Another proud Arizona moment . . . this dude . . .

. . . Neil Rodreick, 29 years old, managed to attend classes at two middle schools for 50 days this year and only got kicked out due to poor attendance. That’s right, he passed as 12 years old. Oh, and he was living with two other guys, whom he conned into having sex with him based on the sole belief that he was indeed 12 years old. There’s an even older guy who was somehow involved to the point that he pretended to be this guy-kid’s grandfather. And said dude has a record: he’s a sex-offender himself, having assaulted a girl at some point. At least he’s an equal opportunity offender.

What’s best is that even though Rodreick is an adult, because the guys thought they were having sex with a minor, they’re in jail too. I think we can all agree that’s a good place for these guys. There’s a sick, but fascinating story behind all this that hopefully will come out someday, I’m sure. Let’s hope the Wayans brothers score the rights to this one - I smell a “hilarious” sequel to their “smash” comedy last year, this time starring David Spade as the baby-faced man conning some older guys out of, well, something, until he gets himself in a little too deep. Hilarity ensues!

For those out there who say it never gets cold in Phoenix, let me post this picture stolen from AZCentral.com:

That was taken in the middle of Phoenix yesterday when it actually snowed. And Mesa woke up to more snow this morning that actually stuck around long enough for some kids to make a big snowman for the news reporter who got stuck shivering out there with them.

Unfortunately for us, the downside to this cold weather is that our plants have suffered - just when we get things green for once, this comes along and turns everything brown and nasty. Well, hopefully they’ll recover in the spring.

I lost my truck this weekend. Oh, don’t worry - only for a few days for some warranty work to be done. I saved up a bunch of little things that had been nagging me for a while and decided that, now that I’ve had it a year and - believe it or not - nearly 26,000 miles, it was time to get all those little things taken care of. So Saturday I turned her over to Honda for what I knew would likely be at least 3 days and mostly like 4 as they needed the time to dig through all of my issues - small rattles here and there that I already knew were being addressed by Honda but only if you actually ask about them (in the form of “service bulletins” - and found at the very informative and handy Ridgeline Owners Club site (check for your car, there most likely is a “support group” for yours, too, that may answer every weird little issue you’ve had.) What’s nice about this site is that some actual Honda people are kind enough to alert the other owners about new bulletins that are up and how to go about getting them - because some service people aren’t so easy to deal with.)

Today wound up being one of “those days.” Not a true bad day, really, just one of “those days” that seem like they could easily head that direction. Bad traffic that made me nearly late for a doctor’s appointment, but it didn’t matter because the appointments were all running very late anyway. I just gave up and gave in. There seems to be a point at which you just mentally throw your hands in the air and stop worrying. That happened this morning. I wasn’t even aware of it happening, I just know it happened in retrospect. I gave up and let things happen as they happened, for a while at least. My appointment was extremely late and long, so what? I took the day off work instead - screw it. I went to Costco and did what Alissa and I would have had to do tonight. I bought a big-ass box of saltines. Would I have bought that tonight? Maybe not. I ate lunch with my mind in neutral until it occured to me that I could use the free time I had to finally knock out the final CD rack that I’ve been meaning to put together. So I finished up, got out in the garage and put it together. Now I’m done - except for the organizing. Now I can expand everything from the four nearly-full racks that I had and make space on each shelf for future growth - because there always will be something coming in.

And then I went to Zia and I think that’s where I threw it all off - I didn’t really want to, I didn’t have anything in mind that I wanted to buy, but I had some time to kill before I picked up Amanda from my parents and so I went. I wandered around and found nothing of interest - no, that’s a lie, I found things, stuff, junk, things I didn’t really need or want, just stuff I could have bought, but ultimately I just thought, “Do I really need this right now?” Nah. I put stuff back where I found it and shuffled out the door, wishing I’d just stayed home and rested instead.

I say that threw me off because up until then, the day had gone really nicely after that doctor’s appointment, but that unnecessary Zia trip screwed it up because immediately after that it just became a mess - I ran into a huge construction project that made me late to pick up Amanda and therefore Alissa. But once I got them, things fell back into place - I got to entertain Amanda, and Amanda distracted me from the stupidity of the stress of the drive over to get her, and by the time we got to Honda, I was back in a good mood again.

I picked up my keys from the counter at the dealership and headed out to my truck and realized that, for the first time since my first truck, a 1991 Nissan Hardbody (kind of like that one linked, but way better looking,) I just plain love my truck. I haven’t loved anything I’ve driven like this since then. I’ve really liked some of the cars and trucks I’ve had, but this one’s really special. And when I drove it off the lot tonight, I felt why - it’s just a wonderful truck to drive. So smooth, so quiet (especially now that all the rattles I asked about are gone) and so right. The only concern I have is simply due to everything being so technology-driven - will it last? Can cars of today possibly last as long as cars from the past? Will we see these computer-driven behemoths on the road in 20 years? I sure hope so - I really hope to keep this thing a long, long time.

I was previously under the impression that HOA stood for “home-owners’ association,” but now I realize it actually stands for “horde of assholes.”

If you’re not already aware, would like to make HOAs DOA. I think they do nothing good for society and just in general make life a homogenize, boring experience in every neighborhood. So what if one of your neighbors is messy? Does that really drag down the value of your entire neighborhood? So what if one of your neighbors paints his house an unseemly color? That just means he/she’s an individual. I’ll tell you what, I’ll take the quirky neighbors who paint their homes pink and green over the dozens upon dozens of identical tan nightmares that we’re stuck living in right now.

And I miss trees - big green fluffy trees filling the air around neighborhoods. HOAs are putting height restrictions on trees so never again will we see neighborhoods with gigantic trees that make the places seem inviting. No, instead, we’ve got these horrible, short, sparsely-leaved trees that barely provide any shade, all thanks to HOAs.

This rant is inspired by the latest move of our HOA. Because we live on the corner of our street, I was particularly curious what a giant hole dug on the street corner was about. When it was filled in and sprouted a tall metal sign post - but no sign - I grew even more curious. Today my curiosity has been sated, but my anger has been fueled. A sign has finally been attached that reads “No on-street parking in (our community) HOA.” Let me restate that for emphasis: no on-street parking ever. Not “during the hours of _____,” like any sensible people would ask. Just no on-street parking ever.

Let me paint you a picture: neither vehicle that Alissa and I own are full size vehicles, yet they barely fit in the garage because home builders now undersize their garages in order to scrimp a bit more and make you think your house is a bit bigger. We are one of the few families on the block that actually parks their cars in their garage - most people use their garages as storage because - you guessed it - homes don’t come with any usable storage. That’s right, we don’t even have usable attic space for storage. We were actually told not to use our attic for storing anything, but I’m not stupid - I know that if it can handle the weight of a dozen fat construction workers, it can handle the weight of our Christmas decorations. But that’s all that will fit up there anyway. So most people stick it all in the garage and leave their cars in the driveway. But here’s where it gets fun: the driveway isn’t long enough for even my mid-size truck. It sticks out over the sidewalk, and two cars can’t be parked side by side if you want to get into the driver’s side of the one whose driver’s side door is on the inside of the two. But we have it easy compared to our neighbors - they have FOUR cars and a son that comes over frequently (and often stays overnight, making it FIVE cars.) There is a delicate and beautifully orchestrated juggling act that goes on when one of the cars inside the garage needs to get out.

So the question now is where the hell are we supposed to park?! If we don’t park in our driveways, say if we have more than two cars using the driveway, like if there’s a party or just friends over, what shall we do? Oh, that’s right, we’ll just use the parking lot. Doh! We don’t have one! There is no parking within one mile of our neighborhood, so what exactly do they expect people to do? Can no one ever come over again? I guess that’s the answer because they’ve provided nothing to help us here.

The other unanswered question is just what happens if someone does park on the street? A fine, I assume, probably on the homeowner in front of whose house the car happens to be. But that leaves a bigger question: how can anyone claim to know for certain that any car parked in front of any house is definitely the responsibility of the homeowner? There have been many days I have come home to find random cars parked out front of our house. Those people certainly weren’t visiting us, but going by this, I’d assume that I would likely find a fine from our HOA at some point in the near future. How would I even fight this?

The best thing about the HOA is that most of the time, the people on the boards of these things don’t even live in your neighborhood - but they may own property in it, meaning they only care about preserving the value of some property they’ve invested in but don’t really care whether they make life a living hell for the people who do live there. And it looks like they can pretty much do as they want, whether you like it or not, whether it’s actually for the good of the people or not. They are evil.

What I’d really like to know is, does anyone actually like HOAs? I’ve never once heard a single person say they like having an HOA, never. Yet they’re everywhere. You can’t find new housing without finding an HOA, which is exactly why when Alissa and I start looking for a new house, we’re looking at older housing that does not have HOAs. Someone out there must like these things, however, or they couldn’t possibly exist in the first place. I know they must have seemed like a good idea at one time, but it’s pretty obvious that they only serve to bolster the egos of those that run them, and make life for most of the people under their reign pretty damned miserable.

When in desperate need of using the restroom, do not be a gentleman (or woman) and let someone else go in before you. You may find that this person you were so kind to has just been given the last open stall - and you now have to go all the way to the end of the building to use the other restrom and find another hopefully open stall.

. . . or wedding, or whatever, well, here’s how much they might cost. If you’ve got cash to burn, $75-100,000 will get you an absolutely aggravating night with James Blunt, or you can scrimp and get a great night of smart indie-pop from matt pond PA for a mere $7,500-10,000. I do notice that Trey Anastasio is listed at $25-35,000, but that might just be to cover his bail.

One of the odd things I’ve noticed about going the Little Gym is that, while we go there every week, we don’t know anyone in the class. And neither does anyone else. It must be a strange fact of raising a child this age that your world is pretty centered entirely around her and everything else around her is just a blur because I have seen few others with children this age reaching out to anyone else. My thought was, before we began attending these classes every week, that it would be the kind of place where the kids would go do their thing and the parents would have a bit of a breather, but it’s the exact opposite: the parents seem to spend most of their time trying to get the kids to do whatever tasks are on the menu of the day, and the kids just want to play. There’s no time for interaction of any type.

That said, having gone there for something like 18 weeks or so, we’ve noticed a couple of interesting “characters” in class. The kids, for the most part, are all good - kids this age really are all good. It’s the parents who are the odd, weird, sometimes disturbing ones. I’ll leave out names to protect the possibly innocent.

The first couple is a completely mismatched pair. You know how most couples just seem to somehow look right together? Not these two. He is late 30s, early 40s, a big, burly, Italian-lookin’ type - giant stomach, balding, dark-skinned, intimidating. She is early 30s, sandy blonde, fragile, the kind of woman that looks like she really likes candle stores. And I see absolutely no interaction between the two - you’d never guess the two were married, let alone neighbors. And yet she’s pregnant, seemingly eternally pregnant because it feels like she’s been about 7 months pregnant since we started attending these classes back in September. I maintain that their daughter is closer to 3 years old than the maximum age for this class, which is 19 months or so (and I realize that quite a few kids in this class are older than this and are probably waiting until this semester is over to move to the next one.) She’s a cute kid, to be sure, but she is obviously older - not only does she look much, much older, but I frequently hear her parents ask her what color something is and she’ll yell out, loud and clear, “Blue!” “Yellow!” “Green!” I’ve heard little out of a kid at the ages of most of these kids that amounts to more than “buba-buba” when the teacher brings out the bubbles at the end. I’m telling you - 3 years old, and these parents are those types that like to keep their kid behind because it makes her look so superior. But that’s not all, no, it’s not enough that she’s obviously way older, but when they encounter another child in class, the father will always say to his daughter, “Watch out for the baby” and “baby” always comes out in a condescending tone. Always. It was one of the first things we noticed about this family. And the glares. The wife always stares with some kind of nasty judgmental gleam in her eye. I don’t know what she’s thinking or why, but, hey, I’m not the one with the way-too-old kid in the baby’s class.

And then there’s the father who seems to be obsessed with Mardi Gras. His daughter is a jovial, gangly little girl who looks like she’s going to be about 6′ 10″ when she grows up. For whatever reason, he calls her “Sister,” and does so so often that I don’t even know what her real name is. Given the chance, she pulls up her shirt neck-high to anyone who happens to be nearby. This happens every class, and every single time this happens, he says something along the lines of, “This isn’t Mardi Gras, Sister, put your shirt down!” It sends shivers up my spine. Creepy.

And then there’s the mother who dresses her little girl in what appears to be period clothing. I’m not sure if, when she comes to class, she travels through a time tunnel, but it seems as if the two of them are coming out of about 1910 or so, or perhaps they live in some unknown Amish territory on the outskirts of town. Strangely, mom, who appears to be single, often arrived in attire completely inappropriate for any kind of physical activity - short dresses with low-cut tops were frequent when the weather was warmer - but I got a real kick when they came to class with a man in tow who I can only assume was either the daughter’s father or mom’s boyfriend, and mom’s clothing was drastically different that day. Most of the time, mom spends class showing moves to her daughter on the various child-sized pieces of gym equipment and then looking around to see if anyone noticed. Yesterday she brought a weird friend/relative to class who decided to take the “gym” in Little Gym seriously and practiced yoga and other workout moves, such as rolling around on one of the little balls the kids play with (and I mean little - a 12″ ball.) We’re kind of hoping she doesn’t show up the next time.

There’s always an assortment of parents with cameras who spend more time behind the camera than watching out for anyone else, sometimes even getting in the way of other kids. Cameras, surprisingly, are actually allowed in class, and if you could see how these people acted with them, you’d be surprised too because it gets kind of dangerous when a parent would rather get a shot dialed out right than move to keep your kid from getting hurt. And that’s the amazing thing I see time and time again - a stunning lack of care for other people. Children are amazingly resilient but that doesn’t mean that we can and should allow them to go stumbling over each other and us. Accidents happen, but accidents due to being stupid are inexcusable. Just like drivers blindly changing lanes, backing up without looking, or just generally disobeying common traffic laws, people need to look around and pay attention. What gets tiring week after week is just watching people stumble over the children we’re supposedly in class for their betterment. It’s not the kids who need the most attention. It’s the parents that could use the most training.

You know, I used to get to write really good things in “event” cards at work (save for bereavement or other “sad” cards, because even I’m not that low,) but apparently my humor is just not appreciated anymore. It seems like the cards come to me last so I don’t get a chance to go off on one of my tangential, sometimes meaningless rants - because by the time they come around to me, there’s very little room left to say anything more than two or three words. Granted, I guess maybe it’s slightly rude to do something weird, but come on - how meaningful is “Happy birthday” 40 times over on every single card? I took extra time out of my day to say something specific and unique and special. Who knows, someday those weird little inscriptions I left could be worth lots of money. Maybe.

Meat doesn’t qualify as a snack, and that includes jerky.

Disease slowly seeps back out of our lives, finally. The stomach bug seems to have dissipated and we’re getting back to normal eating. Amanda, who somehow luckily never did get this stomach thing, is slowly fighting off what seems to be about the 40 zillionth cold this fall, this one being the first that we’ve had to employ the use of cough medicine because it’s settled in her chest. No one wants to hear an old man’s chest rattle in a toddler.

We both felt terribly guilty about forcing the first dose of grape-tastin’ Dimetapp down her throat when she somehow sensed that it was something she would not want to drink on her own, but we were desperate - in the middle of a big cry, I just squirted the remaining contents of the dropper into her gaping mouth. She relayed her unhappiness with further screams and it was apparent that we would have to get creative for further applications. So we’ve taken to hiding it in food - my mom, who’s watching her this week, is mixing it in various things during the day, and we’ve chosen to mix it in with applesauce (which I now dub “Dimetapple”) and she eats it right up. I don’t know why we have to do this - I tasted the Dimetapp and it really isn’t very medicine-y tasting. Why they can’t make adult medicine taste like this, I’ll never understand. This is just like bad grape juice. Oh, sure, you might not want to take it, but between this and, say, Nyquil? Give me Dimetapp. Mmm, good.

The upside is that she sleeps like a rock for a while. The downside is, for whatever reason, she’s been waking up way before us every morning this week. Is it the cold, is it the medicine? We’ll never know.

The Christmas dilemma has been solved: my old (gosh, that sounds harsh - “well loved”) Ipod has found a new home with my parents. In the continuing saga of dumb bad luck that seems to have followed me the past 10 days or so, the FM transmitter that Alissa had used for the first year she owned one in her car failed to function when I attempted to pass it on to my parents. Not being the kind of people to wander around with headphones on, this means the Ipod is, unfortunately, a bit useless as of right now, but it will soon be providing hours and hours of music for them in their Jeep Liberty.

My real Iskin case arrived well ahead of schedule on Saturday this weekend and I’m thrilled to say that it fits like the glove it’s meant to be and is everything that the reviews said it would be. The only thing I didn’t consider is that, being black and silicone, it has a tendency to pick up every bit of dust and lint anywhere near it, but I feel so much safer carrying this slick, slippery little device around in it that I don’t care. Had I to do it over, I’d choose another blue case again - it probably wouldn’t look so great against a black Ipod (the blue silicone being a bit translucent,) but it wouldn’t show as much lint no matter what.

If you’ve been watching Lookout For Hope for my yearly best-of list, keep watching: it’s coming. I swear. Yes, I actually took some time out to create a new header for the site this weekend instead of writing my entries, but the site needed it badly. I hated that old header. As you can see by this header, if I like something, it sticks around - this has been around for about 14 friggin’ months. It’s looooong over due for a replacement, but at the moment I simply can’t think of something to replace it with. And so it stays “Amanda’s first baby shoes” themed. But not much longer - I’ll come up with something soon.