Warm and Fuzzy Details

I worked for hours on that one eye. I wanted it to be squinty rather than wide open like many others are done. If this fellow was going to wear bunny slippers, then he was going to look grumpy, not crazed.

The slippers eyes are sculpted as buttons. I highlighted the rim edges of the button to emphasize the depth, but I think the button holes got lost a little in there.

I think sometimes the scale of these things is lost on the non-miniature painter. They are small.

Warm and Fuzzy

So, I got around to painting the free Night Goblin that came with White Dwarf magazine months ago. One of my coworkers suggested bunny slippers over the regular cloth boots, and I just had to give it a shot.

I'm selling it on eBay as well. After all, what use have I for a single Night Goblin wearing bunny slippers? Hopefully someone with a real Orcs and Goblins army will pick him up. The sad part is that after being up on eBay for a good 12 hours at a paltry $0.01 starting bid, I haven't gotten a single bid.

Borrowed!

I've borrowed a digital camera, and taken a wip pic of one of the Wraithlords that I'm painting for the Eldar commission army.

So behold the first photo I have included in ages on this blog. Yes, I know the gems on the gun are unfinished.

Smoked, then Soaked

So Saturday was the first Warmachine/Hordes tournament around here. I ponied up the $5 to enter, then played for a good six hours at the local hobby shop. Of the four matches I played, I only won one of them.

In game 1, an assassination scenario, I managed to trap the enemy warlock between two sets of troops, but then failed to roll any significant damage. Sigh. In game 2, a land grab against my regular opponent Brian, neither of us gained any points for grabbing land and he won by kicking the crap out of everything I owned. In game 3, in which the object was to control three specific spots on the table for as many turns as possible, my opponent could not overcome my numerous infantry and I won. Game 4 was another assassination scenario, and I nearly, nearly won.

So more about game 4. Each game goes on for one hour, and then "last round" is called. If the player who went first is playing when last round is called, then the other players gets a turn and the game is over. If the player who went second is playing when last round is called, then the game is over at the end of his (I'd say "or her", but who are we kidding?) turn. If neither player has accomplished the scenario objective by the end of the game, then the player who scored the most victory points (by destroying enemy units) wins. As the end of the game was approaching, I was vastly ahead in victory points and in position to blast the two threats nearest my warcaster (the object of my opponent's assassination plans) and then kill his warcaster with my own troops near the other side of the board. My warcaster easily blasted one of the threats (a Skarlock Thrall for those Warmachine players) but I totally forgot to blast the other, and more serious, threat... a Pistol Wraith! I then proceeded to somehow not kill Skarre, his warcaster, thanks to some record breakingly bad rolls. On his turn, he stepped up and
popped my poor Grand Scrutator Severious, rolling very high damage and killing the old man. If I hadn't forgotten to blast that thing I would have won game 4, and put myself in the running for maybe third place in the tournament. Oops.

Okay, enough wargaming talk. That was the "smoked" part. On to the "soaked" part.

After coming home from small group last night and putting the kids to bed, I was in the kitchen and heard a faint trickling sound. Not faint like a small trickling, but faint like a pretty strong trickling at a distance. A little investigation indicated that the sound was emanating from the basement, and my first thought was that a pipe had burst. It wasn't a burst pipe. It was water pouring from the temperature/pressure relief valve on my water heater. I looked around for a bucket to catch the scalding stream, but apparently all of the buckets had made their winter migration south. I ended up dumping toys out of a plastic toy bin and using that, all the while standing in my socks in the pool of water that had formed on the floor. I figured adding cold water to the water heater would alleviate the over temperature, so I had Stef run the tub hot (which later resulted in a bath for her. Silver lining.) The pouring water reduced to a trickle, then stopped entirely, but not before the bottom drywall of our bathroom down there got pretty soaked. Whee. I ended up lowing the temperature on the water heater, which somehow was up at "B"...for what that's worth.

Aught Seven tain't no Ninety Four

It's cold here. Really cold.

Let's talk about how cold it is, shall we? I think we'd all agree that 32 degrees is rather cold, right? I mean, we can all agree that ice is cold, can't we? In addition, I'll assert that 70 degrees F is a pleasant spring day, and even rather warm for a summer night. 70-32 = 38. So the difference between a nice spring day and cold is a differential of about 38 degrees.

This morning it was -7 when I got up. -7 - 32 = 39 degrees. The difference between cold and the bitter cold of this morning was the same differential as between cold and a pleasant spring day. Yeah, it's cold.

As cold as it is, it doesn't compare to 1994. I was working midnights in EMU's operations department when the temperature was down in the -20 range for nearly a week. Just walking from the car to the office left me aching from the cold. It's not like To Build a Fire or something, where spit freezes in mid-air, but it was cold. Far colder than today. And today is cold.

Free At Last

I have a secret to divulge... I don't much like rap. That isn't to say that the style as a whole offends me or that I "don't consider it music", but the genre typically just fails to enthuse me in any way. Granted, my exposure to rap has been mostly through the speakers of cars in which I am not riding, or as played by my college suite mate. Most of what I have heard has been either unintelligible or quite profane. I have found most of the rap interludes in popular culture to be typically inoffensive, but rap as a pure genre has never held appeal for me.

I'd like to say that my dislike of rap was based solely on its own merits, but there's a tiny little voice that still wondered if I just didn't like it because of how black it was. Since much of the music I listen to is performed by black artists (albeit from prior decades) I would have thought not, but a hint of the question remained.

Well, this week I got my answer to that question. Ladies and gentlemen, make rap as white as you want and I will still not like it. I present for you Nerdcore. I can now unabashedly say that a bunch of nerdy white guys rapping about video games or computers is just as uninteresting to me as any gansta diatribe.

I feel oddly liberated by Nerdcore. I am now free to not like rap as much as I want, and never feel the need to, say, make token attempts to appreciate it for its cultural significance like some condescending amateur anthropologist all pepped on on NPR. It's just music and I'm not particularly fond of that type of music.

Birthday, plus Nervous Peer Pressure

Yesterday my dear Sarah turned eight years old. We had a small party at the house in the late evening with a couple friends from the neighborhood, and will be celebrating again this Saturday at my parent's house with the cousins. I was really struck yesterday with the fact that she's turning the corner from small child to young lady. Yes, she still likes to play with baby dolls (she's always been a nurturer) but I can start to see what teenage Sarah is going to be like.

I call Sarah and Lily "my lovelies."

While driving to get the fruit tart that Sarah wanted as her cake, I noticed that gas stations couldn't decide if they wanted the price raised or not. I observed a differential of 36 cents, with some stations right next door to each other having a six or seven cent difference. I'd say that it was related to location, but the gas station nearest me, normally quite cheap, was one of the highest priced. It almost seemed as if there had been a little "price change panic" as one gas station raised their price significantly, then others reacted to it. The high/low price yesterday was $1.899 and $2.259 for regular unleaded. (What's the point of saying unleaded at this point? It's like pointing out that your grocery store milk is homogenized.)

Light at the End of the Tunnel

I haven't been posting a lot of pictures of my painting lately (for partial explanation, see post "The Critical Missing Piece" below.) I've been working on a large commission work for the past six weeks or so. The order is two complete Eldar army boxes, and I'm just now getting to the point where the end is in sight. I have all the infantry (sans one lone commander figure) assembled, and some of them are primed and basecoated. Tonight I finished assembling the two Vyper jetbikes, and that leaves only the two Falcon grav tanks to assemble. Yes, there will be a fair bit of painting after that, but the end is finally in sight.

In other painting news, the fellow who commissioned the two Cygnar jacks was very happy with the work, and will probably be sending me more painting after I finish my current backlog. I painted up Skorne warlock Makeda and gave her to Angelos (to sell or keep as he sees fit) as a thank you for sending so much commission work my way.

Speaking of which... the current backlog:
Skorne starter box
Skorne Titan Cannoneer
Skorne Praetorian unit (6)
about 50 dwarfs

...and that's it! I may be able to paint a few figures of my own soon!

Raise Your Lighter

I played Guitar Hero 2 at my brother's house for hours yesterday. It is, without a doubt, the most fun I have had playing a video game in at least a year.

The game has deceptively simple mechanics. On a guitar shaped controller are five colored button, each taking up a single fret. Where one would normally strum the guitar is a bar that can be moved with a roughly strum-like motion. The game is played by matching a series of colored notes (colors) coming down the screen, ensuring that the correctly colored key is pressed and that the bar is hit at the correct time.

Dave has had the game since Christmas, and is quite good at it on medium difficulty. I tried several songs, but then had to try the ultimate guitar anthem: Freebird. I got booed off the stage. Twice. I took quite a liking to "Heart Shaped Box" by Nirvana and "Can't You Hear Me Knocking" by the Rolling Stones. At least the crowd let me finish those.

Stef's response to seeing me play: "I know what you're getting for your birthday."
(come on birthday!)

Grow Up

No commercial gets my hackles up like the Gerber "Grow Up" Plan. All the talk in the commercial is about protecting your baby's future, but all they are selling is a life insurance policy for your child. Do you know who my life insurance policy doesn't protect? Me, that's who.

Okay, pop quiz: Does the policy pay off if the child does or doesn't grow up?

If some universal rule had been discovered ("Murphy's Law"?) that made some event less likely the more you plan for it, then this policy would indeed be a way to increase the survivability of your child. As it is, it's pretty much just funeral insurance.

(In their defense, they have recently added a section to the commercial that explains that they are selling life insurance, but the focus of the commercial remains on protecting your child for the future.)

<$2 w00t!

Last night when I drove home from work gas was $1.999!!! This morning when I drove in, gas was $1.969! Wah hoo!

In the immediate wake of 9/11, some gas stations in Michigan jacked prices up in anticipation of a panic reaction. Some stations were as high as $5. In reaction, the Michigan Attorney General promised to prosecute gas stations that gouged consumers at that time. His definition of gouging was $2/gallon.

I'm oddly thrilled that we're down to what was considered a criminal price gouge only five years ago.

The Critical Missing Piece

I'm almost done with the Wraithlord for an Eldar commission army. Last night I wanted to take a quick picture for the photobucket "work in progress" album, but discovered that the memory card from my digital camera was missing. Last I remember, I had it plugged into the front of Stef's computer to upload some pictures I have taken.

Stef's computer sits on the floor.
...where Jay can reach it.

Uh, oh.

Breakfast Showdown

Reese's Puffs cereal by General Mills

• 13 servings per 14.25 oz box
• 120 calories per serving
• 3.5g fat per serving (1g saturated)
• 180mg sodium
  
• 22g carbs (1g fiber, 12g sugars)
• 2g protein
• 10-25% of vitamins A,C,D,B and a bunch of minerals
  
• $4.29 at Meijer yesterday
  

Kroger brand Christmas Butter Cookies

• 14 servings per 14 oz box
• 120 calories per serving
• 3g fat per serving (0.5g saturated)
• 125mg sodium
• 21g carbs (<1g fiber, 6g sugars)
  
• 2g protein
• no pretense of any nutritional value
  
• $1 before Christmas. I think they're 50% off now.

I suppose if I was using a breakfast cereal as my primary source of vitamins and minerals, the Reese's Puffs come out the winner. I should buy Cookie Crisp for the next showdown. It will be fun to see how it fares against actual cookies.

Where the... ?

I served cereal to my children for breakfast today. Jay ate from the Superman bowl and spoon that he got for Christmas, and he took considerably longer to finish than the girls. Sarah and Lily had already bussed their bowls and left the kitchen when Jay finished, and I was distracted by loading the dishwasher. When I realized Jay was no longer at the table, it occurred to me that he hadn't brought his bowl to me. I took a quite inventory of the dishwasher, just to make sure. No Superman bowl.

Next question: if I were a two year old, where would I put a Superman bowl and spoon once I was finished eating? Anyone with significant experience with two years olds will know that "in my bed" or "in the toilet" are far more likely answers than "in the sink." The hunt began. I repeatedly asked Jay to show me where they were, but he didn't seem to know any more than I did. This was less than comforting. I checked all his usual haunts, finding only an old sippy cup filled with cottage cheese. I asked the girls to help look, but all they did was follow me around, looking in each place that I looked.

The breakthrough came when I was looking under things in the kitchen and petitioned Jay once more to find the bowl. He only said, "Can't..... reach......" in a strained voice. I looked over to see him with his arm stretched down into the kitchen garbage can as far as it could go. Ah. Mystery solved. Apparently, "in the garbage" is a viable option as well.

Spamalot!

Stef's mom and step father were generous enough to give me, Stef, Bob and Cherie tickets to go see Monty Python's Spamalot for Christmas, along with babysitting all six of the children during that time. We did dinner at Yotsuba, the show, then dessert at The Majestic.

Yotsuba was, as always, wonderful. We did mostly sushi, and I got my personal favorite, takozushi! I also ordered Zaru Udon, a cold noodle dish. Mostly we got rolls, and they were all oishii desu. As a last minute impulse we ordered ice cream, which added $17 to the bill. More on that later. The four of us paid the $160 for dinner, then we left for the Fisher Theater and spamalot.

Spamalot, which none of us knew anything about other than the Monty Python connection and the obvious Holy Grail reference in the title, turned out to be a musical adaptation of the Holy Grail. There were some great numbers, and some fun surprises, and overall I really enjoyed it. Maybe it was the 16 year old Monty Python geek in me, I dunno. It stayed true to the Python spirit while being musical theater all at once. Were the ticket worth the $70 face value? Maybe. Probably. To me, anyway.

The Majestic is where things start to turn south a bit. Stef's mom had recommended this place (we had only the name and a general location to go by) for us to have dessert after the play. I didn't care all that much about eating at that point, but since Stef's mom thought it would be fun I figured I'd be game. The sorts of places that Stef's mom likes are typically Caribou Coffee-type places, so I was completely caught off guard by The Majestic. First off, the blast of smoke in my face as we walked in immediately warned me that I would have a very short amount of time in there before I would become medicine dependent. Second, the place was dark, and dark restaurants are always a little suspicious to me. The waiter sat us as far away from the bar as he could (30 feet of open space, give or take) and the air was a fair bit clearer over at our table. I looked over the special board, which listed lots of entrees in the $17-20 range, and the menu. Neither had any mention of dessert. I wondered if this was the place she had actually intended us to visit. When the waiter came over, he explained that they had a dessert cart that he could bring over if needed. We asked for a verbal list, made our choices, then drank tasty coffee and talked while waiting. Okay, talked might be a little exaggeration. We yelled. The music was so loud that I couldn't understand anything anyone else was saying. I could hear sounds coming out of their mouths, but whether it was English or gibberish was unknown. When dessert arrived it looked frilly, a stark contrast to the restaurant's loud, dark and smoky environment. My chocolate and blueberry torte occupied about 5% of the plate, the rest of which was filled with two small squirts of whipped cream and a lattice of drizzled chocolate and blueberry sauce. In the dim light I could barely tell the blueberry sauce from the chocolate sauce, and I sure couldn't tell you anything about the torte other the fact that it was dark in color and topped with whipped cream flowers. A while chocolate garnish graced the top of the slice, and looked exactly like a linoleum bathroom floor tile in miniature. I saw later that it matched the curved section of the slice, which had a candy backing. The torte was okay, not great. Stef's chocolate mousse was quite good. Bob seemed to enjoy his tiramisu. Cherie was enjoying her carrot cake until she got to the nut encrusted backing. The nuts just tasted off, and Bob hypothesized that they might be black walnuts. I tasted them, and they indeed had an unpleasant taste, and a texture like boiled peanuts. We asked the waiter to check on what they were, and he returned with the answer "roasted peanuts." "Roasted in what?" Bob rhetorically asked after the waiter had left. The only realistic scenario we could come up with was that the roasted peanuts had been around long enough to go stale (hence the texture) then the peanut oil in them had gone rancid. We left The Majestic (reeking of smoke) through the bowling alley back entrance to avoid the line of panhandlers that had accosted us on the way in. Oh, and remember the $17 ice cream earlier? We had thought that a bit pricey at Yotsuba. The bill (before tip) at The Majestic was $42.77. Ouch.

Total cost for the four of us for the evening: about $500. I think I just remembered why we don't go out and do things much.

Oddities

• Today at 8:00 AM we finally decided to wake up the girls. On Christmas morning?!?
• Mark and I had a rematch. I fielded one painted model and many primed ones. He fielded all painted models. The only casualties in the game were painted models. Yes, I won.
• AAA is apparently the new AA. Of all the toys that required batteries this morning, only one used AA's.
  
• It takes a two year old approximately 5 second to both chew up an Aqua Doodle marking tool and then scribble on the Aqua Doodle pad with a Sharpie. Yay.

I feel like I've been complaining a lot in these entries, but I am just beat down this time of year. There is always twice as much need as there are resources, both tangible and intangible. Jay is a holy terror right now, so any peaceful moments are typically ended with his horrifying shriek (the one he uses when he is slightly to moderately unhappy with just about anything.) We've been asking the girls to please try and avoid doing the things that make Jay explode, but I worry that we are rewarding his tantrums that way. I know he's only two, but the girls could be reasoned with much more effectively at this age than he can. I look forward to three.

Bear with me

1. My wife sent me to the store at 10:00 PM tonight for ice cream. While there, she called to request that I pick up Chorizo (Mexican sausage.) Ice cream and sausage at 10:00 PM? What is she, pregnant?

2. Rachel Ray better get off my cracker box or else. You can't swing a dead cat anymore without hitting her overly enthusiastic smile. I don't know who the heck she is (other than the author of the book being hawked on any and all Nabisco products) but she better crawl back under the rock she emerged from or face my incessant whining.

3. How many days can a person feel kinda yucky after having been sick for a month? Apparently many days. I just can't kick the sore throat / plugged up ears / wanna take a Tylenol feeling.

4. I still have a solid month of commission work to go, despite having already been paid for it. Christmas would have been a train wreck without the extra cash. I can work into the wee hours all through January with that knowledge.

5. Mark came over and played 500 points of Trollbloods vs. my Menoth. In the end, I stuck Feora's neck a little too far out and got handed her head for my troubles. I think it just proves that painted armies perform better. Mark's Trollbloods look better every day, and my Menoth remain primer white.

A Possible Culprit?

So now I'm on antibiotics and a cocktail of over the counter drugs, and I'm slowly returning to the land of the living. While I was crashed out Tuesday, Stef got a tip that someone we know was having similar health problems and the source turned out to be mold in their furnace humidifier. She went and checked it out, and ours was filled with gunk and mold, which she proceeded to scrub out, bless her heart. The humidifier in question had been off for a couple years because the filter wheel wasn't turning, and it was easier to run a portable humidifier upstairs. About two months ago a friend of ours did a furnace repair, and during that time the humidifier got turned back on. I am hoping that all our sickness woes are a result of the moldy humidifier, and I'll be the last one to suffer from this onslaught of illness.

Being sick cuts considerably into my painting time. This current bout especially has hampered painting, since my eyes are goopy. I will have to break some speed records to finish my painting goals before Christmas.

Again?!? Sick again?!??

I am fed up with getting sick. It seems like the five of us have passed some germ or other around for the past month, and I am frustrated with missing church yet again. This time it's me who is sick, having some horrid bug descend on me Saturday afternoon. By Sunday morning all I wanted to do was lay in bed. Stef got up with the kids, but I got up and sent her to bed when it became apparent that she was suffering from a migraine. I'm debating whether to wake her up during Jay's nap (for minimal responsibility to start) or when Jay wakes up (maximum time to recover.) She took an Imitrex, which leaves her insensible for hours. When I'm at work, the only recourse for a migraine is to wait until I get home, as she can't responsibly be the caretaker for the kids after taking Imitrex. The proverbial rock and hard place.

So, like I said, it's been some subset of us sick for nearly a month. If just some subset of the kids were sick, one of us could take the healthy ones and go to church while the other stayed home with the sick kids. When one adult is lying miserable in bed and the other is caring for sick kids, church becomes very difficult. Did I mention that I am not fond of missing church?

The dogs have been nothing but trouble this morning. One of them decided to relieve itself in the house before we got up, and they have done nothing but crash around the house and bark since. Right now they are outside, and the loudest sound in the house is them barking at each other, carrying through the closed windows. Once Jay's awake I'm sure he'll replace them for loudest sound. His "indoor voice" is impressively "outdoor."

Whiny? Yes. Grumpy? Oh, yes. I should probably leave off the whiny, grumpy posts, but not everything can be an episode of This American Life. I'll cope if you will.

Civic Duty

I had my first assigned jury duty this morning. I showed up at District Court 14B at 8:50 AM, anticipating sitting as a jury member in a trial for the first time. What I got was a 20 minute video, about 20 pages of "Saving Fish from Drowning" read and a donut, but no trials. Apparently, most cases about to go to criminal trial are settled in some way before actually going before a jury. Of the sixteen cases on the docket this morning, all of them chose that route rather than be paraded before my intimidating gaze. I was back at work by 11:30.

I was looking forward to taking part in our judicial process. Now I just wish I had taken another donut.