29 July 2008: The visit to the doctor went off without a hitch today! Our “little” girl is now around 6 lb 2 oz, which is up 13 oz from last week’s visit. If you do the math, that’s a gain of about 1.86 oz/day. At this rate, if she goes to August 26 as predicted, that’s gonna put her at 9 lb 6 oz. Math is fun. I doubt that will be the case; I honestly doubt if she waits that long to pop. We’ll see!
We got to see fingers and toes today, and she gave the sonogram nurse a swift kick. Funny to watch that happen in real time. NINJA BABY! She’s got hair on her head already, which means she has more than I do and she’s not even born yet. Awesome.
It still overwhelms me to see a live baby inside Carrie's tummy. The definition of a humanoid is getting ever clearer, and she's so active now! At night, I put my lips against her belly and sing to my baby and I can feel her kicking and punching my mouth. That slowed down once I switched from Pantera to Jack Johnson, thankfully.
I took prego Carrie pictures outside of our townhouse last evening, so I'll stick one or two up when I get home. It's going to be a shock to our friends who saw us not two months ago. She's become so... round! She still doesn't have any swelling anywhere or back pain or the usual pregnancy issues, which is such a blessing. Hell; I got home from work yesterday and she had cleaned the apt on her day off. She's resilient, and so strong. Probably the strongest spirit I've even known.
I can't wait to see our superkid! We don't head back until next week, as the doctor is very pleased with how everything is going, despite our crazy beginnings. I would've never expected that my baby would be relatively trouble-free; what a crazy blessing!
I hope you're all ready for the coming of my baby girl. Oh; yes, we are working on names. We have narrowed the selection to a short list, but I'm not posting anything up yet. Carrie already outted Esmerelda and Wilhelmina. Dammit.
Thanks for reading! That’s the latest from Bump Watch ’08!
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Everything's Coming Up Roses...
You know, it's probably good that we didn't find out about the pregancy until later on, because I'm already slacking on the blogs.
Business first....
25 July 2008: Bright and early Friday morning, we headed to the doc's office for a check-up and to review the blood work. After getting in without much wait, Carrie went through the usual checks, like blood pressure and weight. Again, the doctor is amazed by her constitution (it's the Nordic heritage, I'm telling ya). We went over the blood work, and everything is just aces.
She even went so far as to say it looked like she had been taking prenatal vitamins full-term, even though she's only had them for 2 weeks. My honey rocks! We are scheduled for our second ultrasound on Tuesday again, and she'll be getting her cervix checked again then, too, to see if she is starting to open the gates.
Again, I encourage you to repent before this child comes.
The OBGYN offices must be some of the most efficient doctor's offices I've ever seen. You're appointment is at 11? No worries; you're in ten minutes late at the most. Crammed into a small, antiseptic room? You won't be there for long, because a doc or nurse is in there quick. It's really starting to make me rethink the need for women in politics. Maybe they can streamline Washington and trim some serious fat. Of course, not Hillary. Now, I'm waaaaay off topic...
For those who want to know, we are cramming this pregancy thing like I crammed term papers in college. We have managed to register for stuff we need at Babies 'R' Us and Target. The amount of stuff they have for babies is really overwhelming, but we know that you don't need much starting out, so we're gonna be fine. Really, just getting the place ready here at the apartment is the biggest deal. We need to keep the guest bed for visiting grandparents in the first few days, and so she will be in the big master bedroom with us. That's fine; we probably won't sleep much anyway.
Some of you have asked for our address so you can send beer and nachos for me. That's sweet of you. Oh, and baby stuff would be cool, too. Condoms would be great, in the future. I ran out... but I'm sure you guessed that.
Darren & Carrie
4936 Vandelia St
Dallas TX 75235
There's our address. If you don't know our last names, just msg me. I think you all do, though. We've received so many wonderful messages from all of you from my blog here and on my regular blog site, as well as from the e-mails I've sent out. I want you all to know that these are the best gifts we've gotten; they lift our spirits, make us laugh, and warm our hearts as we take on the biggest challenge of our lives to this point. I share all of your warm notes with Carrie, and we both want to thank each of you for all your wonderful messages. That's the most serious, heartfelt message you'll ever hear from me, so eat it up.
Carrie's mom and dad bought us a crib today, and I'll be picking it up at J.C. Penney next week. Then Dad gets his tools out... which will, I'm sure, merit an entire blog just for that. I'm good with my tools, though; otherwise I wouldn't be a dad, right? Heh, heh...
Again, thanks for all your love. I'm off to search Craigslist for baby goodies and super bargains. I love that site!
Business first....
25 July 2008: Bright and early Friday morning, we headed to the doc's office for a check-up and to review the blood work. After getting in without much wait, Carrie went through the usual checks, like blood pressure and weight. Again, the doctor is amazed by her constitution (it's the Nordic heritage, I'm telling ya). We went over the blood work, and everything is just aces.
She even went so far as to say it looked like she had been taking prenatal vitamins full-term, even though she's only had them for 2 weeks. My honey rocks! We are scheduled for our second ultrasound on Tuesday again, and she'll be getting her cervix checked again then, too, to see if she is starting to open the gates.
Again, I encourage you to repent before this child comes.
The OBGYN offices must be some of the most efficient doctor's offices I've ever seen. You're appointment is at 11? No worries; you're in ten minutes late at the most. Crammed into a small, antiseptic room? You won't be there for long, because a doc or nurse is in there quick. It's really starting to make me rethink the need for women in politics. Maybe they can streamline Washington and trim some serious fat. Of course, not Hillary. Now, I'm waaaaay off topic...
For those who want to know, we are cramming this pregancy thing like I crammed term papers in college. We have managed to register for stuff we need at Babies 'R' Us and Target. The amount of stuff they have for babies is really overwhelming, but we know that you don't need much starting out, so we're gonna be fine. Really, just getting the place ready here at the apartment is the biggest deal. We need to keep the guest bed for visiting grandparents in the first few days, and so she will be in the big master bedroom with us. That's fine; we probably won't sleep much anyway.
Some of you have asked for our address so you can send beer and nachos for me. That's sweet of you. Oh, and baby stuff would be cool, too. Condoms would be great, in the future. I ran out... but I'm sure you guessed that.
Darren & Carrie
4936 Vandelia St
Dallas TX 75235
There's our address. If you don't know our last names, just msg me. I think you all do, though. We've received so many wonderful messages from all of you from my blog here and on my regular blog site, as well as from the e-mails I've sent out. I want you all to know that these are the best gifts we've gotten; they lift our spirits, make us laugh, and warm our hearts as we take on the biggest challenge of our lives to this point. I share all of your warm notes with Carrie, and we both want to thank each of you for all your wonderful messages. That's the most serious, heartfelt message you'll ever hear from me, so eat it up.
Carrie's mom and dad bought us a crib today, and I'll be picking it up at J.C. Penney next week. Then Dad gets his tools out... which will, I'm sure, merit an entire blog just for that. I'm good with my tools, though; otherwise I wouldn't be a dad, right? Heh, heh...
Again, thanks for all your love. I'm off to search Craigslist for baby goodies and super bargains. I love that site!
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Bump Watch 2009: er, 08... dammit.
So here we are at entry #2, but it might as well be entry #200... and we'll call it "Bump Watch 2008" now. Let me explain.
21 July 2008: Carrie and I are lounging on the loveseat, watching CSI (I think; one tends to forget the details after the fact). I was absentmindedly rubbing my hand on her belly, because I do it on mine all the time and thought hers might get jealous. I brushed across what felt like a hard spot, about the size of a lime. My eyes widened, and then it moved. It moved. It freakin' moved. I got all excited and called my mom, but expected the reasoning that I got.
"There's no way you are feeling the baby at 8 weeks, honey," my mom knowingly told me. Dad chimed in with, "It's probably just a gas bubble." Ah; parental logic. I wrote it off as my imagination, and that was that.
22 July 2008: Time for doctor's visit numero dos. We get in quicker than I think I've ever seen in a doctor's office, which was really nice. I was already getting hungry for lunch, and as we walk downstairs, I can smell the barbecue the caterer we saw outside must have brought in. Dammit; I'm not getting any of that," I think, and then quickly remember why we're here.
We step into the ultrasound room, which is small but effective. They ask Carrie to strip down below the waist, and she asks me if she has to take her underwear off as well. "Well, they aren't going to work around it, honey," I reply, with a grin on my face.
The woman comes back in, and prepares the instrument used to check. Once again, I'm reminded why I'm so glad I'm a guy. Upon insertion, the OB nurse backs out almost immediately."We're gonna have to do this with the other piece, honey. You're further along than what they had estimated; quite a bit further." Our hearts jump a bit, but her Texas drawl calms our nerves a little, taking the shock out.
That lasted for about 30 seconds. Then the real shock kicked in."Yeah, darlin'; you're way farther along than what they thought. I'd guess you're pretty close to having a baby!"
Holy s***.
"You wanna know the sex of the baby?" she asked, nonchalantly. "Yes; please," we reply with vacant expressions scored across our faces. "See that? That's... [skipping science here], so you're having a girl!"
A girl. My baby's a girl. Time to clean the shotgun and work on my mean faces.
We continued with the exam, getting to see the feet, hands, face and organs, including the kidneys, stomach, liver, brain (freakin' huge, heh heh) and heart. Seeing her little heart beating put me over the edge, and I could feel the tears sneaking down my cheeks.
My first call was to mom; it went something like this:
"Hey, mom? You remember last night, when I called and said I felt something move?"
"Yeah... what?"
"Yeah, about that; it was the baby. We're quite a bit further along than what we were initially told."
"How much?"
"Like instead of 7-8 weeks, we're around 34 weeks."
Silence.
I told mom that we would call back later on after meeting with the doctor, and ended the call. I hope she was sitting down.
We met with the doctor shortly after, and discussed the craziness of our situation. They took a urine sample, and there were no problems with that. They took four vials of blood, and we go back Friday to see the results of the blood tests. The doctor was actually ready to admit her to the hospital right then and there, because her blood pressure was high. She decided to give Carrie some time to cool down; the shock of the information we just got was the culprit, and her blood pressure went back down to normal. The doc said that from what she could tell, everything looked fine. The baby's around 5 1/2 pounds right now, and seems perfectly healthy. The crucial information we wanted was unattainable now; since the pregnancy was so far along, they couldn't give us an exact due date. Could be 5 weeks; could be two.
We were glad to not have to head directly to the hospital, but were (and are) still in shock. We went home and laid down and just thought. I won't detail all of the things that are swimming in my head now, as that would afford it's own book, but rest assured that we both have our heads above water... for now.
* * *
We have so much to do, and now the months of time to plan and prepare are gone without it even being our fault. Typically I can blame procrastination, but this time I have to blame our sneaky little girl. :-) We're getting ready with a new fervor, and hope that we can at least have the basics ready. Ironically, we recieved a package from Carrie's mom with the book "What to Expect When You're Expecting" in it. Anyone know where I can get the Cliff Notes on this?
We're trying to squeeze in for the one day newborn classes at Baylor, as well as the maternity tour, but realistically, there's only one before we're going to have our girl. Craziness.
Say a prayer if you do that kind of thing. This is the most focus I've ever needed in my life. I feel like we're going to war and skipped basic training. Hooah!
More to come soon!
D
And now, pictures.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Bump Watch 2009: Thus it begins...
Okay, so you probably read the earlier blog regarding our new addition (not a tribute band, i'm talking about the wee baby). I'm going to be chronicling everything for posterity, so here we go!
8 July 2008: We take two pregancy tests, and both of them come back as positive. I feel like I just won the lottery, but was instantly reminded of all the taxes I'm gonna have to pay.
9 July 2008: We spend the morning searching for a good OBGYN in Dallas to verify everything. After searching the internet and comparing ratings and balancing all this with insurance coverage, we pick a winner and set up an appointment for the following Wednesday. Now the longest week of my life begins... We decided to wait until after the doc's visit to tell family, just in case it's only gas.
12 July 2008: We can't wait anymore and spill the beans to immediate family. No friends yet; the network carries faster than a fiber line, so we avoid that mess. Moms are elated; dads grin and nod. My sister decides she needs a new tattoo.
14 July 2008: The vag mechanic, aka doctor's office calls and ups the appointment to Tuesday morning. We're happy, because that's 36 hours sooner than we expected.
15 July 2008: We arrive at the initial doctor's visit. The building looks like it just appeared from 1976, but the inside is much nicer. Within screaming distance of Baylor Medical, too, so that's a plus. After a veritable book of paperwork, we patiently wait. I read "The Best Seat In Second Grade," and pray that if I have a boy, he doesn't smuggle a hampster into the museum.
We meet with the OBGYN nurse for this initial visit. She hits Carrie with a barrage of questions that would make Rumsfeld say, "Damn; that's a lot of questions." As Carrie is adopted and it was a closed adoption, she doesn't know much at all about her family history genetic or otherwise, so a lot of these questions remain unanswered. The nurse senses her nervousness, and explains that they test for most of these things anyway. She then pummels me with her verbal ballistics, and I realize that my kid may turn out to be a ginger. Please, Lord; no.
The nurse sends us home with a portfolio of materials, along with a good 60 days of prenatal vitamins. You should see these pills; I've shoved worming pills down the mouths of cattle that were smaller than some of these. Carrie's okay with it; after all, she's vitamin-ing for two now.
We make another appointment for the following week for the first sonogram. The nurse estimates Carrie is about 7 weeks along, so we should be able to hear the heartbeat at this next appointment. Cool!
20 July 2008: Target trip number one... for anything baby-related. Time to start shopping for some maternity pants and shirts, or as I call them, "eatin' drawers." I'm really thinking about getting some of these in my size. They are possibly the most comfortable-looking pants in the world. I digress...
We spent a good half-hour in the baby section, until I started to bleed from my eyes. I can't believe the insane amount of stuff for newborns. Breast pumps (I still laugh when I say it), slings, formula, diapers, food, bottle washers, bottle warmers, binkys, blinkies, pink blankys... it's crazy. We booked out of there, and I was forced to buy a new game for the Wii just to justify all that baby thinking.
* * *
The next doctor's visit is tomorrow, so you can expect an update after that. Hope you enjoyed reading the saga thus far; stay tuned for more fun and frivolity from D&C!
8 July 2008: We take two pregancy tests, and both of them come back as positive. I feel like I just won the lottery, but was instantly reminded of all the taxes I'm gonna have to pay.
9 July 2008: We spend the morning searching for a good OBGYN in Dallas to verify everything. After searching the internet and comparing ratings and balancing all this with insurance coverage, we pick a winner and set up an appointment for the following Wednesday. Now the longest week of my life begins... We decided to wait until after the doc's visit to tell family, just in case it's only gas.
12 July 2008: We can't wait anymore and spill the beans to immediate family. No friends yet; the network carries faster than a fiber line, so we avoid that mess. Moms are elated; dads grin and nod. My sister decides she needs a new tattoo.
14 July 2008: The vag mechanic, aka doctor's office calls and ups the appointment to Tuesday morning. We're happy, because that's 36 hours sooner than we expected.
15 July 2008: We arrive at the initial doctor's visit. The building looks like it just appeared from 1976, but the inside is much nicer. Within screaming distance of Baylor Medical, too, so that's a plus. After a veritable book of paperwork, we patiently wait. I read "The Best Seat In Second Grade," and pray that if I have a boy, he doesn't smuggle a hampster into the museum.
We meet with the OBGYN nurse for this initial visit. She hits Carrie with a barrage of questions that would make Rumsfeld say, "Damn; that's a lot of questions." As Carrie is adopted and it was a closed adoption, she doesn't know much at all about her family history genetic or otherwise, so a lot of these questions remain unanswered. The nurse senses her nervousness, and explains that they test for most of these things anyway. She then pummels me with her verbal ballistics, and I realize that my kid may turn out to be a ginger. Please, Lord; no.
The nurse sends us home with a portfolio of materials, along with a good 60 days of prenatal vitamins. You should see these pills; I've shoved worming pills down the mouths of cattle that were smaller than some of these. Carrie's okay with it; after all, she's vitamin-ing for two now.
We make another appointment for the following week for the first sonogram. The nurse estimates Carrie is about 7 weeks along, so we should be able to hear the heartbeat at this next appointment. Cool!
20 July 2008: Target trip number one... for anything baby-related. Time to start shopping for some maternity pants and shirts, or as I call them, "eatin' drawers." I'm really thinking about getting some of these in my size. They are possibly the most comfortable-looking pants in the world. I digress...
We spent a good half-hour in the baby section, until I started to bleed from my eyes. I can't believe the insane amount of stuff for newborns. Breast pumps (I still laugh when I say it), slings, formula, diapers, food, bottle washers, bottle warmers, binkys, blinkies, pink blankys... it's crazy. We booked out of there, and I was forced to buy a new game for the Wii just to justify all that baby thinking.
* * *
The next doctor's visit is tomorrow, so you can expect an update after that. Hope you enjoyed reading the saga thus far; stay tuned for more fun and frivolity from D&C!
Friday, July 18, 2008
Putting the "Sir" in Surprise...
There are a lot of monumental things that can happen in a man's life. His first car (mine was a 1982 Mazda Rx-7), the first time he touches a boob; these are life-altering events.
I just had one.
Last week Tuesday July 8th, I was at work, biding my time writing away about some random shoe that I don't really find amazing, but if you were to read my copy you would be dumbfounded at how cool I make them sound. I digress...
I was sitting there when I get a text message from Carrie. Here's the basics of the conversation:
Carrie: "I need you to pick up a test on the way home."
Darren: "What; a spelling test?"
Carrie: "No, smartass."
Darren: "Are you late?"
Carrie: "About a week and a half. Plus, Aiesha [her homegirl at work] said that I'm glowing like her sister did when she was pregnant."
Darren: "Black people glow?"
Carrie: "Smartass."
Darren: "Okay, I'll take care of it. Love you."
So, on the way home from work, I stopped by CVS (because Walgreen's is the devil) and picked up a test. I got a good deal, too; two tests for the price of one! AWESOME!
That night, after Carrie got home from work, she took test number one. She went into the downstairs bathroom, which is feet from the couch. "Did you do it," I asked.
"Yeah." Okay; just a yeah? "Did you look at it yet? It says it only takes 30 seconds..." I was getting impatient at this point, so I got up and looked for myself, since she had not.
Pregnant. I shook it to make sure the "Not" wasn't just hiding behind the LCD, laughing at me. That "Not" was gonna take me seriously.
"Hmm. Okay, we'll do test #2 after the thing resets, okay?" We both suddenly found ourselves locked in the most awkward hour of our lives todate. TV lost interest, and a beer was the furthest thing from my mind. We passed the time rather quickly, but there wasn't much discussion, other than "Aww... hurry up!"
An hour and one forced pee later, we were staring at another instant winner.
I can say right now that at that moment, Carrie was the most beautiful, most fragile thing i had ever seen in my life. She was glowing. Sure, the glow came from shock and a slight sense of foreboding, but she was warm and... how to put it? I can't; I don't have the words.
We laughed, we cried, we kissed and we talked. A torrential downpour of thoughts flooded my mind. First, of course, was "Ahh dammit why haven't I married this girl yet?," followed by about 1,000 thoughts about what I should do as a father.
We will get married, but after the child is born. If you don't like that, well... suck an egg. Honestly, we both agreed on that decision, because I don't want us to have a shotgun wedding, that seems like it's a marriage for the sake of the child. The welfare of my kid is in no danger; I'm not going to run off or anything like that. I want our wedding to be a celebration of our love in the eyes of God and our families, not a "Well, she's knocked up so at least he's doing the right thing." We aren't trash, we just don't use condoms. There; I said it.
Moving on...
We had our first doctor's appointment Tuesday of this week, which we were very nervous for. Mainly we wanted a physician to tell her that she is, in fact, pregnant, and give us an idea of how far along she is. We met with the nurse, who ran us through the myriad questions about our family histories.
That is the one thing that I think troubles Carrie the most. She is adopted, and doesn't have any family history per se. No idea what genetic issues there might be, basically. After addressing our concerns about this by telling us about the testing they do, we were very relieved and have a ton more confidence than we initially did.
We were given an estimated due date of March 4, which puts her at about 7 weeks. We go back Tuesday again for our first sonogram, and should be able to hear the heartbeat. I can't wait; I honestly can't wait.
We're both excited. Our friends are excited. Our families are excited. Sure; we were all thrown for a bit of a loop when the news came, but there are no regrets, and we will move forward as a family.
Your prayers, thoughts, burnt offerings and the like are appreciated as we move forward. Stay tuned for more on BUMP WATCH '09 right here on my blog. First picture exclusives!!!
ONE LOVE,
D
I just had one.
Last week Tuesday July 8th, I was at work, biding my time writing away about some random shoe that I don't really find amazing, but if you were to read my copy you would be dumbfounded at how cool I make them sound. I digress...
I was sitting there when I get a text message from Carrie. Here's the basics of the conversation:
Carrie: "I need you to pick up a test on the way home."
Darren: "What; a spelling test?"
Carrie: "No, smartass."
Darren: "Are you late?"
Carrie: "About a week and a half. Plus, Aiesha [her homegirl at work] said that I'm glowing like her sister did when she was pregnant."
Darren: "Black people glow?"
Carrie: "Smartass."
Darren: "Okay, I'll take care of it. Love you."
So, on the way home from work, I stopped by CVS (because Walgreen's is the devil) and picked up a test. I got a good deal, too; two tests for the price of one! AWESOME!
That night, after Carrie got home from work, she took test number one. She went into the downstairs bathroom, which is feet from the couch. "Did you do it," I asked.
"Yeah." Okay; just a yeah? "Did you look at it yet? It says it only takes 30 seconds..." I was getting impatient at this point, so I got up and looked for myself, since she had not.
Pregnant. I shook it to make sure the "Not" wasn't just hiding behind the LCD, laughing at me. That "Not" was gonna take me seriously.
"Hmm. Okay, we'll do test #2 after the thing resets, okay?" We both suddenly found ourselves locked in the most awkward hour of our lives todate. TV lost interest, and a beer was the furthest thing from my mind. We passed the time rather quickly, but there wasn't much discussion, other than "Aww... hurry up!"
An hour and one forced pee later, we were staring at another instant winner.
I can say right now that at that moment, Carrie was the most beautiful, most fragile thing i had ever seen in my life. She was glowing. Sure, the glow came from shock and a slight sense of foreboding, but she was warm and... how to put it? I can't; I don't have the words.
We laughed, we cried, we kissed and we talked. A torrential downpour of thoughts flooded my mind. First, of course, was "Ahh dammit why haven't I married this girl yet?," followed by about 1,000 thoughts about what I should do as a father.
We will get married, but after the child is born. If you don't like that, well... suck an egg. Honestly, we both agreed on that decision, because I don't want us to have a shotgun wedding, that seems like it's a marriage for the sake of the child. The welfare of my kid is in no danger; I'm not going to run off or anything like that. I want our wedding to be a celebration of our love in the eyes of God and our families, not a "Well, she's knocked up so at least he's doing the right thing." We aren't trash, we just don't use condoms. There; I said it.
Moving on...
We had our first doctor's appointment Tuesday of this week, which we were very nervous for. Mainly we wanted a physician to tell her that she is, in fact, pregnant, and give us an idea of how far along she is. We met with the nurse, who ran us through the myriad questions about our family histories.
That is the one thing that I think troubles Carrie the most. She is adopted, and doesn't have any family history per se. No idea what genetic issues there might be, basically. After addressing our concerns about this by telling us about the testing they do, we were very relieved and have a ton more confidence than we initially did.
We were given an estimated due date of March 4, which puts her at about 7 weeks. We go back Tuesday again for our first sonogram, and should be able to hear the heartbeat. I can't wait; I honestly can't wait.
We're both excited. Our friends are excited. Our families are excited. Sure; we were all thrown for a bit of a loop when the news came, but there are no regrets, and we will move forward as a family.
Your prayers, thoughts, burnt offerings and the like are appreciated as we move forward. Stay tuned for more on BUMP WATCH '09 right here on my blog. First picture exclusives!!!
ONE LOVE,
D
Friday, June 20, 2008
Classically Strained
This post is going to be a venting post, so if you're not up for "Emo moments with Big D," then go ahead and find something funny on YouTube.
If you've ever had a pinched nerve or a similar annoying pain, then you can relate to my latest issue. It's not physical; my body is in perfect shape as usual (scoff). My problem has to do with work.
It has nothing to do specifically with my job. I love what I do, and the people I work with here are just stellar. The actual problem is much bigger than just my direct issue, but this is where the rant stems, so I'll put it in perspective.
We have an ever-increasing amount of shoes coming in that I have to write about. I'm doing my best to keep up without any major issues, but one recent order caught me off-guard a bit. It is a big Ralph Lauren order; you know, shoes for boring white people and $30,000 millionaires? Anyway, my voice isn't really the appropriate spokesman for these shoes, so writing about them makes my head hurt.
In order to get these shoes online and out of my pile, we decided to use an outside writer to knock these out. You wouldn't think that would be such a big deal, right? Find said writer, give them the needed info to write, and then give the finished product a quick review before posting them for sale.
Finding a writer who can write above a 10th grade level has proven to be the most challenging thing in the world. People cannot write anymore.
First, there was a writer we had used for previous definitions for our resource site. This writer did an okay job, but I still found myself wasting time editing his stuff, which basically wiped out the efficiency of someone else doing some work. Writer #1 bailed on doing the shoes, and needless to say, I wasn't too upset about it.
Then, a week later, I got samples from writer #2. This writer sent over samples, which I promptly edited and sent back. After a short conference call with too many people, this writer was out. Another week passes...
Writer #3 sent samples, which never even made it to me. The contact that works between me and this writer sent them back with a "strong letter," hoping to get some better quality stuff. After a day or so (I am assuming, since I didn't know that we were trying another one), he sent revised samples. These made it past the middleman, and I took a look.
I won't post a sample of this work for the sake of that person, but I was floored. This was a second draft, mind you, and things like mispelling "perfect" as "prefect" shouldn't have been present. Sentences with missing words, missing punctuation and other commonplace errors plagued these samples. I couldn't believe that someone would finish this work, look at it and say to himself, "Self, that's some damn fine writing. Let's e-mail it off!"
The search continues, but it continues with me. I will not accept shit work when it's going onto our site which I have worked so hard to make right. I have gone through and edited tons of the work from the person who was here before me, trying to make everything grammatically correct and smooth. In my opinion, if you can't spell shit right on your website, I doubt you put too much emphasis on any other professional aspects of your business.
I know that I am a perfectionist, but I can give a little lee-way, too. However, if you want to be a professional writer, be it freelance or full-time, you have to get fundamentals right. You may be a creative mother fucker, but if you write like a fourth grader, you might as well write on toilet paper, because all I will do with it is wipe my ass.
***Sense my increasing anger? That's called voice. Note that I do it without frowny faces or using "u" instead of "you."***
Here's today's hasty generalization: Language arts teachers have given up. English is hard to teach. You have more grading than most other instructors, and you can't use Scantron sheets, either. Too many teachers have gotten lazy, passing students with poor skills on to the next grade level, perpetuating a generation of fucktards.
***I'll say this now before I continue: There are students and teachers who are exceptions to this rule, just like with any other stereotypical situation. With that in mind, I continue.***
There are students in college right now who cannot write over an 8th grade level. This isn't bullshit; I have seen their work. Simple things that should be taught at the earliest age are ignored. What happens to these students? How the hell do they even get into college? They take an ACT or SAT test (whatever it is nowadays; I'm old as dirt), and are funneled into beginning English classes. These classes basically rehash the education they should have received in four years of high school in four months. At the end of the semester, either they are promoted to the next level of class or they flunk. The majority of them are passed.
Reason number one for college administrators to allow lower admission standards, and probably the prime motivator for letting these idiots into our higher education system: MONEY. A student who has to take remedial classes before they even start their core curriculum pay more into the university's pockets, and tend to be in college longer than an average or above average student. Even if they have dropped out, they have gotten at least one semester of tuition, incidental fees, parking permits, book rentals and other fees. It's sickening, and it's getting worse.
***I'm not going to research and provide sources on these ideas unless you pay me and print me. These are my thoughts, and I think they make sense.***
Because too many people have associated college with a "must do," too many idiots are getting into school. In turn, our work force suffers at the base level. Work for professionals in a skilled trade industry is booming, yet fewer high school grads choose a technical training school or similar education experience. Why? Because Americans attach a stigma to people who actually work for a living.
"Oh, you're a welder? What; did you have trouble finishing homework?" Here's a staggering truth:
How's that liberal arts degree treating you?
We have coddled the new generation of students to believe that sub-par work is still passable. For most average students, they have been able to do the minimum to get by for their entire lives, and because we have perpetuated the "Trophy-for-last-place" mentality, they think that
their sub par work will actually cut it in the real world. This is reinforced by the university
system that over the last ten years, has continued to institute a "university studies" program
that boils down to two years of high school education that you pay for.
Teachers, please teach your students. If your students are shitty writers, do not pass their work. Do not give "good tryer" awards. Education is about enlightening young minds and directing them to do what is considered intellectual and correct. High school students who cannot tell the difference between "to," "too" and "two" should not graduate.
It's already affecting the world. Far too many (yes, that's the right "too") businesses have professionally produced promtional materials like signs and brochures that have misplaced apostrophes and other grammatical errors. Web blogs and internet posts are plagued with
horrible writing, and no one really seems to care.
Writers, have some self-respect. Unless you are a fourteen year-old girl in Provo, Utah, a
sentence like "OMG, I cant beleive what u typed on ~corey~'s page 2day!" should make you want to stab yourself in the eye with a pencil. STOP BASTARDIZING THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE!
I watched a movie recently, and it seemed eerily accurate. It's called "Idiocracy," and portrays the downfall of mankind due to the changing face of natural selection. Check it out; the movie
sucks but it makes a damn good point.
***
So, the search continues for a good writer. I hope to find one soon, but if not, I'll survive;
I'll just have to write about stupid dress shoes that I think are boring as shit.
Do u no any good riters?
One Love,
D
If you've ever had a pinched nerve or a similar annoying pain, then you can relate to my latest issue. It's not physical; my body is in perfect shape as usual (scoff). My problem has to do with work.
It has nothing to do specifically with my job. I love what I do, and the people I work with here are just stellar. The actual problem is much bigger than just my direct issue, but this is where the rant stems, so I'll put it in perspective.
We have an ever-increasing amount of shoes coming in that I have to write about. I'm doing my best to keep up without any major issues, but one recent order caught me off-guard a bit. It is a big Ralph Lauren order; you know, shoes for boring white people and $30,000 millionaires? Anyway, my voice isn't really the appropriate spokesman for these shoes, so writing about them makes my head hurt.
In order to get these shoes online and out of my pile, we decided to use an outside writer to knock these out. You wouldn't think that would be such a big deal, right? Find said writer, give them the needed info to write, and then give the finished product a quick review before posting them for sale.
Finding a writer who can write above a 10th grade level has proven to be the most challenging thing in the world. People cannot write anymore.
First, there was a writer we had used for previous definitions for our resource site. This writer did an okay job, but I still found myself wasting time editing his stuff, which basically wiped out the efficiency of someone else doing some work. Writer #1 bailed on doing the shoes, and needless to say, I wasn't too upset about it.
Then, a week later, I got samples from writer #2. This writer sent over samples, which I promptly edited and sent back. After a short conference call with too many people, this writer was out. Another week passes...
Writer #3 sent samples, which never even made it to me. The contact that works between me and this writer sent them back with a "strong letter," hoping to get some better quality stuff. After a day or so (I am assuming, since I didn't know that we were trying another one), he sent revised samples. These made it past the middleman, and I took a look.
I won't post a sample of this work for the sake of that person, but I was floored. This was a second draft, mind you, and things like mispelling "perfect" as "prefect" shouldn't have been present. Sentences with missing words, missing punctuation and other commonplace errors plagued these samples. I couldn't believe that someone would finish this work, look at it and say to himself, "Self, that's some damn fine writing. Let's e-mail it off!"
The search continues, but it continues with me. I will not accept shit work when it's going onto our site which I have worked so hard to make right. I have gone through and edited tons of the work from the person who was here before me, trying to make everything grammatically correct and smooth. In my opinion, if you can't spell shit right on your website, I doubt you put too much emphasis on any other professional aspects of your business.
I know that I am a perfectionist, but I can give a little lee-way, too. However, if you want to be a professional writer, be it freelance or full-time, you have to get fundamentals right. You may be a creative mother fucker, but if you write like a fourth grader, you might as well write on toilet paper, because all I will do with it is wipe my ass.
***Sense my increasing anger? That's called voice. Note that I do it without frowny faces or using "u" instead of "you."***
Here's today's hasty generalization: Language arts teachers have given up. English is hard to teach. You have more grading than most other instructors, and you can't use Scantron sheets, either. Too many teachers have gotten lazy, passing students with poor skills on to the next grade level, perpetuating a generation of fucktards.
***I'll say this now before I continue: There are students and teachers who are exceptions to this rule, just like with any other stereotypical situation. With that in mind, I continue.***
There are students in college right now who cannot write over an 8th grade level. This isn't bullshit; I have seen their work. Simple things that should be taught at the earliest age are ignored. What happens to these students? How the hell do they even get into college? They take an ACT or SAT test (whatever it is nowadays; I'm old as dirt), and are funneled into beginning English classes. These classes basically rehash the education they should have received in four years of high school in four months. At the end of the semester, either they are promoted to the next level of class or they flunk. The majority of them are passed.
Reason number one for college administrators to allow lower admission standards, and probably the prime motivator for letting these idiots into our higher education system: MONEY. A student who has to take remedial classes before they even start their core curriculum pay more into the university's pockets, and tend to be in college longer than an average or above average student. Even if they have dropped out, they have gotten at least one semester of tuition, incidental fees, parking permits, book rentals and other fees. It's sickening, and it's getting worse.
***I'm not going to research and provide sources on these ideas unless you pay me and print me. These are my thoughts, and I think they make sense.***
Because too many people have associated college with a "must do," too many idiots are getting into school. In turn, our work force suffers at the base level. Work for professionals in a skilled trade industry is booming, yet fewer high school grads choose a technical training school or similar education experience. Why? Because Americans attach a stigma to people who actually work for a living.
"Oh, you're a welder? What; did you have trouble finishing homework?" Here's a staggering truth:
Right now, working 6/10's (the typical week), a pipeline welder will gross $4000
per week not including the benefit package. Only around $2900 of that is taxable
income. The breakdown is $41/hr on the man, $15/hr on the rig, 41.50/day per
diem, plus a benefit package (insurance, pension) of $16.70.
How's that liberal arts degree treating you?
We have coddled the new generation of students to believe that sub-par work is still passable. For most average students, they have been able to do the minimum to get by for their entire lives, and because we have perpetuated the "Trophy-for-last-place" mentality, they think that
their sub par work will actually cut it in the real world. This is reinforced by the university
system that over the last ten years, has continued to institute a "university studies" program
that boils down to two years of high school education that you pay for.
Teachers, please teach your students. If your students are shitty writers, do not pass their work. Do not give "good tryer" awards. Education is about enlightening young minds and directing them to do what is considered intellectual and correct. High school students who cannot tell the difference between "to," "too" and "two" should not graduate.
It's already affecting the world. Far too many (yes, that's the right "too") businesses have professionally produced promtional materials like signs and brochures that have misplaced apostrophes and other grammatical errors. Web blogs and internet posts are plagued with
horrible writing, and no one really seems to care.
Writers, have some self-respect. Unless you are a fourteen year-old girl in Provo, Utah, a
sentence like "OMG, I cant beleive what u typed on ~corey~'s page 2day!" should make you want to stab yourself in the eye with a pencil. STOP BASTARDIZING THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE!
I watched a movie recently, and it seemed eerily accurate. It's called "Idiocracy," and portrays the downfall of mankind due to the changing face of natural selection. Check it out; the movie
sucks but it makes a damn good point.
***
So, the search continues for a good writer. I hope to find one soon, but if not, I'll survive;
I'll just have to write about stupid dress shoes that I think are boring as shit.
Do u no any good riters?
One Love,
D
Thursday, June 12, 2008
The State of the Universe
Last weekend Carrie and I went to Arlington to see my boy Justin Ross play a show at "Hot Rods & Hoggs." I had one of the best burgers i've had in Texas, watched a monster truck rally on the Deuce, and drank a fair amount of Lone Star beer. Justin's music fit this scenario perfectly, and the night was complete. The women folk (especially my sexy babydoll) were lookin' good, and even Elvis was there. It was pretty impressive seeing the King up close and personal amidst the ladies. Here's a shot of Amon's girlfriend and sister with a hunk-a, hunk-a burnin' love...Here's a link to Justin's music: Justin Ross
Here's a video from the show: http://youtube.com/watch?v=PR9JZjgu1ec&feature=PlayList&p=84764651AA171849&index=19
* * *
Last week, I bought a scooter. Immediately, I know what you think. "You're gonna look like a pumpkin on a toothpick, fat boy." I'll concede that I am a bit big for a standard scooter, but this is not a standard scooter. For those of you who knew me in college when I had my first scooter, that was a toy. This new buggar is, legally, a motorcycle. I just don't like shifting, so the "turn and burn" action of the automatic scooter is just lovely.
It's a Baccio VX150, which is a nice way of dressing up a Chinese company's name. The VIN tag has some long-ass Asian name on it, so we'll just stick with the Baccio title. It's red, has hydraulic anti-lock brakes, security alarm, and only 846 miles on it when I bought it.
Yeah; matching wheels does seem a bit... fruity, but I live in the gayborhood and the Chinese apparently love coordinating colors. Hey; it matches the 4Runner.So the interesting story on the purchase... I had been watching Craigslist.org for several months, hoping to find a good deal on a used scooter. My work commute is only about 15 miles round trip, so a scooter is ideal. Last Monday night (2 June), I saw a posting that read, "150cc scooter, $450." Well, that got my attention, so i dug a little deeper. It was also noted in the description that they didn't have a title, but I didn't let that discourage me. After all, I'm a dirty redneck and seem to always find a way around the bureaucrats, right?
Tuesday morning, I got a call from Adrian, the scooter's owner. She said that she had gotten over 30 e-mails about the scooter since posting it the night before, but because my e-mail signature made her laugh, she called me first. What is my signature?
Darren B. Burgfeld
Writer, poet, musician; general slacker
cell: 573.270.7988
home/fax: 214.257.0666
www.myspace.com/iceburgtx
That stupid line merited my moving to the front of the pile of hopeful scooter purchasers. Anyway, I told her that I had cash in hand, and would be able to come get it after work. I was already scheduled to go to Fort Worth that evening to shoot some pictures for Justin's new album, so the timing was perfect.
A little later in the morning, she sent me a text saying that she had someone offer $600, and she had to go with what was in her best interests. I understood; I thought the price was really cheap. Turns out, however, this person was full of it, so the scooter was mine. I figured that there may be some things that need to be done to it, but I was prepared to get $450 worth of scooter.
I met Justin at his house, and we proceeded to head to the scooter's location, which was Adrian's parents' house. When we got to the gate to the neighborhood, I was immediately relieved that I wasn't going to have any problems for two reasons: Her dad was riding the scooter around the neighborhood, and the security guard for this neighborhood was asking more questions that I got from customs when I came back from Germany.
These people are rich. Like George Bush over for a BBQ rich. Ridiculous rich. You could film cinemax movies at these houses and not have to change the sheets rich. Lawn jockey rich. You get the point, right?
The backstory on the scooter is that Adrian had a friend who did testing on these in the US for the Chinese manufacturers. After testing, these were to be destroyed, but that's the dumbest thing since NAFTA, so he gave Adrian and her parents three scooters; two 50cc and the one I bought. They had already sold the other two.
It had never been titled because her parents were the ones that built the houses in that neighborhood, and they used the scooters to hop back and forth between jobsites. That's also why a 2004 scooter only had 846 miles on it.
I paid them, had her sign the bill of sale and title certificate, and Justin and I loaded it up and headed out. I am still shocked that I got such an incredible deal. It's the Burgfeld luck, I think.
So now I am in the process of titling it. I have to register it with the state, since a 150cc is considered a motorcycle. This also means I have to get my motorcycle license, which means I will finally have my Texas driver's license. In the chain of events, that means I have to register my 4Runner in Texas now. I guess I should brace myself for the finality of becoming a Texas citizen.
Titling it shouldn't be a major undertaking. If the regular channels prove to be a pain, I can do a bonded title, which means for $100 i get the title and as long as there are no claims against it for 3 years, it's mine. Shouldn't be a problem there. State tax is $28, and the registration is $33. What all that adds up to is for around $600, I'm getting a vehicle that will top out around 65 mph, gets 85 mpg and will hold my fat ass with no problems. Simply outstanding.
This picture shows the pinnacle of the whole scooter; the Engrish on the side.That's right; the VX150 has "Improved Inyection." I thought, "Hmm; maybe that's Swedish," but then after reading the VIN tag, I was reassured that it is, indubitably, Engrish.
Oh, happy day!
I did drive it, in case you are wondering. I actually drove it to work and back a few days, but on Tuesday I got pulled over by a Dallas County Constable, and that put to bed any notions of further operation without the proper paperwork.
The conversation went something like this...
Constable: "I've pulled you over because you don't have any plates on your bike."
Me: "Yes, sir. I just bought this yesterday from a girl in Ft. Worth, and I thought I'd drive it to work today to make sure everything worked right."
Constable: "Um, hmm... Let me get your license, please (I hand him my license). Missouri? How long have you lived here?"
Me: "Oh... It's been about 2 1/2 months... my neighbor was saying I had 90 days to get the Texas license, but since I was shopping for a bike I thought it would be best to wait so I could get the motorcycle endorsement as well."
Constable: "Well, you've actually only got 30 days... What does the K mean? Is that motorcycle?"
Me: "No, that was for vision correction, but I've since had lasik. The other was for commercial vehicles."
Constable: "So, you didn't have a motorcycle license in MO either?"
Me: "No, sir."
Constable: "D'ya have insuance on the bike yet?"
Me: "No, sir."
Constable: "Okay... so you realize you're looking at four seperate violations here, right? No helmet, no insurance, no license on the bike and no motorcycle operator's license?"
Me: "Yes, sir... Like I said, I just got it yesterday. All of the paperwork for it is in my office just down the road (literally; i was maybe 1/2 mile from work). I realize that I shouldn't have it out on the road, and I guarantee that it will sit until eveything is legal on it, sir. It was poor judgement on my part, and I'm sorry to have wasted your time."
Constable: (Looks down his nose like is this fat boy for real?) "Alright, well I need to run your license. You have any outstanding tickets or warrants or anything?"
Me: "In Texas?"
Constable: "Anywhere; Missouri, Texas, Hawaii...."
Me: "No, sir. Last thing I got was a speeding ticket in 2005. That was in my 4Runner."
Constable: "Alright; hang tight for a minute."
It's at this time that the officer sits down in his car, and I grab some concrete from the retaining wall conveniently where I pulled over. After about ten minutes of sweating balls, he steps back out.
Constable: (Pulls a long piece of paper from his patrol car) "Alright; I'm going to give you a warning for the violations. Get it home, park it, and don't get back on the road until you have all your shit together."
Me: "Yes, sir. Thanks a lot for understanding. New toys... it's hard to not give 'em a little run."
Constable: "Well, it's more for you than anyone else. You get hit, and you're screwed. How fast will this thing go, anyway?"
Me: "Oddly enough, it stayed right at the speed limit all the way over here."
Constable: (laughs) "Okay, nice. Be safe out there and get your registration and license taken care of."
Me: "Yes, sir; thanks again. Have a safe one."
So, this week I've got to get this stuff taken care of. I hated to use all my good karma points in one day, but I know that it's a bigger pain in the ass to get your motorcycle license when you've been cited for driving without a license in Texas. This state doesn't play. Soon, you'll see me cruising in style, in a helmet, laughing at the $4 I spend to fill my tank. Until then... 4Runner fun time.
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