To kick things off, Teresa and I rented the the eldest child of both of her sisters for a week at the end of June. This was done as something of an experiment, I suppose, and I'd be remiss if I didn't thank both sets of parents for letting Teresa and I do some psychological testing on their offspring. Thankfully, we didn't break either of them...and, after a week of running like mad and being semi-parental, I can triumphantly announce that Teresa and I also lived through the experience. Perhaps most challengingly, the Week of the Children culminated in a trip to Marine World Africa-USA, after which I was sunburned, Teresa was exhausted, the girls were enlightened, and a stuffed, noisemaking frog moved from Vallejo to Alameda. A good time was had by all.

Making the trip to the aquatic park was reminiscent of an experience I had over and over in my childhood. While my trips into commercialized nature took place in San Pedro rather than Vallejo (and Marineland rather than Marine World), the experience of going and seeing diving dolphins and dancing sea lions brought me back to the first real occupation I ever focused my sights on: I wanted, very badly, to be a marine biologist.

Hearing of the death of Jacques Cousteau saddened me greatly. I've been a member of the Cousteau Society off and on throughout my life. Before Steven Hawking and Stephen Jay Gould brought science to the masses, Cousteau and Carl Sagan (another loss I'm still mourning) brought a softer science, perhaps better called "nature," to legions of folks. In the countless number of obituaries written over the past few weeks, the phrase "captured the imagination" has been used almost universally. And, I have to admit, I am one of those people whose imaginations were captured by the man's work. For all of you who proudly wear the "kill your television," t-shirts, I'll point at what Jacques Cousteau brought to the boob tube and remind you that I'm hardly the only one whose interest in the undersea world was piqued as a result of my transfixion on the most unholy of modern inventions when Cousteau held the airwaves. If you share an interest here with me, I'll point you at the Cousteau Society pages (in English and French), and obituaries carried in the San Francisco Chronicle and by CNN. While I've since moved away from studying marine mammals and have, instead, focused my interests and skills on people, I have a permanent intellectul debt that I owe the man. He's one of the giant shoulders I've chosen to plant the feet of my personal development on.

Returning to Alameda, aside from a stray visitor here and there, we're also mid-process in welcoming friends of Teresa's from high school, Teri and Arthur, to our happy bedroom community. Arthur's company, the extremely innovative (or so I'm told, I know nothing about their side of the industry) NewTek, is sending some of their workforce out West (to the building directly across from CfMC's current location on Howard, to be specific), along with relocating their corporate headquarters to the greater San Antonio area. After some lobbying on our part, we've convinced them to share a city of residence with us. Whether that's an indication of how fond we are of Alameda or a sign of how desperate we are for neighbors is a question I'm wholly unwilling to comment on. And, before I go any further, congratulations are in order for being able to (thus far) pull it all off just a few months after having their first child.

When I was first getting acquainted with the city of Alameda, one of the things I did most fervently was read the local free paper, the Alameda Journal. I suppose it's an advisable thing to do, getting to understand one's new environment via the thoughts of some of its most intelligent natives. The one part of that paper that I read with the greatest level of interest was the part to which Jack Fink's name was attached. Sadly, writing this, I'm also noting the passing of another man, one far lower in profile than Jacques Cousteau, but one who helped shape the image of the town in which I now live and was, for the couple of years I read the Journal regularly, a twice-weekly friendly voice that was always welcome in my life.

Shifting once again between the celebration of life as it unfolds and life as it is remembered, I'd like to offer further hearty congratulations to more people who won't, in all likelihood, see them. When the Abode of Snook and Barnhart was but a matchbox, one of the few people who was brave enough to visit us regularly was Lori Drake. I'm indebted to her: back when I was a substitute teacher with no health insurance, I came down with a case of strep throat I probably shouldn't have self-diagnosed. While I writhed in agony, Lori brought the remainder of an old (but not too old) Penicillin prescription, which I gulped down over the next couple of days, bringing me back to some semblance of health. Her visits became more and more infrequent over time, but with good reason -- she'd taken a new beau, David Buchanan, who, by all accounts, is a hell of a guy. All I can say about him is that he's generous with a piece of dark chocolate. In any event, they married on the Summer Solstice, and I'd never forgive myself if I didn't wish them the best in the most public forum I have access to.

On the work front, the big, exciting news is that I've been able to parley a problem with the 486 motherboard in my machine into an AMD 133 with 32 Meg of RAM (an extra 16 over what I had and what most of my co-workers are currently struggling with). I'm still at 16 colors on a monitor from the 40's, so things don't look any better, but at least I'm getting my ugly at full speed.

In addition, I've done a little more improving of CfMC's Service Bureau pages. They look a lot like my personal pages at this point, which probably isn't any kind of recommendation, but they're better than everything else on the corporate site, the nifty Denver site excluded. If you're in the business, they may be worth a look. Otherwise, I wouldn't bother unless I'm purely a cure for boredom.

I suppose that's far more personal and detailed news than damn near anyone wants to read, but, hell, I'm a social animal. In any event, I also have updated a few things around the site, as you'll notice in tooling around. Again, I've tried to clean things up...I was using a horrific background in for the News, which I think I've got cleared up at this point. Links have been beefed up and fixed here and there. Generally, I'm hoping the visual experience has improved over the last month. I want things to be aesthetically appealing, so if I'm eating up too much bandwidth or you're having a hard time reading something or anything along those lines, please let me know.

The big addition you'll see here is that I've added a Music section to the site. No, I still haven't finished up my piece on Post-Progressive music, but The Progressive Chicken is now doing double-duty on my page and there are a few album reviews. I've got several more lined up to go soon, but, at the moment, they're not quite ready for prime time, as it were.

And, while I'm digressing, I wanted to point more elaborately at Glenn McDonald's The War Against Silence. Since recommending him on my links page, I've gone back and read the entirety of what he's made available on the site. Without mincing words any, I'll now say he's the best. I like a lot of other critics, particularly the ones you'll see at the musician magazines, but I'm consistently blown away by Glenn McDonald. I'll laugh aloud once or twice a review, at minimum (no small compliment) and I really feel he gets at the essence of things far better than anyone I've ever seen who's managed to amass the chutzpah it takes to write about music. I've put my own efforts up in attempts to remedy the imbalance that currently exists in music criticism, generally, and rock criticism, specifically. But Glenn McDonald really makes the rest of us look like rank amateurs. I can't hype what he's got going enough. I've raved about Chasing Amy here before, and, as an example of what I'm speaking of, I'll point you at his review of The Slingbacks' All Pop, No Star, where he discusses the movie himself.

The Humor section has a couple of new additions worth mentioning. For those of you with a collegiate background, 50 Fun Things for Professors to Do on the First Day of Class should tickle your fancy (as it did mine). And, for the Geekier (or more stoned) among us, there's a little rundown on the nature of addiction.

This one has gone on quite enough. I don't want all of you squinting at the more meaningful things I've done on this page because of all of my ramblings here. Enjoy the additions and, as always, let me know if you have any comments, questions, or death threats.