Usually on the week of my birthday I offer a reflective an inspirational message on living life with greater purpose. I did that two years ago, and I did it again last year when I turned older than Jesus.
This year, though, that doesn't feel right.
After all, half the country is underwater from the impact of Hurricane Sandy, and people could probably use an emotional break. When Nashville flooded two years ago, laughing about it in this space is the only thing that kept me (sort of) sane.
So in the interest of some lighthearted relief from tragedy, I'm making the executive decision that it's time to resurrect another edition of "Random Thoughts."
If you don't like it, get your own blog.
And if you read this and are underwhelmed, I have a thought (or more) for you:
How come people are overwhelmed or underwhelmed, but no one is ever just "whelmed"?
And why is it that being called "out of whack" isn't all that different from just being "whack?" (at least when that term was last used in 1992). And why is nothing ever "in whack."
Why is it that people will write things on your facebook page that they'd never actually say to you in person?
And speaking of which, there are three things you should never do while drunk: (1) drive; (2) text or call someone you haven't spoken to in the last two weeks or for whom you've ever harbored unrequited romantic feelings; or (3) anything on facebook.
Election years are to Saturday Night Live what October is to a costume store.
Whenever someone uses the phrase "to make a long story short," you can rest assured that you're about to hear a very long story that also isn't very interesting. Kind of like how if you ever hear start a sentence with the words "I'm not racist but" you should just immediately run screaming the other direction.
When costume stores are selling a woman's costume entitled "Sexy Super Mario," they've officially run out of ideas.
The election would be more entertaining if it started with a series of competitions, such as arm wrestling, in which the winner gets a 500-vote bonus in a state of his choosing.
Or, maybe it makes more sense to just determine the whole thing in a best-three-out-of-five series consisting of Chess, Risk, Poker, Trivial Pursuit and Monopoly?
There's a bar in Nashville that is publicly advertising Moonshine sales on Halloween night "Full Moon Party." But is it really still moonshine if it's legally obtained?
There are three kinds of people in the world: those who can count, and those who can't.
So Disney bought the rights to "Star Wars" today. How long until Goofy and Jar Jar are paired together for a wacky adventure that goes straight to DVD?
A good portion of the really intelligent people I know are terrible at small talk. At least that's what I keep telling myself, in an attempt to boost my self esteem.
I'm trying to think of the most random "treat" I can give to trick-or-treaters tomorrow night without it being entirely obvious that my treat is a farce. So far, my best ideas are tea bags, apples and containers of floss. My wife talked me out of distributing loose grains of rice.
I'm sending prayers out to everyone I know (and those I don't) on the East Coast today affected by the storm. If you live there and are able to read this, I hope this blog provides a moment of distraction from the ongoing saga. If you've lost power, take heart. At least you get a brief respite from political commercials.
Take care. Better things are yet to come.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Friday, October 26, 2012
A Tragedy, and Maybe a Miracle, on Mobile Bay.
I used to think that a miracle happened to me on March 9, 1995. I'm not so sure now, but maybe one really did.
It was on that date that I shattered my right knee into a thousand pieces as I practiced the triple jump on my high school's poorly-cared-for long jump pit.
If that doesn't sound very miraculous to you, then you haven't heard the whole story.
On the foggy morning of Monday, March 20, 1995, in my hometown of Mobile, Alabama, there was a 200-car pile up on the 8-mile bridge over Mobile Bay. It was, as I quote from the first link below, "the worst fog-related accident in American history."
You can read about it here: curry.eas.gatech.edu/Courses/6140/ency/Chapter8/Ency_Atmos/Fog.pdf (page 2) and here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jubilee_Parkway
The thing is, it would have been a 201-car pile-up, but for the fact that I had to cancel my trip to the beach that weekend to have knee surgery. I had already planned to spend Sunday night at my parent's condo and drive over that very bridge over the bay that Monday morning to get back to school, and I would have crossed it at the exact same time the accident started.
Were it not for the surgery that ruined my plans, I might have broken more than just my knee. I might not even be here at all. My high school best friend might still be wondering what might have happened had he accepted the invitation to come along with me.
My whole life changed that day in ways I wouldn't fully realize for over a decade. My knee injury ended my track career. It ended any realistic hope of getting the college basketball scholarship, as I was never able to run or jump the same after it happened.
To this day, my torn ACL, folded meniscus and lack of cartilage has left my left leg both bigger and longer than my right one, which gives me chronic back problems and makes it impossible for me to stand still for more than about five minutes at a time.
But the whole incident might have saved my life. I can't imagine what life would have looked like had I been in that wreck, which is exactly where my own plans would have led me.
I don't know if what happened was a miracle, for reasons I'll get to in a bit. But I learned a couple of lessons from it, only one of which was good.
First, my unlikely good fortune taught me that good can come from even the crappiest of situations. As the authors of "Freakonomics" (a book I highly recommend) state, there's a hidden side to everything. Even our worst experiences sometimes shield us from things that might have hurt even more, or if not, help us appreciate what we have.
That was the good lesson. It's why, if I ever break down and get a tattoo, it will be in the form of a yin-yang symbol. As the dot on the yang side indicates, there's a hint of good even in life's seeming darkness. Even when it seems impossible. I believe this. Really, I do.
But that isn't all I learned that day. The other lesson, though, I no longer believe.
Whether it was a coincidence or divine intervention, I was shielded from the destiny that would have occurred had I followed my own plans that foggy weekend. But in my high school mind, I came to believed that God had protected me, even while ignoring those other 200 victims who suffered on the body of water originally called the Bay of the Holy Spirit. I must have a special destiny, I thought, that would justify God's saving grace on my life. Or those other people must not have loved God like I did.
Maybe my wildest dreams wouldn't always come true (and usually they didn't), but in the really important, basic stuff, God would make sure I was okay. I went to church, memorized bible verses, and prayed a lot, so God would stamp a special blessing on my life. God might let bad things happen to me, but only up to a point, and never anything beyond what I could handle.
Those other people who suffered senseless tragedy or pain beyond explanation or their ability to cope with it? Well, they must have just deserved it.
Of course, this lesson was so completely wrong that I'm embarrassed to admit to having believed it.
In 1995, I would have never guessed that the same God who extended my life via debilitating knee injury would some day allow me to have an unsold second house for 5.5 years, or that I'd have a series of other seemingly intractable problems. I would have never believed that inexplicable tragedy would be, at just about the same time, striking the family of the woman I'd later marry. I would have never expected that my best friend would suffer the same tragedy a few years later.
I know enough good people who have suffered beyond the pale that I now know that believing in God isn't a magic shield against the inherent problems that come with life, even a little bit. Maybe a few miracles happen in every lifetime (and I've certainly had one or two, whether my life-saving knee injury qualifies or not), but God isn't, on a routine basis, magically protecting any of us against every significant calamity simply because we say our prayers. The great promise of my faith is not even a one percent easier ride through life, nor even the vague notion that an invisible God is somehow beside us, while also everywhere else, suffering in kind when these things happen (even though I do think that is somehow true).
That promise is that when life is more than we can handle, we'll somehow get through it anyway and find enough healing to still experience joy on the other side. It's that the pain of life's worst moments will somehow cleanse our soul of the stuff that shouldn't have been in there to begin with, and force us to focus on the things that matter. As my friend's facebook post happened to say yesterday, it's that we can never know real joy unless we also know real pain.
It sounds ridiculous that it took me 34 years to realize these things, but this is what happens when you grow up hearing about Daniel surviving the Lion's Den.
Life is hard and full of stuff we can't handle on our own. Some find strength to endure it through their faith, but that doesn't magically make the ride any easier. Not even a little bit.
I know this now. It's actually liberating, in a certain way.
I'm just like everyone else. So when life seems inexplicably hard, as it eventually will for everyone, it doesn't mean that God has abandoned me. I'm just experiencing life, like everyone else.
Maybe God saved my life 17 years ago or maybe the whole thing was a coincidence. But whatever happened, it wasn't because I somehow deserved God's protection by virtue of being the only guy in my high school who didn't drink. And it didn't give me the right to feel superior to anyone.
I have no rational explanation for why I wasn't involved in that foggy March tragedy, but God didn't intervene on behalf of 200 others. I guess I'll never know if it was divine intervention or just a fortunate circumstance. But I understand now that the question really doesn't matter. Even if God saved me that day, it didn't mean God would give me a free pass out of every horrible situation life offered.
I just get the promise of healing, and true joy, on the other side.
And you know what?
That's a miracle enough for me.
It was on that date that I shattered my right knee into a thousand pieces as I practiced the triple jump on my high school's poorly-cared-for long jump pit.
If that doesn't sound very miraculous to you, then you haven't heard the whole story.
On the foggy morning of Monday, March 20, 1995, in my hometown of Mobile, Alabama, there was a 200-car pile up on the 8-mile bridge over Mobile Bay. It was, as I quote from the first link below, "the worst fog-related accident in American history."
You can read about it here: curry.eas.gatech.edu/Courses/6140/ency/Chapter8/Ency_Atmos/Fog.pdf (page 2) and here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jubilee_Parkway
The thing is, it would have been a 201-car pile-up, but for the fact that I had to cancel my trip to the beach that weekend to have knee surgery. I had already planned to spend Sunday night at my parent's condo and drive over that very bridge over the bay that Monday morning to get back to school, and I would have crossed it at the exact same time the accident started.
Were it not for the surgery that ruined my plans, I might have broken more than just my knee. I might not even be here at all. My high school best friend might still be wondering what might have happened had he accepted the invitation to come along with me.
My whole life changed that day in ways I wouldn't fully realize for over a decade. My knee injury ended my track career. It ended any realistic hope of getting the college basketball scholarship, as I was never able to run or jump the same after it happened.
To this day, my torn ACL, folded meniscus and lack of cartilage has left my left leg both bigger and longer than my right one, which gives me chronic back problems and makes it impossible for me to stand still for more than about five minutes at a time.
But the whole incident might have saved my life. I can't imagine what life would have looked like had I been in that wreck, which is exactly where my own plans would have led me.
I don't know if what happened was a miracle, for reasons I'll get to in a bit. But I learned a couple of lessons from it, only one of which was good.
First, my unlikely good fortune taught me that good can come from even the crappiest of situations. As the authors of "Freakonomics" (a book I highly recommend) state, there's a hidden side to everything. Even our worst experiences sometimes shield us from things that might have hurt even more, or if not, help us appreciate what we have.
That was the good lesson. It's why, if I ever break down and get a tattoo, it will be in the form of a yin-yang symbol. As the dot on the yang side indicates, there's a hint of good even in life's seeming darkness. Even when it seems impossible. I believe this. Really, I do.
But that isn't all I learned that day. The other lesson, though, I no longer believe.
Whether it was a coincidence or divine intervention, I was shielded from the destiny that would have occurred had I followed my own plans that foggy weekend. But in my high school mind, I came to believed that God had protected me, even while ignoring those other 200 victims who suffered on the body of water originally called the Bay of the Holy Spirit. I must have a special destiny, I thought, that would justify God's saving grace on my life. Or those other people must not have loved God like I did.
Maybe my wildest dreams wouldn't always come true (and usually they didn't), but in the really important, basic stuff, God would make sure I was okay. I went to church, memorized bible verses, and prayed a lot, so God would stamp a special blessing on my life. God might let bad things happen to me, but only up to a point, and never anything beyond what I could handle.
Those other people who suffered senseless tragedy or pain beyond explanation or their ability to cope with it? Well, they must have just deserved it.
Of course, this lesson was so completely wrong that I'm embarrassed to admit to having believed it.
In 1995, I would have never guessed that the same God who extended my life via debilitating knee injury would some day allow me to have an unsold second house for 5.5 years, or that I'd have a series of other seemingly intractable problems. I would have never believed that inexplicable tragedy would be, at just about the same time, striking the family of the woman I'd later marry. I would have never expected that my best friend would suffer the same tragedy a few years later.
I know enough good people who have suffered beyond the pale that I now know that believing in God isn't a magic shield against the inherent problems that come with life, even a little bit. Maybe a few miracles happen in every lifetime (and I've certainly had one or two, whether my life-saving knee injury qualifies or not), but God isn't, on a routine basis, magically protecting any of us against every significant calamity simply because we say our prayers. The great promise of my faith is not even a one percent easier ride through life, nor even the vague notion that an invisible God is somehow beside us, while also everywhere else, suffering in kind when these things happen (even though I do think that is somehow true).
That promise is that when life is more than we can handle, we'll somehow get through it anyway and find enough healing to still experience joy on the other side. It's that the pain of life's worst moments will somehow cleanse our soul of the stuff that shouldn't have been in there to begin with, and force us to focus on the things that matter. As my friend's facebook post happened to say yesterday, it's that we can never know real joy unless we also know real pain.
It sounds ridiculous that it took me 34 years to realize these things, but this is what happens when you grow up hearing about Daniel surviving the Lion's Den.
Life is hard and full of stuff we can't handle on our own. Some find strength to endure it through their faith, but that doesn't magically make the ride any easier. Not even a little bit.
I know this now. It's actually liberating, in a certain way.
I'm just like everyone else. So when life seems inexplicably hard, as it eventually will for everyone, it doesn't mean that God has abandoned me. I'm just experiencing life, like everyone else.
Maybe God saved my life 17 years ago or maybe the whole thing was a coincidence. But whatever happened, it wasn't because I somehow deserved God's protection by virtue of being the only guy in my high school who didn't drink. And it didn't give me the right to feel superior to anyone.
I have no rational explanation for why I wasn't involved in that foggy March tragedy, but God didn't intervene on behalf of 200 others. I guess I'll never know if it was divine intervention or just a fortunate circumstance. But I understand now that the question really doesn't matter. Even if God saved me that day, it didn't mean God would give me a free pass out of every horrible situation life offered.
I just get the promise of healing, and true joy, on the other side.
And you know what?
That's a miracle enough for me.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
The Night Before Court
It was 6:30 p.m. and I was caught in traffic on the outskirts of Cincinnati. I got a sudden but severe sinus infection the day before that had left me unable to breathe, barely able to speak and had drained all semblance of life from my body. I had maybe the most important court case of my life the next day before an Important Federal Appeals Court, and the case could go either way. I don't know how I'm going to be able to do this.
Little did I know how much worse things would get:
6:35: Usually when I have travel to Cincinnati for appellate argument, I use my per diem for a nice working dinner. I'm usually so stoked about appearing before the jurisdiction only one notch below the U.S. Supreme Court that I have too much energy to stay in my hotel. Tonight, though, I'm just thrilled at the site of a gas station with a built-in pizza hut on the highway. Now, I can eat there, have a powerade, and then not have to leave my hotel room once I crawl inside of it.
7:02: Cheap pizza consumed and 1.5 powerades finished, I'm back on the road.
7:30: Traffic finally subsided, and I'm glad to check into my hotel. I have a heavy suitcase, lots of files, a garment bag and my breakfast for the next morning with me, but I can barely manage to carry it all myself. Which is good because I only have a $20 and that kind of tip would be insane.
7: 31: Take the elevator to the top of the hotel and delicately balance my possessions as I walk to the end of the long, winding hallway where my room awaits. Drop everything to slide my key through the door. And it doesn't work.
7:32: This is interesting. Do I leave all my earthly belongings here on the floor while I go back to the front desk, or do I gather them back up, delicately balance them to walk back to the elevator, only to return right back here with it all?
7:34: Pondering.
7:37: Still thinking. It's a pretty nice hotel and I have a pretty remote room on the far end of the hall. And I'm so achy and drained that every single step I take feels like a session of P90X. But if my stuff disappears I'll hate myself, and some of my files probably shouldn't be out of my sight. But I don't think I can balance all this stuff again if I tried. So I try the key again. Still nothing.
7:42: My ship has come in! A bellman happens to walk by and he lets me in my room, promising to return with a valid key. Things are looking up.
8:00: Working. Telling myself I can do this.
10:59: Very suddenly, my energy vanishes. There's more I'd like to do, but I must go to sleep, and I must sleep now.
11:01: How in the world did I forget my toothbrush? The hotel has complimentary ones, but I'm too tired to go back down to the lobby. I'll get one in the morning. I'll just take my sinus medicine and go to bed.
11:02: How did I leave my sinus medicine in the car? If I don't have the energy to go to the lobby, there's no way I'm going to the parking garage
11:03: Oh well. I have dirty teeth and congestion, but I think I can sleep through it. At least I have one of those little wiry things that cleans the space in between my teeth. That will have to do. Except that it immediately breaks when I used it.
11:05: Barely extract my contact lens from my tired, dry right eye. The way things are going tonight, I'm shocked it didn't rip.
11:06: But my left one just did.
11:08: Holy crap! The other half of it is still in my eye! This hurts like mad. And I can't figure out how to get it out!!!!!!!!
11:10-11:30: AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Make! It! Stop!
11:31: Finally got it. That was miserable. I have no spare contact, so I'll have to wear glasses tomorrow. But, at last, now I can go to bed.
11:34: My room is directly over the hotel bar. It sure is loud down there. And why is there a baby crying in the hallway at this time of night? Is this one of those hotels where a child died 100 years ago and people still claim to hear it?
11:36: Thing is, I'm not even scared, I just don't want to put up with the noise. I want to sleep. Go haunt someone else.
11:38: Go out in the hallway to look for a visible baby. There's no evidence of one, but I see a woman who might possibly be its mother. She appears to have human form. Good enough for me.
11:40: Just need to shut down the computer before bed. Since it's still up, maybe I'll check facebook. I had mentioned yesterday that I was nervous about my ability to pull off this argument while barely able to talk and encased in an all-encompassing sickness-related mental cloud. Maybe I'll have an outpouring of encouragement and prayer support from my vast and wonderful array of highly spiritual and uplifting facebook friends! That would life my spirits like nothing I can imagine! What a wonderful way to go to sleep!
11:44: Or maybe I'll have nothing new whatsoever. Oh well. It was worth a shot.
12:00: Bed.
7:30: Roll out of bed after hitting snooze for 45 minutes. I need to leave in 45 minutes. I can probably just pull it off, even if I do have to shower, get coffee, put on a suit, eat breakfast, and run downstairs for a toothbrush. Man, do I feel awful.
8:30: Arrive to court just in time to check in for my argument. Learn I'm the last case on the docket and probably won't go until about 11:30. Request (and receive) permission to go back to my hotel and lie face down on my pillow for the next two hours. Which is exactly what I do, with some groaning added in for good measure.
10:30: Rouse myself, and make it back to court, where things are running behind. My argument won't be until noon. Maybe that will give me enough time to feel better.
12:00: It's on. The other side goes first.
12:12: It's my turn. Adrenaline pumping, I confidently walk to the podium, ready to introduce myself to the court and wow the panel of judges with my limitless verbal abilities. That plan works fine until my voice disappears in the middle of my attempt to introduce myself to the Court.
********************************
I recovered, and somehow, against all odds, things went fine from there.
A person or two must have said a prayer for me after all.
Little did I know how much worse things would get:
6:35: Usually when I have travel to Cincinnati for appellate argument, I use my per diem for a nice working dinner. I'm usually so stoked about appearing before the jurisdiction only one notch below the U.S. Supreme Court that I have too much energy to stay in my hotel. Tonight, though, I'm just thrilled at the site of a gas station with a built-in pizza hut on the highway. Now, I can eat there, have a powerade, and then not have to leave my hotel room once I crawl inside of it.
7:02: Cheap pizza consumed and 1.5 powerades finished, I'm back on the road.
7:30: Traffic finally subsided, and I'm glad to check into my hotel. I have a heavy suitcase, lots of files, a garment bag and my breakfast for the next morning with me, but I can barely manage to carry it all myself. Which is good because I only have a $20 and that kind of tip would be insane.
7: 31: Take the elevator to the top of the hotel and delicately balance my possessions as I walk to the end of the long, winding hallway where my room awaits. Drop everything to slide my key through the door. And it doesn't work.
7:32: This is interesting. Do I leave all my earthly belongings here on the floor while I go back to the front desk, or do I gather them back up, delicately balance them to walk back to the elevator, only to return right back here with it all?
7:34: Pondering.
7:37: Still thinking. It's a pretty nice hotel and I have a pretty remote room on the far end of the hall. And I'm so achy and drained that every single step I take feels like a session of P90X. But if my stuff disappears I'll hate myself, and some of my files probably shouldn't be out of my sight. But I don't think I can balance all this stuff again if I tried. So I try the key again. Still nothing.
7:42: My ship has come in! A bellman happens to walk by and he lets me in my room, promising to return with a valid key. Things are looking up.
8:00: Working. Telling myself I can do this.
10:59: Very suddenly, my energy vanishes. There's more I'd like to do, but I must go to sleep, and I must sleep now.
11:01: How in the world did I forget my toothbrush? The hotel has complimentary ones, but I'm too tired to go back down to the lobby. I'll get one in the morning. I'll just take my sinus medicine and go to bed.
11:02: How did I leave my sinus medicine in the car? If I don't have the energy to go to the lobby, there's no way I'm going to the parking garage
11:03: Oh well. I have dirty teeth and congestion, but I think I can sleep through it. At least I have one of those little wiry things that cleans the space in between my teeth. That will have to do. Except that it immediately breaks when I used it.
11:05: Barely extract my contact lens from my tired, dry right eye. The way things are going tonight, I'm shocked it didn't rip.
11:06: But my left one just did.
11:08: Holy crap! The other half of it is still in my eye! This hurts like mad. And I can't figure out how to get it out!!!!!!!!
11:10-11:30: AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Make! It! Stop!
11:31: Finally got it. That was miserable. I have no spare contact, so I'll have to wear glasses tomorrow. But, at last, now I can go to bed.
11:34: My room is directly over the hotel bar. It sure is loud down there. And why is there a baby crying in the hallway at this time of night? Is this one of those hotels where a child died 100 years ago and people still claim to hear it?
11:36: Thing is, I'm not even scared, I just don't want to put up with the noise. I want to sleep. Go haunt someone else.
11:38: Go out in the hallway to look for a visible baby. There's no evidence of one, but I see a woman who might possibly be its mother. She appears to have human form. Good enough for me.
11:40: Just need to shut down the computer before bed. Since it's still up, maybe I'll check facebook. I had mentioned yesterday that I was nervous about my ability to pull off this argument while barely able to talk and encased in an all-encompassing sickness-related mental cloud. Maybe I'll have an outpouring of encouragement and prayer support from my vast and wonderful array of highly spiritual and uplifting facebook friends! That would life my spirits like nothing I can imagine! What a wonderful way to go to sleep!
11:44: Or maybe I'll have nothing new whatsoever. Oh well. It was worth a shot.
12:00: Bed.
7:30: Roll out of bed after hitting snooze for 45 minutes. I need to leave in 45 minutes. I can probably just pull it off, even if I do have to shower, get coffee, put on a suit, eat breakfast, and run downstairs for a toothbrush. Man, do I feel awful.
8:30: Arrive to court just in time to check in for my argument. Learn I'm the last case on the docket and probably won't go until about 11:30. Request (and receive) permission to go back to my hotel and lie face down on my pillow for the next two hours. Which is exactly what I do, with some groaning added in for good measure.
10:30: Rouse myself, and make it back to court, where things are running behind. My argument won't be until noon. Maybe that will give me enough time to feel better.
12:00: It's on. The other side goes first.
12:12: It's my turn. Adrenaline pumping, I confidently walk to the podium, ready to introduce myself to the court and wow the panel of judges with my limitless verbal abilities. That plan works fine until my voice disappears in the middle of my attempt to introduce myself to the Court.
********************************
I recovered, and somehow, against all odds, things went fine from there.
A person or two must have said a prayer for me after all.
Monday, October 8, 2012
What Columbus Day Means: My Ongoing Feud with Chris Columbus
Not too long ago, I was at a cathedral in San Juan, Puerto Rico, looking at Christopher Columbus' ornate ivory tomb. As I stood there, I couldn't help but think deep, complicated socio-political thoughts such as: how do we know he is actually in there?
Eventually, I moved on from that question. Next, the cynic in me began to wonder how many civilizations I'd need to destroy to get similar luxury post-mortem accommodations. When I went there, I should have known Columbus' spirit would avenge my lack of reverence at some point.
So I should have seen it coming when I woke up on this Columbus Day with chills all over and a throat in need of rescue by whatever local fire department might happen to be open today. After all, if Columbus could overcome native resistance by those who outnumbered him by at least tenfold to help colonize the Americas, surely he had the power to give me a cold from the grave.
I'm sure it didn't help that I'm part Native American, and Columbus wasn't particularly fond of my kind. In fact, he's been giving my ancestors diseases for which we had no immunity ever since he arrived. If Columbus wanted retribution for my graveside slight, this was absolutely the path of least resistance.
Although today was not a scheduled holiday for me, like it or not, I ended up being forced to celebrate Columbus Day. My celebration has mostly included eating a lot of soup and the spiciest, most sinus-clearing foods I can get find, but that's beside the point. I'm pretty sure Ole Chris just wanted me to stay home from work.
If the spirit of Columbus so badly wanted me to stop and appreciate what Columbus Day means that he infected me with illness from the afterlife, I guess I should take time to do that now--if only so that I don't get sick again next year.
So today, I'm here to write about the wonders of the most obscure holiday observed by federal employees and roughly 28 other people. If you wanted meaningful analysis of Columbus's life or the historical impacts of his voyage, you probably shouldn't have clicked on the blog of someone whose all-time most popular post was about an invasion of red-eyed bugs.
With that in mind, let us explore what, exactly, Columbus Day means.
It means that, for about 8 percent of the population, it means a chance to have a day off when the weather is nice. For the rest of us, it means that bill that we should have paid last week will now definitely be late, because the post office won't deliver today, and we didn't remember to mail it on Saturday.
Columbus Day means more than that, however. It also means that we when we arrived at work today (having faced slightly less traffic than usual--a fact that Mr. Explorer certainly would have appreciated), we looked down at our calendar to see something printed on the square representing today's date. And then, collectively at 8:47 a.m., we said to ourselves, "Oh, yeah. Too bad I'm not off today. What a waste."
In some city somewhere, there is probably a parade today, but I can't imagine what kind of floats it would have or who would go to it.
For me personally, Columbus Day meant that the line at the bank was unusually long last Friday afternoon, and when I finally got to the window, the teller said something about a long weekend coming up and I gave her a funny look because I had no idea what she was talking about.
Most importantly for me, Columbus Day meant that when I woke up feeling crappy today, I had an excuse not to call in sick, because, hey, the courts are closed today anyway.
I'm pretty sure this is the type of remembrance Columbus had in mind when he set sail from Europe in 1492. In fact, historical records tell us that he had three goals when he set his ships to sail: (1) establish a spice trade; (2) explore new worlds; and (3) secure himself a holiday in the country near where he would eventually land that would someday be observed by only bankers, postmen, and federal employees.
And if this was, in fact, what he wanted, then job well done.
That is what Columbus Day means to me. I encourage you to find your own meaning in this most solemn and important holiday. Your options are nearly limitless:
Find a furniture store having a "30-percent off" sale.
In the spirit of exploration, find a quicker route to work, because, hey, you probably didn't get today off anyway.
Talk like a pirate, because without Columbus, there wouldn't have been any in the Caribbean.
Make a pilgrimage to Columbus, Ohio.
Order a pizza.
Take someone else's land.
Kill an Indian.
In other words, do whatever you need to find a way to make this day your own.
As for me, I plan to continue my Columbus Day celebration in my own special way. What little energy I have left from the Revenge of Columbus Death Bug, I plan to use by fending off the advances of a hyperactive and under-stimulated cat named Trouble, who is foaming at the mouth at the unexpected prospect of having weekday daytime companionship.
The man who brought Trouble Cat's ancestors to the New World surely would approve.
Maybe he'll even release his grip on my sinuses.
Eventually, I moved on from that question. Next, the cynic in me began to wonder how many civilizations I'd need to destroy to get similar luxury post-mortem accommodations. When I went there, I should have known Columbus' spirit would avenge my lack of reverence at some point.
So I should have seen it coming when I woke up on this Columbus Day with chills all over and a throat in need of rescue by whatever local fire department might happen to be open today. After all, if Columbus could overcome native resistance by those who outnumbered him by at least tenfold to help colonize the Americas, surely he had the power to give me a cold from the grave.
I'm sure it didn't help that I'm part Native American, and Columbus wasn't particularly fond of my kind. In fact, he's been giving my ancestors diseases for which we had no immunity ever since he arrived. If Columbus wanted retribution for my graveside slight, this was absolutely the path of least resistance.
Although today was not a scheduled holiday for me, like it or not, I ended up being forced to celebrate Columbus Day. My celebration has mostly included eating a lot of soup and the spiciest, most sinus-clearing foods I can get find, but that's beside the point. I'm pretty sure Ole Chris just wanted me to stay home from work.
If the spirit of Columbus so badly wanted me to stop and appreciate what Columbus Day means that he infected me with illness from the afterlife, I guess I should take time to do that now--if only so that I don't get sick again next year.
So today, I'm here to write about the wonders of the most obscure holiday observed by federal employees and roughly 28 other people. If you wanted meaningful analysis of Columbus's life or the historical impacts of his voyage, you probably shouldn't have clicked on the blog of someone whose all-time most popular post was about an invasion of red-eyed bugs.
With that in mind, let us explore what, exactly, Columbus Day means.
It means that, for about 8 percent of the population, it means a chance to have a day off when the weather is nice. For the rest of us, it means that bill that we should have paid last week will now definitely be late, because the post office won't deliver today, and we didn't remember to mail it on Saturday.
Columbus Day means more than that, however. It also means that we when we arrived at work today (having faced slightly less traffic than usual--a fact that Mr. Explorer certainly would have appreciated), we looked down at our calendar to see something printed on the square representing today's date. And then, collectively at 8:47 a.m., we said to ourselves, "Oh, yeah. Too bad I'm not off today. What a waste."
In some city somewhere, there is probably a parade today, but I can't imagine what kind of floats it would have or who would go to it.
For me personally, Columbus Day meant that the line at the bank was unusually long last Friday afternoon, and when I finally got to the window, the teller said something about a long weekend coming up and I gave her a funny look because I had no idea what she was talking about.
Most importantly for me, Columbus Day meant that when I woke up feeling crappy today, I had an excuse not to call in sick, because, hey, the courts are closed today anyway.
I'm pretty sure this is the type of remembrance Columbus had in mind when he set sail from Europe in 1492. In fact, historical records tell us that he had three goals when he set his ships to sail: (1) establish a spice trade; (2) explore new worlds; and (3) secure himself a holiday in the country near where he would eventually land that would someday be observed by only bankers, postmen, and federal employees.
And if this was, in fact, what he wanted, then job well done.
That is what Columbus Day means to me. I encourage you to find your own meaning in this most solemn and important holiday. Your options are nearly limitless:
Find a furniture store having a "30-percent off" sale.
In the spirit of exploration, find a quicker route to work, because, hey, you probably didn't get today off anyway.
Talk like a pirate, because without Columbus, there wouldn't have been any in the Caribbean.
Make a pilgrimage to Columbus, Ohio.
Order a pizza.
Take someone else's land.
Kill an Indian.
In other words, do whatever you need to find a way to make this day your own.
As for me, I plan to continue my Columbus Day celebration in my own special way. What little energy I have left from the Revenge of Columbus Death Bug, I plan to use by fending off the advances of a hyperactive and under-stimulated cat named Trouble, who is foaming at the mouth at the unexpected prospect of having weekday daytime companionship.
The man who brought Trouble Cat's ancestors to the New World surely would approve.
Maybe he'll even release his grip on my sinuses.
Monday, October 1, 2012
Why I Love October
In the history of this blog, only two posts have attracted more than 250 hits. One was about the invasion of Giant Killer Insects of Doom that happened in Nashville the summer before last.
The other is my post from last year about why I love October.
Since the month just started, it seems like an appropriate time to re-post this now. It's timely, it's appropriate, you all liked it the first time, and even more importantly, it will allow me to be lazy this week and not have to think of anything new to write.
So enjoy both the blog, and the great October weather. Just do the first before you go out and do the second!
The other is my post from last year about why I love October.
Since the month just started, it seems like an appropriate time to re-post this now. It's timely, it's appropriate, you all liked it the first time, and even more importantly, it will allow me to be lazy this week and not have to think of anything new to write.
So enjoy both the blog, and the great October weather. Just do the first before you go out and do the second!
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
I Hate Facebook
If the United States government ever collapses, it won't be because of a Chinese takeover, our imploding debt burden or because of internal moral decay. It will be--and I feel strongly about this--entirely because of facebook.
Facebook continues to become more intrusive, powerful and annoying with each passing day.
I used to like facebook. It didn't require all the customization or creativity that Myspace did. Most of my friends were on there, many of whom I hadn't spoken to in awhile. It gave me a way to talk to people without picking up the phone, which is every introvert's dream. Signing up seemed like a good idea at the time.
Now, however, facebook is ruining my life. And pretty much running it too.
Facebook has entirely too much control over my existence. It tells me how many friends I have. It tells me when someone I thought was my friend no longer is. It dredges up unflattering photos from 20 years ago that I am powerless to delete. It provides an unerasable diary of all the intimate thoughts of my daily life.
Facebooks decides for me which of my friends update I get to see, even though I manually change the default setting from facebook's self-determined "top stories" to "most recent" every single time I sign on. But facebook insists on being the gatekeeper of my social life, nonetheless.
And if, God forbid, I ever want to run a facebook application (which I most assuredly don't), then to do so, I have to sign away the rights to all my personal information, as well as the rights to my first, third and fifth-born children, second-born cat, and probably, from what I can tell from the fine print, my immortal soul.
At this point, facebook probably has a claim on the inheritance of half of the population.
But not only has facebook become overly intrusive, it's also become really hard to figure out.
Every time I think I've learned the various contours of how to navigate facebook, the powers-that-be change something. Facebook has made roughly 237 changes to its operational system in the last four years, and every single one of them made the site just a little bit harder to navigate.
It used to be that all my information was displayed on the same page. If I wanted to see my friend list, or search for other friends, I could just click on a button that allowed me to do so. I used to have a virtual pet and a virtual billboard, but they've both been abducted into cyberspace. I ended up with something called a "timeline" despite my fervent opposition.
It used to be that if I wanted to change my profile picture, I could just click on my old one. I used to be able to edit my facebook status without deleting it entirely.
Those were the good old days.
Facebook won the social networking battle over Myspace because it was simpler to use, and once it did, it immediately decided to make itself as complicated as possible.
Brilliant.
The way things stand now, I have no idea how to do anything on facebook.
It takes me half an hour, and lots of frustrating failed attempts, to change my profile picture. If I try to search for new friends, I get five results at a time, many of which are my friends already. I can block people from tagging me in their posts, but I can't block pictures of me from 15 years ago that could still get me fired today, nor can I block people from posting I was with them at some remote location during a time when I was actually at work. Or at least was supposed to be.
I just can't win.
I know I shouldn't complain. Facebook provides me with a method to publicize my writing that wouldn't have been possible a few years ago. It's been good for the blog. So I wouldn't say anything, except that I'm not the only one in this situation. Most of my friends are far deeper into the facebook realm than I am, and it seems clear that they are never going to make it out.
Pretty soon, facebook will have so much personal information about all of us that we'll be powerless to ever leave it, or do anything but submit to its arbitrary and unreasonable demands.
For example, facebook has the rights to all your photos. If you ever want to see them again, or don't want them sold to the sex trade industry, you'd better agree to those new terms of service. Even if they include something scandalous involving a chicken.
Your friends no longer email you because facebook is so convenient. So if you ever want to hear from them again, you'd better agreed to give facebook a sample of your DNA, and sign the waiver allowing any clone created therefrom to take over your life. And, of course, your facebook account.
Because, after all, the distinction between the two grows smaller and smaller every day.
Facebook continues to become more intrusive, powerful and annoying with each passing day.
I used to like facebook. It didn't require all the customization or creativity that Myspace did. Most of my friends were on there, many of whom I hadn't spoken to in awhile. It gave me a way to talk to people without picking up the phone, which is every introvert's dream. Signing up seemed like a good idea at the time.
Now, however, facebook is ruining my life. And pretty much running it too.
Facebook has entirely too much control over my existence. It tells me how many friends I have. It tells me when someone I thought was my friend no longer is. It dredges up unflattering photos from 20 years ago that I am powerless to delete. It provides an unerasable diary of all the intimate thoughts of my daily life.
Facebooks decides for me which of my friends update I get to see, even though I manually change the default setting from facebook's self-determined "top stories" to "most recent" every single time I sign on. But facebook insists on being the gatekeeper of my social life, nonetheless.
And if, God forbid, I ever want to run a facebook application (which I most assuredly don't), then to do so, I have to sign away the rights to all my personal information, as well as the rights to my first, third and fifth-born children, second-born cat, and probably, from what I can tell from the fine print, my immortal soul.
At this point, facebook probably has a claim on the inheritance of half of the population.
But not only has facebook become overly intrusive, it's also become really hard to figure out.
Every time I think I've learned the various contours of how to navigate facebook, the powers-that-be change something. Facebook has made roughly 237 changes to its operational system in the last four years, and every single one of them made the site just a little bit harder to navigate.
It used to be that all my information was displayed on the same page. If I wanted to see my friend list, or search for other friends, I could just click on a button that allowed me to do so. I used to have a virtual pet and a virtual billboard, but they've both been abducted into cyberspace. I ended up with something called a "timeline" despite my fervent opposition.
It used to be that if I wanted to change my profile picture, I could just click on my old one. I used to be able to edit my facebook status without deleting it entirely.
Those were the good old days.
Facebook won the social networking battle over Myspace because it was simpler to use, and once it did, it immediately decided to make itself as complicated as possible.
Brilliant.
The way things stand now, I have no idea how to do anything on facebook.
It takes me half an hour, and lots of frustrating failed attempts, to change my profile picture. If I try to search for new friends, I get five results at a time, many of which are my friends already. I can block people from tagging me in their posts, but I can't block pictures of me from 15 years ago that could still get me fired today, nor can I block people from posting I was with them at some remote location during a time when I was actually at work. Or at least was supposed to be.
I just can't win.
I know I shouldn't complain. Facebook provides me with a method to publicize my writing that wouldn't have been possible a few years ago. It's been good for the blog. So I wouldn't say anything, except that I'm not the only one in this situation. Most of my friends are far deeper into the facebook realm than I am, and it seems clear that they are never going to make it out.
Pretty soon, facebook will have so much personal information about all of us that we'll be powerless to ever leave it, or do anything but submit to its arbitrary and unreasonable demands.
For example, facebook has the rights to all your photos. If you ever want to see them again, or don't want them sold to the sex trade industry, you'd better agree to those new terms of service. Even if they include something scandalous involving a chicken.
Your friends no longer email you because facebook is so convenient. So if you ever want to hear from them again, you'd better agreed to give facebook a sample of your DNA, and sign the waiver allowing any clone created therefrom to take over your life. And, of course, your facebook account.
Because, after all, the distinction between the two grows smaller and smaller every day.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
A Man's Shopping Trip from Hell
What started as a routine trip to the grocery store ended up as a married man's version of Hell. Here's what happened:
8:30: Grab the grocery list and head to Kroger. Liz is really tired, so I offerred to do it on my own.
8:36: Notice six items on the list. Five of them are no big deal, but kinda nervous about number 6. I've never been secure enough in my manhood to feel comfortable shopping for feminine hygiene products.
8:40: I'll grab everything else first, and then grab those things at the end. That way, no one will see them in my cart.
8:42: What exactly are the difference between pads and liners anyway? I've never understood why women need two different versions of these things.
8:57: Everything else is done, so I'll grab the pads. I hope this is painless...
9:00: There are only 15 people in the entire grocery store right now, but 12 of them are hanging out in the women's hygiene aisle. And they all suddenly shift their eyes to stare at the man who just entered it. How is this possible?
9:01: I hope they move quickly. I don't want to reach around other shoppers for the sake of buying maxipads, but being creepy guy standing right outside the women's hygiene aisle is probably even worse.
9:05: Everyone has cleared out except for one group, but they've left their cart directly in front of the section I need. So I'm still lingering around the hygiene aisle, wishing I could disappear...
9:08: The group with the cart is shopping for hair products, but they've left their cart in front of the maxipad section. They aren't moving very quickly, so I'm just going to have to dive in. Wait, that came out wrong.
9:11: Hmm. Maybe I'll look less conspicuous if I pull out my grocery list and pretend to stare at it. That way, maybe people will know buying these things wasn't my idea. I pull out the list and try to weave around the cart to reach what I'm looking for.
9:12: How are there this many varieties of pads???? I'm supposed to buy regular-sized, unscented, with wings. So far I've found scented with wings, regular-sized without wings, long without wings, and regular-sized, scented, without wings. Also, there's some purple package that seems just like everything else, but doesn't look like what Liz usually buys. This is so confusing.
9:13: Why is everyone staring at me?
9:15: Crap. Here comes another set of shoppers. I'm just going to grab something that looks right and go.
9:17: These are unscented with wings, but they are extra long. I can't bring these home. I screwed up and bought these once before, and that didn't work out so well. I have to walk back.
9:18: Of course, the package won't fit back on the shelf. As I fumble with my extra long pads, still navigating around the cart directly in front of where I need to be, another set of shoppers walk by, and stare for roughly 30 minutes. At least it feels that way.
9:23: After five more minutes of camping out in the pad section, I finally found what I'm looking for: regular sized, unscented, with wings. Thank God.
9:24: That was awful. At least maybe now I can go to the self checkout and disappear into the night.
9:25: There's a really long line at self checkout, but the lines are open at the cashier. Maybe it won't be too bad.
9:27: The minute I put the pads on the conveyer belt, a 30-ish single guy gets in line behind me. He watches me put the pads on the belt, gives me a funny look, and immediately moves to another lane. I'm not making this up.
9:30: Realize I left my wedding ring at home on the nightstand. I guess that explains some of the funny looks.
9:33: Just my luck, I'm stuck with the young cashier who always talks my ear off. Usually, she tries to flirt with me. I'm guessing that's not going to happen this time. Or ever again. At least some good might come from this.
9:37: Cashier bags the pads at the very end of the process, leaving them visible for every possible second. Moments before she puts them in the bag, a young woman comes behind me in the checkout line and watches. She gives me a dirty look.
9:42: Arrive home.
9:43: "Hey honey, but how come you bought the store brand instead of Always?"
8:30: Grab the grocery list and head to Kroger. Liz is really tired, so I offerred to do it on my own.
8:36: Notice six items on the list. Five of them are no big deal, but kinda nervous about number 6. I've never been secure enough in my manhood to feel comfortable shopping for feminine hygiene products.
8:40: I'll grab everything else first, and then grab those things at the end. That way, no one will see them in my cart.
8:42: What exactly are the difference between pads and liners anyway? I've never understood why women need two different versions of these things.
8:57: Everything else is done, so I'll grab the pads. I hope this is painless...
9:00: There are only 15 people in the entire grocery store right now, but 12 of them are hanging out in the women's hygiene aisle. And they all suddenly shift their eyes to stare at the man who just entered it. How is this possible?
9:01: I hope they move quickly. I don't want to reach around other shoppers for the sake of buying maxipads, but being creepy guy standing right outside the women's hygiene aisle is probably even worse.
9:05: Everyone has cleared out except for one group, but they've left their cart directly in front of the section I need. So I'm still lingering around the hygiene aisle, wishing I could disappear...
9:08: The group with the cart is shopping for hair products, but they've left their cart in front of the maxipad section. They aren't moving very quickly, so I'm just going to have to dive in. Wait, that came out wrong.
9:11: Hmm. Maybe I'll look less conspicuous if I pull out my grocery list and pretend to stare at it. That way, maybe people will know buying these things wasn't my idea. I pull out the list and try to weave around the cart to reach what I'm looking for.
9:12: How are there this many varieties of pads???? I'm supposed to buy regular-sized, unscented, with wings. So far I've found scented with wings, regular-sized without wings, long without wings, and regular-sized, scented, without wings. Also, there's some purple package that seems just like everything else, but doesn't look like what Liz usually buys. This is so confusing.
9:13: Why is everyone staring at me?
9:15: Crap. Here comes another set of shoppers. I'm just going to grab something that looks right and go.
9:17: These are unscented with wings, but they are extra long. I can't bring these home. I screwed up and bought these once before, and that didn't work out so well. I have to walk back.
9:18: Of course, the package won't fit back on the shelf. As I fumble with my extra long pads, still navigating around the cart directly in front of where I need to be, another set of shoppers walk by, and stare for roughly 30 minutes. At least it feels that way.
9:23: After five more minutes of camping out in the pad section, I finally found what I'm looking for: regular sized, unscented, with wings. Thank God.
9:24: That was awful. At least maybe now I can go to the self checkout and disappear into the night.
9:25: There's a really long line at self checkout, but the lines are open at the cashier. Maybe it won't be too bad.
9:27: The minute I put the pads on the conveyer belt, a 30-ish single guy gets in line behind me. He watches me put the pads on the belt, gives me a funny look, and immediately moves to another lane. I'm not making this up.
9:30: Realize I left my wedding ring at home on the nightstand. I guess that explains some of the funny looks.
9:33: Just my luck, I'm stuck with the young cashier who always talks my ear off. Usually, she tries to flirt with me. I'm guessing that's not going to happen this time. Or ever again. At least some good might come from this.
9:37: Cashier bags the pads at the very end of the process, leaving them visible for every possible second. Moments before she puts them in the bag, a young woman comes behind me in the checkout line and watches. She gives me a dirty look.
9:42: Arrive home.
9:43: "Hey honey, but how come you bought the store brand instead of Always?"
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