Rafael Ferber

For some reason, every time I try to fill in a form on the web, the name Rafael Ferber appears as an "auto complete" option in my web browser. I don't recall ever searching for Mr. Ferber, and I'm afraid to do so now. What kind of business is he in? Is it reputable? The frustrating thing is that I cannot figure out how to remove Raffy from the list of auto complete options. So he keeps dropping down. In fact, he's the only one dropping down, so when his name appeared as an automatic option for the subject of this entry, I decided to give him his due.

Tomorrow after church, I'm going to the wedding of Amanda Cunagin (soon-to-be Hamilton) and Andrew Hamilton (still-to-be Hamilton). They are both artsy people, and my expectations are high for an artsy wedding. I understand the rationale for short weddings, but it seems a little cheap when they're only 15-20 minutes long. I mean, you might as well hit up the justice of the peace. I also think weddings could be billed as potlucks: last name A-H bring salad, I-N bring side dish, O-T, brings drinks, U-Z bring deserts, main dish provided.

I am feeling pretty manly lately. While at my parent's house in Michigan for Christmas, my dad and I built a coffee table for our (my wife's and mine) apartment in Irvine. We built it from some planks he had made from a walnut tree that fell down near his church. We did use power tools, but contra Tim Allen that did not create my feeling of manliness. I trace the source of my machismo to using old hand tools that were passed down from my grandfather to my father. There is nothing like the feel of using a sharp hand planer. For an Impressionist rendition of my feeling, see Caillebotte's painting of floor scrapers.