We’re currently on 25 consecutive Elmo chicken dances tonight, with no end in sight. My son’s entertainment level seems to be inversely proportional to my lack of pleasure with the clucking toy.

However, I posted this so we might compare Elmo’s chicken dance with Ivan’s from a couple of posts ago. I think Elmo could take some lessons from Ivan…

I made some bacon-wrapped weenies for Easter. It’s the simplest recipe of all time:

1. buy a package of bacon and a package of Lil’ Smokies
2. cut bacon strips into thirds and wrap each weenie
3. cover the top with brown sugar
4. back at 350 for 34-44 minutes, depending on how brown you want them
5. serve with blood thinners

Here’s the before and after…

I went to see Adam Hancock’s band that is not the Bottom Dwellers, called Family, last night at the Palms Playhouse in Winters, California. It was a CD release party in which the CD was released elsewhere, as none were available at the show. It was a source of some banter at the Palms, where about 100 people came to see Adam’s band and not purchase one.

Towards the end of the evening, Adam invited all his musician buddies up to sing-along to Waylon Jenning’s Good Hearted Woman. They did, and what transpired can only be described by this audience member as dance murder.

Honestly, I think that Ivan, the bearded, chicken-trotting one, from the Bottom Dwellers, should be stripped of his guitar more often so we can see how he moves. It’s entertaining, in a sort-of what the hell kind of way.

I would have apologized for the video quality had my camera’s battery not run out, forcing me to use my phone. Apologizing for this would suggest that I thought it might be better.

I built the Twitter clone, rolled it out recently to the beta test group, watched the incompatibilities roll in (screw you Webkit, I thought you were different), and generally observed the reactions of users.

Most of the testers have never Twittered, and the testing invariably turned into more of an instant messaging system rather than quick monologues. One tester, a prime instigator for the development of the system, reminded the other testers that the tool is not meant for conversation.

A system that allows you to communicate instantly with everyone, but is not made for conversation. Blogs have been doing this to a certain extent for years, but the comments on the page always lend more to conversation than not.

Twitter, and my project, are not about talking with one another, they’re about talking at one another, a thousand voices sharing their detail-light messages at the same time. I don’t have any particular problem with this, only a sense of fascination with how rapidly our notions of communication are changing. But even then, my interest is about as deep as a normal tweet, and I feel like I care very little for what everyone and no one are saying.

I should have Twittered this.

I’ve made more progress on the book, and I finally sent out bits and pieces of it to family and others who have asked for it. Even though I knew this step would add legitimacy to the project, I was surprised just how much more pressure I feel knowing that people are reading it.

If you want to be on the reading list, feel free to send me a note. I’m not shy about sharing, but this is a first draft, so you may elect to hold off until it’s more polished.

I had about three or four weeks of minimal work on it, mostly due to my in ability to decide which place would be better to work: Michael’s, Best Buy or In-N-Out. Before you dismiss Michael’s, keep in mind I have a four-year-old son, and access to every hobbycraft available would be fantastic. Even though I love gadgets, shopping in Best Buy is always a misery, so I can’t imagine working there would be any better. As for In-N-Out, I feel like I’m already there enough.

I don’t need to work at any of these places. I have a decent job scrubbing monitors at a pollen lab. I just like to imagine which place I would most like to work if the need arose. Hopefully, it never does. I’ve done time in retail, back when I was finishing up college. Any joy that comes from the camaraderie is swiftly kicked in its happy groin by monotony and idiotic patrons.

My favorite story from my days as a book jockey at the Borders in Sacramento is of the customer who came in looking for a biography of an obscure composer from the 18th century.

“I don’t know that title. Allow me a moment to look that up on the computer,” came the response from the clerk (who just so happens to be my wife–she worked in the music section while I shelved books. Occasionally we’d meet in the middle, by the greeting cards).

He sighed heavily and responded, “I guess just because you work in a bookstore, one shouldn’t assume you read.”