The institutional mouthpiece of Kjel.org

I hung the flag up at the HQ today. Not sure what else to do. I’ve said in this space before all I feel like saying about September 11. I’ve more or less squeezed that rage into a bitter little ball, and there is really no appropriate time to release it. It would be much better for my own mental health if I could just let it go but for various reasons (One of the reasons is two years old, another is four. One is thirty-six) I have a hard time doing that. Damnit I hate 9/11, and I hate that I hate 9/11. Fucking terrorists.

Oh, and I changed my mind: I will be recounting Summer 2009 in reverse chronological order, starting with last weekend, and ending with a description of my brief encounter with CrazyTown (aka Yakima). Stay tuned as it will be here soon — just not in the mood to write about it right now.

Ladies, Gentlemen, Chief Sniper,

The Summer hiatus of 2009 is over; new content will now again be appearing on Kjel.org on a semi-regular basis. Sorry for the delay. I was busy making preparations for and then celebrating International Bacon Day . I’m sure you understand that that took precedence over restarting this rough beast of a website.

A post about Kjel.org’s July trip to Lake Chelan, the insanity that is Yakima, and denying the Reaper while driving west on I-84 at 80 mph in 40 knot winds will be up soon. By soon I mean Monday. Maybe.

–CEO

The unannounced impromptu hiatus at Kjel.org is soon to end. I hadn’t planned on taking a break but at some point in July my Mojo abandoned me. My Muse, so to speak. She always has been the temperamental type but this time the byotch just up and R-U-N-N-O-F-T on me. I’ve lately seen her sneaking about in my backyard though so I think that very soon there will again be semi-regular content updates at Kjel.org. We’ll see.

No excuses for the lag except for the usual ones: I gots a job to keep, a family that deserves more attention than I give them, a malaise brought on by the state of the nation and the world, etc. Also, my inability to find an 800 Octane show at a venue appropriate for a four year old has taken its toll.

Kjel.org has some new stories to tell. Some or all of us have recently gone to Lake Chelan, PGE Park, to a used car lot in Vancouver, and seen other various wonders. I just saw another rustling in the bushes out behind my deck — that Muse will be back in the HQ soon. Stay tuned.

For the couple of people who asked me about baby due dates for certain gentlemen (or, more accurately, their wives) at the Miles Ct 4th of July Fest last weekend, please consult the following graphs produced by the Kjel.org CTO during his spare time. He most certainly did not create them while he was at work. Take a look and admire — that’s why he is the CTO.

Maximum chance of baby convergence on November 12 it looks like. If all three manage to be born on the same day it may well be some sort of sign. Sign from who or what though is really the interesting question . . .

Less a narrative and more an excuse to post a bunch of pictures taken by the Man from The Dalles. A couple of mine too: you’ll know them by their cellphone camera suckitude. On to the story:

On our way to Neskowin this last weekend we took a slight detour in Tillamook. “I wonder if there is an air museum around here?” It turns out there was.

I forget how much I like the Tillamook Air Museum and what a great collection of planes they have. The lads went into every single trainer that they were allowed to; the Junior VP is now very possibly qualified to pilot an A-6. A few pics of various boys in various cockpits:

The view from the deck of our beach house. The house was very nice and in a perfect spot, but once all of us (including four lads under the age of five) moved in it was not too big. Giant deck though, and a great view. Wait, what is the deal with that guy standing on the beach?

Oh yeah. It is just the Chief Educator, flying his new Spiderman kite. The Jr. VP was very impressed.

Here is a selection of the beach house crew. A pre-trip memo went out that all of us were to wear red. I didn’t get it; apparently neither did Mrs. Aki. Everybody else did what they were told.

Another couple of members of the crew. Or would that be Crüe? Either way, the lad made a new friend this weekend.

Kjel.org on the beach.

Still more. Wait, I know those two from somewhere?

We didn’t know it at the time but there were some historic low tides at the coast while we were there. Petrified stumps that normally never see daylight were exposed out in the sand. At the lowest point I saw the waterline was at least 100 yards past Proposal Rock, the island between Neskowin and the open water. Not normal. So what did everyone do as soon as they saw the stumps? Practice their kung-fu of course. Crane Style with Beer is very powerful kung-fu, and not for the timid or weak of mind.

The Jr. VP displays his fine form. Now if I could only get him to paint the fence and wax the car too.

Of course in the evening we had a fire on the beach in front of our house. While the other kids had to go to bed, Junior was allowed to stay up past his bed time and hang out with the big kids, at least for a while. He held his own and was a fun person to have at the campfire. Well done little dude.

He loved feeding driftwood to the fire; this is my attempt to prevent a Stinkboy faceplant into said fire. It worked.

This was one of the ‘big kids’ Jr. was trying to keep up with. Mental ages? Similar.

Earlier in the day we’d played some golf at the fine Neskowin Marsh golf course (their motto: “No Shoes? No Shirt? No Problem!”) and someone perhaps neglected to put sunscreen on their neck. The only way that neck is getting redder is if I take up the banjo and move to Kentucky.

The trip was a success and thank you to everyone who went and put up with the occasional toddler screaming. See you at the Edumacators on the 4th of July.

Kjel.org and many of the usual suspects spent a long weekend at the beach a few days back. It was, as usual, AWESOME. A full report with many a picture will be coming soon, but I believe the image below correctly captures one of the aspects of this (and all) beach trips that make them so great. I am both sad and happy that the pic below did not come from my office but was instead ripped off from the internets.

More details soon.

It is now a certainty: my little AK has the Devil in him. The CFO’s Mom called it a few weekends ago and I think she is right. Evidence:

When the Jr VP does something bad he tries to hide it, and then is sad and ashamed when you call him out on it. The AK? He will make sure you see him do whatever it is he is doing, with a huge grin and a devilish gleam in his eye the whole time. An example: the other night he kept stealing dishes from the dishwasher as the CFO was trying to load it. After several rounds of this the CFO was fairly irritated with the AK and closed the dishwasher. At this, angry at being thwarted, he walked in the other room and grabbed a (thankfully) soft baseball bat, walked past his Mommy, looked her in the eye and smiled, and then raised the bat above his head and brought it down onto the head of his brother. The AK didn’t care about his brother; he was trying to punish Mommy. He got in serious trouble for that one, but really, how do you punish a not-quite-two year old? We put him in “time-out” and he just sits there and smiles the whole time. I hope it is just a stage. Demonic possessions go away on their own, right?

Not that the Jr VP is an angel all the time either, but a problem (one among many) with him is that on occasion the CFO and I will disagree on what is appropriate behavior for the lad. The other afternoon when some kids were walking behind our property to get to the street below us they were spotted by Stinkboy. He rushed to the open window: “GET OFF OF MY LAWN!!!. His parents were respectively aghast/angry and amused/impressed. I will leave it to you, Gentle Reader, to guess to whom to assign those particular responses.

If you think that mommy’s little unborn monster will only need (or will only be able to earn) an associate degree, let me offer you this: Give him or her the middle name of Swearengen and I will pick up the tab for two years of college. This offer only stays on the table for another week or two, so you two fuckers better make your call soon.

That is the deal, take it or leave it. In the words of the great man himself: Here is my counter-offer to your counter offer. Go fuck yourself.

1. Kjel.org went to Bellevue a few days back for my padre’s retirement party, my birfday, and just a general g-parents get to play with the lads type of weekend. Awesome of course, but just one more reason the CEO didn’t answer or return any of your calls last week. Sorry.

Some fun stuff from the trip:

a. Me, the CFO, both kids and the CEO’s mom were at the clubhouse pool early Saturday afternoon. The Jr VP was in the kiddie pool holding court. Some other little guy got in with a supercool USS Missouri-looking-pool-toy. The second the kid let go of it and looked away Stinkboy snagged it and started re-enacting portions of WWII. The kid noticed and was pissed:

Kid: “Hey! Give me back my ship!”

Jr. VP: [looking at Mommy and pointing at Kid] But he has to share!!

Mommy: “No, he doesn’t! We don’t even know that boy so give the ship back to him!”

Jr. VP [thinks a moment] Hello, what’s your name? My name is Sor__. Let’s be friends!

Bravo. It didn’t work out for him, but at least the lad is thinking. Nice try amigo.

b. In the car the Jr VP started chanting a certain ‘cheer’. I’ve no idea where he got it from but it must have been one of the other little dudes at ’school’. It got stuck in my head and for 72 hours all I could hear or think about was:

We will, we will
ROCK YOU!
SHOCK YOU!
And FLUSH you down the TOI-LET!
Don’t forget to ENJOY IT!

The “Enjoy It” part I just couldn’t get over. On Saturday in my parents back yard I gave my sister a chip out of a snack bowl and said “Don’t forget to enjoy it.” Stinkboy heard and the both of us totally cracked up; no one else had any idea why the two of us were completely overcome with laughter. That was fine though.

c. Trees are 90% air my ass. “What clubs do you want to hit?” Just give me the pitching wedge. It is the only club I need at my preferred Portland area course other than my old Billy Baroo, so I should work on that one. “Uh, OK.”

At the practice range by my parents house a certain black hole was masquerading as a tree. I sent four dozen golf balls into that ‘tree’; I recovered 6. I’ve seen Tin Cup too many times: I did not accept the fact that I could not clear that ‘tree’ until I was out at least 40 balls. “No, no, no, this time I’ll find my swing . . . ”

2. I would like to expand upon an offer conveyed to the Chief Educator the other day. I hereby promise to pay for the college education of the Chiefs Bride and Educators first spawn if said child is named thusly: If the tyke is a boy? Kjett or Kjevy is acceptable. A girl? Kjelley or M’Kjel (bonus points for the apostrophe). The middle name shall be any of the following: Wayne. Jo-Jo. Kjel-Kjel. Ronrico. Make it happen, Chief. Make it happen.

3. I realized after the fact that I missed Flag Day this year. Dammit.

4. I am moving toward an all Dri-Fit wardrobe for summer 2009. Additionally I have a sweet new pair of Adidas that I am rocking, funky fresh and yes cold on my feet. Sorry Aki. My new collection of Dri-Fit shirts has a lot of Nike Golf in it though so don’t feel too bad.

5. Clark County Amphitheatre. Def Leppard. Cheap Trick. Poison. Friday September 11 2009. It feels a bit wrong to go to a show on 9/11, but the way I figure is that if I don’t get to see Def Leppard and friends play that day, the terrorists have won. And abso-no-fucking-lutely way am I gonna let that happen on my watch. Terrorists fuck off. Def Leppard on the other hand, I want you, to want me!

6. I am little bit worried that certain things I’ve dreamt about have come to pass. Hopefully tonight I do not dream about Godzilla or a meteor hitting the earth or an epic robot apocalypse of some sort.

7. Our city is in the very best of hands:

PORTLAND, Ore. - Portland Mayor Sam Adams could lose two homes in north Portland after falling behind on his mortgage payments. The homes in question sit side-by-side on North McClellan Street in the Kenton neighborhood and both are now in pre-foreclosure. KATU obtained a copy of two notices of default against the properties, showing the mayor has not paid a mortgage payment on either home for five months. With late fees, that adds up to over $10,000 in back payments. Adams said Tuesday his financial problems stemmed from the fact that he had to pay up front for legal bills in connection with an investigation into his relationship with Beau Breedlove. While two of his properties are now at risk, the mayor vows he will get caught up.

8. Finally, is the CEO really some sort of right-wing nutjob? I may well be, since as we all know online quizes NEVER LIE:

My Political Views
I am a right social libertarian
Right: 6.29, Libertarian: 5.65

Political Spectrum Quiz

This morning the CFO gets out of the shower, puts on a robe, and checks in on the Jr. VP. There is a large lump in the middle of his bed under a blanket where he normally is; the lump is obviously him still asleep. The CFO says “sweet” and goes back to her room to brush her teeth and comb her hair and whatnot. A bit later she hears the Intern laughing and laughing from his crib across the hall. “Wow, Señor Bebé is in a good mood today. Awesome!” The CFO finishes up her morning rituals and heads over to the AK’s room to grab him from the crib, get him dressed and take him downstairs to feed him some grub. She stands in front of his crate and leans down toward the boy. “Why is my baby so happy today!!” she says while watching the lad laugh and laugh and laugh. She soon learns. At the height of the baby’s laughter a certain four year old reaches out from under the crib and grabs his Mommy’s bare ankle with authoritay. Hello Mommy!

AHHHHH!!!!!!!!!! said the CFO. The Jr VP then needed a paper bag to defeat hyperventilation as he was so proud of himself for grabbing Mommy. Good Lord I love that little dude. At least until he really does give Mommy a heart attack, then our relationship will be a little more complicated.

Some slimy scum-sucking bag of pus out there made himself a new enemy on Saturday night. I went out to the car on Sunday to head to the grocery store, and some miscreant had thrown an egg at it and connected. No other cars I could see in the neighborhood had been egged, just mine. I suspect teens and am currently plotting revenge. Plotting more fervently than usual, I mean.

Scene: in car with family, driving to the grocery store. Daddy slightly fuming.

Jr VP: Mommy, why is Daddy so mad?

Mommy: “Because some bad person threw an egg at Daddy’s car.”

Jr VP: We should find that person and BURN DOWN THEIR HOUSE!!

Mommy [rolling eyes and groaning], to Daddy: “This is your fault you know.”

Daddy: I know.

Jr VP, warming to his topic: AND THEN WE WILL MAKE THEIR CAR BLOW UP AND THEY WILL BE COVERED IN FIRE!!

Daddy: That is going a little too far Stinkboy, but if we figure out who did this we’ll get them somehow. You up for a late night flaming-bag-of-poop delivery if we can figure out who to deliver it to?

Mommy: “Please stop talking. Both of you.”

If you are between the ages of 14 and 19 I would recommend not coming by the HQ for a while as you will be viewed as a suspect. Sorry.

And one more thing: guess where I parked, eh?

1. Last weekend Kjel.org went to Bellevue to visit the ‘rents, and let them have some time playing with the boys. It had been several months you see and the CEO’s parents were overjoyed to get some boy-time. They went to the pool and to the park and read and played and in general had a good time. Grandma bought the Jr VP six bottles of chocolate milk; he drank them all in a 48 hour period. Also he got to sleep on a top bunk in his own bedroom one night, an then slept in the room with his GP’s the other night. He stayed up several hours after bed time watching TV with them. We paid for it in the car on Sunday but that is neither here nor there.

It is only today that my right arm is no longer sore. I spent the majority of Saturday whipping a ball around with Cousin Chuckles, and rubber-armed I am not. I really need to limit my pitch count in any future outing and remember to stick with the soft stuff.

We visited the new home of Sister E and M-Poo. Too cool. Expect a goat for your birthday this year — he’ll help with the weeds.

2. The AK has been permanently wounded for several weeks now since he adds a new one as soon as an old one can heal. I need to rename him Danger Boy, as he has no regard for his own personal safety. On Sunday afternoon he did a giant running faceplant in the kitchen and banged his face on the ground. Blood? Oh yes there was blood. At least Danger Boy knows enough to stay on the hardwood when the claret makes an appearance.

3. The CEO is in Scotsdale right now for a work thing. Son of a bitch it is hot here. I know everywhere is air-conditioned, but hell, I cracked a pretty serious sweat getting from the plane to the airport terminal. From the airport to the hotel though? Me and a collegue pimped it in style. It only cost $7 more than a regular cab ride would have. I think it was worth it.

4. Upon arriving at the hotel I took inventory of all of the things that I’d failed to pack and/or had taken from me in the PDX security line: toothpaste, hair treatment, dress socks, a computer cord, and my cell phone. Poor packing on this trip by the CEO. Amateur mistakes, but I was able to fix everything (except that damn phone) and within an hour or so I was back in business. Otherwise it was going to be dress shoes with white socks and messy hair to match today.

5. I won’t comment on the business at hand except to say this: the CEO has broken many, many laws in his life — it’s one of my goals, sort of like eating one of every animal on the planet. Today I think I can scratch off another law from my list. See you in Hell, Sherman Act!

6. After a bbq a weekend back the craziest thing was found at the HQ. A hat that looks like it was designed for a Sasquatch (or perhaps Jack-in-the-Box) was found on our couch. It was a Seahawk hat after all so there might be something to the Sasquatch / Pac NW connection. Maybe he’ll come by and get it sometime?

7. Dinner shortly with our whole crew at this place: Pepin. I am a little bit worried, as this crowd has been rambunctious in the past. Please forgive anything posted here at midnight.

I like my cars the same way I like my women. Look here to see what I mean.

Business flip-flops anyone?

I’m not writing it down, but next time I see you remind me to describe some recent silliness. It’s like I work at Dunder-Mifflin as the branch manager. He’s the smart one, right?

Go Cougs!!

I thought about some Sunday golf on Saturday night when several fine folk associated with Kjel.org (and 30% of Beaverton) got some dinner out on the lawn at this place. Policing 9 kids in the woods behind the Raccoon (nobody got hit by a car or abducted. Victory!) when I should have been enjoying beers with friends made me think of outings that by law cannot involve anyone younger than 21. A round of golf at a certain course was sounding very appealing. However, by Sunday morning I had decided against it: the CEO has to at least occasionally make an effort to step it up as a husband and father, and I’d decided that Sunday would be one of those times and I was going to blow off golf. The Edumacator however had other ideas . . .

The Chief stepped up to the plate and hit an absolutely mammoth home run. I was at the grocery store Sunday morning with the AK when the call came in from the CFO. The Educator has a 12:15 tee-time for you guys at Edgefield. You better hurry. Don’t worry I don’t need you today. [The Chief Sniper’s lovely wife] is coming over with the boys, and we are going to play at the HQ. Go have fun. If the CFO ever wonders why I like and love her so much she ought to treat Sunday as Exhibit A. I owe you one, mama.

Me and the little dude tore ass around the store, got our provisions and then headed home, again at a high rate of speed. We perhaps even exceeded the posted speed limit a time or two during our journey. I will neither confirm nor deny if this is true.

Shortly after delivering the groceries to the HQ I picked up the Chief and we headed out to Edgefield. There we met the Man from the Dalles, and our day officially began. We signed on for the 20 hole course; no half-assing it for us. No sirree. As we were paying for our round in the clubhouse the Chief HVAC technician spoke thusly, setting the tone for the rest of the afternoon: “You know what? Lets get some gin before we order our beers for hole #1!” You sir are a genius! And so our 20 hole journey began, with an excellent first step.

It was an absolutely perfect day for Edgefield golf. The course was empty, with no one at any time in front of or behind us. While I suck at golf, the least weak (I hesitate to use the word ‘best’ about any aspect of my game) clubs I swing are the putter and the wedge. Guess which two clubs you need at the pub course? I only lost about 5 balls all day which for me means it was a quality outing. The double bonus? No asswipe threw any of our clubs into the woods after we’d laid them down for a second. I hear that happens there sometimes.

The back 20 has a beer girl now who just circles the west course asking golfers if they need anything. We ran into her just as the first beers were gone and restocked: ice cold 22’s of Ruby, which was just the perfect beer for the day. It is a good thing she only took cash; otherwise I would have started ordering shots for 2/3rds of our threesome — those were on the menu as well. As it was we scraped together enough money for beer, and it was the best beer I’ve had in a long, long time. Thank you, gentlemen.

Unfortunately it was so bright that the pictures didn’t turn out well, or come even close to conveying how glorious it was out there. Below is the Educator, attempting a long putt for birdie. We played every hole as a par three, even those that topped out at 42 yards. I came into the clubhouse at about 30 over — not a bad day for me.

The Educator wisely taking advice from the 1/3 of the group that actually knew how to golf:

The view was outstanding from the top of the course. My dorky cell phone did it justice to a rate of about 10%. It did manage however to do justice to the Educator’s belly to the tune of about 150%. For anyone who hasn’t seen him in a while, trust me, it is the camera — he didn’t just put on 50 lbs while you weren’t looking.

After our round we had Linner on the patio, and then retired to the Little Red Shed for some post Linner refreshment. We all agreed that it is probably for the better that the Edgefield golf course is way the hell out in Troutdale, because if it was located on, say, the property presently occupied by Wilson High School I would spend $1,000 a year playing there. My short game would be absolutely phenomenal by now, so there is that, but probably not worth the extra grand a year.

An awesome Sunday, and just what I needed. See you guys again on Saturday.

Business. Shorts.

File this one under “Brothers don’t shake hands. . .”

The AK isn’t actually that tall. The pic is not clear on this fact but the Jr. VP has him a few inches off the ground here.

It’s not like we need to do any serious remodel at the HQ, but there are still a few small things we’d like to do to it in 2009. Earlier this week we got one of them knocked out:

We ripped out the grass that used to be next to the driveway at the HQ and replaced it with some thick flagstones. The guys who put it in did a real nice job; the flat rocks look about fifteen times cooler than the nasty moss and weed filled grass that was there before, and in a pinch it can work as a third parking spot. A big bucket of win all around on this one I would say.

Now, who wants to help me build a spiral staircase (from a kit) connecting my two decks? Don’t you guys all raise your hands at once.

A new ongoing feature here at Kjel.org: What is the Jr. VP’s favorite song right now?

I’ll provide updates as it changes, unless of course the current leader remains his favorite forever. Possible I would say. Past leaders have included Ring of Fire by both Mr. Cash and Social Distortion, Rambling Man (Allman Brothers), Waiting For My Ruca (Sublime) and Unchained (Van Halen).

The current favorite? Werewolves of London by Warren Zevon. Ahhoooooo!

I hope that this anecdote is not cited 10 years from now by the court appointed psychologist. As the CFO may be quoted in the paper at that time: “The signs were there, but we just didn’t see them. Or maybe we were in denial. Or maybe I was still listening to the CEO.” On to the story:

On the drive home today it was just me and the Jr. VP; his brother stayed home today at the HQ because it looks like he has pinkeye. Again. Awesome.

Scene: CEO and boy in car on the way home after ’school’.

Jr.: Daddy, when we get home what if there are monsters at our house that want to eat me?”

Daddy: “Don’t worry about it. I will jump in front of you and tell those monsters to leave and never come back. Nobody takes a bite out of Stinkboy on my watch. Nobody.”

Jr.: [seeming slightly displeased] But what if the monsters still try to eat me? Will you kill them? Big emphasis put on the word kill.

Daddy: [a little bit alarmed] “Not at first anyway. I reckon I will tell the monsters still there that any monster that don’t wanna get hurt better clear on out the back. Whoever is left after that has declared their intentions.”

Jr.: Then what will you do?

Daddy: “Well, I’ll fight the monsters and you can help if you want. We’ll push them all outside and then we’ll lock the door. And maybe afterwards we’ll commemorate our victory over the monsters with the mixing of chocolate and milk.”

Here is where I got a significant bit more worried:

Jr.: NOOOO!!!No pushing! You should grab the monsters and take a very sharp knife and cut off all of their skin. Then you should break every single one of their bones! And then we both should shoot them until they are DEAD!!! Do that!!!

Daddy: [where the hell did that come from?] “Oh my. Umm, I think harsh language is probably what I am going to try first but I will certainly keep your suggestions in mind. Is there anything else you want to talk to me about little buddy?”

Jr.: No Daddy. Tell me a story about Spiderman . . .

I am little nervous. This is normal right? I hate monsters as much if not more so than the average guy and I admit to fostering an anti-monster atmosphere at the Kjel.org HQ to a point that is probably prejudicial. Still the details regarding the violence the lad wants to visit on the monsters is troubling. Kjel.org may need to enroll the Jr. VP in some sort of monster outreach program or something. I’m sure we could all get along if only we just better understood each other. Or if those goddamned monsters could just leave us alone.

I find this story very awesome, not sure why. Probably because it involves two of my favorite things, namely, nuclear weaponry and good scotch whisky.

Nuclear bomb tests help to identify fake whisky
Radioactive material flung into the atmosphere by nuclear bomb tests is helping scientists to fight the multi-million pound trade in counterfeit antique malt whisky. Researchers at the Oxford Radiocarbon Accelerator Unit, which is funded by the National Environmental Research Council, discovered that they could pinpoint the date a whisky was made by detecting traces of radioactive particles created by nuclear bomb tests in the 1950s.

On Saturday morning me and the boy headed down to McMinnville. Our first stop was the Evergreen Aviation Museum, home of the Spruce Goose and quite a few other cool planes. Junior loved it. Daddy! Daddy! Look at all the shooters! He, unsurprisingly, liked the planes with guns the best. “Probably good your Mommy isn’t here with us.”

Along that same vein he absolutely loved the B-17: it has a lot of ’shooters’ poking out of all sides. Below is the lad peeking inside the rear hatch.

The museum has an excellent kids area. It is great because it is right in the middle of things. I could leave the lad playing on the flight simulator and still see him while I walked around a bit looking at stuff. Both of us respectively had our fun. Below is Junior ‘flying’ his helicopter.

We left the museum and headed out for “cheeseburgers on top of a skyscraper” as I had sold it him. We went to perhaps my favorite of all McMenamins, the Rooftop Bar at the Hotel Oregon.

Two cheeseburgers, two chocolate milks and one Ruby later we climbed down off the roof, fat full and happy. We then headed home and the lad slept for hours. Not a bad little Saturday.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

It is my great pleasure to announce a promotion in the Kjel.org organization. The Chief Bride had a good run, but the wife of the Chief Educator shall no longer be known by that title. Henceforth she will have multiple titles that all can and will be used interchangeably. Some you should expect to see in the near future:

Chief Mommy-To-Be
Director of BeingKnockedUp
Concierge at the Fetus Hotel
Product Manager, Bun In Oven Division
Senior Director of Gestation

I’m sure there will be others as they occur to me.

Big Kjel.org congratulations to the happy parents-to-be. I talked to the Educator earlier today and I’m not sure if it all has fully sunk in for him yet. I recognized the feeling; it didn’t really feel real for me until the little tyke was actually born. Then it is real. All too real at certain times.

Holy crap this is going to be fun. 2009 just got one hell of a lot better than it was shaping up to be. El Jefe de Bebé, you lay off the heroin and the paint thinner huffing now you hear? The CFO had a real tough time with that during her pregnancies. And Chief Educator, what doing Saturday night? The end of your ‘I go out regularly’ lifestyle is approaching with a speed you might not realize, and we got ourselves a designated driver after all . . .

I foresee a Kjel.org baby naming contest in the not too distant future. Start thinking people.

Good Lord this is going to be awesome in all respects. I am going to really enjoy watching the changes occur at the Edumacator’s pad. Frankly I am having a hard time imagining them. For some reason I am reminded of this older Kjel.org post. This kid might be very, very tough.

8 trillion kinds of awesomeness here. Seriously.

There might be some civil disobedience in my near future. “The Red Suby? Uh, it was stolen.”

Portland drivers may face new fee
SALEM — Portland car owners could pay an additional registration fee for their rides — this one based on how much they drive — under a steadily shrinking transportation bill that’s having a bumpy trip through the Legislature. . . If approved, the city would be allowed to set a separate fee for cars owned by Portland residents and charge them based on how many miles they drive. . . Details, such as how much would be charged, how much would be raised and how the mileage would be documented on each car, have yet to be filled in.

1. Kjel.org drove to Seattle Saturday morning. I don’t know what sort of weird aura I was spewing that day, but more than 2 dozen people either purposefully or by accident tried to use the Red Suby as their instrument of suicide. I thwarted their plans. I was a little tense by the time we dropped off the heir and the spare at the CFO’s parents house, and tried to relax while the CFO’s dad drove us to our hotel downtown. No dice. Three passengers in a car were rubbernecking at some police action under the Convention Center. I happened to look up and notice that I was the only one watching the road of the three of us, and traffic was at a dead stop 50 feet ahead. We were going freeway speeds. I hope the CFO’s father does not think less of me for screaming like Ned Flanders, but it alerted him in time to put on the breaks. Can’t argue with results and all that. Anyway, I avoided cars the rest of the day.

Me and the little lady walked from our hotel through Pike Place, along the waterfront, and then through Pioneer Square toward the stadium. We stopped at the Pioneer Square Saloon for refreshment, a place I spent many a summer night in the early and mid 90’s. As we were getting our pints at the bar a dude walking past slaps me on the back and says Jay! Man, how you doing!? “Pretty good dude, pretty good.” He keeps walking and I go back to ordering my pint. What the hell was that about?the CFO asked. I said nothing and simply turned around, allowing her to see the glorious word BUHNER on my back. Ah, crap, are we gonna have to deal with this sort of thing all night? “I hope so.” Sadly, that was the only piece of BUHNER love I received.

As we approached the stadium through Pioneer Square, a strange thing happened. All of a sudden everyone around us just seemed like a chump. Imagine the worst sort of person that might live in Enumclaw or Estacada maybe. Now imagine 10,000 of them, all moving toward the stadium. These do not look like baseball fans commented the CFO. As we made it Quest Field, the chumpery reached its apex, and now we knew why: Supercross! Quest Field was hosting a day of dirt bike racing, and there were hundreds and hundreds of fans outside the stadium tailgating. A lot black T-shirts with logos I’d never heard of; a lot of bad tattoos; a lot of Busch lite. As we got past Quest and moved toward Safeco the Supercross and baseball crowds started to mix. The CFO and I played a fun game called ‘Mariners or Supercross?’ while we walked over to Pyramid. It was not hard and I am almost certain we batted 1.000.

2. The boy is getting creative with his insults. On the drive back from Seattle I refused to play Stinkboy’s requests on the radio. He was displeased. Daddy you’re mean, I don’t like you! When we get home I am gonna steal all your money and put it in jail, and then put you in jail and lock it from the inside! Then I am gonna put all your money in a rocket ship and shoot it into space where it will never, ever, ever come back for a very long time! Then the rocket will crash and blow up and all your money will fall down to all the people in the real world* but you!” Jeez Stinkboy, relax, here, have some Van Halen already. It’s like he’s been reading my recent dream journals or something.

* the “real world” is anywhere not animated and/or inhabited by Imperial forces and Rebel scum.

3. The CEO had a physical today. The good doctor found no physical defects beyond the obvious. After he tested my reflexes and found them freakishly powerful, I insisted that he use the term catlike on my chart. I am not certain he did. I am still waiting for the results of the EKG and blood tests to come back, so I might not be fully out of the woods yet. At worst I’m hoping for some variant of this:

I’ve been there before.

I would also like to take this opportunity to throw my thanks up to Jebus for the fact that a) The CEO is not yet 40, and, b) prostate cancer does not run in my family. The doctor seemed pleased by these facts too. That is all.

4. Today was Take the kids to work day. I wasn’t asked to participate this year, I wonder why. Was it the NOW GET OFF MY LAWN!! I yelled that made he little kids cry last year as they were leaving my office?? Could have been now that I think about it.

5. I wore business shorts to work for the first time in 2009 this last week. I can do that now. It’s good to be the King! Or at least have your liege keep his throne in another state. From my office on Monday:

6. Me and a couple of boys were rolling around on the floor playing rough the other night. I do not remember how it came about (perhaps the lack of memory is a defense mechanism against even more PTSD?) but somehow the Jr. VP was on his back and I was on my belly and he managed to raise his foot up high and bring it crashing down on my skull, right behind the ear. It felt like I’d been hit with a ball peen hammer; not sure why I didn’t lose consciousness. If I gave him an allowance it would certainly be docked this week.

7. At lunch today I saw the guy who should play Mr. Incredible’s boss if they ever make a live-action The Incredibles. The similarity was almost eerie. My urge to throw the dude through a couple of walls ala Mr Incredible was nearly unstoppable, but then I remembered that I am not a Super. Or more accurately my super power isn’t super strength, anyway.

7. The final domino falls: The middle sister, the Kjel.org rep for southern Cali, the one known as Annannannanana! to a generation of Kjel.org kids is finally engaged! Yay Annnanananana!!! Congrats to your lucky beau as well. I better start marinating another batch of “Engagement Jerky”. A secret special recipe where the jerky chef must walk a high-wire; if you succeed the meat is transcendental. I’ve screwed up a couple of batches over the last month or two but I’m getting closer. Sometimes you gotta swing not just for the fences, but for Edgar Martinez Drive.

According to this ‘doctor’, one shouldn’t own pets that can eat you. I wonder what the good doctor would think about my controversial (within Kjel.org, anyway) plan to get a guard-bear and give him the run of the property? Gotta keep those coyotes at bay after all.

It is possible that I have underestimated Spokane all these years:

SPOKANE — The Finch Arboretum is being overrun by ground squirrels, and Spokane Parks and Recreation is bringing in some special artillery. The agency is using a special machine called the Rodenator Pro to detonate some of the estimated 100 to 150 squirrels tearing up the grounds. . . The Rodenator Pro pumps propane and oxygen into the tunnels of squirrels, then sends an electric spark that causes an explosion. The shock waves kill the squirrels and collapse their tunnels — but in a humane way, the agency said.

Good to know it is a “humane” propane explosion. Wouldn’t want to see an inhumane fuel-air weapon deployed against the squirrels.

I am convinced that nothing, absolutely nothing, quite says Happy Easter! like seeing your kidnappers get shot by US Navy SEALS while you are not scratched.

MOMBASA, Kenya (AP) - An American ship captain was freed unharmed Sunday and three of the pirates who held him for days in a lifeboat off the Somali coast were killed in a operation by U.S. Navy Seals that was approved by President Barack Obama, officials said.
Capt. Richard Phillips’ crew, who said they had escaped after he offered himself as a hostage, erupted in cheers aboard their ship docked in Mombasa, Kenya. Some waved an American flag and fired a flare in celebration. The U.S. Navy’s 5th Fleet said Phillips was resting comfortably on a U.S. warship after receiving a medical exam.

I have no idea what Capt. Phillips is currently paid, but I can still say with authority that that man deserves a raise.

Also, the U.S. Navy was orginally formed to fight pirates back in the day. It’s good to see they still can perform that mission. So far it is Navy: 4, pirates:0. Now lets just hope that the other pirates are paying attention re who wins when we decide to play, and maybe make a decision not to play.

Nick Adenhart, a 22 year old kid who caught on with the Angels this year got in a car wreck and died the other night — after pitching the best game of his career and cementing himself as an MLB starter. The more I think about this story the more pissed off I get at the universe. I probably ought to quit thinking about it.

Jeff at Lookout Landing (which for my money is the best Mariner website out there) has some worthwhile thoughts. I’m glad that he can see a possible silver lining, because I am having trouble locating one. You are a better man than me sir.

It’s always weird when a famous person dies. When I got into work and heard about the accident, my first reaction was one not of shock or grief, but of interest. I couldn’t believe it had happened, and all I wanted to do was find out more information. Where did it happen? How did it happen? Did it really happen? It was such an atypical and inconceivable bit of news that for a while it didn’t register that Nick Adenhart was dead, that he was no longer among the living. . .

But after a little while it did begin to sink in. Nick Adenhart had died. And though it’s easy for someone in my position to see baseball players as nothing but machines that generate clumps of data, today’s news issued a swift and forceful reminder that Adenhart was more than a left arm with three pitches and iffy control. Nick was a person as much as I am a person, as much as all of us are persons. Nick kept some of his favorite snacks in his kitchen. Nick had plans to hang out with friends when he got a little free time. Nick had guilty pleasures on TV. Nick had girls that he wanted to see naked. Nick had inside jokes. Nick had bills. Nick had messages he hadn’t returned. Nick had memories of family get-togethers over the holidays where he’d have to explain to his grandparents why he wasn’t in school. Nick had people he loved, and Nick had people who loved him. . .

And now, a week after he got to tell friends and family that he’d broken camp with the Angels, Nick is dead. And while I didn’t know him, and while I didn’t watch him as a fan, it still doesn’t feel like just some guy dying, because he’s not just some guy. Not for me. Baseball is my second life, and as such, the baseball community is like a giant circle of acquaintances that I got to know by watching them play. And just because I don’t interact with the players face-to-face doesn’t mean I don’t develop connections to them. I make time to see them, I tell them to do things, they usually don’t listen, sometimes I get annoyed. How different is that from any traditional relationship, really?

Nick Adenhart died hours after pitching the best game of his life. If there’s any silver lining here, it’s that his death was preceded by his achieving an incredible feat. May he take that memory with him wherever he goes. Nick Adenhart is dead. He was 22 years old. I wish all the best to his teammates, his friends, and his family.

Me too.

I believe this article spoke to me because of something psychologists call “confirmation bias.” I don’t care.

Are boys natually violent?
You don’t have to thrust a plastic gun into the hand of a toddler to teach him about violence. He is perfectly capable of fashioning, and deploying, his own weapons from the stuff around him. Branches become swords, remote controls are transformed into death sabres, saucepan lids are magicked into trusty shields. In fact, a toddler intent on waging war, often against an invisible enemy, is an awe-inspiring vision of energy, resourcefulness, creativity and imagination. And yet, to my reckoning, such behaviour is in danger of becoming pathologised. Several mothers at my daughter’s school have stopped going to the local playground because the play has become a bit rough. This includes waving broken branches around (“it could poke someone in the eye”), tearing around at high speed (“someone could get knocked over”) and shouting at younger children (“bullying”). When a parent explained this to me, I returned an analysis of the situation: yes, there is one boy in this gang of terrors that might have behavioural problems, but they are just young boys letting off steam after a day in the classroom. Boys are a bit more rough and tumble than our girls, I shrugged, and we can always intervene if things go awry. . .

My weekend just got a bit worse:

LAS VEGAS — The Mariners won’t have Ichiro when they open the season Monday in Minneapolis against the Twins. Ichiro, diagnosed as having had a bleeding ulcer, was placed on the 15-day disabled list Friday, retroactive to March 31. It marks the first career DL appearance for Ichiro, who had played in 197 consecutive games, and 807 of the Mariners’ past 810 games over the past five seasons. The ulcer is no longer bleeding, but doctors have ordered restricted activity for Ichiro. He is eligible to come off the disabled list on April 15 — one day after the Mariners’ home opener against the Angels — and the club hopes he will be ready to play by then.

1. The CEO owes a belated thank you to the Man from the Dalles and the D-O-G-G for coming over to the HQ the other weekend and helping me to move that hide-a-bed couch. Either it was really damn heavy, or I am turning into even more of a wuss than I used to be — for about three days afterwards I felt like someone had kicked my ass. The Dogg and I tried to do it ourselves, and almost could, but we couldn’t figure out how to get it through a certain doorway. The two of us tried for about ten minutes but were stuck. After he arrived it took the engineer among the three of us 15 seconds to solve the problem. Stupid liberal arts majors.

2. I have tentatively started the process of car shopping: the CFO needs and deserves a new ride. I immediately looked at the Nissan Armada. It turns out that the Armada is way more car than we need or want which is really too bad. I was so looking forward to saying certain things when the CFO (who was going to be retitled The Admiral if we bought it) was piloting her new car. The CFO is coming to pick me up? “Behold, the Admiral approaches with her Armada!” The CFO takes a loop around SW Portland doing errands? “All hail the Armada and the Admiral for her successful circumnavigation of Garden Home!” If she wrecks it? Good Lord! The Admiral has dashed her Armada upon the rocks!” You get the idea. Anyway, the early front runners I think are slightly used versions of either this Mazda (zoom zoom!) or this Volvo (bork bork bork!). I’ve never actually driven or even ridden in either of these cars, so if you have please let me know what you thought.

3. The foulmouthedness continues for the Jr. VP. As does the obsession with Star Wars:
The other morning he was sleeping in and had to be woken up. After a few shakes he was sort of awake, but still had his eyes closed. Out of his mouth: Where the hell am I?”. His mom was not impressed. “Uhh, honey, were you having a dream, I hope?” Yeaaaaahhh. “What were you doing?” I was at Jabba’s house. He did not elaborate further.

4. The CFO has been out of town for a bit, and the boys are all alone at the HQ. I don’t have to tell you what that means. Daddy: Son number one, what do you want for dinner? Jr. Vp: Cheetos and beef jerky!!! Daddy: You’re the boss. You want a beer with that too? Discipline can be difficult to maintain when the CFO is not at the HQ.

5. On Sunday morning the Jr. VP said I want to eat cheeseburgers and go to the old park and visit Han Solo and Princess Leia and play video games! In pretty short order I figured out that Leia and Han were aka the Chiefs Educator and Bride. I am not one to deny the boy, so away we went on our big day out. Things started off well enough, with the three of us picking up neccesary supplies (like Cheetos and beef jerky) at the Thriftway. We then continued to Solo’s pad where Stinkboy got to play old school video games (he learned how to play Dig Dug) and the AK managed to break very little. As is our wont when the CFO is away, three boys then went for cheeseburgers and a vist to the park. Yet another sign that the lad has watched way too much TV: when I asked him if he wanted a hamburger or a cheeseburger, he laughed and said No! I want a Krustyburger! I had to stop the car and give him a hug at that one. The trip went downhill quickly from there.

The ‘old park’ that we went to is on the side of a hill. It might have been sunny on Sunday, but at that park it was also windy and cold as hell. I was of course wearing shorts. Eight steps from the car the little AK did a total faceplant on the sidewalk, so of course we had to deal with that first. Finally we sat down on the park bench to eat our lunch. I was seated next to the AK, helping him to eat since the concept of a “McNugget with dipping sauce” was new to him. About three minutes in the Jr VP spilled all of his chocolate milk all over himself. He of course started wailing; not because he had spilled, but because he realized that now he had no chocolate milk. A gust of cold wind then blew an unsecured napkin off of the table; it was quickly gaining airspeed and altitude. It was the only clean napkin left and I needed it to wipe off the boy so I jumped up and ran for it. At about the 10 yard mark I turned around when I heard both boys scream: two crows were on our table, fighting over my Big Mac. As I yelled and ran back to the table, the winner flew off with my lunch in his mouth. Three freezing, two crying and one swearing boy decided that maybe today wasn’t a good day to go to the park. Home we went. I am going back to that park with a shotgun in the near future. Or at least daydream about doing so.

6. Finally, and most importantly, huge congratulations to the CEO’s littlest sister on her recent engagement. The destination wedding is a good idea and sounds like it is going to AWESOME, and I can’t wait to bring the kids to Mexico. I plan to walk around Puerto Vallarta with my own little six year old interpreter. Mi padre querría otro por favor.

This is why:

PORTLAND, Ore. - A semi-truck hauling soy sauce and other food overturned on Interstate 5 near southwest Portland’s Terwilliger Curves Monday morning, causing a huge traffic mess. The wreck happened about 8 a.m. and blocked all southbound freeway traffic. Eventually, officials opened a lane of southbound traffic, but the backup stretched for miles. The northbound lanes were also impacted initially. Some drivers stuck behind the wreck actually got out of their cars and passed the time during the delay by striking up conversations with others.

I locked the doors on the Red Suby.

A few of you have asked for more detail regarding the Jr. VP’s recent operation, but sorry, even thinking about it makes me woozy. The following haiku is the best I can do:

Surgeon wields scalpel
Testicle on lad repaired
Why do my nuts ache?

The Jr. VP had his operation on Monday. He did great and everything went well and the lad is fine. His parents perhaps are not so fine, but we are maybe starting to come around.

I know what I am doing tonight:

After the last day or three I think I’ve earned it. I might give one to Stinkboy too. As for the CFO? She gets as many of these as she wants.

Note to self: if in Arkansas do not put the boys in ’school’:

LITTLE ROCK, Ark. (AP) - Ten children at a day care center drank windshield wiper fluid after a staffer served it from a container mistaken for Kool-Aid and placed in a refrigerator, authorities said Friday. The day care owner surrendered her state license Friday. Doctors estimate the children, ages 2 to 7, drank about an ounce of the blue fluid late Thursday afternoon before realizing it tasted wrong, said Laura James, a pediatric pharmacologist and toxicologist at Arkansas Children’s Hospital in Little Rock.

Smart kids there in Arkansas.

“What a good parent am I” by the CEO.

Scene: Kjel.org eating dinner a few nights ago.

Jr. VP: [Has empty milk glass in front of him. Tries to take a drink but gets nothing] Ahhh, what the hell?

The CFO and I look at each other. She decides to take a run at it.

CFO: No, no, don’t say that, we say ‘what the heck’.

Jr. VP: You say ‘what the heck’. I say ‘what the hell.’

The CEO had to excuse himself, as the lad’s logic was unassailable. Also I didn’t want him to see me laugh. I mean really, what the fuck else was I supposed to do at that point?

Throughout history, poverty is the normal condition of man. Advances which permit this norm to be exceeded — here and there, now and then — are the work of an extremely small minority, frequently despised, often condemned, and almost always opposed by all right-thinking people. Whenever this tiny minority is kept from creating, or (as sometimes happens) is driven out of a society, the people then slip back into abject poverty.
This is known as “bad luck.”
-Heinlein

The CEO has been thinking a lot about taxes lately, both personally and at work. Not the best time to be employed by a still slightly profitable medium-sized aggressively entrepreneurial non-bailout-looking-for corporation located in California. And the United States, I suppose. It’s difficult to shake the feeling that we all have a large bullseye painted on our backs. Christ, at this rate pretty soon I am going to be re-reading and quoting Atlas Shrugged. Sorry people, I’ll stop my bitching — I know it is not interesting.

Another quote I am gonna try my damndest to live by (this is one I made up):

Quit being a morose jackass and work harder to appreciate and enjoy what you have now, ya ungrateful bastard.
-CEO

Feel free to quote me on that one wherever you think appropriate. Correct attribution is appreciated.

Another tasty treat I might try sometime.

What I am going to order next time I am at McD’s: the McGangbang

Ah, the sweet relief of baseball — might allow me to relax a little bit and forget everything else now going on in the world.

Griffey’s first game as a Mariner (2nd time around version) on TV tonight. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited. The Jr. VP is a lefty too, so I need him to watch the other Jr. a little bit and see if he can’t imitate that swing — he’ll be a lot better served by that instead of watching his old man take cuts with a bat. First pitch is at 6:05 on Fox Sports Net.

On the way home after lunch today I saw a new Dodge Charger on the road. Weird for me to say about an American car, but CEO wants. Badly. I have no need for a muscle car, it is not especially practical, and when the hell am I ever going to get to open it up? Doesn’t matter; I can sweep all those questions aside pretty easily — the CEO’s brain is powerful that way.

Maybe I buy one for the CFO? It’s either that, an F-650, or a Hummer for her next ride. Not sure which she would prefer.

You can’t really see it here, but all day Mt. Hood sat there smirking in bright sunlight, mocking those of us (or at least me) in Portland under the clouds. I’m sorry the picture shows only the clouds; I am still working with 2004 photographic technology here (ie a cheap Razr cell camera). Trust me, Mt. Hood is there if you squint a little bit. Time for a new phone soon I think.

This is the view from my office down Market toward the river for those of you who know downtown Portland. Put my head against the glass and I can actually see the Willamette. If I am standing on a chair.

The CFO is out of town this weekend on a work thing. Of course that means a lots of DVDs for the young lads. Here they are settling in to watch The Empire Strikes Back, one of the Jr. VP’s favorites. The pizza will be here soon, and I’m sure we will stage an AT-AT battle before bed. Yet another reason why the CFO should never leave.

The Jr. VP likes to show you what he is eating . . .

I may have found my next wife. Here she is.

I feel stabby every once in a while.

1. Behold, Fort Chewbacca! The Jr. VP also refers to it as Fort Mulkie. The VP is in charge of naming it, not me. He can call it whatever he wants.

Nothing like taking some blankets and a small tent and creating a “fort” in the living room. The Jr VP spent last night defending it from all sorts of attacks from Daddy and the AK. It remains standing; me and the Intern are still probing for weaknesses and should have this thing defeated soon. Our siege engine should be completed any day now, and we are just now finding the range with our catapults.

2. When I picked up the boys from ’school’ today the owner made me sign a document acknowledging that they had informed me of an injury the AK sustained earlier in the day. Apparently the little dude got too excited and ran off some stairs, planting his face into the corner of a wall at the bottom. He had a big bump on his forehead and a black eye, but he seemed fine otherwise. The daycare ladies seemed more upset than I thought neccesary, so I have a feeling that the injury itself was worse than they let on. The Jr. VP backs me up on this one: he says that there was quite a bit of blood involved, but the ladies at school didn’t mention that. Not sure who to believe on this one. Probably the ladies — the VP can be quite a storyteller at times.

3. There are coyotes that routinely move around in the woods behind our house — I heard them again today when I got home from work. Coyotes have a very distinctive call, and it drives the neighborhood dogs absolutely batshit insane. Are coyotes dangerous? The woods I am talking about come right up to our back yard, and my kids like to play in the back yard. Can a coyote eat a 4-year-old? I might set some traps out just in case. Anybody need a coyote pelt?

4. At certain times the Jr. VP decides he is no longer human and can only speak in “puppy”. Oddly enough, “puppy” can be either English or Spanish, but must be spoken in the following convention: “Ruff ruff, Daddy, ruff, turn on the, ruff, ruff, TV. Ruff”. Similarly “Ruff, ruff, neccesito comer, ruff, ruff.” He will not listen unless you respond in kind. The ‘word’ Ruff has been said quite a few times at the HQ in recent days. Ruff ruff, I’m tired, ruff, of this game! Jr. doesn’t care.

More pictures from the vault. So when are we buying another beerpong table for the Chief Educator?

Nice Nuggets shirt. You lose a bet or something? And I acquired that glass at the Great British Beer Festival in 1999. Somewhere in Ohio there is one just like it — you be careful with it.

Finally, one from way, way back in the day. Back when I lived by a biker bar and the city of Seattle still had a basketball team. Even if their fans rarely did laundry.

The Jr. VP and I played a game tonight where he was “The Cannon Ball Shooter” and I was “Daddy-Homer”. We recently watched a portion of a DVD containing this scene:

Yes, I was wearing goggles and shirtless. No, the CFO was not home at the time. Why do you ask?