Kindling My Displeasure

I have been an avid, perhaps even rabid fan of the Amazon Kindle since I got one for Christmas last year.  But this week an event has transpired to burst my bubble a little.  (Note to self:  Can bubbles be partially burst?  Seems like no...  Maybe if it were a multichambered bubble, like a heart, and only one chamber burst.  That would tie in nicely with an allusion to a broken heart which would also be appropriate for this tale.  Or perhaps I just need to work on the metaphor a little more...)

At any rate I set my Kindle down one evening after my before-bed read and then picked it up again the next evening to continue on and found this!:

Powering it down and back was little help.  The bottom half of the screen responded, but the upper part with its smeared ink wave and its amputated Harriet Beecher Stowe left it generally illegible.  In my panic I made one of those 11:30pm customer service hotline phone calls which assures you that while your call is important to them, it isn't important enough to staff their U.S. call center at that hour, so you get help from very nice people in Bangladesh or the Punjab provinces.  The lady I talked to, whose English was a little bit thick and a struggle to lock on to, was nevertheless very pleasant and walked me through all the secret tips and tricks to hard-boot my Kindle.  But love was not to be found.  At the end of the day (or rather at the beginning of the next day, by this time), the Kindle was declared a lost cause.  Fortunately, it was still under warranty, so she told me that would ship a replacement out to me immediately for no cost.  Fair enough.  I went to bed that night illiterate, but not inconsolable.

The next day I decided to explore the issue a little further and did a web search or two to find out if this was a prevalent problem.  Unfortunately I found story after story about people whose screens crapped out due to torsion or falls or for no apparent reason at all.  They seemed to happen quite easily and often.  People were  anywhere from a few months to a few days into their Kindle experience.  From the sample set I looked at, I got a longer life than most!  And some were on their third, fourth or fifth Kindle with all their predecessors succombing to the same fate.

I know this was hardly a scientific sampling space - only the people with problems would complain about them, so naturally everyone I heard from had a gripe.  The (hopefully) millions of untarnished Kindle users wouldn't post on those forums.  But still it seemed a little concerning.  The pearl ink technology in the Kindle is such a joy to use, but perhaps it still has some mass production kinks yet to be worked out.  I don't like the idea of having to replace my Kindle every six months, and I'm not exactly sure how the imminent expiration of my warranty in December will play into the replacement policy.  Got conflicting reports from the websites on that one.

As someone who works to develop new technologies for a living, my heart and good wishes go out to Amazon and hope they figure out any systemic problems and rework them.  But I also hope they'll keep me in free Kindles until they can last a few years at a pop.

A Pomegranate Still Life

My painting productivity seems to have taken a hit lately.  It's not that I haven't been painting, its just that I've had too many projects going on at once and they've all been "in progress" with nothing being "done."  There is something irritating and unsettling about not coming to a place of closure on something, even if you're not spending an inordinately long time in the process.  It's much more satisfying to me to have several things going that are staggered in their "doneness" so that there's a completion point for one or the other in the foreseeable future.  Lately all my projects (I've got three in works right now) have kind of lined up in the development time/space continuum -- all pretty much following the same schedule.  In theory I could just put one or two aside and concentrate on a single project for a while to get in out ahead, but that doesn't work practically because I can't really work for a full three-hour class on any one painting.  Things get too wet and mushy and you just have to switch to another project.  I am more or less forced to have at least two things going at once, or waste my class time.

But fortunately the log jam is beginning to break.  I did wrap up two of them this week and I've managed to photograph one of them:

This is an original composition using Stacy's china and some pomegranates given us by a family friend (right before Stacy transformed them into jelly).  I'm trying to do more and more original work and less copying.  I have nothing against copying - its a great way to develop your skills - but at the end of the day, you can't really sell a copy or enter it into competitions, and someday I would like to be able to that.  So this is one I pulled together myself.  I'm pretty happy with it.  I didn't know if I'd be able to pull off the detail in the china, and there are a couple of places where I know I didn't, but overall, it came out better than I'd expected.  I sure love still life!

I've got ideas for my next two projects, but I'm always open for suggestions or requests!

Ruls for Daddy!

Perhaps I've been laying down the law a little too heavy around the house lately.  Perhaps I haven't been as nurturing or generous as expected.  Perhaps I have failed to notice pain and suffering in our midst, or worse, perhaps I've condoned or instigated it.  Whatever the offense, I have evidently been singled out for a protest.

I heard the kids conspiring together back in one of their bedrooms this evening.  Eventually they emerged with a list of demands entitled "Ruls for Daddy!"  These are evidently my punishment for perceived atrocities.

Ruls for Daddy!

1.  Daddy does not play on the computer.
2.  Daddy doesn't get to wrap presents.
3.  Daddy does not get to make satellites.
4.  Daddy can't read books to us.
5.  Daddy is not allowed to play soccer!
6.  Daddy is inappropriate to do stuff.
7.  Daddy is mean!
8.  Daddy can't love us!
9.  Daddy is not allowed to cuddle.
10.  Daddy can't do anything.


I expect they will soon be hanging out on Wall Street demanding that the 1% stop loving them.

It's Not Easy Being Greenie

A week or so ago our neighbor brought over a bunch of fresh radishes from his garden. Unbeknownst to our neighbor, he also brought over a soon-to-be much loved family pet. A small green caterpillar was nestled up in the produce and on discovery he was quickly transferred to a jelly jar with a cheesecloth lid. I gave him four to six hours, tops, but L and N's love was more nurturing than I'd credited, and "Greenie," as he became known, was well provisioned with samples of every leaf in our backyard. Variety is obviously the spice of life, or at least a general contributor, for in the abundance of delicacies offered, he found a couple that he clearly enjoyed very much.  We watched him polished them off day after day and grow quite plump in the process.

Worm Watch 2011!

All seemed to be going quite well until about a week ago. I came home to find the jelly jar sadly empty. "What happened?" I asked.

Stacy, my biology major wife, told me that Greenie had stopped moving a day or two ago. She gave him time, but it was clear he had died. "I just threw him out a minute ago."  She pulled open the garbage bin to show me.  Greenie was lying on the heap all hard and crusty.  At that moment the light of realization flickered in Stacy's eyes, followed by a mad scramble in the garbage to retrieve the cast-off cocoon.  This only served to knock it further down into the muck.   We pulled aside cantaloupe rinds and empty yogurt containers, paper towels and other assorted unidentifiables until at last we found the identifiable we were looking for. We delicately scooped out Greenie's immobile "body" and restored him to his jelly jar home, reattaching the cheesecloth lid and settling him in a quiet corner on the counter. Or at least as quiet as they get around here. He did look rather moribund lying clunkily on the bottom of the jar, but every once in a while, if you spent the time to watch, you'd notice a little spastic twitch that said that the spark of life had not departed Greenie just yet. Another few days and the twitching stopped and even I began to lose faith - though I could almost be persuaded that the little crusty green thing was a little bigger today that it had been the day before.

On Friday our fretted waiting was over. I came home from work to find nothing crusty on the jar bottom, and something light and feathery hanging upside-down from the cheese cloth. The florescent jade of the caterpillar had faded to wings of a palest green, like hydrangea petals. One wing was out, the other still somewhat curled up in the chrysalis hull. Another day and things were unraveled enough to do a more thorough examination. A quick internet search confirmed that Greenie was now a proud male Cabbage White Butterfly. Unfortunately is appears that his second stowed wing may be damaged or malformed and if so, I revert back to my prior predictions of life expectancy, but Greenie's obviously a fighter and has overcome plenty of challenges already in his short metamorphic life, so who can really say?

WAS

IS

(or some semblance thereof...)

More Dental Drop-outs

For the last week or so L has been boasting an ever more flexible front tooth.  A jiggle turned into a wiggle which evolved into full-fledged  flappage.  Tonight by dinner it was clear the end was near and none too soon, as everyone was getting a little tired (and grossed out) watching L put her tooth through its many pirouettes, held in place by a micrometer strand of who knows what.

Having lost two teeth previously (amplely documented here and here), one would think L a jaded pro, but this particular instance marked the first time one of the defectors came from the upper echelons of her standing army, so new life and excitement were breathed into the tired regimen.

Snaggle-tooth

N wanted everyone to know that regular brushing
will ensure his teeth stay put as long as possible.

Since the tooth seemed to be rather attached to its lifelong home, and all wobbling aside, seemed to give no clear indication that it was going to speed up its vacating timeline, L and Mommy had to have some serious discussions on assisting nature to take its course. L was unconvinced that any form of external influence need be applied, but Mommy was much more adamant on the matter. The thought of having the tooth lost and swallowed overnight, and the recovery discussions that would no doubt follow, gave her more of a reason to [e-hem] sink her teeth into the argument.

While maternal tenacity and pre-pubescent pluck are generally well-matched contenders, Mommy's insistence was unyielding and eventually L gave up the fight and submitted herself to having Mommy grope around her mouth with a big paper towel. A snag, a yank, a pop and a squeal, and it was all over except the gloating.

All present and accounted for...