On Working Stand-Up

I was recently asked if I'd like to work eight hours at a light industrial factory. I'd turned it down once or twice before, but feeling that a few extra bucks rarely hurts and curious how I'd do working a stand-up job, opted to give it a try.

Like most factory jobs, this one wouldn't be complicated; it consisted of putting product into a cardboard package. There was a bit of a time constraint to it as the product would be coming down an assembly line. I was a tad nervous as I was shown what to do. You needed to fold the packaging in a certain way in order for the product to properly fit. I struggled the first few times and had visions of episodes of "Undercover Boss" where the head of the company couldn't do the most piddling jobs.

Thankfully, for my ego's sake, I was able to get the gist of it and was placed along the line with six others. No music played as we worked, but neither was the environment very noisy from the machinery. I enjoyed hearing the conversation that took place as we worked. The man I was working opposite was looking forward to taking a trip to Vegas. As a joke, I asked if he planned to see Manilow.



He said, "That's not a bad idea".

This guy that just graduated high school had only two things on his mind: a kickball tournament coming up and boos. He went on and on about the different combinations of alcohol that gave him the most pleasure and told a co-worker that if he went out with him that night, he'd help him get laid.

My feet started to ache about three hours into the shift. I asked a lady who'd worked there before what she did for pain. She said she always took a couple pain pills partway through the shift. She also explained to me the difference between ibuprofen and acetaminophen. Perhaps the high school boy used boos as a pain nullifier instead of going the more conventional pill route.

At lunch time, a couple men in their 50's talked about how they could only handle working there a couple days a week, that the standing and repetitive motion was just too hard on their body otherwise. Being able to sit during that time was a blissful thing. I even went one better by going out to my car for a few minutes where I took my shoes off and massaged them against the brake pedal.

My back started to ache in the early afternoon. I would fidget this way and that trying to find a more comfortable position. And all the while, the product kept coming. One thing I'd forgot about was the camaraderie that many blue-collar workers have. We were all in the same boat, all doing our time for a few dollars more.

The last break was a nice reprieve as we got 20 minutes instead of 15 because of an older gentlemen that was retiring from the white-collar area. I smiled and clapped as they toasted a man I'd never met before. The cake tasted better, I'm sure, that it would've had I not worked my ass off for the past seven hours.

When the machines shut off an hour later, I was exhausted, but happy that I'd tried something new. Life, as they say, begins at the end of your comfort zone.

Picture Pages

With not much to blog about of late, I thought it'd be a good time to write clever captions for photos I've recently scanned. Enjoy:



"He wasn't this fat when I married him."



Slick Willy and Bill Clinton



"Why does everyone laugh when I tell them my name is Tom Dick?"



"I'm missing hearing my favorite author speak so that I can walk you down the aisle. This marriage had better last."



"Brandy, you wanna get up? I'm gettin' a hard-on."

Happy Times RV Center

With the celebration of my dad and his 2nd wife's 25th anniversary less than two weeks away, I thought it'd be a good time to go back to before they were married, to when they were merely business partners.

In the early 80's, they created a company that rented Recreational Vehicles (RV's) to people who wished to have all the pleasures of RV'ing without having to actually own one. I can personally attest that there are few things grander than being able to evacuate while in motion. No having to stop at dirty gas stations. No man in the next urinal trying to see how big (or small) my package is. As long as you don't mind a lot of shaking and hardly enough room to work with, it's quite the treat.

Dad's business gave us the opportunity to make some bucks, mostly by cleaning the RV's.



On most occasions, girls did the cleaning on the inside while the boys did the outdoor stuff, kinda like the arrangement my wife and I presently have. One of the lessons you really wanted to pay attention to is when he showed us how to empty the solid waste that had accumulated in the vehicle into a drain. If you didn't snap that hose on tight enough, you were gonna be in deep shit.

I can still remember one of the peptalks he gave us that summer (1984). He took one of the 3-foot brushes, dipped it into the soapy water, and gave it his all as he worked to remove the dirt that had collected on the vehicle. As he did so, he said, "You gotta get IN there". My brother, Matt, regurgitated the phrase when he felt it would be helpful to us. A brillo pad was used to clean the tires.

On one warm afternoon, my youngest brother, Mike, was getting frustrated that Matt wasn't pulling his weight, so said, in a very frustrated tone, "Work!!" Overall, the work wasn't too taxing and there was a lot of horse-play (spraying each other with the hose, most notably). Doing the front of the RV was typically the hardest as there would be dozens of bugs that needed to be sprayed off.

Perhaps the most pleasant memory of that summer were two of my stepmom-to-be's grandchildren. Dressed in similar-looking tops and shorts, they were very close to my age, good-looking, and mighty serious when it came to doing their jobs. They had no fear of washing the outside of the vehicles and there were a number of moments when I wished that I could be the rear section of a recreational vehicle, if only for a few minutes.

They had this weird thing going where they would leave their shoes untied all day. It happened too much for it to be an accident. They were asked about it once, but didn't make any adjustments. That kind of thing just made them seem all the cooler.

Once an RV had been completely cleaned, my dad drove it to a gas station located a few miles away to fill it up. This also ensured that it was still running smoothly. We sometimes accompanied my dad during this trip, enjoying the air conditioning and listening to a few tunes (my dad was a big fan of country at the time, but sometimes let us listen to pop music).

Though Happy Times RV no longer exists, it brought a lot of smiles to a lot of souls over the years. Happy Anniversary, Dad.

I'm History

In the fall of 1989, I began matriculating at Winona State. Not feeling that the past summer was enough of a reprieve from the grind, I opted to take two classes instead of the usual four. It was, I felt, a way to ease into college, to dip my foot in the water first, you could say.

Since I had no fookin idea what my major was going to be, I took two generals: Psychology and American History. I was nothing, if not prompt, for my Psych class. Set in a huge classroom (which seated at least 65 people), I was frequently the second one there and chose a seat that should be no surprise to those who are familiar with my personality: way in the back, in the corner, next to the door. If I got woozy, it would be no sweat to just get up and head to the head.

There was a lady who typically got there before me. A little better than average-looking, with dark hair, she reminded me of Michael J. Fox's love interest in "Teen Wolf".



Her seat of choice was right smack-dab in the middle of the classroom. We frequently talked for a number of minutes before other classmates arrived. In my eyes, she was just the kind of girl I'd like to marry one day. I was too shy, at that point, however, to make any moves. One of the terms I learned during the class and which has stuck with me to this day is homeostasis.

Getting to my other class, American History, was more of a challenge as Winona State was now offering some of its classes at the site of a college that had recently closed, Saint Theresa's. Located about a mile and a half from WSU, most students needed to take a bus to get to it. My teacher's last name was Harrison. He was a fifty-something whose laid-back demeanor I grew to enjoy.

I also sat near the door for this class, but since the door was located closest to the front, I actually sat in the first row. Not typical for me, but I guess that door represented freedom and I wanted to be as close to it as possible. There was a girl who sat near me and who I helped explain from time to time what she had missed; she, for some reason, couldn't make every class.

The first assignment Harrison gave us was to write a biography of our lives. Since we were dealing with history, he figured that we should get an idea of how our own lives represent history in the making. Here is what I wrote:

"Thomas D--- was born on November --, 197-. His father was in the Air Force at the time and was stationed on the island of Crete located on the Mediterranean. His mother also lived there on Crete with her husband. Because of certain regulations and preferences, Tom's father and mother were to have their child in Wiesbaden, Germany. And so, on the ---- day of the eleventh month of 197-, their first son was born.

One and a half years later, they would have a second child, a daughter, borne to them. She was also given Wiesbaden, Germany to be her birthplace.

After having served approximately four years in the Air Force, the family packed up and returned to America. The two children had never been to America. All their life had been spent on a small island in Europe. They took a plane and returned to Winona, Minnesota.

The group lived in several apartments in and around Winona. Around 1975, they moved into their first home and they had two more sons. Tom's father was now a seasoned accountant and the family was thriving.

In 1978, looking for a larger home, the family headed elsewhere to live. They moved to Rollingstone, population 528, located seven miles from Winona. There their fifth and final child, a son, would be born, the last three children being delivered at Winona's Community Memorial Hospital.

The years dragged on. The father worked hard. The mother cared for the children. The children loved their semi-country, semi-city environment. Tom's family was perfect. To try and better one's life then would have been impossible. They had great friends, hot summers, cool winters, and electrical nights.

And then, it collapsed. The change was as swift as throwing away the day's trash. It was over. And any shades of happiness were a brilliant memory still shining a million miles away. It was there that love died, never to return. It was the setting of the sun, the end of a millennium.

The next few years went by quietly, mercifully and the divorce became a reality and its purpose, life's purpose, faded like a shooting star swallowed by the night.

Today, the family still lives. Separate, yet still together somehow, as if the brilliance of those former years will never pass away from the hearts and minds of those who lived it so many years and years ago.

The family's first son, Tom, still lives, but he stands apart, haunted, perhaps, by knowledge few others can ever share. He is still not alone."

Scanners

I was at Target a few days ago looking for birthday presents for a friend when I stumbled upon a Lexmark printer/copier/scanner for $45.oo (it had been marked down 30%). After some careful thought (our printer had had it), I opted to purchase it. Before I even tried the printer, I gave the scanner a test run and boy, am I impressed. Being able to post pictures from the pre-digital era is a Godsend. Here are some of the ones I've posted to my Facebook account.

This was taken in July of 1976 on our way to Yellowstone Park in Wyoming. The girl to my left was part of another family that we were traveling with:



The following pic was taken at the top of Sugar Loaf mountain in 1989; note the Members Only jacket that I'm rocking:



This is an outtake from my wife-to-be and mine's engagement photos:



The below pic was taken almost exactly 11 years ago at my workplace. As you can see by my screensaver, I was eagerly awaiting the release of "Scream 3". I'm planning to go to Part 4 in the next few days.

The Girls

After having five children, my parents divorced in 1984. Thankfully, they were able to find replacement marriage partners within the next couple of years. My mom met her husband-to-be while working at the switchboard for a company called Fiberite; he was employed as a salesman there.

At first, I didn't like the idea of having a stepdad, but there were a number of perks. He made plenty of money, so took my mom and me to Disneyland in 1986. They convinced me to get in line with them for Space Mountain. I was coaster-phobic at that time, but they made it sound like it wouldn't be that bad. I kept inquiring about all the warnings that had been posted in the queue. They reassured me that things would be fine. I wasn't convinced, so turned around and told them I'd meet them on the other side.

The highlight for me was seeing Michael Jackson's 3-D movie, "Captain Eo".



He hadn't released an album since '82's "Thriller", so being able to hear new music from him was extremely welcome.

It was during this California vacation that I first got the inkling that my mother was up for having another child. Her last had been born in 1978. In '86, she was 36 years old. It should be noted that I was the only sibling living with my mom. One afternoon, during that trip, while I sat in the backseat, my stepdad touched my mom's belly and made some kind of comment insinuating that he sought to create a baby with her. My mom shushed him a bit, but I'd heard. I should also mention that he was 19 years older than my mom. My dad wound up marrying a woman who was more than 20 years older than him.

I didn't hear any more baby talk for a number of months and gradually forgot about it. In the late summer of '87, however, they announced that she was with child. I wasn't sure how to feel. At the age of 16, I was soon to have a half-sibling, one I would be living with until I graduated high school. My younger siblings were excited and seemed to prefer a girl as my mom already had had four boys and just one girl.

One afternoon, Mom and my stepfather came back from her clinic appointment with an additional announcement. My siblings were present for this as well. They said they were having twins. Twin girls! My eyes widened. Twins ran in the family as one of my mom's sisters had had twin boys in the early 80's.

Now, there was no way that Fiberite's top company salesman was gonna raise twin girls in the apartment we were living at, so plans were made for a house to be built in a new subdivision on the edge of town. It was the biggest house I'd ever live in. It had seven bedrooms and three bathrooms. The extra bedrooms were for when my younger siblings stayed at the house. The hope was that one day one or more of them might choose to live there. We were asked what color we'd like our walls to be (I chose sky blue) as well as if we wanted a conventional bed or a waterbed (all three of my brothers chose waterbeds).

I didn't show much interest in wanting to check the house out until it was built, kinda like the groom shouldn't see the bride before the wedding. One great aspect of having such a big house is that the girls' bedroom would be on the second floor while mine would be in the basement (two floors down). That would be a good sound cushion, I thought.

The girls' due date was awfully close to February 29, 1988 (Leap Day). What a thing it would be if they were born on the 29th, only truly being able to celebrate their birthday every four years. We moved into the new house just a few days before the girls were born. They wound up coming to be on March 1st.

I saw them for the first time a couple days later. I asked my stepdad, "Is it OK to call them the Minnesota Twins?" (a nod to the Minnesota Twins winning the World Series five months prior).



I enjoyed having them around. It was nice to have younguns to coddle and laugh with. It was certainly a blessing that they had been born twins as only children can miss out on a lot. One day, I looked down at one of the girls and saw her laughing at something that appeared to be behind me. Most would say that she was laughing at nothing, but I believe babies can sometimes see things we can't. Things that they forget about by the time they're four or five. Perhaps if we could remember those things we saw as an infant, we'd be more assured that there is more out there than what is typically discerned.

When they were about two years old, I took the girls downstairs with the candy they'd collected for Halloween two days prior. They sat on the floor with their plastic jack-o-lanterns and began to chow down on the fun size chocolates and Smarties. I probably should've stopped them at some point, but didn't think to do so. My mom came down a few minutes later and said, "What are you girls doing?" and took the candy away. About ten minutes later, now upstairs, one of them said, "Mommy. My tummy hurts." My mom responded, "Well, I wonder why..."

Saturday Matinee

Browsing through my Entertainment Weekly on Friday, I was surprised to see that a new horror movie called "Insidious" was given a rating of A-. The commercials made it appear to be another one of those jump-cut fests that is only scary because of the loud noises that accompany various reveals. This one appeared to be a cut above. I went to Rotten Tomatoes where more than 50% of the reviews were positive. Being that some of my favorite films are PG-13 spookfests ("The Others", "The Ring", "The Orphanage"), I decided that I wanted to check this one out.

I woke up at around 9am on Saturday and told my wife that I planned to see Adam Sandler's new movie followed by "Insidious". She had already seen the Sandman's movie, but said it'd be OK to see it again. We arrived at the theatre and were told that there was no early showing of "Just Go With It", that a kid's movie was playing instead. I informed them that their website said that the Sandler movie was playing at the given time. They said that it was corporate which displayed the movie times and they never knew ahead of time which show was going to be replaced by the kid's movie. I gave a bit of lip, but not too much as I actually wanted to see "Insidious" more.

We got a seat way in the back as we awaited the starting of the show. My girl had a small popcorn to pass the time. As the credits rolled, a number of teenagers were yapping, so I told my girl I'd prefer to sit near the front, less distractions, you see. Usually the first 20 minutes of a scary movie are a bit boring as this time is used to establish characters, not to scare the audience. It's kinda like a first date in that there's a lot of conversation, but no touching quite yet. This film was no different.

Directed by the man who did the original "Saw", I admired some of the small touches he'd made. In an early scene, the husband puts some anti-wrinkle cream on his forehead before going to bed. Before long, the scares started coming. One clever scene involved a baby monitor. Later, a couple ghost hunters are brought in. They delivered a much needed dose of levity.

Though not the scariest thing I'd ever seen (that would be me looking at myself naked in the mirror), I was reminded again that movies need not have a lot of gore to be effective in getting one's heart racing. Almost as cool is that the film was made for a paltry one million dollars. I don't usually get scared when going to bed on the night that I've seen a horror film, but did get a bit uneasy before nodding off on Saturday, thinking about the old lady from the movie.

Face The Music

In the 8th grade, the highlight of my week was spending the weekend at my mother's. I would watch NBC's "Friday Night Videos" and based on that, make a tentative decision on what cassette I'd be buying the following day. I'd get up early Saturday morning, take a shower, and tell my mom that I was off to the mall.

It was about a two-mile walk to the shopping center. My strategy was to go on streets that were less traveled; I enjoyed the relative quiet of these side streets. The second half of the walk was adjacent to one of Winona's lakes. It got mighty cold there in the wintertime. I sometimes felt like Bryan Adams in the "Run To You" video.

Once I hit the mall, all was well. I'd head for Face The Music and take a look at the Billboard Hot 100 singles chart before browsing through the latest cassettes. The music store obviously played music while I was there, but it generally wasn't from works that I was interested in getting. There was one time, however, when they played New Edition's new one.

Many times, getting a recording was a crap shoot as there was no way of knowing if the songs on it, other than the hits, were any good. I once asked myself, which was better, excitedly walking to the mall wondering which of the dozens of works that were available that I'd purchase or the walk home, when I had picked one out and would be able to listen to it once I got back. I decided that the walk home was superior.

One winter afternoon, I strolled to my mom's with Tina Turner's "Private Dancer" in my pocket; "Better Be Good To Me" is probably my favorite track from it. This tradition continued for a number of years. On one sunny 1986 day, I bought both Madonna's "True Blue" and Wham's "Music From The Edge of Heaven".

I mentioned in my last post that I had been watching the BBC miniseries "Electric Dreams" (about a contemporary family who live without modern-day devices).


In the 70's episode, the 12-year old said that he was impressed with records, that it was nice to have something physical to look at and read while one is listening to the music. He mentioned that this isn't the case when one downloads music by computer. I feel the same, though am more than fine with CD's. The main positive of buying a compact disc is being able to play it in the car. I know that it's possible to listen to downloaded music in one's vehicle, but am not quite ready to make that jump.

Last Tuesday, for the first time in quite a while, I bought a CD on its release date: Duran Duran's "All You Need Is Now". I had been listening to a number of tracks from it on YouTube over the past couple months, and when I saw that it was being released with several more songs on it on March 22nd, I knew I wanted to buy it. I never thought as a teenager in the 80's that I'd still be buying new music by the band in my forties.

Rewind

While watching the BBC documentary "Electric Dreams" (it's about a family that lives without 21st-century devices for a month), I was reminded of the first time I was introduced to various 20th-century gadgets. In 1982, thinking that it would be something that I'd enjoy being creative with, my mother bought me a tape recorder.

I had went to bed while she was out buying it, but woke up the next morning eager to try it out. I was the first one up as I sat in front of the living room heating vent to keep myself warm as I introduced myself to the device; "Hello, tape recorder, we're going to make some beautiful music together". Along with the recorder itself, my mom had also bought a blank cassette. It was a 90-minute tape made by TDK. She had been told by her sister that 120 minute tapes break relatively easy because of their extra-long size.

I tried to put what I thought was the tape into the recorder, but it was too big. I realized, after a minute or two, that the cassette was still in its case. I opened it up and put the tape inside. The first thing I recorded was me saying, "Testing...1...2...3... Testing ...1...2...3". I played it back and, like many, didn't really believe that the way I sounded on the tape was how I came off in real life. That first day, I recorded a number of TV commercials (a Qbert ad, for one) as well as my brothers and sister talking a bit.

The device hit its full potential in the summer of '83 when I recorded an adaptation of the blockbuster movie "Return of the Jedi" with my siblings. As we headed into the second half of that recording, I quizzed my younger brother on Star Wars minutiae:

Twentieth Century Boy

Thinking about the last post I made (regarding some of the things I experienced in the late 90's), I pondered on how grand it would be if I were able to talk to my 1997-era self, to be able to have a conversation with him, to ask for his thoughts on life and how they compare to my own in 2011.

That man is more overweight than I am, but has less gray hairs.



He likes to shave every other day, something I continue to do. He's only had sex for a few years and just got his drivers' license in the summer of '95. He's just read what he considers to be the best book ever: "Conversations With God" and is sky-high on the wisdom it has imparted to him. He's single, but looks to be getting married the following summer.

Does he imagine what life at 40 is going to be like? Would he shudder knowing that in five years, he'll have kidney stones, that having kids won't be in the cards? He would be fairly self-assured, though he has some interesting habits. When he's in his car and sees the person in front of him throw a cigarette out the window, he'll honk at them as if to say, "What the hell do you think you're doing, littering the roads of this beautiful town?"

He's been a big fan of country music since 1992 when he was first exposed to a show called VH1 Country, an hourlong program that showed past and present country videos. He felt so at home with the genre that he believed it would always be his favorite. Little does he know that in a few years, he'll be buying a number of 80's pop CD's. He now has well over a hundred such discs. He'll work a variety of different jobs in the 2000's, mostly consisting of telephone work.

I wouldn't tell him these things, of course. I'd just like to visit with him for a few hours in a place where he'd be most comfortable, perhaps at one of his favorite restaurants, Wendy's or Taco John's. Maybe we could hit one of the old-school theatres that existed back then, years before stadium-seating came to town. I'm sure he'd be glad to know that two films will rock his world before the end of the decade ("Titanic" and "American Beauty"). I wouldn't wish to allude to the Star Wars prequel trilogy being a bit of a disappointment or that the dog his fiancee' recently picked up wouldn't make it to 2001.

We could discuss favorite childhood memories, various anti-social things we'd done, and women we wished we'd fucked. When it came time to part, I would tell him to enjoy being young, to strive to be kind to all those he encountered (even those who are smokers), and to consider writing his thoughts into a journal so that I might post them one day.

What's Park Spelled Backwards?

The summer of 1997 was my first in Rochester, a city of 70,000, and I struggled to find things to do when I wasn't working at Premiere Video. One sunny afternoon, I decided to take a stroll on one of the many bike trails that the town had to offer. Before starting, I took a look at the map that had been posted near the trail and chose to take the path that would lead me back to my car.

I must've took a wrong turn as I kept walking and walking, not feeling I was getting any closer to my vehicle. I finally decided to get off the trail and into the residential neighborhoods where, after some time, I was able to piece together how to get back to my point of origin. One good side to the encounter was that I certainly got my exercise for the day.

On a number of occasions, when I needed to get away from my wife-to-be, I drove to a hillside that was located behind a retail establishment called ShopKo. It was steep going at first, like the side of a cliff, but once up there, I got a good view of the area and was able to chill out a bit.

On one evening, I went to a park located at the edge of town. The sun had recently set as I parked my car. Within seconds, some guy parked right next to me, unnecessary I thought, as there were several other parking spots to be found. Feeling a bit uncomfortable, I pulled out and drove about ten parking places to the right. As I turned in, another man parked next to me. Frustrated at not being able to be left alone, I returned home. I found out later that the park was a gay pickup spot.

The place I wound up spending most of my time outdoors was Silver Lake.



Thirty-two minutes was how long it typically took to circle the body of water. Most of the time, I brought my Walkman along to listen to as I walked. When Tori Amos' new CD came out in the fall of 2001, the first time I listened to it was walking around the lake.

One early evening, as I began my walk, I felt a bowel movement coming on, so hurried a bit and headed to a McDonalds that was located just adjacent to the park. Sometimes, at the end of my walk, I would celebrate by going on the swings that were next to the lodge. One time, I smiled blissedly while doing this and listening to Clint Black's Christmas album. I never swung too long as it would make me dizzy after a time.

Sometimes I'd walk with my friend, Art, but it could get tiring as he would whistle at virtually every woman who passed by. One day, halfway around the trail, we were walking together and I had to urinate badly. I saw a huge pine tree coming up and told him I was going to relieve myself there. I looked around and didn't see anyone else nearby. As I situated myself beneath the tree, Art said I wasn't completely obscured, but went for it, anyway. Feeling much better, we continued on our way.

To relieve some of the boredom from walking around the same ol' lake, I had a bit of fun from time to time. I had a ballcap that I would put on not forward or backward, but sideways. I also had some really far-out glasses that I'd put on, the kind that Jesse Ventura used to wear when he was a wrestler.



I was basically daring other walkers to laugh at me and looked closely at people's reactions as I got closer and passed them by.

A Little Bit of Ecstacy

Wednesday afternoon, I brought the latest issue of the local newspaper into my workplace; it's delivered there during the week. Affixed to the front of it was a sticker that said Great Clips was having their Great Haircut Sale for $6.99. This was perfect timing as I was overdue to get my mane trimmed.

So it was that yesterday afternoon, I headed to their outlet near Wal-Mart and said that I was there to "participate in the Great Haircut Sale". The brunette at the counter smiled and said I could be seen by her right away. We exchanged pleasantries as I told her that I wanted the usual: a number two blade on the sides and back blended in with the top.

As she got started, I noticed an older gentleman getting his hair cut. I was a bit transfixed as I noticed how intently he looked at himself as this was being done. When I'm having a cut, I'll look at anything other than my own face. I'll look at the floor, at the utensils that are on the stylist's stand, at the signage placed there.

I hesitate to say that people who stare at themselves like this man did are vain. They're obviously comfortable with what's in front of them. I suppose some feel that if they don't pay extreme attention to what's being done to their hair, they could miss the moment when the stylist messes it up and they're taken to the point of no return. They're on high alert like the main character from "Hurt Locker", knowing that the next moment might portend their doom.

One big plus of a haircut is being physically touched by an attractive member of the opposite sex. Not that my wife isn't good-looking, but she's been touching me for more than a dozen years. During the haircut, I was thinking, "This feels so good, I almost don't mind if she cuts off more than I want her to" (I was semi-uncomfortable the last time I got a haircut as I knew my wife was watching closely).

A few minutes later, she sent me off and I was in a great mood as I headed to Wal-Mart to pick up some groceries.

Two Weeks of (Mostly) Bliss

Twelve days ago, my SexyGirl took a plane to sunny Las Vegas to spend some time with her parents. Here is what she looks like six months after bariatric surgery:



I knew I was going to miss her, but looked forward to having some "T" time. The first morning I woke up without her by my side, I was startled and soothed by the silence. I've spent the mornings sleeping in, going on the computer for a time, and enjoying the TV not being on during the day.

Before she left, she asked me to be sure that the house didn't get too dirty. Her comment convinced me that she'd come home to a great surprise. Each day last week, I spent an hour or two doing some de-cluttering. Her closet floor had a bunch of clothes and crap all over it, so it was greatly rewarding to remove it as I listened to some of my favorite music. Clothes that were too big for her, I put into storage in the basement. Downstairs, there were boxes scattered everywhere. As I listened to the cassette of Midnight Star's "Planetary Invasion", I put as many boxes as I could underneath the stairs.

One evening, I cleaned out some of the paperwork that had accumulated in one of our kitchen drawers. As I took the drawer out and swept the dust into the wastebasket, I lost grip of it and it fell on my big toe. Youch! It still hurts when I bend it.

When she calls me up each night and asks what I've been up to, I have to omit most of the cleaning I've done in order to ensure the surprise. On one call, she said that she might want to have some cleaning ladies come out as a late birthday present. Maids do a good job of cleaning, but they can't sort through drawers and decide what can and can't be tossed.

I've kept myself relatively busy throughout. Last Sunday, I went to the Hindu temple. It was boring in some parts, but got more interesting when I asked the group if it was better to have an easy life or a hard one. One of the more knowledgeable Hindus said that it's better to have a harder life as one is more apt to turn to a higher power when there is struggle. Not much spiritual growth is typically accomplished when one has it easy. My depression of many years ago attests to this.

I had my monthly massage a couple days ago. Costing just $55 for 90 minutes and located a mere seven blocks from my home, it's an appointment I always look forward to. I'm sometimes caught between wanting to be quiet as she does her work and catching up on what's been going on with her; we worked together in the early '00s. My love also had a massage last week. She's had about four of them in her life and every time, they've been in Sin City with her parents.

She's seen three movies while out there, easily beating me in movie attendance. There've been a couple occasions when I've thought about going, but felt I would be better served by staying home and watching stuff on the DVR. One of my favorites is the late 70's game show "Card Sharks". I enjoyed it as a child and it's great to be able to watch it again.



I went to a pizza place on Friday night with a friend and her daughter and the place was packed. There was a boy of about 12 who kept passing by our table as he went to play video games. With a short blonde haircut and a ballcap on, I pretended that I wanted to say something every time he passed. On one pass, he actually stopped, so I said what I'd been thinking, "You know who you look like?" He said, "Who?" I replied, "Justin Bieber". He said, "Thanks".

I also had some fun yesterday at the grocery store. There was an early-20 something who was shopping and you could plainly see his underwear underneath his pants as he walked the aisles. This irritated me a bit, so I decided to make light of it. I went up to the guy he was shopping with and said, "Your friend's underwear are hot". The man laughed as I headed to the check-out.

A Tempting Offer

After finding out about the demise of my mother's marriage, one of my brothers floated an idea past her by email. He said that if she were to rejoin the Jehovah's Witnesses, the religion he's been enmeshed in for his entire life and the one that she left in 1984, he would allow her to visit him and their two children. You see, once a member leaves, others still in the organization are not allowed to socialize with them. Of course, my mother got around this in the 80's and 90's as her Witness kids were still young and not yet baptized into the faith. Now, with this particular brother having a position of power within the religion, he wouldn't dare risk getting in trouble by hanging out with his mom.

This got me to wondering if the Witnesses are a cult.



I suspected so, but Googled it this morning for confirmation and, indeed, there are quite a few ways in which the religion falls in line with a standard cult. Here are some examples:

"Cult leaders will tell you you can only be "saved" (or can only be successful) in their organization alone. No other organization has the truth, all others miss the mark.

Cult leadership is feared. To disagree with leadership is the same as disagreeing with God. The cult leaders will claim to have direct authority from God to control almost all aspects of your life.

Cults also try to cut you off from your friends and family because they hate others being able to influence you. A mind control cult will seek to maneuver your life so as to maximize your contact with cult members and minimize your contact with people outside the group, especially those who oppose your involvement.

Those who control the information control the person. In a mind control cult any information from outside the cult is considered evil, especially if it is opposing the cult. Members are told not to read it or believe it. Only information supplied by the cult is true.

Mind control cults keep their members so busy with meetings and activities that they become too busy and too tired to think about their involvement.

In a mind control cult like in Nazi Germany or Communist Russia, you must be careful of what you say and do; "The walls have ears". Everyone is encouraged to watch out for "struggling" brothers and sisters and report what they see to leadership. Often information given in deepest confidence is automatically reported to leadership."

My mother is in the midst of composing an answer to her youngest son. I'm sure the idea of being able to see him and two of her grandchildren is tempting, but it would be at the cost of her present beliefs. Of course, she would actually be like many of the Witnesses, not believing much of what is said at their meetings, but realizing that leaving the organization and the shunning that would ensue would be too great a thing to bear.

My Greatest Strength

In early November of 2007, I celebrated my 37th birthday at TGIFriday's with my wife, mother, and her new boyfriend. It was a grand occasion sullied only by one of the gifts that I was given by my mother and her man: Joel Osteen's best-seller "Become A Better You".



For those who aren't familiar with the work, it uses Christian scripture as a basis for telling one how to live a better life. I would've loved to have seen my face when I received it. I'm not against self-help books, but one that relies primarily on the Bible misses out on a good deal of other great information that's out there. My mother had written some kind of message on the first page of the tome; the page that's typically blank. Something along the lines of "All the best, hope this book is a help to you". I smiled, but wished they had spent the money on something else.

In most cases, I would go to Barnes & Noble and return the book; my experience working there in the late 90's alerted me to the fact that they happily accept exchanges for something else even if one doesn't have a receipt. The note that my mom had posted in the book put a dent in those plans, however. It was as if she was ensuring that I couldn't return it. I wasn't about to give up, though. I carefully tore that first page out and decided I would try returning it. The cashier at B&N looked at the book for a few seconds to make sure there was no obvious damage before giving me a credit on it. Unlike the minutes after I received it, I could now smile genuinely at the thought of getting exactly what I wanted.

Not too long after, the office I was working for provided all its employees with a copy of another runaway best-seller, this one called "Strengths Finder".

Its purpose was to find an employee's strengths and then tell them how to make the most of them. My boss said we would eventually get around to utilizing it, but months went by without a mention of it. I decided that I would just return the thing and wound up exchanging it for Britney Spears' new one, "Blackout"; great disc, one of my favorite tracks on it is called "Get Naked".

Wouldn't you know it, a few weeks later, we were told that it was time to do the exercises that were in the book. They could actually be done online which was a relief to me, but not so much when I went to the site because it asked for the specific identification code that was printed in each book. It looked like I'd have to buy the book back, but damn if I wasn't gonna try to find a way around it.

I went with my high-school friend to Barnes & Noble in LaCrosse one weekend and took a look at the copies they had of Strengths Finder. I noticed that the ID codes for each book were different, but realized that if I copied down one of the codes and then went onto a computer and used it, I might be able to get around having to purchase the best-seller. I got a piece of scratch paper from my friend and wrote down the digits with a smile on my face. A couple days later at work, I headed to the site, entered the code, did the exercises, and printed it all out. A group of us went over the results shortly thereafter. It turns out that my greatest strength is not letting books sit around that aren't going to be read.

July 23rd, 2010

That's the day I received Colin Firth's highly acclaimed 2009 film "A Single Man" from Netflix. Though it was number one on my Netflix queue (that's the reason they sent it, of course), I never could find the 100 minutes to sit and view it. And this from a guy who rarely works more than twenty hours a week. No, on evenings when I'm watching TV, it's typically to get caught up on what's been taped on the DVR.

It took "A Single Man" being on that DVR for me to finally watch it. You see, I saw that it was playing on Showtime a few days ago and knowing that it would be presented in HD, as opposed to standard def (which is the type of DVD player I have), thought that might be just the thing I'd need to finally catch it. This turned out the be the case as the day before yesterday, I watched the film with my life partner.

The movie, which takes place in 1962, is about a man whose partner of sixteen years has died in a car accident. For months afterward, the hardest part of his day is just getting out of bed. Though he has a beautiful house, a job as a college professor, and is surrounded by friends who adore him, life is no longer worth living. The movie spends twenty-four hours with him, a day that will wind up being the most pivotal of his life.

I've expressed before how magical it is to sit down and watch a film and then be floored, feeling things that you never expected to, going to work the next day and feeling blessed that you were witness to such a work of heart. "A Single Man" was just this to me and in 9 times out of 10, the movies I fall hardest for are the ones that have fantastic endings ("Titanic" and "American Beauty" being two examples). As the credits rolled, my wife asked what grade I'd give it. I said, "An A". She said she felt the same.

I'm going to be keeping the DVD a little bit longer now so that I can watch "The Making of" and listen to the movie's commentary. If I'd known that the film was going to resonate so strongly with me, I'd have watched it months ago. But such is life sometimes, when the very thing that will bring you incredible happiness is right under your nose, there all the time, just waiting to be experienced.

Fort Myers

In March of 1993, my stepdad took me to Florida; it was my first visit to the Sunshine State. If you'd like to read an account of my experiences on that first day, written just weeks after it occurred, click here.

On the third day, we drove from West Palm Beach to Fort Myers, Florida. It was the only chance I got to spend a significant amount of time on the roads of Florida. The number of orange groves we passed made it patently obvious that we were down south. We listened to a good deal of country music as that was what I was into at the time and he didn't mind it too much. When Radney Foster's hit, "Nobody Wins" came on, he pontificated on how that was certainly the case when it came to marriages breaking up, as his and my mother's was. Well, I thought, if one of the parties wasn't happy in the relationship, leaving it could be construed as a win of sorts.

In the early afternoon, we arrived at our destination, Hammond Stadium, the spring training home for the Minnesota Twins.



The complex was beautiful and though the game would be split-squad, meaning only half the team would be playing, being able to see my heroes up close and outdoors was sure to be a treat. We headed to our seats which were about eight rows up along the first base line. I was disappointed that Kirby Puckett, the most popular Twin, wasn't in the lineup, but a relatively new guy named Chuck Knoblach was there. I actually had a poster on him on my apartment wall that had him jumping in the air at second base to throw someone out at first called "New Kid on the Blauch". I still have this baseball card of him in the basement:

There were some clouds in the sky as the game got underway, but they moved on. I took a number of pictures during the early innings, including one of the moment that a hitter made contact with a ball. I ended up having it converted into an 8 x 10 so that I could look at it from time to time in my apartment and remember that lovely March afternoon.

Later, I purchased a Minnesota Twins Fort Myers T-shirt that had pictures of alligators on it. I wore it with pride that summer, that summer when I would gain so many friends, but my happiness would rapidly erode. I was feeling great that day, however, breathing in the warm air. I don't believe the Twins won, but it didn't matter. This was merely spring training, a time for the players to get back into shape.

When the game ended, I encouraged my stepdad to sit outside the stadium for a time so that I could see some of the players leaving in their street clothes. I got a nice little thrill seeing Knoblauch driving off the grounds in a nice car with a smile on his face. We headed off for a bite and then to Orlando, where I would have my first bite of Universal Studios Florida.

Recent Facebook Status Updates

For those who aren't friends with me on Facebook, here are some of the postings I've made over the past few months:

There are few pleasures greater than putting on a pair of underwear that have just come out of the dryer.

"This is hard" - comment made by my wife two minutes into her first ShakeWeight workout

I was listening to a Christmas song yesterday and one of the lyrics was that Jesus's death was much less joyous than his birth. I'm like, "Whose isn't?"

Some time ago, when I was checking out at Target, the cashier asked if I'd be interested in signing up for one of their credit cards; they're bright red. I said I would if I could get it in purple. She said they weren't available like that, which is great as I wasn't interested in it, anyway.

I'll sometimes use my fingers for counting at work, but will only move the very tips of them so my colleagues won't realize what I'm doing.

The commercials for Proactiv almost make me wish I had acne. What else could compel such striking Before and After pics?

The expiration date on my bottle of Aquafina is December 21, 2012. They obviously got the memo that no one will be drinking the stuff the day after.

Went to Subway two days ago to get a six-inch before work. The guy working asked if I'd like a footlong, that it would be just a little bit more to get one. I told him, "No, I get intimidated by anything that's a foot long".

Horticulture

Though never agrarian in any sense, I felt it would do me some good to take a class in Horticulture in 11th grade. All Ag classes were taught in an annex of the Senior High building which had a greenhouse attached to it. I showed up the first day and was introduced to our teacher, a nice-looking lady who appeared to be in her early 50's. Her name was Mrs. Raddatz and though her hair was a bit grey, I quickly grew to like her. Instead of individual desks, our classroom had eight long tables; two people could be seated at each one. As was typical of me in those days, I chose a place in the back row. I wound up having my own table as we had a small class, about seven people.

I deflated a bit on that first day when the teacher told us that every Monday we would be required to water the plants placed high in the concourse. I didn't like the idea of the students sitting in the concourse (they were in study hall) seeing me with a watering device. They might think I was a femme. I always first sought to water the plants that were the furthest from the study hall kids. On occasion, I got stuck doing the ones closest. I shouldn't have worried, though. There was a guy who came off as much tougher than me named Butch who didn't seem to mind the task.

Butch ultimately come off as too masculine, however. He'd frequently pick on a guy who sat at the table behind him. His name was Matt and he dressed, well, fabulously. It was obvious he was gay, but I had no problem with his gentle soul. When Butch derided him, Matt typically ignored it.

One great aspect of the class was being able to get up and walk around the greenhouse.



That kind of hands-on thing wasn't typical of other high school classes. One morning, as class was about to start, the teacher gave me a note that said I was to report to the administrative offices. It had to do with a recent appointment I'd had with the counselor.

You see, the teacher I had for my Video class had noticed that while other students spent lots of time talking to their peers during downtimes, I was content to just sit in my seat. He thought there might be something wrong with me being a loner, so requested that Mr. Timm see me. I talked to Timm one afternoon and he said that there was nothing wrong with being on the quiet side, that he had the tendency to be this way himself, that the world would be much too rowdy if everyone had an outgoing personality. Timm made me feel that I was just fine being who I was. I never went up to Opprecht, the Video teacher and confronted him on what he'd done. Hell, that'd be going against my MO.

One other note about the Video class: there was a Jehovah's Witness girl named Jina who was in a more advanced class in which students were required to lip-sync to a favorite song of theirs. Now, for this to make sense, you have to realize that Witnesses believe that they will live forever in paradise on Earth. The song she chose was Belinda Carlisle's "Heaven on Earth". Ridiculously appropriate, I thought. I used to fantasize about what song I would sing if I took the class. It would mostly likely be a Beatles one as I was big on them back then.

Anyway, someone in the admin offices apparently wanted to go over one more thing in regards to the issue, but I didn't want to miss a minute of the Hort class (I was really concerned about getting good grades at that time), so ignored the request and watched one of those filmstrips that were so prevalent in 80's high schools.

One afternoon, as we broke for the greenhouse, a classmate named Ben was trying to get through, but a girl named LeJeanna was blocking his way. After a beat, he said, "Move out of the way or I'll boof you". I just saw her working at ShopKo last week and couldn't help but think of that incident when I saw her.

A number of years later, while attending college, I was watching Jenny Jones. A man came onto the stage whose name was Mattress Fever. He looked familiar, so I stepped close to the screen. Oh my god, it was Matt from the Horticulture class. He had apparently changed his name. We all watch talk shows from time to time, but never expect to see anyone we know on them. I was glad to see that he was doing well and still dressing fabulously. Butch, I'm sure, would have a different reaction, but there are few things grander than being exactly who you are.

Here's Something to Chew On

Yesterday afternoon around 5pm, I sat Indian-style on the bathroom floor while reading the latest issue of TIME magazine as I ate a Smart Ones Fajita Chicken wood-fired pizza. The article that I was browsing during said meal was about the troubles that Arizona is currently experiencing, problems like illegal immigration, an education system that is in the bottom ten of the fifty states, and the site of a shooting that made headlines for a number of weeks earlier this year.

About halfway through my meal, as I bit into another portion, I felt something hard. Weird, I thought. I chewed one more time and still felt something hard in my mouth; that's what she said. I spit the portion out and saw nothing but chewed-up food, so threw it into the toilet (just inches from my face) and flushed. I finished the pizza and began using my tongue to remove the debris that had accumulated over the meal. Just then, I felt something weird on the upper left-side of my mouth. Either an extra-large piece of debris or....no, it couldn't be.

I looked in the mirror and saw that a piece of my tooth was missing; the filling was now fully exposed and I was reminded of the movie "Terminator", feeling a bit more machine now than I was five minutes before. Before telling my wife, I headed onto the internet to find out what my options were, if tooth fairies still come if one inadvertently flushes a molar down the toilet.