New Father Brogging, #012

This is a portable apnea monitor.  As my daughter was premature, we were not given a choice on that she was required to have one in order to be discharged from the NICU.  Understandable initially, as she, like many premature babies had shown the tendency to have episodes of bradycardia (low heart rate), and it was nice to have a safety net at home to know if something were going wrong at any point.

How it worked was that our baby had two nodes strapped to her chest, that fed into an eight-foot cord, which was hooked into the monitor itself, which gave real time pulsing green lights indicative of her heart rate.  At any point if the baby registered more than 20 seconds of a slow heart rate, elevated heart rate, or shallow breathing, a piercing beep would emit from the monitor, along with the illumination of a red light next to whatever icon indicated the event.

The beep was soul-piercing to hear, and the red light was looking at the eye of Sauron.

At first, we’d experience events a few times a day, as we learned as parents on how to be parents and how to hold our child, feed our child and generally handle our kid in the optimum manner to avoid putting her in situations where she’d be at higher risk of triggers.  But as babies tend to do, she began growing rapidly, as mythical wife and I started to gain experience with handling her, and eventually the number of events began reducing to nearly nothing.

As time passed, the necessity of carrying around a box the size and weight of a school textbook and the long, tangly cable that ran with it began to grow increasingly frustrating, especially to me, as we as new parents, wished to expose our child to more of the world, and not just keep her in bassinets or the Mamaroo, but it began to feel like a literal ball and chain.  The number of events were next to nothing, and I was eager to find out when we could be without it.

During a visit to the pediatrician, we were told that two months no events, and then we’re good to go. 

Two months??  I was pretty livid.

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New Father Brogging, #011

Throughout this week, mythical wife and I have introduced a baby monitor, so that we can put her down at a scheduled time, and still be able to keep eyes and ears on her from elsewhere in the house, while we try to reclaim a little bit of time for ourselves.  At first, it felt almost alien, having some free time back, and initially I used them only to do chores and tasks that tend to fall to the backburner on most days, but then when I’d finish those, I realized that it wasn’t yet 11 pm, and I actually had some free time back on my hands.  It was kind of nice.

Today, my daughter let out the most high-pitched shrieks I’ve ever heard come from her.  Worse off, we heard them first through the baby monitor, so they occurred with neither parent in sight.  I tore up the stairs and into the bedroom to get to my child as fast as possible, and hearing them in person was the most soul-piercing sounds I’d heard in my entire life.  I picked her up out of the bassinet and held her to my chest immediately.  Moments later I was in the most tears I’d been in since her birth, because no parent should want to hear such horrific sounds emanating from their baby.

Fortunately, everything seemed to be fine; maybe she was having a bad dream, or maybe it was the fear of awakening without the use of her arms, since we have her sleep swaddled.  Maybe a combination of both, or maybe she was overheated, since the bedroom tends to warm up throughout the day.  But either way, because nobody can speak baby, we’ll never truly know to why she was in such a frenzied panic, but all I do know is that it was one of the most frightening experiences for me in recent memory, and I’m still admittedly a little shaken up by it, regardless of if everything is fine.

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Oversaturation shouldn’t result in shortchanging everything

More often than I’d like to admit, I run into the scenario where I sit down with the intent to watch television, but then burn 30 minutes solely looking for something to watch, before deciding that what I do want to watch will exceed the time of day in which I want to be getting ready for bed.

Primarily, I use a Piss4 or XBONE to watch television, and between two consoles, I typically am skimming through Netflix, Amazon Prime Video, WWE Network, HBO Go, ESPN, TLC Go, or whatever network app the sports game I want to watch is airing on.  And then there’s PLEX where I’m connected to two different servers chock full of content that may or may not overlap with the shit available on all other mentioned media options.

The wife and I haven’t even plunked down for Disney+ yet.  That’s another trillion hours of content available if and when we do.

Needless to say, it’s easy to burn all my time searching for something to watch instead of actually watching something, because when the day is over, and I know that I’m far from the only person who feels this way, but there’s just too much god damn content out there, and not enough god damn hours in any day to watch all of it and actually stay on top of things.

Whether shows are being churned out, or acquired from overseas and distributed in America, it seems like every single time I turn on the television, there’s always a whole bunch of new shit that’s available to watch, and all I can really do is [add to list] everything and then continue browsing titles and watching previews in hopes of finding things that are so compelling, they’re capable of breaking the browsing cycle and be watched immediately.

But most of the time, things are just [added to lists] and then never get watched, not without a tremendous amount of effort and determination.

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The week of new shit

I didn’t want to hijack my swan song for my former Kia, but I don’t think I could’ve made it more obvious that I got a new car earlier this week.  A 2019 Mazda CX-5 is what my ride will be  hopefully for the next decade or so, and I’m really hoping that me having this car from the very start will exorcise and wash away the demons of the rotten chicken lemon I had years ago that also happened to be a Mazda. 

I’m confident in my capabilities as a car owner to take good care of this car, and considering it was purchased fully knowing that it will also be a kid taxi throughout the vast majority of its life, I am hoping to be as satisfied and sad when I unload it in hopefully a decade, as I was with my previous Kia.

During the car search, it really turned out to be a two-horse race between the Mazda CX-5 and the Hyundai Tucson.  Both cars fell into the specific criteria that I was looking for, but in the end, it turned into a game of price as well as perception.  And as good of a car that I think the Tucson would’ve made, the CX-5 just felt a little more high-end and aesthetically refined, and when the day was over, Hyundai had already rolled out their 2020 vehicles, whereas Mazda was still selling 2019s, so in this instance, the Korean car was actually a little more expensive than the Japanese maker.

Either way, I am excited to have a new car again, and it’s always a fun time whenever I hop into my vehicle that still has the new car smell, and ease my way on the roads, getting used to the feel and size of a larger vehicle, and the thoughts of all the future potential it’ll be used for in the years to come.

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Energy Star done lost their mind

When I briefly lived in an apartment, there was once a day in which it was abundantly clear that the air conditioning went out.  When it was obvious that no cool air was coming out of the vents, I called up the main office to see if I could get someone from maintenance over to come fix it.  However, it was a Sunday, and the office hours were drastically reduced, and I was unable to actually get with a human being on the phone, and I thought that I was going to be boned until Monday.

I tried to stick it out, but didn’t last more than 30 minutes before I began looking through drawers for the information packet that was given to us when moving in, to see if there were any alternative numbers to call, or if I could get to maintenance directly or something.  I found an emergency number and figured it wouldn’t hurt to call and get a human being on the line to see if they could point me in the right direction.

When I got a person to pick up, I explained my situation, and they asked me to tell them what the thermostat read.  “83,” I told them, and they responded with “I’ll be right over.  82F is what we consider to be an emergency.”

In less than an hour, a maintenance guy showed up, turned out a freon recharge was all that was needed, and then the entire apartment began cooling down pretty quickly afterward.

The point of this little story is that I just read this article about what Energy Star recommended people keep their thermostats at, in order to save energy:

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Those who do not use the Chick Fil-A app are subclass

I don’t know how much clearer I can be than that headline. 

People who do not utilize the Chick Fil-A app are a class of people that are secondary or subordinate to those who do.  Fact.  Mic drop.  Walk off stage.

No matter what CFA does in the media, its political or religious stance or whatnot, it somehow manages to rise above all other non-food related topics, because simply, their food puts them on a class higher than that of every other fast food chain in the country.  Frankly, I challenge all people to find a CFA that doesn’t have a license to print money or really be able to recall at any point where a CFA closes down due to poor business and not renovation because their demand warrants it.

Go at the wrong time of day, and you will undoubtedly get stuck in some sort of line, be it inside the restaurant, or getting into a drive-thru line that literally wraps twice around the building.  In spite of the insane demand for CFA on a daily basis, I do give a lot of credit to the company for often times being proactive and always thinking on how to speed things up and keep customers happier, regardless of the fact that they really don’t have to, because people will go there for their food, regardless of if the perky teenagers that work the restaurants say “my pleasure” or not.

But just about every CFA in Atlanta has gone down at various points due to the need to renovate, or to add a second drive-thru lane, because they can all justify the needs for them.  They’ll stick employees outside with tablets and card readers in order to help expedite the service.  They’ll stash them in little pop-up tends before the pick-up windows in order to receive cash or give receipts just 20 seconds quicker than it would be at any other restaurant’s drive-thrus.

Most importantly though, they have pretty much the best app in the fast food industry, that’s easy to use, easy to register, and extremely efficient when it comes to saving time and effort.  Punch in your order and send it on, and then there’s zero need to spend time in line deciding on what to order, or to even pay for it, regardless of how many options the physical lines give you in order to save time.  The app saves even more time, and even more effort, and it basically makes it a no-brainer when it comes to deciding on which fast food joint to hit up.

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Shop talk

It doesn’t happen, by design, that I talk about my job.  Frankly, most of the time it’s nothing particularly interesting, and probably not really any different from anyone else who works a fairly normal corporate job anywhere in the world.  But lately, my work has been a little bit more encompassing in my daily life than I’d really like it to, and I feel like I’m in a not-that-great position currently, and I feel like everyone I’d vent to is kind of tired of hearing the same old stories about my job, but I still have a lot of thoughts and words that I’d like to get out of my system, that writing about it, seems like the only viable option in order to accomplish that.

Imagine . . .

  • You’re an auto mechanic. You fix cars and motorized vehicles for a living.  You use tools and work with your hands in order to fix said vehicles, day in and day out.  One day, a chef walks into your shop, and gives you a bunch of forks, spoons and spatulas and tells you, these are your tools now.  Please fix my car.
  • You’re a chef. You cook food for a living that feeds all sorts of people.  You use an arsenal of knives, spoons and various utensils in order to prepare all the food that you cook.  One day, a graphic designer walks into your kitchen, plops and laptop and a mouse on your counter and tells you, these are your tools now.  Please make me lunch.
  • You’re a graphic designer. You make shit on computers, using a variety of artsy software, specifically made to make shit.  Sometimes the shit you make ends up on the internet on websites and sometimes it is manifested into something tangible.  One day, an IT guy walks onto your floor and installs this shittily-made, outsourced, glorified data entry program and tells you, this is your primary software now.  Please resume creating advertisements at a high volume and high quality.  Except there’s no please, because this IT guy is a fucking asshole

That’s my life at work, in a nutshell.

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