Smack Of Ham Presents...

Remote Vote

2008-10-31T13:49:00.003-05:00

In many ways, as an American, I don’t really contribute too much to the betterment of the good ole U.S. of A.

Sure, I do typically American things, like eat at awful fast food places, spend money on frivolous entertainment, and make an ass of myself when traveling abroad, but beyond these somewhat shallow activities, I don’t have much to put on my resume.

I mean, I’ve never invented anything like Edison, formed ground breaking theories about our universe like Einstein, or advanced the cause of civil rights like King. About the closest I have come to contributing to the betterment of our country is posting shabbily conceived and constructed blog entries about as frequently as the Chicago Cubs win the World Series.

But I have done one thing that most of our population doesn’t do – I have voted in every Presidential election since becoming an adult.

I’ve gone before work, on my lunch hour, or on the way home from work every Election Day. Yes, my crucial votes for Perot (twice) and Nader over the years really made a difference – it put those guys just above perennial vote-getters Mickey Mouse and Bart Simpson those years – although sadly they still trailed Snoopy and the then-popular Sir Mix-A-Lot.

With the fate of the known universe, and likely a couple that we haven’t discovered yet, riding on this election, I began to make my plans to vote when I ran across some interesting ads for the Presidential candidates on the web. They implored the reader to “vote early” – the “vote often” that usually follows that phrase is restricted to certain wards in Chicago.

I was fascinated to learn that you could request an absentee ballot and vote well before Election Day. Sure, I knew you could do that if you would be traveling and away from home on E-Day, but this was a new way to look at it.

What if I don’t want to go to the polling place on November 4th and fight the masses of McCainiacs and Obama Mamas turning out to vote for their guy? What if I just want to vote on my schedule, at my convenience, on a day of my choosing, that wouldn’t interfere with my crucial afternoon TV schedule or weekly shower?

What a brilliant idea – I headed over to the Village Hall this week and filled out a form that enabled me to vote with an Absentee Ballot. I then voted, a week before the election, and handed my carefully sealed envelope to the official.

Now I can sit back and watch my fellow Americans climb over each other to get their vote in on Tuesday, from the comfort of my stressed couch cushions in my elegant abode.

So here’s what I’m thinking – why not create Election Week – where you can go to the polling place at your convenience and without having to jump through the absentee ballot hoops? My guess is that would encourage higher voter turnout as it would be more convenient to vote. Whoever wins this election should start looking into it sometime around February 2009, when most of the campaign promises have proven impossible to enact. It’s a low-hanging fruit compared to overhauling our financial system or dealing with Iraq.

And, I’ll be able to say I contributed something to the betterment of this country.

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And, who doesn't like the All-American band Huey Lewis & the News? The boys have a new song out for its fans - "Your Love Is Killin' Me". It's download-only, free, and can be found at HLN.org .

Time Travel In The Express Lane

2008-07-08T07:49:00.005-05:00

Time travel has been seriously debated for decades – while many believe it is theoretically possible, no one has been able to approach the formulation of a practical means to travel back in time - although, the first step has been taken this summer.

When word of a new movie by Seth Rogan hit the internet there was understandable interest – “Pineapple Express” was to be Rogan’s take on a drug comedy. With his success in the last couple of years in projects like “Knocked Up”, comedy fans had to feel stoked about his latest effort.

Shortly after, word leaked out that Rogan had convinced one of his favorite bands, Huey Lewis and the News, to perform a new song for his flick.

Please take a moment to wrap your brain around these concepts – take your time, I’ll wait.

Huey Lewis and the News. Major Motion Picture. 2008 AD.

Just this week, the song was released on the movie’s MySpace page and the moment you hit the link below, you’ll be given the keys to that elusive time machine mankind has been wondering about for generations.

The energy, enthusiasm, and hooks that litter the song like acne on a teenager at prom will pull you back to 1985, when Huey & the boys helped turbo charge the Back To The Future franchise with their biggest summer smash, “The Power Of Love”.

A couple listens to the new tune and you’ll revisit those lazy summer afternoons of “back in the day” when everything was simple and fun and the only thing you had to worry about was what radio station you would switch to when the commercials invaded the speakers of your dad’s Plymouth Reliant.

Confession: I’ve been a fan of Huey Lewis and the News since 1983 and appreciate the albums and good times they have cranked out over the years. (Yes, I said “albums” – look it up, youngster…and while you’re at it, get off my lawn!) I have trekked to see them every year and have rooted for the boys to hang in there as times have changed around them. Cool was the rule in 1983 and two and a half decades later, it still fits like a black pair of Levi’s with matching jacket.

With any luck, the release of “Pineapple Express” will remind the world that they are still the same average Joes we hung out with at the beach, in the car, and anywhere we could take our Sports cassette until it invariably melted on the hot dashboard.

(Inevitable Back To The Future Reference follows)

So set that dial to 1985, fire up the DeLorean, and hit the link below – you won’t need money, won’t need fame, don’t need no credit card to ride this train…

Pineapple Express MySpace Page

To get caught up with the band through their fan site, go to: http://www.hln.org/ – the forums are a great place to start. And, look for a newly unearthed classic, "Your Love Is Killin' Me", at the same link - it's a track recorded in 1995 as a demo - terrific quality and a perfect HLN tune. It's a free download - so what are you waiting for?

Parents Beware

2008-04-30T07:29:00.009-05:00

Before adopting our first child last year, I was warned by those more experienced with parenthood what I should expect – horrific diapers, midnight feedings, likely incarceration for neglect…but possibly the most far-reaching change has nothing to do with bodily functions (although my eyes have seen a couple of diapers that should have been submitted to the FBI’s X-Files division).

This insidious effect is akin to an involuntary loss of mind control, losing autonomy of thought and mental independence.

The syndrome, of which the scientific community cannot yet agree on a universal name, has a singular source and at this time we are powerless to stop it.

This infectious danger is known by many as simply DTES - Dora The Explorer Syndrome.

Its effects are both invasive and powerful. After as little as one viewing, the songs featured in the children’s program Dora The Explorer, one by one, will burrow their way into adult consciousness where they will grow, thrive, and multiply, essentially jumping to the forefront of active thought while overwhelming most other non-critical thought.

I was strong but naive– my resistance had been unchallenged for 40 years before initial exposure. It took several episodes before I noticed something was not quite right.

For me, it started with the minor songs. My daughter, Izzy, enjoys music greatly and insisted we rewind the TiVo and replay a few choice music segments by using one of her first words (“more, more”). Initially, it was the “Backpack Song” (a surprisingly catchy 15 second ditty with a toe-tapping bass line). My wife and I would laugh about how much Izzy loved hearing the tune, amused by the workings of a simple 15 month old mind.

The next morning, I awoke humming “backpack…backpack” under my breath and didn’t think much about it. DTES always starts innocently. But once the seed has been planted, it spreads like Paris Hilton in front of a video camera.

After initial infection, the next phase of DTES is Rationalization. I had talked myself into believing that the “Backpack Song” really was a well crafted tune and there was nothing wrong with enjoying it – anyway, it was far superior to its counterpart, the inane “Map Song”, which repeats the line “I’m The Map” about a dozen times as the bulk of the tune. Backpack is way cooler than that know-it-all Map.

A few days later, I couldn’t help but notice how much heart and soul the Map puts into his song and my mind’s adult defenses faltered just long enough to let the Map in. Now, I was walking around humming the praises of the one “who can get you there, I bet.”

After two minor songs lodge in your mind, there is no chance to resist the keystone production numbers. The festive show-ending dance song “We Did It” stormed past my defenses like a steam train through a house of cards. And, I have now fallen victim to the show’s intro song and succumbed to the mid-episode “Vamanos” anthem.

Experimental treatment is available. I’ve tried intense adult-music therapy by playing my iPod during the day, hoping something else will eclipse the Dora music in my head. I have chosen high doses of the latest vaccine, Van Morrison’s fantastic new disc, and while enjoying it immensely, in quiet moments, it’s not Van The Man but Dora The Explorer that I hear.

At this point the best I can do is attempt to limit the spread of DTES and hope it doesn’t leave my quarantined home. I have vowed to never let a Dora song make it to my car or iPod (although I’ll bet I could find something on the web to download…).

I don’t know what will come next. As Izzy leaves the Dora phase, will the music stay with me? I can only hope that science advances far and fast enough to provide an answer.

If any of you know of a cure, please post it in the comments.

Thanks for helping!

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For a break from Dora, visit ShopBidFinders for quality wooden toys for your tot by Boikido.

Service With A Smile

2008-04-21T16:30:00.004-05:00

Ever since man began trading and bartering to obtain needed goods, there has always been a minimal level of service that was expected during the transaction.

In the middle ages, it was assumed that a blow to the noggin with a mace would not conclude a trade for rice or grain. In the times of Columbus, it was commonly expected that one would not receive a rapier swipe to the ear at the completion of a transaction. In the early 20th century, a gunshot to the forehead would certainly have been a disappointing end to a deal for Prohibition era booze.

Now that society has made it this far with this loose set of ground rules, it was time for corporations to get involved. With all the gusto & planning found in a boiler plate Dilbert comic strip, Big Business has surveyed, studied, and analyzed us to determine what kind of service we expect from them.

They learned that the customer expects to deal with a knowledgeable, compassionate human being who understands our needs and sympathizes with our frustrations.

They also learned that the chances of finding a large team of people fitting this description and willing to work for $7/hour is about as easy as finding a website without commercial sponsorship. [This paragraph has been brought to you by BidFinders, a non-profit organization (although we hope to turn a profit some day).]

Since the average human being is not knowledgeable, compassionate, understanding, and sympathetic, they did the next best thing – just short of fitting a square peg into a round hole, they have taught their service staffs to follow a script with their customers. The idea makes sense if the customer service reps make a semi-human attempt to be sincere – sadly, most have the acting chops of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson.

For the sake of this blog, it would be handy to have an example at this point. Fortunately, I bought a defective dishwasher last week (!) and had to place a call to customer service at a big box appliance store. (I would reveal the name of the store but have no vendetta against them – besides, they did offer the best buy on this fine appliance.)

After the expected maze of incorrect transfers, I was eventually connected to the right department. My call was picked up and I could clearly hear someone laughing hysterically, as if watching an episode of Arrested Development, or more likely in this case, America’s Funniest Home Videos. There was a period of about five seconds in which it was clear to me that the rep who was tasked with answering my call was taking a moment to compose herself.

The woman finally regained control of herself long enough to ask me how she could help me, using all of her will power to get through the canned line without cracking up. I felt like a part of a Carol Burnett skit with Conway, Korman, and “Katie” trying to get through a scene.

My explanation that my dishwasher wasn’t working was met with silence – she was again trying to regain control of her involuntary laugh reflex. She was able to ask me how long I’ve had the problem, in an apparent attempt at small talk. I let her know it’s been a few days and mentioned it’s a bit inconvenient having to do the dishes by hand.

She read this as a disgruntled complaint, scrambled the F-16s, and went immediately to page 13 of the handbook: “I’m very sorry for your inconvenience, sir. I will do my best to help you today.”

This was said with all the sincerity of a Lindsey Lohan commitment to sobriety – if a robot could speak while trying to hold back a laugh, it would have sounded much like that.

She was skillful enough to drop these lines into our conversation two other times as we scheduled an appointment to have the dishwasher fixed. I was on the verge of calling her on her insincerity but figured it just wasn’t worth the hassle. Let her go back to the water cooler and regale her cube mates with the latest adventures of According To Jim before clocking out to buy lottery tickets.

The key to good service is hiring good people – without them, the customer service scripts could be written by Oprah Winfrey and Mother Theresa and I’d still feel like I took a rapier to the ear.

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Bright Idea

2008-04-07T13:59:00.005-05:00

So how many members of the Smack Of Ham household does it take to change a light bulb?

Upon first viewing the house we purchased in late 2005, I was impressed initially by the cathedral ceilings in the main living areas – it’s a nice touch that adds to the open feel of the home. Gazing up at the 18 foot ceilings in the kitchen, I briefly wondered how one would access the five recessed flood lights illuminating the area. After living here for over two years, we had one of the lights burn out this week.

A couple of months ago, I had one of these burn out and I attempted to change it using an extendable pole - it telescopes to a ridiculous length (that's what she said) and has a suction cup on the end, so I could stick the suction cup to the bulb, turn the pole to unscrew said bulb, and slowly bring the bulb down 18 feet.

The plan worked well until I actually had the bulb on the suction cup and was bringing it down - I had to angle the pole to be able to reach the bulb and when I got to about 45 degrees and maybe 8 feet from the floor, the suction cup could no longer hold the bulb and the halogen flood light smashed onto my counter, flinging shards of glass and halogen stuff all over my kitchen, exploding like the fat guy in the Monty Python flick after the ill advised final morsel.

Lesson learned. What I needed this time was help - someone to act as a catcher in case the same suction cup failure occurred again.

I talked the old lady into holding a pillow-lined laundry basket under the burned-out light to catch the bulb if it fell. (I refer to her as “the old lady” because I know she has as much interest in reading this blog as she does training for the Boston Marathon and it sounds cool in a 1950s kind of way.) Possibly overthinking it, I realized it may be easier if she was standing higher so she would be closer to the light and I'd have less distance to try to carry the bulb on the not-so-industrial-strength suction cup. So, I got her a step stool and had her hold the basket up under the light as I readied myself to suction it with the 12 foot pole. I nearly couldn’t make time to change the bulb as I was busy patting myself on the back for this ingenious plan.

It was time. I got the bulb stuck on the suction cup and started bringing it down toward the basket. Wifey couldn't see where the bulb was as she was standing on a stool with a laundry basket over her head, so it was up to me to bring the bulb down for a landing in the largish basket. As I slowly brought the bulb down, hands a bit unsteady as my confidence began to leave me like the air in Kirstie Alley’s bicycle tires, I thought "wow, I can't really tell if it's lined up over the basket from this angle...”

Simultaneously, the bulb, impatiently waiting to humiliate me, proceeded to drop from the suction cup, missing the basket by roughly 2 furlongs, and smashing on the tile floor.

My wife looked at me without a trace of surprise, shrugged her shoulders, said “well, that didn’t work”, and walked away, leaving me to clean the uncountable pieces of the bulb from the floor.

At least I’m getting good at that.

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The Bravest Peanut

2008-03-13T07:30:00.004-05:00

He’s an icon in the food world – an ambassador for salty goodness. His smiling mug has represented first class snacking since 1918.

He’s a dapper presence hiding a world of sadness.

As I reached over to grab another handful of low carbohydrate mixed nuts I took a moment to read the label of the three pound Planters tub. What I saw sent a sickening chill through my body and left a bad taste in my mouth that had nothing to do with the hazel nuts or the May 2006 expiration date.

Bragging boldly right on the front of the package, the label brazenly shouted to the consumer: “less than 50% peanuts!” This declaration appears just an inch away from the world’s most famous peanut.

In a society as politically correct as ours, it’s a shocking, devisive marketing approach. There was a time when the peanut was a cherished member of our snack food legacy. Before the Dorito, Bugle, and Cheez-It, the peanut was there for us at ballgames, in front of the TV, and in our PB & J sandwiches. It was a pioneer delivering fat and salt into American colons long before the advent of prepackaged preservative-filled junk food.

And now, the unique, delicious peanut is being publicly marginalized right under the proud nose of Mr. Peanut. George Washington Carver just rolled over in disgust.

As I look more closely at the iconic Mr. Peanut, I can’t help but see sadness in the eye not covered by the still-stylish monocle. I imagine he knows exactly what’s going on but his pride won’t allow him to stop representing his kind. I’m betting moments after the photo shoot, a tear streaked down his face reminiscent of the classic anti-littering commercial from the 1970’s.

It’s my bet that Mr. Peanut will continue to don his top hat, put on his white gloves, and hold his black cane at a 45 degree angle as long as the folks at Planters give him the chance to represent his fellow legumes. And represent them – he will.

Bravely. Proudly. And with just the right amount of salt.

Godspeed, Mr. Peanut. Godspeed.

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Shaving Day

2008-01-31T16:29:00.000-06:00

One of the great things about running an internet business from home, or what my wife refers to as “being unemployed”, is the lighter emphasis on personal appearance. Unlike the general workforce that has to meet expected dress criteria, the at-home worker doesn’t need to worry about whether his khaki’s are business enough or if her selection of shoes is too casual.

The biggest benefit for this writer is not having to shave daily. I hate shaving. It’s like the daily version of mowing the lawn without the winter break. It’s a losing battle – you shave – it comes back – you shave again. Chalk one up for the body’s DNA – it’s been producing hair on man’s face since time began and it doesn’t intend to stop, Norelco be damned.

Well, this morning was Shaving Day – I had let the stubble transition to beard about a week back and then just figured, screw it, let it grow.

There’s a point when attractive stubble crosses the line into “homeless chic” and I had blown past that designation over the weekend. Had I left the house today I most likely would have been fingered as Dan Haggerty or post-arrest Nick Nolte. The Unabomber would have turned himself in for treatment had he seen what I saw in the mirror this morning. Heck, if they did an open casting call for “The Ongoing Adventures of Chewbacca and Family”, I would have been a shoe-in for Uncle Kenny.

I guess I have subtly made the point that it was time to shave.

A job like this is well beyond the scope of my standard electric shaver, so armed with the finest plastic razors that 29 cents can buy, I set out to get the job done.

Anytime I undertake this mission, opportunities present themselves that I would never consider unless I had razor in hand and a face full of shaving cream.

After shaving off the growth below my eighties-style sideburns (influenced by childhood favorites Huey Lewis, Clint Eastwood, and The Blues Brothers – some men just don’t grow up), I briefly considered leaving much of the beard and going with the now-common goatee. The goatee portrays its wearer in a light that is rugged, tough, and hip – I couldn’t pull this off in any of the potentially infinite alternate realities. I spend my time listening to middle-of-the-road music and solving sudoku puzzles when I’m not hunched over my laptop. The goatee was soon hacked-off with the quickly dulling 29-cent blade.

The real temptation came after clearing the chin area – there I was, a full-blown mustache adorning the center of my mug. Something inside me wanted to see the glass as half-full – maybe I could pull this off. One quick look at my 15 month old, who was taking in this rare event like it was a Cubs World Series victory, set things straight instantly. She looked at mustachioed Daddy and laughed.

The mustache came off, the aftershave went on, and the above events are scheduled to repeat themselves in about two weeks, likely with the same results.

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Best Money Spent - 2007

2008-01-28T07:29:00.000-06:00

Now that we’ve started working on our 2007 taxes at the Smack Of Ham household, we’ve had a chance to review some of the purchases we made last year – some better than others.

Instead of revealing some of the more off-base buys (who wants to read about my obsession with collecting sculptures of Lindsey Lohan created using the common potato as a medium?), here are the highlights of the last year:

Best Money I Spent In 2007:

Best $3 Spent – Book of 200 Sudoku puzzles – I’ve pecked away at this book for 12 months and still have about 50 left to go. The cover is so worn it looks like it was printed in 1942 and carried in a soldier’s back pocket during the Invasion of Normandy.

Best $30 Spent – There was a simple Xbox 360 game called Earth Defense Force that utilized none of the potential of this advanced system. It basically dropped giant insects from the sky and you had to run around and shoot them, old-school style. Its simplicity of game play appealed to my gaming skills which haven’t evolved since the third wave of Space Invaders.

Best $300 Spent – Replacing the gawd-awful cable company DVR with a TiVo Brand DVR after a month of aggravation. The CEO of my cable company should be imprisoned or at least ashamed of himself for pushing his inferior product on the unsuspecting public.

Best $3,000 Spent – I felt obligated to have a $3,000 entry although we didn’t spend that amount on anything this year (I'm not including Lindsey Lohan potato products)– we saved this money for…

Best $30,000 Spent – On legal fees, travel expenses, and adoption costs to bring a cherished child into our home. Better than 10,000 Sudoku books!

I’m off to a good start for 2008. My best investment so far…

Donated $.25 to Send Me Pennies, an original website I discovered this weekend. The gist of the site is that when a million pennies are collected, the web site owner is going to buy something using the million pennies as payment – some 3 tons of coins. The transaction will be recorded and made available for our entertainment pleasure. It’s a fun, friendly site and will be worth it for the eventual payoff. Give ‘em a visit!

What are your best purchases of 2007?

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The Floor

2008-01-23T18:15:00.000-06:00

The floor. One of the basic instincts we have as humans is to rise from the floor. Starting around the age of one, we do everything we can to separate ourselves from the ground by at least the length of our legs.

We’ve invented chairs, so as not to have more than the soles of our feet touch the floor. Couches and sofas allow many of us to relax together while avoiding the floor. Even at night, when we want to recline, we do it in the comfort of our beds – at least a couple of feet off the floor. Women’s high heels? Floor avoidance at its most subtle. As for the platform shoes of 1970’s lore? Floor avoidance at its least subtle. And for those times when we can’t be safely raised from the floor by comfortable furniture, we have installed carpets in our offices and homes, to at least give us a little distance and peace of mind.

The floor is a place we generally don’t want to be. Chances are, if you are on the floor or ground, there is a problem – you’ve tripped over a stray shoe, slipped on some ice outside, or possibly fallen down a well, triggering a round-the-clock media vigil by Nancy Grace. If you’re older, a trip to the floor could lead to a broken hip or arm – as we age, the floor becomes something to consider more and more seriously, as any trip across the room could lead to a trip to the floor, which will lead to a trip to the hospital. And once in the hospital, you won’t be able to avoid that round-the-clock coverage of the well tragedy on your room TV, likely sending you to the floor as you lunge to change channels.

I pondered this as I lay on the floor of my living room, staring at the fan hanging down from the cathedral ceiling and laughing. While my 40 year old body generally resists anything to do with the floor (yet protests noticeably when I try to get up from it), there is one exception to the above observations.

Since we brought a little one into the house, I’ve found myself on the floor voluntarily for large parts of the day. We chase, wrestle, read, and play catch there. (I’ve learned there is nothing funnier than throwing a ball in the air and having it bounce off my head – my baby thinks its funny, too.) In the last few months I’ve actually worn out two pairs of jeans – the knees were not made for so much floor time.

It can be safely said that nothing can bring a man to his knees faster than his 15 month daughter – maybe that’s another of our natural instincts, too.

Shameless Plugs: For a website that requires absolutely no time on the floor, visit The DVR Spot to learn about TiVo brand DVRs. Or, if traditional board games are more your speed, go to The Monop Shop for everything about the game of Monopoly. (Floor time may be required while playing Monopoly.)

Senior Solution

2008-01-22T16:59:00.000-06:00

Having spent a good week driving in a retirement area in Florida recently, I reinforced a common rule known to everyone since the Model T first hit the streets:

Anytime you drive in an area far from home, everyone in that area drives like a moron.

As I tried to make it from point A to B without kissing chrome or bending fenders, I had to slow down for the drivers moving 15 miles per hour below the posted speed limits while dodging those moving 10 miles an hour above said limits. Gazing (OK, glaring) into the driver's window as I passed the tortoise and glancing (OK, glaring) into the driver's window as I was passed the hare, there was a common denominator that I couldn't help but notice.

Each driver was...ehm...more experienced than me.

By experienced, I mean...oh, hell, they were old. White hair, large glasses, vertically challenged, you name the stereotype & I saw it.

This is the point where the typical crank would call for drivers' licenses to be revoked for anyone over 65 to make the roads safe for the rest of us. This is where I differ from the typical crank.

Banning the elderly from driving would not be fair and would punish those who truly don't leave havok in their wake. Young or old, everyone needs to visit the drugstore, casino, or bingo parlor now and then. I'm a crank with a heart.

What I suggest is an approach that would allow our nation's senior citizens to go about their business but reduce the possibility of a horrific accident injuring others.

I want to limit the size of the vehicle driven by seniors based on age.

The presumption is that as we grow older, there is a greater chance of a driving mishap involving running into another vehicle or possibly a mall. By reducing the size of the vehicle as our seniors get older, we are limiting the possible damage they could cause.

For example, lets say Aunt Edna turns 65 this year. That bohemoth Cadillac she drives would have to go, traded down for a mid-sized ride, like maybe an Accord, which would give her more control and less metal to wrap around stationary objects. As she approaches 70, maybe she waves goodbye to the Accord and moves into a compact, like a Civic or Focus. Easier to handle and less destructive.

As Edna approaches 75 but still insists on driving, she would move into the smallest vehicle possible, maybe a Yugo would suffice. If Edna is still going strong around 80, she could be moved to a motorized scooter.

It's a win-win: Edna can still get around and, at this point, any traffic mishap would likely cause little more than a scrape in a car or a crack in the glass of a storefront.

In this election year, Florida was hopping with Presidential hopefuls, but I didn't hear this solution presented in any of the pep rallies. When you hear this idea bandied about as we approach November, probably by John Edwards, keep in mind that you heard it first with Smack Of Ham.

Blogging From The Middle Seat

2008-01-15T21:14:00.000-06:00

This weekend started with a trip to visit family in Florida. Having moved to the nether regions of the Northern Midwest last year, there is no such thing as a direct flight to Florida for me anymore – previous trips have resulted in stops, some unplanned and overnight, in Detroit, Minnesota, and Chicago.

Chicago was the big city destination for me this weekend and the flight to the Windy City was easy, not terribly full, and thankfully uneventful.

The ride out of Chicago is usually stuffed and this trip was no different. I had been assigned the dreaded middle seat in a row of three. False hope shined its beacon at me as the doors were about to close and the seat to my left was still empty. Just as I had finished moving my things and myself into the empty seat, creating a void that seemed as glorious as the Grand Canyon to me and my row mate, I spotted a gentleman boarding the plane and looking into the general direction of my row. Hoping against hope that he would find refuge in any other row but mine, I watched him closely, looking for any sign that I wouldn’t end up the proverbial middle of a traveler sandwich. To rip a line from the motion picture classic “Airplane”: No dice, Chicago. I would be moving back to the middle seat, trying to work on my computer with my arms angled in a way that would make a T-Rex feel sorry for me. (I hold no ill will toward the large man who displaced me from my window seat – partly because he had every right to that seat no matter how late he was and mostly because he is presently sitting next to me and could overpower me by expending less effort than it would take to discredit Britney Spears’ reputation.)

As my fear lingers that my fellow passenger to my left may sneak a peak at this drivel, it occurs to me that moments ago I was debating airplane computer etiquette.

The woman seated to my right extracted her computer about the same time I did. She powered up her Apple iMac as I turned on my Windows laptop and what transpired could have been a cheaply scripted Apple TV spot had someone been filming. Seemingly seconds after the Apple Lady fired up it appeared that she was ripping a DVD into her computer for future playback. While I waited for my computer to boot, she zipped into iTunes and set up a playlist – moments later it was to a picture viewer to review family shots from Christmas. I chuckled aloud as I sat there watching the hourglass on my screen, wondering how much the fat PC guy in the Apple commercials made for pretending to go through this stuff.

The etiquette debate that raged through my mind was caused by her iTunes screen. For reasons I don’t actually understand, I was really curious as to what she had in her library. As a general rule, I only show interest in my own business and even that’s got a spotty track record. But I felt compelled to sneak a glance at her library despite my best efforts not to. And when she got to the home pictures, I had no chance to resist looking. She may as well have been standing on her head and singing the entire Vanilla Ice catalog in French.

How awful is it that I wanted to see her digital media (no euphemism intended)? I assume airplane etiquette would forbid a glance at someone’s stuff, but how can it be avoided? I think the general assumption should be that when on a plane and forced to sit with T-Rex arms, literally touching two other people, your personal stuff will be out there for your fellow passengers to see. Work on a laptop at your own risk.

Oh, one more thing. To Mr. Big on my left: your choice of clothing today was striking. It’s been a pleasure sitting next to you. My only regret is we couldn’t extend the flight another few hours.

When not flying with T-Rex arms, visit The DVR Spot Store for a large TiVo DVR selection and information. Not your game? Try The Monop Shop for everthing Monopoly.

Come Back, TiVo

2008-01-09T16:50:00.000-06:00

My Dear TiVo:

I stand before you humbled, hat in hand, thankful to see your impish face in my home again.
It didn't mean a thing, I swear. It was just a short, meaningless fling with a cable company DVR that didn't amount to a skipped commercial. I was a 40 year old man in an experimental phase - call it a mid-season crisis.

I was trying to find myself and I lost you.

See, it really wasn't my fault. We switched from satellite to cable service - the temptation of all those HD channels was too much for a middle-aged man to resist. The cable company didn't offer your service and they told me their DVR was just as good – they even used your name. They said she recorded, paused, and fast forwarded, just like you. They said I could schedule all my favorite shows with her just like I did with you. They said she would get to know me as well as you did.

Maybe it was the lure of something new, something forbidden…maybe it was just a weak moment…but deep down I knew better.

It felt strange from the beginning. Holding her remote seemed so odd…its large square shape and right angles were so foreign in my hand…I kept thinking of the slender peanut-shaped curves of your remote…I thought of you every time I rewound, deleted, and powered down.

After spending some time with the younger model, I found she wouldn’t do the things you did, TiVo, or couldn’t do them nearly as well…she didn’t know the first thing about networking with other DVRs, was just learning about scheduling Season Passes, and wouldn’t Swivel Search if her power cord depended on it. I guess I’ve learned to appreciate experience over youth.

It’s over with her – for good. TiVo, I want you back to stay and will do whatever it take to prove it to you. I’ll keep your remote away from the baby. I’ll avoid scheduling shows I know I’ll never watch. And I’ll watch your suggestions without question. Whatever it takes to rebuild that trust that only a man and a TiVo can understand.

Exciting times lie ahead for us. “Lost” returns this month with “24” right around the corner. And baseball season, our favorite time of year, is coming faster than you think. Think of the beer commercials and pitching changes we can skip through – together.

Welcome back, TiVo.

For more on the TiVo phenomenon, visit DVR Spot .

Welcome One and All

2008-01-09T08:48:00.000-06:00

I've been posting for the last couple of years on Yahoo 360 and have discovered they are changing their approach to the blog site. For better or worse, who knows? It seems like time for something new, so I've migrated to www.SmackOfHam.com using Blogger as my template.

I'll try to bring some favorite posts over from Yahoo as time permits.

In the meantime, some quick answers:

What is Smack Of Ham? Smack Of Ham is a reference to the greatest episode of the greatest comedy in TV history, Arrested Development. See the Smack Of Ham homepage at the above link for detail.

What is this blog about? This blog is about 100 words long at this point...

What subjects will this blog cover? I'll write about media, electronics, and business, as well as family life and society in general. If I could broaden this statement any more, I would.

I'll have a real post up shortly - this introduction is a test to see if my IT skills are as bad as expected. Look for a new post shortly after I get this to work on my website, likely around the Presidential elections...

Thanks for Reading.