last 3 months and tried harder to be a dad than to be a dad blogger. Sorry about that. Reading about me being a dad is great, I assume. I mean, there you are reading this...you're riveted! How awesome is that? Its witty and self-referential. Descriptive. I'm killing it. Just good stuff all around. You are mesmerized with my word-smithy. I don't blame you for wanting to read more of my writing. So much crap on the internet is just pure garbage. Don't get me started about the click-bait. Its the worst! I'll just say that I have tried only to write about important stuff like pooping and peeing and leaving out unimportant stuff like how to get the government to pay off your mortgage. Who clicks on that? <i>Really?</i><br />
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But what I am thinking about today is something I think about often.<br />
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"Is my baby ugly?" I ask. I don't think she's ugly. I think she's the most beautiful angel ever to grace this Earth, but I'm not an impartial judge. I just wonder sometimes if I am seeing things through baby-colored glasses. When we take her in public, like to downtown Mountain View, and walk around with her, people always say she's so cute and I have to hold her at a slight distance because I have the sneaking feeling that they want to steal her. So maybe she is the cutest baby in the world, as I have thought often to myself, but what do I know? I saw a baby on the Muni Bus in SF once and it had this crazy giant forehead, like Frankenstein big. I asked myself then, "Do those parents know how ugly their baby is?" I figured they didn't, because hey, it was their baby and that's what they're programmed to think, that its cute. It kind of looked like them too, so there's that. I don't know if my baby looks like me. You've seen me. I'm a grown-ass man with a full beard. If my baby looked like me I'd know she was ugly as hell. But she looks just like a tiny, soft, beautiful, smiling little baby. Nothing like me at all. Jeez, I hope she doesn't grow up and look like me. I'm a rugged bear of a man. Ever since she came along I've totally stopped really exercising. Its shameful, sure, but who has the time? I work, I come home and hang out with my wife and baby and then occasionally I write a blog about it. Nowhere in that lifestyle is there time for exercise. Sure, we'll go for walks around the park by our house, but that's not aerobic. When I look at my body, I see something pedestrian that has served its purpose, biologically speaking. It's procreated. So now what? I'm going to keep trying to look like some Adonis, for what? For <i>you</i>? I just stopped caring. I had three donuts the other day. I'm going full Homer Simpson, man. Just watch me!<br />
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<br />Dude_Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15723411096863821278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9317291.post-78130729914312032502018-06-16T19:36:00.000-07:002018-06-16T21:34:16.999-07:00My dad, his dad, and me.My dad was a Marine in 1968 in Vietnam, literally a war hero because of his bravery in battle. He saved the lives of two critically wounded soldiers by pulling them from a burning tank.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggEuzMz00kYtHJTOJ6_2deZkIWC8o6xx_J8TH8ssnVUd9ooN6_N-DbO5qMfhwXKD5N1w2tIC5ygJWPvLQR3MMs3_rZxTywtCSszhQI_sYWWLh1keoNHmNMM9726TfMFqErE7gIvw/s1600/dad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Harold Newell II" border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1154" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggEuzMz00kYtHJTOJ6_2deZkIWC8o6xx_J8TH8ssnVUd9ooN6_N-DbO5qMfhwXKD5N1w2tIC5ygJWPvLQR3MMs3_rZxTywtCSszhQI_sYWWLh1keoNHmNMM9726TfMFqErE7gIvw/s320/dad.jpg" title="My dad" width="230" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad, with medal</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
His Dad was an army paratrooper in the Pacific during WWII.<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7rx1pDj2mUWFy_jPl9o46s9sKqJrrA2LK8JqcxmLz4ruEBV0KPO5GgvvZgeC7fD4n9x6_4nQpx4ZuWSt04Zy9I2MPwl3zvETHQbWv9qXPded_b0IYrLx3pmxpWT6SkNwJxBDFsg/s1600/Harold+Newell+I.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Harold Newell I" border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1172" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7rx1pDj2mUWFy_jPl9o46s9sKqJrrA2LK8JqcxmLz4ruEBV0KPO5GgvvZgeC7fD4n9x6_4nQpx4ZuWSt04Zy9I2MPwl3zvETHQbWv9qXPded_b0IYrLx3pmxpWT6SkNwJxBDFsg/s320/Harold+Newell+I.jpg" title="His Dad" width="234" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandpa, with rubble<br />
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</tbody></table>
I spent my early twenties in Chico, California interviewing bands, trying to be Hunter S. Thompson. I always wonder what my life would've been like had I been in the military. This look is as close as I got.</div>
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<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1CKJlvQQyIghBaIN7jdGjY-lROhw6CD6PJsVhAZNbzx_5BO6AUgYG-yJQhi4wcq9tq3QcV_AE1aU7Z-WGEkBLAjOkR4PmE93Dhnkz9HwUD1vQWZ4Ro4ogVLrXkgNzgz6VXC-00Q/s1600/this+fool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1079" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1CKJlvQQyIghBaIN7jdGjY-lROhw6CD6PJsVhAZNbzx_5BO6AUgYG-yJQhi4wcq9tq3QcV_AE1aU7Z-WGEkBLAjOkR4PmE93Dhnkz9HwUD1vQWZ4Ro4ogVLrXkgNzgz6VXC-00Q/s320/this+fool.jpg" width="215" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm an idiot</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My cousin was a Marine in Bosnia during that unpleasantness and then again later in Iraq. He was involved in the rescue of Jessica Lynch, if you remember that operation. We don't talk anymore and I miss him but that's another story altogether. The thing about Father's Day is that it always brings up these thoughts about what my life would've been like had my dad lived to see old age. He died when I was six. The circumstances around his suicide are a tragedy and they have something to do with both P.T.S.D. and alcoholism and I don't have anyone in my family really to talk to about it that knew him around that time. I assume they would tell me they wish they could've done more to help him. I was given a box of his stuff a few years ago, mementos from his time in 'Nam and pictures of him as a baby and whatnot. Its a weird thing to sift through because of how weighted the items are. The Vietnam stuff is fraught with pain because it looks like he was at summer camp. In lots of the pictures he's goofing off with his buddies, they're holding scary guns in the jungle like something straight out of <i>Full Metal Jacket</i> and they look so young. He must be 19 at the time. Just a kid. He put the pictures in these photo albums like he thought he would want to look at them later in life. Like someone might have done for their time in college. But with the war, and the ugliness that followed it after his return, I'm pretty sure he never looked at them again. But I wouldn't know because, again, there's no one to talk to about all that. My dad's family kind of fell apart over the last couple of years after my grandmother passed away. She was the hub around which the family gathered. Without her, there's not a lot of reason to get together and since they sold her old house in the hills, there's nowhere to go. Man, this story got sad, didn't it? What I'm trying to say is that Father's Day is tough. But the good news is I get to completely embrace a new kind of Father's Day now that I'm a father. Sure, I didn't go to War, and I don't have any Greatest Generation kind-of wisdom to pass down, but what I do have is lots of love and support and a clean bill of mental health to provide comfort and care and a general sense of well-being to this little ball of love I brought into all our lives...the village its going to take raise her, I mean.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyhUXNF6km8ZgBrPCHgtTiyjA7FuNCrRIajyt73KbBdlY-qTOluesy6S-g0hLZsOQc_f4dfh-IjheznnHyNbPNvzCDvX1h7Dh5J1bgO2mkeH97GF2dC_YO9fIJ5H_KBS6kpk5zOQ/s1600/fam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1132" data-original-width="1600" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyhUXNF6km8ZgBrPCHgtTiyjA7FuNCrRIajyt73KbBdlY-qTOluesy6S-g0hLZsOQc_f4dfh-IjheznnHyNbPNvzCDvX1h7Dh5J1bgO2mkeH97GF2dC_YO9fIJ5H_KBS6kpk5zOQ/s320/fam.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I could really fill out a jump suit.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And being a dad is awesome, man. It's really been a great thing for me because I get to do all sorts of stuff I missed out on being able to do because I didn't have a dad growing up. I get to be there for her. I get to live the kind of life my dad didn't get to because he had challenges he never had time or the will to overcome. That's too bad. But me, I get to build the kind of family I would've wanted. I get to teach her how to surf and ride a bike and throw a knife and build a tree-house. I get to take her to punk shows and read her <i>Where the Wild Things Are</i> and teach her how to make the best grilled cheese sandwiches. Every Father's Day when I was a kid was just a reminder of what I was missing out on. But now it becomes a day I get to live in the present and be thankful for the kind of life I have made for myself and my little girl and that's the best thing I could ask for. She's two months old this weekend. She smiles at us, is becoming more alert to her surroundings, and really turning into a little person. And let me tell you, it just keeps getting better.Dude_Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15723411096863821278noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9317291.post-84687806336285684342018-05-18T10:04:00.002-07:002018-05-18T10:04:35.561-07:00Wizard-blessedI've been having this thought about how the universe is expanding. Our galaxy is in the middle of it, the universe, that is, but what that means is that the galaxies on the edge further out are moving farther away from us, faster. It makes me feel lonely. Like when you're at a concert in a crowd of people, alone. You're not alone, but you feel like it. That's what I feel like in the universe. Brainy science dudes say that its very likely that there's other intelligent life out there, but the chances that they will have reached technological maturity enough to venture far enough away from their own planet to reach us, at the same moment in time that we are evolved enough to greet them is very unlikely. The earth is 4-1/2 billion years old. The entirety of recorded human history from cave paintings to now is like 40,000 years and of that only the last 7000 is documented in any real way. So here we are hurtling through space a fleck of dust on a gnat's ass (in cosmological terms), and the mathematical likelihood that we'll be alive at the exact moment in geological time that another advanced civilization reaches us is infinitesimal. So that's a bummer. But in that thought there is hope. If aliens can't be our friends, maybe we should be friends with the people we have here on Earth. I'm a friendly guy. Will you be my friend?<br />
<br />
Which brings me to my point with all this. As a father I'm going to need to be an expert in a lot of things. Or I'm going to need to be perceived as an expert. Kids ask a lot of questions. I plan to have a lot of answers. For instance, today at lunch my boss was looking at these single serve creamers I had to go in my coffee. They weren't refrigerated, but they were real half and half. He was concerned.<br />
<br />
"Those don't go bad?"<br />
<br />
And I said, "No, they're shelf-stable"<br />
<br />
"What do they do to them?" He pressed.<br />
<br />
"A wizard blessed them." And that finished the conversation. Of course a wizard blessed them. They were wizard-blessed half and half's. These are the kinds of answers I'll have at the ready to tell my kid. I'll be very convincing. And who is going to judge me? You?! Science is magic. Religion is just stories. Facts are debatable. It'll be great. I'll be the repository of all bullshit knowledge. Jelly beans are unicorn poops, that sort of thing.<br />
<br />
In fact, this goofiness has already begun. When we told people what we were thinking about naming our kid, we played a little joke on them. We'd say, "We came up with the perfect name....Methany!" and then let their faces crinkle up into a forced smile and they tell us what a nice name that was, unique and the like. And then we'd go. "Just kidding, its Amelia." and they'd let out a sigh of relief and admit they were only being polite and that they were so glad it wasn't something as stupid-sounding as Methany. But I guess with a couple of my buddies, I let the joke too far. As in, I never told them what her real name was at all until one of them sent me a "Congratulations on your new baby!" card and it was written to Methany's parents. Now I'm trying to remember who else we told that dumb name to and who might still not know we were fibbing. If you are reading this and you are a friend of mine her name is Amelia and I'm sorry I forgot to tell you the truth. I guess the joke is on me because you really thought I was one of these awful parents who invented a name with the word Meth in it. Lovely.Dude_Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15723411096863821278noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9317291.post-55975643645606039342018-05-09T09:32:00.002-07:002018-05-14T21:46:29.222-07:00Old dads bend at the kneesI noticed today that I'm old, or I'm getting old. I feel <i>very old</i>, I've learned, when I stand at the changing table for too long and start to feel a weird tinge in my back. "You're hunched over, dummy." I say to myself "Bend your knees!" and then I have to adjust my stance and put my feet out wider so I am closer to the job at hand, like cleaning my baby's dirty butt, and not putting so much weight on my lower back. Also, it was really dark at the changing table, so I made this little floating shelf with an LED light under it that I could turn on to see things again, because I'm half blind from old age.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWJVftPuH-RQdGu9yWbhJJQaANPR2l9I3GzBKg9vwmg0-yQHgQK7os3DAvpV3W7Z0VZbAu_FR9VYsk7fO-tN2o8FnC8hEhV5MSlT15gw7nDtBiODsceWAh7Pu1FgkZyAPvc3WmxA/s1600/IMG_4434.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWJVftPuH-RQdGu9yWbhJJQaANPR2l9I3GzBKg9vwmg0-yQHgQK7os3DAvpV3W7Z0VZbAu_FR9VYsk7fO-tN2o8FnC8hEhV5MSlT15gw7nDtBiODsceWAh7Pu1FgkZyAPvc3WmxA/s320/IMG_4434.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Put your baby's name on things that way you'll be less likely to forget it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
I now can see all sorts of things better. Like my baby's beautiful face that's usually crying because I am annoying her with my diapering, which she hates. But mostly I see her dirty butt. I am going to do another post about how to make that shelf thing, because I am learning how to monetize this blog with useful content. To <i>monetize</i> means to turn my inane thoughts (that you enjoy reading) into COLD HARD CASH by tricking people into clicking on links I embed in my writing. Like this: you hungry? Buy <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00X1B0FNC/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B00X1B0FNC&linkCode=as2&tag=newellmade-20&linkId=30f3b6795f7e10590fc1eb963584580b%22%3EBarnana%20Organic%20Chewy%20Banana%20Bites%20Variety%20Pack,%204%20Count%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22//ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=newellmade-20&l=am2&o=1&a=B00X1B0FNC%22%20width=%221%22%20height=%221%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22%22%20style=%22border:none%20!important;%20margin:0px%20!important;%22%20/%3E" target="_blank">these banana snacks</a>, they're hella good! I eat them all the time. Seriously, buy them. I'm not kidding. They're delicious.<br />
<br />
That shelf I was talking about is really neat though. I built it from scraps I had lying around, I'm a woodworker by trade, <a href="http://www.newellmade.com/" target="_blank">a carpenter</a>, you could say. So I threw it together real quick. The best thing I did, was get this switch you put on the ground so you can turn it on and off with no hands, like a guitar pedal. I figured I'm going to be walking over there with my hands full of baby, why not find a switch I could put on the floor? How easy! I'll write up a "how-to" soon enough, you'll love it. Maybe I'll make a bunch of those and put them on Etsy and make all sorts of money. I guess that's what this blog is really about, how I can I turn a monetary negative, having a baby, into a monetary positive, blabbing about that silly baby on the internet in return for eyeballs on advertising. Thanks a-lot, America! I'm gonna spin poopie diapers into gold, GOLD I tell ya!<br />
<br />
<br />Dude_Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15723411096863821278noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9317291.post-20940273243398899722018-05-05T23:38:00.001-07:002018-05-08T11:23:38.132-07:00Stroller review - Chicco Bravo Trio - Best Stroller Ever! (There, I said it. Please pay me.)I've decided I'm going to review things I use in a dad-ly fashion. I'll be an expert in <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/baby/homepage?ref_=assoc_tag_ph_1402131859555&_encoding=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&linkCode=pf4&tag=newellmade-20&linkId=ae9eef2f7e6a2122cf0fd774e3515e08%22%3EShop%20Amazon%20-%20Create%20an%20Amazon%20Baby%20Registry%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22//ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=newellmade-20&l=pf4&o=1%22%20width=%221%22%20height=%221%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22%22%20style=%22border:none%20!important;%20margin:0px%20!important;%22%20/%3E" target="_blank">dad things</a> I use because I have very valid and objective opinions and I don't mind sharing them with people. And for no good reason at all I expect to be such an awesome dad, I figure you're going to want to listen to me because I'm crushing it so far. I mean, I'm almost 3 weeks in and the little nugget is doing great. She breast-feeds and naps like a champ and fills her diaper like its her job, and she's almost 7 pounds already. I haven't dropped her once. This dad stuff isn't so hard after all!<br />
<br />
Anyway, with the stroller its a <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00YWHYX8W/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B00YWHYX8W&linkCode=as2&tag=newellmade-20&linkId=3cb83458b656398fac0b38901cf4a3c8%22%3EChicco%20Bravo%20Trio%20Travel%20System,%20Papyrus%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22//ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=newellmade-20&l=am2&o=1&a=B00YWHYX8W%22%20width=%221%22%20height=%221%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22%22%20style=%22border:none%20!important;%20margin:0px%20!important;%22%20/%3E">Chicco Bravo Trio</a>, we got it at Toys 'R Us a few months ago, even before they were totally going out of business.<br />
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<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFUtt6kLZ0jMFYq6fkWxKhSIY7bvSnhqFJiMIqhm7lLY50sAjbNubPKmwZAjISs6s_e2qxO6MFsXgtefGpM0nxqa_Uly4j-0CRMkbk8dOQj6-nYkMN8xQ3yCyeVOTFqNnaAUYbhQ/s1600/Chicco+Bravo+Trio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Chicco Bravo Travel System, Orion" border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFUtt6kLZ0jMFYq6fkWxKhSIY7bvSnhqFJiMIqhm7lLY50sAjbNubPKmwZAjISs6s_e2qxO6MFsXgtefGpM0nxqa_Uly4j-0CRMkbk8dOQj6-nYkMN8xQ3yCyeVOTFqNnaAUYbhQ/s320/Chicco+Bravo+Trio.jpg" title="Chicco Bravo Trio" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Asleep in the bushes again, that's my girl</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It was a floor model and we got a helluva deal on it. $100 off and it was still practically brand new! We stole the thing, if you ask me. As far as we can tell its the Cadillac of the Chicco line of strollers. It has <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000UUBRYI/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B000UUBRYI&linkCode=as2&tag=newellmade-20&linkId=baf95535a6e4db3e0422ca6c04b76a00%22%3EChicco%20KeyFit%20and%20KeyFit30%20Infant%20Car%20Seat%20Base%20,%20Anthracite%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22//ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=newellmade-20&l=am2&o=1&a=B000UUBRYI%22%20width=%221%22%20height=%221%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22%22%20style=%22border:none%20!important;%20margin:0px%20!important;%22%20/%3E">a base</a> you put in the back seat of your Prius. (Where we live in the Bay Area everyone has a Prius so for convenience's sake I will assume you have one too.) The base is this plastic thing you lock, more-or-less permanently, to the car that the car seat with the kid in it snaps into.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKNY6F8eL6TGBxAR2wpVMSjoCeGazSbMwF01ET2r3hyphenhyphenEUcaaamgj-n473IRpWYN-OOIJTqVkRNByX_d0ayIYy2keJLaTSS8Cy2fGPi3zqH7PliNw7wl0V65FQYmpFG9u34Kf_eGQ/s1600/Base.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Chicco Carseat base" border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKNY6F8eL6TGBxAR2wpVMSjoCeGazSbMwF01ET2r3hyphenhyphenEUcaaamgj-n473IRpWYN-OOIJTqVkRNByX_d0ayIYy2keJLaTSS8Cy2fGPi3zqH7PliNw7wl0V65FQYmpFG9u34Kf_eGQ/s320/Base.jpg" title="Chicco KeyFit and KeyFit30 Infant Car Seat Base , Anthracite" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our kid hella likes Santa Cruz</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Its super easy to lift it in and out. That part is awesome. And then when you put it in the stroller part, it just snaps in there the same way it does into the base, like magic. Way easy. Whoever designed this shit was a goddamned genius. I remember when my kid brother was born back in 1991. We had just invaded Iraq and I was at wrestling practice during my freshman year of high school. Somebody brought a message to the wrestling room. "You just had a kid brother!" they told me, and I remember everyone was congratulating me and saying how cool that was and I was like "What you congratulating me for? I didn't do anything." and then we went back to practicing wrestling which for me was mainly Steve Krueger putting his sweaty sack and groin in my face while he bent me in ways my body was not intended to. Let's just say I wasn't very good at wrestling. Steve Krueger was <i>very good</i> at wrestling and went to the State finals that year and I just felt lucky to be beat up by him and that he knew my name. But anyway, my memory of car seats and strollers back in the 90's was that they sucked. You had to buckle the car seat in every time with the seat belt like a fool. No one had invented the base thing. What a bunch of idiots we were. It was like we were still banging two rocks together to make fire. Times were so much simpler then. I remember thinking it was cool we were going to liberate Kuwait, which we did in like 3 days, if my memory serves. And then we conquered Iraq and there was never another problem in the Middle East again! Those were the days.<br />
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But I digress...This stroller is way good. I don't have any other strollers to compare it to, really, because we only bought the one and I'm not a famous-enough blogger for companies to send me free shit. If you do read this, GRACO, please send me free stuff. If you pay me, I <i>will </i>write nice things about it. Selling out is my goal in life. We live in a post-keeping-it-real world. I am not "<a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0802125360/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0802125360&linkCode=as2&tag=newellmade-20&linkId=d6d97c5921a0b185c4d44571e62ba274%22%3EPlease%20Kill%20Me:%20The%20Uncensored%20Oral%20History%20of%20Punk%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22//ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=newellmade-20&l=am2&o=1&a=0802125360%22%20width=%221%22%20height=%221%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22%22%20style=%22border:none%20!important;%20margin:0px%20!important;%22%20/%3E">punk</a>" anymore. As I have alluded to in previous posts, I am not cool. I USED to be cool, which makes me an expert on what WAS cool. But in terms of what can be used effectively by middle-aged dads, and whether or not that thing can be recommended, is completely related to how often anyone will send me free stuff and even better, pay me to talk about it. I used to review CDs for five dollars a pop 20 years ago when I was at "college" and I wrote for the local free weekly (that has since gone belly up, I just learned.) My prices have gone up since then, but not much! I'm very affordable. Sign me to an exclusive contract <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/family/signup/welcome?ie=UTF8&*Version*=1&*entries*=0&ref_=assoc_tag_ph_1457104784749&_encoding=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&linkCode=pf4&tag=newellmade-20&linkId=e220e340fa777181022a6a9f97597477%22%3EJoin%20Amazon%20Family%2030-Day%20Free%20Trial%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22//ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=newellmade-20&l=pf4&o=1%22%20width=%221%22%20height=%221%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22%22%20style=%22border:none%20!important;%20margin:0px%20!important;%22%20/%3E">PAMPERS</a>, I can be HAD!<br />
<br />Dude_Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15723411096863821278noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9317291.post-15093508572935166552018-04-30T21:41:00.001-07:002018-05-07T13:11:37.630-07:00Life is a Sandwich - the good parts are in the middleI started this blog many years ago to talk about sandwiches. I even took a food blog writing class at Stanford. "I'm a Stanford Alum." I like to tell people who never asked. That's the most important thing I learned at Stanford, was how to drop the name Stanford into innocent and not-at-all-related conversations. Never mind that the food blog writing class I took was one of those "Continuing Education" types of things for middle-aged locals to while away their time on casual art appreciation and business public speaking skills. I make sure to mention as often as possible that I "went" to Stanford. For example, say someone asks me whether or not I liked the movie <i>Get Out</i>, I could say "Back when I studied at Stanford, race was a huge issue..." Sure it was 2012, and race is always an issue in this country, and me being at Stanford has nothing to do with it, but that's not the point. The point is that I get to talk about Stanford and my relation to it.<br />
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The blog writing class was really neat though. It was me and 15 very nice ladies who liked to cook and bake and brought lots of fun food to the class for everyone to try. There was even someone in the class that turned her blog into a NY Times bestselling cookbook. <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1449478298/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=1449478298&linkCode=as2&tag=newellmade-20&linkId=a8573ffcf89d3d581dbf9e252c263c47%22%3EReady%20or%20Not!:%20150+%20Make-Ahead,%20Make-Over,%20and%20Make-Now%20Recipes%20by%20Nom%20Nom%20Paleo%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22//ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=newellmade-20&l=am2&o=1&a=1449478298%22%20width=%221%22%20height=%221%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22%22%20style=%22border:none%20!important;%20margin:0px%20!important;%22%20/%3E" target="_blank">Nom Nom Paleo</a>, they make her recipes at Whole Foods now. Anyway, the point I'm getting to is that I have a passion for sandwiches. I coined the term Sandwichosity which I define as <i>the quantifiable ability of a sandwich to be pleasing</i>. Sandwiches high in Sandwichosity are good. Like a Katz Deli pastrami on rye. Or my favorite sandwich of all time a Wise Son's pastrami Reuben. It has all the elements; extremely delicious home-made ingredients, griddled bread and melted cheese as well as the most sensual of all the salted, cured meats, and sauerkraut, which I used to think was disgusting, but on this sandwich is somehow awesome.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2AxW1nXcg5maaGbA_0E7qI_lVGajj-2urgfQZJbjibAFuzmS-LtZDsvbk6kSwBblzO-r9k007GWvTc4G2sfh4vwg8hYnToXkfr4HvtWS6d077F3kWmfGZNB3bXCnV31Y3mySIIA/s1600/IMG_5016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2AxW1nXcg5maaGbA_0E7qI_lVGajj-2urgfQZJbjibAFuzmS-LtZDsvbk6kSwBblzO-r9k007GWvTc4G2sfh4vwg8hYnToXkfr4HvtWS6d077F3kWmfGZNB3bXCnV31Y3mySIIA/s320/IMG_5016.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eating a sandwich, properly, with child.</td></tr>
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I bring all this up only to shoehorn my love of sandwiches into the realm of fatherhood. I posit that life is a sandwich. The boring parts are the bread...going to work, the cutting of toenails, the paying of taxes. They keep the thing together, like the rough framing of a house. Nobody gets too excited about the bread. The best parts of the sandwich, pretty much the only thing worth paying attention to, are the middle parts. The Meaty Bits. That's your egg-salad, or your PB&J, your roast beef...those are the good times of life. The having of kids, the going on vacation to Yellowstone, the marrying your sweetheart. At the beginning, you are a kid just figuring everything out. And when you're really old, well let's not get into that just yet. I'm going to be an old father. I'll be 59 when my kid gets out of high school. I'm experiencing parenthood older in life than most people. But with that, I have a better perspective on things. I know who I am. I know how to let stuff go and not get too worked up about the little details. If I were 20 and getting on this roller coaster, I wouldn't have done my first stage-dive, or have eaten sweetbreads or have slept on the street in front of a library during Mardi Gras. Now at the ripe age of 41 I'm past all that, worrying about what's cool, like Snapchat or dabbing. Now I get to sit back and work on my lame dad jokes and wear my pants too high and complain about kids today. "Kids today!" I'll say "Kids today are always staring at their phones going 'Hey phone, entertain me! I don't want to have to think my own thoughts.' But me, back in my day, we had to live in total boredom. Thinking your own thoughts was the only way to pass the time, the Internet didn't exist! We had encyclopedias! Remember them?!" And my kid will look at me like "Dad, you're the lamest." And she'll be right. Because even though I'll know I used to be cool, there will be no way to impart that sense of coolness. Being cool is fleeting, like a fart, you know its there in the moment, but when its gone, its gone. And good riddance.<br />
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Dude_Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15723411096863821278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9317291.post-20898936134752714952018-04-21T15:45:00.001-07:002018-04-21T18:47:13.736-07:00New Fatherhood - or how I learned to stop worrying and become completely dull and boring<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">If you’re like me, you have a beautiful, lucious, red playoff hockey beard and lots of questions about fatherhood. My baby’s a week old today and I find myself wondering all sorts of dumb things like “Is my new baby human? Will my new baby like Slayer? Will my new baby improve my credit score? Will talking incessantly about my new baby make me dull and boring? The answer to all these questions is yes. The good news is, that you won’t care if you’re dull and boring. That’s the genius of new parenthood, you become powerfully incapable of sensing whether normal people think you are tedious and that you only talk about what is going in and what is coming out of your new baby. What consistency exactly is your new baby’s poo? I actually said today at the doctor’s office that my baby’s poop looked like dijon deli mustard. How awesome is that? I’m a grown-ass man! The other good news is that you won’t care because your will be seduced by the smell and general pleasantness of your new baby. You’ll stare at him or her and think, “Wow, I see what all those dumb fools were talking about!” Because while you were desperately bored by other people babies, you will be enthralled with yours. “Look at how cute she is!” you’ll say out loud to no one. And that’s okay. Because you are in charge of making sure nothing happens to this tiny baby for like 18 years, and probably longer, what with that extra year of college she’ll probably need to “find” herself, and you’ve got to make sure it doesn’t put dumb things in its mouth or get into sweet vans, or follow Ayn Rand, or huff glue. Other than those things, from what I can tell so far, parenthood is going to be hella easy. The not sleeping through the night is grueling thus far, but changing diapers is easy. Having my wife give it a boob, what could be easier than that? Rocking it gently to sleep in my arms hardly feels like work. What else is there? Start a tax-deferred saving account for college? DONE. </span><span id="docs-internal-guid-4018bad7-ea60-99b4-ed81-58d4f1919934"></span><br />
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Dude_Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15723411096863821278noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9317291.post-91272297024363861262013-05-30T20:36:00.000-07:002018-05-04T23:09:33.283-07:00Ike's Place: Santa ClaraMan, I really fell down on the job with this thing. Here you are, the sandwich-loving public, and you are out there in the harsh cruel world, stumbling around like a jerk, just looking for someone to tell you which sandwiches are good, and I'm not doing a damn bit of good to help you. Sorry about that. I've eaten some amazing sandwiches lately too. Real humdingers. But since I can't remember anything more than a few minutes ago at a time, I'm like a goddamn goldfish these days, I'll just mention this sandwich I had earlier. Today. Five minutes ago, actually.<br />
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The Kerri Walsh - (from <a href="http://ilikeikesplace.com/">Ike's Place</a> Santa Clara)<br />
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Its a turkey-bacon-swiss, but Ike's puts all the good shit on there too. I get everything, lettuce, tomato, pickles, onions, jalapenos, banana peppers and Ike's dirty sauce. (I don't know what it is, but if I had to guess I would think it is sauteed garlic in olive oil with lots of black pepper. Just speculation, but whatever.) On Sourdough. It's the only roll to get unless you get a Rueben, which necessitates rye bread of some sort. We've been over this, people. SOURDOUGH is the best bread for sandwiching, you bastards. That's what I'm saying. You tell me dutch crunch is better and I'll slap your goon face. Slap it right there in the pie-hole, or sandwich-hole, as the matter suggests. Anyway, the moral of the story is, when you go to Ike's get the damn thing on a sourdough roll. Don't be a dummy, dummy.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifjEKG3hpIdbFNJW4u15yZWPU4cuk1ZHQdS2twqLYOuXapQ-pOhyphenhyphen8vX04XcUO99iYPsJhyiHG2ZBZbP3qKfxwbEk-Eyz3w3xsRhLYPlgJUEfy2KgRIgACG5YkP9PJV8gEuMpacMw/s1600/Kerri+walsh+smaller.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="sandwich sandwiches" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifjEKG3hpIdbFNJW4u15yZWPU4cuk1ZHQdS2twqLYOuXapQ-pOhyphenhyphen8vX04XcUO99iYPsJhyiHG2ZBZbP3qKfxwbEk-Eyz3w3xsRhLYPlgJUEfy2KgRIgACG5YkP9PJV8gEuMpacMw/s320/Kerri+walsh+smaller.jpg" title="Ike's place " width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">This is the whole sandwich. Well, I did take a bite out of it, but you understand.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVPgNqxlQdhAgAiHHXWts1umove2krigw_YxiyDN6zPyE435YcwddAOD8GL1tvQtuoon-J_Eey_JC5Q8seAllsstMZ8u9kv3nRScGWqWPMIMCJoZL9GeBmzniBRxPrB056Ev4j7A/s1600/zoomwich.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="sandwich" border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVPgNqxlQdhAgAiHHXWts1umove2krigw_YxiyDN6zPyE435YcwddAOD8GL1tvQtuoon-J_Eey_JC5Q8seAllsstMZ8u9kv3nRScGWqWPMIMCJoZL9GeBmzniBRxPrB056Ev4j7A/s320/zoomwich.jpg" title="kerri Walsh" width="320" /></a><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">This is a zoom in of the cross section. Mmmm. That looks awesome. Let's take a closer look.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihrqRTPpDAoSyehtp2RSwTUaHP4r-g4a9NgLuB_AVYwLRT0jI20kxeWCLI3NE5NF1o_9fMqQJFuFf8qD7kMjnLSkdlbuNfBqdm9kVVRKkeIx8WcPAIODAtPFT-ODtBrxDfVufLaw/s1600/zoomwich+big.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Ikes place sandwich san francisco" border="0" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihrqRTPpDAoSyehtp2RSwTUaHP4r-g4a9NgLuB_AVYwLRT0jI20kxeWCLI3NE5NF1o_9fMqQJFuFf8qD7kMjnLSkdlbuNfBqdm9kVVRKkeIx8WcPAIODAtPFT-ODtBrxDfVufLaw/s320/zoomwich+big.jpg" title="Sandwich close up" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">This is more zoom on the details. Look at all that melty cheese and jalapenos and peppers and turkey. Holy crap, I'm getting hungry again. Maybe you are too? If you go to Ike's, can you get me one as well? If you live far away, that's cool. Just overnight it to me. C'mon, man! I'm starving over here!</span></td></tr>
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<br />Dude_Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15723411096863821278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9317291.post-43597096710924733822011-12-07T15:29:00.002-08:002021-05-14T07:59:16.855-07:00The greatest mustard in the worldAs we all know, I am a sucker for a good German deli. So when I was passing one on my way to one of my favorite Redwood City sandwich joints, Ike's, I had to stop and browse at this store called Gourmet Haus Staudt on Broadway there and see what lovely rare and imported items they might have on offer. In these situations I gravitate towards the pickle and mustard section because, as you might imagine, those are two staples in the sandwich ninja arsenal. A good pickle or kraut will enliven even the most pedestrian of sandwiches. Fancy mustard can turn dog shit into <i>haute cuisine</i>. I mean, have you ever eaten <i>uni</i> (or Japanese sushi urchin) without a ton of wasabi on it? Or a corn dog, plain? I rest my case. A fancy mustard is a fine thing indeed. And the Germans fucking invented mustard. At least I think they did. According to Wikipedia there was a recipe for mustard dating back to 4th or 5th Century Romans so what the heck do I know? What I do know is that a good German deli mustard can curl your toes, can make a sandwich sing, dammit. So I looked for something to jump out in the import store and what I found was exquisite.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdgmjHthal-N4Lz6vWM5gRWX6-PPklNW5zeHQ3Ox9GTdY0PS4u6RG9adfj-BCe6Gf2Pp8OgBu_4HdIh339BxI-O4mjxnSx5R3V-wjxujdT6203_eWIah-q-TsKC6E-0mkDDuTd-A/s1600/mustard+outside.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdgmjHthal-N4Lz6vWM5gRWX6-PPklNW5zeHQ3Ox9GTdY0PS4u6RG9adfj-BCe6Gf2Pp8OgBu_4HdIh339BxI-O4mjxnSx5R3V-wjxujdT6203_eWIah-q-TsKC6E-0mkDDuTd-A/s320/mustard+outside.jpg" width="297" /></a></div>
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Since I couldn't taste anything on offer I looked for the most ornate (read: expensive) thing there and this Wenger's <i>Rotisseur</i> Mustard fit the bill, clocking in at $10 and change for a 12oz crock. I liked it because of the fancy jar and the wax stamp on top and the little card explaining its origin. When they give you the mustard's provenance, you know its some legit spread.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz35rWhwyB7kUDwGVYcFufif3D6RoZrp3-hCaXA0srK79UOqtU0tiArwFj0nytUMLq6wLnv38SlGso1dUIgS9m2DppdO3GDhOscdpBzYR4EgGZfMj5BVtIpDkXK6UHgPO2DgLgjA/s1600/top.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz35rWhwyB7kUDwGVYcFufif3D6RoZrp3-hCaXA0srK79UOqtU0tiArwFj0nytUMLq6wLnv38SlGso1dUIgS9m2DppdO3GDhOscdpBzYR4EgGZfMj5BVtIpDkXK6UHgPO2DgLgjA/s320/top.jpg" width="294" /></a></div>
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The seal reads "Wappen der Famile Wenger - seit 1600" which I believe means "mustard of the Wenger family since 1600" if my limited German recollection serves me. When I say "limited" I mean "from the week I spent in Bavaria mostly drunk while ordering schnitzel with liters of beer". The card on the side is so awesome. Here's a picture of it to read since the whole story is magic and I don't feel like transcribing it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-K42b6qG-yadIl6uOtPw1qSMPDf1wSquS8Amcj7WGjKOaWz6UQRe9mNJjn7YUMTcRPIw4x3W-vTdUAx2rkvpG6EoIVrtlB-TfWxV74FI751u3VVvi4wdQHYZ_blKB75tmw68_1w/s1600/provenance.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-K42b6qG-yadIl6uOtPw1qSMPDf1wSquS8Amcj7WGjKOaWz6UQRe9mNJjn7YUMTcRPIw4x3W-vTdUAx2rkvpG6EoIVrtlB-TfWxV74FI751u3VVvi4wdQHYZ_blKB75tmw68_1w/s320/provenance.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The guy was so passionate about mustard he took <i>10 whole years</i> to develop the perfect blend of ground, unground, and coarsely ground seeds for this shit. Are you kidding me? I spent a four half-assed semesters in high school tying to learn Spanish and I was like "Fuck this shit, I'll just point at things and grunt when I go to a foreign country." This dude, however, had such a passion he labored over his mustard blend for a decade and <i>then</i> had it matured in casks of red larch. What the fuck is larch? I'm guessing some kind of local Bavarian wood. Again, my spotty public school education is failing me. I suppose I could look it up. According to Wikipedia its some sort of pine tree and there are trivial references to it in both Monty Python's Flying Circus and Harry Potter.<br />
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Enough of this foreplay, onto the tasting! I could hardly wait until I got home to try it. I had eaten most of my Ike's sandwich by then but there was a little piece of it left to test drive this no-doubt magical mustard.<br />
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So I spread some on.<br />
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Holy crap, it was good. All tangy and mustard-y with the whole seeds sort of popping in your mouth like <i>tobiko</i>, mustard Pop Rocks<span class="Apple-style-span" face="sans-serif , "arial" , "arial unicode ms" , "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana"" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 26px;">™</span> almost, and a flavor that starts off sweet, almost like tangy apple cider with some cinnamon lingering there and just enough heat coming in at the end. Amazing. The 10-year craftsmanship and larch-maturing really shines through. Epecially the larch. Even Ike was into it.<br />
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On the back of the bottle I just noticed it says "Product of Austria."<br />
Sorry Germany, its Austrian mustard from this point on. <a href="http://www.go-for-more.com/go/energy_EN/pressinfo_EN.html">Wenger's Mustard</a>, you're my God now!<br />
<br />Dude_Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15723411096863821278noreply@blogger.com2