In the Barber Shop

Yesterday I went for my quarterly visit to the barber. It could have been a Norman Rockwell.

As I sat, shooting the breeze with the person cutting my hair, a second man came in to the shop with a young little girl. Being too young to be separated from her father for his entire haircut, she found a place sitting on his lap, but facing him.He pulled his smock up to let her sit on the knee of his blue jeans and watch the action. Eventually a third barber finished with his client and, without any other clients to attend to, he came and began to engage the young child as her father and I were getting our haircuts by his colleagues.

"Hello there. What's your name?" He asked.

"Mara."

"That is a nice name. And how old are you?"

"I'm two."

"Did you know I have a daughter that is your age, and her name is Maya?"

Little kids are sometimes frightened by strangers and, although she seemed to enjoy the conversation for a little while, this last inquiry caused her to slowly collapse forward into the comfort of her father's chest -- the same chest that was catching the hair from her father's head.

Father gently pulled her away, only to reveal her face thickly covered with his former black hair sticking in a patchy little beard. She wasn't agitated or sad. Just smiling there, happy her dad was near and oblivious to the beard across her face.

The barbers got as much off as they could, while everyone in the shop laughed. She seemed totally fine with the experience, only occasionally saying "ow" when the few remaining hairs made her face itch to much.

If haircuts were that funny every time, I'd be going to the barber every month.

Stating the Obvious

Ever since I was a missionary, I have found it really funny when things that needn't be stated apparently need to be stated. Missionary rule example:

Missionaries are to sleep in the same room, but not in the same bed."

They make me laugh because I can only assume that somewhere, at some time, it was not quite obvious enough to someone, and so the powers that be had to go and state the obvious.

Yesterday I was changing the sheets and decided to cut off the labels from my pillow (because I really don't like extraneous tags). Here I found a suggestion for pillow care that I had never stumbled across before. Something that I never would have assumed needed stating: Do Not Iron.

Please tell me that none of us have ironed pillows tucked away in our pillow cases. I for one will never make fun of someone else's wrinkly pillows again; really, they are only following the rules.

Sidenote: Getting a scan of this pillow tag is a good example of why I believe it is essential for every home to have a scanner.

Where the flu be at

I recently learned that Google.org has made a foray into monitoring respiratory viral trends. Although the data is only an approximation of flu trends and cannot account for the fact that several viruses are actually responsible for flu-like symptoms (the data comes from users' flu-related searches), it is pretty darn accurate, it is pretty darn fast, and it is pretty darn cool. It also has the benefit of covering the entirety of the U. S. of A.
Check out Google's FluTrends: google.org/flutrends

This contrasts with the Intermountain Healthcare version, which relies on hard data from clinical laboratory tests (like the ones I perform) on real patient samples to determine which viruses are present. While it is incredibly accurate, it does take more than a single day to get the data online. It also is limited to the areas served by Intermountain Healthcare. Unlike Google Inc., however, This site shows the spread of individual respiratory viruses, pertussis, enteric parasites like giardia and cryptosporidium, enteric viruses, and other gastrointestinal pathogens.
Check out IHC's GermWatch: intermountain.net/portal/site/mdvsi/

I guess I just think it is cool because I've always had a secret fascination with infectious disease. Maybe it will be as interesting for you as it is for me.

Perhaps it is odd to ask, but does anyone have any thoughts on what makes one better than the other?

Primary Presentation

Ha ha ha. Janelle wanted to blog about this first, but I can't resist (and Janelle "doesn't blog on Sundays").

Today was the primary presentation in church (Janelle works with primary kids). It went really well with only the most common of usual hangups: kids refusing to participate, forgetting their lines, and making weird faces without knowing they are making weird faces.

My very favorite line from the entire thing, however: "When Jesus visited the Neptunes..."

Pomona Lodge (The Atrocities of the)

Good day kind readers. So last month I [actually Janelle] finagled my [our] way into staying at one of the nicest hotels I have ever enjoyed. In fact I have spent several nights at extremely comfortable lodgings since getting married. Quite nice and quite fun. All this to give some contrast to the Pomona Lodge.

Two weeks ago I was visiting Pomona to consider a campus there and meet with some administrators, blah blah blah. Janelle booked my stay and asked me if I wanted to stay somewhere cheaper or nicer. Already feeling guilty about traveling around the country without her, I opted for cheaper.

My flight arrived late and by the time my cab pulled up to The Lodge I was already ready for bed. After paying Amani, my cab driver, I waved goodbye and went to check in at the main office. This is when I realized I would have been better off having Amani take me somewhere else. Oops. The office was about 6'X7' and small enough that, with my luggage in tow, I couldn't close the door behind me. There was only two features: a bulletproof teller-style check-in and 1000 tourist pamplets.

I knew that the evening was too far gone to make other arrangements, so I decided to grit my teeth and just make it work (in the interest of getting lots of sleep and ensuring that the next day would go smoothly). As I walked up to the glass, I saw a sign taped on the inside: "No Drug Deals, No Prostitution." For some reason neither rule made me feel any better.

"I have a reservation," I stammered, knowing this could be a big mistake. "Under 'Andrew Olsen'."
"113," the old Indian man said, returning my credit card and room key.
"Thank you," I replied dishonestly.

As I approached the motel door, a shiny old black sedan (read "pimpmobile") pulled up behind me, headlights on my back.
"Hey!"
Still fumbling with my keys I realized that I couldn't get into my room fast enough to prevent him from shooting me if that was what was his plan.
"Yeah?"
"How much are the rooms here?"
"Fifty-five a night," I replied, wondering if he was hoping for something hourly.
"Are they clean?"
"I'm not sure. I've never stayed here before."
I already felt like I needed a long, hot shower.

That seemed enough to satisfy him and, as he left, I concentrated on getting into the room before being approached again. Key at the ready, my eyes turned to the handle where an ambiguous brown crust was caked onto the handle I needed to pass through. Fortunately I managed to open the door without touching anything but the key. The room, however, wasn't much better.

The immediate insult against my senses was olfactory. Smoke and mold, yes mostly those... but with an unmistakable aroma of old urine. I considered leaving, but was very tired, and knew it would be nearly impossible to find a cab in a bad neighborhood before getting mugged. Besides, I probably wouldn't get shot as long as my door was locked.

As a microbiology lab employee I was keenly aware of potential infections all around me, so the remainder of my stay was paranoia and trying to breathe and touch as little as possible. As I prepared for bed I tried to eliminate the chance of letting my skin touch the sheets. Already well covered, I was thankful to have a pillow from home which adequately protected my face from the toxins and infectious agents that were eagerly waiting to burrow into my skin and give me a weird rash or cause uncomfortable lesions. The night passed slowly, but passed nonetheless.

The only real upside of the entire experience was that, as I checked out the following day, I once more met the old Indian man who checked me in. Learning that I was preparing to go back to school, he gave me an Indian blessing that I would be able to go to school where I wanted to go. It was fun and kind of cool, but I'm not sure if it made up for a night of worrying that, through no fault of my own, I would wake up a host to some new parasite.

The Blue Raja Strikes Again!

A couple days ago in our quiet and peaceful community, Janelle decided to go for a spin around Liberty Park, which is right by our house. As she arrived, however, she noticed that there was a lot of commotion going on the back side of our block (our backdoor neighbor). Police cars were starting to accumulate and officers were fanning out to surround an apartment building. Like any citizen in a situation where police have their guns drawn and are moving in on a target, she called me and a few other people to come see what was going on.

When we arrived, the police had an apartment surrounded with two or three flak-jacketed officers at each corner of his building with their guns at the ready. Some of the officers were shouting down to the target and seemed to be trying to convince him to surrender. Since we had been eschewed by another officer, we mostly watched from a distance and, after enduring several boring minutes of the standoff, we decided to go home -- about 25 yards from the action, as the bird flies.

Later that night we were checking the news and came across an article describing the incident. Turns out, he stabbed his wife with a fork. Yeah, I know. A fork.

I think she's okay.

Paragraphs on beetles on paragraphs on beetles

Yes, you read that right.

The other night, I was working with Janelle on getting some stuff I'd written phrased correctly, so we were struggling to find all the right words, phrases, and structures. One of the paragraphs was about beetles and things I'd learned studying beetles.

Before we go any further, I should mention that my house is a clean house where the windows and doors all close rather firmly. Somewhat regular cleaning and tidying have prevented most pests from taking up residence. That said, let us continue.

As we read, I heard a muffled sound of tiny membranous wings beating near my head. Next thing I knew, a rather large beetle was sitting directly on the paragraph I had just written about beetles. It took only moments for me to recognize it as a Cerambycid, or long-horned beetle - one of the few types of beetle I can still pick out easily.

I took that to be a sign that whatever I was writing had gained the approval of the heavens. My only regret now is that I did not save the little guy for inclusion in the Monte L. Bean Museum of Natural History's Cerambicidae collection. Dr Clark would have been disappointed, I'm sure.

Did you know...

... that if you put a mouse in the cage with a boa constrictor that isn't hungry, the mouse can attack the snake and the snake won't defend itself. Trust me, it happened to someone I know. Well, to their snake I guess.

Multi-use machetes

Yesterday I saw an old polynesian guy in the Smith's parking lot cleaning snow off his truck's windshield with a machete. Remind me to not cut that guy off in traffic.

Ratatouille

Earlier this week I saw Ratatouille with Janelle. I really liked it. I wanted to write about it, but I insisted on my post including some sort of pun about putting the "oui" in Ratatouille. I couldn't get it to work. If you come up with a good context, please let me know.

A Fact You Never Knew

Or at least I never knew: You can't mix snow tires and all-season tires.

The people at Costco almost did it but then they realized that it is illegal if they do... and probably punishable by forced labor. I mean, can you imagine the mayhem that would ensue?

Poison Toys

Lately I've heard a few things about toys from China that are made with highly toxic chemicals in paints and plastics. This is a major problem. Kids all over the world are getting sick, and who can say what the long term effects of these sorts of problems will be?

The latest episode I've encountered involved a paint on children's toys with strong chemical similarities to "liquid ecstasy," a date rape drug. In all seriousness, this sounds extremely serious, and a problem that is this problematic needs to be addressed.

The news, however, needs much better examples to illustrate the danger. Allow me to quote the Guardian:

[The] boy's doctor, Matt Jaeger, added: "It was pretty dramatic. He was unconscious in this coma for about six hours. And then, over the course of just a few minutes, went from being completely asleep to wide awake and playing like nothing ever happened."

Especially worrisome is the fact that similar symptoms affect me almost every night from about 1130 pm until morning. I think my room needs to be inspected for cheap Chinese paints.

R for "Responsible Parenting"

It seems strange to me, and surely must be strange to you, my fellows, that the Gateway theater allows children under five to R-rated movies as long as it is before 5 pm. They probably don't want them watching graphic violence, sex and profanity any later than that because it would mean they were up past their bedtimes, and you know how bad it is for a child's development to stay up past their bedtime.

Priorities, Schmiorities.

I recently watched a 60 Minutes piece that focussed on the international police organization, Interpol.

In it the current director said he felt like America just didn't "get it". While we pay New York City $3 billion per year to protect that city, and Alex Rodriguez $27 million per year (not to have baseball, just to have better baseball),America only gives Interpol $5 million every year.

This is to the organization whose goal is to protect the world from international crime? It seems like we need to figure out how bad we want the things we want.

Too Many Andrews

The other day I was sitting reading and heard from afar, "Hey Andrew! Over here!" Looking up I saw a fellow maybe a hundred feet away (30m) I can only assume was an Andrew greeting a group of friends. "Oh well," I thought.

Not 20 seconds later I hear, "Andrew! Hey right in front of you." This time I was sure that old friends of mine had finally found me. Right in front of me was a group of kids about to greet yet another Andrew who was even closer than the first.

And these are only the Andrews whose friends happened to be walking by at that exact moment. If you ask me, there are far too many Andrews and we need to do something about it.

Time For a New Message?

{Burrrrring!}... {Burrrrring!}... {Burrrrring!}... {Burrrrring! Click.}... [familiar male voice]: Hey this is Andrew. Leave me a message. {Pause. Short tone.}

[unfamiliar, annoyed female voice]: Hey Rick, this is [inaudible]. Can you have Mike give me a call as soon as possible.

Rick? Rick!? Why would Rick get this message? Anyways, now I'm thinking of changing my message to something a little more fool proof:

"Hey this is Andrew. You've reached me, Andrew, by calling me on my own personal cell phone which only I, Andrew, use on a regular basis. If you have a message for me, Andrew, please leave it after the beep. Thanks! {Pause. Short tone.}"

A Near Miss

As I returned home from work late last night, my ever-vigilant nostrils immediately detected a strong, yet unexpected smell: Fried Chicken

"Whoever would be frying chicken so late at night?" I queried inwardly.

As I came into the kitchen I realized that the smell wasn't chicken being fried, but baked. When chicken has been baking in it's own oils for long enough, it starts smelling like it is being fried.

Wondering who was preparing so great a feast at this unseemly hour, I wandered towards my mother's bedroom to find her asleep atop her undisturbed bed with all the lights in her bedroom on.

"Are you cooking mom?"

She was trying to cook, but accidentally had fallen asleep leaving the chicken (and salmon) to cook for about an hour more than it needed. Lucky for us, the house didn't burn down. Now we need something to do with 20 pieces of overdone meat. Any ideas?

Will I ever be part of the Jet Set?

Sometimes you find a store that just gets you all excited about whatever it is that they sell, and I recently had that experience. The store/website I found sells travel accessories.

It is called Flight001 ("Flight One"). I hadn't heard of it before, but it made me sad that I have no travel plans in the near future. Since browsing the site I even bought a new shave kit just because these guys got me all excited about going to... somewhere?

On my trip to Dallas I met a girl who spends nine of ten days flying around the country for her job. Part of me wishes that I were in a similar position. Only problem is that I would probably lose interest in it real fast. For some reason I always sleep better in my own bed.

0.0000002857

I bought a shirt at REI, a store that I am not one to frequent. While I was there, I caved and bought a lifetime membership in their outdoor sports co-op for only $15.

As I understand it, a co-op is not like a normal company, because as you join it, you actually become a part owner with all the other members. That makes me one of REI's newest part-owners!

Wait, can I retract an exclamation mark?

I got my confirmation email today. I'm sure in an effort to boast, they told me that I am one of 3.5 million adventurers who have joined the co-op (apparently I'm an adventurer).

Before I go on, I just want to say that I am grateful for the perks of being a member, and really that was what prompted me to put down $15 in the first place. I was however, more than a little disappointed by what that means for my share of this thriving enterprise.

This whole "membership" arrangement leaves me owner of a measly 1/3,500,000th of the company... or 0.0000002857. We could say 0.00002857% to make it sound more impressive, but that is all just smoke and mirrors now, isn't it?

(Maybe) Famous Person Sighting

Picture it...
Calgary, Canada. A bitter cold December 1994. A 14-year-old me is looking through Shoppers Drug Mart in the local mall for something quirky to give my little sister. Then, like a ray of divine light descending upon me I saw it: colorful pipe cleaners. I happily grabbed five or six packages of the wiry little playthings and headed to the till.

As I stood waiting for the next register, a sweet, French-Canadian voice asked, "What are you doing with all those pipe cleaners?"

I turned around and saw a beautiful woman who appeared to be about twice my age immediately behind me. She was wearing a stylish knee-length leather jacket with sunglasses on her forehead. Her dark brown hair was a little past her shoulders.

"Oh, I'm buying them to give to my little sister for Christmas. I think she'll really like them," I replied.

She laughed. "That's really funny."

"Thanks," I said awkwardly. I wasn't used to talking to people outside my age group (read "awkward stage") yet. I turned back around.

Several days later I recognized her face on a CD cover: Celine Dion. She was a pretty famous girl back then, but I had never really paid her much attention. Besides, she had never sung for Titanic or Ceasar's Palace, so she wasn'tquite the superstar she is now.

There you have it, I'm pretty sure I've met Celine Dion. And no one can prove me wrong.

Author's note: I was writing this on my computer at the library and my battery indicator said "23 minutes" remaining of power. then, with only the lastperiod of the last sentence remaining, the power turned off. Apparently it is getting a little less accurate. Shame, really.