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!”