Cheeky's Hideaway

The Most Important Thing You'll Read All Day

OK, not really.  In fact, you'll probably be pissed you followed that title to get here, only to realize I'm just plugging my new blog.

For some reason I felt that sporadic blogging here at Cheeky's Hideaway and the guilt I have for not blogging more frequently at DadCentric and Draft Day Suit wasn't enough.  I thought that my full-time job and parental responsibilities were insignificant enough to warrant me starting a new blog, because what I really need is another distraction in my life.

I may look like a mild-mannered professional, but within my chest beats the heart of a geek.  And there are others like me.  And just because we don't all order wedding cakes shaped like the Death Star or re-enact scenes from Grand Theft Auto doesn't mean we don't have a voice. 

So I'd like to proudly introduce My Wife Hates My Xbox, a new blog featuring (so far) myself and Mr. Big Dubya.  It's a place to discuss the nerdy, gadgety, and otherwise frowned-upon topics we enjoy which our spouses would rather we keep safely contained in basements and online chat rooms.

I hope you all visit and, if you enjoy it, tell your friends.  If it doesn't make sense to you, then I'll get you Oodgie's cell number and you can commiserate. 

Or perhaps I'll just let Robert Kelly explain...

I Promise To Post A Real Update Soon, But First A Tribute to Geeks

I really do have some juicy updates for y'all, but I've been busy fetching low-carb ketchup for Oodgie while her surgically-repaired foot heals.  It's not easy being the only person in the house who is both mobile and focused enough to make it from one room to another without being distracted by the need for candy/cheerios/Max & Ruby/little blankie.

Here's a morsel to tide you over until I get something better up later this week.  It's a flowchart of how Dungeons & Dragons made modern life possible (R.I.P. Gary) and, having charted my own path on the chart over the weekend, I have to concede some technical accuracy to this, particularly since I'm effectively writing this in the basement,  by myself, in the dark.  Make sure you click on the image to see it full-sized (or just click here)

Will You Sign My Facebook?

I'm a little surprised to find myself quietly obsessing over Facebook.

It's stupid, really.  It's just another social media site, like MySpace without the annoying bands or deceptive angles. 

But I find myself logging in a lot, sniffing around for people I know to connect to, and trimming the hedges of my profile so everyone can see what movies I like, what countries I've been to, and dozens of other incredibly inane facts about me.

I do internetty things for a living, so I'm exposed to a lot of these sites.  I rely on LinkedIn regularly to keep up with my professional contacts.  I'm hooked into a music-lovers' site which makes me feel utterly out of touch with what the kids are listening to.  I've got a Virb account gathering dust somewhere.  And Twitter...well, that strikes me as technology-enabled narcissism/voyeurism; why anyone would be interested in whether I'm buying cereal or washing my hands at any given second is beyond me.

They're all silly in some way.  I've got a Zombie Ninja on Facebook that infects and attacks other users (do not attack Kara...her Zombie is like freakin' Chuck Norris).  People have written on my virtual wall and bought me virtual beers.  Ironically, I'd normally mock people who engage in such activity.  Yet hear I am, joining interest groups about Pluto and grammatical accuracy for no other reason than I can.

So what's the big deal?  I don't know, but I'm having fun with it.  An old friend from college found me on it the other day, and she put me in touch with another one, who has unbeknownst to me married yet another one.  So that's cool.  And I can apparently "Super Poke" other people, which sounds mildly dangerous and probably illegal in some states.

Maybe it's just reached a point where there's enough people on Facebook that I'm likely to know at least some of them.  And it's less work that going through my Google Reader and visiting everyone's web pages (as you've all surely noticed by now) even if it's not nearly as emotionally rewarding.

At least until the next big thing comes around.

Quickly Press Up, Down, Up, Down, Left, Right, Left, Right, Up, Down, Start to Unlock Total Frustration

One of my many vices--a list that includes microbrews, komodo dragon eggs, and wearing Kiss makeup to work--is video games.  It's a vice that isn't so popular with the other residents of the house, one of whom wants me to "relate to your family" or "listen when I'm talking to you" while the other thinks the TV is just a communication device to Orson Elmo.  But as I've said before, I love my games, and as scintillating as folding laundry or reruns of Seinfeld may be I'd still rather have a controller in my hand, dishing out some pain to genetically mutated zombies.

Thanks to the IRS, who was kind enough to sit on a large stash of my cash for the better part of last year, we've decided that it's OK to invest a little money in our own happiness.  Oodgie, bless her, knew that this meant that if I didn't upgrade from my Xbox--which was already two years old--I'd whine like a two year old who'd gone three minutes without candy.  Enter the Xbox 360.

I hooked the bad boy up this weekend, and popped in the game which one friend described to me as "like crack, but more addictive."  It was completely awesome.  But it did expose one fatal flaw in my plans.

I'm not very good at video games.

What's hard to explain to Oodgie, after coming to bed at 4 AM with sore thumbs and a bad attitude, is that I spent half that time trying to do the same thing over and over again, but failing miserably the first 30 times.  I just can't let puzzles lie, and damn it if I'm going to let some alien invaders enchanted sorcerer Lego jedi pinhead programmer get the better of me.  And like many things in life that confound and annoy me, I express my frustration verbally.  Loudly.  Angrily.  And generally with great profanity.

If you're curious (and I'm sure you are) I have found a video replica (below, NSFW) of my gaming experience online, so scarily identical to mine that it could only be an illegally captured recording of me.  If you have the patience, I encourage you to sit through the duration, because only then can you truly capture the suffering, the tenacity, and the futility of my efforts.

           

Define "Hot"

How attentive am I?  Not very.

Unbeknownst to me, the lovely Thordora (who henceforth shall be named Princess Thordora, Child of Light) nominated me for "Hottest Daddy Blogger" in the Blogger's Choice awards.  That puts me, for the one and only time in my life, in the same category as the great Neil Gaiman, by whom I trail by only 270 votes!  That may not seem like much, but when you look at the totals it's akin to being the presidential candidate from the Socialist party.

I give absolutely no credibility to any blogger awards, but I'm man enough to admit that being voted "hotter" than Matthew or Dutch would be pretty satisfying.  So vote early.  Vote often.

By the way, do you want hot?  Here's me in grade school:

Happy Life Day!

Oodgie is going out tonight for overpriced seafood with a friend of hers, leaving me and Cheeky to ponder the creative possibilities of Duplo.  But once I scrub the crayon and dried blood off her arms and drop her into her crib, I'm forgoing the usual Xbox marathon and popping in a holiday classic:  the Star Wars Holiday Special.

After writing an homage to it last year, I decided I NEEDED a copy for myself, and thanks to the magic of eBay that's exactly what I have.  I've already watched Hardware Wars and the Donny & Marie Star Wars episode (also included), but I've been saving the pièce de résistance for the holiday season.  It's been sitting on top of our DVD player since last January waiting for just the right moment, and that time is tonight.

I had hoped to share it with other retro-junkies like myself, but they all have stupid commitments to families and loved ones.  Losers.  Oodgie likes cheesy 70s commercials and Harvey Korman as much as the next person, but even she may not be able to stomach a full-hour of wookies preparing dinner.  But since I must share this experience somehow, I'm proud to present the third in my series of holiday videos:  the climactic Life Day song, as performed by Princess Leia. 

I know you'll all be humming this tomorrow, and for that you'll hate thank me.  Enjoy, and wish me luck tonight....

Bang, Zoom, Straight to the Moon!

I read this morning that NASA is planning to build a permanent base on the moon.  COOL!  My nerd-boy juices immediately started flowing, imagining what life bouncing around in 1/6th gravity would be like, or the joy of watching the Earth rise in the morning.  But more importantly, it reminded me of humanity's need to look beyond the silliness of day-to-day life and cast our eyes forward to what's best for our long-term survival.

One of the things I love about scientists is how visionary and politically agnostic they are.  They spend their time focusing on possibilities, posing giant questions like "Can we cure illness?" or "Can we travel through time?" then probing and testing in an earnest attempt to answer those questions.  Name another field where professionals from competing nations cooperate without thought to the commercial or political ramifications of working together.  With only the rare exception, they work together to make the world a better place, uncovering truths we need to know and bravely standing up to ignorance and misunderstanding.  They may be socially awkward, and but imagine where we'd be without them.

I'm sure most people dismiss the idea of a moon-base as science fiction, an unnecessary waste of energy and money on a flight of fancy.  As a species the Earth has always been able to provide the resources we needed to survive and flourish.  Realistically, though, that cannot last, and it may not be long before wars are fought over fresh water instead of ideology (or, god forbid, the Gamalons attack).  Setting up residence on the moon is more than a quest for cheese or a monolith; it's a first step in our long-term survival.

Nerd? Maybe. Geek? Probably. Dork? Definitely.

I was reading Wired Magazine last night when I saw three things that got me incredibly excited. 

1. DC Comics is releasing Absolute Sandman, Vol. 1, a hardbound edition of one of the greatest works of literature in modern history
2. The 20th Anniversary edition of the original Transformers: The Movie is available for pre-order on Amazon
3. Both the Playstation 3 and Nintendo Wii launch this month.

There's no chance whatsoever that I'll get the video game systems (you cannot believe the grief I get when I play the ones I have, although Christmas is coming *wink wink*), I already have every Sandman ever written in paperback graphic novel form, and no amount of cajoling will ever get Oodgie (or anyone I know, for that matter) to sit through Hot Rod's heroic transformation into leader of the Autobots (after Optimus Prime meets a tragic end) and to protect the Matrix of Leadership from Unicron (voiced by Orson Wells, of course).

There are those among you who might find the above disturbing (hi honey!) and may categorize me as a "nerd" or a "geek" or a "dork."  There are those among you who look at the above and think, "Dude, I TOTALLY need to get those!" who would call themselves nerds or geeks or dorks.  But I don't think those terms are wholly accurate or fair.  Let's examine them, shall we?

A "nerd" is someone who pursues intellectual and academic interests at the expense of socials skills, personal hygiene, and interaction with the opposite sex.  They are the ones with physical weaknesses that 13-year-olds make fun of, and have to resort to extreme measures to wrest control of the Greek Council from the Alpha Betas.  Right now, one of them is curing cancer, while his roommate at MIT is building a robot in his basement that will destroy us all.

A "geek" often refers to someone who is really into computers, technology, and gadgets, but usually extends to people who spend an inordinate amount of time and energy obsessing about things that others find bizarre or extreme.  These are your tech support guys, the people in line for the latest Star Wars movie, or the guy who owns your company.

A "dork" tends to be more of a quirky, silly, or eccentric person--often adorably so.  They don't usually hang out in cliques with other dorks (like nerds and geeks do) and it's more of a term of endearment and less derogatory.  They probably remember every episode of Scooby Doo, have a Lord of the Rings action figure on their desk, or are hosting a TV show.

Although I share traits with all of these labels, none of them is wholly accurate.  My intellectual pursuits haven't stunted my social skills; my hygiene, maybe, but not my social skills.  I love gadgets and can probably hook up your printer, but at any moment I'm three keystrokes away from a massive hardware failure that will likely set your house on fire.  And although I have a box of comic books and a Marvin the Martian tattoo, most of that stuff stays tucked away the majority of the time. 

And there's lots of people like me out there.  We're your friends, your spouses, your neighbors.  We walk among you, stand behind you at Starbucks, and signal when you can have our parking space.  Yet we're not like everyone else.  We need a descriptor, a title, some moniker that we can collectively rally around.

So I'm taking it upon myself to coin a new term for people like me.  From now on we should call our selves "Postals."

"People of superior taste who abhor limiting sterotypes." 

Now we can perfectly articulate who we are, and can share our experiences as "postals" with each other.  Now, if your boss gives you a hard time about the Yoda figurine on your desk, just tell him "I'm going postal!"  If you're getting grief about playing a new video game, just tell your spouse of girlfriend, "This is how postals like me burn off steam."  And it's a great inside joke if you're applying for a home loan or a passport!  "Have you had any prior convictions?"  "No, but I'm totally postal!  Does that count?"

Feel free to use that at the airport or your school or government building.  You may be surprised at how many other "postals" are out there!

Jacksonville Skyline Rag

Ah, the joys of business travel.  I just got back from two days in Jacksonville last night, and it wasn't until this morning that I realized how restful it was.  Not because I wasn't working or running around, but because I wasn't woken up at 5:30 by crib-calls from the adjoining room.  I did miss the little kid, though...we spent this morning discussing the relative enjoyment of the squeeky toy vs. the crinkly toy.  And it's nice to be back in New York, where your dinner options at 10:30 PM go well beyond Denny's.  By the way, do you realize how much food you can get for $5.99 there?  No wonder I had a roll-away bed stored there in college...

I love going to and learning about new places, and Jacksonville was no exception. While I was there I did a little exploration and research, and discovered some fascinating things I'd love to share with you.  To provide context, I've decided to compare Jacksonville to someplace relatively similar--in this case Phobos, the largest moon of Mars.

	Phobos	Jacksonville
Named for	The Greek god of fear, an attendant of the war god Mars	Unknown, but probably named after Action Jackson	Advantage = Phobos
Size	12.4 x 14.3 x 17.4 miles	874.3 sq miles (the largest city by land area in the U.S.)	Advantage = Jacksonville (who knew?)
Number of Applebee’s restaurants	0	10	Advantage = Phobos. Does the food you get ever resemble the picture on the table-tent?
Temperature	-4° to –112° C	60° to 41° (on Wednesday)	Advantage = Phobos. Dude, I knew it was cold there, but I should have been swimming in Florida
Accessibility	Russian Phobos-Grunt probe may launch by 2010	More than 100 departures and arrivals per day	Advantage = Push. Jacksonville is more accessible, but a Russian ship named after a bathroom noise is hard to pass up
Neighboring Communities	Deimos	Daytona Beach	Advantage = unless the residents of Deimos press their boobs on your wind-shield, it’s Jacksonville
Famous Natives	These guys	Some of Lynyrd Skynyrd	Advantage = Push
Leader	John Carter (Warlord)	John Peyton (Mayor)	Advantage = Phobos

I'm not sure who wins this battle royale, but the fine people of Northern Florida should be proud to be so competitive with a captured asteroid.

A Format C: Moment

Those of you who visited the Hideaway on Friday were witness to something I’ve feared for years: the exposure of my technical incompetence. I bought the domain www.cheekyshideaway.com and was all fired up to map it to the blog, but somehow I managed to:

a) Erase all the formatting, rendering the site a giant white page that looked like it was a left-over web-site from 1997

b) Eliminate any and all image links for Fridays contribution

c) Piss off the technical support at GoDaddy, who were visibly straining to not end every sentence in their e-mails with “you moron.”

As you can tell, I’ve managed to at least reverse the problem, if not solve it, but I’ve been humbled. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, having always prided myself on being able to figure these things out; I was even briefly known as “Help-Desk Tony” by a contingent of Claud’s friends, until I protested because I didn’t want to get calls every time someone’s printer wasn’t working.

That doesn’t mean I’m done trying. There’s lots of cool looking daddy sites out there (BIYF and Mr. BigDubya have gone through recent facelifts) and I aspire to a slicker look here, too. I’ve got my HTML basics book on my bedside table (next to my pocket protector and propeller hat) and you may see some changes in the days ahead. I’ll probably end up making it unreadable; at this rate, my next change may send shocks through they keyboard to my readers. Then again, I may just give up…I’ve been known to get frustrated from time to time.