The Toy Box

When I was little, I had a cool wooden toy box that my Dad had built. Originally it was my brother’s, but as with all things I inherited it from him. Consequently, he did eventually end up with it again when he had kids…but I digress.

I used to dig my toys out of the toy box and hide inside it. Who knows why I did this, but it might have something to do with that other post about getting inside things. So, being inside the toy box with the lid closed is how I found out I was claustrophobic.

The New Pants

Well, last week I finally broke down and went pants shopping again. I have a hard time spending money on myself. I always convince myself that what I have will last a bit longer. Some people (we won't mention any names, but it's my wife) think I'm cheap because of this behavior. I would just say that I don't like spending money unless it's really necessary.

Anyway, I digress. I bought a pair of black, corduroy pants, and I'm wearing them for the first time today. I have to say that I look really good in them. They suit me. I even got whistled at this morning. Of course, I suppose it doesn't really count if you are whistling at yourself. I'm claiming it, though.

Perfect Morning

Today is a perfect day to be sitting on the porch of a log cabin out in the woods somewhere; wrapped up in a big, thick blanket; and holding a steaming cup of hot chocolate with both hands about two inches below your nose.

It is about 55 degrees this morning, sunny, with a slight breeze. The sky is an endless sea of blue, and the air has a clean crispness to it.

It is one of those mornings when you reluctantly go inside to work. Leaving this perfect morning behind with longing.

Please Use Other Door

We have a little game we like to play with our clients up here at work. We put up a sign on the front door that says, “Please Use Other Door.” Then on the side door we put up the same sign. So, when they go to that door it sends them back to the front. In this way we have actually reduced the amount of clients that want to complain about something. A few will stop and knock, intending to ask whoever comes to the door where they need to go, but most just walk away confused.

Hot Sauce

We went to the taco place today for lunch. J.P. was complaining that the hot sauce that they had wasn’t hot enough. I looked down and noticed he had skipped over the Mild, Medium, and Hot, and had gone straight to Fire. I asked him what he was looking for, the one that says, “Never Taste Again.”

Babies By Mail

My boss is currently living in another state from his wife just like I am. At lunch today he told us that he had some news to tell us. Of course we all immediately asked if his wife was pregnant. (This seems to be the most logical news that someone in their late-twenties could have, I guess.) Before he answered, I then asked, “And how did it happen, since you haven’t seen her in a couple of months now?”

Without missing a beat, he answered, “Fed Ex.” I laughed and said, “I can see you now telling your wife that they guaranteed the shipment by Tuesday, so be sure to check the mail. And then you are down here tracking it on the computer. ‘Lost? What do you mean it got lost? Where did it end up? It says somebody signed for it…who signed for it? I knew I should have sent it by certified mail.’”

The Unpredictable Weather

The weather is acting crazy again this week. What was just supposed to be a routine cold front has turned out to last for several weeks. It is Autumn now, so technically we should be having this sort of cool weather anyway, but after so many years of experiencing 85 degrees at Christmas time, the "true" weather feels like an oddity.

I am not complaining about the weather, truly. I am thoroughly enjoying it. The only complaint I would have is the great variance in the temperature between when I get up and when I get home in the afternoons. Only in Texas (as untraveled as I am, there might be other places as well...but work with me on this) can you get up in the morning to it being 50 degrees, having to turn the heater on, and then come home from work to it being 85 degrees, having to turn the air conditioner on. I go to work with a sweater and jacket on, and come home in the afternoon in only my under-drawers. Well, okay that might be exaggerating a little, but you get the point.

One of the great tourist draws of our state...the unpredictable weather! And we don't have it unpredictable from season to season, or even day to day. We have it unpredictable from hour to hour.

Driving Without Pants

Today I am going to explore that strange side of my personality again. That side that makes a normal person ask, "Why would you do that?" I am going to explore my strange fascination of going without pants on. That's right, no pants. I might still be, and probably am, wearing a shirt and most likely socks, but the pants have got to go.

I must admit that I am not actually pantless as often as I let on to be. For instance, when someone calls me on the phone and says they are coming over, my reply usually is, "Okay, I guess I should put some pants on then." It is not necessarily that I am standing there on the phone with no pants on. But I could be, so be prepared if you ever just pop in unannounced. (The trailer park manager found that one out the hard way!)

I have even gone so far as to drive around without pants on, just to see if anybody would notice. I know it is probably against the law (I mean if it is against the law to drive without shoes, I'm pretty sure it's against the law to drive without pants.), but it is also extremely exhilarating. The danger and excitement of getting caught. The completely innocent look you give people if you do get caught. You know the look, like driving without pants is the most normal thing anybody could do, and that you actually think it is strange that they aren't doing it.

I had a friend once that drove around topless. She said that she felt that driving without pants might draw too much attention, and she was too scared to try it.

Clean Cars and Bird Poo

We have fancy birds up here at work. They are so picky that they refuse to poop on the dirty cars. They will either fly around until they find a freshly cleaned one or hold it until it rains. It has gotten where people are refusing to clean their cars, because they don’t want to be a target. Of course you can’t control the rain, and the birds have a field day after a fresh storm. I think the worst is that I actually had a bird crap on the car while I was in it. Right there on the front windshield. At least they should have the decency to wait until I can’t see them. But that is the way of it. They have gotten so spoiled that they don’t care. We humans are beneath them…literally.

The Stale Crouton

How do you know if a crouton is stale? I mean technically it is hard, stale bread to begin with. So, how do you know when it gets stale? Does it start to get soft again? What is a true measure of its stalility? (Yes, that is a made-up word.)

My First Kiss

I have found that memories of my first kiss have faded from my mind, being replaced by memories of my wife's kisses. I can't recall how the kiss felt…was it soft or hard, moist or dry, warm or cool. How did A.P. smell at that moment? What did her breath taste like? I don’t remember what she was wearing or how her hair was done up. I remember it being a good kiss that I enjoyed, but none of the details.

I start to wonder if I would still think it was a good kiss now, or if it was only good because it was the best I had had up to that point. Maybe it is my mind telling me it was good so my memories are happy times. Then again, does it really matter if it was good or not, if I believe it to be so? Isn't my perception of it all that matters?

Well, I suppose there is really no need to dwell on it long in any case, since it was replaced by the lovely lips of my wife.

Sleeping in on the Weekends

My body tells me it’s time to get up on the weekends. I suddenly become consciously aware that life is going on around me. I start to detect light seeping through my eyelids. I hear sounds outside. I smell food being cooked. But if I’m not quite ready to get up, then I tell my body that I am not quite ready to get up, so go back to sleep. This of course irritates my body, so it goes on a mission to make me miserable until I finally give in and get up. It gives me the urge to pee and makes me hungry. These are the first attempts and are usually mild. It is uncomfortable, but I can usually deal with them. If I don’t give a satisfactory response to my body, then it pulls out the big guns. It proceeds to give me a headache or make my neck or back hurt. This, of course, is a lot harder to deal with. Because the longer I ignore it the worse the pain gets. I can just picture my body sitting there with its hand on a dial, slowly increasing the pain until I submit and do what it wants. It’s a game we play.

The People Watcher

My grandfather was a people watcher. He liked nothing more than to just sit on a bench somewhere and watch the people walking by. He was fascinated by how very different each one was from the next. Not just their clothes or hair styles, but their personalities and how they reacted to each other or the world around them. He told me it was interesting to him to just sit to the side and observe the world for a few minutes…being in it without being in it.

I never really understood his fascination when I was younger, because I was too eager to be in the world. I was too caught up in being apart of things to take the time to sit and watch it. Now that I am older, I understand him. I have become a people watcher, just like my grandfather.

Different Cultures

I went to lunch with my mother-in-law today and we got to talking about the differences between our families and the way we were brought up. She is from Greece, and I am from the United States. I don’t know if it is so much cultural differences or familial differences, but the way that she reacts toward her children is very different from the way that my parents reacted toward me.

She has an uncontrollable desire to give to her children. No matter how old they get or how well off, she still gives to them. Money, gifts, everything. She holds nothing back. She never wanted her children to want for anything if she could provide it. They had opportunities to go places and do things that I could never have dreamed of. They never struggled or suffered. Of course the downside to this is that her children never truly understood the value of anything or the satisfaction of working hard for something.

This is very different from my family which basically strived to make my brother and I independent. When we graduated college and got our first jobs, we immediately assumed all of our own bills. The financial support stopped for the most part and we were thrown out of the nest to earn our own keep. (Granted there was the occasional aid in times of great need.) I learned to value every dollar that I made, because I had worked so hard to get it. There were times that I struggled, but with the good Lord’s help I always had enough. I have the satisfaction now of knowing I dug myself out of the hole all on my own.

So, which way is the right way? Neither, I say. They both have their advantages and disadvantages. Even though I still find it hard to accept my mother-in-law’s generosity, because I am so used to working for things on my own, I have been blessed to experience both ways of thinking. I can only hope that one day with my own kids that I can be somewhere in the middle.

The Deer

I went hiking today with my mother-in-law, and as we were walking down the trail a deer ran across our path. To either side of the trail are very steep hills, but that deer simply ran down one hill and up the other with complete ease. Not only did she make it look easy, but she was so elegant and graceful about it.

I just don’t get it. There is no way I would look that graceful climbing that steep hill. Heck, I don’t look all that graceful walking on a completely flat surface. You have to stand in awe at creatures that not only do amazing things, but do them with style.

The Physical Therapist

I drove by a physical therapist’s office today, and there hanging in the front window was a small skeleton. What was unusual about this skeleton was that it only had one leg. Now I don’t know about you, but this doesn’t really instill a lot of confidence in me. What is a one-legged skeleton really saying about this particular physical therapist? We will work you until your leg falls off?

Who Wears the Pants?

Most couples decide right off the bat who wears the pants in the family. Some decide it’s the one who is more assertive and dominating; the one that makes most of the decisions. Some decide it’s the one that has the most important position in the family. Some decide it’s the one who does more for the family. In almost every relationship someone is designated as the pants wearer.

But my wife and I share this responsibility. We like to take an equal place of importance when it comes to making decisions and doing things for the family. We like to think that neither of us is wearing the pants, but that each of us is wearing a leg.

Of course she will tell you that her leg is bigger. But I will tell you that my leg has more pockets. So in the end I think it all comes out even.

A Study in Observation - Feeling Hungry

I feel a pain welling up inside my stomach. It starts small and slowly gets worse and worse. I feel my stomach knotting in an involuntary contraction as it builds to climax. My body spasms and I gasp, releasing the breath I didn’t even know I was holding, and the pain temporarily subsides. Then slowly it begins to build again. I feel almost hollow, as if there is a huge vacant hole right in the middle of my torso. My mouth dries out and the churning is making me sick. It isn’t long before my head starts to hurt as well, the pain of a headache emanating from the tense, contracted state of every muscle in my body. Suddenly the hollow sensation turns to a weighted heaviness, and I feel as if I have a brick in my stomach pulling my whole body down. Amazingly my body gets sluggish and weak, and I feel my shoulders start to slump. It gets harder and harder to lift my feet for every step and I find myself resorting to just dragging them along the floor. My mind turns inward, and I no longer notice the world that is passing me by. My one consuming thought is finding food as quickly as possible.

A Study in Observation - Dancing With You

I dance with you to a song that we can only hear in our heads. I wrap my arms around you, interlacing my fingers together. I draw you in and feel your body press against mine. I feel your warmth penetrate through the front of my shirt. The intoxicating aroma of you, a mingling of perfume, flowers, and sweat, swirls in circles around you and makes my knees weak. You lay your head against my chest and I feel my heart start pounding more violently. The seismic rhythms tear through my body like the vibrations of an earthquake. I am sure you can hear every beat, thump, thumping alongside your ear, betraying my innermost emotions. You squeeze me too, and I feel as if I can’t breath. I don’t know if it is so much your arms cutting off my air supply or just my breath catching in my throat at the thought of you being so close to me. I close my eyes and just rest my cheek on the top of your head. My senses are swirling, and I lose the ability to tell where I end and you begin. We are one body, if only for a moment. Almost in sync we start to sway together, like the grass in an unseen wind. Slowly our feet begin to move, left, right, left, right. We take small, shuffling steps, just barely dragging our feet over the top of the carpet. I can feel the fibers tickling my skin. Our bare toes sink into the plush, soft carpet with every step. We are surrounded by a ring of footprints, marking the path of our silent dance.

Memoirs from My College Days

I have recently come across some old letters that I wrote a friend while I was in college. I was so entertained by them that I thought I would share one here:

"Dear C.W.,

You are probably going to be receiving two letters at one time, so I apologize that I could not spread them out to give you more mail. I am but a lowly college student with a very depleted monetary stash and could not under such conditions afford to trade, the afore mentioned lack of dough, for a certain lickable piece of paper that in this day and age is used in the place of money, since money in the mail would be.....how should I say it.....jacked, to attachingly apply to the loving document contained within the paper box that was abused by strangers in blue, beat by a rubber mallet, and of which you probably tore open with not a thought or care for how the envelope feels just to satisfy the desire that peaked within your frail and delicate being.

In other words, I couldn’t afford the stamp.

By this date my e-mail is set up and working - I have already received several envelopeless letters from my parents. (Did you know that that is what the “e” in e-mail meant?)

Today we learned how to work in teams in my engineering class. I designated myself as the leader - being the most qualified and all - and told everyone else what to do. The other members of my team didn’t agree with my appointment, so I told them where to stick it and did the assignment the “right way” by myself. I really think that I got a lot out of the class, and I can’t wait until I go again.

Well, I must go to a meeting now. Until we meet again...

Your Friend,
El Jefe"

Insulation Protection

I.S. was telling me about this job that he had installing computer cable in residential homes. He said that crawling around in the fiberglass insulation was the worst part, because the small fibers would get embedded in his skin. A buddy of his told him that the best thing to wear to prevent that from happening was pantyhose. Apparently, the fiberglass would stick in the hose and then you could just peel it off at the end of the day.

He then went into a detailed description of how to properly wear pantyhose as insulation protection. He said that you cut holes into the toes of the pantyhose, so that you can stick your fingers through them. And then you just pull the pantyhose up your arms.

Not missing a beat, I asked him what you do with the crotch of the pantyhose? Do you cut a hole in it as well and just stick your head through it? He said he prefers the thigh highs, so he can just wear a garter belt around his neck and clip them. To each his own, I guess! (Is it sad that he actually had an answer to that question?)

The Dyslexia Clause

Recently I was playing the state lottery and found a most interesting and highly unfortunate loophole. Apparently, I found a very rare situation in which I actually had to pay the lottery the jackpot instead of them paying me. That was $100 I didn't have, let me tell you!

How did I find myself in this strange situation, you might ask? Well, somehow I managed to get all of the numbers reversed. So, the winning numbers were: 1 12 23 33 45 51. I had picked 10 21 32 33 54 15. This is affectionately known as the "Dyslexia Clause," and results in you having to pay them. (Between you and me, I adamantly fought with them about 1 -> 10 and 33 -> 33, but their lawyer assured me that technically it was, in fact, a reversal.) So, I had to ante up.

I didn't even know they checked for these things, but apparently there is a computer that scans all the sold tickets to find these situations as well as the winners. And sure enough, two days after the drawing I received a phone call informing me that I was being summoned. According to them I was the only person ever to fall into this situation, like that was supposed to be some sort of honor or something.

So, avoid this loophole at all costs! You have to get all six numbers backwards to be subject to the "Dyslexia Clause," so always make sure that one of your picks doesn't have a valid reversal.

Tying Your Shoes

When I first got out of college, I got a job working as a sales representative at a retail store. I was on my feet all day, every day, running like crazy. I did that for about a year before I traded it in for my first desk job. It was at this job that I started putting on weight. I have worked my way through several jobs now, but they have all been at a desk. At every one I have gotten fatter.

The genes in my family are such that any weight that I put on goes straight to my belly. About a year ago, my belly got so big that I was no longer able to bend over and tie my shoes comfortably anymore. I struggled with trying to contort my body into all sorts of weird angles to get my shoes up to tying height. Pulling my foot underneath me, crossing my legs, bending my leg back behind me, etc., etc. I finally got tired of this, and bought some slip-ons.

What? Did you actually think I was going to start working out to lose weight?!

The Emergency Pager

This week I have the emergency pager at work. This basically means I’m on-call after hours if another department should have a problem in the middle of the night. I am so paranoid that I’m going to miss a call, that I methodically check the pager every 10 minutes to make sure nobody has called yet.

What’s worse is that since the pager is supposed to be for 24-hour service, I’m also paranoid that I’m going to get a call while I’m sleeping. So, I have taken to sleeping with the pager. Of course I suppose that isn’t all bad, because I set it to vibrate mode and clip it to the front of my boxers.

I’m just kidding, by the way. You’d have to actually wear boxers to bed for that to work!

Stuffing Yourself Into Things

Is it just me or does anybody else get some strange pleasure out of stuffing or at least attempting to stuff themselves into things? By “into things” I am referring to small spaces, like cardboard TV boxes or the trunk of your car. I must confess that only sometimes do I actually attempt to do it, like the TV box. But sometimes I will actually look at things and size them up, trying to do the math to see if it’s humanly possible for me to fold myself up like a pretzel to fit into them.

Such things include, but are not limited to, the oven, the kitchen cabinets, the refrigerator, the dryer, a metal trashcan, a bookcase, a computer monitor box (the old CRT kind), in between the shelves in the closet, my duffel bag, my suitcase, a laundry basket, a flower pot (the big ones that they plant house trees in), under a podium, and in the cracks down behind the furniture.

I will not say how many of these I have actually tried to get in.

The Canoe

My wife and I went to a state park a while back and were delighted to find that they had canoes to rent. I hadn’t been canoeing since sixth grade when I paddled all the cute girls around the lake under the moonlight. She had never been at all. So, we decided to give it a shot.

Successful canoeing is all about timing. You have to get in sync with your paddles…the same stroke, the same strength. If you can accomplish this, then you can jet across the lake in a smooth, straight line. If you can’t, chaos ensues. This is where we found ourselves…chaos.

We quickly found out that I have a long, strong stroke, and my wife has a short, weeny stroke. So, basically we headed in the opposite direction of whatever side of the canoe I was paddling on. At first we tried having one of us paddling on one side and the other on the other side. But since I had the stronger stroke we just kept going in circles in front of the dock, like a fish with only one fin.

To compensate I tried switching back and forth from side to side in-between strokes. Unfortunately, so did my wife, always on the same side. We looked like we were doing synchronizing canoe, zigzagging across the lake. I tried to get it so our synchronization was on opposite sides of the boat, but like I said before our strokes were of different lengths. I was still in the middle of my stroke when she was already switching to the other side, so we would get two strokes on one side and only one on the other. This eventually led us into the overhanging branches of a willow tree sitting on one of the banks.

After we got disentangled from the tree and back out in the middle of the lake, I gave up on the whole affair and quit paddling. I just sat back in the canoe and let my wife do all of the work. Her short, weeny strokes didn’t take us far and not very quickly, so she began to suspect something was wrong. She turned around to see me sitting in the back of the canoe, my paddle on my lap, eyes closed, enjoying the warm sun on my face. This of course brought about an exchange of some not-so-pleasant words and gestures with a paddle, which almost tipped the canoe and both of us over and into the lake.

By this time we had floated into some lilly pads. They were so thick that we couldn’t turn around, so we were forced to throw it in reverse and attempt to back out of them. That is when it happened! For the first time all afternoon we went in a smooth, straight line. I told her that I wanted to try an experiment and for her to keep going in reverse.

It was beautiful. Our strokes were perfectly matched. No zigzags. No circles. We shot across the lake at full speed. The faster and straighter we went, the more fun we both were having. We were laughing and talking, as the wind blew through our hair. We were passing other canoes having their own struggles to get it together. But not us. We had found our secret. That canoe may have had six gears, but we only needed one.

Reverse.

Sleep Deprivation and FFD

Have you ever tried to have a conversation with someone who has Fruit Fly Disorder (also known as ADD) when you are tired? Here is an actual conversation that I had with my wife when she was tired.

A.K.: I have lost my train of thought
D.K.: Did you check your purse?
A.K.: Why?
D.K.: For your train of thought...you said you lost it
A.K.: You’re in a funny mood today
D.K.: I usually find mine near the computer
D.K.: Although once I found it on the door in the refrigerator…
D.K.: I don't know how it got there
A.K.: Very interesting
D.K.: It was weird
D.K.: It took me all day to find it
A.K.: I will look tonight when I get home
A.K.: but I’m not sure
D.K.: Try to retrace your steps, that's what I do
A.K.: Usually I find it in bed next to my pillow
A.K.: but it has been gone for a while now
D.K.: I see
A.K.: I don't remember my steps
D.K.: The only thing I find near my pillow are dreams
A.K.: and spit!!!
D.K.: No, that is ON my pillow
A.K.: Oh my gosh
A.K.: On your pillow
A.K.: That must be very uncomfortable
D.K.: Only when I roll over onto it in the middle of the night…
A.K.: I see
D.K.: and get that cold wet feeling on my cheek
A.K.: Yikes!
A.K.: I am losing track of the point of this conversation…
D.K.: Yeah, I scootch over a little to avoid it, but then a new puddle forms...eventually I have to just switch pillows
A.K.: it must be my lack of sleep
D.K.: That's why I have to keep so many pillows on the bed…
A.K.: I see
D.K.: drool back-ups
A.K.: Now I figured out the great mystery

Come to think of it…I don’t think she ever did find her train of thought. I know I had certainly lost mine by the end of it. What were we talking about again?

The Smurf Seat

My Mom used to have this truck called "The Mama Smurf." It was an old blue Bronco, and it had a super, spring-loaded back seat. On our way to school in the mornings we would travel down this very bumpy road. After hitting the first bump, my brother and I would start bouncing on the seat. It was pretty fun. Then momentum would start taking over. With each successive bump we would bounce higher and higher. By the time we got to the end of the street my brother had bounced so high that he actually hit his head on the ceiling of the truck! I would calmly tap my Mom on the shoulder and say something like, "Mom, K. is unconscious again."

Traveling the World in T-Shirts

I was at a training class last week in Houston. One day I happened to wear a t-shirt from Berlin, Germany, and one of my classmates asked me if I had gone there. I told him no, that the shirt was a souvenir from my parents for watching their dog while they were in Europe. I started to think about it and realized that I had gotten a similar shirt as a souvenir when I watched their dog while they were in Washington, D.C.

I went home and started rifling through my closet and realized that I had a lot of shirts like this. I had shirts from Vancouver, Canada; Banff, Canada; Athens, Greece; Paris, France; Mexico; Portugal; and China. Not to mention the shirts from all over the United States. Basically, whenever someone goes somewhere, they bring me back a t-shirt. So, even though I may never travel to all of these places myself, I am traveling the world in t-shirts.

A .300 Programming Average

The rest of the world should work like sports teams. We should get drafted by big companies, and then showered with endorsement deals and signing bonuses. How many of us drive cars, or use computers, or wear underwear? (I hope that last one is everyone!) So, why isn’t the “Average Joe” selling Buicks, or Macintoshes, or Hanes underwear? Why are stars like Tiger Woods, Justin Long, and Michael Jordan who have plenty of money from their professional careers making tons more money selling these products? Why not spread the wealth?!

And think about baseball for a second. In baseball a .300 batting average is considered a good hitter. That is getting a hit 30% of the time. I wish I got paid millions of dollars for doing my job only 30% of the time. Instead I have to scrounge to make a living doing my job 110% of the time. (Factoring in overtime and doing other people’s jobs.) And if they so happen to do their job say 40% of the time, they can renegotiate for a higher contract! Whereas my job might actually count as some productive means to further the existence of people’s lives, they are working merely for entertainment. The world is just so messed up.

Oragami Elephant

Have you ever gone to a party and gotten a drink in a bottle and realized that your drink looks like everyone else’s? So, you start getting paranoid, thinking you can’t set it down or you may never find it again. And you think to yourself, “I’ll just tear the label of the bottle, so I’ll be able to recognize it.” So you tear the label and then set it down next to a dozen other bottles just like yours. And as you stand there smiling at your work, you realize that someone else has torn their label exactly the same way that you did. You rip off piece after piece from the label, and no matter how you tear it, someone else has done the same thing. Panic sets in, and before you know it your bottle is completely naked. And you suddenly realize that someone else has thought of that too!

Me, personally, I wouldn’t just tear my label. I would tear it into shapes and patterns. You’ll see me over in the corner doing origami with the label, making an elephant or a tulip. Because the chances that someone else can make an elephant or a tulip out of a soda bottle label has got to be small! So, I figure I’d be safe.

What's the Dog Thinking

I have spent a considerable amount of time with my father’s dog lately, and I like to think that we have developed a bond. During the weeks that I took care of him, we came to know each other’s habits and routines. But there is one thing I have never truly been able to figure out with much certainty. And that is what the little fur-ball is thinking.

There are times when he will sit on the couch and just stare at you. You can stare right back at him, and he never breaks his gaze. (Unless of course he loses interest or realizes that you are too stupid to read his mind and give him what he wants.) I have often tried to surmise what is running through his head. Is it simple thoughts like, “Pet me” or “Give me a treat?” Or is it more complex thoughts like, “Does that guy know he is wearing two left-footed socks?”

The looks he gives me are sometimes so deep and attentive like he is trying to convey some message to me that I just can’t seem to fathom. Then again he also gives me looks that convey that he seems to think I am the biggest moron on the planet. I will probably never figure out what is running through his mind, but it is fun to conjecture what his looks might mean.

The Kenny G Talker

Have you ever been on the phone with a “Kenny G talker?” I will not assume for one minute that everyone knows who Kenny G is, so I’ll summarize the qualities that allow me to make this comparison. Kenny G is a famous saxophone player who is known for his ability to breath in his nose and out his mouth at virtually the same time. This allows him to be able to play seemingly continuous pieces of music without having to pause to take a breath.

This is quite a useful quality when playing the saxophone and yet a very annoying quality when you’re talking to someone on the phone. Because if you never have to pause to take a breath, then the other person can’t interject a thought or tell you they have to go. So, beware the “Kenny G talker!”

The Buzz Lightyear Clause

Today, I am adding an update to the previous post. As I stated in that post, my wife and I have very competitive natures. This being the case, of course neither of us likes to lose. I, personally, am a very bad loser. I also stated in that post that her record started to improve. So, it became necessary to change the rules a bit to give myself an advantage in cases where she might get lucky and beat me. This gave rise to the “Buzz Lightyear Clause.”

Buzz Lightyear was the wildly popular character from the hit movie Toy Story. His most popular phrase was of course, “To Infinity and Beyond!” Can you see where this is going already? So, in those rare instances where my wife might beat me to saying “I love you more infinity,” I would counter with “I love you more infinity and beyond.”

The first time I said this she was sitting there grinning from ear to ear with satisfaction at her victory in the game. When I said it, the smile slipped from her face and she said, “You can’t do that. That’s cheating.” To which I calmly replied, “It’s the Buzz Lightyear Clause.” This bit of wit made her laugh, and the clause has become a permanent fixture to the game.

In actuality the game has sort of turned into parallel games. The first being who can say “I love you more infinity” and the second who can say “I love you more infinity and beyond.” Thus it might actually be possible for each of us to win. This lucky stroke of genius served to both fuel our dual competitive natures and allow us both to walk away winners. Which only served to make the game all that more fun.

I Love You More Infinity

Most every couple has some cutesy thing that is just between them. Something that makes their relationship special. It might be a look, like squinting your eyes at your partner in a manner of “sizing them up.” It might be a gesture, like high-fiving when one or the other of you does something awesome. Or it might be a word or phrase that is reserved only for the other person.

It is the last one that I am going to talk about today. My wife and I have many, many things that define the specialness of our relationship, in fact, we do all of the above mentioned and more. But I think we would both agree that the one thing that is most special to our hearts is our use of the phrase, “I love you more infinity.”

Due to both of us having a highly competitive nature, it quickly became apparent that saying “I love you” wouldn’t be enough for us. Invariably, one of us would say it and the other one would say, “I love you more.” This of course would spark off a long debate over who in actuality loved who more, leading to comparisons of arm length, heart size (based on the size of your fist of course), who was taller, whose stride was longer, and several other seemingly trivial things that love could be gauged on.

Thus, the end-all phrase of “I love you more infinity” was adopted. Because everyone knows that since infinity has no bounds, that if you love someone infinitely, then of course you love them more than they could possibly love you. But we managed to even turn this into a competition, so that every day it would be a game to see who could say the phrase first! And thus you would be “king” or “queen” for the day.

We even devised rules of fair play for the game:

1.) The words must be said in their entirety and in the exact order stated above. Missing a word or switching them around was cause for discounting your claim.
2.) The game would reset each day at midnight, thus giving everyone a chance to claim a whole day of loving the other more.
3.) The phrase could be said in other languages granted it was said in its entirety and in the correct order.
4.) The words could be written or spoken, using any medium available.
5.) Any disputes as to who won a tie would of course be deferred to the King of the Family for ruling.

The game brought out my more crafty side, and I devised highly imaginative schemes to get her first. I used to get up before her, and after my shower I would wake her up with the words. Then I started with the post-it notes. I would leave them in places that she would see them, like the bathroom mirror, the coffee pot, or in her shoe. Sometimes we would start to say it at the same time, and it became simply a game of who could actually say the words faster.

After she left for Missouri, it became necessary for me to get even more devious and dirty. I would call her 1 minute after midnight and wake her up to tell her. I would call while she was in the shower and leave a message on her answering machine with the time I called (just in case she tried to dispute the authenticity). And sometimes I would send her e-mails or IMs when I got to work, so they would be waiting for her when she turned on the computer.

Now, I must brag a bit here. At a point about 2 and a half years into our marriage, I announced that I was going to quit playing the game. When she asked me why, I replied that it didn’t seem quite fair since I was winning by a score of 876-2. (Her 2 wins only coming, because I was forced under threat of bodily harm to let her “love me more” on my birthday.)

At some point I did continue playing again, and it has been a heated competition ever since. I suppose I should admit at this point that my wife’s record has improved a bit, but I still hold a sizable lead over her!

So, what kind of cutesy things did or do you have in your relationships?

The Lowrider Cafe

Some friends and I were having lunch today, and we started discussing some interesting things you could do with a restaurant. We finally decided on an idea for a cafe. We would call it "The Lowrider Cafe."

The whole place would be decked out like a vintage 1960s Impala lowrider. We would have white leather padded chairs and booths. Each booth would be fully equipped with hydraulics, so that they would actually tilt and raise and lower. The tables would be painted all sorts of bright metallic colors, like lime green, dark gold, cotton candy pink, and cherry red. We could have "Lazy Susan" on each one that were actually made out of "Spinners." The silverware and edges of the table would be chromed. And the plates would look like classic wire hub caps. We could even have a gift shop that sold things like fuzzy dice, white undershirts, and headband bandannas.

It may never happen, but it was definitely fun to think about!

With Underwear on My Head

When I was in high school, I would take showers at night, and as is usually the way with life I would start to head to the shower and then things would come up to distract me. People would want to talk. I would need to do something. I would think of something and want to do it before I forgot. Well, I would be carrying my underwear around, since I was originally on the way to the shower, and I didn’t want to lay them down somewhere because I might forget where I put them. So, I started putting them on my head. Frees up the hands, and you can always find them again.

This, of course, caused quite a stir in the house, seeing me walking around with my whitey-tighties on my head. The crotch flying out in the back like a cape as I raced through the room. Tufts of brown hair sticking through the leg holes. Someone even commented once that I looked like a pharaoh. Of course, that was back in the day when my waist and my head were the same size. If I tried that now, my underwear would just droop down over my face.

Certain-Footed Socks

Are there right socks and left socks? Do socks have a specific foot like shoes do, or are they simply a uni-foot sock?

When I was in high school, I would actually complain if my socks were folded incorrectly in the laundry. I don't know why it suddenly became a big deal, but it bothered me. I was convinced that they belonged on a certain foot and left socks should always be folded with right socks. I think it was because my big toes had made an imprint in the socks and gave it the appearance of a certain-footed sock.

Now my socks have big toe prints on both sides. I intentionally wear them that way so that they stay uni-footed socks. Everything changed when I had to do my own laundry. Now I don't want to have to worry about which foot is which. I just grab two that look similar and roll with it!

The White Man's Overbite

I was recently introduced to a phenomenon known as "The White Man's Overbite." I personally thought C.K. was making this up when she first told me, but having done some research about it on the Internet and found a quite large response, I have since had to acknowledge that this is in fact a well-known phenomenon.

For those of you in the dark about it, as I was, it is basically...how should I say it...a dance "style." I put that in quotes, because it is not really a style so much as a butchered copy of an actual style of dance. As you can probably tell from the name, it was first seen or is at least most often done by white people. It is an attempt to capture the seemingly natural rhythm and movement that black people express when they are bumping and grinding on the dance floor. However, most white people's movements are stilted and choppy, and the attempt looks completely unnatural. To top it off they are concentrating so hard on getting it right that they often will bite their bottom lip with their top teeth, forming what looks like an overbite.

So, now that I have taken the time to actually mention this on my blog, maybe C.K. will be happy and start reading it again. And maybe the rest of you will be more apt to recognize this when you see it in the future.

Messed Up Sleep Cycle

You know I find it really irritating that I can go to bed exhausted, toss and turn all night, and then wake up exhausted the next day. How can you go to bed tired and not be able to sleep? Surely your body and mind are aware of the situation and should be working toward the common goal of getting enough rest.

What irritates me even more is when you toss and turn all night, and then suddenly fall into a deep and peaceful sleep about an hour before the alarm goes off. Then you actually wake up more tired than you were when you went to bed! You have to be thinking what was the point. What a waste of time. You could have stayed up all night and felt exactly the same way. Why did you waste 8 hours laying in the bed being unproductive?

Serving Cow

Why is it that if you say you are serving beef that it is no big deal, but if you say you are serving cow then it suddenly becomes personal? I mean other than people who don't eat meat, I'm sure it wouldn't bother anybody to agree to eat hamburgers or steaks. But who can honestly, with absolutely no emotions or reservations, agree to eat cow?! It is the same with another meat as well. We might have no problem with bacon or ham or pork, but pig?

I think the name of the animal somehow conjures a picture of a live animal. We can picture a cow standing in the field eating grass or a pig flopping around in the mud. Whereas, the products from the animal conjure...well, just products. We seem to simply ignore where the products came from and think that they just picked them off of a hamburger or bacon plant. Nobody was harmed...all is well in the world!

And yet there are meat products like chicken or fish or deer or buffalo that don't seem to have this same response on us. We can picture a chicken running around the yard or a fish dangling on a line, and think how good it would be in a cream of mushroom or lemon sauce.

Why is that?

Drive-Thru Confessions

Do you know what the Catholic church needs? Drive-thru confessions. In today’s fast-paced world they really need a drive-through window that you can drive up to and confess your sins without ever leaving your car. You drive up, the priest slides back the window, you do your thing, he does his thing, he asks if you want to Supersize your forgiveness, and you drive off.

I don’t want to pick on Catholics, so maybe other churches could pick up on this idea as well. Maybe they could institute drive-thru communion or something. Maybe instead of drive-thru windows you could have something like Sonic, where you drive up and push a button. Then some minister (or whatever your religion calls them) on roller skates comes skating out to give you some bread and some wine (or grape juice, etc., depending on your religion).

Just think of how much faster we could be churning them out. And people might be more apt to do it if it is easy and convenient. Just think about it…

The Mysterious Hair

This morning I found a mysterious hair on my bar of soap. Normally, I wouldn’t find this disturbing, but this morning was different. Basically, the hair wasn’t mine. Not only was it longer than mine, but it was a different color as well.

I just stood there, staring at the hair and thinking to myself that now the soap was completely tainted. Even if I managed to get the hair off, how could I possibly use the soap now, knowing that some strange hair had been on it? Knowing that some strange hair had corrupted the very essence of the soap?!

I had to think quickly before I lost the soap for good. So, I grabbed the shampoo and poured some on the soap. After I got a good lather going, I scrubbed the soap vigorously and then rinsed it off…satisfied that the soap was now clean again. Then I started to think. Could soap really get dirty? I mean it’s soap…couldn’t it just clean itself? Would it really be possible for a single hair, no matter how dirty it is, to corrupt a whole bar of soap? And does cleaning soap with soap really make the soap more soap-like?

These are definitely questions to ponder…

Conversation Subtitles

You know sometimes it would be nice to have subtitles in life. Sometimes they could be subtitles to tell you what someone really means when they say something, like when they say one thing and mean another. And sometimes they could just be subtitles to tell you exactly what someone is saying, like in hard-to-hear environments. I suppose we would need some sort of control to adjust which one is active at different times.

Of course, knowing my luck I would probably end up with subtitles in another language. The setting would get stuck in Chinese or selective-listener-ese, and they would end up being completely useless to me. I would be right back to not understanding at all or only hearing half of everything that was said.

Yeah, that would be my luck.

Cleaning for the Maid

Why is it that some people feel the need to make the bed when they are staying at a hotel? Every morning they get up and straighten out the sheets and then cover them up with the bedspread. And every morning a maid comes into the room, rips the sheets off the bed and puts new ones on it. And even if she doesn’t put new sheets on the bed, she at least makes it for you. So, why do people feel the need to make the room look presentable for the maid?

It is like those people that have a cleaning lady come to the house, and they feel the need to straighten up and clean before she gets there. Why is that? I mean why bother hiring a cleaning lady if you are going to just do her job for her?

The Coconut Shoe

C.D. went to the store yesterday and stepped in some shampoo on one of the aisles. She said she managed to only get it on her right shoe, which made it kind of awkward to walk around the store. When she got home, she cleaned the shoe and noticed that it smelled like coconuts.

I am not overly fond of coconuts, so I think at this point I probably would have just thrown the right shoe out. But then what do you do with just one shoe? I suppose you could use it as a cup holder when you go out on a picnic. Maybe you could use it to plant a flower in. It would probably make a good paperweight or fly-swatter. Or maybe you could just start a new fashion trend and wear it with some other solo shoe.

Whatever you do with it has to be better than smelling like coconut!

Life as a Shrunken Head

I wonder what life would be like as a shrunken head. I mean of course you would still be alive, because otherwise this post would just be pointless. I figure that I’d end up as some mirror ornament in someone’s car. Swinging from a string, twirling around in circles. Completely lost because I can’t stay still long enough to figure out where we are.

I think it would be cool to talk to the driver too. Point out the obvious, like he missed his turn or he’s lost again. Maybe make fun of him or the music he listens to. I mean what could he possibly do to me…I’m already a shrunken head?

Of course there’s drawbacks. Like being bored for long periods of time. Or even the occasional sunburn on only one side of your head. And of course the obvious of banging your head repeatedly on the windshield every day. I suppose people really wouldn’t take you seriously as a shrunken head either. This could lead to awkward situations of having to endure gross or agonizing moments when you are alone with someone in the car.

But seriously…what would you do if you were a shrunken head?

The Feather

You know there are some bad choices of things to throw when you’re angry. Like packing foam, tape that keeps sticking to your fingers, or cooked spaghetti. But what has to be the most frustrating thing is a feather.

You can throw it as hard as you want and not only does it not go anywhere, but it just slowly, gently takes its time gliding to the ground. This can be awkward when you’re trying to make a point. I mean it’s hard to show you mean business when this carefree feather is messing up your big, dramatic moment.

Of course the flip side to it is it really doesn’t hurt much if you happen to get erratic with your throw and end up hitting yourself in the foot with it. SIDE NOTE: From personal experience with this particular situation happening, I would also not recommend you try to throw heavy objects either…like, say, I don’t know…a brick!

Lunchtime Person

Why is it that people always describe themselves as morning people or night people? Are there really only two kinds of people? What about the rest of us who are neither of those...where do we fall?

I think there should be another category. From now on I shall be known as a lunchtime person, because that is when I am fully alert. It takes me a while to get going in the mornings and I get tired early in the evenings. So, since I peak at lunchtime I think that should be the time of day I am associated with.

Of course, if you just throw in a few naps during the day, then I bet I could easily pass for either a baby or a geriatric! I guess every category has its drawbacks.

Pinching a Headache

I had a headache today, and C.D. said that I should pinch the skin between my thumb and index finger. She said that this was an old home remedy to make my headache go away. So, I did exactly what she said to do, and my head still hurts. But now the part between my thumb and index finger hurts too.

The weird part is that for some reason my third toe on my right foot hurts as well. I am not exactly sure why pinching my hand would cause that, but I suspect that there must be some wiring off in my system. I guess I need to go in for a rotation and balance.

So, I thought if it worked for one, it might work for the other. So, I pulled my shoe off and started pinching my toe. When I did that, my headache got worse. I give up!

Wussagna

Last weekend my grandparents were celebrating their 60th wedding anniversary. All the relatives were coming in from all over the country to participate in their party, and I made the trek down to see them too. My Mom and I decided to make lasagna to take to the party. However, my brother and I aren't fond of ricotta cheese, so I made a special batch that substituted double mozzarella for the ricotta.

It was absolutely wonderful, but my stepfather said that it wasn't real lasagna without the ricotta. Every time I would get me a plateful of it he would say, "Real men eat real lasagna...they don't go around eating any of that 'Wussagna' stuff." I laughed so hard at this affectionate new name that I decided it needed mention in my blog.

The Beer Shirt

So, I was talking to my brother tonight and we came up with this idea for a "beer shirt." The way it works is that the shirt will change color to indicate how much beer you've had. The color starts at the bottom and works its way up. The more you drink the brighter your shirt gets. When someone tries to tell you you've had enough, you can clearly show them that you could put down a few more.

We might even get beer companies involved to sponsor the idea and get their logo on the shirt. That way it lights up to tell everyone what kind of beer you've been drinking. Or if we get really scientific, we could have the shirt only work for certain types of beer. You know, a Budweiser shirt only responds to a Bud.

I suppose the shirt could have its drawbacks too. Suppose you get pulled over and the officer says, "I see you've been drinking tonight." "No ssir, ossifer...what gave you that idear?" "Well frankly, because your shirt is three fourths of a different color."

The Deodorant Quandary

Have you ever been putting your deodorant on, get one pit all lathered up, and then the deodorant runs out? Let's say for arguments sake that you have another stick of deodorant, but it's a different flavor.

Now you're in a quandary! You have a decision to make. Do you just go with one pit covered and hope it's a cool day today? Do you wash your one pit off, and start over again with the other stick of deodorant? Or do you just use the other stick on the second pit and intermingle the different fragrances?

I suppose there is always the fourth option of washing your one pit and just going without deodorant altogether, but I wouldn't recommend this.

Mooing at Cows

Tonight I was driving home from the store and passed a trailer full of cows. As I am known to do, I decided it would be a good idea to moo at them. So, I rolled the window down and gave them my best imitation "MOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

The cows all looked at me as if I was stupid. So, I figure that I either sounded nothing like a cow and the real cows knew it, or I said something completely inappropriate in cow-ese.

Of course they could have just been wondering what a cow was doing driving a car.

Bone-A-Phobia

Did I ever tell you that I had a bone-a-phobia? Well, now I have. I suppose that really isn't an accurate description, since I'm not really scared of bones. I just hate them. Let's be more specific. I hate bones in my food.

I will actually go out of my way to avoid certain food because they have bones. Foods like ribs, chicken, pork chops, and even some steaks. My wife has found this to be particularly annoying because it limits the foods she can cook. But she is resourceful enough to find ways around it. She has found that she either can buy boneless meat, or she can cut the meat off the bone for me and I'll eat it.

I know this is strange, but I suppose that I just don't feel that any meat is THAT good that it is worth the effort it takes for me to rip it off the bone. Call me spoiled (everyone else does), but I have a bone-a-phobia and I'm sticking to it.

The Boss's Chair

Have you ever been tempted to sit in your boss's chair naked? Now don't you go shaking your heads like I'm nuts. I know I'm not the only one out there that has had this impulse. Now I wonder how many of you, that have secretly had this desire, have actually acted on it.

Well, I have. That's right...I sat in my boss's chair naked. (Come on, you knew that was coming. Why would I even bring it up, if I hadn't done it?) I was up at work late one night, working on a project that she claimed had to be done pronto. Needless to say I would have rather been doing a hundred other things. So, to show my disgust at the situation I decided I needed to do something to her. But what to do that would be relatively harmless, and yet would still make me laugh every time I saw it?

So I dropped my drawers and rubbed my bare, naked bottom all over her chair! I doubt she ever noticed, but it always made me smile. Almost as much as dropping the pen that she always chewed on in the toilet!

The Side of the Bed

Do you have a certain side of the bed that you always sleep on? Probably so, it seems everyone does. But the real question is, was there logic to picking that side of the bed? You know like, it is closer to the alarm clock and I always get up first. Or, that is the side that the fan is on.

Me personally, I didn’t get to pick my side of the bed…I was assigned it. I was assigned the side closest to the door. So, if we move and the layout of the bedroom dictates that the bed should be turned around, then my side of the bed changes. I have no say in the matter; that is just the way it is.

Why was I assigned that side, you might ask. Well, my wife told me that I had to be on that side so that if we are attacked in the middle of the night, then they will get me first, and my screams will wake her up and give her time to get to safety. Honestly. I am dead serious.

It’s okay, though, because I usually have to get up and pee about eight times during the night. And this affords me a shorter distance to the bathroom. Which is also fortuitous because it means less obstacles to try to navigate in the dark, when I am blind and apparently uncoordinated.

The Man, The Boy

Do you think of yourself as a man? Well, obviously if you are female, then the answer is hopefully “No.” But you can just substitute the appropriate ‘woman’ for ‘man’ throughout the blog.

So, do you think of yourself as a man? Well, I don’t. I am 28 years old, and I still think of myself as a boy, or even a young man, if you will. I know by societal and let’s say “nature” standards I am a man. I know by responsibility standards I am a man. But it still just sounds weird when someone calls me that.

I don’t know if it is my innate desire to always be a Toys ‘R Us kid, or if I just need something big in my life – like having a baby – to change my feelings. Maybe it is the fact that my wife says I constantly act like a 4-year old. Either way, don’t be surprised if you call me a man and I look around to see who you are talking about.

The Concussion

I hit my head on the desk today. Not the top of it, but the underside of it. C.D. wanted to know how I managed that. I told her it happened when I fell asleep and fell out of my chair. As I was getting up off the floor I hit my head.

The Brownie-Muffin

Tonight I made brownie muffins. I figured that one of two things happened when you read that sentence. You either giggled a little, or you said to yourself, "This guy is stranger than I thought." I personally giggled. I seem to always giggle when I say "brownie muffin." I don't know why, but I assume because it seems so absurd and yet so cute at the same time.

I don't know if anybody else has ever made brownie muffins...tee, hee, hee...but it just hit me that it would be cool to have a brownie in the shape of a muffin. They are still cooling, so I am not even sure that they will actually taste good. But just looking at them in their little paper cups makes me smile that I actually attempted to do it.

And if they turn out well, I might even make them again. They might become my trademark, like my mom's giant chocolate chip cookies. People will start to beg me to bring them to holiday functions. I'll start to get requests for them at birthday parties. They will become a cult icon! "Anybody who is anybody has heard of a brownie muffin! What planet are you from?" So, keep your eyes open in the stores for your box of brownie muffins...tee, hee, hee.

The Quarter

Have you ever given someone a quarter and then immediately turned around and asked if you could borrow a quarter?

I think that would be funny.

The Smelly Finger

Why is it when you get something smelly on your finger that you always feel the need to share it with someone else? “Oh man, that stinks! Hey, Chris, come over here and smell this.” And why is it that they always smell it?! And then they always seem amazed when it actually stinks. Did they think you were lying?

But what is even worse is that you will almost always smell it again. More than likely you will smell it several times. It becomes addictive. You know it stinks, but you just can’t seem to pull away. It is like seeing something repulsive, but you can’t avert your eyes.

Yeah, why is that?

A Single Lost Soul

WARNING: This blog post will not be funny at all.

Many Christians read books like "The Da Vinci Code" and play them off as good works of fiction. It doesn’t matter that they attempt to undermine the whole foundation that our beliefs are based on, because they are just a work of fiction. These Christians say that their faith was not shaken by such things. They say that they were merely entertained by the outlandish claims and ridiculous untruths portrayed.

I have no problem believing this to be perfectly true. I am glad that they are so secure in their beliefs that they can remain unaffected by such things. I am glad that they can see these works for what they are and walk away being merely entertained.

But the spiritual battle for souls does not center around us alone. We are to follow the Lord’s last command and go into the world and spread the truth so that others may be saved as well. These “harmless” works of fiction are a tool for the enemy to undermine that effort. Someone who is firm in their beliefs may be able to roll their eyes and ignore what is being said, but what about someone who is unsure and teetering between a decision of which “truth” is the right truth? What about someone who has never explored any semblance of faith?

"The Da Vinci Code" was a masterfully written book, I will concede. It was so well written as to be believable. That is where the true danger lies. People will read it and think, “Huh, that makes sense. It all fits together so perfectly.” That is when the seed of doubt is planted. People are always more eager to believe in facts than in faith. They cling to that which they can touch and feel over what is unseen. They will take up the mantra, “How can the facts be denied?!”

They then start to measure our words against things like these “harmless” works of fiction. We are no longer competing against the “truth” of another religion, but against the “truth” of doubt. How can they trust us and what we are saying when they doubt the truth of our words? Suddenly all the tools that we have become useless. Suddenly the enemy starts to win souls.

I don’t fear that works like this will turn Christians, but I fear for those who aren’t Christians yet. This may just be fiction to many Christians, but for someone who is searching for answers this very well may be the “truth” they have been looking for. And what is even more damaging to the cause is Christians who don’t see this reality right in front of their eyes. They don’t think anything of these books, because after all they are just books. Who would believe a book? Well, just think about it. How many millions of copies of "The Da Vinci Code" were sold around the world? How many people went and saw the movie? How many more will buy it and share it with their friends? Are you telling me that you are so naïve as to believe that in all of those millions of people that there isn’t possibly at least one person that believes what they are reading or seeing?

Wake up people! Our society is deteriorating right before our eyes and we are being too tolerant and complacent to do anything about it. And the enemy is laughing at us the whole time as he wins soul after soul right in front of us. If you call yourself a Christian, then be bothered by these things. Don't just write them off, but look at them for how they will impact those you are trying to lead to Jesus.

Heaven rejoices over a single soul coming home…and it weeps over a single soul lost.

Kicking the Poo

Have you ever been walking a dog who covers up his or her poo by kicking grass over it? I always wondered what was the point of this expenditure of energy. They never get enough grass on the poo to actually cover it up. And sometimes they get so energetic that they actually end up kicking the poo instead and flinging it all over the place. So why waste your time?

But I digress. At various times throughout our association, my wife has acted like what can only be described as...a turd. Apparently this is not a new thing with her since her father's pet name for her when she was a little girl was "skatoulaki," which in Greek means literally "little turd." Whenever she is having one of those moments, I let her know by "kicking the poo" at her. This consists of turning my back to her and kicking my foot backwards. This is usually always followed by her springing off the couch and running after me. Which is then usually followed by me making a vain attempt to escape her, her catching me and tackling me to the floor, and me screaming like a little girl for her to let me go.

But she caught on to my antics, and since I am not one who likes to be known as predictable I had to come up with some variations. So, I came up with such classics as "Double Poo," which is when I kick with both feet one after the other. "Slow Poo," which is when I take my time kicking the poo. "Front Poo," which is when I kick the poo while I am facing her. (Note: this is always a risky one, since you are in less of a convenient position to run away.) And my personal favorite, "Delayed Poo," which is when I kick my leg out and hold it extended out for a second.

Now one might ask why I would continue to do this to her, since it is usually always followed by me being chased down and tackled to the floor. All I can say is that I could outrun her if I wanted to, but sometimes it is better to be caught!

The Rooster Walk

Today I am going to talk about the "Rooster Walk." The Rooster Walk is what a rooster does when he is strutting his stuff across the barnyard for all of the hens. He will puff out his chest, fluff up his tail feathers, stick his beak up in the air, elevate that little red glove-thing on his head, and slowly and meticulously take step after step, raising each leg up almost to his chest. He will "strut" like this from one side of the barnyard to the other, and then turn around and go back again. It is his way of showing who the "man" is.

Now that you hopefully have a vivid picture of what this looks like in your mind, I will get to the point. Whenever I win a competition with my wife or do something extraordinary that she is not expecting, I will do the "Rooster Walk" across the den. I puff my chest out, stick my butt out as far as I can manage, stick my nose up in the air, and take slow and deliberate steps, raising each knee up high in the air and fully extending my leg before I put it down. I strut like this back and forth across the den until she loses herself in uncontrollable laughter or throws something at me.

Some people lick their fingers and touch it to themselves, making sizzling noises in the process. Some people pat themselves on the back. Some people grunt. I do the "Rooster Walk."

The Obvious Order and Complexity of the Universe

Yesterday I attended a talk about the Hubble Space Telescope and God. I know this sounds like a strange combination, but it was very interesting. The talk was by a retired NASA engineer who headed the Hubble Project. The talk centered mainly around him showing us pictures taken from the Hubble Space Telescope and explaining about different space phenomena. But I am not going to go into that here. I want to talk about the two things that struck me when he tied the space phenomena back to God.

The first was about the Big Bang Theory. For those of you unfamiliar with the Big Bang Theory it goes something like this: The universe was created when a primeval atom exploded sending debris in every direction. This debris would later be the substance that would form the various galaxies, planets, stars, and other astral bodies in the universe. This NASA engineer theorized that it would be completely plausible to say that this "Big Bang" happened at the point in the Bible that coincides with Genesis 1:3. This verse states, "Then God said, 'Let there be light'; and there was light." In other words, the explosion and subsequent light given off by it was the light that God first created. God then goes on to form the Earth in verses 9-10. And later in this chapter (verses 14-19) it states that God creates "lights in the firmament of the heavens" and "two great lights: the greater light to rule the day, and the lesser light to rule the night." All of this could have been formed from the substances left over from the original explosion.

The second was about other life in space. I am by admission generally a non-believer about life on other planets. Most people consider it conceit to think that we are so important that we are the only life in the whole galaxy. I never thought about it as conceit so much as the Bible doesn't mention life on other planets. But seeing the pictures of other galaxies taken from Hubble got me to thinking. We may be the only life in this solar system, but even our puny solar system only comprises one arm of the Milky Way Galaxy. And beyond that there are at least thousands of galaxies in the universe. Who's to say there aren't habitable planets in those galaxies. Maybe those people have their own Bibles, containing their own histories. Maybe they are living existences similar to our own. Maybe at this very moment someone is writing a blog about life in other galaxies. Maybe the Bible doesn't say anything about them, because we don't need to know about them. Maybe it was concerned with showing us how to find salvation and become better Christians, rather than revealing all that God knows. Otherwise, why would God waste His time making all of those other galaxies and filling them with planets and stars?

That's right, you heard it here first! This self-proclaimed skeptic has changed his feathers. I am now pondering the possibilities. There is an obvious order and complexity to the universe that cannot be denied. So, maybe I was not being conceited...maybe I was living without the information that would open my eyes to the possibilities. Maybe I was just too busy to look beyond our solar system and see the big picture.

I would love to hear what you think about all of this. Especially those ideas that deal with the universe in relation to God.

A Mind of Their Own

Sometimes my fingers have a mind of their own. They don't seem to always type what I tell them to type. My mind is thinking something, and I am pretty sure I get the right message to my fingers. But then they go off and type something completely different.

Most times this is no big deal, as most people just look at it as a minor typo and move on. But occasionally my fingers write something really embarrassing or completely inappropriate. And sometimes they write things that completely change the meaning of what I was trying to say.

And you can't always rely on spell checker to catch these things, because my fingers are very sneaky about using actual words when they change things. It almost seems like they are trying to see if I am paying attention or maybe how much they can get away with. I end up triple reading everything I am writing to make sure they haven't slipped something in on me.

Backwards Toilet Paper

Can someone please explain to me why anyone would intentionally put the toilet paper roll on the dispenser backwards!? By backwards, I mean so that the paper rolls off the back instead of the front. I have pondered this mystery for long periods of time, trying to see it from a different perspective, and have yet to come up with any reason at all much less a good one.

Unrolling the paper from the dispenser only serves to cause the toilet paper to run along the wall. Static electricity almost always causes the paper to stick to the wall. Thus making it almost impossible to peel it off with your fingers. No matter how much you unroll it just simply slides down the wall.

Some may argue that you can alway unroll it the opposite direction, so that the end flips over the top first. But even this is not fullproof. If you should miss catching the end as it flips by, then just like that it heads straight for the wall again. It only compounds the frustration if you should have to endure this more than once, like say in-between "tears." (Which is even worse, since more than likely at that point you are not exactly in the most convenient position to be jacking with trying to catch the end as it flips by.)

All of this can be solved by simply turning the toilet paper roll around, so that unrolling it causes the paper to simply dangle in open space. There are no obstructions for the paper to stick on. And it is equally convenient no matter what position you find yourself in.

So, other than a complete lack of caring, can anyone tell me why anyone would put the toilet paper roll on backwards!?

The Official Royal Decree of Marriage, Part 2

Since my post on The Official Royal Decree of Marriage was so popular, esp. among the ladies, I thought I would follow up with a part two. The "Bill of Rights," if you will, to the Official Decree basically boils down to the following few parts. (Legal Disclaimer: Now keep in mind that this is a working document and things can be changed and added at a later time as the king sees fit.)

1.) The marriage will be full of double standards. Those things that the queen shall be held accountable for do not necessarily apply to the king as well. This is especially true if those things will cause the king more work or get him into trouble in any way. This rule will also apply to kids as the need arises.

2.) The rules are subject to change at any time. This will be enforced during those times when changing the rules will be advantageous to the king. Only the king is allowed to change the rules.

3.) No royal edicts are allowed to be questioned or changed after they have been sealed with the phrase, "So it shall be written, so it shall be done!" The exception to this comes, of course, in the case of #2 above.

Now while I have not been very successful in convincing my wife that this is the best way to rule a kingdom, I have every confidence that she will continue to be stubborn and hold out against the Official Royal Decree. I have even laid my foot down that this is not a discussion, but just the way it is going to be. She responded by laughing hysterically as she attempted to roll over my foot with the car. I think she is weakening, though, because every once in a while she actually lets me win an argument!

Behold the king!

Good Morning

I hate when people walk up to me first thing in the morning and just start talking business. How hard is it to say "good morning" before you start asking me to do things or asking me for something? Give me just a bit of common courtesy and maybe I will be more inclined to help you out. Otherwise, I feel like I am just a slave to do your bidding. I am not a human being. I don't have to be acknowledged. Well, who wants to be treated like that?!

It doesn't have to be a long conversation. Just two little words to pave the way to uglier things. They say that you should always start your day off on the right foot. Get your mind right and it will help the day go smoother. I think showing someone that you care just a little bit about them will go a long way to having a better day with them. We work enough throughout the day that I think we can spare a few seconds of kindness and decency.

The Flying Shoe

I have several strange and playful things that I say when I am faking being upset. Things like, “Do you want to take this inside!” Or, “Don’t make me come over there and slap myself!” Or, “Let’s go then! I can take you with both your arms tied behind your back!”

But the one I am probably most famous for is when I say, “Do I need to take off my shoe?!” My wife thinks this is really funny. She says that I only threaten with the shoe when it is something big. So, if I tell her that I almost took my shoe off, then she knows somebody must have really irritated me.

I think I started this after I heard an Eddie Murphy stand-up routine where he talked about his mama taking off her shoe and throwing it at her kids when they were acting up. He said that the shoe was kid-seeking. If they ran, then it flew after them. It could even fly around corners and get them. He said most times you didn't really get any warning. You might hear this whispering, swishing sound, but by then it was too late. And BAM! it would hit you.

So, if we are ever in a fight together, don't be surprised to see me leaning slightly to one side and holding a shoe!

Walking in the Rain

Yesterday evening I took the dog for a walk in the park. Right after we got out there it started raining. It was only a light rain, so we decided to keep going and just ride it out. The path through the park has trees that hang over most of the trail, so they blocked most of the rain from hitting us. All we really got was the large slow drops of water that would randomly fall from the leaves of the trees. It wasn't long before the rain picked up and even the trees couldn't completely block it from hitting us anymore. Getting wet was unavoidable at this point, so we decided to just keep walking.

Walking in the rain is one of those often overlooked beauties of life. You can feel the air getting cooler. You can smell an earthy freshness that comes from a world being cleansed. You can watch puddles form, and then watch raindrops splash into those puddles and then jump back up into the air. And you can look up into the sky and watch the rain fall. This was particularly fascinating yesterday since the sun was still shining and there were relatively few clouds in the sky above. The rain seemed to fall from the sky itself.

On days like this I like to tilt my head up and close my eyes and just feel the rain running in trickles down the sides of my face and through my hair. I like the soothing pattering that it makes as it bounces between the leaves of the trees or splatters onto the concrete. I like to watch people scurrying for cover, holding shirts, newspapers, or purses over their heads to help keep from getting wet.

On our walk we go past this little grill with an outside deck. Yesterday they had a live band performing outside. All along the deck little tables with giant umbrellas were scattered here and there with people huddling under the brightly-colored mushrooms, eating their dinner and listening to the band. The scene and the music added a certain ambiance to the evening that just sort of fit.

We completed our walk, making it back to the car at the exact moment when the rain finally stopped. The dog and I just stood there looking at each other, drenched in every aspect of the word, with a certain understanding that can only be summed up with the phrase, "It figures."

The Sliding Pretzel

The nice lady at work that cleans up after us slobs takes special pains to come by and clean my desk for me. She sprays this cleaner on it that is supposed to dust, polish, and repel future dust. But I have also noticed that is has the added effect of making my desk very slick. I set paper or CDs on it and they just start sliding around.

This gave me a bright idea one day. I wondered if it was slick enough for me to slide across it.

(Side Note: I was suddenly reminded of the first day my wife brought home satin sheets. She was trying to be sexy and romantic. So, doing my best job to add to the effect I decided to wear my silk boxers to bed that night. As I jumped into the bed in my most playful and debonair way, I started sliding across the sheets. It didn't take me long to realize that I wasn't going to stop. Ziiip! Right off the other side of the bed and off onto the floor. It is hard to be sexy when you are sprawled half on and half off the bed, folded like a pretzel between the bed and the wall. The moral of the story is that satin sheets and silk boxers don't mix.)

So, one day I got up the nerve to try sliding across the desk. I figured I would take the corner so I wouldn't have to go very far. It worked beautifully! I looked like the Dukes of Hazard sliding across the hood of the General Lee. On my way back to my desk, I won't lie to you, I was cocky. I decided to try it again. Only this time something went horribly wrong. I lost my balance and went shooting off the desk straight for my chair. As I slammed into the armrest feet first, the chair was so kind as to roll out of my way, and allow me to plummet to the floor.

When the nice lady came to clean my desk that day she found me laying half on and half off the desk, folded like a pretzel between the cubicle partition and my chair. The moral of the story is twofold. If you have a great idea like sliding across your desk, just forget about it and go back to work. Also, me and sliding across things don't mix.

Driving on the Wrong Side of the Car

I thought I would use the blog entry today to impart an interesting fact on you. Did you ever wonder why we drive on the right side of the road, but we sit in the left seat of the car? Until I heard the answer, I for one had never really noticed that this phenomenon was strange. I guess we grow up with a certain reality and really never question the oddness of it all.

Well, the answer is that we actually DID sit on the right side at one time. You have to go back all the way to the days of when we drove horse-drawn carriages and buckboards. (If you are interested in the difference between a carriage and a buckboard, I would be happy to entertain you with that answer as well. Throw in a wagon to the mix and you can have quite a discussion.) Men driving their carriages and buckboards down the street carried whips to prod their horses on. As they swung their whips out in an arc, they would unfortunately hit pedestrians walking down the sidewalks as well. To remedy this situation men started sitting on the left side of their vehicles so their whips wouldn't reach all the way to the walks.

The question you might ask now, which was the next one to pop into my mind, was why is it that we drive down the right side of the road and the English drive on the left? I have not researched it, but from my limited knowledge of history I would conjecture that it has something to do with the Revolutionary War. Early Americans were so eager to have nothing to do with Great Britain anymore that they strove to do things differently from their English cousins. So, if the English are going to drive on the left, then we shall drive on the right!

If anybody has different answers to these questions, then please feel free to voice your opinions here.

Division of Labor

C.D. was telling me about the division of labor that she and her husband have with the chores. I have to say that it makes me laugh, not because her husband’s only jobs are taking out the trash and mopping the bathroom floor, but because I have no division of labor in my house.

Ever since my wife moved to Missouri I have had to take over all of the chores in our place. This is a new experience for me since it is the first time I have ever lived alone. Before that I always lived with my parents, so we all had our assigned tasks and chores. Even in college I had roommates to divide the labor between. (Of course, truth be told, it wasn’t so much a formal division of labor as it was whoever got tired of seeing the mess and finally broke down and cleaned it up. I have to say that I was quite good at holding out longer than my roommates. I even got it down that I would intentionally only wash one bowl and one spoon to use every morning, so I didn’t have to do all of the dishes.)

After I got married my wife and I went through the typical mutually-agreed allotment of tasks. Which basically consisted of her telling me what my jobs were and me whining about how it cut into my “sitting around” time. I held out in the beginning, delaying the jobs to see if she would break and just do them herself like my roommates, but she would always pull the wildcard out on me. There were things I needed and wanted from my wife that I hadn’t previously needed or wanted from my roommates. Like food. Needless to say the strike didn’t last long, and I would be mumbling under my breath all the way out to the trash can.

But as I said before, now I have to do it all. I can’t leave it for someone else to do, because there is nobody else to do it. I tried just buying more dishes or underwear to delay having to clean, but eventually I ran out of space to put them all. So, now I cook, wash dishes, take out the trash, do the laundry, clean the place, buy the groceries, run the errands, pay the bills, and generally deal with any problems or other tasks that might come up. I am both wife and husband now, doing all the chores that both of us split before. Maybe I will be a better husband for my wife later on.

Until then I will just laugh at all of these men that complain about having to do two simple chores. They just don’t realize how good they really have it.

Seeing the Stars in a Banana

I had a banana that had spots that sort of looked like the night sky. The spots looked like a random arrangement of stars. They were dense and clustered. They were all shapes and sizes. Larger ones that looked like planets and moons. Surrounded by an endless assortment of smaller ones that filled the peel with a comforting banana light. If you looked hard enough you could even pick out constellations and patterns. I was mesmerized for several minutes, imagining I was flying through the stars.

Then I peeled back the yellow heavens and ate the banana within.

The Official Royal Decree of Marriage

I was explaining to my wife one day about the finer points of our relationship. I was telling her that the Official Royal Decree states that first and foremost I am the King of Our Domain. She tries to counter that she is the Queen of Our Domain, so we are equal. My reply to this is that she is the Queen by marriage only. She was a Princess when I met her and stayed a Princess after we were married until her requisite 2-year probationary period was over. Therefore, as a Queen by marriage only she is not entitled to as many votes as I am, and therefore we are not, in fact, equal.

This of course leads me to the second point of the Official Royal Decree. I have two and a half votes to her one vote in the Family Counsel. After exclaiming that that isn’t fair at all, she asks me why two and a half votes. To which I reply, “That way even if you get a friend to side with you, I can still veto the vote.”

This transitions us into the third point of the Official Royal Decree. For every child that is born to us I get another vote awarded to me in the Family Counsel. That way no matter how many children she gets to side with her on a given point, I will still hold absolute veto power.

Completely flabbergasted by this whole conversation she asks me when the Official Royal Decree was written, because she never agreed to it. To which I calmly reply that it was in the fine print of our marriage contract, and so she did, in fact, agree to it and should have gotten a lawyer to check the details before she signed it. As she profusely claims that it was not there, I look her straight in the eyes and ask her how she missed it since it was written in 0.02 font!

So it shall be written! So it shall be done!

European Toilet

We must have a European toilet in our bathroom at work. Just about every other toilet in American has the flushing lever on the left side of the toilet (as you are facing it). This one has it on the right! What the heck is that about? So, since there are countries in Europe where they drive on the other side of the road, I figured this toilet must have come from over there.

I thought a European toilet was a nice pun too. Get it? Yu'r-a-peein'. I know...old joke in a new context.

All New Episode...

Maybe somebody can explain this to me. A new show comes out on TV. They have the big premiere, maybe a two hour premiere show or something. And then during the next week you see advertisements for the show tauting "Tune in for an all new episode of..." That irritates me! It is the second episode of the show...I would hope it is new! Are they going to start panning off re-runs on us already?

Can anybody explain to me why I have to sit through this every single time...week after week of the entire first season?

The Man in the Photograph

My cousin shared with me an interesting point that he learned in one of his Philosophy classes. He said that technically we can’t look at a photograph of ourselves when we were younger and say that that is us. The basis for his statement is that we aren’t the same person now that we were then. Our personalities have changed. Our likes, dislikes, desires, knowledge, identity are all different. It is like that person is a complete stranger to us now. We have grown up and experienced life, and those experiences have shaped us into different people. So, technically the person in the photograph is not really the same person that is looking at it anymore.

Of course the flip-side to this statement can be argued as well. There are still things that are the same. For instance we are still made up of the same DNA. Supposedly our eyeballs are the same size from birth throughout our lives. There are certain inherent values that we are taught early in life that stay with us even as they shape and mold our identity and moral character. We still have the same family (If not adding to it.) and the same genealogical roots.

It seems the debate really boils down to whether you are viewing a person from their mental makeup or from their physical makeup. Is it the psyche that makes a person or the body? So, what do you think?