We're in the middle of trying to sell our house, which I think I've mentioned before, and it's a little stressful for us, especially my wife.
We had an open house on Sunday and my wife left it up to me to clean up the house.
Over the course of the morning, she instructed me to vacuum, put away dishes, wipe off the counters, take out the trash, pick up Julia's toys in the living room, pick up my sphere of influence in the living room, open all of the blinds, turn on all the lights, put the cats in the pet carrier in the garage, give the cats food in the garage, put away any errant shoes, pick up anything on the floor, roll up the hoses outside, put away the Sunday newspapers, put away the clean dishes from the dishwasher, load the dishwasher with whatever dirty dishes had accumulated, clean the downstairs shower, vacuum the office, change the litter box, clean the toilets, wipe off any mirrors, dust shelves, swiffer the hard wood floors upstairs, pick up Julia's toys in her room, basically, a whole myriad of chores for your truly to do.
I'm sure that she's rattling off the list to keep her sanity, but it should be pretty obvious to me what needs to be cleaned for an open house. I have lived with her long enough to figure that out.
Obviously, she still remembers the days when I used to live life like a shopping cart guy that wore the same pair of pants for weeks at a time, lived with a brother that slept with so much cat hair on his bed blanket that he could have stitched together a fur coat, collected pop cans so infrequently from the living room that it seems like they were having a convention together, vaccuumed infrequently our extremely dirty carpets from our shoes since we (Bill and I) never took them off, allowed the kitchen to be overrun by mail all over the counter and dirt and grim from our cooking and basically cleaned thouroughly only when we were moving to a new apartment and Mom came to help us. Each time, Mom would swear that this was the last time she was going to help us and swore that she was going to turn us into Health and Human Services.
My friend, Jeff, who lived with us for a short time, used to refer to our cleaning not as cleaning but sporadic fits of straightening up. Not that my wife was any better, her apartment was neat, but her bathroom was way more disgusting than mine. At least I cleaned the toilet every now and then. And don't even get me started on the shower!
So Laura is explaining what to clean throughout the morning and each time I'm saying things like, "Yes", "OK, "Got it", "Gotcha", "Obviously" and "I understand what you telling me completely."
I then remarked that she must think that I am a moron if I can't figure out to put all of the dirty dishes in the sink prior to the open house.
This was followed by the usual reply, "Well, I never know with you..."
Driving with Julia to the YMCA pool, I call Laura (it's about 5 minutes to the open house).
She asks, "Did you get what I asked done?"
I respond, "Which is?"
"The cleaning and putting things away!"
"Cleaning? I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh HA... HA... HA... You are so funny!" Laura laughs sarcastically.
"Aren't I?"
"So funny! You are hiLARious!" again with sarcasm.
"I know! I should do stand up!"
"Oh you should!"
"I should start my own blog!"
Laura groans on the other end.
The open house went well. Laura made sure to call me to tell me that the realtor was impressed by how clean the house was. I can still surprise, I guess.
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Thursday, July 07, 2005
War of the Worlds is Wo(t)w!!!
This weekend, I saw what is most likely the feel-good-movie of the summer, War of the Worlds. It's a cheery tale of a divorced father who becomes closer to his estranged kids when aliens invade and start terminating the human race.
The story takes place over a few days as Cruise just gets off work at his job on the seaside shipping yards lifting and placing shipping containers on and off of barges all day long. He goes home to have his ex-wife bitching at him a little about being late for his weekend with the kids and then his kids start giving him flack for being a shitty Dad and for having no food in the house.
Like any good father when this happens, he tells his ex-wife not to worry, tells the kids to order in and goes to sleep.
Shit starts hitting the fan when an electric storm starts shooting lightning down to the same spot in downtown Boston, which completely fries anything in a mile or so radius. Cars won't start, TVs are on the fritz. Telephones don't work. Of course, this opens a plot hole for the aliens to arrive and a future plot contradiction, but more on that later.
Here Cruise thinks he's going to get his kids to clean this mess up...
He goes downtown to see what is going on. In the middle of an intersection, through a series of earthquake-like activity, a hole opens up. Out comes a large tripod-like creature that indiscriminately starts shooting (and disintegrating every person in sight.) Cruise and everyone starts running for their lives. Such is the tone of the movie. It's one long chase run and hide sequence with a few breaks in the action to set up the new action.
Spoilers ahead...
Because he's stolen the only car that happens to work, which is a van that just had a fried solenoid replaced, Cruise and his kids make it to his ex-wife's house (she's out of town). Outside of the house, after several jet airliners crash in the neighborhood, he runs into a news crew that is running from the aliens yet still have the moxie to get all of it on tape, which leads to the big plot hole. Cruise is shown a tape of the aliens coming down in the lightning strikes, which is pretty cool except for the fact that the news crew had to be there at the time to record it, avoid their equipment from being fried and escape in a van that was probably fried, too. Oh well, no plot can be perfect.
End spoilers...
From there, they try to flee the area and be safe but mob mentality soon takes hold and it's a frantic struggle to stay alive in every scene after newly introduced characters get quickly vaporized or grabbed by the aliens. The alien's attacks start big and then go small as they get down and dirty to find humans hiding.
Along the way, Cruise's kids still manage to give him flack for doing things to keep them safe, but for the most part are pretty realistic portrayals of regular kids. Dakota Fanning gives an especially convincing turn as Cruise's 10-year-old daughter who suffers from claustrophobia.
So Cruise does everything to keep his kids safe, which got me thinking about what my Dad would do in a situation like that (My Dad when he was 40). I'm sure it would go something like this:
(Fleeing the house)
"Get your asses in the car!"
"Where in the hell did you kids put my flashlight?"
"You've got 60 seconds to get your asses in the car or I'm leaving you. Now one of you kids fill up this box with food and another grab a few cases of Budweiser out of the garage."
"Goddammit don't slam the door! I don't care if aliens are coming!"
"Don't stomp down the stairs!"
(In the car)
"Who fiddled with the radio?"
"Will you kids shut the hell up and do as I say?"
"If you kids don't shut up, I'm going to turn this car around and we'll get killed by the aliens. Now do you want that?"
But I digress (Just exaggerating Dad! Except for the beer part. He doesn'’t drink now, but when he was younger, he'’d buy extra cases if bad weather was coming. I can only imagine what he'’d do if aliens attacked)...
If anything, the film does suffer a little from the lack of characters that you feel any empathy for. The action all follows Cruise, so he's in every scene. This does make you care about his character, but it does make the other characters paper-thin. Only Tim Robbins stands out as a mentally-deranged former ambulance driver who helps Cruise and his family hide out.
"You must believe me! I know about the aliens because I've studied! Don't be glib!"
Tom Cruise does a good job of keeping things afloat. Critics complained that it was a little hard to picture Cruise as a working Dad, but I found no problem with it. In fact, I think that a lesser actor would have had a hard time keeping the audience engaged for the whole picture.
On the downside, the ending is a little predictable and it wraps up things a little too neatly. Also, the movie is a bit much to take. It's like watching Schindler's List with all the executions in front of you, but there is no magic list to keep certain people safe. The constant on the run danger feel got tiring after a while.
All in all, it's a roller coaster ride of a movie about what an everyday Joe would have to do to keep his family safe.
The story takes place over a few days as Cruise just gets off work at his job on the seaside shipping yards lifting and placing shipping containers on and off of barges all day long. He goes home to have his ex-wife bitching at him a little about being late for his weekend with the kids and then his kids start giving him flack for being a shitty Dad and for having no food in the house.
Like any good father when this happens, he tells his ex-wife not to worry, tells the kids to order in and goes to sleep.
Shit starts hitting the fan when an electric storm starts shooting lightning down to the same spot in downtown Boston, which completely fries anything in a mile or so radius. Cars won't start, TVs are on the fritz. Telephones don't work. Of course, this opens a plot hole for the aliens to arrive and a future plot contradiction, but more on that later.
Here Cruise thinks he's going to get his kids to clean this mess up...
He goes downtown to see what is going on. In the middle of an intersection, through a series of earthquake-like activity, a hole opens up. Out comes a large tripod-like creature that indiscriminately starts shooting (and disintegrating every person in sight.) Cruise and everyone starts running for their lives. Such is the tone of the movie. It's one long chase run and hide sequence with a few breaks in the action to set up the new action.
Spoilers ahead...
Because he's stolen the only car that happens to work, which is a van that just had a fried solenoid replaced, Cruise and his kids make it to his ex-wife's house (she's out of town). Outside of the house, after several jet airliners crash in the neighborhood, he runs into a news crew that is running from the aliens yet still have the moxie to get all of it on tape, which leads to the big plot hole. Cruise is shown a tape of the aliens coming down in the lightning strikes, which is pretty cool except for the fact that the news crew had to be there at the time to record it, avoid their equipment from being fried and escape in a van that was probably fried, too. Oh well, no plot can be perfect.
End spoilers...
From there, they try to flee the area and be safe but mob mentality soon takes hold and it's a frantic struggle to stay alive in every scene after newly introduced characters get quickly vaporized or grabbed by the aliens. The alien's attacks start big and then go small as they get down and dirty to find humans hiding.
Along the way, Cruise's kids still manage to give him flack for doing things to keep them safe, but for the most part are pretty realistic portrayals of regular kids. Dakota Fanning gives an especially convincing turn as Cruise's 10-year-old daughter who suffers from claustrophobia.
So Cruise does everything to keep his kids safe, which got me thinking about what my Dad would do in a situation like that (My Dad when he was 40). I'm sure it would go something like this:
(Fleeing the house)
"Get your asses in the car!"
"Where in the hell did you kids put my flashlight?"
"You've got 60 seconds to get your asses in the car or I'm leaving you. Now one of you kids fill up this box with food and another grab a few cases of Budweiser out of the garage."
"Goddammit don't slam the door! I don't care if aliens are coming!"
"Don't stomp down the stairs!"
(In the car)
"Who fiddled with the radio?"
"Will you kids shut the hell up and do as I say?"
"If you kids don't shut up, I'm going to turn this car around and we'll get killed by the aliens. Now do you want that?"
But I digress (Just exaggerating Dad! Except for the beer part. He doesn'’t drink now, but when he was younger, he'’d buy extra cases if bad weather was coming. I can only imagine what he'’d do if aliens attacked)...
If anything, the film does suffer a little from the lack of characters that you feel any empathy for. The action all follows Cruise, so he's in every scene. This does make you care about his character, but it does make the other characters paper-thin. Only Tim Robbins stands out as a mentally-deranged former ambulance driver who helps Cruise and his family hide out.
"You must believe me! I know about the aliens because I've studied! Don't be glib!"
Tom Cruise does a good job of keeping things afloat. Critics complained that it was a little hard to picture Cruise as a working Dad, but I found no problem with it. In fact, I think that a lesser actor would have had a hard time keeping the audience engaged for the whole picture.
On the downside, the ending is a little predictable and it wraps up things a little too neatly. Also, the movie is a bit much to take. It's like watching Schindler's List with all the executions in front of you, but there is no magic list to keep certain people safe. The constant on the run danger feel got tiring after a while.
All in all, it's a roller coaster ride of a movie about what an everyday Joe would have to do to keep his family safe.
Monday, July 04, 2005
I don't know which is sadder...
This past weekend, we were driving to Kearney, Nebraska to visit my in-laws.
While driving, a Rob Thomas song came on the radio. He was the vocalist for Matchbox 20, the band that was sort of considered alternative, but were more mainstream than anything. I never really liked any of their songs, but they're popular, so I guess people must like them.
Hearing the song triggered my memory that Rob Thomas decided to leave Matchbox 20 to concentrate on "darker" material. So if darker means writing a song about not being lonely anymore, then I guess mission accomplished. To me, it doesn't sound anything different than Matchbox 20, but I guess I'm not hearing the subtle nuances that only a Rob Thomas fan would hear.
I mention this fact to Laura in the car while the song is playing.
"That's the fifth time that you've mentioned this to me and it's ALWAYS during this song."
"You're kidding?" I ask. "I've mentioned this five times?"
"Uh huh!" Laura snapped triumphantly. "I ought to know because I've been counting!"
"Wow." I said. "I don't know which is sadder, that I've mentioned this to you five times or that you've actually been keeping track of this for months."
Later, we're watching TV in the in-laws den. Everyone has gone asleep except for Laura and I. A Bewitched movie trailer comes on the television. This is for the remake of the TV series with Nicole Kidman. They show her nose twitch that is similar to the nose twitch that the original Samantha used to do in the Bewitched series. To me, it looks like her nose is just standing still and she's just rapidly moving her upper lip back and forth, yet they make a big deal about it in the movie previews that I've seen.
I mention this fact to Laura.
"That's the SECOND time you've told me this," she replied.
"Again." I said. "I'm not sure which is sadder, that I've mentioned this to you twice or that you've been counting."
Now I have to wonder what else of my non-sequiturs she's been counting...
Mental note: must read, retain and regurgitate more non-sequiturs...
While driving, a Rob Thomas song came on the radio. He was the vocalist for Matchbox 20, the band that was sort of considered alternative, but were more mainstream than anything. I never really liked any of their songs, but they're popular, so I guess people must like them.
Hearing the song triggered my memory that Rob Thomas decided to leave Matchbox 20 to concentrate on "darker" material. So if darker means writing a song about not being lonely anymore, then I guess mission accomplished. To me, it doesn't sound anything different than Matchbox 20, but I guess I'm not hearing the subtle nuances that only a Rob Thomas fan would hear.
I mention this fact to Laura in the car while the song is playing.
"That's the fifth time that you've mentioned this to me and it's ALWAYS during this song."
"You're kidding?" I ask. "I've mentioned this five times?"
"Uh huh!" Laura snapped triumphantly. "I ought to know because I've been counting!"
"Wow." I said. "I don't know which is sadder, that I've mentioned this to you five times or that you've actually been keeping track of this for months."
Later, we're watching TV in the in-laws den. Everyone has gone asleep except for Laura and I. A Bewitched movie trailer comes on the television. This is for the remake of the TV series with Nicole Kidman. They show her nose twitch that is similar to the nose twitch that the original Samantha used to do in the Bewitched series. To me, it looks like her nose is just standing still and she's just rapidly moving her upper lip back and forth, yet they make a big deal about it in the movie previews that I've seen.
I mention this fact to Laura.
"That's the SECOND time you've told me this," she replied.
"Again." I said. "I'm not sure which is sadder, that I've mentioned this to you twice or that you've been counting."
Now I have to wonder what else of my non-sequiturs she's been counting...
Mental note: must read, retain and regurgitate more non-sequiturs...
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Beware of the Attack Cats...
I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but I have two cats, Moe and Murphy, a male and a female. Up until we moved to California, they were pretty normal cats. In fact, they were very friendly to anyone that came over to visit. They would jump up on a chair or a table to sniff the hand of the person that was visiting. People would comment about how cool my cats were. I couldn't agree more. They weren't like a lot of cats that I've know, mean.
Well all of that changed once we moved to California. We started to see subtle and not-so-subtle changes in the cats. I would walk out of our California apartment and Murphy would mew pitifully until I walked back inside. Moe, on the other hand, was worse. He started to become very clingy. Moe would often and by often I mean every freaking night, sit out in the hallway of our tiny apartment and just meow over and over until we either played with him or came to show him some attention. Sometimes, Laura would have to sleep on the couch with her arm on him to keep him quiet.
She remarked with much disdain, "Moe had to be near his Mommy!"
Laura called the local vet and asked her if there was anything that we could do. The vet listened to the situation and was clueless. She remarked that it sounded like Moe suffered from separation anxiety, which usually only occurs in dogs. The vet also suggested that we send Moe to a pet therapist at UC Davis for further study if we wanted some help with the situation. A cat with separation anxiety?
Laura wasn't that happy with the situation, but what could we do? Usually, playing with him and Murphy, but mainly Moe, would suffice. Laura would often ask while working her night shift if I played with the cats, which I usually didn't forget. The nights I did would be hell as Moe would revert to his meowing. In our tiny apartment, there was no place to put him when he's been bad. Now we just throw him out in our sunroom and let him out in the morning. Problem solved.
There is a problem we do have with the cats that we may never solve. They've gotten very vicious when it comes to strangers, friend and relatives. Usually, it's someone that they can tell is a dog lover.
We'll have parties and Moe will station himself on a chair or a table so that when people have to walk by him to go to the bathroom, he'll hiss and bare his fangs, which usually scares the shit out of the people walking by.
A few years ago, we went to visit some old friends in San Francisco and we asked our friend Jeff to come over every other day to give the cats food and water. He said no problem. I called him up and asked him if he'd been watching the cats.
He remarked, "Not so good. I had to have Angela (his wife at the time) come over and help me."
"What? You're kidding."
"No, I'm not kidding," Jeff said. "From the moment I walked in the door, they started to chase me around the apartment. The more I moved away from them, the more they chased me. I was really scared and freaked out so I ran out of the house and returned with Angela. I'm jumping everytime they hissed and me and she's like 'Come on! They're just cats you freak!'"
Since then, we've known that we've had a problem with the cats. We were a little aware of their disdain for strangers, which is why we had a screen door on Julia's room for the first three years of her life. It didn't take long for the cats to warm up to Julia. Now Moe follows her around like a puppy, but we were worried he would have a problem with the new member of the household and then we'd have to get rid of him.
Currently, we're having a problem with the cats because we're trying to sell our house.
When you have pets and you're trying to see your home, it's common practice that you put the pets in a cage or just out of the way. We do have that large pet carrier that will fit both of them comfortably, but it's a nightmare to use. I usually have to turn the carrier on it's end so the door is in the air, then I have to grab Moe, the least docile of the two cats, and put him in the carrier first. Then I grab Murphy, the cat that is very likely to scratch the living shit out of you by her flailing hind legs and shove her in the carrier. It works, but we think it's a little cruel to expect them to be there for a two-hour period while we're waiting for house lookers to come through, so we ended up putting them in the garage.
Laura put up a note explaining to the realtors and house lookers that the cats were in the garage on the front door. It worked well for a few days, but then Laura got an unexpected call after she had gone to work. A realtor had wanted to show the house to some clients, but the cats were not put away. Laura warned them that the cats were out, but the realtor decided to take her chances.
I come home and the following note is posted on the door:
"We came through your house and the cats were not in the garage as your note said. They followed us around the house until we were cornered in the basement. :-) After they showed us their fangs and charged at us, we decided not to risk it and we left through your garage. Great guard cats! :-) Sorry if we left any of your lights on."
I had to laugh when I read that note because I could just imagine them being all fierce and intimidating. Keep in mind, these cats have no front claws so the worst they could do is to bite you, which they sometimes do, but it's just a nip.
Julia will sometimes come downstairs after bedtime to express her disapproval with Moe. It usually goes like, "Daddy, Moe bit me (shows me an invisible mark on her arm which probably was the result of her being too rough with Moe). I want him out of my room!"
I follow her upstairs to her room. Moe is usually lying on the end of the bed.
"Moe is fine." I tell her. "He's calmed down and he's resting."
"No. I want him out!" Julia defiantly says while pointing towards her door. So I grab the protesting Moe and through his ass out, which makes Julia happy.
The next day after the fiasco with the realtor, we had another fiasco with our realtor open house. I had taken down the note that the cats were in the garage because of the note written on the other side, but I forgot to leave another note telling people not to let the cats in. Of course, one of the realtors opened the garage screen door and let the cats into the house. They were enraged that strangers were in the house and the realtors fled in horror, thereby canceling the open house.
Now, we have put a lock on the garage screen door so that people can look out and the cats can't be let out.
Still, I sometimes wish my cats were back to the way they used to be, when they actively liked any strangers. While any burglars that makes the mistake of breaking in my house will be surprised by attacking cats, it's far less annoying to have cats that don't attack.
Well all of that changed once we moved to California. We started to see subtle and not-so-subtle changes in the cats. I would walk out of our California apartment and Murphy would mew pitifully until I walked back inside. Moe, on the other hand, was worse. He started to become very clingy. Moe would often and by often I mean every freaking night, sit out in the hallway of our tiny apartment and just meow over and over until we either played with him or came to show him some attention. Sometimes, Laura would have to sleep on the couch with her arm on him to keep him quiet.
She remarked with much disdain, "Moe had to be near his Mommy!"
Laura called the local vet and asked her if there was anything that we could do. The vet listened to the situation and was clueless. She remarked that it sounded like Moe suffered from separation anxiety, which usually only occurs in dogs. The vet also suggested that we send Moe to a pet therapist at UC Davis for further study if we wanted some help with the situation. A cat with separation anxiety?
Laura wasn't that happy with the situation, but what could we do? Usually, playing with him and Murphy, but mainly Moe, would suffice. Laura would often ask while working her night shift if I played with the cats, which I usually didn't forget. The nights I did would be hell as Moe would revert to his meowing. In our tiny apartment, there was no place to put him when he's been bad. Now we just throw him out in our sunroom and let him out in the morning. Problem solved.
There is a problem we do have with the cats that we may never solve. They've gotten very vicious when it comes to strangers, friend and relatives. Usually, it's someone that they can tell is a dog lover.
We'll have parties and Moe will station himself on a chair or a table so that when people have to walk by him to go to the bathroom, he'll hiss and bare his fangs, which usually scares the shit out of the people walking by.
A few years ago, we went to visit some old friends in San Francisco and we asked our friend Jeff to come over every other day to give the cats food and water. He said no problem. I called him up and asked him if he'd been watching the cats.
He remarked, "Not so good. I had to have Angela (his wife at the time) come over and help me."
"What? You're kidding."
"No, I'm not kidding," Jeff said. "From the moment I walked in the door, they started to chase me around the apartment. The more I moved away from them, the more they chased me. I was really scared and freaked out so I ran out of the house and returned with Angela. I'm jumping everytime they hissed and me and she's like 'Come on! They're just cats you freak!'"
Since then, we've known that we've had a problem with the cats. We were a little aware of their disdain for strangers, which is why we had a screen door on Julia's room for the first three years of her life. It didn't take long for the cats to warm up to Julia. Now Moe follows her around like a puppy, but we were worried he would have a problem with the new member of the household and then we'd have to get rid of him.
Currently, we're having a problem with the cats because we're trying to sell our house.
When you have pets and you're trying to see your home, it's common practice that you put the pets in a cage or just out of the way. We do have that large pet carrier that will fit both of them comfortably, but it's a nightmare to use. I usually have to turn the carrier on it's end so the door is in the air, then I have to grab Moe, the least docile of the two cats, and put him in the carrier first. Then I grab Murphy, the cat that is very likely to scratch the living shit out of you by her flailing hind legs and shove her in the carrier. It works, but we think it's a little cruel to expect them to be there for a two-hour period while we're waiting for house lookers to come through, so we ended up putting them in the garage.
Laura put up a note explaining to the realtors and house lookers that the cats were in the garage on the front door. It worked well for a few days, but then Laura got an unexpected call after she had gone to work. A realtor had wanted to show the house to some clients, but the cats were not put away. Laura warned them that the cats were out, but the realtor decided to take her chances.
I come home and the following note is posted on the door:
"We came through your house and the cats were not in the garage as your note said. They followed us around the house until we were cornered in the basement. :-) After they showed us their fangs and charged at us, we decided not to risk it and we left through your garage. Great guard cats! :-) Sorry if we left any of your lights on."
I had to laugh when I read that note because I could just imagine them being all fierce and intimidating. Keep in mind, these cats have no front claws so the worst they could do is to bite you, which they sometimes do, but it's just a nip.
Julia will sometimes come downstairs after bedtime to express her disapproval with Moe. It usually goes like, "Daddy, Moe bit me (shows me an invisible mark on her arm which probably was the result of her being too rough with Moe). I want him out of my room!"
I follow her upstairs to her room. Moe is usually lying on the end of the bed.
"Moe is fine." I tell her. "He's calmed down and he's resting."
"No. I want him out!" Julia defiantly says while pointing towards her door. So I grab the protesting Moe and through his ass out, which makes Julia happy.
The next day after the fiasco with the realtor, we had another fiasco with our realtor open house. I had taken down the note that the cats were in the garage because of the note written on the other side, but I forgot to leave another note telling people not to let the cats in. Of course, one of the realtors opened the garage screen door and let the cats into the house. They were enraged that strangers were in the house and the realtors fled in horror, thereby canceling the open house.
Now, we have put a lock on the garage screen door so that people can look out and the cats can't be let out.
Still, I sometimes wish my cats were back to the way they used to be, when they actively liked any strangers. While any burglars that makes the mistake of breaking in my house will be surprised by attacking cats, it's far less annoying to have cats that don't attack.
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
If you use something you pay for, then that's being cheap dammit...
Sunday was Father's Day, which is a holiday that always gets the shaft.
Someone told me that they read that Father's Day has about 2 billion dollars less purchases than Mother's Day does, which I suppose makes sense. After all, Moms are more apt to get flowers on their holiday than Dads. It's kind of hard to find a manly bouquet that would say "I love you Dad, but not in that way." I suppose it could be a manly plant like a cactus with some tools stuff all around it, but I digress...
Back to yesterday...
Laura was home from work on a small vacation, so we decided that we were going to use our YMCA membership and go swimming. Rather, Julia and I would go swimming while Laura works out.
Last week, I had invited Bill and his daughter, Tess, to swim with Julia and I. Tess seemed to really have fun so I thought I'd invite him again.
Bill said that he's think about it, but that he'd rather go to Star City Shores, the big public water park because Tess had fun when she went the day before with Bill's wife, Audrey. (I needed to mention why he wanted to go to Star City Shores since Bill often accuses me of writing one sided pieces about him)
Near the end of the conversation, Bill asks me why I want to go to the YMCA pool.
"Because we pay for it and we don't have to pay anything extra to go swimming."
Bill replies, "And because you're cheap."
"No, because I pay for the membership anyway, so I feel I need to use it."
Bill said that he'd think about it, but him calling me cheap really got me steamed. Yes, it's true that I am little thrifty with my money, but I think he's really exaggerating the point. It's not like I'm buying generic pop or non-Heinz ketchup. I don't. I have digital cable with DVR capability and I gladly pay for it. It's not like I'm like Laura's grandparents who never had pop in their house, who never stop to eat lunch when they go on a trip (they pack sandwiches). However, if they do stop for lunch, they split the meal. This is from when they grew up in the Great Depression, so of course they have the habit to be thrifty.
I suppose you could argue that I am cheap when it comes to spontaneously doing something. That's probably because I have a certain amount of money allocated for a certain pay period that I keep track of in my head and if I've already gone over that or am near it, I may not want to shell out more money. Is that so wrong?
Well, if you want me to be fair, I HAVE been known to be very late on paying people back, but then demanding immediate payment when people have to pay me back.
And I SUPPOSE you could say that when I have to pay people back that I have been known to pay them in payments of lunches here and there to repay my debt.
I mean, who among us hasn't been cheap every now and then?
And if digging through a garbage dumpster for a federal tax return check that my wife threw away because she thought it was junkmail makes me cheap, then I guess I am cheap (I didn't even find that stupid check anyway. Thanks, Laura).
So Bill calls me back a little while later to tell me that he's still thinking about it.
"So you called me to tell me that you're still thinking about it?"
"Yeah, because I'd rather go to Star City Shores."
"That's fine," I say, "but we've already planned on going to the Y."
"Look, if it's because you're a cheap ass, I could pay for you to get into Star City Shores."
I begin to get a little irritated at this point. Bill wanted me to point that out since he's usually the one mad in my stories.
He tells me how much it costs to get in for an adult and a child, but I can't let the cheap comment go.
"Bill, let me ask you. You have HBO right? (which I already know that he does.)."
"Right."
"What's on this month?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, what movies are on this month?"
"I don't know."
"Okay, then what's the last movie you remember watching on HBO."
"Umm, I don't know. 'Surviving Christmas'. Why?"
"Well, why didn't you rent it you cheap ass?"
"That is totally not even the same thing?"
"That is so the same thing!" I exclaim.
"How so?"
"Well, you pay for HBO, but if you rented it on DVD you'd see it in wide screen anytime you want, but on HBO you have to wait for it and it's full screen. My point is that you're being cheap because you watched something that you pay for."
"Wow, you are really taking this personally," Bill says.
"Of course I am. Using a membership that you pay for is not being cheap. We pay for a family membership and we're going to use it."
"Fine."
I get off the phone. Laura looks up from the Sunday paper and says, "Your mothers right. Why do you guys have to argue about everything?"
I'm not exactly sure why we always have to argue about everything, but we just do. It's always been in our nature to argue with each other.
I wasn't quite sure how to end this story, but then Bill called yesterday. Laura, Julia and I were coming back from our dinner at Chili's to celebrate Laura and I's eighth wedding anniversary. My meal was pretty good (shrimp, chicken and steak skewers), but Laura was less than enthusiastic about her chicken quesadillas.
So Bill calls and I answer it. We start to reminisce about the Family Guy like we always do when he asks what I was doing.
"We're on our way back from Chili's."
"Oh, any good?"
"Well," I say matter-of-factly, "I had the corn dog kids meal. It was okay."
"Really?" he says a little disbelieving.
"Yeah. Then Laura and I shared a drink."
"Are you... are you serious?" he asks in disbelief.
"Yeah, I'm serious."
"OH! Because you're cheap!" he exclaims while laughing.
"Ri-ight!"
Someone told me that they read that Father's Day has about 2 billion dollars less purchases than Mother's Day does, which I suppose makes sense. After all, Moms are more apt to get flowers on their holiday than Dads. It's kind of hard to find a manly bouquet that would say "I love you Dad, but not in that way." I suppose it could be a manly plant like a cactus with some tools stuff all around it, but I digress...
Back to yesterday...
Laura was home from work on a small vacation, so we decided that we were going to use our YMCA membership and go swimming. Rather, Julia and I would go swimming while Laura works out.
Last week, I had invited Bill and his daughter, Tess, to swim with Julia and I. Tess seemed to really have fun so I thought I'd invite him again.
Bill said that he's think about it, but that he'd rather go to Star City Shores, the big public water park because Tess had fun when she went the day before with Bill's wife, Audrey. (I needed to mention why he wanted to go to Star City Shores since Bill often accuses me of writing one sided pieces about him)
Near the end of the conversation, Bill asks me why I want to go to the YMCA pool.
"Because we pay for it and we don't have to pay anything extra to go swimming."
Bill replies, "And because you're cheap."
"No, because I pay for the membership anyway, so I feel I need to use it."
Bill said that he'd think about it, but him calling me cheap really got me steamed. Yes, it's true that I am little thrifty with my money, but I think he's really exaggerating the point. It's not like I'm buying generic pop or non-Heinz ketchup. I don't. I have digital cable with DVR capability and I gladly pay for it. It's not like I'm like Laura's grandparents who never had pop in their house, who never stop to eat lunch when they go on a trip (they pack sandwiches). However, if they do stop for lunch, they split the meal. This is from when they grew up in the Great Depression, so of course they have the habit to be thrifty.
I suppose you could argue that I am cheap when it comes to spontaneously doing something. That's probably because I have a certain amount of money allocated for a certain pay period that I keep track of in my head and if I've already gone over that or am near it, I may not want to shell out more money. Is that so wrong?
Well, if you want me to be fair, I HAVE been known to be very late on paying people back, but then demanding immediate payment when people have to pay me back.
And I SUPPOSE you could say that when I have to pay people back that I have been known to pay them in payments of lunches here and there to repay my debt.
I mean, who among us hasn't been cheap every now and then?
And if digging through a garbage dumpster for a federal tax return check that my wife threw away because she thought it was junkmail makes me cheap, then I guess I am cheap (I didn't even find that stupid check anyway. Thanks, Laura).
So Bill calls me back a little while later to tell me that he's still thinking about it.
"So you called me to tell me that you're still thinking about it?"
"Yeah, because I'd rather go to Star City Shores."
"That's fine," I say, "but we've already planned on going to the Y."
"Look, if it's because you're a cheap ass, I could pay for you to get into Star City Shores."
I begin to get a little irritated at this point. Bill wanted me to point that out since he's usually the one mad in my stories.
He tells me how much it costs to get in for an adult and a child, but I can't let the cheap comment go.
"Bill, let me ask you. You have HBO right? (which I already know that he does.)."
"Right."
"What's on this month?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, what movies are on this month?"
"I don't know."
"Okay, then what's the last movie you remember watching on HBO."
"Umm, I don't know. 'Surviving Christmas'. Why?"
"Well, why didn't you rent it you cheap ass?"
"That is totally not even the same thing?"
"That is so the same thing!" I exclaim.
"How so?"
"Well, you pay for HBO, but if you rented it on DVD you'd see it in wide screen anytime you want, but on HBO you have to wait for it and it's full screen. My point is that you're being cheap because you watched something that you pay for."
"Wow, you are really taking this personally," Bill says.
"Of course I am. Using a membership that you pay for is not being cheap. We pay for a family membership and we're going to use it."
"Fine."
I get off the phone. Laura looks up from the Sunday paper and says, "Your mothers right. Why do you guys have to argue about everything?"
I'm not exactly sure why we always have to argue about everything, but we just do. It's always been in our nature to argue with each other.
I wasn't quite sure how to end this story, but then Bill called yesterday. Laura, Julia and I were coming back from our dinner at Chili's to celebrate Laura and I's eighth wedding anniversary. My meal was pretty good (shrimp, chicken and steak skewers), but Laura was less than enthusiastic about her chicken quesadillas.
So Bill calls and I answer it. We start to reminisce about the Family Guy like we always do when he asks what I was doing.
"We're on our way back from Chili's."
"Oh, any good?"
"Well," I say matter-of-factly, "I had the corn dog kids meal. It was okay."
"Really?" he says a little disbelieving.
"Yeah. Then Laura and I shared a drink."
"Are you... are you serious?" he asks in disbelief.
"Yeah, I'm serious."
"OH! Because you're cheap!" he exclaims while laughing.
"Ri-ight!"
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Try explaining the Internet to someone who has never seen it...
I'm reading a new book called "Earlybird: A Memoir of Premature Retirement" by Rodney Rothman.
It's an okay book. There are lots of reviews on the back about how hilarious it is, but mostly it's kind of whimsical and sad. In the book, Rodney retires to a Florida retirement community when he's only 29. He attempts to see what it will be like when he retires. There are a few funny chapters here and there, but mostly I get caught up in the depressing existence of his roommate, who has a parrot that immitates everything and several cats, none of which she's supposed to have.
In the retirement community, he runs into shuffleboard enthusiasts, a 93-year-old retired comedian, WWII vets, volunteer policemen and others. It's kind of sad that he spent this much time kind of pretending to be interested in them when he clearly wasn't. That kind of bothered me.
The book got me thinking about when I was in my second round of college in 97 or 98, I was taking a photojournalism course for my Journalism Graduate Studies program with an emphasis in news editorial. One of our projects was that we were assigned a project for one of the magazines the department put out. This particular magazine dealt with the issue of aging, so my assignment was to follow around a band that goes to nursing homes and plays shows for them.
Naturally, I was very curious about this band. They called themselves Milo and the Clefs. Milo was a 70+ year-old-man who played several instruments (mainly the saxophone). Playing with him were a rag-tag group of musicians who played the accordian, the Clarinet, the keyboards and the drums. They mainly played abbreviated versions of such standards like "Let Me Call You Sweetheart" and "Little Brown Jug" among others.
Long story short, I took pictures of them on two separate occasions. I thought the pictures were going to turn out well. I mentioned to Milo that these pictures were going to be used in a class project that will be published in the fall. In the meantime, I was going to be putting these pictures on the web.
Milo stopped listening, paused and confusedly asked, "The web?"
I kind of smiled and said, "Yes, on the world wide web."
"World wide web? What's that?"
"That's where you type in a web address (blank stare) into a browser (blanker stare). Then a web page comes up (even blanker stare)."
"A browser you said?"
"Right. A browser. You see, there are Internet browsers on computers (I'm seeing the blank stare again.) in which you can access the world wide web."
"What's on it?"
"Well, when you get to a web page... Let me back up... A web page is a... page... that has words (still with the blank stare) and pictures... on it."
"Why is it on a page?"
"Umm... Well... We can put these on a web page... That way, anyone can see these photos... if they have Internet access and a web browser."
(Milo looks utterly confused)
"Look," I say. "I could write down the web address of the project for you. I already have a lot of pictures on it already. The address is http... colon... backslash... backslash...(I pause because Milo stops looking confused. He looks like he's given up trying to figure out what I'm talking about).
"Umm... I could tell you how to get online if you want."
Milo laughs, "That's okay. We'll see them if we see them."
It was like when my Dad had to take a computer class for his job. Here he was, a 60+ year-old-man, who had never touched a computer in his life, and he was expected to learn this new piece of software. He didn't know how to use a mouse. He didn't know how to open folders. He didn't know how to open documents. How do you explain that to someone who has never seen it?
It's an okay book. There are lots of reviews on the back about how hilarious it is, but mostly it's kind of whimsical and sad. In the book, Rodney retires to a Florida retirement community when he's only 29. He attempts to see what it will be like when he retires. There are a few funny chapters here and there, but mostly I get caught up in the depressing existence of his roommate, who has a parrot that immitates everything and several cats, none of which she's supposed to have.
In the retirement community, he runs into shuffleboard enthusiasts, a 93-year-old retired comedian, WWII vets, volunteer policemen and others. It's kind of sad that he spent this much time kind of pretending to be interested in them when he clearly wasn't. That kind of bothered me.
The book got me thinking about when I was in my second round of college in 97 or 98, I was taking a photojournalism course for my Journalism Graduate Studies program with an emphasis in news editorial. One of our projects was that we were assigned a project for one of the magazines the department put out. This particular magazine dealt with the issue of aging, so my assignment was to follow around a band that goes to nursing homes and plays shows for them.
Naturally, I was very curious about this band. They called themselves Milo and the Clefs. Milo was a 70+ year-old-man who played several instruments (mainly the saxophone). Playing with him were a rag-tag group of musicians who played the accordian, the Clarinet, the keyboards and the drums. They mainly played abbreviated versions of such standards like "Let Me Call You Sweetheart" and "Little Brown Jug" among others.
Long story short, I took pictures of them on two separate occasions. I thought the pictures were going to turn out well. I mentioned to Milo that these pictures were going to be used in a class project that will be published in the fall. In the meantime, I was going to be putting these pictures on the web.
Milo stopped listening, paused and confusedly asked, "The web?"
I kind of smiled and said, "Yes, on the world wide web."
"World wide web? What's that?"
"That's where you type in a web address (blank stare) into a browser (blanker stare). Then a web page comes up (even blanker stare)."
"A browser you said?"
"Right. A browser. You see, there are Internet browsers on computers (I'm seeing the blank stare again.) in which you can access the world wide web."
"What's on it?"
"Well, when you get to a web page... Let me back up... A web page is a... page... that has words (still with the blank stare) and pictures... on it."
"Why is it on a page?"
"Umm... Well... We can put these on a web page... That way, anyone can see these photos... if they have Internet access and a web browser."
(Milo looks utterly confused)
"Look," I say. "I could write down the web address of the project for you. I already have a lot of pictures on it already. The address is http... colon... backslash... backslash...(I pause because Milo stops looking confused. He looks like he's given up trying to figure out what I'm talking about).
"Umm... I could tell you how to get online if you want."
Milo laughs, "That's okay. We'll see them if we see them."
It was like when my Dad had to take a computer class for his job. Here he was, a 60+ year-old-man, who had never touched a computer in his life, and he was expected to learn this new piece of software. He didn't know how to use a mouse. He didn't know how to open folders. He didn't know how to open documents. How do you explain that to someone who has never seen it?
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Bill and I have a healthy relationship built on mutual mockery and respect...
I honestly was just thinking of a topic to write for this week when I got an unexpected phone call. I swear that I was thinking of writing about me quitting my job, selling the house, trying to find a new one, my Phantom Menace diatribe that I was thinking about finishing, or the fact that I am very accident prone as evidenced by me almost cutting off the tip of my index finger with scissors this morning when I got the phone call.
"Hello?"
"You are a F&*(ing jerk!!!" (It was Bill)
"What?"
"You heard me. You're a f&*(ing jerk!!"
"What did I do?"
"What did you DO?! What did you DO?! You posted two stories about me that weren't exactly fair."
Oh, that's what I did. I did post a story in which I purposely messed with Bill. I was debating on whether or not to run with it, but Laura and Joe thought it was hilarious so I ran with it. Bill, on the other hand, thought that it was rather misleading, unfair and one-sided.
My Mom likes my writing, but she usually comments about the Bill stories.
"Why are you guys always fighting?"
My wife said when I told her this, "Has your mother ever heard you two talk before?"
Maybe we're civil when we're around our parents or maybe some people just tune it out, but yes, we tend to argue a lot. It's not that we don't like each other. We do. He's my twin brother and I wouldn't change any of our growing up experiences for the world. I truly feel blessed to have had Bill as a twin. He was always around and was a constant companion. On the other hand, when you have a twin, it is somewhat like a marriage. You're the same type of person, but not exactly the same type of person. You get to know someone really well, but then you know that person too well, so little things that this person does tend to get on your nerves, so you call them on it.
Now a normal person would probably tell you to go to hell and you'd never see them again. Not a twin. I believe most twins would tell you that criticism and arguments tend to roll off you and are not held as grudges for very long. My wife always marveled that one minute we'd be yelling at each other and the next minute we'd be going, "Hey, remember on the Simpsons when..."
So as twins we tend to argue a lot probably because we can argue and not hold a grudge. Just this Saturday, I was calling Bill to see if he had a tarp to cover a load I was taking to the dump (I had borrowed Joe's pickup) because all loads that go to the dump have to be covered or you get fined.
He said that he did and asked me if I could also dump off a grill that he melted when the fuel line burst and set fire to the knobs. I said, "Sure."
I asked him if he had any bungees to strap down the tarp.
"No, I don't have any bungees."
"No bungees? OK. What about that strap ratchet set you had with your truck?"
"No, I don't have that anymore. I gave that to the guy that bought my truck."
"Oh, well then do you have any rope?"
"Oh yeah. I have rope."
"Then why didn't you mention it in the first place since I was asking about tying down the tarp?"
"Because you didn't ask if I had rope."
Damn him! Caught me with a technicality.
He eventually asked me if I was going to stop by to pick up the grill, the tarp and the rope soon. I told him that I wasn't sure. He said that he would be leaving around 11:30 to go to a golf tournament. I told him that I'd keep that in mind, but I wasn't sure how long it was going to take me to load the truck.
"Make sure that you stop by my house before you go to the dump so you get that grill, OK?"
"Bill, didn't I mention that I needed to cover the load?"
"Yes."
"Then why in the hell would I come over your house AFTER I went to the dump? If I need the stupid tarp to cover the load, wouldn't it make sense that I would have to stop by your house sometime BEFORE I went to the dump?"
He chuckled a bit and said, "I guess that would make sense."
I get off the phone and Laura is waking up.
"Were you just talking to Bill?"
She knows our conversations so well.
Sometimes in our conversations, we offer helpful information. For example, today I was telling Bill about some strange circumstances with Joe's borrowed truck. I had put some little boy clothes into the cab of the truck to give back to Joe's wife, Jackie, who had borrowed them from a neighbor when Julia, who Jackie was watching at the time, had wet herself.
I pull up to the house this afternoon to find the clothes I had put in the cab by our mailbox near the sidewalk. I pick them up and put them back in the cab of the truck and lock the doors. I come back later and find that someone had tried opening the door because the door was slightly ajar, but not open. This made me feel a little paranoid about why someone would steal little kid's clothes, why they would bring them back and whether or not any cars I park are vulnerable.
I tell Bill this and jokingly say something about a pedophile nearby that stole them and returned them, which got me on another tangent.
"Hey, that reminds me," I say. "You need to check out the Nebraska listing of sex offenders because you have quite a few in your area." (Bill has a 18-month old at home)
"Oh really?"
"Yeah, you have two of them that live on the same floor of (that apartment complex two four blocks away from his actual address). You know the one by the gas station?"
"Well, that's good to hear. As if I didn't have enough to worry about in my area, now you've given me more to worry about. Thanks for that."
"Just trying to help."
So, it's not all arguing. Sometimes, they're conversations centered around pointing out insecurities.
I run with the Bill stories because they seem to be the favorite stories, but also, they are pretty easy to write. I can usually remember what Bill has said and add my own flair for good measure. It's a subject that I know well. Writing about them allows me to chuckle at them and helps me remember the ridiculous conversations that we have. Bill often complains that my stories are one-sided, but that's to be expected. After all, I am the one writing them, so of course I'll end up looking better.
Whenever I tell my wife about the latest story, she'll say, "You guys have such a healthy relationship."
It is a healthy relationship. You can be pissed at the person, but the unconditional love that comes with being a twin is hard to break.
"Hello?"
"You are a F&*(ing jerk!!!" (It was Bill)
"What?"
"You heard me. You're a f&*(ing jerk!!"
"What did I do?"
"What did you DO?! What did you DO?! You posted two stories about me that weren't exactly fair."
Oh, that's what I did. I did post a story in which I purposely messed with Bill. I was debating on whether or not to run with it, but Laura and Joe thought it was hilarious so I ran with it. Bill, on the other hand, thought that it was rather misleading, unfair and one-sided.
My Mom likes my writing, but she usually comments about the Bill stories.
"Why are you guys always fighting?"
My wife said when I told her this, "Has your mother ever heard you two talk before?"
Maybe we're civil when we're around our parents or maybe some people just tune it out, but yes, we tend to argue a lot. It's not that we don't like each other. We do. He's my twin brother and I wouldn't change any of our growing up experiences for the world. I truly feel blessed to have had Bill as a twin. He was always around and was a constant companion. On the other hand, when you have a twin, it is somewhat like a marriage. You're the same type of person, but not exactly the same type of person. You get to know someone really well, but then you know that person too well, so little things that this person does tend to get on your nerves, so you call them on it.
Now a normal person would probably tell you to go to hell and you'd never see them again. Not a twin. I believe most twins would tell you that criticism and arguments tend to roll off you and are not held as grudges for very long. My wife always marveled that one minute we'd be yelling at each other and the next minute we'd be going, "Hey, remember on the Simpsons when..."
So as twins we tend to argue a lot probably because we can argue and not hold a grudge. Just this Saturday, I was calling Bill to see if he had a tarp to cover a load I was taking to the dump (I had borrowed Joe's pickup) because all loads that go to the dump have to be covered or you get fined.
He said that he did and asked me if I could also dump off a grill that he melted when the fuel line burst and set fire to the knobs. I said, "Sure."
I asked him if he had any bungees to strap down the tarp.
"No, I don't have any bungees."
"No bungees? OK. What about that strap ratchet set you had with your truck?"
"No, I don't have that anymore. I gave that to the guy that bought my truck."
"Oh, well then do you have any rope?"
"Oh yeah. I have rope."
"Then why didn't you mention it in the first place since I was asking about tying down the tarp?"
"Because you didn't ask if I had rope."
Damn him! Caught me with a technicality.
He eventually asked me if I was going to stop by to pick up the grill, the tarp and the rope soon. I told him that I wasn't sure. He said that he would be leaving around 11:30 to go to a golf tournament. I told him that I'd keep that in mind, but I wasn't sure how long it was going to take me to load the truck.
"Make sure that you stop by my house before you go to the dump so you get that grill, OK?"
"Bill, didn't I mention that I needed to cover the load?"
"Yes."
"Then why in the hell would I come over your house AFTER I went to the dump? If I need the stupid tarp to cover the load, wouldn't it make sense that I would have to stop by your house sometime BEFORE I went to the dump?"
He chuckled a bit and said, "I guess that would make sense."
I get off the phone and Laura is waking up.
"Were you just talking to Bill?"
She knows our conversations so well.
Sometimes in our conversations, we offer helpful information. For example, today I was telling Bill about some strange circumstances with Joe's borrowed truck. I had put some little boy clothes into the cab of the truck to give back to Joe's wife, Jackie, who had borrowed them from a neighbor when Julia, who Jackie was watching at the time, had wet herself.
I pull up to the house this afternoon to find the clothes I had put in the cab by our mailbox near the sidewalk. I pick them up and put them back in the cab of the truck and lock the doors. I come back later and find that someone had tried opening the door because the door was slightly ajar, but not open. This made me feel a little paranoid about why someone would steal little kid's clothes, why they would bring them back and whether or not any cars I park are vulnerable.
I tell Bill this and jokingly say something about a pedophile nearby that stole them and returned them, which got me on another tangent.
"Hey, that reminds me," I say. "You need to check out the Nebraska listing of sex offenders because you have quite a few in your area." (Bill has a 18-month old at home)
"Oh really?"
"Yeah, you have two of them that live on the same floor of (that apartment complex two four blocks away from his actual address). You know the one by the gas station?"
"Well, that's good to hear. As if I didn't have enough to worry about in my area, now you've given me more to worry about. Thanks for that."
"Just trying to help."
So, it's not all arguing. Sometimes, they're conversations centered around pointing out insecurities.
I run with the Bill stories because they seem to be the favorite stories, but also, they are pretty easy to write. I can usually remember what Bill has said and add my own flair for good measure. It's a subject that I know well. Writing about them allows me to chuckle at them and helps me remember the ridiculous conversations that we have. Bill often complains that my stories are one-sided, but that's to be expected. After all, I am the one writing them, so of course I'll end up looking better.
Whenever I tell my wife about the latest story, she'll say, "You guys have such a healthy relationship."
It is a healthy relationship. You can be pissed at the person, but the unconditional love that comes with being a twin is hard to break.
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