I've never had an appreciation for art that I can't make heads or tails out of, and I've always secretly wondered what would happen if you took a piece of abstract artwork and rotated it 90 degrees.

So, last summer, I did it.

In the Starbucks off of I-240 and Penn in Oklahoma City (and, I suspect, many others across the country) there are pieces of artwork made up of four smaller paintings arranged in a cube. Back in June of this year (2008) I noticed that one of them was not completely screwed to the wall, so during a slow period I pulled the bottom left hand picture off the wall, rotated it 90 degrees, and reattached it. You can see my handiwork in the photo below.



Notice in the bottom left hand quadrant how the coffee pot is now lying on its side. You should also note that these pictures face the front window; everybody who enters the store and/or orders coffee can plainly see them.

My question was, how long would it take before an employee noticed it and rotated the picture back? A few minutes? A few hours? A few days? Surely not an entire week, right?

Try six months.

For the past six months, the picture has remained rotated. Someone must've finally figured it out last week. When we stopped by for our weekly coffee last week the picture had been rotated back 90 degrees, over six months after my original prank.



Harmless fun, nothing more. I'd like to think of more pranks like this in the future.

One of my New Year's Resolutions is to go as digital as I can -- this means moving my music, movies, books and photos into the computer. In preparation for this, I built myself a four-terabyte drive RAID in a big yellow full-sized tower that has been since dubbed "Moonpie."

Currently I am copying all my mp3s up to Moonpie, one CD at a time. Each CD can take up to five minutes and I have 500+ CDs of music archived, so it's going to take a few weeks. If you're thinking, "there's no way anyone could listen to that much music," you're probably right. Still, I like having it, and it will be nice to have it all available to me instantly without going and rummaging through CD binders. When I am through I will box up all my physical music CDs (around 1,200 or so) and either put them away or get rid of them (har, har).

If you're thinking all of this sounds familiar, you're right. Earlier this year I spent about month essentially doing the same thing, copying all my mp3s to a single USB terabyte drive. Unfortunately either the drive itself was bad, the connection was too slow, or something else on my network was corrupting the files. All of those variables have been removed from the picture with Moonpie; between its fast SATA 2.0 connectivity, RAID drive redundancy and my new backup scheme, corrupting and losing files should be a thing of the past for me (ha, look at me, tempting fate). I also have a hunch part of my problem was storing all of my albums within a single directory; I have corrected that problem this go-around by splitting them up into groups by letter (A-E, F-J, etc.)

As of this morning I have moved over 180 CDs worth of mp3s. Here are a few numbers for you stat junkies:

- 26,250 files, 1,780 folders.
- 103 GB.
- 4 corrupted albums.
- 34 artists start with a number.
- Smallest directory: "U-Z" (123 albums, 9.5 GB)
- Largest directory: "P-T" (394 albums, 26 GB)
- Orphan (Singles) directory: 2,233 files, 8.5 GB.

Making a few assumptions, by the time I'm done I expect to have 482 GB of mp3 files. That's 482,000 meg. Divide that by an average of 3 meg per song and that gives me 160,666.666 (Rock!) songs. Using another average of 4 minutes per song, that's 642,664 minutes|10,711 hours|446 days worth of music. This is a low estimate, as I have another 600-800 CDs that I need to rip. (Some percentage of those are no doubt duplicates, thus the large gap in the number.)

If someone will remind me in a month or so, I will compare the final numbers to my predictions.

So, here's where we stand. Mason broke his humerus (aka his "funny bone"). The doctor said it was a very slight fracture, but apparently slight fractures are treated the same way as any other fracture. Yesterday Mason's temporary splint was removed and replaced with a hard cast. Apparently great strides have been made in the area of arm casts over the past several years (who knew?). Mason's doctor actually recommended that he get his cast wet at least once a day -- Mason can shower and bathe with it on, no problem. Also, the doctor said the cast is virtually indestructible and anything he could do before he had the cast (including riding the Ripstik), he should still be able to do. Before he can ride the Ripstik, he'll have to be able to find it ...



Susan leaves this Sunday for two weeks in Florida. Mason will have the cast on for three weeks. Other than helping him put on shirts and jackets and stuff like that, I'm not expecting a lot of extra hassle. As I mentioned yesterday, his cast is on his left arm and he is left handed (as are Susan and Morgan) so we'll see how school goes in a week.

Believe it or not, I never broke a bone. I joked at lunch yesterday, "that's because I never went outside as a kid," but I sold myself short. I did an awful lot of break dancing, skateboarding, bicycle and motorcycle riding and karate as a kid. I guess I was just lucky.

Or, tough.

After a day of walking around the house with one shoulder significantly lower than the other, we took Mason to the hospital to get him looked at. The doctor said that he had a "muscle or ligament tear," which should heal itself with time.

Because of his injury, Mason decided to give the Heeleys a rest and switch to the Ripstick. As I briefly explained the other day, a Ripstik is a skateboard-like device that only has two wheels (one on each end), both of which spin. Here is a video of some kids riding one. Unlike Mason, these kids are mostly vertical.



While zig-zagging his way down the street, Mason fell and landed directly on his elbow. According to him, "he heard a crack" when he landed. So, for the second time in as many days, Mason went back to the hospital -- this time for apparently a broken arm. After performing an x-ray, the doctor said he saw a "hairline fracture." Mason's left arm (he's left handed, too) was put in a splint. Today he goes back to the doctor for a full arm cast.

Let it be known that I picked out the guitar, an item that (so far) has not directly injured him. Then again, the week is young ...

With the children, I have learned not to ask important questions too early as their answers change frequently. For example, this year for Mason's birthday we asked him three times (about a week apart) where he wanted to have his birthday party. Each time we asked we got a different answer: bowling alley, the Omniplex, and finally, the skating rink. The trick is not to keep asking once the decision has been made so they don't get the opportunity to change their minds.

Unfortunately this doesn't work around Christmas, where kids get asked what they want for Christmas every single day and end up seeing Santa at least three times. Seriously, as a kid I only remember talking to Santa once a year, but kids these days get at least half a dozen chances. I know Morgan saw Santa once at daycare, once after her Christmas program, once at the mall once and once at Wal-Mart. It's ridiculous. And each time the kids are asked, they come up with something different they want for Christmas. The first time around, Mason said he wanted a guitar -- so, we bought him a guitar. The second time, he wanted a Ripstik (I'll get to that shortly). Susan went to the store, picked up a Ripstik, and put it in the closet next to the guitar. Before long, Mason was asking for a digital camera and Heeleys (those shoes with wheels in the heels), so we farmed those requests out -- Dad bought Mason a camera, Mom bought him a pair of Heeleys.

This morning, along with a slew of other gifts, Mason got his guitar and his Ripstik. After spending a little time rocking out on the guitar, it was time to go outside and try the Ripstik. The Ripstick is a weird skateboard-like device with only two wheels, both of which not only roll, but spin as well. On top of that, the whole thing pivots in the middle. Riding the thing is almost like a puzzle; part of me wanted to try it, the other part did not want to visit the emergency room today, so I did not partake. After several attempts to ride the thing, we had to regroup in the house and pull up tutorials on eBay. Once we understood the basics, Mason was able to at least scoot down the sidewalk.

Once the excitement of Christmas morning wore off, Mason seemed sad. When I asked him what was wrong, he said, "I didn't get any Heeleys. That's all I really wanted." Now, let me paint this visual for you; he's saying this while covered in Christmas wrapping paper, surrounded by hundreds of dollars worth of toys. On top of that, in the back of my mind I know that my mom has a pair of Heeleys waiting for him over at her house. "Maybe you'll get some later today," I suggested. With that he picked up his guitar. "You working on a new song?" I asked, "Yeah. I'm writing a song about Heeleys," he said.

Oh brother.

This afternoon, we made it over to mom's, and sure enough, Mason gets his Heeleys. I remember my mom's husband Jack saying that Mason had a helmet out in the garage that Mason could use, but we waved it off. Please. I grew up not wearing a helmet for anything, ever. Mason laced up his shoes and went out on the back porch. We saw him scooting back and forth across the porch for a while and then kind of quit paying attention.

While we were chatting about something or other, Susan stood up and said, "Mason's down."

I just thought he had fallen, but when we stood up and looked out the window, Mason was out cold. Susan and my mom ran out the back door as I stood and looked out the window. They picked Mason up and although he was awake, his legs were definitely wobbly. Mason swore that he did not get knocked out but he was definitely out when we saw him. We searched his head for lumps but couldn't find one. The only pain he complained about was his elbows, so we're thinking he fell backwards on to his elbows and maybe whipped his head backwards. We watched his pupils for a while but never saw any serious changes.

The Heeleys and Ripstik have been retired for the evening. Mason spent the rest of the night playing with his guitar and his camera. Susan noticed that Mason is holding one shoulder significantly lower than the other and is complaining of a sore neck, so tomorrow will probably be his first (of many) hospital trip caused by toys with wheels.

From a kid who rocks and a doll that poops.

Growing up, Susan's family exchanged presents on Christmas Eve. In my household, that was the ultimate sin. As a result we've ended up with this conglomeration of a holiday ritual. It starts on Christmas Eve when both of our families get together to eat, exchange gifts, and eat some more. The key here is that only gifts are exchanged with Susan's side of the family; we give them our gifts and open theirs from them. For three hours we open gifts and let the kids eat cookies, chocolate, and candy before telling them, "Now hurry up and go to sleep." Yeah, right. From my laptop I can hear Morgan in her room, singing to herself. Mason has vowed to stay awake "until Santa comes."

Yeah. About that. Mason's been asking "questions" this week. "If Santa's real, how does he do all that stuff?" I know he is on the cusp of figuring it all out. I'm just trying to get one more Christmas out of him. Just let him suspend belief for one more day. He's got the rest of his life not to believe in magic anymore -- please, just let him make it 24 more hours.

So now, the waiting game is on. I'm hoping the kids conk out soon; Santa's got a bike to put together.

Mason's officially on Christmas Break, which unfortunately just means he goes to daycare instead of going to school. He doesn't mind; it's like a mini-reunion up there with all his old daycare friends.

One of his friends has been bringing their Nintendo Wii to daycare this week, and apparently Mason promised to bring Rock Band for everyone to play. When I was informed of his little plan last night, I said no way. I don't need two dozen kids beating on our drums, breaking my guitars and dropping my microphone. Of course this caused Mason to completely melt down and cry for two hours solid.

Finally, an agreement was reached -- I would take leave from work for a couple of hours this afternoon and bring Rock Band.

I cannot begin to explain how hectic the afternoon was and God bless the teachers over at the daycare who deal with kids every single day. As I told one of them, "This whole experience has reminded me how much I enjoy working with computers."

The kids, however, had a blast. I ended up organizing the kids into six "bands" of three. Each band got two songs, and on each song I made them switch up the instruments so everybody got a chance to try something different (or, more to the point, nobody got stuck singing twice). Drums were by far the most popular instrument, and I saw many styles throughout the afternoon: some kids actually played them like drums, others played them like bongos (without the sticks) and one kid (I dubbed "Animal," from the Muppet Show) just beat the crap out of everything within reach every chance he got.







Some of the kids had obviously never played Rock Band or Guitar Hero. Some of those kids "got it" and others didn't. The ones that didn't snuck away from the group pretty quickly. I tried to make sure everybody got an equal amount of tries, but I also understand not wanting to learn something new in front of your peers.

If anything, Mason got less play time than everyone else simply because he can play it at time. I did let him show off in front of his friends a few times, of course.

Nothing makes me more nervous than having to depend on technology in a "once in a lifetime" situation. I've done it a few times before and every time I've had butterflies in my stomach from start to finish.

For example, I've done three critical slideshows -- two for weddings, the other for a funeral. Those are events you don't want to screw up. Each of the slideshows consisting of photographs with music playing in the background. I work on computers every single day and while I know how reliable they can be, I also know how unreliable they can be as well. On all three instances I ended up burning the slideshows to DVD first, and then making multiple copies of the DVD. I know that for Andy's wedding there were at least three copies of the slideshow at the church: I had one, Susan had one, and Andy had one.

I also played DJ at a couple of wedding receptions (my sister's and Andy's). At both of those events, all the music I played was in MP3 format and stored on my laptop. Things went fine in both cases, but in the back of my mind the entire event I kept secretly repeating to my laptop, "please don't crash, please don't crash ..." It would have been impossible for me to listen to every single song I had downloaded prior to those events, so I just had to cross my fingers and hope that everything was labeled properly and everything went okay. Fortunately it did, but the fear was still there. It would be awful to have something go wrong and have people remember your wedding for that. ("Remember that DJ who accidentally played 'Me So Horny' for the Father/Daughter dance?")

Unbeknownst to us at the time, the funeral home that did Jeff's grandfather's funeral last weekend recorded (both audio and video) the service. After the service, the funeral home presented Jeff's family with recordings on both a VHS tape and a cassette tape. Jeff asked me if I would be able to transfer the VHS tape to a DVD; I said sure, and so the other night he brought it over.

The tape is almost unwatchable. I'm not sure what went wrong but it looks like the VCR they recorded the service with is way out of alignment; either that or they used the world's crappiest video tape. Either way, I could not get a good picture from the tape. We even tried multiple VCRs; the one in my computer room (which has manual tracking) and the one in the living room (that has automatic tracking). Neither one was able to stablize the signal. Jeff is checking with the funeral home to see if they have another copy or if we can test the tape on their VCR and maybe make a copy using their VCR as the master and another one as a slave, but man, how disappointing will that be if the only copy is messed up.

We then went to work with the audio tape, which introduced another set of challenges. Apparently the funeral home records from a set of microphones that are located at the front of the funeral home. Unfortunately, no one who spoke at the funeral was anywhere near the microphones. Other than the occasional ripple of laughter, the tape basically sounded like empty hiss. I was able to record the tape into the computer using Vegas; from there I boosted the audio levels, which introduced both people speaking and a huge amount of hiss. Using WaveArts PowerSuite I was able to remove most of the hiss from the recording, leaving us with a fairly listenable recording (I tried compressing the track but it muddied the voices too much). At least we were able to save the audio; I'm hoping we can save the video too.

Sometimes I feel like electronics have a "fail sensor" that triggers whenever they feel stress around them.

(Originally submitted to the Minco Millennium Newspaper.)

It's the weekend before Christmas and I had half a dozen topics lined up to write about: last minute shopping, mall crowds, fruit cakes (the kind you eat) and fruit cakes (the kind that visit during the holidays). Unfortunately over the weekend, another topic presented itself; my best friend's grandfather, Marvin Kimbrough, passed away.

I met Jeff over twenty years ago on the first day of seventh grade in music class. As our music teacher handed out Xeroxed sheets of paper with lyrics to the song, "I Can Sing a Rainbow," I turned to the kid next to me (a tall, lanky kid with wild hair and thick glasses) and said, "Are you going to sing this crap?" We agreed together that we would not, and a lifelong friendship was born out of our common hatred of singing songs about rainbows.

Of course we had more in common than our joint disgust of ditties praising multicolored meteorological phenomenon. Back in the mid-80s, Jeff and I shared lots of common interests, from computers and videogames to heavy metal music and Dungeons and Dragons. We were definitely geeks, but we were geeks happy hanging out with one another. Whether we were playing Photon Laser Tag, blasting aliens at the bowling alley's arcade or pretending to be ninjas in the woods out behind my grandfather's house, we were always happy existing under the radar, doing our own thing.

It wasn't until November of 1988 that Jeff appeared on anyone's radar, not for something he had done, but for what he was now driving -- a 1981 Z28 Camaro in pristine condition. The car was white, loud, and fast as hell. Of course we wouldn't discover just how fast the car was for some time because it took Jeff something like twenty attempt over six months to actually pass his driver's test, but once he finally did we were golden. Around that same time I destroyed my first car (an old Mustang) and replaced it with a Formula Firebird. Another friend of ours (Andy) also ended up with a 1980 Z28, and the three of us would park together in the school parking lot every single morning, revving our engines and trying to look as cool as a bunch of sixteen and seventeen year old geeks can possibly look. We spent a lot of our time racing those cars, and even with my foot mashed to the floor, there was no doubt Jeff's car was the fastest.

"That's because my Papa Kimbrough balanced and blueprinted the engine," Jeff would say. I didn't even know what that meant, but I assumed whatever it was made cars go really fast. Like any group of teenagers we were hard on our cars, but no matter what Jeff did to that Z28 Grandpa Kimbrough was able to breath life back into it time and time again.

Marvin Kimbrough, known to many as "Kim," owned Kim's Automotive in Midwest City. When he wasn't rebuilding Jeff's Z28 (he did that at least twice) he was busy rebuilding half the cars in Midwest City. He retired from the business several years ago for about a year -- then he built a new shop and reopened.

"I took my minivan in for Kim to look at one time because the Check Engine light was on," said one lady during Saturday's funeral service. "He looked over the engine and told me there wasn't a problem. The next day the light came back on, so I took the car back in a second time. Again he assured me there was no problem with the engine. The next day the light was on again, so I took the car in a third time. 'This will just take a minute,' Kim said, and sure enough, the light never came on again. Kim later told me he had simply pulled the bulb out from behind the Check Engine light. I never had another problem with that minivan."

Kim's funeral was full of testimonials similar to that one, and many people repeated similar sentiments. "A handshake from Kim was a contract," a few said. "He was a man's man," a couple others commented.

One elderly man slowly rose from the back of the church. "I remember the first time Kim and I got arrested together," he began. Tears turned to laughter as the gentleman told his tale of a quail hunting adventure that had gone wrong.

"I heard a lot of great stories today," I told Grandma Kimbrough after the service, "but I'll bet I didn't hear the really good ones."

"You heard all the ones that could be told here," she said, smiling.

While funerals are always sad, there was something different about this one. As I sat among Kim's friends listening to stories of how many men he had mentored, how many widows he had helped and how many lives he had affected, I could tell that Papa Kimbrough was a very special man. Despite all the cold air that descended on Oklahoma this past weekend, there was undeniable warmth in the room that day.

Papa Kimbrough's service was a touching ceremony for a man who touched so many. It's easy to get caught up in all the superficial aspects of the holiday season. Instead, this year, spend some time thinking about the true meaning of Christmas. Hold the door for someone. Do a stranger a favor. Give someone a little less fortunate a helping hand. Think about how you would like to be remembered at your funeral. If there are people in your life who have affected or influenced you, tell them thanks. Tell someone you miss them. Tell someone you love them.

My condolences to the Kimbrough and Martin family. God bless you Papa Kimbrough, you will be missed.