Wednesday, May 31, 2006

My First Birthday Gift, Today!

While I've gotten a few wonderful birthday gifts before my day actually even began, not ten minutes after posting that "Moseyer" entry, I got a biggie. A flat tire. On the freeway.

It got so flat, so fast, that the tire practically disintegrated.

It was a smoking, burning mess that required me to sit on the side of the road for 20 minutes, just to let it cool enough to change.

Happy Birthday to me!

However, I'm trying to put a positive spin on things, ala T. S. Garp, in "The World According To Garp."

"We'll take the house. Honey, the chances of another plane hitting this house are astronomical. It's been pre-disastered. We're going to be safe here."

-- T. S. Garp, after a small plane crashes into the house that they were thinking of buying.

To The Moseyers; You DON'T know who you are...

What's with moseying? Pick up the pace, will you? Nice slow stroll; fine. Looking for something; understandable. Slack jaw and blank stare; for God's sake, move to the right, already! I'm late as it is!

Friday, May 26, 2006

I Want You, I Need You, I Love You

I hate to change the little poem, saying, or song on my blog's sidebar without "retiring" it and giving it a little blog entry of it's own. That way it's still with me, just not right there.

I always liked Elvis. Never a huge fan, but his music was filled with fun, sadness, and love. Plus, all those weird little movies were fun to watch. I've got to pick up a few on DVD, someday.

So, goodbye, Elvis



"I Want You, I Need You, I Love You" --Elvis

Hold me close, hold me tight

Make me thrill with delight

Let me know where I stand from the start

I want you, I need you, I love you

With all my heart

Ev’ry time that you’re near

All my cares disappear

Darling, you’re all that I’m living for

I want you, I need you, I love you

More and more

I thought I could live without romance

Until you came to me

But now I know that

I will go on loving you eternally

Won’t you please be my own?

Never leave me alone

’cause I die ev’ry time we’re apart

I want you, I need you, I love you

With all my heart

Weeks Without A Cut!




I just realized that it's been weeks since I've cut myself shaving!

A shower mirror, a package of triple blade razors, and slowing down works wonders!

Thursday, May 25, 2006

Life Is Good

I don't really know why I feel that life is good. But, despite the evidence, things are okay!

Monday, May 15, 2006

Rash! (the picture)



Nothing new, but thought I'd post the picture, in all it's glory

This morning, the rest of my legs looked like this, too.

My face is better, though.

Sunday, May 14, 2006

Rash!


Yesterday, while packing the remains of my belongings in the house that my family and I have lived in for years, I got a rash.

My body is peppered with tiny red dots. These dots itch, especially under my socks. I first pulled off my socks, thinking I might have ants in my shoes. Not so lucky...

This morning, I woke up to find my normally puffy morning face, red and extra puffy. Nice finishing touch to the little rash, eh? Luckily, my face doesn't itch. That's one blessing, at least. The doctor said I'm allergic to something. Maybe. I think it's the stress of moving out of my house.

My blurry, and soon-to-be-ex-home

Granted, it will be a relief not to share space with my someday-to-be-ex-wife anymore. But, it's very hard to look at your surroundings, knowing that you won't be coming back anymore.

There are things in that house that transcend the physical. A growth chart on the back of a door, the built in couch that I built, the wooden "tree house" bed in my son's room, the fireplace that I designed and built on my own, etc. A lot of memories in that house.

It's also strange to go through the stuff and put things into boxes, alone. It's just me, deciding what I want to take. Picking through knick knacks, photos, furnishing, etc. She did the same thing on her own. Neither of us really was too picky about the stuff. There are more things that I DON'T want than I specifically want (our bed, for instance).

It makes it even more confusing to know that I'm not really moving into my own place anytime soon. For the next few months, I'll continue staying with my father. This was my choice. I'm not ready for the stress of a ridiculously tight budget right now. I'd rather have the longer drive and lack of alone time, than add more stress from the money side of things. But, that means storage.

Most of the packed boxes will go into a storage unit, come Tuesday afternoon. So, when looking at furnishings, decorative items, and photos, it's hard to know what I'll want to have.

The strangest part is looking through the boxes of things that Kim packed for me, knowing that they'd be things I wanted. Family "heirlooms," certain pictures, and things that I had purchased because I really liked them. She was pretty accurate. But there were a few things...

The biggest one was finding our wedding albums in my box. This is pretty weird for me. I'm not much of a photo guy. I like to take them. I like photos. But, I like photos of "stuff" not of me, family, and friends. I like photos as decorations and art. I don't look through albums and I don't have pictures of people all over the place. I like to have a current set of family photos and a couple of favorites scattered around. That's about it.

So, I don't know what to do about these. I don't want them. I looked at them a couple of times in the past, but why look again? I don't even really look at my kids' baby books and albums. I think it's a guy thing. So, these are just one more thing to have to worry about keeping safe, right? They're frickin' huge, too. Did she want them but decide to "give in" and let me take them? Who knows? I'm afraid to ask. Once both of us admit to not wanting them, what do I do with them?

Almost as weird was going through the remnants and finding things that I'd given her left behind. Most of these things are just old things now. Nothing really special, other than the fact that I'd given them to her. It still seems weird. I'm not broken up by it, but I am affected by it, you know? These same items, tossed out a year ago, would have been happily dragged to the trash can, without so much as a bit of concern from me. Now, it's different. But, I don't really expect her to take a blue flowered teapot from ten years ago to her new place, when she's got about five nicer white teapots that match the dishes.

Today is Mother's Day, and Kim came home to spend the day with the kids, while I went back to my Dad's house, car loaded up with boxes of some of my most important things. I'm hoping that whatever I'm allergic to didn't come in these boxes, but my fear is that it did. I'm hoping against hope that this rash is NOT stress, but if it is, these boxes and their contents aren't going to help...

Breathe deeply, workout, try to eat well, relax, and look forward to this evening's talk with Jenn. Sounds like a plan.

Friday, May 5, 2006

You Need A Pig To Find Truffles

For some reason, I've always loved that little saying. It's a little negative sounding, but actually a positive expression.

"You need a pig to find truffles" means that it's the result that counts, not necessarily how you achieve it. This should not to be confused with "the end justifies the means," which isn't true.

The former means that sometimes you must do something unpleasant to reach your goal. The latter means that anything can be done, no matter how despicable, as long as the goal achieved is good.

There's a subtle difference, to be sure. But, it's an important distinction to remember.

It's too bad that people are so familiar with the latter concept and not so familiar with the former. The pervasiveness of negative talk stifles the culture and, in many ways, keeps us down, just as positive talk uplifts us.

Language influences thinking to a great degree. Even more than thinking influences language. Read 1984, by George Orwell. Newspeak is a great example of how changing the language influences the way a culture thinks. Ungood, to be sure, yet it may actually work.

Many seemingly inherent concepts are learned: racism is a good example. I believe that if we could eliminate talk of racism for a generation, it would likely be gone. Likewise, a generation of people not espousing the worst motives to their opponents, would do us all good. When you assume that the other side is doing bad because they believe the end justifies the means, you become jaded. Soon, you will use your desired end to justify your means, too.

If may be a little unpleasant to try to understand the motives of your opponent, but it's important to actually know them, rather than just assume the worst.

I go years without talking politics. Every once in a while, I jump back in. Well, I'm out again. I usually assume that the other side has noble motives, but is wrong. I can't converse in a world where my side is always assumed to be mean, greedy, or even evil, just because our goals and methods are different.

This is one post where I really know how I feel, but just don't know how to say it. I pitty anybody reading this. I hope it makes SOME sense...

Wednesday, May 3, 2006

Marathon Man











Is it safe?

I've got some tooth problems. A while back, I had an inlay and some "interior" tooth work done; an attempt at avoiding the ol' root canal. Every once in a while, the inlay seemed a bit "high." If I bit down on a nut, just wrong, ouch!

Not sure what happened, but last week, when I was way too busy to go to the dentist, it started aching after eating. I put it off. It ached more after less eating. Then more after even less. There's an unfortunate pattern here.

Pretty soon, I found myself overcompensating for the bad side by chewing on the other. Since my jaw's not really used to this weird style of chewing, it now hurts, too.

Now, the stress of life, plus the constant ache in my mouth, has me clenching my teeth when I sleep. Now, I'm wearing my little mouthguard again. Pleasant.

Life doesn't slow down, but I should have forced it to and gone to the dentist! I didn't and the pain just got worse and worse. I ended buying a little bottle of something that has benzocaine in it. It helps, but like the even more unfortunate Babe Levy, I'm forced to carry my little bottle of "relief" around wherever I go.

Luckily, my procrastination finally subsided a bit and I made my dentist appointment. Tomorrow morning at 8:00 am, I'll be in the dentist chair. I've never looked forward to a dentist appointment before. Earlier, I wished it was tonight, instead.

This afternoon, after chewing virtually nothing, the pain really got to me. So bad that I had to scrounge Motrin and dab benzocaine beyond the bottle's recommendations.

The pain throbbed so badly that the whole left side of my face hurt! Lower molar, lower jaw, shooting, throbbing pain, zooming up to the upper jaw, then straight up my face and into my temples. I kept looking in the mirror, expecting to see some hideous swelling. In a way, it would have been more satisfying... But, no. No visible signs of the pain were present. It just got worse and worse!

I called Canada to hear my girlfriends voice (I hope I'm allowed to call you that). But, the pain was so bad I had to bail on her.

I felt like screaming, so I did. It didn't really help. Didn't hurt, but it wasn't worth the strange looks from the car next to me.

Finally, after 30 minutes of the pain getting worse and worse, I felt it begin to subside.

By the time I pulled my car in to the gym parking lot, it was merely uncomfortable. My workout went well and the pain stayed away for the duration. Is it the endorphins, the Motrin, or the benzocaine? Who cares?

I'd like to end this brilliantly, but I can't. I should have gone to the dentist last week. I made myself miserable and I feel strongly that I would have slept better and gotten more accomplished without the pain in my life.

Lesson learned? We'll see.

Tuesday, May 2, 2006

Retiring "In Dillman's Grove"


Time for something new, but I can't let "In Dillman's Grove" just disappear, can I?

For those of you how don't know, John Lillison is a fictional poet from several Steve Martin gags and movies. This poem is more subtly bad than the other works of John Lillison.

"In Dillman's Grove"
John Lillison, England's greatest one-armed poet

In Dillman's Grove, our love did die,
And now in ground shall ever lie.
None could e'er replace her visage,
Until your face brought thoughts of kissage.

Here's another beaut by the one-armed poet.

"Pointy Birds"
John Lillison, England's greatest one-armed poet

O pointy birds, o pointy pointy,
Anoint my head, anointy-nointy.

Monday, May 1, 2006

Coming To Terms With My Stepfather, via Edge Pro Gel (Normal Skin)


I've been planning to write about this for some time. I knew the can was going to run out, but I kept putting it off. Well, today's the day. No more Edge Gel! I've had all this time to come up with a long, delayed internet eulogy and I wasted it.

On May 20th, 2003, my Mother died. I flew up to Montana to pack things up and get her affairs in order. Her husband, Bert, had passed away a year or two before. In the process of cleaning out her stuff, I also ended up cleaning his stuff out.

In his medicine cabinet was the usual stuff (nothing embarrassing, luckily). Since I'd forgotten my shaving stuff, I snagged his stuff for the return trip, including one can of Edge Pro Gel (Normal Skin). I used it once or twice, then stuck it in the back of my medicine cabinet. Something like four years later, it finally runs out. It's not a magic can: I've had a beard/van Dyke for all this time...

A few months ago, I became clean shaven and started shaving daily; really using up that can fast. A few weeks back, I realize that the can's time was running short. I've been a little sad since then. I don't know what to do. I've even contemplated burying the can, which was my inspiration for this riveting piece of crap (archeologist of the future) .

Anyhow, this morning, the can spurted it's last squirt. One last full shave, at least.

I cleaned up the can, put on the lid, and set it on my dresser. I'm still not sure what's going to happen, but since I don't really have much to connect me to my Mom's late husband, it seems wrong to toss it in the trash.

I was never close to Bert. He was a strange one, Bert. He was a writer of do-it-yourself columns, a "humourist," a former small business owner (paint store), father of several kids who I don't really know, and a former military man. He was also a physical wreck, both from a variety of injuries and from smoking. Apparently, he also had "normal skin," as can be seen by the variety of shaving gel that he used.

I didn't really get his sense of humour, but my Mom did (or claimed to), so that's fine by me. He made her happy until the day he died and she talked about him a lot after he was gone. If my Mom was going to live far, far away from me, at least she was with a man that made her happy. He treated her well, too. A son can't ask for much more for his Mom.

They met the old fashioned way. By answering an ad in the singles column in a newspaper. I thought it was weird, but it worked for them. It was a long time that they wrote back and forth before ever meeting each other in person. Phone calls were expensive, there was no email, or internet to speak of, so they relied on the United States Post Office to be the go between for them.

Are the odds more with you if you fall in love via words and pictures rather than going to movies and dinner all the time? Likely so.

There's something to be said for physical attraction. Seeing and touching your girlfriend is certainly important and desirable. Very desirable! Extremely...

But, how much does a man get distracted by sex and overlook the fact that he has nothing in common with his girlfriend? Quite often, I'd guess.

Not sure exactly where I'm going with this. I've been blessed by the internet to have met someone, yet cursed by the distance involved.

I thought my Mom was a whack job for falling for some guy through the mail. I wish now that I'd at least talked to her about her experience. Not just to get her take on the subject but so he would have had a chance to share.

I thought my Stepfather was a whack job for the same reason (plus some...). I'm sure he knew I thought that, as he made jokes about it all the time. He seemed proud of his whack-job-ness. I suppose that's good.

I wish I'd talked to him about it, too. I might have learned more about my Mom.

After Bert died, I learned that he called me his son, when referring to me with his friends. I thought that was kinda nice, at the time. His own, natural children didn't appreciate him, I'm afraid, so I was happy to have made him a little happier.

So, it's strange how aspects of your life come back to you in strange and different ways. Ways that you wouldn't expect. Now that I have my own long distance, pen-pal style, singles-ad-esq relationship, I've come to appreciate parts of my parents that I hadn't just overlooked, but actually shook my head at. Shame on me.

So, that's why I can't just throw the can of Edge Pro Gel (Normal Skin) away. But, what can I do with it? I've got no pictures to speak of. None of his things. Just this can.

Any suggestions?
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...