"Honey, did you get a chance to iron some pants for me?"
"No. You have, like, 50 pairs of khaki pants in your dresser. There has to be a clean pair in there!"
"Well, there's not!" This worried him, because he was an American Suburban Professional, and without khaki pants he might as well not wear anything.
Subtitled: Jammin' to Radio T-bone and Relying on Herbs to Calm Me Down
Hello, Internet! How are you? Me, I'm just fine. Wait, lemme check. Yep, I'm still OK.
On Sunday, the Petite Filet and I celebrated six years of marriage. It's been mostly good, although the past few months have been a bum-da-bummer because of her health issues. We'll get over it and live happily once again, I have no doubts.
On a related note, during which I'll make a short story long, I was putting some meat in the crockpot the other day and took off my wedding band so as not to get it meaty. I stuck it on the window sill and sort of forgot it. In my haste to get ready for work the next day and out the door at a reasonable hour, I left it there. I was astutely conscious that my wedding ring was not on my finger all freakin' day long. The ring is a mere symbol, for sure, but it's also a physical reminder of the unbroken commitment to a spouse. I didn't run rampant among the lillies looking for another mate – my commitment runs deeper than that. But, if there's a moral to the story: married people, wear your rings. If they don't fit anymore because you're losing the battle of the bulge, by all means, have the thing resized. Your marriage will thank me later.
Anniversaries, of course, are also about gifts. Even though this one isn't an even-number-type-of-thing, we exchanged some good presents. I bought the PF a silver charm bracelet and, having run out of money, promised additional charms at random times during the coming year. She bought me a 1GB iPod Shuffle, and it is super cool. Loading it up with music I enjoy gives me the chance to tune in to Radio T-bone any time I want. No commercials. No annoying DJs. Just sweet sweet tunes. I highly recommend one. I play mine in my car; I plug it into the cassette deck with the adapter from my portable CD player. Sidenote: play your stuff at random. It's exciting!
A facet of my personality that you, not ever having met me, may not realize is that I'm usually a calm and sort of collected soul. That's why one of my fellow co-workers was a little surprised when I slammed the phone down this morning. Don't know what my deal is. She said, "If you were female, I'd have a guess." I answered, "I don't know what it is. The mortgage isn't even due yet." I raided the box of fancy Starbucks teas to find the variety that promises "Calm" with a capital ahhhhhhhhhhhhh. Don't know if it's the pyschological/placebo effect of the wrapper saying it will calm me down or what, but despite the odor of grass clippings wafting from my mug, I am much calmer now. Herbs, especially legal ones, gotta love 'em.
What's up with you?
The independently owned weekly newspaper I work for no longer exists. OK, it exists, but now it's owned by the large metro daily newspaper in the closest big city. The owner jumped at the chance at what I can only guess was like a small lotto jackpot. However, there are some known and unknown changes that pose some issues. Following are just the ones I can think of at the moment:
• Employees with a long history at the paper are suddenly new employees (this affects vacations as well as eligibility for raises).
• Who knows what will happen to our raises? I've worked here coming up on 15 months and have gotten two quite hefty increases.
• We're assured that our newsroom will continue to function as an entity independent of the big paper's newsroom. That remains to be seen.
• I worked for the big paper for nearly two years, and there were several good reasons I left and did not ever plan to return.
• Everything we have to do administratively now takes 15 more steps and must be done in triplicate.
• Changes are inevitable, and could range from changing our publishing date to dropping or adding coverage areas (and staff).
There are possible pros to the change, like having the resources of the second-largest newspaper publishing company to back us up. Maybe it opens a door previously non-existant at the little paper: the chance to advance my career without jumping ships. However, as mentioned before, it was a ship I wholeheartedly abandoned before.
Just when I thought it was safe to feel comfortable and secure.
Sometimes it's hard to tell what's going on inside someone's house. After all, that's a key selling point for most of us when we're looking for somewhere to live: privacy. That and shelter from the elements, of course.
Around the corner from my house, there are two homes in particular that have changed drastically in the past several months. It's obvious from the outside that things are different, although I don't pretend to know what things are like on the insides of them.
Thanks to all who left kind words and happy thoughts about the Petite Filet's newly diagnosed wheat allergy (she is also supposed to shy away from all things glutenous). She has been surrounded by friends who – unknown to us – suffer or know someone who suffers through similar problems. I know she's on the road to recovery. I've tried to be as supportive as I can be about the whole thing. However, because she's also supposed to stay away from dairy foods, it's like I've won the Cheese Lottery. I can start buying the extra-sharp cheddar I prefer now. Thanks again, Internet People.
As the world gets smaller, and we're exposed to many of the same hopes, fears, entertainment products and foods – particularly in the ubiquitous landscape that is America – it's all too easy to live generically. I don't mean simply buying nonbranded groceries at the supermarket or no-name clothes at the mall. No, to live generic can be something that applies to our entire lives. We can have generic personalities, berift of any excitement or original thought. We may end up marrying a generic spouse, having a generic marriage, buying a generic house, driving a generic car to our generic job.
Generic can be boring, but if we're so entrenched in the lifestyle we may not realize just how bored we are. There are some simple ways to avoid becoming generic, and a few that I could think of follow:
The Petite Filet has not been physically well in some time. Because some of her problems came about right after we were married, we joked (though it wasn't funny) about how she was probably allergic to me, or to marriage, or both. It's coming up on six years so she's built up at least some immunity, right?
Let's step back in time for a brief trip down memory lane, a road paved with daggers of pain and quackish doctors ...
Stripped of his earthly wealth and power, the fancy clothes, the palace, the Mercedes and the position itself, Pope John Paul II was just a man. Some say he was a great man and put him on a pedestal; others disagree with his politics and policies rather vehemently. Either way, immediately following his death and amid the nine days of official mourning following his burial, I’ve thought about this question.
Your answer depends on your faith or lack thereof, what you’ve been taught about getting to heaven or what you haven’t yet learned. Common answers are bound to center on “living a good life” and “doing good deeds.” But let’s look at what the Holy Bible says on the subject.
Let me first establish what I believe the Bible is: the words of God written through divine inspiration of men. It is alive rather than a mere history book, in that its messages apply to us. Sure, the world is changing. God, however, stays the same. God can speak to us through the Bible, giving us answers that apply to modern life.
The gospel of Jesus Christ is presented many times in the New Testament. There is one chapter in particular, written by the apostle Paul to the people of the church of Rome, which is often used as an evangelical tool to share the gospel in a nutshell. It is believed that Paul wrote it in AD 57. The “Romans Road” uses scripture from that chapter of Romans.
When in a state of allergenic limbo, one of my goals is to take in as much Vitamin C as possible in some misguided-yet-good-for-me attempt to ward off the offending pollens and pollutants that make this time of year unbearable. It never helps, but it doesn't hurt, either. A good orange is like biting into sunshine. In honor of the Miracle Fruit of Yummy Goodness, I offer this list:
10 words that sort of rhyme with "orange"
1. sponge
2. flange
3. mange
4. range
5. danger
6. monk
7. plain
8. durge
9. plunge
10. platypus (sue me, I can only think of nine)
I'm actually feeling better, and expect to stop milking my allergies for blog posts real soon. Hope all is well with you.
That's how my morning started friends, although I call it a "man sponge" rather than a loofah. The day probably won't get a whole lot better because I feel bad.
When I used to read a lot of blogs, it became obvious that many of us are frail sickies who are allergic to everything, can't hold our liquor or don't get enough sleep. Rather than simply whimpering about how I feel like crap on a cracker, I will share a list of just how bad the woe-of-me is:
