Deb and Miriam are in Germany. Which means that the house is ruled by men. Undainty men. Men who like to eat and to watch sports on TV. Men who feel no compulsion to get fully dressed when walking around the house. In other words, men in their natural state.
Adam, John and I reached a pact after Deb and Miriam left for Deutschland. I was the initiator of the agreement, but they heartily went along with it. Rule No. 1: No smoke in the house; rule No. 2: No food left sitting out. Rule No. 3: The house returns to its usual status on or before June 17, when Deb and Miriam return. So far, so good. Actually, John cleaned up his room since the female's departure, and, Adam cleaned out the back of the car he drives. I am not sure what this means, but I'll take it.
We are subsisting on cereal, milk, cut-up fruit, meat (in various forms, including prepackaged hard salami, hamburgers, spaghetti) and gatorade. I ate some leftover broccoli that Deb had prepared before her departure, but I'm not seeing many more vegetables on the horizon....although the boys each ate lettuce on their burgers at yesterday's agreed-upon once-per-week guys' outing at a restaurant.
Conversation at the restaurant included: how long can you go before somebody notices you haven't been shaving (I can go the longest, what with my nearly invisible facial hair); what incidents in your ancestors' lives were crucial in guaranteeing that you actually were conceived (other than the actual event, of course); the nature of fate; the insurgence of motivational/inspirational songs in the hip-hop music world, despite the continued presence of mysogenistic crap; the overall decline in offense in major-league baseball this season; strategies and tactics in getting a summer job; the redeeming qualities of certain cable TV shows, including "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" and "Breaking Bad"; debate over the best view in St. Louis....
and all this, while working on 3 bottomless mugs of root beer....
talk concerning females was noticeably limited, but I think this is because I'm their dad, and they didn't want to hear my views and didn't want to share theirs with me....and I was pretty much of the same mind....x chromosomers (that is, females) can have those conversations, because I think they focus primarily on the relationship stuff, but we y chromosomers are thinking other things, and it just ain't a good conversation to have with your dad....
A certain amount of watching sports on TV has been a touchstone for we guys: NBA playoffs, soccer, baseball, SportsCenter. These guys know more about this stuff than I do, except when it comes to baseball trivia. For instance, here's what I thought about yesterday while swimming my 70 laps: How long has it been since each major-league team last won a World Series? And the scary thing is, I know this stuff! Too many days as a youth, lying on my bed looking at sports books. Well, at least I can read. I also read Huckleberry Finn on my own, as a kid, before high school, just because I was interested. But that's about as far as I got with the classics, unless you consider "The Stan Musial Story" a classic.
That is life in Maplewood (St. Louis) without my girls, Deb and Miriam, to mold me into the cultured being that I am in their presence.
I am,
Michael, in natural state
Monday, May 31, 2010
Friday, April 2, 2010
April Fooled!
I did a number of April Fool's jokes on family members as well as people in the community. My family knows this is one of my favorite holidays of the year, and that I obsess about tricking people on April 1.
So, they nailed me good this year.
My younger brother, Paul, who lives in St. Joe, in northwest Missouri, had told me that he and his wife and kids were going to Chicago this weekend to visit my parents and my older brother and his family. Paul and I were plotting on the phone yesterday on how to pull an April Fool's joke on my parents. We were going to tell my parents that Paul's car had broken down, they had forgotten their cell phones, and that they had remembered my phone number and called me to ask me to call my parents and let them know that Paul and his family would be a day late. So, I unwittingly went along with this. Paul and I also spent a while on the phone, regaling each other with tricks we had already pulled on people that day. Paul asked whether my family had gotten me yet. No, I said, but I suspected that they might be up to something.
Then, late last night while on my way home from chorus rehearsal, I called Deb, who suggested that she order some delivery pizza to celebrate the end of our big April Fool's Day. I agreed. A few minutes after I got home, the doorbell rings, and a kid who looks like he's about 13 is standing at the door holding three boxes of Imo's Pizza. Youngest pizza delivery guy I'd ever seen, thought I. And then my brother and his wife come walking up the steps to the house.
I'd been scammed! My brother Paul was NOT on his way to Chicago. The kid at the door was my 11-year-old nephew, and my brother and his family had actually come to St. Louis to surprise ME on April Fool's Day.
My wife and kids laughed and laughed at my expense, because they had been in on this secret for several days. And every time I had been talking about getting them or somebody else with an April Fool's trick, they knew I was in the process of getting totally tricked.
All I can say is that I'm an amateur dealing with pros.
Whew.
So, they nailed me good this year.
My younger brother, Paul, who lives in St. Joe, in northwest Missouri, had told me that he and his wife and kids were going to Chicago this weekend to visit my parents and my older brother and his family. Paul and I were plotting on the phone yesterday on how to pull an April Fool's joke on my parents. We were going to tell my parents that Paul's car had broken down, they had forgotten their cell phones, and that they had remembered my phone number and called me to ask me to call my parents and let them know that Paul and his family would be a day late. So, I unwittingly went along with this. Paul and I also spent a while on the phone, regaling each other with tricks we had already pulled on people that day. Paul asked whether my family had gotten me yet. No, I said, but I suspected that they might be up to something.
Then, late last night while on my way home from chorus rehearsal, I called Deb, who suggested that she order some delivery pizza to celebrate the end of our big April Fool's Day. I agreed. A few minutes after I got home, the doorbell rings, and a kid who looks like he's about 13 is standing at the door holding three boxes of Imo's Pizza. Youngest pizza delivery guy I'd ever seen, thought I. And then my brother and his wife come walking up the steps to the house.
I'd been scammed! My brother Paul was NOT on his way to Chicago. The kid at the door was my 11-year-old nephew, and my brother and his family had actually come to St. Louis to surprise ME on April Fool's Day.
My wife and kids laughed and laughed at my expense, because they had been in on this secret for several days. And every time I had been talking about getting them or somebody else with an April Fool's trick, they knew I was in the process of getting totally tricked.
All I can say is that I'm an amateur dealing with pros.
Whew.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Wake-up call
Just about every Saturday morning I work an extra shift on my job. The pay is pretty good, but the work is even more of a weekend eye-opener.
During the week, the intake calls I take on my job as a call-center phone counselor are primarily of the less-intensive level, although there are occasionally some crisis calls. But mostly it's issues with marriage problems, parenting problems, problems at work, people with addictions, depression, anxiety, stress. Sometimes somebody is having suicidal thoughts or there is some domestic violence. But the majority of calls are fairly routine.
But on the weekend I help take calls for the after-hours room, where all sorts of problems come in, including a lot of calls from hospitals that are asking for authorization for treatment for people who are in life-threatening situations, or employers are calling for assistance when an employee has died. That sort of thing. And I do this for 4 hours on a Saturday, and I realize there are people who do this 5 days a week, or who work in emergency rooms and see this stuff all the time. So I don't feel like I'm any sort of unique person for being exposed to this.
But it's a weekly wakeup call for me. It is a reminder of how fortunate/blessed I am that for the vast majority of my life, I am not facing any of these traumatic issues on a personal basis. That life is manageable.
Now the theologian in me is rearing his head and saying, "Hold on. You're going to die some day. Manage that, will you?" And that theologian is right. Death is a problem. But Jesus Christ is managing that one for me. I'm OK.
During the week, the intake calls I take on my job as a call-center phone counselor are primarily of the less-intensive level, although there are occasionally some crisis calls. But mostly it's issues with marriage problems, parenting problems, problems at work, people with addictions, depression, anxiety, stress. Sometimes somebody is having suicidal thoughts or there is some domestic violence. But the majority of calls are fairly routine.
But on the weekend I help take calls for the after-hours room, where all sorts of problems come in, including a lot of calls from hospitals that are asking for authorization for treatment for people who are in life-threatening situations, or employers are calling for assistance when an employee has died. That sort of thing. And I do this for 4 hours on a Saturday, and I realize there are people who do this 5 days a week, or who work in emergency rooms and see this stuff all the time. So I don't feel like I'm any sort of unique person for being exposed to this.
But it's a weekly wakeup call for me. It is a reminder of how fortunate/blessed I am that for the vast majority of my life, I am not facing any of these traumatic issues on a personal basis. That life is manageable.
Now the theologian in me is rearing his head and saying, "Hold on. You're going to die some day. Manage that, will you?" And that theologian is right. Death is a problem. But Jesus Christ is managing that one for me. I'm OK.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Legacy of love
My post from yesterday got me thinking -- again -- about what sort of legacy I might leave. At 52, I think of this more and more.
Part of me wishes I could say that I invented something like the lightbulb, or discovered a cure for cancer, or wrote a great book or song, or even led a community in some great cause. And I suppose I have done some things along the way that I can feel good about. But I think of what the apostle Paul wrote to the Corinthians, in his great discourse on love: "If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. 3If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames,b]" style="font-size: 0.75em; line-height: 0.5em; ">[b] but have not love, I gain nothing."
Yo, it appears the best legacy is love.
And so, as I am thinking, that of the limitless possibilities ahead of me, the ones that truly count are the limitless ways in which I can show love to those around me.
And that does not require -- nor exclude -- the writing of a book, the leadership of a cause, the attainment of some great goal.
A legacy of love can be found in the daily acts of service and listening to those around me -- or in the great projects to which I still might aspire.
It's Sunday, folks. These are weekend thoughts, preparation for the week ahead.
And now, it's time to make some popcorn and watch the Academy Awards show! Gimme some love, baby...gimme some love!
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Music's power to mobilize thought and emotion
OK. Time to muse.
Is it not amazing the power that music has on emotion?
My younger brother, Paul, recently gave me a "best of Chicago" 2-CD compilation. Listening to the songs, it brought back some great memories, and, not surprisingly, it spurred me on to buying some old Chicago albums which I'd listened to on vinyl, but which probably weren't even mine (I think most of them belonged to my older brother, Marcus.)
Anyway, these re-issue albums are really inexpensive (got three of them, including shipping and handling for under $25), and now I've got 5 Chicago albums, including "Chicago Transit Authority" (also known as Chicago I), "Chicago" (aka Chicago II), "Chicago V", "Chicago VI" and "The Very Best of Chicago".
So, the compilation album is nice, but it doesn't necessarily transport me back to my teens.
But I just got those first 3 albums in the mail on Thursday, and I immediately began playing them, and it was like the speech that James Earl Jones makes in "Field of Dreams": "The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces."
I mean, all of a sudden, I could place myself immediately in the situations that I first heard those songs, and the emotions came back, too. Typically, a sort of adolescent yearning. Like for a girl. Or sometimes a bittersweet feeling, as the image of an old friend, not seen in years, is right in my face.
And maybe a feeling of lost innocence as well. Although I know darn well I wasn't innocent as a teenager. Maybe it's the feeling of the loss of having so much of my life ahead of me. Back then, the life ahead of me seemed limitless in term of the possibilities. And when I listen to this music, I suppose I can either feel the loss of possibility, or, maybe, I can think that there are still possibilities for me that I haven't been considering.
But it's definitely later. I don't know whether I'm closer to the end of my life than the beginning, although at 52, probably closer to the end. Somewhere near the middle, I hope.
Can the music of our youth inspire us to see the future with possibilities we had not considered? Or will it lead to mere maudlin reminiscing? I think I shall choose the former.
Is it not amazing the power that music has on emotion?
My younger brother, Paul, recently gave me a "best of Chicago" 2-CD compilation. Listening to the songs, it brought back some great memories, and, not surprisingly, it spurred me on to buying some old Chicago albums which I'd listened to on vinyl, but which probably weren't even mine (I think most of them belonged to my older brother, Marcus.)
Anyway, these re-issue albums are really inexpensive (got three of them, including shipping and handling for under $25), and now I've got 5 Chicago albums, including "Chicago Transit Authority" (also known as Chicago I), "Chicago" (aka Chicago II), "Chicago V", "Chicago VI" and "The Very Best of Chicago".
So, the compilation album is nice, but it doesn't necessarily transport me back to my teens.
But I just got those first 3 albums in the mail on Thursday, and I immediately began playing them, and it was like the speech that James Earl Jones makes in "Field of Dreams": "The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces."
I mean, all of a sudden, I could place myself immediately in the situations that I first heard those songs, and the emotions came back, too. Typically, a sort of adolescent yearning. Like for a girl. Or sometimes a bittersweet feeling, as the image of an old friend, not seen in years, is right in my face.
And maybe a feeling of lost innocence as well. Although I know darn well I wasn't innocent as a teenager. Maybe it's the feeling of the loss of having so much of my life ahead of me. Back then, the life ahead of me seemed limitless in term of the possibilities. And when I listen to this music, I suppose I can either feel the loss of possibility, or, maybe, I can think that there are still possibilities for me that I haven't been considering.
But it's definitely later. I don't know whether I'm closer to the end of my life than the beginning, although at 52, probably closer to the end. Somewhere near the middle, I hope.
Can the music of our youth inspire us to see the future with possibilities we had not considered? Or will it lead to mere maudlin reminiscing? I think I shall choose the former.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
February Fanaticism
You've heard of March Madness.
I have February Fanaticism.
March Madness, of course, refers to the NCAA Division I basketball tournament. But the craziness starts in February for me.
I really dig on high school basketball. GOOD high school basketball.
The district tournaments are in the last week of February, and for the past few years some of the schools with which we are most closely connected have gone far in the post-season, including 4 state championships and a 2nd place.
But I go just for the action. I'll usually try to find a buddy to go with me. Sometimes it's a guy from work, sometimes it has been one of my kids. Sometimes I go solo.
I usually try to sit near the scorers' table, and close enough to the bench of the team for which I'm rooting that I can hear the coach's fits and rants and time-out speeches to his team.
Tonight I was at a game where the coach got so upset at a player for doing a hot-dog move that he literally pulled another kid off the bench by the collar of his jersey and walked him over to the scorer's table to replace the hot dog.
It's like watching a boxing match without people getting injured...much.
These are teenagers running and jumping at what will probably be the peak speed and quickness of their lives, playing in games that they will talk about to their grandchildren.
The passion shows in everything they do on the court, whether it's taking a charge, sliding on the floor for a loose ball like they're ducking under shrapnel, or running two rows deep into the bleachers after getting fouled on a layup. It is very juicy theater.
I typically try to get involved just enough to feel like I had some small impact on the game. Typically it involves yelling at the referee, although tonight I was sitting close enough to the court that I even got to grab the basketball after it bounced out of bounds.
I don't try to offer specific advice to players. You know, nothing like, "Go man to man!" My player encouragement is typically, "Play smart." "Be cool." Stuff that I would tell teenagers in just about any situation, including going on a date.
Not that any of the players ever hear me.
Although daughter Miriam, who got to suit up for last night's varsity victory in the district semifinals, told me she heard one thing that I yelled at the refs.
There's a fine art to yelling at the refs. 1) It should always be instructive, 2) a little irony goes a long way, 3) inject the yell during a lull in the crowd noise.
This is guaranteed to make me look like an idiot/louse/jerk, but it adds to my enjoyment of the game.
I've been to three games so far this week.
One more tomorrow, and one more on Friday.
Pray for me. I am a fanatic.
....
....
"Play smart!!!"
I have February Fanaticism.
March Madness, of course, refers to the NCAA Division I basketball tournament. But the craziness starts in February for me.
I really dig on high school basketball. GOOD high school basketball.
The district tournaments are in the last week of February, and for the past few years some of the schools with which we are most closely connected have gone far in the post-season, including 4 state championships and a 2nd place.
But I go just for the action. I'll usually try to find a buddy to go with me. Sometimes it's a guy from work, sometimes it has been one of my kids. Sometimes I go solo.
I usually try to sit near the scorers' table, and close enough to the bench of the team for which I'm rooting that I can hear the coach's fits and rants and time-out speeches to his team.
Tonight I was at a game where the coach got so upset at a player for doing a hot-dog move that he literally pulled another kid off the bench by the collar of his jersey and walked him over to the scorer's table to replace the hot dog.
It's like watching a boxing match without people getting injured...much.
These are teenagers running and jumping at what will probably be the peak speed and quickness of their lives, playing in games that they will talk about to their grandchildren.
The passion shows in everything they do on the court, whether it's taking a charge, sliding on the floor for a loose ball like they're ducking under shrapnel, or running two rows deep into the bleachers after getting fouled on a layup. It is very juicy theater.
I typically try to get involved just enough to feel like I had some small impact on the game. Typically it involves yelling at the referee, although tonight I was sitting close enough to the court that I even got to grab the basketball after it bounced out of bounds.
I don't try to offer specific advice to players. You know, nothing like, "Go man to man!" My player encouragement is typically, "Play smart." "Be cool." Stuff that I would tell teenagers in just about any situation, including going on a date.
Not that any of the players ever hear me.
Although daughter Miriam, who got to suit up for last night's varsity victory in the district semifinals, told me she heard one thing that I yelled at the refs.
There's a fine art to yelling at the refs. 1) It should always be instructive, 2) a little irony goes a long way, 3) inject the yell during a lull in the crowd noise.
This is guaranteed to make me look like an idiot/louse/jerk, but it adds to my enjoyment of the game.
I've been to three games so far this week.
One more tomorrow, and one more on Friday.
Pray for me. I am a fanatic.
....
....
"Play smart!!!"
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Good Service
There's something to be said for good service.
We had a huge crack in the plumbing stack from our kitchen sink to the basement floor. The crack was right at the spot where the pipe meets the floor. Food and other junk from our dishwasher had been pouring out of the pipe and onto the basement floor. It was stinking, it was ugly.
Called the plumber yesterday, left the door unlocked for him today (while I'm on the phone, working, on the second floor), and he took a look, gave 3 scenarios, priced the scenarios, and said he could send another guy over in an hour or so to take care of it.
An hour later, the other guy shows up, big smile on his face, well-groomed. Looks at the problem, says, "I can take care of this." Less than an hour later, he's done. Gives me a big smile, a handshake -- it was scenario 1, the least expensive scenario -- and he's out of there. I say to him, "Well, it's not raining or snowing, but it's a little cold." And, says he, with a smile, "And it's not even that cold."
A smile, a positive thought, a handshake. In. Out. Done.
That, my friends, is good service.
Now, if I could get that same guy to fix my work phone and find that runaway defendant....
...
...
We had a huge crack in the plumbing stack from our kitchen sink to the basement floor. The crack was right at the spot where the pipe meets the floor. Food and other junk from our dishwasher had been pouring out of the pipe and onto the basement floor. It was stinking, it was ugly.
Called the plumber yesterday, left the door unlocked for him today (while I'm on the phone, working, on the second floor), and he took a look, gave 3 scenarios, priced the scenarios, and said he could send another guy over in an hour or so to take care of it.
An hour later, the other guy shows up, big smile on his face, well-groomed. Looks at the problem, says, "I can take care of this." Less than an hour later, he's done. Gives me a big smile, a handshake -- it was scenario 1, the least expensive scenario -- and he's out of there. I say to him, "Well, it's not raining or snowing, but it's a little cold." And, says he, with a smile, "And it's not even that cold."
A smile, a positive thought, a handshake. In. Out. Done.
That, my friends, is good service.
Now, if I could get that same guy to fix my work phone and find that runaway defendant....
...
...
Obstacle Day
I had been feeling a little "off" today, and I think part of it was because over the last couple days I'd run into a few nagging problems, none of them earth-shattering -- 1) plumbing problems in the basement, 2) problems with my cordless phone for work, 3) a small-claims court case in which we are the plaintiffs, but we can't find the defendant.
Deb was talking last week about how a key to life is not to live a life without problems, but living a life in which we overcome obstacles. Or something like that.
So, today is an obstacle day.
Ahoy!
Deb was talking last week about how a key to life is not to live a life without problems, but living a life in which we overcome obstacles. Or something like that.
So, today is an obstacle day.
Ahoy!
Blue Skies
Blue skies today. That's a start. Still dealing with temperatures 10 degrees below normal, but blue skies is a start.
Friday, February 19, 2010
My daughter the athlete
My daughter has now done something that nobody in her immediate family or extended family of grandparents, aunts, uncles, or cousins has ever done -- she has played in a high school varsity basketball game.
It's like being the first person in a family to attend college.
The rest of us have all been mere wanna-bes in the world of basketball. And Miriam, all 5 feet, 6 inches and 132 pounds of her, is now a be.
She's a sophomore at Webster Groves High School, and last year she was the point guard all season on the freshman team and got promoted to playing a few minutes with the junior varsity team at the end of the season.
This year, she has been one of the starting guards on the junior varsity team, and the last few games she has been dressing out with the varsity. But no playing time with the varsity until tonight. Her team was trouncing the opposition, Parkway Central, by about 25 points with less than 2 minutes to play. The Webster Groves coach called a time out, and in went Miriam and a few of her fellow junior varsity starters, huge smiles on their faces, each playing in a varsity game for the first time.
Miriam took little time making sure she got into the box score, fouling an opponent while going for a rebound. She also made an inbounds pass, brought the ball up court, passed the ball to teammates, and took a shot that bounced off the rim, just as the final buzzer sounded.
No big deal, right?
Well, it was a big deal for her former sportswriter dad (me), who never played a minute of any varsity sports in his life, and for her brainiac mom, who has attended hundreds, perhaps over a thousand sporting events, but never played anything more organized than grade school hoops and some very competitive Scrabble with family and friends.
This might all mean nothing much more than that a girl with the DNA of two semi-klutzes has worked her butt off because she loves to compete in sports.
Or it could mean that we are merely proud for her and for ourselves.
Or it could mean that Miriam is participating in the beauty of athletics, and therefore adding to the joy of all who watch. Especially her parents.
Go, Miriam, go.
It's like being the first person in a family to attend college.
The rest of us have all been mere wanna-bes in the world of basketball. And Miriam, all 5 feet, 6 inches and 132 pounds of her, is now a be.
She's a sophomore at Webster Groves High School, and last year she was the point guard all season on the freshman team and got promoted to playing a few minutes with the junior varsity team at the end of the season.
This year, she has been one of the starting guards on the junior varsity team, and the last few games she has been dressing out with the varsity. But no playing time with the varsity until tonight. Her team was trouncing the opposition, Parkway Central, by about 25 points with less than 2 minutes to play. The Webster Groves coach called a time out, and in went Miriam and a few of her fellow junior varsity starters, huge smiles on their faces, each playing in a varsity game for the first time.
Miriam took little time making sure she got into the box score, fouling an opponent while going for a rebound. She also made an inbounds pass, brought the ball up court, passed the ball to teammates, and took a shot that bounced off the rim, just as the final buzzer sounded.
No big deal, right?
Well, it was a big deal for her former sportswriter dad (me), who never played a minute of any varsity sports in his life, and for her brainiac mom, who has attended hundreds, perhaps over a thousand sporting events, but never played anything more organized than grade school hoops and some very competitive Scrabble with family and friends.
This might all mean nothing much more than that a girl with the DNA of two semi-klutzes has worked her butt off because she loves to compete in sports.
Or it could mean that we are merely proud for her and for ourselves.
Or it could mean that Miriam is participating in the beauty of athletics, and therefore adding to the joy of all who watch. Especially her parents.
Go, Miriam, go.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
The healing power of popcorn
Also on my mid-morning break, I sometimes pop a batch of popcorn. Not the mindless, microwave popcorn, mind you. We are talking about real popcorn. Made from scratch. Well, not really scratch, but from popcorn and vegetable oil and heat. On a stove top. Old school, baby.
I just popped a batch, and my mood is already improving.
I am thinking that a person could live forever on popcorn, sex and forgiveness.
In fact, if Jesus had had popcorn around on the night of the Las Supper, we might all be eating popcorn with our grape juice/wine every Sunday morning at church.
In order to share the joy, I will now give you my recipe for making popcorn:
put 1/4 cup vegetable oil in a pot-roast size pot.
add 4 unpopped popcorn kernels
heat on stove-top, on high heat
after the 4 kernels have popped, add 1/2 cup unpopped popcorn kernels
immediately remove from heat when the popping is down to about 1-2 pops per second
salt to taste
don't worry, be happy
you have popcorn
I just popped a batch, and my mood is already improving.
I am thinking that a person could live forever on popcorn, sex and forgiveness.
In fact, if Jesus had had popcorn around on the night of the Las Supper, we might all be eating popcorn with our grape juice/wine every Sunday morning at church.
In order to share the joy, I will now give you my recipe for making popcorn:
put 1/4 cup vegetable oil in a pot-roast size pot.
add 4 unpopped popcorn kernels
heat on stove-top, on high heat
after the 4 kernels have popped, add 1/2 cup unpopped popcorn kernels
immediately remove from heat when the popping is down to about 1-2 pops per second
salt to taste
don't worry, be happy
you have popcorn
Dog business
We have a dog, Ruby. Not really my dog, but she is with me all day long because I work at home.
On my mid-morning break, I let her outside and easily amuse myself by watching her search the entire back yard for just the perfect place to take a dump. I don't get it. Maybe it's what dogs do because they are bored with the rest of their lives. Maybe it is what we would also do if we were bored.
Either that or write a blog.
On my mid-morning break, I let her outside and easily amuse myself by watching her search the entire back yard for just the perfect place to take a dump. I don't get it. Maybe it's what dogs do because they are bored with the rest of their lives. Maybe it is what we would also do if we were bored.
Either that or write a blog.
Dry mouth
Here's something else to whine about. I'm starting to think that this shouldn't be called a blog, but a whine. Don't worry, things will improve.
Anyway, I'd been waking up with a dry mouth because of the pain meds I was taking post-surgery. I quit taking the meds, but I switched to having a beer and some ibuprofen (that is the redneck version of Vicodin). Still woke up with a dry mouth.
Now, I'm starting to think that I'm forever destined to wake up with dry mouth. I'm imagining going to bed with one of those dental hygienists' irrigating tubes hanging in my mouth all night long, and a spit bowl next to my night table.
Anyway, I'd been waking up with a dry mouth because of the pain meds I was taking post-surgery. I quit taking the meds, but I switched to having a beer and some ibuprofen (that is the redneck version of Vicodin). Still woke up with a dry mouth.
Now, I'm starting to think that I'm forever destined to wake up with dry mouth. I'm imagining going to bed with one of those dental hygienists' irrigating tubes hanging in my mouth all night long, and a spit bowl next to my night table.
See, I told you it was cold
I always appreciate it when my thoughts are punctuated by something written in the newspaper. I said it was cold? And that winter sucks?
Here is what our local newspaper has to say:
http://www.stltoday.com/stltoday/news/stories.nsf/stlouiscitycounty/story/CC560BDC47CE278F862576CE000B2663?OpenDocument
Of course, this doesn't make me feel any warmer.
Here is what our local newspaper has to say:
http://www.stltoday.com/stltoday/news/stories.nsf/stlouiscitycounty/story/CC560BDC47CE278F862576CE000B2663?OpenDocument
Of course, this doesn't make me feel any warmer.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Winter sucks
I'm sorta enjoying the Winter Olympics, but I think I could enjoy them even better from Hawaii or the Bahamas.
I'm becoming a winter wimp. All day long I sit at my desk and keep the vertical oscillating heat element turned on. No, that's not what you think it might mean. It's a 21st-century space heater. I like a hot thing blowing on me as much of the day as possible. That might be what you think it means.
Anyway, with all my time in the heat, I get depressed going out into the sub-freezing weather. It sucks. I've lived in St. Louis nearly 25 years, and we get cold winters once in a while, but I was not in my 50s the last time it happened.
And not only that, now it's Lent.
I'll try to be happier tomorrow. I plan to give up winter for Lent.
I'm becoming a winter wimp. All day long I sit at my desk and keep the vertical oscillating heat element turned on. No, that's not what you think it might mean. It's a 21st-century space heater. I like a hot thing blowing on me as much of the day as possible. That might be what you think it means.
Anyway, with all my time in the heat, I get depressed going out into the sub-freezing weather. It sucks. I've lived in St. Louis nearly 25 years, and we get cold winters once in a while, but I was not in my 50s the last time it happened.
And not only that, now it's Lent.
I'll try to be happier tomorrow. I plan to give up winter for Lent.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
20 videos
Speaking of overdoing things, it gets even worse when my consciousness has been altered.
While still somewhat under the effects of general anesthesia after my surgery last Thursday, I asked Deb to stop off at the Family Video store so I could grab a few movies to watch during my brief convalescence. I selected 10 videos from the new release section, and at the checkout they told me that allowed me to take another 10 for free from the $1.00 video section.
Between Deb, the kids and me, I think we watched about 12 of the videos. I liked "The Hangover", "The Taking of Pelham 123", "The Hurt Locker", "Seven Pounds", "National Treasure: Book of Secrets". I was a little disappointed with "Burn After Reading". There were a few others that I watched, but I don't even remember what they were, or perhaps I'm just not wanting to say. OK, OK, Uncle! I watched "Mama Mia!" and "Sex Drive". Jeez, this is like a confessional. Somebody absolve me.
While still somewhat under the effects of general anesthesia after my surgery last Thursday, I asked Deb to stop off at the Family Video store so I could grab a few movies to watch during my brief convalescence. I selected 10 videos from the new release section, and at the checkout they told me that allowed me to take another 10 for free from the $1.00 video section.
Between Deb, the kids and me, I think we watched about 12 of the videos. I liked "The Hangover", "The Taking of Pelham 123", "The Hurt Locker", "Seven Pounds", "National Treasure: Book of Secrets". I was a little disappointed with "Burn After Reading". There were a few others that I watched, but I don't even remember what they were, or perhaps I'm just not wanting to say. OK, OK, Uncle! I watched "Mama Mia!" and "Sex Drive". Jeez, this is like a confessional. Somebody absolve me.
A request for global slowing
I always think, when I first get started with the day, that I'll be able to do 10 zillion things, especially after I'm done working.
Then when I get done working, all I want to do is crash in front of the TV and watch movies....at least for a while.
Was it always this way? I suppose maybe it was....I know that when my family gets home from school/work they typically do the same thing...snack and crash.
For some reason I thought I would be immune to this. I don't know why.
I wish we had 35 hours in the day, and then I would get everything done -- maybe -- that I want to get done in a day. And I could still sleep for 10 hours. Can Al Gore get to work on this? If we can have global warming, can we also have global slowing?
Then when I get done working, all I want to do is crash in front of the TV and watch movies....at least for a while.
Was it always this way? I suppose maybe it was....I know that when my family gets home from school/work they typically do the same thing...snack and crash.
For some reason I thought I would be immune to this. I don't know why.
I wish we had 35 hours in the day, and then I would get everything done -- maybe -- that I want to get done in a day. And I could still sleep for 10 hours. Can Al Gore get to work on this? If we can have global warming, can we also have global slowing?
Numbers
Oh yeah, I also obsess about numbers.
As in, there are only 33 days until spring. And it has been 57 days since the winter solstice. Which means that today is longer than 112 (or 114?) days of the year, in terms of sunlight.
And that if your heart beats one time per second, your heart has beat a billion times by some time in your early to mid-30s, and it is cool to think of being over a billion heartbeats old...or much older, if you've been doing anything halfway interesting. As opposed to obsessing over numbers.
As in, there are only 33 days until spring. And it has been 57 days since the winter solstice. Which means that today is longer than 112 (or 114?) days of the year, in terms of sunlight.
And that if your heart beats one time per second, your heart has beat a billion times by some time in your early to mid-30s, and it is cool to think of being over a billion heartbeats old...or much older, if you've been doing anything halfway interesting. As opposed to obsessing over numbers.
The knee, and obsessiveness
I had arthroscopic surgery on my left knee last Thursday. Torn miniscus cartilage.
In order to recover from the surgery, I'm supposed to do a number of things. I tend to over-do things. Some things. For instance, I was supposed to put ice on the knee several times per day for about 30 minutes at a time. I have done this, but the ice-pack is so dang cold that I'm on the verge of getting frostbite.
This same obsessiveness with selective detail and care led to the death of more than one goldfish several years ago. I think I changed the water in the fish bowl too many times.
Time to take off that icepack. My leg is turning blue.
In order to recover from the surgery, I'm supposed to do a number of things. I tend to over-do things. Some things. For instance, I was supposed to put ice on the knee several times per day for about 30 minutes at a time. I have done this, but the ice-pack is so dang cold that I'm on the verge of getting frostbite.
This same obsessiveness with selective detail and care led to the death of more than one goldfish several years ago. I think I changed the water in the fish bowl too many times.
Time to take off that icepack. My leg is turning blue.
What I do
I listen to people's problems all day long on the phone.
I work as a call-center telephone counselor.
Amazingly, I am able to do this job from home. I am linked to my office by phone and computer, so it is not uncommon for me to wake up at 7:45 a.m. and be at work (one floor below where I sleep) at 7:59 a.m., ready to take that first call of the day.
The call could be a crisis call -- my first call of the day on Saturday was a woman saying she was so depressed she was thinking of stepping out in front of an 18-wheeler. We got her husband on the line, and he took her to the hospital.
Or, the next call could be somebody calling a wrong number, thinking they have reached the line for activitating their new debit card.
And I never know whether the next call is going to take me 15 seconds or 45 minutes....so I better have my bottle of water nearby and my bladder adequately serviced!
OK, my 15-minute break is over. I need to get ready for my next call.
I work as a call-center telephone counselor.
Amazingly, I am able to do this job from home. I am linked to my office by phone and computer, so it is not uncommon for me to wake up at 7:45 a.m. and be at work (one floor below where I sleep) at 7:59 a.m., ready to take that first call of the day.
The call could be a crisis call -- my first call of the day on Saturday was a woman saying she was so depressed she was thinking of stepping out in front of an 18-wheeler. We got her husband on the line, and he took her to the hospital.
Or, the next call could be somebody calling a wrong number, thinking they have reached the line for activitating their new debit card.
And I never know whether the next call is going to take me 15 seconds or 45 minutes....so I better have my bottle of water nearby and my bladder adequately serviced!
OK, my 15-minute break is over. I need to get ready for my next call.
Getting started
I'm going to ask people to read my blog with the mindset of someone panning for gold. If you sift through enough sludge, you'll eventually find a few nuggets.
Let the sludge begin.
Let the sludge begin.
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