Weird, wild stuff

One word, two syllab…
*!Pollen!*
Bless you.
Like locust plagues of Biblical prophesy, this area has been overrun so much the otherwise unseen particles are now taking over the world…or at least the parking lots. Over the past week or so, it's been at ridiculous levels. It is literally piling up around here. Let me break it down for you.
The amount of pollen in the air is measured by a tool creatively named a ‘Pollen Count’. The PC calculated by the number of grains of pollen in a cubic meter. A moderate count is 31-60; High is 61-120; anything over 120 is considered extremely high. With those parameters in mind, the high we have going on here makes Cheech and Chong look like card-carrying members of the anti-drug lobby.
On Monday in the ATL, the pollen count hit 5,499. Math’s never been my strong suit, so you might want to crunch the numbers yourself; but according my calculations, this is about 43.835 times what the count can be to still fall in the ‘high’ and 91.65 times the moderate range. Meanwhile…

Vehicles everywhere are covered yellow.
I drive into work and yellow pollen kicks up like I’m driving down a dirt road back home.
People are outside wearing surgical masks.
If you’re outside long enough, you can feel it when you breathe.
Warnings are issued to stay indoors as much as possible.
People are missing work because they can’t breathe or see if they leave the house.
Car washes across town are cleaning house; it’s gotten so ridiculous that if you keep your stub and it’s been 48 hours or less, they’ll give you a free carwash. Craziness.

But what gets me is the metrics of the pollen count. I don’t understand how the chart can be so skewed. I mean, this happens every year (not to this degree, but counts still are up to 2000 or more) and moderate is still considered 31-60. Something just seems a little off to me when the count of anything is over 90x the moderate amount. It doesn't make sense...like Hillary winning "Dancing With The Stars" or the presidency. Can you imagine this in the world of sports? Some guy’s batting a moderate .260; then some schmo is batting 22.500. That’s just crazy talk. Or with food? A RDA of 2,000 calories as moderate would be 180,000; the 65 grams of fat would be 5,800. I've met someone like that before…oh yeah, Archie’s first girlfriend. (Playin' bro...just playin'.)
Anyway, just wanted to give you non-southern dwellers to get an idea of this pollen thing.

Oprah's DEAD!

Disclaimer: For the record, I bear no malice towards Oprah. I don’t watch her show and while I don’t agree with some of her social views, I respect that she’s self-made and think she’s contributed to the betterment of society and helped a lot of people with her wealth.

I had this dream last night where I was a passenger on an airplane and somehow it came under attack. I don’t know how it happened or anything, it’s just being hijacked and everyone is in a lot of danger and there’s widespread panic.
Well, a couple of other people and I rush the cockpit in an effort to take it back from the hijackers before anything bad can happen. There’s gunfire and stuff and pretty soon I’m alone at the cockpit. I kick open the door and Oprah’s flying the plane. I’m amazed and think she’s saved the day. I say something like:
“Oprah, how’d you beat off the terrorists by yourself?”
And Oprah says, “It wasn’t that hard. You can go back to your seat and I’ll take it from here.”
I believe her because I figure she must have her own plane and, hey – she’s Oprah! But as I’m leaving I see the pilot on the ground and he’s been shot in the head; but there aren’t any bad guys around and I start to get suspicious. So I turn around to confront Oprah and she’s pointing a gun at me!
“Back off,” Oprah says. She’s the leader of the hijackers!
I tell her I can’t do that and we get in a tussle. I get the gun away from her and she sends the airplane into a dive, straight for the ground. So I grab her around the neck and start choking her until she goes limp.
I’ve killed Oprah!
Anyway, there’s all this beeping noise from all the navigation instruments in the cockpit and so I push Oprah’s body out of the seat and I start to fly the plane. It’s in a tailspin and getting really close to the ground, so all I can do is slow it down. We end up crash-landing in some field and most people survive and walk away. And I’m left trying to explain to the authorities why Oprah's dead. They believe me - that I had to do it - but a lot of people were still upset I’d killed her. I keep telling them I didn’t have a choice, that if I didn’t do it we’d have all died.
The last part of my dream I remember is I’m walking down the road past a gas station ( I think it was a Shell), distraught I had to kill someone and I look up and there’s Will Smith. And he asks:
“How’s it going?”
And I say, “Not too good.”
“Why not?”
“I killed Oprah.”
Then Will got mad.
“But I had to. She was going to kill everyone on the plane. I didn’t want to. She didn’t give me a choice.”
But Will still was all up in arms about it, so I just walked away as he yelled at me.

Weird.

Complete

There comes a time in every man’s life when he realizes that there’s gotta be something more; that as good as life is, there is one little thing missing which would otherwise complete the circle. I had such an epiphany a month or two ago and it ate at me until I could bear it no more. I had to confess the lustful intentions of my heart to my sweet wife.
I broached the subject one day as Paula and I were driving in the car.

ME: “Hey babe, um…there’s something I need to tell you. It’s been weighing pretty heavily on my mind for the past week or two.”
HER: “What is it?”
“Well…I don’t know how to say it. I’m a little nervous about how you’ll react. I don’t want to upset you, but I can’s stop thinking about it.
Nervous tone: “What? Is everything okay?”
Deep inhale, slow and measured exhaling: “I don’t know. Basically, I guess I need to just come out and say it…even though this might be difficult for you to hear.”
No talking, just a nervous look
“I want an Xbox 360.”
Rolling of the eyes.

Well, after several excruciating weeks of deliberation, saving, planning and brooding, I became the proud new owner of an Xbox 360 Premium system w/ 20GB hard drive, two wireless controllers, a sweet game and a two year service warranty. I’m not going to reveal the final cost, but suffice it to say, I only went over my budgeted amount by $25. And considering that’s the difference the warranty cost I don’t think it’s a bad thing.
I’m super excited but not to the degree Paula is. She’s ecstatic about it. It’s ridiculous. I can hardly keep her off the thing; when I’m trying to get her to do things around the house she just keeps saying ‘In a minute. I’ve just got to get to the next checkpoint.’ And I tell her that if she doesn’t prioritize, we’re getting rid of it. Seriously…she’s addicted.
I made a point to buy an extra controller because as fun as it is to play, it’s more fun to game with someone else; Will and I are anxiously engaged in saving the world from being overrun being a demon horde right now. Don’t worry – we got it under control. You may rest well knowing that Marcus and Dominic aren’t going to rest until the world is safe.
But it hasn’t taken me away from being a good husband – check it out:
On Saturday, I helped baby sit Everett, did three loads of laundry, emptied the dishwasher, went grocery shopping and made dinner. So don’t think I’m slacking; if anything it’s made me a better husband. Because not only do I protect my wife and unborn child from the demon horde, but I also make sure all my chores are done (and a little more to buy me some points) so there’s no reason not so be able to fire up the white box of joy.
Then I call Will and say: “Save the world at 9?”
Replies Will: “Game on.”

Attractions of Logantown, Cubiclia , ING

I'd like to welcome you all to a little place just off the beaten path, near the corner of 9-5 and just past the Corporate Crossroads. Some call it a cubicle. I call it my Home-Away-From-Home-Monday-Thru-Friday-Except-For-Federal-Holidays, or H.A.F.H.M.T.F.E.F.F.H. for short. But you can call it Logantown (Loganville...it's too local, so no).
As many of you will never get a chance to get your passport stamped and visit here, there are a few local attactions in Cubiclia I'd like to share with you. (Pictures pending the battery in the camera being charged. This happens everytime I go somewhere exciting! ARGHH!!)

The Picture. Standing resolutely at my 1 o’clock is a simple aide memoire of our commitment, love, and devotion; I look upon it with fondness daily – a black and white picture of Paula and me from our wedding day. A simple glance often unleashes a tide of memory from that special day: how stunning she looked; how lucky I felt; the joy of sharing the day with friends and family; forgetting the ring; I should have had a hair cut; it wasn’t cheap; evidently I am...crap. It also reminds me to not forget my ring sitting next to my laptop; I hate how it clicks on my keyboard.

The Remnant. Sitting on the shelf at my 5 o’clock rests a piece of history, rescued from the sinewy grasp of yesteryear. In times such as these, it is paramount that we remember what made this nation great and what made us proud to be Americans, where at least we knew we were free. It is a memento of prominence, accomplishment and success; additionally, it reminds us that our past, our present and our future are all part of that great whole that some of us call aeternus, or in layman terms…eternity. What, you ask, rests in blissful serenity at my cinco? It is known in the Greek as “kommati apo dikos mou palios aftokinito porta”, better known to us as “piece of my old car door.”

The Toy. Immediately to my right (3 o’clock high) is a cryptic device which has led to the downfall of many great men; it is the modern day Gordian Knot; it is…the Rubik’s Cube. Invented by Hungarian Erno Rubik in 1974, the Cube hit the market in 1980 and has gone on to record great feats: It is attributed with the downfall of communism in the mid 1980’s; it is the most sold toy in the history of the world; it has single-handedly been responsible for the ostracizing more men from women than acne and cracking voices combined.

The Inspiration. (Keeping with the “o’clock” theme) At my 12 is a picture of excellence, of a man that embodies success and emboldens the timid. He teaches us about excellence. What makes a work environment excellent? Well, there are many things, I believe, that do such of thing of that nature. And one would be humor. Additionally, we learn the virtues of racial harmony, that diversity is the cornerstone of progress; from his lips we gain a truer appreciation of equality as he taught through the words of President Abraham Lincoln: “If you are a racist, I will attack you with the North.”
Who is this mystery man of wisdom, this enigma of greatness? Only Michael Gary Scott, that bold and intrepid leader who directs his troops into the depths of disaster time and time again, only to return in glorious triumph from the brink to teach us the aspirations all leaders should embrace: a friend first, a boss second, and probably and entertainer third. Pearls of great price, words of infinite wisdom…

Weight for it...weight for it...

This week has really been a blur; I can’t believe it’s almost been a week since the last post. Wow. What do you do?
Paula’s about to break out of her first trimester and that’s a good thing. In fact, as a manifestation of the fruition of additional motherly characteristics, she’s made me breakfast the past two mornings! (As one not prone to inundate my posts with exclamation point, note the significance.) This has happened only maybe…well, hardly ever on a weekday. I really enjoy it though, and am highly appreciative. I love getting the tap on the shoulder saying that breakfast is ready and me rolling out of bed. A great start to my day. Tuesday was cheesy scrambled eggs and toast; today was pancakes…thanks, babe. You rock.
I’ve gone to the gym twice so far this week and will go again tonight. It's a massive improvement over the past 8-10 weeks. I rolled my ankle really badly around Thanksgiving, so that kept me (or gave me an excuse) away from the gym; follow that by Christmas, NYC and shoulder/neck injury mid January…you get the picture. But I’m bouncing back, determined to stay consistent. It’s imperative I lose this office gut. I’m not the progeny of skinny people. My frame was built for one who lived 100-200 years ago, when this really wouldn’t be an issue; I’d spend all day working on the range and burn enough calories to stay fairly fit. But alas, I am consigned to spend my days with the WWW, TV, AC and NCAA, when I sit around 8-9 hours a day in addition to sleep.
Wow.
If I only just sat around 8-9 hours a day...
I’ve had an epiphany of why my gut has forced me to purchase larger pants. Before I’m called a bum here, think about it. If you have an office job, how much do you move around in a day? Let me break it down for you. From the time I get into the car to drive to work and get home, it’s been 10-11 hours; I sleep 7 hours usually; on the average, I watch 1½ hrs of TV. Add eating dinner, reading, balancing the budget, pay bills online, posting on my blog, some Freecell…there are maybe 2½-3 hours a day I’m actually moving around. Seriously, I’m sedentary over 20 hours a day. I have maybe two hours when I can move around burn some extra calories.
And it takes its toll.
It’s become readily apparent my body can’t do what it used to; moreover, my body can’t recover like it used to. I can get all sorts of crazy playing football or basketball and be fine, but the next morning I’m a living ad for Icy Hot. It’s embarrassing; every time I go play basketball, Paula implores me to not get hurt. Partly because it’s churchball and you have a lot of out of shape, glory-day-warriors, wannabes and neverwere’s running around; a truly pathetic display. The other part is I’m out of shape. “I am a victim of my time, a product of my age” and bring such embarrassments upon myself. And that’s why I’m rededicating myself to the gym. Just so I can not be one of those pear-shaped guys.
And so I can keep my beard. If you aren’t aware of my beard deal, it’s in this post.
Speaking of beard, the moment you’ve all been waiting for. A picture. Drumroll please…..

Today is day 16 of growth and I gotta say, I’m proud of what has transpired; it’s coming along nicely I’d say. The general consensus is that the guys dig it, the girls and testosterone challenged don’t. But let me know what you think.

(Paula, Mom, Natalie and Julia, I already have you noted as avid fans, so you don’t need to comment.)

A Happy Valentine’s Day to all.

I thought it would be worth a post discussing the origins of this most polarizing of holidays, which produces a flurry of emotion, ranging from the height of happiness and romance to the gall of bitterness and despair. However, in researching the genesis of this holiday, it is difficult to differentiate where fact ends and fiction begins.
Origin
The earliest documentation of any celebration of the Ides of February (from the Latin term februum, meaning ‘$4.25 for a card!? You gotta be kidding me!’) is given to us by Plutarch, was in ancient Rome as a festival of purification, with young men running through the streets naked. This tradition ended abruptly when there was a street scheduling conflict and the naked young men ended up running with the bulls.
Namesake
While this gives us an idea where the date comes from, it is more difficult to decipher how the holiday received its name. Some scholars maintain that Valentines Day was named after Valentine of Genoa, an early bishop who died around 307 AD. According to legend, Valentine broke up with his girlfriend the day before her birthday so he wouldn’t have to buy her a gift. He told a fellow clergyman he was going to try and get back in her good graces with chocolate and roses. His broken body was found the next day…but with no sign of the chocolate or flowers.
Early References
How the melding of the name and date came to be, as well as there reference to love, is a source of conflict. Most are from the English poet Geoffrey Chaucer. In one of his first works, Parlement of Foules (1382), he pens the following in honor of the first anniversary of King Richard II and Anne of Bohemia:
For this was on seynt Volantynys day
Whan euery bryd comyth there to chese his make.
From the awful spelling, it was readily apparent Chaucer was responsible for all the wine that had disappeared the night before; Richard booted him out of the country and Chaucer ended up wandering the countryside naked until Heather Ledger found him and made him part of his possee in “A Knights Tale”.

Hopefully this has helped shed some light on this wonderful day that is never really lives up the the hype, but that we still celebrate hoping this will be the year. In the words of the drunken poet, 'Hape Seynt Volantynys Day'!

A Pair Me Smug.s

Funny story. I was texting Nathan the other day and meant to text "I'm opening a pair of IRA's". Well, the SmartText on my phone obviously is a product of the public school system because Nathan's response was "What's a pair me smug.s"
Texting. What a trip. OMG. LOL. :-)
Anyway...
I’m trying to think of stuff that’s been going on and there’s really not much. Anything after the last point seems anticlimactic.
I’m growing a beard.
That’s news.
It’s sure to draw a mixed bag of reaction. Mom will be weeping; brothers and old roommates will be laughing; my wife just roles her eyes; others don’t/won’t care. Today marks one week since I shaved and I think it’s coming along fairly nicely. It’s not like a nasty neck beard or anything – I shave up to about a half inch under my chin line; I’m not going for the homeless man look…just mixing it up for a few weeks.
I can’t remember where we were going, but this is how I broke it to my wife that I was planning on growing the beard. A little background might be helpful.
Early in our marriage (I say early, but it’s all relatively new) Paula wouldn’t really ask me to do things around the apartment. She’d just tell me what to do. And, as a 26 year-old man, I didn’t really appreciate it. So we had a little discussion and I suggested that she let me know what needed to be done (cooking dinner, cleaning up dinner, folding clothes, vacuuming, install another lock on the door, etc…) and ask “Which would you like to do?” All in all it’s gone well; Paula gets me to help around the apartment and I don’t feel like she’s nagging me.
The other day she comes into the computer room where I’m feverishly working on a game of Free Cell and says:


“I have a proposition for you.”
Me: “What’s that?”
Her: “You can either make dinner or clean the apartment. Which one do you want?”

I laughed because it wasn’t much of a proposition, since I was stuck doing one or the other. It was funny. (I ended up concocting a delicious broccoli-cheese chowder.)
Fast forward to Saturday. We’re in the car and I say:

“I have a proposition for you.”
Her: “What’s that?”
Me: “I can either gain weight with you through your pregnancy or I can grow a beard. Which do you prefer?”

Apparently the shoe don’t fit so well on the other foot, because unlike when I am forced to pick one or face serious – and because of the hormones, often emotional – consequences, she doesn’t have to. I took her look as meaning she preferred the beard. And it continues to grow.
I’ll post pictures to track the progress of this little experiment so all you can join in the festivities. Hopefully I don't end up like this guy. It's from JK Rowling's 8th book:
Harry Potter and the Jungle Years

New Year, Same Ramblings

¡Feliz Año Nuevo! (Embracing yet another aspect of my interracial marriage.) We bid a fond farewell to 2006 while looking forward with anticipation towards 2007 and its mysterious mysteries. I’ve heard some say this is the year of Bond (007) and based on the most recent addition to the franchise. I might hop on that wagon.
Anyway, whatever. This is going to be a rambling post (if you couldn’t tell that from the initial paragraph you haven’t hit up this blog much) so brace yourselves.

####

The entire day was devoted to a little game I like to call football. (Apparently other people like to call it that, too, because I see it everywhere.) I participated in a game where I ended up covered in mud and grass; I was embarrassed on a couple of plays and had a couple glimpses of dormant athleticism with a pair of picks and a trio of scores. I expected more from the 12-13 year olds I played against, but what do you do? (kidding)
After hitting the shower, the next 12 ½ hours were devoted to watching large, muscular young men – many from dysfunctional families – play the game at a slightly higher level. And I’ve got to tell you, I witnessed the greatest football game in the history of the game. Seriously. I never thought I’d root for Boise State, but at 1:00am I let out a shout in a darkened apartment, yelling “You’re kidding me!!!” as Ian Johnson took the two point conversion into the endzone for the climactic OT win.
And yet again the BS in BCS is even more pronounced (Check out Pat Fordes column)

####

So, how about that year 2006? Wow. In January I had my appendix removed…without being insured; February I got the bill; March I was married (finished out that engagement); April my brother-in-law became engaged to my ex-girlfriend (didn’t see that coming); May = Drama; June our apartment was burglarized (the angriest I’ve been since Zach hit me in the face with a cell phone, 2003); August I was put in a bishopric in a ward I’d been in for 4 ½ months; September-October endured job uncertainty; November trekked across these United States to Ben and Ryanne’s wedding via automobile; December lost The Buck to an unfortunate accident (Semper Fi…Semper Fi) and had to buy a new car; spent Christmas in NYC; other stuff.
Can the Year of Bond top it? Probably. And I want it shaken, not stirred.

####

This song is by Stone Sour. The lead singer is Corey Taylor, former lead man for a group called Slipknot (angry music). It’s called Through Glass and I like it. A lot.

In closing, I leave you with the self-identifying words of a great American…“Goodbye.”

Shout Out: The Buck

We called it ‘The Buck’.
The ‘I’ decal had vanished somewhere in the Wyoming wilderness, leaving it to read BU_CK. Almost nine years old when I paid Shane and Miriam $3000 in straight Benjamin’s, it was no stranger to the road – a warrior in training, it had logged 165,000 miles upon purchase; even so, the best was yet to come.
The Buck had a rough initiation…roommates named Nathan, Archie and Zach ensured that. But it persevered and overcame to create a legacy of longevity and reliance. In memoriam, I feel inclined to recall some classic moments. Sit back and enjoy some of the exploits of the greatest college car a broke guy could have.

No plumber, just a crack
Though a minor incident, it is really the first of many “What the…” moments. A small crack in the windshield; Nathan pushed on it with his right thumb to be clever and it quickly expanded across the base. Thanks, bro.

Disengage! Disengage!
The Buck was the lone witness to my disengagement from one Valerie Barker. I had no cell phone, so the drive from Frannie to Billings and back was the longest road trip I ever took (the list of road trips we took together can be found below), though it was only 140 total miles.

Fire code violation
It wouldn’t set any records in Guinness, but still…We were headed out to create some mayhem and had a crew – 11, to be exact – and just one ride. Four in the front seat, four in the back, Nathan, Anna and Kristina in the trunk. We drove the 5+ miles to our destination, “The Fire Tunnel”. There’s a picture floating around somewhere…very incriminating…

Rocky Mountain High…and low
Archie and Zach wanted to borrow my car…to drive to Colorado. Archie wanted to bring up his motorcycle and only my car could be fitted with a hitch; on the conditions of ‘you break it, you buy it’, returned with a full tank of gas and obviously intoxicated I agreed. It got back in one piece, but hearing such things as ‘100 mph towing a trailer’ and ‘we had to borrow a gas cap’ have since made me question this move.

“Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow…”
Winter is full of adventure when it comes to driving. The Buck had its fair share of moments. Taking the corner for the cut-off to Grand Targhee en route to a great day of snowboarding I went too fast and ended up stuck in a snow bank; coming down the mountain, the Buck became a ping-pong ball, bouncing from one snow bank to another; Archie opening the passenger door and hooky-bobbing at 30 mph on an ice-covered Rexburg street; throwing Archie’s $1 double-cheeseburger at him and it ending up on my upholstery. Good times

PULL!!!
We went shooting clay pigeons – Archie, Zach, Archie’s brother Sam, me and some girl named Angie. I threw the bird and Sam was supposed to shoot it; a gust of wind and a slow trigger-finger later, the clay pigeon crashed into my windshield, sending three cracks sprawling across the top. Two years, six months later the crack Nathan made across the bottom found neighbors at the top. Perhaps it was fate…

“I’ve been everywhere, man, I’ve been everywhere…”
Long road trips :
Rexburg to Denver…and back (1,464 miles)
Rexburg to Mesa…and back (1,812 miles)
Frannie to Mesa…and back (2,356 miles)
Rexburg to Minneapolis…and back to Frannie (2,075 miles)
Frannie to Sacramento…and back. (2,200 miles)
Frannie to Minneapolis…to Nashville…to Augusta (2,100 miles)
Nine 325 mile round trips from August to Atlanta in two months (2,925 miles)

The Buck will be towed from apartment 1714 today, December 7th, 2006, never to be driven again. It leaves with 238,000 miles, a cracked windshield, a stolen gas cap, remnants of a BYU-Idaho sticker in the rear windshield and hundreds of pleasant memories that will never die. Viva el Buck!!!

15:00, 14:59, 14:58...

Start the timer. I have fifteen minutes and counting left of fame.
If you go back in the history of my posts, you’ll find the one talking about how I had by appendix removed and was able to knock down a fat bill. In the process of time, Smart Money Magazine and this girl from Wiretap.com got a hold of me and asked me some questions and stuff. I told them my story and they said they were going to put it in some article.
Well, Paula sent me this link and I went to it. It didn’t work, but I was directed to this site www.alternet.org. Basically, it is a really liberal site that is 180 degrees from my political and moral values; so I just Googled my name and the words “health care.” And boom:

Wiretap.com - http://82.165.179.211/rights/42785/
Some site - http://standeyo.com/NEWS/06_Health/060913.hospitals.wont.tell.html
AOL - http://money.aol.com/smoney/general/canvas3/_a/10-things-your-hospital-wont-tell-you/20060915111109990001
Random Blog - http://alternativemedicinetruth.blogspot.com
Yahoo! - http://biz.yahoo.com/weekend/hospital2_1.html
SmartMoney - www.smartmoney.com/10things/index.cfm?story=october2006

So, there you have it. With the exception of the first one – the Alternet one – I don’t mind the articles. I should have known that such an experience would make its way on to a couple of liberal/socialist healthcare oriented agendas, but I thought my experience could be really helpful to people. The key for me was to ask and the various places I owed money to were more than willing to work with me.
For the most part they got the facts right, though the numbers differ between stories. The reality is bills of almost $22,000 were reduced to just under $5000.
Anyway, I’m famous. Wahoo.

A Year of WorkING

Today marks one year since I started at ING. A nervous recent college graduate enter the world of Corporate America, I put on my game face and began my first post-college job. A year later, I have my own cube and am not nervous. ING has been good to me; I enjoy coming to work 4 out of 5 days, I like my coworkers and I do pretty well with the assignments I have. The only part of my job I don't care for is the commute home on Thursday and Friday.
In commemoration of this event, I'm trying to set a record for the most applications configured by one person in a release - 24. This is all Greek to pretty much everyone, so suffice it to say it'll be cool if I can pull it off. Also in commemoration of 10/18, I treated myself to Wendy's. It was good.
I don't know how much longer I'll be at ING. I'm a contract employee. Apparently that means I get paid a little more, but there isn't such thing as paid time off or paid holiday or benefits. It also means on January 2nd, 2007 I will need to be commuting somewhere new; my contract is up December 31st, so yeah. Sort of nervous, the unknown and everything, but what do you do? Tomorrow is always unknown despite our best attempts.
Anyway, Happy Anniversary to me! One year as a working man who yields 1/3 of everything he makes to the government, 1/3 to my wife and the rest to bills. I'm a grown up now!

Pictures: My Nemesis

Much to my dismay, we had a team picture at work today. I’ve never been a fan at staged, set pictures. Never. A root canal minus Novocain sounds equally appealing to me. I don’t know why I’m so opposed to such things. I guess if I am supposed to look good and don’t, there isn’t the excuse like when goofing around.
I have the notoriety of ruining a picture for120+ people. Let me take us all back almost 10 years ago to a little place called Wyoming in a little town called Cheyenne. For those of you who have been failed by the government monopoly of public schools, Cheyenne is the capital of Wyoming. I was there with 120 or so male high school students as part of Boys State; no, it’s not something for delinquent youth (at least that’s not its design). A couple guys from each high school in the state are chosen to go and spend a week learning about various forms of government. They divide everyone into two ‘political’ parties and each guy has to run for some kind of public office and I chose secretary of state. At the end of the week, you go on this huge bus trip to Cheyenne and meet with your real-life counterpart.
Anyway, I won and Secretary of State was one of the big five positions (Governor, Lt. Governor, Sec. of State and two others) so in the picture take on the Capital steps, I was in front. Well, I wore a white shirt and tie while everyone else was in a dark suit. (I missed the memo) And I posed with my hands on my hips, feet shoulder width apart - Superman style - with a big, stupid smile. Needless to say 120 mothers were not happy, including mine.
Also in high school, I was a yearbook editor and our crew ruled the roost. In the 1997-98 yearbooks, there are a dozen or so ‘Where’s Waldo’ pictures with Nick, Nathan, Bryan or me (mostly Nick) in the background. It was awesome. It is awesome.

Done

Holy crap. I can't believe it. It's a little weird, to be completely honest. Off and on for the past five years I've tinkered with it and a couple months ago I made a goal to finish the rough draft by the first of October. A day late, but it is done. There's a beginning, a middle, an end and 224 pages of single-spaced Times Roman 12 point font in between. (548 pages of uneditted publisher copy.) One of my friends mentioned that's a lot. I said that was before they took out the parts that weren't any good. He said like 10 pages then. I said 1, with a big picture on it.
Yeah, it might just be plain no good. I don't know. But the rough draft is done.
Just thought you should know.

The Office life

So it’s been a while…my bad. I don’t know why, it’s not like I don’t have time to drop a post in now and again; I just didn’t have anything really burning me up, or anything that was that humorous I felt a need to share. I guess it’s sort of one of those lull’s in life, where things are just rolling along nicely.
Last night had a little Office party. The capitalized ‘O’ isn’t a typo; the party was to celebrate the new season of The Office on NBC. Big fan of the show. For those of you who’ve lived in isolation over the past year, The Office is a comedy about a midsized paper company in Scranton, PA. One of the funniest things is it is filmed as a documentary, so there are these hilarious one-on-one interviews with the very eclectic employees. It won an Emmy for Best Comedy; I do a lot of laughing at that show. It is one of the few shows that is like Seinfeld inasmuch as I can watch it over and over and over and still get a good laugh.
Anyway, the first episode of the new season arrived; I thought it was really good. My wife was depressed because two of the main characters don’t hook up like you thought they would. But it is a necessary evil so the show can go on for many, many seasons. Everyone’s favorite character is Dwight K. Shrute, a power hungry, untactful awkward man played by Rainn Wilson. The picture posted is of Dwight. Anyway, I’m gonna leave you with some of his wisdom.
“Security in this office park is a joke. Last year, I came to work with my spud gun in a duffel bag. I sat at my desk all day, with a rifle that shoots potatoes at 60 pounds per square inch. Can you imagine if I was deranged?”

Milestone

As some might know, I pretend to be a writer. In this capacity as a pretend author, I've reached a very cool and important milestone; at least to me. Today I passed the 200 page mark. If you don’t know what I’m talking about exactly, click here for the lowdown.

Anyway, I did a little Googling to try and get an idea of what my efforts would translate to if it was in actual book form, or at least what it should look like in manuscript form. Right now it’s just in MS Word default: Times Roman 12pt font, 1.25 margins. I discovered a manuscript is supposed to be in Courier New 12pt font and double spaced. This translates to about 250 words a page, which gives the editors an idea of the approximate book size should it be printed. I messed around with my document, making the changes to fit these specifications.

530. Pages

Crazy.

I’m excited.

NFL (Never Figured it Likely)

I just had one of those ‘WOW!’ moments; you know, when you see or hear something that blows your mind and makes you think about what you’ve done with your life? It’s mixed with some covetousness, an inkling of incredulousness and a smidgen of smirk. What was it that made me stop short? Here you go: Brett Keisel signed a four-year, $13.1 million contract and will be starting this year at defensive end for the Pittsburgh Steelers. And so what? I’ll tell you what: Before number 99 became a multi-millionaire – before the starting spot with Pittsburg; before the Super Bowl XL ring; before his days as a starter at BYU – Brett Keisel was the starting tight end/middle linebacker for the Greybull Buffaloes and the big man on their basketball team. And I played against him. In three meetings, our football team never lost to Keisel. The first meeting I watched from the sidelines as a freshman as our first-team won the game. As a sophomore I had my first encounter with the future NFL starter; I was starting on special teams as the wedge man on kickoff return. Keisel had broken his wrist and had a cast, but was allowed to pad it and played. On one return, I went to block him and he laid that cast upside my head; my consolation prize was that he went down after getting tangled up in my limp, momentarily unconscious body and Brandon May returned the kickoff for a touchdown, My junior year, we (Greybull and Rocky Mountain) were tied atop the Five Rivers Conference standings at 5-0 when we rolled into town to take them on. It was their homecoming. Starting now at defensive end, my job – as explained by my coach (Brett’s uncle) – was to make sure he never got clean off the line. And he didn’t. We won 48-21. A defining moment of the contest was when Joe Hatch (friend and future college roommate) knocked Brett off his feet and on his back. It was awesome. I’ve tackled, sacked, chipped, blocked, defended, made a buzzer-beater over (not for the game, just the 3rd quarter) a starting DE in the NFL. My record in six contests is 5-1 while his is 1-5; I’m batting .833, he’s batting .167; I was an active part of four state championships, he was part of one. And that means… I don’t know. Part of me wants to say that if I was as naturally athletic – with a big, muscular 6’6” frame that supports 290 pounds – I could have a Super Bowl ring. But frankly, that’s contrived and vain thinking. Getting down to the brass tacks of the matter reveals it’s all about making the most of the opportunities we’re presented with. Brett has been presented with an opportunity to make a splash on the biggest sports stage in the US; he’s taken advantage natural abilities he’s been given and is making those work for him. That’s my life lesson for the day, my moment of Zen. Am I magnifying my talents in the game of life (a cliché, I know, but very applicable here so deal with it) as Brett has his in the game of football? That’s really what I should be asking, not why he made it in spite of his follies. So props to Brett making it big-time; I’ll cheer for him on Sundays and if he does well, maybe I’ll put him as a backup on my fantasy football team. It’s cool to see a small-town guy making it in the big time. (Brett you know you’ll always fear the Grizz.)

Make your money make YOU money!

I've become very fiscally aware as of late. I bought Quicken 2006 Deluxe to track our expenditures; a co-worker gave me a copy of Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace University and several worksheets in Excel to help with creating a budget and monitoring it. I am looking to get a Roth IRA for myself and Paula both. I'm really excited about it - there's something to be said for saving up money and disciplining your spending habits. Today's world is one of instant gratification and the average person doesn't put money away for large purchases; instead, it's all about financing a purchase with no interest until 2010 and hopefully nothing bad will happen between now and then.
Anyway, I got a little preachy there. My bad.
The real reason I wanted to do a quick post is because I'm looking at getting life insurance. I don't want whole-life because it's so expensive and you get so little back, so it's going to be term. So I found a $250,000 policy that will cover me for 30 years. It is $25/mo. So I got to thinking: what if I designated $100/mo to life insurance and put the extra $75 in just my ING Orange Savings account every month for the next 30 years? The account compounds monthly. So plug this into the Financial Calculator and see what nice little fund Paula and I would have at the age of 56, supposing we have $5000 in savings to begin with: Starting: $5000; Annual Addition: $900; Years to Grow: 30; Interest Rate: 4.75; Compound annually: 12 times
Not too bad.
Now, if you grab a Roth IRA through Vanguard (10-12%), max out your contributions of $4000/yr for the next 40 years and live an additional 20 years after you retire, your annual withdrawls available during retirement will be $207,947. Yeah, and that's per year.
But if I wait 10 years to start, giving me 30 yrs till retirement, that $207,947 drops to $77,286. The moral of the story: start saving NOW!

Shout Out: The Sound

I used to do shout outs - Zach and Archie, Nathan, Papa K, Mark - but have not done any such thing for a while now. Well, here's the latest. And it's not to a person. It's to a sound.
A chorus of male voices; a symbol's crash; electric guitar rising to a sharp crescendo; a steady beat of a war drum leads the ensemble forward. It instills fear and dread into women - wives and girlfriends are especially haunted by it. Men either smile or become giddy with excitement and anticipation; those familiar only by name simply shrug. This sound has ushered in hours and hours of therapeutic male-bonding; it brings men together to compete ferociously in a controlled environment.
Arch, Zach, Nerf, Crozz, Chris, T-Boz, Bean, T-Rav, F-Rock, Butcher, Shields, Andy, Muncie, Grover, Kyle, Brandon, Greg, Travis's roommate who liked pink, Brennan, Reed, Kevin, Mitch, Bryce...and any other fella's I've fought with, laugh at, sworn at, gotten mad at and flat our worked over: For all about to defend the universe - I salute you. Play on. Play on.

And here's a bonus track.

House-sitting

Paula and I are in the midst of a 10 day house-sitting stint for a family from church. It is a bit of an upgrade from El Bajos known as Eagles Pointe, the place we call home. Being part of an interracial/multicultural marriage, I’m trying to embrace my Hispanic-in-law roots by picking the language. For those of you who don’t “Hablar Español”, El Bajos is Spanish for “The Bajos”. Seriously. Not joking.
I understand many are under the impression we live in a posh place due to the ‘e’ on the end of Eagles Pointe. The misapplied vowel can be a bit misleading; a more correct spelling to give the correct impression of our apartment complex would be Beagles Poop as opposed to Eagles Pointe, or even Eagles Point. Besides the street address, there really isn’t much difference between the apartment and the house. Well, maybe just litte:

• In the apartment is a 27” screen television from Wal-Mart featuring the 6 channels our antenna provides; in the house there are three big screen televisions which enjoy premium DirecTV service. Oh, and a regular one in the workout room.
  
• At the house, we can order a pizza from Pizza Hut and they’ll deliver whenever we want; at the apartment we cannot get the closest Pizza Hut to deliver at all. The bajos-friendly Pizza Hut 2.5 miles away won't deliver after 5pm.
  
• At the house, mail is delivered; at the apartment, the US Postal Service will no longer deliver due to the management’s failure to secure the postal boxes.
  
• Our apartment in total is the size of the master bedroom and master bathroom at the house; our kitchen is the size of one of the two walk-in closets
  
• The apartment has no personal computer so we use the work issued laptops (Oh wait, we are down to one since Paula’s was stolen in the burglary) and access the net via some neighbors wireless network; the house has four PC’s, high speed internet and wireless for the laptop.
  
• When we're hungry at the apartment, we open the fridge; at the house, we explore the three refrigerators spaced throughout and peruse the walk-in pantry.
  
• At the apartment, the ’94 Le Sabre blends in if not outdoes many of the neighbors; at the house, it’s a violation of several zoning laws and is feared by the neighbors.
  
• At the apartment I can’t hide from my wife; at the house, I could hide for days. And survive by raiding one of the three refrigerators.

These differences could be depressing, were it not for one thing about house-sitting in this luxurious neighborhood which is reminiscent of Eagles Pointe: people still look at us like we don’t belong there. It’s comforting. Really.

Iiittttt’ss been one week...

A week ago today was when I arrived home to find the door bashed in and our apartment emptied of most of our electronic devices, some earrings and a couple of gym bags. I’ve learned a lot in the past week. Here are some of them.

The initial reaction:
My temper isn't as controlled as I thought it was
The control over my language is greater than I thought it was
My lust for revenge outweighs reason

The trespassers:
Are idiots and a myriad of other names (see comments in Violated)
Don’t know good comedy (they left Seinfeld)
Shouldn’t underestimate my ability to hold a grudge

The gun:
You have to drive to Cumming, Georgia to find a place that’ll sell you one
Without a criminal record, buying a gun’s easy
Anonymous wants me to ‘PLEASE BE CAREFUL!”
My sister wants me to “hit ‘em with your best shot”
My brother’s girlfriend wants me to “fire away”

The mental aftermath:
It’s hard not to stereotype
It’s hard not to stereotype
It’s hard not to stereotype

Couple of lessons learned:
Get to know your neighbors
Replace the 2” screws in your door with 4” screws
You can’t have too many locks
You can only have so many locks

The moral lesson:
Things are just things; they can be replaced
Joy comes from people, not material goods
I need to be more like the friends I have
Don't let the actions of others determine your happiness

Paula and I are safe. We appreciate the outpouring of concern, support and help we’ve received.
Amy, Melissa, Todd, Mark, Noelle and Holly: a special, heartfelt shout for your incredible generosity and undeviating friendship. Thank you all so much. We are blessed to have you as our friends.