My head hurts a bit. Kinda like it wants to fall down on a pillow, but once it's there, it gets bored and I pop it back up to type some more.
This helps.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Friday, May 25, 2007
Kids flew to Idaho
Aster, Kelsea and Torie flew with their grandparents to Idaho today. It was the first time aboard a plane for Kelsea and Torie. Torie said, "It wasn't scary at all. The cars were sooo little. When we landed, it was like we were in another world. We went through lots of clouds. Daddy, are clouds really made out of water? Wow. I guess the plane must've gotten really wet."
Sunday, May 20, 2007
F. Molina Campos
Patricia and I are looking through Florencio Molina Campos paintings of the vida campestre. Campos captures the life of my Argentine gaucho ancestry in a delightful way.
Pigeons pooped on the kids today
We went to the park in Mesa to go birdwatching. We spotted a male and female great-tailed grackles, a bewick's wren, a male house sparrow, mallard ducks, and plenty of rock pigeons. Aster, Kelsea and Torie layed hesitantly on the lawn and placed bread crumbs on top of themselves. The gluttonous pigeons happily took the feast and happily rewarded the kids with pecking, scratches, and stains on their clothes.
The kids had a great time. We had to get out of the house because (after plenty of procrastination) we finally had a carpet cleaner come out to remove marker, glue, paint and Lucy markings from our carpet. It took a heap of chemicals.
Dinosaur Letter
Aster got a letter (he wrote to himself) from his dinosaur friend and it goes like this:
Dear Boy,
I had a great time at the party with all of those delicious elk. I would've liked it more if you were on the menu. You should have tricked some of those plant-eating dinos to come. There weren't too many raptors at the party. I hope you didn't mind all the bones and blood everywhere. The deer were a good snack. Tyrannosaurus ate most of the food.
Your prehistoric friend,
Raptor
Dear Boy,
I had a great time at the party with all of those delicious elk. I would've liked it more if you were on the menu. You should have tricked some of those plant-eating dinos to come. There weren't too many raptors at the party. I hope you didn't mind all the bones and blood everywhere. The deer were a good snack. Tyrannosaurus ate most of the food.
Your prehistoric friend,
Raptor
Kelsea at the Top of Her Class
I'm a proud daddy today. The school year's ending and I just received a call from Mrs. Polillo—Kelsea's third-grade teacher—to tell me that Kelsea (yes, my daughter) has earned the most Accelerated Reader points in her class. What are AR points? AR points are how elementary school teachers test reading proficiency.
I'm actually not at all surprised by this news. How many nine-year-olds are thrilled to go on a trip to Barnes and Noble? One time when we went, I bought Kelsea a hot chocolate and she got halfway through a junior version of The Secret Garden. She read 80 pages that night! I'm not surprised. But I'm sure proud. (Did I mention I was proud?)
I'm actually not at all surprised by this news. How many nine-year-olds are thrilled to go on a trip to Barnes and Noble? One time when we went, I bought Kelsea a hot chocolate and she got halfway through a junior version of The Secret Garden. She read 80 pages that night! I'm not surprised. But I'm sure proud. (Did I mention I was proud?)
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
David and Patricia in Paris
After climbing the Eiffel Tower, feet hurting...
March 14, 2007—Our first day in Paris was most memorable. We tried to save money by avoiding any taxi and hauled our two suitcases, a backpack, my laptop bag and Patricia’s purse into the Metro. We switched trains at the Nation, mistakenly went to Marie Montrieulle, where we lifted our luggage up the stairs to Paris’s famous cobblestone streets only to find there weren't any; we weren't in wasn’t downtown Paris at all, and had to dragg our luggage back down the steps again. We backtracked to where we should have been, the Port de Montrieulle.
Besides the immigrants, almost everyone in Paris knows Spanish, English or both. The locals are educated and extremely helpful—except for the Marie/Port mix-up, we never were lost once on our Paris trip—not at all what I’d expected.
Our hotel attendants weren’t ready for us and we were told to wait “15 minutes” for our room, which really turned out to be 45. Patricia and I were exhausted. So, as we waited, we sat in the hallway, and I fell asleep on Pato’s leg. I woke up when the cleaning lady—an African immigrant woman who spoke only French (that I know of)—explained something to us, which sounded like an apology, and pointed out that our room was ready.
We made ourselves at home in a small, multi-color room—half of a normal-sized bedroom. The bathroom was too small, with just barely enough room to sit on the toilet, sideways. I was just glad to feel hot water coming out of the tub faucet, which was also small. If I’d been any larger, I would not have fit in it. I fell asleep in that tub.
We left our things and took the Metro to the Louvre. It was five o’clock. One more hour and we’d have a discount to the museum. To kill time 'til five, we strolled through the Jardin de Tulieres, stopped and bought an expensive cup of hot chocolate—four Euros for a few drops—and a Toscane pasta salad. We needed something to keep us awake.
Either the chocolate or the excitement of the Louvre did the trick, because we walked briskly for three hours and 45 minutes through the museum. I was in heaven. We picked up a Da Vinci Code audio guide that led us through Robert Langdon’s adventure. It also offered great insights into the Mona Lisa, Madonna on the Rocks and many others.
We saw Italian/French art, the Venus da Silo, and plenty of Greek, Roman, Etruscan, Egyptian and Arab sculptures. In fact, we saw just about everything, all in less than four hours. It takes most people days. But they probably stop and actually look at each work for more than a minute or two.
On our way back to the hotel we stopped for a bite at an Arab’s panini/pizza joint. He knew English, but preferred Spanish. We asked him his price and he said, “First, where are you from?” I lied, “Argentina.” He decided to serve us a couple of decent paninis.
March 15, 2007—A crazy beggar woman gave me a gawdy ring "for me," and promptly wanted payment for it. We climbed the Eiffel Tower, cruised down La Seine on a riverboat, and saw Notre Dame. Our feet were sore. We also accidentally went into a very non-vegetarian French restaurant with dead animals mounted all over the walls, which we left. We had some good French onion soup and some bad cheese fondue. Moulin Rouge, Latin Quarter and we arrived back to the hotel to find the place crowded with Italian students.
March 16, 2007—Notre Dame, St. Sulpice and saw the Rose Line, visited my first Midieval Castle to see Lady and the Unicorn tapestries, a walk down L’Odeon (Ernest Hemingway’s place where threw something because he read a bad review), Jardin de Luxembourg, Musee Odin and The Thinker, Sacre Coeur with a view of all Paris and a bunch of hippies, place de Tartre where artists wanted to paint our picture, pretty walk down through red light district, good food at a small restaurant (I had a ravioli/omelette/cheese, Patricia had onion soup/trout/caramel crème, which was really flan) and a couple of Slovaks pitched us a vacation to Slovakia (15E a night), Eiffel tower lit up at night, followed a bunch of Americans to the Trecadore, found the Metro, went home to bed.
March 17, 2007 St. Patrick's Day—Went to the cemetery to see Jim Morrison’s, Oscar Wilde’s and Michel Proust’s tombs. I had to go to the bathroom (really bad), so I ran out of the cemetery and found a small bar, which saved my life. But when I came back I couldn’t find my wife. I went to Jim Morrison’s tomb to look for her. She wasn’t there. I sat there for an hour and a half. I tried Wilde’s and Proust’s. Nobody. I asked the guards for help. Not really good help. Finally, I went back to the hotel where I found a note. I felt better. I went to the Lafayette galeries, the Opera, Hotel Ritz and then to Bilboteque Jazz bar to look for her. I found her watching a big band jazz quartet. Er… she found me. She was pretty upset. We then went to Place Tartre and Sacre Coeur, which in our opinion is the prettiest place in Paris. We bought us a couple of crepes and enjoyed our last night. I watched a drunk Scottish guy in a kilt flash a lady and we heard a pop, which sounded like a gun shot, and found it was a loaf of bread that hit the ground (right next to someone) thrown out from a high-story building. Went home early, packed for Rome and drank maté.
Here's pics of Montmartre, Rodin's Thinker, Moulin Rouge, the Eiffel Tower at night (too beat to care about how to make it right side up) and me reading Julio Cortazar's Rayuela at Pont des Arts (where the book's setting is and where it was probably written).
Don't care to figure out how to make this right side up.
March 14, 2007—Our first day in Paris was most memorable. We tried to save money by avoiding any taxi and hauled our two suitcases, a backpack, my laptop bag and Patricia’s purse into the Metro. We switched trains at the Nation, mistakenly went to Marie Montrieulle, where we lifted our luggage up the stairs to Paris’s famous cobblestone streets only to find there weren't any; we weren't in wasn’t downtown Paris at all, and had to dragg our luggage back down the steps again. We backtracked to where we should have been, the Port de Montrieulle.
Besides the immigrants, almost everyone in Paris knows Spanish, English or both. The locals are educated and extremely helpful—except for the Marie/Port mix-up, we never were lost once on our Paris trip—not at all what I’d expected.
Our hotel attendants weren’t ready for us and we were told to wait “15 minutes” for our room, which really turned out to be 45. Patricia and I were exhausted. So, as we waited, we sat in the hallway, and I fell asleep on Pato’s leg. I woke up when the cleaning lady—an African immigrant woman who spoke only French (that I know of)—explained something to us, which sounded like an apology, and pointed out that our room was ready.
We made ourselves at home in a small, multi-color room—half of a normal-sized bedroom. The bathroom was too small, with just barely enough room to sit on the toilet, sideways. I was just glad to feel hot water coming out of the tub faucet, which was also small. If I’d been any larger, I would not have fit in it. I fell asleep in that tub.
We left our things and took the Metro to the Louvre. It was five o’clock. One more hour and we’d have a discount to the museum. To kill time 'til five, we strolled through the Jardin de Tulieres, stopped and bought an expensive cup of hot chocolate—four Euros for a few drops—and a Toscane pasta salad. We needed something to keep us awake.
Either the chocolate or the excitement of the Louvre did the trick, because we walked briskly for three hours and 45 minutes through the museum. I was in heaven. We picked up a Da Vinci Code audio guide that led us through Robert Langdon’s adventure. It also offered great insights into the Mona Lisa, Madonna on the Rocks and many others.
We saw Italian/French art, the Venus da Silo, and plenty of Greek, Roman, Etruscan, Egyptian and Arab sculptures. In fact, we saw just about everything, all in less than four hours. It takes most people days. But they probably stop and actually look at each work for more than a minute or two.
On our way back to the hotel we stopped for a bite at an Arab’s panini/pizza joint. He knew English, but preferred Spanish. We asked him his price and he said, “First, where are you from?” I lied, “Argentina.” He decided to serve us a couple of decent paninis.
March 15, 2007—A crazy beggar woman gave me a gawdy ring "for me," and promptly wanted payment for it. We climbed the Eiffel Tower, cruised down La Seine on a riverboat, and saw Notre Dame. Our feet were sore. We also accidentally went into a very non-vegetarian French restaurant with dead animals mounted all over the walls, which we left. We had some good French onion soup and some bad cheese fondue. Moulin Rouge, Latin Quarter and we arrived back to the hotel to find the place crowded with Italian students.
March 16, 2007—Notre Dame, St. Sulpice and saw the Rose Line, visited my first Midieval Castle to see Lady and the Unicorn tapestries, a walk down L’Odeon (Ernest Hemingway’s place where threw something because he read a bad review), Jardin de Luxembourg, Musee Odin and The Thinker, Sacre Coeur with a view of all Paris and a bunch of hippies, place de Tartre where artists wanted to paint our picture, pretty walk down through red light district, good food at a small restaurant (I had a ravioli/omelette/cheese, Patricia had onion soup/trout/caramel crème, which was really flan) and a couple of Slovaks pitched us a vacation to Slovakia (15E a night), Eiffel tower lit up at night, followed a bunch of Americans to the Trecadore, found the Metro, went home to bed.
March 17, 2007 St. Patrick's Day—Went to the cemetery to see Jim Morrison’s, Oscar Wilde’s and Michel Proust’s tombs. I had to go to the bathroom (really bad), so I ran out of the cemetery and found a small bar, which saved my life. But when I came back I couldn’t find my wife. I went to Jim Morrison’s tomb to look for her. She wasn’t there. I sat there for an hour and a half. I tried Wilde’s and Proust’s. Nobody. I asked the guards for help. Not really good help. Finally, I went back to the hotel where I found a note. I felt better. I went to the Lafayette galeries, the Opera, Hotel Ritz and then to Bilboteque Jazz bar to look for her. I found her watching a big band jazz quartet. Er… she found me. She was pretty upset. We then went to Place Tartre and Sacre Coeur, which in our opinion is the prettiest place in Paris. We bought us a couple of crepes and enjoyed our last night. I watched a drunk Scottish guy in a kilt flash a lady and we heard a pop, which sounded like a gun shot, and found it was a loaf of bread that hit the ground (right next to someone) thrown out from a high-story building. Went home early, packed for Rome and drank maté.
Here's pics of Montmartre, Rodin's Thinker, Moulin Rouge, the Eiffel Tower at night (too beat to care about how to make it right side up) and me reading Julio Cortazar's Rayuela at Pont des Arts (where the book's setting is and where it was probably written).
Don't care to figure out how to make this right side up.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Friday, December 15, 2006
My job
My boss Jeff, shown here with his wife Leticia at a Christmas party and below at an '80s party, is one of the most important people I've gotten to know this year. I owe him a huge debt of gratitude because he helped point me in the right direction to become a decent news writer.
Jeff's determination to create high-quality out of everything (with touch of character) is why I look for his approval for just about everything I do; not just my work. I hope I can develop the same talent.
Here's Patricia and me with the visionaries of the company, Jim and Kathy Coover. They're dedicated to improving people's health and taking our company global.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Sedona
A few weeks ago, Patricia and I went to Sedona here are the pictures. We stayed at a place called Briar Patch Inn, which in my humble opinion is the most relaxing place on Earth. I'm so grateful for the chance to have been there and would recommend anyone reading this to stay there at least two nights.
I spent most of my time writing, drinking mate and suffering from a sore throat. The place inspired me a bit. Patricia walked around and enjoyed herself taking pictures or doing whatever she does. If you do get to this place, I recommend you check out a book from the lobby called Outsmarting Squirrels, which I found a delightful read. Also, the apple cider is fantastic along with organic mountain apples sold across the street from Briar Patch. We bought a bag full.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Why Mac Users Should Oppose Gingrich and English as Official Language
Imagine the fury of Apple Computers if various states across the U.S.A. decided through democratic ballots that only PCs should be considered as “official-use” computers. Mac users would have to learn Windows, despite their preference and new technologies that allow them to communicate effectively with PCs. After all, the majority of the population uses PCs. The minority Mac users are simply a threat to the common culture. Disregard all benefits of using a Mac.
Could this happen? American citizens of this country who prefer speaking Spanish or Chinese may feel something such as this is already happening to them now. Regulations creating English as the U.S.’s only official language are being passed state after state.
The U.S. is incapable of progressing successfully to a multi-language, multi-culture society, suggested former Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives Newt Gingrich during a news conference in New Hampshire. Gingrich hinted we'd risk the U.S. becoming a place of “confusion.”
Is Europe a place of confusion? People in many European countries often speak two or three languages fluently.
Mac users can run any Microsoft Windows application with a simple program called Parallels. Because Macs speak in both “languages,” they are more marketable.
Consequently, in service-based economies like the U.S. and much of Europe, the more languages people know the more marketable they are.
Gingrich, however, didn’t hesitate to insult Europe’s economy of “elegant decay.” He’d rather give tax breaks to big companies for high-tech machinery than to assure U.S. children have better education along with language study.
U.S. jobs, therefore, will continue to be taken over by bi- and tri-lingual immigrants. U.S. call centers and other service industries, therefore, will continue to be outsourced to other countries where English is taught along with other languages since grade school.
According to Gingrich, for U.S. children to be competitive in the future global economy against the likes of China and India, they should adopt English as their official language and George Washington as their hero.
Apparently world history heroes Gandhi, Cesar Chavez and Nelson Mandela are lesser examples for Americans.
Can someone smell a hint of Big Brother propaganda?
Could this happen? American citizens of this country who prefer speaking Spanish or Chinese may feel something such as this is already happening to them now. Regulations creating English as the U.S.’s only official language are being passed state after state.
The U.S. is incapable of progressing successfully to a multi-language, multi-culture society, suggested former Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives Newt Gingrich during a news conference in New Hampshire. Gingrich hinted we'd risk the U.S. becoming a place of “confusion.”
Is Europe a place of confusion? People in many European countries often speak two or three languages fluently.
Mac users can run any Microsoft Windows application with a simple program called Parallels. Because Macs speak in both “languages,” they are more marketable.
Consequently, in service-based economies like the U.S. and much of Europe, the more languages people know the more marketable they are.
Gingrich, however, didn’t hesitate to insult Europe’s economy of “elegant decay.” He’d rather give tax breaks to big companies for high-tech machinery than to assure U.S. children have better education along with language study.
U.S. jobs, therefore, will continue to be taken over by bi- and tri-lingual immigrants. U.S. call centers and other service industries, therefore, will continue to be outsourced to other countries where English is taught along with other languages since grade school.
According to Gingrich, for U.S. children to be competitive in the future global economy against the likes of China and India, they should adopt English as their official language and George Washington as their hero.
Apparently world history heroes Gandhi, Cesar Chavez and Nelson Mandela are lesser examples for Americans.
Can someone smell a hint of Big Brother propaganda?
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
My blog about me
Let's try this out. I don't think I'll end up keeping a journal of day-to-day activities, but I thought it'd be nice to have some kind of place for me to update me about myself. So that's the purpose of this blog: for me to talk to myself about the universe and everything--and remember what I talked about for later.
David
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