For a while there, it was really coming down in the city. It's pretty much over now.

One of the curious things about working where I do is our close proximity to the Block, Baltimore's (in)famous red-light district. My parking garage fronts onto an alley facing Larry Flynt's Hustler club. This card was left on the ashtray outside the garage elevators. I have no idea what the "World Famous Shower Act" is, but I'd wager it's a lame ripoff of Flashdance.

The world has changed since the day you were born; the leaves have all turned color, gotten wet, blown down, and collected in our backyard, which means I've got a long weekend of bagging in my future. The entire world economy is apparently in the crapper, but we're all walking around pretending like nothing's wrong, praying to god this will all just blow over. Gas is back below $2 a gallon, something your father never thought he'd see again. And our country elected its first black president last week, something I thought I'd never see during your lifetime.

It's mid-November already, so lately I've been thinking of the list of things I wanted to accomplish this year, and how I wasn't able to get to everything; I've also been thinking of the things I want you to know as you grow to be an adult. Looking around, I have the impression that most modern-day American youth don't know much of anything beyond shopping and Facebook, and I really want better for you than that. Mama and I don't want you to have to depend on anyone, and we don't want you to be afraid to try to do anything, so if there's one thing I hope we can pass along to you, it will be the courage to fail.

So I've created this list, which is really more of a rough guideline. You don't have to do all of these things, and you certainly don't need to love them all, but I'd like for you to try each of them.

Change a flat tire. This is up there in the list with anything car-related, basically; I don't want for you to be taken advantage of by shady mechanics or "good samaritans". It's also a handy litmus test, too; if you ever date a male who hasn't/can't do this, you know it's time to throw the pantywaist back and keep looking. I will buy you dolls, I will buy you dresses, I will attend tea parties with your stuffed animals. I will also buy you a set of spanner wrenches and read you Chilton's manuals before bedtime.

Paint a room. Your great-grandfather put his children through college painting houses, and your father was a professional contractor for two years. It's in your blood. You have no choice, really. I have a tiny paint brush all ready for you. There are touch-ups to be done in the nursery. Get to work.

Buy a used car. See "Flat tire" above. This is an important skillset to have, and it translates to many other commodities. What is your gut feeling about the seller? Have you done your homework? Can you afford this? Do you really need a Scout right now? (The answer to the last question will always be yes).

Fix a computer. It is my hope that one day your knowledge will eclipse mine. Another important skillset, almost mandatory in this age. I think you'll find it's much preferable to having some sweaty mouthbreather poking around your hard drive. And, a bonus: People will pay you for it.

Give a speech in public/teach a class. I used to be terrified of public speaking, and I still am to some degree. I've found, though, that if I'm well-educated in my subject and I feel confident with my message, it's not too bad after the first five minutes.

Get a graduate-level degree. Education, education, education. We can't stress its importance enough, as long as it's not a diversion for real life: a four-year degree means FOUR YEARS. And we understand that college isn't just about studying. You can get a minor in partying just as long as you major in something with a GPA higher than 3.5.

Skydive. (just tell your mother and I after you do it, OK?)

Backpack and camp in the wild. This is part of the don't-be-afraid advice, mixed with perseverance and planning. Everyone should spend a night in the woods hunting for dry firewood and listening to strange noises rustling through the leaves. And guys have respect for girls who will go camping: it means you're not a princess.

Cook Thanksgiving dinner/dinner for the family. all chauvinism aside, there are few things harder in life than cooking a juicy bird; harder still is getting all of Thanksgiving dinner on the table at the same time. It's an ass-kicker of a job, but boy are the results worth it. Your mother finds a creative outlet in cooking; having the skill and the confidence to try will be one of her many gifts to you.

Pour a dry martini. I learned this solely to impress your mother. Hopefully you might learn this and one day impress a wealthy suitor, a head of state, or an astronaut. Plus, general bartending abilities are a marketable skill. (see education above).

Play an instrument. Had I not taken a chance in seventh grade (I believe that some higher power made me raise my hand that fateful day), I would have missed out on so much, Finn. I got to play on Main Street in Disney World, on stage at Carnegie Hall, and as first chair in my high school orchestra. I made a lot of very good friends, and found something else I was good at, which I desperately needed at that point in my life. I really hope you have musical talents too. If not, that's OK; I just want you to try.

Can vegetables or fruits. As your mother says, this is a handy skill for the coming Apocalypse. And it's an easy way to save some money!

Travel abroad. If I hadn't been convinced to take a chance by my beautiful bride, I would never have seen the beauty that is Rome. I don't know how we'll swing it, but we will travel abroad as a family someday. And when you tell me you would like to explore Europe or South America or Africa as a student of life, I will set aside my fears, gather my strength, and help you find a way to make that happen.

Write a book. I'm still working on this one after thirty-seven years, so I know how hard it is. But genetics say you will probably have some talent for writing, and we will foster that as much as possible.

Paint or draw. See above. Your Grandpa brought home reams of tabloid-sized computer paper from his job to let us draw on, and I created an entire series of comic books loosely based on Star Wars: the beginning of a successful career in the arts. As long as it's not a Sharpie on my laptop monitor, you have full license to draw, paint, scribble, or color any flat surface you can find. Oh, and not the couch, either.

Play an organized sport. Despite three hitless years of Little League baseball, Papa was asses and elbows until his senior year of high school, when suddenly a switch got flipped and he found his coordination. I hope you find yours earlier, because it makes team sports enjoyable rather than prolonged torture. I don't expect you to be Mia Hamm, but I believe the experience is important. Again, try it—lacrosse, swimming, tennis, whatever. We'll be at the games, even if you're on the bench.

Plant a garden from seed. Even though Grandpa seems to do this with ease, Mama and I can't figure the seed part out. However, Mama has strong garden-fu, and you will be raised with dirt under your fingernails.

Catch a fish, gut it, and cook it for supper. See camping and canning vegetables above. It's all about preparing for the End Times, kid.

Under the subject line, "Probably the most disturbing thing you'll see all day." More like Month. What could have been going through the heads of these two fine gentlemen? I think it might have gone something like this:

Can't Touch The Mullet: Dude, Let's line our trucks up and take a picture.

White Hat, Pale Skin: Sure, OK.

(Several pictures are taken. Two Silver Bullets are consumed).

CTTM: Dude, Know what would be better? We need to pose in front of the trucks. With our shirts off. You know, to show off our tans.

WHPS: Um, I don't know...

CTTM: What are you, a pussy? Chicks will totally dig this.

WHPS (nervously draining the last of his beer): OK.

(more pictures are taken; two fresh beers are consumed).

CTTM: I got a great idea! Let's take a picture naked. To show off how ripped we are.

WHPS: No way, man.

CTTM: Come on, dude, it will be so totally rad! Like Conan, dude!

WHPS: No way.

CTTM: Dude, take the picture or I will totally beat your ass.

WHPS: OK.

CTTM: This is totally going in Playgirl.

Looks like we won this thing!

DON'T FUCK IT UP.

Love,
The Idiot.

To date, 2008 has been a fantastic year for my business, and I've had tremendous luck and success working as a sole proprietor since being laid off three years ago. Given the uncertainties of the market toward the second half of this year, our new family addition, and a growing feeling of isolation within my discipline, though, I started quietly looking around for a full-time position in the middle of the summer. Several opportunities arose and were considered, but did not feel right. In July, out of the blue, we got an email from some friends who were looking to fill a position, and did we know anyone who might be interested? Three interviews and two months later, after a very careful selection process, they offered me an opportunity I couldn't pass up.

I spent some time onsite the week before Finley was born, trying to feel my way into things and get acclimated. Everyone was incredibly friendly and welcoming, and I immediately had a good feeling, like this was supposed to happen. Since then, I've done a little freelancing for them while we've all been patiently waiting for the baby to get on a regular sleeping schedule. During that time, they let me post some articles on their weblog, and they kept sending me friendly email, which meant they hadn't changed their minds. Yesterday I spent my first full day onsite learning as much as I could as quickly as possible, getting to know everyone, and trying to stay out of their way. Most importantly, leaving the office Monday evening, I still had that good feeling.

Finn says, "Don't forget to vote, and then toast to the end of political ads for three more years!"

(thanks to Linda for the shirt!)

I spent all the free time I had this weekend kneeling in the ice room beneath the office building kneewalls for insulation. The idea is to add R-14 along the exposed sections of outside wall in an attempt to retain as much heat as possible, while keeping costs as low as possible.

Firstly, I had to seal up the lousy masonry with hydraulic cement, making sure everything is air and water-tight. Hydraulic cement is interesting stuff; it hardens in minutes, so it's best to apply with nothing more than gloves. Imagine mixing small batches of oatmeal and then smearing it all over the wall before it turns to stone.
Once that was done, I started constructing the frames. For a grand total of around $60, I got two 12' lengths of wall completed this afternoon, with two more left to do.

Additionally, because it seems to be the only window in the whole house with a correctly sized, in-stock premade replacement, I ripped the ancient, original hopper window out and installed a new one. I've been paranoid about this particular window since we moved in, because it's semi-visible from the road and looked about as secure as a convertible with the top down. For $120, we got a vinyl dual-pane slider with a low U rating that fit almost perfectly. I find that these projects get easier and quicker as I do them; this one took about two hours minus a trip for pressure-treated lumber. Eventually, I'll order three more for the rear and replace them as well.

After the basement section is done, I'm most likely going to have to crawl up into the attic above the porch ceiling and add another layer there as well. I'm really looking forward to that.

I was very interested whem I read the description. Instead of having to boot up an entire virtual environment (in this case, an entire install of Windows XP) just to run one program, CrossOver builds a version of the PC app that runs on its own, saving CPU resources and memory. For anyone running a 1st-gen MacBook Pro like me, which caps out at 2GB of RAM, this is important, because my typical workday involves running Photoshop, two web browsers, a mail client, an FTP client, iTunes, several smaller utilities, and XP under emulation with several Windows applications; RAM gets scarce and the machine bogs down.

I downloaded and installed the app, and followed a helpful wizard to install a fresh copy of HomeSite (my authoring environment), which wasn't actually on their list of supported software. Everything ran smoothly, and within minutes I had it working. After installing a copy of Explorer 6 inside the "bottle" (their term for a virtual partition), I had everything I needed to work with, minus the hassle of booting up XP.

Comparing the footprint of the two approaches, Parallels/XP (at rest) uses 209 MB of RAM, plus 12.86 for HomeSite. CrossOver uses a mere 69MB, plus an equal amount for HomeSite, which should make things zippier in theory.

So: on the surface, it looks great; I'll try it out for a week and see if it supplants Parallels as my Windows alternative and report back here.

Hi little one. You're over four weeks old, and this whole baby-raisin' thing hasn't gotten any easier. I mean, I wasn't expecting you to know how to scramble your own eggs for breakfast just yet, but I was kind of hoping you'd be getting used to the light/dark idea by now. Last week started out really well: you were awake for about a third of the day, and you slept almost the whole night, with brief visits to the bottle at 2 and 6. And you were mercifully easy to put back down, too. I was getting cocky. Could this be the turning point? Somewhere around wednesday, a switch in your head flipped, and the whole thing went to hell. Your sleeping schedule completely broke down, which meant that we were up watching early-morning Law & Order marathons together, you would not settle for love or money, and Papa had to sleep late to be worth anything for the rest of the day.

The upside of all of this is that you've learned how to smile—at your mother. You don't do it so much at me, but Mama swears you have dimples in your cheeks, which is a very useful inheritance. She also says you're laughing in your sleep. I wonder what you're dreaming about? Perhaps you were thinking of the other night when you broke wind quietly and Papa broke wind right afterward, and it was like we were actually having a conversation. With farts.

Now, about the hair. You came out of the box with a pretty substantial mop of red hair, which took both your parents by surprise. We had a standing bet you'd be bald like we both were, so it was a total shock to see what the pre-installed factory options actually were. (FYI, we paid extra for leather bucket seats, and we haven't seen those yet). We got used to your hair quickly, and it really fit your face, so we put away the clippers and had fun parting it and messing it up and making mohawks out of it. Two weeks ago, though, we noticed that it was receding slowly upwards, to the point where you're now sporting a style I'll call Retirement Community Bachelor. Ordinarily, this wouldn't be an issue, but...your head is...growing. At birth, you had a perfect little duckpin bowling ball head, and we were happy with that. In the last two weeks, though, as you've grown, your head has kept up the pace and now you have this big cranium over your eyes, and there's no hair up there to cover it anymore, and...well...at least you have lips.

You are sleeping now, dozing on my lap in a cloud of gentle fleece, warm as a loaf of bread fresh from the oven. I stare at your smooth, unlined face, watching unknown dreams cross your features, and feel your feet twitch softly against my legs. For all the late nights, the screaming and complaining and fussing and pooping, the hours where you looked at me with the stinkface after I'd changed your diaper, fed you, swaddled you, and made sure the binky was close at hand, one second of your peaceful face makes everything more than alright. I wish you could talk, or at least understand what I was saying, little girl, because I've spent hours looking in your eyes, telling you that I will do anything to make sure you are safe warm, happy, and loved. Of course, I wasn't really saying it, because I'm terrified you're going to wake up and start crying again.