Keys: Check! Wallet: Check! Utility Belt: Uhhhhh...

The other day I was at a restaurant standing in line waiting to order.  It seems as though all the new style restaurants have people standing in line.  What?  Are we in Russia waiting to get toilet paper?  I know.  I know.  Russia is not like that anymore.  

While in these lines, I get a lot of time to think and people watch.  Granted, it is the same people over and over as the line zig zags its way toward the food.  So, unless the people are dressed in crossword puzzle attire, the people watching gets old pretty quick.

But something at this restaurant caught my eye.  Policemen were in line.  They did not have their guns drawn and they were not yelling for people to get down.  They were not flashing their badges in order to cut their way to the front.  They were just cops protecting and being served. Ha!

But then, there it was!  The Utility Belt.    

Whoa!  These guys walk around all day doing their job with Utility Belts on.  Suddenly, in my mind, I am wondering: Why don't I have a Utility Belt on?  I never have a Utility Belt on.  I don't have a Utility Belt at work.  I don't have a Utility Belt at play.  I don't sleep with a Utility Belt on.

And then depression started setting in.  What have I been doing with my life?  Here is my opportunity to be as Batman-ish as possible and I am wasting it by using what?  POCKETS????!!!

And it is not just Batman.  In Star Wars, Luke and Han dressed in the stormtrooper disguises and after the trash compactor, they kept the Utility Belts on.  They knew there would be some value with these fashionable white Utility Belts.

Looking at a cop's Utility Belt, he has everything!  A gun, a flashlight, a tazer, another gun, mace, something else that looks like a gun, handcuffs, a radio, a night stick, a baton, chewing gum, a knife, rope, a crescent wrench, a lighter, a spatula, a tire iron, and of course a light saber.

I wonder if there are special cop stores where they can go to pick up all these great accessories to go on their Utility Belts.  And looking at the Belt itself, those things look like they need somewhere nice to hang after a long day on the beat.  They couldn't just hang from a hook on the wall.  They would have to have special cop mannequins to hold the Utility Belt in place.

Now I am trying to think of how I can utilize a Utility Belt in my everyday life without looking like a freak.  There have been a few attempts throughout the years to get them on people.  Runners have belts which store water bottles and other items.  The problem there is they start resembling more of a fanny pack.  And a Utility Belt is not a fanny pack.  Can you imagine Batman stopping for a second while he digs around in this gigantic sack attached to his hip looking for a Bat poison dart?  We have just destroyed Batman with that image.

The attempt to attach the cell phone to a belt is a good start, but it does not go far enough.  How does that person start their day thinking that the only thing they need to attach to their belt is their phone?  How can this guy come to the rescue if all he is going to do is call someone?  At least if he showed up with a Swiss Army Knife attached to the other side he might look like he could help...

Excuses. Excuses.

Wasn't it the greatest thing in the world when, as a kid, you discovered the ability to have an excuse?

+ You swung at the ball way over your head and struck out.

- I thought I only had one strike.

+ You are late to class.

- I didn't have any clean underwear.

+ Why didn't you clean your room?

- I lost track of time listening to DEVO.

I guess as an adult, we start to realize that all excuses are bad.  There is no good excuse.  We still try though.  At work, we can blame our co-workers.  At home, I can blame my children or my wife.  But excuses still always look bad.

Imagine the person out there who does not rely on excuses.  He/she takes the blame.  It was never anyone else's fault.  Can a person like this actually exist?

As I approach my life, I have to think about where I fall short.  

I may not be very good at doing the dishes.  What's my excuse?  I don't want to do them.  Not bad.  Simple.  Direct.  I take full responsibility.  There!

I spend too much time on my phone.  What's my excuse?  There are so many important things that could be happening on that phone.  I need to check my email for work, text messages for important items.  Everyone else is always on their phone.  To tell the truth, I think the problem here is that I have a nervous habit which involves obsessively not being bored.

I stay up too late at night.  My excuse is that I am a night owl.  TV keeps me up all night.  Sleep is never as important as watching one more episode of Grey's Anatomy....  But really, it is that I like staying up late and I like sleeping in.

We have excuses that we believe but we don't admit to them.  Often we blame our environment or our family for areas in which we fall short.  But we only do that in secret, because we could never truly blame them to their faces.  I think that is actually a bigger lie, but one which we hold to inside thinking that if the environment changes, then we will change.

When the minivan is gone, then I can be a real stud.

When the kids are grown, I can have my man cave back.

When I retire, then I can learn how to golf.

When the weather is nice, then I can mow the lawn.

When there is nothing on TV, then I will read.

When I live right next to work, then I will walk.

The Conservation Reservation

I have a real dilemma when it comes to conservation.  On one hand, it is important to not waste.  Be green.  Reuse plastic items.  Recycle.  It is a very glorious cause, which helps all of us ritual-minded, OCD fanatics to feel good about ourselves despite all the people out there who just do not care at all.  

They continue to pollute and waste.  We continue to place the recyclable item in the proper plastic container.

They throw their soft drink container out the window of their car as they drive by.  We take sponge baths in the shower.

They dump their giant, flat screen tvs in the alley behind their house and go buy new, bigger ones.  We change the channel by turning the knob on the tv.

While we feel superior, I am a little concerned about the other hand. I think I am kind of gross.  

In my Star Wars lunch pail, I have about 10 sandwich bags which I refuse to throw out.  One bag for my sandwich (two slices of bread, with mustard mayo and meat.)  One bag for mixed nuts.  One bag for wheat thins.  One bag for pretzels.  One bag for chips.  One bag for animal crackers.  Yes.  I eat a lot of carbs.  One bag for grapes.  One bag for carrots.  One bag for lettuce.  I do have some healthy items too.  Is that ten yet?  It is a lot of bags.

I am torn here.  I want to help Mother Earth, but I also do not want to be like Uncle Elmo.  What makes this behavior okay in the rational world?

I also have an electric toothbrush where I am supposed to replace the head every 3 months.  Six months would be pushing it.  I think it has actually been 3 years.  What's my excuse?  We have replacements in the closet.  I clean it by hand every day.  I rinse it thoroughly, but what am I hoping to achieve?  Am I thinking that I will have halted the production of toothbrush heads by a month?  By a week?  By a day?  Okay.  Tonight I am replacing it.  The very thought of this is making me a little queasy.

Who have I become?

I have shirts that are 15 years old that I still wear, a truck which is 16 years old.  I have had the same disposable razor for 3 months.  I shop at thrift stores.  I horde cardboard.  I shave once a week.  I don't believe in anything new!

Wait!  I am Uncle Elmo.  How did this happen?  Like a nightmare I need to wake up out of.  I am Ebenezer Scrooge screaming in his bed:  "I want to live!  I want to live!  I want to fill the trash with more trash!  I want to empty my recycle bin into the regular trash!  I want to let the water run in the yard all night!  I want to let my kids draw on all the paper we have set aside for printing important documents.  I want to use styrofoam in place of all my dishes and then burn them in the backyard afterwards!

Then!  Then I will be happy!  Then I will be free!

Not All Roommates Are Created Equal

We are going on seven weeks with the 4th roommate, Brindley, and it continues to be challenging.  What an obnoxious little snot she is.  She is constantly taking things from the other roommates.  She goes right in their rooms if the door is open and takes stuff into her room.  We try to talk to her about it, but it is so awkward.  The best thing I can do is quietly take it back so we don't cause a scene.

Oh, and I cannot stand her perfume.  I can hardly breathe if I get too close.  I try to be respectful, because everyone has their own scents that they like.  This one is fairly common.  I think it is called 9K9B.  It is really strong and we have to keep the fans going to keep the fresh air moving.

I should not be gossiping about her like this, but apparently she does not really know English anyway.  She seems to know the basics like Hello, Good Morning, and No.  It is like we have someone from another country staying with us and it is really strange to pick up on her odd behaviours.

She sets her alarm really early in the morning, but she does not work or anything.  She gets up and makes a lot of noise, wakes my wife and I up.  We hope the other roommates are not being woken up.  We try to talk to her about this, but with the language barrier, it is like we are talking to someone who looks at you and cocks her head.  That's uncomfortable.

But she pays her rent and does not really have any other family around.  I only wish I did not get so upset about all these incidents.  I should be doing more with my life than being concerned about a roommate who does not speak English, is kind of a klepto, and does not smell very good.  I have had roommates with those qualities before.  What did I do then?

All You Need Is Love Handles

The other morning as I was getting ready, my young daughter said in her sweet little voice: 

"You look fat."

I suppose this is better than her saying that I AM fat.  Looking fat and being fat are two totally different things.

It is funny how when she said this, I took no offense to it at all (probably because I am fat.)  But I guess it is hard for me to be offended by children.  

1. They call it like they see it.  
2. They do not understand what calling someone fat really means in our horribly judgmental society.  

My children CANNOT know how obsessed our culture is with being skinny.  

Or maybe it is more like: My children SHOULD NOT know how obsessed our culture is with being skinny, but since our children do live in the culture, they probably pick up on quite a bit.

So there is hope that our children will have fat obsession and anxiety just like us....  

I was a pretty thin guy for many years.  Very thin.  I was not pretty and thin.  As they say, I wanted to put some meat on my bones.  Over the years, I have put on more and more meat.  But inevitably, that meat has become gristle...

Here I am approaching middle age and I think: What do I want to get to?  How do I want to look?  What should my gut look like?

Simple!  Perfection.  Society says to be perfect.

Obviously, that is not going to work.  

Why should I try to live up to impossible standards?

As I look at it, I am quite normal for a middle-aged human who sits on his butt all day at work.  I am built like my grandpa.  How can one argue with genetics?

Also, when getting out of the shower, I have to cinch the towel up to make sure it stays on.  That of course adds 20 pounds right there.  My daughter is clearly mistaken.

The other thing I have to look at is something more scientific.  When looking at tribes of people in primitive settings where they do not live on processed food and have desk jobs, I take a look at the leader and the village elders.  Typically, they are a bit overweight.  They do not have the job of the great hunter so they are relegated to watching out over the tribe and imparting their wisdom all the time.  How is that not like me?

I think it is ridiculous that we have as our standard a look which is only about the perfect age of 21 or thereabouts.  And here we are going through life trying to get back to that look.  Sure, it is commendable when someone can do it, but do I have to?

Wait.  I do have to?  Otherwise, I have to go on all sorts of heart medicine and I will be in danger of getting diabetes?  And being sick all the time?  And I will live longer if I cut out fat and do more exercise?

Okay, fine.  Tomorrow.  Tomorrow I start.

A Not Very Clean, Close Shave

As teenagers, facial hair was fascinating.  That was probably because we could not grow it.  A good square goatee seemed to be the right amount of cool.  That represented something.  Beatnik heritage maybe.  I even remember my friend and I penciling goatees in one day to see how we liked it.  His was a black square which was funny because his hair was brown.  Mine was a brown triangle and my hair was much closer to black.  But alas, we had some good reactions.  Most people seemed to roll their eyes.  

+ You seem like a decent guy. Why are you going to all this trouble to be outcast?
- Because it is fun.  We are in high school.  And I am 10 years out before I will have facial hair so give me a break.

Not much longer after that, sideburns started to be possible.  And that seemed like a pretty good alternative to the goatee.  The establishment did not really go for goatees back then.  Getting a job in the service industry since I had no education required staying pretty conservative.  Short hair, no facial hair.  Maybe a well-trimmed mustache.  

Hmmm.  Mustaches.  I am a little torn on mustaches.  My Dad always had a great mustache.  And for years, it was just a mustache.  But outside of my Father, I could never grasp the mustache working for anyone.  Besides that, I could never grow one.  To this day, mine is still so weak that it takes me a month for someone to finally say: "Are you trying to grow a mustache?"

But yeah.  The establishment was not real big on long hair and facial hair and chest hair.  They did not want "dirtbags" going into rich people's homes and buffing their floors or setting their tile or fixing their stoves.  I understand that.  I am guessing that is still the case.  I will have to ask my rich friends.  Oh wait!  I don't have any, because my friends all have facial hair.  Is that the correlation?

So sideburns were really looking like the winner for me.  Good long mutton chops.  Okay, I could never really get those, but I could get a decent sideburn going.  Not thick, but enough to make it look continuous from above.  I was pretty happy with this road.  I figured I could live a good healthy, long life with some sideburns.  I could wear white t-shirts with rolled up jeans, go for that greaser, 50's style look.  Just listen to Buddy Holly and Ritchie Valens, drive an Edsel around...

Then, tragedy struck.  Sideburns no longer work when your head is BALD!!!!

What made sideburns work is the idea of the continuous look.  The hair on top making its way down to some sweet Star Trek points.  But I have to shave my head now.  What?  Am I going to have sideburns starting at mid-ear, going down 3 inches and then to what?  I got these two islands of hair on my face that look like I just tattooed some trapezoids on my cheeks.  It looks ridiculous.

I could try to not shave the sides and back of my head to make way for the sideburns.  But then I am seventies bald.  Sure, the continuous thing works on the sides, but no continuousness on the top.  I like to think of myself as artistic, but that look requires someone with some real panache.  That person has to think of himself as extremely hip and forward thinking.  And he cannot care what anyone thinks... including himself.

While that is my goal to eventually be that hip and forward-thinking guy, I am resolved for now, while I try to function in actual society, to going back to... 

the goatee.  

The goatee works now because I can actually grow one, it is centered, and it makes me feel like a teenager desperately trying to look older...
  

Lip Service Moving Co.

My favourite thing to do when helping people move is making comments on their stuff.  I figure I am there breaking my back to move their furniture and boxes, going up and down stairs, sweating like crazy, I think it is only fair to be able to ask: 

"Hey!  Why do you have this book on Satan's War?"

Most people have pretty normal stuff and that is why I think it is okay to make comments on the out of the ordinary.  The general assumption is that they are normal people, but as is the case with most, there are going to be items which are a bit strange.  Why not joke about them to lighten the mood?  

A classic one is antiques.  An antique sewing machine which is never going to be used but is an heirloom from a great great aunt.  Heavier than a whale and so awkward.  Yeah, the best place to lift it is at the base because everywhere else is not so secure.  I am lifting this behemoth up from the basement to the moving truck only to lift it down to another basement where it will sit for years and years.

But I am not supposed to judge.  I am just there to help.  Phooey!  They are my muscles, my sweat, my back pain, so therefore they get my comments!  And I am not being mean.  I am not making fun of their serious looking ancestors from the 1900s in the photos in the gigantic frames.  (Unless they give the go-ahead of course.)  Lady in the rabbit costume.  What's that about?

Personally, I have so much junk.  I would expect someone to be relentless if they were helping me move.  Like we need all these DVDs, all this cardboard, all these Christmas totes. (Sorry, honey.  Couldn't resist)

Don't get me wrong.  I am not rifling through people's stuff.  I do have rules.  It has to be anything I can see.  If the tote is see-through, it's fair game.  

- What do you guys eat with that giant wooden fork and spoon?
- Why do you have three vacuum cleaners?
- When are you are going to repair that table saw?
- Why is this home gym so dusty?
- Did you save the box for these stupid A glasses for a reason?
- You could probably throw this tote out.  It's totally hammered.
- Was this hole in this painting here before?
- Why did you use your biggest box for hard-back books?
- Why do you have hard-back books? 
- Did this sofa grow since you put it down here or did you build the house around it?
- Why are those people sitting there not helping?
- So all these items not boxed up, did you want me to do that?
- What is in this treasure chest like thing?  Nothing?  Wow.
- Please tell me this fold-out couch is going to Good Will.

Salting The Wounds of Loyalty

The American way.  So many small businesses want to grow and become larger than life.  Normally, I applaud this sort of thing.  I want people to achieve their goals and dreams.  I want people to be rich.  I want them to be successful.  If they have a great product, by all means, go for it.  

The problem though is when they start going corporate, change things and it affects me in a bad way. 

I do not expect much from restaurants.  Fast food burger joints especially.  Like, I get that they have an OCD person who is in charge of salting the fries.  He walks past, salts them, looks at his watch, salts them, adjusts his hair net, salts them.  As I am driving away, I think "I could have salted them myself.  Can't we just have that option?  This is disgusting."  But I'll eat every one of them...

Also, after years of fast food joints not getting orders right, we always check our food before we drive off to make sure it is all there.  That's what I expect.  For cheap, fast food, that's the service we are paying for.  Someone who is that fast is going to be inaccurate.  And if the person was really accurate, they would screw it all up and promote them to management.

So, there is this relatively new kind of restaurant I call the Stand-In-Line model.  The way it works is that you wait forever in a line as if you are waiting to get on a roller-coaster.  Only instead of getting thrills from sharp turns and corkscrews, you get a major taste explosion from some amazing quality food.

That's the argument.  When they were first pitching the idea to investors, I am sure the question came up: 

      Why would I stand and wait in line that long for food?  

And the answer must have come back as:

      It is because you have never had a food experience this good before.

While I must admit that the food is good at these types of places, I have to wonder if I am being fooled a bit.  The one common theme I have seen is what I call 

"The Illusion of Health".  

These Stand-In-Line places will have 2500 to 3000 calorie meals, but yet they make it seem like everything is so fresh and healthy.  A hamburger will have South American Romaine and Lechuvia Pickles on a Gorgonzola bun.  The fact that I just ate a pound of red meat hardly matters when I am getting the health benefits of Lavender Onions and goat cheese.

So I pay a little more for this Illusion of Health, wait a little longer for my food and feel like I am on the cusp of my generation's hip and happening consumption system.

So how can this Stand-In-Line thing possibly go wrong?  

1. As I stand there, I can see them preparing everything.  It is all right in front of our faces, so they should not be able to screw it up as long as they stay on task.

I do not want to see their people standing around doing nothing, because at that moment I am standing around doing nothing.  As one who tries to take a lot of information in, I am watching them.  I got nothing better to do.  I could look at my phone for the 406th time today or I can watch the strange foraging habits of the native Stand-In-Line restaurant technician.  And the guy I am seeing is doing everything he can to keep from working.  He is yelling across to other workers and making snide comments to them.  In all the time I have been in line, this guy has done no work.  They are messing with my trust.

2. It takes a lot to do take-out.  I am putting my arm around the shoulders of this company and welcoming them into my home.  I introduce the food to my daughters and they better be respectful.  When I take my food home and get uncooked rice, they have stabbed me in the back.  Uncooked rice.  No one I know has ever done uncooked rice.  That has to be the greatest restaurant sin ever.  That is right up there with under-cooked hamburger.

All those other people in line with me got uncooked rice too.  How does this happen?  Maybe that guy standing around yelling gibberish to the other employees needs to be checking food quality.  Sit him down with the current menu items and make sure it's all up to sauce.  That guy may gain weight, but at least he is doing something now.  And the restaurant didn't just piss off 50 people.

3. They must think they are too big to fail.  I guess all the hordes of people who continue to be there night after night are telling them it doesn't matter if the culture is good or not, if the quality is good or not.  However, I am thinking that these customers are on the tail end of the hysteria.  Many of my acquaintances have given up, so what is left is the remaining people who still had good memories of a quality product.

I am still part of that group, because I do remember them being great.  But these companies are in such a hurry to lose me and others.  Why?  What did I do?  I just want to enjoy your product as it was for so many years.

It is as if they have turned some corner and can no longer provide good experiences.  They are too busy catering large events and not putting their focus where it needs to be, in the restaurant, making the culture and food good.

If it comes down to this Stand-In-Line experience being no different than the fast food experience, what choice is there?  If you take away the Illusion of Health, I am left with a long line which is more akin to the DMV.

Old Faithful Geezer

We just got back from Orangestone National Park.  It was really awesome.  Half a day is hardly enough time to be there.  We saw Old Faithful erupt a couple times.  I felt good that people clapped after it finished.  It makes more sense to clap there than it does in movie theaters...

We walked around this Prismatic geyser one too where the colours were out of this world, but the experience was not just in the colouring.  There would be these waves of steam that would overtake us.  And it was late enough in the day to be a little chilly too.  So there would be a chill wind.  Then, hot steam.  Chill wind.  Hot steam.  Then, it started raining on us.  Lightning in the distance.  And soon after that was hail.  What an experience!

I sort of wonder what the special effects crews just have to do to make these national parks so fun.  To build up that much steam, there must be quite a large generator buried under the mountain.  The previous day while floating in a raft, we saw a moose crossing the river with its baby.  As we were passing it and looking back I was picturing some guy behind the scenes holding the moose and its baby in a pen and releasing them at just the right time.  

And the moose looked so real.  How do they do that?

Roommate Number 4

I guess we needed the money so we decided to get a fourth roommate.  Her name is Brindley.  We went with another girl.  I think the hope was that girls are generally cleaner.  They are more likely to put their dishes in the dishwasher, keep the noise level down, and squat when they go to the bathroom.

It has been a few days since she got here and it is a little weird.  For one, she sleeps in the living room on a special bed.  We tried to tell her that we had more rooms in the basement, but she was adamant about being where everyone else is.

So far the other roommates have mixed feelings about the newest one.  Number 2 really keeps her distance from Brindley.  It could be a jealousy thing, competitive thing or just a fear thing.  We want things to be civil so we ask them to coordinate their schedules as best they can.  I have seen this kind of thing before and I am sure if we give it time, they will end up being best friends.

Number 3 and Brindley are practically inseparable.  Maybe it is because they are closer in age, but those two girls really hit it off.  You can see it on their faces when they get up in the morning.  They know how to cheer each other up.  

Number 1 roommate is a guy so he plays it cool, but I think he wants to be involved with her life just like everyone else.

Everyone in the neighborhood has been really friendly with the new roommate.  When they see her on the street, they all immediately come rushing over to meet her. People get out of their cars to come talk to her.  One would think we had a celebrity living with us.

So we will see how it goes.  I am sure just like any other roommate, she has her good habits and her bad habits.  

However, I am a little doubtful on the noise thing.  Kind of a high pitched voice.  And when she gets mad about something, everyone in the house knows it...

Who Says I Can't Accessorize?

Where I work has this rule about wearing lanyards.  If we work there, we must wear a light green lanyard around our necks.  It is not a comfortable lanyard.  Sure, if I have a collared shirt, it is okay, but I am a developer.  We wear T-Shirts.  Geek T-Shirts even.

My wife made me an awesome lanyard.  Dark blue.  Star Wars material on the front sewn on.  To top it off, she put in a pen holder.  It is comfortable on my neck.  I absolutely love it.  

I started wearing this new lanyard instead of the company one.  They were so jealous of my new lanyard.  They start noticing my disobedience.  I get brought up in meetings.  They know me by name.  The guy with the cool Star Wars lanyard is making trouble.  I try to defy them, but the pressure gets pretty high.

What do I do?  I have to think of something.  How do I make everyone happy including myself?

Then, it hits me.  At Mardi Gras, does one only wear one set of beads?  No.  They wear as many as they can... to celebrate!

So I wear them both.  One to make them happy.  One to make me happy.  And both to make someone in charge think:  "Are you kidding me?!  Now we have to come up with an additional rule stating that only one color lanyard can be worn at a time and it has to be the chosen color?"  

I am keeping my lanyards crossed that this does not happen...

Correction Collection Connection

I want a collection of something interesting!  I have a friend who used to collect PEZ dispensers.  My sister used to collect back issues of X-Men comic books. My Grandma collects Barbies and succulents. My Dad collected baseball cards and Mad Magazines.

I actually have something that I collect which is not very interesting, but I have sort of made it my thing.  There is this store called Pop N Sweets and they have quite a lot of different styles of Root Beer.  Tons of different labels.  So as I try out the different brands, I save the bottles.

Most of them are good.  As long as they taste like A&W or Dads or Barq's they generally pass the standard taste test.  It is the ones that deviate that are the most fun.  Having one that tastes like honey has been interesting.  Or having a heavy foam is unique.  Some are really dry which is cool.  I love the variety. 

I really dig some of the labels.  Dark bottle seems to be the way to go.  They typically have good names and a real traditional feel to them.  

So where do I display this collection of Root Beer?  At work.  In my cubicle along the top of the wall, there is glass on one end and a little shelf on the other.  My side has the shelf.  

I still do not really have that many, maybe 20.  But growing up, I never knew there were so many brands.  I knew about Dads, A&W, Mug, Barq's, IBC.  Those were pretty much it.  Now I see Route 66, Cap'n Eli's, Frostop, Dog n Suds, Capone, etc.

I realize this is incredibly nerdy, childish, prudish, just everything imaginable.  I am practically totally embarrassed to have it up there.  It labels me as such a dork.  I could see walking by some other guy's cubicle with this arrangement and asking this question:

Does he think that having a bunch of Root Beer bottles somehow makes him original and cool?

All I can answer to that is that I love Root Beer, collections are fun and I didn't have a place at home to display it without it looking really tacky....

Thank You Discards

I guess I am not very good at Thank You cards.  It has taken me 45 years to figure that out.  Not bad.  The way it is looking my kids are not going to be very good at them either.

What is so hard about gathering all your presents together, remembering who gave you what, writing down all their names, getting all their addresses, buying $200 worth of stamps, buying stationery, writing out how the item has benefited your life in a non-sarcastic tone, making it legible and getting them out before 12 months are up?

Easy!

Can we send Thank You Emails?  How about Thank You Text messages?  No.  It has to be a card.  A small card in a small envelope with a small stamp.

Thank You cards were part of a different generation, a much more formal generation.  They did not have all the things we have now.  We have way too much going on.  How would I fit in writing a Thank You card today? 

I give a verbal Thank You to the gift-giver, looking them in the eye.  That is enough, right?

In fact, I write a whole slew of virtual Thank You cards to others on facebook every day.  For example, if Aunt Suzy got me a bike for my birthday, I would want her to see that I am out riding that bike.  What better way than to show a picture of me riding that bike all over town?  Or in this case, all over Maui, Hawaii.  Or St Thomas in the Virgin Islands.  Or even Disney World.  True, I cannot ride my bike in Disney World, but I can show you that my bike helped me get there.  And everyone can see all the great places that my new bike is helping me to get to.   

So why take the time to thank others in that old fashioned way when I can say thank you in my new way?

Then again, I really do wish I would write Thank You cards every time someone gave me a gift.  I think it is a fun idea.  

Since I did not thank the people with a card previously, I have compiled a list of things which I am truly grateful for. These things come through again and again:

• Years ago, my Mom made me a gigantic, super heavy quilt out of old Levis.  It still resides in our freezing basement to alleviate the chill.  Thanks, Mom.
• My Dad gave me Grandpa's chop saw which comes in handy every time I have to actually build something.  Thanks, Dad and Grandpa.  My Dad also helped me put up the Christmas lights one year and somehow I dropped the ladder on his head.  Thanks for the help, Dad.  (Should we do Sorry cards too?)
• My wife gave me a leatherman pocket knife, which I use for trimming the weed whacker line.  It's small.  I mostly just use it for that one thing, but it is perfect for that.  Also she made me a really cool Star Wars lanyard with a pen holder.  Thanks, honey.  Oh, and she gave me three beautiful children too!
• My sister gave us some awesome Star Wars pillowcases.  All different designs.  In fact she gave my kids some jammies with Star Wars iron-ons years and years ago.  My son still wears his.  The pants are up to his knees. The iron-on is totally faded.  Thanks, M.
• My Grandma bought us a welcome mat ten years ago for my apartment and it sits at the base of our stairs in our garage now.  Always there.  Always useful.  Always dirty.  Thanks, Grandma.
• My friend, T, gave me a little portable, fold-up plastic fence, which has had so many uses over the years, I can hardly even think what I would do without it.  Thanks, T.
• My Aunt K bought my kids this book called The Goodnight Train and it is my favourite book to read to them at night.  Thanks, Aunt K.
• My Aunt M gave me this little lap thing which has padding on one side and a hard surface on the other.  One can use the hard surface to write on.  I still have it to this day.  Thanks, Aunt M.  (I wonder if she was thinking I would use it to write her a Thank You card...)

Passing On Words of Wisdom

"You guys all have younger siblings, right?  Let's say you are going away for awhile and you may not see them for some time.  Why don't you write down on this sheet of paper some things you would like to say to your younger brothers or sisters before you go?"

This was part of a lesson I was teaching to some 11 and 12 year olds at church.  Naturally, I was trying to draw out of them a desire to pass on some wisdom, help their siblings get through the years by giving spiritual advice.  But I didn't tell them it had to be anything specific.

After they finished writing down their words of wisdom, what was the common theme said among all of them?

(Anyone who has had or has now boys of this age probably knows the answer to this question.  I had no idea.)  

"STAY AWAY FROM MY STUFF!!!!"

That is the funniest thing I have heard all week.  That just caught me so off guard.  Imagine they are about to leave for a few years or so, not seeing their family for that long and all they can think of is that their stuff is protected.  Nothing like: 

• Listen to Mom and Dad
• Do good in school
• Help out people when they need it.
• Say your prayers

 Instead it is:

• Stay out of my Legos
• Don't touch my comic books
• Keep away from my bike.
• My room is off limits

Don't get me wrong.  These kids are really top-notch.  They really impress me with their knowledge of things, their perceptions of people and what is right and wrong.  I love the answer though because it is honest.

Now, I am trying to think if I was the same way as a kid.  Was I very concerned about my stuff?  I must have been, but I don't remember being that concerned about it.

The textbook probably reads: 
"... and then the child grows into a Value stage where the items in their possession take on a different life.  They become valuable to a degree which is practically nonsensical.  The items seem to float around the child's room allowing the child to envision doing amazing feats with or by the aid of the item.  A collection of rocks may be fashioned into a key which opens gates to a new world.  A set of first edition books with autographs will one day be on display in a museum.  
No matter how far-fetched the illusion is, the dream of the child is what is at stake here.  They must believe in their item and keep it near their hearts until it is time to relinquish..."

I am still trying to think of anything that I have right now which I value in this way.  I guess I do not like my kids touching my phone.  But I think that is just common sense.  Kids break stuff.  

Aha!  These boys are starting to see themselves as adults.  And their siblings are still children.  If we view these boys as adults, it changes everything.

Adults definitely want their kids out of their comic books and other valuable things.  I have plenty of friends with very nice bikes that they will not let their kids near.  Lego Movie showed that adults want kids out of their Legos too.  
    
And there are times when we want kids to stay out of our room...    

Man or Mouse. Are These the Only Options?

I will not eat them with a house.
I will not eat them on a mouse.

Aughhh!  Everywhere we look there is a reminder that our house has a mouse in it.  

My wife had a nightmare and screamed out in her sleep.  The next morning she said that she dreamed she saw the mouse only it was the size of a wombat and it lunged at her with big huge teeth and bulging eyes.

We were watching Milificent the other night with the kids downstairs and our little buddy just decided to meander in to see what we were all doing.  He just walked right in.  I think I heard him say in his little mousy voice: "Do you think we could watch Mickey and the Beanstalk instead?"

Naturally, we freaked.  My wife screamed.  The kids jumped.  What an outrage.  After all, Mickey and the Beanstalk is so old and dated.  Still a classic, but when we have Angelina Jolie with wings.  Now that is hot!  So there was no way we were switching movies.

Then, I had the duty to go chase after Nicky Mouse.  But I had to go slow enough to make sure that I did not really see where he went.  After all, what do I do if I actually corner him?  Grab him with my bare hands and squeeze him to death?  Yell to my son to go grab a broom so I can awkwardly swat at him with it?  Trap him in a box so I can feed him to a fox?

But I choose the cowardly way out.  I set traps and hope that the spring mechanism will end his life.  That way, if there is ever some sort of rodent rebellion and I am on trial, I can blame the industrial revolution.  I could say that I was not even sure what the trap would do.  I thought the metal bar might just grab their tail and hold on to him, so that I could find him a new home.  I know it's a stretch.

Actually, a box might not be a bad idea.  Then I could release him into the wild.  He could go out and live in the backyard or find someone else's house to terrorize.  

I wonder if it would be too weird to drive Nicky up to the mountains and then release him up there.  He probably wouldn't fare too well after being domesticated.  He would not have the comfort of stale Goldfish, Top Ramen and Corn Chex anymore.  More than likely, he would be someone else's dinner.  

Wait a minute!  I would be feeding him to a fox.

All Work And No Play Makes Daddy Tough To Watch Movies With

I had my kids watch an old time monster movie with me today.  I wondered if they were old enough to be watching it with me.  They were on the edge of their seats...  Not because they were scared though.  It was because I kept grabbing them to cover their eyes at the scary parts.  They kept pushing me away wanting to watch.

Meanwhile, I am thinking: This was a bad idea.  I figured my oldest would be fine and the younger two would just busy themselves in the toy room or playing dolls or whatever.  But no.  They were transfixed.  They had to watch every second.  It is like my kids sensed my aura and they had to know what all the concern was about.  So they are watching all these suspenseful scenes probably thinking to themselves: What is Dad so worried about?  These scenes are stupid.  I get more suspense when my Dad holds his hands above me to tickle me...

They say that dogs sense when their owners get stressed out.  And the dog owner is usually stressed out because their dog is about to get eaten by a much larger more aggressive dog that is running full speed towards them.  So then the dog reacts in harmony with its owner and starts attacking this approaching dog.  And it is like this whole self-fulfilling prophecy thing.

How would it work then to not be stressed out as a large dog comes full speed at your dog?  Just breathe.  Not going to worry about it.  Count to ten.  Bark is worse than his bite.  Even though his bite is really going to loosen some cartilage.  Zen moment.  Slow the heartbeat down.  Just keep walking.  Act like nothing is wrong at all.  There he is.  See?  Just sniffing my dog's butt.  Nothing to worry about...

Who does this?  How do you not freak out?

So here I am with my kids and I could just take the approach that the people who let me watch The Shining at age nine took.  No big deal.  Hey kids.  That kid talking to his finger is perfectly normal.  Riding through the hotel on a tricycle all by yourself looks like a lot of fun.  Pay no attention to the guy dressed in the bear costume.

No.  I didn't let my kids watch The Shining!  Are you kidding me?!!!  

Do They Deliver?

While thinking about my old friends from high school I was wondering about trying to get together with them and what sort of venue would work for that.  Obviously, meeting at someone's house for a weekend would not work.  We would not have enough Style Council albums...  Or even getting together at a beach house for a weekend with our families would not be suitable.  What would be fun for all of us?

How about a camping trip?  Four guys getting together and having an adventure.  Now that could be fun.  Could be.  Let me think.  

What if we got a couple canoes and headed down a river?  We used to head down the Colorado River together a couple times when we were young in the really flat area around Blythe.  That could work. We could pack up our 5 Gallon buckets.  We could camp along the way.  Hopefully, Jacob is not spraying people with bug spray from the rooftops.

What if we went to a new spot?  Somewhere maybe in the south like Tennessee? Or West Virginia?  Or Georgia?  If we could find one where they are damming up a river, that could be really challenging...  


We would anticipate just a little fun on a totally unknown river with possibly massive rapids that would crush an aluminum canoe into two.  But it would have to be canoes.  We couldn't take a nice blow up style raft or anything...

One of the guys in our group is a musician.  He could bring his guitar and that would provide some entertainment.  Maybe do some jamming with some of the local folk down there.  Aren't they big on banjos around those parts?  I could be stereotyping.  Of course I am.

We have another guy who is an outdoorsman.  A good common sense type guy who can hold his own with some of the wildlife.  He could bring his bow and arrows.  We would feel pretty safe around him as long as he stayed healthy.  I am counting on this guy staying in his canoe, not getting tossed against the rocks and having a bone sticking out of his leg for the remainder of the trip while he lays unconscious.

We also have a fairly normal guy who everyone likes and gets along with.  He is tough.  If you push him to the limit he will fight back.  If someone was up on the cliff shooting down on us, he could climb out of the canyon and take him out.  This is all hypothetical of course.  

But then there is Bobby.  And I am the only one left.  I don't want to be Bobby!  Maybe this is not such a good idea...

Scotts

Some people like to find the positive in any situation.  No matter how bad things might be they would be able to spin it and make those around them feel inspired.  If they were trapped in an elevator with 20 others that person is able to overcome it by keeping their chin up, smiling, having a good attitude, not complaining.  That person would probably start singing and leading others to sing too.  Before they knew it, the elevator would be moving again and the other passengers might even be sad that the ordeal was over, because that person would no longer be part of their lives in such an intimate setting.

While I certainly admire that person for their courage in insurmountable situations such as this, I do not think I am typically that guy.  It is not that I do not want to be that guy.  Being a hero is fundamentally our greatest goal.  

I think my role is typically to find the humour in situations such as this and sort of snicker to myself about it.  If my buddies from high school were there, we could make snide and sarcastic remarks to each other about the elevator, those in the elevator and anything else we could think of.  But since they are now very far away, I would not be able to count on that ever really occurring.   Perhaps my buddies do not enjoy the same level of wit and immaturity we once did as we poked fun at everything we possibly could.

And I suppose I always have that as a memory to fall back on.  No matter what situation, I am in, it can be funny thinking about myself and my high school buddies being at that age where we think we are so dang funny that nothing escapes us.  Everything gets a comment.

I am sure those guys have all moved on.  They are still funny, but they do not have the same goal to try to outdo others in being the funniest guy in the room.  We did have a sort of competition at the time.  Scott 1 had the most pure humour.  He operated from a real great observation point.  We all looked up to Scott 1 as the leader of the group.  He had the most genuine approach to funny situations.  He rarely offended people and was just really cool.

Scott 2 was really funny also, but he had a much more negative approach.  Sometimes, it would get a little daunting.  His humour was so spot-on though that as long as one didn't take oneself too seriously, one would be okay.

Scott 3a was not funny per se, but every once in awhile he would get there.  Kind of a normal friend.  

Scott 3b on the other hand brought a very intellectual humour to the group.  I think that sort of evolution helped us to keep things rolling, so it was not just about tearing people down anymore.  Or if we were, the subtlety of doing it could be communicated through lifted eyebrows or other gestures which may not have been noticed.

These guys had great delivery, but they would write humour really well too.  Being able to express themselves really well was easy for them.

People talk about being in the presence of greatness when they speak of past presidents or celebrities or business people.  But I have to say that I got really lucky in being in the midst of such clever, witty, and funny guys.  It really set the bar high and I am still trying to get there.

But back to the elevator.  Probably the funniest part would be that everyone would all still be stuck looking in the same direction not speaking to each other.  Maybe it would be best to start singing something.  Humming the tune to Elevator Man by Oingo Boingo.  I doubt anyone else would know it though...  Who's going down?

Just How Far Have We Rolled

The other day I told my kid to roll up her window.  There is that part of me that finds it amusing that we still use the term "roll up" when it comes to car windows.  Like "hanging up" the phone or the phone is "ringing".  Telling time hearkens back to a day of reading the hands of a clock.  Firing up the modem and hearing its squeal is another good memory of an older, less civil time.

All of these ideas make me think of just how far we have come...

I am a little torn on power windows.  I kind of miss rolling up my window myself by turning the window handle.  It was a quick motion that I could do.  I never once said to myself: "I am so tired of rolling up and down my stupid window!  When are they going to invent something that makes this job easier?!!!"  

It takes the same amount of time for the window to go up and down when rolling it than it does when pushing the button.  In fact, I think it is even slower now.  There I am looking at my watch as my window slowly makes its way up.  I am staring at the window in disbelief as I say: "Don't mind me.  I have got nowhere else to be..."  At least with the handle I felt like I was getting somewhere.  If it went slow, I was the one to blame.

In all fairness to the power window consortium I have to say that as a driver I can simultaneously control all the windows in the car from one arm rest control panel.  That helps cancel out the loss of the rolling up and down muscle in my arm...  If only there was a way to still have that handle and the control panel.  The best of both worlds.

However, the one that is really killing me right now, the one that sends me into convulsive fits of tiny rage, the one that makes me stop and think that I need to be a good example for my kids even though I am ready to take a baseball bat to the mechanism ... is the power doors.

THE POWER DOORS

Ha! It is a little ironic that they call them Power Doors.  How about Emasculation Doors?  How about I Am On My Own Time And I Do Not Care If You Are Trying To Get Somewhere In A Hurry Doors?  Or even I Do Not Feel Like Working Today Doors?

The first couple times, it was a little cute.  There I am showing off our awesome automatic doors.  I pull the handle and then it does the rest. Yeah!  I am just like everyone else.  I do not even have to watch it close.  I know it will close, because it is automatic and it works and it is convenient and I don't have to do any work and it is like a robot and it is so gentle and slow and... and... 

I THINK I AM GOING OUT OF MY FREAKIN' MIND!!!!!!  WHAT IN THE WORLD WAS I THINKING?!!!  THIS ISN'T BETTER!!!!

What this has done is it has caused me to think back.  Like rolling up the windows, I think: What did we used to do?  Let me see.  With doors, we used to open them.  Maybe sometimes, a little hard, but it opened and it worked.  And it worked all the time.  And then, we shut them.  Maybe we didn't shut them all the way, but then we would do it again.  And we learned how to shut them just right.  But it was instantaneous.  It didn't meander along to its own little song.  It was a Whoosh!  Done.  Over.  Get out, everyone!

Now I am thinking: Did we go too far?  Can we get back the non-power doors?  Did our stupid, button pushing, I can't do anything for myself society push this on us to the point of no return?  Can we go back?  My vehicle now is doomed (and so am I for the time being), but maybe the next one.... Please.

That would normally be a good spot to end, but this story goes on.  Oh yes.  We decided to get one of those push button starter vehicles.  In theory, this sounds like a great idea.  I push a button and my car starts.  I can see them pitching that idea to the executives and them just salivating at the idea...  Convenience!  So convenient!  Push a button!  That is all.  So simple.  So right.

I would love to have been there and been able to raise my hand and when called on, asked: 

+ Hold on!  What sort of key do you have to have to enable this push-button wonder?

- It would be like your standard unlock your door remote.

+ Okay, but we are talking more than just unlocking the doors, right?  Those remotes last forever.  Doesn't this new key have to run a lot more power?  Doesn't it have to detect where it is in relation to the car?

- Yes, but we have a standard replaceable battery.

+ Aha. And in order to start my car, I need to have this remote key around with a working battery?

- We would warn you if the battery was getting low.

+ So, I am a little old-fashioned.  I have a key when put in the ignition starts the car anytime, anywhere.  Now, you want me to get this new key which has to have a working battery inside it in order to start?  Any idea how long these batteries will last?

- 6 months to a year, maybe?  We do give you a warning when it gets low.

+ Yes.  You said that.  So, it would probably be a good idea to stock up on about 10 of these batteries.  Do you think maybe it would be a clever idea to have a bunch of these batteries waiting in the glove compartment for buyers of these cars?

- Oh come on!  It's just a little battery...