One-Armed Tan

It’s funny, but I remember back in the ‘80s and ‘90s that there was a phenomenon of the one-armed tan. It was always the left arm, because that’s the arm that the driver would hang out the open window. It was weird to see one arm darker than the other, but everyone accepted it too, probably because they had the same tan.

This phenomenon went away around the millennium when the self-tanning craze took hold. People became so obsessed with an “even” tan that no self-respecting person would be caught dead with a one-armed farmer. That and with global warming, people no longer drive around with their windows open. And even if they do, you rarely see an arm hanging out getting a little more sun than the other side.

My One Day as a Pirate

When I was in seventh grade, I was taking an elective art class. During one of the assignments, we were coloring with colored pencils. I guess I pressed too hard, and the tip of the pencil broke off…and flew right into my eye! The teacher tried to help me get it out by splashing water into my eye. She tried eye drops. She tried to see if she could get it with her finger. But nothing worked.

Finally, she called my mom to come get me, and I was rushed to the eye doctor. The optometrist used a giant cotton swab to gently fish this broken piece of leaf out of my eye. Unfortunately, because it had stayed in there so long and moved around a lot, I had severe scratches on my eyeball. So, he had to put some special drops in my eye to protect it and allow it to heal. The other unfortunate thing was that the drops wouldn’t stay in my eye on their own, so I had to wear an eye patch for the next 24 hours.

While it may sound cool at first, I mean who wouldn’t want to look like a pirate for a day, it was in fact the exact opposite of cool. This thing was white, not black, and didn’t come with a sweet skull and crossbones or even a giant ruby. And it was unceremoniously taped to my face instead of having a strap that went around my head. I looked stupid. And being that kids are cruel at any age, I talked my mom into letting me stay home until I could take it off.

So, my one day as a pirate was a disaster. Instead of riding free on the ocean waves, feeling a salty breeze against my face, and smelling the burnt odor of gunpowder as my ship took down a trading vessel…I spent it on land, cooped up at home, sleeping. Oh well, at least I still have use of my eye. 

Organic Alarm Clock

I have an internal alarm clock that is so precise that it wakes me up at exactly 6:00 am every morning, whether my wife sets her alarm or not. Of course, I should also note that it also wakes me up at precisely 11:56, 1:30, 3:20, and 4:44 every night to pee too. So, maybe not such a great internal clock after all.

House Arrest

Most days I feel like I’m on house arrest. I may go an entire day, or even an entire week, without ever leaving the house. I go upstairs to my office to work. I go downstairs to eat, play, and get away from work. But I never leave the house.

It’s not so much that I miss people, although sometimes I do. It’s not that I want to go back to the office. It’s that I want to go out and do something fun. I want to take a vacation. I want a change of scenery, but in a personal way, not in a work way.

This issue is that my wife goes to work. So, all she wants to do is come home. She’s tired of being out and about, and she wants to relax at home. So, we’re constantly at odds with what we want. Therefore I bend and give, so we stay home, and my imprisonment continues. All I’m missing is an ankle monitor!

The Mooch

It’s interesting how a simple, random act can change the entire course of your life. Or was it really random at all? Was it God putting things in motion that He knew you’d need later? This is the story of how I met my best friend, my roommate, and my brother through one of these events.

I was in my first semester in my new major, having recently given up on Mechanical Engineering to pursue computer programming. As a Computer Science major, we had to take various programming language courses. Attached to the lectures were labs, where we received homework assignments to complete under the guidance and tutelage of a teaching assistant. It was during the very first lab that my lab partner TD and I got stuck. We had no idea how to even start on the assignment, much less complete it. After fruitlessly going around and around on it, TD decided to see if he could find someone to help us. So, he set off while I continued to puzzle through the question. He came back a few minutes later holding the answers to all of the questions. Apparently, he’d not only found a hint, but he had managed to mooch the entire assignment off an innocent, trusting guy in our class. Ironically, I would find out later, that the answers weren’t even correct, and that our benefactor had no idea how to do it either.

The next day, I saw the same guy in my art class. Normally, I would not approach a virtual stranger and engage him in conversation, I mean computer nerds are introverts by nature. But something was compelling me to speak up. So, completely out of my comfort zone, I walked up to him after class and said, “Hey. You’re in my programming class. You helped us in the lab yesterday.” And with those simple words, a lifelong friendship was set in motion.

JT would end up becoming my best friend. We were inseparable. We worked on projects together, went for walks, took a dance class, photographed the campus, and shared everything. When he found himself homeless a semester later, I convinced my roommate to take JT in. By the end of the year, he was my soul brother…like we were two parts to one soul that had been split apart and cast into the universe. He was one of my groomsmen, and I still talk to him to this day, some twenty years later.

But as amazing as all of that is, what is more amazing is the timing of when I met him. I had just broken up with my long-time girlfriend a month before. She was the love of a lifetime, and I adored her. So, the sudden loss of her in my life utterly destroyed me. My depression had grown so bad that a week before the school year started, I found myself laying on the floor in my room, staring at the ceiling fan, seriously contemplating ending my life. And just when I needed someone in my life to lift me back up and show me that life was still worth living, that’s when God sent me JT.

He was the answer to a prayer that I hadn’t even prayed. But God knew what I needed anyway. And I’m still amazed to this day at how God used that random act of mooching an assignment to change my life…in more ways than even I suspected. JT actually introduced me to my wife as well. So, not only did God send JT to lift me back up, but he sent him to facilitate my ex’s replacement. Although it’s more accurate to say upgrade, because they aren’t equals.

Covid-19 Hotspot

Since the release of the Covid-19 vaccine, I have heard a lot of reasons why people don’t want to get it.

It’s against my religion. (I suppose there are religions out there that teach against vaccines, medicine, and any healing not brought about by God.)

I’m afraid the government will inject me with a tracking device. (I hate to break it to you, but they can already track you if they want. Didn’t you ever see Enemy of the State. Besides, why would you think you’re so important to the government that you’re worth tracking?! But I digress.)

I’ve already had Covid, so now I’m immune to ever get it again. (Again, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your immunity only lasts for six months, and absolutely has no effect on variants and mutations of the virus.)

I’m afraid the government will inject me with a sterilization agent at the same time, like they did with the polio vaccine in Africa back in the 1960s. (Seriously? I don’t even know what to do with this.)

I’m afraid that it will change my genetic makeup. (You’ve been watching too many movies. It doesn’t work like that. And are we talking about giving you superpowers, because that wouldn’t be so bad? Or are you assuming that this is all part of the social injustice movement, and black people will turn everyone black as a way to equalize things?)

I can’t spread the virus, because I don’t breathe heavily. (Uh…)

Covid isn’t real, it’s just something cooked up by the Trump administration. We won’t even hear about it after the election. (I sure hope you didn’t put money on that prediction.)

So, I’ve heard all of these reasons NOT to get the vaccine, but I just heard the funniest reason for someone to want to get it. SM was hoping to get injected with some sort of software that would turn him into his own wireless hotspot. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen, but it would have been cool. Much better than some of those other outlandish ideas. Although I guess a "Covid-19 Hotspot" could also be a place where there's a lot of reported cases. Hmmm...

The Chaise Lounge

When I was a freshman in college, my first major was Architecture. The university I attended first actually had a summer discovery program to expose you to what the curriculum would be like. We learned techniques and structural considerations, how to balance form and function, and the limitations of certain materials. We took field trips to well-known houses, museums, and businesses in the area to see architecture in action. And we had team competitions to build strong, beautiful, functional things.

The one I remember most was the final competition. We were given the task to build a chair entirely out of six 6 ft by 6 ft cardboard sheets. We could use glue to secure it, but the chair had to stand on its own. And it had to support a 300 pound man. As a bonus, we’d also be graded on aesthetics and comfort. AND the chairs would be featured on display in the entryway to the Architecture building for all of the arriving students to see and critique.

Most of the other teams built some sort of boxy, squarish chair sporting a back and various stages of armrests. Pretty basic stuff, but unfortunately not always strong enough to hold up a small pet much less a 300 pound man. Some passed the weight test only to be judged too ugly or too uncomfortable.

My team; however, had a guy perfectly suited to this profession. He had creativity and imagination, and he blended it with a firm knowledge of the limitations of every material. In a word, he had vision. He quickly concluded that corrugated cardboard is weakest when pressure is applied to the flat surface of the sides, causing the cardboard to bow and break. This is where many of the other teams failed in their designs. But if you apply that same pressure to the edge, then it will distribute it along the entire length of the cardboard.

Now, of course a single sheet is too thin to hold a large amount of weight for very long, but if you where to line up many sheets side-by-side, you could create a virtually unbreakable structure. By securing them together with small crosspieces spliced into grooves cut into the sheets, you could hold the whole structure together without adhesive of any kind.

But he didn’t stop there. He wanted something elegant and entirely different too. So, he proposed the idea of a chaise lounge, where someone could lay out on the chair and relax comfortably as well. The design gave us the ability to cut curves for the back and to support the legs, so the chair was both beautiful and ergonomically pleasing. And since each piece was a slice of the entire chair, we didn’t have the same issues that other teams had with trying to figure out how to secure the back onto the seat.

I have never been more proud of anything I’ve been a part of producing. The chair easily held the 300 pounds, and probably would have held much more. But it was also extremely comfortable and beautiful. We won the competition by a landslide, and it was in that moment that I realized that architecture wasn’t for me.

I can’t imagine ever being able to come up with something like that or to approach the problem the way that guy did. His mind was just wired that way. I came at it too analytically and straight on, like pretty much everyone else in the class. But he saw the world differently. I don’t know what became of him, but I imagine he’s somewhere designing amazing skyscrapers in exotic places. They’re probably sporting the latest in innovation and technology, all encased in a beautiful shell.

I don’t have regrets. I loved learning about that stuff, but it wasn’t the path for me. I quickly changed my major to Engineering after that. But that wasn’t meant to be either. And I eventually settled on computers. The one thing I didn’t want to study. The one thing I told myself I’d never major in, because I was so tired of them. It’s made for a financially stable life, but I wish I had pursued something else. Something that might have made me happier. I may not have regrets about architecture, I do have regrets about playing it safe.

The Fortune Cookie

I got a fortune cookie tonight that said, “In dreams and life, nothing is impossible.” Which was all well and good until I tried to stick my elbow in my own ear.

Perception

Based on a recommendation from my mother, I have been binge watching the past seasons of a TV show called Perception. The show follows Daniel, a professor of neuroscience with paranoid schizophrenia, who helps solve crimes for the FBI. His hallucinations help him focus and see the cases from different angles, which helps him see clues or put pieces together that he might have otherwise missed. The only issue is that he’s not always sure that the “person” he’s talking to is real or a hallucination.

The show is fascinating in that it always begins and ends with Daniel giving a lecture about some aspect of the brain and how it affects how people perceive and experience the world. Obviously, the aspect being discussed becomes the central theme of whatever case he’s working on. It’s interesting to ponder how much of life is reality versus our brain’s perception of reality. Or whether things are truly real UNTIL they are perceived by the brain.

I had a psychology professor that brought up the age-old question of “If a tree falls in a forest, and nobody is around to hear it, does it make a sound?” He went on to suggest that the answer is in fact, no. The reason is that sound is not actually sound until it’s perceived. So the tree might make waves, but wouldn’t technically be sound until those waves were received and processed.

Is reality the same? Does someone or something truly exist if nobody perceives them? And if so, how can you be sure? Because the only way to verify it is to actually perceive it, and then it could be argued that your perception of it actually brought it into being.

It’s like Schrodinger’s cat, which was a thought experiment proposed to refute the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum superpositions. Quantum superpositions claim that a quantum system, such as an atom or photon, can exist as a combination of multiple states corresponding to different possible outcomes. The Copenhagen interpretation says that a quantum system remains in superposition until it interacts with, or is observed by the external world. When this happens, the superposition collapses into one or another of the possible definite states. The thought experiment surmised that a cat locked in a box with acid and a decaying atom would exist in a state of both alive and dead until someone opened the box and observed what state the sat was actually in. The argument being that the observation itself is what caused the system to settle into one state or the other. While this famous thought experiment has been used to evoke a myriad of theories and paradoxes, I find it fascinating in the sense that it proposes things exist in an indeterminate state until observed or perceived. Therefore, reality is defined by observation.

However, further theories have gone on to define “observation.” Does that mean an outside observer, or could the object or person itself be defined as an observer of itself? Which would mean that we could bring ourselves into reality by observing ourselves. But then is it the same reality as everyone else, or our own construct? Is an inanimate object truly capable of observation? Or does it require the ability to “act” on a system? Can a brick “observe” us into reality?

I ponder all of this, because in the show they both contend that the hallucinations are real because Daniel perceives them just like he perceives a “real” person, and they’re not real because nobody else perceives them. But if observation is what makes a thing so, then both are technically true.

But the hardest thing to reconcile is the thought that I, or you, could be a schizophrenic and not know it. If someone else isn’t around to “dismantle” our hallucinations, then how would we ever know? And what if other people WERE around, but they were all hallucinations too? Could one hallucination confirm or dispel another hallucination? Then, how could you ever know what was real?

Unidentified Flying Pancakes

My wife was trying something new today for breakfast, so she decided to make these mini pancakes. But she made them in a muffin pan, so they were sort of flatish like a pancake but also sort of puffy like a muffin. The overall effect ended up looking like a UFO. So, throughout the entire breakfast, I imagined that I was some enormous cosmic deity, eating a fleet of UFOs as they came to attack me.

Pinder

PT was trying to breed her dog, so she put up a profile online to find him a girl on a site called Pinder. I didn’t even know you could do such a thing. I guess it's like Tinder, but for pets. If you're looking for a "hook-up" for your dog, then Pinder is the site for you. Who on earth came up with the idea to set up dating sites for dogs?! Do they enjoy random bootie calls, or is this more enjoyment for the humans? 

Now, all I can do is imagine PT and her dog, sitting down together to look at the responses to his profile and the dog swiping through the "hotties" with his paw.

The Bio Urn

When I die, I want to be cremated and put into a biodegradable urn with a tree seed. I want to be buried on a mountain somewhere, and as the urn breaks down, I’ll hopefully grow into a tree.

I was thinking maybe a Christmas tree. Where a bird or squirrel might make their home and raise a family. And maybe someday, someone will cut me down, drag me into their house, and decorate me. And a few weeks later, I’ll be thrown out at the curb. And I’ll be picked up and shredded into mulch. And maybe that mulch will be put out in a playground somewhere. And maybe a little boy, just like my son, will run through me, kicking his feet and sending the me flying.

And I can serve some purpose and give life and amusement, even after I’m gone. It seems like a more honorable way to go than just being stuck in a hole in the ground in a sad, depressing cemetery. Where someone feels compelled to go and stick plastic flowers that fade and fray.

And I'm not the first to think of this idea. There are bio urns available for an organic burial experience. All you have to do is supply the ashes to nourish the tree. Seems easy enough...

Making the Bed

When I was in sixth grade, I had a sleepover at BR’s house. I don’t remember much about what we did that night, but I remember the next morning very vividly. I remember his mom calling us out to breakfast, and BR stopped me at the door to his room. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked. 

“To breakfast. Why?” 

“You need to make your bed first. You should never go to someone else’s house and leave the bed unmade. It’s rude and disrespectful.” 

Stomach rumbling, I begrudgingly made the bed. It’s funny how things stick with you. Thirty years later, and I not only remember that incident, but I still make the bed every morning when I’m at someone else’s house. I can’t say that I do it very often at my own house, but that’s another matter altogether.

The Third Grade All-District Spelling Bee Champion

JR was telling me that whenever his wife questions him on the spelling of a word, he tells her that she shouldn’t doubt him because he was the third grade all-district spelling bee champion. So, I asked him how that worked, if he had to go through several levels of competition, being on stage in front of a microphone, surrounded by an enormous amount of anxiety and pressure. He said no, that they did it a little differently. It apparently was a written test, and they graded him by how many words he spelled correctly, and then compared him to other students in his school and area.

As we dug into this further, we realized that in order for this to work, they would have had to have given him a list of the words on a piece of paper and asked him to spell them. I started laughing, and I asked, “So, basically you just had to copy the word that you saw in the paper?! I think I know how you became the third grade all-district spelling bee champion! Are you sure it wasn’t just a handwriting assignment?” Then another thought hit me. How is it that everyone else missed the spelling of some of the words if they were handed to them on a piece of paper?!

The French Toast Connection

Has anyone else noticed how much Neosporin smells like French toast? It has that sweet, syrupy smell to it. I’m not sure if that was on purpose, if they were told to make it smell like that, or if it just happened. 

French toast always makes me think of my mom. She introduced me to this delicacy of delicacies, and she will always be my French toast connection. Now, I guess she's my Neosporin connection too. Except that I have no intention of ordering Neosporin whenever I go to breakfast in a restaurant.

The French Toast Connection sounds like a romantic spy movie from the 1950s, where a man chased all over the globe by foreign agents bent on killing him, must uncover the elusive connection between a fried, egg-covered breakfast bread and a cream "that helps cuts heal four days faster."

And apparently it's also a little bistro in Portland, OR.

Toast and Chocolate Milk

One of my favorite childhood memories was waking up on a Saturday morning and having toast and chocolate milk with my mom and brother.  That warm bread getting golden brown as the heat from the toaster cooked its doughy sides.  Steam rising off of it in wafts, as the butter melted into a puddle.  And the decadent smell of chocolate being stirred and stirred into the milk, turning it from a crisp white into a silky, smooth brown.

We'd take our treat into the den, cuddle up on the couch, and take turns dipping our toast into the chocolate milk.  The triangular pieces coming out dripping with the chocolaty liquid and mingling the salty with the sweet.  I know that many people that I've told that to think it sounds disgusting, but to me, it's perfect.  It reminds me of home.  Besides, don't knock it until you've tried it!

So, in a nod to my mother and brother and the sweet memories of my childhood, I made myself toast and chocolate milk tonight.  It was everything I remembered.

The Bobby Pin

A little-known fact about me is that in high school, I used to keep a bobby pin in my wallet.  It was clipped on the dollar-bill divider right in the crease of the wallet.  Hardly noticeable unless you were looking for it.  This might seem like an odd thing to have in a man's wallet.  I had a marine-cut haircut all during high school, so it obviously wasn't there for the express purpose that it was made...to hold my hair back.  So, why you might ask did I keep a bobby pin in my wallet? 

Well, to be used as a lock pick, of course, in the event (or eventuality I believed in high school) that I would be locked up somewhere and need to pick the lock to get out.  I was so paranoid that this was bound to happen to me at some point that I wanted to be ready.  So, I carried that stupid bobby around for four years, only to be disappointed that I never had a chance to use it.  Some guys carry business cards, some carry pictures of their girlfriend, some carry condoms...I carried a lock pick.  And that explains a lot about me in high school.

Smart Nora

I recently came across a product called Smart Nora.  It boasted the ability to help you or your partner with snoring, particularly snoring that is so loud that it wakes your partner up.  Since my spousal unit has a snoring problem (although, I guess it's only a problem to the person that has to listen to it), I decided that this product was exactly what we needed!

I have tried everything in the past from nudging her awake (got whacked in the face because she thought she was being attacked), to talking to her (got chewed out for waking her up for no reason, because she obviously wasn't snoring), to full body launching myself into the air to "bounce" her awake (has zero effect on a Tempur-pedic mattress where you can jump up and down with a glass of wine and not spill a drop), to sleeping in another room (oddly, I can still hear her on the other side of the house too, so defeated the purpose).  The science with Smart Nora seemed more promising, though.  It works by "listening" for snoring at a certain decibel level, and then an electronic air jack raises and lowers your pillow to stimulate your relaxed throat muscles to breath normally again.  What could go wrong?!  So, we bought it.

The first two nights, it worked great.  My spousal unit got used to the gentle, slow movement of the pillow and said she had the best sleep she'd had in a long time.  Unfortunately, I didn't see any positive changes on my part, because I stayed awake all night to see if she was going to snore and if Smart Nora would control it.  It was the third night that we found the first flaw in the system.  I finally relaxed into a deep sleep, satisfied that we had finally found the solution to our snoring dilemma.  And that's when it happened.  According to an unverified source, I was so relaxed that I presumably started snoring too.  My crescendo of delight reached such wondrous heights, that Smart Nora picked up on it and started adjusting my spousal unit's pillow.  Which obviously didn't solve the real problem, which was MY collapsing air cavities.  But it created another problem as well...she wasn't asleep yet.  She was still up reading her book when her head started "bobbing" up and down...albeit ever so slowly.

So, now we're faced with a new dilemma.  Pony up a lot more money for a second system, which adjusts both of us if either of us snore, or share a single pillow.  That's it, there are no other options.  And let's be perfectly honest, there is really only one option, because the other one is ludicrous.  

So, now my wife and I have had to learn how to do synchronized "spooning" as we share the pillow.  When either of us needs to turn over, we both have to turn over.  The nice thing is that we've learned to do it without having to fully wake up, and because of Smart Nora, we still have a peaceful sleep!

Free Toaster

Free T-Fal Avante Deluxe Toaster. To a good, loving home. Chrome and black. Toasts four pieces of bread at the same time. Extra-large slots good for toast, English muffins, or bagels. Approximately ten years old, but still has many years of life left in it.

It has many fun features, such as randomly ejecting your toast two feet into the air (and possibly onto the floor) and sometimes not ejecting it at all. But this can be surprising, and has thoroughly entertained my one-year old for weeks now. It’s like a jack-in-the-box, and now he waits with bated breath every time I make toast. Will it fly across the kitchen or not?!

The right side has two cook settings: raw and blackened, which are controlled more by the toaster’s temperament that day than by the knob on the front.

There are levers that will lift your toast up so you can grab it, if you happen to have small pieces of bread, but the lever on the left tends to get stuck in the “lift up” position, so future toast will only get half cooked on that side of the toaster.

The little cooking-cage things inside that close in to hold the bread sometimes get stuck “open,” but a well-placed butter knife can easily wedge them back into place again. Although, I recommend not trying it while the toast is actually toasting as the knife can get a little warm. We like to think of it as an extra “feature.”

My wife is so eager that this toaster find a good home that will appreciate it, that she’s willing to throw in our old, burnt bread crumbs as well...free of charge!

Black Lambs Matter

CC found lamb on sale for the holiday, so he decided to treat himself to some lamb steaks. He called my wife for a recipe, because being Greek, she must have a recipe for lamb! I was half listening from the other room, while I folded laundry, and I heard them start talking about the difference between white meat and dark meet. CC mentioned that he didn’t like the dark meat as much as white meat. To which I yelled, “Black lambs matter too!”

It seemed appropriate given the current social situation with certain ethnic groups fighting for social equality under the banner and motto of “Black Lives Matter."

Mexican Mosquito

I think we have a Mexican mosquito in our house. A few days ago, I was making burritos, and he started annoyingly buzzing around my face. I tried to snuff out his useless life, but he thwarted my attempts. He flew off somewhere, and I didn’t see any sign of him again...until tonight.

I was making tacos, and sure enough, the same mosquito (at least I assume it was the same one) showed up again and was buzzing around my face. I had actually forgotten about him, supposing that he’d died or made his way back outside. I have no idea where he’s been, but as soon as I started cooking Mexican food, there he was again.

I’m going to make fajitas this weekend to see if he’ll come back. I suppose liking Mexican food is better than liking me!

Cassettes

My niece is into music CDs now. Apparently, CDs are considered retro and cool by kids today, much like vinyl records were considered retro and cool by my generation. I guess nobody really buys physical music mediums anymore. Everything is digital downloads. When I was a kid, the big thing was tape cassettes. Other than the size and portability of them (I mean who would like to have a record player mounted on the dashboard of their car?!), there was no redeeming advantage of tape cassettes. The sound quality was poor compared to vinyl records and CDs, and there was absolutely no way to skip to a particular song like you can with CDs. You either listened through the entire cassette each time, or you stopped it and rewound it over and over again for one particular song until you wore the tape out completely.

The other thing that sucked back in the day was trying to figure out the name of a particular song or who sang it. There was no Shazam or Google. You had to rely completely on the radio (or MTV) to tell you. This particular exercise of listening for a song on the radio could frustratingly take days. You'd listen day after day, hoping that the song would come on during those 30-60 min you spent in the car. And if it did happen to come on, you hoped the DJ said the name of the song and artist, so you could go buy the album on cassette later (and then wear it out). Most of the time, luck would have it that you might go hours without hearing your song and turn off the radio just before it came on. Or that it would play in a no-commercial set with the DJ only saying the name of the last song. Or more likely, you’d turn on the radio right in the middle of the song, and the DJ would have decided to say the name at the beginning on that particular day.

We also didn’t have the instant gratification people have today, like being able to download a song whenever you feel like it. Kids nowadays don’t know the pain that we went through to get music back in the day. My brother and I would stay up late (sometimes for several nights in a row), waiting for a song to come on the radio, so we could record it on our repurposed cassette with the paper stuffed in the “do not record” hole. Sometimes, you'd get the last few words of the DJ talking at the beginning as the song cued up (annoying). But other times, the golden times, you'd time it perfectly and hit the "Record" button at the exact right time. There was definitely an art to this. And for the next 3-4 min, you were jamming away to your song, finger hovering over the "Stop" button, waiting for the end, riding a high that you'd finally timed your song perfectly. And then the stupid DJ would inevitably come on and start talking through the last 15 seconds of the song and ruin the entire thing! Cussing his mother for bringing him into the world, you'd rewind the tape and cue it up for the next night when you'd try again.

And we weren’t even supposed to be up late, listening to music. We were already taking our lives in our hands by doing it the first time, and now we'd have to try again! And maybe the next night, you'd have the same thing. The DJ plays five songs in a row without interruption and then decides to talk through the song you're waiting for. Or maybe the next time you hear the song, you're in the car with no way to record it, and now you have to wait another four hours before it comes back on the rotation again. All for a poor quality recording of a song that you probably won't like in a few days anyway!

The Tide Pods

MG is a nanny for a three-year old girl. The little girl likes to help with the laundry, and her favorite part is throwing the Tide pods into the washing machine. 

But every single time, she will look at MG with a stern face and say, “We do not eat the Tide pods!” 

“I wasn’t going to.” 

“Well, we don’t do it. We don’t put them in our mouth.” 

“I’m not, but can you please put it into the washing machine?” 

“Okay, as long as you understand that we don’t do it. We don’t put it in our mouth. That’s the rule. That’s the rule!” 

“I got it. Don’t put it in my mouth.” 

“Good.” 

And then she throws the Tide pod into the machine.

Dr. S and Mr. K

I found out today that apparently when your spouse has a PhD, you’re supposed to address them first in introductions and salutations. This wouldn’t be so odd if the man is the one because they normally go first, but if it’s the woman...

So since my spousal unit has a PhD, she would go first. However, since she didn’t take my last name, we wouldn’t be Dr. and Mr. K. We’d be Dr. S and Mr. K., which sounds odd, like we’re some kind of literary monster. A spin-off of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde maybe.

Over-Exaggerate

Whenever I’m being dramatic about something, my spousal unit always tells me that I like to over-exaggerate. I tell her that I never over-exaggerate. I always exaggerate the exact right amount!

Work Chill Factor

My spousal unit asked me today if I had a long day ahead. I knew what she meant, but this turn of phrase still puzzles me. Usually I answer, “No, it’s 24 hours like every other day.” But today I told her that I had a “work chill factor.” She asked me what that was, and I replied, “It’s like how a wind chill factor can actually make the weather feel colder than it is. Well, a work chill factor is when your job can make a day seem longer than it is."

It's Friday

I hate when you ask someone how they’re doing and they answer, “ it’s Friday.” What does the day of the week have to do with your state of being?!

Paving the Way

My spousal unit's first grant application was accepted into consideration into the final stage today. She had applied to this grant without much hope of getting it, because it was for more experienced scientists, not one going for her first grant. But it was worth the experience to at least apply. And then this!

God has a plan for her. Not sure if it’s to get the grant or not yet, but it’s something to even make it this far. She didn’t have much hope, so it was a huge surprise. I told her that everyone said that a freshman would never win the Heisman Trophy until Johnny Manziel did it. When something is so good that you can’t possibly pass it up, it paves the way for a new way of thinking. Maybe this is her time to pave a new way of thinking about first-time investigators to get this grant.

Songs in Traffic

Generally speaking, I hate traffic. It irritates me and makes me become an ugly, cussing person that I hate. I have no patience for stupidity or incompetence when it comes to driving. People make such bad decisions that they become dangerous, and that irritates me too. Needless to say, I’m not a fan of sitting in traffic...unless.

The only time I don’t mind a little traffic is when a song that I really like comes on the radio. I appreciate a small delay so that I can make it all the way through the song. I hate when a good song comes on the radio just as I park. Then I have the dilemma of missing it or stupidly sitting in my car for the next 4-5 minutes. But if I’m sitting there then I can’t really enjoy it, because all my mind can think is that there is no purpose or usefulness for this idleness. So I’ll usually end up turning it off early anyway.

Underwear in the Window

This morning when I got out of the shower, I discovered that the laundry basket was not in its usual place in the bedroom. In my groggy state it took me a minute to realize that my spousal unit had been doing laundry yesterday and had the basket in the laundry room. Still holding my underwear in my hand, I headed that way to put them in there. Unfortunately, in a classic spaghetti moment, I saw an inflatable toilet laying in the yard (that’s another story). So I set my underwear down on the window sill next to the back door, and I went outside to pick up the toilet. However, upon reentering the house, I completely forgot about my underwear, and I went about my morning routine. An hour later as I was eating breakfast, I happen to glance over and see, to my surprise, a pair of underwear on the window sill.

In my still relatively groggy state, my mind froze trying to reason out this peculiarity. I mean who would leave underwear on a window sill? And why on earth would anyone put them there to begin with? And why do they look exactly like the ones I was wearing this morning before my shower?

I eventually reasoned out that I was the crazy person that had left them there. But I wondered what would have happened if I hadn’t noticed them sitting there. How long would they have sat there before someone else noticed them? A day? A week? Would someone else have noticed them at all? Perhaps one of the women in my wife’s Bible study group? What kind of interesting conversation would that have sparked? And my spousal unit wouldn’t know the answer, so they would go on being the mysterious underwear on the window sill. And why would we ever move them, when they provide such interesting speculation and conversation?

Little Things

This morning traffic was thwarted by a branch on the highway. Not a tree limb, but a tiny insignificant branch. I’m guessing it had fallen off of someone’s truck and landed in the road. And proceeded to bring three lanes of a major freeway to a complete and utter standstill. Nobody wanted to drive over it or get out and move it, so they all proceeded to try to merge into the next lane over. Everyone in that lane, after having to stop to let the new group in, then proceeded to merge into the lane next to them, bringing that lane to a stop too. You could see an almost empty freeway ahead, on the other side of the offensive little branch. Just goes to show you that even little things can bring the world to a stop and make a big impact.

Safe-Driver Discount

I drove past my car insurance agent today on my way home. I knew it was him by the large sign plastered along the side of his bright red truck. When I got level with him, I was shocked to see him driving and texting as he went down the road. That seems so wrong! And all I could wonder was whether he insures himself and whether he would give himself the safe driver discount or not.

Spicy Indian Food

SM said that Indians eat extra spicy food when they’re sick to kill the germs and bacteria in their system. I guess it’s so hot that even the germs and bacteria are like “Nope, I’m out, not even going to deal with that!"

This is Juan...

I received a mysterious call today, and the menacing voice on the other end said, “This is Juan. I am coming for you. Actually, I’m already here.” At first, I was wondering how Juan had found me. Then, I was trying to figure out when I had got on the wrong side of the Mexican mafia. And if I’d pissed off the Mexican mafia, and they had sent Juan after me, then why would he call to warn me?! It took me several minutes to realize that Juan was the shuttle driver that was picking me up to take me back to the dealership to get my car.

Last Ride of the White Gauges

My spousal unit finally decided to buy a new car this weekend. That meant that we were ready to bid farewell to the Toyota Corolla that I had bought 13 years ago. While it’s definitely past due to get rid of him, I’m still a little sad to see him go. Ember and I have been through a lot together, but the upkeep and repairs that he needs are more expensive than his street value. So I took him out for one last drive today, just me and him. One last ride to say goodbye. Goodbye to the white gauges. Goodbye to my boy. I hope some family appreciates him and loves him as much as I did.

Straight-forward Honesty

My mother-in-law was relating to me today one of her fondest and funniest memories from when my brother-in-law was a child.  She said that someone had called the house looking for her and my brother-in-law had answered.  When he related who was on the phone, she decided that she didn't want to talk to them, so she told my brother-in-law to tell the caller that she was not at home.  My brother-in-law went back, picked up the phone, and said, "My mother said to tell you that she's not at home."  Nobody ever expects the straight-forward honesty of a child.

Ptosikrevatithanatosphobia

Tonight, I was having one of the late-evening chats with ME that I have grown so fond of.  We always seem to diverge into the most outlandish and interesting topics, and I love that his mind is as willing and capable of going down this path as mine is.  Somehow, we managed to get onto the topic of irrational fears, and he told me that his was of being crushed to death while sleeping in the bottom bed of a bunk bed.  While this fear is more common than you might think, and while it seems completely legitimate, I still had not personally ever heard someone say that was their biggest fear.

I had had bunk beds as a kid, and I don't recall ever feeling scared to be on the bottom bed.  And I definitely don't recall ever feeling like the top bunk might come crashing down on me in the middle of the night and slowly crush me to death as I struggled to unpin myself from underneath it.  I mean I think what makes this irrational is that it's not falling from very high, and even with someone on the bed, it seems unlikely to kill you instantly.  Injury?  Yes.  Death?  Unlikely.  Also, wouldn't the person on the top bunk realize it was falling and get off to help you before you were slowly crushed to death?

As I write this statement, I think of my own brother, and I have my doubts as to whether he would have helped me back then...such was the nature of our relationship.  He might or might not have gotten off of the fallen bed.  I seriously doubt he would have helped me out of the mess.  So, put into this context...brothers and maybe prison cellmates...I guess it is theoretically possible to be slowly crushed to death by an upper bunk bed.

The most amazing part is that as apparently as common as this fear is, ME and I were unable to find a scientific name for it.  If we make up our own, using Greek as our root, then it might be something like "ptosikrevatithanatosphobia," which loosely translates as "falling bed death fear."  While definitely a mouthful, it has the importance-sounding and length of most words describing a particular fear, so I think it meets the criteria needed.  And since the scientific community did not take being slowly crushed to death by a falling top bed in a bunk bed seriously enough to name it, we now have our official name for it.  So it shall be written, so it shall be done.

Sewing Machine

My mother-in-law had a Singer electric sewing machine that she used every once in a while to make curtains or mend clothes.  One day, she went to use it, and it didn’t work.  She fiddled with all of the buttons and knobs, but nothing.  So she took it to the Singer shop to have them look at it.  The technician plugged it, and the sewing machine immediately started working.  After a few more humoring questions from them and a few more adamant protestations from my MIL, she left the shop sewing machine in tow, and the technician thinking he was dealing with a crazy woman.

She arrived home, plugged the sewing machine in, and nothing.  She tried several different outlets around the house, and nothing.  Not knowing what else to do, she loaded it back into the car and drove back to the Singer shop.  She told them that it wasn’t working at home, regardless of what it did in the shop.  To which the technician replied, “Perhaps it just doesn’t want you!”

PGBT

There's a highway in Dallas called the President George Bush Turnpike (PGBT for short).  Everybody always refers to it by either its full name or at least by "George Bush."  This actually sounds quite funny when you hear someone say that they take George Bush to work every day.  I always imagine him sitting in the car with them, annoyed at their morning conversation.  This is even funnier when you wonder why George Bush would need to carpool!

Chicken Meat

Apparently, not all chickens are white. Some are brown and black. This gets me to wondering.  If you got a breast from a brown or black chicken, would it be considered dark meat or white meat?

Martinez the Rookie

When I was in Missouri, BD and I used to get together every Saturday, have lunch, and play video games.  I loved spending time with him, and I looked forward to it every week.  At one point, we were playing Madden's NFL Football, and we ended up drafting this quarterback out of college with the last name of Martinez.  BD loved playing with the guy and went on and on about how "Ace" he was.

A month or so later, we had Game Day at work, and someone suggested that we have a Wii Bowling tournament.  We played in teams, and BD and I decided to team up together.  When it came to choosing a name, it seemed like a no-brainer what it would be.  We ended up calling ourselves, "Martinez the Rookie."  We went on to win the tournament too!

Pillow Thief

While I was at my conference back in October, my wife decided to steal my pillows.  I came home to find them missing from their usual spot and located them nestled up on her side of the bed.  When I inquired about the alleged thievery that had taken place, she batted her eyelashes at me and simply said, “Baaabbbyyy, I was having trouble getting comfortable, and your pillow combination was perfect.  I have never slept so well.” 

Realizing that there was no way I could ask my pregnant wife for them back now, I asked, “Okay, and what am I supposed to do now?  I have no pillows.” 

She simply said, “There are some used ones in the closet, maybe you can get one of those.”

By “used” pillows, she means the broken-down-stuffing-has-been-equally-distributed-to-each-corner-of-the-pillow-no-longer-provides-any-support-whatsoever-probably-stinks-not-sure-why-we-even-kept-them pillows that have been banished to the top of the closet in cases of extreme emergencies.  And that is exactly where I now find myself…in a case of extreme emergency, constantly having to re-fluff and redistribute my used pillow into something that vaguely resembles a usable head and neck support, while failing miserably and waking up each day with a crick.

My pillow is so flat that I feel like I’m just sleeping on a pillow case.  My neck is situated at such a weird angle that I look like I’m trying to listen to my shoulder.  Which if it could talk would probably be asking, “What happened to the other perfectly-fluffed pillow that you had that supported us all perfectly and kept your ear the exact right distance away from me?!”  Touche, talking shoulder…touche.

Suggested Destination

My wife and I drove in to work a little later this morning, because she wasn’t feeling well and hadn’t gotten much sleep last night.  After dropping her off, I headed on to my office and decided to stop for gas before making my way inside the building.  I pumped my fuel and got back into the car and started it up.

When I start the car, my phone automatically connects to the Bluetooth.  Typically, the first thing it will do is anticipate where I want to go based on my current location and time of day and give me suggested directions to my next destination.  So, if I’m at home, then it will give me a little message from Maps, something like “38 min to get to work taking Long Prairie Rd, traffic is heavy.”  If I’m at work, then it usually gives me a message to UT Southwestern to pick up my wife.

However, today, it completely bypassed all of that and immediately said, “28 min to get home taking Long Prairie Rd, traffic is light.”  It was only 10:15 in the morning, and my phone already wanted me to go home!  I looked down at it and said, “I like where your head is at.”

The Getaway Driver

During my morning commute today, as I bobbed and weaved my way expertly through traffic, I let my mind wander to the possibility of becoming a getaway driver.  Who knows where these ideas come from, but I entertained it for an hour to see where it went.  Obviously, I can drive, and contrary to popular belief, I’m actually a good driver; or at least I’m good in the ways that relate to being a getaway driver.  But what skills make a good getaway driver?  What sets that person off from other normal drivers?  What other things do you need to consider as a getaway driver?

I had some ideas, of course, but I started to do some research to see what the experts say.  This led me to an article by James Peters called aptly enough, “How to Become the Most Perfect Getaway Driver.”  In the article Mr. Peters gives some rules and tips for being a getaway driver, which ultimately leads to him saying that you’re probably going to get caught no matter what you do, despite what the movies show.

So, besides being a good driver, I think a good getaway driver needs the following characteristics:

·        Thinks Quickly – They quickly evaluate all of the available options, running through pros and cons of each.

·        Decisive – And going along with the first one…they act quickly and stand by their decisions.  They don’t second-guess themselves or ponder other choices that they could have made.  They accept the consequences and move on to the next decision.

·        Good Reactions – They need catlike reflexes, because you never know what might spring out in front of you at the last second.

·        Stays Calm – Understandably, being in a high-speed chase is exciting, but it’s also nerve-racking.  So, being able to stay calm in the face of stressful situations will assist in making better decisions.

·        Internal GPS – They need to have an internal GPS of the area, so they have at least a rough idea of the roads and alternate roads that are available to them.

                                                                                                                           

And the additional items that Mr. Peters adds to the list:

·        Never use a getaway car that can be registered back to you or anyone you know.  Always use a stolen car that has been stolen that day and preferably right before the heist.

·        Never use a getaway car that draws attention to itself.  Avoid cars that are black, red, or yellow.  Look for a simple, dependable, domestic-looking family car.  Something with a “soccer mom” or “proud parent” sticker on the back window.

·        Drive seriously and safe.  Drive with purpose, but do not speed.  Stop completely at stop signs and stoplights.  Never drive through yellow lights.

·        Be sober.

·        Never get involved with some idiot who has “road rage,” because they will draw attention to themselves and you by association.

·        Sit upright and proper in the vehicle and wear your seatbelt.  Adjust your mirrors appropriately and make sure all of the lights and signals work.  Never use your car as a battering ram, if possible, because you risk doing damage that will draw unwanted attention to your car.

·        Make sure you have a full tank of gas.

·        When driving away from the heist, never squeal your tires or speed, which will draw attention to yourself.  Drive with a destination and purpose, but take lots of turns to get there.

·        People in the backseat should lay low, as it’s highly likely that the number of robbers has been given to the authorities.  Have someone sit in the passenger seat, though, so it doesn’t make it look too obvious.

·        Park the car at a park or public pool, some place with no video cameras, and then look natural and walk away.  Notice your surroundings and stay alert.

·        Never wear a hat or sunglasses.

·        Never look nervous, agitated, or scared.  Drive with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the console or stretched over the passenger seat.  Try to look casual.

·        Try to look happy and unthreatening.  Maybe smile, but don’t overdo it.

·        If you do get in a chase with the authorities, just remember that the odds are not in your favor.  They tend to have cars that are faster and more agile than yours, and they take classes on driving in a high-speed chase (despite what you see in the movies).  They also have the gang mentality and will use their radios to work together against you.

·        Eluding the authorities is next to impossible.  The longer you stay on the road, the higher the risk of getting arrested or killed.  Taking high speed turns can increase your chances of success, but they are also highly dangerous.  There is an art to them, and they should be practiced before the move is actually needed.

·        Your best option in a chase is to go down a side street or narrow alley, park the getaway car in the middle of the street, and run away on foot.  Making the authorities have to get out and chase you increases your chances, but not by much.

In hindsight, perhaps the life of a getaway driver isn’t for me.  If I want the thrill of it without the risk of it, I could always fly to the UK and participate in the annual Racewars Getaway Driver experience at the Curborough Sprint Track.  At least with that, I know I’ll be walking away at the end of the day.