New Baby Alert

Magnolia True Caroline Abdine was born at 9:10pm on Thursday, August 6th. I'm guest posting at the moment at my wife's blog so check out http://paisleypigpress.blogspot.com for more details...

Sake & K-Mart In Central California

It was at 4:29AM when the thought jolted me out of my restless, rice wine-induced sleep. “Oh crap. I don’t know where my suit is.”

• 1350 mile flight from Austin to LAX with checked baggage.
• 2 rented Hummers (the first loaded, driven for 15 minutes, returned, unloaded and switched for a less-ashtray smelling replacement.)
• 315 miles drive from LAX to Mammoth Lakes, CA.
• 2 nights at The Westin resort.
• 2 nights at The Village resort.
• 2 days of boarding in epic snow and weather conditions.
• .3 days of Winter Storm Advisory strength wind sandblasting off the patches of facial skin not covered by my goggles and facemask.
• .7 days of Mammoth Brewing Company beer drinking.
• 1.5 hour off-road Hummer expedition through mud, rain and snow in search for the hidden “locals only” hot springs.
• 4 bottle crash course in the complexities of unfiltered Sake

… and somewhere in between a missing garment bag carrying the only courthouse-appropriate set of clothing I packed for my “might as well add in a few snowboarding days since I have to fly and drive all the way out here to sue the ATV rental store owner who stole $4800 from me last summer in Bishop, CA” fantasy vacation.

Is it in the car? – Probably not, but a barefoot jog in boxer shorts to hotel parking just to be sure… Nope.

Did I leave it in the closet at the Westin? The graveyard shift front desk telephone operator could only apologize that the housekeeping manager with the key to the lost and found closet would not be in for another 3 hours. “Call back at 7:30 and she can check.”

No hope to fall back asleep now! My mind raced.
“Why did I not think to find/iron/lay out my suit before?
What am I going to wear to the courthouse in 5 ½ hours?
Snowboard pants?
Frayed cargo Pants and a damp Oakley T-shirt?”

8:15am – Another call to the Westin confirms the worst-case scenario – no garment bag was found. And new guests are staying in the room I checked out of so they can’t break-in check the closet.

So the plan B outfit calls for jeans and a thin, fitted sweater – both smelling of Paiute Palace Indian Casino smoke and late night Pita Pit beer munchies.

My internal dialogue is reduced to “crap crap crappity crap crap” as we check out of our hotel, feed the H2 its hourly 20 gallon meal and start the drive down the mountain to almost certain humiliation.

And then… as we round the corner on Interstate 395 into the Bishop city limits, a beacon of light…

K-MART!

“Sorry Jeremy, breakfast will have to wait.”

Slacks complete with oversized pleats and the Comfort-Action Perfect Fit™ elastic waistband: $19.97.
Dress shirt with matching brown and tan checkerboard tie circa 1983 with “touch me to feel the quality” cutout in plastic box: $39.95.
Instant wrinkle removing “Iron-In-A-Can” spray: $1.09.
K-Mart brand v-neck tee: $5.42.
Not smelling like a gyro with extra tzatziki and hummus: Priceless.

Quick change in the K-Mart store restroom (yes it was as traumatic as you might imagine.)

20mph over the speed limit to drive the final 2.3 miles to the courthouse (please no tickets on the way to court!)

Final adjustments to the tie as I walk through the courthouse doors (is my zipper down?)

And 5 minutes later…

“We will now proceed with the first case; Abdine vs....”

Shoppin with Paisley

"Ok Paisley, Since Mommy's out of town at Andrea's bachelorette party in Vegas , you're stuck with me this weekend. So here's my offer, we'll go to the park, play in the fountains at Town Lake and chomp on snow cones all weekend long. All that I ask in return is for some cooperation while daddy goes shopping."

…at least that was my idea.

Armed with toys, Pirate Booty and yogurt crisps, we ventured into the chaos that is the Nordstrom Half Yearly Men's Sale. Things went well - for about 5 minutes and then Paisley decided to exert her independence.

Stroller? Unacceptable to sit in, but fun to ram into other shoppers!

Pirate Booty? Certainly not for eating, though excellent to decorate the floor with.

Yogurt crisps? Best used for sucking on just long enough to soften for use as finger paints on the $185 Diesel jeans.

Toys? Perhaps it would be fun to plan a scavenger hunt for daddy!

I gotta give credit to the sales guy who offered to help corral her. Commission sales is a powerful motivating force. But ultimately, we had to abort mission due to my Tasmanian Devil in tow.

How does mommy do it?

Therapy

Long day at work? Unruly customers? Dog pissed on your shag carpet?

I never realized that a video game could double for therapy, but after wailing out Boston's Foreplay/Long Time on RockBand, I stand corrected.

Sure... there's an element of 14 year-old nerdiness in picking up a toy guitar and pelting out the appropriate finger combinations to simulate the lead guitar notes of a 70's era arena rock anthem. But when the family's out of the house and i can turn up my 6 channel, 400 watt surround sound system to 11, there is no denying my inner rock god.

Perfect Austin Day

These are the days that make you forget that 4 months out of the year must be spent hiding indoors from the humid, bug infested 98 degree summers.

Spring and fall, with the occasional balmy winter day make it all worth while. We woke up yesterday to one of these epic Austin days.

75 degrees, dry and breezy. Gentle sun with a few passing clouds and a brilliant blue, crystal clear sky.

Friends in town visiting from Houston. I start the day Mtn. Biking with Jeremy and Tim at Walnut Creek. Melissa's got Paisley in the jogging stroller and touring the townlake trail with Jen and Eliza

Exercise feels good. It also means its much easier to rationalize ordering the extraordinary Freddie's Place "Velveeta Burger." The cheese fries and onion rings round out the meal. Good thing there's a playscape to play on with the kids to help burn off the processed cheese.

Our friends have to bail (boo). So Miss, P and I go for another family walk around town lake to enjoy the sunset. We hear faint music in the distance. Huh? There appears to be a DJ spinning records with a small crowd of people dancing on top of the hill adjacent to the Lamar Bridge. Our curiosity draws us nearer to find a makeshift gathering of families, older couples and club kids dancing, hula hooping and flag twirling to (really good) house music. We have flashbacks of the random street parties we encountered in Prague...or did we suddenly get transported into a Diet Coke commercial...? We can't decide, but no matter. Paisley is dancing and practicing her hula hoop skills.

Culture? What Culture?

Have you ever thought about what an American cultural presentation would look like? What would you do? Line Dance? Sing “Achy Breaky Heart?” Perform a skit about our guerilla warfare tactics against the British?

A portion of the drop-in center afternoon was set aside for a cross-cultural presentation – an opportunity for both the South Africans and Americans present to share their culture.

The kids and youth leaders were excellent, entertaining us with traditional Zulu songs and dances and an expertly choreographed anti-Aids dance performed by the teenage youth volunteers.

The best us Americans could come up with?

1) Sing the U. of Texas fight song
2) Perform a football skit using a half empty liter of bottled water as the ball
3) Sing “Take Me Out To The Ballgame”
4) Repeat The Pledge Of Allegiance
5) Stumble through Sing the national anthem.

And yes, it was about as awkward as it sounds.

Joy And "Pop"

Hungry, poor, orphaned, yet still hopeful. Joyful even! I’m still trying to process my experience today. Am I feeling sorrow for them? Pity? Only a thoroughly chilled heart could ignore the emotions wrought from the eyes of a hungry child who’s lost one or both of their parents to AIDS. But there is a lot more to their story than the sad headlines that precede them. It only took a makeshift game of duck-duck-goose and a meal shared on the dusty floor of the classroom for me to break through their numbed exterior and see the children still living inside.

Children wear their emotions on their sleeve. Strange, quirky looks greeted us when the kids first arrived to the weekly after school “drop-in center” program my mom has helped engineer. It’s weird enough that a white woman shows up each week to help the local youth and adult volunteers cook, feed and play games with them, but now it seems the white woman has multiplied!

We joined my mom to assist with feeding the kids, and to learn about the program she orchestrates, but it didn’t take long before the event turned into a festive multicultural party. We played games, snapped pictures, danced and sang together. I even taught them the Hookem’ Horns hand gesture (picture about 40 little 5-10 year olds running around flashing their Hookem’ Horns and singing “The Eyes Of Texas” – yes… that’s my legacy in Africa…).

The afternoon concluded with the meal which consisted of cornmeal porridge “pop”, mashed potatoes, a thin tomato stew and two links of sausage, all generously donated from the Afrikaans community in Bethal. While nutritionally mediocre according to Western standards, the meal provided one of the few significant meals for the kids that week. It also presented an opportunity, and challenge for me to eat with my hands… not exactly an easy task when dealing with soupy consistency foods.

The kids have it down, forming their fingers into a scoop, similar to a Japanese soup spoon, then using their thumb to shovel the food into their mouths. I must have looked silly to them with my feeble attempt to emulate their technique, resulting instead with lips, chin, shirt and fingers covered in tomato sauce and cornmeal mush.

Clothing Donation

Melissa and I have generous friends and neighbors. In less than a week, we were able to cram the largest duffel bag REI sells with about 70 lbs of donated baby and children’s clothes to donate directly to needy families in the township where my mom works.

It was a long, tortuous (especially on my shoulders and neck) process, but I finally had the opportunity to share our friends’ generosity today.

We asked Delisile, one of the community leaders my mother works with, to identify and gather some of the neediest families in the township to pick through the donated goods and it appears that every item compressed into the bag will be put to immediate use. I only wish I knew a way to ship more items without the ridiculous shipping fees the USPS charges…

Differing Opinions

Seems like there is a difference of opinion about what to name some of the streets in town. Many street signs in the white part of town, recently changed from the original Afrikaans name to decidedly more African designations by the elected, black city government, have been erased with a few swipes of a spray paint can.

Good to see that the city planners – and some of the residents are directing their time and money on the really big issues in Bethal instead of the deteriorating roads and public buildings, not to mention the massive number of poor, hungry and sick living in the neighboring black slums. This is strange… like a weird passive-agressive cultural chest-thumping match.

Off The Tourist Map

My travel book, claiming to represent all things South African doesn’t even have the city of Bethal listed in the index. So I guess this means the cultural portion of my trip has begun?

We arrived into Bethal last night following our Kruger Safari. My mother was placed here by the Peace Corps and is 1 ½ years into her project to develop an after school program to feed, clothe and support the many orphaned and at-risk children in the black township neighboring this mostly white, Afrikaans town.

I don’t know what to expect though I’ve already heard some pretty strong opinions voiced about this tiny little town 2 hours away from the nearest major city.

One of the more colorful descriptions was voiced by the British ex-pat that managed a guest house we stayed at on our drive back from Kruger.

“Bethal?” He grumbled, shaking his head. “It’s a miserable place.”
“Why is that?” I prodded.
“Afrikaaners. Very conservative.”

Conservative? I wonder what he means by that? Perhaps he is referring to the holdover resentments from the massive political transition that took place in the mid 90s? Similar to some of the prejudices and mistrust that still inhabit the dark corners of the Southern US.?

This city of Bethal…a city of contrasts; cautiously exploring the uncharted waters of cultural integration, while still holding on to many of the misconceptions, distrust and fears that characterized the repressive ex-Apartheid political structure.

Or so I have been told.

Everyone I’ve met so far has been friendly, gracious and seemingly passionate about the opportunity for change.

Big Guns And Mountain Bikes

Rule #1 while touring Kruger: Do not get out of your car.
Rule #2: Don’t stick your head, arms or other appendages out of the window or sunroof.
Rule #3: If in doubt, refer to rules 1 & 2.

The game wardens don’t mess around with this message. There is even a program in place where you are encouraged to snitch on your fellow holidaymakers by submitting digital camera pics of their misdeeds and license plate to the authorities.

Obviously they have good reason to provide these rules and warnings. Most every animal larger than the African Tortoise would likely have no trouble making short work of a hornless, clawless, fangless, slow moving (and quite succulent with nice marbling) Anglo if offered the opportunity.

So when I saw the advertisement for the Mountain Bike Safari Tour, I immediately signed up.

Better yet, the ride was right smack in the middle of the park: no electric fences, no protected areas. The same wild bush that we have been warned ad-nauseum to stay out of.

Huh!?

The artillery answered a lot of questions. The tour is conducted by two veteran game wardens…with BIG ASS 458 caliber elephant guns – making me slightly more confident of my chances of returning alive – until it was revealed that this tour is pilot program ONLY conducted at the rest camp we were staying at and that we would be going to a different location than the norm due to the increased muggings by AK47-weilding Mozambiquan raiders who sneak over the border to poach elephants and tourists’ wallets.

The tour began with a 20 minute drive down a private road to the trailhead. We unloaded the bikes from the jeep and then the lead game warden went over the rules – very carefully:

1. You will always ride behind us in 2 lines.
2. Absolutely no talking. Remain completely silent as we ride. We will make a number of stops at which point we can chat quietly. (“Here Kitty Kitty Kitty??”)
3. If we encounter game on the trail, I will raise my hand and you will immediately stop riding, gently rest the bike on its side, and follow my partner to a safe location. I will stay here and negotiate with the animal.
4. Under no circumstances will you run. Only gentle movements.
5. If I say “down”, you will immediately crouch to the ground without hesitation and stay crouched until I give you the all clear sign.

“Ok is everyone ready to ride!?” he says with a slight smile on his face.

“Umm, s-s-sure.” We stammerd.

“So have you ever used your gun on one of these rides?” I ask warden #1.

“Yes, once.” He replies. “Elephant.”

We start our ride and fortunately we don’t encounter any pissed-off elephants, hungry lions or attack giraffe, but a Canadian girl on our ride did have to have a fist-sized, bird eating spider brushed off her head after accidentally riding through its web.

The big payoff was the hippos. After 3 miles of riding through twisty trails, we deposited our bikes in a small clearing and walked down to the edge of the Olifants river to watch a dozen hippo fight, bellow, eat and snort their way into the evening.

After the 20 minute show, we walked back to our bikes, taking a short detour to a small stream to rinse of my shoes after I (like a properly “stupid American”) accidentally stepped into an ankle deep mud and clay pit. .

The ride was a highlight of my trip, exciting, unusual, and a little intimidating. I was a tad disappointed we didn’t encounter any dangerous game during the ride though. It seems that the animals in the area that evening weren’t in the mood for a high fat and cholesterol meal of American fast food.

Kruger Park Safari

The “safari” portion of our trip began at 7am Friday morning as we drove through the entrance gate of Kruger National Park. Recognized as having the densest population of big game animals in the world, visitors to Kruger not only have the chance to view the “big 5:” Lions, Elephants, Leopards, rhinos and buffalos in their natural habitat, but will also routinely find wild giraffe, hippo, baboons, zebra, crocodiles, hyena, wildebeest, warthogs, impala and other antelope. The park is an expansive piece of protected wilderness, roughly the size of Massachusetts with numerous camps interconnected by mostly paved and a few unpaved roads. Visitors are allowed to take their own unguided tours via car on designated roads, but are expressly forbidden to step out of their vehicles anywhere on the roads outside of the electric fence-protected camps.

We had the privilege of a personalized, guided tour by locals, my mom’s Afrikaans host family; Louis, Elise and their son Stefan. Their navigational expertise throughout the park and miraculous ability to spot wildlife proved indispensable. We hit the animal jackpot:

Elephants:
Elephants are everywhere in Kruger. Since they have no natural predators (other than humans) their population has exploded inside the secure confines of the park. It’s quite startling to roll around the corner and find a massive African elephants chewing on grass alongside the road.






Giraffes:
We saw a few of them during our stay, though it was mostly of their backsides as they walked away when we approached. Of all the animals we saw, they seemed the most skittish around cars.






Hippos:
There were tons of hippos in all the ponds and rivers, though none as close as the one doing the hippo ballet in the video. She was a mere 25 yards from our car.






Lion:
We probably would have missed this guy if it weren’t for the 6 other cars parked on the road watching him. He was too far to photograph, but the 10x zoom on my video camera brought him into view.



Warthogs:
All the warthogs we saw were a farther away than preferred . This family was digging around for food near a larger herd of impala and zebra. A favorite snack of the many predators in Kruger, they’re apparently also tasty according to human standards as per my uncle Steve who sampled warthog ribs during his stay in Cape Town.






Buffalo:
I have some video of the ones we saw, which were grazing way off in the distance, but I think this classic YouTube video also filmed right here in Kruger Park is much more compelling…






Impala:
We started referring to Impala sightings as “JAI” (just another Impala) as they were everywhere… the most reliable viewing of any animal. Stefan also noted their other nickname: “McDonalds Drive Thru” due to the M shaped coloring on their rear coupled with their abundant availability for the park’s predator population.




Fruit Bats:
These guys were chillin' under one of the restaurant huts at the Skukuza camp in Kruger. I’m not sure if I could enjoy my lunch like the others in the video. It smelled similar to the bat colony that lives under the Congress Bridge in Austin.






Zebra:
We had quite a few Zebra sightings. They often grazed with herds of Impala.






Baboons:
Chacma Baboons were often seen chilling in trees, but we saw a few, including this monster in the video by the road.



Leopard:
It’s rare to see a leopard, but one in a tree…next to a road is even more unlikely! We were a ways away, so the best picture I could muster was by holding the camera lens up to one of my binocular lenses. It didn’t think it would work, but apparently it does… sort of.






Ground Hornbill:
We found these rare birds doing their dance (mating?) amongst a larger group of Zebra, Impala & Buffalo.

SLIDESHOW OF ALL MY KRUGER PARK PICS

No Cell Service

Just our luck that the Vodacom cell towers in Kruger go offline as soon as we enter the park. No cell and no landlines (all forms of voice and computer communication use Vodacom). In fact, the only way to contact the outside world would be to drive 3 hours to the nearest town bordering the park or to find someone with a satellite phone – both unlikely options. It’s going on 48 hours since I’ve last chatted with Melissa – the longest period of time ever… and quite frustrating, though oddly appropriate out here in the wilderness.

Hippo Crossing!

Saw this on the way to Kruger Park - right outside of Nelspruit, a fairly decent sized town!

Lightning Strikes

I live in Texas. I’ve seen some gnarly thunderstorms before. Torrential rains, gusty winds, noisy crackles of thunder overhead – all par for the course, but I don’t think I’ve ever been in a storm as sudden and vicious as the African doozy that caught us off guard on our way to the local market.

We had just arrived at the guest house in the smallish town of Whitriver after a half day drive North from the Johannesburg airport. Since we can’t do any driving in the park at night (lions will eat you, rhinos will gore you, elephants will step on you, hippos will….you get the picture), we stopped here for the evening to rest up before another full day drive into the heart of Kruger National Park for our 4 day safari.

We saw the ominous clouds as we approached the town and figured we’d get a shower or two but since people who enjoy retaining their money and personal possessions don’t go driving around at night in this part of Africa, we were on a limited schedule to get back out to buy snacks and fluids before dusk.

The rumbling began as we departed the guest house. 5 minutes later the whole sky was aflame with electrical explosions and thunderous booms.

When the lightning struck ground 100 yards from our Van, we decided to turn back and postpone our refreshments run for safer times. How ironic to be downed by a bolt of lightning 24 hours into your grand African adventure!

Sleepless In Schiphol

As if their questionable comprehension of the classic rock genre wasn’t enough, I discovered a new fun fact about the Dutch this morning.

You can’t buy Tylenol PM in the Netherlands without a prescription.

This information was reported to me at 4:30 am from the sundries store attendant next to my hotel. At first I thought I heard her wrong blaming my sleep deprived mental fog or her thick dutch accent, but when she pointed to the practically useless Melatonin bottle behind the counter as my “only option” all I could do was shake my head and shuffle back to the hotel in bewilderment.

So kids, feel free to enjoy all the marijuana, hash, psilocybin shrooms and peyote you want… Just remember to say NO! to the NyQuil.

In Search Of Frostbite

When I packed for my African adventure I felt like I had all my bases covered; light summer clothes, Tevas, wide-brimmed hat, sunblock, bug spray, malaria medication and a 20 piece Sees Candy gift box of Bordeaux and nut-caramel chews.

Problem is, my 24 hour Netherlands layover happened to be in the Northern Hemisphere, which happens to be – like most of the rest of the Western world right smack in the dregs of winter.

So here comes ‘stupid American’ Alan waltzing off the plane wearing cargo pants and a thin poly-blend Old Navy t-shirt noticing immediately that there is not one other person in the whole airport who is wearing less than a down and rabbit fur winter coat.

Luckily my hotel was connected to the terminal, so I rushed to the room, changed into the warmest piece of clothing I packed – a thin poly blend long sleeved t-shirt Banana Republic t-shirt – and headed out for a stroll around the city center, figuring that fast walking and frequent ‘coffee verkert’ stops would provide a reasonable defense to the 32 degrees-and-dropping climate.

That turned out to be an ill conceived plan as well (see upcoming “still cold and now wired and can’t sleep” blog post for more details.)

But – I WAS in Amsterdam so there were plenty of distractions from the telltale tingling and numbness sensation invading my fingers and toes.

Since I didn’t have any particular destination in mind, I selected the first brightly lit street I could find from the train station – and quickly realized that most everything other than the alcohol, cannabis and flesh peddling establishments would be closed in observance of the New year’s holiday forcing me to revise my objectives from walk-around-and-buy-Miss-and-baby-presents to walk-around-and people-watch-while-looking-for-pubs-that-have-good-Belgium-Beer-on-tap.

After a few hours of fighting for space in crowded pubs, getting bumped in the street by stumbling Spanish and Italian teenagers blazed out of their minds and mouthing the words “no thanks” to the bikini-clad working girls propositioning me from their red-hued glass cages, I had had enough and figured passing the rest of my time in Amsterdam asleep at the hotel would be a better option.

What A Fool Believes

It’s 8:52 PM, New Years Eve and my night so far has consisted of 2 scotch rocks, a bottle of Vittel, some mushy, but oddly flavorsome curry and the Classic Doobie Brother’s tune “What A Fool Believes” blaring in my ears.

God, what a miserable song. Is this what the Dutch consider classic rock?

On a bright note, these business class seats aren’t too bad.

KLM Flight 602 departed LAX at 5:30 pm en route to Amsterdam. I’ll have a hopefully-restfull-but-probably-not 24 hour layover in Amsterdam and then another 10 hour flight to South Africa to visit my Peace Corps volunteer extraordinaire Mom.

It’s a rough thing leaving a rockin wife and baby. I’ve worked my whole life trying to convince girls to kiss me and now I’m leaving two! But I suspect the shear shock and awe of my upcoming experience coupled with my recently enriched SkypOut calling account will help me pass the two weeks away relatively unscathed.

Sadness And Joy At Christmastime

What a surreal experience… to be exquisitely joyful while suffering the sadness of loss.

Two days before Christmas, we lost our pup Moby. It was disturbingly sudden. One moment, we were enjoying a pre-Christmas dinner with Grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins, the next moment struck with the hot, gut-pinching emotion of sudden loss.

We didn’t sleep the night we received the call – the silly pup played himself to death!? He was only 6, but his heart couldn’t keep up with his will to run around and around and around and around…

But then we emerge from our restless night to find our pigtailed daughter squealing with the delight one can only obtain from banging brightly colored blocks together.

We laughed with her…
then cried….
then mimicked Paisley’s strange but joyful gurgling noises…
then dreaded our inevitable return home to find Moby’s long hidden chew tows wedged between couch cushions….
then basked in a sunny morning family stroll…
then comforted our equally stricken dog sitter through her own grief…
then played ticklemonster…
then…

Melissa Is Finally Blogging!

...and Paisley is her muse. It's nice to see her joining the "sphere."

Check it out... http://paisleypigpress.blogspot.com

The Lazy Man's Blog Post

One of the nice things about having a kid is that it's easy to satisfy my readership (all 3 of them) by simply posting new pictures of Paisley. Yea its the lazy way out... but hopefully more will be on the way soon!

Paisley - 6 months

Paisley - 7 months

Paisley - 8 months

Reverend Alan’s Farewell Tour

When I originally became an online-ordained minister, I never intended to make a business of marrying off all my friends. I figured God would forgive me – once – for manipulating California’s liberal marriage laws. But a second time? I’m not so sure.

When my good friend Joe (supposedly) first asked me to marry him, I didn’t hear him. So goes the next 4 months with me oblivious to my (supposedly) promised marriage service duties and him planning out the wedding around my (supposed) services.

I’m still not sure how the misunderstanding began… perhaps I was in denial? Spaced out due to my persistent insomnia? Or maybe he didn’t really ask me like he thought, instead assuming I would gladly assist being such the good friend that I am.

I was happy to do it of course. And in retrospect, it worked out much better anyway since I only had to stress out about it for a few months.

Friendly note to brother, sister and single/engaged friends: Despite rumors to the contrary, my days as a web-appointed conductor of marriage ceremonies has come to an end. I look forward to participating in other ways such as planning bachelor parties, drinking your wine, enjoying you DJ/Band during the reception, and all other activities that do not cause sleepless nights, writer’s block, sweaty palms and stress headaches.

Joe, Deb

As you embark on this exciting journey as a married couple, I’d like to speak today about different representations of love.

Some common representations of love, at least according to Saturday morning cartoons and big budget Hollywood movies, usually involve cupids, love sick squirrels, pimply-faced pubescent nerds who win the heart of the homecoming queen or they recount an epic fairytale about a dashing protagonists named Wesley rescuing the fair maiden Buttercup from the evil Prince Humperdink while avoiding Sicilian criminal geniuses, pituitary gland challenged ex- wwf wrestlers and expert Spanish swordsmen with ridiculous mustaches.

These perspectives provide great movie fodder, however they fall short when challenged with the sober realities of real-life. Sure, we see a glimpse of the excitement that new love can provide, but can that adrenaline rush support a lifelong commitment? More importantly, is it fair to expect ourselves to sustain that crescendo of emotion?

If looked at from a different, angle, there is also the sacrificial element of love. And when I say sacrifice, what I really mean is surrender, concede, or capitulate! No, of course I’m kidding. There IS however an important sacrificial element to the commitment you are making. This sacrifice represents your willingness, to be challenged by different opinions, to be patient and understanding even when you know you’re right. And to accommodate your partners concerns, even when it’s inconvenient, unpleasant or uncomfortable. It also means Deb, that you need to be understanding of Joe when he’s grumpy… which as we all know is a pretty common occurrence.

And this sacrificial love leads in to the final description of love I’d like to talk about today which is the faithful, committed kind. You will experience peaks and valleys of emotion during your life together. Sometimes you will be cruising through your days & weeks on autopilot, with mild to moderate chop, skillfully avoiding thunderhead’s that you have become so adept at detecting, while other times you’ll feel the rush of a full-throttle take-off into crystal blue, sun-soaked sky. Either way, your consistency, reliability and steadfast devotion to each other through these variable conditions is what will make your marriage so exciting and important.

Honey-Do List

During our pre-Paisley days, my chores usually consisted of the standard issue husbandly duties such as:

1. Taking out the trash
2. Putting dirty dishes in the dishwasher
3. Cooking 90% of meals
4. Rubbing wife's feet while watching Entourage
5. Rubbing wife's shoulders while watching Big Love

Now, however, my responsibilities have become much more technical. So here you go Miss, we are now up to date with uploaded baby pictures on the blog!

2 months...
















3 months...














3 months part 2...














4 months...














5 months...














Hawaii trip...

Mission Impossible: Accomplished (sans the baby benadryl!)

By the way, Yes. Prayer works.

How do I know? Because we weren't thrown off the plane to or from Hawaii. I'm happy to report that our daughter decided to grace us with 5 hours of relative silence and solitude to and from Hawaii, despite the flight attendant who could only speak at 70 decibels or louder even while staring directly at a sleeping Paisley in Melissa's lap.

Our first family vacation was a roaring success though I quickly realized that vacations with baby are radically different than trips as a young, exuberant childless married couple.

With a 5 month old in tow, the quality of the accommodations and room service are exponentially more important because the vast majority of our time is spent on the hotel premises verses, say, snorkeling with giant sea turtles or eating wild guavas on a nature hike.

Not to say we didn't have a good time! It was much cooler to chill on our hotel room lanai watching the resident hotel dolphins perform back flips than suffer through another week of a muggy Austin summer or smoggy Redlands July. And munching on sushi while Elizabeth Taylor sips Mai Tais at the bar next door aint too shabbby either.

Certifiably Crazy

…is what we are for having the audacity to take our 4 month old on a 5 1/2 hour plane flight to Hawaii. At least according to conventional wisdom.

But you know… screw it. I'm tired of hiding from public view so as to not (gasp!) interrupt some first class snob's cat nap for the 5 minutes it takes Paisley to gurgle and burp herself to sleep.

Here's a quarter, invest in some foam ear plugs.

Am I being selfish?

I say no. Since this trip really isn't for me. I think baby's first vacation is way over due. She seemed to develop a travel bug around month 2 and hasn't ceased in her pleas for a family trip.

Apparently she wants to swim with the turtles.

Furthermore, its not like this will be her first foray into air travel. With 2 successful trips between Austin and SoCal and one trip to Kansas City, she's well on her way to earning her wings. Hopefully we'll once again avoid hitting her self-destruct button…though we'll bring the baby Benadryl just in case.

Thine Poo Floweth Freely

It’s not hard to describe all the funny/happy/surprising events one enjoys as a father. One simply needs to act the journalist, happily reporting on the day's events:

My kid is so advanced…

My kid is so cute…

My kid is so funny…

My kid is (add adjective here)

The complications arise when describing those “other” interesting parental experiences. The ones that every parent suffers through but are, for the most part, kept safely hidden from public consumption lest we scare off other would-be breeders from the joys of parenthood.

Fore example, how does one describe a catastrophic baby poo incident without devolving into snickering juvenile potty humor?

My solution came unexpectedly one day while Melissa rummaged through her old high school letters and school work. Out came an inspired and hilarious limerick she wrote in her 12th grade creative writing class about - get this - Richard Nixon! Incidentally it had nothing to do with Nixon as a President, his public persona… or really anything remotely distinguishing any part of life. It WAS however a brilliant snapshot of Melissa's 18 year old brain and a reminder that you can flower up any type of subject matter for poetic purposes.

But what form should my pooriffic poem take?

Haiku? Free form? Sonnet?!

Of course! A Shakespearean Sonnet! I'll just call upon my old friend iambic pentameter to bail me out (once again):

Bursting t'words heavens blue; bisque streams exhumed

So spew-ith ye bum in lupine relief.

Calamitous fallout! White chair consumed

Bewildered clutch I bleach pen and kerchief.

But after the first quatrain I began to question my sanity.

My Baby Is Smarter Than Your Honor Student

Sure, every parent considers their child to be advanced, but seriously folks, Paisley is operating at a whole ‘nother level.

Like just yesterday she rolled over onto her back from her tummy with nary a nudge from her daddy.

What’s that you say? Big deal?

Well did you know that babies aren’t even supposed to do that until they’re like 4 months old?

Still not impressed? Well after she rolled over, she sat up and asked her mom for her boob.

And I’m not talking about whining and grunting which most babies are reduced to these days.

Seriously, she pointed her stubby little finger at Melissa’s rack and demanded: “Mom! Boob!"

Yea, it totally caught us off guard because up until that point, Paisley only communicated with us and Moby telepathically.

Ha ha, I know; its quite a thing to watch your daughter debate tax policy with your pug while she's calibrating your home theater system.

Click for the new set of pics!

Bad Influence

C'mon Melissa... ALREADY!?
Can't we start her off with something a bit tamer? Like Big Lots or the 99 cents store?

The Obligatory Texas Wildflower Picture

One beautiful spring day during my second year as a University of Texas undergrad, a strange sight caught the corner of my eye as I barreled down IH35. Off to the right side of the road, a young couple stood motionless, staring at the grass covered hill running parallel along the highway. Their car seemed fine, they didn’t seem distressed. They just stood there, staring at the ground and pointing.

“More Texas weirdos” I mumbled to myself as I drove by…

Then a few days later, another young couple - also staring at the ground, this time with a a camera; no car wreck, smoking hood, or flat tire in site.

Luckily, this time around my travel companion happened to be a native Austinite who educated me on the Central Texas tradition of taking pictures of your new baby surrounded by Bluebonnets during the 6 to 8 week-long springtime wildflower season.

Great idea I thought, but on the side of the freeway??

Sure, the highways are gloriously abundant with swaths of blue, pink and yellow Texas wildflowers – thanks in part to the Ladybird Johnson-inspired Texas Department of Transportation’s wildflower planting program, but certainly there are safer photo-worthy locations to be found in Austin!

Luckily I found such a place. So in my unrelenting attempt to play the part of the consummate texas wannabe, here are Paisley's safely-taken-out-of-harm's-way Texas wildflower pictures:

(click for more!)

Here they are...

It's a strange thing when the theme of the vast majority of all the phone calls you now have with your family focus predominantly on 1) when you're going to post new pictures of the baby on the blog and 2) why you've been such a slacker with posting new pictures of the baby on your blog.

What happened to the good-ole standby questions:

1. The weather looks like it sucks in Texas. Is it humid?
2. The weather looks like it sucks in Texas. Is it raining?
3. The weather looks like it sucks in Texas. Is it hot?
4. When are you coming to California?
5. When are you moving back to California?
6. Tell me again why you are living in Texas?
7. C'mon... Texas? Really??

So now that I've posted new pictures of the baby (see below) here are my answers to the other inquiries for the month of March.

1. Yes
2. Yes
3. Yes
4. July, maybe May
5. Don't know
6. Good margaritas, no state income tax and 2000 sq. ft houses for less than 700k
7. Yee Haw!


(click each to see the whole set)

Paisley at 2 weeks:

























Paisley at 3 weeks:

























Paisley at 1 month: