Friends and Family

There are 101 posts filed in Friends and Family (this is page 8 of 11).

Isabel Pilar

As with Diego, I’ve incorporated this birth announcement into the weblog so that people can leave messages to Kim and Sabino, and to each other. The information below is, to the best of my knowledge, accurate. Please send me corrections or additions.

Hola, Isabel Pilar!

[photo of Isabel bawling]

Congratulations to Kim and Sabino Arredondo on the birth of their third child (and first daughter), Isabel Pilar, born at 5:30 this morning via Cesarean section. She weighed 7 lbs., 11 oz. If you would like to congratulate the Arredondo family, they are in room six at the Willamette Falls Hospital ‘Birthplace’, after which they will be at home.

[photo of Isabel Pilar]

Aside from the C-section, it sounds as if Isabel was another easy birth for Kim. From what I understand, she went into labor at about 3:00, arrived at the hospital at around 3:30, and gave birth two hours later.

[photo of Isabel gripping Kim's finger]  [photo of Diego holding Isabel]

Isabel’s brothers, Antonio and Diego, seem pleased with their little sister. Diego is fascinated by Isabel’s tiny hands. Antonio wants “Kimberly” to come home, of course, but he has his trains to keep him occupied.

We joined Jeremy and Jennifer for a hospital last night. Emma wanted to hold Isabel. Here, she and Antonio take turns giving her gentle kisses:

[photo of Emma holding Isabel]

It was great to see how proud Sabino was of his new daughter. He positively glowed.

[photo of Sabino holding Isabel]  [photo of Kim and Sabino with Isabel]

Congratulations, Kim and Sabino! We’re all happy for you.

Now It Can Be Told

Seven years ago today, Jeremy and Jennifer produced a little Harrison James Gingerich. Jeff and I have always loved the story of Hank’s birthday as told from our perspective, and so today we are sharing it with the world.

At that time, the MNF women met on one Saturday every December to bake cookies. While our wives did womanly things, the men held a gathering of their own, a gathering dubbed: Den of Iniquity. Den of Iniquity was the sort of thing about which we talked all year long, our brains bubbling with planned debauchery. We could drink beer! We could watch porn! We could be rogues! Reality was always somewhat different: we generally rented a Nintendo, bought several liters of soda, and ordered in pizza.

On that particular Saturday in 1998, we had gathered at Sabino’s home for a day-long Mario Kart marathon. We had ourselves some serious four-player action, with the winner of each race staying in and the loser(s) rotating out. Joel, Jeff, Phil, and I joined Sabino that day. (It may be possible that Brock and/or Roger stopped by for a while, also.)

The women were across town at Julie’s, baking cookies in her deluxe new kitchen. Sometime in the mid-afternoon, Stephanie called to say that Jennifer had just given birth. They were going up to visit the new parents at the hospital. Did we want to come? (Harrison was only the second child born into the group. Ian had been born the previous May.)

“Hell no!” was our response. We were high on pepperoni and pop. “This is a Den of Iniquity. Iniquitous men don’t go to look at babies.” After we hung up, we laughed amongst ourselves and cracked wise. Sabino broke out his Jerry Seinfeld “you’ve got to see the baby” impression. I complained that all babies look like Winston Churchill. We were smug in how strong we had stood up to our wives.

A few minutes later, the women showed up at the house. “Please won’t you come? We’re going to dinner first, and then to the hospital,” they said. “It would mean a lot to Jeremy and Jennifer.”

“No way,” we said. “We have more important things to do. We are mired in sin. Besides, we’ve already eaten pizza.” When the women left, each man knew he was in the doghouse, but nobody cared. Peer pressure hung heavy in the air. “We don’t really know them, anyhow,” we reasoned. At that time, Jeremy and Jennifer were not yet solid members of our group. (In fact, Jenn was a cipher to me; I barely knew her.)

Still, somewhere in the back of my mind, I felt guilty. We played for a few more minutes, and then I said: “Maybe we should go up. Wouldn’t it be funny if the women got to the hospital after their dinner and we were there waiting?”

“Nah,” said Joel. “I don’t wanna go see the baby.”

“It would be kind of funny,” said Jeff. “And then the women would get off our backs.”

“I guess we could just run up there for a few minutes and then come back to see who can defeat the Rainbow Bridge,” said Phil.

And so the five of us piled into a single vehicle and sped to Tualatin. As expected, little Hank looked like Winston Churchill, or a lizard, or any number of the other grotesque creatures that babies look like. “Have our wives been here yet?” we asked. They had not.

“Man, I’m hungry,” said Jeremy.

“Well, let’s go eat!” suggested Sabino. “We’ll take you for a steak.” The six of us piled into a single vehicle and drove to the newly opened Outback Steakhouse across the freeway. We sat at the bar and ordered Jeremy steak and beer and whatever else he wanted. He smoked like Jeremy will. “Congratulations!” we said. Still full from pizza, the rest of us merely snacked on appetizers.

(Sidenote of interest only to football fans: While we were sitting at the bar, the Heisman Trophy results were being broadcast on television. During the meal, I read the subtitles with interest. A young man named Ricky Williams had just won the award, and while being interviewed he seemed remarkably articulate for a football player. And intelligent. I resolved that I would draft this man for my fantasy football squad. The next year, I traded away Peyton Manning to acquire the first pick in the draft. I kept Ryan Leaf. (I had drafted Manning and Leaf with the first two picks of the 1998 draft.) Football fans can understand the complex implications here.)

After our celebratory meal, we returned to the hospital. “Have our wives been here yet?” we asked. They had not. We were flabbergasted. How long did it take these women to eat, anyhow? “You know what,” said Phil. “When they get here, don’t tell them we’ve been up to see you.” The rest of us chortled, comprehending his plan. We said our good-byes and dashed home.

A couple of hours later, a troop of sour women tromped in to find us sitting in front of the television, still playing Mario Kart. “How was the baby?” asked Jeff. The women were icy and distant.

“Are you done yet?” they asked.

“We can be done,” we said, snickering amongst ourselves. We gave each other high fives and went our separate ways. That night, each man revealed our deception to his wife in his own way. Not a single woman thought we were as clever as we believed ourselves to be.

We still believe ourselves to have been well and truly clever. We break this story out every year at Harrison’s birthday and tell it amongst ourselves. The women never laugh, but simply glower at us.

Ah, the Den of Iniquity. Those were the days, back before my friends began breeding like rabbits…

Bonus fact: Why Hank? Before Harrison was born, Jeremy was prone to saying, “We’re naming our son Harrison, but I’m going to call him Hank.” So, when I first started calling him Hank, I was merely doing what I thought his father was going to do. Of course, it turned out that Jeremy never did call him Hank, but I’ve kept at it for seven years.

Tomorrow: More babies! Kim and Sabino plan to give birth to Isabel Pilar on Tuesday, and this space is reserved for all the details. (You can pass the time waiting by reviewing the entry on their last child: Diego Fiesta!)

The Two Kinds of Christmas Shoppers

There are two kinds of Christmas shoppers: the Gateses and the Roths.

By now, the Gateses have finished all their Christmas shopping. They’ve wrapped all their gifts, addressed all their cards, and have only to make a trip to the post office to be done with the season. Gateses begin the Christmas shopping on December 26th; all year round, they pick things up here and there for the people on their list. During the week after Thanksgiving, Gateses sit in front of the television, wrapping presents for hours.

Roths, on the other hand, are only just now beginning to think of Christmas. They’ve just received a Christmas bonus in their paychecks, and it has occurred to them that perhaps it’s time to buy some gifts. Roths have begun to deliberate over whom they ought to buy for this year: which friends, which family members. Roths don’t think of Christmas until after Thanksgiving. It’s true that if Roths see something Just Right during the year, they’ll pick it up as a future gift, but they’re also likely to forget they ever bought that little something. Roths have a long couple weeks ahead of them.

Kris is a Gates. I’m a Roth.

Perfect Weekend

My Thanksgiving weekend was as close to perfect as is reasonable to expect, a balance of productivity, sociability, and fun.

What makes a perfect weekend? For starters, it’s a four-day weekend. Add to this plenty of mashed potatoes with ketchup; a chance to relax with hot cocoa and toast; and, most importantly, time with a variety of friends.

Our family Thanksgiving gathering was larger than normal. My cousin, Nick, joined us, as did Kris’ sister, Tiffany. Tony and Kamie (and their kids) were actually present and on time. The food was good and, as usual, I ate too much. After dinner, we played games (including a marathon session of Apples to Apples).


photo by my mother

I spent a few hours at work on Friday, but it was basically wasted time. There wasn’t a single call or fax. I spent most of my time drooling over comic book compilations. Yes, I am a geek.

On Friday evening, we ventured to the Portland City Grill to attend a wedding reception for my boyhood chum, Andrew Parker, who married the lovely and vivacious Joann Mangold last month in San Francisco. The food and wine were terrific. I was pleased to see Andrew’s sister, Laura, for the first time in twenty years. We sat with Dave and Karen and Andrew and Joann. We had a good time reminiscing and getting to know Joann better. At one point, Dave provided a warm and witty toast to the couple, utilizing his keen Toastmaster skills.

Kris and I worked outside in the cold and the damp on Saturday. We raked leaves and pruned roses. Simon climbed onto the roof of the garage and pranced around, proud of himself. In the afternoon, I dropped by Mitch’s place to help celebrate his daughter’s tenth birthday. Between cake and presents, Zoe taught me how to play Pokemon. I must not have learned very well: she kicked my ass.

I did better playing poker on Saturday night. Sabino hosted a small tournament featuring two tables of five players each. Each player bought in for $22. The winner received $120, the second-place player received $60, and the third-place player received $20. Perhaps the remaining $20 must have gone toward the five enormous pizzas we shared. (Each person also kept $3 to use as an additional wager any time he went “all in”.)

I’ve never really played poker before, so I was a little wary. I spent some time Saturday googling for tips. The most common advice for novice poker players seems to be: play conservatively, fold often, do not try to bluff. I tried to follow this advice, and it served me well. After a couple of hours, only four of us remained. This group played to a virtual stand-still for ninety minutes, and then weariness began to take its toll. I began to fold hands (such as K-7) with which other might have at least paid to see the flop. Several times, I threw away what would have been a winning hand. Goaded by these poor choices, I started erring in the opposite direction, semi-bluffing on hands that ought to have been played more conservatively. In the end, I went all in with a suited ace-queen (after a flop that turned up another card of my suit and a ten or a jack), but didn’t even get a pair. I didn’t care; I was tired, and I’d had a lot of fun. I’m not the kind of guy who often gets invited to play poker, but maybe I’ll get another chance sometime.

Sunday was a slow day. After enjoying hot cocoa and toast, I finished the leaf-raking project. We took some scones to John, our neighbor across the street, as a thank-you for some home-made grape juice he’d given us a couple weeks ago. He was happy to take a break from pruning his cherry tree so that he could tell us about his trips to Alaska and New Zealand. He also gave us mulching tips. Tom and Roberta, the older neighbor couple next door, came out to join the conversation. They offered advice on pruning fruit trees and propagating grapes. Tom fetched us a large winter squash picked directly from his garden.

For dinner, Kris and I made our favorite steaks. Later, I sat in a hot tub and read comic books. Actually, I read a lot of comics over the weekend: Jonah Hex, Persepolis, Elfquest, Thor, and Doom Patrol. I am a comic book geek.

Bumper Bowling

I’m sitting at my desk, composing this weblog entry. I’m listening to Neutral Milk Hotel and munching on hickory smoke flavored soy nuts. As I’m mousing around, I bump into a soy bean I must have dropped and, without looking, I snatch it up and pop it in my mouth.

Crunch crunch crunch.

“Hm,” I think. “That doesn’t taste very much like hickory smoke. It tastes rather like grass. In fact, it tastes gross.” And so I spit it out into my hand only to see that I have not been gnashing a stray soy bean but a stray lady bug.

Gross!

We’ve spent the last year trying to schedule a night to take Jeremy and Jennifer out to dinner, a dinner we owe them for favors rendered when we moved into this house. At last we picked out a date — October 28th — only to have Kris sabotage an evening of adults-only gluttony by suggesting we take the kids bowling. I’m glad she did.

We ate burgers and shakes and onion rings at Mike’s Drive-In before heading to Kellogg Bowl in Milwaukie.

I was wary of the place at first. I’m always wary of bowling alleys. In my mind, they’re smoky and seedy and filled with Big Lebowski type losers. It turns out Kellogg Bowl’s a nice place to take the family for a bit of fun. It also turns out that we ought to have had pizza before bowling. There’s a Pietro’s Pizza next door, of which both Jeremy and I have fond memories. Better yet, there’s a direct hotline from the bowling alley to the pizza parlor. You can pick up the hotline, place an order, and Pietro’s will deliver pizza to your lane. That is frickin’ awesome!

As we were waiting for the bumper lanes to open, the owner spied my camera. “Look at this,” he said, motioning me to follow him. He showed me his two digital cameras. “What kind do you have?” he said, so I showed him. “Wow,” he said. “I want something like that someday. Say, come with me.” He led me back to his office, where he showed me his little HP photo printer.

When Jenn came up to get shoes for the kids, the owner asked her about the digital camera she was carrying. She took a couple of photos, and the fellow darted back to his office with her memory card in order to make a couple of prints.

Here’s a little secret: I enjoy bowling. If it ever occurred to me, I might do it on a regular basis. I’m certainly never going to turn down an opportunity to bowl a couple of games. (When I sold insurance in eastern Oregon, I’d often go bowling in the evenings to kill time.) I haven’t been in a couple years. The last time was with Joel and Aimee and Mac and Pam. I thought I had an obsessive weblog entry about that night, complete with scores, but I can’t find it. (This entry has a comment from Joel about that night.)

This was the first time that Harrison and Emma had been bowling. Emma chose a pink ball, of course. Harrison started with an eight-pound ball, but had more success when a woman who worked at the alley brought him a six-pound ball. Many of Emma’s balls c-r-e-p-t down the alley, with barely enough force to topple a single pin when they reached their destination. Harrison did well. He even bowled a strike!

In the non-bumper lane, Kris, Jeremy, and I put up a poor showing. At the end of seven frames, my score stood at a woeful 65. I wasn’t even on pace to break 100. I went in search of a better ball, and I found one. It was pound heavier, the holes were better spaced, and my thumb didn’t stick upon release. I bowled three consecutive strikes. In my last three frames, I scored 76! My final score was 141, which is about average for me.

As we left the bowling alley, Jenn asked Harrison how he liked bowling. “I love it,” he said. “It’s really great.”

We’ll have to go back, but next time Jeremy and I are using the pizza hotline.

Autumn Weekend

We’ve had odd weather around Portland this year, so it’s something of a relief to be experiencing a typical autumn. In the spring, we had a bizarre warm spell from February 15th to March 15th, followed by miserable damp weather for months. Our summer was unusually placid and a little cool. (Did we have a single 100-degree day?) Our autumn has been typical, though, with an plenty of light rain.

Kris and I are pleased to be on a piece of property with an abundance of trees. It’s a pleasure to watch the leaves change color day-by-day. Every morning, Kris looks out the window at the top of the stairs, reveling in the bright orange and red of the maples. She also likes our oak. She called me at work yesterday to tell me how beautiful it was, framed against the blue sky.

We spent all of Friday afternoon outside, working in the yard. With a lawn this large, it is of utmost importance that I snag any available mowing days in the fall. At the Canby house, I could do a rush job on moderately wet grass. That’s not an option here.

As we worked, we chatted with the neighbors. Curt and I held a conference over the fence, discussing yard work, remodeling, and dogs. While I was cleaning out my car, Tom wandered over from next door to talk about grapes, rototillers, and old photography magazines. (Tom has some 1940s photography magazines that he’s going to give me. Also, we recently purchased Mike and Rhonda’s 8-hp rototiller; I can’t wait to put its counterrotating tines to work!)

I spent this morning and afternoon with my friend Mitch, and his children, Brandon and Zoe (aged 13 and 10, respectively). It was interesting to see a pair of kids who are about five years older than any of the children with whom I have regular contact. “When do kids get self-sufficient?” I often ask my friends. “When do they demand less of your time, become able to do things on their own without your constant attention?” The answer seems to be: someplace between ten and thirteen (though I’m sure it depends on the kid).

In the morning, I took Mitch and his kids to the annual Multnomah County Library book sale. They seemed genuinely shocked at the sheer number of books. I’ve had three years to grow accustomed to the shock, and, in fact, have developed something of a routine.

I rifled through the “pamphlets” first (only twenty-five cents each!). There were some real gems to be had here:

  • Amish Portrait and Pictorial Oaxaca, both of which are photo-essays on their topics
  • Strawberries: King of the Fruits, a detailed guide to raising strawberries (best advice: to control weeds, keep a flock of geese)
  • The Cub Scout Songbook
  • Tales of French Love and Passion
  • The Step-By-Step Guide Book to Home Wiring, which may be out of date but how can you refuse at twenty-five cents?
  • The Lesbian Relationship Handbook
  • Livin’ in Doom Town: A History of Albina Gentrification, a bitter polemic regarding recent Portland history
  • The Copyright Primer for Librarians and Educators
  • Cliff’s Notes for Paradise Lost, Beowulf, and The Odyssey, all of which are works that could use a little explanation…
  • The real find were a collection of a couple dozen opera-related items, most of which were the large booklets from old vinyl record sets.

The pamphlet section is always crowded, and people jostle for position without regard to traditional etiquette. Last year and this, I’ve had the misfortune to stand next to pungent men while sorting through the pamphlets. I probably missed some good ones in my hurry to get to fresh air.

This year, I didn’t buy as many books as in the past. I’m trying to exercise fiscal responsibility. I did come home with four lovely large hard-bound volumes on various topics: Stephen Foster (who wrote “O Susanna!” and “Camptown Races”, among other songs), the American Revolution, and the great operas.

After the book sale, we returned to Mitch’s apartment, where I played Magic: The Gathering with Brandon. All four of us then played The Game of Life, which Zoe gleefully won by a large margin.

In the evening, we drove to McMinnville for a nice dinner with the Hamptons and the Bacon-Flicks. We get together with these old college friends about twice a year now. (At one time, Chris and Cari were our best couple friend: we did a lot with them in the years after we graduated from Willamette.) Michael and Laura live in a beautiful old house. They talked about how much they love McMinnville, how much it feels like prototypical small-town America. Cari and Chris talked about how much they love their jobs. Again, it was fun to see children beyond those we normally encounter. Kaden and Ethan are polite, intelligent little boys. Their earnest natures amused me.

Tomorrow we’ll drive down to see Jeremy and Jennifer. Rumor has it we’re heading to a pumpkin patch. I’ll be sure to take my camera.

Soccer for Six-Year-Olds

We were up late last night, watching the second season of Arrested Development with Tiffany, Marla, Celeste, and Nicki. I was beat when we crawled into bed after midnight. I’m too old for such wild and crazy nights.

My hopes for a late morning were dashed when Kris woke me before dawn. “Let’s go see Harrison’s soccer game,” she said.

I wanted to sleep. “I want to sleep,” I said, gasping through my C-PAP mask.

She resorted to bribery. “I’ll buy you a chantico,” she said. I went downstairs to take a bath.

As Jenn explained in a recent entry, soccer for first-graders is somewhat chaotic. The rules are essentially what you’d expect except:

  • there are only five players per team;
  • there are no goalkeepers;
  • there are essentially no fouls;
  • halves are only twenty minutes long;
  • no official score is kept;
  • any out-of-bounds yields a throw-in;
  • and, most radically, there is no off-sides.

Without this last concession, the game would be unplayable. Kids this young have no concept of position. The dominating factor regarding soccer for first-graders is that the kids cluster around the ball, all trying to kick it at once.

Sometimes a kid will come up with the ball and break from the crowd, sprinting for the goal. They rarely make it.

The coaches try to instill some sense of order:

And sometimes the kids can be convinced to stay on the defensive half of the field:

And sometimes something resembling normal soccer takes place, as here when Tyler crosses the ball to Harrison (who would be off-sides in a real game):

It’s great fun to watch the kids play, though, and they all seem to love it.

  

  

When it was all said and done, kids from opposing teams joined together for crackers and juice.

I was happy to have spent the morning among old friends: Rich, Karen, Kim, Sabino, and Katrina; John, Louise, and Jenn; Ken, Roger, and Kristin; and all of their children and grandchildren.

“That’s what I miss about living in Canby,” I told Kris on the drive home. “Those are my people. Whiskey Hill — Nintey-One — is my homeland.”

“You don’t have to miss it,” she said. “Didn’t we just visit?”

New Orleans Update

My friend Scott and his family lost their home to Hurricane Katrina. Just after the storm, he sent the following:

Just wanted y’all to know that I am holed up in Lafayette, Louisiana (about two hours west of New Orleans). From all indications, Katrina has destroyed my home. There’s been some levee breaches and I know one of two things: 1) there’s three to four feet in my house, or 2) I no longer have a roof. Info is still sketchy. Keep me in your prayers and thoughts.

Some of you have asked for updates, and so with Scott’s permission, I’m sharing his latest message:

Limbo. Purgatory. Gerbil spinning the wheel. Slow motion. Disconnected.

Our zip code in New Orleans was among the hardest hit and will be one of the last to return to the city. The whole area may need to be bulldozed. Gretchen and I went back on the 6th and the damage was extraordinary. I snuck in about three weeks ago to salvage wedding photos and some family heirlooms and was glad I did. The time between made essentially everything unsalvageable minus Gretchen’s grandmother’s china. This photo shows damage in the house immediately after the flood . . . there’s ten times as much mold now.

375

I could go on about the damage, but it’s hard to put into words. Think of everything you do in a given day — the place you get coffee at, the school you drop your kids off, the grocery store you buy at, the friend’s house you visit, your job — all gone . . . all destroyed and all you are left with are memories and even those are now somehow tainted. Don’t mean to sound overly dramatic.

We go through a range of emotions daily. Resentment, anger, sadness, hopeful . . . jumbled together. One day you hate the city. The next you think of it as a great opportunity. Most of all we’re pretty exhausted. Everyone, including my parents (who we are living with), is having some sleep problems, although the kids have adapted well.

The kids [Brewster and Amelia] have been great in fact. We lucked out early and enrolled them in a wonderful Day School. It’s been saving grace. One of the times Brew and Sissy look forward to is reading before bedtime. Brew, albeit four, is a reader and we’ve moved on to chapter books. He’s hooked on the Magic Tree House series. Sissy, on the other hand, likes Go Dog Go and There’s a Wocket in My Pocket.

We struggle for a routine . . .

. . . I have thrown myself into finishing off our 3rd CD for the Movers. [Note: Scott’s band is Imagination Movers. They sing songs for kids that even parents can love, as several foldedspace readers can testify. Check them out.] It’s one of the few sanctuaries I have. We lost much of their inventory and equipment, but our supporters are helping us stick together. Our agent has helped to replace our inventory of cds and dvds and the fans are helping to replace equipment. Future support? Ask friends to pick up a copy of the new CD when it comes out. We titled it Eight Feet which is the amount of feet we have in the group and also the water line in our neighborhood where three of the four of us lived.

Now for the good news — we did find our cat! We put our cat in the care of our neighbor who is a fireman and had to stay in New Orleans. Unfortunately, our mini-van’s air conditioning went out the week before the hurricane. When we evacuated, we left in a small Buick my grandmother left for us. The amount we could take was cut considerably. Our cat is an outdoor cat and is damn smart. Eric, our neighbor, and his wife are huge animal lovers. They offered to care for Flannery. We took them up. Anyway, the day the flood waters came, Eric saw Flan swimming to him. He’s got a two story and brought her there. His cat was under the house (every house is raised — ours was four feet off the ground). He went through his own floorboard to get his cat. Long story short, it was about a month afterwards that we got word our cat was safe.

Flan had a big gash on her shoulder, but is doing great and has become a beacon of hope for his. She’s now symbolic. How many cats can say that?

The assistance [from college friends] is welcomed and needed. If I think about it too much, I’ll start getting weepy eyed. Let’s just say the acts of others have been such that I am a better person because of it. This whole ordeal has made me realize how important the act of giving is. Sad but true. And how even the boring days are blessed because you never know how bad things can get until they do.

Kris and I are glad that Scott and his family are safe. It’s strange to think that somebody you knew for only a short period of time many years ago can figure so prominently in your life, yet sometimes this is the case.

Note: This is the first in what I hope will be a series of occasional entries written by you, the readers of foldedspace. As mentioned last week, I’d love to post what you have to say from time-to-time. Tiffany informs me that she has something for me to post, too. Dave? Amy Jo? John B? Kristin? Anyone else? This space is here for you if you’d like it.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

I had a great day today.

I took off early from work to meet strangers for lunch. That is, I met people I only knew via the internet. In the past, I’ve worried about meeting netfriends — “Will they be the same in person?” I wonder. They’re not. Over the years, I’ve learned that people are almost always even nicer and more interesting in person than they are on-line.

A bunch of geeks had gathered in downtown Portland for Webvisions, a technical conference. At their lunch break, I joined Alan (of bluehole.org), Cat (whom I’d met previously), Paul/PB (who is responsible for the wonderful ORblogs), Matt (who is responsible for much of my lost productivity — he’s the mastermind behind Metafilter and its various spinoffs), and Michael (of whom I knew little before today). We chatted about life over burgers and cokes. It was great to finally meet these people. (And, Tammy — Alan’s a nice guy; you two shouldn’t bicker).

As I walked back to my car, I realized I was near Citizens Photo, one of the professional photography shops in town. I needed a couple of things, and I had some questions, so I stopped by. The fellow who waited on me was actually helpful (I’ve had problems there before), and I was in a rather assertive mood: the combination yielded much information about digital photography, camera equipment, and photoprocessing technique. I’ll have to be assertive more often. I left the store with a new monopod (which can double as a trekking stick), a spare battery for my d70, and two books on processing digital images. I also spent some time chatting with the woman in the photofinishing department, learning what my options are for printing digital photos.

Driving home, I passed the Moreland Theater and noticed that Charlie and Chocolate Factory was playing. “Huh,” I thought to myself, and stopped to see if I could catch a matinee. There wasn’t one to catch, but when I checked at the Oak Grove theater, the show had just begun so I bought a golden ticket.

When I got home, I called Hank and left a message asking if he wants to go see the film. “It’s not scary,” I said. “It’s not even intense.” Actually, maybe it’s a little intense in the nut-sorting room (which is my favorite scene, by the way).

Kris heard me on the phone and stormed into the room. “You are a dead man!” she shouted, but I didn’t know why. “You knew I wanted to see that, and you went without me.” Kris loves Roald Dahl almost as much as Joel does. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is one of her favorite books. I protested that I was just trying to prolong my good day. “Find another showing right now,” she said. So I did.

“The ticket woman’s going to wonder if I’m crazy,” I said.

Kris shook her head. “She won’t even notice.”

As I paid for the tickets, the ticketwoman gave me a funny look. “Weren’t you here for the last showing?” she asked.

And so I’ve seen Charlie and the Chocolate Factory twice already, and plan to see it once more this weekend. Do I like it? Yes, I do. Very much.

To understand that terse review, you need to understand a couple of things:

  1. Though I enjoy Roald Dahl, I am not what I would term a “fan”. I especially like Danny, Champion of the World and The Fantastic Mr. Fox (the latter of which will soon be a film by Wes Anderson — how’s that for exciting?).
  2. I generally dislike Tim Burton‘s films. Ed Wood? Left me cold. Sleepy Hollow? Awful, awful movie. Planet of the Apes? One of the worst films I’ve ever seen. In fact, the only Tim Burton film I’ve liked before this is Edward Scissorhands, though admittedly I was quite fond of that.
  3. Though I thought the trailer for this film was awesome, I went in with low expectations.
  4. I’d heard all the talk about how Johnny Depp was channeling Michael Jackson for his portrayal of Willy Wonka

A slightly longer review would be: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is great fun, better than my memory of the first film. Johnny Depp is not channeling Michael Jackson, and I’m not sure where the reviewers pulled that from. They should be shot for making the comparison. (Depp’s Wonka is freaky, though — be warned.)

The first thirty minutes of this film (up until they enter the factory) are as near perfect as any adaptation of the book can hope to be. The introduction of each of the kids is fantastic. Kris, the Dahl fan, was giggling with glee at spots. “They got Veruca exactly right,” she whispered to me. The factory is an awesome spectacle. It’s great fun. The nut-sorting room made me giddy with joy. There are plenty of sight gags all around.

I spend a lot of time complaining about movies, so it’s refreshing when I can recommend one. This is the third movie I’ve seen this summer that I’m happy to recommend. (The first two being Batman Begins and War of the Worlds.) Go see it!

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to my second sleep study. C-PAP machine, here I come…

Comments

On 15 July 2005 (07:33 PM),
Kris said:

Jd negelected to mention that during our showing, the speakers were having intermittent problems that made it impossible to understand the dialogue but left the music track untouched. As a result, we each received a free movie pass on our way out. It’s like seeing Willy Wonka for free!

On 15 July 2005 (09:40 PM),
Betsy said:

I got dragged to this today (comedy of errors that necessitated my accompanying my rabid fan daughter, who read the book as her first-ever chapter book, no less) expecting to merely endure it. I loved the book, but am not a fan of kid movies in general, kid movies at the theater in particular, and don’t really appreciate Tim Burton or Johnny Depp. (yes, I called myself a ‘sour puss’ on my own blog earlier today…)

Uh – I had to eat my words. Thoroughly enjoyed it, loved the Oompa-Loompa(s) most of all. And the adults in the theater were in hysterics during most of the bits that left the kids cold or doing the ‘huh?’ shrug.

On 16 July 2005 (12:05 AM),
dowingba said:

JD for the love of all that is good and holy…didn’t I warn you about all this background music you seem obsessed to put on your site? ARRGH. And this is an MP3, think of the dial-up users! Won’t somebody please think of the dial-up users?!

On 16 July 2005 (07:07 AM),
alan said:

It was great meeting you, JD. Funny that you mention Tammy — I almost asked you to bring her along in an email, but decided not to scare her again.

I’m glad to hear about Willy Wonka and am considering going to see it in the IMAX at OMSI. With the exception of the dreadful Planet of the Apes, I am a huge Burton/Depp/Elfman fan, so it shouldn’t be difficult for me to love this one.

You and Kris should come over this summer. My wife makes incredible mojitos.

On 16 July 2005 (07:20 AM),
J.D. said:

JD for the love of all that is good and holy…didn’t I warn you about all this background music you seem obsessed to put on your site? ARRGH

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!

I told Kris that I was committing an Internet Sin when I posted this. But I don’t care. I love this frickin’s song! :)

On 16 July 2005 (09:24 AM),
Hopeless Romantique said:

The nut room made me giddy as well; I never forgave the original movie for completely forsaking that part. I also loved recognizing the dialogue that came straight out of the book.

On 16 July 2005 (09:33 AM),
Paul J. said:

JD,

Might be too freaky geeky for you but FYI

http://www.freegeek.org/geekfair/index.html

On 16 July 2005 (10:35 AM),
Tammy said:

Alan, thanks for thinking of me. I’m not sure if I have come to terms yet with the nicer, more gentle Alan. The world is a scary place and the internet world is so very unpredictable. But if JD says you are a nice person than I have to assume you are.

Maybe someday we will meet. I just hope it’s in a lighted area with lots of people around. (just kidding)(kinda). And, hey, I’m glad you guys all had fun at your internet gathering. That really would have been cool.

On 16 July 2005 (11:57 AM),
Drew said:

Hey! That’s my t-shirt!

On 16 July 2005 (09:20 PM),
Lynn said:

Glad to hear it’s good. I’m anxious to see it. I hadn’t heard the “channeling Michael Jackson” comment. Though, I did read somewhere that the characterization was based on Marilyn Manson much the same way Jack Sparrow was based on Keith Richards. Can’t say I’d recognize Marily Manson characteristics if I saw ’em, though.

On 17 July 2005 (10:08 AM),
JD’s Electrician said:

Good site JD! I will try to save the exhaust fan, but we are going to have to get rid of the garden hose splice covers in the panel that I know you like. :(

On 17 July 2005 (06:26 PM),
Amy Jo said:

We spent a grand afternoon watching the film at the old, but recently refurbished (I think), theatre in St. Johns. Paul was neglected as a child–he hasn’t read a single Roald Dahl book . . . Poor, poor thing.

On 19 July 2005 (08:54 AM),
Amanda said:

The squirrels were always my favorite part of the book and by far the best part of the movie. “I guess she is a bad nut after all!” made me squeal with delight.

My only criticism of the movie would be the overly poppy Oompa Loompa songs… I felt they should have been chants, but whatever. The movie was great fun.

I’ve heard a lot about the Michael Jackson channeling, but I also did not really see that. I didn’t hear Marilyn Manson but I would be very surprised if that is true… I’ve seen Brian Warner in many an interview and no, I do not see it. A friend of mine mentioned both Carol Burnett and Ed Sullivan. While I’m iffy on Carol, I definitely felt the Ed Sullivan presence.

And dowingba, I think you’re the last person on earth with dial-up. Get high speed! It’s worth it!!!

Noisy Fourth

We didn’t know when we moved to Oak Grove that we were moving to a fireworks-crazed neighborhood. When we lived in Salem, we’d hear occasional fireworks around Independence Day. When we lived in Canby — both the north side of town and the south side of town — our neighbors set off fireworks on the fourth, but in retrospect, they were just playing around.

Now the folks in Oak Grove: they set off fireworks. Lots of them.

For days leading up to Independence Day, there are scattered explosions. On the third, there’s a sort of preview of what it is to come. This preview is loud enough that it kept us from falling asleep Sunday night.

But it was nothing compared to tonight.

From nine to midnight, we’ve been treated to a constant barrage of pyrotechnics. Sitting in bed, trying to fall asleep, it sounds something like this (62 sec. mp3 — listen for the jingle of a frightened Toto’s collar about twenty seconds in). Only louder. (My iBook’s speakers do a poor job of recording.) Imagine three hours of that while you’re trying to fall asleep.

It’s like a war zone.

Kris worked a normal day today. I slept in. Or tried to. “Good luck,” she said as she left. “I’ll bet the cats or the birds or the squirrels will wake you up soon.”

Sure enough, it wasn’t ten minutes until there was some sort of crow war (20 sec. mp3) occurring in the walnut outside the bedroom window. That sound clip only captures the end of the fight, when a clear victor had emerged.

So, between the crows and the fireworks, I didn’t get much sleep today.

We spent Saturday evening with the Gingeriches and the Proffit-Smiths, enjoying Jeremy and Jennifer’s newly-completed patio.

We didn’t have sparklers, but kids had fun anyhow. I took photos of them brandishing their brands. (Heh.)

  

Not as professional as adults drawing with sparklers, but fun nonetheless.

One of the fundamental rules of photography is “Only Show Your Best Work”. It’s a difficult rule to follow. I break it unintentionally all the time. Sometimes, though, it’s fun to show the crappy stuff.

I took the following photo of Emma the other night, and I think it makes her look remarkably like a child zombie, fresh guts smeared across her face. (The guts are actually s’mores.) The very next photo I took was this one of Hank, looking remarkably like a boy afraid of his zombie sister.

  

Next: the bathroom remodel begins!

Comments

On 05 July 2005 (12:30 PM),
Tiffany said:

Poor Toto!

I am lucky; where I am there are no private fireworks allowed. There are some nice professional displays, but not close enough to bother my sleep. At least it is only once a year. Is New Year’s Eve a problem?



On 05 July 2005 (02:25 PM),
Amy Jo said:

Our NoPo neighborhood is also full of fireworks-crazed people. Fireworks-crazed people who purchase illegal fireworks. We had quite the show. They started about 8 pm and it was well past midnight when they ended. The neighbors directly to the south of us started lighting them after midnight and they were loud and obnoxious. Both Ruby and Hanna crawled into bed with us . . . Something else woke me at 3:30 and it took me nearly an hour to fall back asleep and then the animals began their morning “get the people out of bed” routine around 6:30 so, I too am feeling sleepy today.



On 05 July 2005 (09:51 PM),
J.D. said:

“I can’t believe it,” Kris just said to me.

“What?” I said.

“The firecrackers!”

They started about fifteen minutes ago. They’re not nearly as loud as last night of course, but I expect they’ll last a while yet. They did last July 5th. And 6th. And 7th…



On 05 July 2005 (09:54 PM),
J.D. said:

Also, I forgot to mention in that last comment that we came home tonight to find a dead crow in the middle of the road by the mailbox. It looks like it died in flight: wings spread, etc.

Either the West Nile Virus has reached the Willamette Valley, or the aforementioned crow war turned deadly…



On 05 July 2005 (10:15 PM),
Cat said:

Being new to the ‘burbs, we were *astonished* this year at the volume of fireworks, starting on Friday evening. Luckily, we were up anyway. As new homeowners, it left me worrying for our roof. I don’t mind if you blow you’re own bloody hands off, but don’t burn down the neighborhood!

But whadd’ya gonna do, nuke Washington for selling what Oregon won’t?

Maybe.