Wallowing in Misery

Today, CC called me to complain about something related to his son. It seems like the only time CC calls me anymore is to complain about something…his new house, his landlord, his stress level, his students, his son, etc. I listen, but I no longer participate in the “woe is me” party anymore. I don’t really share much about my life or complain about anything anymore, because there’s no point. He always tries to ask and goad me into chiming in, almost like my misery validates his own. But I’m tired of fixating on only the negative in life. I want to be happier and focus on happy things. I don’t want to be upset and depressed all the time.

So, I tried to raise his spirits. When he asked how I was doing, I told him that I was playing with my toy skeleton. His response was one of confusion and concern. (Surely I must be two steps from the mental hospital.) So, I told him about the newest member of our family, Boney. I described the antics and funny things the skeleton does each day, and how he’s brought such joy to our lives.

I thought he’d laugh and joke. Instead, he said, “How do you have that much time? Seems like a waste of time for someone so busy.” And I ended the conversation right there. That’s someone that wants to wallow in misery. That is not someone calling a friend to help pull them out if it.

It’s really sad. He used to be a fun guy to talk to, but now I find myself avoiding his calls. If I do pick up, like today, I just wonder what I was thinking. The ironic thing is that Boney is not a waste of time. Living life only looking for the problems and negatives is the waste of time. I’m choosing to be happy. And if it’s a toy skeleton that brings me joy, then I’m choosing Boney…even over my depressing friends.

Masquerade Murder

My spousal unit and I decided to go out on a date night tonight. It was our first date since…well…I guess since about three years ago. Our community was doing a murder mystery / dinner masquerade for couples, and we signed up. I’d been very much looking forward to it. I’d spent weeks planning my outfit and trying to find the perfect mask, and my spousal unit had even bought a new dress (mostly because I insisted that she couldn’t go in her usual black pants). My mom came up to watch Troy for us, and off we went.

We chose a table with only one other couple, two lovely lesbian women named Sasha and Sarah, who ended up being a lot of fun. The event itself was not managed very well, as they tried to do the dinner simultaneously with the murder mystery. So, we found ourselves trying to scarf down food, while also running around and gathering clues. I also realized that you have to have a certain sort of outgoing personality to walk up to complete strangers and question them like suspects. It also doesn’t help if the people are dry and not forthcoming with information. Sasha was selected to play one of the suspects, the vengeful maid…, and I was selected as one of the bachelors.

Essentially, three bachelors were chosen to either get rich, marry a celebrity, or die. It was a game of Russian Roulette, except the decision wasn’t by chance…it was entirely in the hands of our fellow banquet goers. Each man was given a chance to explain what they’d do with the money if they were chosen to get rich. The first said he’d buy a house for his family, noble but not aligned to the hearts of the greedy, selfish crowd with his fate in their hands. The second said he’d buy a boat, better but still not big enough. I said I’d buy my own private island, which was met with cheers and applause. This was more like it! Ultimately, I was voted almost unanimously to get rich, but my glory was short-lived as the host of the party was murdered instead of one of the bachelors. And this is how the murder mystery started.

In the end, we didn’t successfully solve the mystery, but neither did anyone else. We did win the award for Best Detectives of the Night for asking the most and best questions. Although that was entirely because of Sasha and my spousal unit. I was tripped up by not knowing that I could ask more than one question at a time, so I never really learned anything useful. It was also extremely chaotic with the number of people and the frequent interruptions by the “detective.” But we had a good time, and it was good to get away and do something for just the two of us.

My Stepfather's in the Microwave

We have some women that come and clean our house each month. Whatever cleaner they use to clean the microwave perfectly captures what my stepfather smelled like. Part man, part machine. If I could have bottled his essence, that would be it.

In life, there are certain smells that trigger memories in our brains. And every time I open the microwave door, my stepfather wafts out at me. I’m instantly transported back to over a decade ago; sitting next to him at his desk, talking about the latest computer games, and munching on sunflower seeds and gummy bears.

I still miss him. I wonder what he would have thought of my son. I wonder if he’d have been proud of the man that I became. I wonder if he’d have transitioned over to consoles instead of computers to play his games. But unfortunately, I can’t ever know that. He was taken from me before I was ready. But at least I can remember him every time I open my microwave.

Insurance Payout

I’m not sure if I should be worried or not, but my wife has been asking a lot of questions about my life insurance policy all of a sudden. How much is the payout? Is the payout in a lump sum or in installments? Will they payout only for a natural-looking death, or would any instrument of my demise suffice? Can she still receive a payout from prison?

Possibly even more disturbing than that was the response I got from HR when I asked all of these questions for clarification. The HR Partner simply wrote back, “Would you like to change your beneficiary?”

Covid Chicken

I’ve been sick the last few weeks. I’m not sure what I might have; but I’ve had fever, stuffiness, and coughing; so, I'm sure it's something viral. Because it's been lingering for so long, my wife encouraged me to go get checked out at the doctor. So, I made an appointment at the urgent care and went in this morning. I guess because my symptoms cross over several different possibilities (or maybe because they could charge the insurance more), they decided to do a flu test, strep test, and Covid test on me. The flu and step came back negative immediately, but I had to wait for the Covid results.

So since I had some time to kill, I decided to go home and have some lunch. As I ate my leftover chicken, I became worried because I couldn’t taste any of the food. It was just like a bland, pulpy mass in my mouth. If you're at all familiar with Covid, you realize that this is one of the symptoms, so I immediately started having a panic attack. How could I possibly have gotten Covid? I'm vaccinated, and I'm usually so careful. Did I get one of the mutant strands? Who have I come into contact with? It had to be some moron who didn't think Covid was a big deal, so there's no reason to take precautions or be safe. Who might I have given it to? Will my wife and son get it now because of me?

All these thoughts were flashing through my mind, as I sat eating this tasteless chicken. Then, I took a bite of the green beans, and I realized that they were very flavorful. I wondered. Is it possible to only lose taste in part of your tongue? I tried something else...tasty. I tried the chicken again, thinking maybe my taste was returning...bland. I was confused. 

Luckily, I didn't have to wait long for my results from the doctor, which confirmed my Covid test was also negative. I concluded that my wife hadn't used a lot of spices on this particular batch of chicken, so it would have been tasteless either way. In general, Greek cooking uses the "blander" spices, like oregano, basil, rosemary; rather than being salt and pepper heavy like American cooking. Since I was raised on salt and pepper, it's sometimes hard for me to taste the subtler, yet wonderful, flavors of other spices. But this batch of chicken tasted like it had been plucked and thrown straight into the oven. That it happened to coincide with my Covid "scare" was an unfortunate coincidence.

Just for Chest

While talking to my friend JR today, I realized that there is an untapped niche in the men's care market. You've probably heard of Just for Men, which is hair dye specifically designed for men. To be honest, I'm not sure what makes it specifically designed for men. Is men's hair different from a woman's? Do we really need separate hair dyes? Or is it a marketing gimmick? Anyway, I digress. Whatever the reason, we have the product line. So, back on point, we have the hair dye, and then the company released Just for Men: Beard (now since expanded into Just for Men: Mustache & Beard for all of those non-Amish users of the product), which is essentially the same exact product, but it also comes with a little comb so you can be more targeted with your dying. But why stop there?!

Why not Just for Men: Chest? Or Just for Men: Pubes? It would be the exact same formula as Just for Men, but marketed in different boxes, so men think they need to buy them all. It's genius! The marketing campaign could center around a man's dating life. Start with the head and face, and as your dating life progresses, you move down your body, dying as you go. I mean you can't have a woman realizing that you're fake all over when she sees silver in your chest hair or pubes, but your hair and beard were black! I'm telling you, untapped market. This is a sure-fire winner.

Which leads to the question of whether you should take it all the way down and do Just for Men: Legs. The answer is emphatically, "No!" Why, you might ask? Because the target demographic for this product, men 40+ years old, have already, for some completely inexplicable reason, started losing patches of their leg hair anyway. So, there's not enough there to dye or worry about. Besides, who is really focusing on legs when you get to that intimate moment?

Flying Tacos

When I lived in Missouri, I used to drive back to Texas occasionally to visit my family. It was about a 16-hour drive, and there were several routes I could take. My favorite was down through Arkansas, because it had the prettiest scenery. The shortest was through Oklahoma, but it was also the most boring, because there was nothing to see. Someone recommended that I try heading over to Kansas before heading down, so on one visit, I tried that route. Big mistake! It was just as boring as the Oklahoma route, but also longer. But that’s not the point of this story.

During my trip, I got hungry and pulled over at a Taco Bell to get some portable lunch. (This, of course, was back when I could actually digest and process Taco Bell without turning into Mt. Vesuvius for the next three days.) So, as I drove on down the road, being lulled to sleep by grasslands and cows for as far as the eye could see, I grabbed one of my soft tacos and started unwrapping it. I liked to wrap the paper around the bottom like a diaper to catch any particulates that might fall out of the taco. I got my taco ready and looked up to see no road in front of me.

I was on a slightly raised portion of the highway, and the green fields were spread out below me. My car was pointed at one of these fields about to launch off the highway and go flying over the barbed wire fence. A disinterested black cow was standing on the other side of the fence, munching on some grass, watching my car barreling straight at her. As she realized that I was not swerving to follow the highway as it curves off to the left, she became much more interested. Her mouth stopped mid chew, and the wet, half-chewed grass dropped from her gaping mouth.

Realizing that I was about to die in Kansas of all places, and take this poor cow with me, I threw my soft taco across the car, grabbed the wheel, and jerked it to the left. My car responded, and I skidded along the gravel shoulder, my tires just kissing the grass along the edge. By the grace of God, I managed to get back onto the highway. I pulled over a mile up the road and collected the remnants of my taco from the floorboard and tried unsuccessfully to put it back together again.

I never went that route again. Mostly because I couldn’t bear to face that cow again. Her dark, judgmental eyes still haunt my dreams. I wonder now if I might have cleared that fence (and the cow) and landed safely on the other side. I’m not sure what I would have done at that point if I had. I guess I could have driven across the field to the farmhouse and tried somehow to explain what happened. Logically, it would make sense for someone not to believe such a far fetched story. But the fact that I was miraculously in their field would have been irrefutable proof. Well that, and the taco. We can’t forget the taco.

Puzzle Trash-Talking

My mom came up for the long weekend, and we pulled out a puzzle to fill the gaps in between playing with my son. We’ve been puzzling together for years now, pushing ourselves to finish a ridiculously difficult puzzle in a very short timeframe. Each time, we’ll both say that we won’t make it, but we always do…even though sometimes it comes down to the wire.

We have a system that works well for us. She starts on the edges, while I pick the hardest part of the puzzle…the sky, the ocean, the grass…and try to knock it out. I learned long ago that most people will save the hard part for last, because they’re intimidated by it. They’re hoping that they’ll have eliminated enough pieces beforehand to have a running start at the hard part. I prefer to face it head on.

Truth be told, I’m weird when it comes to puzzles. If I’m working alone, I won’t put the edges on until the very end. I like the challenge of the free-form chaos, forcing you to beat the puzzle on equal terms.

After she finishes the edge, my mom will pick some other, easily-identifiable part…a castle, or colorful canopy, or people…to work on. She’ll patiently pick away at it, making slow progress, while I am wiping out the hardest and, often times, largest section of the puzzle. When I’m done, I’ll move on to the second hardest part…the trees, or bushes, or something else equally uniform in color.

In my pretend cockiness, I’ll trash-talk my mom at how much more progress I’m making than her. And she’ll dish it right back, saying something like, “You wouldn’t have been able to do that, if I hadn’t grouped all the pieces together for you.” It’s all good-natured fun, and it helps pass the time and make our time more interesting.

Besides, the real race happens when I finish my two large sections, and we layer in my mom’s contribution. My mom excels at filling in the one-off gaps, and she’s constantly finding the exact piece I’ve been looking for for the last ten minutes. She makes up a lot of ground quickly, and this is a major reason why we’re able to squeak by at the eleventh hour.

I love these puzzle sessions with my mom. I’ve been fortunate enough to have done dozens and dozens of puzzle with her through the years, and I always miss it when we don’t get to do one.

Geoffrey the Giraffe

My stepmother recently reminded me of a fond memory from my high school days. She, my father, and I were watching TV one night when a commercial for Toys ‘R Us came on.

My father: “I don’t like those Toys ‘R Us commercials. That talking giraffe really freaks me out.”

My stepmother: “You know he’s not real, right? Giraffes can’t really talk. He’s animatronic.”

My father: “Of course Geoffrey is real! An animatronic giraffe couldn’t own a toy store!”

Me: “So, you think they trained a real giraffe to do all of those things in the commercials?”

My father: “Why not? Is that so hard to believe? They can train dogs and horses, why not a giraffe?”

My stepmother: “Train him to own and run a toy store?”

My father: “Why not?”

The sad part is that I think he was serious. Still makes us laugh.

 

UPDATE: If you’re at all curious, it was in fact an animatronic giraffe made by the Stan Winston Studio for Toys ‘R Us. In most commercials, it was only a robotic head in a box, not the whole body.

The Jeanie Rub

When I was growing up, my father had an electric back massager called the “Jeanie Rub.” He’d gotten it soon after he’d been in a car accident and hurt his back. The engine on this thing was so powerful and rough that it was like getting a massage from a jackhammer! You even had to hold it with two hands or you'd lose control of the thing. Your entire body would shake like the thing was trying to tear you to bits. I’d be flexing my muscles so hard to withstand the torture that I’d end up more tense than when I started.

Needless to say, it was not a relaxing experience. In fact, my father was the only one that could stand it. But it was the only massager in the house. So, if your back hurt, it was damned if you do, damned if you don’t. Pick your poison and hope you survive.

The Second Act

I realized today that this blog is the platform for my stand-up comedy routine. I try out stories and jokes on people in real life. If they bring laughs and interest, then I include them in my blog. People who know me well have even started to say, “You should blog about that.”

I imagine comedians write down jokes and ideas throughout the day. Then, they put them in their act and see which ones work and which bomb. I just do it the other way around.

Sometimes it’s hard to capture the tone, pauses, emphasis, or sound effect in text. The live version is funnier. And that’s why I encourage people to read my posts out loud, because then you can imagine that I’m reading it to you, the way that I’d read it to you, like one of those movie voiceovers.

Leek Soup and the Flatulating Tree

A friend of ours gave us a recipe that he created for a leek soup. It’s not really a soup, because he puts it on other things like pasta or rice, so I’d say it’s more of a leek sauce. Regardless, it’s chock full of a variety of vegetables and beef. Surprisingly, I actually find it incredibly tasty, despite my aversion to many “exotic” vegetables (leek is exotic to me). The downside that we found is that it tends to give everyone in the house gas. And I mean very audible, blow the covers off the bed, could clear a room or kill small farm animals gas.

But what I can’t figure out is if that’s just a natural side effect to the leek soup/sauce or if my spousal unit changed something in the ingredients. So, I’m trying to figure out a polite way to ask my friend if the leek soup/sauce also gives him flatulence, but no matter how I approach it, I can’t seem to weave it into a conversation. I feel like it would be a conversation killer. Like where do you go after that incredibly random and awkward exchange?

This got me thinking. Do trees flatulate? I know what you’re thinking. How did he go from leek soup/sauce to flatulating trees? (Well, at least some of you may be thinking that. Some of you may be wondering what the color nine smells like, but I can’t help you with that.) Well, when you’re discussing with your mother about your dilemma over how to bring up leek soup/sauce flatulence in a conversation (this is how I know it’s a conversation killer), and you’re staring out the window at your beautiful red oak tree in the backyard, it’s not such a leap.

So, do they? Do trees toot? If you poured leek soup/sauce on their roots would they toot more? How would you measure if the amount of flatulence increased after absorbing the leek soup/sauce? Forget curing cancer, this is where we should be putting our research money!

I guess we figured out where you go after bringing up the fact that leek soup/sauce gives you gas. You talk about flatulating trees and the effect of leek soup/sauce on their gas. But that’s it. There’s no hope after that. You just have to walk away at that point.

UPDATE: I found out that my spousal unit has been omitting bell peppers from the recipe. Perhaps the bell pepper acts as a counteragent to reduce the amount of flatulence caused by the leek soup/sauce. Maybe our friend added them by experience and necessity. Maybe he learned the hard way that something more was needed.

So, I’ve asked my spousal unit to add the bell peppers next time to see if it reduces the overall flatulence level in the house. This could perhaps save my friendship as well!

Praying for a Successful Failure

CC had an interview today, and he said he thought it went well. But the interviewer told him that they still had one candidate to talk to before making their final decision. I told him that’s a tough one. On the one hand, you don’t want to wish ill on someone else and hope they fail. On the other hand, you want to get the job. So, I suggested that he pray to God that the other candidate would do really well on the interview, but then he’d ask for far too much money and price himself out of the deal. That way you weren’t praying for bad things to happen, but you would still get the job!

CC said he was just going to pray that God’s will be done. I suppose that would work too, but I think mine was a little more specific and direct as to what I really want.

Resume 2.0

I wanted to write an updated resume that not only captured my skills and experience, but also my unique personality. I always liked the idea from the movie Legally Blonde, where she wrote her resume on pink paper and made it scented. But in this digital age, it’s hard to capture scent through a digital medium. So, I tried to get creative, and I added a comment at the end of the resume text that tells the reader that my resume smells like cucumber and green tea extract. I advised them to use their imagination.

Never Got Over It

While talking to CC today, I was reminded of two things that my mom always used to say to me. Both were equal parts frustrating, and to be honest, they’re still maddening to this day.

One day, I got in trouble for something. For what, I don’t remember, but that’s not relevant to the story. It’s safe to assume, though, that I was innocent of whatever I was being accused of. When my mom started getting onto me about it, I asked, “What did I do?!”

To which she replied, “You know what you did!”

“Actually I don’t, which is why I’m asking.”

Losing what shred of patience she had left, she exclaimed, “Well, you can go to your room and think about what you did!”

As I trudged into my room, I had no idea what I did. An hour later when she came to release me, I still had no clue. Thirty-five years later, I still have no clue. I am not sure she knows or knew.

On another occasion, I was trying to write a paper for school, and I was struggling with the spelling of a word. I went and asked my mom how to spell it, and she replied, “Look it up in the dictionary.”

I believe my smart aleck reply was, “How can I look it up in the dictionary, if I don’t know how to spell it? Perhaps you don’t know how to spell it either, and you’re trying to cover it up with that stupid response.”

On second thought, I now remember why I got in trouble and was sent to my room.

Take the Plunge!

We went to the park today to see the chickens. When we got there, they were all sleeping in their coop. Upon hearing Troy’s quite loud voice, they all started to come out to see us. Several of them jumped down from the upper level of the “housing unit,” but one stopped at the edge of the roof and wouldn’t jump. She kept walking back and forth, looking down indecisively. She was trying to calculate the height of the house to ground, look for a soft spot of dirt, figure out if she was going to break her twiggy leg…you know, the usual things that go through a chicken’s mind. It looked like she was scared to take the plunge. So, I told her, “Don’t think about it. Just jump! If you think about it, you’ll chicken out!”

Side Effects

I was watching a migraine medicine commercial at lunch today, and one of the side effects is headaches. Now, I'm not the sharpest toothpick in the crayon box, but a headache medicine that causes headaches seems like an ineffective treatment.

Braces

I got braces for my teeth on Halloween day when I was in the seventh grade. To commemorate the occasion, I had the dentist put orange and black bands around the metal fasteners attached to my teeth. It would be the first of many color changes over the next two years. Red and green for Christmas. Red, white, and blue for the 4th of July. Brown and orange for Thanksgiving.

But my go to color combination for all other occasions was blue and white. I don’t know why, but that was always my favorite. Fascinating that years later I would marry a woman from Greece, whose flag is blue and white.

X-Ray Superpowers

I went to the dentist today, and they did x-rays on my teeth. When my hygienist walked back in to remove my lead blanket, I asked her if I was going to get superpowers now. She laughed and eagerly said, “Wouldn’t that be so cool!” We then spent the next hour talking about the pros and cons of superpowers while she cleaned my teeth. She wanted something practical and functional, like an elastic, retractable third arm. I took the side of having a clone to boss around, so I could make it do all of the things I find unpleasant. I asked her if I didn’t like my superpower, could I come back and trade it in for another one. She said she didn’t think it worked like that.

Upside and Downside to a clone would be the shared consciousness. On the one hand, we could communicate without speech. On the other hand, I would be aware of everything he’s experiencing, so I could never really unplug or relax while he’s working. I also feel like it would be distracting to be in the middle of an activity and at the same time be consciously aware of another activity. The only alternative I could come up with is if we did a sync at the end of the day instead of having real-time feedback.

Expectations

The other day, I was telling my mother-in-law some of my frustrations with people, either because they’re flaky or they don’t live up to my standards and expectations for them. She said, “You shouldn’t be frustrated with people. You shouldn’t expect more from people than exactly who they are.”

Initially, I felt like this was a very pessimistic viewpoint of the world. Why shouldn’t people be held to a higher standard? Why shouldn’t you expect the best from them, especially if you know that they are capable of so much more?

Now, I feel like she’s right. I am constantly disappointed by people who let me down time and time again. But when I think about it, they’re not acting out of character. They’re not even changing who they are or how they act in a given situation. What’s disappointing is not who they are, but who I think they should be. Whenever someone lets me down, I ask myself, “Did you really expect something different? Are they being exactly who they are, who they’ve always been? Then, why are you surprised?”

It’s sad to not see someone live up to their full potential as a human being. But it’s worse to constantly be mad at them because they don’t meet expectations that you set out for them. Expectations that they may or may not even be aware of.

But I think the worst part is what my mother-in-law added. She said, “I’ve just learned that you take people how they are, and sometimes that means not sharing everything with them. Sometimes people only serve a single, specific function in your life and that’s it. Your relationship will never progress beyond that.” That’s fine for an acquaintance or surface friend, but how can you do that with family, or those closest to you?

The Weather Man

Every time I want to get a haircut, the temperature drops at least twenty-five degrees outside. It never fails. Last week, I wanted to get a haircut, and a freak winter storm blew through the area and snow fell for two days! My wife has started to accuse me of controlling the weather with my hair. She told me to stop trying to go to the salon, so it would finally warm up outside!

Psychological Food

They say you are what you eat. Which makes sense. If you put crap in your body, then you’ll consist of crap. But I’ve also heard this put in terms of “mental food.” The things you look at become your focus and drive your thoughts. This is why things like pornography and bad language are so dangerous and pervasive.

But back to the original meaning…food. I wonder if the phrase meant just the general make-up of food; like fat, carbs, proteins, etc. Or if it also meant the consistency of food. I mean, if I eat more croissants, will I be more flaky? If I eat more pizza, will I be more pointed and sharp with people? If I eat more chocolate, will I be more sweet? If it were true, it could lead to an interesting change to the science of Psychiatry. Instead of drugs, you could give food. “You seem a bit bitter and angry about the way things having been going for you lately at work…have a piece of chocolate.”

The Plate Snatcher

Since my mother-in-law has been staying with us, I’ve noticed that she has an annoying habit of immediately starting to clear the table as soon as she’s done eating. Not just her own plate, but everyone’s! There’s been some nights, like last night, when I’m not even done with my food, but you look away for a few seconds, and it’s gone. She had already grabbed my plate and was in the process of scrubbing it in the sink before I noticed. I had to get another plate to finish eating.

So, I decided to ask her about it this morning, and she told me that her mother used to do the same thing. Apparently, she would hover behind people and grab their cups and spoons the moment she set them down, because she was so afraid of having dirty dishes in the house. I guess that trait got passed on to her daughter!

I further found out that I’m not the only one to point it out. Apparently, there’s a running joke in the family about this. My brother-in-law has complained when my mother-in-law grabs his coffee cup while he’s still drinking his coffee! “Why did you take it?” “I thought you were done.” “There’s still coffee in it!”

I told my mother-in-law that that explains why her children eat so quickly. They know she’s coming for their plates, and they’re afraid they won’t get any food!

Greatness

I dated the same girl through half of high school and most of college. The thing I liked the most about her was how she liked to play and have fun with me. She would try anything I liked to do, including wrestling with me. It wasn’t so much a true fight for me, as I used the act to mostly flirt with her. I would pin her down and kiss her or say lascivious things in her ear.

When she really got stuck, the only way I’d release her was if she said the magic and slightly demeaning pass phrase, “I accede to your greatness.” She hated saying this so much that she’d fight with all her strength and wiles to avoid finally admitting that she was at my mercy. I would smile and torture her until she said it, while she struggled against my hold. It wasn’t only that I was bigger and stronger, which I was, but that I was really good at maneuvering her into the hold that I wanted.

In all the years that we played this dance of strength and strategy, she only beat me once. Mostly because I was so caught off guard by how attractive and seductive everything about her was that I couldn’t focus. But you have to believe that she didn’t waste the opportunity to sit on top of me (which I didn’t mind so much) and force me under duress to say the phrase (which I greatly minded). After that, no matter how many times I beat her, she never let me forget that one time that I lost.

Living the Facebook Life

People have often complained that the biggest problem with sites like Facebook are that people are not genuine on them. They always act like everything is wonderful, while you sit around and wonder why your life is such a failure in comparison.

But what happens when real life starts to mimic social media? When you only share the good things about yourself, so that everyone has a certain perception of you, who you are, and how you treat other people? But they never get to see the other uglier side, which you reserve exclusively for family? And then these people tell me how lucky I am to have a so-and-so like that, because they’re so amazing. While I'm wondering if we're talking about the same person.

I call this phenomenon, “Living the Facebook Life.” Because perception is not reality…even if the subject at the middle of it believes it too.

Erd

A few months ago, the lights on our microwave display started to go out. At first, it was just an inconvenience to know if it was a seven or one. But as more bars went out, the microwave started to say “Erd” instead of “End” when the food was done cooking. Now, when the completed cycle starts to chime, no matter where I am in the house, I yell out, “Erd!” It’s my inside joke with my second favorite appliance. I see no need to replace it until it stops working completely.

Ka-noot the Great!

As I lay there awake this morning at 3 o’clock, I wondered what my family heraldry was. So, coming to grips with the reality that sleep would elude me, I decided to get up and research it. I was not rewarded with a family coat of arms, but I did discover that I’m descended from Cnut the Great (pronounced ka-noot), former King of England, Denmark, and Norway.

Considering that his reign was over a thousand years ago, we are not closely related, but I’m counting it. I was surprised to learn that we have Danish blood. I was aware of English and Scottish, but this was a new development. I further learned that the K at the beginning of my surname should not in fact be silent, but should make a hard “ka” sound.

I was also surprised to learn that the phrase, “you could sooner stop the tide than for such and such to happen” came from Cnut. Apparently, the story goes that one day Cnut had his throne brought out to the beach and placed next to the water. He sat down and exclaimed to the sea, “I am Cnut, a great and mighty king. I have won many victories and conquered many lands. No one stands before my might. I command you to hold back your waters and keep the tide from coming in.” Or something near to that.

Of course, the water rushed in and soaked his feet and legs anyway. Cnut jumped to his feet and exclaimed, “Let all men know how empty and worthless is the power of kings, for there is none worthy of the name, but He whom heaven, earth, and sea obey by eternal laws.” He then took off his crown and hung it on a crucifix, never to wear it again.

It is not believed that Cnut really thought he could stop the tide, but rather that he wanted his followers to see that no man was greater than God. From this story we got the popular phrase that we use today, although a little altered from the original context and intent.

So, my spousal unit is descended from kings, and apparently so am I.

The Domestication of Dog

I heard a radio DJ ask today on his show, “How do you think the domestication of a dog went? I imagine them facing off in the wild and the wolf/dog saying, ‘Grrr, I’m going to eat you.’ And the man saying, ‘Well, what if we gave you a giant donut, peanut butter, and all the stuffed animals you want to chew on?’ And the dog pausing before saying, ‘I’m listening, go on…’”

Drunken Goat Cheese

We had some people over to celebrate the ending of one year and the beginning of another. In addition to the robust meal she prepared, my wife also served a platter of assorted cheeses and crackers. As I picked through the sampler, I noticed the name on one of the cheeses said “Murcia Drunken Goat Cheese.” Of course I was instantly intrigued and filled with questions. The main one being, “Do they get the goat drunk before milking her, or does she do that on her own?”

I mean is the Murcia region of Spain filled with a whole population of alcoholic goats and the cheese companies decided to capitalize on their inebriated state to take the goats’ milk? I think maybe the goats are enjoying life a bit too much, and by extension now we can too! The cheese was actually very tasty.

Suitcase Full of Gifts

My mother-in-law came to town from Greece tonight. After she’d showered and eaten, it was after nine o’clock. Even though she was exhausted, and my son needed to go to bed, she insisted on unpacking her suitcase to give him all his gifts.

All of my in-laws do the exact same thing. It’s not the fact that they bring gifts, or that they want to give them to us. It’s the fact that they persist in doing that before doing anything else. Sometimes it’s done before we can even properly welcome them into our home. They are so excited to give the gifts and see the reaction, that they can’t contain themselves.

Most of the gifts were my son’s Christmas gifts, but she couldn’t even wait a few days to give them to him. My in-laws are generous to a fault, showering us with blessings, but I still find it funny that you can always count on the gift bazaar happening within minutes of arrival.

The funniest part is that my spousal unit will do the same thing when she goes to Greece. It’s like the “sickness” takes hold of her, and she turns into a different person. I’m usually tired and hungry after our 16-hour flight, but none of that matters until we deliver the gifts!

Conviction Versus Blood

There comes a point when conviction and beliefs supersede blood. It’s like the battle lines drawn in the Civil War. Brother fought brother because their views on slavery and the inequality of men didn’t align.

I’m scared that soon I will have to make a hard choice never to see my family again. Some of them continue to be steadfast in their belief not to be vaccinated. Whether that be from some political standpoint or from the belief that things aren’t really that bad, it still doesn’t align with my beliefs or what I want to protect my immediate family. And if the risk gets too great in my opinion, and they become a danger, I will decide to never see them again in person. I wish it didn’t have to come to that, but I will do it. I won’t hesitate.

It’s their choice to believe what they want, as it is mine. It’s sad that the world had to even be put into this predicament. But the truth is that it’s reality, and I will choose my beliefs over blood. I will miss them. I will pray for them and their health and safety. I will love them. But not to their face.

It’s their choice. Choices come with consequences. At some point, everyone has to choose how tightly they will hold onto their beliefs over family and friends. My hard choice is to give them up. Their hard choice is to not be in our lives anymore. We can’t both have what we want, unless we both lose. The only way we both win is for one of us to give in on our convictions. But it can’t be me. The risk is too great.

Army of One

I decided to enter a walking challenge at work. Essentially, people team up and compete against each other to accumulate the greatest number of steps throughout the month. I had participated in a similar event back in September with members of my integration team. We won the event by a comfortable margin, but the experience irritated me. Partly because half our team barely contributed to the total. And partly because I realized that the tracking program doesn’t just add up the total steps for the team. It takes the total and divides it by the total number of people on the team. In this way, each team gets a daily average. I get that this is supposed to level-set teams so that teams with fewer members can still be competitive. But the downside is that the more “dead weight” you have on the team, the more watered down the steps of a single motivated person will be. This is what happened to the few people on our team that took the challenge seriously.

So, this time around, I decided to branch out on my own and do the challenge solo. Now, I get credit for every step I do, instead of having to divide it across other people. After just three days in, I was dominating the challenge. I was already 65,000 steps ahead of second place. After one week, I had already surpassed the total challenge goal steps of 154,000 steps.

It’s gotten so bad that one of the guys on my team told me that his wife was mad at me because I was so far ahead. She’s determined to catch and pass me. Unfortunately, she made the classic mistake of believing that more people on her team would give her an advantage. So, she recruited her husband to walk too. Now, he’s also mad at me because she’s making him exercise. If you think about it, I’m actually increasing the activity level of the entire organization. Everyone is walking more and trying harder to catch me. I may be the villain, but people should be thanking me for exploiting the loopholes and taking a very calculated approach to this challenge. So, you’re all welcome in advance.

UPDATE: Apparently, my legendary status as the villain has gained wider appeal. Several of the teams that were desperately trying to catch me have added additional people to their ranks in an attempt to increase their step count. I couldn’t help but laugh. While this logically makes sense, the formula the program uses to average steps across the team actually means that these teams are hurting themselves and will ultimately only fall further behind. But on the flip side, even more people are now getting exercise in an attempt to dethrone me!

The DJ

We used to have a guy on our team that would always introduce himself on customer calls by using his first, middle, and last names. This was especially odd because he actually went by his middle name. But what was even odder was that he also switched to his “radio voice” when he’d get on the calls. It was a very dramatic, very exaggerated enunciation of every word with dramatic pauses thrown in for extra effect.

“Hello! This is Samuel…James…Henderson, and I’ll be your ITL…on this project.”

And he did it the exact same way on every…single…call (see what I did there).

“Hello! This is Samuel…James…Henderson, and I’ll be your ITL…on this project. If you have any issues…any issues at all…I’ll be the person…that will assist you.”

I always imagined that what would follow next after this introduction would be something like this.

“If you’re caller…number four, you’ll have the privilege of being the first on your team to complete…end-to-end testing. Simply wait until you hear ‘Believer’…by Imagine Dragons…and then call into our studios. Make sure you say the phrase…that pays…‘I work with Samuel…James…Henderson!’ And now a word…from our sponsors. The sales team will now come on…and promise a bunch of things…that we won’t be able…to deliver.”

Pursued

I was watching an episode of The Big Bang Theory today, and in it, Leonard is pursued my Sheldon’s new assistant, Alex. At first, Leonard doesn’t realize that Alex is after him, but once he does, he relishes the attention. Not because he’s actually considering leaving his girlfriend, Penny, to pursue Alex, but because he enjoys being wanted. After being rejected by women for so long, he’s finally able to enjoy being wanted by two women at the same time.

I had a similar thing happen to me in college. I had a long-term girlfriend when suddenly I made a new girl friend. At first, it was just nice to get to know someone new, but then she developed feelings for me. And those feelings drove her to pursue me romantically. I was flattered by the attention. It was nice to be wanted by two women at the same time. I had spent so much of my life being ignored or glanced over by women that it was a refreshing change to have them want me instead. It boosted my ego and self-confidence.

Everyone likes to be pursued. It makes us feel alive and wanted. Many of us considered unpopular by the “in crowd” develop insecurities of not being enough or being ostracized by a world that didn’t take the time to get to know us, because we didn’t fit into their little mold of perfection. We desperately crave the attention that never comes. We look at people passing on the street, hoping that they’ll make eye contact and acknowledge us. We want beautiful women to do a double take and consider us a viable partner. But we’re lucky to get one glance much less two (it’s still never happened to me to this day). So, it’s nice when someone likes you for who you really are. But even more than that, it’s nice when they value you more than other choices they have.

So, I strongly related to Leonard walking around with his chest puffed out, relishing the attention from beautiful woman and relishing the jealousy it created in the other. It’s every nerd’s fantasy. I’ve often wondered how I’d do on the open market now. Would my maturity, security, and proven track record make me sexy to the right woman? Would the time and effort I’ve made to keep myself in shape put me ahead in the game for a man my age? Or would I always be the nerd, not quite handsome enough to make a woman look twice?

Luckily, I don’t need to worry about such things. And hopefully I never do. It was hard enough to get one beautiful woman to love me. I’d rather not have to start all over.

Good Friday

I had coffee with my sister and her father this afternoon. During the conversation, we got on the topic of religion. It should be noted that I’m a Christian, my sister’s father is for the purpose of this post a Hindu, and my sister is somewhere in between both of those.

My sister was relating a story about her work, where someone came on a conference call and wished everyone a Happy Good Friday. She was disturbed by the use of “Happy” when acknowledging the day, because the day itself marks the anniversary of Jesus’ death. “How can it be happy if you’re remembering someone’s death? It’s sad, no?” she asked.

While I see her point, I don’t agree with it. Christians don’t view Jesus’ death as a sad event, which is even why we call the day Good Friday. It is a day of redemption. A day of forgiveness that cleans the slate and allows us access to eternity with God. We are thankful of the willing sacrifice of Jesus, but more importantly, we are aware that the story didn’t end there. If you take that one day out of context and you don’t combine it with the Resurrection three days later, then I can see how you’d view it as sad. Most deaths are permanent, so they represent a finality that hints at never seeing that person again. It is sad to think of not having more conversations, spending more time, or making more memories with that person. But you can’t stop at Friday in the story of Easter, so there is no reason to be sad.

My sister clarified that the sad part wasn’t just that Jesus died, but that it was our sins that put Him there. That’s true, and it’s a whole other point. We did put Jesus on that cross, and we have to own up to that. But to focus on that over the larger sacrifice and what it represented is self-centered, instead of Jesus-centered. The story is not about what we did, but about what Jesus did…for us. And if we focus on Jesus, then it’s a day of celebration, not of sadness.

My sister’s father pointed out that the sadness has more of a historical context than a Biblical or religious context. He said that since the death of Jesus occurred on a Friday the 13th that it’s generally accepted to be a bad thing. Intrigued by this statement, I decided to do some research on this.

According to the book The Final Days of Jesus: The Most Important Week of the Most Important Person Who Ever Lived, Jesus’ death most likely occurred in AD 33. While many scholars have tried to argue that it actually occurred in AD 30 instead, the historical evidence doesn’t support that.

In the Bible, we know that John the Baptist’s ministry began before Jesus’ and that it occurred “In the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar . . .” (Luke 3:1). We know from Roman historians that Tiberius was confirmed as Caesar by the Roman Senate on August 19, AD 14. So, if we extrapolate that his fifteenth year of reign started in late AD 28, then we can assume that John’s ministry most likely started in early AD 29, and we have a starting point for our timeline.

Since Jesus’ ministry began shortly after John’s, we can surmise that it began in late AD 29. In the gospel of Luke, he mentions that “Jesus, when he began his ministry, was about thirty years of age” (Luke 3:23). If we follow the commonly-held belief that Jesus was born in 6 or 5 BC, then He would have been around 32 years old, which would easily place Him at “about thirty years of age.”

The gospel of John mentions that Jesus attended three Passover meals, with the last being shortly before His death. The other gospels also mention a possible fourth that is not recorded in John. So, we can assume from this that His ministry lasted about four years. Since Passover falls in March or April, the first would have been in AD 30 with the last occurring in AD 33.

Since Jesus’ death occurred on “the day of Preparation” (John 19:31), or Friday, we know that it coincided with Passover. The most common calendar used in Jesus’ day was the Pharisaic-rabbinic calendar, and we know from Exodus that Passover always occurred on the fifteenth day of Nisan. In AD 33, Nisan 15 was April 3.

Why did you just slog through that long history lesson to reconstruct the timeline of Jesus’ death? Great question! AD 33 was a common year starting on a Thursday. This means that it had three occurrences of Friday the 13th during the year…February, March, and November. Based on the timeline we constructed, Jesus’ death most likely occurred on April 3, which means that it could not have occurred on a Friday the 13th. Which makes total sense, since the myth of Friday the 13th is most commonly associated to King Philip attempting to arrest or kill all of the Knights Templar on October 13, 1307 in order to seize their reputed wealth. But that’s another story.

Date Night...er...Morning

Yesterday evening, my spousal unit sent me a random article about a partial lunar eclipse that was happening that night…or actually early this morning. Her only comment was, “Are you game for this?!” Of course I was, as I always am. We love astronomical events like this.

What I didn’t realize was that it started at midnight and went for six hours with the peak hitting at around three a.m. When she told me that later on, my reply was, “I’m not staying up until three in the morning.” She agreed. So, we made a pact. If one of us got up around that time to use the bathroom (as inevitably happens almost every night), then that person would wake the other person up. If neither of us woke up, then it wasn’t meant to be.

At 2:35 a.m. exactly, my mind switched on. It wasn’t so much that I had to use the bathroom (although I definitely did the more I tried not to think about having to use the bathroom), but more just a sudden awareness of space and time around me. So, I pulled some warm clothes on and trudged outside to assess the eclipse situation. After all, there was no reason to wake up my spousal unit if we couldn’t see anything. It was a gorgeous night…er…morning; cool, crisp, and not a cloud in the sky. The eclipse was on full display, having turned 90% of the moon a rusty, red color. So, I trudged back inside to get backup.

It was awesome to sit in the driveway, freezing our backsides off, wrapped in multiple blankets, munching on mini cinnamon pinwheels…and just talk. We rarely get to do this because our son always interrupts us. It was like a date night. We laughed, we complained about our neighbor’s dog barking at the moon, and we watched the white part of the moon get smaller and smaller.

I don’t know too many people that would enjoy that or be willing to get up at three in the morning to watch an eclipse. It made me realize how special my spousal unit is and how lucky I am to be married to her. How many people can say they’ve had a date under the stars at three in the morning in the light of a rust-red moon?

Like a Rock

I have a running joke with my wife about the fact that I can't float on my back in the pool. Well, she thinks I'm joking when in fact I'm completely serious. She doesn't believe that a person is incapable of floating in water, even though I've repeatedly assured her that I sink like a stone. I've even demonstrated the phenomenon for her, but she told me that I was doing it wrong. I didn't realize there was a right and wrong way to sink to the bottom of the pool, but I guess I've mastered it.

Well today, I was watching The Big Bang Theory, and lo and behold, Sheldon admitted to have the exact same problem! He said the issue was that he had a higher than normal body density, which sounds completely reasonable and plausible. So now, I finally have a reason for my inability to float in the pool that my wife can't refute. It must be true, because not only did I see it on TV, but Dr. Sheldon Cooper is generally accepted as a genius, so he must know more than us.