Since around October, Calfgrit8 has been wanting to get a Bakugan. At one point he had saved up some money so he could buy one himself — they’re around $4.00 — but every store we checked was sold out. We kept an eye out for them all through November and into December, but none of the stores we visited had any.

In about 6 weeks, we searched at least 6 different stores, visiting each at least twice. We shop at Target usually about twice a week anyway, so each time we’d always check the toy section to see if they had gotten in any Bakugan. We could find the empty shelves and hooks where they were supposed to be, but we never found the toy.

Cowgrit and I searched for these things on the Internet. We could find pictures of the little balls, but all online stock was empty, too. We could only find them in stock on sites like ebay, for $10-15.00 each.

Eventually, Santa got a few a about a week before his big world trip — three for Calfgrit8, one for Calfgrit4. Thank goodness for Christmas magic.

Then, less than a week after Christmas, we spotted this in our local Target (none of these pictures overlap):

This pictures are all from one store. That big red wagon full of boxes: all those boxes are full of Bakugan packs. I estimated probably 500 bakugans on the aisles, not counting how many might be in that red wagon.

What the Hell!?

Bullgrit

My first computer was a Commodore 64, received as a Christmas present from my parents in ’84 or ’85. Sometime in ’87, I had my first modem connected to it. At that time I also had a new friend who was very into computers — even more technical with them than I was.

This friend introduced me to the concept of hooking into computer systems not intended for public access. Ironically, and fortunately, this friend was not malicious. He was just fascinated by the process. To my knowledge, he never knowingly did any harm to the computer systems he hacked into — he just wanted to see if he could get in, and then see what all was there.

Personally, my first solo hack (really just an “invasion”) was getting into the local telephone company’s computer system. From my bedroom, with my C64 and a 12″ black-and-white TV, I could get into a “big company” computer system and see all their data on all their telephone numbers.

By today’s standards, and even by the standards of real hackers in the ’80s, I was no more than a peeping Tom, a voyeur. I could see all the telephone numbers in our town, and I could see the status of those numbers. The data was just a bunch lines of information scrolling down the TV screen, but I figured out what all the numbers and codes meant.

I remember the feeling of having snuck in somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be, and it was thrilling. But that’s the only real invasion I ever did, even though my friend gave me his list of computer systems in our town.

He had programmed his computer to, overnight, dial up every phone number in our town and log every number that had a computer system answer. He then printed out the list and gave me a copy. It had a couple dozen numbers which he would later personally investigate to find out exactly what the system was.

I flashed that list around to some of my other friends at the time, saying, “Ain’t this cool?” It was very cool to me, but pursuing them turned out pretty boring. Since I wasn’t interested in screwing up some company’s computer system (intentionally or accidentally), and fooling around even a little made me nervous I’d get caught, I didn’t really catch the hacking bug.

So my hacking days were few in number. My modem became just a hunk of plastic attached to my computer for a few months until my friend introduced me to BBSs (bulletin board systems) — that’s where the fun with a modem was to be found. I could actually dial in and do something besides just look at data. I could play games with other players from all over . . . my town, and I could access porn pictures, for free!

After trying to download the first free picture over a 1200 baud line, well, I gave up that idea. But the daily-turn based games hooked me forever on online computer games. We’ve come a long way, baby.

Bullgrit

I bumped into an old (previous job & company) coworker friend while wandering through Target the other day. “Hey, Bullgrit!” he said as he put out his hand.

“Hey. . .” I said as I gladly shook his hand. I avoided calling him, “Buddy” or “Dude.”

I hadn’t really forgotten his name – it’s Bob or Bill – no, really, it’s not what you think. See, he’s one of a pair of twins who both worked at the old company with me. One’s name is Bob, the other’s is Bill. I saw one only occasionally around the offices, but the other – the one I met again at Target – I actually worked closely with for over a year. I don’t know the former much at all, but the latter I got to know, and I like him.

But I can’t remember which was Bob and which was Bill. I mean, they’re identical twins with very similar names. I’m naturally bad with remembering names anyway, but when you give me two people who look nearly alike, whom I know from the same place, and they have such close names, come on! Tack on that it’s been at least three years since I saw either of them, and I consider it a success that I remember “Bob or Bill.”

[I’ll give their parents a pass on the names. They probably named the boys Robert and William, very different, without the nicknames coming to mind at the time.]

Bob-or-Bill and I chatted for several minutes in the computer game section of the store. (His son was looking for Halo 3, and I was looking at Portal.) I liked catching up a bit with Bob-or-Bill, but I was distracted with trying to remember his name.

I asked how his brother was doing, and if he was still at the old company. It was a sincere question, but I also hoped Bob-or-Bill would say his brother’s name. No luck on that.

So through our whole conversation, as we pushed our carts through the electronics department and toys aisles, he’d occasionally say my name, but I couldn’t say his name. After a couple minutes, I came to think I had his name pegged at Bob, but I didn’t want to say it and be mistaken. Which is more embarrassing: never saying your friend’s name during a conversation, or saying the wrong name? (Is it the same rule as for when having sex?)

I was so distracted by my conundrum that I failed to get his email address, or give him mine. We both have a web presence — although his is more of a business/store presence –- so we should have exchanged this info. But I was stuck on the Bob-or-Bill confusion.

I’m going to start carrying a pack of name tags and a big, black marker around with me. Whenever I bump into an old chum, I’ll pull out the tags and pen. I’ll write my name on one tag, and stick it to my chest. I’ll hand the other person a tag and the pen. This will help keep the distraction of wondering who they are out of my head so we can have a better and less stressful conversation. Thank you for your cooperation.

Bullgrit

Sunday, Jan. 4 was our oldest boy’s birthday — he’s now 8 years old. We had his party on Saturday afternoon at the bowling alley, again (totally his choice). It’s funny, the only times we ever go to the bowling ally is for his or his friends’ birthday parties.

We had 11 kids in total (including our two Calves), so we had them split up on two adjacent lanes. Overall, the whole thing was a hit. When we were cleaning up, CG8 said, “This was the best birthday party I’ve ever had.” That kind of thing just warms a parent’s heart. Especially when the whole thing wasn’t expensive or difficult to arrange.

As fun as the party was for Calfgrit8 and his friends — all 7-8 year old kids — the most fun for me to watch was Calfgrit4 being a part of all the big kid activities. He’s 4 years old, going on 8, and he keeps up pretty well.

He used both hands to pick up a bowling ball weighing about 20% of his own body weight, staggered up to the line, put the ball down, and gave it a big push on the floor. (All of this was with my or Cowgrit’s supervision and instruction.)

It took the ball over 20 seconds to roll all the way down to the pins, where it had about a 50/50 chance of knocking down a pin or two, or dropping in the gutter right before the pins (the side bumpers were up for all the kids). I video taped a few of his bowls, and each one took between 20 and 25 seconds from his hands to the pins.

He was excited to just knock down one pin. Once, he knocked down seven, and he showed no more excitement for that than for just one. I think he was more excited to see the ball shoot up to the return from under the lanes.

God, to experience that kind of excitement for simple things again, that would be a wonderful thing.

Bullgrit