Stains

Do you ever see something that is funny to you no matter how many times you watch it? Well, that is how it is for me with this clip from "The Soup" that shows the crazy-eyed dog known as Stains. I don't want to give to much away, just watch for yourself.

Sleepy Time Daycare

“You don’t like that.” As a small child these were the guiding words I often heard from my brother, and for me no other judgment was needed. Maybe I was a lazy child and I didn’t want to take time to form options myself. He was older, he had already figured these things out why shouldn’t I benefit from his knowledge. There was no need for me to try anything. Whatever likes and disliked he had - I now had the same. My brother felt it was his duty to protect me from olives, most vegetables and anything that didn’t involve sports. He was older and wiser and was determined to pass this knowledge on to me. I didn’t really have a choice. Later in life I would fail him as I went on to discover that I liked most vegetables and detested most sports, but he was right about olives. However, at this time I was still his disciple in all things.
Our parents both taught school in the next county. This meant their day started early. During the school year my brother and I were both entrusted into the care of Odessa. While I wouldn’t always believe the sun rose and set on my older brother, my faith for Odessa never wavered. However, on this faithful morning Odessa was unable to come in. Mom hurriedly made arrangements to take us to a daycare with the quant name of Sleepy Time. Sleepy Time was an old converted house off a major thoroughfare. Out front was a black backed neon sign half faded with a child sleeping and little “z”s coming from his head. It suggested that your child would sleep in some kind of eternal darkness. Why a parent would trust a place that looked like it was conceived by Norman Bates I will never know. Mom was desperate, but the other children there – their parents owe them an explanation.
As Mom left us half asleep we watched her drive away not knowing what to do next or if she would ever return. As we took in our surroundings Steven whispered in my ear that we didn’t like this place. I think without his help I would have formed the same conclusion. We stood in the entrance hall where Mom had left us with our coats still on holding hands. We dumbly followed the orders of a stranger woman as she told us to hang up our jackets. Then, however she started taking Steven upstairs and another woman appeared and was taking me in the direction of another room. Steven escaped from the stranger woman and grabbed my hand and told me not to move. The teacher reached down and started to pick me up. I did the only thing a 3 year old can do. I cried. I cried as if the world was ending. She was so taken back that she just froze. I would think she would be used to crying children, but I did have a good set of lungs on me. My brother then started running pulling me in tow. We ran straight into the fireplace of what used to be the den in the house and wedged ourselves inside. I continued to cry. Anytime someone got near us, I would cry. So, there we stood in the fireplace all day. Neither of us would come out, not to eat, play. No amount of coaxing or threats would get us to move. They decided ignoring us would work, as we would get bored and come out to play. Steven and I didn’t move an inch.
I feel so sorry now for the sight my Mom must have seen when she came to pick us up that afternoon. Here her two sons stood in the fireplace, me still balling my eyes out until I heard her voice. Then we ran to her covered in soot. My memories of what happened next aren’t really clear, but I know we never returned to Sleepy Time. I’m sure there was mutual agreement on that. When my brother and I both started kindergarten the next year, they put us in separate facilities, but that is another story.

However, that wasn't my last encounter with the Sleepy Time daycare......

Commuters at Liverpool Street Station in London were in for a pleasant surprise at 11 am on January 15, 2009



Be sure and switch the video to HD to really see the detail, it is worth it!

Innovative Computer Solutions

While still in college I started Innovative Computer Solution. It was more work than I care to remember, but I did learn alot. Here is a pic of me in our first real office in Belmont. NC. I don't even want to calculate how young I was then!

I'm in the process of closing ICS down now. It is bitter sweet.

Bob's only pg-13 Joke!

A dear old friend of mine just loved this joke.

A 70-year-old man and his young wife of 50 had decided with the miracles of modern medicine they wanted to have a baby. There doctor being skeptical suggested that they start the process by finding out if the man was still fertile. The doctor gave the man a specimen jar and said, "Take this jar home and bring back a semen sample tomorrow."

The next day the 70-year-old man reappeared at the doctor's office and gave him the jar, which was as clean and empty as on the previous day. The doctor asked what happened and the man explained: "Well, doc, it's like this - first I tried with my right hand, but nothing. Then I tried with my left hand, but still nothing. Then I asked my wife for help. She tried with her right hand, then with her left, still nothing. She tried with her mouth, first with the teeth in, then with her teeth out, still nothing. We even called up Arlene , the lady next door and she tried too, first with both hands, then an armpit, and she even tried squeezing it between her knees, but still nothing.

The doctor was shocked "You asked your neighbor?" The old man replied, "Yep. None of us could get the jar open!"

The Wrong Trousers

On the rare occasions I listen to the radio I’m amazed at how much of the music is cookie cutter, unimaginative and just all around bad. It all sounds alike and all the lyrics are the same. So, why is it like this, well because that is what people want? There was a poll that was done concerning music by diacenter.org . The data was complied and two songs were created based on the polls, one that combined the elements most desired in the polls and one that combined the elements least desired. The “most desired” sounded like everything I hear on the radio. I hated every note of it, in contrast I loved the one that combined the least desired elements.

So, I like different stuff I guess. Below is a clip from a band called “The Wrong Trousers”. While the song is a regular top 40 hit, the performance is not. This was shot on the street where these kids had setup shop. They have moved on and now have a recording contract. I think they are great!

My 1st Pot

Most of my interest in my adult lift can be traced back to events from my childhood. What leaves an impression that last and what passes away simply forgotten is as much serendipity as it is planning.

As a child I presented somewhat of a conundrum to my parents. My Mom, Dad and Brother were all athletic and interested in sports. I was not. My parents both coached sports – I considered attendance to a game something akin to punishment. I have checked I wasn’t adopted.

I think presents for me were hard for my family. I didn’t want balls or sports equipment or just about anything they would find interest in. However, I did like to make things. I didn’t really care what. Give me some scissors, tape, glue and an old newspaper and I would busy myself for hours. I became a pro with tape and glue which in my childhood I used to put back together much of the house that my brother and I destroyed– but that is another story.

The Christmas I was in the 2nd grade my parents gave me a pottery wheel. It was a child’s pottery wheel that was battery powered and to be honest it wasn’t worth crap. It looked functional but it was woefully underpowered. It must have been some company’s idea of a joke as the box was adored with pottery that no one could have ever produced on the crap wheel. However, I didn’t know that at the time.

So, on Christmas morning I began my work at the wheel. I carefully read the instructions and tried to mimic the hand positions that they gave. I setup shop in the garage, covered the work area in newspaper (see how multipurpose this stuff is) got a small bucket of water and I began to make blobs. Shapeless squashed blobs that couldn’t really take shape as the small motor would grind to a halt once I put any pressure on the clay. So, I had to mostly shape the poor blobs with my hands. There was no way to fire the clay – so I put my pitiful creations out in the sun. I then hand painted my creations with the small containers of paint that came with the wheel. They were hideous. In the end I had three “bowls”. One I gave to my parents – heck it could be an ashtray if it was pushed into service. I never saw it again after the giving. I like to believe they had a quiet funeral service for it. One I kept – I guess as a reminder to never use that stupid pottery wheel again – and the best one I gave to my first girlfriend – Laura Bradley. Laura smashed my gift into the sidewalk and laughed at it. I remember where Laura used to live, I guess I could always go ask her parents if she still regrets her rejection of my early art.