I suppose I should write. Sarah and I were at Mom and Dad's house for about a week. The internet there, as I have complained before, is glacially slow. I used that as an excuse not to write. As it turns out, Christmas was Christmas, as always.We came home for two days to check on the cats (they missed us, I could tell from all the poop no one cleaned up for them). In the morning, we're heading back up to see Mom and Dad for another couple of days. I'll probably use that as an excuse not to write any more, but you never know...

It is finished.

And by finished, I mean all the papers are written, exams are taken, and projects are completed. At least, they are until next semester starts in about two weeks.

The snow fell on its own. Someone plowed the driveway, shoveled the walk, and plowed the road. Someone else fed the cats, cleaned the litterbox, and cleaned the bathroom. All these things got done without my intervention.

As it turns out, my papers are not written unless I directly intervene. It's 2:47 AM, and I'll be done with paper 2 at some point in the next few hours.

P.S. Update as of 6:51 AM: finished the paper; found out in snowed 10.5 inches here in town (apparently, our county got hit the hardest), with drifts over 2 feet; Sarah had another snow day (that makes three so far--incredible).

Does anyone else feel like they want to throw up?

(I doubt it has anything to do with the bag of chips I ate for dinner)

Paper 1: done
Exam 1 (Fri, 1 PM): not done
Paper 2 (due Mon, 10 AM): not done
Exam 2 (due Thurs, 12 PM): not done

It's all downhill from here.

As an addendum to yesterday's post: it turns out that the gunman killed himself (after he'd been shot a few times by the security guard).

As far as my answer to my own question: I am reminded of the story of Ananias and Sapphira (Acts 5). Feel free to read it if you'd like, but the gist of the story is that this husband and wife team was struck dead for lying to a group of Believers. Can you imagine how much worse would it have been for the pair if they'd been killing Believers (as our gunman was doing)? To answer this question, I am reminded of the story of Saul (i.e., Paul) who had been throwing Believers in prison and killing them--and he was given Life.

You caught me: it's a riddle. Let's live the best lives we can.

There's been a lot in the news about the shootings at two Colorado churches yesterday. What happened was a horrible tragedy: families and two communities of Believers will be forever scarred. Five people were killed, including the gunman, who was shot by a church member with a concealed weapons permit (working voluntary security detail). The pastor of the megachurch praised the volunteer, suggesting that she saved tens, in not hundreds, of lives. I am left wondering a question with difficult answer.

Would Jesus shoot a murderous gunman?

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

(breath)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Today I got back the course evaluations filled out by my (60 or so) students, and I thought I'd distill most of the good comments into one sentence.

As it turns out, I am, overwhelmingly, a funny, helpful, easy to talk to, fun, good speaking, interesting, caring, approachable, friendly, really fun, very enthusiastic, not boring, passionate, laidback (sic), knowledgeable, very helpful funny, nice, cool, fun, humorous, and funny instructor. Also, one student thinks that I "look like Hercules."

There were a few exceptions.

From the evaluations:

What constructive suggestions do you have for this instructor and course?

"Be more enthusiastic and maybe less judgemental (sic)." (where did that come from???)
"Just don't like psychology. He does everything fine."
"Make it more interesting." (ouch)
"Great instructor, bad course." (I'm not sure if that was my fault or not)

What did you dislike most about this instructor and course?

"He was extremely timely." (so sorry)
"Having to go to it." (thanks)
"Didn't dislike him. Dislike psychology."
"His hair." (Ouch!)

Some people say that we inevitably ignore the good comments and focus entirely on the bad. In my all-consuming narcissism, I only heard the good, and these evaluations made me feel great. My favorite comment was probably this one:

What did you like most about this instructor and course?

"Good teacher, enthusiasm, interesting to hear speak. Shame I won't be able to take another class with him."

If someone doesn't let me into a PhD program, I'm not going to get to do this for a living. Don't cheat the kids out of that. Just don't.

A fellow student whose first language is not English is graduating in a few days. Today I asked him if he had anything to do before graduation (I was thinking something along the lines of a final paper to finish). He told me that he just had to complete his duties at the psychology clinic. I asked him what that entailed. He replied, "I must terminate my patient."

Note to self: do not refer patients to that clinic.

(We had a good laugh when I explained the difference between what he said and what he meant).

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

(breath)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

From Dec. 12-14, there looms an evil confluence of papers, exams, and projects. Schemed in some sort of mid-afternoon, ivory-towered cabal, this sadistic plan is a not-so-covert attempt at making first-year graduate students wish they had made better life choices.

I'd complain about it, but I'm sure there are about a million other college students who feel like their worlds are colliding. And it happens every semester. In reality, things are going okay: I've been working hard for the last three months so that I won't completely fall apart during this very difficult time, but I can't promise that, at some point during the next 10 days, I'm not going to totally freak out.

Addendum to yesterday's post.

Cost of toy mouse: $0.65
Cost of vet bill when favorite cat rips (inedible and indigestible--i.e., death causing) 6-inch tail off said mouse and eats it: $40.
Cost of cat ownership: priceless

And I mean 'priceless' in terms of inestimably; as in, way too much; as in, we're having cat for dinner the next three nights.


P.S. For sale: 1 cat (slight wear: 'high' on throw-up medicine)

For Sale: upholstered desk chair (some wear--cat-claw shaped holes) and 3 cats

Now that Thanksgiving is over, nothing particularly noteworthy (or, worthy of note, as some might say) has been happening here in Drearytown, USA. I say Drearytown because its been gray outside for all of about 12 hours, and I expect things to stay that way for about, hmmm, the rest of winter. But that's another post.

Tomorrow, I'm giving a group presentation in front of one of my classes. I'm not a big fan of group projects. This one has been okay. Let's just leave it at that. This weekend, I plan on reading. Let's just leave it at that. Soon, I will have to do some writing. But not before I do a whole bunch of reading. Let's just leave it at that. Later, it will be Christmas break. But not for a long time.

Let's just leave it at that.

"Dispense with the wit forthwith!", said you.
"Why worry when wit will oneday come whence?", said I.

"Always asking ardently in advance for amusement.", said you.
"Almost-amusing alliteration is all for to-day.", said I.

So buzz off.
See what I did there?

A funny thing happened today. Only I wasn't around to see it, and I didn't hear about it. Let me know if you find out what it was.

See what I did there?

Okay, so I haven't written in a while. A couple of things happened. First, there was Cleveland. Then, Lexington. Finally, Lapeer. I should also mention basketball, Thanksgiving, reading, alien invasion, and pineapple. You caught me. There wasn't any pineapple. I might tell you the truth about the last week and illustrate it with pictures. I also might forget/not do it.

In either case, I have to teach a class in the morning, so I'm going to have to go ahead and go to bed. Until later.

An annual report ranks U.S. cities by crime. This year, Detroit clawed it's way to the top (as in, most crime-ridden city in the United States), and Flint was number three (edged out only by St. Louis). In contrast, Mission Viejo (Orange County, CA) was labeled America's safest city).

I find it interesting that Sarah and I just moved from close to the safest area of the entire United States (we were about 20 minutes from Mission Viejo) to close to the most dangerous area. At least we're 20 minutes away...

Well, I made it through my test. No big surprise there--contrary to popular opinion, most test-takers don't die during their exams... Heading into the weekend, I've got lots of work to do (as usual), and I'm nearly heading into the home stretch of this semester. Then a new semester begins. After that, more semesters. After that, work. After that, more work. After that, death.

It's always something, I guess.

Big exam tomorrow.
Study tonight.
Later.

The last time I had hay fever was about six months ago (late May). I posted this:

The interesting thing about my case of hay fever is that it has nothing to with "hay" or "fever". The symptoms include itchy skin, complaints, distemper, and swollen butt.

Yep, still hilarious.

P.S. For sale: 3 cats

I've got a big test on Wednesday, so no interesting posts unless I start procrastinating. Hopefully that's not going to happen. Also, the hay fever isn't going away, but do you know what is going away? Nothing. That's what.

Hay fever.

When I was 17, my high school sent me to Michigan State for a leadership week called Boys' State. It's a nationwide program that's been around since the 1930s. Apparently, at the time, confidence in democracy was waning, and the American Legion decided it needed a way to boost morale and get new recruits for the cause of freedom: Boys' State was born. [When the Nazi's did this, it was called propaganda (among other things), but whatever.]

The premise is this: get a group of 1000 gifted (and, looking back, incredibly nerdy and uptight) teenagers together and have them create their own nation. They elect officials, pass laws, pretend to be real politicians, etc. etc. Like I said, propaganda.

Anywho, some heavy hitters have attended Boys' State (Bill Clinton, JFK, Neil Armstrong, my dad, etc.), and a lot of guys take it really seriously (something about wanting to get into good colleges, whatever). Most people wore suits and ties all week and didn't take kindly to any fooling around. I found this picture on the internet (click it for an enlargement) while I was procrastinating.

I'm pretty sure my expression says, "I know what you're doing, and I reject your propaganda." It was this during this week that I began a campaign of not combing my hair that lasted for TWO YEARS. Everyone was being so serious (and I'd forgotten a comb anyway) that I just revolted. True story. Notice I was still elected to the house of representatives and the transportation committee. I think it's obvious who the real leader was.

P.S. Be sure to see my Pat Robertson rant (written earlier tonight), below.

I am not a republican or a democrat. Ultimately, I vote for the politician who I believe will do the least harm.

As I understand the interaction between Christianity and politics, most Evangelical and Fundamentalist Christians vote republican. And, in my (apparently) limited understanding, most of these Christians vote this way because they view republicans as 'pro family' (i.e., anti-abortion, anti-homosexual rights).

Today, Pat Robertson, a major influence in the Evangelical, Fundamentalist Christian community, announced that Rudy Giuliani was his pick for the next president of the United States.

Interesting.

Last time I checked, Giuliani is the only twice-divorced, pro-abortion, pro-homosexual rights, 'pro-family' republican candidate. I'm not here to make an judgments about Giuliani's life, views, or canidacy. I am here to make judgments about Pat Robertson's hypocrisy.

If you're going to be a major religious leader, a person in whom others place their trust and look to for guidance, you must pick your story and stick to it. Claim to place importance on family? Then how about you make choices that don't make you look like an hypocritical idiot to non-Christians. Want to vote republican because someone is your friend or because you like their fiscal policy (so that you can stay rich) even though they represent somewhat of an antithesis of your purported views? Then go ahead and explain what you're doing outright.

Like I said, I don't give a rip one way or the other about Giuliani's views: you can be anti-family (whatever that means) and still do enormous good for a lot of hurting people. I do give a rip about those who have been appointed as representatives of my faith to the unbelieving world.

I move to recall Pat Robertson's seat as witness to the world of what Christians are like. Second the motion. All in favor? The ayes have it.

Done and done.

In the classes that I teach, one class period is devoted to a procedure called Q-sorting. I won't bore you with the details. What's important here is that you know that students fill out a questionnaire and enter data into a computer program. The program then tells them how compatible they are (in terms of likes, dislikes, and interests) with everyone else in the class. It's a lot like what dating websites do.

Anywho, one of the activities during this period is for each student to find the classmate with whom the computer says he/she is most compatible, talk to that person, and decide whether the computer made an accurate assessment. Two of my students told me after class today that the computer had matched them as highly compatible. After talking, they realized that they had previously met on the internet (6 years ago), HAD BEEN 'FRIENDS' FOR YEARS but had never previously talked outside of a computer chat room (they had never even seen each other), and they DIDN'T KNOW THEY WERE IN THE SAME CLASS UNTIL THE COMPUTER TOLD THEM SO.

What are the chances of that?

It seems that I've eaten some undercooked chicken. I'll let you know how that turns out. Emphasis on out.

It's probably harder to put stitches in by yourself. Hopefully we won't have to find out. Hopefully.

As it turns out, stitches aren't that hard to remove yourself.

Happy Birthday Grandpa!!

(hot outside, yet so cool...)

Reading is fun.
Reading is great.
Reading is what I'm starting to hate.

Reading is fun. Reading is great. Reading is what I'm starting to hate. Reading is fun. Reading is great. Reading is what I'm starting to hate. Reading is fun. Reading is great. Reading is what I'm starting to hate.

Everybody now!

Reading is fun. Reading is great. Reading is what I'm starting to hate. Reading is fun. Reading is great. Reading is what I'm starting to hate. Reading is fun. Reading is great. Reading is what I'm starting to hate.

Reading is fun! Reading is great! Reading is what I'm starting to hate! Reading is fun! Reading is great! Reading is what I'm starting to hate! Reading is fun! Reading is great! Reading is what I'm starting to hate!**


**I don't really hate reading. Yet.

In an often-told Bible story, God tells an old man named Abraham to kill his only son. In the modern world, this seems cruel, unusual, and obscene, and it wouldn't have seemed any different to Abraham. The old man had spent years obsessing over the fact that he had no children, no legacy. In his world, a man's life meant nothing if he didn't continue his genetic line. When God finally blessed Abraham with a son (after he and his wife had far surpassed natural, child-bearing age), the old man was utterly joyful.

Yet, years later, God tells Abraham to kill this son, to crush this blessing. God sends Abraham on a three-day journey into the mountains, instructing him to offer Isaac as a sacrifice. It should not be ignored that Abraham's trip took three days. Have you ever agonized over a decision? Which car should I buy? Where should I go for my vacation? Does this shirt make me look fat? Even simple decisions can be excruciating. Abraham had to spend THREE DAYS agonizing over whether he should obey his God and KILL HIS OWN SON, or whether he should allow his son to live and disobey his God. After a solitary trek deep into the mountains, Abraham builds an alter to his God, lays his son on it, and raises the knife to slay the boy and render his own life a meaningless, murderous failure.

For Abraham, this wasn't like giving up chocolate for Lent, or losing his Wednesday evening to a Bible study. This was giving up his prized possession, his hopes and dreams, his life. This was committing the most important thing in his life to God's control, even though he knew that God was going to destroy it. Abraham had always felt that his God was good, but this good God had asked him to do something horrible, something unthinkable, something evil. In spite of this, Abraham continued to trust in the goodness of his God.

All of us have our own Isaac. It might not be a son, but it exists. Your Isaac might be your education, your career, your retirement, your family, your health, your self-esteem, your financial security, your whatever. The question is, if you had to give up your Isaac, to render your life a meaningless failure, would you trust in the goodness of your God?

Right now, if things are failing, do you trust in the goodness of your God? If your God isn't acting how you think a God should, do you trust in the goodness of your God? If God hasn't spoken clearly to you, do you trust in the goodness of your God?

Do you trust in the goodness of your God?

My headache was mostly gone when I got up this morning. Mostly.

Today's psychology short: depression is bad, women suffer from it at a rate 2x that of men (except in developing nations, where the ratio is a more-civilized 1:1), and depression as a whole has increased in every generation since WWII.

I woke up with a migraine today. Annoying as this was, the fact that it remained present all day while I was trying to read (all day) was significantly more distressing. At least I can take solace in the fact that it'll probably be gone when I wake up tomorrow morning.

The first time it happened, I thought it was an accident.

Fool me once...strike one. Fool me twice... ... ...strike three.
~Michael Scott

As it turns out, the cat was pulling my apples onto the floor on purpose. I hate bruised apples. They look like poop. Who wants to eat poop? Not me, you can be sure of that. They're in the fridge now; you can rest assured. And by they, I mean the cats. Kidding. For now.

By the way, what the heck?!? I thought that when organisms had major surgery (i.e.., each of our cats had ALL her reproductive organs were removed THIS MORNING), they were supposed to take time to recover, you know, be docile: our mutants came home completely intoxicated with some sort of a stimulant. When the doctor said that they "bounced back" surprisingly quickly, I didn't take him to literally mean that they were doing actual bouncing. Turns out, I misunderstood. Earlier, they took a sealed, foil bag of cat treats from the counter, smuggled it downstairs, and were trying to chew it open when I happened upon their little cabal. Right now they're chewing on my shoes, playing with the garbage in the bathroom, and I'm pretty sure I just heard glass tinkle from the other room. True story.

Send help.

P.S. On a more interesting note, did you know that a cat's skin is colored with the same pattern as its fur? When the vet spayed the cats, he shaved a portion of their abdomens, and, as it turns out, our striped cat also has striped skin (the pattern is much less remarkable with the other two, but the similarity is still definitely there).

And, if you'll excuse me, I have to go get them out of the trash.

This week's psychology lesson: folie a deux.

Other variants of this RARE disorder include: folie a trois, folie a quatre, folie a famille, and folie a plusieurs. Also known as, "shared psychotic disorder", the original name literally means madness for two (or three, or four, or a family, or many), and its primary symptom is a delusion that is shared by 2 or more people who live together. In other words, this disorder is characterized by contagious delusions.

Delusions are tricky. They're defined as firmly-held beliefs that remain present despite significant and compelling evidence to the contrary. Despite what some may argue, the psychological/psychiatric community has decided that commonly-held religious beliefs may NOT be considered delusions. Delusions can be bizarre (a machine in Texas controls my left eyeball and my thoughts) or non-bizarre (my neighbors are stealing my clothes). They are associated with a number of disorders, including schizophrenia, dementia, and substance withdrawal (among others). In the case of Folie a Deux, the delusions are typically not bizarre.

Two examples:

(1) Harriet begins to suspect that someone is stealing her shoes, wearing down the soles, and then giving them back. Her husband, Hank, also comes to believe this and starts hiding his shoes before he goes to bed at night.

(2) Hal believes his food is being poisoned by the government. His brother Hugo stops eating take-out because he starts to believe it too.

I'm a Christian, so according to Seinfeld, I'm allowed to poke fun at my own (see: the conversion of dentist Tim Watley to Judiasm solely for the jokes). I also have a father, a father-in-law, and two uncles who are pastors. As if I needed more license to say a pastor joke, I myself have done some preaching. That said...

Have you ever noticed that pastors (none that I know...) tend to say certain words in certain ways? Or that they often artificially manipulate the volume and cadence of their voices, often inserting pauses in abnormal places? Here are two examples.

(1) "And God said... .... ... you shall have... ... ... POW...ERR!" (not really from the Bible, but I've heard it at church a lot, so it must be true).

(2) "For God so LOVED the world (microphone noise) that he gave his only begotten son (microphone noise) that who...soever believes in him might have eternal... ... ... life (microphone noise)."

My question is, does this happen when it's Tuesday (as in, NOT Sunday morning)?

At the mechanic: "There's...some...thing... ... ... ...wrong with my POW-ERR steering. Can...you...fix it (microphone noise)?

They're usually nice people though. No offense.

As I usually do on Fridays, I spent most of the day reading. I'm pretty sure there isn't anything interesting about that. I looked out the window a few times. Once, there was a squirrel peeping back at me. I say peeping because I was in the bathroom about to get into the shower. I guess I should have closed the blinds.

It's nobody's birthday today. How depressing. I guess you can send me presents if you wish.

I've decided that being a graduate assistant is a lot like being a sharecropper. You do lots of semi-important work, and they pay you enough so that you can eat rice (and only rice) every day but you can't go out on your own until you do what they say--which takes forever and sometimes is impossible. In other news, I have a lot to do, so I have to go.

Don't forget about the presents.

Happy Birthday Dad!!

Above: Too cool for school. And in only three short years you won't have to go anymore.

Above: Hemmingway wrote about the old man and the sea, but who is the woman?

Above: There's that woman again. But no sea.

Happy Birthday Grandma!!

So, the weekend's over and I didn't get half of the things done that I'd planned to. Did I procrastinate? No. Did something unexpected happen? No. Do I read too slowly? Yes.

I am NOT smarter than a fifth grader.

Al Gore: architect of the internet, majority-vote-getter in the 2000 race to be leader of the free world, Academy Award winner, and now, Nobel Peace Prize recipient.

Yours truly: spaceman, Santa Claus, and now, sickened wretch.

(Alternative ending: "...and now, Nobel Peace Prize recipient...talk about a slap in the face to Nelson Mandela.")

I was reading the news today and came across the following headline:

"Dog saves family from fire started by cat".

I think that about sums up the history of dog+human and cat+human interactions.

Apparently there really is a reason why dogs are called man's best friend and cats are called man's worst enemy who will try and kill man in man's sleep but will be foiled by man's dog and will run away and shred all the toilet paper off the roll while man is asleep and will jump on the counter seeking to infect man with bacteria from the litter box even though man has repeatedly reminded that the counter is off limits because that's where man likes to keep what man eats but instead cats just keep jumping places where they're not supposed to and pulling down the curtains and damaging the all-important TV antenna and trying to bite man's crotch when man isn't looking (true story) because they think they're so cool but they're not they're killers or they would be if it wasn't for dog but man doesn't have dog because man is in graduate school and travels sometimes and doesn't know what would happen if dog was left to own devices for long periods of time without a yard to poop and play in so man has too many cats who are trying to kill man and may succeed if someone doesn't send help.

The above manic sentence was sponsored by whichever cat shredded a full roll of toilet paper while I was sleeping and keeps putting things into my left shoe.

You know who you are.

All this hot weather has brought flies to our house. It hasn't exactly reached plague proportions (I've seen about 5), so I'm not here to complain about it quite yet. I just thought you'd like to know that our formerly-wild cat (Mowgli) loves to eat them. Loves it. Today, one of the other cats chased down a fly, jumping acrobatically and using her paws to pluck it out of the air. Just as she was loosening her grip and peering between her paws, Mowgli jumped on her back, stole the fly, and ate it. Mmmm...protein.

The test wave has almost reached the beach. Today I took one portion of my psychopathology test and was pleasantly surprised at its difficulty level (relatively low). The essay portion is Wednesday; I assume it will be significantly harder. Now, I'm off to finish my paper about psychoanalytic theory.

By the way, what's with this weather (188 degrees with 185% humidity on October 8)? I thought this was supposed to be Michigan. Oh, right. This is Michigan.

I've got a big exam tomorrow, a 12-page, take-home exam due Tuesday, and a train whistle blowing in my ear. I'll write more when it's all over.

Jeff
1992-2007

Goodbye, old friend.
Off somewhere good,
I hope.

Sarah will probably tell you all about it, but today we decided to take the hit and take our cats to see the veterinarian (they've been sick for a long time, but this morning one of them looked and smelled like death warmed over).

The good news is that it cost about 1/10 what I thought it would (oh, and the cats are going to be fine...). The bad news is that we found out our cats are, to put it delicately, disease-ridden flea bags.

Interesting fact: chlamydia and herpes apparently aren't considered STDs when they infect cats. At least we can take solace in the fact that they're not promiscuous.

At this point, I need to read, not type.

Step right up! Take a quiz, find out your stance on spirituality. 20 questions and you're done. Click here, find your place in the cosmos...

Seriously, it's an interesting exercise. You answer 20 questions, and the quiz tells you what religious tradition your views line up with (e.g., Buddhism, Islam, Christianity, Quaker, etc.), and then it explains what people like you believe (and there's the option of finding out what the other groups believe).

As it turns out, I'm both a 'liberal protestant' (Christian) and a 'conservative protestant' (shall we call my views 'moderate protestant'--it even approximately rhymes; fantastic).

Me, as Rainn Wilson, as Dwight K. Schrute commenting on my day.

Fact: cats sneeze.
Fact: cats sneeze inordinate amounts of snot.

(I'm serious if humans sneezed proportionately as much snot as cats sneeze, you would NOT want to be around someone with a cold and/or allergies).

Fact: cat snot sticks to walls.
Fact: our walls are covered in cat snot.
Fact: I'm very glad that Sarah has taken the initiative to clean the cat snot off the walls.

Question: is it possible for someone to be employed as a cleaner of cat snot?
Answer: Because if it is, I know just the job for Sarah: Special education teacher.

A Poem

The internet is here.
And so am I.
Home.


That wasn't a poem and you know it.

Update on AT&T's progress: our home internet will be activated by 'Monday' 'at the very latest'. Fantastic. Who used to have the slogan about reaching out and touching someone? I'd like to reach out and do something. Maybe on Monday.

Here's something funny: as you're all well aware, for the last two weeks, the library has been home to all my internet and blogging needs. As you're not well aware, for the last week, the air circulator in here has been broken. It was fine when it was only 55 degrees outside, but it's considerably hotter right now. Currently, I'm dripping.

Oh, and school is fine. Lots of reading to do.

Guess where I am. Perhaps you guessed that I am at home, sitting in my home office, blogging from my home computer, in the comfort of my home? You would be wrong. I'm at the library.

Also of note, in terms of health care, it looks like Sarah and I are going to be uninsured (or, at the very least, minimally insured) in the next few weeks. I am now unequivocally in favor of universal health care. Interesting.

Correction about that poster: it actually said "GRAD SCHOOL". My mistake. In other news, I'm still posting from the library; it's lovely. Perhaps by 'Monday' things will again be right in the world, though this dream is likely of the pipe variety. Did I mention that one of my professors assigned 580 pages of (technically oriented) reading for the first week. I'm not sure if you realize how much that actually is. Try reading the about paragraph about 10,000 times, and I think you'll have some idea of what I'm talking about.

Turns out, AT&T forgot to hook up a line to our house. Also turns out, our landlord forgot to connect the outside line from AT&T to the inside of our house. Also also turn out that I'm still blogging from the library.

I'm still getting settled in as the semester progresses (lots of reading to do); I even found out that I have an office; three days later, I found out where it was and got a key. I share it with several other grad students, and, interestingly, on one wall there's a poster of a befuddled-looking John Belushi (from Animal House) with the words, "GRAD STUDENT", taped to his shirt. Telling?

School has officially begun, and AT&T has officially begun to get on my nerves. I signed up for home phone and DSL (internet) service many moons ago, and AT&T 'promised' to have everything turned on by Friday (which was a considerable wait, based on when I signed the service contract). Today is Saturday, and I'm typing this from the school library. AT&T 'promises' that we'll 'probably' have service by 'Monday', or, at the 'earliest', 'Tuesday' or 'Wednesday'. Whatever.

In the meantime I'm starting to adjust to my schedule, but I don't start teaching until Monday, so that should exponentially increase my workload, but we'll have to see how that actually plays out. Regardless, I have to go get back to reading every article in the library. Talk to you soon. ('Monday...or Tuesday or Wednesday at the earliest'...

Tomorrow we move. Unfortunately, ATT is electing not to activate our internet service until Friday the 7^th. The posts will come forth with at that time. Until then, consider this: a year ago, a woman backed into our car and left a huge dent in the door; rather than fix it, we took the insurance money to the bank. Fast-forward to yesterday: I was at Wal-Mart getting gas, and, as I was leaving, the car in front of me stopped, blocking my exit; a guy got out of the car (which said “Dent Doctor” on it) and asked me if I wanted my dent pulled out; I said ‘sure’, and thirty seconds later, the dent was a lot smaller (still crinkly, but far less noticeable); I tried to thank the fella, but he was already back in his car and driving away; it definitely made my day. Go and do likewise.

Things are starting to come together: we found a house (to rent) close enough to campus so that I don't have to buy a car (I may regret this decision come February), the university payed most of my tuition (I had my doubts), and everything has just generally started to fall into place. We anxiously await Sarah's employment, but things will go fine even if it doesn't happen for a while...

There's been a short moratorium on drywalling, so I think I'd better get some writing in while I can still move my fingers. I realize that I've not been posting much as of late, and I'm sure all two of you are starting to get a little anxious ("what's happening!", "where'd Max go?!", "have you seen my gerbil?!", etc.), but I think you'll have to bear with me for a short time. Soon, Sarah and I will be moving (again). Still within the state (have to get a little closer to school, and, allegedly, you're not supposed to live in your parents house until forever), so it's nothing major or unplanned, but this week should bring some major hecticity. Yeah, yeah. Not a word. Whatever. Anyway, this week, I have to play 18 holes of golf, buy a car, buy/rent a house/apartment, move into a house/apartment, finish the drywall, attend meetings on four days (driving 160 miles each day to get to and from the meetings), eat, sleep, etc., etc. I'm sensing a long week. Also, Sarah needs to find a job.

And...go.

Here's the thing: I've been hanging drywall all week. I could tell you about how I used math for the first time in real life, but I'm too tired. That'll do for now...

Today, someone saw a bear. It wasn't me, and I don't have any idea who saw the beast, but I know someone did. I bring it up because

Today I was avoiding going to bed, and I accidentally started watching a special on PBS about cat shows (apparently, I will do ANYTHING to avoid sleep). In any case, I learned that 1) I will never be a true 'cat person', and 2) true cat people sincerely love their cats, and 3) true cat people are a little demented. No offense. Also, I looked up a breed of cat called "Maine Coon", and came across a picture of, perhaps, the largest cat on earth. I thought I'd seen the largest cat on earth while I was in New York, but the cat I found today would eat that cat. For lunch. And then he'd eat like 15 more cats. Then he'd eat his normal lunch. Just look at the picture.

The was magic on the course today. I started out slowly, had a few rough spots in the middle, but ended up pulling off a 74. The fun included a 35 on the front, 4 birdies, an eagle, a near miss for double eagle, and a near miss for a hole-in-one.

If you didn't understand anything I just said, please consult a caddy.

Time to cross the border into Canada: 8 minutes
Documents required to cross the border into Canada: none
Terrorists caught at the border: 0

Time to cross the border into the United States: 154 minutes
Documents needed to cross the border into the United States: 1 passport or 1 driver's license and 1 official birth certificate
Terrorists caught at the border: 0

Hmmm...

Oh, good news: I saw a woodchuck today. (His name is Charles). In other news, tomorrow we head to New York for Rebekah's wedding. (Rebekah is not a woodchuck; at least, I don't think she is). We'll be cutting through Canada on the way over, and I can't wait: I heard we'll get to go ice fishing and eat seal for dinner. Also their money is stupid. They have dollar and two-dollar coins, which are called Loonies and Toonies. Also, we don't speak Canadian. Hopefully they'll let us out (or oot, as they say) if we don't want to trade in our car for a dog sled. If my fingers don't get frostbitten, I'll update the blog periodically if I have internet access...

Sarah and I changed our driver's licenses back to Michigan, and our car now has a Michigan plate, so it's officially official: we're residents of the Great Lakes State again. Let the economic downturning begin.

Today there was no plan, and I ended up spending several hours at the mall and Target. All of my personal, moral, spiritual, and visceral hatred of Target aside, I don't particularly enjoy spending oodles of time at the mall (even if it meant getting $10 shoes, which I completely needed [I previously didn't own shoes] at Steve & Barry's). All that to say, tomorrow I'm coming up with a preemptive plan.

It was hot today. Not so hot that I nearly spontaneously combusted, but hot enough so that when I picked some cucumbers in the garden and cut them for a salad, I realized they were starting to cook. Tomorrow it's supposed to be even hotter, so I was thinking of adding some water to the potted tomato vine and seeing if we end up with soup for dinner.

(I know what you're thinking: "that's absurd!" And it is. Sorry.)

I did my best today to avoid another posting about golf Monday. I really didn't have anything else to say, so here it is: I shot a 37 on the front and had a small problem on the back involving 92 golf balls, a half-hour reprise, a bog, and a slight temper-tantrum that resulted in a 51 on the back nine. Whoops. I'll leave you to piece everything together.

I'm sure you've noticed the relative lack of quality posts. The buck doesn't stop here: nothing of particular note happened today. Sarah and I went to church this morning; I preached; we went to the 'potluck' afterwards. We came home and read the newspaper. We watched an hour special about ice cream on PBS. We went out for ice cream. (I wonder if there's any correlation there...). We went for our nightly 3-mile walk. We watched TV. I couldn't stop eating. I couldn't form a compound sentence. The end.

Two bonus points for reading through the whole post.

Long story short, he asked me not to stand there anymore.

Long story short, the cat lived.

Long story short, I decided to never to stick my finger in there again.

"Oh, good news: I saw a dog today!" It's what happened. But two bonus points if you can name the movie and the actor who first said it.

Still here. Shot 86 yesterday. Golf. Not people. More later. Posts. Not shootings.

I managed to stop eating. (I know you were worried...I was). In case you were wondering, here is a list of things I didn't eat:

I can't stop eating.

Dad and I found out that a course down the street offers a 2 for 1 deal on Mondays, so, naturally, Monday has turned into golf day; we ended up playing 36 holes this morning/midmorning/noon/afternoon. It's great, considering that we both thought we'd never play again (due to injuries and deteriorating abilities on both our parts). I managed to play one nine (the first) at even par (that's [generally] a 36 for you golf neophytes out there), but I didn't shoot in the 70's (80 and 83). Still great, considering the fact that I took the last 7 years off. Here's to Mondays (and Dad's open wallet)!

Church. Twelve-mile bike ride. Basketball. Dinner. TV. I guess it doesn't really take very many words to sum up a day. Tomorrow, I play golf, so I'd imagine there will be more words; we'll see.

It was cold today. And hot. And windy. And rainy. And cloudy. And sunny. Not in that order. The weather, it's real again...

The summer of cats continues. Yesterday, Mom, Dad, Sarah, and I were on our daily walk, and I heard an animal SCREAMING from a swamp by the road. We stopped, and a kitten came crashing through the bushes. Shaking like a leaf, the kitten moved from person to person, unsure whether it wanted to be picked up or to run away. After surveying the situation (no collar, no people/houses around, totally freaked out cat), Mom carried the cat home. After spending some time with the kitty, it was clear the little bundle of nerves had been raised in the wild: I've never seen a cat so small and yet so muscular and acrobatic. It (she) actually reminded me of a monkey, jumping wildly after flies and doing flips on the ground. But she was a little wild (feral, for you cerebral types): for instance, she freaked when she figured out that there was water collected in a bowl, jumping in and out of it, dipping her face in (our theory was that the mother nursed her in the wild, and the kitten never had to drink from a bowl, stream, pond, etc.). Most interesting is this cat's coloring: the only way I can describe it is a black and dark gray striped cat with orange stripes layered slightly under the surface of the black and dark gray stripes. Very unique coloring. Now we just need to find her a home (not us)...

Yesterday, it was 95 degrees with high humidity. Today it is 65 degrees with no humidity. I've written before about the weather in California, but this 30-degree swing (not that I mind) would have sent "the OC" (as only people outside of Orange County call it) into a tailspin. There would be breaking news bulletins preempting our favorite TV programs, and the newspaper headlines would proclaim things like "Wacky Weather", "Weird Weather", and "What the Heck!? The Sky is Falling!!". In Michigan the recent swings in weather are known as Wednesday.

What did I do yesterday, you ask? In the morning, Dad and I played 18 holes of golf. After we got home, Dad went back to the pond to rake seaweed out, and after deciding that it was too hot in the house to do anything (95 degrees), I followed, and we played in the muck with the seaweed until about 6. Later, I worked on a friend's computer for about two hours, and then Mom, Sarah, and I went for a 3-mile walk. The end.

Today's post marks the 500th of this blog. Hold your applause. No...applaud. I didn't say stop.

I read a book today. Everything was going along just fine until the last 20 pages. It was as if the author painted himself into a corner, couldn't figure out what to do with the story, and ended it 50 pages early. I have a good mind never to read again. Starting...now.

I didn't eat any bugs or see any fawns today, so I guess I don't really have anything to report. It was raining this morning, so we splurged and went to the movies (actually, Dad splurged; we just mooched--Evan Almighty was good). It cleared up in the afternoon, and now, at 11:21 PM, it's so muggy that I want to go and jump in the pond. I'll let you know what happens.

This morning, I poured the remaining Cinnamon Toast Crunch into a bowl with some milk and sat down to have breakfast. As I ate my first few bites, I noticed some small black 'floaties' in amongst my cereal. Just junk from the bottom of the box, I thought; I looked closer; they were moving. As it turns out, they were ants, and I had been eating them. Perhaps more strangely, I found myself actually weighing whether to finish my breakfast or to throw it out. I'll leave you to guess what I decided.

Today's slogan: Ants, they do a body good. (runner up: an ant a day keeps the doctor away). In an unrelated matter, does anyone know where I can pick up an anteater (UCI is NOT an option)? Also, I finished today's round of golf with 5 pars and a birdie; dare I to hope...

Mom, Sarah, and I were walking around the block today (not what you think--it's a farming community--blocks are 3 miles) and had a once-in-a-lifetime experience. We were nearing the end of our trip and walking a somewhat solitary strech of dirt road. To our right, some horses were feeding under a tree in a bare barnyard; to our left was an open field, green with young corn (or weeds; to be honest, I don't remember). Some movement caught my eye, and I turned to see a creature galloping straight for us. Its legs flailed with each bound, and, at first, I thought it was a funny looking hound. But as it neared, I realized it was a terrified young fawn, sprinting (like a chubby kid with a fistfull of dollars after an icecream truck) straight for us. Snorting and bleeting like a goat, it stopped just short of us; its mother and sibling looked on from a treeline at the other side of the field. The white spots on its sides quivered with each breath, and indecision marred its delicate countenance. The horses stamped their feet in the background, and, for a moment, the fawn debated crossing the road and joining them in their pasture. We were caught entirely off guard: I didn't know whether to reach out and stroke its silky coat, or to watch it in awe, or to run from it. As the shaking ball of nerves stood inches away, we herded it back toward its mother and the safety of the trees. At first unsure, the fawn trotted hesitantly through the field, looking again at the horses. We turned toward home, afraid that our presence might scare the doe into leaving her young. As we parted, I felt sure that we would not be meeting again; our four lives had been fleetingly connected; but only for a moment; sometimes a moment is all you get. It was amazing, yet sad. I hope it found the doe.

I spent a lot of time just wandering around the yard today. I played with the cats, hit some golf balls, walked back to the pond and watched the fish, valiantly fought some hornets (I didn't die) and played some basketball. It sounds like I did a lot, but when you spread it over about 12 hours, there was a lot of down time. There's just something I like about being outside in the summer doing nothing in particular. I think that's why I so detest apartment living--there's no "outside" where I can wander around (at least, not without running into 1453 other people, their dogs, and their dogs' poop). Land. I want some.

To whomever it may concern:

Some attentive consumers may have noticed the recent decrease in the production of posts. Due to the switch from high-speed, DSL internet service to snail-speed, half-of-regular-dial-up internet service, production will likely remain at an all-time low for the near future. Those consumers who would like to voice a complaint may contact ATT.

Thank you.

The Management

Dad and I played some golf today. It was great playing in Michigan. At several points, we were the only people in sight. No one behind us pushing us to play faster. No one in front of us slowing us down. In Orange County, the only way there aren't 600 other people on the course is if you sneak onto the course at night and play in the dark (in which case, there are only 30 or 40 others...). It's good to be back.

If you've seen Sarah's blog, you'll note that we made it to Michigan. Below are the new cats. What you can't see are the worms. Hopefully we'll get that taken care of.

I was cleaning the fridge today, and I found a shelf in the door that I had never seen before. It's a nice shelf: it's contoured to hold 6 beverage-type cans. Interestingly, it's placed at just the right height so that I can't see it when I look down into the door and the body of the fridge. What's also interesting is that I HAVE cleaned the fridge before (and still didn't notice it--once I took the whole fridge apart, took the shelves and drawers out, took out EVERYTHING, and still didn't see it). I think I have a problem with details.

Just keep packing...just keeping packing...just keep swimming...just keep swimming. Finding Nemo.

Don't get your hopes up: this isn't going to be about anything interesting. Today, I packed. Tomorrow, I pack and clean. Thursday, I clean. Friday, I pack the car. I also have to throw in an oil change and a trip to the post office. That's all for now...

That last post disgusted me. Not only was it completely boring, but it was a little unsettling (you really should see my face though--it looks like I broke something). In any case, today's task is to do those last loads of laundry (FOR-EH-VER [that was a relatively obscure reference to a movie, by the way]), clean some borrowed household items (so they can be returned), and play some basketball. This post was much better than the last. Go ahead and disregard it.

I have a blocked pore on my face/catcher's mitt. If it doesn't go away, I may have to take drastic measures. Just thought I'd keep you in the loop.

We easily survived packing up Sarah's classroom. As it turns out, we grossly overestimated the amount of time it would take to complete the job. As it also turns out, we have a lot of boxes of books and files to send in the mail. Speaking of books, I booked our hotels for our upcoming cross-country trip (as a result, we're praying that we don't have car trouble or hit major traffic: there's nothing like arriving at your hotel at 4AM...). On tap for tomorrow: laundry: the last load ever.

The packing has begun (did I mention that we're moving to Michigan?). Today I cleaned out the car (first time since the last time we moved). Tomorrow we clean out Sarah's classroom. I'll let you know if we survive...

I was perusing Michigan real estate listings this evening and came across this headline, "$800,000 Desperate to sell brand new residence in Castle Rock area." If you're desperate to sell, here's a tip: lower your price about $800,000.

I read a news item recently about a veterinarian who punched a five-pound chihuahua, knocking its eye out of the socket. Apparently, the vet was trying to prepare the dog for surgery, but the animal was, according to "witnesses", being "uncooperative". In frustration, the vet punched it and was subsequently arrested on animal cruelty charges. Reportedly, the witnesses (a bull mastiff and a cairn terrier) were shaken up by the ordeal. The chihuahua had this to say, "You know, I just really didn't want him to stick that thermometer in there...but, yes, I probably will be a little more cooperative next time.

My question: if Chihuahuas aren't even liked by those who devote their lives to saving/helping animals, should the little nerve-balls really be allowed to live?

In other news, a veterinarian's life was ruined today.

I'm supposed to be asleep right now. I don't know what it is, I just don't enjoy the act of going to bed. According to my parents, I was born this way. So stop trying to change me. If I want to be awake when it's dark and asleep when it's light, that's your problem. Deal with it. *What's he talking about?*

Today, through the magic of the internet, I learned about a distant, distant relative of mine who was born in the late 1800's in Lapeer, MI. Apparently, during the 1920's and 30's, he was president of the University of Rhode Island, the University of Maryland, and Michigan State University (what's more, his grandfather helped found Michigan State). Each university named a dorm after him, and the U.S. government went so far as to name a naval ship after him. Who knew. No one, actually. But then I discovered how to use the internet, and now everyone will know.

Sarah didn't snap any toothbrushes in half today, so I was going to jokingly suggest that she snapped a chair in half when she sat on it, but she'd probably get mad. She's skinny though. You can only joke like that when everyone knows you can't possibly be serious. Skinny.

P.S. She just said, and I'm quoting here, "I'm going to snap your neck in half if you're not careful." Be prepared for a summons: you may have to testify.

For quite some time, oral hygiene has been a contentious issue our household. Some of us believe that Sarah brushes her teeth too hard, others of us believe that she brushes with adequate force. Generally, the debate has revolved around the fact that the bristles of Sarah's toothbrush deteriorate exponentially faster than mine do. Some could argue that I simply don't brush as long or as often, but, as of tonight, those who put forth such theories would be decidedly wrong.

Earlier this evening, I was sitting at the computer, and Sarah was getting ready for bed in the other room; the sound of her furious brushing served as white noise, and I was enjoying an interesting article about unnecessary lawsuits and torte reform. Suddenly, the relative silence was interrupted by a resounding, "CRACK!"

Let me ask you this: do toothbrushes generally snap in half when they are being used appropriately?

P.S. The answer is not "Yes. Yes they do."

I wanted to post something interesting. Something provocative. Something about how everyone picks their nose, but if you catch someone else doing it you a) pretend to be grossed out, or b) ridicule them. But I can't. I just got done playing three hours of basketball, my elbow hurts, the only thing I've eaten today is a sandwich, and Seinfeld is on.

Just when the Hay Fever seems to be on its way out, WHAM!, your face itches so much that you can't go to sleep. At least, that's what happened to me. Either that, or we have bed bugs.

Stupid Pistons.

If you're ever in the mood for propaganda, for a movie with barely-covert anti-Christian themes, for your children to be simultaneously entertained and brainwashed, then I recommend renting the animated musical/film, "Happy Feet".

If you saw Happy Feet, and you don't know what I'm talking about, I encourage you to watch it again, this time paying careful attention to the underlying themes and messages about the Church, family relations, and personality theory/human development. I'll bet they thought no one would notice.

The Pistons are really starting to tick me off. And yet, because they've reached the conference finals for 5 straight years, I don't feel completely allowed to be ticked off. That ticks me off. I guess I'll just watch the spelling bee.

Have you ever noticed how some people don't like to admit they got a sunburn? I don't know if they feel stupid because they look funny, or because they have an easily-avoidable 'injury' that's painfully obvious to all who look at them, but the scenario usually plays out like this:

Observer: "Got some sun today, didn't you?"
Burned: "No I didn't."
Observer: "Are you sure? You look pretty red."
Burned: "No I don't."
Observer: "Are you peeling?"
Burned: "No. I just must be a little warm; yeah, now that you mention it, I do feel a little warm."

Later...

Burned: "You know what, I think I did get a little sun today."
Observer: "Hmmm... I guess you're right; you know best..."

I bring it up, because today I played basketball outside for an hour and a half. I think you can gather the outcome (and the ensuing conversation with Sarah when she got home from work).

A question about long-distance relationships.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Explain that.

Okay, there's not much going on around here. You caught me. I think I'll go watch some Seinfeld and finish making myself sick on Doritos. Happy Memorial Day! Next time, remember not to eat so many chips. Also, remember all the people who died fighting for this country and its objectives.

Sarah and I are just taking it easy this weekend. (I used the present progressive there because, though it's late Sunday night, the weekend still rolls through Monday this week--buy a calendar). Today she convinced me to go and see a movie in the theater (it was a real splurge, but we rationalized it by buying discounted tickets from Costco). We ended up seeing Pirates of the Caribbean 3, along with 1500 other people. Even though we waited in a ridiculous line for 30 minutes (and another 30 in the theater, as it started quite late) surrounded by obnoxious, eye-patch-wearing teens who were dueling to the death with blow-up swords, we weren't disappointed by the movie (not to say that we were completely appointed either--see what I did there? disappointed/appointed? genius). A word of caution: it was very violent and contained several scenes that shouldn't be seen by children under the age of 30. Not unless you want them dreaming about hangings, killer crabs, and alcoholism.

In my omniscient opinion, the first installment of the series focused on Captain Jack Sparrow; the later installments focused equally on several characters (including Jack). For this reason (i.e., the incredible character created by Johnny Depp), the original movie remains the most entertaining of the three. The end.

To procure the closest possible parking space, there are many among us (you know who you are) who are willing to spend considerable time negotiating their way through a large parking lot. Sometimes, they follow someone who looks as if she is returning to her car (and this person either a) pretends not to notice, or b) thinks she's about to get abducted and frantically searches for her keys); other times, they circle the lot, like vultures searching for a fresh kill, scanning for newly opened spaces, vying for position with the other spot hounds, making crazy hand gestures, and blocking traffic with a complete disregard for all that is good in the world. There are also those who will simply wait close to the curb with the motor running, hoping to nab the first place that opens. All of these people are spot hounds (you know who you are), and I have several comments for you (you know who you are).

1) Almost invariably, it would be faster to park in the first available space (Don't believe me? Try it and find out. I would be willing to bet your life on it.). When I see a spot hunter in its natural habitat (the Costco Parking Lot/Serengeti), my personal goal is to get in and out of a store before the spot hunter finishes parking.

2) You are not allowed to complain about high fuel prices; just think how much gas you'd save if you didn't spend 400 hours a year circling parking lots.

3) You are not allowed to complain about weight gain; just think how much more food you could eat if you knew you'd be burning 100,000 extra calories a year because of the additional 3 minute walk you'd be taking twice a week.

Finally, I'd just like to comment about a small subculture withing the spot hounds. Like the others, those who make up this subculture are willing to wait/drive around, if they must, for up to 36 hours in order to get the closest possible space. Unless it's a hot day. In this case, these shade hounds are willing to park three states over, as long as it means finding a spot under a tree. Do you want to walk 100 yards to the mall? "NO WAY!", comes the resounding response, "Unless it's hotter than 76 degrees--in which case we'd prefer to walk as far as possible: we don't want our car to get too much sun; we forgot the sunscreen, and it has low melanin."

No offense.

The interesting thing about my case of hay fever is that it has nothing to with "hay" or "fever". The symptoms include itchy skin, complaints, distemper, and swollen butt. Didn't see that coming, did you? Why am I so funny?

That reminds me of an interesting story. When I was six years old, I wasn't what you might call, "fleet of foot". When compared to a tortoise and a hare, I was probably closer in speed to the tortoise, assuming it had been long dead. Apparently, this fact was lost on me. I once asked my dad, in all seriousness, "Dad, why am I so fast?"

To date, that question has gone unanswered. So, I pose it to you. Why AM I so fast? And, as a follow up, why doesn't anyone else recognize my incredible speed?

Hay fever is here. I'm less excited about its arrival than I am in the following things: rain, frozen bananas, unnecessary fouls, lower back pain, upper back pain, nightfall, cows, erstwhile reporters, athlete's foot, the national spelling bee, bee attacks, attack dogs, hot dogs, dogwood trees, tree frogs, frog legs, leggings, rabbit stew, and mushrooms.

Just thought you might like to know.

I love to play basketball, but, unfortunately, I'm getting tired of playing the pick-up variety. Each gym or court has its own culture: there are always slight nuances to the rules in each venue (for instance, each court has it's own rules about the point total that ends a game: 11, 15, 21, etc.). An unspoken rule at one of the gyms I play at is that there are "no easy buckets". Essentially, this means that I get fouled nearly every time I touch the ball. And it's not just me: anyone who dares to get close to the basket gets fouled. Shooting free throws would completely solve the problem, but that's not a practice typically done in pick-up games. And it's killing the integrity of the game. And I hate it.

Then again, maybe I'm just a whiner who doesn't like leaving every week with a sore neck and elbow-sized bruises.

Tomorrow marks the beginning of the end of my classes for the semester, or, 'exam' 'week', as they say; however, I say 'exam' because my 'exams' don't really count for anything (I'm taking the classes on a pass/fail basis, and I'm quite sure that I've already done more than enough work to earn a "pass"), and I say 'week' because my 'exams' are on Tuesday and Thursday only. It's a difficult life I lead, but I'm willing to make the sacrifice.

Sarah's gone for the weekend (speaking) at a retreat with some of the ladies from church. I look forward to her homecoming tomorrow, and I realized that, in her absence, I have several 'rituals'. 1) I don't sleep when I should (note: it's now 3:02 AM), 2) I make a pot of soup and eat the whole thing (note: Sarah doesn't like soup), 3) I leave the dishes all over the house (note: this isn't that much different from normal, but when Sarah's away, they sit out significantly longer).

The menu listing seemed innocuous (and tasty) enough:

RANCH HOUSE BURGER
Pieces of Steak, Sauteed Mushrooms and Onions, Crisp Bacon and Cheddar Cheese on Top of Our Classic Burger. Served with Fries

Today, Sarah, Peter, and I went to the Cheesecake Factory (a local chain eatery) for dinner (we had a giftcard...). I wasn't in the mood for a serious, sit-down meal, so I went for what I thought would be a moderately-sized, classic hamburger. As it turns out, my burger/monstrosity included a whole steak, 6 pieces of bacon, a 1 lb. hamburger patty, cheese, a single lettuce leaf, and a paper-thin slice of tomato. What the menu also failed to mention is how every burger comes with chest pains. And I didn't even force myself to eat the whole thing (which, I'd like to point out, I most certainly could have). I do love to eat food, but I also love to live: I'll be more careful next time...

Is anyone else appalled by Bruce Bowen, Robert Horry, and the rest of the San Antonio Jerks? I mean Spurs (no, I meant Jerks). If I was playing pickup basketball with those guys, I'd want to punch them and would probably go find a new place to play. For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, know this: they know what they did, and they should be ashamed of themselves. Then again, this might sound hypocritical coming from a fan of a basketball team that has been nicknamed, "The Bad Boys." Whatever. The Bad Boys may have played dirty basketball, but they were men about it. If they wanted to injure you, you knew about it. There was no "oops, I accidentally just put my knee in your crotch, I'm so sorry (this means you Bruce Bowen!)" and no "oops, I accidentally just kicked you from behind while you were going in for an easy dunk (again, this means you Mr. Bowen)." If a Bad Boy wanted to hurt you, he did it like a man, by slamming you on the ground and/or putting his elbow in your face.

Here's to hoping that the Spurs take a long walk off a short pier.

Three times a week, I have complaint day. Today is that day. With that said...

My neck hurts. My left knee hurts. I have a head ache. I think my back is going to go out soon. My thumb itches. I have some bumps on my head. You're not reading fast enough. My ear is ringing. My armpit won't stop sweating. You're bored. The cat just ate my homework. I don't have a cat. I have to go to the bathroom. I went to the bathroom. My seat is wet. You should be laughing. I don't know if you are. I'm done posting now.

Well, aside from the stomach ache (and a migraine that developed overnight), my birthday was a success; that is, I successfully gained another year. Or lost another year, depending on your outlook.

Today was Mother's Day, the day we buy trinkets for the lady from whom we sprung. Here are some flowers Mom: now we're even. Sounds fair to me.

A few weeks ago, I mentioned that my knees hurt and jokingly suggested that I was either getting old or growing again. As it turns out, I've gained another 3/4 of an inch. I was wondering why I've been getting so many rebounds in my pick-up basketball games as of late. Who would have guessed.

A stomach ache is not a good birthday present.

Think MasterCard.

Cost of ice cream: $5 a week
Interest rate, compounded quarterly: 12%
Years to eat ice cream, assuming diabetes or heart disease don't get you first: 50
Not having to hear, "I want ice cream! Give me ice cream! Feed me!": priceless.
There are some things in life money can't buy; for everything else, there's MasterCard.

Sometimes extreme frugality just isn't worth it, even if it's going to cost me $822,047.39.

Let's say your hairstyle is such that you need a cut every six weeks. Let's say you go to your local Supercuts and pay $15 for your haircut and tip. This translates to $130 a year in haircuts; it's not a huge number; it's not even astronomically huge if you calculate the total for, say, 50 years ($6500); however, the power of compound interest is amazing: starting with a balance of $0, if $130 are added per year to an account earning 12% interest (the average interest earned in conservative, stock-market investing) and being compounded quarterly, the balance after 50 years will be $411,023.70.

Needless to say, I will continue cutting my own hair. On tap for tomorrow: the cost of Starbucks.

If you're interested, you can listen to my sermon from Sunday online. Turn your speakers on and then click here.

The neighbors are fighting again. They've been screaming at each other for the last two hours. I just don't understand how people can live like that. I'd better go to bed before they start to 'make up'.

Two things of note today: first, I was given the privilege of preaching the sermon at church today. The highlight, as Sarah would be quick to tell you, was probably when I said "we're all members of the body of Christ; it doesn't matter if you're a hand, a foot, or a butt hair, you still have an important roll to fill." There were no audible gasps from the congregation, so I'm pretty sure we're not going to get kicked out. Second, I spent several hours 'acting' in a (very) short film. It was fun. One of the guys who goes to our church is a film student, and he was doing a final project for a class. He needed to produce a 2-3 minute 'movie' with lots of computer generated special effects, and I got to jump around in front of a green screen and pretend to snowboard down a mountain; I also got to play with a light saber. It'll be interesting to see how it turns out. When I get a copy, I'll see if he doesn't mind me passing it along.

Today was another day. I won't bore you with the details or regale you with falsified heroics, but I will say, happily, that the flatulence has passed. (Get it? Passed? I'm clever!) I will also say that you didn't appear to be overly interested with said gas. Perhaps I will bring it up again at a more opportune time, such as the next time we meet in person. (Get it? I made a funny again! So clever!) I'm really not that sure why I'm still talking about it.

The person upstairs is taking a shower. Just thought you might want to know. I know because when he/she/they do, it sounds (in our apartment) as if someone is being bludgeoned (sssshrrrreeeeeewweeeeeahhhhhhhhhh..., etc.) upstairs. Earlier today, even though my doors and windows were closed, I heard our neighbors bitterly arguing (again); later, I heard what I'm pretty sure was them making up--and I don't mean verbally (You're right, that was a bit risque to share; yet it was so cleverly worded).

If you were so clever, wouldn't you have found a synonym for "clever" by now?

I'm feeling more and more like I should report their dog (decidedly not allowed) to management. But it would be such a shame if their lease was terminated...

P.S. Shower's over.

I have gas. Are you interested in knowing such things? I could continue to give updates on this matter. Other people in my apartment probably have had gas at some point as well, but I'm probably not allowed to report/comment about that. I may have already gone too far; I'm sure you suspected as much. But lets be clear: everyone has gas. Even the dog. Even Moom. You know who you are.

I was thinking of taking some video of Sarah's birthday, but a two things held me back. First, if I filmed her opening presents, I wouldn't have been allowed to post the video until later in the week (as she mentioned, she and Rebekah have identical gifts, and Rebekah ruined things by not being born until May 4). Second, the last time I took video was that day I filmed big waves on the beach (see "Max's Videos"). This, in itself, isn't the problem; the problem is that the gusting wind filled every crevasse of my video camera with sand. It's a good thing Costco has an overly-generous return policy; though, it could be the end of videos for a while: you never know what kind of Ipod/camera/musical instrument/cash deposit in my savings account might strike my fancy...

Today (May 2) is Sarah's birthday. Don't forget. Or else.

I read an article today reporting that new research suggests migraine headaches cause brain damage. During a migraine, cells in the brain are deprived of oxygen, and it is theorized that this causes a number of problems. As an occasional migraine sufferer, I find this troublesome. But, I also find it encouraging--just think how smart I used to be...

Mother Goose was also a bad parent. Consider:

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe,
She had so many children, she didn't know what to do;
She gave them some broth without any bread,
She whipped them all soundly, and put them to bed.

Whipped them soundly? I demand that she go to rehab.

(people, the rehab quip is social commentary; mull it over)

Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.
If Peter Piper picked...

Stupid question, but how did Pete pick pickled peppers? Peppers are only considered to be pickled after they've been through a long process that I imagine involves boiling, vinegar, and elves. Pickled peppers do not grow on trees, bushes, shrubs, or anything, for that matter. Mother Goose is a fraud. I demand an apology.

Tomorrow: something interesting.

Some days the words just flow. This week has not been one of those days. Today is Thursday, or, as I call it, Wednesday night. I bring it up, not because it's interesting, but because my stomach hurts: it's filled with gas. You're undoubtedly asking yourself, what does that have to do with Thursday? And you very well are entitled to ask just such a question. Another question you might be asking yourself is, "what's the capital of Finland?" You really didn't intend to think about Finland today, did you? See what happens when you don't mind your own business? Here's something else to think about:

Take a four-hour nap, and you wake feeling incredibly rested (and maybe a little groggy). Get four hours of sleep when you were supposed to be sleeping through the night, and you wake feeling like you'd rather rather quit your job (or whatever) than get up. Isn't sleep interesting. And hypocritical. Yes, I've come right out and said it: sleep is a big, fat hypocrite. So take that.

No offense, but I'm not posting anything today except to say that my knees hurt. I'm either growing or aging, I'm not sure which.

Isn't it interesting that if someone says, "no offense," this person has license to say whatever he or she wants. You're not allowed to get mad, upset, or offended. Let's try one.

You: "No offense, but you smell."

Me: "None taken: thanks for the heads-up, you idiot--no offense."

You: "You're probably right, so don't worry about it, but, and no offense intended, your face looks like a goat's butt."

Me: "I actually noticed that this morning while I was shaving and thinking about how I wished you were dead--no offense."

Sarah made it home okay. I'm sure you're all relieved; the desert can be treacherous. That's a word I don't use very often. Treacherous. Treacherous. Treacherous. Some other words I don't use very often are "cute" and "craptastic". "Cute" just isn't my style, and "craptastic" is a word that I save for special occasions--and I'm pretty sure I made it up, so if you hear anyone else use it, please alert the proper authorities.

Fancy Sarah's gone for the night at her fancy teacher's conference in fancy Palm Springs, so I decided that I was going to have a blast without her: I made chicken soup, fixed a computer, and watched TV. Let the good times roll.

Curious about Bonhoeffer?

The terms "Christian pastor" and "secret agent" are not often used in the same sentence. Bonhoeffer is best known for his resistance to the Nazis in WWII: he encouraged German Christians to sacrifice themselves for the sake of others. Because of his strong convictions that the Nazis were distorting the truth of the Gospel and taking away the civil liberties of the Jews, Bonhoeffer continued to preach and teach the Truth even after the government banned him from all public speaking, teaching, and preaching. Where Christians often disagree about Bonhoeffer's theology is in the fact that he not only advocated resistance to the unjust government, he also participated in an attempt to overthrow this government: he was directly tied to a failed attempt to assassinate Hitler, and it was a complete stroke of luck that Hitler wasn't killed; the whole incident represents an interesting piece of history that isn't all that well known.

You can likely catch "Bonhoeffer" (the documentary) on PBS or at your local library...

I spent way too much time doing 'homework' today. I say 'homework' because the classes I'm taking don't really count for anything, and I don't really have to do any of the work (mostly because I'm taking them on a credit/no credit basis). With that in mind, I spent far, far too much time preparing a report on Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a Christian pastor/scholar/secret agent who was active in the resistance to the Nazis in World War II.

In other news, Mark Buehrle (of the Chicago White Sox) pitched a no-hitter today (no player from the opposing team got a hit; note that this is distinguished from merely hitting the ball; a hit is when...just look it up). In the last two years, he is only the second pitcher to accomplish this feat in the major leagues. These days, a no-hitter is an extremely rare feat (30 teams x 162 games per team x two seasons = 9720 opportunities for a no-no, and it's only been done twice), perhaps the only thing rarer is a perfect game (where no player from the opposing team even reaches base--via a walk, hit batsman or error) Buehrle's response? "It could have been perfect."

Sadly, I would've thought the same; though, I wouldn't have said it out loud...

Things remain fairly uneventful here. I suppose that's a good thing. Good for me, but not great for those of you who come here looking for something to read about. There were several things wrong with that last sentence, among them: 1. It was a fragment, and, actually, it was a fragment within a fragment; 2. It ended in a preposition; 3. My use of the word "here" implies that, somehow, this blog is an actual place (though, I suppose that this is debatable). Anywho, that's all from 'here': Sarah needs the computer.

I want to go ahead and go on record saying that Sarah is rushing me. I wanted to write...I was just hit in the side of the head with a slipper, and Sarah is laughing uproariously. I have chosen not to respond in any way, so as not to acknowledge her insolence. Sarah doesn't know what insolence means, so this is where...another slipper just grazed the top of my head, and I heard a roar that she does too know what it means. Just thought I'd keep you up to date.

Nothing of note happening tonight. Cooked fish for dinner. Ate fish for dinner. Watched TV. Hunted wabbits. Went for a walk. Used the Internet. That pretty much sums up Saturday. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.

Today, Sarah and I went to the beach to check out the big waves we'd been seeing on the news. They weren't really as big as had been advertised (supposedly, they were 20 feet yesterday; we saw a few that probably topped out at 10-15 today), but the wind was incredible: we came home with sand in every crevice.



Yes, I did say every crevice.

When my family was visiting over Christmas, they went to the beach. A normally cautious member of my family (I'll call her Moom, or, maybe, Renda) told me later how she had a lot fun walking to the end of a rock jetty (below). I was surprised she took the risk and mentioned how waves sometimes surprise people and knock them into the water.


I bring it up because, yesterday, a middle-aged man and women were swept off the jetty by a rogue wave (large and unexpected), and they have not been found. Careful Moom.

I read a news story today about how someone used a cable box at a school district's administration building to order $250 worth of pornographic movies. Aside from all the logical commentary that you might expect, I'd like to focus on one thing. When asked why there was cable television in the building, an administrator was quoted as saying that it was "there in case of emergencies."

Emergencies? Which emergencies, pray tell, necessitate the use of cable TV? Perhaps you know better, but here are a few possibilities I thought up.

1. Someone puts a gun to your head and says, turn it to the Discovery Channel or you're dead.

2. All local television channels are running commercials simultaneously.

3. The administrators are working and remember that they have a 'dime' on the Floyd Mayweather/Oscar de la Hoya fight.

4. The administrators are in a meeting and think, "You know what would make this more interesting..."

(see above story if you didn't catch the drift...)

Anything interesting to write about today?
Not really.

Didn't you do anything interesting this weekend?
Not really.

You didn't do anything?
I didn't say that.

What didn't you say?
Nothing really.

Let's try a different approach: what did you do on Friday?
I spent 6 hours trying to get stumps out of a yard with a dulled ax.

Why didn't you use a sharpened ax?
I don't see how that's any of your business.

Well, what did you do on Saturday?
I don't remember.

What do you mean you don't remember?
I don't know, I just don't.

Why don't you think about it?
I don't want to.

Okay, what did you do on Sunday?
Today is Sunday.

Okay, what did you do today?
I went to church, went to a pot-luck, and went to dinner with family.

So, you did do things this weekend.
I guess.

So, was that so hard?
Yes.

Peter is visiting this weekend. There was an accident.

The Sharks' practice was interesting. My only observation of particular note was that the players looked pretty bored and probably wished they were somewhere else. As glamorous as professional sports may be, apparently it's still a job. Who knew.

Alright, that was harsh; I know. I think I'm still recovering from the stress of yesterday's doctor visit. In the morning, I'm heading off to Anaheim to get an inside look at the San Jose Sharks practice. It should be fun: I'll get to find out whether professional coaches make players feel like worthless human beings who can't do anything right, or if that's just a thing that high-school coaches do.

I'll keep you posted.

Go away.

Today's doctor visit was less pleasant than I'd hoped. After some physical tests and a visual analysis of my MRI, the doctor said, "You need 6 weeks of physical therapy." I politely asked him to explain why I needed physical therapy; after all, I'd done it before, and things only got worse.

He got hot around the collar, raised his voice, and accusingly asked how long ago I'd had the therapy. At this point, the intern who'd been observing the visit started to shrink into the corner. I told him that it had been seven years, and he responded that new therapies have been developed since then.

Here's where I made a mistake. I asked a simple question, and, apparently, I caught him either a) lying, or b) being ignorant. I queried, "What new therapies are out there?" As he got in my face and exploded, I noticed the intern try to blend in with the wall. "I'm a surgeon! I fix things! Therapy is what I say to do! I'm a surgeon!" I kept my cool (for once) but continued to push him for an answer to my question. His position was that, in medicine, when something doesn't work (e.g., physical therapy), you try it again. When something doesn't work, try it again?!?!? Does anyone see how this is completely counter-intuitive??? He kept asking, "Do you understand it now? Do you understand it now?!?!?" At one point, a nurse opened the door and peeked her head in to see what was going on, leaving the door ajar when she left. After 10 minutes of yelling, he finally told me that 1) he didn't know what new therapies were out there, and 2) he didn't know what was wrong with my shoulder.

I was only left with one question, "May I have my co-pay back?"

Tomorrow (today, as most of you will be reading this on Monday), I have an appointment with another doctor for my shoulder. This guy is supposed to be a specialized specialist, so he should be able to give me an authoritative opinion about why I'm only a shell of my former self (athletically speaking, of course). And he'd better know what he's talking about: I had to wait two months for an appointment. I'm guessing he'll tell me it's one part injury, four parts someone pricking a doll (fashioned in my likeness) with a pin. I'll let you know how it goes.

With the occasion of April Fool's Day upon us, I wanted to wait until after midnight and write the following:

Given how far away everyone lives, I thought this blog would be the fairest medium to convey the message that Sarah is pregnant. The Butterfield name lives on.

Unfortunately for me, and fortunately for you, Sarah would not allow me to do such a thing. Something will have to occur in this prank's stead. You have been warned.