The Weeknd

DJ on the radio. “The Weeknd liked a post from Kim Kardashian. And while we’re talking about things that nobody cares about, I’m on my 10th cup of coffee today.”

Hello...My Name is God

I was having a video chat with my friend JR today, and the light in his office was behind him, darkening his face and leaving him as a silhouette. You could just make out the features on one side of his face, but it was vague and nondescript. The only part of him that came in perfectly clear on the camera was his sweatshirt…or rather a single word on his sweatshirt. God.

As I looked at this face clouded in mystery and shadow, taking human form and no form at the same time…a sort of Everyman, I was struck by how much it looked like God, or rather what I imagine God would look like. And then to see it boldly and clearly announced on his shirt, so that it leaves no doubt, just like in the days of old. I am God.

But it was funny too. I imagined God wearing one of those name tags that says, “Hello…My Name is God,” walking around some networking function and interacting with people.

“Hi…God is it? My name is Ted, I’m in mergers and acquisitions. What line of business are you in?”

“Hello, Ted. It’s nice to finally meet you. Your wife has told me a lot about you. I’m in the insurance business. My two partners and I are doing some pretty amazing things, life-changing things. Let me tell you about it.”

“Hello, God. My name is Sharon. You look so familiar, have we met before?”

“Hello, Sharon. I had the pleasure of meeting you a while back, but it’s been a very long time since we last spoke. It’s definitely good to run into you again.”

“God!”

“Hello, Seth.”

“Man, I’m so glad you’re here. I thought this thing was going to be a complete drag, but now that you’re here, it might be at least tolerable. But come over here, there’s some people I want you to meet.”

Sox

I used to bowl. Not very often and not particularly well, but enough that my mom and stepdad decided to get me a personalized ball. And when they asked me what nickname I wanted on it, I was stumped. My stepdad had always been “Hondo,” because he was a huge John Wayne fan. My mom was “Boots,” because she was a country girl at heart, and my stepdad had met her at a country bar. I hadn’t yet developed my computer gaming persona of “Cyclops,” so I wasn’t sure what to pick. But we were at the bowling shop, and everyone was waiting on me, so I went with the first thing I could think of.

I always used to wear this black White Sox hat. It was back years ago when they had revamped their logo to the much cooler version you see today, and everyone was sporting their gear. I loved that hat. I wore it everywhere. That was back when I actually wore hats. And so, I looked down at the hat, and I read what was written across it, and that’s what became my bowling nickname. Sox.

Kissing a Fish

The last time I went fishing was when I was about 18 years old. My father and stepmother had taken my girlfriend and I to Corpus Christi for a mini beach vacation. That was the official position, but really, it was because my father wanted to go fishing. I had never enjoyed fishing, mostly because I lacked the patience and ability to sit still long enough to wait for a fish to commit suicide on my hook. I got restless, and I wanted to move. I got bored sitting alone, not talking or doing anything for hours on end…which is why I convinced them to let me take my girlfriend.

The morning we were suppose to go fishing, we got up at 4:00 a.m., so we could be at the pier by 5:00 a.m. and grab a “primo” spot. I forgot to mention that I’m also not a morning person or getting up before the sun. It was pitch black when we trudged out on the pier to claim our spots, my dad and stepmother on one side, and my girlfriend and I on the other. We had to use flashlights to see what we were doing. When we were all set, I cast off into the murky darkness and waited…and waited…and waited. The first rays of sunlight started to creep up over the horizon, and still we waited. I watched the sunrise, and my girlfriend slept in her chair.

Finally, I felt a tug on my line. I set the hook and reeled in my prize. Which ended up being a very angry crab. After fighting him off the hook and dropping him back in the water, I cast off again. I didn’t have to wait as long before I snagged something else, but it was only a giant glob of seaweed. Then I cast a third time, and this time, I hit gold…well, sort of a gold and blue with black cross stripes.

I had caught a small pinfish. Too small to keep, but large enough to fill my hand. And as I looked into the scared eyes of that fish, I was overcome by a strange emotion. To this day, I can’t explain it or what possessed me to do what I did next.

I kissed that fish right on his puckered lips…and he kissed me back.

Snowboarding

I had a dream about the guy across the street last night, even though he hasn’t lived there for years. He used to ride a snowboard in his garage, which I always found very strange. I’d be working, and I’d hear a loud “thwacking” sound echoing down the street as he practiced balancing, jumping, and changing direction. Over and over again, he’d launch himself into the air on his snowboard for an hour. Then, he’d close the garage door, and all would be quiet again.

My first thought was that he was crazy. I mean there were certainly other indicators to support this, like his obsession with washing and detailing his car on a weekly basis or the fact that he pulled weeds from his garden multiple times a week. But then I thought maybe he was just preparing for an upcoming ski trip, and he was trying to break in his gear. But last night, an alternate thought invaded my dreams.

What if he was actually a snowboard designer, and he was testing out a prototype that he’d developed? I mean it seems logical that he might want to check the balance, flex, and handling to make adjustments to the design. Then again, it’d be pretty odd for a snowboard designer to be living in Texas, where there are zero mountains and zero skiing. So, we’re back to he was just crazy.

The Carrot Cake

Me: “What was my stepfather’s favorite kind of cake?”

My Mom: “Lemon cake.”

Me: “But I thought he liked carrot cake.”

My Mom: “No, he always asked for lemon cake, but I made him carrot.”

Corn on the Cob

My spousal unit made corn for dinner tonight. She gave everyone a cob except herself. I was a little suspicious about this, and my mind went to the most logical reason…she had poisoned them. But the corn looked pretty tasty, so I decided to risk it. I have to say the strychnine added a little something to it.

The Tornado Party

I came downstairs this evening to find my spousal unit, mother-in-law, and son huddled up in the laundry room. They had pillows, drinks, and candles laid out on the dryer. And my son was watching a movie on the iPad. I asked my wife what was going on, and she replied that there was a tornado warning for our area for the next hour. I said, “And nobody thought to let me know?!”

The Plate Snatcher - Part 2

Now that my mother-in-law is back in town, she’s once again assumed the duties of official dish washer. Which means we are all once again on high alert for her sneaking up behind us and taking our dishes before we’re actually done with them. And she takes this job very seriously. She will stay up late to wash the dishes just so I can’t come in in the morning and beat her to it. Last night, I was teasing her that she couldn’t go to bed until every last dish was scrubbed and put away. Then, I made a big show of standing behind her to inspect her work.

And she won’t ever relax and sit still even for a few minutes. She rushes through her meal and then immediately jumps up to start on the dishes. I mean, my mother-in-law could be two inches from deaths door, and she’d tell the undertakers to stop and wait, so she could wash the dishes first!

Grass Angels

JR told me that now that Spring is right around the corner that he needs to start encouraging his grass to grow. So, I imagined him outside, laying in the grass, stroking the tender shoots, and talking to them. “There’s sun on my face, and my back is wet. Let’s do this guys! Photosynthesis on three!”

I guess what he meant was fertilize.

Tough Opponent

My mother-in-law told me that since her husband passed away, she has a lot more free time on her hands. The nights are the worst, because she doesn’t like watching TV, so she has to try to find other things to do. But since she lives alone, they have to be solo activities.

So, one night, she decided to play chess…against herself. I asked her if she had won, and she excitedly told that she had, but she said it was a tough match. It was almost as if the other one knew exactly what she was going to do. She would be contemplating moving her knight to this square, when suddenly she realized that the other one would take it with her bishop. The game took over two hours, because she was agonizing about every move and how to outsmart herself!

Squiggly Sidewalk

Near my house is a sidewalk that squiggles back and forth along the road. This might not seem so odd, except it only does it for about 25 feet. The rest of the sidewalk in both directions is perfectly straight. One might ask if it’s bending around something like a tree or sewer access. It is not. There is nothing to bend around. It just squiggles for no reason.

As I walk along it, I imagine the road worker who was cutting the path for it, driving his machine and drinking a beer. The path is straight, and he keeps drinking and drinking and drinking. And slowly the machine starts to swerve back and forth, as he struggles to stay going in a straight line…until he falls off the machine completely. The road crew drags him off to the side to sleep it off, and someone else hops on the machine and finishes the path for the sidewalk. The rest of the crew looks at the now squiggly path right in the middle of their straight sidewalk, shrugs, and fills it with concrete anyway. It beats having to cut it again. Besides the grass is already messed up.

19 Crimes

I opened a bottle of red wine tonight to have a glass with dinner. I had been attempting to try this bottle of wine for years now, ever since I gifted it to myself for Christmas. It’s called “19 Crimes,” and frankly I just liked the label. The label talks about how it’s based on convict wine made in Australia in the 1800s, but there’s no information about how the wine actually tastes like you see on many labels. So, I had no idea if it was sweet or dry, fruity or nutty, or anything else. It was like wine roulette!

My spousal unit and mother-in-law decided to give it a try as well. My mother-in-law took one sip, and her face twisted up in an almost pained expression. One of her eyes closed in a squint, her lips were pursed, and her head involuntarily cocked to one side. I laughed because it was the exact same reaction I had had when I took my first sip. The wine was very dry and smoky-flavored. I’d almost describe it as rough and strong, a very bold wine and not initially to my liking.

So, I took another sip to see if maybe it got better with each taste. It did not. My face contorted into the exact same expression, and I sarcastically said in a low, husky voice, “Very smooth…I can really feel my throat burning all the way down…good stuff.” To which my mother-in-law and spousal unit busted out laughing.

I downed two glasses, partly because I didn’t want to waste the money I had spent on it and partly because I was enjoying the dizzy, spinning feeling that I had gotten after the first glass. Of course that same feeling made it a little difficult to walk back across the kitchen to the bottle, and I had to make a wide left turn around the counter.

Driving in the Middle

My mother-in-law lives in Greece, but she’s originally from the island of Cyprus. She still has ties to the island, and she goes back to visit quite often. She was telling me that in Greece they drive on the left side of the car, like they do in the United States, but in Cyprus they drive on the right side of the car, like they do in the United Kingdom. My mother-in-law said that she has no issues switching back and forth when she goes from one country to another. She said the important thing to remember is to keep the driver in the middle of the road. I replied that if she drives in the middle of the road, then of course it doesn’t really matter. She doesn’t have to worry about the oncoming cars passing on the left or right, because they’re swerving to avoid her. The only thing that really changes is the steering wheel!

Bucket List

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about my own mortality and the shortness of our existence. I realize how fleeting time is and how we shouldn’t wait to experience life. So, I decided to make a bucket list of things I want to do before I die. Sadly, I only had four things on it. But it was a start.

Today, we went to some friends house for a play date. It was the first time we’d been to their house, and we were surprised to find out that they had a pond behind their house with ducks. Apparently, when they moved in, there weren’t any ducks in the area, and the woman’s mother had decided that they needed some. So, she went to a duck farm (I didn’t even know that they had such a thing) and adopted some large black and white ducks. They had thrived on their little pond, mostly because the woman’s mother had taken to feeding them every day, and now there were twice as many as they’d started with.

So, we got a scoop of food and knelt down to wait for the flock to arrive. And arrive they did. Within moments, ducks were flying and waddling toward us. They were so calm that they’d eat right out of your hand. And while they ate, they’d let you pet them.

Now, I have never had an urge to pet a duck before, but once I realized it was an option, it was all I wanted to do. So, I fed them and pet them. I…touched…a…duck! I immediately pulled out my bucket list, added “touch a duck” to it, and checked it off! Next up, take a picture with a quokka.

Carstrophobia

I realized that I really don’t like being pinned in between cars with no way to go. Imagine you’re going down the freeway in the far left lane. There’s a car ahead of you and a semi-truck ahead of him. To your right is another semi-truck, which you thought you were going to pass by getting in this lane. And behind you is another car, trying to pass the same semi-truck, who everyone assumes is actually part of your car because he’s driving too close for anyone to see any space between you.

You’re pinned in and stuck. The semi-truck ahead of you, which seemed so promising a few minutes before when he jerked over into this lane, forcing the car in front of you to slam on his brakes, is now driving the exact same speed as the semi-truck beside you. Now, he could have stayed behind the semi-truck to your right and driven this same speed, but he chose to take his show into the left lane and slow it down instead. He can pull over, but he won’t. The car in front of you could probably pull over too, but it’s a tight fit, so he’s playing it safe. Either the guy in front of you will get bold and finally pull over, only for the semi-truck in front on him to decide to do the same at that exact moment, or you’ll have to slow down and risk greeting the guy behind you when he slides up into your passenger seat. So, you wait…and wait…and wait.

I call the feeling in this moment “carstrophobia.” It’s a fear of being confined in a tight space in your car, and it gives me a lot of anxiety. I want out. I want freedom. I want to see open freeway ahead of me. It’s usually at this moment that I’ll execute my best vehicular maneuvers, like sliding under a semi-truck or using the emergency brake to execute a perfect spin onto the shoulder and around behind the car to my rear. Once free, I’ll gun it to get away. I’ll swim free of the pod and go rogue. I don’t care if I get eaten by a whale, because I’m a krill moving up the food chain! The vastness of the ocean doesn’t scare me. Carstrophobia does!

The License Plate Game

When I’m driving, I like to play a license plate game with myself to pass the time and challenge my mind. I used to do something similar when I was a kid on vacations with my dad, except those were usually finding plates from all 50 states. Success in my game is based on who has the most extensive vocabulary combined with the best imagination.

License plates in Texas usually are made up of 3 letters followed by 4 numbers. So, the idea of the game is to spot a random license plate on the road and to think of the longest word you can that encompasses those 3 letters in that exact order. The word can contain other letters before, in between, or after as well. The participant who comes up with the longest word, spelled correctly, wins that round. (There’s also a Wordscape variation where participants get extra points for each word they can generate with the same letters.)

So, for example, the car that just drove by me had MTG on their license plate. Someone might come up with “meeting” for 7 letters. But someone else might come up with “meetings” for 8 letters. While someone else might come up with “mitigating” for 10 letters.

I imagine one day playing this game with my son on trips to help fuel a love for words and to increase his vocabulary. Then again, my mom thinks it’s a pretty nerdy game, so maybe it will be too uncool for my son. All I know is that I’m currently undefeated in the game. I expect to still make a pretty good run at the title even after I get someone else to play with me!

Siri Glitch

I like to use Siri a lot to do things for me, especially when I’m driving. Today, I was using her to take a note for me, so I wouldn’t forget it by the time I could pull over and jot it down. When she’s done taking the note, she reads it back to you. Only this time, something went wrong. Siri got about halfway through the note and stopped. She had made a mistake reading the note and realized it. So, she said, “Nope…it says…” and then she started over again and reread the entire note, this time the correct way.

I was so shocked by this, and I wasn’t exactly sure that I’d heard it correctly. But I have been able to recreate it. I started to wonder if Apple coded this “feature” on purpose to make the experience more human and relatable.

Personal Injury Attorney Smackdown

Why do personal injury attorneys insist on giving themselves nicknames? I see a lot of signs around town for this kind of law, and they have names on them like Jim “The Hammer” or Ryan “The Lion.” It’s ludicrous. I’d be expecting to walk into the court room and hear an announcer on the microphone.

“In the red corner, representing the prosecution with a record of 32 wins and 1 loss the reigning middleweight champion of Denton County, Carl “The Iceman” Thompson!

“And in the blue corner, representing the defense with a record of 17 wins and 10 losses the challenger, Ryan “The Lion” McKenzie!

“Our trial is brought to you today by Mike’s Hard Lemonade. If you think being in an accident with an eighteen wheeler is hard, then you haven’t tried Mike’s. Stop and grab some after the trial at any local convenience store.

“Officiating our trial today is Judge Lance “The Bulldog” Lee. He’s just finished going over the rules with our combatants, and we’re ready for our bout. Take your seats and enjoy the show. Let’s…get…ready…to…RUMBLE!!!”

The Bird Convention

There was something up with the birds this morning. I was out walking, when a large group of ducks flew over headed east. I didn’t think much of it until another group flew over…and then another. And then other birds started flying by too, sparrows, herons, bluebirds…even a seagull. All of them headed toward the rising sun. I might not have thought much about it even then if they had been headed south, I mean it’s getting cold here, so warmer climates would make sense. But east? And none of them were in migration formation. It was chaotic randomness, like it was every bird for himself.

So, I concluded that there must be a bird convention in town that they were all headed to. I’m not sure what sorts of things a bird would learn at a convention…current bug population migratory patterns and what to eat and what to avoid, latest innovations and color patterns in nest building, what’s in and what’s out this year in feather fashion?! Whatever it is, hundreds of birds had dedicatingly gotten up early, braving the icy winds to attend. I swear I saw one duck flying lower than the others, flapping just a little slower with his eyes half closed. He must either have had a rough night or he’s not a morning bird, because he had a camel pack strapped to his back full of coffee, and he was sucking on that straw like his life depended on it.

Talks Only With Permission

When I was in elementary school, we would get a report card every six weeks that tracked our progress in each subject. In addition, there were other categories off to the side that would track behavioral development. Things like “Follows Instructions” or “Excessively Tardy.”

I did okay with the grades, passing at least. But the reason my parents would always get pulled into a conference was due to behavioral issues. In the category of “Talks Only with Permission,” I always got a “Needs Improvement.” It wasn’t so much that I talked all the time, which I did. It was why I was talking. I would leave my chair and walk around the room, helping all of the other kids with their tests and assignments.

I guess even then I had a teacher inside me. And I also suspect the teacher was a little jealous because I was better at her job than she was!

The Legacy of Doc Savage

I was in Denton having lunch with a friend today, and I decided to stop by the Recycled Books bookstore, which is located in the former Wright’s Opera House. I like to pop in whenever I’m on the town square to see if they’ve gotten any “new” books. For the last 25 years, I’ve been searching for Doc Savage books to complete my collection.

My stepfather introduced me to the series from the 1930s about a team of do-gooder adventurers when I was in high school. Apparently, he grew up reading them, and he was excited to find them again. Over the years, it sort of became our thing together. Whenever I’d go to a used bookstore, I’d try to find books to add to his collection. I’d surprise him on Christmases and birthdays with random finds, and he was always excited. With close to 130 books, it seemed a daunting task to ever find them all, but I never gave up hope.

When my stepfather passed away 10 years ago, my mother asked me if there was anything of his that I wanted. The only thing I asked for was his collection of Doc Savage books. They were precious to him, and I felt invested in them as well. It was the best thing I could think of to carry on his memory. Over the years, I have continued to build on the collection whenever I could find additional books. I always dreamed that one day I’d pass along the legacy to my son, and he’d continue the treasure hunt.

Well today, I found a treasure trove! I found 35 additional books that I didn’t have. Apparently, someone had brought in a large collection of the books just last week, and I was fortunate enough to find them before anyone else. Now, I’m only 23 books shy of finishing the journey I started so long ago. So close to fulfilling my stepfather’s legacy. I wish he was here to see it now, to see what it’s turned into. I don’t think either of us ever imagined we’d get this far. There’s still more to find, but the end is definitely in sight. I still intend to pass this legacy to my son. I just hope he appreciates its value as much I do.

Nachum Ish Gamzu

When something bad happens to you, it’s easy to immediately blame God or start to question why He let it happen. I heard someone once say to God, “I was serving You through this. Why would you let this happen?!” I have uttered almost those exact words myself at different times.

But I recently heard the story of Nachum Ish Gamzu, and I’ve changed my perspective on things. Nachum was a Jewish rabbi in the first century known for having unyielding optimism in the face of misfortune. He got his nickname “Gamzu” from a Hebrew phrase that he was known for uttering, “gam zu le-tovah,” which means “this, too, is for the best.”

There is a famous story of Nachum being sent on a mission by the Jews to the Roman emperor to deliver a treasure of great wealth to convince him to rethink a law that was detrimental to them. On the way, Nachum stopped at an inn for the night. The innkeeper and his son stole the treasure from Nachum and replaced it with sand. When Nachum delivered the box to the emperor, he opened it and was furious at the disrespect the Jews had shown him. He had Nachum thrown into prison, but all he said was “gam zu le-tovah,” believing that God would use this for good.

Later that evening, Elijah appeared before the emperor and said, “Surely you do not think the Jews would make fun of you and send you ordinary sand. Maybe it’s the kind that their father Abraham used to defeat his enemies at war? It has been told that Abraham threw handfuls of sand against his enemies that turned into swords and deadly arrows. Maybe it’s that secret weapon. Wouldn’t it be advisable to test this sand that the Jews sent you?”

The emperor was currently fighting a war against the barbarians, so he sent the sand to his generals and ordered them to try it against the enemy. And by a miracle, it thwarted the barbarians and sent them fleeing in terror. The emperor released Nachum, changed the law, and filled his own wooden box with jewels and gold from his treasury.

As he was on his way back home, he stopped at the same inn. Upon hearing of his story, the innkeeper asked him what he gave the emperor that had granted such favor. Nachum said, “Only what I carried from here.” So, the innkeeper and his son dug up their entire property and took the dirt to the emperor. They said, “This is the same dirt that the Jew brought, only we have brought more to make yo even happier!” The emperor tried the dirt from the innkeeper, but no miracle happened this time. So, the emperor ordered the innkeeper and his son to be hung and their bodies buried with the same dirt they had brought with them.

When Nachum heard what happened, he shrugged and said, “gam zu le-tovah.”

“For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that is to be revealed to us.”

Romans 8:18

 

“Set your minds on the things that are above, not on the things that are on earth.”

Colossians 3:2

 

“The afflictions of the righteous are many, but the Lord rescues him from them all.”

Psalms 34:19

Jason Statham & the Aston Martin

Awhile back, my spousal unit moved to Los Angeles for three months to take an acting class. I asked her if she had had any celebrity encounters while she was there, and she said just one. She was parked at a stoplight one day when a beautiful Aston Martin pulled up beside her. She looked over and saw Jason Statham in the car. I asked her if he’d tried to flirt with her, being that he was a notorious womanizer. She said, “Unfortunately not.”

Wait…what?!

The Bone Bruise

So, I got the results from the MRI on my knee today. Apparently, I have a contusion, which is a bruise…on a bone. Leave it to me to do something strange like that. That I only had a contusion and not a broken bone or torn ligament was the good news. The bad news was where I managed to bruise the bone. I hit it right on the ball joint of the femur, exactly where it meets the tibia. So, every time I extend my leg, the two bones come together and hit the bruise. This is why it’s so painful. It also means it’s going to take a very long time to heal. The doctor said a minimum of three months, and only if I refrain from any sort of high impact activities, like running and jumping. I’m currently at six weeks, but honestly I’ve been running around with my son on occasion, so I’ve probably made it worse. Slowing down is going to be very hard for me.

The Voice of God

GR said that when we were in our old offices, he was sitting in his cube one day, and a loud booming voice said, “Hello!” He immediately looked upward and replied, “Yes, god?” because it could only be the Almighty who spoke with such a voice.

He said, “It was like my soul was talking to me.”

“Who are you?” he asked the voice.

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

I guess I wasn’t the only one that had a run-in with that guy.

Bicycles in Delhi

GR was haranguing us with stories of traffic problems in India, specifically in Delhi. He said that normal people become monsters when you put them in traffic in Delhi. They might seem like the nicest person in the world in the office, but put them on a bicycle, and you’d never recognize them. And bicycles are the worst. Everyone rides them to avoid traffic more easily. And they’ll go anywhere…scooting between cars, riding on sidewalks…they’ll even ride through someone’s house if they open the door!

But he said the funniest thing was when two bicyclists would get into an altercation. They’d both pull over and have a “fist fight” on the side of the road. Of course nobody actually hit anyone. They’d both point at themselves and angrily ask, “Do you know who my father is?!” Because everyone has a father in a high position of government in Delhi.

Zero Sugar...Same Medical Side Effects

What is this big fad with trying to make sodas healthier by removing the sugar? All these companies are releasing “Zero Sugar” options. Instead they’re replacing sugar with Aspartame. Which was the same thing they did when they made “Diet” versions of soft drinks. So, they essentially just rebranded diet soda to sound more appealing.

And why the focus on removing sugar, as if that's the only bad thing that’s in a soda? Many studies have raised concerns that regular and diet sodas increase the risk of heart attacks and strokes. They have both been linked to obesity, kidney damage, and certain cancers. Regular sodas have been linked to elevated blood pressure. So, is sugar really the only thing to be worried about with sodas? I’ve never heard of anyone having an increased risk of any of these things from drinking water…just saying.

The MRI

After a month of unsuccessfully trying to rehab my knee on my own, I finally went to see an orthopedist yesterday. The good news was that I don’t have any broken bones or a dislocated knee cap. After jerking my knee in several different directions, the doctor was very confident that I also didn’t have any torn ligaments, but he wanted an MRI to confirm.

So today, I went to have an MRI. This was my first experience with an MRI that didn’t involve TV, and I had no idea what to expect. Since it was my knee, they didn’t make me change clothes or anything. I just had to remove everything from my pockets and take off my belt. In hindsight, I probably should have worn sweat pants or something, but I thought shorts might give easier access to my knee. The technician didn’t seem to think there was any issue with the giant magnet ripping my zipper off my pants, so I was okay with it too.

Generally speaking, I’m a relatively calm person. I don’t tend to fidget or need a constant physical outlet like some people. But when someone tells you that you can’t move, then all you want to do is move. So, I was stressing about trying to keep my knee perfectly still. And the more I tried not to move, the more my knee would spasm uncontrollably. So, I started to panic that I was going to screw up the imaging.

I was trying to determine the acceptable movement delta that surely had been calibrated into the machine, because nobody could be perfectly still for 20 minutes. Then, I was trying to determine if I’d exceeded that threshold. This was becoming so mentally exhausting that I eventually dozed off. But when I realized that I had dozed off, I jolted awake with a start. Then, I started to panic that my jolt had exceeded the threshold and started all over again.

While I was dozing, I was consciously aware of the giant magnetic field surrounding my body. I could feel it reverberating across my skin and moving the hairs on my legs. I started to imagine that I was being affected by the field and that it was changing me, imbuing me with superpowers. I dreamed that I was Spider-Man, which is when I woke up.

Then, I started to wonder if I really would get superpowers from this like a bionic leg or something. On one hand it would be cool to be able to run faster and jump higher. On the other hand, it would be inconvenient to only have it on one leg. I imagined myself running in circles because the “normal” leg couldn’t keep up with my new bionic leg. Or trying to jump, only to end up going sideways.

With that, the time just flew by. Twenty minutes seemed more like five. I entertained myself with my overactive imagination. And this is precisely why I shouldn’t be left alone with my thoughts for too long. And in case anyone was wondering, no I didn’t get a bionic leg.

Real Food Allergies

I have two strange food allergies. Both are mild, but the effects are annoying enough that I generally avoid these foods. I am allergic to jalapeño seeds and onions. Most people don’t believe it’s an allergy unless you break out in hives or are on the verge of death…neither of which happens if I consume these two foods. But they are real allergies nonetheless.

With jalapeño seeds, I get the hiccups. The only time I consume these are either in salsa at a Tex-Mex restaurant or sometimes on nachos, but without fail I will get the hiccups. And yes, just the seeds, not any other part of the pepper. I’ve experimented on myself extensively.

With onions, I get very bad indigestion. It doesn’t matter if the onions are raw or cooked. I became so sensitive to the effects of onions in my food, that I could pinpoint a single chopped onion that was purposely inserted or aimlessly forgotten.

So, now you know. If I tell you that I can’t eat jalapeños or onions, that’s why. If I say I’m allergic, it’s a real thing. Don’t be disappointed if eating them doesn’t result in my imminent death!

No Reply

I really hate it when someone at work will send me a direct message that simply says, “Hi.” I move on to something else, waiting for whatever should come next, but it never does. It’s only later that I realize that the person won’t continue until I say “Hi” back. I don’t understand why people need some sort of acknowledgment before they can convey their request. Just send it all in a single message. I don’t have time for that kind of nonsense. I guess the bright side is that it usually takes me so long to get back to them that they've reached out to someone else to answer their question.

Singing Purple Leprechaun Monkeys with Sunglasses

When Google’s search engine first came out, I used to have this game I’d play with my friends to see if we could enter in the oddest combination of words to return exactly a single result. This is incredibly difficult, and even more so with how sophisticated the search engine has become now. It’s learned to return partial search results, “similar” search results, and even the “we think you meant this, you total moron” search results. Not to mention how much more information is actually available on the Internet now.

However, with a lot of time (and I mean missing out on your kid’s entire childhood kind of time) and a creative imagination, you can still do it. But the real fun is seeing if you can string several seemingly-nonsensical words together in the process and still find a page that has them in that exact order. For example, try this search string, which as of today, returns one single hit for a website selling t-shirts.

"singing" "purple leprechaun monkey with sunglasses" "dragons" "horror"

You can also adjacently learn a lot while doing this. For instance, there apparently used to be a pub in Nova Scotia called the Purple Leprechaun Roadhouse where the owner was inexplicably tased by the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

Now, I have to go get ready for my son’s college graduation. He was three when I started this game.

BONUS:  "Leek Soup and the Flatulating Tree" will also return a single result...and it just so happens to be to this very blog!

Erasing the Music Teacher

I have one memory from the second grade. That’s it; a single memory. And that was of getting into trouble for hitting a teacher with a chalk eraser. Now, before you go siding with the teacher against a mischievous youth, you have to hear the whole story.

Mr. Barckholtz was our music teacher. He was also a bully and physically abusive. But this was in the ‘80s, and back then teachers had supreme power to do whatever they wanted. He would never have gotten away with his antics nowadays. Anyway, he used to torture his students for his own amusement. He picked up my friend and threw him in a trash can for getting an answer wrong, or made up cruel nicknames for kids based on their name…things like that.

One day, when I walked up to the front of the room to turn in my quiz, he grabbed my arm and twisted it painfully behind my back. He asked me something, which I got wrong, so he held me like that, while he asked the wide-eyed, stunned class the same question. When nobody volunteered an answer, he refused to let me go. As I stood there humiliated and in pain, I searched for a solution.

There resting on a tray in front of me was a chalk eraser, full of chalk. Without thinking, I grabbed the eraser, twisted out of his grip, and whacked him in the head with it. He had a rectangular mark in his hair, and a cloud of white particles floated around him. At first he was just stunned, but all too quickly he became furious. He sent me to sit in the ledge outside the classroom and wait for my punishment.

While I sat there half in terror for the unfair punishment to come and half in mirth at the absurdity of the situation, my home room teacher Mrs. Commodo came walking up and asked me why I was sitting there. I relayed the entire story to her, and she told me that I shouldn’t have disrespected a teacher no matter what he did to me.

So, I ultimately got sent to the principal’s office, and nothing happened to him. When my mom found out, she was furious and demanded a meeting with the principal. She tore him a new one for letting that teacher do that to children. It must have had some effect, because Mr. Barckholtz never touched another student. But he also never missed an opportunity to take out his anger on me. And unfortunately, a few years later, he became my eighth grade homeroom teacher. So, he had a lot more opportunities to harass me after that.

The most ironic thing is that I only had a run-in with one other teacher at that school. The woman who made me pee in my pants in kindergarten, who later became my third grade teacher. And that woman was Mrs. Barckholtz, his wife. Nastiness must have run in the family.

Layers of Anticipation

When I was in high school, I used to wear a pair of shorts under my jeans or jean shorts. This pair of shorts was like athletic wear, and at any time, I could Magic Mike my outer pants off and be able to engage in an impromptu game of basketball or a romp in the park. I had to buy bigger outer pants to accommodate the extra clothing, and it wasn’t always the coolest option, temperature-wise. But I was faithful to this style well into college as well.

I’m not exactly sure why I started doing this, I think this originated from when I was on the soccer team, and I didn’t want to have to worry about changing in front of people. But it proved useful in a multitude of situations where one might need a change of clothing at a moment’s notice. It was like my own version of a secret superhero costume under my “normal” clothes. When I needed my superpowers, I’d run into a phone booth…or whatever was on hand…and assume a new identity. Instead of skinny, nerdy kid in street clothes, I was skinny, nerdy kid in athletic wear!

Unexplained Dreams

I had a strange dream last night where I was showing my spousal unit a photograph.

Me: “Look at this picture. On the wall in the back, you can see a painting of a tree. I painted it before we left our old house.”

Spousal Unit: “That’s so cool. It looks like stained glass. And the tree is so big that you can only see the bottom part. And are those branches curving down from the top?”

Me: “Yep. On one side is the sun, so the tree and branches are orange, yellow, and red. On the other side is the moon, so the tree and branches are blue, purple, and white.”

Spousal Unit: “Beautiful. Who are those people in the photograph?”

Me: “That’s my father, my ex girlfriend, and me.”

Spousal Unit: “What are you doing?”

Me: “We’re playing tennis.”

Spousal Unit: “Well, why is your father hanging upside down from a harness from the ceiling?”

Me: “I have no idea.”

Stress-Induced Anxiety

Today, I had an appointment at urgent care. Over the weekend, my wrist started to hurt, and the pain started to get worse as time went on. At first, I thought it was just a sprain, but when it kept getting worse, I started to get worried that maybe I’d somehow managed to fracture it. Perhaps it was just paranoia due to the fact that my son had recently broken his wrist, but I felt it was better to know and put me out of my suffering. What I didn’t expect to happen was to leave the urgent care in an ambulance…well, almost.

I have a psychological disorder called stress-induced anxiety. It’s actually pretty common, inflicting about 40% of the population. Most people have minor symptoms, like an upset stomach before going on stage in front of lots of people (butterflies in your stomach). While others have symptoms so severe that they will avoid situations altogether, like white coat syndrome, where people will actively avoid getting medical care due to a fear of doctors. I’m not that extreme. I won’t avoid getting medical care, but something about the experience definitely sets me off.

What happens is that I get so worked up that eventually my blood pressure drops suddenly and extensively, causing me to black out for a minute. It’s like my body senses an issue and shuts down to analyze the problem and reboot the system. To me it feels like a black mist enveloping me, and when it completely covers my face, I’m gone. I usually wake to someone shaking or slapping me, and it feels like I’m being pulled out of a deep, refreshing sleep. I know that I’m dreaming, but due to the violent nature that I’m awoken, I can never remember about what. Most times, it’s just embarrassing, but occasionally, like on this day, I sustain injuries as well.

And I can’t tell you a pattern as to when it might happen, because it doesn’t happen every time I go to the doctor. It also doesn’t happen at the sight of blood, as many people erroneously seem to think. It doesn’t even solely happen at a normal doctor. I had an episode at the optometrist once when he dilated my pupils. In fact, it also has an empathetic nature, where I can be triggered by someone else’s pain. The other unusual incidents are when nothing physically is happening at all. Someone can just be describing a medical procedure or something they had done to them, and I’ll feel the “change” starting to happen.

Which is sort of what happened today. After examining my hand, the PA was telling me what he thought it could likely be, and I blacked out. The bad part was that I was sitting on an examine table at the time, leaning forward. I apparently fell right into the surprised PA’s arms. Thank God that it was a man who was sort of strong enough to catch my weight and lower me to the floor. I say “sort of” because I sustained injuries before or as he caught me.

You see, they had pulled out the footrest on the examine table for my feet. So, as I fell, my legs slammed into the footrest, catching the corners on my knees and then raking down my shins as I slid off. It wasn’t until I was leaving that I realized the extreme pain that this incident caused. And that was because I was a little distracted by the after effects of blacking out.

I woke up laying on the floor, surrounded by four extra people that hadn’t been there before. At first I was confused, but then I had a sinking feeling that I’d gone through “the change.” It’s funny, because to me it reminds me of one of those werewolf movies, where the guy wakes up in the woods, covered in blood and no idea how he got there. Then, he realizes that he must have transformed again. So, there I am laying on the floor, calmly realizing that I must have blacked out, confirmed by a different PA telling me that I just blacked out, trying to regain focus on reality. And this is when the series of stupid things starts to happen.

The first stupid thing was when the second PA, we shall call him “the moron” from here on out, suggested that they lift me up into the chair instead of leaving me on the floor. I was already dizzy and my stomach was churning, so the sudden motion of putting me into a chair exacerbated the situation. The second stupid thing was the fact that the moron kept telling me over and over again that I had passed out and drilling me with questions about my past history with this, and what I’d eaten that morning, etc. instead giving me a few minutes to recover first. The third stupid thing was when I told them that I needed to lie down, and the moron said that he didn’t want to move me yet. So, I had another anxiety attack and blacked out again.

This time they were able to catch me and keep me in the chair. I guess the moron felt like I’d be better laying on the examine table than sitting in a chair (ya think?!), so he and the first PA, we shall call him “chicken little” from here on out, helped me to the table. And that is when the fourth stupid thing happened. Chicken little told me that I looked like I was having a seizure when I had blacked out the first time. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that I can almost guarantee that nobody looks graceful unconsciously falling off a table. I’m sure that my uncontrolled everything where probably doing whatever they felt like doing in the dance with gravity. But when I told him that I didn’t have seizures, and that I’d never had a seizure in my life, the moron, who wasn’t even present at the time, started insisting that I had. He didn’t want me to drive home because I could have another seizure on the road. So, he wanted to call an ambulance to take me to the hospital. While trying to convince him that I wasn’t having seizures, I blacked out again.

So, you see, they kept inducing my blackouts by continuing to rile me up and stress me out instead of calming down the situation and resetting things. After the third blackout, they called 911. The fire department EMTs showed up a few minutes later, and now there were eight people in the room. So, for someone that doesn’t like performing in front of an audience, I was suddenly on stage for one! But to their credit, these guys actually seemed more capable than the moron and chicken little.

One of them checked my blood pressure while another checked my glucose levels. A third guy calmly talked me through things, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder and asking how I was feeling (something that nobody else had thought to do). Only after he’d successfully calmed me down and gotten me a bottle of water did he start asking me questions. And that’s when chicken little started in with the seizure comments again (I swear this guy must have been doing medical research on seizures or something). The EMT asked if I had a history of seizures, to which I replied “No,” and he was satisfied that it wasn’t a seizure. Chicken little got so disgusted with this that he promptly left the room.

And that’s when the first intelligent thing happened. The EMT asked me if I had white coat syndrome. When I affirmed this, which I had told the moron and chicken little THREE times but they ignored it in lieu of seizures, he knowingly started asking me if I had a history of this. I told him that I did, but hadn’t had an incident in five years, and he concluded that I was having a severe anxiety attack. My other vitals were fine, so he told me that it was up to me to choose to go to the hospital or not. So, I chose to go home. The moron got so disgusted with this that he promptly left the room.

I profusely thanked each and every one of the EMTs for coming all this way to check on me, and they left. Alone at last, I lay on the bed drinking my water before calling my wife to recount this bizarre incident. It was at this point that I realized that my knee was throbbing. I looked down to see blood coagulating on my shin. But after the stupidity I had seen on display today, I didn’t want them providing me with any other “care.” So, I limped to my car to go home to ice my knee. It was the first time I’d ever gone to a doctor and came out more injured than when I went in. And I had a $75 copay on top of that, so it was the gift that kept on giving!