The Brown Coats

For Christmas the first three years of my marriage, my mother-in-law bought me a new brown coat.  Just brown...no other color.  Each coat was really nice, different and unique from the year before.  But imagine that I lived in Texas at the time where the need for coats is minimal.  I didn't exactly wear a coat out in the season.

On the fourth year, I asked for a different color just to jazz things up a little...maybe black or navy blue.  She quickly got the hint, and a family joke was started.  Every year, she threatened to send me a coat, while really sending me sweaters or such.

Last year, my brother-in-law got me a brown scarf for Christmas.  When I called to tell him how much I liked it, he told me he picked brown because he knew I already had a collection of brown coats.

Back-Fire

When I first got married, I didn't really do anything around the house.  If I wanted to do something special for my wife, then I'd surprise her by unloading the dishwasher before she got home.  For the first few times, she was very appreciative, and I was encouraged to do it again.  After a while, though, unloading the dishwasher just became my job.  I had to up my game.  So, I dusted for her one day.  She was ecstatic.  I was back!  After a few more dusts; however, dusting just became another of my jobs.  I went through laundry, trash, vacuuming, bathrooms...all with the same result.  Now, I have a whole list of "jobs" and no way to impress my wife.

I noticed we have entered an alternate reality, though, because now my wife comes home, plops herself on the couch to watch TV, and asks what's for dinner.  I see myself when I first got married, and I wonder how one little nice gesture back-fired on me.

Ageless

I’m sitting here today engaged in one of my favorite activities while at work, esp. when my project work is slow, as it is today. I’m gazing fondly at a picture of my wife. It was taken about seven years ago, just before we got married. The scene is my wife posing in front of a tropical garden area at a park in Houston, Texas. She has her sunglasses up on top of her head, holding her beautiful hair back, which cascades down over her shoulders in wavy, red-brown streams. You can see the rich browns in her eyes and a slight smile on her lips.

I enjoy gazing at the picture so much because it perfectly depicts the way I see my wife in my mind’s eye. She is just as beautiful and lovely today as she was seven years ago.

Okay, enough writing. I need to get back to looking at her picture...

Patriotism

A patriot is defined in Webster as “one who loves his or her country and supports its authority and interests.” In the United States, patriotism has become synonymous with “right, good, the man in the white hat.” So, is patriotism still an admirable characteristic if you support a country that is performing acts that aren’t admirable?

What if that country kills innocent people for monetary and power-hungry gains? What if that country invades another country purely for vengeance? What if that country bankrupts its people so it can give its governmental officials a raise and free healthcare? What if that country takes a great idea like Democracy and distorts it into a process of picking the lesser of two evils?

Just because you support that country, does it mean you’re right? I think Americans have confused what being a patriot really means. Think about it.

Millions of Englanders supported a monarchy that held the United States in a state of a repressed colony. A state which led Americans to revolt. Millions of Germans supported the Nazi movement of the 1940s. The same movement that started a world war that cost hundreds of thousands of American lives. Millions of people in Russia and Cuba supported Communist governments. The same governments that had Americans scrabbling in fear of a nuclear strike.

Obviously, there are patriots on both sides of any conflict. How can they both be right? Or is it just that the United States never makes mistakes and is therefore always right? Or perhaps it is only patriotism if you support the aims of the United States? If that’s the case, then Webster needs to update its definition.

Perspective

I listen to JD's stories about her daughter, and I can't help but laugh to realize how differently kids think about and see the world. I think that most people dismiss it too quickly as childish ignorance, but it makes perfect sense when seen from a couple of feet lower. A child may lack experience, but their rationale and logic are not flawed.

For instance, I may have never thought about the display in the front window of a wig shop as a display for a new head. But having had this pointed out to me, I can't help but agree that it could logically be viewed that way.

Maybe we all could use a dose of perspective. Maybe we'd be able to come up with better solutions to designs and problems, instead of just seeing it from the view of our invisible box.

Sneezes and Time Travel

I was in a meeting the other day when one of the guys at the table sneezed...hard. He sneezed so hard that he actually blew his chair back a few inches. (Not hard to do when you're only four feet eleven inches tall, and your feet don't touch the floor.) Anyway, he shook his head and asked, "What happened?"

To which another guy at the table responded, "You sneezed, that's what happened. Are you okay?"

The sneezer still looked a bit disoriented. So, I piped up, "Oh my gosh, he sneezed so hard that he blew himself backward a few minutes in time." I waved my hand in front of the sneezer and said loudly, "Do you know what year this is?"

New Calling Message

I want to get a new automated message that plays when I'm calling people at work. Before I get on the line, the person on the other end would hear something like:

"Please hold for a very important message from The Man, The Myth, The Legend."

For Sale

One faded, black sock, ribbed top, gold toe. Mate lost during washing. Would be perfect for someone with a similar faded, black sock. $1 OBO.

The Best Actors Play Soccer

I was watching the World Cup this weekend, and I'm convinced now that the best actors in the world must play soccer. Those guys spent more time flying through the air or writhing on the ground, trying to convince the referee that they had been fouled, then they spent actually playing.

During the Germany-Australia match, Germany actually received two yellow cards for being overly dramatic. It was awesome! One of the guys actually spent several minutes arguing with the referee about it. The replay showed that the defender didn't even touch him...missed him completely. But he still fell to the ground, grabbing his leg.

On another play, a defender barely tapped a guy in the shin...where he has a shinguard, I might add...and the guy writhed around on the ground for five minutes, holding his shin. You'd have thought the guy's bone was sticking out of the skin. Two minutes later, the guy was racing toward the goal trying to head in a cross. Yeah, must have been a serious injury.

It was pathetic to watch. When I played soccer, if you got knocked down, then you popped back up as quickly as possible, so you could get back on the ball. You didn't perform some acrobatic stunt across the field. What are they teaching these guys? Are you winning because you outplayed the other team or because you outacted them?

You Could've Called

In this day and age of technology, there seems to me no excuse for standing someone up. You have e-mail, texting, cell phones...surely you can find a way to let someone know what's going on. This especially applies if you've agreed to come to the event you were invited to or agreed to at least let someone know if you're coming or not.

So, if you decide not to come, but fail to notify the person that you're not coming, then you're just being rude. Exceptions to this, of course, include death and unforeseen emergencies. Finding something better to do or getting roped into going furniture shopping with your wife is not an emergency.

Being Drowsy After Lunch

As I sit here washing slurping down the last vestiges of my soft drink from lunch, I'm reading an article that says to avoid soft drinks in the afternoon as they tend to make you sleepy. Apparently, the sugars in the soft drink cause certain chemical levels to increase in your brain, causing you to become drowsy. This can be a problem for most people in the United States since we still have half a day of work to suffer through before we can take a nap. The article noted how a lot of countries take a siesta time in the afternoon to ward off this drowsiness.

There are several people at my office who believe in this philosophy whether it's allowed or not. I wonder if you could do it and claim it's for medical, cultural, or religious reas....

[Snoring can be heard coming from my cube.]

Little League Sports

Little League sports is not about winning and losing...

It's about scoring more points than the other team and cheering as they walk away dejected and sad.

Hard on Laptops

My wife can be very hard on laptops. She is on her 4th laptop in as many years. Not because she just wanted to upgrade to newer technology, but because she keeps unintentionally sabotaging them. One was lost to an exploding shampoo bottle in her suitcase. One was lost to a suicidal glass of water. (This one actually managed to run for several more months before finally succumbing to nagging injuries.) The last one just surrendered. I'm not sure how she managed it exactly, but one night while running several memory-intensive movies she was editing for her thesis defense, a little white flag came up out of the keyboard and started waving. A few minutes later, the laptop gasped and went dark.

Oh sure, they can program in a little white flag, but they can't manage to put the Delete key where anybody can find it!

What does she do again?

My wife and I had a nice dinner with a couple tonight. On the drive home, I realized that I have no idea what the lady I just ate with does for a living. I'm almost positive neither of them know what I do for a living. We spent an entire evening together talking and laughing with the conversation remaining lively and constant, and never once did we talk about work.

Most people don't hold work in jovial fondness, and it's expressed in the way they talk about it. They complain, grumble, sneer. As my mother so nicely put it, "Work is a four-letter word."

I think the most fascinating people I know are capable of carrying on a conversation about a myriad of topics never having to resort to the "work fallback." This is especially true about work colleagues. Of course we share common ground about work, but if our association is going to progress to friendship, then we'll have to be able to talk about more than work.

My evening tonight is proof at how easy this is to accomplish.

No Such Thing as Ghosts

An acquaintence of mine was telling a story about how he stayed in a "haunted" hotel while on vacation. He related the freaky stuff that went on during their stay, such as his girlfriend disappearing from the room and ending up on another floor. Trying to be rational about it, they figured that she was just sleep-walking. However, that explanation disappeared when they realized the deadbolt was still locked from the inside of the room. So, they chalked it up to ghosts and a supernatural experience.

Am I alone to think it odd that people blindly accept ghosts...beings that cannot be explained by human logic, have powers beyond human ability, and are only ever seen as smudges of light or haze?

I find it fascinating that people have no problems believing in the supernatural in regard to ghosts, but adamantly refuse to believe in the existance of demons, angels, and God. With the latter they need proof that they exist. Proof that is not required to believe in the former. They believe that these "ghosts" mean them harm (demons) or help them in times of need (angels). In most regards their beliefs mirror a Christian's take on reality, but they vehemently refuse to accept a Biblical explanation or perspective.

I don't get it. What's the difference?

Seduced on the Phone

I like to sneak off during work and call my wife. I try to see if I can get her to say cutsie, sexy things to me over the phone. It's awesome, because I can get seduced by a woman over the phone, and I don't have to pay $9.95 a min to do it. Plus, the bonus is that she really means it!

Texting Obsession

I was walking into the express lane to check out, and there were two high school-age girls walking into the line before me. No sooner did they stop their cart, than they both pulled out their cell phones and started texting. They couldn't even wait the one minute it took the checker to dispatch the customer in front of them. It was as if they might perish if they weren't constantly connected to friends. As if their very existence was defined by the fact that someone else was acknowleding that they, in fact, were still alive. The funny thing is that they were probably texting each other.

What did people like myself do before cell phones and texting? Oh that's right, we either talked face-to-face or we entertained ourselves.

The Wedding Ring

I take my wedding ring off when I wash my hands, work in the yard, or even when I'm just at home for the night. I've taken a lot of flak from my friends about this...guys who NEVER take off their rings. So, I wanted to write a blog to explain why I do what I do...besides the obvious reason of not wanting to mess up my ring.

If I wore my ring all the time, then I might grow complacent to it. I might go all day every day without even realizing it's there. Since it's a symbol of the unending, unfailing love I have for one woman, this might essentially mean that my wife and my commitment to my wife might never cross my mind either. I might get so caught in my work, that I might forget who I'm working for. Who I really drag myself to work every day for, so I can afford to give her all the comforts she deserves. Who I'm really planting these flowers for, because she said she liked them and I want her to have a space she can be proud of. I might forget.

But every time I slide that ring on my finger, it's like renewing my commitment to her all over again. I renew my vows to love and cherish her above all others. I don't have to wait to see her to yearn for her, to think about her. I can get it 10-15 times a day when she's not even there.

Make a Joyful Noise...Literally

Not being able to sing has never stopped me from singing at the top of my lungs.

A Banana

I was hungry this morning, so I decided to eat a banana to tide me over. Unfortunately, I have discovered that the quickest way to stimulate hunger is to eat a banana. I'm more hungry now, than I was before I ate it. It's like my stomach got a little taste of the good life, and now it won't stop until it's completely satisfied. My stomach is quite loudly gurgling in outrage. Someone three cubes away just asked me if I was okay.

That banana woke the sleeping beast.

ACHOO

I used to think my roommate, JT, was full of crap when he told me that the sun made him sneeze. Every time we would go outside on a sunny day, he'd sneeze. I told him it was probably pollen in the air or something else that he was allergic to. He insisted it was the sun.

Turns out, he was probably right. Scientists have been doing extensive research for years to discover a connection between optical reflexes and nosular response. (Yes, I just made that word up.) While it is still unclear what parts of the brain exactly cause this and how the responses are connected, they have at least discovered that it is a real phenomenon.

For those of you that are wondering what this syndrome is called, you might have guessed that it had something to do with the title of this post. It goes by many names, but the latest is Autosomal Cholinergic Helio-Ophtalmologic Outburst syndrome (ACHOO).

If you'd like to read more about ACHOO, see the following links:
http://www.neatorama.com/2010/04/09/the-sunny-sneeze/
http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/omim/100820

Sigh...

Have you ever heard a dog sigh? Like when you come home, and he realizes he has to drag himself up off the floor; to pull himself away from his busy, hectic schedule of lounging around the house; just to saunter to the door and acknowledge your entrance. And you can hear him give a noticeable, breathy sigh of irritation as he does it.

Or when you give your dog a command, like 'come', and he decides to stretch for several minutes, yawn, and look around for something more interesting to do; before sighing in disappointment when he realizes that inevitably he'll have to give in and obey after all.

Or even a sigh of contentment when he's found the perfect spot on the floor with optimal coolness, comfort, and stretching room. And he has managed to contort his body into just the right position to take advantage of all of those factors. And he lets out a sigh of satisfaction before dozing off into slumber.

How could anyone not be a dog person?

The Holey Shirt

I had a holey shirt I used to wear all the time. I'd had it for about 10 years, and I loved it. That is until my wife made me get rid of it. This was accomplished by her using it as a garage rag to clean up an oil spill. It's hard to wear something after that happens to it.

My wife hated the shirt because she said it was embarrassing to be seen with me in it. She said it made me look like I couldn't afford clothes that weren't in tatters. I argued that it was a fashion statement.

I told her that I used to get whistled at every time I wore it. Of course that could have just been the sound of the wind blowing through the myriad of holes in it.

Termination Due to Death

As if dying isn't enough, now you can be fired for it?!

I found this document on the Kansas - Department of Administration site. It is a How-To document on how to terminate an employee who has died. I just thought the concept was funny. I guess I took it for granted that this process would be automatic.

"Why isn't Bob at work today?"
"Oh, you didn't hear? He died over the weekend."
"Typical. He'll find any reason not to show up. If he was tired of working here, then he should have just quit. I think this is a bit of an overreaction."

Reference:
http://www.da.ks.gov/searchresults.htm?cx=012186268095503521215:purqxq18u24&cof=FORID:11&q=termination+due+to+death&sa=Search&siteurl=www.da.ks.gov/#1074

Who knew Satan was a fan of hockey?

The headline reads, "Satan gives Bruins Game 4 win in 2OT"

"Miroslav Satan scored a power-play goal after Buffalo was called for having too many men on the ice in the second extra period, and the Bruins beat the Sabres 3-2...on Wednesday night."

Honestly, I think I would have changed my name. My Dad was wondering if he pronounced it differently to avoid questions. Maybe sort of French-like, and it's "Say-tawn." Or sort of Arabic-like, and it's "Sach-tain." Or maybe like the fabric, and it's "Satin." Since names typically meant something in the family history, I'm a little afraid to ask what his family's heritage is. Maybe he's a descendant of Dr. Faust?

Reference:
http://msn.foxsports.com/nhl/story/bruins-sabres-game-4

The Immortal Soul Clause

In a completely original April Fools joke, GameStation revealed that it now owns the souls of thousands of its customers.  "The Immortal Soul" clause was added to demonstrate how few people actually read the Terms and Conditions for the website.  Participants choosing to opt-out of the agreement netted themselves a £5 GBP gift-voucher.  Only 12% of the customers did.

GameStation execs have assured customers that they will not be enforcing their legal claim to the souls.

http://www.bit-tech.net/news/gaming/2010/04/15/gamestation-we-own-your-soul/1

Carrots

I try to avoid carrots. I don't actually want my eyesight getting any better, because then I might discover that I'm not as good-looking as I think I am.

The Checker

I went to Wal-Mart the other day to buy some supplies. I had a gallon of milk and a gallon of tea. The checker asked me if I wanted my milk in a bag. I said, "Yes, but not my tea."

I wish I had a picture of her face at that moment.

Seedless Orange

I don't know why anyone would want to create a seedless orange. After you did it once, you'd never be able to do it again.

Genomic Music

Last weekend, I went to a symposium about the connection of art and biology. I learned that there are several science labs doing research on the sounds of DNA. They have taken several approaches to correlate the genetic code to musical notes. In one lab, they measured the wavelength of infrared light aborbed by a genetic sequence and related it to a wavelength of sound. By combining the sounds along the string of genetic sequences, they were able to find out the sounds of DNA.

The music produced is actually pleasing and melodious. Susan Alexjander, one of the scientists doing the research, says "the combinations of frequencies are just stunning. I find it very arresting. It sounds alive to me." She goes on to comment about the strong reaction the music elicits saying, "Perhaps on a very deep level the body recognizes itself - hears something familiar in the music."

To learn more, check out this article:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/222591.stm

Connected Vents

CC was telling me about a friend of his that had his office located next to the men's restroom. Obviously, the contractors for this particular building were not blessed with forethought. In order to save money, they connected both the guy's office and the bathroom to the same ventilation system. This opened a direct conduit between his office and the "delightful" aromas of the men's restroom.

Needless to say, the guy was known to take long walks right after lunch.

More Practice

A lot of men think that if they intentionally mess up some simple task that their wife assigns them, such as going grocery shopping, then they will get out of having to do the task in the future.

Those men never lived in my house. My wife's philosophy is that if you messed it up, then you obviously need more practice!

Bad Day

9:00 a.m.
DK: I tweaked my back this morning, just turned wrong or something, and now it hurts. It feels like I have a tight muscle that just won't relax. It sucks having to just sit around all day, because it feels better when I'm standing. I'm trying to find a comfortable position in my chair, so I keep moving just a millimeter to the right until I can find the spot.

Haven't found it yet. Will keep you posted.

10:00 a.m.
DK: Okay, the back still hurts, but now my armpit hurts as well. When I reached up to pause my CD, I ripped out an armpit hair. This goes along with the broken blood vessel in my hand that I got when I slammed my hand into my desk this morning, trying to unplug my clock.

This might be the day the bus gets me.

Will keep you posted...unless the bus gets me, and then I won't.

10:30 a.m.
AS: I am so sorry to hear you are in pain. Did you take anything for your back? Maybe some Ibuprofen will alleviate the muscle pain.

Whatever you do, stay away from the light. This is not the day the bus will get you. Put that out of your mind.

11:00 a.m.
DK: Back and hand still hurt. Head is starting to throb again. My armpit is down to a dull ache. Feet stink. Left butt cheek itches a little. A stupid gnat keeps attacking me every time I try to work. Prognosis is not good. I tried to take your advice and stay away from the light. However, when I flipped off the switch in my area, I was greeted with 17 complaining, angry voices. Had to flip switch back on. Can't help the light. I am currently hiding under my desk, because that is the darkest part I can find. Having to curl in tight ball. Losing feeling in my right leg.

Will keep you posted...unless paralysis spreads to fingers.

White Gauges

When I bought my Toyota Corolla, I made sure to get the "S" model, because it looked sportier. M.C. also has a Corolla, but he just has the "LE" model. He was trying to explain to me one day why his car was better...6-disc CD changer, fake wood accent, tinted windows, etc.

I stopped him and asked, "But do you have white gauges?"
He replied, "White gauges? What are you talking about?"
I said, "Well, the 'S' model has white gauges in the dashboard."
He just looked at me funny and reluctantly asked, "And that does what for you, exactly?"
I said, "Well, it means my car can go faster than yours. So, who cares about all that other stuff?!"

Naked People in Society

Mark Twain once said, "Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society."

I'm not so sure about this. I used to walk by the window naked, and I'm pretty sure I had an influence on my neighbors. That's why they put up blinds.

2010 Razzie Awards

Okay, I'm sure by now everyone knows that Sandra Bullock won the Razzie for Worst Actress and the Oscar for Best Actress this year. This is the first time this has ever happened in the same year. (If you haven't seen her Razzie acceptance speech, it is definitely worth checking out.)

But did you know that Billy Ray Cyrus won the Razzie for Worst Supporting Actor for his role in "The Hannah Montana Movie"? Apparently, the audience did not believe that he put on a believable performance as Miley Cyrus' father. Which is to say that he obviously has a hard time playing himself.

Does Anyone Have a Question?

Have you ever wondered why there isn't a question and answer session at the end of a sermon? Office presentations, conference lectures, scientific presentations, and pretty much any other formal talk will have a question and answer session at the end. The purpose is to give the audience a chance to clear up any confusion they might have had about the talk. But it's also because the speaker wants you to believe and go along with what they are talking about. If you disagree with something they've said for some reason, then they want an opportunity to address your doubts and give evidence to persuade you to the other side of the fence.

I know I have had questions about sermons I've heard. Some point wasn't clear or fleshed out enough. Or even just that I've disagreed with something the preacher has said. So, why don't preachers have question and answer sessions at the end? If I had the question, then isn't it possible that someone else had it too. Maybe the topic is something that everyone should hear. You would think they would want the chance to be more persuasive and dissolve our doubts. Just something to think about.

A Dog and the Lottery

B.D. and I stopped to get gas this afternoon on the way home from work. There was a couple at the pump next to us also getting gas. While the man was pumping the fuel, the woman took their dog for a walk toward the grass at the front of the station. There was a sign stuck in the grass, advertising that all kinds of lottery tickets were sold at the gas station. With no hesitation at all, the little dog walked determinedly right up to the sign and peed on it.

When B.D. got back in the car, he asked if I had seen the dog. I said, "Yeah, he must have lost last night in the lottery."

Gretchen

K.E. had a Miniature Schnauzer name Gretchen. We used to take Gretchen for walks after school around the neighborhood. She had a peculiar quirk about her. When we'd get to some object, such as a fire hydrant or tree, she'd back up to it. Then, she'd lift one of her back legs and prop it up against the object. Once it was firmly planted, she'd lift her other back leg and prop it up against the object too. There'd she'd be with front legs on the ground and back legs up in the air, and she'd pee. When she was done, she'd walk herself back down and trot along to the next object.

Nobody ever knew why.

Carbon

If we all breathe in O2 (Oxygen), and we all breathe out CO2 (Carbon Dioxide); where does the Carbon come from? Considering that we're all made up of Carbon, that means we breathe out a piece of ourselves with every breath. So, there are little bits of all of us floating around the world.

And since we also breathe in CO2 when we breathe, that means we're breathing in pieces of each other with every breath. I wonder if those moments when we don't quite act like ourselves...when we act in a way contrary to our normal nature...if we aren't, in fact, acting like whoever's "piece" we just breathed in. It only lasts for a moment, because we quickly breathe it out again.

But by that thought process, since we're constantly breathing "pieces" in and out, how would we know when we're acting like ourselves and when we're just acting like a piece of the collective whole?

Stolen Dove

To: All Office Staff
Subject: Stolen Dove

To Whomever Stole My Dove:

Someone stole the Dove candy off my desk today while I was in a meeting. You know who you are. I was looking forward to that chocolaty goodness all day, and I was not happy to find it missing. I had been enjoying it one lick at a time for the last three days, wrapping it back up after each lick so I did not consume it too quickly.

If my candy is returned by the end of the day, no further action will be taken. As you all know, I work between the hours of 8ish and 5ish. And when I say work, I mean that I am in the office, although it is likely I am just checking up on my sports or reading personal e-mail. My Dove can be returned anonomously at any time I am not at my desk. My secretary will be sure to tell me who it was.

If it is not returned today, trash can checks will be conducted daily until the culprit is found. This is a serious offense, and I expect everyone to treat it with the respect it deserves.

The Boss

Fee Percentages

B.D. was working on this project at work. The project involves calculating fee percentages. So, they were given data where a $15.00 transaction had a $0.16 fee. B.D. said that the fee was about 1%. The project leader insisted that it was more like 4-5%. B.D. tried to convince him he was wrong, but the project leader would not be budged. Finally, the project leader suggested they go look at the fee calculation table. The table showed the fee percentage as 1.06667%, to which B.D. smiled in satisfaction. But to B.D.'s surprise and dismay, the project leader exclaimed that he didn't believe the table to be accurate. He then suggested that they needed to contact a Subject Matter Expert to get a second opinion.

My Rock

When something is going on in my life, such as someone screwing me over at work, I like to talk about it. I'll tell my friends or my wife, but I don't expect them to do anything about it. I don't need them to try to solve anything. I don't need them to worry.

I'm not going to them because I need comfort. I'm not sharing because I'm looking for answers. When I need these things, I go to the Lord. He and He alone is my rock.

The Sliding Tea Cup

Today at work, I dropped my glass of tea on my way to a meeting. The glass slid off my notebook, immediately tipped upside down, and plummetted to the floor; landing on its lid with a splat. The straw was crushed, the lid popped open on one side, and the glass was no longer a perfectly cylindrical shape.

What is utterly amazing, though, is the splash radius of the glass which was dropped only from about three feet up. Spilling only about a fourth of the contents of the glass, the splash managed to cover half of an entire wall...or basically a section about ten feet high and ten feet wide. And when I say covered, I mean literally covered...from the carpet all the way up to the ceiling tiles.

My project team was laughing in hysterics as I climbed up on a chair to dry off the tea dripping from the ceiling. The laughing got so bad at one point that they had to tell the clients to hold on a minute before putting the phone on mute. I have no idea how so little liquid could coat so much sheetrock, or how I miracuously managed to come out of the ordeal completely dry.

Monochrome Underwear

I don't understand guys who wear the same color underwear every day. Why eat pizza every day, when you could spend the week running through the whole buffet?!

Me, personally, I wear underwear in a myriad of colors, because I like a little excitement in my pants.

The Red Button

Don't you hate those signs in the movies that say, "Don't Push Red Button"? If you're not supposed to push it, then why do they have the button there to begin with?

The Meat Shield

I’m tired of being everyone’s meat shield in Mafia Wars. All these people that ask me to be in their mafia just so they can let me take a bullet for them during a fight. Every time I log on I have a message that says something like, “You participated in Don Somebody’s capo when he attacked Don Ubergod. You didn’t make it. In fact, you had such a poor showing during the fight that we have decided to penalize you $500,000 and 250,000 experience points. We’re not sure how somebody can be killed six times during the same fight, but somehow you managed it. While we’re impressed by this feat, we still think you might want to consider giving up on this game. It’s not for everybody. And when we say everybody, we basically mean you.”

Online College Courses

I took an online Fencing course in college. It’s not as easy as it sounds.

One True God...

I must be worshipping the One True God. After all, He gave me beef.

The Earthquake

B.D. was at a restaurant last night, and he overheard a guy at another table talking about how the people of Haiti deserved to die in the earthquake that hit last week. The guy said that it was God's way of ridding the world of those sinners and devil worshippers. He just hoped that God managed to get them all. The guy was smiling as he said this.

B.D. confronted the guy, telling him that he was a disgrace to all Christians.

I believe that there are accounts of God destroying cities or even whole civilizations to purge the land of sin. Sodom and Gomorrah. The Great Flood and Noah's ark. I even believe that there is a distinct possibility that He could still be doing this. Perhaps, there was truth to that guy's words. Perhaps, God did send that earthquake to purge the land of sin.

But should we really be happy about that? Should we be smiling and reveling in the death of thousands? Shouldn't life be sacred? Shouldn't we be sad that there were people that died and won't ever know Christ?

Christians of old pleaded with God to stay His hand. Abraham asked God to spare Sodom and Gomorrah. They weren't singing and dancing as they left the city to be destroyed. They were sad.

I have to agree with B.D. It would be disgraceful to be happy about this tragedy.

The Unexpected

Ten years ago, my mom asked me to write a letter about what I thought my life would be like in the coming future. In that letter, I told her that I expected to marry K.E., my serious girlfriend at the time. I honestly think I believed that I would. I certainly loved her enough. She was my world, and I couldn't picture my life without her.

As many of you know, I didn't end up marrying K.E. Something unexpected happened between us, and in a split second, I saw all of my hopes and dreams spinning away from me. I don't exaggerate, when I say she was my entire world. I know I shouldn't have let my life end up with her as the center of it, but a love and passion as I had for her can be blinding and unreasonable. And when the center was ripped from my life, the other things had nothing to cling to for support.

I became nothing. I had no identity. I had no purpose. I struggled on for several months; but things only seemed to get worse, as she reached out to me as a friend, but kept all hope of more firmly out of reach. One night, I'd reached the bottom. There was nothing left. I cried out to God through my tears. I told Him that He had one more chance to reach me...to end my pain and torment. One more chance, or I was going to end the pain myself. It hurts even now to write that. To know how close I came. I can still feel the tears on my face as I cried out in agony.

Unless you believe in the undead, it's quite obvious that I did not kill myself that night. However, it was much like I died that night...at least the old me. God began to work His miracles on my life. He set people in my life to help me find my way again; and when I was ready, He introduced me to my wife-to-be.

Ten years ago, there was no doubt in my mind that I would marry K.E. But God had someone else, someone unexpected, someone better in mind for me. His plans may not always be the same as mine. They usually don't work at the same time as mine. But in the end, they are ALWAYS better.

The Chapel Partner

When I was in elementary school, I attended a private Lutheran school. Every Wednesday morning, we had chapel, in which we’d go to the church and have a mini, church service. To help keep the younger kids in line and reduce their disruptiveness, the older kids were assigned a chapel partner from one of the younger grades.

As the older kid, it wasn’t uncommon for your young chapel partner to thwart your authority and totally disrespect you. It was rare to get a really good chapel partner, but that’s exactly what I got when I was in eighth grade. This kid was dynamite. He idolized me. He never acted up. He hung on every word I said. He even brought me gifts for Christmas and Valentine’s. In a word, he was perfect.

And I treated him like dirt. I was caught up in my own world of girls, grades, popularity, and sports. I never really gave the little guy much thought. I was decent enough to him when we were going to chapel, but it never occurred to me to get him something for the holidays. It just slipped my mind. And when he gave me my gift with such joy and elation, I was crushed to see the disappointment slowly spread across his face when he didn’t get something in return. All his friends were getting things. All his friends’ chapel partners had remembered to bring something. Everyone except me.

I still regret letting the little guy down. All because I was too stupid to see someone outside myself. I can only hope that my failure didn’t make him negative and cynical about people. I can only hope that someone else came along behind me and spoiled him rotten with kindness.

Autopilot

I need more excitement in my life. I feel like I’m stuck in a rut.

I get up in the morning, take a shower, and get dressed. I can only assume this all takes place and in that order, as this time of the day is all a bit blurry and done mostly on autopilot. (I have my suspicions, though, ever since that day I found myself standing in the bathroom in wet clothes.) Some other stuff happens too, but I think this gets the point across.

After that I eat breakfast while watching TV. This part I’m confident occurs every day and always tends to run over its allotted timeslot. I attribute this to a total lack of desire in both being awake at 5:30 a.m. and in knowing I’m preparing myself to go to work.

Work…encompasses about 11 hours of my day, including drive time. Beyond that, this whole period of the day is a bit hazy. I can never be sure that I’ve actually been or that I’ve actually done anything while there. But I keep drawing a paycheck, so it can’t be that bad.

When I get home in the evenings, the real fun begins! I spend some time working my farm (Farmville via Facebook), before I spend some more time slapping some people around (Mafia Wars via Facebook). I then bowl a few frustrating and disappointing games on the Wii until my wife gets home. At this point, I complain a lot about how long the food is taking, while I sit on the couch like a blob, watching her slave over the stove. After enduring a good chewing out about how I managed to shirk my chores again in favor of “playing those stupid games,” I finally get to eat.

About halfway through the meal, I will potentially nod off into my food, and my wife will be forced to clean me up. I somehow manage to shuffle to the bathroom to brush my teeth, and then I collapse into bed.

The next day I repeat this same exact routine. I’m just looking for something more. Something that doesn’t allow me to be on autopilot 20 hours of the day.

Dexter

There’s this nice, old man at work that always calls me “Dexter.” I’m not sure if he honestly doesn’t know my name or if he just sees me more as a “Dexter,” but I’ve never had the heart to correct him. As a rule, I am proud of my name, and I don’t like or permit people to change or butcher it. But I let it slide with this guy, because he’s old, and I figure he has more important things to remember than what my real name is.

The Ungraduation

When I was in my last semester of college, my advisor called me into his office. He told me that I wasn’t going to be able to graduate because I was two classes short. I ask him why, since I had taken all the classes on my degree plan. He said that two of my classes – Psychology of Sports and Psychology of Religion – weren’t going to count, because they weren’t deemed appropriate. For my degree, I had to take classes that gathered and analyzed statistical, clinical data…not just classes in the Psychology department. I argued with him that my degree plan had been approved by his department, and that this “issue” should have been caught earlier…not my last semester. It was all to no avail.

I found myself at home later that day praying to God, asking for guidance about what I was going to do. No sooner did the word “Amen” leave my lips, then the phone started ringing. It was my counselor. He told me that he had no idea how it happened, but somehow my degree plan had managed to get approved by the computer. I asked him what that meant, and he replied that it meant they were going to have to let me graduate with my current list of classes. He emphasized that this was all a bit unorthodox and unusual, but I had been lucky to slip through the cracks.

Luck had nothing to do with it. God had answered my prayers.

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder...

But seeing someone after a long absence; and suddenly have them in your space, changing where things go and how things are done, nagging and questioning everything you do and why, messing up the quiet and peaceful routine you've established, and complaining and bellyaching about everything non-stop...makes the heart fly into an uncontrollable rage.

It's sad that some relationships are better from a distance. When there is time and space in-between to allow you to fool yourself into thinking that someone is more like the fantasy and less like the reality. When the brief moments of contact can delude you into thinking that someone is the sweet, nice person you always dreamed them to be.

But have them around you all day every day, and their true colors come shining through. It's like the false smile they used to get you to open the door and let them in is replaced by an evil snarl as they attempt to upset and rip your world apart.

Self-confidence and the Complement

I have and will always hold myself to a higher standard than the world. If I am happy and satisfied with myself and my abilities, then that is all that matters. I don't depend on other people to get my reassurance and complements, because people will rarely give it just because and almost will never give it when it is warranted. By not depending on it, I'm never disappointed. I always get exactly enough from myself.

Adrift on the Snow

Here's to you, Mr. Asinine Snow-Plower-Man, who thought it would be funny to plow the snow into a 3 ft high snowdrift in front of my driveway! And here's to you, Mr. Jackass Neighbor, who saw me digging my car out of aformentioned snowdrift, after I lost control on the ice and careened into it, and quickly ran into the house to avoid helping me!

Nothing is Impossible…

B.D. says that he doesn’t like Easter. He said he can’t accept a holiday that celebrates a man coming back from the dead…a feat which he claims could never happen. It’s an impossibility in B.D.’s mind. Nobody could come back from the dead. Dead is dead.

So, I asked him if it’s impossible for a man or for a God? He said for a man. Then, he amended with, “What’s impossible for a god?”

That’s my point exactly. Nothing is impossible for a God. You can’t judge God or His Son by what a man can do. If you do that, then I agree 100% that it’s impossible.

To this, B.D. said that “when you put a god in a man with even the slightest doubt that he will be seen as a man, and [knowing that] a man can do what a man can do,” it’s impossible that Jesus could come back from the dead.

But that thing we know as Jesus was just a vessel. A body. Clothes. Dressing Him up in that body could no more diminish who He was underneath than dressing me up in women’s clothes would diminish that I’m still a man underneath. God was still underneath the “clothes” of Jesus, therefore so was His ability and power.

Gertrude with an Attitude

My dad got a new GPS system, which he named Gertrude. He said that Gertrude sometimes gets an attitude if he doesn’t take the route she sets up for him. He said he has actually heard her sigh and grumble before she says that familiar word, “Recalculating.” I don’t hear it with my GPS system, so I guess he must have gotten the upgrade to “Gertrude with an Attitude.”

I was telling a delivery driver about my dad’s experiences, and he said he’d love to have the “Gertrude with an Attitude” software. He said he’s driving all the time, and it would be funny to have her say things like, “Left! Left, dammit! I said left at the next street! No, your other left!” or “You missed the turn, you idiot…again!” or “Why am I even here? You obviously don’t feel the need to listen to a word I say. Fine! If you think you can do it better than me, then you find the best route!”

I know I’d enjoy having this software with me when I’m taking trips by myself. It would be just like having my wife in the car with me!

That Person

I want to know what happened. What happened that somehow I became the calm, sane person in my family? Me…the person whose temper is renowned for being the explosive equivalent of a block of C4…and about as stable too. Now, when confronted with dire, unexpected decisions that have to be made in the next 2 seconds and on which the fate of the entire human race rests in the balance, I am the one that stays cool and levelheaded. (Okay, maybe a tad bit dramatic there, but I think you get the point.) When the situation requires poise and rational thought, I’m an unemotional rock.

My wife…not so much. She jumps into the situation face flushed, arms waving, screaming at the top of her lungs, and crying. All before she’s asked a single question or fully understands what’s going on and what options are open to her. I spend more time trying to calm her down than dealing directly with the problem at hand. In fact, I honestly believe that where I feel myself start to slip and lose it is listening to her manic, irrational, ridiculous thoughts. There is a time for emotion and passion, but I don’t believe that time is in every situation! And patience…don’t get me started on that. Yesterday is not fast enough for my wife!

At no other time in my life have I been able to stay so calm, sane, and clear during pressure situations. I just want to know what happened. How did I become that person?

Earphones

M.C. has a pair of aircraft carrier-grade earphones that he brought to work to help drown out the sounds of conversations going on around him. They have allowed him to work in a virtual vacuum. That is until J.S. started talking. M.C. said that J.S. talks so loud that he can hear him even through the earphones. So, basically these things can drown out a jet taking off from an aircraft carrier, but they can’t drown out one little Nepalese guy?!

Perhaps, the earphone company needs a new rating system. Next, you’ll be reading that the Deluxe Aircraft Carrier-Grade XForce 1 earphones are guaranteed to block up to 65% of J.S. sound.

Deathmatch

I never understood those computer games where the goal ends up being to kill other players. Isn’t there enough to do in the game, such as killing the computer monsters or completing the quests? That’s why I never played the Deathmatch mode in games like Doom. I wanted to kill the monsters and complete the puzzles, not just run around and see how many times I could frag people.

I mean in those games it boiled down to finding the respawning site. Then, you basically just stand there and shoot the person repeatedly every time they try to spawn into the game. This process of spawn, shoot, die, repeat will last until you finally run out of ammo. It’s just pointless.

Besides, you can still shoot your buddy in Cooperative mode. I used to let my stepfather walk into the rooms first and then shoot him in the back. I’d always follow with an innocent, “Oh my gosh! That imp just shot you.” I don’t know that he ever bought it. Especially when my frag total was higher than my kill count at the end of the level.

Compatibility Match

I saw a commerical on TV for one of those on-line dating sites, and I joked with my wife that we should sign up for it and see if it matched us together.  She told me absolutely not.  When I asked her why not, she said it was because I might end up meeting someone better.  Which is just ludicrous, because that’s impossible. There is nobody better than my wife.

When I told B.D. about it, he said he’d be afraid to try it too.  He said knowing his luck the thing would come back and say he and his wife had a 4% compatibility match.  Or worse, his wife would end up on the “Under no circumstances should you date this person…” list.

Worth More Alive

Sometimes, I'm a pain in the keister...a downright turd.  Sometimes, I antagonize my wife, just because I'm bored.  I know I shouldn't.  I just can't help it.  I think the only reason my wife hasn’t offed me yet is that I’m worth more alive than dead.  I mean sure, I have a $90,000 life insurance policy if I die; but alive, she can collect on the reoccurring revenue.

The Mirror

Someone was watching me wash my hands in the bathroom today.  It was creepy.  He didn't do anything to me, but it's just weird to have someone just stand there and watch you wash your hands.  I know what you're thinking...he was just waiting for me to finish so he could use the sink.  Not so.  There are two sinks, and the other one was free.  He didn't use it.  He just stood there staring at me.

What was worse was that he was in there watching me every time I went to the bathroom.  Tomorrow, I think I'll just hold it.

Friendly Fire

I started playing computer games cooperatively with my stepfather back in 1993 with the release of Doom, a wildly popular first-person shooter.  However, our philosophies about the best way to play the game differed greatly.  I was more of the sneak into the room quietly, creep up behind the monster, put one bullet into the back of his head, and then move on to the next target kind of guys.  My stepfather was more of the fling the door open, proceed to fan back and forth, while unloading your entire arsenal of bullets into the room, not sure exactly what you hit because you can't see it through the flare from your gun kind of guys.

I'll admit that his way did serve its purpose and proved effective.  With very little threat to himself, he did manage to wipe out the entire room.  Ammo was plentiful enough, so the cost was acceptable.  There wasn't really a downside to his method.  That is, unless I went into the room first.  Then, I'd find myself being attacked by an unseen enemy.  Hiding behind barriers to escape the monsters' attacks, only to find that somehow they were still managing to hit me.  After suffering multiple deaths on each level, I finally figured out that it was friendly fire that was fragging me.  Who would have thought that I'd have more to fear from my own team than from the monsters?

The Resolution Notes

During our testing phase at work, we write up issues that we find in the code.  These can be anything from a misspelled label to a complete failure in the functionality of a button...and everything in between.  We pass these issues along to the programmers to research and fix.  When they're done, the programmers are supposed to write up their resolution notes, so that we know what and how they fixed the code.  Today, I received the following resolution on an issue I had written up:

"Code changed to fix the problem. Fixed some other things too."

That about says it all.  Should be pretty easy to retest.

The Signpost

I never claimed to be a good example of Christianity. I still struggle and stumble along just like you. I still question and wonder. I try. Sometimes, I still fail. But I would never want your faith to be impacted by my poor example. Because a poor example it will always be. I’m not perfect. I know, I know…that’s hard to believe, but I’m not. And even if I might be farther along in “the walk” than you at the moment, I’m still not the ideal embodiment of all that Christianity entails.

No, I don’t want to be your example. I just want to be a signpost that points you to my example.

To Blow or Not to Blow...

I’m not sure about this whole blowing your nose in the bathroom thing. I mean, is that really a place that you want to be able to smell your surroundings better?

The Soda Machine

I ran into M.C. in the breakroom at work buying a soda. Knowing that he only buys sodas in extreme circumstances, I asked him if today had been a bad day. He said it was just one of those days when you feel the whole world is against you.

About an hour later, I ran into him in the breakroom again, and again he was buying a soda. (No, the point of this post is not to criticize how often I find myself in the breakroom.) I commented to him that it must be a really bad day, if he was already having another soda. At that exact moment the soda machine was spitting his perfectly crisp dollar bill back out for the fourth time. He just looked at me and said, "You know it's bad when even the soda machine turns against you."

Pant Sizes

I tried to buy clothes for my niece today, but I didn't know her size. I called my sister-in-law to ask what size to buy. She told me that my niece is skinny as a rail and as tall as a tree. She said that she has problems buying pants for my niece, because by the time she buys pants long enough for her legs, they are too big in the waist.

I can sympathize with that...or at least I used to be able to sympathize. Now, I buy pants to fit my growing waist, and I have to roll them up at the bottom to keep them from sliding over my shoes.

Where are the pants for the short, fat people!?

Facebook

I signed up for Facebook and finally joined the "in crowd." When filling out my personal information, it asked if I was married and to whom. I indicated that I was and selected my wife's name from the search. A pop-up was then displayed that said, "A message was sent to your wife to confirm that she agrees to being married to you."

Agrees to being married to me? What if she doesn't agree? Is this a new kind of anullment? Does she really have the ability to just "opt out" via Facebook?

I feel just as nervous as I did when I was waiting for her answer to my marriage proposal.

A Wee

That's a wee bit more than I expected. Oh, that's a wee mintay!

How much is a wee? I asked B.D. this question today, and he replied, "A wee is a wee." Profound, right? I told him I was looking for something more along the lines of 'the approximate distance between your thumb and forefinger when you hold them this far apart.' He said that that won't work because a "wee" doesn't always apply to distance. Sometimes it deals with size, sometimes with time...it can mean so many things.

Now, how am I supposed to measure a wee of time with my fingers? Answer me that, Mr. Smarty-pants. Ha!

All or Nothing

B.D. said yesterday that Jesus being the Son of God and dying on the cross for our sins is a belief. It can’t be proven as fact. Which is why he has a hard time blindly accepting it as truth. Let’s suspend my personal feelings about this being a fact which I believe in, rather than just a belief of faith. My question is why wouldn’t you want to believe it?

You have the ability to believe in an all-powerful being that has nothing but your best interest at heart. He takes care of you, blesses your life with abilities and gifts, provides for you, loves you, and even dies for you. He is never mean or hurtful to you. He lets you mess up, spit in His face, disobey, and walk away without it ever causing Him not to love you. You can crawl back to Him, and He forgives you without holding a grudge or storing it away to take out on you later.

What could be better than believing in this? Why would you resist? What harm would it cause you to believe it? All of the reasons are on the Pro side with none on the Con side, so what’s the problem? I just don’t understand it.

I accede that I am a person that tends to believe things are true until proven wrong, instead of the other way around. But what comfort can there be in not believing in something in general and God in specific? Why would anyone want to believe that God doesn’t exist until they have proof that He does? That just leaves you alone…with nothing…with no all-powerful being watching over you, protecting you, and helping you. Between those two choices, I am dumbfounded why anyone would choose nothing.

Mocking Happiness

How bad does your life have to be when you mock someone else’s happiness?

Someone is on a phone call behind me, and he’s laughing in obvious happiness. And all I can do is silently find ways to make fun of his laugh. Which doesn’t make me feel any better about my own crappy day. Nor would I feel better if for some reason he had heard me and started to have a crappy day because of it. I would just walk away thinking how pathetic and overly-sensitive he was. His pain…and his pain at my expense…would not bring a shred of compassion to my heart.

Why, just because I’m upset, would I begrudge someone else their happiness? Because I don’t want someone else to be happy if I can’t be too? Sick, just sick.

The Dartboard

I used to have a dartboard. I hung it up on the side of my dad’s workshop. Most days I hit the side of the workshop more than I hit the dartboard. Either that or the dart would miss completely and land in the grass somewhere. One or two even went over the fence behind the workshop.

My dad finally made me take it down because I was putting a lot of holes in the workshop. Funny, the dartboard looked practically brand new. You couldn’t even tell that someone had played on it.

Curling Toes

When I sit without my shoes on, I tend to curl my toes underneath my feet. I’m not conscious of this. I don’t even know why I do it, but without fail, it will happen. Then, one day I noticed my mom doing the same thing. So, I guess it’s a genetic thing. I guess the true test will be if my kids do it too.

Lost

I wish I was lost…and nobody knew where my cubicle was. I’m so tired of people coming by constantly and interrupting the flow I’m trying to get myself into. I was admonished and betrayed for attempting to bring a little positivity and fun into this wretched gray, waffle of an office. So, now that I want to just be left alone and let the imbeciles I work with fend for their own joy, I can’t keep them away from me.

I sent someone an e-mail, making a very simple statement. Rather than just sending a reply back via e-mail to clarify her point (clarification which was completely unnecessary to begin with), she felt the need to walk over to my cubicle to tell me in person. So, instead of reading her useless response in five seconds and deleting it, I was forced to listen to her drone on for seven minutes, seven wasted minutes of my life that I’ll never get back again. In addition, I had to force a non-annoyed look onto my face. A feat which is not easy when you want to beat the person to death with your shoe…or a handy stapler…or perhaps just stab them in the neck with a brand new red ballpoint pen.

No, I haven’t given this a lot of thought.

Coke Bubbles

I love the way Coke bubbles tickle when they fizzle onto the end of your nose.

Can Opener

Today I brought a can of carrots to work to eat for lunch.

I didn’t bring a can opener.

Faded

Whenever my roommate in college, J.T., would get depressed or have a bad day, I would cheer him up by doing a chair dance for him. And no, that's not a distant cousin of the lap dance. I'd put the song 'Faded' on by Soul Decision and Thrust. Then, I'd start dancing; doing little hip thrusts, "back the booty ups," left and right slides, and front-to-back swivels...all without leaving my chair! It was quite complicated and elaborate choreography.

By the end, I'd have him in stitches. I never knew if it was because of the absurdity of dancing while sitting in my chair, or if it was because of the enthusiasm and energy I put into making him happy. After a while, all I'd have to do was put the song on, and his face would break into a grin. I still think of that time, every time I hear that song.

Saint Harmony

We were talking today at lunch about how Catholics choose a Confirmation Name when they are confirmed into the church. This name has to be one of the literally thousands of saints’ names canonized in the Catholic Church.

A.S. asked if the name was given to them or whether they get to choose their own, and M.C. said that you get to choose your own. So, I asked whether they were given a list of saint names so they knew what to choose from, and M.C. said, “No, you just have to look it up somewhere.”

This started the discussion about choosing the right Confirmation Name. Do you base it on whether you like the sound of the name or whether what that saint did touches you or relates to you in some way? That is when we came up with the idea for Saint Harmony…a saint matching service. The confirmation candidate answers a series of questions, and a list of potential saint names comes back based on a compatibility scale with their answers.

Brilliant!

Live By Faith

B.D. said yesterday that all of the debate over whether Creationism is right is useless, because nobody really knows. I think it’s interesting that people refuse to accept or believe in Creationism because they weren’t there to see it. In fact, they can’t even talk to anybody that was there to see it. All they have to go by is a written account of what someone says happened.

So, by that logic…how do we know Genghis Khan existed? Or Alexander the Great? Or Attila the Hun? Or Julius Caesar? How do I know that Archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated? Or that Davey Crockett and Jim Bowie died at the Alamo? Or that there were Hanging Gardens in Babylon? Or a Colossus statue in Rhodes?

I didn’t see any of these things. I can’t find anyone that was alive at the time to ask about them. All I have is someone’s written account. Yet, nobody has a problem accepting or believing that these people or events are real.

In addition, Christians believe the Bible, the source for Creationism, was inspired by God. This would make it a better, written source than history books. But suspend the facts for a brief moment and consider the theory that it was only written by men. (How many times have I heard that argument? I can’t believe the Bible because it was written by men and therefore is prone to error.) Why does this book by men deserve less blind faith than the history books I studied in school?

Why do people struggle so much with faith about God and miracles? Don’t they blindly work off of faith for millions of things they have never seen every day?

TGIF

I hate when you ask someone how they're doing, and they say, "Well, it's Friday." As if this suddenly answered all your questions. I feel like saying back to them, "Yes, it is, and Cairo is a city in Egypt, but that really has nothing to do with what I asked you."

Do you know that a study was conducted to determine what is the most common Favorite Day of the Week? And do you know what they found? Friday. And do you know why people like Friday so much? Because the next day is the weekend. Um...then why wouldn't Saturday be your favorite day, because then it actually IS the weekend! I don't know about everyone else, but I still have to work on Fridays, so it really isn't any better off than say Thursday or Tuesday.

Personally, I think all of that is stupid. Why wouldn't we be trying to make the most of every day. Why spend your entire week rushing to the weekends? Do you know how much faster that makes your life slip by? No wonder people always think their life goes by faster as an adult. Kids are enjoying every single day. Sure they may rush to get out of school, but then all evening is a free-for-all. You can do anything. Why aren't adults like that?

For me, my favorite day is Wednesday. It goes all the way back to elementary school. On Wednesdays we had music class. I liked music class so much that I couldn't help looking forward to the next week when we could have it again. Now, I just figure that liking Wednesdays is just as logical as liking any other day.

Methane Signature

Today, I was in a long meeting. Halfway through, the other person needed a break, so he got up to get some water. He left the room and shut the door. And that's when I discovered it. He'd left me a nice treat behind. And that sucker was potent! Within seconds it had permeated every corner of the room. It was so bad that I had to seek shelter outside the room as well.

When I accused the guy of the dastardly deed, he adamantly denied it. I told him that there were only two of us in the room, so one of us was lying.

Wouldn't it be nice if farts had a methane signature? Something that identified them to the person that dealt them, like DNA or a fingerprint. Do you know how useful that would be? No more getting falsely accused of fumigating the elevator. No more getting anonymously "crop dusted." No more conference room farts that nobody is man enough to claim.

On a side note, I was shopping tonight for shoes. I was standing there feeling the lack of cushion in a pair of dress shoes, when I was hit by the same foul stench that I had smelled earlier in the meeting. Suddenly realizing that I was the only one on the aisle, I started to suspect that I was the culprit of the earlier crime as well. Pride and joy filled my heart that I was able to eradicate a room like that...it lasted but a few minutes, because the reek got so bad I had to leave the store.

The Firecracker and the Sunrise

Make me not like the firecracker that explodes with light and color
That expends its energy in a quick burst and then fades quickly into darkness.
Make me instead like the sunrise that creeps its light upon the earth
Then stays to warm and illuminate the life below it for the entire day.

Credit Fraud

D.R. got a call from his credit card company today. Apparently, someone in California was trying to use his Debit Card to pay for a colonic irrigation. D.R. told them it wasn’t him, but if he ever gets his hands on the guy, the guy will have more than just a tube shoved up his butt.

Like D.R.'s foot, perhaps? Is anyone else thinking Red Foreman?

What's the point?

A romantic comedy on Blu-Ray.

Because sometimes you just want to see a love story in high definition.

The Bag of Crisps

B.D. was telling us about this guy who used to come to the pub with his German Shepherd. Apparently, the guy could tell the dog to get him a bag of crisps, and the dog would go behind the bar and pull a bag of chips out of the basket and bring it back to the guy. Then, the guy could tell the dog to go get one for himself, and the dog would go get another bag of chips, bring it back to the table, lay down on the floor, tear it open, and eat it.

What was even more remarkable was that the dog could tell the difference between flavors. B.D. told the guy that he bet the dog would be confused if they switched the baskets of chips up, but it didn’t faze the dog one bit. Somehow he nailed it every time.

3 Seconds

- The time it takes to see your entire life flash before your eyes right before you get into an accident.

- The time it takes to either make my wife’s night or ruin my own based on what I say when I first walk in the door.

- The time it takes me to comb my hair after a shower.

- The time it takes to genuinely ask how someone is doing.

- The time it takes for a kid to go from clean to dirty.

- The time I can stay on the mechanical rocket outside the supermarket before I'm bucked off.

- The time your car stays new after you drive off the lot.

- The time of clear breathing that I have in between blowing my nose and it filling back up.

- The time it takes for B.D. to finish two double-cheeseburgers and a basket of fries at Dairy Queen.

- The time it takes my wife to be completely asleep when her head hits the pillow.

Extra Virgin Olive Oil

How can you have Extra Virgin Olive Oil? I mean “virgin” is an absolute term. It’s either virgin or not. It can’t be more virgin than another olive oil. I knew a girl once that used to wear a shirt that said, “98% Virgin.” I know it was supposed to be a joke, but it got me to wondering if people really try to justify screwing around by giving virginity a degree of how far you went.

I digress…we’re talking about olive oil, not people. So, okay, maybe I’m reading it wrong. Maybe it’s more like an advertisement for a special offer. Buy one virgin olive oil, get an extra olive oil free. Or maybe like those adds that say, “10% More Free.” You are getting extra virgin olive oil at no additional charge.

The Fanny Super Pack

Have you ever wondered what Superman did with his clothes when he changed into costume? I think he has a fanny pack behind his cape to put them in. We all know the cape is useless, so it must just be there to hide his pack.

I wonder what else he keeps in his fanny pack. Maybe some peanuts or crackers for a little in-flight snack? Wouldn't that suck if the bag of peanuts violently tore open and all of his peanuts went plummeting to earth? Then again, I guess he could just zip down and scoop them all up.

The "fanny super pack." That almost sounds like you're getting two for one on butts when you buy in the next 30 minutes. Maybe the "super fanny pack." Not to be confused with the "just okay fanny pack." Nah, that won't work either. How about the "hide-it-behind-your-useless-cape-so-nobody-sees-what-you-do-with-your-clothes after-you-changed-into-your-costume-in-a-phonebooth-so-that-you-could-go-fight-crime in-tight-spandex fanny pack"? Yep, I think I'm onto something here!

Coffee is Not Good for Plants

B.D. pours the leftover coffee in his cup onto his plant at the end of the day. Now, the poor thing is addicted to caffeine. Yesterday, he didn't have any coffee left to give it, and this morning he came in to find his plant leaning toward his cup and shaking.

Pantless in the Office Picture

I woke up this morning thinking that we were taking our office picture at work today. So, I made sure to put on a flattering shirt, clean pants, and my nicest underwear. Imagine my disappointment when I found out the picture is tomorrow! Imagine my disappointment growing deeper when I found out the picture was being moved to next week! Well, I'm not playing the game. I wore my good underwear today. They're not getting it again next week.

S.M. tentatively asked why wearing my best underwear should matter for the office picture. I told him that you never know when you might get "pantsed." It's best to be prepared.

I seem to be going with an underwear theme this week. Funny.

Wear Clean Underwear

Why do people always tell you to wear clean underwear in case you get in an accident? Why would people see your underwear if you got in an accident? Are they assuming that you'll hit so hard that you'll fly right out of your pants? There you'll be lying in the street in your skidmark underwear when the paramedics show up. But honestly, would that really look so odd, having skids after an accident? I mean, there's nothing wussy about having the crap scared out of you.

Or maybe it's because the paramedics check that sort of thing while you're unconscious. "You keep him alive, while I rifle through his pockets for change and check his underwear for skids." Then they roll you into the ER, and the attending physician asks for your status. "Well, we've stabilized his breathing, his heartrate's fine, and he's wearing Tweety Bird boxers with skids."

My wife seems to think it has to do with when they're changing you into your hospital gown. But that still doesn't tell me why some nurse is inspecting my underwear to such a close degree. I say that if you're going to look, then you deserve whatever you see.

You Talkin' to Me?

My friend Bruce was telling me that he screwed up naming his dog. Apparently, his dog, Zeus, can't tell the difference when Bruce's wife calls for Bruce from the other room. Zeus always gets up and lumbers in to see what she wants. Bruce said that he doesn't even bother getting off the couch. When his wife asked him why he didn't come when she called, he told her that he didn't think there was a need, because he sent Zeus to find out what she wanted.

Bruce said that Zeus is the smartest dog he's ever owned. The kind of dog a man can have a conversation with and just know the dog understands him. He said that lately when his wife calls for Bruce, Zeus will just look over at Bruce to see which one of them is supposed to go. He'll only check it out if Bruce tells him that she called the dog.

Nudity and the Dream

I had a weird dream last night. Actually, it was just one in a series of bad dreams over the last several nights. In my dream, I was naked. I know that on the surface that doesn’t sound so bad, especially to my wife who knows my penchant for going “a la in the buff” pretty much every chance I get. But what made it bad was the fact that everyone else in the dream was clothed. Let’s take it a step further to say that not only were they clothed, but they were consciously aware of the fact that I was naked. Trust me, that situation is even awkward in a dream.

I tried all sorts of things to be more modest…the convenient placement of a hand or a crossed leg…but it’s hard to stay focused on the “story” of the dream when you’re constantly having to worry about the fact that people know you’re naked and are uncomfortable by it. I finally resorted to trying to “dream” myself some clothes, but as is usually the case with dreams, things did not turn out as planned.

My next appearance in my dream found me standing there with a fig leaf over the appropriate area like some early Renaissance statue. Technically, that should have sufficed to allow me to go on with the story, but then I became obsessed with figuring out how the leaf was staying on since there was no obvious attachment device. Not to mention the constant questions from the other members of my “dream cast” about why I was wearing a fig leaf instead of clothes, like everyone else.

Having one of these dreams would be bad enough, but to find the same problem night after night, as I dream my way through various adventures is just disconcerting. It’s also not easy to feel powerful and confident when people are constantly laughing at my underdeveloped arms and legs and my oversized belly. Aren’t you supposed to be anything you want to be in your dreams…a powerful superhero, a ladies man, rich and confident? Well, either something’s wrong or this is a sign from a higher power that I’m supposed to save the world single-handedly with nothing more than a fig leaf!

The Sadness of Light

A light went out in my cube. No, I don’t mean that metaphorically as an attempt to say that I lost my desire to do my job or anything. I mean that the actual light bulb over my cube went out. Well, to be more exact one of the three bulbs went out.

So, now I have this band of shadow, if you will, sandwiched in-between two bands of light. Every time I cross into that band of shadow now, I feel a momentary sadness cross over me. It’s as if the shadow sucks out my joy. Or maybe it’s the other way around, and it’s just the light that gives the joy.

It’s strange how light and colors can have so much affect on your emotions.

Memoirs of the Prom

I was sick right before my high school prom. I had the sinus crud the week before, and even though I was over that by my prom, I still managed to lose my voice because of it. This stunk for several reasons, such as my date barely being able to hear me over the music, since all I could do was whisper raspily into her ear. But I think what I regret most is that I was supposed to sing a duet with my best friend, C.W., and couldn’t.

The prom committee had rented a karaoke machine, and C.W. and I were going to try our luck (and make our public debut) singing “More Than Words” by Extreme. But the ill-timed voice loss destroyed any hopes I had of doing my part. C.W. was not to be deterred, though. She decided to sing a solo of the song, and dedicated it to her partner who had lost his voice and couldn’t join her.

I think that was the most beautiful rendition of that song that I have ever heard. The power and beauty of her voice was enough to move me to tears. Well, that and the fact that she looked at me the whole time. She was singing that song just for me. I felt all the love and sadness that she conveyed to me through the song. I will never forget that as long as I live.

The Pee

I hadda pee today. I sort of got stuck with it. I tried to trade it in for another letter, like a queue or an ex, but everyone was being stingy today. I got offered an eee from a guy that had five of them, but I declined. Everyone knows that a pee is worth more than an eee. Another guy offered me a number two for my pee, but I adamantly refused him. A pee is bad enough, a number two is just inconvenient. So, with no good offers on the table, I decided to just get rid of my pee and call it a wash.

Mysterious Texts

B.D.’s wife, M., texted him yesterday. The message simply said, “Having an emergency.” Forty minutes later, he received another message saying, “At the dealership.” Twenty minutes later, a third message followed asking, “Spend whatever it takes?”

When he finally called her back, he found out that the radiator on his car had essentially exploded. The mechanic at the dealership performed some other tests on the car, only to find out that the rear brake lights weren’t working either. When B.D. asked his wife about this, she said that it probably happened when she backed into that little old lady.

“Backed into a little old lady?!” he exclaimed.
“Yeah, when I busted up the bumper,” she said.
“You busted up the bumper?!” he exclaimed again.
“Well, I was trying to figure out why the front tire was shaking, and I wasn’t paying complete attention,” she replied.
“What’s wrong with the front tire?” he asked.
“The mechanic said the rotors are messed up or something.”
“What the #$%@ is actually working on the car then?” he asked, losing his patience completely.
“The radio’s fine.”
“Well, that’s something,” he replied, sarcastically.

Neuticles

I know I'm probably the last one on the face of the planet that has heard of these things, but I couldn't know about them and not comment in my blog. If by some strange chance you haven't heard of Neuticles, then let me inform you. Simply put, Neuticles are testicular implants for pets. They are supposed to allow your pet to retain his natural look, to aid in the trauma associated with neutering, and to bolster your pet's self esteem.

His self esteem? Is this really a problem that needs fixing? Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder in dogs that have lost their "boys?"

After searching the Internet for some time on this topic, more in complete amazement than anything, I found dozens and dozens of articles from people who are greatly concerned with the fact that their pet will look less manly without his testicles. Should we be concerned with how much time people are spending looking at animal testicles?

If that wasn't enough, the website for Neuticles advertises implants that feel just like the real thing. Neither you nor your pet will notice the difference. I'm thinking we should definitely be concerned that people are feeling animal testicles. So much so that they would know what a "natural" one feels like. And how is it possible that a pet wouldn't notice the difference? One swipe of the tongue without the appropriate feedback from the lick site should clear that right up!

Okay, and now the icing on the cake. A direct quote from the Neuticles website:
"While canines and felines have been most popular, other pets have been Neuticled including prairie dogs, water buffalo, monkey's and even rats!"
http://www.neuticles.com/

Prairie dogs? Water buffalo? Are there a lot of these as pets?

I give the guy credit for being unique, but I have to shake my head at anyone who would actually waste money on this. As one blogger said, there are starving children all over the world, and people are wasting money on fake testicles for their pets. That is a sad commentary on our world.

Frogger Red Rover

In an effort to encourage team unity and teamwork, our company decided to institute a game day at work. The first game chosen for the event was "Frogger Red Rover." You might be familiar with Frogger and Red Rover, but you are probably wondering to yourself what on earth "Frogger Red Rover" could be. Simply put, it is an ingenious combination of both popular games.

At lunch one day, associates were divided up into two teams, one each on either side of Hwy 50 (the busiest highway in the city). The first team then chanted across the highway, "Red Rover, Red Rover, let J.L. come over!" J.L. then had to take off running across Hwy 50, attempting to dodge the constant stream of cars passing by. She was almost successful, making it to the very last lane before an unexpected car turned the corner and took her out three feet from the curb.

The director of our site was the first to her still body. He patted her hand, "J.L., J.L., are you okay?" J.L.just moaned, as blood bubbled from her lips. "Well," the director continued. "You need to get up out of the street. There's still four more hours left in the day."

Needless to say, I don't believe we will be continuing the tradition of "Frogger Red Rover." Nor will we be attempting any team unity games for a while. You will all be happy to know that as soon as J.L.was released from the emergency room, she was back at work. In an effort to congratulate J.L. on her extreme commitment to the job, our director had his assistant print off a generic certificate that was presented to J.L. in her cube quietly one afternoon. Her name was spelled wrong on the certificate.

Baching It

My wife has been in Cyprus for the last two weeks now, visiting her family. I thought it would be nice to have the house to myself for a few weeks...to be able to watch what I want on TV, to be able to sleep an entire night without having someone invade my side of the bed, to eat when and what I want...you know, to rule the house.

But the short of it is that I'm pathetic. I miss her terribly. I miss all those things I usually complain about. It has gotten so bad that I saved the message she left on my phone, just so I can listen to it every day to hear the sound of her voice. I guess it's true, I'm really only half a person when she's gone.

Maybe I'll try to have a new appreciation for what she means to my life. Maybe I'll try to be nicer to her, complain less, and snuggle more. Maybe this break is just what I needed to wise up and realize what a great and blessed thing I have.

I love you, Sweetie!

The Corporate Games

Every year, the companies in the surrounding area get together and compete against each other in a friendly competition. The event is aptly named The Corporate Games. This is the first year that I’ve been able to participate, so I signed up for the dodge ball team. If you can dodge a stapler, you can dodge a ball!

In order to help me prepare, my wife has been throwing stuff at me at home. Some sort of honing my reflexes thing. There are just two problems with that. One, she was throwing stuff at me long before I signed up for the dodge ball team. And two, if I couldn’t dodge a slow-moving towel ball, what made her think I could dodge a quickly thrown frying pan?

Fifteen stitches later...

Thin Walls

Okay, I was in the restroom today, and I…to put this delicately...passed wind. It was moderately loud...sort of like a brief tuba note. It was followed by someone in the women’s restroom exclaiming, "I heard that!"

Which means that it was one of three things: louder than I thought, the woman in the restroom has bionic ears, or the walls are entirely too thin between the restrooms.

Regardless, I was so embarrassed that I hid out in the bathroom for twenty minutes to make sure I didn’t run into her as she came out.

Gone to the Birds

We have recently been battling a family of barn swallows that decided to take up residence on our front porch. We endured the chittering from the front porch until their babies were old enough to fly. Then, we took action and knocked down the nest…in an effort to persuade them to find other lodgings. Not to be so easily deterred, they started to rebuild the nest again. My wife had been pushed to the breaking point. “It’s our house, not theirs, and I won’t be attacked every time I step out my front door.” And the war began.

It started with some impressive aerial maneuvers on the birds’ parts as they dipped and dodged the aquatic flak that I was sending up from the water hose. I tried several times to shoot them from the sky, but their fighters were always faster and more maneuverable. Then the birds launched a counter attack. As soon as the hose was safely back in the garage, a whole squadron of Sparrow S-54 fighters dive-bombed me, keeping in perfect formation as one after another took turns swooping at my head.

While I attacked the birds directly, my wife attacked their repeated attempts to rebuild the nest with a stool and a broom. This went on for several weeks with neither side backing down, until finally my wife covered the spot on the stone where they like to build their nest with a bleach-soaked rag. The nest attempts stopped, but the birds grew even more hostile.

In an attempt to show their disapproval of our interference with natural order and instinct, the birds launched a massive counter-attack. SR-18 Spy birds were sent in at night to plaster the ‘Welcome’ mat, front porch, front door, and an innocent garden elf statue with poop. G-10 Guerilla birds were seen blatantly pooping on the mailbox in broad daylight while shouting taunts at us through the window. But most disturbing of all was the squadron of B-17 Bomber Sparrows that could be seen flying in slow formation high above our yard.

“Target acquired. The stupid human has stepped foot outside the protection of the fortified nest. On my mark, men. Don’t drop until I do. We’ll only have one chance at this, so let’s make every shot count. Three, two, one…drop! Bombs away!”

“What’s that high-pitched, whistling sound?” I ask as I walk to the mailbox to get the mail. Too late I look up to see the threat. Splat! Splat, splat, splat, splat…splat! “What the crap! It’s in my hair, and my eye, and uck! my mouth. That’s disgusting. I’ll get you, you B-17 Bomber Sparrows!” I scream, shaking the flaming fist of fury at the retreating squadron. “If it’s the last thing I do…right after I wash this crap out of my hair!”

The Siamese Cookie

I had a rare and strange discovery in my bag of animal crackers today. I pulled out a cracker of two crackers attached to each other. This Siamese cookie was strange in its flawless transition from what I can only surmise is a donkey to what looks vaguely like a goat. What is truly disturbing about this cookie, however, is that the donkey’s head is up the goat’s butt. This is not only disturbing for its depiction of an animal impossibility, a donkey and a goat being of vastly different heights, but also for the pure shock of finding such a non-family-friendly cookie in my bag.

I can only guess that some worker in the cookie factory had grown bored with his job and had decided that the creation of such a cookie would help pass the time.

Beauty of the Rain

It was raining again this morning. Of course saying it was raining is an understatement. It was pouring. I really wouldn’t mind so much if I didn’t have to drive in the mess. Although there is a certain beauty to the rain that can only be seen from the inside of a car.

I like to turn my windshield wipers off when I stop at a stoplight and watch as the rain slides down the windshield in wavy, uneven sheets. Colors blur together. Perfect, logical shapes turn into irregular, curving masses. It’s like watching the world slowly going out of focus. And I sit mesmerized as the picture before me takes on an endless array of variations when looked at through my ever-changing lens.

Then the light will turn green, the windshield wipers will be switched back on, and the abstract will be swept away. The lines and perfect angles will be back. Clarity will be restored…at least until the next stoplight.

The Jalapeno

When M.B.’s son was three, he snuck into the kitchen while M.B. was making nachos. M.B. was cutting up some jalapenos when his son unexpectedly reached up over the edge of the counter and snagged a jalapeno slice. Before M.B. could react, his son dashed out of the kitchen, shoving the jalapeno slice into his mouth.

Within seconds, a high-pitched wail could be heard from the next room. M.B. ran into the room to find his son crying and scratching at his tongue. In between sobs, his son cried, “You poisoned me! It hurts!”

M.B. picked him up and carried him into the bathroom. He got a wash cloth, soaked it with cold water, and set about rubbing it over his son’s burning tongue.

The moral of the story is two-fold: If you’re three, don’t stick things in your mouth that you grabbed off the counter. If you’re a three-year old’s father who just grabbed a jalapeno off the counter and shoved it into his mouth, you can either make him drink the water or you can have a little fun with it and scrub his tongue with it.