Frozen custard?  Bah!  This stuff is frozen like my dog is black.  The result?  My kid is covered in chocolate, and come Monday morning I'm still finding miscellaneous drips in Mr. Elephant.

Evidence:

I'm going to add wine to my blog.  I'm not a wine expert, I don't have a wine philosophy, these aren't wine reviews.  Unless it punches me in the face, you won't hear me refer to a wine's 'notes': tar, smoke, boysenberry, mineral, football leather, etc.  It's just a way to finally jot down my wine experiences for my own personal reference.  If it helps you, great.  On to the entry.

This Bleasdale wine was terrible.  I don't require a lot from a wine, especially a Shiraz.  It just needs to be red wine, I should be able to put it in my face, swallow it, and become drunk.  This is all I was asking for this bottle of wine.  That's why I picked a Shiraz and not a full-on cab or zin.  This wine was a blend of Shiraz and Cab (79% and 21% respectively).  At 14% alcohol, I would say the overwhealming alcohol taste was what ruined this wine.  It was rough around the edges and finished like a shot of vodka.  I am not opposed to high-alcohol wines.  I just think some of the other attributes of this wine were not quality enough to stand out against the alcohol here, I guess.  It took me two days to drink.  This breaks my one bottle-one night goal.  I was incapable of consuming this bottle in one night.  I've had good Syrahs that actually became better overnight.  So I was hoping to let it lay fallow overnight.  No such luck.  Tasted exactly the same the next day.  I think I paid about $14 for this at Sam's Club.  I wouldn't even carry a free case of this wine away from a generous doner expecting to drink it.  I would pick Miller Light over this wine when presented as an alternate option.  Should I go on?

Hope and I went to see Nick Swardson play at the Fillmore on Saturday.  We had some good laughs.  We went to the casino afterward, where I proceeded to donate some of my hard-earned money to a nice gentleman in the poker parlor.  Fucking aces.

But I'm not even on topic here.  Back at the show, Hope had managed to get us some pretty sweet seats, about four rows from the stage.  We were seated early, and the crowd filled in around us.  A couple of ladies sat in front of us, the one in particular wearing low-cut jeans.  A good thing, you might think, depending on what way you swing?  Not when you have to peer down her crack every time you reach for your beverage during the show.

I often get asked to help design websites.  Moreso than I get asked to help develop websites.  The important distinction here is that a site design appeals to the eye, whereas its ability to interact with the user have been developed by a programmer.  There's very little overlap, in my opinion.  And people that can do both well are a rare and valuable breed.  I am not a web designer.  I'd like to be.  But it won't happen.

Over at CombatAircraft.com, however, I've been forced into the uncomfortable position of doing some design work.  I've been working on the blog skin and airshows site, proving out some general layout schemes that create a centered look with a footer fixed at the bottom of the page until the content exceeds the height of the browser window.  This was not something that was easy to do on my own.  I didn't come up with it on my own. This thing saved my brain.  I was able to adapt this method to work exactly as I had planned.  Thank you person-who-gets-it-and-was-willing-to-share.

In fact, not only have my design tasks been made easier (rudimentary as they may be), but I'm not sure I've technically written more than a handful of lines of code since we've worked to expand CombatAircrat.com.  People are so willing to share, there is so much well-done open source software, and I have such a small amount of time, that I just can't ignore the call to Google for all the answers to my coding needs.  I've done more code integrating than code writing so far.  Why re-invent the wheel?  I've been learning slowly along the way, but I'm not being forced to learn the technical aspects of what I'm doing.  This is a bad thing.  But it's important to implement now and learn later.

Ctl-c is my friend.

Ava and I had our first philosophical difference of opinion yesterday.

Tool was on the radio, and I explained to her that Tool was in fact the best band in the history of forever.  She agreed that they were good, but that she preferred Fergie.  I tried to remain calm, that she couldn't possibly compare Tool and Fergie.  She stuck to her guns.  I tried my old trick - trying to convince her that she knew she liked Tool better but just didn't realize it yet.  She disagreed.  I compared Fergie to a turd with vocal cords.  This was quickly rejected.

I gave her props for not backing down.  She's still wrong, though.

Our bit of Economic Stimulus showed up last week (thanks Bush!...no, I will not debate this with you - even I'm not sure if I'm being sarchastic saying that), so we did what we've been threatening to do for years.  We purchased a new bed.

We rented a trailer and went to Sam's Club to take advantage of their sale price on king-sized mattresses.  As we were returning, I noticed that the wind was really gusty on a particular stretch of busy road.  Now, this was a deep, high-sided trailer.  When we loaded it in, I didn't think I needed to tie it down.  It was a king-sized mattress that took two of us to lift in.  Where was it going?  Well, physics and mother nature proved me wrong as I watched in my rear-view mirror while the entire thing was scooped out into the air, landing on the median behind us.

Ever wonder where those random mattresses in the middle of the road come from?  Ladies and gentlemen, I have your answer.

I was already slowing down when I saw all the activity behind me.  I stopped abruptly, ran down the road, dragged the whole thing back into the trailer, and tied the bastard down.  It was no worse for wear...a scuff mark on one of the corners.  All in all, it could have been worse.  Nice way to spend a sunny Sunday!

I was getting Ava ready for school yesterday.  It was time to have breakfast, and I realized I forgot to get milk the night before.  Cereal was out.

I asked her what she wanted for breakfast.  Her answer?  Spam.

This may surprise you.  It surprised me, but it shouldn't have.  On my list of things to do to enrich my child's life, I wanted to teach her to enjoy Spam.

Check.

It all started with our trip to the Islands two years ago.  I was convinced I was going to try Spam there, since it was the motherland.  I ordered it one afternoon at a rather large diner in Hilo after a long road trip around the south side of the island.  It came in the form of a bowl, topped with a scrambled egg and beef gravy over rice.  I fell in love that day and decided THIS was going to be my favorite meal in Hawai'i.

Fast forward to last December, when we had returned.  Spam, rice and eggs became my standard meal at Eggs 'n' Things.  As I was devouring one of my breakfasts, I realized: Why can't I have this meal at home any time I wanted?  Do I like Spam because of the context I had eaten it in, or do I really like this stuff?

Frankly, a shitburger in Hawai'i is better than the best hamburger anywhere else.  But I still wanted to put the theory to the test.

I'm happy to report that Spam is just as delicious in Michigan, and Florida as it is in Hawai'i.  Hope bought me a giant pack of Spam singles so I can make myself some any time I want without making an entire can.  But that doesn't seem to be a problem!  Ava LOVES Spam.  I've seen this kid actually outpace me eating the stuff.  But but it's not like it's a giant Spam fest here.  It's something we eat occasionally.

So the fact that Ava suggested Spam for breakfast without hesitation yesterday was kind of a surprise.  I warmed her up a slice and she ate it right up.

That's my girl!