t 'n t luoma

Tracey went to get more filters for the fish tank.

Here’s the box:

Did ya look really close at the box?

This takes “super size me” to a whole new level... BAM! You’re now large!

Posted by TjL at 10:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I get a lot of crazy emails, mostly either messages offering to enlarge things or make them happier or offer me a RRolex or informing me of major winnings in foreign lotteries (M'LABAM'ATOWO! I’m still waiting to hear back from you!!!).

But I think this one beats them all. And it’s real. From MLB.com:

After the 2004 Red Sox championship season, the entire field was replaced and the infield was preserved. Under the watchful eye of MLB authenticators, portions of the field were removed, transported and transplanted on a turf farm in Rhode Island.

At this point I double checked to make sure I hadn’t stumbled onto the set of Saturday Night Live...

Exactly what college major do you take to become an Official Major League Baseball Sod Authenticator? Because my high-school guidance counselor didn’t even tell me that was an option!!! I’m going to write her a nastygram.

A limited amount of Fenway Championship Sod is now available to become a part of Red Sox fans' lawns and gardens.

Oh you’re kidding me.... I mean, I can see where this is going... at least I think I can.... are they actually going to....

Your piece of Red Sox history: The sod will be cut into 18" x 9" rectangles and can be purchased for $150 (plus 5% sales tax).

...oh dear Lord they’re selling dirt and grass for $157.50... You must must must be kidding... please?

Fans will be invited to pick up their sod at 9 a.m. on September 24, 2005 at Fenway Park Gate C. Parking will be available in the Brookline Avenue parking lot across from the Red Sox ticket office.

And by “fans” we mean all of you people with a combination of two much: A) time and B) money.

Sorry, orders cannot be shipped.

Hell no! We want to meet you in person so The Marketing Department can tag you with a special tracking device!

’ (Buy Now)

If you’re ready to order, please remember that September 24th is almost my ½ birthday, but you’ll have to pick it up and drive it to Ohio for me... but you don’t mind, you’ve obviously got time and money to burn... on second thought, why don’t you have your jet fly you out to us? We don’t want the $157.50 sod drying out... who knows, the poor thing probably gets car-sick.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m a big fan... I ordered this the day it came out... but you’ve got to draw the line somewhere... and preferably before you start digging out the MasterCard while you wonder if the spouse will notice $157.50 on the next bill...

My favorite piece of this story has to be this image of several people standing behind home plate where the words “World Series 2004” have been painted into the grass. I wonder how many people will, at least subconsciously, be thinking to themselves, “Ooh, I wonder if I’ll get a piece with some of the lettering on it!!!” ... you know, like how you used to hope that maybe you’d get the corner piece of birthday cake even if it wasn’t your birthday cake? You knew it was rude to ask, but you still wanted it. Maybe you even offered to hand out the cake so that when that piece came around you could pretend to walk off with it to give it to someone else when really you just snuck away and ate it yourself? No? Just me? I see... you’re probably one of those “Oh, the frosting is too sweet!” people.... For the love of G*d, of course it’s sweet, it’s whipped sugar!!! What were you expecting, low-fat vanilla yogurt bites?

Oh, and for the 3 of you who winced internally (or externally, for you full-blown grumps) when I wrote ”snuck” instead of “sneaked” — really, get over yourself. It’s a web site, not the New Yorker.

Posted by TjL at 05:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

SoftPerfect Network Scanner - 2.5 describes itself as a "free multithreaded IP/SNMP/NetBIOS scanner."

What that means is that it will look on your local network for computers, tell you their names (NetBIOS), their MAC address, their IP, and what (if anything) they are sharing (folders, printers, etc).

Free, Windows only.

Anyone know of a similar Mac program? I use WakeOnLAN to get some of this (name, IP, MAC) but it doesn't tell met about shared folders/printers.

Posted by TjL at 02:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I went into the kitchen Saturday and Tracey had two pieces of white bread stacked like a sandwich.

Except there was nothing in the sandwich.

“OK, so she just took out the bread to make a sandwich” I thought.

Then she cut it down the center.

“Hrm... well, usually you make the sandwich first and then cut it, but ...”

Then she cut it two more times in parallel, rotated the plate, and prepared to make more cuts.

“What?” she asked, noticing me there with a look on my face like a dog that just heard a whistle but can’t figure out where it came from.

I looked at the plate.

“I’m making some ‘church bread’ for Ethan... he likes it...”

"Ok," I said, having learned that there are a large number of things that go on in and around the house about which I know almost nothing, and most of the time it’s really just a waste of everyone’s time for me to try and gather explanations for everything.

I can only presume that ‘church bread’ it was Ethan calls the cubes of bread we use for communion. I prefer “Holy Cubes” but whatever... he can learn the proper names when he’s older.

A few minutes later I was back downstairs. Tracey called to me from the top of the stairs. When I appeared, she flung a baggie full of ‘church bread’ at me: “Give this to Ethan.”

Her aim was a little off, so the baggie hit the wall and landed about 4 steps up the stairway.

“Hey, that’s the body of Christ there... a little respect,” I said in that snarky way that she has no doubt become accustomed to ignoring.

“Whatever... I’m going to empty the dishwasher,” she said, already disappearing from sight.

“You know, you’ve worked really hard, why don’t you let me do that and you come down and sit with Ethan,” a better husband would have said, instead of “OK”

Ethan ate all the church bread. No grape juice, however.

He did have some water that he kept handing to me after he had taken a drink.

I do hope he wasn’t expecting that he was going to hand me water and have me miraculously transform it into something else. Like I need that sort of pressure.

Just another day at Chez Luoma.

(Note: please understand that at no time was the actual body of Christ abused, maligned, mistreated, or blasphemed. This was merely a baggie full of white bread.)

Posted by TjL at 06:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

(My cousin Bill Houghton was killed in a car accident early morning, Saturday, August 13th. The following are remarks I shared on August 17th during his funeral service. A little over two years ago I wrote something called Nana By Numbers. Bill always loved his grandmother, and his family came up with the numbers and the memories which were the foundation of “Bill By Numbers” which follows. — TjL)

My name is Tim Luoma, I’m Bill’s cousin.

A little over two years ago I stood at a service like this one to speak for our grandmother. Nana had 91 years, and there was almost too much that could be said about her life. Bill had only 16 years, and it seems there are no words. No words to explain or describe or relieve the suffering of a life lost too soon.

Perhaps the best we can do is offer our presence, to his father and mother, to Rob and Betty-Anne, and to his brother, Joe. I wish you could be up here to take in the sea of faces that surround you, to capture and to carry this moment, when in the midst of tragedy.

Sometimes when words fail us, we have to look for another way to express ourselves. Some of Bill’s family came up with some numbers to describe Bill and his life:

For example: 1 would be the number of times Bill skipped school to go to the Buc’s Super Bowl Victory Parade whereas 500 would be the number of times Bill watched the movie The Patriot. And there are more:

165: the number of pounds Bill could bench-press
57: the number of treats Bill fed the dog every day
50: the number of ruts Bill made in the yard made with the golf cart
30: the number of kids in the Pebble Creek Posse, a circle of close friends
10: the number of times a day Bill reached down inside the leg of his pants looking for his cell phone
6: the number of pages for text messages on Bill’s cell phone bill
5: the number of trips his parents made with him through the years to the emergency room
4: the number of times Bill changed his outfit every day
3: the number of trees in the yard, Bill liked to climb
2: the number of loved ones who have gotten a tattoo to honor Billiam’s life

But numbers only get us so far. Who could count the number of AutoWeek magazines he had read, or the number of times he was told to pull up his shorts? Who knows how many times he rescued his mother from snakes around the house? Who knows how many golf balls he sold back to the golfers on the course near their house? Who knows how many times he tore up the back porch, only for his parents to repaint it and have him tear it up again?

Who could count the friends he has, or the lives he touched? Who knows how many of those friends will drive just a bit slower, just a bit more carefully, knowing the an accident can happen to any one of us? Who knows how many stories will be shared in the days and weeks to come, how many memories will turn sadness into comfort as we remember the gift that Bill is, and will always be, to those who had the privilege to know him, to love him, and to be loved by him?

Someone asked how many days Bill had lived. I went back and counted them up: 5,851. 16 years and a few months. Not long enough, not nearly long enough.

We’ve heard some wonderful readings of Scripture, the first place I would turn for comfort and encouragement and strength in a time like this. But another set of words kept coming back to me. They are the words of the song “Seasons of Love” from the musical Rent:

Five hundred twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes
How do you measure — measure a year?
In daylights — In sunsets
In midnights — In cups of coffee
In inches — In miles
In laughter, in strife
In five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure a year in the life?
How about… love?
How about love?
How about love?
Measure in love
Seasons of love

However we measure Bill’s life, we’ll come up with one undeniable fact: it was far too short. But even though it wasn’t a long enough life, it was a full life. It was a life filled with love. Even though Bill didn’t get enough seasons, the seasons he saw were seasons of love.

Two years ago we gathered together to share stories about Nana.
Tonight we’ll gather together to share stories about Bill.

Meanwhile, as we grieve our loss, we know that Bill has been welcomed into heaven by so many relatives who have gone before him, and if I could add one picture to all the pictures that we’ve seen and shared these past few days, it would be the picture I envision of what’s happening in heaven tonight: Bill sitting with his grandmother, asking her to share some of her stories that he always loved to hear.

Finally, I wanted to share an exchange that Bill had with his mother many times. Betty-Ann would say: “I love you from here to the moon” and Bill would reply “I love you from here to eternity.” Not to be outdone, Betty-Anne would tell him “I love you from here to eternity and beyond and back” and Bill would laugh and tell her “There’s no such thing!”

But on this night I’m sure if Bill could speak to us, he’d tell us that he knows there is an eternity and beyond and back, because his love reaches out from there to us, just as our love reaches out from here to there.

Peace be with you.

AMEN.

Posted by TjL at 11:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Yesterday was a banner day... not only did we pick up Tracey from the airport (thus ending an 8-day Mommy draught that Ethan had endured), but we also stopped by Toys-R-Us and Ethan picked out a new bed.

Yes he picked one out for himself. "Yay yay yay! This is so exciting" he kept saying. I told Tracey, "Yeah, he's excited, but he has no idea what we expect him to do with it [i.e. sleep by himself through the night]"

We called our local Wal-Mart and they did not have the bed, so we'd have to take it home with us from Huntington. Only problem? Dad had come with me to pick Tracey up from the airport, and the bed took up most of the space in the back, so Tracey ended up wedged between the door and the box.

We disassembled the crib and pulled out the 4 pieces to the Race Car Bed: front, back, left, right.

How hard could this be?

Well, there was a peg on the back designed to fit into a hole on the side. Problem? Yup. The hole was flush left and the peg was centered.

"Bring me my Exacto Knife!" I called to Tracey, who did so. She also picked up the phone and dialed 9-1- and waited for me to start bleeding all over the floor. To the surprise of just about everyone, I managed to increase the size of the hole without bodily injury to anyone. Tracey hung up the phone.

As soon as the bed was together Ethan immediately commenced jumping up and down on it "Wheee wheee wheee!"

However, about an hour later (approaching bedtime), he started "I don't wanna sleep in my bed."

He did, however, sleep there for most of the night, looking most-cute.

Our camera is being sent off for repairs - the shutter-release button is stuck in the "Down" position.... anyone else think it might just be exhausted? Fortunately we purchased the extended warranty when we bought the camera last March (you do remember the story of what happened to our old camera right?)

Camera or no, I promise you that you haven't seen anything cuter than Ethan sound asleep on a Race Car Bed under his Baby Snoopy comforter.

Posted by TjL at 10:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)