Happy Special Occasion Day!

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My sister is special.  Allow me to explain.


Last year, when she turned 30 Some Unspecified Age, she was all fired up.  She was so gung ho, in fact, that she rounded up about 10 of us for a birthday bash in Las Vegas.  Turning 31 Some Unspecified Age + 1, however, must be entirely different.  The laws of birthday physics apparently no longer apply when you reach the age of 31 Some Unspecified Age + 1.  As such, at dinner last night we were instructed that today (her actual birthday special occasion) was not to be referred to as her “birthday”, but instead as a “special occasion day”.  (In related news, in a recent scientific survey of a group of one guy named Jon, the majority strongly felt that from this day forward I should be called Captain Kickass.)


The bakery even made her an “Occasion Day” birthday special occasion cake:


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Anyway, Happy Birthday Special Occasion Day, Sis!

Baby REALLY does not respect protocol

Within a 5-minute span of time, Troy:



  • Unloaded in his diaper while feeding.

  • Spit up most of what he had eaten, all over Kelly.

  • Spit up more while on his changing mat, getting some in his hair.

  • Unloaded in his NEW diaper after I had just changed him.

  • Peed on me, the changing mat, himself, the blinds, and everything within a 30-foot radius while I attempted to change him again.  I had him covered this time, too.  He must’ve had that thing tucked down and away, Buffalo Bill style.  Sneaky little shit.

I had to call in reinforcements.  It must have been quite a sight for Kelly to behold: me, stripped down to my shorts, thoroughly disgusted with having been peed on (that hasn’t happened since my college days), while Troy was lying buck-naked in his own urine on the changing mat next to a dirty diaper.


I cried uncle.


Troy 2, Dad 0.

JOTD: Calling in sick

A boss wondered why one of his most valued employees had phoned in sick one day.


Having an urgent problem with one of the main computers, he dialled the employee’s home phone number and was greeted with a child’s whisper.


“Hello?”


“Is your daddy home?” he asked.


“Yes,” whispered the small voice.


“May I talk with him?”


The child whispered, “No.”


Surprised and wanting to talk with an adult, the boss asked, “Is your Mummy there?”


“Yes.”


“May I talk with her?”


Again the small voice whispered, “No.”


Hoping there was somebody with whom he could leave a message, the boss asked, “Is anybody else there?”


“Yes,” whispered the child, “a policeman.”


Wondering what a cop would be doing at his employee’s home, the boss asked, “May I speak with the policeman?”


“No, he’s busy”, whispered the child.


“Busy doing what?”


“Talking to Mummy and Daddy and the Fireman,” came the whispered answer.


Growing more worried as he heard what sounded like a helicopter through the earpiece on the phone, the boss asked, “What is that noise?”


“A hello-copper” answered the whispering voice.


“What is going on there?” demanded the boss, now truly apprehensive.


Again, whispering, the child answered, “The search team just landed the hello-copper.”


Alarmed, concerned and a little frustrated the boss asked, “What are they searching for?”


Still whispering, the young voice replied with a muffled giggle:


“ME.”


[Via The Code Project]

Mike’s memorial, and parting thoughts

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It was a privilege to have known Mike Aiello.  After attending his Celebration of Life yesterday, I was reminded of how many people’s lives he had touched, including my own.


If you didn’t know Mike, he was a pretty crazy guy.  He was big-time into motocross.  If you look at his MySpace page, you’ll see all kinds of pictures of him getting huge air on his bike.  He was also a fantastic snow skier, throwing himself down the mountain with reckless abandon.  He was fearless.


In stark contrast, you have me.  I’m a fairly risk-averse individual.  I purposely avoid things like motorcycle races and double-black diamond moguls because they scare the shit out of me.  Fluffy bunnies give me nightmares.


Mike and I weren’t particularly close, but we lived in the Lambda Chi house during the 2001-2002 school year.  It was in this context that, on a random drunken night, he and I were outside talking about life.  I proceeded to tell him what a crazy asshole he was, and how it was beyond me that he was willing to risk his life on a consistent basis.  In a word, his response was, “Yep”.


Long story short, he and I spoke at length about taking risks.  In his house growing up, his dad told him that without risk, there is no reward.  In my house, if you put pepper on your baked potato, you were given the evil eye, and you lived the next week under constant fear that you would be reported to Senator McCarthy for surreptitiously spreading Communist propaganda.


That conversation is forever burned into my mind.  I’ll never be a crazy guy like Mike, but I now make a constant effort to try new and unfamiliar things.  30 years from now, I don’t want to look back on a life full of regret because I was too afraid to try something outside of my comfort zone.  I will have lived a more complete and fulfilling life, and I have Mike to thank for it.


Rest in peace, Mike.  You left us far too soon, but you made the most of your short time here.  Not many people can say that.

Troy’s birth announcement in the Daily Democrat

Nothing new here, just recording it for posterity.  I slightly modified the text for accuracy.



Troy Steven Sagara was born to Jon and Kelly (Scott) Sagara of Sacramento on March 14, 2007.  At the time of his birth, Troy weighed 8 pounds, 6 ounces and was 20 inches long.  Troy was welcomed by his grandparents, Kathy Scott of Woodland, Lee Scott of West Sacramento, Steve and Denise Sagara of Esparto and great-grandparents, Doris Harville of Upper Lake, Shirley Scott of Healdsburg, Boyce and Agnes White of Meridian, ID, and Kimi Sagara of Woodland.