A Unique(ly Stupid) Present

For Susannah and Michael's wedding, Leah and I bought them a present from their gift registry. However, that didn't seem like enough. After all, Michael and I had grown pretty close after working together for more than two years. But what could I give them that was truly representative of our relationship?

After a lot of pondering, I decided to get them something really, really stupid: a framed 8 x 10 portrait of me with pixelated sunglasses superimposed over my eyes. I had created a similar image before and used it in an instant messaging conversation at work, and this was in reference to that. (If you're curious why I would create such an image in the first place, you can read about the meme here.)

When the day of the wedding arrived, I brought in a modest yet handsome gift bag that contained both their real gift and this stupid one and set it on a table with their other gifts. I was a little annoyed that I wouldn't be present as they opened their gift, but hoped that it would make them laugh.

On Monday evening, Michael sent me a text message with this picture:

He added my ridiculous portrait to his collection of family pictures! I'm guessing that it won't stay there long, but I'm pleased that they enjoyed my dumb little joke, at least for a little while.

Mutation? UPDATED

For the past few weeks, I've been developing a rash on the inside of both of my upper arms.  I don't know what's causing it, but it continues to get worse.  In addition to the rash, I have bumps growing on both of my hands.  They don't itch and they aren't very pronounced, but they still bother me.  And the latest change happened this evening.  I rinsed my contacts in saline solution and put them back on, only for my left eye to sting and become red and swollen.

Sorry for the weird angle.

I have an appointment with my doctor next week to talk to him about what's happening, because I'm starting to feel like my body's attacking itself.

UPDATE
Here's a picture of the bumps on my hands:

Seriously, what's happening to me?

The Tale of the Picky Theif

Last week, I had the inside of my car detailed.  It's not that I'm fancy or rich or anything; it's just that my car was pretty dirty.  In addition to the backseat being covered in crumbs from Clara and Henry sitting back there to and from Chicago for Thanksgiving, I spilled a still-cooling cherry pie on the passenger seat soon after I bought the car.  I don't begrudge my niece and nephew being messy -- at their age and for as long as we were in the car, I expected it -- but with the mess they made, the mess I made, and the car just getting dirty though normal use, I decided I'd rather pay someone to deep clean it rather than spend the time myself and not do as good a job.

After calling a couple of places, I decided to go with one in particular due to the combination of good pricing and a convenient location.  I even coordinated with a coworker so I could drop the car off during lunch and pick it up at the end of the day, so I wouldn't need to wait around.  I made sure to remove most of my personal items from the car, as I had been instructed.

When I came by to pick up the car, the crew was finishing up the last few touches.  I should say that the "crew" was just one guy.  Not the owner, though I got the impression that he does plenty of the hands-on work himself.  No, the crew was an uncomfortably-thin looking man with at least one tooth missing, a couple of tattoos on or near his face, and one gauged ear.  The man had made a lot of bad life decisions, is what I'm saying.  After paying and driving away in my car, I was impressed with the job they did.  They cleaned up the cherry stain so well that I couldn't tell it was ever there.  The inside looks like new!  I was very happy with the job they did.

That's where I was expecting this story to end, but there's a little more.  On Saturday, I went to a grocery store that locks up their shopping carts.  You insert a quarter and it unlocks, you lock it up when you're done, you get your quarter back.  Pretty basic and it eliminates the need to send an employee out to collect the carts.  I keep a bag of change in my car, mostly just as a place to store it (I see change as more as an inconvenience than anything else).  I reached into my glove compartment, pulled out the bag, and found nothing but pennies.  I laughed out loud.

While it was frustrating (and a bit disappointing) that one of the people at the detail shop stole from me, I thought it was hilarious that they went to the trouble of just stealing the silver coins.  Apparently whoever stole from me (I assume it was the crew member) has high standards of what they're willing to pilfer and pennies just do make their cut.

Tuesdays with Media: Buckethead and That 1 Guy

Many musicians, even skilled and talented ones, often find it difficult to stand out from the crowd.  Some study hard and become the best at their instrument and in their style, while others go with a gimmick.  Today's post is about two men that fall in the latter category.

Buckethead, the stage name of Brian Carroll, is a fantastic guitarist, but boy is he weird to watch perform:

Your eyes do not deceive you: he's wearing an expressionless white mask and a KFC bucket on his head.  He's a great guitarist and a talented composer (and a prolific one with 255 studio albums to his name), but man is he weird.  All of his stuff I can find on YouTube is some form of rock, but he also has some great jazz albums, which is how I first heard of him.

Another weird performer is That 1 Guy, seen here playing his Magic Pipe:

Don't ask me how that thing makes those sounds, because I haven't a clue, but that song, "The Moon is Disgusting" is a tough earworm to lose.  Mike Silverman, the real name of That 1 Guy, has a more normal look (i.e., not like a serial killer) than Buckethead, but his instruments of choice are truly bizarre and mostly homemade.  The only way these two could get weirder is if they were to team up.

Here's what that looked like:

Appropriately, they call themselves the Frankenstein Brothers when they collaborate.

Two weirdos that rock harder than pretty much anyone else.  That may be the most rock 'n' roll thing ever.

Second Verse, Same as the First

I got an email on Wednesday to inform me that Allison has been served the second time.  As you may remember, I had Allison served before, but because of mistakes I made, the service wasn't legally binding.  So, I had to do it again, and I was running out of time if I wanted to do this divorce with only one filing (I wouldn't be barred from getting divorced, I just would have to refile and pay the processing fee again).  To avoid trouble, I used a process server.  It meant that I had to pay another party to get things taken care of, but I must say it's worth it because they got the job done.

Things feel weird again, though not like last time.  I'm not sad that it's over with Allison; I've come to terms with that and I'm ready to move on.  No, it's weird because I'm ready to move on.  I want to get on with my life and start dating again, but I've got to wait through a minimum of 90 days (very likely longer) before it's all over.  Knowing that I have that long ahead of me is pretty depressing.  You don't need to worry about me -- I'm still going to work everyday and I'm managing okay.  It's just that I've been alone for so long already.  In fact, in late January (just a little over a month a way), it will be four years since we got separated.

I just want to be free from this torture that is loneliness.

Best in Beard

As many of you know, I grew a beard for a contest at work.  The Friday after we returned from Thanksgiving, we all lined up and were judged to determine who had the best beard.  Judges were to assess us based on four categories: length, fullness, manliness, and overall appearance.  Most of the judges were employees at the office, but we did have two "celebrity" judges: a local DJ and a former local news anchor, both of whose names escape me.  With the judging completed, the scores were tallied (by someone in accounting, to make sure it was done right) and the top three winners were named.

I didn't even place.  I may have been fourth or dead last, but I'll never know.  I think I lost because my beard is so light-colored these days and because the shape makes it appear less full than others.  I don't regret participating in the contest, but I doubt I'll join in next year.

One nice thing about the contest was that we raised money for the American Cancer Society (ACS), nearly $3,500 this year.  I didn't raise much, but I did get a couple of people to sponsor me, so I helped out a little.  Though again, I doubt I'll be back for more in 2016.

Left to right: Jeff, one rep from ACS, Jason, Neal, the unknown DJ, Matt (first place), Morten (second place), the unknown anchor, me, Don, the other rep from ACS.

Block

I've really been wracking my brain to come up with something to write about for today's post.  There are a few events that I've considered writing about, but the timing's not right for them yet, so they're off the table.  I've also thought about writing an essay about something that's happening in the world at large, but nothing's capturing my attention.  Instead, here I am, writing about not having anything to write about.  That's probably meta*, but not on purpose.

*I was planning on linking to the definition of this word in the way that I mean it, but because it's slang, none of the online dictionaries it's listing in are very appropriate. Instead, I'll just define it: "a term, especially in art, used to characterize something that is characteristically self-referential."

The Beginning ≠ the End

Fast and testimony meeting is always a bit of a gamble: an open mic with the invitation to come forward and share sometimes results in someone being inappropriate.  Sometimes the one being inappropriate is a child or a new member and sometimes its an "old-timer."

Yesterday, after the Bishop bore a lovely testimony, an older member of the ward -- "older" referring to both his physical age and the length of time he's been in the ward -- got up and scolded the congregation for not taking the gospel seriously.  At one point he even shouted into the microphone "DO NOT TAKE THE GOSPEL FOR GRANTED!"  I don't know what he's experienced that gives him this particular impression.  My immediate thought was "This is the wrong place for this sort of thing" (the first rule of technical writing is "write for your audience," which implies that you know your audience; he did not know his audience).  It was jarring and an inappropriate use of the mic and time.

Thankfully, the rest of the testimonies that followed were positive and uplifting.  Not only that, but the rest of the day was, too.  I not only finished my meetings at church, but I also went on exchanges with the missionary Elders and attended Stake Priesthood meeting.  I got in a lot of church, is what I'm saying.

While the day started off weird, I'm happy that I didn't allow it mar the rest of what turned out to be a very good day.

Surprise Opportunity

My talk in church on Sunday got some surprising attention afterwards.  As I waited for Priesthood opening exercises to begin, a brother I had never met before sat down next to me and introduced himself.  He said that he had enjoyed my talk earlier, for which I thanked him.  Then he told me about his son who is attending the University of Maryland and studying engineering.  Unfortunately, he didn't graduate recently because he failed his technical writing class.  This brother asked if I would be interested in being paid to tutor his son.

When I was preparing my talk, I had decided to include the fact that I'm technical writer to simply be part of my introduction, but now I'm thinking that I was inspired to bring it up so that I could be of assistance to this brother's son.  If he had simply asked if I could help out, I would have done what I could to be of service, but I'm also not going to turn down his offer to be paid to do it.

Nothing final has been worked out at this point, but we have exchanged a couple of emails to get the ball rolling.  It's amazing what kinds of connections we make simply by attending church and fulfilling our assignments.

Weird Sadness

Allison's been served.  That means that our divorce is finally moving forward.  This is something that I've been working towards for months.  I've had several confirmations from the Spirit that this divorce is needed and necessary and I've been frustrated with the delays we've had with making this happen.

So, imagine my surprise that when I had finished making arrangements with Allison for her to receive the summons, that I broke down crying.  After all the pain and frustration I've already experienced, I didn't think I had any tears left.

This is another reminder that love is complicated.  You hurt someone and they hurt you and they hate you and you can't help but get angry when you talk to them and the best thing for both of you is to end your relationship, but you're still sad to see them go.  You remember how they laughed at your jokes and how they pushed you to be a better student and how the smell of their mouth was the most wonderful aroma you've ever experienced.  Despite all of the reasons that prove you need to go your separate ways, you're still sad about it and wish it could have ended differently.

Not knowing how to process these feelings, I shared them with Allison.  She confessed that she was sad too, adding that it was "weird."  Yeah, after all this time, it is weird to feel sad about getting divorced.  Weird, but, again, for the best.

Lost Airtime

I suffer from a form of sleep apnea where my brain gets lazy and forgets to tell my body to breathe.  It's weird, since occasionally I'll wake up and realize that I need to inhale, but for the most part it just means that my sleep is not very restful.

In an attempt to sleep better, I recently tried listening to an audio-only hypnosis session.  I've tried being hypnotized in the past, but I've never been able to fully achieve "trance," but it's been a while so I thought I'd try again.  This time, I was able to become very relaxed and there were a few times that I nearly went under, but each time I stopped breathing.  Not breathing is distracting, to say the least, so I woke up enough to breathe, which prevented me from enjoying the full experience.  It was still relaxing and I easily fell asleep afterwards, but I was aware of what was going on the whole time.

As far as methods to sleep better go, hypnosis is probably a fine one, but only if you remember to breathe.

You Don't Even Know Me

One of the recent times that my sister, Margot, visited, she commented that I needed to share my thoughts on a matter because my face was blank and she didn't know how I felt about it.  I was a little surprised, but I guess I have trained myself to have my "standard face" be one of no emotion.  That could allow some people project onto me emotions that I'm not actually experiencing.  Perhaps that's what happened yesterday.

Yesterday evening, I was driving home from mutual where I was helping to supervise a joint activity between the Young Men and Young Women of our ward and a neighboring ward (it involved plenty of water balloons) when I stopped by a nearby grocery store to pick up a quart of milk.  I had had an enjoyable evening and had gotten a chance to talk with some of the other adults with whom I am friends, so I was feeling pretty good.  However, when I walked up to the store's entrance, a woman who was waiting for her ride told me to "Cheer up: at least you don't live in Texas" (I assume she's referring to the floods that are currently affecting the people of the Lone Star state.)  I quickly went from "neutral" to "majorly annoyed" and I said what first came to mind: "You don't even know me."  I never stopped walking during our exchange, so I went inside and never heard her reply, if she gave one.

I recognize that she was trying to be nice, cheering up a guy who she assumed was not having the best day.  But my day had been fine.  She was making assumptions about how I should express myself when I'm alone.  In doing so, she replaced my "simply not smiling" with a scowl.

There's a bit of a parallel here with women who get told something like "You'd be prettier if you smiled" by random guys as they're walking somewhere.  No, I don't have it nearly as bad -- I'm a college-educated, tall, white, Christian man; I am a member of the least oppressed group in history, not withstanding the Church's early years.  But regardless of gender, why do people feel the need to give advice to random strangers on their mood?  For all that woman knew, I knew one of the victims that the floods claimed and her comment could have caused me to burst into tears.  I could have been from Texas and missed living there, in spite of the recent events.  I could be dealing the sea of emotions that comes with getting divorced.  And so on.

I should say that I calmed down pretty quickly after the interaction and by the time I had paid for the milk, I was back to "neutral."  Still, I find it very bizarre (and, yes, frustrating) that someone told me to cheer up when I recognize that I'm the happiest I've been in years.  A lack of tears doesn't mean someone isn't sad, just as a lack of a smile doesn't mean a lack of contentment.

The Great Word Judge

Despite the fact that I was hired to as an expert in the written word, I keep getting surprised when people at my company come to me for my expert opinion.  For example, I received an email last week from a high-level manager in Denmark asking if the company should use the word "part" or "component" when referring to the products we make.  Being me, I couldn't just give her a quick answer, so explained the advantages and disadvantages in either choice, though I agreed that one word should be picked as the standard.  All in all, I wrote over 500 words on the topic.

I never shared my opinion, though I preferred "parts" for several reasons, one of which was that it's a more common word.  Perhaps my opinion came through, because earlier this week, a company-wide email was sent out telling everyone to use the word "parts" from now on.  My name was never cited as a reason for the decision, but I don't need credit to feel a swelling of pride.

I'm not sure why it feels a little weird to be seen as an expert in my field (maybe because the people at my last couple of jobs didn't really respect me?), but it mostly feels great and I hope it keeps happening.

Insomnia Cure?

While I was staying at the Larsens' last weekend, I didn't have trouble falling asleep even once.  The reason?  I was constantly around people.

The less well-known definition for introvert is "someone who gains energy while alone," making an extrovert "someone who gains energy while with people."  According to these definitions, I am an introvert that is pretty outgoing.  It also means that when I'm with people, I use up energy, simply by being around them.

When I'm at home, I'm not around anyone (Samuel's working the night-shift these days), so my energy levels build up.  But it was different at the Larsens'.  I wasn't extra tired when I went to bed, but I fell asleep easily once I laid down for the night.

What this all means is that to cure my insomnia, I need to get married again.  I did it once, so it can't be that hard, right?

Chastain Dinner

Once a year, my ward puts on an event called the Chastain Dinner.  The name came from a family that used to live in the ward in some place called Chastain that did the same sort of thing, so we named it after it's birthplace.

What is a Chastain Dinner?  It's an adults-only dinner where all of the attendees are put into groups ahead of time so that they can plan their theme.  Once a theme is decided upon, we're encouraged to decorate our tables, dress up in costumes, even plan our table's dinner menu according to the theme.  My table decided on the Lego Movie as our theme and we did build-your-own tacos (both in reference to "Taco Tuesday" mentioned in the movie and to go along with Legos being a building toy).  I made the taco meat (both chicken and beef), as well as fresh guacamole and pico de gallo.  (Quick side note: I've never made pico de gallo before and I wasn't sure how much to make for eight people.  I diced up 16 tomatoes and then added enough onion, garlic, cilantro, jalapeno, lime juice, and salt until it tasted right.  It tasted great -- I got lots of compliments -- but I made nearly a gallon's worth of salsa.  Everyone took leftovers with them, so I guess it worked out.)  We also had cheese and crackers cut to look like Legos and brownies with colored icing and M&Ms on top that also looked like Legos.

And then there were the costumes.  We had an Emmet, a Wyldstyle, a Vitruvius, a Batman, a Good Cop/Bad Cop, a Benny the Astronaut, an Abraham Lincoln (me), even a Unikitty.  I'm working on getting some pictures of our table, but there was a lot of care taken in making everything look right.

Other table themes included a Hawaiian luau, a Peruvian Barbecue, March Madness, and being stuck at the airport.  After we'd had a chance to eat and socialize, we announced our table's theme to the rest of the group and got a chance to vote on which table we liked best.  While we were allowed to vote for our own table (a change from last year), I decided that it would be more fair if I kept the candidates to the other tables.  Even so, the Lego Movie table won by a landslide.

The Chastain Dinner is one of those things that's kind of hard to explain unless you've been there already, but it's a lot of fun and I'm glad that I participated again this year.

Digital Assessment

Thumbs.  You got to have thumbs, man.  Some people use the fact that we have an opposeable digit as proof that we're not animals.  Seriously, if all you had were thumbs, you could still do alright.  You use them to pick up stuff, hold stuff, put the car into gear, answer the phone, grab onto your belt.  The possibilities are endless!

Index.  After the thumb, this guy right here is the most useful.  You use it point (some people even call it the "pointer finger," like that's all it can do), to press buttons, to finger paint, to click the button on a computer mouse.  If the thumb is Captain Picard, the index finger is Commander Riker.

Middle.  This one's gotten a bad rap because it can be used to perform an obscene gesture, but it's really only offensive if you take it that way -- in a lot of cultures, doing the same thing is meaningless.  For most people, the middle finger is their longest digit, so it works great to interact with a touchscreen, though usually without the other fingers completely curled back.  Also, it's pretty strong on it's own, which can be helpful to hold something and your other fingers are busy.

Pinky.  The littlest digit, yes, but the most refined as well.  You raise this one while drinking from a glass and suddenly you've gained some fancy-points.  Plus, when paired with the thumb and/or index finger and you have the symbols for "hang loose," "rock on," or "I love you."

Ring.  This digit's whole purpose is for wearing jewelry.  Pretty useless, if you ask me.  If I didn't need them to type my own name, I might consider donating them.  I certainly don't need the left one, always reminding me with its uselessness by how bare it always is.  But like I said, I need it for typing, so I'll keep it ... for now.

How I Breathe Now

I'm sick.  My sinus is so stuffed up, I have to flush it with a neti pot twice a day just to be able to breathe normally.  What's a neti pot?  Behold!

Is it weird?  Yes.  Does it work?  Also, yes.

The end result is that I feel like I just came from surfing (without the enjoyment of riding some waves) and I can breathe through my nose again.  It's worth doing if you're sick and I recommend it to anyone who has congestion issues.

Now good luck getting that image out of your head.

Feeling It

What to feel really old, even though you know you're not that old?  Go on splits with the full-time missionaries in your ward.  The conversation may include the following topics:

• When you served your mission (I completed my mission about a decade ago).
• What it was like when you served (months after I came home, usage of the discussions was discontinued).
• What music you like (the same genre as them, but you don't recognize any of the bands that they name that don't count as "classic rock").

I don't regret my time recently spent with the Elders, but man is it weird being on the other side of the interaction.

Bitter

Fernando poured a cup of coffee and passed it to Britta. She accepted the cup happily and breathed in the aroma. It was a cold, winter morning, so having some hot coffee would do her some good. She usually added creamer to her coffee, but she didn’t want to delay warming up, so she decided to take it black this time.

She looked at Fernando as he poured a cup for himself and thought about her feelings towards him. They were just friends – him with his girlfriend and her with Rick – but she often wondered if things would be different were they not tied down. Not that she wanted to break things off with Rick; she just wondered if she and Fernando would be compatible as a couple, or if being friends was for the best.

She continued thinking on the matter when she took her first sip of coffee. Not only was it still rather hot, it was also very strong. Strong and incredibly bitter. She looked back at Fernando and was suddenly annoyed at him. Why hadn’t he told her that the coffee was like this? Didn’t he care about her at all?

Her annoyance grew until she was not just angry, she was furious. All of the time that she and Fernando had spent hanging out and this is how he repays her friendship? He might as well slap her in the face. No, a slap in the face would be better than this. This was like a stab in the back.

Fernando turned to offer Britta some creamer, when he saw that she was glaring at him. He seemed to know what was going on and spoke up.

“Britta,” he said, “you can’t drink this coffee straight: it’s very bitter and can sometimes affect the drinker.” He opened a shot of French Vanilla creamer and held it out for his friend. “Drink this, it will help mellow out the coffee.”

Britta looked at him, scowling. “Don’t you mean it'll mellow me out?”

“Just drink it, Britta.”

“Why should I do anything you tell me to do, Fernando?” Britta asked, her words dripping with venom.

“Drink this and I’ll leave you alone forever.”

“Good,” Britta said as she grabbed the shot and threw her head back as she downed the contents. Suddenly, she wasn’t angry anymore. In fact, she wasn’t sure why she had been angry at all. She looked at her friend. “What happened?”

“I forgot to tell you,” Fernando explained, “this is pure, uncut Columbian coffee that my tia sent me. It can be a bit strong for the uninitiated. It sometimes makes the drinker as bitter as the coffee itself. Feeling better?”

“Yeah,” Britta said, still a little surprised at what had happened. She looked at Fernando and thought about how he was such a good friend. Here he was sharing with her something that his aunt had sent him. That was just like him to be so kind. Maybe if things were different …

Cookie O'Lantern

When I added the chocolate chips to the pumpkin cookies, I wanted them to look like tiny pumpkins with faces carved into them, but because all the other ingredients dulled the bright orange of the pumpkin mash, they ended up looking more like disembodied snowman heads made out of human skin.

Happy Halloween!