So it was chilly yesterday. At lunch I had to walk up to the bank and I decided to go outside and get some fresh air. Luckily I had on a sweater. The wind wasn't bad and it wasn't seriously cold, but it was brisk. Even in direct sunlight it wasn't warm.
Anyway, I'm walking along and suddenly I walked into a warm spot. It wasn't like a warm gust of wind, because there was no wind. I was in the shade, so it wasn't the sun's rays hitting me. I looked around for an open door or a vet from a building, but there was nothing. I was just standing next to some old brick building. But there I was in the warmth. It felt nice.
I decided that the weather must have very suddenly decided to get warm and so I continued walking. No sooner had I taken two steps did the warmth quickly disappear and the cold return. Being the curious person that I am I took a few steps back to see if it was just the area by that brick building that was warm. But, all I found was more cold. The warm air had vanished, so I continued my journey to the bank.
I can't explain. It was as though I was walking in the cold and the Lord said, "Good afternoon, Michael. Have some warmth to better your day." And lo there was warmth and all was good. Then a few moments later He said, "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else."
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
Sad, Sad, Sad
I just took a sports survey on-line.
For those of you who don't know, I'm not exactly "in" to sports. I like to watch X-games. I play golf about 2 to 3 times a year. I'll watch a college football game if there is nothing else on. And I'll play outside with my kids. But yeah, that's about it.
When I finished the survey the last question was this, I kid you not:
Please update you gender:
[]Male
[]Female
How...
I mean, surely I'm not the only guy.
Update my gender?
For those of you who don't know, I'm not exactly "in" to sports. I like to watch X-games. I play golf about 2 to 3 times a year. I'll watch a college football game if there is nothing else on. And I'll play outside with my kids. But yeah, that's about it.
When I finished the survey the last question was this, I kid you not:
Please update you gender:
[]Male
[]Female
How...
I mean, surely I'm not the only guy.
Update my gender?
sweaters and wrinkles
I wear sweaters to work in the winter so that I don't have to iron my shirts.
I am aware that this is very lazy. In fact, this laziness has come back to haunt me on several occasions.
Last week I looked in my closet to find a good shirt to wear to work and I saw nothing. Nothing that was clean anyway. My hamper looked like the Mt. Vesuvius of low quality dress shirts, and hanging in my closet were two sort of clean dress shirts.
The only problem was these sort-of-clean shirts were wrinkled. Terribly wrinkled. They looked some designer's bad idea that had been put on paper and then crumpled up and tossed in the floor. Then, when the designer realized that he wasn't about to think of anything better, he uncrumpled the paper and hanged it my closet.
I took the white one because it looked the cleanest of the two. I threw a blue sweater on over it to hide the wrinkles. The problem with this is that when you see a white shirt hanging in your closet all that white glaring at you will over power your eyes and you won't consider things like ring around the collar. But when you are wearing a sweater and the only part of the shirt that is showing IS the collar it basically screams to the world "I'M A GREASY MAN WHO DOESN'T WASH HIS SHIRTS AND PROBABLY DOESN'T IRON THEM EITHER!"
Today the problem is just about as bad. I'm wearing a blue shirt. The ring around the collar is absent because after that day last week I addressed the problem on all of my shirts (one of my best shirts now has a hole in the collar because I scrubbed a little too vigorously). The problem with today's shirt is 3 fold.
1. It is wrinkled as you might expect from this post.
2. This shirt is slightly too small for me. The sleeves are about an inch from my wrists. You can't really tell because I've got a sweater on, but it looks like I might be wearing the shirt of a 13 or 14 year old boy. Or perhaps a shirt that I owned when I weighed about 20 pounds less. Sadly, neither of these are the case. I can only assume I've washed this shirt too many times on HOT and now it has shrunk.
3. While it was 45 degrees when I woke up this morning, it is expected to be 71 by lunch. I have to walk a mile uphill to make a bank run at lunch. I can either take my shirt off and reveal that I am a lazy slob who probably steals clothes from un-expectant dwarfs, or I can keep my sweater on and roast my body. On the positive side if I keep the sweater on I'll put a dent in those extra 20 pounds. On the negative side I'll smell like 20 pounds of gross.
Moral: I ought to say "Iron your clothes," but I'm more tempted to say, "Check the weather before you don a sweater to hide the wrinkles in your less that fitted - less than clean shirt."
I am aware that this is very lazy. In fact, this laziness has come back to haunt me on several occasions.
Last week I looked in my closet to find a good shirt to wear to work and I saw nothing. Nothing that was clean anyway. My hamper looked like the Mt. Vesuvius of low quality dress shirts, and hanging in my closet were two sort of clean dress shirts.
The only problem was these sort-of-clean shirts were wrinkled. Terribly wrinkled. They looked some designer's bad idea that had been put on paper and then crumpled up and tossed in the floor. Then, when the designer realized that he wasn't about to think of anything better, he uncrumpled the paper and hanged it my closet.
I took the white one because it looked the cleanest of the two. I threw a blue sweater on over it to hide the wrinkles. The problem with this is that when you see a white shirt hanging in your closet all that white glaring at you will over power your eyes and you won't consider things like ring around the collar. But when you are wearing a sweater and the only part of the shirt that is showing IS the collar it basically screams to the world "I'M A GREASY MAN WHO DOESN'T WASH HIS SHIRTS AND PROBABLY DOESN'T IRON THEM EITHER!"
Today the problem is just about as bad. I'm wearing a blue shirt. The ring around the collar is absent because after that day last week I addressed the problem on all of my shirts (one of my best shirts now has a hole in the collar because I scrubbed a little too vigorously). The problem with today's shirt is 3 fold.
1. It is wrinkled as you might expect from this post.
2. This shirt is slightly too small for me. The sleeves are about an inch from my wrists. You can't really tell because I've got a sweater on, but it looks like I might be wearing the shirt of a 13 or 14 year old boy. Or perhaps a shirt that I owned when I weighed about 20 pounds less. Sadly, neither of these are the case. I can only assume I've washed this shirt too many times on HOT and now it has shrunk.
3. While it was 45 degrees when I woke up this morning, it is expected to be 71 by lunch. I have to walk a mile uphill to make a bank run at lunch. I can either take my shirt off and reveal that I am a lazy slob who probably steals clothes from un-expectant dwarfs, or I can keep my sweater on and roast my body. On the positive side if I keep the sweater on I'll put a dent in those extra 20 pounds. On the negative side I'll smell like 20 pounds of gross.
Moral: I ought to say "Iron your clothes," but I'm more tempted to say, "Check the weather before you don a sweater to hide the wrinkles in your less that fitted - less than clean shirt."
Monday, November 02, 2009
Review of Halloween
REVIEW:
Halloween this year
Eh. Not bad.
It rained in Georgia and apparently some people took that to mean that Halloween was canceled. Lazy.
Several houses in our neighborhood that were decorated last year were not this year. I confess that we did not decorate as elaborately as we normally do. But we were decorated some (see pumpkins above) and in my defense our front yard hasn't been mowed in about a month, so the yard was already sufficiently scary, with several live fire ant hills and a couple of spots where the neighbor’s dogs left a pre-Halloween trick behind.
Also we didn’t seem to have as many trick or treaters.
I know what you are thinking; we had fewer trick or treaters because of the rain. Well, no. It wasn't raining that hard. And since when have you ever known a kid that would not be willing to get a little damp if it meant they got to dress up in a costume AND get pounds of free candy? Since never, that's when.
Ok, it goes without saying that this review forgives those people who never celebrate. You have made a conscious decision throughout the ages to not have fun. That is your right, and I respect your decision to be lame. But to those of you who usually do celebrate and who opted not to this year, shame. Your poor kids must be devastated. Devastated and embarrassed. Devastated and embarrassed and without a Halloween mask to hide behind, or a sufficient amount of candy to drown the sorrows in.
In other news the crazy lady across the street from me went Super-Nuts and decorated the hell out-of/into her yard. She must have had 20 tomb stones, three or four skeletons, a lightning machine, a fog machine, spooky music, innumerable spiders and cob webs all over everything. My kids were actually afraid to go up to her front door. My daughter would only do it if I was right beside her, and my son stayed about six feet behind me. The lady had to come out of her house in the rain to give him his candy. Then she said, "I didn't think you kids were still in the neighborhood. Your momma used to come down and talk with me all of the time. She doesn't come by any more." That scared me more than all of her decorations.
When I asked Rebecca if she ever went down to talk the crazy lady's house she said, "Yeah, once. And I realized she was crazy."
Halloween this year
Eh. Not bad.
It rained in Georgia and apparently some people took that to mean that Halloween was canceled. Lazy.
Several houses in our neighborhood that were decorated last year were not this year. I confess that we did not decorate as elaborately as we normally do. But we were decorated some (see pumpkins above) and in my defense our front yard hasn't been mowed in about a month, so the yard was already sufficiently scary, with several live fire ant hills and a couple of spots where the neighbor’s dogs left a pre-Halloween trick behind.
Also we didn’t seem to have as many trick or treaters.
I know what you are thinking; we had fewer trick or treaters because of the rain. Well, no. It wasn't raining that hard. And since when have you ever known a kid that would not be willing to get a little damp if it meant they got to dress up in a costume AND get pounds of free candy? Since never, that's when.
Ok, it goes without saying that this review forgives those people who never celebrate. You have made a conscious decision throughout the ages to not have fun. That is your right, and I respect your decision to be lame. But to those of you who usually do celebrate and who opted not to this year, shame. Your poor kids must be devastated. Devastated and embarrassed. Devastated and embarrassed and without a Halloween mask to hide behind, or a sufficient amount of candy to drown the sorrows in.
In other news the crazy lady across the street from me went Super-Nuts and decorated the hell out-of/into her yard. She must have had 20 tomb stones, three or four skeletons, a lightning machine, a fog machine, spooky music, innumerable spiders and cob webs all over everything. My kids were actually afraid to go up to her front door. My daughter would only do it if I was right beside her, and my son stayed about six feet behind me. The lady had to come out of her house in the rain to give him his candy. Then she said, "I didn't think you kids were still in the neighborhood. Your momma used to come down and talk with me all of the time. She doesn't come by any more." That scared me more than all of her decorations.
When I asked Rebecca if she ever went down to talk the crazy lady's house she said, "Yeah, once. And I realized she was crazy."
Friday, October 23, 2009
Toys
I try to be hip when it comes to the toys my kids like to play with. I like to think that I know all or most of the names of their favorite characters and that I can tell them apart. But no matter how hard you try you can never win.
My son has two Boba Fett action figures from Star Wars. They are all but identical, except perhaps that one has red gauntlets and the other has gray. The other night my son asked to take 3 toys to bed with him; Boba Fett and two Obi Wan Kenobi figures (that really are identical). So I scrounged around and I found the Obi Wans and a Boba Fett. I tossed them in his bed while he was taking a bath and then I went to his sister's room to read her a bed time story.
Later that night I was told by my wife that I had gotten the wrong figures. "Really?" I said. "I thought I had gotten what he wanted."
"No," said my wife. "You gave him the wrong Boba Fett. I had to dig around for ten minutes in his toy box to find the correct one."
"Well how on earth was I supposed to know it was the wrong one?"
"That's what I said," she said. "I finally found the other Boba Fett and when I held them up side by side they looked the same to me. So I asked him, 'Cole, how are these guys any different?' And Cole held up the one I had just found and said, 'This one is undefeated.'"
So there you go. You might know the names of your kids toys, but only your kids know what they are capable of.
My son has two Boba Fett action figures from Star Wars. They are all but identical, except perhaps that one has red gauntlets and the other has gray. The other night my son asked to take 3 toys to bed with him; Boba Fett and two Obi Wan Kenobi figures (that really are identical). So I scrounged around and I found the Obi Wans and a Boba Fett. I tossed them in his bed while he was taking a bath and then I went to his sister's room to read her a bed time story.
Later that night I was told by my wife that I had gotten the wrong figures. "Really?" I said. "I thought I had gotten what he wanted."
"No," said my wife. "You gave him the wrong Boba Fett. I had to dig around for ten minutes in his toy box to find the correct one."
"Well how on earth was I supposed to know it was the wrong one?"
"That's what I said," she said. "I finally found the other Boba Fett and when I held them up side by side they looked the same to me. So I asked him, 'Cole, how are these guys any different?' And Cole held up the one I had just found and said, 'This one is undefeated.'"
So there you go. You might know the names of your kids toys, but only your kids know what they are capable of.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Fortune Cookie
So I had some sushi, which I love, and I got a fortune, with which I have a love hate relationship. I don't have a love hate relationship with these fortunes because sometimes they are bad. I have a love hate relationship with them because sometimes they are good. Very good even. But they never come true.
This past week, however, I opened my cookie and found a fortune that should never be given to someone who is slightly paranoid. My fortune read:
The truth will be revealed to you in time.
Well, dammit. That fortune says so much, without actually saying anything. Quite literally it says that the truth will be revealed to me in time. But what does that really mean? To a paranoid person it means that someone is lying to me. Some truth is being hidden from me!
And what does it mean by "in time?" Is it even possible to reveal something out of time? Can something be out of time? Not in the sense that there was a time deadline and it passed. Can something be separated from time? I don't think it can.
So basically all the fortune told me that there is a lingering lie (perhaps more than one) out there of which I am not aware.
There is a vague notion of hope that this truth will be revealed to me eventually, but there is no guarantee that it will be in my lifetime. I can see, in the future, my casket being lowered into the ground with my wife and kids standing next to the hole. "I was always disappointed in you," my wife would say. "I didn't think you were funny," my daughter would chime in. And my son would finish with, "It wasn't the cat that pooped on your pillow."
Or maybe I'll just get to heaven and find out. I'll be walking along some peaceful river and I'll meet God fishing on its bank. "Hey God," I would call out. "Hello, Michael," he would say pleasantly, waiting for a bite on his line. "You know, God," I would say, "I want to apologize for never reaching my full potential in life." "Oh it isn't your fault," he would say, "I didn't want you to succeed. I never really liked you."
I don't suppose it would do any good to contact the fortune cookie company and ask them for some specifics.
This past week, however, I opened my cookie and found a fortune that should never be given to someone who is slightly paranoid. My fortune read:
The truth will be revealed to you in time.
Well, dammit. That fortune says so much, without actually saying anything. Quite literally it says that the truth will be revealed to me in time. But what does that really mean? To a paranoid person it means that someone is lying to me. Some truth is being hidden from me!
And what does it mean by "in time?" Is it even possible to reveal something out of time? Can something be out of time? Not in the sense that there was a time deadline and it passed. Can something be separated from time? I don't think it can.
So basically all the fortune told me that there is a lingering lie (perhaps more than one) out there of which I am not aware.
There is a vague notion of hope that this truth will be revealed to me eventually, but there is no guarantee that it will be in my lifetime. I can see, in the future, my casket being lowered into the ground with my wife and kids standing next to the hole. "I was always disappointed in you," my wife would say. "I didn't think you were funny," my daughter would chime in. And my son would finish with, "It wasn't the cat that pooped on your pillow."
Or maybe I'll just get to heaven and find out. I'll be walking along some peaceful river and I'll meet God fishing on its bank. "Hey God," I would call out. "Hello, Michael," he would say pleasantly, waiting for a bite on his line. "You know, God," I would say, "I want to apologize for never reaching my full potential in life." "Oh it isn't your fault," he would say, "I didn't want you to succeed. I never really liked you."
I don't suppose it would do any good to contact the fortune cookie company and ask them for some specifics.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Paranoia
I know that it’s probably just paranoia, but I always get suspicious when a car starts up right as I’m walking out of my building. Though I leave my office at an unconventional time I am certain that there must be ten or twenty other people who leave on or about the same time as I. Surely one of these could have made it to their car to ignite the engine just as I was stepping outside.
The fact that I frequently have to jump out of the path of cars careening in my direction is more a testament to the growing number of drivers sending text messages than it is a sign that someone is trying to hurt me. Right?
And when I’m running to my car – which I do most days as my mind has escaped the bonds of reason and can rarely be dissuaded from the ludicrous notions that I am in grave danger – it is pure coincidence that I hear bullets whizzing by my ears and ricocheting on the ground in front of me. No doubt they are not even bullets I hear, but swiftly moving birds or perhaps gravel kicked up by a passing bus. Those innocent bystanders who fall in a bloody heap are probably succumbing to the same psychological powers of suggestion that have caused my mind to loosen its grip on reality.
So, there’s nothing to worry about, right? This is normal and happens to all of you, dear readers, as well, yes?
The fact that I frequently have to jump out of the path of cars careening in my direction is more a testament to the growing number of drivers sending text messages than it is a sign that someone is trying to hurt me. Right?
And when I’m running to my car – which I do most days as my mind has escaped the bonds of reason and can rarely be dissuaded from the ludicrous notions that I am in grave danger – it is pure coincidence that I hear bullets whizzing by my ears and ricocheting on the ground in front of me. No doubt they are not even bullets I hear, but swiftly moving birds or perhaps gravel kicked up by a passing bus. Those innocent bystanders who fall in a bloody heap are probably succumbing to the same psychological powers of suggestion that have caused my mind to loosen its grip on reality.
So, there’s nothing to worry about, right? This is normal and happens to all of you, dear readers, as well, yes?
Friday, October 02, 2009
Same old, same old/and a Review
I checked again...
I'm still not magic.
I'm convinced that there should be magic in the world, but that some time in the past some jackass ruined everything somehow. Did s/he absorb all of the magic and then fade into oblivion? Did s/he banish all magic to another dimension?
I don't know.
All I know is that I'm pretty certain I should be able to throw fire, but I can't. I've held my hands in just about every way you can think of. I've said every word for fire I can imagine. I've done summoning poses like Moses parting the sea. I've don't fancy wind-ups like professional baseball pitchers. I've even tried flicking fire like a Frisbee. Nothing. Not even smoke.
My kids are disappointed too. They haven't said so, but I can tell. I don't even think they are aware that I am a magical failure. But to date I have performed no feet more spectacular than juggling, winning Mario Galaxy and being immune to all their attempts to tickle me. Granted, these three accomplishments fascinate them beyond belief, but I suspect they are anxious for me to take my magic to the next level and I cannot.
I should be able to throw fireballs. Or at least make the cat box clean itself. But to date the most magical thing I can do is yell, "STOP BOUNCING ON THE COUCH" from another room. "How did you know we were on the couch? We can't get away with anything!"
This is only magic to a 6 year old.
REVIEW
THIS MAGICLESS WORLD:
sigh - less than enchanting
As soon as I find out where the magic cork is I'm removing it. Then I'll be able to throw some serious fireballs.
I bet I could get a job in the circus juggling fireballs. Can you juggle a fireball that you've created? If it comes out of one hand, will it burn the other? I'll let you know.
I'm still not magic.
I'm convinced that there should be magic in the world, but that some time in the past some jackass ruined everything somehow. Did s/he absorb all of the magic and then fade into oblivion? Did s/he banish all magic to another dimension?
I don't know.
All I know is that I'm pretty certain I should be able to throw fire, but I can't. I've held my hands in just about every way you can think of. I've said every word for fire I can imagine. I've done summoning poses like Moses parting the sea. I've don't fancy wind-ups like professional baseball pitchers. I've even tried flicking fire like a Frisbee. Nothing. Not even smoke.
My kids are disappointed too. They haven't said so, but I can tell. I don't even think they are aware that I am a magical failure. But to date I have performed no feet more spectacular than juggling, winning Mario Galaxy and being immune to all their attempts to tickle me. Granted, these three accomplishments fascinate them beyond belief, but I suspect they are anxious for me to take my magic to the next level and I cannot.
I should be able to throw fireballs. Or at least make the cat box clean itself. But to date the most magical thing I can do is yell, "STOP BOUNCING ON THE COUCH" from another room. "How did you know we were on the couch? We can't get away with anything!"
This is only magic to a 6 year old.
REVIEW
THIS MAGICLESS WORLD:
sigh - less than enchanting
As soon as I find out where the magic cork is I'm removing it. Then I'll be able to throw some serious fireballs.
I bet I could get a job in the circus juggling fireballs. Can you juggle a fireball that you've created? If it comes out of one hand, will it burn the other? I'll let you know.
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