Nothing New, Nothing Original

Christmas has been written about literally since the beginning of time.  The imagery and allegory surrounding the Saviors birth have been described in countless writings.  The story has been told from the perspective of kings, shepherds, angels, animals, trees and even Whos.  What more could possibly be written of that great event?

Well, it's never been written about from my perspective.  Of course, I'm not exactly sure what my perspective might have been.  Was I in the heavenly choirs?  I don't think so.  Judging by my voice now, the veil would have to be made of some kind of cosmic titanium cement in order to so effectively muffle that sort of talent.  I'm pretty sure I wasn't with the angelic messengers either.  Statistically speaking, it's highly improbable.

I'm guessing that I was probably worrying about all the little stuff that was going on and missing the bigger picture.  That's typical of me.  I can't just enjoy the moment.  I have to scrutinize every last detail and try to find obscure resolutions to all the insignificant events.  It's quite likely that I created at least one spreadsheet during the whole sequence of events.  Spreadsheets, after all, are the staff of analytical life.

Instead of marveling at the humble circumstances of the stable, I was probably doing some quick figures to see just how many more hotel franchises were necessary in order to accommodate the sudden influx of travelers.  I'm sure that, instead of relishing in the symbolism of the lowly shepherds being the first to visit the manger scene, I was probably worried about what was happening to their sheep while they were gone.  When the star was shining in the east, I was probably thinking about the west.  Mostly because I prefer the west.

More than likely, I was just one of the countless masses who were gathered to experience the singular events that were about to take place.  Nothing spectacular, just one of the crowd.  But I was one.  So were you.  We were there, watching.

So I guess my perspective is that I am just one of many, many others who still  marvel at such an extraordinary event.  But I am one.  He knows me and He knows you.  And that's a mighty comforting perspective.

Merry Christmas!

Do You Take Cream?

I'm sure we've all been stuck in a refrigerator at one time or another in our lives.  For me, that time came when I was probably around 6 or 7 years old.  I had a very good reason for getting into the fridge, but my plans took a serious turn for the worse when I failed to properly communicate my sound logic to the nearest responsible adult.

It all started with a cow.  I've never had much use for livestock.  I prefer mine medium to medium well.  But this particular cow was a lovely holstein named Daisy, who gave enough milk to keep us and at least two other families well mustached.  Every day, after we milked the cow, mom would put the milk in a refrigerator out in the garage.  I use the term "we milked" very loosely.  I usually just watched.  After the milk and cream had separated, mom would go out and skim off the cream.  I liked to accompany her while doing this, again, just to watch, because it looked cool as she carefully spooned the cream from the top of the milk.  Simple minds, simple pleasures.

As an aside, and this has nothing to do with the story, she used to take some of the cream and pour it over some freshly picked raspberries.  Add a little sugar and you have one of my fondest childhood memories.  Okay, back to the story.

This one particular day, she was skimming cream and I was less interested in her work than normal. So I thought up a game, all by myself I might add.  The idea was that I would climb into the fridge, shut the door and then after a few minutes, mom would open the door and let me out.  I know, this astounding creativity truly foreshadowed a mind destined for greatness.

I carefully explained my plans to mom, climbed inside, and shut the door.  In case you've never skimmed cream, or seen it done, it requires total concentration and a steady hand to make sure that you don't scoop up any milk or leave too much cream.  My mom was good at it.  So good, in fact, that she could shut out any interruptions, including the carefully planned out strategies of her youngest prodigy.  In her defense, who really ever thinks that their child is in danger of getting trapped inside a refrigerator?  I'm pretty sure it's not something that most parents ever take a second thought about.

I have to explain here that this was an older fridge.  Apparently back in the early days of refrigerators, folks were quite concerned about their food escaping so they installed latches on the doors.  Since there is no door handle on the inside of a refrigerator, of course you can see what an alarming safety hazard this could be.

There I was, shivering inside the fridge and anxiously awaiting the moment when the door would pop open and I would triumphantly climb out and greet my cheering fans.  Waiting... still waiting... Okay, now I was getting a little concerned.  I don't remember how long I was in there, but it must have been at least two and a half, or three minutes.  Long enough for me to fully comprehend some deep flaws in my otherwise foolproof plan.

Luckily I was a chatterbox as a child and so my mom, upon returning to the house, instantly noticed the relative peace and quiet.  Like most parents, she was deeply concerned when there was peace and quiet in the house.  Peace and quiet when you have children is sort of like having that extra dessert.  It's seems so nice at the time, but there are unseen consequences that won't be fun to fix.

Needless to say, since I am writing about it nearly three decades later, mom quickly found me and set me free.  It makes me wonder if the fridge was typically the first place she checked when she was looking for me.  Although, to this day, it's a safe bet that if you don't know where I'm at, check the fridge.  As my wife can attest.

Well, there you have it.  Your typical harrowing experience of cheating death from being trapped in the fridge.  It just goes to show that no matter how well thought out your plans are, it's probably best not to climb into the fridge.  Words to live by.

Problem Solved

I've got it!  Talk about killing multiple birds with one stone, I have an idea that is far reaching and multifaceted.  Let's outline some of todays greatest challenges:

- cheap alternative energy
- health care
- high unemployment

They all have the same answer.  Exercise!!!

Are you with me?  Let me explain.

We have an exercise machine known as an elliptical.  You've probably seen one, its like a cross between a stationary bike and a stair climber.  Today I was somewhat considering the possibility of thinking about maybe deciding to make a goal of climbing on it and trying to get some exercise.

Then the idea hit me.  All three times I've used the elliptical I've been fascinated that it measures the wattage that I'm generating with my workout.  Just now I got on and I was putting out a full 500 watts.

Now do you see where I'm going?  We've got a lot of people out of work right now...

Just think about it.  Renewable energy, healthier people, new jobs.  It's the ultimate cure-all.

Who's with me?  I can see it now.  We'll put an exercise place next to every sub-station and everyone will have to take their turn in it, just like jury duty.  Let's just call it an energy tax.

If I Could Only Remember the Color of That Yellowbrick Road

I am not always right.  In the past I've said this, but I'm not sure I've always believed it.  Sometimes I think I was just playing along to make everyone else feel good.  Deep down, I've always been pretty secure that my judgment was without reproach.

That is until recently when it occurred to me that I am truly not perfect, nor have I ever been.  Talk about a shocker!  I do stupid things.  Things that any sane person would have to shake their head at in disbelief.  What's more is that, even when my opinion has merit, somebody else might have an equally viable approach that seemingly contradicts me. 

I've always judged my perfection status on how well things are going in my life.  My life is pretty good.  I've got a wonderful wife, great kids and we've got what we need to live.  So one could only assume that my decisions have been spot on.  Turns out I can't take any more credit for how my life has turned out than I can for the autumn leaves changing colors.  The real kicker is that my life has turned out well almost in spite of some of my past choices rather than because of them.

As you can imagine, this new found self-awareness has been more than a little disconcerting.  I find myself second guessing everything I do, and then I second guess my second guesses.  I suppose that would be called tertiary guessing, or would it be quaternary, or maybe I should just call it poly-guessing?  Oh, who knows what is right?

You see, now that I know for sure that I'm not always right, I'm not sure if I should keep on going as before, making stupid mistakes, that I believe to be correct, and hoping that things will continue to turn out well.  Or, am I now obligated to making no more mistakes and, if I'm ever wrong again, facing the fact that irreparable harm has been done to my future?

It seems like the more I think something is right, the more I'm sure that I must be completely out of my mind.  This is the dilemma that doesn't end but instead it perpetually regenerates itself.  I am truly at a loss with this one.  I can't continue forward because I will certainly make the same stupid mistakes that I have made in the past.  I might even make some entirely new mistakes and add a whole new dimension to my imperfection.   

There really is no moral to this story.  I can't draw any conclusions or wrap up my thoughts into a neat little package of polished enlightenment.  Sorry to disappoint.

I suppose I could give the old stand-by responses of "keep trying" and "never give up."  Those sound good in theory, but in practice, well, they kind of make me want to find the happiest person I can see and break an egg over their head.  Serves them right.

What I really need is a set of specifications to follow.  Clearly worded and not in the least bit vague.  The problem is that I could never write them for myself, for obvious reasons that I have already explained.  But I can write them for everyone else because, even though I'm not always right about my own life, I can tell you that if the world worked the way I think it should then everyone would be much better off.

So here are just a few rules to live by, and as always, no charge.

1 - If possible, choose the graveled over the paved road.  You may not get to your destination as fast but, in the event of an unexpected blizzard, you'll have better traction.  Anyone who lives in Idaho can tell you that, on any day of the year, blizzard conditions could be only moments away.

2 - To my knowledge, nobody has ever actually died from yellow snow, but that is no reason to test your luck just because you're not quite sure it's the real thing.

3 - Toilet seat ... down!  It's just not worth the convenience, no matter how long you've been holding it.

4 - Pick the diesel truck every time.  I'm sorry, but that is truly the way an engine is supposed to sound.

5 - A 12oz RibEye with no sauce and nothing for dessert, definitely qualifies as a lowfat meal.  Live it up!

In Their Own Special Way

How do you give thanks?  What does it really mean to give thanks?  I can give a person a dollar or an ice cream cone but it escapes me how I can give someone a thing that I can't see, feel or smell.   Rarely do I give things that can only be smelled, and usually it's on accident.

There is something about giving thanks that defies all logic.  On my birthday, for example, I receive gifts.  My response to receiving these tangible items is two words, "thank you."  I am a cheapskate but this takes it to an extreme!  The crazy thing is that those two words seem to do the trick, and not just for me.  It seems to be somewhat universal.

The whole thing just doesn't make sense.  How can a gift giver be satisfied with a simple phrase expressing gratitude?  It's human nature to want something in return, yet most people are more content with a simple acknowledgment of the gift and a word or two of sincere appreciation from the receiver.

It seems that there must be something deep down inside each one of us that triggers our most complete joy when those around us are thriving.  Indeed, there is something a little more shallow within us that wants to thrive just a little bit more than everyone else, but that joy is fleeting.  Maybe when we get a "thank you" from someone it triggers the deeper joy because we had some small part in improving the well being of another.

So here we are at Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday of the year by the way.  Probably because it involves engorging myself with a weeks worth of outstanding cuisine in one afternoon.  Yes, I like Thanksgiving  even more than Christmas, and, what's more, I have a grown-up reason for liking it better.   I think it's because, in my opinion, Thanksgiving still celebrates what Christmas is supposed to be all about.  Saying thank you for a Gift, and giving in return, the truest sense of joy to the Giver.

It's good to be thankful and it's nice to be thanked every once in a while, even though it defies all logic and goes against human nature.  I suppose, as they say in the Hoky Poky, "that's what it's all about."

Is There a Doctor in the House?

We were probably the last family in the industrialized world to finally buy a microwave.  I remember that Christmas fondly.  You see, up until then we had still been heating our food like the cavemen did, in the oven!  I think that's why I started to like cold fried chicken.  Who has the patience to wait that long for leftovers to heat up?

I remember one time when Mom had reheated something for me in the oven.  I don't recall now what it was but I'm sure it was good.  I was anxious to dig in and she knew it, so she warned me that the plate was still very hot and not to touch it.  As if I hadn't just seen her removing the plate from the red hot oven.  So I gave her some kind of indignant response like "duh, of course I won't touch it."  However, for some mysterious reason, even as the words were leaving my lips, I reached out and grabbed the plate to slide it towards me and freakish pain instantly shot through my fingers.

I replayed the event in my mind trying to determine exactly what had gone wrong.  Why had I grabbed the plate even when I knew very well that it was roughly the same temperature as the surface of the sun?  Mom's reaction was a mixture of concern, anger and amusement.  Of course my sister was rolling on the floor.  I have to admit that I laughed a little bit too, between each shot of searing pain.  That might have been the moment that my parents finally decided it was time to get the microwave.  My ineptitude had convinced them that they needed to take action, and soon.

Unfortunately, grabbing hot plates wasn't my only flaw.  We lived quite far away from the city.  In fact we lived a great distance from pretty much everything.  There were people who lived in more secluded areas than we did, but they only left they're homes during certain phases of the moon.  Anyway, it was in a time and place that we didn't worry about locking our doors.  So when the door lock broke we didn't really hurry to fix it.  That is until it was discovered that I had a sleep walking problem.

When I would sleep walk, it wasn't like you see in cartoons with my eyes closed and my hands held out in front of me, wandering aimlessly.  No, I would carry out complex and often bizarre tasks.  On one such occasion I got out of bed and carried my shoes out into the living room, where my parents were still awake.  I carefully placed the shoes in the middle of the room and, having completed my work, returned to bed.  Of course I don't remember doing any of this.  It was all related to me the next morning.

So, with the door unlocked, there was a fear that I would get up in the middle of the night and wander out of the house and possibly out onto the road.  I can't imagine why I would have needed to put my shoes on the road but obviously somewhere in my subconscious was a flare for the eccentric.  The solution was to insert a butter knife into a crack in the door frame with the knife handle barring the door from opening, like an old fashioned door latch.  Apparently it worked, I never wandered out of the house in my sleep.  Although, it did pose a problem on several mornings when I was running out the door to catch the school bus.  I suppose that's why they used a butter knife instead of a steak knife.

I seemed to have a knack for finding danger in the safest of situations.  My first broken bone, for example, happened during band class.  Not marching band, just band.  I was approximately 4 feet, 7 inches tall in the 7th grade, so naturally I played the trombone.  That didn't have anything to do with my injury though.  There is an unwritten, universal rule that says there should not be bleacher risers in a band room when there is a substitute teacher.  Needless to say, I broke my foot.  Well, three toes to be more precise.

I can't really explain why, but it seemed like a terrific idea to run full speed and jump off the risers into the wall directly behind them.  After the first attempt, my foot started to hurt a little bit.  So of course I did it again.  I'm not exactly sure at what point my toes were actually broken.  It might have been upon impacting the wall, or when I landed with my foot wedged between the wall and the floor.  Or it might have been when my concerned friends ripped my unlaced shoes from my feet and began delightedly wiggling my toes asking, "is this one broken?", as I screamed in agony.  It was probably their heroics that saved me from a whole summer of moving sprinkler pipe.

It's strange to think back on all these things.  At the time I never would have considered myself an accident prone person.  Apparently I didn't know myself as well as I thought I did. 

Although it didn't solve everything, at least once we got the microwave I didn't have to worry as much about hot plates.  However, I seem to have passed my dangerous eccentricity to my son who recently kindled a fire in our microwave with some macaroni noodles because he neglected to add water.  For his safety we'll definitely have to discourage him from band and persuade him to take up something safer, like rugby.

Myriads of Nothing

What do you see when you close your eyes?  If you tend to be a smart mouth, like me, then you just answered "nothing" and, like me, you would be wrong.  (It takes a rare kind of honesty to admit that you've just answered your own question incorrectly.)  It's impossible to see 'nothing' because if you are seeing 'something' and calling it 'nothing' then it obviously isn't 'nothing', is it?

The word "nothing" is probably one of the most inappropriately used words out there.  Second only to myriad.  For the record myriad is an adjective, not a noun.  You don't have a myriad of something, rather you have myriad somethings.  Unfortunately the dictionary writers are more interested in catering to public opinion than in preserving language and therefore they have decided that 'myriad' can be used in whatever way is convenient.  Noun, adverb, adjective, preposition, conjunction... it really doesn't matter!  I don't know why it bothers me so much, we all have our pet peeves right?

What were we talking about again?  Oh yeah, nothing.  If you think about it the right way, which is my way, then it becomes obvious that there is no such thing as nothing.  It's sort of like tomorrow, as soon as it comes it's called today, so tomorrow doesn't really exist either.

So when somebody asks what you are doing and you reply "nothing" then you are lying unabashedly to them because in the very act of replying you are most definitely doing something.  The proper, and most honest response would be that you are currently replying to their unsolicited query into your present actions.  That should stop the conversation dead in its tracks.

Here's another example.  Let's say you have just finished drinking a cup of your favorite beverage and someone asks "hey, what's in that cup?"  You might reply, "nothing."  Again, not true.  The correct response would be that there are a few drops of beverage, a little saliva and a mixture of Oxygen, Carbon Dioxide, Nitrogen and a few other trace elements.  Clearly not 'nothing'!

If you need more examples I've got them.  My head is jam packed full of examples about nothing.  In fact, nothing is what I think about for most of the day.  I've tried hard to do nothing in the past, but I always end up doing something instead.  In fact I'm trying to do nothing at this very moment... it's still not working.

Like UFO's and Puff the Magic Dragon sightings, documented instances of nothing happening are very few and of dubious origin.  However, I recently heard a publicized report of a documented nothing occurrence which has shaken my convictions about the existence of nothing.  An inexplicable non-event that has been widely recognized and seems to prove that 'nothing' may in fact exist.  Even in the act of describing the phenomenon, it can still logically be described as 'nothing'.

So, what was this non-happening?  Believe it or not, it involves none other than the President of these United States.  Apparently, according to trusted sources, he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for doing... you guessed it... absolutely nothing!  I can't explain it, but there it is.  Seemingly irrefutable proof that nothing exists.  Just saying that is a little disconcerting.

I still hold that in most cases nothing is used improperly.  However, when the President does nothing, it can apparently have a significant impact on our lives and peace.  So, hopefully he will keep on doing nothing in the world so that we can all have peace.

Well, I have nothing else to say, which is this:  My myriad went myriadingly along the myriad path until he came to an intersection with myriad directions, so he myriad the myriad all the way home.  Wow, that was liberating like nothing else!

Not With a Bang, but a Whimper

I understand that the year 2012 is going to be the end of the world.  We know this because that's when the Mayan calendar ends.  If I'm not mistaken, our own calendar ends on December 31, this year!  Not to stir up a panic but shouldn't somebody be looking into this, or at least trying to sell the movie rights?

Come to think of it, though, our calendar ended on December 31 last year too and the world didn't end, we just got Change.  Maybe that's all 2012 will bring as well.  Boy, wouldn't that be a relief!

Just for arguments sake, let's say that 2012 doesn't simply bring change, but indeed the end of the world.  I think we can all agree that the end of the world could be devastating to earths fragile ecosystem.  I'm no expert in biodiversity, few actually are, but I would venture to guess that all life coming to an abrupt end is not in our best interest.

Sure, some may argue that the end of the world is just another cycle in the eons of time.  I hear the same thing about global warming too.  They say it's just weather cycles and that humans couldn't be causing global climate change.  Hogwash!  I go outside everyday and I've felt the warming.  Particularly between the hours of 6 AM to 5 PM.  It's scary!  I've started wearing a coat around to insulate me from the effects of the changing climate because the anxiety is messing with my mind to the point that it actually feels colder!

Coincidentally, the solution to preventing the end of the world is similar to stopping global climate change.  It's the "fight fire with fire" approach.  Before the world ends we must do everything we can to destroy the human race.  If there are no humans, then there will be nobody to document the ending of the world and, therefore, it won't happen.  Likewise, if there are no humans then nobody will be bothered by the rising oceans and sub-tropical weather in the Tundra. 

Now I know this approach won't be popular, but most conservation groups agree that this is the elephant in the room that nobody wants to acknowledge.  Regardless, it comes to this, we must either destroy our lives or face inevitable destruction.  I know it sounds morbid, but studies show (I just conducted two scientific surveys of everyone sitting in my chair and the results were unanimous) that there is far more satisfaction in destroying our own quality of life than in taking the chance of something else destroying it for us.

However, there has recently been some promising news from the moon.  Apparently the surface of the moon is able to absorb incredible amounts of energy without even so much as a poof of smoke.  It was widely documented recently on television when millions watched in anticipation and delight as we slammed a missile into the moon at twice the speed of Superman.  The stunned faces and inaudible cheers told the story that the fruit of countless man hours and millions of dollars was ... nothing!  Miraculous!

So, before the world ends, my suggestion is that we all go to the moon, because nothing happens there and that is exactly the kind of life we all want.  Obviously I am anxious to stake my property in the best crater, however, there are many who have been working tirelessly to forewarn us about the disastrous effects of our past prosperity.  I should be a gentleman.  Therefore, to all those who's hearts have bled over dwindling  polar ice caps, please be my guest and take the first available renewable energy powered vessel to the moon!

My Tree of Life

When I think about my life I try to imagine it as a mosaic made up of many different characteristics, each with a different personality and purpose.  I try to imagine my mosaic forming a picture, maybe a professional athlete or a logger.  I mean, who doesn't want to be a logger?

Oddly enough, though, my mosaic ends up looking less like a logger and more like a tree.  I can't explain it but I can tell you one thing, I've never been so grateful for the spotted owl.  

In my case, my tree starts from hope.  I think most peoples' trees start with hope but sometimes they try to replace hope with something like ambition or desire.  While those can be good, I'm not sure they offer enough strength to make it through all that life can bring.  Hope is the best for me anyway.

The best parts of my life are derived from hope.  I'll try to explain it but please remember that I'm a very simple person and therefore I don't really have the right words to describe the tree that I imagine in my mind.  That being said, I'll do my best to do it justice.

Hope gave me adventure.  From adventure I have gained the ability to imagine entirely different worlds and to see this world, not as it is, but as it can be.  Like most adventures, mine is unpredictable and often hard to understand in the moment.  Only when looking back can I fully grasp the incredible experiences and knowledge  I have gained from adventure.  Adventure gives my tree variety and originality.  I am always proud to go along with the adventure that has come to me.

Hope gave me courage.  When I imagine all of the wonderful things in life that I may never be able to experience, courage shows me that nothing is impossible.  Going through life is confusing and everything I do seems to only make things more difficult.  Although my best efforts are never enough and misunderstanding hampers the way, courage moves me forward and makes me do my best anyway.  Courage can make it through the darkest times where nothing makes sense and desperately grasping for safety appears to others as defiance and ingratitude.  Yet after the trials, courage makes you forget the hard times and cherish the blessings that are gained.

Hope gave me joy.  Joy is the heart of all good things.  There is no unhappiness that joy can't overcome and even when negativity fills my thoughts I can always remember my joy.  Joy makes me want to be a better person and look for the good in everyone and everything.  Joy is a kindred spirit to hope and they often go hand in hand.  I am thrilled when an expression of my joy can bring happiness to others, although I'm often reluctant to share. 

Anything is possible when adventure, courage and joy go together.  Like a great paradox, they bring me stress and peace, anxiety and exhilaration.  Adventure usually leads the way, with courage and joy following closely behind.  Although, sometimes it seems that they are all going in different directions.  Adventure takes me to the brink of my sanity, courage runs away and joy fades into gloom.  But they are all guided by the same hope and we all manage to come together at the end of the day.

I wake up every morning with hope, and hope calls to me throughout the day, to beckon me onward and give me strength.  Every day ends with hope and I look forward to the next day being even better than the last.  I can't imagine it any other way.  They say that "hope springs eternal."  Well, I don't really know what that means.  I do know, however, that I look forward to the eternities with hope.

My hope, adventure, courage and joy make my life wonderful.   That is adventure spelled with an 'S', courage spelled with a 'J', joy spelled with an 'E' and, of course, hope spelled with an 'M'.  I'm sure I haven't described them the way I picture them in my mind but maybe you are lucky enough to have your own tree that you can envision.  Maybe you have grafted a part into your tree that wouldn't have normally been there.  Once the branch takes hold, it's all the same tree.

Or, then again, maybe you imagine your life's mosaic as a logger. In which case I'm sorry, I just don't have a good analogy for that.

What's that? ... Speak up!

The other day I was talking to myself and we finally figured out why I have such a difficult time alternating between speaking and writing.  Unfortunately I was talking my way through the question and therefore can't write a word about it.

I seem to have a disconnect between my thoughts and my mouth.  Even when the words do come out right I don't put the proper inflection in my voice to convey my feelings.  A few weeks ago I was "teaching" a class of eight year olds at church.  My wife usually teaches them but she wasn't feeling well that Sunday so she stayed home.  We never figured out what was wrong with her but it must have been terrible because she had fever of 115 degrees and she was so pale that it looked like she had just rubbed baby powder all over her face.  No kidding!  Just like baby powder.  Fortunately she was feeling better soon after I left and had no more problems for the rest of the day.

So I'm sitting in this class thinking I've got things under control.  The kids are sitting relatively quietly and I'm humming through the lesson, methodically hitting all the points of doctrine that were suggested in the lesson plan.

Finally one boy raises his hand, and as I prepare to answer his question I'm thinking, how good it feels to plant the seeds of thought in the minds of these children.  So the kid looks at me and says, "you need to speak with more enthusiasm, you're too boring."  He then proceeded to demonstrate how to speak enthusiastically by dancing around the room, snapping his fingers over his head, and repeating the last few words I had just said.

At the same time three other kids, who I thought were quietly listening to the lesson, suddenly snorted in unison as they awoke from a semi-hypnotic stupor.  Which, by the way, I would dearly love to learn how to do on purpose.

So I asked my vociferous young friend if he would like to help with the rest of the lesson.  He agreed and for the rest of the time I would say a few words and then he would translate them into a semi-accurate, but much more exciting version of what I had just said.  I'm sure some odd questions were asked over the dinner table that evening.  Even I had to take a few minutes to ponder what had been said.

I remember taking a class in college where we had to read a statement and then we were tutored on  how to make it sound more interesting.  I know some people are tone-deaf when it comes to music but I think I am emphasis-deaf when it comes to speaking.  I would read the words and then the tutor would say them in a way that apparently sounded more interesting.  To me it could have been a recording of how I had just said it.  I couldn't hear any difference.

I don't even speak in monotone, it's more like void-of-tone.  Maybe that's why it is easier for me to write my feelings.  I can write the words down and then it's up to the reader to apply the proper tone.  (Does anybody else smell coconut?)  So if you are reading this and you like the way it sounds, then pat yourself on the back, you are an exciting reader.  However, if you are, at this moment, thinking of old gym shorts that you would rather be smelling than reading any further, then I know of a talented eight year old who just might be able to help you out.

Can You Dig It?

Back when I was nine or ten years old I would often dig holes just for the sake of digging.  I would search out an unsuspecting piece of ground and when a satisfactory spot was located I would plunge in my shovel and dig with all my might.  My criteria for a satisfactory spot consisted of finding soft dirt with nothing edible growing in it.  Digging up unripened garden vegetables was frowned upon by my parents, as was shooting out windows with a BB gun.  How was I supposed to know?  It happened that most of my digging took place in my Uncle's garden.  He lived next door to us and would pretty much let me do anything I wanted to do.  Hence the windows and the BB gun.  So I would find a spot in his garden and dig the merry day away.  Luckily there was an impenetrable clay layer about three feet down or I might still be there digging.

Most folks have a purpose for digging a hole - gold, oil, dinosaur bones, China - but not me.  I was just digging because there was dirt and I needed to excavate.  Sometimes I would fill the hole with water and pretend to have just dug a well.  Coincidentally, this was the same logic used by the government in the recent economic stimulus spending.

My excavations weren't always so large in scale as to require a shovel.  Often a spoon was sufficient.  Not because my ambition was slackened but because it was the proper tool for the job.  With a spoon, for example, if you have the right soil moisture content you can dig a shallow tunnel that is perfectly sized for a Hot Wheels underpass.  I witnessed many an unfortunate 1:64 scale car being buried beneath the rubble of one of these seismically unsound traffic structures.  It usually only took two big stomps and the whole thing would crumble.  You're probably wondering why it took two stomps to crush a six inch archway made of silty loam soil.  Have you ever seen someone do a front flip because they tried to stomp so hard that they missed the ground altogether?  Believe me, it can happen. Occasionally it was even necessary to call in an air strike to finish the job.  I'll just let your imagination run with that one.  (This is where my wife dolefully laments, "Boys!!", and rolls her eyes.)

I'm not quite sure where my desire to dig came from.  If you trace my geneology back to Jolly Old England you will find that many of my ancestors were coal miners.  Perhaps they were calling to me through the ages to remind me of my heritage.  Or, more likely, I have Hobbit blood in me and I was instinctively trying to burrow out a home.  This would explain my excessively hairy toes and less than towering stature.  It would also explain why I have an overwhelming urge to mark "Other" for my ethnicity.  I figure I must be either part Hobbit or part Pygmy Sasquatch.  Either way I would make a terrific candidate for the Circus -- "The Great Hairy Human Cannonball!!!"

The strange thing was that every time I filled in the hole there would be some dirt that had inexplicably vanished.  No matter how carefully I stowed the dirt I always ended up short, which meant that I had to dig another hole to fill in the first.  It was like a Ponzi scheme, only with dirt instead of money.  Eventually, though, it would all even out and I was able to avoid a lengthy prison sentence.  Mr. Madoff could learn a thing or two from me, most importantly that people with sub-par judgement should stick to playing with dirt and leave the money alone.

As I've gotten older my tendency to dig has diminished.  I just don't have it in me anymore and besides, I blister easily.   I'm afraid digging is yet another pastime that is fading into memory.  It makes me a little sad.  Maybe I should go out and dig a hole right now for old times sake.  I can see the headlines now: "Thirty four year old Hobbit-American prospecting for gold in back yard; Simultaneously strikes underground gas and power lines; Explosion leaves crater halfway to China; Unearths T-Rex fossil; Records longest human cannonball flight; Lands safely on unexplained dirt pile."

It Does a Body Good

Why is milk so good? It seems funny to me that my beverage of choice would come from the underside of a cow. I've been in a milking barn before and it's no citrus orchard, but still there is nothing I like better then a tall, cold glass of milk. I fancy myself as having somewhat of a refined taste for it. Much like the wine connoisseur, I have trained my palate to detect even the slightest differences in flavor, texture and breed. In fact being a connoisseur of milk is vastly more difficult than wine. For example, with wine you have many different years worth of product with which to compare. It's like having training wheels for your taste buds. You may be able to sample a Chardonnay from any of the past 50 years, but I defy you to find a nice '87 Holstein 2%. And if you do find such a thing I would pay good money to watch you "drink" it. No, with milk you've got maybe 3 weeks at best. Unless it's Skim milk, in which case you might push it out to a month and a half.

Having a refined milk taste, I have been able to distinguish the perfect milk to go along with any meal. Steak and potatoes, for instance, goes nicely with a Jersey 1%, while waffles are more enjoyable with a fuller bodied Holstein 2%. Mexican food is best served with a Guernsey 2% which has the added benefit of taking the edge off the spicy peppers. And for hot cocoa nothing beats a Brown Swiss Vitamin D because chocolate milk comes from brown cows as any child, and more adults than you can imagine, will tell you.

However, the proper milk for dunking cookies doesn't have as much to do with breed or percent milkfat as it does with temperature and quantity control. Temperature and quantity control are key to a good cookie dunking experience. The milk must be ice cold to start with and proper dunk control should be exercised in order to prevent the removal of excess milk with each dunk. Except, of course, for the obligatory drip on the chin with each bite, which I always think of as a sacrifice to the napkin gods. That's as pagan as I get.

Now, depending upon the ambient temperature of the room, the dunking should continue apace so that the milk temperature approaches the cookie temperature. Once the cookie-to-milk temperature differential ranges between 10° to 15°F (6° to 9°C) then is the ideal time to "wash down" the previously consumed cookies. Just be sure that enough milk is left in the glass to adequately satisfy the purpose, because adding more milk will surely leave you disappointed. Added milk has neither the correct cookie crumb content nor the proper temperature and therefore could destroy the entire snack experience.

As an aside, cookie selection is also of extreme importance in dunking. Many people like to use crispy cookies, however, crispy cookies, after being submerged in milk, tend to dissolve into almost a foamy texture. I prefer chewy cookies which get more of a nougaty texture after dunking. Either one, though, can be a delightsome counterpart to a glass of milk.

I have tried the so called "milk substitutes" and I ask; can you really substitute milk? Maybe you can make soybean juice look, feel and even taste like milk. Likewise, I can keep you alive indefinitely by knocking you unconscious and hooking you up to a machine. Is that a satisfactory substitute? I think not! White soybean juice can never replace the Real© thing. Sorry to all of you who are allergic or lactose intolerant. That's just the way it is. Besides, I won't tolerate intolerance, it simply isn't right.

My wife laughs at me because I choose my snacks based on how well they will go with a glass of milk. I can't help it, I have priorities. Besides who is she to criticize my snacking when she can't stand to eat cooked eggs but loves to eat cookie dough mere moments after mixing in slimy raw eggs. Speaking of cookie dough, I wonder if she would bake some right now? I'd better make sure we have milk first. Happy dunking!

Out with the Old and In with the New

Responsibility. Honesty. Integrity. The Dodo bird. All extinct. As I observe the constant strugglings between different factions of people I can't help but wonder how things would be different if we could just bring back those fundamentals. Especially the Dodo. But it seems that convenient replacements have been found for each of the aforementioned items which have been shown to provide much more profitable and immediate results.

Responsibility, for example, has been replaced with fairness. Fairness is easier to regulate. If one group has an advantage over another then of course the rules must be changed in order to benefit the less advantaged. Traditionally those who have been more fortunate are expected to bear the responsibility of helping those who may have been given a more troublesome lot in life. In this way everyone prospers, but it's hard to enforce responsibility. On the other hand, it's gratifying and easy to heap on regulations that level the playing field. The fact that more rules only hinder the ones who act responsibly to begin with is simply a regrettable circumstance that can't be avoided.

In place of honesty we now have equality. When all things are equalized then there is no more need for honesty. Think about it, we lie in order to get faster gain over one another. The situation is resolved by compelled equality. So even if your lie works, and you get more than somebody else, it's going to be taken away and spread out equally. Again the inherently honest are the ones who suffer most from absolute equality since they are the only people who's full worth will ever be revealed. But telling the truth is silly and outdated, it can never work in modern society. We have progressed far beyond that point.

Integrity has historically been the cornerstone of stability. It is a combination of honesty and responsibility. It has been the driving force compelling individuals to achieve great things. Not any more. Integrity, it seems, has been replaced by wealth. Money, to be more specific. What a beautiful thing. All you have to do is wave a few dollars in front of people and all of a sudden anything is possible. Growth built on integrity is slow and uninteresting but growth built on the desire for money is lightning fast and extremely entertaining. Our tenacious hunger for more money has even become a money maker in itself, such as in the case of Las Vegas or more recently Washington DC. Flashy lights, smoke filled parlors, pleasures galore! What more could a person want?

Then there's the Dodo. He never did anybody wrong and his reward was utter annihilation. Never fear though, he has been replaced by a much more desirable character who is entirely more befitting the name. I like to call him the news analyst / talkshow host. The one who can take any situation and remove all relevant information in exchange for a pitch of their own ideals. There can be no fairness and equality without a news analyst or talkshow host to decry the unfairness and inequality which still exists. Only then can we define what is fair and equal.

It's a new world we live in and we must not stand in the way of progress. So repeat after me, "my life is harder than most, I have next to nothing and the Dodo says I need to kick out all of the foreigners so that I can get all the free stuff they're getting." That's all you need to remember.

A Cure For What Ails You

I really don't like to talk politics much. For one thing, I'm not smart enough to hold my own in a political conversation and, for another, it gives me the hiccups. True story! Every time I get involved in a political discussion, I get the hiccups. My wife thinks it's funny. It reminds her of the time when she convinced me that if I opened my mouth really wide it would make my hiccups go away. Have you ever tried that? It has the same general effect as a megaphone and it does not make the hiccups go away. But it can wake up sleeping babies in adjacent apartments. I guarantee she is still laughing about that right now.

I have, however, found my own secret cure for the hiccups. I plan on lobbying to get it included in the new health care reform legislation. By the way, I am completely in favor of government run health care. Let me just take a moment to stress how urgently we need a bureaucratic process to simplify our medical system. And those skyrocketing costs!?! Throughout the long years of our country, if our politicians have proven anything it's that they can cheapen anything they touch.

So are you curious what my secret hiccup cure is? Well then I'll tell you... wait for it... I can stop them with my mind! I know it sounds silly but it really works. First I have to find a quiet place with no distractions. Then I lay down so that my entire body can be completely relaxed. Not even the slightest muscle straining. In Yoga this is known as the 'Sunday after church' position.

Then I focus on something directly in front of my eyes, being careful that not even my eyeball muscles are strained. My eyeball muscles are quite toned, by the way. I'm pretty sure strong eyeball muscles is a requirement for being a contributor to society. Anyway, I find something to focus on. It could be anything, like a speck on the ceiling or... well... um... On second thought, it can't be just anything. It's got to be a speck.

Once I've focused on my speck and my body is completely relaxed, then I start to breath very slowly, carefully controlling the amount of air that is entering and leaving my lungs. Each time a hiccup comes I recompose myself, control my breathing and focus my every thought on the speck. It takes about 30 seconds and then my hiccups are gone!

Unfortunately nobody has ever observed this feat because it throws off my concentration when I'm being watched. I have to be completely alone. I know what you're thinking right now, "this guy must be brilliant!" Just remember, it's not about me, it's about helping others.

Until now I've only developed complete control over my hiccups, but I'm working my way into bigger things. For example, recently, while waiting for an oil change on my truck, I was able to lift the guy sitting next to me from his seat simply by staring at him and sort of squinting a little bit. I actually stood him up on his feet and made him walk! It must have surprised him because he gave me the oddest look as I moved him across the room and sat him as far away from me as possible.

Just as a disclaimer, I am not a medical professional and my methods are not approved by the American Medical Association. That being said, I'd like to point out that the American Medical Association hasn't approved legislative committees as a viable medical practice either. But that's not stopping them! Who needs medical science when you've got willpower, or a super majority?

So you see, I like to steer clear of political discussion. 'hic' It never really solves 'hic' anything and afterwards I always 'hic' find myself alone.

Why Is It Always About Me?

Back in my college days, one of my favorite meals consisted of mixing mac n' cheese, tuna fish and cream of mushroom soup. A plate full of this fine cuisine, along with a hefty helping of mustard pickles, and I was a happy camper. To be honest I'd like some right now. Contrary to what this savory delight might imply, I was not studying the culinary arts. I ate my fair share of Top Ramen just like everybody else, but sometimes I got a little creative. It doesn't happen much anymore though, not since my wife threatened to padlock the cabinets. But she hasn't been able to stop me from having my bowl of peaches with a big scoop of chunky peanut butter.

I used to think there was something wrong with me when other people didn't like the same things I liked. I wanted to blend in, not stick out. I wanted to be accepted by others. Who am I kidding, I still feel that way. The way I behave is largely determined by my surroundings and whatever is expected of me. I'm like a social chameleon. I'm pretty sure all of us are that way to a certain extent. But every once in a while there is somebody who breaks the mold.

A friend of mine, we'll call him "Reff" (á la Scooby Doo), recently went to a popular local mall where he sat himself in the outside courtyard, pulled out his guitar and busted out some tunes. Not for any specific reason, he just wanted to do it. Now to me that just doesn't compute. First of all, he hadn't been invited there to play music and, on top of that, he was doing something very different from everybody else. If you can imagine social behavior as a stream of water then he was most definitely swimming against the current. This makes alarms go off in the 'proper behavior' sector of my brain and everything goes into crisis mode. Lights start flashing and I start searching for a bunker to hide in.

So Reff plays a couple of songs and then a security guard shows up. Public recognition that what he was doing was out of the ordinary. To me, there is nothing more terrifying! The alarms are still sounding in my brain as I imagine the situation. The guard politely asks him to leave and I'm thinking, okay, this is where all propriety returns and I can climb out of my bunker. Wrong! Back in the bunker I go. He starts trying to convince the guard to let him keep playing! The guard refuses but Reff still isn't giving up. "What about one more song?", he asks.

Huh!?! The audacity of some people!

Again the guard refuses, so he casually packs up his guitar and leaves. He wasn't angry, I'm pretty sure Reff has never experienced anger in his life, he just went on his way.

So how is it that some people have the gift of behaving out of the ordinary, without regard for anybodies opinion? How do you survive without society's acceptance? I think I stumbled upon the answer a few years ago when I was a missionary. I know what you're thinking "how could this social coward have ever been a missionary?" Well I was.

I've always been overly sensitive to what others think of me. I had lots of good friends growing up but I wouldn't say that I was very popular. I just didn't fit the 'popular' mold. When I was a missionary I still harbored some of those insecurities, but mission presidents don't take that into account when they assign you to a companionship. All of my companions were quite popular in the mission. Everybody knew them and liked them. I felt very insignificant compared to them, not because of anything they did to me, that's just how I felt.

Right here I should interject that in elementary school I was often brutally beaten by little girls. That should explain a lot.

By the way, in case you aren't familiar with LDS missionaries, they always travel in packs of two, known as a companionship. Sometimes it's three, occasionally four, seldom five and almost never six. Unless it's a donut run after district meeting. But, if you ever see seven of them crammed into a Mazda 626 sedan, then you can be assured that there is one more in the trunk. That would be me.

So I observed how these companions behaved around other people. They seemed comfortable in almost any situation. Unlike me, they didn't feel looked down upon, rather they were accepted as equals by their peers. What was wrong with me? Finally one day it hit me; they don't have to be accepted as equals by their peers because they have already accepted their peers as equals. I had been looking at the whole situation backwards. I was waiting for an invitation to be part of the crowd when I should have been inviting the crowd to be part of me. Does that make any sense?

I'd like to say that since having this epiphany I've never felt insecure again, but old habits endure. At least now I know how people, like my friend Reff, can go so unabashedly against the grain without succumbing to insecurity. Still, between him and the security guard, I would rather have been the guard in that situation. Actually, I would rather have been the passerby, pretending not to notice what was going on, but giggling like a bully school girl on the inside.

Home Is Where You Hang Your Rope

A friend, who I grew up with back in Idaho, recently asked me, "why are so many Californians moving to Idaho?" You must understand that, where I grew up, the word 'Californian' is used as an adjective instead of a noun. (A noun is a person, place or thing while an adjective describes a noun. Just a quick refresher on parts of speech, for those of you who haven't pulled out the Mad Libs in a while. No charge.) Back home the word 'Californian' is somewhat synonymous with the words "intolerable" or "meddlesome". Naturally this is the reason, as explained to me by my government teacher, that there are so many so called "Californian" legislators in the US Congress. There is even some disagreement as to whether California is actually a state in the sense of a geographic area or if it is more like a state of denial or a state of confusion. We still capitalize the word for the same reason we still put a 'k' in front of the word 'know'. It doesn't really have a purpose we are just too lazy to change it.

It may be obvious at this point that I have no idea how to properly use the ' and the " symbols. I know that you are supposed to use the " symbol when you are directly quoting someone or when you are referencing a title or when you need Bozo the Clown hair for your new emoticon.

""(°0°)""

Beyond that I'm pretty much clueless. I just throw one in now and then for dramatic affect. Besides, where I grew up, Grammar was just the old gal that married Grampa all those years ago.

Please don't get me wrong, I mean, there could never be a better place to grow up than where I did. I loved it and I often wish I could go back so that my kids could grow up there too. But you see, I live in California now. So, although I may deny it, I'm somewhat confused. Should I stick to my roots and hold on to the dream that, someday, California will fall into the ocean? Or should I embrace my new home and try to set aside old prejudices? I have found, after all, that there are many Californians who just don't fit the Californian description that I once thought to be universal.

I guess that brings us back the the original question; why are so many Californians moving to Idaho? Is there something terribly wrong with California that makes them want to leave? Is it because Idaho offers the next untamed wilderness to be exploited by over regulation, misplaced values and underproduction? No, it doesn't have anything to do with California, or Idaho. The reason they are leaving is very simple, it's because it gets them one step closer to their ultimate destination... North Dakota! Clean air, no people and close enough to Canada that you can hear the Caribou stampeding, eh! Since moving down here I've learned that countless Californians secretly dream of living in North Dakota. They're just too ashamed to admit it. Why would they be ashamed? Well... wouldn't you be?

It just so happens that North Dakota is leading the way towards legalizing the growing of Hemp as an agricultural product. Hemp has an amazingly broad range of uses. Hemp ropes, for example, have been used for centuries. They don't seem to last long though, perhaps due to the traditional burning of the rope after each use. It's an odd tradition and nobody knows where it came from, but everybody loves it! Growing Hemp has of course been discouraged because of its party prone cannabis cousin. However, there are many who still promote its merits as a food and fiber crop with diverse, shall we say, benefits. Canada has been growing it for years and see the wondrous results from that country, eh. Californians from all walks of life are drawn to such free thinking.

So don't worry Idaho, the Californians won't stay long. North Dakota is calling to them and literally roping them in. You can't stop the migration so just try to enjoy it. If you watch carefully you might even catch a glimpse of a real life Idacalifornigonian like myself. Be kind to them while they are there, but remember to keep your distance and whatever you do don't feed them! They tend to have ravenous appetites, so you don't want one to cozy up and hang around your place too long.

Of Time and Space

Waiting... Waiting... I'm just not made for waiting. I'm part of the generation that doesn't have to wait. We have everything at our fingertips. Waiting is for museums. They like to wait. Moments frozen in time, waiting until this world comes around full circle and the past once again becomes the present.

It seems funny that we are so fascinated with the past while at the same time we can't wait for the future to come. What is it about the present that we don't like? Why can't we sit still in the moment and enjoy what is happening right now? I don't think we do it on purpose. Keeping your focus on the present is sort of like trying to balance on top of a log in the water. You might be able to do it for a short time but as it begins to roll you will eventually fall into the water. Just as gravity pulls you from the log, so too will anxiety drag you from the present into the hopeful anticipation of the future or the known outcome of the past.

At times I'll be in a place and I'll think to myself "this instant, that is so real to me right now, will soon just be a memory in the past." I can remember this thought coming to me on several occasions. It usually happens to me at times that are special like going to Disneyland. In fact it was on the Winnie the Pooh ride at Disneyland coming around the last corner before you leave the tunnel, but that's not important.

It also happened to me on a recent trip to Idaho to visit family. As I was pulling away to leave, I sat for a moment in my parents driveway and really drank in my surroundings. The scenes that had been part of my every day life growing up were all there in front of me, reminders of times and places that are now a thousand miles away and many years in the past. How is it that all I wanted when I was younger was to get to the future and now that I'm in the future I would give almost anything to get back to the past. Being in the present has never been part of the plan and frankly it still isn't. Of course there is nothing I would change about my life right now, I would just like to transfer it either backward or forward in time.

Living in the present is tough. Imagine you're driving down a road that is lined with trees. If you keep your eyes fixed on one spot then all the trees go by in a blur and it's hard to distinguish between them. Whereas, if you turn your head to follow each tree then you get more detail but, if you're like me, you also get sick to your stomach. Living in the present is kind of like watching the trees. If you live life with undeviating focus then you might miss some important detail in the flurry of situations constantly coming towards you. However if you try to focus on each situation as it comes then the gastric juices of your psyche may begin to gurgle with the distress of ever changing circumstances. Isn't that a pleasant picture?

Come to think of it, it may be impossible to actually live in the present. By the time you process the information around you it is already in the past and you are already anticipating the next moment in the future. So does the present even exist? Maybe its like the beginning of a circle. It can be where ever you want it to be. Oooh I smell the makings of a sci-fi novel. Nah, it's probably already been done.

Well this has been fun and all, but I'm not sure what we've accomplished nor am I positive where this is going. I guess if this discussion has no past and no future then maybe it does have a present. Oh my, I've found the present! Aw dang, there it went.

The Best Laid Plans

There’s no shame in seeing the glass half empty. A little realism could absolutely benefit some folks. I mean really, what good does it do to skirt about the truth with a bunch of pointless optimism? It doesn’t accomplish anything except to delay finding a resolution to the deficit of water in the glass. What, you thought the glass was a metaphor? No were just talking about a glass of water here. Get your head out of the clouds Socrates!

Why is it called pessimism anyway, and what makes it optimistic to say that the glass is half full? As if recognizing unfulfilled capacity is somehow flattering and positive. If the glass were simply half its current volume then everything would be hunky-dory because it would be filled to capacity and the argument would be over. So wouldn’t it be just as appropriate to point out that the capacity of the glass is exactly double the amount of available water to be put in it? What a waste of precious materials! I digress.

Back to the point at hand, what to do about the ever egregious deficit of water in the glass? It seems that if this problem could be solved then much of life’s troubles would be ended. It happens every day in countless conversations. Case in point, while having an argument, a wife might point out to her husband that he “always sees the glass half empty”, when the argument was actually over finances or politics or children or some other unrelated subject. Think of how many marriages could be saved if we could just fill the glass!

So let’s get down to the root of the problem. First we must assume that there is sufficient water in existence to fill the glass, after all nobody has specifically designated the actual volume of said container. Well then, for all posterity I now proclaim that the inside volume of “the glass” is exactly 0.5 liters. We’ll use SI units, or liters, instead of gallons as these are the accepted norm when establishing international standards. Therefore, knowing full well that there are at least 0.25 liters of available water in the world it can be established that the glass can indeed be filled to capacity. The difficulty arises in making sure that the 0.25 liters used to fully replenish the glass are not the same 0.25 liters that are currently in the glass. Only when using resource conservation rhetoric does this actually fill the glass to capacity, otherwise the status of the liquid level in the glass will remain unchanged.

In reality filling the glass could conceivably require an Act of Congress as is the case with most water transfers. Both the Bureau of Reclamation and the Army Corps of Engineers would love to claim the prize of filling the glass, the problem is the scale. It just isn’t big enough. So naturally we will have to enlarge the scope of the project in order to bring enough congressional leaders on board. The water should come from an area with surplus water resources such as Oregon or Washington, west of the Cascade range. This particular area of the country is chuck full of ideological people who love to embrace a cause. They will dearly want to be part of solving one of the greatest dilemmas afflicting mankind and they know how to mobilize political leaders. Not to mention that every significant event should include at least one person wearing wool socks and sandals.

A large pipeline would then need to be built to transfer the water from its point of origin to the location of the glass. Where is the glass, you ask? Well it should be obvious that the filling of the glass would be located at the happiest place on earth. Disneyland! This will aid in getting the southern Californian congressional delegation on board, after all, they’ve been trying to get water from the northwest for years. The pipeline can be built along the coastline which will require no pumping because anybody who looks at a map can tell you that California is below Washington and Oregon. Besides, even if there were a small pumping requirement, there is more than enough green energy generated by the pixies in the coastal forests to satisfy the requirement.

Unions will want to be involved in the effort as well. They will insist that even the lowliest position be filled by organized labor groups. To that affect, the diameter of the pipeline must be at least the height of an average sized human in order to accommodate the worker who is carrying 0.25 liters of water from Seattle to Los Angeles. Anything smaller would violate OSHA regulations for proper ergonomics in the workplace.

It is true that this idea has once before gained traction at a national level. It was decided in the early 1970’s that the glass would be secretly filled from a tap at the Democratic National Committee headquarters. Unfortunately some news reporters caused a leak and the whole operation failed, to the embarrassment of all who were involved. The Republicans eventually took the entire blame leading to the resignation of the President, even though it clearly took place in a building owned by the Democrats. Ever heard of Watergate?

We must learn from the past and not be covert in our actions this time. This should be an event to be remembered and commemorated for centuries. The date should be carefully chosen as a day that represents the magnitude of the endeavor. Only July 4 could be appropriate for such an occasion. Not only is July 4 the celebration of our independence from oppressive ideas, such as the perpetually half empty/full glass of water, but it also signifies birth, as in the birth of our nation. Birth, after all, is the original act of every human being in breaking the watery barrier which constrains us.

The plan is in place, the date set, all that is left is to set events in motion. Take a stand for liberty and join in the effort my friend. Be a part of history and help make this happen. I’m sure you’ll never look at a glass of water the same way and every sip you take will haunt you if you let this opportunity pass you by.

Or we could just dump out the water and throw the glass in the trash. Hmm…nevermind.

And Workin' Overtime

The phrase "taking care of business" has many different connotations. It can refer to methodically achieving individual objectives on the way to an overall goal. It can also refer to activities which may be less than appealing but must be done due to some constraint, be it real or only perceived. When we take care of business we throw aside all feelings and do things that may be uncomfortable to ourselves and to others simply because they must be done.

So what's the deal with that? Why do we have to take care of business? I blame it on the capitalists! Obviously we wouldn't have to take care of business if it weren't for folks who encourage business in the first place. If it weren't for capitalists then I would never have to annoy the other cars as I "take care of business" and merge onto the freeway because there wouldn't be any cars driving to begin with, nor would there be a freeway. How simple is that? Let's examine this a little bit further, shall we?

When I take care of business I am fulfilling certain obligations. Again, capitalism at its finest. Obligations are nothing more than the overbearing initiatives of folks who, for whatever reason, don't know how to chill out. They feel a constant need to progress and transform what they have into something better. No, not me, I just want things to stay the same. In fact a little regression couldn't hurt. Let's try taking a step backwards for a change. Instead of a more efficient shower head let's turn that sucker into Niagara Falls. I think we could really do with some hotter burning, dimmer light bulbs instead of those new bulbs that flicker for half an hour when you turn on the switch. Now that I only change my light bulbs once per millennium, I just don't get any exercise anymore. Speaking of exercise (which is much funner than actually doing it) since when do we need a mountain of bars, cables, pulleys and ghastly over sized iron weights just to get fit. Simply take away the tractor and hitch up the oxen. That'll do the job.

Taking care of business can sometimes mean hurting people that you care about. At any other time poking numerous needles into a small child would be considered heinous abuse, however, when we "take care of business" and get our small ones immunized it is considered lofty and wise. What a crock! Sometimes telling the truth can cause emotional pain in others. Don't tell me this can't be helped. The capitalists are at it again! They just have to inform you that your clothes are too 'last year' or your hair is too brown/blond/red/beige/gone. The truth drives you to change what seemed to work so perfectly before.

Now I suppose that some might point out what wonderful things have been accomplished by capitalists who were taking care of business. They like to show off the diseases that have been wiped out and the comforts that we now have like indoor plumbing and George Foreman grills etc. Blah blah blah... Did anyone ever stop to think that disease might have its place? Why if it weren't for immunizations I might have been eliminated by some terrible flesh eating disease as a child and you wouldn't have to be wasting your time reading this.

So to wrap this up, let me take care of a little business. I'm sure I've hurt people that I care deeply about just by doing what I'm supposed to do. Which may, or may not, have been a direct result of doing something that I wasn't supposed to do. Do you follow me? While I take full responsibility for my actions, still I wonder if things would have been different if it hadn't been for ... the capitalists!

In Honor of ...

Well it's that time of year again. The one day of the year when the most neglected person in our society is able to shine and get the recognition that they so rightfully deserve. The day that we no longer take for granted the one who resolves all our problems and keeps peace in our homes. That's right, I'm talking about the florist.

You thought I meant somebody else? Well of course I know it's Mother's Day, I'm simply trying to give credit where credit is due. Okay before every mom who reads this starts throwing things at me, again, let me clarify. Every Mother's Day we fall all over ourselves trying to please Mom. We make her breakfast in bed, we do all of her chores, we give her gifts and we basically let her rule for the day. Then everything gets reversed for the other 364 days of the year. Is this really the best we can do? Not to rock the boat or anything, I mean I understand this scheme has worked so far, so why change a good thing right?

Well there's just this; Rarely before has a gift so precious been purchased for so little. It seems almost too good to be true. One day of mediocre effort gets you an entire years worth of bounteous rewards. One smile or a simple compliment can yield long lasting benefits. A bouquet of flowers can sweeten the most bitter strife. This is the person who for nine months bears untold discomforts just to bring a new child into this world only to have the real agony start once the child is born. She, day in and day out, makes life more livable and creates a heavenly place in our homes. For all this we can only muster in return a tiny fraction of what she has already given us in abundance. It just doesn't seem right and it's almost embarrassing to even try to find the gift or kind word or service that can even remotely measure up to her worth.

The scenario is keenly reminiscent of another relationship. A Heavenly Father who receives only a trifle in return for so much. From Him we receive all and we give next to nothing. We are made in His image and it seems only fitting that fathers emulate His physical appearance while mothers reflect His heavenly attributes.

Oh, by the way, this means you (assuming, of course, that you are a mom)! The one reading right now who is saying "that's an ideal I just can't live up to." Bogus! Perfection doesn't look like an immaculate home where nothing is ever out of place. Its not manifest in children who are utterly polite and behave with impeccable manners. In that regard why would an earthly mother be expected to garner more favorable results than an omnipotent Heavenly Parent. Goodness knows His children aren't always polite. The perfect mom is not the one who hungers with every waking moment to be ready at the beckoning of whomever comes to call. That mom is contrived and robotic and really not very fun.

No, the perfect mom has bad days. Sometimes her home wouldn't make the cover of Better Homes and Gardens. Sometimes her kids are rude to her. Sometimes she's rude right back. Some days she doesn't necessarily want to be a mom and she regrets the fateful day when "that man" first took her hand. She gets depressed and flustered and while everyone thinks she's got the master plan in hand, she's actually just winging it. All of the added attention and praise on Mother's Day just makes her feel more inadequate. That's what makes her perfect. Because against all odds and despite the tragic, euphoric, sad, joyous, helpless and triumphant day to day, she keeps battling on. Don't believe me? You didn't give up yet did you?

So here's to the florist for a job well done. Without you there would be fewer happy marriages and more cozy doghouses. As for Mothers... I hope you enjoy your breakfast and please kick up your feet while we pamper you for the day and shower you with gifts. Like I said, it's worked so far, so why change it. I may be sentimental but I'm not stupid.

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!!!!!