Speeching

A good friend of mine was married this past weekend, and I had a chance to speak at his wedding. I have loved public speaking ever since I was a kid. I did all the "optimist's club" contests, won a few trips in my day, and grew up with Italians and lawyers in the family.

Speech is in the blood.

El groomero uno is a pretty nice guy and he and his wife make a pretty perfect couple, so writing nice things to say about them was easy. But I just had to share one portion of the speech as it got a pretty good laugh:

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If you knew me you might say "Ed, you have only been married 2 years. How can you possibly think you have been married long enough to dispense advice?" To answer that, I will point you to my wife, Linda. Many times, she reminds me of just how much marriage experience we really do have. In fact, this morning she turned to me and said: "Ed! Being married to you for 2 years is like being married to anyone else for 20!"

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Several times during the evening strangers would approach us and say (to Linda) "You have to put up with this guy, eh? Good luck!" And we would all get a big laugh.

I'd like to think the bride and groom (and others) heard some of that advice, because it was advice given to (not invented by) me and it has served Linda and I quite well for our 2 short years. But, it is equally likely that what was memorable in the speech was the self-deprecation! 8)

--for those who heard the speech--
For those wondering, the witnessing of your life idea was from the movie "Shall We Dance". It's worth watching the movie for that series of quotes alone.

-Ed

Linda Married A Nerd

We just, today, celebrated our 2nd wedding anniversary: June 28: 6/28. How do I know this? How will I forever be insured that I will not forget our wedding anniversary?

Well... the mathematical number pi is about equal to 3.14. So.... our anniverary is 6.28 or...

2*pi.

Efforts to try and have "2pi" engraved into my wedding band were, summarily, refused. Regardless, a good anniversary was had by all.

Family Date Bingo

We all play it, it just so happens that some of us are more addicted to it than others. What, might you ask, is family date bingo? It's when you take out a calendar and mark down successive dates for some family event until you have made a straight line, vertical or horizontal, diagonal, or at 4 corners. Once this happens, you are allowed to yell "FAMILY BINGO" as loud as possible, and your prize is an excuse to not have to attend the event in the first place.

Still a little fuzzy on the concept? Let's try an example.

You have an aunt Agnes, who wants people to come over to her house for crabs and swimming in her pool. Everyone agrees on a date: Memorial Day. A few days before Memorial Day, you get a phone call to say that it might be a lousy day out and the event will be rescheduled. When was it rescheduled for? July 10th. A little calendar shifting and you say "yes, we can make it then".

A few days later you get a phone call. The 10th is too busy for people, can you do July 4th? A little more shuffling and you say "yes, we can probably do that".

A few days later you get a phone call. Aunt Agnes had meant September 4th, instead of July 4th. Her exact words being "July 10th is bad for some people, we should do the 4th instead". How anyone could not get "September" from this is anyone's guess! 8)

So, we move the date to September 4th.

FAMILY BINGO!

I win!

-Ed

Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated

I am doing fine, but have been trying to catch up with many things...

- Work has had some major fires (metaphorical fires...)
- My martial arts instructor just got out of surgery
- My friend was married over the weekend and I got to speak at his wedding.
- I've been playing "family organizational date bingo" (Linda and I have 4 events between July 2nd and 5th)
- I've been running around trying to figure out what happened to my grad school applications.

A great and humble thanks to those who have asked what has happened to me.

The short answer is I have temporarily traded this tar pit for a few others. 8)

Ouch

I have a treadmill in my basement. You already know that if you've been nosing around here for any decent amount of time. You may even infer that I had been using it on a daily basis and, if you did, you would be correct.

I walk on the thing. I jog on the thing. One day, I will run on the thing. Right now 20 minutes of jogging sandwiched between 20 minutes of walking is plenty for this "large-framed" male.

I even went to the gym 7 times on my 9 day cruise. Clearly, the 7 pounds I seemed to have gained is all muscle, but that is a different post altogether.

You see, I bought a tool, a treadmill. Now, as every guy can tell you, the only thing you need once you have a tool is another tool to help you better utilize the first tool.

Let me give you a woodworking example...Once you have a table saw, you need a router to edge the wood you cut, which needs a router table to edge cleanly, which needs a drill press to make custom throat plates, which needs a work table to hold the drill press, which needs a set of vices to hold your work pirces, which need clamps to hold pieces not in the vices, etc.. etc.. you get the idea.

What tools do you need with a treadmill? A television (check). Some music (check). A shelf to hold water (check). Some comfy shorts and t-shirts (check). A nice set of running shoes! Running shoes are the perfect tool to pair with a nice treadmill.

So, right before the cruise Linda and I went to Dicks sporting goods to buy a pair of running shoes (this was the same trip that brought home the punching bag and, no, I have not broken my wrists yet).

I got the best running shoes in the world. Good arch support, a very wide heel area for "bigger guys" to provide good ankle support and cushioning. The next night was a "jog" night, so I put them on and did my hour on the `mill.

Oh sweat lord, the pain was incredible. About half way through the "program" my right arch was absolutely *pounding*. Not to be deterred, I turned up the TV volume and buckled down, to jog through the pain. The adrenaline rush took the edge off, and sheer willpower got my through the workout. That dedication, and working through that pain is a special thing that runners like to call "Being Extrordinarily Stupid".

My right foot, apparently, is flat (and subsequently bruised). No jogging for me for a while. I was hopping around on my left foot for days. Even getting on the cruise ship my right foot was throbbing.

Tonight is my first attempt to jog a little, and I am terrified of my new running shoes. Some web sites say to "stick with it" and after about 2-3 weeks the pain goes away as your arches get the support they need. I guess time will tell.

Until then, if you see me and I am limping, you certainly know why.

-Ed

Sunglasses Snob

I have a confession to make (yeah, I know what you are thinking... just one?). Yes. Today, I have just one confession to make:

I am a sunglasses snob.

I like nice sunglasses. Sunglass hut sunglasses. RayBan sunglasses. Polarized lenses and carbon body sunglasses. My last two pairs of sunglasses cost over $100 each, 3 and 7 years ago, respectively.

This is a passion and a weakness which has caused me to bear much chiding over the years. My brother-in-law swears his dollar store sunglasses are indistinguishable from mine. Once, he even took mine home by "mistake". How one can mistake these two pairs of sunglasses is beyond me! I knew the minute the injection-molded plastic hit my face that the tinted plastic I was looking through did not comprise my dear sunglasses. I would have called my bro blind except I have a feeling that the blind have too heightened a sense of dark glasses and white canes and would be deeply offended.

Three years ago I bought my last set of expensive sunglasses: Ray Ban Daddy-O RB 2016's with polarized lenses. Aren't they terrific?



About a month ago, I broke my Ray Ban Daddy-O RB 2016's. I left them in my car, with the windows up. The heat coupled with them being crammed in a drink holder, must have weakened some bond. Attempting to put them on, one of the "ear arms" fell off as I lifted the glasses to my face. I may try to glue them back together.

In a mad dash I went to the Sunglass Hut at the local mall. Being such the sunglass snob, I could find nothing there that I liked. Not the Ray Ban selection. Not the Oakley sunglasses. Not the Arnette sunglasses. revo. versace. skagen. g-shock. Bah. Nothing would meet my needs, regardless of paying $50.00 or $500.00.

Running out of time before the cruise I took my plight to my wife. That's what guys are supposed to do. Linda would help me find my pair of sunglasses, and tell me it was OK to spend the money on them.

Hoooo boy, does that sound funny in hindsight.

A short talk later me and "Mrs. Fixit" were cruisin' the local Target picking up underwater cameras, sunscreen and... yikes a $10 pair of Cherokee sunglasses.
But these glasses, they felt solid, but smooth. The lenses not polarized, but well tinted, and I liked the way I looked in them. Worse, after having lived with them throughout the cruise, I have found that I have enjoyed having them.

This puts me in an odd position. I am a sunglasses snob who is secretly wearing a cheap pair of $10 Cherokee sunglasses while my $130 Ray Ban sunglasses sit, unfixed, in my office.

Yeah, I get it... "what great problems weigh on your mind, oh shallow one". But, I am sure (with a little elbow grease, pixie dust, and creative license) a good life lesson can be gleaned from between these lines.

Back

Well, today is my first day back to work since the 9 day cruise, and what a wonderful cruise it has been. Lots of stories and pictures to follow. Oddly, I'm not in a rush to relate all of the tales, as keeping and telling them lets me extend my time on the ship just a little bit longer.

Still Cruisin

Just came into Key West. I hate Key West? Why? When you coming from the Bahamas back to Key West you need to go through customs. Linda and I had to be awake at 7:00am to show a homeland security goon our passports. NO ONE is allowed off the ship until EVERY person on the ship has been through "passport control". It is now 8:30am and they are still calling names for people to come in, and no-one has been let off the ship yet. Lots and Lots of surly guests here.

Hint: NEVER go on a cruise ship whose itinerary takes you away from the states and then back again during the cruise. I'm just glad Linda and I think Key West is crap and had planned on staying on the boat today anyway.

I don't know why they say Royal Caribbean is for older people. Oh wait.. Linda and I just missed an arthritis seminar in the day spa and, no, I'm not kidding. I've never seen so many wheelchairs in my life (and, yes, they have special sand-friendly, dune-buggy wheel chairs for the beach). Actually, that kind of makes me feel good -- seeing people who really appreciate the area instead of a bunch of teenage brats whining about waits.

Every night there is ballroom dancing in the centrium lounge, which is by the main "grand" staircase in the ship. It has been comandered by a groupd of elderly asians celebrating a family reunion. The 10 of them dance the night away (well, until midnight, things close up kinda early around here).

Food is really good (no tenderloin of chicken). Yesterday was Coco Cay, Royal Caribbean's private island. It was beautiful. Linda and I snorkeled and layed on mats. Apparently, when applying sunscreen to my back Linda suffered an epileptic seizure and left big, weird gaps of coverage. The ensuing bright red burns on my back leave me looking a bit like a walking "ink-blot" test (No, I can't spell Rorschatt --???)

Oh dear. They are calling 5 guests to passport control.... If you happen to see:

Charles, John, Albert, Kathy or Debrah

Please, hit them with a shovel. Oh, wait, hit them AFTER they show their passport, thus ending the anxiety of the 2000+ people they are holding hostage.

-Ed (annoyed at having to get up at 7:00am while on vacation)

Cruisin'

Hey all,

Linda and I are on a ship heading off to the Caribbean! Woohoo! I've got 4 or 5 backlogged blog entries to put in, but we hit a couple of snags:

1. This ship doesn't have in-room wireless internet access like I thought, so, no pictures.

2. This ship doesn't give you a one-time fee for internet usage. It's 50 cents a minute.

3. Work got ungly and most of my internet budget will be spent answering work emails after Linda has gone to bed. 8)

Sorry, at 50 cents a minute this is the best bloggin you will get.

The ship is gorgeous. We arrived at noon and we on the ship by 12:10. The ship was deserted until 3pm. We were very lucky. Food is good. Linda and I had a dinner table set for 6 and it was just the 2 of us. We agreed to let an older woman and her husband join us for the rest of the week as they were seated with screaming children and were desperate to escape. More on that later.

Also, a reminder of things to blog:

- My exercise equipment hurt me.
- The sunglasses fiasco
- Cruise pictures

-Ed

Going to Turkey for a Haircut

I went to the mall today at lunch to get a haircut, and I'll bet you $2.00 that I can make a blog post out of it.

Why? Well, for starters, my "hairmaster" was just in from Turkey:



What on earth does that have to do with anything? Well, for people born in Turkey English is probably not their first language. In fact, it might not be their second language either. Communication aside, I feel the need to preface this blog entry by saying that my hairmaster was a very nice, fit person who has been working in the states for several months after moving here to be with his close family, leaving two brothers and a sick father behind. All in all, it is very much "The American Dream", just add electric clippers.

Now, to discuss this process we call "the hair cut"... To protect his privacy, I have decided to change my barber-du-jour's name. We will need to use something generic, as I do not want to pre-jade your opinions of this experience, I want the facts to stand for themselves. TO keep it fair, let's use... "Clipper-Wielding Maniac", or CWM for short.

All haircuts begin with some small talk, a little "how are you", "How do you want your hair cut today", stuff like that. Sometimes, haircuts begin with a nubile young woman washing and shampooing your head, Or, sometimes, as was the case today, it was the 70 year old, blind, arthritic grandmother of said nubile young woman who shot hot water on my face before sending me off to the hair experimentation laboratory.

Once in "the lab", my specific small-talk went something like this:

CWM: Hello! How are you today!
Me: I'm good. How are you?
CWM: That's nice, Ok? How do you like your hair?
Me: As short as you want, I'm going on a cruise and want to be cool.
CWM: buzz buzz buzz buzz buzz buzz

Yup. I said it. "As short as you want". Now, there were several, perhaps, more preferrable things I could have said, which I did not say. Here are a few potential alternatives, since hindsight is 20/20:


1. Please, I don't want a haircut. Just, if you would, stick me in the eye with a scissor.

2. I was hoping, perhaps, that you would let me sit here and I would cut my own hair.

3. If you do not mind, take this $25.00 and I will go home with no hair cut whatsoever.


But, no, I said "Make it as short as you want!"!

No doubt what he heard was:

"Hi, I'm a big, Hawaiian-shirt-wearing goofy American. I have a big grin on my face and want to do nothing but rub in the fact that I am going on a cruise for a week and you aren't. Please, let me close my eyes, while you take a sharp cutting instrument and wave it around my head. My wet head. Yes, please plug that 1910-era thing into the wall socket and rub it all over my wet head. By the way, I will give you a big tip if you make me cry when you are finished."

Now, it is, of course, arrogant of me to assume that a communication gap was solely to blame for this unfortunate event. There is, of course, another more... universal... reason for this.

CWM was almost completely bald.

I don't know why a person devoid of head-hair would work in the hairmastering industry. The only reasons I can think of involve fetish and/or revenge. It has been said that all artists make art in their own image, and CWM is certainly no exception.

Alas, pointing out the irony of receeding clippers is far less humorous then originally thought, so, let's just cut to the chase...

So, without further ado, I present to you my "new vacation look":






I'm sure it will all grow back, given a few years and some kind of steroid cream.

-Ed

ps. Apparently, Linda loves the look.

Spirituality or Bust

Linda and I joined up with some friends and went to mass this Sunday at "the school we'd like our as-yet-unconceived child to attend". We hit the 10:30 mass assuming the adult choir would be there, as the mass schedule said:

Mass: 9:00, 10:30, Adult Choir, noon.

No adult choir, so I guess they meant the noon mass.

Now, I have not, by any means, been a devout church goer these past several years, but I try very hard to have a spiritual, if grass-roots, relationship with my creator. I'm also used to attending churches with a community feel. The last two churches that I attended regularly had cookies and juice after mass, had people stay after and chat, and were easy to befriend.

I know, sometimes, it drove Linda nuts when we stayed after and ate bagels and chatted with some elderly church goers, especially when we had a busy Sunday ahead of us, but it is what I really like to do.

So, how does that map to my Sunday church experience? I felt a little unsettled by it, and since this is my digital diary, I really want to organize and record my thoughts on the matter.

So, in essence, this is a rant. All my non-christian friends, please bear with me or skip entirely! 8)

If the only reason you go to church is to just "check-off" an attendance box in heaven, stay home! The attendance that is required is your spiritual attendance, not your physical attendance. Maybe it was the section we were in but it seems like everyone was just itching to bolt.

- People didn't want to shake hands at the "sign of peace". One guy actually frowned and grudginly unfolded his arms long enough for a limp-wristed "hope this satisfies you".

- Alot of people didn't sing Or they sung with the smae vigor with which movie zombies subtly murmur "brains... brains". The pastor at my old church used to say "when you sing you pray twice", which is something I like. Most of us can't hold a note in a bucket (whatever that means!) but the point isn't to impress everyone around you with your beautiful voice. The point is to join in with those around you. Set down the vanity and pick up the hymnal.

- Many people cut out right after communion. This is, to me, the religious equivalent of "eat and run". Or just saying "hey, I just go to God's house for the food." I have never, ever understood why people do this on a regular basis. I understand if you have to go somewhere, but, still. When I went on a regular basis one of the most calm moments of my entire week was meditating on the kneeler after communion. I often liked to sit up front so that I would get back to my seat sooner and have more time to meditate.

- Many more cut out at the start of the ending hymn to "beat the traffic".

- The behaviour of some people in the parking lot was attrocious. People cutting others off, cutting through empty parking spots to get ahead in line.

- The priest had no desire to engage the congregation. Walking up to the priest (who was standing alone after mass on the steps) I introduced myself and said we were going to be joining the congregation. His response? "Call the office on Monday" and without even looking at me hurried back into the church. His attitude was "that's nice. I don't want to be standing here talking to you".

I was totally grossed out. I felt like a hippocrite just attending. Linda tried to make me understand a bit more. Alot of people have kids. It's a day during the summer. People have things to do.

Church is not a chore. It's a 1 hour retreat. It's a 1 hour celebration. It's a 1 hour reflection period. You should go because you get something out of it.

We are going to try a noon mass and see if it is a little more community-centered, and I hope I was just walking in with expectations of something different based on my "home" churches (where I was an altar boy and where my dad used to cantor).

Maybe one day I'll be happy to sit in the pew, take little to no notice of those around me, not sing, watch the clock until communiion and then skip out to get a head-start on the parking nightmare. Or I might not.

Spirituality or Bust, baby.

-Ed

ps. A quick lunchtime conversation on this topic yielded an interesting point of view: This behavior tends to be indicative of a large congregation population. Smaller congregations tend to be more community centered, which was certainly the case with my previous church.

I Just Gained 80lbs

Last Friday I went out and gained 80 pounds and, worse, I paid for the privilege.

You might remember that Linda and I are constructing a small exercise room in our house and, you might remember, that (to date) it had been stocked with "used" exercise equipment donated from friends and family. Well, there was one thing we were missing and we didn't even know it: a punching bag.

How did I know I was missing a punching bag? After trying (and failing) for the umpteenth time to finish some stupid playstation game that the obsessive compulsive in me wants to finish I was overcome with the urge to just hit something. (And no, this is not indicative of a new violence streak in me -- we've all hit a pillow at some point in our lives).

The only problem? I had no pillow to pummel. So Linda and I drove to the local Dicks Sporting Goods Store where we learned two things:

1) Our neighbor brings his children there to play on the exercise equipment.
2) Hitting heavy bags is really really fun.

So, 80lb heavy bag and gloves in tow, we get into the checkout line. It's 5 minutes after closing time so everyone is in the same line, including the guy behind me (with his 2 children). Since the line is a little long, he strikes up a conversation with me.

Nosey Guy With Kids: Hey, is that a heavy bag?
Me: Sure is!
Nosey Guy With Kids: What are you going to use it for?
Me: I had a stressful day and wanted to his something, and this turned out to be really fun to hit.
Nosey Guy With Kids: -- dum-struck stare -- Why would you buy that bag?
Me: Well, the 40lb bags swung too much when we were test-hitting them before. So I figured an 80lb bag would swing less.
Nosey Guy With Kids: An 80lb bag is a heavy bag. You shouldn't buy that bag.
Me: Huh?
Nosey Guy With Kids: Why do you want a bag anyway?
Me: Huh?
Nosey Guy With Kids: You are going to break your wrist. Do you have wraps at home? Do you know how to wrap your wrist?
Me: These gloves that we bought have wrap-around wrist supports, thank you for your concern, we will look up safety precautions. -- showing him my pair of gloves and Linda's pair of gloves
Nosey Guy With Kids: -- Same dum-struck look at the thought Linda would use the bag too -- I mean, it's just me, but, I used to box and kickbox and you really shouldn't use that bag. Why are you buying this again? Why do you want to just hit something? Are you training for something?
Me: Well, I take JuJitsu -- thinking, just tell him something to get him to shut up
Nosey Guy With Kids: I took 6 years of JuJitsu. You don't punch much in JuJitsu. Why would you need a bag for that workout.
Me: -- sooo done with this guy -- Thanks for all your help. -- turn around and start paying for the bag

***pause***

Nosey Guy With Kids: Where do you take JuJitsu?
--I tell him where I take JuJitsu--
Nosey Guy With Kids: Who teaches you?
--I tell him who teaches me--
Nosey Guy With Kids: She used to teach me XX years ago!
Me: Great! What is your name, I'll tell her your said hi.

Suddenly when *he* had to answer a question, he gets all nervous. He shuffles around a bit, looks up and says:

Nosey Guy With Kids: Dan.

Dan. Hey, sensei, Dan from 20 years ago said hi. Nice. Here's what I said:

Me: Great. Have a nice life!

Here is what I wanted to say:

Me: You can't just give a first name, it's too general. Why would you give a first name? Were you close to her when you trained? Have you changed your last name? I would give your last name. Are you trying to hide your identity? I've been talking to people for 30 years, and you really should give people your last name, too. Why don't you give your last name, again?

What a nosey, annoying, space-invading weird kinda guy!

_Ed

As epilogue, we've hung the bag, used it quite a bit already, love it, and our wrists are just fine.

Ray

I've noticed recently that I miss Ray.

No, not Ray the movie.


No, not Ray the fencing instructor.

I miss Ray the homeless panhandler.

It is not an uncommon site in my neck of the woods to see a (presumably) homeless person set up camp on the median strip by a popular or crowded stoplight. Usually they have a blanket or two, some water, and a cardboard sign telling the world a little bit about their plight and asking for help.


Some people become very jaded about these "panhandlers", and you hear everything from "junky" to "alcoholic" to "I heard on < insert news source here > that these guys make over $40k a year with this scam". You get lots and lots of opinions and even some research on the subject.

Well, instead of scoffing and walking away here is a sure fire method to determine if your friendly neighborhood panhandler is "the real McCoy":

Give them some food.

You know, a couple of oranges, maybe some parmalot. Squeezable peanut butter and jelly and some enriched white bread. Nothing with seeds, no apples, sometimes teeth can be in bad shape. On a 100 degree day a sno-ball doesn't hurt either. You'll find out pretty quick who needs food and who needs $$ for their next score. You'll hear everything from:

God bless you, sir.

to

What the hell am I supposed to do with this?

Ray was the former, not the latter, and he'd been around the median near my house for the better part of 2 years. Summer or winter. I saw him on snow covered median strips and I saw him sitting there in the rain. He was the postman of panhandlers.

I haven't seen him in a few weeks. In fact, it just registered in my brain today on the way to work, that he was missing, and had been for some time.

I will choose to think that he might have found better luck on a different median strip. Or, perhaps, he hooked up with some adult education or care facilities and no longer has need for a median strip. Or, best, he was one of the ones who made $40K tax free a year begging dollar bills on a street corner and just retired to tahiti.

Yup. That is what I will choose to think.

You should check out the Homeless People's Network. It's a different world out there.

Mea Apologia

My spelling is attrocious. Horrid. A specific type of slander against the English language itself. Worse, I have chosen to compound the general insult that is my typing with the publicity of this blog.

Why do I spell so poorly?

1. I don't go back and edit my posts unless I add new material. Why? Unless meaning is impaired, spelling and grammar are not the goals here. Sorry, but this blog does not apsire to literature.

2. I grew up with lawyers. Now, lawyers, as a group, spell rather well (or at least use enough $2 words that if they are misspelled you won't know it). But I am not a lawyer and, at present, have no desire to be one. So what is the significance? I grew up hearing and, thus, using $2 words in conversation that I could never possibly put down on paper. These blogs are my conversations to myself. They use my verbal idioms. The underscore the fact that I can't spell half of what I say.

So, there you have it: my confession; my apology.

I will try and do beter in the fyouchore.

Getting Our Kid Enrolled In School

We need to get our kid enrolled in elementary school. Linda and I have finally decided to join a local parish (when we were going regularly we were driving almost 30 minutes away). We are joining partly because it is close, partly because it has a good reputation, partly because my aunt and uncle go there, and partly because it has a very, very good elementary school associated with it. I'll leave it to you to figure out the various "percentages of importance".

Membership is important, because we need our child to get enrolled into this elementary school, as parishioners get a 30% discount on tuition and there can be quite a wait since we live in a "booming" area. I would feel terrible if we didn't get our kid in there!

Notice I'm not naming our kid. Why, might you ask, is that the case? Easy: (s)he hasn't been born yet. Congratulations, you might say, Linda must be pregnant. Nope. We haven't started trying to conceive yet.

Nope, we don't have a child, we haven't started to conceive, and we already feel behind in trying to enroll our child in elementary school. If that isn't messed up, I don't know what is!

-Ed

ps. Linda rejected my idea that we use a year's tuition to buy a big-screen TV and use it to help home school our children. *sigh*