Lies, damn lies and statistics

I rarely look at my wordpress stats (well, I try not to). This is more of a self imposed rule rather than any real sense of nonchalance or ambivalence I have towards statistics. While this information is useful (I’m sure) for bloggers who want to up their readership and appeal to a certain segment in the market, I use my blog primarily as a form of  procrastination (and therefore, have no real readership goals or expectation). For example, right now, I should be attending the scary amount of work I am behind on (or the tackling the equally scary avalanche that threatens to overwhelm my inbox) But instead I’m clacking away at the keys… achieving nothing of real consequence (story of my life).

When I opened my WordPress this morning however, something caught my eye.

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I had to google what maigre meant.

Definition of maigre. 1 : being a day on which the eating of flesh is forbidden by the Roman Catholic Church.

Which, as you can imagine, confuses me even more. I’m assuming it must be a typo. Although the rest of the search term also annoys me. Don’t you normally search for blowjobs or fucking? Maybe they meant meagre? In any event, I have now (annoyingly) spent a fair bit of time wondering what some paedophile* meant when he hamfisted his google search.

* I realise paedophilia refers to a prepubescent. But the ‘little’ in the search term tends to bend me towards labeling them as such.

In any event. Googling this phrase myself fortunately doesn’t bring up my blog. (It does however probably flag me on some sort of database) In any event I will continue to ponder this strange occurance while the basset rests his head on my head.


Perhaps with our combined intellect we can solve this enigma. (Don’t get your hopes up, the basset hound has actually now fallen asleep, which leaves only the dumber member of our dynamic cross species duo to ponder)

My wife has recently become persona non grata in the child sleeping department…. So my day started at 1am with the two year old (who had been dreaming about citrus, demanding a naartjie*) When no naartjie could be produced this lead to a meltdown of chernobylian proportions. I eventually went to go sleep with her on her bed where she tossed and turned for about an hour, poking me in the eye and smashing her forehead into the bridge of my nose (Although smarting from the pain, I was also a little proud) while she drifted off towards REM sleep.

*colloquialism for a Satsuma Mandarin

After this I struggled to fall asleep again, so I downloaded and started reading these (alternating between the two) on my Kindle app.

At the moment I’m guardedly neutral about Daniele Bolelli. He gets great reviews on his podcast and his books and I found myself really liking some of his musings. BUT, I also started skip reading (bad sign).

I now know this happens because the internet has addled my brain (thanks to The Shallows by Nicholas Carr) I notice it happening (more) when I’m interested in the content… but not fully engaged. This could also have been because it was 3am. I don’t know. I can’t read like I used to and it’s frustrating. At 5am the girl child was awake and demanding a muffin. So we trundled off to the local coffee shop (which is 24/7) in our pajamas in search of a double espresso and muffins.


In other news my first habanero has changed from green to orange. Which means soon I can start harvesting. The rest of my chili crop was annihilated in a hail storm when I left my seedlings exposed outside at the beginning of the season. This plant was one of two that made it and its turned into a monstrous bush, standing 5ft high, with (I estimate) at least a hundred chilies on it. I’m quite excited.

The Elephant in the Brain by Kevin Simler and Robin Hanson

Oh em gee. I have new favorite people. Forward slash book. I realize this changes from week to week… and that I flip flop between positions of eminence like some sort of Havaiana. (its the best I could come up with)*

*as opening paragraphs go… not the greatest… but I’m typing at pace and feel retraction is admitting defeat (something I’m clearly loathed to do this early on)


Enter, The elephant in the Brain by Kevin Simler and Robin Hanson. A duo, that added together, equals awesomeness. Yes, I realize I overuse the solution in this equation, but this time, its totally justified.

Two things almost stopped me experiencing this exceptional piece of work. I tend to see-saw between audio books and podcasts. Usually dependent on when my Audible credit becomes available…. so I almost missed Sam Harris (The waking up podcast) talking to Robin Hanson. I read the show notes for the podcast (which I often use to gauge my opportunity cost, ie what do I think will add more value, Sam Harris… or killing whatever high frequency hearing I have left with Five Finger Death Punch)

The show notes read like this…

In this episode of the Waking Up podcast, Sam Harris speaks with Robin Hanson about our hidden motives in everyday life. They discuss selfishness, hypocrisy, norms and meta-norms, cheating, deception, self-deception, education, the evolutionary logic of conversation, social status, signaling and counter-signaling, common knowledge, AI, and many other topics.

I grimaced. It sounded dry. And cerebral. Definitely NOT something I was in the mood for… But I listened to the fist couple of minutes anyway, the housekeeping section (more because I was wondering if Sam was going to say anything about Lawrence Krauss*). He doesn’t, but Sam does allude to the poor sound quality in this podcast. ‘Well now I’m definitely NOT going to listen to it…’

*(wordy aside) I don’t have a massive hard-on for Lawrence. BUT… I’m not into Crucifixion by media (if you can call Buzzfeed media) either. If he’s found guilty in a court by his peers let him suffer the barbs of derision… but until then… fuck you all. 

Generally speaking, the only movements I’m into are my bowel movements. I did read Lawrence Krauss… (damn… I’m not sure whether to put an s’ or es onto the end of that… its one of those grammatical rules I never bothered to learn and now its coming back to haunt me) I did read the nine page treatise/response to these allegations by Lawrence Krauss (that’s better) and his explanations seem very reasonable (although they would, wouldn’t they?) I think the only acceptable behavior these days is to NEVER flirt with anyone. Ever. That way the species will die out… and things can just go back to before all this (totally bullshit) evolution happened. To quote Douglas Adams (RIP)


In any event at the moment, guilty or innocent, it sucks to be Lawrence Krauss. (Unless all this media attention has actually helped him in getting his thing wet, which as far as I can tell, is all he ever wanted to do in the first place)

We now return to our regular programming. I ended up listening to the whole podcast and I’m really glad I did. Its really good. Highly recommended. And the sound while not I-max is actually, mostly fine. Robin Hanson comes across as supremely likable. And an interesting foil to a much more dour Sam Harris. (sorry Sam)

This whole endeavor lead me to consumerism.

I must be honest, I stared at the cover for quite a while before I purchased this book. It just doesn’t speak to me at all. I know, I know, ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover…’ But I really hated the Rorschach effect and I hated the ‘Hidden motives in everyday life’ tagline even more.

I finished it in one night.

Which doesn’t often happen anymore because I really love sleeping. (Definitely in my top five things to do with my time now that I’m tiptoeing towards the mid point of my life expectancy)

So… what is this book about? The short answer is everything…  I briefly considered doing a synopsis… but I don’t think I can do it justice. Besides that’s what Goodreads is for. I’m just here to ramble nonsensically and pitch the book from left field.

I can however attest to wanting to read this book again. (also something that almost never happens anymore) I blew through it so fast on my first read I didn’t stop to underline any passages or take any notes… and this is definitely the sort of work that requires some some form of rumination. (the deep considered version of rumination and not the bovine chewing the cud kind)

Otherwise this book is really well written, in a prose that’s very easy going and engaging. I didn’t have to spell out any of the big words and the punctuation all seemed pretty reasonable. A lot of authors (especially academics), while supremely knowledgeable… can be frustratingly obtuse. It makes reading their work more akin to cognitive coal mining,  but maybe you’re into that sort of thing. I, on the other hand prefer my reading to be a slothful (preferably supine) event and if I’m going to receive a mental enema, I prefer to be lubed up. And maybe encouraged with some kind and thoughtful words first.

Its a great book. You guys rock. You managed to succinctly convey your thoughts and ideas and I was thoroughly entertained throughout. More than that, you’ve given me lots of think about. Thank you.

Nine Inch Nails – Pretty Hate Machine

This is not a review. More like a cringeworthy memory of young adolescence.


It was my first year of university. While at school I had built up a very decent CD collection. Music and video games was, up until that point, all I had ever spent my money on. I made mix-tapes for girls I liked and then later I’d burn them mix CD’s! (revolutionary). Although relatively anti-social I volunteered for the campus radio station early on, ostensibly because then I wouldn’t have to socialize in the canteen between classes. (I wasn’t cerebral enough to go to the library and study)

The campus radio stations selection of music was unusually sad. In fact the only ‘alternative’ CD they had in their collection was Bloodhound Gang’s, One fierce beer coaster. There’s only so many times you can play Fire, Water, Burn. Put your hands in the air, like you just don’t care. (I later ‘appropriated’ this CD because I thought it was cruel to leave it behind when I left) Steal this album!


(Yes… I am a thief, but the inner monologue is more like Robin Hood)

The downside to all of this is that I had to haul my massive crate of CD’s around with me everywhere I went between classes. Which eventually became such a nightmare that I just stopped going to class altogether (the sensible thing to do). This meant I failed Accounting 101 and 102 in my first year (not a subject you can cram for the night before, who knew?). In any event all the friends I made at university were of an alternative/indie slant.

As an aside the first song I ever played as a DJ was Video killed the Radio star by the Buggles, I was ironic before it was hip (ok, not really). It was actually supposed to be a homage to to the first song ever played on MTV…. which I then faded into the Joan Jett’s version of Lets’s do it, from the Tank girl soundtrack. Pretty cool huh? I can’t remember how the session went after that, although I know at some point I played some Courtney Love (Hole) and everyone looked at me with this ‘wtf?’ look about them. Someone even came up to me during that song and banged on the glass ‘What is this shit?’. (I took it quite personally at the time)

When I started university I wasn’t eighteen yet and so I didn’t get my drivers license right away. I was a year younger for my year at school than I should have been. So that meant my mom still had to drop me off for the first two months. How embarrassing!

When I did get my license (after the second attempt) me and my new friends from varsity went out to celebrate. I had an old bright red VW Golf Mark 1… but it had a tape deck and speakers (that wasn’t necessarily a given) so I was happy.

That night we had decided that we would all meet at my house and then go out from there. I got a call from my friend Dave (a fellow DJ) to say his stepdad had come home drunk and smacked his mom around and so he wouldn’t be able to come out with us.

We were young and dumb and this news incensed us to such a degree that we decided that we were going to drive over to Dave’s house and teach his stepdad a lesson!!!

BUT. We needed weapons first. (For some reason this makes me think of the Wu Tang Clan/System of a down song, Shame.)

Yo, I’ll fuck your ass up!
I bought like 20 white boys in the back of a pickup* truck
With hockey pucks and skateboards on the way to Woodstock
Leave home the Glock

*Replace with red Volkswagen Golf Mark 1. (even more lame)

So we loaded what weapons I had into the trunk of my Volkswagen. The usual assortment of stupid stuff boys collect at that point in their lives to make themselves feel more macho and less insecure. Knuckle dusters, butterfly knives, sticks (of varying lengths and densities) a samurai sword etc etc. Then we piled in… and decided… we didn’t have quite enough weaponry… so we drove to another friends house to go get their stash…

The whole way we listened to Nine Inch Nails on tape to psyche ourselves up for the smackdown we going to deliver as all powerful avenging angels. Still not enough weapons though… so we made a third stop.

At the end of this sojourn we’d listened to Pretty Hate Machine several times at maximum volume and were all suitably worked up and very, very angry. Finally we were on our way! Head like a hole… black as your soul… I’d rather die… than give you control.

By the time we rolled into Dave’s driveway… highly agitated… and three hours late, Dave’s step dad had left. Which was probably a good thing. Mostly because he probably would have kicked our collective butts while we flailed around uselessly with our sticks. While enthusiastic… I don’t think we really had any follow through or any real skill level other that smack-talk. Certainly I knew on the inside that I was not the macho-gung-ho knuckle head I was portraying. And I think the others probably felt the same way.

I think Dave appreciated the gesture though, even if it was just a lot of posturing and fake bravado.

Anyways, I don’t think this is what Trent Reznor intended when he created this album. Sorry Trent, we failed you.

Room on the Broom (2012)

At some point during your single, carefree, existence you get this vague sense of Gruffalo-mania that grips your (foolish) friends. Those friends that have procreated and produced progeny I mean. You’re not entirely sure what its all about, but your brain registers this unexplained phenomenon and files it away somewhere (in a wonky cardboard box underneath the sink) for reference later. In the meantime you smirk at your friends greasy hair and the sliver of dried snot running up their shirt sleeve. And years go by.

Then, at some point, you decide to pick up the baton of advancing the species and end up breeding. (Which, as it turns out, is harder than you originally anticipated). You manage to survive the first two years… you’re not entirely sure how…  but it’s usually around now that you get smacked (between your bloodshot eyes) with… the Gruffalo.

But I understand the appeal now. The Gruffalo is a coup d’etat in consumer psychology, managing to bridge a very challenging divide, in so far as it can appeal to two markedly different development cycles, the until recently sperm-ovum combo and the adult that donated it. (Off the top of my head, Pixar manages to do something very similar with its movies)

Julia Donaldson is brilliant. Which maybe I should have just led with, but I felt I owed her a couple of ancillary paragraphs first. You know, some sort of wordy acclamation in honor of her awesomeness.

Julia Donaldson has other books. (who knew) And one of these is, Room on the Broom.

It’s a great book.

10658722-1354798864-305478.jpgBut so is the movie.

I know, I know, heresy. And I’ve been super weary of making a judgement call on which one is better. So I’ve taken the agnostic approach… and straddled the fence on this one. I’ve learnt a valuable lesson when vitamin D deficient bibliophiles and geeks went scouring their (parents) tool sheds for handheld farming implements and torches when I off-handedly remarked that the Lord of the Rings movie was better than the book..


I still stand by that… but no longer try and inflict my (clearly) insane opinions on anyone else… (that often anymore)

So how awesome is Room on a Broom? This is much… (Joey holds his hands out wide) At least six feet* of awesome.

* I may be making that up…. since I’m not entirely sure how far I can stretch… and engaging my core now to exit this extremely supine position to fetch a measuring tape,  fills me with… sloth.


I do have one… small… tiny gripe about this movie. They changed the word ‘chips’ (in the book) to ‘fries’ (in the movie). As in French fries. Which really annoyed me. More than it should have.


I’m pretty sure America could have figured this out. After all they’ve sent people to the moon. (which indicates some level of competence at problem solving) Stop mollycoddling them with language. And you Simon Pegg (the narrator) *points at eyes, points and Simon* are complicit in this! Shame on you.

But other than that, this is a really great animation and I heartily recommend it. Yay Julia Donaldson, yay!

Ready Player one by Ernest Cline (Audiobook)

I’m trying to decide whether this is a good book or not. I know that might sound strange, considering I was absolutely enthralled from start to finish. But now that its over and I’ve blown my load (so to speak) I find myself reaching over for the metaphorical cigarette, taking a deep drag and exhaling towards the ceiling. I now have time to ponder… and potentially make a quick getaway. Assuming I can find my pants.


Let me start by saying Wil Wheaton as the voice artist is superb. I feel this needs to be said. Right up there with RC Bray and Nick Podehl. I’m starting to appreciate Wil as a bit of a Polymath. Motherfucker has some enviable skilz. (Here endeth the fanboy gush)

This is a very niche book. And I think can only appeal to (and be appreciated by) a very narrow stratosphere of people of a certain age and… what are the words I’m looking for, cultural proclivity. I couldn’t for example recommend this book to my wife, whose comment after a hundred pages would be, ‘seriously, what the fuck?’

I was born in 1979, just shy of the sweet-spot target audience for this book. My arcade experience was more Golden Axe, Street Fighter and Shinobi. I was more into Nirvana and Soundgarden than eighties hair metal. By the time I watched Wargames it was already quite dated. Although I (still) love some of the movies from that era. Willow, Ladyhawke, Dark Crystal, Never ending story. But those were… generally more fantasy titles and aged a bit better. (I can probably quote Monty Python and the Holy Grail verbatim). African or European?

Still, all the cultural references in this book made sense to me. Lets be honest, it is largely a homage to a certain era, with a story tacked on. Still… I REALLY liked it. Is that because I played D&D. Programmed text games in basic, spent hundreds over hours playing arcade and video games? Reading comics and absorbing Greyhawk supplements to the point where I have better understanding of the economics and penal code of Flanaess than the real world?



The Spielberg movie is coming out in two weeks. I’m glad I’ve read the book first. I’ve watched the movie trailer… and… well… the stacked trailer park looks like how I imagined it. And there’s a battle scene at the end of the movie with… the iron giant. Who DEFINITELY doesn’t feature in the game at all. Actually, from what I can tell… its going to only follow the book very, very loosely.

At the moment I’m true neutral (see what I did there) about the movie. Mostly because I understand that if you have a fight scene with Mecha-godzilla, Ultraman and Leopardon (a Spiderman robot) most people just won’t get it. So you have to tweak it/change the entire story for broad based appeal. (I’m one of those people who get REALLY upset when the X-men movies deviate from the canon) In fact the only super hero movies I’ve actually liked in recent history have been Deadpool. And to lesser degree Ragnarok (because it was actually quite funny in parts). I’ve adopted a wait and see attitude towards Ready Player one. Its Spielberg. He occasionally does okay. You know… Indiana Jones (only the first three)… The Goonies… *thinks* Gremlins…

Reading or listening to Ready Player One if you’re not ‘that way’ inclined, I can imagine, quickly would become like reading a treatise on the nuances of subway transport. (something I tried to do recently) Being completely out of my depth I got bored and frustrated really quickly.

So in answer to my original question. Is this a good book. I have no idea. Maybe. Only you can decide in the end. I had a great time. Good luck with your quest.



Eldritch Horror

‘Kid… I was losing sanity and racking up phobias before you were even born’… is what I want to say the pubescent punk in the comic book store who is forcing me to engage with him. Instead I smile meekly and carry on flipping through the stacks. Usually I can rely on my 6.3ft frame and surly demeanor to rebuff any attempt to bait me into idle conversation. He seems however, immune to my anti-social cues and intent on extolling the virtues of Cthulhu Wars to me. I imagine picking up one the heavier Gundam wing blisters and bludgeoning him with it until he stops talking (twitching, whatever).

Cthulhu Wars is a trigger word for me. Yes I know Sandy Petersen made it. ‘… and George Lucas stuffed up his own legacy*’, this is my grouchy go-to response for Cthulhu War neophytes who don’t know any better. Although to be fair I still like Sandy Petersen… George Lucas on the other hand… is dead to me.

*no one can believably counter this with any enthusiasm.

Cthulhu themed games have become ubiquitous. I realise I sound like a cantankerous senior citizen who can only remember when everything was ‘better’ but let’s be honest, these days, poor Cthulhu is wrenched out of R’lyeh style REM sleep at every commercial opportunity and plastered on everything from yahtzee style dice games to lunch boxes. Being a great old one isn’t what it used to be. No wonder he hates humanity.


If you discount the paper and pencil (6th edition and below) RGP, Eldritch Horror is by far my favourite. (I also like Mansion of Madness)

For me at least Arkham Horror just got too broken with all its expansions (which I dutifully purchased and then bankrupted myself buying sleeves for). The thought of going through all those cards and trying to return it to some sort of playable base game that isn’t completely $#%*@! fills me with such dread that I’ve just been avoiding it (forever).


Eldritch Horror works better for me and the co-op experience just feels better and more enjoyable somehow. I realise that is super subjective and lacking in any empirical evidence, I mean Eldrich and Arkham Horror are more or less the same game. Same characters, same cardboard cutouts. The only difference really is that one is New England centric and the other Macro-world.


Go to an exotic location. Get better equipment. Read a skin cover tome. Close a gate. Pop some xanax and return to coda. Stop… eh… delay the end of the world. It’s a weirdly repetitive formula I can, for some reason, totally get behind.

Eldritch Horror always ends up a fun night for me. Even if Shub-Niggurath or Ithaqua lay waste to the world. These things happen. It’s not really a game where defeats fester in the dark recesses of your mind.

Great game, not to be taken too seriously. This isn’t Firefly after all. Ha ha. Highly recommended.

Dollhouse. Not the series.

’twas the night before the birthday and all through the house, both parents sat building and cursing out loud…


Playmobil (initially) amused me with their warning on the box. I imagine this is because giving your kid an unassembled model that takes you 60 minutes to assemble while your kid is having a melt down might… fray the nerves somewhat.

It took two of us (with some serious degrees* behind us) more than an hour and a half to assemble this… without the screaming child. (which would definitely increase the challenge rating imo)

*albeit it primarily commerce and not engineering degrees.


In any event it is done and when she wakes up tomorrow we will unveil the fully assembled dolls house in all its glory.

We are very cunning. And wise. Yay us!

Scott Pilgrim (Comic book)

I know everyone has read this comic. This is less of a review. And more of a long laborious ode in which I proclaim my love for Scott… and therefore by association, Bryan Lee O’Malley. (I am not worthy)

If you have no idea who Scott Pilgrim is…  What the hell is wrong with you? (well, you were probably a jock at school, never played coin operated arcade games and never obsessed about a 486 and 16bit sound) I mean I don’t judge you. (okay… maybe I do… just a little bit)


I’m listening to techno on my ridiculously oversize headphones.

Specifically James Brown is dead by LA Style (1991-92). I have to do this at work in secret because it would likely cause my wife to smother me in my sleep with a pillow. No written warnings. She’s a Seattle purist and would likely conclude I’d gone over to the darkside, from which there can be no absolution. She would leave me for Eddie Vedder. Chris Cornell is dead. So really, Eddie is the only real danger-man left to me. (although I feel relatively confident I could beat him in fisticuffs, if it came to that)

I like Rammstein. Probably my favorite band. Even their broad success and commercialism can’t sway me. But I also like Metric. Our wedding dance was Death Cab for Cutie…. after a minute or so the DJ stopped the music and I started doing the dance to  The Black Keys – Lonely boy. (I was subsequently joined by my wife and bridesmaids and all best men) We walked into the reception to Rollin’ (Air Raid Vehicle) by Limp Bizkit. (This should give you an idea what sort of wedding this was*)

Andrea & Jo COLOUR-279 (Copy)

*I wanted her to walk down the aisle to the Imperial March… but that idea was veto’d**

**my idea to be married by a Yoda impersonator ‘Married you are’…. was also… unfortunately veto’d. (She has more veto’s than you might imagine any normal person would be allowed to have)

Anyways. I love the late eighties, nineties and early two thousands. I think this was the best time to be alive. (I am a little bias obviously). For me, the quintessential comic that wraps this all up is Scott Pilgrim.

Ready Player One (they play James Brown is dead in the night club scene in the book) and Masters of Doom has recently made me super nostalgic. I’m not usually nostalgic… but Ready Player One has had this weird effect on me. (Fuck me, this is a good audio book, I hope the movie does it justice)

Anyways, Me and Scott are BASICALLY simpatico. Ha ha. I empathize more with Scott Pilgrim more than any other literary character ever created. (well, more than any other character I can think of right now*)

*off the top of my head William Gibson’s Cayce Pollard might come second.

Last night I stayed up late (way past my bedtime) re-reading Scott Pilgrim one through three. I own physical copies of this graphic novel. Digital copies. I even own the soundtrack… on vinyl. This is how I roll.


I was also in love with Ramona Flowers. Ramona Flowers and Jessica Rabbit. (Although to be fair I rarely thought of Ramona Flowers naked)


The answer to this question is probably yes. And yes.

I can’t tell you how much I love this comic. Really, I just wanted to put this out there, so it is out there, in the internet. And can never be retracted.

Just another manic Monday…

Like the Bangles song. (Although I always preferred Walk like an Egyptian)

Day three without caffeine. I’ve gone cold turkey since Saturday. So you can imagine how my day is going? In a nutshell, its not going well. Ha ha. Usually by this time I have metabolized about six cups of coffee. To say that I am presently ensconced in serious grouch would be a seriously dangerous understatement.  I also have a headache.

I’m compounding my woes by swearing off bread, dairy (which I initially write as fairy because of my blurry vision) and refined sugar.


I’ve (recently) decided that I have adrenal fatigue syndrome. And folate and B12 deficiency. (This is what happens when you read too many (fringe) Paleo books). I even went and had my first B12 shot over the weekend. And… in all honesty, I felt a lot better afterwards (despite walking a bit funny afterwards). That might just be placebo. Today however, is more or less a suicide day… I feel manic and discombobulated and I might bludgeon you into a coma with a oversize stapler if you were to walk into my office brandishing a Grande Cap and a Mars bar.

Speaking of which…

My eleven year old basset hound is either suicidal or suffering from cross species dementia (where he enacts the strange tendencies of the Alpine Ibex). No more staying up late to watch Animal planet.

I  had just come back from a friends fortieth birthday where two pints of Paulaner Weissbier had me feeling somewhat sluggish. (more than usual some might say) The wife and kid were at my parents house along with the dogs and my daughter was playing upstairs in my old bedroom. I took the opportunity to lie down on the sofa in the landing and rest my eyes for a bit. I was just about to doze off when I heard a noise that sounded like nails frantically scrabbling on roof tiles. Amazingly my alcohol addled brain somehow managed to piece together in a split second that the sound was that of a basset hound scrambling for grip on the roof tiles above my head. He’d wandered out onto the balcony, circumnavigated the railing and climbed onto the roof. Now he was coming down and was losing his grip on the steep pitch.

‘Jesus’, I bolted up, sprinted out onto the balcony and vaulted the railing with one hand coming down hard on the roof, my right foot going through one of the roof tiles as I landed. I managed interject myself between the edge and the basset hound and grabbed him before he plummeted to his doom. Post event I marveled how I’d managed this feat, not only in my slightly inebriated condition, but also wearing flip flops.

As usual he was dismissive of my efforts and decided the whole thing was a complete overreaction on my part.


My Saturday had already started poorly with a reoccurring nightmare*. Only this time I wasn’t dreaming. The girl child had hauled an assortment of pots and… a colander from the kitchen into her playroom, upended them and was vigorously assaulting them with a signed Chad Gracey drumstick.

*the one where I only sire girls and they all the women in the house are drummers.


On a scale of one to ten. Ten being woken up with a blowjob and one being woken up because your house is on fire, being roused by this cacophony at 5am is probably a four.

So much for my hopes for a young Kim Deal. It seems she is destined to follow in her mother’s footsteps and take up the drums. Although I have tried (repeatedly) it seems one can’t mess with destiny.

In other news I started listening to this.


I’m embarrassed to say I didn’t even know about this book until recently. AND perhaps more embarrassingly that I only found out today that it has been made into a Steven Spielberg movie. (seriously, what rock do I live under?!?!)

Because I listened to Masters of Doom this entered my recommended list. Read by Wil Wheaton. Whom I now love. I looked at the reviews. Its weird when a book gets this many positive (almost to the point of rabid fanaticism) reviews. My skepticism bit flipped*.  ‘Yeah, nothing can be this good…’

*a John Romero-ism I will now use

I’m only about two… and a half hours in. But I may have to eat my words (again). So far I am thoroughly entranced. Can’t wait for my commute home.