So, I just received an e-mail from a friend today who's finally, after 5 years of writing, revising, hoping, praying, worrying, thinking, and praying some more, having his book published. What's more, he's having all three of his books published (he wrote a trilogy) and getting paid a nice advance for the work. Wow. Congrats to you, BW, and more importantly, how cool has God been throughout this whole process? He'll be the first to tell you that the process I described above resulted in success mainly because of steps four and seven.
I've been with him, albeit in a small way, on the journey, mainly through supportive e-mails and prayer. I think one of the best benefits of prayer, especially in situations like this where you're praying for something good to happen for a friend for a long time, and you wait and wait and wait for that good result to come, is that when God finally does come through, you can react to the news of His faithfulness with joy unalloyed by any hint of baser emotions.
I've found, in myself, that sometimes there's a tiny hint of jealously when a friend or relative succeeds. It's an unworthy emotion, I know, but it's there all the same. It doesn't happen in all cases, by any means, so feel free to keep telling me of your successes. What's more, I haven't narrowed down what the root cause of it is. Is there a word for jealousy at someone's success? It seems like there should be.
Anyway, when you pray with and for someone to succeed, I think that you invest a small part of yourself in that person and in their goal. Therefore, when they succeed, when God comes through in a miraculous or mundane way, it's as if you've succeeded along with them, and you can share in theire joy fully. BW, I'm proud of you, proud that you stayed faithful, and glad that I was able to come along with you, at least in a tiny way, and share in your success.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
A red-letter day
In light of today's auspicious occasion, I thought I'd regale you with a tale or two from my youth.
What stands out to me most about my father is not just one occasion, but all sorts of little ones that, piled one on top of another, create a palimpsest of joy that is the hallmark of any happy childhood. One time when we were driving somewhere--I think it was on the freeway that heads south out of Riverside to Palm Springs. We were together, planning to meet my mom, sister and brother who were already at our destination. That whole ride down, my mind was alive with questions, from wondering about sharks and jellyfish to various internal organs, to astronomy and space. Dad had an answer for every one of those questions, usually one that made me think even harder, but what's more, I remember thinking how great it was that he was listening to me--not just what I was saying, but to me, his son.
Dad would always be the one to wipe off all of the counters in our house, polishing them until I could see my reflection in the surface. He never complained, and still doesn't, about working incredibly long hours at a job packed with responsibility and unhappy people. He would go out into the snow with us and toss snowballs, and he always wore that black sweater with the flourescent green chevrons on the front when we went skiing. Dad never got sick, he never got uncontrollably angry, and he was never, ever ticklish--no matter how hard Bobbi and I tried to make him laugh.
As I raise my daughter, I think back to the gift my father has given me--an example of how to be a role-model, confidante, authority figure, and friend, all in just the right proportions and at just the right times in my life. Happy birthday, Dad.
What stands out to me most about my father is not just one occasion, but all sorts of little ones that, piled one on top of another, create a palimpsest of joy that is the hallmark of any happy childhood. One time when we were driving somewhere--I think it was on the freeway that heads south out of Riverside to Palm Springs. We were together, planning to meet my mom, sister and brother who were already at our destination. That whole ride down, my mind was alive with questions, from wondering about sharks and jellyfish to various internal organs, to astronomy and space. Dad had an answer for every one of those questions, usually one that made me think even harder, but what's more, I remember thinking how great it was that he was listening to me--not just what I was saying, but to me, his son.
Dad would always be the one to wipe off all of the counters in our house, polishing them until I could see my reflection in the surface. He never complained, and still doesn't, about working incredibly long hours at a job packed with responsibility and unhappy people. He would go out into the snow with us and toss snowballs, and he always wore that black sweater with the flourescent green chevrons on the front when we went skiing. Dad never got sick, he never got uncontrollably angry, and he was never, ever ticklish--no matter how hard Bobbi and I tried to make him laugh.
As I raise my daughter, I think back to the gift my father has given me--an example of how to be a role-model, confidante, authority figure, and friend, all in just the right proportions and at just the right times in my life. Happy birthday, Dad.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
The weather feels . . . Hillsdale-y
So walking outside this morning to replace the cover on the grill from last night, I had a distinct sense of nostalgia. The rainy cold weather, the snap in the air--all of it took me back to my college days. I've probably written about this before, but the powerful associations with Hillsdale and fall in the Midwest will probably stick with me the rest of my life, at least until Evie's old enough to go back to school.
Instead of getting in the car and going to work, the weather tells me I should be waking up at 9:55, heading to a Victorian Lit. class captained by a disturbingly cheerful Sunny D. Instead of figuring out my time sheets, the cold air tells me I should be figuring out how to cut Falke's latest article by 15 words so it fits on the page. Instead of tapping away at a keyboard blogging, I should be pounding away at an N64 controller, Mario Karting.
There is one silver lining in all of this, though it does have a trailer of a black cloud attached: I'll be going up to Homecoming this year, staying with a good friend and trying hard not to let the nostalgia overwhelm me further. For those of you who can't be there, I'll be your eyes and ears, blogging about significant and less-significant events that will be taking place. And for those of you who can be there, let's get together and relive the memories together.
Instead of getting in the car and going to work, the weather tells me I should be waking up at 9:55, heading to a Victorian Lit. class captained by a disturbingly cheerful Sunny D. Instead of figuring out my time sheets, the cold air tells me I should be figuring out how to cut Falke's latest article by 15 words so it fits on the page. Instead of tapping away at a keyboard blogging, I should be pounding away at an N64 controller, Mario Karting.
There is one silver lining in all of this, though it does have a trailer of a black cloud attached: I'll be going up to Homecoming this year, staying with a good friend and trying hard not to let the nostalgia overwhelm me further. For those of you who can't be there, I'll be your eyes and ears, blogging about significant and less-significant events that will be taking place. And for those of you who can be there, let's get together and relive the memories together.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Blogging on blogging
You know, I think I've revealed a funadamental truth about myself when it comes to blogging, and that truth is: my life is fairly regular, safe and predicatable. It's unfortunate that those words hold a perjorative sense, but hey, I'm stuck with English for now, thanks to lazing about in Japan for 9 months instead of dilligently studying kanji like my friend Tony no doubt is right now. I think that the sameness of the days contributes to the feeling that nothing is really changing, when in reality (now that I think about it a little deeper), things are changing around me all the time.
Take Evie, for instance (a subject I can't get very far away from). Just two weeks ago, she had lots of words, but rarely, if ever, said more than one at a time. Nowadays, she's stringing two and three words together, and most certainly can understand almost everything said to her, as well as, I suspect, much of what's said around her.
Or, take my work, where the crush of tasks to be done continues to pile up, as usual. Things can be going along swimmingly for awhile, creating the illusion of regularity I mentioned earlier, then Bam! People leave, new ones come, clients leave, clients sign on with us, etc. etc.
I forget the thinker who came up with the concept of "Punctuated Equilibrium," but I think that, no matter what you think about evolution, the idea can be applied to everyday life as well. The basic theory, as I understand it, comes from evolution, where instead of a slow, gradual change in a species, resulting in a fox slowly changing into a wolf, for example, evolutionary change happens very rapidly and is punctuated by a catastrophic change in conditions. Thus, you can have a fossil record of trilobytes stretching back for hundreds of thousands of years, and then, in a century or two, they're all gone--either they evolved into something else or they're extinct.
Life seems to move in the same way---lots of stability punctuated by fierce bursts of rapid change. My only wonder is, when and how will my life change in the same way?
Take Evie, for instance (a subject I can't get very far away from). Just two weeks ago, she had lots of words, but rarely, if ever, said more than one at a time. Nowadays, she's stringing two and three words together, and most certainly can understand almost everything said to her, as well as, I suspect, much of what's said around her.
Or, take my work, where the crush of tasks to be done continues to pile up, as usual. Things can be going along swimmingly for awhile, creating the illusion of regularity I mentioned earlier, then Bam! People leave, new ones come, clients leave, clients sign on with us, etc. etc.
I forget the thinker who came up with the concept of "Punctuated Equilibrium," but I think that, no matter what you think about evolution, the idea can be applied to everyday life as well. The basic theory, as I understand it, comes from evolution, where instead of a slow, gradual change in a species, resulting in a fox slowly changing into a wolf, for example, evolutionary change happens very rapidly and is punctuated by a catastrophic change in conditions. Thus, you can have a fossil record of trilobytes stretching back for hundreds of thousands of years, and then, in a century or two, they're all gone--either they evolved into something else or they're extinct.
Life seems to move in the same way---lots of stability punctuated by fierce bursts of rapid change. My only wonder is, when and how will my life change in the same way?
Thursday, September 06, 2007
On Seeing Dr. Arrnn again
Yesterday, though a monster day at work, Megan and I made time to attend a Hillsdale reception hosted practically in my own backyard. This marked the first time I was able to attend one of these functions, although I have attended similar "Hillsdale events" back in the day, including "THE Hillsdale Event," the inauguration of Larry P. Arrrrrrrrnn and the subsequent initiation/christening of the Good Ship Hillsdale.
That was a night to remember. The College went all out, setting up a giant pavilion in the Quad, putting in A/C and false floors and transforming my humble Ultimate pitch into a rough approximation of a convention center ballroom, or the deck of a sailing ship. Drinks, both alcoholic and non-, flowed freely as the Captain doubled our daily ration of spirits for this occasion. SAGA outdid itself with bacon-wrapped filet and the biggest shrimp I've ever laid my oxymoronic eyes on. After speechifying, a band played and my girlfriend (now my wife) and I danced the night away in the soft summer evening.
The reception certainy echoed that initial inauguration--say what you will about the Captain, but at least he throws a decent shindig. Probably the high point of the evening, aside from seeing old friends and professors again (Dr. Conner is looking particularly well), was a brief conversation my wife and I had with the Captain himself. He was very complimentary, particularly of the old gang of miscreants and malcontents that I used to run around with (we called ourselves the "BackPage Staff" then). Dr. Arrrrrn even went so far as to say that he learned a lot from how we treated him, the Administration, and even the rules of the College itself, and paid us the very flattering compliment that he used our example as his model for student engagement at the College in the present day.
If that's the case, where's the Backpage? What happened to the funny?
Oh well. My wife and I both left invigorated, reminded of just how special a place Hillsdale is, and particuarly how special the people there are.
That was a night to remember. The College went all out, setting up a giant pavilion in the Quad, putting in A/C and false floors and transforming my humble Ultimate pitch into a rough approximation of a convention center ballroom, or the deck of a sailing ship. Drinks, both alcoholic and non-, flowed freely as the Captain doubled our daily ration of spirits for this occasion. SAGA outdid itself with bacon-wrapped filet and the biggest shrimp I've ever laid my oxymoronic eyes on. After speechifying, a band played and my girlfriend (now my wife) and I danced the night away in the soft summer evening.
The reception certainy echoed that initial inauguration--say what you will about the Captain, but at least he throws a decent shindig. Probably the high point of the evening, aside from seeing old friends and professors again (Dr. Conner is looking particularly well), was a brief conversation my wife and I had with the Captain himself. He was very complimentary, particularly of the old gang of miscreants and malcontents that I used to run around with (we called ourselves the "BackPage Staff" then). Dr. Arrrrrn even went so far as to say that he learned a lot from how we treated him, the Administration, and even the rules of the College itself, and paid us the very flattering compliment that he used our example as his model for student engagement at the College in the present day.
If that's the case, where's the Backpage? What happened to the funny?
Oh well. My wife and I both left invigorated, reminded of just how special a place Hillsdale is, and particuarly how special the people there are.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Greenish-pale thoughts
So I've been sick lately--spent most of Sunday in a chair at my wife's grandmother's trying to trick my body into sleeping so I wouldn't have to experience the feeling of losing last night's dinner, or what was left of it, again. And again. And again. Although it might seem like I only write in this blog when I'm sick or guilty, I want you to know that that's not the case. I also write in this blog when I don't have much to do at work, which lately hasn't been often.
That also contributes to why I'm writing today. Something I'm starting to realize is that I (I won't presume to speak for you, or even my fellow americans) have a slightly overblown sense of my own importance to the place where I work. Living in Japan, and talking to Europeans when there, made me realize that this is not a common attitude worldwide, though it is a common one, I've observed, in Americans. I'm at work today, despite a recent recurrence of the symptoms from Sunday, and so this sense of the importance of my work is much on my mind right now.
Is it something you've observed in yourself as well? Do you feel like you have to be at work, or at least know what's going on there, 24/7 or 24/5 as the case may be? In my case, I think it was something ingrained in me when I was little--I was the kid that always wanted to go to school, and would pretend to be better than I was in order to go. My sister had a much more sensible attitude--when my Mom took time off work, she would conveniently be "sick" until it was too late in the day for her to go to school, and then she'd pop up, cured and ready to spend the day with her mommy. Maybe this sense comes from being the first, and theoretically, most responsible child, I don't know.
I just know that I think I'm going to go home early today--right after this important meeting with my colleague.
That also contributes to why I'm writing today. Something I'm starting to realize is that I (I won't presume to speak for you, or even my fellow americans) have a slightly overblown sense of my own importance to the place where I work. Living in Japan, and talking to Europeans when there, made me realize that this is not a common attitude worldwide, though it is a common one, I've observed, in Americans. I'm at work today, despite a recent recurrence of the symptoms from Sunday, and so this sense of the importance of my work is much on my mind right now.
Is it something you've observed in yourself as well? Do you feel like you have to be at work, or at least know what's going on there, 24/7 or 24/5 as the case may be? In my case, I think it was something ingrained in me when I was little--I was the kid that always wanted to go to school, and would pretend to be better than I was in order to go. My sister had a much more sensible attitude--when my Mom took time off work, she would conveniently be "sick" until it was too late in the day for her to go to school, and then she'd pop up, cured and ready to spend the day with her mommy. Maybe this sense comes from being the first, and theoretically, most responsible child, I don't know.
I just know that I think I'm going to go home early today--right after this important meeting with my colleague.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Guilt-free writing
Sometimes I think the purpose of a blog is to be made to feel guilty by one's friends. If that's true, then it's certainly working well in my case, although I'm sure they can't complain because their snarky comments have resulted in another blog post. Seriously though, thanks for the prodding (good natured, I hope!) and pushing to keep up with this thing. It's too bad I can't make any money off of "blog posts apologizing for not writing." The problem is, they're too common.
The other difficult thing about blogging is that the big things--work, family, recreation--seem to change very slowly, or not at all, now that I'm settled into married life. Of course, as soon as I typed that sentence, I realized how false it was, as Evie's growing and changing faster than I can keep up. Didn't someone once say that one of the main benefits of children is keeping you young?
Nowadays, she's walking and talking, when she isn't running and crying, that is. She's made the full transition from " helpless bundle of needs and wants" to "bundle of needs and wants that can sometimes fulfill its own needs and wants." She's become a little person instead of a little thing, and her personality is starting to show. Luckily for us, it appears we've lucked into a very sweet, very smart person.
In terms of developmental milestones, for those of you keeping track (Hi Mom!), she can string words together--like "Too Bright!" or "Read Snowflakes!"--as well as pick up and remember new words in a jiffy. She's started to request using the potty, although this is sporadic at best, and the main reason she requests it is to use the toilet paper and throw it in the pot. She loves having "Medicine" put on her ouchies, of which there are plenty, and has started to show an aversion to bathing. Her brown eyes sparkle with intelligence, when you can see them underneath a fierce mop of light brown curls (we have yet to cut her hair).
As for me and Meg, well, that's the subject for another post. Thanks for reading, and for your patience.
The other difficult thing about blogging is that the big things--work, family, recreation--seem to change very slowly, or not at all, now that I'm settled into married life. Of course, as soon as I typed that sentence, I realized how false it was, as Evie's growing and changing faster than I can keep up. Didn't someone once say that one of the main benefits of children is keeping you young?
Nowadays, she's walking and talking, when she isn't running and crying, that is. She's made the full transition from " helpless bundle of needs and wants" to "bundle of needs and wants that can sometimes fulfill its own needs and wants." She's become a little person instead of a little thing, and her personality is starting to show. Luckily for us, it appears we've lucked into a very sweet, very smart person.
In terms of developmental milestones, for those of you keeping track (Hi Mom!), she can string words together--like "Too Bright!" or "Read Snowflakes!"--as well as pick up and remember new words in a jiffy. She's started to request using the potty, although this is sporadic at best, and the main reason she requests it is to use the toilet paper and throw it in the pot. She loves having "Medicine" put on her ouchies, of which there are plenty, and has started to show an aversion to bathing. Her brown eyes sparkle with intelligence, when you can see them underneath a fierce mop of light brown curls (we have yet to cut her hair).
As for me and Meg, well, that's the subject for another post. Thanks for reading, and for your patience.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Updates
Sorry for the fall off in blog production. A number of family issues, one of which I'll tell you about shortly, kept me away from the computer. That, and indolence, laziness, business, whatever you want to call it. Thanks for the encouragement, Hack, to post--I'll try not to let June go by without posting more than once.
So the other Monday (Memorial Day) we were returning home from a trip to G-ma Fouts' farm, where we had spent the weekend. A peaceful place with waving corn, country roads, and comfort food, we were returning from the trip happy, satisfied, and slightly early in the afternoon, ready to do a bit of light gardening and visiting Linda and Ed for Budnt cake before putting the babycakes to bed. Well, that was the plan, anyway.
The reality was, I found myself in bed with incredible stomach pain. My best analogy for the pain would be if a 98-lb weakling was punching me lightly and repeatedly in the stomach, and then that weakling slowly started to gain muscle mass until he was as powerful as Mike Tyson in his prime and just as crazy (he is punching me in the stomach for no reason, after all). And for the medically inclined out there, he wasn't focusing on just one area, but working the whole abdomen.
So I tried to soldier through it at first, laying on the floor while Evie played on me and Megan folded laundry. Tried to get some rest in bed while the two of them went to eat that Bundt cake. Tried to take my mind off of it by playing a video game (Puzzle Quest, an RPG-Puzzle game where Bejeweled is the main engine). Eventually, I called my parents to ask for advice, and, alarmingly enough, they recommended an immediate trip to the Emergency Room.
By this time, the 98-lb weakling had worked his way up to middleweight class. I climbed into the car, Megan zoomed off, and we were on our way to the ER at Lutheran Hospital. By this time, it was 8 p.m. and I still had an article to finish up for Play Magazine that was due that night. After the preliminaries, they took me back to a room and I proceeded to writhe and groan while a nurse with tiny eyebrows stuck me first in one arm, then the other when my right arm veins decided they didn't want to be an IV site after all. After we were left in relative peace, I dictated the rest of my article to Megan, who relayed it to Linda, who proofread and e-mailed the article to my editor. Free to suffer in peace, Megan and I spent the next 7 hours waiting to be x-rayed and CAT scanned, and for a doctor to come and examine me. Thankfully, nurses with syringes of powerful painkillers made the wait much less painful, though not less fearful.
I was semi-coherent during this time. After the first shot of morphine, the pain subsided enough to let me sleep, then after the first scan they needed me to drink some stuff that would help my internal organs show up better. That brought the pain back on again, and another shot of morphine. After the second scan, the doctor said that they had ruled out any of the emergency causes of the pain (appendix, kidney stones, gall stones, etc) and that, since I was feeling better, they were going to discharge me and give me a perscription for Vicodin. When I asked about the pain, they said that I should take the Vicodin if in pain and see my family doctor ASAP for a referral to a GI specialist.
Somewhat disheartened, but mostly just tired, we went home at 4 a.m., woke Linda up and sent her home, and I rested for two days waiting for the pain to come back, which it never did. I still have the bottle of Vicodin, and a new appreciation for what Megan went through with Evie.
Oh, and my editor decided not to use the article. Good times.
So the other Monday (Memorial Day) we were returning home from a trip to G-ma Fouts' farm, where we had spent the weekend. A peaceful place with waving corn, country roads, and comfort food, we were returning from the trip happy, satisfied, and slightly early in the afternoon, ready to do a bit of light gardening and visiting Linda and Ed for Budnt cake before putting the babycakes to bed. Well, that was the plan, anyway.
The reality was, I found myself in bed with incredible stomach pain. My best analogy for the pain would be if a 98-lb weakling was punching me lightly and repeatedly in the stomach, and then that weakling slowly started to gain muscle mass until he was as powerful as Mike Tyson in his prime and just as crazy (he is punching me in the stomach for no reason, after all). And for the medically inclined out there, he wasn't focusing on just one area, but working the whole abdomen.
So I tried to soldier through it at first, laying on the floor while Evie played on me and Megan folded laundry. Tried to get some rest in bed while the two of them went to eat that Bundt cake. Tried to take my mind off of it by playing a video game (Puzzle Quest, an RPG-Puzzle game where Bejeweled is the main engine). Eventually, I called my parents to ask for advice, and, alarmingly enough, they recommended an immediate trip to the Emergency Room.
By this time, the 98-lb weakling had worked his way up to middleweight class. I climbed into the car, Megan zoomed off, and we were on our way to the ER at Lutheran Hospital. By this time, it was 8 p.m. and I still had an article to finish up for Play Magazine that was due that night. After the preliminaries, they took me back to a room and I proceeded to writhe and groan while a nurse with tiny eyebrows stuck me first in one arm, then the other when my right arm veins decided they didn't want to be an IV site after all. After we were left in relative peace, I dictated the rest of my article to Megan, who relayed it to Linda, who proofread and e-mailed the article to my editor. Free to suffer in peace, Megan and I spent the next 7 hours waiting to be x-rayed and CAT scanned, and for a doctor to come and examine me. Thankfully, nurses with syringes of powerful painkillers made the wait much less painful, though not less fearful.
I was semi-coherent during this time. After the first shot of morphine, the pain subsided enough to let me sleep, then after the first scan they needed me to drink some stuff that would help my internal organs show up better. That brought the pain back on again, and another shot of morphine. After the second scan, the doctor said that they had ruled out any of the emergency causes of the pain (appendix, kidney stones, gall stones, etc) and that, since I was feeling better, they were going to discharge me and give me a perscription for Vicodin. When I asked about the pain, they said that I should take the Vicodin if in pain and see my family doctor ASAP for a referral to a GI specialist.
Somewhat disheartened, but mostly just tired, we went home at 4 a.m., woke Linda up and sent her home, and I rested for two days waiting for the pain to come back, which it never did. I still have the bottle of Vicodin, and a new appreciation for what Megan went through with Evie.
Oh, and my editor decided not to use the article. Good times.
Friday, April 27, 2007
A photo
Here's Evie in her favorite sweater at the playground. She's 13 months. Notice the tiny balls on her sweater--she loves to put them in her mouth, and will carry the sweater around with her even when she's not wearing it.
She's trying to put her finger in a little hole, by the way.
Quick hits
--So I'm completely, utterly enraptured by an online game known as Warfish recently. The game itself isn't much to speak of, it's mainly the chance to interact with friends like JS, ND, and even RD and CR. An online version of RISK, Warfish lets you play Risk at a distance with your friends. Turns aren't played concurrently, and they don't have to be played while anyone else is online, but sometimes, when JS, ND and I are all on at the same time, it can almost seem live, but you have to refresh your browser window in order to be able to see if anyone has moved yet. Sometimes I have to restrict myself from hitting that refresh button, just so that I can get some actual work done.
--For those of you following along, it's been almost a month since I've posted. Along with flagging discipline comes a healthy dose of guilt--credit my wife with getting me out of this funk and back into blogging, even if it's just, in her words, a short post.
--Evie's doing well. Her number of new words increases daily. Lately, she's taken to counting, even though she's not sure what she's doing, what she's counting, or even how to say the numbers properly. It is, as you'd imagine, very very cute. I'll have to see if I can get one of her most recent pictures up here on the blog. I'll try it in a post right after this one.
--If you're a praying sort (and I know a lot of you are), please keep us in mind when you talk to the Big Fella. Nothing major going on, but we're between churches right now, and are wandering in the wilderness as we attempt to find one.
--And that's a wrap!
--For those of you following along, it's been almost a month since I've posted. Along with flagging discipline comes a healthy dose of guilt--credit my wife with getting me out of this funk and back into blogging, even if it's just, in her words, a short post.
--Evie's doing well. Her number of new words increases daily. Lately, she's taken to counting, even though she's not sure what she's doing, what she's counting, or even how to say the numbers properly. It is, as you'd imagine, very very cute. I'll have to see if I can get one of her most recent pictures up here on the blog. I'll try it in a post right after this one.
--If you're a praying sort (and I know a lot of you are), please keep us in mind when you talk to the Big Fella. Nothing major going on, but we're between churches right now, and are wandering in the wilderness as we attempt to find one.
--And that's a wrap!
Monday, April 02, 2007
A quick Evie story
So my daughter has just started figuring out how to control the sounds coming out of her mouth. She's the proud owner of several words: Mama, Dada, Baby (her first!), Baa (ball), Up (usually said in a whiny tone) and, her favorite, No. She loves putting a "b" sound in front of many other words. Thus, "Grapes" becomes "Bapes," "Cups" becomes "Beps," etc. etc.
One of our friends gave Evie a musical toy for her birthday in February--Lulu the Word-Spinning Spider. Lulu's pretty cool--she'll play a guessing game with her charges where your baby's tasked with trying to figure out what word she's spinning via a small light display on her tummy. Lulu will also walk you through each of the letters of the alphabet as you pat her tummy, or, in what's Evie's favorite move, she'll sing the entire alphabet song.
Evie loves music, and has begun singing along to some of her favorite lullabies. The other day, when we patted Lulu's tummy and she sang the alphabet song, Evie started to sing along. It went something like this: "Bee, bee, bee, bee, bee, bee, beeeee."
Basically every letter was a B--ya gotta love that.
One of our friends gave Evie a musical toy for her birthday in February--Lulu the Word-Spinning Spider. Lulu's pretty cool--she'll play a guessing game with her charges where your baby's tasked with trying to figure out what word she's spinning via a small light display on her tummy. Lulu will also walk you through each of the letters of the alphabet as you pat her tummy, or, in what's Evie's favorite move, she'll sing the entire alphabet song.
Evie loves music, and has begun singing along to some of her favorite lullabies. The other day, when we patted Lulu's tummy and she sang the alphabet song, Evie started to sing along. It went something like this: "Bee, bee, bee, bee, bee, bee, beeeee."
Basically every letter was a B--ya gotta love that.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Marketing . . . myself
Well, sorry for the lack of posts. In my defense, I've been busy delving into my sister's time sink of choice, Facebook, in the last couple of weeks. It's a nice way to share and show photos, info, etc. without the hassle of Picasa, Flickr, or whatever else I would need to sign up to use in order to post them here on the blog. So, check me out on Facebook for pictures, and continue coming here for random reviews, musings, etc.
In the category of musings, I find that my life has been somewhat taken over by a fun little Beta program called Warfish. Basically an online, very simple version of Risk, the game's free to play and allows me to test my mettle against two of my bestest friends, J and N. Sadly, our first foray into Warfish resulted in an early exit for me, but I can attest to the fun of playing the game against actual human beings rather than the computer I spend my time playing against in games that I review. I can actually remember getting the shakes as I was about to start one of my endgame turns--it was that fun. That was actually the turn where everything went south--a big gamble I took didn't pan out, and N ended up taking the game. So if you see an invitation to Warfish.net from me, accept it and let's play a friendly game.
In the category of musings, I find that my life has been somewhat taken over by a fun little Beta program called Warfish. Basically an online, very simple version of Risk, the game's free to play and allows me to test my mettle against two of my bestest friends, J and N. Sadly, our first foray into Warfish resulted in an early exit for me, but I can attest to the fun of playing the game against actual human beings rather than the computer I spend my time playing against in games that I review. I can actually remember getting the shakes as I was about to start one of my endgame turns--it was that fun. That was actually the turn where everything went south--a big gamble I took didn't pan out, and N ended up taking the game. So if you see an invitation to Warfish.net from me, accept it and let's play a friendly game.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Long week
Man, what a week. From client emergencies to late nights, this was one of the longest weeks on record. Not to complain or anything (because it's sure better to be busy than the alternative), but just to share with you my state of mind as I type away here for the next 4:30 or so.
I think I'm going to focus more on telling stories on this little blog of mine. I went to a presentation of a woman from The Radio Ranch the other day (yesterday) who talked about how marketing these days needs to be emotional, not just reasonable. She cited numerous examples of how creating these emotional ads helped get better results for clients, appealed to potential customers, etc. etc.
I wanted to ask her what to do with the individual who wants nothing to do with emotion, but instead wants to cram a list of features into a 2 x 4 inch newspaper square, or :30 seconds of radio time. I mean, we all have to eat, don't we, and since the client is footing the bill, it pays (pun intended) to listen to what they want instead of telling them that they're stupid and that their advertising won't work. I dunno--the client management part of my job is certainly the hardest part, and I speak of managing internal and external clients here.
So to finish up my story, I raised my hand, but she chose to answer someone else's question and I didn't have a chance to ask it in person. Oh well--I'm not sure she would have had a good answer for me anyway.
I think I'm going to focus more on telling stories on this little blog of mine. I went to a presentation of a woman from The Radio Ranch the other day (yesterday) who talked about how marketing these days needs to be emotional, not just reasonable. She cited numerous examples of how creating these emotional ads helped get better results for clients, appealed to potential customers, etc. etc.
I wanted to ask her what to do with the individual who wants nothing to do with emotion, but instead wants to cram a list of features into a 2 x 4 inch newspaper square, or :30 seconds of radio time. I mean, we all have to eat, don't we, and since the client is footing the bill, it pays (pun intended) to listen to what they want instead of telling them that they're stupid and that their advertising won't work. I dunno--the client management part of my job is certainly the hardest part, and I speak of managing internal and external clients here.
So to finish up my story, I raised my hand, but she chose to answer someone else's question and I didn't have a chance to ask it in person. Oh well--I'm not sure she would have had a good answer for me anyway.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
2 books, 2 weeks
Just finished two books in the last two weeks: The Life of Pi and The Tragedy of the Whaleship Essex. One's true, one's not, both deal with folks getting shipwrecked and having to subsist in extremely harsh conditions. And I enjoyed both immensely, but for different reasons.
The Life of Pi is lyrical, prosaic. It attempts to place the narrator's suffering in a philosophical context. As such, it takes on (at times) the feel of a Gabriel Garcia Marquez novel, usually when its protagonist, Pi, is undergoing the harshest suffering. Told from the perspective of someone looking back on their ordeal, there's no surprise that Pi survives the wreck. Rather, the surprise is that he survives with so much of his humanity intact, particularly when he survived on the same boat as a 500 lb. Bengal tiger for 200-odd days.
Essex, which is a true story, takes a more historical approach. Exhastively researched and entertainingly told, it's not just the story of a shipwreck, but also a lens into life on the island of Nantucket in the 1700s and 1800s. Philbrick (the author) clearly and cleanly lays out the story, drawing logical conclusions on what the men were most likely thinking and feeling from the time the boarded the ship, through their harrowing ordeal across the Pacific, and after they make it back to their community.
I highly recommend both books.
In other news, I'm open to suggestions for my next book--feel free to post your recommendations as comments.
The Life of Pi is lyrical, prosaic. It attempts to place the narrator's suffering in a philosophical context. As such, it takes on (at times) the feel of a Gabriel Garcia Marquez novel, usually when its protagonist, Pi, is undergoing the harshest suffering. Told from the perspective of someone looking back on their ordeal, there's no surprise that Pi survives the wreck. Rather, the surprise is that he survives with so much of his humanity intact, particularly when he survived on the same boat as a 500 lb. Bengal tiger for 200-odd days.
Essex, which is a true story, takes a more historical approach. Exhastively researched and entertainingly told, it's not just the story of a shipwreck, but also a lens into life on the island of Nantucket in the 1700s and 1800s. Philbrick (the author) clearly and cleanly lays out the story, drawing logical conclusions on what the men were most likely thinking and feeling from the time the boarded the ship, through their harrowing ordeal across the Pacific, and after they make it back to their community.
I highly recommend both books.
In other news, I'm open to suggestions for my next book--feel free to post your recommendations as comments.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Hopes and Dreams
Go Fla., Kans., G'Town., A&M!
Just got a call from a couple friends and a family member of mine (I swear I'm not making this up) who are in a bar, enjoying all of the games, and wondering where I am. As I told them, I'm at the same place I was last year--stuck at work and staring at a computer screen.
Let's not let this happen again next year, shall we, future Billy?
Just got a call from a couple friends and a family member of mine (I swear I'm not making this up) who are in a bar, enjoying all of the games, and wondering where I am. As I told them, I'm at the same place I was last year--stuck at work and staring at a computer screen.
Let's not let this happen again next year, shall we, future Billy?
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
It's March, so get MAD!
Really looking forward to March Madness this year. It's an annual tradition here at my office--we get everyone in the office (and some who aren't) to fill out a bracket, and post them all on my wall. Then, as the games are played, my friend Mark and I highlight the winners and award points based on rounds, so for round 1, you get 1 point for a correct pick, round 2, 2 points, etc. You get the idea.
Last year's bracket was an absolute mess (thank you very much, George Mason). I think the contest came down to the 15-year-old daughter of one of our staff, and a former college basketball player who fancied himself an "expert" on the game. Needless to say, the 15-year-old ended up winning the whole shebang.
So as not to give anything away (to my Hillsdale friends who read this blog, despite the intermittent updates), I won't be posting my picks or even my leanings here until after the tournament has already started. Sorry. But feel free to post your picks in my comments section!
Last year's bracket was an absolute mess (thank you very much, George Mason). I think the contest came down to the 15-year-old daughter of one of our staff, and a former college basketball player who fancied himself an "expert" on the game. Needless to say, the 15-year-old ended up winning the whole shebang.
So as not to give anything away (to my Hillsdale friends who read this blog, despite the intermittent updates), I won't be posting my picks or even my leanings here until after the tournament has already started. Sorry. But feel free to post your picks in my comments section!
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
The Answers
Ok, here are the answers to my previous contest--looks like we had no winners this time. I'll also disclose (because I'm sure you're dying to know) which of these I've read and which I've just . . . skimmed.
Molly (Ulysses--skimmed)
Scout (To Kill a Mockingbird--read)
Benjy (The Sound and the Fury--read)
Ralph (Lord of the Flies--read)
Humbert Humbert (Lolita--skimmed, felt scummy after skimming)
Tom J. (Grapes of Wrath--read)
Daisy (The Great Gatsby--read)
(NO idea--haven't read Beloved) (Beloved--haven't read, probably won't after reading Jess' comment)
Caufield (Catcher in the Rye--read)
Big Bro (1984--skimmed, liked Animal Farm better)
Stay tuned for future contests! Someone'll win that no-prize yet!
Molly (Ulysses--skimmed)
Scout (To Kill a Mockingbird--read)
Benjy (The Sound and the Fury--read)
Ralph (Lord of the Flies--read)
Humbert Humbert (Lolita--skimmed, felt scummy after skimming)
Tom J. (Grapes of Wrath--read)
Daisy (The Great Gatsby--read)
(NO idea--haven't read Beloved) (Beloved--haven't read, probably won't after reading Jess' comment)
Caufield (Catcher in the Rye--read)
Big Bro (1984--skimmed, liked Animal Farm better)
Stay tuned for future contests! Someone'll win that no-prize yet!
Friday, March 02, 2007
Wicked!
An interesting exploration of the nature and root of evil, Wicked sets out some interesting characters and a well-defined setting, but eventually collapses under its own weight, melting away without much fanfare. The story of Elphaba, aka the Wicked Witch of the West, Wicked follows in the tradition of books like For Love of Evil or the one about the three little pigs told from the wolf's perspective--only it's much better written. Maguire avoids an easy hole to fall into right from the start by not telling the story entirely from the witch's perspective.
By doing so, he lets us see his most compelling character, Elphaba, that much more clearly. The Witch--complex, driven without knowing why and uncompromising without knowing what she believes in--commands your attention from the very first. Born with green skin and sharp teeth to a missionary family in Munchkinland, Elphaba seems marked from the very first to stand out. The story traces the rise of the Witch: her short, unhappy childhood; her days at an academy for girls spent studying biology from a garroulous Goat; her battle against the Wizard of Oz and his secret police; and her eventual destruction at the hands of an apple-cheeked girl from Kansas.
Along the way, we learn that she and Glinda, the "good" witch of the North, were actually friends at the academy--though at first Glinda spurns Elphaba because of her poor upbringing and sharp wit. We meet Nessarose, the Witch's sister, last seen wearing the ruby slippers underneath Dorothy's house, and find that she's actually a pious, upright, and moral person, with no arms. And we discover why and how the Witch came to be, and about her relationship with the Wizard of Oz and the Emerald City.
The best part of this novel is seeing how skillfully Maguire brings the land of Oz to life, infusing it with culture and character and populating it with all sorts of interesting folk. There are depths to Oz that the movie only hints at, at least to Maguire's fertile imagination. It's an interesting excercise in world building, something that's remarkably difficult to do for even the best authors. That Maguire has created something new out of Baum's novels is all the more remarkable.
Where the book suffers the most is in the uneven pacing of its plot. An inordinate amount of time is spent on minor characters, and particularly on Elphaba's time at the girls academy. By the time she actually moves out west and sets up shop, you're wondering how the story can be brought to an appropriate close because it quickly becomes clear that there's a lot of story left to be told and too few pages to do it in. Sadly, this turns out to be the case--the ending feels rushed and the book unfinished, almost as if a publisher, tired of waiting for the book, simply demanded that Maguire finish the book or return his advance.
Perhaps the musical was better. Any thoughts?
By doing so, he lets us see his most compelling character, Elphaba, that much more clearly. The Witch--complex, driven without knowing why and uncompromising without knowing what she believes in--commands your attention from the very first. Born with green skin and sharp teeth to a missionary family in Munchkinland, Elphaba seems marked from the very first to stand out. The story traces the rise of the Witch: her short, unhappy childhood; her days at an academy for girls spent studying biology from a garroulous Goat; her battle against the Wizard of Oz and his secret police; and her eventual destruction at the hands of an apple-cheeked girl from Kansas.
Along the way, we learn that she and Glinda, the "good" witch of the North, were actually friends at the academy--though at first Glinda spurns Elphaba because of her poor upbringing and sharp wit. We meet Nessarose, the Witch's sister, last seen wearing the ruby slippers underneath Dorothy's house, and find that she's actually a pious, upright, and moral person, with no arms. And we discover why and how the Witch came to be, and about her relationship with the Wizard of Oz and the Emerald City.
The best part of this novel is seeing how skillfully Maguire brings the land of Oz to life, infusing it with culture and character and populating it with all sorts of interesting folk. There are depths to Oz that the movie only hints at, at least to Maguire's fertile imagination. It's an interesting excercise in world building, something that's remarkably difficult to do for even the best authors. That Maguire has created something new out of Baum's novels is all the more remarkable.
Where the book suffers the most is in the uneven pacing of its plot. An inordinate amount of time is spent on minor characters, and particularly on Elphaba's time at the girls academy. By the time she actually moves out west and sets up shop, you're wondering how the story can be brought to an appropriate close because it quickly becomes clear that there's a lot of story left to be told and too few pages to do it in. Sadly, this turns out to be the case--the ending feels rushed and the book unfinished, almost as if a publisher, tired of waiting for the book, simply demanded that Maguire finish the book or return his advance.
Perhaps the musical was better. Any thoughts?
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Musings
Glad to see people are starting to come back and read this. That started me thinking about the point of a blog. All of the marketing literature/white papers that I have read have talked about how you can use your blog to make money (via selling adspace through Google's AdSense program) but you have to have A+ content and a committment to posting. Also, the conventional wisdom about the Internet is that bloggers are like a pack of rabid journalists with instant access to the hearts and minds of loyal readers. Apparently, we're the new creators of myth, rumor, and the occasional grain of truth that spreads around the 'Net in waves. And then you have my view, which is that blogging is really just a way of sharing your thoughts with whomever might be willing to listen, be they friend or stranger.
I don't know . . . what do you think? Why do you blog? Is it for fun? Profit? Both? And is it meeting your expectations?
For me, this has been a lot more work and anxiety than I ever expected, a great example of how a seemingly simple committment can balloon into something much larger than you ever imagined. Granted, my committment to the blog is largely internal--I'm not selling anything, and I have yet to break a legitimate news story. But something in me doesn't like starting something and not finishing it, especially since you, my readers, presumably want to hear what I have to say.
Anyway, sorry for the rambling nature of this post. Hope it sparked some thoughts in you, at least.
I don't know . . . what do you think? Why do you blog? Is it for fun? Profit? Both? And is it meeting your expectations?
For me, this has been a lot more work and anxiety than I ever expected, a great example of how a seemingly simple committment can balloon into something much larger than you ever imagined. Granted, my committment to the blog is largely internal--I'm not selling anything, and I have yet to break a legitimate news story. But something in me doesn't like starting something and not finishing it, especially since you, my readers, presumably want to hear what I have to say.
Anyway, sorry for the rambling nature of this post. Hope it sparked some thoughts in you, at least.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Bonkers
Wow, it looks like I have even fewer readers than I thought--or maybe just fewer readers than I thought with literary pretensions. I'll leave it up for a couple more days, just to see if there are any stragglers out there, and give you the answers next week.
In the meantime, why don't I tell you a quick story about Evelyn. She's started to really figure out how this world works in the past few weeks. From walking, to putting things inside of other things, to refusing to eat certain foods at certain times (I don't think there's a food out there that she's consistently refused, except for the "meat" baby food. After tasting those items, I can understand why). We'll often find things where we didn't expect them, like a screwdriver in the refrigerator, or a stuffed animal in one of our pots. And of course, getting into the bathtub can be quite an adventure as well, just because we're never sure what might actually be in there.
The other day, Megan and I were having a conversation about, oh, I don't know what. Evelyn, as is her wont, decided that she needed either or both of our attention right then. And I mean, RIGHT THEN. She didn't take kindly to our admonishment to wait a few seconds, seeing as she doesn't understand the concept of time and all, and so decided to get our attention in a more forceful manner. She walked over to our bathroom cabinet, stood extremely close to it, and bumped her head gently into it. And by gently, I mean VERY gently--I don't think it would have bruised an overripe avocado. Then, she turned to us and cried, loudly, as if saying, "see what happens when you don't pay attention to me? I bump my head and get hurt!"
Megan and I were both trying not to laugh at this point, and needless to say, Evie got what she wanted--our attention. Since then, she's done it a couple more times, never hitting her head hard, but just enough to pretend that she's hurt. Ah, parenting. . .
In the meantime, why don't I tell you a quick story about Evelyn. She's started to really figure out how this world works in the past few weeks. From walking, to putting things inside of other things, to refusing to eat certain foods at certain times (I don't think there's a food out there that she's consistently refused, except for the "meat" baby food. After tasting those items, I can understand why). We'll often find things where we didn't expect them, like a screwdriver in the refrigerator, or a stuffed animal in one of our pots. And of course, getting into the bathtub can be quite an adventure as well, just because we're never sure what might actually be in there.
The other day, Megan and I were having a conversation about, oh, I don't know what. Evelyn, as is her wont, decided that she needed either or both of our attention right then. And I mean, RIGHT THEN. She didn't take kindly to our admonishment to wait a few seconds, seeing as she doesn't understand the concept of time and all, and so decided to get our attention in a more forceful manner. She walked over to our bathroom cabinet, stood extremely close to it, and bumped her head gently into it. And by gently, I mean VERY gently--I don't think it would have bruised an overripe avocado. Then, she turned to us and cried, loudly, as if saying, "see what happens when you don't pay attention to me? I bump my head and get hurt!"
Megan and I were both trying not to laugh at this point, and needless to say, Evie got what she wanted--our attention. Since then, she's done it a couple more times, never hitting her head hard, but just enough to pretend that she's hurt. Ah, parenting. . .
Monday, February 26, 2007
Literary Contest
Geez, I didn't know it had been so long since I've posted. Apologies to my loyal readers (both of you--thanks Mom and Dad!) Work has been blowing up lately with projects, I'm inundated with writing claptrap, and Fort Wayne has been alternately buried in snow, then ice, but I'm sure you're not interested in excuses, gentle reader, only results.
Had an interesting e-mail from my friend Davis the other day. It listed the top 50 American Novels of the 20th century, according to Radcliffe Publishing (I think--too lazy to check the e-mail right now). Topping the list was The Great Gatsby, by Fitgerald, and rounding out the top ten were books like (ok, now I'm checking) Catcher in the Rye, Grapes of Wrath, and the Sound and the Fury.
Ok, here's an idea for you. I'll give you the names of the books and a character from the book. First one to post a comment matching the characters with the book title wins a "no-prize" (apologies to Marvel Magazine). I'm doing this w/o the help of Google, which means you can too, but of course, if you cheat, you'll be the only one who knows it. Well, you, and God. Enjoy!
Titles:
1. The Great Gatsby F. Scott Fitzgerald
2. The Catcher in the Rye J.D. Salinger
3. The Grapes of Wrath John Steinbeck
4. To Kill a Mockingbird Harper Lee
5. Ulysses James Joyce
6. Beloved Toni Morrison
7. Lord of the Flies William Golding
8. Nineteen Eighty Four George Orwell
9. The Sound and the Fury William Faulkner
10. Lolita Vladimir Nabokov
Characters (Done from memory!!!!)
Molly
Scout
Benjy
Ralph
Humbert Humbert
Tom J.
Daisy
(NO idea--haven't read Beloved)
Caufield
Big Bro
Good luck!
Had an interesting e-mail from my friend Davis the other day. It listed the top 50 American Novels of the 20th century, according to Radcliffe Publishing (I think--too lazy to check the e-mail right now). Topping the list was The Great Gatsby, by Fitgerald, and rounding out the top ten were books like (ok, now I'm checking) Catcher in the Rye, Grapes of Wrath, and the Sound and the Fury.
Ok, here's an idea for you. I'll give you the names of the books and a character from the book. First one to post a comment matching the characters with the book title wins a "no-prize" (apologies to Marvel Magazine). I'm doing this w/o the help of Google, which means you can too, but of course, if you cheat, you'll be the only one who knows it. Well, you, and God. Enjoy!
Titles:
1. The Great Gatsby F. Scott Fitzgerald
2. The Catcher in the Rye J.D. Salinger
3. The Grapes of Wrath John Steinbeck
4. To Kill a Mockingbird Harper Lee
5. Ulysses James Joyce
6. Beloved Toni Morrison
7. Lord of the Flies William Golding
8. Nineteen Eighty Four George Orwell
9. The Sound and the Fury William Faulkner
10. Lolita Vladimir Nabokov
Characters (Done from memory!!!!)
Molly
Scout
Benjy
Ralph
Humbert Humbert
Tom J.
Daisy
(NO idea--haven't read Beloved)
Caufield
Big Bro
Good luck!
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Birthday bliss
Well, we had a wonderful little shindig--pictures to be posted when I can get around to it. Preparations started Friday (Evie's actual birthday) as Megan started cooking and baking for the party itself, which was Saturday. Ham loaf was on the menu (tastes much better than it sounds . . . MUCH better) as well as other fixin's, and Megan decided to make one of those "theme cakes." You know, the ones in the shape of a Care Bear or Pikachu or something similar. Megan decided to do one in the shape of a train, which sounded simple enough.
Well, it wasn't.
After borrowing the molds from a friend, Megan baked the cake itself Friday, and started icing the thing Saturday morning. Two hours later, she was finally finished with it. Sporting Evie's name, a gumdrop coal car, and chocolate sprinkle wheels, the cake was a thing of beauty, befitting a first birthday of a first child, I think. What took the most time was the painstaking process of creating tiny icing "stars" that covered the sides of the cake. Instead of just slathering the icing on, the space had to be filled with little drops of icing, done one at a time. The effect, though painstaking, resembles impressionistic painting, a sort of "Seurat pastry," if you will. After all of that, it took Evie about 5 seconds to get her hands into the cake, an additional 2 seconds for her to discover that it tasted really good, and then about 10 seconds before she had the rest of it on her hands, face, lap, and parents. Good times.
Thanks for all of the birthday wishes. Lucas, if this blog is still around when she can read, you can bet I'll be looking up your comment and showing it to her.
Next time: Marketing Musings
Well, it wasn't.
After borrowing the molds from a friend, Megan baked the cake itself Friday, and started icing the thing Saturday morning. Two hours later, she was finally finished with it. Sporting Evie's name, a gumdrop coal car, and chocolate sprinkle wheels, the cake was a thing of beauty, befitting a first birthday of a first child, I think. What took the most time was the painstaking process of creating tiny icing "stars" that covered the sides of the cake. Instead of just slathering the icing on, the space had to be filled with little drops of icing, done one at a time. The effect, though painstaking, resembles impressionistic painting, a sort of "Seurat pastry," if you will. After all of that, it took Evie about 5 seconds to get her hands into the cake, an additional 2 seconds for her to discover that it tasted really good, and then about 10 seconds before she had the rest of it on her hands, face, lap, and parents. Good times.
Thanks for all of the birthday wishes. Lucas, if this blog is still around when she can read, you can bet I'll be looking up your comment and showing it to her.
Next time: Marketing Musings
Friday, February 16, 2007
Happy Birthday, Evie!
Today is my first daughter's first birthday. I remember around this time last year, when Megan and I had lunch at a local restaurant on Valentine's Day, and then went in to the hosptial for her induction. At this point, Evie was two weeks late, and according to the prevailing medical wisdom, the womb becomes a hostile place for a baby after about two weeks or so. On the advice of our physician, then, we checked in to DuPont Hospital in order to start the long, painful (for Megan, especially) process of labor.
Two days of increasingly painful contractions later, a different doctor (not our physician, but a very nice lady) recommended a C-section due to failure to progress. At that point, we felt as if we had come that far, we might as well finish the process, so we agreed to the C-section, and not 20 minutes later, I got to see Evelyn's face for the first time.
She was a pretty big baby, weighing in at a massive 10 lbs., 8 oz, with the chubbiest cheeks you'd ever seen. Holding her for the first time, standing in the corridor outside the OR while they finished taking care of Megan, I don't remember feeling much at all, except relief that both the baby and Megan were okay.
One year later, I feel like things have finally started to sink in. Evelyn's life, her views, her character, her memories of growing up--many of those things are directly or indirectly going to be influenced by our parenting and the type of home we give Evie. My prayer is that her childhood is a happy, stable one and that she grows up knowing and valuing the things that are truly important in life, particularly a relationship with God in the person of Jesus Christ.
But that's all for the future, right?
For now, we've got a birthday party planned for tomorrow--I'll try to post pics here on the blog. If you have any birthday wishes or comments, I'll pass them along, though it seems most likely that they won't have much of an impact on her yet, seeing as how she can only say about 20 words or so. More on her party on Monday!
Two days of increasingly painful contractions later, a different doctor (not our physician, but a very nice lady) recommended a C-section due to failure to progress. At that point, we felt as if we had come that far, we might as well finish the process, so we agreed to the C-section, and not 20 minutes later, I got to see Evelyn's face for the first time.
She was a pretty big baby, weighing in at a massive 10 lbs., 8 oz, with the chubbiest cheeks you'd ever seen. Holding her for the first time, standing in the corridor outside the OR while they finished taking care of Megan, I don't remember feeling much at all, except relief that both the baby and Megan were okay.
One year later, I feel like things have finally started to sink in. Evelyn's life, her views, her character, her memories of growing up--many of those things are directly or indirectly going to be influenced by our parenting and the type of home we give Evie. My prayer is that her childhood is a happy, stable one and that she grows up knowing and valuing the things that are truly important in life, particularly a relationship with God in the person of Jesus Christ.
But that's all for the future, right?
For now, we've got a birthday party planned for tomorrow--I'll try to post pics here on the blog. If you have any birthday wishes or comments, I'll pass them along, though it seems most likely that they won't have much of an impact on her yet, seeing as how she can only say about 20 words or so. More on her party on Monday!
Monday, February 12, 2007
Simpsons Characters a-go-go
Considering the Simpsons, there are a wealth of characters from which to choose a favorite. Homer is probably the favorite of many--it's hard these days to see how/why Bart became so popular so quickly, as Homer has eclipsed Bart in both funny lines and in depth of character. I think it's a little too difficult to come up with an actual favorite character for me--I'm going to have to give you my top three, with little explanations (hey, I've only got 5 minutes here) as to why they're my favorite.
3. Nelson Muntz: From his relentless "haw-haw," tinged with a touch of pathos and smothered with a generous helping of derision, to his curiously cool jean jacket and short, short pants, Nelson can always be counted on to deliver the goods.
2. Mr. Burns: Surprisingly humane at times, devilishly evil at others, Mr. Burns represents a tragic figure, at least in his own mind. The rest of the town just wished he'd go away.
1. Homer: A real struggle to put him here, as I was thinking of going with a "chic" pick like Lyle Langley or Lionel Hutz. However, his mix of humanity and stupidity (some would argue they're the same thing) paint Homer as a curiously existential everyman, both scorned and embraced by this mixed-up world of ours. Homer, ours is indeed a disturbing universe.
3. Nelson Muntz: From his relentless "haw-haw," tinged with a touch of pathos and smothered with a generous helping of derision, to his curiously cool jean jacket and short, short pants, Nelson can always be counted on to deliver the goods.
2. Mr. Burns: Surprisingly humane at times, devilishly evil at others, Mr. Burns represents a tragic figure, at least in his own mind. The rest of the town just wished he'd go away.
1. Homer: A real struggle to put him here, as I was thinking of going with a "chic" pick like Lyle Langley or Lionel Hutz. However, his mix of humanity and stupidity (some would argue they're the same thing) paint Homer as a curiously existential everyman, both scorned and embraced by this mixed-up world of ours. Homer, ours is indeed a disturbing universe.
Friday, February 09, 2007
The Simpsonzu by *spacecoyote on deviantART
First off, check out this link:
The Simpsonzu by *spacecoyote on deviantART
Anyone who knows me knows I'm a huge fan of both The Simpsons and japanese animation. I think that the artist, Space Coyote, did an excellent job of putting The Simpsons into an anime format. It puts me in the mind of (heh, I just like saying "puts me in the mind of") the episode where Homer gets a peek at what his kids would look like if they were drawn . . . normally. You know, with five fingers and hair that actually separated instead of hair that looked like a starfish and paper bag edge.
Anyway, I hope you at least clicked on the link, and I apologize for not doing my 5-minute update every day. I have a feeling I'll be apologizing a lot, but that would be throwing in the towel before I even begin, so I'll try to fight that feeling and instead, move on to my weekend with a light heart.
By the way, who's your favorite Simpsons character? I'll give my answer in my next post.
Next time: Simpsons Characters A-Go-Go
The Simpsonzu by *spacecoyote on deviantART
Anyone who knows me knows I'm a huge fan of both The Simpsons and japanese animation. I think that the artist, Space Coyote, did an excellent job of putting The Simpsons into an anime format. It puts me in the mind of (heh, I just like saying "puts me in the mind of") the episode where Homer gets a peek at what his kids would look like if they were drawn . . . normally. You know, with five fingers and hair that actually separated instead of hair that looked like a starfish and paper bag edge.
Anyway, I hope you at least clicked on the link, and I apologize for not doing my 5-minute update every day. I have a feeling I'll be apologizing a lot, but that would be throwing in the towel before I even begin, so I'll try to fight that feeling and instead, move on to my weekend with a light heart.
By the way, who's your favorite Simpsons character? I'll give my answer in my next post.
Next time: Simpsons Characters A-Go-Go
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Further thoughts
Sorry for the lateness of this post.
In terms of further thoughts on Hillsdale Homecoming, I think the first word that comes to mind (or words, in this case) is unfulfilled potential. The weekend seemed to hold so much promise, and yet (though it did deliver lots of grins and good times) it felt like it fell curiously short of its potential. None of the blame for this is due to my friends, who were magnificient as they always are, nor does it fall at the feet of the great Hillsdale College, unless you want to count the cotton candy. The reasons for the disappointment were primarily internal--you really can't go home again.
Walknig the campus of Hillsdale, I expected to be suffused with a powerful sense of nostalgia, of longing for days past. That was certainly my experience during my few visits back to the place--for a moment, on a fall day, I could almost believe that my whole college life was stretching out in front of me once again, with all of its ups and downs (mostly ups). The glint of the light on the leaves, the sound of the wind and the far off chiming of Central Hall, all conveyed a powerful sense of possibility. This sense would quickly fade as I remembered that those days were over and done with, that they would never come again, and that if I tried too hard to recapture them, I would only come across as pathetically as Will Ferrel in Old School, only with more clothes on and less funny.
None of that hit me on this latest trip. Perhaps it was because I've entered a new phase in my life, one that leaves little time for such reflections. It may be the case that I'm having such a good time now that I'm able to put those memories where they belong, in the past (but I doubt that's the case). Maybe it was the numerous changes at Hillsdale itself, as well as the feeling that all of the students seemed so young. Whatever it was, I didn't have that powerful nostalgia, and, as someone who likes to feel such things deeply, I almost missed it.
Almost.
Next time: Something I haven't thought of yet.
In terms of further thoughts on Hillsdale Homecoming, I think the first word that comes to mind (or words, in this case) is unfulfilled potential. The weekend seemed to hold so much promise, and yet (though it did deliver lots of grins and good times) it felt like it fell curiously short of its potential. None of the blame for this is due to my friends, who were magnificient as they always are, nor does it fall at the feet of the great Hillsdale College, unless you want to count the cotton candy. The reasons for the disappointment were primarily internal--you really can't go home again.
Walknig the campus of Hillsdale, I expected to be suffused with a powerful sense of nostalgia, of longing for days past. That was certainly my experience during my few visits back to the place--for a moment, on a fall day, I could almost believe that my whole college life was stretching out in front of me once again, with all of its ups and downs (mostly ups). The glint of the light on the leaves, the sound of the wind and the far off chiming of Central Hall, all conveyed a powerful sense of possibility. This sense would quickly fade as I remembered that those days were over and done with, that they would never come again, and that if I tried too hard to recapture them, I would only come across as pathetically as Will Ferrel in Old School, only with more clothes on and less funny.
None of that hit me on this latest trip. Perhaps it was because I've entered a new phase in my life, one that leaves little time for such reflections. It may be the case that I'm having such a good time now that I'm able to put those memories where they belong, in the past (but I doubt that's the case). Maybe it was the numerous changes at Hillsdale itself, as well as the feeling that all of the students seemed so young. Whatever it was, I didn't have that powerful nostalgia, and, as someone who likes to feel such things deeply, I almost missed it.
Almost.
Next time: Something I haven't thought of yet.
Monday, February 05, 2007
A short digression
You gotta love this quote from Daily Wealth, one of the free Internet newsletters I subscribe to:
Right now, a Big Mac is more expensive in Argentina, Brazil, Colombia, and Mexico than in Japan. Big Macs are more expensive in Latvia, Estonia, and Lithuania than in Japan. They're more expensive in Turkey and Saudi Arabia. You have to dig as deep in the barrel as Pakistan to find a country where a Big Mac costs the same as it does in Japan. The Economist points out the big discrepancy in the current Big Mac prices: "'Perhaps the most telling numbers are those for the Japanese yen, which is 28% undervalued against the dollar, and the euro, which is 19% overvalued."
This certainly wasn't true when I lived out in Japan, though I always loved getting a Big Mac and fries whenever I could, which wasn't often as I lived out in the inaka (translation: boondocks). Part of it too was probably the fact that I could only get McDonald's when I was in Osaka, which usually meant I was visiting Joel, picking up family, or picking up my then-girlfriend, now wife, Megan.
Memory is a suprisingly powerful and surprisingly evanescent thing. To this day, getting a Big Mac evokes memories of a warm, well-lit restaurant tucked up under a concrete pillar, with windows facing outward onto the bus terminal where I would always go to either change buses to get to the airport, or to start the long walk to Joel's apartment. I'm sure if a marketing executive from McDonald's were reading this, he'd be be cackling with glee. Evanescent because I can't recall a specific time when I went into a McDonalds and purchased a Big Mac--all I have is a foggy cloud of warmth, light, and saturated fats.
I'll wrap-up the Homecoming saga tomorrow.
Right now, a Big Mac is more expensive in Argentina, Brazil, Colombia, and Mexico than in Japan. Big Macs are more expensive in Latvia, Estonia, and Lithuania than in Japan. They're more expensive in Turkey and Saudi Arabia. You have to dig as deep in the barrel as Pakistan to find a country where a Big Mac costs the same as it does in Japan. The Economist points out the big discrepancy in the current Big Mac prices: "'Perhaps the most telling numbers are those for the Japanese yen, which is 28% undervalued against the dollar, and the euro, which is 19% overvalued."
This certainly wasn't true when I lived out in Japan, though I always loved getting a Big Mac and fries whenever I could, which wasn't often as I lived out in the inaka (translation: boondocks). Part of it too was probably the fact that I could only get McDonald's when I was in Osaka, which usually meant I was visiting Joel, picking up family, or picking up my then-girlfriend, now wife, Megan.
Memory is a suprisingly powerful and surprisingly evanescent thing. To this day, getting a Big Mac evokes memories of a warm, well-lit restaurant tucked up under a concrete pillar, with windows facing outward onto the bus terminal where I would always go to either change buses to get to the airport, or to start the long walk to Joel's apartment. I'm sure if a marketing executive from McDonald's were reading this, he'd be be cackling with glee. Evanescent because I can't recall a specific time when I went into a McDonalds and purchased a Big Mac--all I have is a foggy cloud of warmth, light, and saturated fats.
I'll wrap-up the Homecoming saga tomorrow.
Friday, February 02, 2007
A Day at the Game . . . continued
After juggling some rocks and squinting in the late-morning sunlight, I finally beheld the welcome sight of my wife and young daughter driving up in our beat-up Camry. Lo and behold, Dan and Lisa Simpson, and their baby, Susan pulled in right next to Megan and Evie! Besides being terminally cute, Susan seems to have inheirited the calm disposition and gentle manners of both of her parents. It was both odd and deeply satisfying to see Susan and Evie interacting with each other, and certainly sent my the wheels of my brain spinning to think of them being friends in the future.
All of us together loaded up the caravan (there's certainly a lot more stuff when you have a baby!) and headed to the EAR to see what was left of the breakfast buffet. Apparently not much, as one of the alumni there said they saw Tony and Lucas roll through the breakfast table, cheerfully taking strawberries, cheese, and everything else they could pile on those little hors d'evours plates. One pleasant conversation with Dean Barker later, Megan, Evie and I were headed to the various alumni tents to meet up with the rest of the class of 2001, seeing as how it was our 5 year reunion and all.
Apparently, not many members of our class received the memo, because besides the group that Lucas was responsible for bringing, there were probably a total of maybe 7 other alumni there. Maybe it was the fact that for being a member of the class of 2006, all you get is a CD case with the Hillsdale logo on it, while the class of 1956 was getting engraved pens and such. Megan, Evie and I stayed for the first quarter or so of the game, but after Evie fell asleep on my shoulder, we decided to pack it in and let her sleep on the way home, slightly sunburned, but satisfied that a good time had been had by all.
Next time: Further thoughts and New Chapters
All of us together loaded up the caravan (there's certainly a lot more stuff when you have a baby!) and headed to the EAR to see what was left of the breakfast buffet. Apparently not much, as one of the alumni there said they saw Tony and Lucas roll through the breakfast table, cheerfully taking strawberries, cheese, and everything else they could pile on those little hors d'evours plates. One pleasant conversation with Dean Barker later, Megan, Evie and I were headed to the various alumni tents to meet up with the rest of the class of 2001, seeing as how it was our 5 year reunion and all.
Apparently, not many members of our class received the memo, because besides the group that Lucas was responsible for bringing, there were probably a total of maybe 7 other alumni there. Maybe it was the fact that for being a member of the class of 2006, all you get is a CD case with the Hillsdale logo on it, while the class of 1956 was getting engraved pens and such. Megan, Evie and I stayed for the first quarter or so of the game, but after Evie fell asleep on my shoulder, we decided to pack it in and let her sleep on the way home, slightly sunburned, but satisfied that a good time had been had by all.
Next time: Further thoughts and New Chapters
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
A Day at the Game
After waking up feeling a little bit groggy and a lot dehydrated, I quickly showered and dressed before either of my compatriots could arise. Then it was off to the Alumni choir rehearsal, which was actually being held at the same time as a classic car show was being held in the parking lot. The alumni "choir" turned out to be about 10 alumni and about 100 Hillsdale choir students. After catching up with Jim Holleman, the director, I entered the room feeling just as itimidated as I did when I entered the room as a student. I don't consider myself a singer, or a musical person, really, and it's hard to shake the feeling that everyone in the room is not only a better singer than I am, but that the person sitting next to me (whoever that person is) is probably a singer on par with Pavoratti or Kelly Clarkston. Thankfully, smoking the one cigarette last night had left me hoarser than the Simpson house mother, and so I had no problem singing bass.
After the choir rehearsal, I felt a bit at loose ends, until I realized that I was supposed to meet my wife and daughter 10 minutes earlier at Central Hall. I dashed from the music building (I always forget its new name) to Central Hall, only to discover that the quad was deserted--it seemed as though they were running late.
Next time: A Day at the Game continued and further thoughts
After the choir rehearsal, I felt a bit at loose ends, until I realized that I was supposed to meet my wife and daughter 10 minutes earlier at Central Hall. I dashed from the music building (I always forget its new name) to Central Hall, only to discover that the quad was deserted--it seemed as though they were running late.
Next time: A Day at the Game continued and further thoughts
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Five seconds of Fury . . . continued
After arriving at the de-facto Phi Mu Alpha house (not the renegade Mu Alpha house--I can't emphasize that enough), things settled down considerably. The remaining folks that were up--Jacob, me, Tony, J, Jason, and Carl--made for a pretty quiet bunch, sitting around playing on Jacob's ukelele and guitar, talking, and basically enjoying each other's company. Then, the unthinkable happened.
For a reason that defies my memory to this day, one of the members of our little group took offense at something another member of the group said, did--something. I wasn't privy to everything that happened before hand, but the results of this person's five seconds of fury were a veritable explosion of Coca-Cola all over our guests' couch, other people's pants, and naturally, the floor as well. Though apologies were quickly uttered, and the incident never progressed beyond the "pouring drinks on one another" stage, it still sits uneasily in my memory, like a fat man on a unicycle.
The incident drained what little spirit was left out of our little band, and we retired to a cold night and a warm bed in Simpson. Actually, it was more like a warm air mattress for me.
Next: A Day at the Game and Further Thoughts
For a reason that defies my memory to this day, one of the members of our little group took offense at something another member of the group said, did--something. I wasn't privy to everything that happened before hand, but the results of this person's five seconds of fury were a veritable explosion of Coca-Cola all over our guests' couch, other people's pants, and naturally, the floor as well. Though apologies were quickly uttered, and the incident never progressed beyond the "pouring drinks on one another" stage, it still sits uneasily in my memory, like a fat man on a unicycle.
The incident drained what little spirit was left out of our little band, and we retired to a cold night and a warm bed in Simpson. Actually, it was more like a warm air mattress for me.
Next: A Day at the Game and Further Thoughts
Monday, January 29, 2007
Five seconds of fury
After thouroughly saturating our clothes with the delightful smell of woodsmoke, Lucas, Tony and I returned to our apartment in Simpson, a squat, concrete block structure built sometime in the mid-1950s. Tony and I felt right at home in Simpson, and Lucas quickly made himself at home, declaring that he was "done" for the night. He promptly got ready and went to bed--a wise move on his part, but one that left Tony and me at loose ends.
We eventually decided to try to find the Phi Mu Alpha (NOT the squatters Mu Alpha house, frickin' renegades) house and see what we could see. Here I have to digress down memory lane a bit. On one of my first nights at Hillsdale college, as a wide-eyed freshman, I remember wandering the streets of Hillsdale late at night, trying to find a means to extend my evening with seven or eight guys I hardly knew, several of which were falling down drunk. One of the strongest impressions of that night for me was the curious sense of bootless freedom that pervaded the air, as if anything and everything could happen on a fall night like this one.
Fast forward seven years, where Tony and I were in the same state, minus the inebriation, natch, but wandering the streets of Hillsdale looking to see what the town had to offer us. Unfortunately for us, and for you, my readers, we didn't find anything exciting, or even very interesting. After drifiting vaguely south, we located the house with little difficulty, entered, and were shown around by an extremely polite young man, one of the new Phi Mu Alpha brothers whose name escapes me.
And, since I'm at the limit of time, this "five seconds of fury" will have to be continued tomorrow!
Next: Five Seconds of Fury . . . Continued and A Day at the Game
We eventually decided to try to find the Phi Mu Alpha (NOT the squatters Mu Alpha house, frickin' renegades) house and see what we could see. Here I have to digress down memory lane a bit. On one of my first nights at Hillsdale college, as a wide-eyed freshman, I remember wandering the streets of Hillsdale late at night, trying to find a means to extend my evening with seven or eight guys I hardly knew, several of which were falling down drunk. One of the strongest impressions of that night for me was the curious sense of bootless freedom that pervaded the air, as if anything and everything could happen on a fall night like this one.
Fast forward seven years, where Tony and I were in the same state, minus the inebriation, natch, but wandering the streets of Hillsdale looking to see what the town had to offer us. Unfortunately for us, and for you, my readers, we didn't find anything exciting, or even very interesting. After drifiting vaguely south, we located the house with little difficulty, entered, and were shown around by an extremely polite young man, one of the new Phi Mu Alpha brothers whose name escapes me.
And, since I'm at the limit of time, this "five seconds of fury" will have to be continued tomorrow!
Next: Five Seconds of Fury . . . Continued and A Day at the Game
Friday, January 26, 2007
A Ten-Foot Tall Fire
Apologies for the lateness of this post . . .
After dropping off our baggage at Simpson, with Lucas claiming the bed furthest from the door and me claiming the floor, we headed over to Whitley to pick up the rest of our entourage, only to be faced with the new house mother of Whitley, one Judith S., and her rapidly shrinking patience with her son, the Hon. J. We sorted out the fracas, and were greeted upon our exit with a vision--fireworks that were visible over the top of the Sage Center for the Arts. Hillsdale had certainly changed in the time I had been gone--they had never, ever had the wherewithal to launch fireworks before, not even when Arrrrrrn became pres. Surf and Turf in a giant tent on the quad, yes, but fireworks, no.
Instead of trying to get over to the field and see the 'works, we simply watched them from the lawn, then headed over when they were complete. What greeted us was a scene of well-organized chaos, with a crowd of folks who seemed like little children milling around a blaze that reached far up into the heavens. I could tell that I was getting old--the whole thing seemed loud and hot to me, rather than exciting and intimidating. After milling through the crowd several times, J and I managed to locate a cotton candy vendor, a young man who seemed more interested in chatting up the ladies at the popcorn next to us than getting us our free pink stuff.
After handing me a small stick, he turned once again to the popcorn ladies, putting the empty stick in his mouth in an attempt, no doubt, to look "cool." When J asked him for some cotton candy of his own, the young man took the stick out of his mouth , ran it around the inside of the machine several times, and handed it to J , never once stopping to look at us, acknowledge us--indeed, to even think about what he was doing.
J and I loooked at each other. "I can't believe I just saw that," I said. "Me either," said J , delicately taking a bite out of his candy. "I'll just eat the outside of this," J continued.
Re-rendesvouing with the group, Jacob decided that he wanted to sumo wrestle one of us. Always up to the challenge, I stepped into the dewey circle, only to be unceremoniously dumped on my kiester for the first fall. Must be that Samoan blood in Jacob--he was a deceptively strong wrestler! In the interests of full disclosure, I managed to take him down once or twice at the end, when he was tired--always a good strategy.
The party ended when the fire attendants began blasting the blaze with water, resulting in a pillar of smoke that would do the LORD proud. Tony finished up his interview with the Collegian, and we all headed back to our respective places, wondering what would happen next. Little did we realize the fury that awaited us. . .
Next: Five Seconds of Fury and A Day at the Game
After dropping off our baggage at Simpson, with Lucas claiming the bed furthest from the door and me claiming the floor, we headed over to Whitley to pick up the rest of our entourage, only to be faced with the new house mother of Whitley, one Judith S., and her rapidly shrinking patience with her son, the Hon. J. We sorted out the fracas, and were greeted upon our exit with a vision--fireworks that were visible over the top of the Sage Center for the Arts. Hillsdale had certainly changed in the time I had been gone--they had never, ever had the wherewithal to launch fireworks before, not even when Arrrrrrn became pres. Surf and Turf in a giant tent on the quad, yes, but fireworks, no.
Instead of trying to get over to the field and see the 'works, we simply watched them from the lawn, then headed over when they were complete. What greeted us was a scene of well-organized chaos, with a crowd of folks who seemed like little children milling around a blaze that reached far up into the heavens. I could tell that I was getting old--the whole thing seemed loud and hot to me, rather than exciting and intimidating. After milling through the crowd several times, J and I managed to locate a cotton candy vendor, a young man who seemed more interested in chatting up the ladies at the popcorn next to us than getting us our free pink stuff.
After handing me a small stick, he turned once again to the popcorn ladies, putting the empty stick in his mouth in an attempt, no doubt, to look "cool." When J asked him for some cotton candy of his own, the young man took the stick out of his mouth , ran it around the inside of the machine several times, and handed it to J , never once stopping to look at us, acknowledge us--indeed, to even think about what he was doing.
J and I loooked at each other. "I can't believe I just saw that," I said. "Me either," said J , delicately taking a bite out of his candy. "I'll just eat the outside of this," J continued.
Re-rendesvouing with the group, Jacob decided that he wanted to sumo wrestle one of us. Always up to the challenge, I stepped into the dewey circle, only to be unceremoniously dumped on my kiester for the first fall. Must be that Samoan blood in Jacob--he was a deceptively strong wrestler! In the interests of full disclosure, I managed to take him down once or twice at the end, when he was tired--always a good strategy.
The party ended when the fire attendants began blasting the blaze with water, resulting in a pillar of smoke that would do the LORD proud. Tony finished up his interview with the Collegian, and we all headed back to our respective places, wondering what would happen next. Little did we realize the fury that awaited us. . .
Next: Five Seconds of Fury and A Day at the Game
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Rolled Cigarettes
After a satisfying meal, and a couple of even more satisfying games of pool, slight confusion ensued as to what would be happening next. Things get a little fuzzy for me at this point--we ended up heading over to the local market in order to get refreshments for our night on the town, but Lucas, Kim and many of the other folks from the Hunt Club headed somewhere else, leaving me, Tony, J and Allie to pick through the offerings at Broad Street Market.
Feeling curiously overdressed in the market, I settled for a SoBe and a small bottle of Bicardi, as well as 2-liter of Coke (a decision that would later prove disatarous for Tony) and the others got their beverages of choice. The SoBe was a classic choice, recommended by J --I had to wipe a tear of nostalgia from my eye as we paid for our purchases. Oh, and after I expressed to Tony the fact that I had never seen a rolled cigarette before, he immediately picked up a pack of what looked like chewing tobacco and some papers. Of course, we both didn't think to pick up any filters, the end result of which when I woke the next morning, I ended up sounding like a scratchier, hoarser version of James Earl Jones--perfect for singing bass in the alumni choir the next day. Yikes.
Thus fortified, we headed over to Niedfelt and Simpson to continue our journey back in time, and to see if Lucas would be joining us on our "fogies night out."
Next time: A Ten-Foot Tall Bonfire and Five Seconds . . . of Fury
Feeling curiously overdressed in the market, I settled for a SoBe and a small bottle of Bicardi, as well as 2-liter of Coke (a decision that would later prove disatarous for Tony) and the others got their beverages of choice. The SoBe was a classic choice, recommended by J --I had to wipe a tear of nostalgia from my eye as we paid for our purchases. Oh, and after I expressed to Tony the fact that I had never seen a rolled cigarette before, he immediately picked up a pack of what looked like chewing tobacco and some papers. Of course, we both didn't think to pick up any filters, the end result of which when I woke the next morning, I ended up sounding like a scratchier, hoarser version of James Earl Jones--perfect for singing bass in the alumni choir the next day. Yikes.
Thus fortified, we headed over to Niedfelt and Simpson to continue our journey back in time, and to see if Lucas would be joining us on our "fogies night out."
Next time: A Ten-Foot Tall Bonfire and Five Seconds . . . of Fury
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Hunt Club Memories
After a short journey through the rolling fields of Angola ("I promise guys, this way is faster than going through Coldwater!"), we arrived at downtown Hillsdale, ready to tuck in and enjoy a nice meal with other alums at the Hunt Club, a lcoal bar and grill. Actually, I've probably seen at least six or seven other Hunt Clubs since my time at Hillsdale (no affiliation with the Hillsdale one, by the way), and every time, I want to go into it and see if they have a giant stuffed fox over the bar and a sandwich called "The Dagwood."
Our little soiree turned out to be quite an affair. Lucas had managed to secure the entire upstairs of the little bar and grill for Hillsdale alumni, setting up two long tables facing the windows which looked out over the city square. Presiding at one of the tables was none other than the Reverend Dr. Reist, a character if I've ever met one and someone whom I wish had a blog of his own, even if it would primarily consist of weird quacks, photos of the various weddings he's attended/presided at, and serious discussion on the merits of Catholic theology and the evils of Catholic priestly celibacy. But I digress . . .
Fantastic as it was to see the good Doctor, because of our late arrival, Jacob, Tony and I were placed at the foot of the table in our own little corner. Various other Hillsdale alumni were there--if you want names and faces, you'll have to visit my good friend Lucas' blog. After ordering a pitcher of beer or two, our little group turned quite merry, eventually ending up with Tony, J, Jacob, and I playing pool while Lucas tried hard to stay awake and keep his supper down. The man did not look well, and he blamed it all on no sleep and a spotty cappucino. (Sorry for the bad spelling, but hey, I've only got five minutes to do this thing).
Next time: Rolled Cigarettes and a Ten-Foot Tall Bonfire
Our little soiree turned out to be quite an affair. Lucas had managed to secure the entire upstairs of the little bar and grill for Hillsdale alumni, setting up two long tables facing the windows which looked out over the city square. Presiding at one of the tables was none other than the Reverend Dr. Reist, a character if I've ever met one and someone whom I wish had a blog of his own, even if it would primarily consist of weird quacks, photos of the various weddings he's attended/presided at, and serious discussion on the merits of Catholic theology and the evils of Catholic priestly celibacy. But I digress . . .
Fantastic as it was to see the good Doctor, because of our late arrival, Jacob, Tony and I were placed at the foot of the table in our own little corner. Various other Hillsdale alumni were there--if you want names and faces, you'll have to visit my good friend Lucas' blog. After ordering a pitcher of beer or two, our little group turned quite merry, eventually ending up with Tony, J, Jacob, and I playing pool while Lucas tried hard to stay awake and keep his supper down. The man did not look well, and he blamed it all on no sleep and a spotty cappucino. (Sorry for the bad spelling, but hey, I've only got five minutes to do this thing).
Next time: Rolled Cigarettes and a Ten-Foot Tall Bonfire
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Five minutes of fame
Ok, I've promised myself I'll spend five minutes a day updating this little blog, and see where it gets me. The clock is ticking . . .
Hope you like the new look. I've had to upgrade to keep up with the "Tonys" and "Lucases" of the world. If you don't like it, drop me a comment or something and I'll get busy ignoring you right away! Seriously though, if you see something egregious on this site (besides the delay in posting!) let me know and I'll try to make it better.
Ok, when I left you last year, I was promising an update about the Homecoming experience, version 2006. Well, after I eagerly packed up all of the stuff I would need for Homecoming (read: an extra shirt and pants, because you never know what Tony's going to borrow), I waited on the front porch to see which of my friends would be picking me up to cart me up to Hillsdale. Lo and behold, a battered little car with Massachusetts plates pulled up, carrying not one, not two, but three very good friends from college--albeit one of them was laying down in the back seat so I couldn't see him.
Yep, J, Tony and Jacob had arrived. After a quick tour of our house (still new to us, at that point), and after Tony made instant friends with my daughter by making weird faces at her and being really loud (little girls love Tony--insert your own joke here), we were off on a funky adventure, one that promised to be interesting, at worst, and downright criminal, at best.
Of course, as the people in the car had collectively already driven for the equivalent of at least 24 hours straight, I drove.
Next time: Hunt Club Memories and Rolled Cigarettes
Hope you like the new look. I've had to upgrade to keep up with the "Tonys" and "Lucases" of the world. If you don't like it, drop me a comment or something and I'll get busy ignoring you right away! Seriously though, if you see something egregious on this site (besides the delay in posting!) let me know and I'll try to make it better.
Ok, when I left you last year, I was promising an update about the Homecoming experience, version 2006. Well, after I eagerly packed up all of the stuff I would need for Homecoming (read: an extra shirt and pants, because you never know what Tony's going to borrow), I waited on the front porch to see which of my friends would be picking me up to cart me up to Hillsdale. Lo and behold, a battered little car with Massachusetts plates pulled up, carrying not one, not two, but three very good friends from college--albeit one of them was laying down in the back seat so I couldn't see him.
Yep, J, Tony and Jacob had arrived. After a quick tour of our house (still new to us, at that point), and after Tony made instant friends with my daughter by making weird faces at her and being really loud (little girls love Tony--insert your own joke here), we were off on a funky adventure, one that promised to be interesting, at worst, and downright criminal, at best.
Of course, as the people in the car had collectively already driven for the equivalent of at least 24 hours straight, I drove.
Next time: Hunt Club Memories and Rolled Cigarettes
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
