Mexican Gollum

I wonder how different The Lord of the Rings would have been if Gollum had been Mexican.  I can picture him with his little pencil moustache and wifebeater shirt, walking up to Frodo and Sam in a body-slanted, rocking motion.

Gollum: “Yo, Frodo, what’s up, ese?  Where you takin’ my precious?”

Sam: “You murdering, filthy good-for-nothing.” [lunging for Gollum]

Gollum: “Whoa, homes, ease up, we’re just talking here, puta!”

Frodo: “Let him go, Sam, he can help us.”

Gollum: “Exactly, pendejo, get up off me.”

Sam: “You can’t seriously be thinking of trusting this slimy piece of crap, can you?”

Frodo: “You know the way to Mexico, don’t you?  You’ve been there before?”

Gollum: “No, not there…you can’t go there…I won’t go back…I won’t let you take the precious there, ese!”

Frodo: “We have to go there, and you’re going to lead us.”

Gollum: “There’s maybe a way.  I know a guy that can sneak you across the border in his truck.  It’ll cost you…a dozen of those lembas thingies.  But truly, ese, it’s not so much the getting into Mexico as the getting back.”

Frodo: “I’m not so sure we’re coming back.”

Effusivize Your Praise

A pastor was once speaking to a man who was having trouble in his marriage, and he asked him, “When was the last time you told your wife that you loved her?”  The man replied, “I told her at our wedding, twenty-five years ago, and she should know I feel the same until I tell her otherwise.”

This is a funny example of what I think we see in this world all too often.  Most people don’t express appreciation, gratitude, and love enough.  My friend BD used to say that where he grew up, the only time you heard anything from your parents or boss was when you screwed up.  If there was silence, then you could assume that you were doing well.  That’s not how we should live.  We should live in a world where we are being built up, where our good deeds and loveable qualities are recognized and acknowledged, where people take more time gushing about what we did right instead of what we did wrong.

We should be telling our spouses, kids, friends, and family that we love and appreciate them…constantly.  And not just in a passing remark, but gushing about it.  We should effusivize our praise.  The word “effusive” means to “show unrestrained emotion or thankfulness,” and that’s how we should be…unrestrained.

Raksha Bandhan – Part 2

Today was the official day for Raksha Bandhan.  I had been looking forward to this for months.  It was special.  It meant a lot to me, and I wanted to give it the utmost respect for what it symbolized.  I wasn’t doing this lightly.  It was a big commitment, that I was taking very seriously.  I am very discerning when it comes to who I pick to be my friends.  I am even more so with family.

I had read that it is customary for the brother to give his sister a gift.  Some people give chocolates.  Others jewelry.  But I wanted to give my new little sister something from my heart.  Something that would express how much this meant to me.  I researched ideas for weeks until the perfect idea hit me.  Typically, the sister ties a rakhi on her brother, but tradition never said it couldn’t go the other way too.  So, I designed and made a bracelet for her.  I made it out of her favorite color (black), and I tied a charm to the middle of it that said simply, “Little Sis.”

HR and I met up at work, neutral territory, with my mom in tow as the official photographer.  Okay, she really just went to enjoy the moment with us, but true to my mom’s nature, she couldn’t help but snap some picture too!  Honestly, there wasn’t much to the ceremony.  I guess I was expecting pageantry and fanfare, but it really was “here’s your gift,” and “here’s your rakhi.”  She made me eat some vegan chocolate, but I’m not so sure that was so much part of the ceremony as I think she just wanted to see me eat vegan chocolate.  Typical little sister!

I’m not sure how my new little sis feels, but my heart has felt heavy all day.  It’s heavy with the weight of responsibility and purpose.  There is now a new member of the herd to take care of.  And no matter what happens between us or how much distance wedges us apart, that will never change.  She is forever my little sister.

Botanical High Fives

I like to go for walks and give high-fives to the trees as I pass by.  I imagine their soft leaves like fingers scraping against my skin as our hands pull apart.  If there are trees on both sides, then I alternate hands and imagine I’m a sports star running onto the field or court through a tunnel of fans and teammates, congratulating me as I go.

It’s amazing how much more connected you can feel to the world around you when you not only see it as alive and interactive, but also encouraging and supportive.  It’s like you have friends everywhere, just waiting to reach out to slap your hand.  It’s hard to be upset or down in the dumps when even the trees are giving you high fives!

Just Show a Little Respect

Around my wife’s workplace, there is a large congregation of homeless men.  They stand on the street corners near the freeway and beg for money.  I used to feel sympathy for such people, but that faded long ago.  You hear stories about people offering them food, clothing, or employment; and the homeless men turn it down, because what they really want is cash.  One can only surmise that they want it for alcohol or drugs.  Maybe not all, but most.

So, now I just feel sad that men would be so lazy or so chained to addiction that they would choose to stand on a corner and beg, sleep under an overpass, and wear clothes that are so dirty that the original color can’t be determined anymore.  But they are still human, and they deserve at least that courtesy and respect.  There is no reason to treat them badly.  Ignore them if you must, but don’t treat them badly.

I was sitting at a stoplight one day, waiting to turn, and one of the homeless men started crossing the street.  He was dirty, unshaven, and his skin was leathery and tanned.  His head constantly twitched like he couldn’t stop his neurons from firing, and he was bone skinny.  He was in the crosswalk and had the “Walk” sign, so by all accounts he had the right-of-way.  But for some reason, the car next to me started edging up on him, getting closer and closer, like it wanted to run him over.  The homeless guy flicked them off and swore at them, but never stopped walking.

When he started to cross in front of me, he looked straight into my window, scowling defiantly, daring me to do the same.  Our eyes met, and I nodded to him.  His entire face broke into a smile, and he nodded back.  That’s all it took.  Just showed him a little respect, and it changed his entire demeanor.  And at that moment, I didn’t pity the homeless man, I pitied the driver of that other car.

It Takes Two

Since I have been carpooling with my wife, we have been leaving the house later than when I drove myself.  I’ll leave you to extrapolate why that is.  But the inevitable consequence of leaving later is that you hit the seemingly-random, not-really-so-random sine wave of traffic.  For example, if we leave the house at 7:00 a.m., we’ll hit really bad traffic.  If we leave at 7:07 a.m., it’s virtually nothing.  If we leave at 7:15 a.m., we’ll hit really bad traffic.

Apparently, the majority of people can only leave at regular 15-minute intervals throughout the hour.  I’m not sure if this is because they are that OCD or because the controlling voice in their head requires precision.  Either way, it’s strange.  I, for one, leave the house when I’m ready.  That could be, and usually is, at any random time between 6:47 a.m. and 8:53 a.m.

To avoid the unfathomable masses of cars on the freeways, we have taken to driving in the Express Lane.  Yes, it costs money, but it is totally worth zooming by all of those stopped cars and shaving 35-60 minutes off our drive.  The only annoyance being when some truck gets in the Express Lane and decides that 55 mph is an acceptable speed for himself and the 32 cars backed up behind him.  Even then, we’re still moving.

The Express Lane has a different price for regular use versus HOV use.  For those of you unfamiliar, HOV is when you have two or more people in the car.  And this got me to thinking.  Why do they call it “HOV”?  I know it stands for “High-Occupancy Vehicle,” but doesn’t that sound a bit stuffy and scientific?  Why not make it more catchy?  Something that zings…something that grabs people’s attention and makes them smile.  Why don’t we call it, “It Takes Two”?  It means the same thing, and it can conjure music in someone’s head.  Maybe Marvin Gaye or Tina Turner…or if you’re like myself…Rob Base and DJ E-Z Rock!

Out of Control

I realized today why we have to be so diligent about staying on top of the dishes.  Apparently, dishes are like plants.  Once they get wet and get a little sunlight, they will grow and multiply.  I washed the dishes this morning and loaded the dishwasher, but it wasn’t quite full yet, so I didn’t start it.  Later, we had a meal together, just the two of us, and when I went to put my plate in the sink, it was completely full!  Not only that, but there were dishes on both counters next to the sink!

I opened the dishwasher and looked inside, but there were same number of dishes from that morning.  So, I concluded that dishes need water and light.  The ones in the dishwasher were in the dark, so they couldn’t multiply, but the ones left in the sink were in full sunlight all day.  This means that we’ll have to be much more diligent about staying on top of the dishes and getting them into the dishwasher faster, so they don’t take over the kitchen.

Trial by Fire

I walked into the office yesterday to find someone sitting in my new office.  It was the manager of the new team that moved into our area.  He had been angling for that office even before they moved downstairs, and I guess he just decided that possession was nine-tenths of the law.

Granted, I hadn’t had a chance to clean it up and move my stuff in yet, but still!  The audacity.  The inconsiderateness.  I was outraged.  I was furious.  My blood was boiling under my skin.  But I decided to just sit down at my desk and get on the meeting that I had.  I kept telling myself during the meeting that I’d give him the benefit of the doubt.  I’d give him until after the meeting to prove me wrong.  He didn’t.  In fact, it just got worse.

Right after my meeting started, he called his team of two into the office and conducted a team meeting in there.  On top of that, the manager’s boss came by and started giving him high fives and taking his picture as a show of congratulations for “scoring” the office.  I was so livid, I was shaking.  I was breathing.  I was praying.  I was hardly paying attention to the call I was on.

For an hour, I watched this flagrant violation being tossed in my face…in my team’s face.  Their team meeting broke up just as my call was ending, and his two direct reports left the office and shut the door behind them.  That was the last straw.  I grabbed my cleaning supplies and slowly walked to my office.  I didn’t knock.  I just opened the door.  After all, it was my own office, why should I bother knocking?!  I told the guy that I was moving into the office at that very moment, so he needed to leave.

And this is where the situation went from crossing the line to outright disrespect.  The guy had the audacity and cajones to look at me and say, “It’ll be 30 minutes, because I’m about to get on a customer call.”  I was expecting…well, more hoping…that his being in the office was just a slight error in judgement, and he didn’t realize that it was my office.  A respectful person would have profusely apologized for the oversight, gathered his things, and quickly relocated.  This was not a respectful person.

The old me would have taken being trampled on, agreed to his statement, and slowly backed out of the door to wallow in anger.  The old me.  I am not the old me, and I was pissed.  I told him that he would have to take his call somewhere else, because I was moving in.  My voice was low and menacing.  I didn’t yell.  I wasn’t compassionate or sympathetic.  I was in charge.

He tried to play the disgusted card, whining that this call was with a customer and couldn’t I come back later.  I simply said, “No.  This is the time I have to move in.”  Then, he tried to play the exasperated card, acting like I was being unreasonable and where was he supposed to go. 

All the while, he hadn’t moved.  He was still sitting at my desk with his papers strewn out everywhere, and his continued disregard for me was flipping every switch I had and a few that I wasn’t aware that I had.  That was when I lost my cool, and I said, “Frankly, I don’t care.  You can find a conference room, or how about this, you can take it at your desk.  Either way, you need to leave, so I can clean my office.”

At this point, he let out a huge huff, gathered his papers, and scuffled off to a conference room to have his call.  On the way out of the door, he looked back and said, “You know, your name isn’t on this office.  How would anyone know it was yours?”  That was an unnecessary parting shot, so the very first thing I did was to go peel the name tag off of my old desk and stick it to the window right beside the door.  Then, I proceeded to clean and organize my office.

This incident didn’t just affect me.  It apparently affected everyone on the team.  Some were outraged just like I was.  Others were waiting to see what I would do.  At the time, I didn’t realize that they viewed this as a test.  They had had their doubts as to whether I was ready to lead the team, and this would give them their first glimpse to prove myself.  I passed with flying colors. 

I was told later by one of them that he knew at that moment that I wasn’t going to be walked over anymore.  That office was a symbol of the team, and just like I fought for it, I was someone that was going to fight for the team.  I wasn’t going to be cowed by someone with more time in the company.  I wasn’t going to be intimidated by title or seniority.  I belonged.  I was ready.

Where the Heart Is

I was watching an interesting movie today called Where the Heart Is, starring Natalie Portman.  It follows the life of a pregnant woman who is abandoned by her boyfriend in a little town in Oklahoma.  She is forced to secretly live in the Wal-Mart to get by, and eventually ends up giving birth to her daughter in the store one night.  The peculiarity of her story makes its way into the news, and she suddenly finds herself an instant celebrity.

Fame is short-lived, and she is soon forgotten.  But with the help of some great friends in the town, she slowly rebuilds her life, raises her daughter, and falls in love with the town librarian.  The librarian, Forney, is particularly fond of her little daughter, Americus, and he spends quite a bit of time playing and talking with her.  One of their conversations had me in stitches at it’s innocence and simplicity.  But also, in Forney’s willingness to communicate at the little four-year old’s level.

Americus: “If you feed a cow chocolate, will you get chocolate milk?”

Forney: “Yes.  And if you spin a cow around really fast, you’ll get whipped cream.”

Everything in Reverse

I was watching an episode of Midsomer Murders, and the case centered around horse racing.  For those of you unfamiliar with the show, it is on the BBC and follows the career of DCI John Barnaby as he investigates murders in the little villages of Midsomer in rural England.  Each episode is a different case in a different village, and it usually ends up with Barnaby pitting his wits against the killer’s.

Now, I’m sure that most of us are aware that drivers in England drive on the opposite side of the car and the opposite side of the road from those of us in the United States.  But did you know that they also ride horses from the opposite side as well?  Well, the opposite side of the track, not the opposite side of the horse…that would be ludicrous.  And not really the opposite side of the track, but in the opposite direction.  In other words, they go clockwise; whereas, we go counter-clockwise.

I caught a glimpse of this for just a brief moment in this particular episode, and it blew my mind!  I had never thought about this before.  I mean…why?!

Chicken Pranks

Do you think chickens ever play pranks on each other?  Especially the ones stuck in cages?  I mean what else do they have to do all day to pass the time except to antagonize each other for their own amusement?  This is how I see it going.  Tom, who is a chicken located in a top cage, is friends with Bob, who is a chicken in the cage underneath him.

Tom: “Bob!  Hey, Bob!”

Bob [sticking his head between the bars of his cage to look up]: “What?”

Tom [putting his backside to the bars of his cage and pooping on Bob’s head]: “Nothing!”

Bob then furiously tries to wipe his face off with his wing, grumbling under his breath, while Tom can be heard giggling overheard.  Do chickens giggle, do you think?  I wonder what a chicken laugh even sounds like.

The Center of It All

Today, I was officially announced as the next manager of the integrations team.  I never really thought about being in this position, but God obviously had other plans for me.  I am humble enough to realize that it was not me that got me here, nor is it going to be me that is going to make this a success.  My only hope is to get out of the way and let God “steal my show,” as TobyMac would say.

I had my doubts about if I was ready or not.  I mean, I had only been a team lead for six months.  But I believe God has been preparing me for over two years for this exact moment.  He put it on my heart long ago to live a life of servanthood, and that’s what I want to do for my team.  For what is a good leader except a servant?  A good leader realizes that success comes from those reporting to him.  So, the more he can equip them and remove their obstacles, the more successful they’ll be.  And I believe God has been putting me in situations to build those values for a long time.

And so, I begin my term as manager.  I want the team to be engaged.  I want them to enjoy their jobs.  I want to help them reach a potential that they themselves might not have even thought possible.  But in the end, I really just want God to guide my steps and show me the way.  If He’s not the center of it all, then what’s the point?

Buttered Crackers

I have a fond childhood memory of my father buttering Saltine crackers every time we ate spaghetti.  Some people have garlic bread, he had buttered crackers.  It was actually funny to watch, because he meticulously made sure that the butter went all the way to the edges and was perfectly even in consistency throughout the entire cracker.  He smoothed and smoothed until it was pristine.  Then, he’d lay the cracker on the edge of his plate and repeat the process.  After he had his two crackers, he’d start to eat, using one of the crackers as a wall to ram his forkful of spaghetti against.

One day, my brother asked my father if he could have one of his crackers.  My father paused mid-buttering and just stared at him.  You could see the agony and dilemma being waged in his mind.  On the one hand, he had his routine, and he wanted to enjoy the fruits of his labor.  On the other hand, it was his son, and how could he deny such an innocent request.  Finally, love won out, and he handed my brother one of his crackers.  As he diligently went to work on another cracker to replace the given one, I asked him if I could have one too.  Again, the same agony and dilemma waged in his mind, but again, he gave up the cracker.

After that, my brother and I always asked for a buttered cracker whenever we had spaghetti.  We’d always wait for that exact moment, when he was almost done buttering the second one to ask.  He would always huff and hand over the crackers.  As time went on, he started to lay out four crackers instead of two.  He would butter them all and just slide one on each of our plates without us having to ask.  It became part of his routine, and I think that made it more acceptable in his mind. 

To this day, I still think of buttered crackers whenever I have spaghetti.

My Preeeecccciiiooouuuss

Yesterday, SB brought donuts to work to commemorate her third work anniversary.  I could smell them all the way down the hall, and the aroma intensified as I got closer and closer to the box.  It was like a reverse Doppler Effect for smell.  I was so tempted to eat one, because they looked delicious.  But I refrained because I’m in training for another race, and I don’t want to have to run extra to burn off the extra sugars.

I told HR that I was being taunted by the smell of the donuts, and she said, “How do you think I feel?  I have to smell them and look at them all day!”  I guess the fact that she’s still doing this vegan thing, and the donuts most likely were made with eggs and milk, makes it worse for her.  She can’t even have a weak moment and give in to the temptation, like I almost did.

HR said that she was over at her friend’s house the other night, and she saw some vegan chocolate cookies that she had brought him to try still sitting on his counter.  She wanted a cookie so badly that she couldn’t stop thinking about them.  She stole glances at the cookies from the other room.  Her mind would wander to their chocolatey goodness wasting away in the other room.  She was obsessed.  I told her that I could imagine her holding a vegan chocolate cookie lovingly in her hand, stroking it gently, and whispering, “My preeeecccciiiooouuuss.”  And just like the ring of power in the Lord of the Rings would speak to someone else and tempt them if it thought its current owner was weak or neglecting it, that vegan chocolate cookie was speaking to her.  It was tempting her to take it away from her friend and treat it properly…to savor it…to lick it from her fingers…to hoover the crumbs from the bowl.  It was her precious.

Archery Tournament?

Robin Hood:  Men in Tights was playing again today.  Am I the only one bothered by the scene where Robin promises Marianne that she won’t go to the archery tournament instead of himself?  Prompting Achoo to try to correct Robin, only for Robin to tell him to “cooool it!”  He is willfully deceiving her.  And on top of that, he goes to the archery tournament anyway, despite the fact that he knows she doesn’t want him to go.

But somehow this has no effect on their relationship when she discovers later that he lied to her and showed up anyway.  She overlooks it all and is only concerned with his safety at the hands of the Sheriff of Rottingham.  He lies to her, dismisses her feelings, is selfish, and lets her sacrifice herself for his only safety.  What kind of messed up start to a relationship is this?!

Gray Water

MR has been claiming that he believes his barber is trying to sabotage him.  He said that every time he goes to get his hair cut, the barber wets his hair with a spray bottle.  He is convinced that the barber has put gray hair dye in the bottle, so that he is essentially dying MR’s hair grayer at each visit, which is apparently more believable than the idea that MR’s hair could just be turning naturally gray.

MR said that every time the barber wets his hair, he asks him if he used the bottle with the “gray water” in it.  The last couple of times the barber has said that he might have forgotten to change the bottles out.  So, maybe there is something to MR’s claims.