7and8

A beautiful New England day

Test with beans.

"Now face forward sir."

We bought a digital camera (Olympus Stylus 710) from Best Buy. We've had our previous camera (Olympus Camedia c-3040zoom) for years and had faith other products would have similar quality. We snapped our first pictures and saw a bad picture on the camera's view screen but gave the benefit of the doubt. We transferred the pictures to our computer and confirmed the poor picture quality. Returning the camera cost us $52.50 in a restocking fee. The restocking fee policy was clearly documented on the back of the receipt and a sticker on the box. Their Geek Squad gave the camera the once over, deemed it in working condition and here we sit with fuzzy pictures (avoiding fuzzy pictures was the main feature the marketing material and sales staff touted as the reason to buy this model). I talked to the return associate and her manager and was refused and encouraged to call corporate. Corporate took a magnanimous approach after explaining the deterrent inspiration for the policy. I urged them to look at my 'reward zone' (their customer program that gives coupons based on how much you spend) history to view my purchase/return ratio. They said they have to treat every customer equally regardless of how long they have been a loyal, honest, lucrative customer in their prime demographic. Playing with the camera in the store is not a fair simulation to how it is used in my context. To see the results on a big computer screen or in print (which was not offered by the sales team) completes the experience proving the products value. The product is inferior, a risk Best Buy took on by stocking the product and Olympus by manufacturing it. Olympus and Best Buy need to work this out rather than pinching the little guy in the middle. A "bad" camera in perfectly "bad" working order shouldn't cost a consumer with a documented good track record with both companies.

I've now asked both companies for my money back. Best Buy continues to refuse and Olympus has not yet responded.
This might not mean anything to these companies; I will spend my money elsewhere.

7 Is it ok to eat ear wax? 8 Can I have some pudding? 7 You are the best brother. 8 In the whole galaxy? 8 I got used to liquid 7 Yea, someone ate it on a pretzel 8 Mom! You're going to watch us while Dad goes to the gym! 7 You owe the lunch lady $2, I forgot my lunch 8 Is today a school day? 7 Are we almost there, 'cause 8 just fell asleep. 8 How many more bites do I have to take to be done and get dessert

If any one knows the address to return my Man card, please share. See, I've been watching reality TV. That includes Project Runway and American Idol. Runway I've watched both seasons because it makes me feel sassy. Idol, well the wife is watching I've allowed myself to get sucked in. BTW Bucky & The Pickle chick need to go for one very good reason I don't like them. I think the Pickle chick can get a job as trailer chick #4 on My name is Earl.

When you become a parent toilet humor, time, exposure (really everything toilet) becomes the norm. There are some funny things that happen as a result.

This story has nothing to do with that cute stuff.
After swim lessons at the Y this morning we are on our way out This older guy and I exchanged the acknowledging head nod in passing in the locker room (we both had pants on ). I stop at the urinal because I had had to go for about an hour and a half. So I'm peeing, and a lot. The old guy comes in and after a while he says, "Are you going to the bathroom or did you spring a leak?" but it didn't stop there. He continued, "God bless your bladder, it must be huge."
I am usually appalled at anyone who tries 'urinal conversation' but this guys New England accent and general demeanor just made me laugh.

The Arch-Diocese of Boston (who's patron saint is St. Patrick) has given dispensation to Catholics to eat corned beef today. Catholics are not supposed to eat meat on Fridays during Lent as a respectful gesture toward Christ's fasting in the wild.

The 'no meat on Friday' rule was instituted when Italian fish merchants where having a tough time and not a lot of folks where eating the seafood they were catching. A Pope wanted to help the local economy so he made this rule and bing-bada-boom Long John Silvers has a boom during March.

One more puzzle piece: St. Patrick was a Scot killed by the Irish.

Let me get this straight: a made up rule to boost an economy is broken so the indulgences of a culture, who killed the revered hero, during a time of fasting creating a holiday marked by a gluttonous base-line so the economy benefits from the sale of corned beef.

I don't get it. I'm going to have a lobster and cabbage roll and a Guinness chaser.

8 got a Spiderman Bop-O for Christmas. For those of you who didn't know the toy by this name it is an inflatable punching bag that stands on the floor and stands up after being punched down.
I didn't know until I inflated this that it calls for a water ballast in the bottom to weigh it down and aid in the standing up function. 8 promptly started doing death bomb dives from the top bunk on to the Bop-O. I was afraid the water would go everywhere but that vinyl victim stood up to the punishment from it's arch enemy, the little boy. That is it took the punishment until one fate filled day the water bladder ruptured. It was in my luck that the rupture was between the water bladder and the air bladder. So now we have a three foot tall water balloon apparently begging the little boy to teach it a lesson. It has been 3 months since this happened and 8 hasn't played with it. I went on a cleaning frenzy this week and the Bop-O was slated for termination. I snuck it down stairs and was slicing it open with my pocket knife so I could empty the water quickly and dispose of the body. I insert the knife effortlessly and run it down the side. I heard crying, not from spidy but from the top of the stairs where 8 saw the whole thing. He was so sad he couldn't talk. I explained my rational logic. More stunned sad silence. I avoided taking him through the garage for the rest of the day so he wouldn't see the kill zone.

He seems to have forgotten about it, I don't remember what I did to distract him. But let me tell you the house looks neat and tidy:)

yours remorselessly,
heartless bastard daddy

I see on my dashboard that I've passed the 100 posts mark. Yea me!

Readers I couldn't have done it without you.

I picked up my jeans off of the floor this morning to inspect for rewearability. I know now where that little piece of chocolate went while I was driving. Right down on the seat and I apparently scooched across the seat to exit/reenter. I walked around with a 'chocolate' stain on the ass crack of my jeans.

Good reason to stick to the ole diet.

I went to 7s class today. I met Will. Will has a backpack with his initals on it.

7 We learned about that one president today, Henry Lincoln-ham.
8 Let's play figures. I'll be Anakin and you be his grandpa.
7 Can I buy today?
8 I stuck my finger in my butt.
7 Mom, this dinner is much better than what Daddy makes!
8 He doesn't know about the donut situation.
7 How are apples made? (Dad gives the 'they grow' and 'God made them' answer) Hmmm, would teachers know?
8 I can't believe that Obi-Wan is gone.
7 Can you get these LEGOs apart?
8 Can you get these LEGOs apart?
7 Can we please go out to eat; someplace fancy like McDonald's?
8 Is it movie night?
7 I'm the Red Ranger!
8 I'm the Pink Ranger!
7 You packed too many pretzels in my lunch.
8 I want pudding.
7 Sorry 8
8 Sorry 7

On Monday I went to the pool to join in on a swim fitness class. I didn't know what to expect but I heard it would help me shave time off of my swim for the next tri. After all I was one of the fastest in the pool on Sunday and maybe I'd have pity on those in the class who weren't as gifted as I (insert self assured chuckle).

I go in to the pool area on Monday night and see 3 guys with chests thick as a bull. Slick looking guys, men's men. I was intimidated. I asked one of them (Al) if he was there for the same class as myself. I thought he said yes, and he proceeds to tell me about how his wife was in a class once and they would swim 2,000 yards per work out. She must be part fish and much tougher than me. My fast swim time the day before melts before my eyes and my pride shrivels up like that one cat who just got out of the pool.

Two of the thick chested monsters proceed me to our area of the pool, joke with the instructor and jump in and start doing laps. I stand there next to dad, a shorter version of my father (old man with more beer belly than a lions convention) look at the white board and I realize that I'm in the 2,000 yard class that astounded me minutes before.

I look across the pool and Al is in the shallow end with a bunch of old ladies in a how-to-swim class. Two minutes later I've tried the warm-up laps and stand panting on the deck wondering how quickly I can leave, maybe if I pretend I have to puke. The instructor talks me back into the pool and the evening ended well. It turns out that everyone in the class has been in this class for a while. Dad did a few laps and was hating life just as much as I was when we went into the locker room.

I walked in on Wednesday night knowing my talents lie somewhere between Al and dad. It's funny how a little bit of pride can make one feel like such a chump.