10/29/2009 Speed Test @ 6:24 AM
Charter apparently upgraded their service last night.
The big thing they talked about was how they doubled the upload speed on all packages. Oh, and they threw in something called “SpeedBoost” for the downloads.
Now, I’m very certain that the numbers you see to the left are due to the relative proximity to the test location (50 miles) as well as the time of day that I’m online (6:30 AM CT)…but….
Still.
That’s fast.
That’s damn fast.
It might be a little…too fast.
No…nevermind. Not possible
I got notification emails today that our next set of Netflix discs had shipped.
They are not…they are not quality movies.
They are the second Transformers Movie and the Wolverine movie.
Yeah, I don’t know why exactly I felt the need to put them towards the top of the list. Perhaps it’s my fondness for movies that play towards my childhood memories. Perhaps it’s my blatant curiosity about horrible horrible movies.
I’m not sure.
All I know is that my wife isn’t pleased with me right now.
Halloween is a matter of willpower in our household.
A friend of ours once said to me, “I don’t know how you do it. If I bought that much candy that early, I’d be out in the store on October 30th buying Halloween candy again. Possibly not for the first time.”
I like to plan ahead. Especially for big events. Around here, Halloween is a Big Event. It’s not so much that all the houses are decked out with Halloween-themed bric-a-brac (though there are certainly houses on this street that go all out). It’s just that there’s a lot of Halloween traffic in our neighborhood.
The first year we came up, our new neighbors explicitly came over one day to warn us.
“Halloween is kind of a high-volume event around here.”
“How so?” we asked.
“During a bad year you can expect somewhere in the neighborhood of 100 people during the course of the evening. And that’s a really bad year. Expect somewhere between 200 and 300.”
Up until that year, my wife and I had been living in apartments that, though certainly family friendly, did not really create a lot of Halloween traffic. Our previous best was 30 trick-or-treaters in one night.
Sure enough the first year we saw about 250 people at our front door. Last year we passed 300.
So now we’re onto our third year. And I’ve had 700 pieces of candy in my household for several weeks now, stashed away in our pantry. Not a single piece has been sampled.
Not one. Not by me. Not by my EXTREMELY pregnant wife.
Not…one.
Sheer willpower. Nothing less.
Click Me!
For the past several months my wife and I have been living a lie. A horrible, deceitful lie.
Today our Lie came crashing down around us. And now we may very well be screwed.
Not long after my daughter was born, she received a gift. It was a little baby
doll. For whatever reason, as she became really aware of and attached to her toys, she became incredibly attached to this particular doll above all others. This was the toy that ended up going everywhere. This was the toy that was slept with. This was the toy that she first really played with, not just interacted with or explored.
She loved this doll.
Then one day…Baby (that’s the doll’s name) got dirty. Really dirty.
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I am tired.
Everyone in the house is tired, really.
I’m tired. My daughter, who woke up in the middle of the night the first few nights of the week and had insomnia last night, is tired. My wife, who is…very pregnant and can’t get comfortable in bed and ends up downstairs with insomnia as well is tired.
I’m just hoping for a decent night’s sleep tonight.
Click Me!
This evening has been full of tirades and tantrums.
My daughter spoke out against injustice. My daughter spoke out against inequity. She delivered a forceful denunciation of general night-time rituals. She railed against being moved to the next step. (“I don’t want to go upstairs! I want to play!” ”I don’t want to sit on the potty, I want to do a naked dance!” ”I don’t want to get into the bathtub, I have to stay on the potty!” and on, and on, and on.)
She fumed as she sat or stood in various Time-Out locations. Upon hearing the timer go off, she’d grudgingly go on to do the Next Thing in our rituals.
It’s hard to take her seriously when she’s pouting. She’s so damn cute. She’s the total package: arms crossed over protruding belly, lips pursed in an angry scowl, head tilted forward such that she’s practically looking at you through her eyebrows. I bite my lips I want to laugh so.
Of course, the screaming detracts from the cute. My ears are still ringing.
Click Me!
Pictured above is a moment captured just after my daughter decided to try climbing up a slide without using her feet, and just before she fell.
No injuries, no boo-boos, no crying. She’s fine too.
“Daddy….I have a boo-boo.”
“Daddy! I have a boo-boo!”
“DADDY! DADDY! I have a boo-boo!”
My daughter doesn’t actually have a boo-boo. What she has is a fascination with band-aids and a urgent need not to be in bed right now.
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