Category Archives: History

Why this is going to be the Best Labor Day Ever

First, I finally submitted an IPhone app I’ve been working on to Apple last night at 11:59PM. It could still be rejected for a host of reasons, and there’s still a ton of work to do for the project – but today – a day off. Yes!

B: I normally have a guitar lesson on Mondays, which means I get up early and practice a few hours to make up for the entire week of not practicing (obviously). But today is Labor Day, so… no lesson, and no obligatory practice – yes!

3: We’re doing the P90x Doubles program right now, which has been fun and rewarding, but which amounts to 1-2 hours of working out PER DAY, 6 day a week. 7 weeks ago when we started, we made the genius decision to have Mondays be the day off, so… No Workout Today! Yes!

And Bonus, no workout means I don’t really have to shower either, so this is on track to be the most obligation free day ever ;)

Double Bonus – I had Napoleon French Toast at the Cheesecake Factory brunch yesterday, but curiously weigh 1.4 pounds less today?

So, Today’s Agenda
1. Sleep in – DONE, got out of bed at 10:30
2. Finish Parks and Recreation Season 4 – DONE, polished off the final 2 episodes with breakfast
3. Blog while watching bad movie that I’ve already seen – IN PROGRESS, Deep Impact
4. Finish A Dance With Dragons, ~50 pages left
5. Practice guitar – but voluntarily?
6. Go see a movie in the theater – tentative
7. Avoid labor and worry at all times

Normally I would add some pictures and edit this post for humor and conciseness, but that seems too much like work right now. So here you go!


I keep finding treats everywhere…

“Oh must be my lucky day”

“Hmm that’s weird”

“Wait a minute…”

“This is no coincidence…”

It’s like it’s my birthday! 

Never-ending mini-york surprise = extremely ideal birthday!  But now I’m all greedy and wondering where the big mother ship bag-o-York is…

roll your own

Last week I was going to a women in technology mixer, which meant that, for the first time ever, I needed… business cards! 

The mixer was on Friday, so obviously I ordered them on Tuesday.  The express shipping for my $8 order costed $11, but it assured that the cards would arrive on Friday.  That would be plenty of time for a Friday evening event.  No problem.

I sailed through my week worry-free (business-card-wise)… until 5pm Friday rolled around and the cards still hadn’t arrived… uh oh.  This is a problem.  (Even apart from the fact that I paid money for this to not be a problem.)  God forbid I actually meet someone interesting and then have to admit I’ve got no card to give them because this is, in fact, amateur hour.  Madness, I tell you!

But wait! – I thought to myself – you can do anything in Word!  So while my intern/lacky went off to the print shop to buy cardstock, I downloaded a business card template and designed up my own. 

I didn’t have a nice logo or graphic to put on there, so I went with this…

It turns out, I really like it!  No more wondering, “who gave me this card?”  My mug shot is right there.  Sure, given more time I would find a paper cutter instead of using scissors, but other than that this seems to do the job.

I finished up, got on the bus at 5:30, only to get this message at 5:32:

Cards are here!

Along with this picture:

Way more polished, but also way more generic. 

Who knew that mail would be delivered so late on a Friday?  Annoying timing and wasted dollars aside, I’m glad this happened – otherwise I never would have known to make my own cards and to put my picture on them.  I’ll give you 1 guess as to which ones are in my wallet right now, waiting to be handed out!

Whiskey, Chainsaws, and Babies

Matt and I went to his sister’s wedding this weekend, where we had the serious privilege of hearing the maid of honor share this insta-legend:

A year before the bride and groom met, the bride (V) and the maid of honor (A) were talking with an acquaintance.  Said acquaintance was a 30 year old man who lived with his mother and specialized in playing video games all day.  He shared with them his theory that once he’d met that special someone, he’d move along and start building a life with her.  Surely there was a woman out there who’d be up for that?

While A considered whether or not to tell him this was “the stupidest thing she’d ever heard”, V piped up: “Well yeah! Sometimes you do want a boy who plays video games and smokes a lot of pot.  But sometimes, you want a MAN who likes whiskey, chainsaws, and babies.”

A year later, A gets a call: “I met someone… and he really knows how to use a chainsaw.”

I don’t know which part I love most - the hilarious scolding, the highly specific but undeniably reasonable list, or the happily ever after - but I do know this is the type of story people will be telling for years, long after we forget where it came from and maybe even who the original characters were.

Whiskey, Chainsaws, and Babies: A 21st century fairy-tale.

But please, do not mix.

Congratulations Peter and Vanessa!

Old Faithful

I have one and only one criteria commandment for a car:

Thou shalt never ever break down.

In this respect, my little old car has earned my love many times over.  It doesn’t have a key clicky thing or simultaneous interior/exterior climate control (the inside can be heated OR the windows can be defogged, but not both), but this car has never ever broken down.

Ne’er been I stranded on the street.  Nor been abandoned to my feet.  Not in a house, not with a mouse.  Not here or there – not ANYWHERE!

Old Faithful I am.

Since moving to the bigger city, I’ve been (fortunately) able to switch to walking as my primary mode of transportation.  Meanwhile Old Faithful sits… day in and day out, steadfast and true, waiting for the bat signal that will inevitably come.

That’s ok.  I’ll be here, resting my weary bones.

One such bat signal came about five weeks ago, when I was headed to my first ever guitar lesson.  I had planned to walk, but with my shower running long (desperately need some sort of shower egg timer) and 15 minutes to go, it was time to call in the cavalry and get the job done.  I turn on the car… and am immediately heralded by a something akin to a lawnmower running over concrete.  Uh-oh.

After rebooting a few times (all things are computers to me) I realize that I have been abandoned to my feet! And I take off running.  13 minutes to go, 1.3 miles.

So off I go, street shoes, jeans, sweater, wool coat, bolting across Fisherman’s Wharf, over to the beach, up through the park, dodging my way through sidewalks full of strolling tourists on foot and biking tourists on bikes.  Sweat mixing with shower drench and a fresh layer of moisturizer to create an awesome goulash on my face.

I manage to get there only 4 minutes late (and earlier than the teacher), thankful that a long last my running habit has paid off in a practical sort of way.


Why, Old Faithful, whyyyy?  Working beautifully one day and exploding the next?  And in a time of great need, no less?  I’d always assumed you would age gradually and gracefully before the end.  That I’d have time to patch you up and find you a new loving home where the car commandments are more agreeable to your life situation.  I expected some warning!

I mean, I’ve never had to take you in for anything, except for that one time waay back when you sounded like a lawnmower running over concrete.  But that time it wasn’t even your fault because the bad people had tried to take your catalytic converter!



A catalytic converter sits between the engine and the muffler, depoluting the air.  So when it’s missing, there is no muffling, and you fail your emissions test.  It’s also full of platinum and other precious metals, so melted down, it’s worth some non-zero amount of money.  Lame.

And so we began the long drive of shame to the muffler shop, turning heads and scaring children and wild animals everywhere we went.

Are you the little guy making all that big noise?

Last time (in Seattle) the bandits only got through 90% of the connecting pipe, so with a little welding you were as good as new.  This time (in San Francisco) they snatched the whole enchilada.

Last time (in Seattle) the mechanic said: “Where do you live???  I gotta make sure not to go there.”  This time (in San Francisco) the mechanic said: “Ah, got your catalytic coverter, eh?  Yep.”

Old Faithful, you have stout and loyal heart.  I know now that you won’t let me down.  I brought you to the big bad city and parked you on the street.  It is I who let you down.  Pray good sir, do not take vengeance!

Some things never change…

These old journals of mine are a goldmine.  I’m gonna have to dole them out slowly so your brain doesn’t explode like mine just did.  Literally.  Yes I mean literally, but humorously.

Having now reviewed most of the annals, I can reveal the basic gist, which is this… almost nothing has changed.  Vocabulary or wisdom-wise.  I’m not quite sure whether to be impressed with Maryann-of-old or disappointed in Maryann-old (that would be me).

But maybe some things do change…

Good thing she didn’t know about blogs and how un-sacredly Maryann-of-the-future (that would be me) would hold her confidences.

Progress after all!