I was thinking the other day about how the words egg, waffle and toast can be used as nouns and verbs:
The President today was egged on by rumors of an ensuing terrorist attack, but waffled on plans to toast the group’s suspected hideout.
Then it hit me like an English muffin on the 4th of July: breakfast can be the most horrific time of the day, at least when you think about it in a certain way.
I bought a new pair of running shoes this past weekend to replace a pair that I've had since August. This was the best pair of running shoes I've ever had. So I considered myself fortunate that the store I went to had the same pair in my size at a great clearance price. Same shoes yes, but they are new and different because the cushioning hasn't been worn down, the tread is fresh and springy and, as you can see above, they're clean (new right shoe vs. old left shoe).
This got me thinking about other things that are technically "the same" but are also "new and different."
Uncle Sam must've done well at the slots last weekend, because apparently he's granting us a tax refund this year. A rather sizeable one, thanks in part to credits given because we have a child. Having such a windfall makes me excited about what to do with the "extra" cabbage coming our way ...
Actually, this is about potty reading. Don't know if it's genetic, or a man thing or what, but sometimes reading while on the can "helps." Yeah, that's kind of gross, but it's a fact of life. Must be why in the olden days, before toilet paper and indoor plumbing, more often than not the Sears catalog was used for certain after-poo hygienics (aka "wiping yer butt"). It also was handy for reading, too! One of my grannies tells stories about using dried corn cobs, but that's another subject altogether (and explains a LOT about her).
1. "I've got all the tools I need."
2. "That sure is a lovely gown."
3. "Do these workboots make my feet look fat?"
4. "I love the horsepower in my 1986 Yugo GT."
5. "I broke up with her because all she wanted was sex sex sex. She never wanted to talk about her feelings, cuddle or go shoe shopping."
6. "I'll have a white-wine spritzer."
7. "Is that Prada?"
8. "Mr. Pickle Pants is going to tickle wickle you!"
9. "Let's eat cheesecake and watch Oprah."
10. "I don't feel gassy today, and that's a good thing."
Bonus: "I feel like having a good cry."
* Sure, there are men who might say these things. But come on, ladies, would your kind of man say them? I think not.
I grumbled at the weather forecast after we rolled back into town last night. What? It's only going to be 70 degrees? Sheesh! This after basking in the mid-80s, wearing nothing but shorts from sunrise to sunset in San Antonio. Just a five-hour drive, but such a world away.
We drove home the back way and found a beautiful little Texas Hill Country town that, if we never call it home, we'll at least call it a nice weekend getaway spot in the near future. We're thinking of taking some much-needed romantic grownup time sans Cutlet.
The downside of taking film pictures is that I don't have any to attach to this entry. I can tell you a few things about going to Sea World with a 2-year-old that, Dear Internet, you didn't bother to tell me before we went.
Sometimes happiness is home in your rearview mirror. That's a bliss we'll be taking a bite of this weekend for a trip to San Antonio. We're taking the Cutlet to meet Shamu and his dolphin buddies at Sea World. Then we'll hit the River Walk, buy a bunch of junque from the Mercado, eat our fill of Hill Country cuisine and do whatever we can fit in between Saturday evening and Tuesday morning. I normally have Mondays off, and I'm taking off Tuesday – my first workday off in more than a year. The Petite Filet's taking the whole week off (lucky).
Here's a list of what I'm packing:
Fellow surbanites, no matter your state or zip code, can probably relate on some level to the restraining life that comes from living amid the urban sprawl. Strange how one of the catalysts for the outward bound growth of cities was, during the booming postwar 1950s, seen as the ticket to freedom: the family automobile. Now many of us are held prisoner in our vehicles as we commute to and from work, or drive miles and miles to get anywhere but here.
Modern suburban neighborhoods are claustrophobic-inducing developments, where looking out your window involves looking into someone else's. Where searching frantically for a parking space is often followed by standing in a long line. Where green space has to be engineered so that the overdeveloped suburbs don't resemble an airport tarmac. Where trees have to be preserved and legally protected before falling to the overzealous profiteer's axe.
I read this article with great sadness. If you don't want to wade through it, the story's about a 15-year-old boy at a nearby high school who has an uncanny resemblance to movie character Napoleon Dynamite. It wasn't something he fostered on his own. Classmates urged him to work it, so he does. He bought the DVD, and he and his older brothers visit some of the area malls so he can monkey Napoleon's dance moves for gaping crowds. His mother is quoted as saying, "He went from 'zero' to 'hero' " – which is an awful thing to say, really. A mom should never think her son is a zero; he should be able to count on her for support at least.
It's been half a lifetime away for me, but I remember being 15. That year, and a few before and a few after, can be a strange age for anyone, but especially for a boy. That's when he can either become his own man, remain a momma's boy or miss the important steps to become his own man because he was busy imitating a fictional character to amuse people who used to ignore him. Capitalizing on an inherent trait for popularity is nothing new, nor is it necessarily bad. I just hope for him – and if I run across him exhibiting his "sweet skills" somewhere, I'd love to buy him a cheeseburger and have a talk – that he can learn to love and develop who he is beneath the goofy facade.
As an aside, I like the movie. It's found a strange, multi-generational appeal among many people. The flimsy plot is held together by a series of angst-ridden vignettes, further stapled by memorable dialogue. It's not the best movie ever made, and not the worst. It makes me laugh. That's enough.
When I snapped this photo of the Cutlet last week, his little orange mustache reminded me of some of my elementary-school classmates who had those permanent juice/Kool-Aid marks around their mouths. I guess it comes from tilting a cup so it hits the outside of your mouth, and then not opening your mouth wide enough. Hence, the "mustache" effect. When I think back to the (many many many) years ago I was in the fourth grade, there are some kids who were never without the 'stache. I wouldn't recognize them on a day they washed their faces after eating breakfast. It was not a male-exclusive adornment, although it was the braids and pig tails that distinguished the little girls. If they changed their hair (or their moms did), it was like they were strangers.
Are first-graders still gripping Husky pencils, practicing the letter "A" between thick-ruled paper? Are they still toting lunchboxes featuring their favorite cartoon/TV characters? Do they still share the same bad jokes? Are there some kids who doodle endlessly on their homework? All too soon I'll know some of the answers to these questions, and more, when the Cutlet starts school in three years. It seems like a long ways away, but I know it's not. He's already 2. Could someone please pull the emergency brake? Time's passing way too fast.
I saw this dog on the drive to work this morning, and boy was he having a good time. Though a little dangerous to be hanging out the window at 45-50 mph, I guess in his mind (and his owner's) the wind-in-the-hair, ear-flapping good times it produced was more than worth it. We can learn a lot from dogs, although not all of it may be good.
The positive lessons include:
It's springtime, and that means those who ride bicycles will be dusting them off and hitting the streets. I've always ridden bikes, including through my "drinking years" in college (I'd head off a hangover by riding 20 miles a day), nearly every day through working bachelorhood and less frequently but when I can now. I feel sorry for grown-ups who don't have bicycles because they are fun, health-inspiring and not that expensive anymore for a semi-decent one.
However, I am in awe (like, the bad kind) of adults who decide they want to be cyclists because their behavior turns into obsession. They wear brightly colored cycling outfits and have pointy, aerodynamic helmets. They've dropped a couple grand on a road racing bicycle. Their road manners are a mix of danger and obnoxiousness, ignoring stop lights and feeling invincible against 18-wheelers. Most of their friends are cyclists, their bulky SUVs have some sort of expensive convoluted rack system and they down energy bars like there's nothing else to eat. It also is obnoxious to dress in such serious apparel and then ride on a pedestrian trail, nearly running over moms with strollers and dudes with dogs. No serious cyclist should ride on a trail. Have some balance, people!
I've got a mountain bike I bought 10 years ago. I've ridden it on roads, on back roads, on dirt roads, on mud roads, on the beach. It's looking a little rough, but it's still in great mechanical shape. Never once have I wished for a pointy helmet or brightly colored cycling jersey while on my bike.
Here's why you should be biking (for fun), too:
There are certain products that come along in our world that offer two things instead of one. Not necessarily a compromise, but a hybrid. Not necessarily giving something up, maybe adding a little extra.
At least two things come to my mind in this sort of discussion. The first is the wonderful why-didn't-they-make-these-sooner men's boxer-brief underwear. Just think, presidential candidate Bill Clinton could have said "yes" to that icky question during a voters' forum on MTV about his undies rather than "briefs, usually." Boxer-briefs are the best of both worlds (a phrase I said during an advertising meeting at my former job). They are supportive and freeing. Semi-athletic looking and yet at home on your friendly neighborhood couch potato.
Potato? Did someone say potato?
On the way home from work Saturday morning, I decided to take a quick side trip and find my favorite patch of "suburban mud" for a little off-roading fun. Figured I'd get my truck a little dirty before working on the house for the rest of the day. This would be a fine idea if:
• It hadn't been raining off and on for the past three days.
• I had a buddy with another four-wheel drive vehicle to pull me out when I got stuck.
• I had flip-flops that would be easily cleanable rather than getting my tennis shoes all muddy while trying to figure out how to get my truck unstuck.
• If I had some plastic to put down on the inside so I wouldn't traipse mud inside my truck.
• If I had some cold, bottled water to refresh myself after some hard praying and collecting rocks to cram under the tires for better traction.
• If I had better wet-mud tires for my truck.
• If I'd had the bright idea this summer when it won't hardly rain.
My low-grade celebrity status as editor of a community newspaper offered me the chance to judge an elementary school poster contest (theme "Keep Texas clean and green") this week. The Petite Filet was also asked to be a judge because she works for the district in the communications department. Our job, along with the other two judges, was to pick a winner from each grade level.
We agreed on kindergarten and first-grade entries – there was definitely a clear winner for each. Second-graders wigged out and didn't enter anything. Third-grade was somewhat cut-and-dried. But for the fourth grade, the entries weren't so much as good as they were sucky and poorly executed. We came to a tie between two entries (me and the PF were on opposite sides). Things got so "heated" that we had to bring in a mediator to help us break the tie. My choice won! Yippee! Oh, it still sucks. What is up with fourth-graders these days?
I got to eat two home-baked cookies (which were not bad) and I'll apparently be getting a T-shirt from the school. How is a grown man supposed to have self-respect and wear a shirt from an elementary school his kid doesn't attend? Maybe it will sprout a religious icon and I can sell it on e-Bay and tour Europe on the proceeds. Sure, T-bone.
T-shirts are the gimme caps of the 21st century. People with computers think they can automatically be graphic designers, and new printing processes makes custom-printed shirts extra cheap. Seems like my dresser is brimming with freebie-Ts ... from community litter pickups, 5Ks, special events, restaurants, elementary schools. Now, if only I could score a free iPod.
I knew I wasn't the only one.
Genetics and maybe good blood circulation has made me warm-natured. Cold still affects me, but I tend to warm up quickly. This especially happens at night. When I'm under the covers and the cold-natured PF is trying to draw heat from me, she warms up but I just get hotter and a little uncomfortable. Rather than pull away, I employ a "foot snorkel."
The Petite Filet and I have become crossword nerds in a way. We're really not all that good at them – and we haven't succumbed to buying a crossword-puzzle dictionary (yet) – but we fight over the ones in the Sunday paper. Especially the one in the TV schedule because it's usually a little easier.
My crowning crossword achievement was correctly completing an entire New York Times puzzle. I couldn't cheat because the answers didn't come out until the next day, after I'd done it. Not to diminish my feat entirely, anyone who has worked the NYT versions knows, however, that they oscillate between medium-easy and utterly impossible. I hit a good day and the clues were ones that eventually clicked. I've got a theory that eye doctors and spectacle sellers are behind crosswords because my eyes are getting worse. Large print, here I come!
We are also longtime Wheel of Fortune nerds. This wordlove hasn't yet translated into oodles of cash and prizes, but ever since the 5th grade I've wanted to reach TV gameshow nirvana (or, Near Vanna) on that hangman/roulette wheel show. Would be best if we were on one of those couple shows because if the wheel was good to us we'd totally dominate. Argh, I hate it when people buy unnecessary vowels!
On another note, Macintosh-computer developer Jef Raskin died Saturday of pancreatic cancer. He named the project after his favorite kind of apple, and he is credited with the "drag and drop" feature first found on Macs that is now a cross-platform standard. His legacy lives on through Apple's continued focus on simplicty of use for complicated tasks, and in the Mac name worn by its wonderful stable of stable computers. If Apple's early management had been a little more open to licensing of their software to other makers, Windows PCs would be the obscure minority of machines used primarily by constipated college professors and the department of motor vehicles.
Never thought I'd gush about a potty, but lemme tell ya, The American Standard "Champion" toilet rocks the block. The instructions that came with ours says you can flush an entire turkey down the toilet's gullet and it won't clog. Might smell a little fowl, but most things sent groundward through the pipes isn't the subject of potpurri. I'm not being paid for this endorsement, but if any of the A.S. folks want to send some money my way, I'm all for it.
It's not really amazing, just annoying how for-granted we take such luxuries as indoor plumbing, or hot water, or electricity. We're suddenly aware when things don't work correctly or at all. We've got some friends whose hot-water heater was broken for four weeks. FOUR WEEKS. Yeah, like my wife would have tolerated that situation for four hours.
