Free Food

What is it about free food? I am nearing fifty years old and yet I still get tremendously excited at the prospect of free food. I sort of count down to it. I look on my calendar and like a child waiting for Christmas, I just cannot wait.

I know how to make my own food. I even know how to make it taste good. And I am able to make multiple things at once. I mean I think it tastes good. 

Of course, when contemplating free food that is bad for me, there is a lot of bargaining going on. Take pizza for instance. There I am meticulously removing the toppings from the cheese. I spend more effort doing that than I would just making my own sandwich. What is wrong with me? 

It's free food. I need to make the best of it. That is what I am telling myself.

Is it because I am lazy? I am, but I don't know if that is it.

I think there is something very pleasant about not having to be involved in the process. Having to decide what to eat can be so burdensome. Can someone else just decide everything for me? Can I just show up and eat? I can arrive without much effort. I can wait in line for a bit, which still sucks, but at least the decisions have all been made for me. And then I do not have to pay for it. All I have to do is smile, say thank you and shovel food into my mouth.

I guess there is something else to it. If the free food is basic hot dogs or McDonald's hamburgers, I suppose I do have to draw the line. I am still human after all. That kind of free food is a bit below the standard. Kind of like a dog waiting at the table for his owner to throw him some scraps.

It's not all free food then. It's more like free food from people who are really good at making food choices. Someone who has made it their job to provide the best possible meal to me and some other possible recipients. I guess we are still talking about Mom...

Oh, I Know Go. Boy, I Know Go!

Recently, I was speaking to a couple millennials and they did not know who Oingo Boingo was. This is perfectly understandable as Oingo Boingo were kind of a Southern California band. They did not really have a huge following outside of there and that seemed to be mainly because when they toured, they didn't go worldwide. They kept it pretty local. I remember they would do a Halloween show in Hollywood or somewhere and that was pretty much it.

But they did have a following. And it seemed that most everyone I knew were familiar with them and really enjoyed their sound. It consisted of a sort of artistic, new wave style with a horn section, keyboards, guitar, drums. Lots of instruments and a lead singer whose last name was Elfman. He had red hair, very white skin and seemed kind of elf-like.

The cool thing about OIngo Boingo was that they had a sort of edginess to them. They were mocking the establishment, but not in a typical liberal way. "There's nothing wrong with capitalism. There's nothing wrong with the free enterprise." And "Hey there, Johnny Boy. I hope you fry!" But then they did mock the military too with "Tiny soldiers with tiny brains. Little bullets flowing in their veins." 

What Oingo Boingo did for me in high school was help me make the transition from pop music to something else. They were a great something else type band. I could get into them without feeling like my parents were going to be worried I was listening to the wrong kind of music. (My Dad actually owned Only a Lad a few years before I knew who they were.) 

But as I listened to them, I started to feel like this could definitely qualify as the wrong kind of music. "This is my private life. Come and get me out of here." "Wild sex in the working class." "The girls look really cute. They really make it work. They think I'm just a jerk." Of course, I was still pretty young to even know what they were talking about, but what I did know was that it was cool. It wasn't mainstream. It was artistic. It was fun. And you could probably mosh to it.

So now, fast forward to today. How do I introduce Oingo Boingo to a crowd that is not searching for this kind of rebelliousness? All that can stand is the music. The argument and artistic expression is somewhat minimal. They didn't have a ton of videos. But honestly, that was all I had as well. I just bought the albums and listened to the songs over and over again. And if that doesn't hold up now, I guess nothing will.

Start out with Only a Lad. Then, move on to Nothing to Fear. Good For Your Soul and Dead Man's Party. Subsequent albums were good too, but different. These main four are the core for me.

This is what I think should be done with most bands. Go back to the beginning. Go back to their earliest releases. I hated the Rolling Stones until I heard their earliest stuff. After that, I could appreciate them. "I am waiting." B-52s also. Their first 3 albums are so great. "She came from Planet Clairrrrre." "Has anybody seen a dog dyed dark green?" Red Hot Chili Peppers too. "Mommy! Where's Daddy?"  

The popular songs for a band are rarely who the band is. It takes research. And work. Sometimes I find myself just going to youtube now and getting a very superficial look and listen to a band. I know I am cheating myself. I know the right way. I was taught the right way... 

One Can Only Go Solo

We went and saw Solo. My joke was that we were going to find out that his real name was Hank Solinski. I saw it and enjoyed it. Mostly a fun movie. 

But that's just me. I saw the original Star Wars, before it was A New Hope, in 1977. I was hooked. I loved it. But I was also five. I think I loved Sesame Street, Welcome Back Kotter, and Mr Rogers. My parents could have thrown anything at me at five and I would have loved it. 

People tell me now that they hate Star Wars. I hate them. But I cannot really defend it. It was like my first car. I'll always love that. Sure it broke down on the freeway a couple times. Maximum speed was 50 mph. Gas gauge didn't work. When I started it, the starter would miss the flywheel and make this awful grinding sound, but I loved my International Scout.

Star Wars and me are like soulmates. I couldn't say no to Solo. And I definitely could not say no to Ron Howard. I knew he was going to get Clint in there. It is like the Alfred Hitchcock or Stan Lee cameos. Clint Howard is a staple.

The guy who played Solo wasn't very Han Solo-ish. Kind of looked like him, but basically, it wasn't really him. And there was no way it could be.

And that brings me to this: Why? What was the point? Were they sitting around in a room thinking about all the different possible Star Wars movies?

1. How about a story revolving around the Cantina? We could have it be like Cheers. And different folks come in and out. We could make it a trilogy. The Cantina Trilogy...

2. How about the prequel to the prequels? It could be the years from Anakin's birth to when he turned ten years old and Qui-Gonn and Obi Wan and Jar Jar come in and change his life forever.

3. How about a remake of A New Hope and have George Lucas lookalikes play all the characters in the movie?

Each one of these makes as much sense to me as doing the Han Solo origin story. They didn't even go that far back. It's an origin story, but we are only going to show him five years before he showed up in A New Hope. Those were very formative years though. Everything he references in the other movies happened in this span...

Why not show him as a 6 year old kid travelling around with his costumed mates picking pockets for a living? Or show him cruising around in his go-cart and after evading all the neighborhood bullies, he points to the sky and says: "Travelling through hyperspace ain't like dusting crops, boy!"

Disney is sitting there going: Alright, we've got Star Wars! Now what?! Let's just crank out as much as we can. That should work. And we don't need any new ideas. We'll just use what worked before and go with that.

But alas, I am still five years old. They got me. They could throw up Ewok adventures and Holiday Specials and Jar Jar origin stories and I am in.

Sleeping In My Clothes

There are lots of good reasons for sleeping in my clothes. Maybe I was trying to stay up all night watching tv or reading a book. Maybe I was out partying all night long. Or I could have been out helping Doc Brown with one of his time travel experiments. Perhaps I was out keeping a friend company all night. Or trying to pass a level on River Raid. Or just lost track of time. Whoa! There's time again.

But is there a really good excuse for doing it twice in one week? And sleeping in my bed in my street clothes? Under the covers even? With my belt on and socks? Not having brushed my teeth... Gross!

I was cold...

It is times like this when I feel like a failure. What am I doing wrong? How hard is it to change into pajamas and brush my teeth?

Perhaps there is a feeling inside that I am getting away with something. It is like I am ten years old and I am defying my parents. Ha ha! I got you. I went to bed without doing what I am supposed to. They would look at me with disappointment, but I would have this sort of self-satisfaction. I am sticking it to the man! Who says I have to obey the norms of society? Who was it that decided we had to sleep in comfy clothes and have fresh breath? In the morning, it's not fresh anyway.

In fact, I think I should start a new club. We could be the Clothes Sleepers. Meetings each week. We talk about how we ended up in there. What amazing circumstances led us to this feat. Post pictures on Instagram and Facebook. #ClothesSleepers.

I have to draw the line though on shoes. No shoes in bed. I do have my standards...

Holly Wouldn't

As I have grown up watching movies, it is a medium I have always loved.  But I sort of wonder how it correlates with actual life.  It is escape, but how much escape is it?  Are we escaping so much that we are losing track of fundamental existence?

I go through each day attacking goals.  I come up with goals, write them down and take days to get them done.  I have a family that brings me a lot of joy.  But I wonder why I am not having to fight off nazis.  Why don't I know anyone who is an absolute expert at something and so passionate about it that they are willing to die for it?  And what about the every day stories that always crop up?

I bring up the nazi example, because somehow movies typically end up going in that extreme direction.  National Socialism is something that happened in our world and it conveys a convenient ultimate evil.  

Movies are all about being so extreme.  It has to be that way because we don't have time to go into any philosophies.  We need something quick and dirty that most people will get right away.  Naziism.  Perfect.  It has the ultimate bad guy.  The ultimate, hate-filled philosophy.  The ultimate, recognizable symbol.  The ultimate, head in the sand approach.  The ultimate, obey orders or die.

I almost feel like it is a cop out to go that direction.  The writing team is together and they are wanting to come up with a bad guy.  They start out with something cool, but then the Hollywood types get involved.  Pretty soon, they want to simplify it.  They are all about taking out the stuff which makes people have to think.  They water it down.  They want the broader audience.

And I know.  You got two hours.  Basically, you have to decide what it is you want to really accomplish with this film.  Do you really want to spend the time with the main character as he learns how to check off his goals?  No.  We expect him to already be established.  We expect that his goals were already achieved and whatever the big, bold direction the movie is going in will be that goal.  

My current goal is getting the sprinklers adjusted and spraying in the right spot.  When I accomplish that, I am excited.  But how do you make a movie about that?  So I take this idea to Hollywood.  It's the feel good hit of the summer.  I was able to adjust my sprinklers and create green, lush grass.

So here I am in a dialogue with Hollywood:

Me: Here's my pitch.  I want to see a movie about a busy guy whose main goal is to finish things around the house.

Holly: So like a Mr Mom type movie?

Me: I guess so, but he would still have a job.  He has a family and kids.  His wife works too.  He just has a tough time getting his home projects done.

Holly: Then he is handicapped. In a wheelchair.

Me: No.  He is a normal guy who just doesn't know how to do stuff.

Holly: An illiterate city dweller, who comes to the country to farm the open land.  Like Northern Exposure.  Or Green Acres.

Me: Yeah, I guess that is kind of it.

Holly: So we'll have all these backwoods, idiot neighbors with lots of quirks that the audience laughs at.

Me: Can't the neighbors be the fairly normal ones?  It's the main character who is flawed because he has very little common sense.

Holly: Aha!  We have a character like Tom Hanks in the Money Pit where a series of prat falls and slapstick ensue in a Rube Goldberg type way throughout the house and yard.

Me: I guess so.  He does stupid things because he is learning.  But they don't all happen in a row or anything.

Holly: Well, we want to keep the audience invested in him.  If multiple things happen to him like he continually gets sprayed in the face over and over and over again, then that's comic gold.

Movie plots have to play out this way, because otherwise, why would anyone go see it?  And to me that is the unfortunate thing.  The embellishment always has to be there.  It can't just be accomplishing a goal.  The story is not about adjusting the sprinkler.  The story is all the elements which combined to try to prevent the protagonist from adjusting the sprinkler.  The nazis who moved in next door, the explosions going on across the street, the car race going on down the street, the liberal water rights group who think the water should be going to the indigenous hummingbird population.  It has to be huge because it is a movie.

The Nerf Chronicles

I was really nervous.  I had trouble sleeping the night before.  I did not really know which direction I should go.  I started feeling angst.  I wondered why they put me in charge.

My son was having his birthday party and I was in charge of the Nerf gun war.

I have been in plenty of Nerf gun wars thanks to my Uncle.  It has traditionally been a gigantic melee where everyone is running around inside my parents' house shooting Nerf darts at each other.  I think my sister was the youngest at age 25 when this started.  My uncles, aunts and parents have all been involved in these wars.  It was not uncommon for another uncle to bring a date and this was her introduction to the family.  

And this started back when the Nerf guns were relatively new.  They had the suction cup ends to them and they didn't hurt that much.  It was not uncommon to have misfires and not a lot of power.  And the darts stick to my bald head.  Now the new types hurt.

But this was something new.  I was never in charge of the family one.  With my son's party, I didn't really know how to act.  Am I a referee? Am I supposed to yell at the kids to only shoot below the belt?  Or below the knees? Avoid the face?  No headshots?  All of these questions have an instinctive no to them, but with different kids, it is hard to be sure.

I asked my son what he thought the games should be like and he had this idea about having a timer bomb that they were trying to retrieve.  Three teams of three.  One is defending the bomb.  One is trying to get to the bomb. And the other team is trying to make sure the bomb goes off?  I never quite understood what the last team was supposed to do.

After my son told me this, I was thinking that this was way too complicated for a group of kids who just want to shoot each other with Nerf guns.  But later, I found out I was wrong.

My wife advertised that we would supply Nerf darts and goggles and Nerf guns if they needed them.  She said she would just get goggles at the Dollar Store.  And I am thinking Dollar Goggles?  I was concerned about that claim.  She texted me the day before suggesting a couple different types.  I said she should just get sunglasses.  She liked that idea, so she found some nice dollar wrap around sunglasses.  All they needed now were leather jackets and thick Austrian accents.

When the party got there, I was still sort of wondering how to go about it.  We opened presents and ate cupcakes first.  Most of the kids brought Nerf guns as presents.  I was busy repairing one of our Nerf guns while the kids started playing in the playground area. When I fixed it, I decided to go in with my Nerf gun and be a target for them.  I didn't want to upstage my son.  I wanted him to have fun, but I wanted the others to as well.  Being a common target, the old guy who has it coming, was a lesson I learned years ago from my father when the Kid Attack happened at a family reunion.

That worked out for a bit, but then we decided to split up into two teams and do my son's idea. I would do the timer bomb, the timer being my cell phone and a cupcake being the bomb.  We started that, but then the kids took off utilizing the whole school instead of just the fenced off playground.  It made no sense.  And it was a windy day. Now that I think about it, I guess I hijacked it.    

I suggested we bring it in to just the fenced off playground area and we have two teams each trying to get to the cupcake.  If you get shot by a Nerf dart, you have to respawn at your base.  This seemed like a pretty good idea.  The cupcake was at the top of a jungle gym tower sort of thing and each team would go for it.  After a couple rounds of this, it became apparent that the kids were ditching their Nerf guns in order to get the cupcake, which makes sense since a Nerf gun just slows you down.  And as long as they were fast enough to avoid getting hit, they could easily get the cupcake. I am amazed at how kids can be so clever and come up with new and different ways to win.

However, I had to step in again and say that each kid has to carry their Nerf gun. Otherwise, we are getting away from the Nerf war concept. (Kind of strange that a peaceful solution was not in my best interest here...)

Another kid showed up at this time so this allowed me to step off the field and let it just be the kids.  They played a couple more rounds of Get the Cupcake Bomb before they wanted a new game.  I suggested just the melee, but they wanted some really sophisticated stuff.  They had this whole role-play concept down.  They voted to do a Zombie type thing.  And if they are hit, then, like a zombie they have to slow down.  Slow down?  Are they supposed to groan also?  If they capture someone, do they start biting their legs and arms?  They wanted to use the whole school grounds and play with these really complicated sets of rules.  

I was impressed, but they lost me.  I was out of their league.  They were ready for headshots with Rick and the gang and I am still thinking: "Wouldn't you prefer a simple game of chess?" 

All in all, I feel that it was successful. I believe that leaving kids to play on their own is probably the best way.  I still brought in my input, which I think gave some more simple and basic game play.  My goal is for it to work best for the most kids possible.

I guess what sums it up best was a lady who saw me playing with them and asked if this was my son's party.  I said it was and she said: "Bless you." I probably gave her a funny look.   

Ringers and Ward Ball Don't Mix

I played Ward Ball tonight.  I wasn't going to, but I really needed to get some exercise.  I figured if nothing else, I could run up and down the court along the side and act like I have never played the game before in my life.  Sadly, that wasn't too far off from what actually happened.

Now Ward Ball is done by neighborhood.  Whoever is in your neighborhood is who you get.  The only exception to this is if you bring a friend who is unaffiliated with any other Ward Ball teams.  Bringing in a Ringer can be really nice, but things can get pretty ugly pretty fast with someone with real skill.

Why is that?

To understand that, I need to delve back into a little history.  This is the kind of history which is studied in Cultural Anthropology.  Each man was once a boy and boys tend to have big dreams.  Believe it or not, those dreams never really go away.  This dream, among the hundred, is to be a major basketball star.  

Looking at the NBA today, the smallest guys on the team make up the largest guys on the team in Ward Ball.  This does not stop these "big men" from thinking that they really are 7 foot tall and can play at an extremely high level.  They think this...

The dream continues to be there, but life happens too.  Fast forward a few years and now you have a lot of pent up rage.  Family life, job stress, no exercise, eating too much.  All of this is bottled up inside the Ward Ball player.  He steps on the court and suddenly becomes a completely different human being.  It's time to re-live the glory days.  Only problem is, there are 9 other guys out there thinking the exact same thing.

Conflict is inevitable.

But generally speaking, most of the guys handle it pretty well.  There are the hotheads.  The team keeps an eye on them.  There are the elbow-throwers, cheap shots, dirty players, and it's weird because these guys are supposed to be these great, spiritual examples for others to emulate.  But Ward Ball just switches them on like they are sleeper cells.

When bringing a friend to play, it can be very enjoyable.  The competition is good enough to keep it fun and interesting.  However, when the friend is a Ringer, that is a problem.  There is a certain betrayal.  We have these neighborhoods with a bunch of short players.  Everyone knows each other from every other year.  Suddenly, someone brings in this 6'6" guy who is 280 lbs of complete muscle and can dunk it and is used to playing with the pros.

It's kind of like having a group of friends and you all end up marrying the girls from the town.  But then there is one guy in the group who has to go score a model from LA and it changes the dynamic.  What's that all about?  

It gets ugly when the Ringer shows up and all those guys with big dreams are now standing front and center with him.  They start hacking him, hitting hard, fouling.  He starts hacking back.  Pretty soon, fists are flying, people are yelling, cussing, spitting, red faces.  Should have stayed home and watched all that on The Bachelor.

There probably should be rules against Ringers.  But I suppose Ringers are people too.

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....