I am not a deep person. I don't know that I ever was a deep person. So I can't decide whether I should say I've become so shallow, or say I have finally realized how shallow I am.
Or maybe I'm just escapist.
Whatever.
The deal is, my second-cousin-in-law writes and/or runs this blog/site about movies and entertainment. Maybe it's more of an online magazine. Whatever. I suck at identifying things, obviously. My point is: I don't visit it as much as I'd like, but I always enjoy what I read there, especially her stuff.
I've visited it a few more times in recent weeks because I spoke at length with her husband last month and it put me in the mind to check it on occasion. When Matt shared this article on Facebook where Shannon shares her top movie picks of the last year, I clicked it and read it and... realized I've either always been a shallow person (or totally escapist), or I've become whichever term it is we eventually decide applies here.
At first I read the list and thought, "I always go see really goofy or sci-fi or not-very-serious stuff."
Well, no, first I had an inner grouse about "Waiting for Superman", and then I thought that other bit, which was the more important bit, as I've not seen W4S and thus have no right to grouse.
So my brain, trying to salvage what little self-esteem I have left (which is very little, considering my life to date, you know) was all like, "Yeah, but you are more of a reader."
Yeah, what do I read? Escapist stuff. I mean, I think Terry Pratchett writes some pretty intelligent stuff, mind you, but it's not like stuff everyone knows because is so serious and moving and... I don't know... sells.
I think "serious," "moving," "deep," and "popular among people who think" are like stand-up comedians to me. That is to say, something I loathe the thought of seeing, but always enjoy seeing when I do.
Then again, perhaps on my journey to crotchety old man-ness, I am slowly becoming that way about everything other than sitting alone at home waiting for kids to stray into my yard so I can yell at them to get out of it.
I don't know. Maybe I'm just jaded. Maybe I'm just bored. But I do know any time I talk about the books and movies and television shows I like, I start thinking, "Wow, this doesn't read like the list of someone who likes "serious" entertainment, let alone "serious" art!
Well, enough of this. I have to go watch my DVR of Primeval, take in some Desperate Housewives, and make sure my DVR has enough room for new episodes of Chuck, Hot in Cleveland, and Fringe this week!
::sigh::
It's not even a blog, really... I just made it so I could get an account. It was a harrowing experience, and I don't want to relive it... just leave me alone!
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Two Weeks Until My Birthday! (Don't Go Sayin' You Didn't Have Enough Notice!)
Check it out: I'm 43 years and 50 weeks old today!
Or, I would be, if there were exactly 52 weeks in a year. Go divide 365 by 7 and see if you get a remainder.
Go ahead, I'll wait.
(There's a calculator in the Accessories folder if you're using Windows.)
Okay, back?
So, yeah, I'm roughly 43 years and 50 weeks old today.
I plan my own birthday party. This is sometimes considered rude and/or pathetic. Also, maybe a bit self-centered or something. If Casey'd ever come to Kansas City for the event, I could pretend it was really a party for him.
Anyway, I want to have a party for it, so I do. I like having people around, and on my birthday I am supposed to get what I want. That's a law or something, right?
Having a birthday so close after Christmas (but not super-close like some people have, mind you) does stink a bit. It makes it hard to remember what was a Christmas gift and what was a birthday gift when I was a kid.
But here's some random birthday memories for you:
When I was in elementary school, before everyone started to sing "Happy Birthday to You," I wanted to know if I was "allowed" to sing along--but nobody would wait for me to ask before they started singing, so I got all upset and cried about it. And then I had to feel super-foolish explaining the stupid reason why I was crying, knowing how foolish it sounded as the words came out of my mouth.
My senior year of high school, Brad Graham collected money from a bunch of my friends and classmates and got me my first computer mouse for my Apple //c for my eighteenth birthday. I still have the "card" that came with it, with all the names on it... or I should, anyway. I had it before the move, anyway.
T.K. arranged a surprise birthday party for my 26th birthday--at least, I think that was the birthday. I remember the candles on the cake were off by a year. I think that might have been the last birthday party someone else arranged for me--but I could be forgetting one.
In junior high (7th grade, I think) I got one of those bowl-like sled things. I loved that thing. Too bad we didn't leave near some really great hills.
I don't remember a lot about birthdays at school (beyond the mouse story mentioned above). That seems odd, as you'd think days like that would stick out. I remember other kids' birthdays. I remember in third grade Mary Harris brought some sort of cake or brownie-like thing, and it had a toothpick with an American flag on it in the middle, and Mary said whoever got that piece got an extra piece--and she so arranged it so I got that one. I remember thinking she was very obvious about it.
But that wasn't my birthday, so pretend I didn't mention it. Or remember it as an example of how I remember things about other kids' birthdays during school, but not much about mine.
Anyway, I'm two weeks away from staring my forty-fifth year. In 54 weeks (and a day) I'll have lived the same amount of time as I'd lived on my 15th birthday three times over!
Seriously, I'm the same age as three fifteen-year-olds, but lined up instead of all together.
I'm too old to be up this late. Good night.
Or, I would be, if there were exactly 52 weeks in a year. Go divide 365 by 7 and see if you get a remainder.
Go ahead, I'll wait.
(There's a calculator in the Accessories folder if you're using Windows.)
Okay, back?
So, yeah, I'm roughly 43 years and 50 weeks old today.
I plan my own birthday party. This is sometimes considered rude and/or pathetic. Also, maybe a bit self-centered or something. If Casey'd ever come to Kansas City for the event, I could pretend it was really a party for him.
Anyway, I want to have a party for it, so I do. I like having people around, and on my birthday I am supposed to get what I want. That's a law or something, right?
Having a birthday so close after Christmas (but not super-close like some people have, mind you) does stink a bit. It makes it hard to remember what was a Christmas gift and what was a birthday gift when I was a kid.
But here's some random birthday memories for you:
When I was in elementary school, before everyone started to sing "Happy Birthday to You," I wanted to know if I was "allowed" to sing along--but nobody would wait for me to ask before they started singing, so I got all upset and cried about it. And then I had to feel super-foolish explaining the stupid reason why I was crying, knowing how foolish it sounded as the words came out of my mouth.
My senior year of high school, Brad Graham collected money from a bunch of my friends and classmates and got me my first computer mouse for my Apple //c for my eighteenth birthday. I still have the "card" that came with it, with all the names on it... or I should, anyway. I had it before the move, anyway.
T.K. arranged a surprise birthday party for my 26th birthday--at least, I think that was the birthday. I remember the candles on the cake were off by a year. I think that might have been the last birthday party someone else arranged for me--but I could be forgetting one.
In junior high (7th grade, I think) I got one of those bowl-like sled things. I loved that thing. Too bad we didn't leave near some really great hills.
I don't remember a lot about birthdays at school (beyond the mouse story mentioned above). That seems odd, as you'd think days like that would stick out. I remember other kids' birthdays. I remember in third grade Mary Harris brought some sort of cake or brownie-like thing, and it had a toothpick with an American flag on it in the middle, and Mary said whoever got that piece got an extra piece--and she so arranged it so I got that one. I remember thinking she was very obvious about it.
But that wasn't my birthday, so pretend I didn't mention it. Or remember it as an example of how I remember things about other kids' birthdays during school, but not much about mine.
Anyway, I'm two weeks away from staring my forty-fifth year. In 54 weeks (and a day) I'll have lived the same amount of time as I'd lived on my 15th birthday three times over!
Seriously, I'm the same age as three fifteen-year-olds, but lined up instead of all together.
I'm too old to be up this late. Good night.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
On Losses and the Cutting of Them
Yeah, I'm gonna talk about math. Go watch t.v. or something until I'm done. (But I'm going to be talking sort of philosophical-like, not all math-like... at least that's the plan.)
So imagine you're 12 or 13, in 7th grade, and have no idea how to do the following:
1. Recall many basic math facts, such a 7 + 8 or 6 * 7.
2. Write an equivalent fraction (and most of the mini-steps that entails).
3. Long division--or, any working algorithm for figuring out what 3,527 divided by 42 is.
4. Hear the word "fraction" without figuratively wetting yourself in fear.
5. Add, subtract, multiply, and divide decimals or fractions.
6. Use a simple formula and given information to find the area of a shape.
7. Multiply a number by a two- or three-digit number.
Some of that is pre-4th grade. Some of that is 6th grade. But remember, in this imagining, you're in 7th grade.
Now, remembering you're in 7th grade, how concerned are you? Or, try this one: how concerned are you willing to appear in front of your peers?
All that in mind, how are you going to be taught how to add, subtract, multiply, and divide integers when you can't figure out to at least count on your fingers when confronted with a problem like "What's 8 plus 7?"
How are you going to work with ratios and proportions when they look like fractions, and fractions freakin' own you?
Now, I know many people who are way older than 12 or 13 and came across at least three things on that list they themselves cannot do. And that's fine, because if you're way older than 12 or 13, odds are you don't have Algebra I, Geometry, Algebra II, and whatever math you're required to take in college coming at you any time in the foreseeable future. I'm perfectly okay with your ignorance in the area of math--as long as you're perfectly okay with my ignorance in the multitude of areas where I'm ignorant.
So now imagine you're the teacher who has to try to get these 7th grade students as close to grade-level as you can before they move on.
It's a lot like trying to scoop the water out of your canoe with a strainer while you're heading toward the waterfall.
At some point every year you have to decide it's time to cut your losses and just teach them as much as you can and hope someone comes along fills in the gaps later.
They're probably not going to. I don't want to ruin the ending for anyone, but it's true.
The good news is a lot of them won't need Algebra and Geometry in their day-to-day life, so once they're through, they can just always make sure they have a calculator at all times and be really good at converting fractions to decimals and vice-versa should they work in any area that requires measuring and calculating with those measurements.
The bad news is they could have gone a lot further and been who knows what if we just could have gotten the job done.
So imagine you're 12 or 13, in 7th grade, and have no idea how to do the following:
1. Recall many basic math facts, such a 7 + 8 or 6 * 7.
2. Write an equivalent fraction (and most of the mini-steps that entails).
3. Long division--or, any working algorithm for figuring out what 3,527 divided by 42 is.
4. Hear the word "fraction" without figuratively wetting yourself in fear.
5. Add, subtract, multiply, and divide decimals or fractions.
6. Use a simple formula and given information to find the area of a shape.
7. Multiply a number by a two- or three-digit number.
Some of that is pre-4th grade. Some of that is 6th grade. But remember, in this imagining, you're in 7th grade.
Now, remembering you're in 7th grade, how concerned are you? Or, try this one: how concerned are you willing to appear in front of your peers?
All that in mind, how are you going to be taught how to add, subtract, multiply, and divide integers when you can't figure out to at least count on your fingers when confronted with a problem like "What's 8 plus 7?"
How are you going to work with ratios and proportions when they look like fractions, and fractions freakin' own you?
Now, I know many people who are way older than 12 or 13 and came across at least three things on that list they themselves cannot do. And that's fine, because if you're way older than 12 or 13, odds are you don't have Algebra I, Geometry, Algebra II, and whatever math you're required to take in college coming at you any time in the foreseeable future. I'm perfectly okay with your ignorance in the area of math--as long as you're perfectly okay with my ignorance in the multitude of areas where I'm ignorant.
So now imagine you're the teacher who has to try to get these 7th grade students as close to grade-level as you can before they move on.
It's a lot like trying to scoop the water out of your canoe with a strainer while you're heading toward the waterfall.
At some point every year you have to decide it's time to cut your losses and just teach them as much as you can and hope someone comes along fills in the gaps later.
They're probably not going to. I don't want to ruin the ending for anyone, but it's true.
The good news is a lot of them won't need Algebra and Geometry in their day-to-day life, so once they're through, they can just always make sure they have a calculator at all times and be really good at converting fractions to decimals and vice-versa should they work in any area that requires measuring and calculating with those measurements.
The bad news is they could have gone a lot further and been who knows what if we just could have gotten the job done.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
For Your Reading... Um... Enjoyment?
The following is a poem I wrote for creative writing my senior year at Jewell. I assume it was in the spring of 1989. It relates a true story from my childhood.
Walking to school
in the first grade,
I noticed the world was going to end
before sundown.
I had just walked over the new
and freshly painted
grey "bridge"
that my friend's father had built
over the "creek".
Looking back, I see a walkway over
a ditch,
but the world is different for a first-grader.
I looked up
and in the bright blue
of the morning sky
I saw the moon.
This undeniably meant one thing:
The world was going to end
before sundown.
Disbelief melted down my skin
and evaporated.
I looked again.
The full moon was still there,
smiling at me
like a skull.
I decided to stop by the Post Office
and ask Mom about it.
And if she laughed and told me I was wrong,
I would march the rest of the way to school
and tell the all-knowing Miss Wolfe
the world was going to end
before sundown.
When she confirmed my story
I would tell her there was no point in my staying at school.
I would retrace my steps on the cracked and broken sidewalk
back to the Post Office
to let my surprised mother
(complete with wide eyes
and confused frown)
know she was wrong--
and probably for the last time.
The world was going to end
before sundown.
© copyright 1989, Mark Travis Riggs
Walking to school
in the first grade,
I noticed the world was going to end
before sundown.
I had just walked over the new
and freshly painted
grey "bridge"
that my friend's father had built
over the "creek".
Looking back, I see a walkway over
a ditch,
but the world is different for a first-grader.
I looked up
and in the bright blue
of the morning sky
I saw the moon.
This undeniably meant one thing:
The world was going to end
before sundown.
Disbelief melted down my skin
and evaporated.
I looked again.
The full moon was still there,
smiling at me
like a skull.
I decided to stop by the Post Office
and ask Mom about it.
And if she laughed and told me I was wrong,
I would march the rest of the way to school
and tell the all-knowing Miss Wolfe
the world was going to end
before sundown.
When she confirmed my story
I would tell her there was no point in my staying at school.
I would retrace my steps on the cracked and broken sidewalk
back to the Post Office
to let my surprised mother
(complete with wide eyes
and confused frown)
know she was wrong--
and probably for the last time.
The world was going to end
before sundown.
© copyright 1989, Mark Travis Riggs
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
So There Was This Guy By The Side Of The Road With A Sign...
I took Cody to work today, and there was this guy at the side of the road at the top of the exit to 152 or whatever it is there in Liberty, and he had a sign about being stranded and every little bit helps...
People were giving him money, but I wanted to ask him where he was going... or where he needed to go. Because if it wasn't, you know... California or something, I think I would honestly consider giving the guy a lift.
Yes, yes, he could be an insane person with a gun or a knife and a plan to kill me or worse, but... what a lot of work just to get to kill me (or do worse to me). I mean, I'd admire his dedication, at least.
But here's the thing: I didn't stop and ask him. I drove by because the light had changed and there were people behind me. I thought, "I'll swing back around and ask him." Actually, I said part of all that out loud, because Cody asked me if I was serious.
When you aren't used to a passenger in your car, you get used to being able to speak your thoughts aloud often, and forget to avoid doing it when you do get a passenger.
Anyway, I dropped Cody off and I drove back around to the old Bob's IGA shopping center or whatever that's called there, trying to figure out where I could park so I could walk up the hill and ask the guy. I figured I could try to drive up the exit again, but it was getting closer to 4:00, and a lot of people are heading home for work--so odds are I'd have people behind me again.
I pulled into the complex or whatever that my former doctor used to work from, realizing it wasn't the turn I wanted. Then, as I was pulling out to get to the next building's parking lot, I realized I needed to buy groceries before I did any long driving--and then realized I was supposed to have dinner at the Klumb home this evening, which would probably need to be adjusted now that I was probably picking up Cody from work later.
So I thought, "I'll go get groceries, call Jason about dinner, and--oh yeah, I need to go to Lowe's for those supplies for math class, so I'll do that..."
And that was that.
Then I started thinking maybe it would be easier just to buy the guy a bus ticket, and give him a lift to the bus terminal. Shortly after that, I started wondering how much bus tickets were these days, and wondered if I could call the church and ask for some financial aid in this endeavor, and...
Oh yeah, wait, that was that.
Yeah, I know, in this day and age you don't give people you don't know a lift. I know. I don't care. Something in me tells me I shouldn't care and I should help out, and usually it uses Patsy's voice to do so. I have no idea why, as I don't remember her picking up a lot of hitch-hikers or anything.
So I left it at, "If he's there when I go to pick Cody up, I'll ask then."
He wasn't. So I didn't.
If you're keeping score, Mark: 0, World: A kerjillion.
People were giving him money, but I wanted to ask him where he was going... or where he needed to go. Because if it wasn't, you know... California or something, I think I would honestly consider giving the guy a lift.
Yes, yes, he could be an insane person with a gun or a knife and a plan to kill me or worse, but... what a lot of work just to get to kill me (or do worse to me). I mean, I'd admire his dedication, at least.
But here's the thing: I didn't stop and ask him. I drove by because the light had changed and there were people behind me. I thought, "I'll swing back around and ask him." Actually, I said part of all that out loud, because Cody asked me if I was serious.
When you aren't used to a passenger in your car, you get used to being able to speak your thoughts aloud often, and forget to avoid doing it when you do get a passenger.
Anyway, I dropped Cody off and I drove back around to the old Bob's IGA shopping center or whatever that's called there, trying to figure out where I could park so I could walk up the hill and ask the guy. I figured I could try to drive up the exit again, but it was getting closer to 4:00, and a lot of people are heading home for work--so odds are I'd have people behind me again.
I pulled into the complex or whatever that my former doctor used to work from, realizing it wasn't the turn I wanted. Then, as I was pulling out to get to the next building's parking lot, I realized I needed to buy groceries before I did any long driving--and then realized I was supposed to have dinner at the Klumb home this evening, which would probably need to be adjusted now that I was probably picking up Cody from work later.
So I thought, "I'll go get groceries, call Jason about dinner, and--oh yeah, I need to go to Lowe's for those supplies for math class, so I'll do that..."
And that was that.
Then I started thinking maybe it would be easier just to buy the guy a bus ticket, and give him a lift to the bus terminal. Shortly after that, I started wondering how much bus tickets were these days, and wondered if I could call the church and ask for some financial aid in this endeavor, and...
Oh yeah, wait, that was that.
Yeah, I know, in this day and age you don't give people you don't know a lift. I know. I don't care. Something in me tells me I shouldn't care and I should help out, and usually it uses Patsy's voice to do so. I have no idea why, as I don't remember her picking up a lot of hitch-hikers or anything.
So I left it at, "If he's there when I go to pick Cody up, I'll ask then."
He wasn't. So I didn't.
If you're keeping score, Mark: 0, World: A kerjillion.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Laugh Or Not--I'm Good Either Way!
So the other day Jordan and her mother were in a bit of a discussion about church. Leslie wanted her to go to a certain church with her, and had come up with a sort of exchange, and Jordan didn't want to agree to it. More importantly, Jordan wanted to discuss it and negotiate, and so on, while Leslie just wanted to enjoy her birthday party.
Eventually, Jordan decided to go upstairs. She was irritated, and as she left the party she calmly said, "See you all in Hell..."
To which I replied, "No you won't. We go to church!"
Eventually, Jordan decided to go upstairs. She was irritated, and as she left the party she calmly said, "See you all in Hell..."
To which I replied, "No you won't. We go to church!"
Monday, January 10, 2011
With Apologies To Brenda, Mia, And Jhoneric... And All Other Math-Phobes And/Or Number Haters
I am 16,052 days old as of today. This number is divisible by 2 and 4, but not by 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, or 13 (which are all the consecutive numbers I've memorized divisibility checks for... but also not divisible by 15, 21, 35, 22, 33, 55, 66, 77, 88, 99... you get the idea).
Today I was the same age my mother was on August 4, 1974. On that day, I was 2,741 days old. The sum of the digits that make up 16,052 is 14. The same is true of the digits that make up 2,741.
My mother was 2,741 days old on February 20, 1928.
Jordan was 2,741 days old on May 4, 2002. She will be 16,052 days old on October 13, 2038.
Binx will be 2,741 days old on May 5, 2014. He will be 16,052 days old on October 14, 2050.
The prime factorization of 16,052 is 2 * 2 * 4013. I'd give the prime factorization of 2,741, but it's a prime number, so it just... is.
The closest triangle number to 16,052 is the 179th triangle number, which is 16,110. The closest triangle number to 2,741 is the 74th triangle number, which is 2,775.
When I tell Cody a story about my senior year, I stop and do the math and realize it's like someone telling me a story during my senior year about their senior year back in 1958-1959. I then stop, because I realize how boring I'm being.
Sorry that didn't happen earlier here!
Note: I did all of the calculations except for the dates--for those I used Excel, because my name isn't Dane Riggs, and Dane Riggs is probably in bed as I write this, so I can't consult him. You'll have to ask him if you want to know on what day of the week any of these dates fall, unless you have a program for that or have the time to work it out yourself.
That note is not there to try to impress you, but to alert you that I could be very wrong about most if not all of this...
Today I was the same age my mother was on August 4, 1974. On that day, I was 2,741 days old. The sum of the digits that make up 16,052 is 14. The same is true of the digits that make up 2,741.
My mother was 2,741 days old on February 20, 1928.
Jordan was 2,741 days old on May 4, 2002. She will be 16,052 days old on October 13, 2038.
Binx will be 2,741 days old on May 5, 2014. He will be 16,052 days old on October 14, 2050.
The prime factorization of 16,052 is 2 * 2 * 4013. I'd give the prime factorization of 2,741, but it's a prime number, so it just... is.
The closest triangle number to 16,052 is the 179th triangle number, which is 16,110. The closest triangle number to 2,741 is the 74th triangle number, which is 2,775.
When I tell Cody a story about my senior year, I stop and do the math and realize it's like someone telling me a story during my senior year about their senior year back in 1958-1959. I then stop, because I realize how boring I'm being.
Sorry that didn't happen earlier here!
Note: I did all of the calculations except for the dates--for those I used Excel, because my name isn't Dane Riggs, and Dane Riggs is probably in bed as I write this, so I can't consult him. You'll have to ask him if you want to know on what day of the week any of these dates fall, unless you have a program for that or have the time to work it out yourself.
That note is not there to try to impress you, but to alert you that I could be very wrong about most if not all of this...
Sunday, January 09, 2011
Another Laugh Riot
I have not felt like I'm living the wrong life for a while now, but boy howdy it's all coming back to me.
But this post isn't about that. That was just the overwhelming thought that just came to me as I began to write this.
I like a good laugh. I'll admit it. I'll also admit that I make myself laugh. Yes, faux pas, laughing at your own joke.
Whatever, I don't care. I often surprise myself and it makes me laugh.
More often, I often do crazy-stupid things without realizing it until about a second after I could have stopped myself... and that makes me laugh.
My family makes me laugh... Being around family can make my sides hurt.
My friends often make me laugh. I could go into great detail about each one of them and how they make my heart happy and keep me laughing, but some of it would be so... location-joke-y.
I wanted to share a funny story here. I feel I have been very unfunny lately, thus earning my nickname (Unfunny Mark... it's a long story, really... which means I'll probably share it here sometime, just to take up more space on the interwebness).
Anyway, I wanted to share a funny story. However, as often happens when you want to share a funny story, they all escape you. Actually, some come to mind, but I think, "Surely I told that one before."
I did just tell one today or yesterday that someone had never heard before. I thought the whole world knew it, too.
I wish I could remember it.
So you know what I don't like? Not being able to remember a funny story when I need one.
But back to laughter... I know some people find there to be times where laughter is inappropriate, and I guess I do, too. But those moments for me are much more seldom than they are for others, I think. I want to laugh at a funeral--not because it's awkward, but because life is funny.
Well, life is really awful, actually. But it's also really funny. It's a laugh riot, really. Because in the end, how much of it really matters? It matters a lot, it doesn't matter at all, and it's funny, and it's awful.
So if it's both funny and awful, why not enjoy the funny to help yourself cope with the awful?
Yes, I'm probably wrong-headed.
But I'm laughing about it.
But this post isn't about that. That was just the overwhelming thought that just came to me as I began to write this.
I like a good laugh. I'll admit it. I'll also admit that I make myself laugh. Yes, faux pas, laughing at your own joke.
Whatever, I don't care. I often surprise myself and it makes me laugh.
More often, I often do crazy-stupid things without realizing it until about a second after I could have stopped myself... and that makes me laugh.
My family makes me laugh... Being around family can make my sides hurt.
My friends often make me laugh. I could go into great detail about each one of them and how they make my heart happy and keep me laughing, but some of it would be so... location-joke-y.
I wanted to share a funny story here. I feel I have been very unfunny lately, thus earning my nickname (Unfunny Mark... it's a long story, really... which means I'll probably share it here sometime, just to take up more space on the interwebness).
Anyway, I wanted to share a funny story. However, as often happens when you want to share a funny story, they all escape you. Actually, some come to mind, but I think, "Surely I told that one before."
I did just tell one today or yesterday that someone had never heard before. I thought the whole world knew it, too.
I wish I could remember it.
So you know what I don't like? Not being able to remember a funny story when I need one.
But back to laughter... I know some people find there to be times where laughter is inappropriate, and I guess I do, too. But those moments for me are much more seldom than they are for others, I think. I want to laugh at a funeral--not because it's awkward, but because life is funny.
Well, life is really awful, actually. But it's also really funny. It's a laugh riot, really. Because in the end, how much of it really matters? It matters a lot, it doesn't matter at all, and it's funny, and it's awful.
So if it's both funny and awful, why not enjoy the funny to help yourself cope with the awful?
Yes, I'm probably wrong-headed.
But I'm laughing about it.
Brother (Or Sister), Can You Spare Some Time?
Speaking of education and hope (with emphasis on the hope part), if you should want to do something for a kid like be a mentor or be there for them, here are some links:We know that silence equals consent when atrocities are committed against innocent men, women and children. We know that indifference equals complicity when bigotry, hatred and intolerance are allowed to take root. And we know that education and hope are the most effective ways to combat ignorance and despair.
--U.S. Rep. Gabrielle Giffords
- YouthFriends: http://www.youthfriends.org/ (Missouri & Kansas)
- The National Mentoring Partnership: http://www.mentoring.org/ (Go there, scroll down to "Connect to Mentoring Opportunities", enter your zip code, and they generate a list of oganizations for you.)
- From CharityGuide: http://charityguide.org/volunteer/fewhours/mentoring.htm (Lots of links here! Also, links for online mentoring programs, although the one for icouldbe.org seems to have confused the heck out of my browser, and the vmentor.org one has some sort of issue with its security certificate.)
- Big Brothers Big Sisters: http://www.bbbs.org/
So I'll just say: if you have any time--a couple of hours a week, even--to be there for a kid who needs someone to be there, please do so. You have no idea the need there is for you... or, if you're paying attention even a little, you probably have a very good idea.
Friday, January 07, 2011
On A Lighter Note: I've Accepted A Challenge...
I had a poll over on my vanity photoblog the last few days of 2010... It's still there now, but not active--but I'll eventually getting around to taking it off.
I was just wanting to get a feel for what people thought I should do with it, once the year was up. I had a few choices that were pretty clear-cut, but one was "I'll message you my idea" or something like that. (Yes, I'll be going there in a bit to get the link that you've already seen, but I can't be bothered to go see the exact words. I may be a real piece of work.)
Anyway, nobody voted for that one (whatever it was), but a friend from church (Judy) suggested on Facebook that I make it new rules. One that no picture can be taken by me, and one that at least one picture a week must be taken by a stranger.
I can report I have made it through the first week working with those new rules! I don't know that I'll make it to two weeks, but I'll try!
Yesterday I realized after I got home from school that I wasn't likely to see anyone for the rest of the evening. My first idea was to just go to the store to get something I needed but didn't have to have that instant, and have the person who rang up my purchase take my picture. I'd already figured I'd have a stranger take a picture of me with Kathleen at her birthday party (tonight's picture), but if I got a stranger to take my picture Thursday night as well, that's okay, too.
Then I realized I had gotten the picture frame I'd ordered for Say that day, so I just drove out to Platte City to deliver it. While I was there got my picture taken. What a plan! It worked!
Here's the thing: I kinda like these rules. I for sure like the rule of me not taking any pictures of myself. I hated doing it, and I hate posing for myself. When I die, they won't find great chests full of wonderful literary works (those of you who read this blog regularly will not be shocked to learn that, I'm sure), but they will find kilobytes and kilobytes of pictures of me... and those won't be so wonderful, either. I tend to be much more willing to be content with pictures others take of me.
The other rule I like, but not as much. As extroverted as I may seem at times, I'm not thrilled with the idea of asking strangers to take my picture... and less thrilled with the idea of putting my camera in the hands of someone I don't know at all. Tonight, I had Kathleen ask a friend to do it (which was the plan), because it's still a stranger, but it's a friend of a friend, so the odds of her just up and running off with the camera were pretty slim.
I guess if I stick with check-out folks and store greeters and whatnot, maybe I'll do okay. Or maybe people who are visiting the church. I don't know, but I like that it's making me think about being more outgoing.
In so many ways, I feel like a plant that's sort of closing in on itself as it dies away. That was way more dramatic than I meant, but it's also... what I mean.
I had this blog before "the event" back in June of 2005. It was my only blog. I didn't write a lot in it, though. Some, but not a lot. Then came the photo blog, and then the vanity photoblog, and finally the food blog.
The photoblog was for a specific reason. I don't know that I've really gone into anywhere. If I have, I'm about to bore you with it again. If I haven't, I'm about to bore you with it for the first time.
As I'm sure I've written elsewhere (and as I know I've said when talking about "the event" of 6/05), there was that moment where I just resigned myself to my impending death. I totally let go. I don't know that I'll ever forget it.
I read The Idiot back in college, and I don't remember a lot about it, but I remember there being a character (maybe the idiot in the title) who was supposed to be executed and somehow the gun didn't go off or something. I have thought about that a lot since June of 2005. I probably should go back and re-read the book. It will be twenty-five years since I read it sometime betwen now and May.
Anyway, I still feel like that switch is flipped. I still feel there's a part of me that's very much just... "okay" with my impending death... even though it hopefully is much less impending than it seemed to be that afternoon. Maybe it's a switch that only gets flipped once, and there is no unflipping it. I don't know.
But I know "What do I do now that I got all ready to go and now I'm apparently not going to be going for a while?" has been the general lyric of the background music in my head since then.
I just went and looked at the first STILL: Life picture*. I remember very clearly taking the picture because I thought it was funny (and I just now realized Dora gets made fun of a couple of times on that blog), but then it all just sort of fell into place: I could take a picture every day, like that guy in the movie "Smoke", but I could take a picture to sort of say, "I'm still here. I'm still doing something, even if it isn't much. I'm not still in that ambulance in front of the school, waiting to die--at least not entirely."
And out of that general thought pattern, I thought of the name... since I still had to go through life, even though I'd gotten totally ready to have to stop going through it. I figured people would either think I didn't know how to properly punctuate "Still Life" (very believable) or that I was being very cynical about how great it is that life was continuing to go on (also very believable).
I just needed to remind myself things were still going on, and I had to remind myself there is beauty and mystery and strangeness and humor all around--so I should pay attention.
I went through a phase where it seemed like a huge chore, and you can see there was a huge gap there (after 3/28/08 there was only one picture until I started back up again on 1/1/10). I took a lot of pictures during that time, many meant for that blog. I guess there's something else people can find when I'm dead. STILL: Life (the missing days). I didn't take pictures every day. I didn't want to.
Now I'm where I like taking the pictures. I like trying to think of what to take. It does get old, trying to figure out what I can take a picture of at 9:30 at night, because nothing "jumped out" at me all day, but it does serve as a reminder that I need to be paying attention. There's always some beauty, or some humor, or some strangeness, or some mystery... it's just a matter of seeing it.
I'm so not going to change the title of this post, but I think it's total false advertising about the lightness...
*Side note: I don't know what the original title was--at some point Blogspot led me to believe I was going to have to start deleting posts in order to make new ones. I did, and didn't keep track of the titles. When I learned I could put them back up, a lot of the titles were lost forever. Tragedy!
I was just wanting to get a feel for what people thought I should do with it, once the year was up. I had a few choices that were pretty clear-cut, but one was "I'll message you my idea" or something like that. (Yes, I'll be going there in a bit to get the link that you've already seen, but I can't be bothered to go see the exact words. I may be a real piece of work.)
Anyway, nobody voted for that one (whatever it was), but a friend from church (Judy) suggested on Facebook that I make it new rules. One that no picture can be taken by me, and one that at least one picture a week must be taken by a stranger.
I can report I have made it through the first week working with those new rules! I don't know that I'll make it to two weeks, but I'll try!
Yesterday I realized after I got home from school that I wasn't likely to see anyone for the rest of the evening. My first idea was to just go to the store to get something I needed but didn't have to have that instant, and have the person who rang up my purchase take my picture. I'd already figured I'd have a stranger take a picture of me with Kathleen at her birthday party (tonight's picture), but if I got a stranger to take my picture Thursday night as well, that's okay, too.
Then I realized I had gotten the picture frame I'd ordered for Say that day, so I just drove out to Platte City to deliver it. While I was there got my picture taken. What a plan! It worked!
Here's the thing: I kinda like these rules. I for sure like the rule of me not taking any pictures of myself. I hated doing it, and I hate posing for myself. When I die, they won't find great chests full of wonderful literary works (those of you who read this blog regularly will not be shocked to learn that, I'm sure), but they will find kilobytes and kilobytes of pictures of me... and those won't be so wonderful, either. I tend to be much more willing to be content with pictures others take of me.
The other rule I like, but not as much. As extroverted as I may seem at times, I'm not thrilled with the idea of asking strangers to take my picture... and less thrilled with the idea of putting my camera in the hands of someone I don't know at all. Tonight, I had Kathleen ask a friend to do it (which was the plan), because it's still a stranger, but it's a friend of a friend, so the odds of her just up and running off with the camera were pretty slim.
I guess if I stick with check-out folks and store greeters and whatnot, maybe I'll do okay. Or maybe people who are visiting the church. I don't know, but I like that it's making me think about being more outgoing.
In so many ways, I feel like a plant that's sort of closing in on itself as it dies away. That was way more dramatic than I meant, but it's also... what I mean.
I had this blog before "the event" back in June of 2005. It was my only blog. I didn't write a lot in it, though. Some, but not a lot. Then came the photo blog, and then the vanity photoblog, and finally the food blog.
The photoblog was for a specific reason. I don't know that I've really gone into anywhere. If I have, I'm about to bore you with it again. If I haven't, I'm about to bore you with it for the first time.
As I'm sure I've written elsewhere (and as I know I've said when talking about "the event" of 6/05), there was that moment where I just resigned myself to my impending death. I totally let go. I don't know that I'll ever forget it.
I read The Idiot back in college, and I don't remember a lot about it, but I remember there being a character (maybe the idiot in the title) who was supposed to be executed and somehow the gun didn't go off or something. I have thought about that a lot since June of 2005. I probably should go back and re-read the book. It will be twenty-five years since I read it sometime betwen now and May.
Anyway, I still feel like that switch is flipped. I still feel there's a part of me that's very much just... "okay" with my impending death... even though it hopefully is much less impending than it seemed to be that afternoon. Maybe it's a switch that only gets flipped once, and there is no unflipping it. I don't know.
But I know "What do I do now that I got all ready to go and now I'm apparently not going to be going for a while?" has been the general lyric of the background music in my head since then.
I just went and looked at the first STILL: Life picture*. I remember very clearly taking the picture because I thought it was funny (and I just now realized Dora gets made fun of a couple of times on that blog), but then it all just sort of fell into place: I could take a picture every day, like that guy in the movie "Smoke", but I could take a picture to sort of say, "I'm still here. I'm still doing something, even if it isn't much. I'm not still in that ambulance in front of the school, waiting to die--at least not entirely."
And out of that general thought pattern, I thought of the name... since I still had to go through life, even though I'd gotten totally ready to have to stop going through it. I figured people would either think I didn't know how to properly punctuate "Still Life" (very believable) or that I was being very cynical about how great it is that life was continuing to go on (also very believable).
I just needed to remind myself things were still going on, and I had to remind myself there is beauty and mystery and strangeness and humor all around--so I should pay attention.
I went through a phase where it seemed like a huge chore, and you can see there was a huge gap there (after 3/28/08 there was only one picture until I started back up again on 1/1/10). I took a lot of pictures during that time, many meant for that blog. I guess there's something else people can find when I'm dead. STILL: Life (the missing days). I didn't take pictures every day. I didn't want to.
Now I'm where I like taking the pictures. I like trying to think of what to take. It does get old, trying to figure out what I can take a picture of at 9:30 at night, because nothing "jumped out" at me all day, but it does serve as a reminder that I need to be paying attention. There's always some beauty, or some humor, or some strangeness, or some mystery... it's just a matter of seeing it.
I'm so not going to change the title of this post, but I think it's total false advertising about the lightness...
*Side note: I don't know what the original title was--at some point Blogspot led me to believe I was going to have to start deleting posts in order to make new ones. I did, and didn't keep track of the titles. When I learned I could put them back up, a lot of the titles were lost forever. Tragedy!
Thursday, January 06, 2011
While I'm Not Listening...
While I'm not listening, my brain is telling me things that are very important. My brain tells me things all the time, and I've gotten too used to not listening to it.
Or, maybe I listen, but I process and process and process... and it takes so long I may as well be not listening.
The things that are important don't ever escape me, because my brain is talking to me about them all the time. But I think I'm too busy or something. I don't know.
It's been just over a year since Brad died. I know: Brad, Mom, I do go on so. But I think I will think about those two people for the rest of my life. I've been missing Mom since not long after she went to the nursing home--the day I visited her, in fact, and knew she was no longer "there"... but instead in some time in the past, probably before I was born.
And I've been missing Brad since around 1985 or so, with about 25 years of not listening to my brain berate me about it between times.
When I ask myself why I'm able to have any success in this diet thing--why I'm actually able to do it at all, when I've never had any sort of motivation in the past, I have to wonder what is so different. Yeah, the doctor was all like, "Get this number down, or I'm gonna be all diabetes prescription meds on you" and whatnot--but... I don't know. I've heard things from doctor's before. Yes, actual things. Words, even. Talk of diet and health and death-before-45, even.
So my latest working theory is that after about ten months of finally facing the horror of my stupid teenage decision back in February of 1985, and facing the fact I'd never be able to "fix" it or even "make it a little better"... I think I've forgiven myself. I think somewhere around mid- to late-September, I came to terms with the fact time still only works one way.
And I'm not sure I realized in those 25 years just how angry I was with myself. Or, to be terribly honest about it, how much I hated myself.
Now, I don't think that's the whole ball of wax. I mean, I've got more baggage than Santa at 11:59p.m. on December 24th, I'm sure. But it sure feels "true".
Which means nothing, of course. It's just how a thing feels.
Or, who knows? Maybe I just needed to blog what I'm eating every day, and that was all it took.
But I still do a great job ignoring things. I was reading a story or experiencing some story (maybe a television show or a movie) the other day about someone who nearly died (I can't even remember what the story was now, or how the person nearly died), and I thought, "Boy, if that was me, I'd make sure my life meant something after that. I'd make sure that my being here made a difference!"
And my brain, arms crossed, smirk on its face, just looked over and me and said, "June, 2005."
So I've been thinking since then (okay, did I say "the other day", because it was more like "a month or so ago") about what I should be doing that I'm not.
I have an appreciation for the people around me that I'm not sure I had 5.5 years ago--or at least now I have a deeper appreciation. But I don't know how much of a difference I'm making.
So I'm trying to figure out what I need to be doing. I'm not talking "change of life" here, like I'm going to sell everything and travel the world helping anyone who needs it--because beyond talking their ear off, what skill could I offer, right?
But I need to be doing something--and typing a blog about needing to do something isn't enough, I know. I just don't know what I should do first. I'm not thinking anything big...
I just need to figure out how to brighten the corner where I am...
Or, maybe I listen, but I process and process and process... and it takes so long I may as well be not listening.
The things that are important don't ever escape me, because my brain is talking to me about them all the time. But I think I'm too busy or something. I don't know.
It's been just over a year since Brad died. I know: Brad, Mom, I do go on so. But I think I will think about those two people for the rest of my life. I've been missing Mom since not long after she went to the nursing home--the day I visited her, in fact, and knew she was no longer "there"... but instead in some time in the past, probably before I was born.
And I've been missing Brad since around 1985 or so, with about 25 years of not listening to my brain berate me about it between times.
When I ask myself why I'm able to have any success in this diet thing--why I'm actually able to do it at all, when I've never had any sort of motivation in the past, I have to wonder what is so different. Yeah, the doctor was all like, "Get this number down, or I'm gonna be all diabetes prescription meds on you" and whatnot--but... I don't know. I've heard things from doctor's before. Yes, actual things. Words, even. Talk of diet and health and death-before-45, even.
So my latest working theory is that after about ten months of finally facing the horror of my stupid teenage decision back in February of 1985, and facing the fact I'd never be able to "fix" it or even "make it a little better"... I think I've forgiven myself. I think somewhere around mid- to late-September, I came to terms with the fact time still only works one way.
And I'm not sure I realized in those 25 years just how angry I was with myself. Or, to be terribly honest about it, how much I hated myself.
Now, I don't think that's the whole ball of wax. I mean, I've got more baggage than Santa at 11:59p.m. on December 24th, I'm sure. But it sure feels "true".
Which means nothing, of course. It's just how a thing feels.
Or, who knows? Maybe I just needed to blog what I'm eating every day, and that was all it took.
But I still do a great job ignoring things. I was reading a story or experiencing some story (maybe a television show or a movie) the other day about someone who nearly died (I can't even remember what the story was now, or how the person nearly died), and I thought, "Boy, if that was me, I'd make sure my life meant something after that. I'd make sure that my being here made a difference!"
And my brain, arms crossed, smirk on its face, just looked over and me and said, "June, 2005."
So I've been thinking since then (okay, did I say "the other day", because it was more like "a month or so ago") about what I should be doing that I'm not.
I have an appreciation for the people around me that I'm not sure I had 5.5 years ago--or at least now I have a deeper appreciation. But I don't know how much of a difference I'm making.
So I'm trying to figure out what I need to be doing. I'm not talking "change of life" here, like I'm going to sell everything and travel the world helping anyone who needs it--because beyond talking their ear off, what skill could I offer, right?
But I need to be doing something--and typing a blog about needing to do something isn't enough, I know. I just don't know what I should do first. I'm not thinking anything big...
I just need to figure out how to brighten the corner where I am...
Wednesday, January 05, 2011
The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 12
Before I begin, to review the traditions I've shared so far:
1. Making cookies for Santa with Madeline and Olivia
2. Taking Dane to a movie on Christmas day
3. Going to Vandalia with Mom and my siblings to see the "Life of Christ" display
4. Chilling out to the Christmas tree lights while listening to "December"
5. Stamps as a gift for teacher
6. Christmas at Grandma's
7. Deana Mae's biscuits (that are actually rolls)
8. New Year's Day at the Reynolds' home
9. Books as gifts for the kids
10. Movie by my self on New Year's Eve
11. Fake gifts under the tree
And the twelfth traditions Going to look at lights!
I didn't do this one this year. I got to go with the Reyes family last year, or I probably wouldn't have done it last year, either.
I used to love to drive around looking at holiday light displays, and even took Jordan out with me a time or two when she was much younger. I was hoping to get to show Binx the lights a block over from my house at least, but didn't even get that done this year.
I saw a lot of light displays when I was delivering pizza. I also got to listen to every one of my Christmas CDs several times over when I had the job. The reason I probably wouldn't have done it if David and Julie hadn't asked me along last year is that driving myself around would remind me too much of the glory days of the pizza delivery "job to support my teaching hobby".
I do love seeing light displays, and if someone drives me around, it doesn't remind me of being in my car, taking yet another pizza order to another home for hopefully a decent enough tip. Also, in my old age I'm finding I want to be a passenger more and more often.
I like to see what people come up with, how they go about decorating, and so on. I love that the house a block over has what appears to be "put lights on everything, and put stuff in the yard so we have more things to put lights on" sort of approach.
I also love streets that have a whole "Christmas Town" sort of approach, where all the houses are done up all super-mega and just looking down the street makes you think of dreams you had when you were young and reindeer could fly and if you could just stay up long enough and sneak past the adults (and if you could keep hidden behind the television) you would totally catch Santa bringing your presents.
Colored lights will forever be associated with joy in my mind. I'll always remember the little girl who used to live next door when I lived in Kansas City (Olivia was her name, but she's not the Olivia I see weekly) seeing my Christmas lights on my house for the first time and just shouting out--voice full of unabashed joy and admiration--"They're so beautiful!"
That's how I feel inside as I go around looking at lights.
1. Making cookies for Santa with Madeline and Olivia
2. Taking Dane to a movie on Christmas day
3. Going to Vandalia with Mom and my siblings to see the "Life of Christ" display
4. Chilling out to the Christmas tree lights while listening to "December"
5. Stamps as a gift for teacher
6. Christmas at Grandma's
7. Deana Mae's biscuits (that are actually rolls)
8. New Year's Day at the Reynolds' home
9. Books as gifts for the kids
10. Movie by my self on New Year's Eve
11. Fake gifts under the tree
And the twelfth traditions Going to look at lights!
I didn't do this one this year. I got to go with the Reyes family last year, or I probably wouldn't have done it last year, either.
I used to love to drive around looking at holiday light displays, and even took Jordan out with me a time or two when she was much younger. I was hoping to get to show Binx the lights a block over from my house at least, but didn't even get that done this year.
I saw a lot of light displays when I was delivering pizza. I also got to listen to every one of my Christmas CDs several times over when I had the job. The reason I probably wouldn't have done it if David and Julie hadn't asked me along last year is that driving myself around would remind me too much of the glory days of the pizza delivery "job to support my teaching hobby".
I do love seeing light displays, and if someone drives me around, it doesn't remind me of being in my car, taking yet another pizza order to another home for hopefully a decent enough tip. Also, in my old age I'm finding I want to be a passenger more and more often.
I like to see what people come up with, how they go about decorating, and so on. I love that the house a block over has what appears to be "put lights on everything, and put stuff in the yard so we have more things to put lights on" sort of approach.
I also love streets that have a whole "Christmas Town" sort of approach, where all the houses are done up all super-mega and just looking down the street makes you think of dreams you had when you were young and reindeer could fly and if you could just stay up long enough and sneak past the adults (and if you could keep hidden behind the television) you would totally catch Santa bringing your presents.
Colored lights will forever be associated with joy in my mind. I'll always remember the little girl who used to live next door when I lived in Kansas City (Olivia was her name, but she's not the Olivia I see weekly) seeing my Christmas lights on my house for the first time and just shouting out--voice full of unabashed joy and admiration--"They're so beautiful!"
That's how I feel inside as I go around looking at lights.
Tuesday, January 04, 2011
The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 11
It's not as pathetic as it sounds: the fake gift.
After I got out of college, I got my own Christmas tree. I think it I actually got my own tree. I remember feeling so adult about it. Of course, it was artificial, as that's what I grew up with, and while a real tree is nice and all, it's too high-maintenance for me.
Anyway, I got the tree, and I got decorations for it (and put some decorations I already had on it), and I think that may have even been the year where my major ornaments were Pepsi cans with the holiday themes (there were like eight different ones, and were very easy to make into trashy-looking ornaments: you just put the small end of the hook through the tab.
I had a dream of making a tree out of Dr. Pepper cans and Mountain Dew cans (brown for the trunk, etc., and green for the branches), and then hanging the Pepsi (and Diet Pepsi) cans on it.
I didn't say it was a beautiful dream.
Anyway, the next year I got the tree out (which was probably '92... and I think the first year with the tree was probably '90... I'm pretty sure I was living in Center for Christmas of '91... or staying with Danny just off the Plaza (maybe that was right after Christmas of '91). I don't know, that whole depressing "post college working jobs I didn't need the college degree for" time is just a huge awful blur.
Where was I? Oh yes, huge awful blur.
No, wait, Christmas of '92, I got the tree out, and friends were helping me put up the tree. Heather saw the can ornaments and said, "Oh, Mark. No."
Now, I don't know if it was '90 or '92 (I think I noticed the problem in '90 and came up with the solution in '92) when this tradition was actually born. I just very strongly remember wrapping up some empty boxes to put under the tree because I thought a tree without presents under it looked really depressing.
I'm sure the tree at my home growing up didn't have many presents under it before Christmas morning. Maybe it was the knowledge that come Christmas morning as an adult, it would be just as bare under the tree as it was leading up to it.
Add the fact I had little budget for gifts to others, and the odds of there ever being gifts under the tree of '92 were slim to negative.
So I wrapped the boxes. I actually kept them for a while. I don't know that I used them again under any tree ('93 I was living in L.A. with no tree to call my own, and '94 I was living in the holey trailer in that dinky village near Jefferson City... and in '95 I don't know if I still had the apartment in Jefferson City or not, but I'm fairly sure I didn't put up a tree if I did. In '96 I was living on Grant with Ruth. I don't remember if that was the year I was in "The Eight" or not, but if it was, that would be the next time I had a tree. I have no idea if I had the fake gifts or not, but I have pictures of the tree going up. That could have been '97 as well. Again, we're still in the "jobs I could have got without a college degree" years, so: blur.
Probably the first year I had my own tree was the year after Kevin moved to NYC--and I have no idea what year that was (if Kevin or someone who remembers what year that was would like to fill me in, I'd appreciate it)--the fake gift concept returned to my tree. However, I figured out it would make more sense to use the fake gifts to store things you need to have near the tree: hooks, bulbs, fuses, tape, scissors, and so on.
Now I'm so fancy with my fake gifts, I have bags that match the color of the bulbs they store. And it looks like I have presents under the tree until Epiphany, when it all comes down!
So, yes, kinda pathetic. I admit it. But it's a functional pathetic. So that makes it better.
Right?
After I got out of college, I got my own Christmas tree. I think it I actually got my own tree. I remember feeling so adult about it. Of course, it was artificial, as that's what I grew up with, and while a real tree is nice and all, it's too high-maintenance for me.
Anyway, I got the tree, and I got decorations for it (and put some decorations I already had on it), and I think that may have even been the year where my major ornaments were Pepsi cans with the holiday themes (there were like eight different ones, and were very easy to make into trashy-looking ornaments: you just put the small end of the hook through the tab.
I had a dream of making a tree out of Dr. Pepper cans and Mountain Dew cans (brown for the trunk, etc., and green for the branches), and then hanging the Pepsi (and Diet Pepsi) cans on it.
I didn't say it was a beautiful dream.
Anyway, the next year I got the tree out (which was probably '92... and I think the first year with the tree was probably '90... I'm pretty sure I was living in Center for Christmas of '91... or staying with Danny just off the Plaza (maybe that was right after Christmas of '91). I don't know, that whole depressing "post college working jobs I didn't need the college degree for" time is just a huge awful blur.
Where was I? Oh yes, huge awful blur.
No, wait, Christmas of '92, I got the tree out, and friends were helping me put up the tree. Heather saw the can ornaments and said, "Oh, Mark. No."
Now, I don't know if it was '90 or '92 (I think I noticed the problem in '90 and came up with the solution in '92) when this tradition was actually born. I just very strongly remember wrapping up some empty boxes to put under the tree because I thought a tree without presents under it looked really depressing.
I'm sure the tree at my home growing up didn't have many presents under it before Christmas morning. Maybe it was the knowledge that come Christmas morning as an adult, it would be just as bare under the tree as it was leading up to it.
Add the fact I had little budget for gifts to others, and the odds of there ever being gifts under the tree of '92 were slim to negative.
So I wrapped the boxes. I actually kept them for a while. I don't know that I used them again under any tree ('93 I was living in L.A. with no tree to call my own, and '94 I was living in the holey trailer in that dinky village near Jefferson City... and in '95 I don't know if I still had the apartment in Jefferson City or not, but I'm fairly sure I didn't put up a tree if I did. In '96 I was living on Grant with Ruth. I don't remember if that was the year I was in "The Eight" or not, but if it was, that would be the next time I had a tree. I have no idea if I had the fake gifts or not, but I have pictures of the tree going up. That could have been '97 as well. Again, we're still in the "jobs I could have got without a college degree" years, so: blur.
Probably the first year I had my own tree was the year after Kevin moved to NYC--and I have no idea what year that was (if Kevin or someone who remembers what year that was would like to fill me in, I'd appreciate it)--the fake gift concept returned to my tree. However, I figured out it would make more sense to use the fake gifts to store things you need to have near the tree: hooks, bulbs, fuses, tape, scissors, and so on.
Now I'm so fancy with my fake gifts, I have bags that match the color of the bulbs they store. And it looks like I have presents under the tree until Epiphany, when it all comes down!
So, yes, kinda pathetic. I admit it. But it's a functional pathetic. So that makes it better.
Right?
Monday, January 03, 2011
The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 10
I almost posted this one the other night, but went with something else instead. I'd have to go back and see what... but here's another Christmas tradition: New Year's Eve movie.
I don't know if the first time I took in a movie on New Year's Eve was my senior year in high school or not, but I'm pretty sure I went to see Dune that night with some friends. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe that was just really late at night one summer.
But I know for sure I went to see Clue (version C, I think) on New Year's Eve, 1985. So maybe that was the first one.
I have since seen several movies on New Year's Eve (at the theatre, I mean). I can't recall any particular ones, but it's something I usually think about doing. There have been years where I've been invited to parties and whatnot, but--as you can read some many posts back--the bit at midnight where everyone gets all kissy-on-my-sweetie-y, that's like... blah.
This year I almost went to a movie, but decided not to at the last minute. Maybe that should be my official New Year's Eve thing. I'm not sure what it would take to make it official. What sort of documentation would I need for that?
Anyway, it may seem lame and anti-social for a tradition, but it's mine!
I don't know if the first time I took in a movie on New Year's Eve was my senior year in high school or not, but I'm pretty sure I went to see Dune that night with some friends. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe that was just really late at night one summer.
But I know for sure I went to see Clue (version C, I think) on New Year's Eve, 1985. So maybe that was the first one.
I have since seen several movies on New Year's Eve (at the theatre, I mean). I can't recall any particular ones, but it's something I usually think about doing. There have been years where I've been invited to parties and whatnot, but--as you can read some many posts back--the bit at midnight where everyone gets all kissy-on-my-sweetie-y, that's like... blah.
This year I almost went to a movie, but decided not to at the last minute. Maybe that should be my official New Year's Eve thing. I'm not sure what it would take to make it official. What sort of documentation would I need for that?
Anyway, it may seem lame and anti-social for a tradition, but it's mine!
Sunday, January 02, 2011
The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 9
Today's tradition: The book as a gift.
This is actually a gift tradition with me, not just a holiday tradition. However, my sister posted a picture of me reading Binx's book to him at the family gathering, and mentioned it was a tradition, and that made me realized the book-giving thing is a tradition, as well.
It started with Jordan, I think (and I know she wishes it would end with her sometimes). I wasn't teaching when Jordan was born, but I knew the love of reading wasn't something I was just born with. I had to see people reading, and had to be encouraged to read at some point. For me it was Dr. Seuss.
Dr. Seuss gave me a love of reading, a love of writing, and a love of rhyming.
We are a bunch of readers, for sure. And I figured the best way to help Jordan in that direction was to always give her books.
Now, there have been times where she got something else besides a book, but usually a book was always part of the gift.
Now, every kid I buy for knows it's almost always going to be a book. And now that I've done it two years in a row, it's a tradition that I read to Binx from the book I got him for Christmas at the family gathering!
This is actually a gift tradition with me, not just a holiday tradition. However, my sister posted a picture of me reading Binx's book to him at the family gathering, and mentioned it was a tradition, and that made me realized the book-giving thing is a tradition, as well.
It started with Jordan, I think (and I know she wishes it would end with her sometimes). I wasn't teaching when Jordan was born, but I knew the love of reading wasn't something I was just born with. I had to see people reading, and had to be encouraged to read at some point. For me it was Dr. Seuss.
Dr. Seuss gave me a love of reading, a love of writing, and a love of rhyming.
We are a bunch of readers, for sure. And I figured the best way to help Jordan in that direction was to always give her books.
Now, there have been times where she got something else besides a book, but usually a book was always part of the gift.
Now, every kid I buy for knows it's almost always going to be a book. And now that I've done it two years in a row, it's a tradition that I read to Binx from the book I got him for Christmas at the family gathering!
Saturday, January 01, 2011
The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 8
This is really a New Year's Day tradition, but I figure since my holiday season starts right after Thanksgiving and then goes for all 12 days of Christmas, I'm good to go...
For the past 18 New Year's Days (counting the one that just ended about 15 minutes ago, as I type this), Patrick & Leigh have hosted a gathering at their home on New Year's Day. I haven't made all of them, but I've made more than enough to qualify as a tradition.
It's the day I give Tessa and Jake (and now Wil) their Christmas presents. Usually it's a guaranteed day to see Greg and Trevor, and in previous years, David and Julie (and in recent years, Tyson as well). Sometimes it has been a day to see people I don't see any other time of year. Back 16 years or so ago, people would show up having not gone to sleep yet from the night before.
Before Jake came along (and for a while after he came along), people would show up pretty early, and some people would stay pretty late. Leigh always makes ham sandwiches on rolls and a delicious potato soup. I always bring Nutter Butters, but I always bring Nutter Butters to events... and it's tradition that I call from the store to see if they need me to bring ice.
I don't remember the first year I attended. In 1994, I was living in Los Angeles, but I may have been in town for that New Year's Day--I really don't remember. I couldn't tell you if I made it in 1995, either (I was living in Jefferson City at the time, I know that much... or just about to... I may have still been living in that trailer with no heat and openings in the floor).
The crowd has changed over the years, but the event is still a sort of "cap" on the season. (As a side note, I keep thinking I'd like to have a Feast of the Epiphany every year--as sort of carry-in ongoing supper where people can eat, then help me take down my decorations to officially end the season... but I don't think I'll ever actually do it.)
This year we got to add some singing around the player piano. This year David and Julie and family were in New Mexico, where they now live. We did give them a call, however.
Time passes; things change!
I'd love to be able to share Leigh's recipe for potato soup, but I don't know it... and I don't know that I want the world at large to know it. If you want some, you have to stop by the party next year!
For the past 18 New Year's Days (counting the one that just ended about 15 minutes ago, as I type this), Patrick & Leigh have hosted a gathering at their home on New Year's Day. I haven't made all of them, but I've made more than enough to qualify as a tradition.
It's the day I give Tessa and Jake (and now Wil) their Christmas presents. Usually it's a guaranteed day to see Greg and Trevor, and in previous years, David and Julie (and in recent years, Tyson as well). Sometimes it has been a day to see people I don't see any other time of year. Back 16 years or so ago, people would show up having not gone to sleep yet from the night before.
Before Jake came along (and for a while after he came along), people would show up pretty early, and some people would stay pretty late. Leigh always makes ham sandwiches on rolls and a delicious potato soup. I always bring Nutter Butters, but I always bring Nutter Butters to events... and it's tradition that I call from the store to see if they need me to bring ice.
I don't remember the first year I attended. In 1994, I was living in Los Angeles, but I may have been in town for that New Year's Day--I really don't remember. I couldn't tell you if I made it in 1995, either (I was living in Jefferson City at the time, I know that much... or just about to... I may have still been living in that trailer with no heat and openings in the floor).
The crowd has changed over the years, but the event is still a sort of "cap" on the season. (As a side note, I keep thinking I'd like to have a Feast of the Epiphany every year--as sort of carry-in ongoing supper where people can eat, then help me take down my decorations to officially end the season... but I don't think I'll ever actually do it.)
This year we got to add some singing around the player piano. This year David and Julie and family were in New Mexico, where they now live. We did give them a call, however.
Time passes; things change!
I'd love to be able to share Leigh's recipe for potato soup, but I don't know it... and I don't know that I want the world at large to know it. If you want some, you have to stop by the party next year!
Friday, December 31, 2010
The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 7
Today's Holiday Tradition: Deana Mae's biscuits.
These are not strictly a holiday tradition. And they're really more rolls than biscuits... or, are most certainly rolls and not biscuits, now that I've taken the time to look up the difference. However, we always called them "Deana Mae's biscuits", and that's how I still think of them.
Of course, I don't have the recipe, so maybe they really are biscuits, but I doubt it. They are very much rolls. The recipe is not written down anywhere--or, if it is, don't tell Ruth. My sister Ruth worked for years to figure it out, and I think she has pretty much found it (or, as she says, gotten the closest she's ever been).
Apparently they're a variation on Kentucky Angel Biscuits, but in roll form. Or, at one point, Ruth said something along those lines.
Deana Mae did a lot of cooking and baking, as I recall. I remember when the old house was still there and the new house was finished, she made a lot of Christmas candy.
Deana Mae's biscuits don't make it to every holiday meal any more. Ruth will sometimes whip up a batch, but I think it might be a lot of work.
While there are many more reasons to miss Deana Mae than her rolls, it is something I think of every time we all get together to eat.
These are not strictly a holiday tradition. And they're really more rolls than biscuits... or, are most certainly rolls and not biscuits, now that I've taken the time to look up the difference. However, we always called them "Deana Mae's biscuits", and that's how I still think of them.
Of course, I don't have the recipe, so maybe they really are biscuits, but I doubt it. They are very much rolls. The recipe is not written down anywhere--or, if it is, don't tell Ruth. My sister Ruth worked for years to figure it out, and I think she has pretty much found it (or, as she says, gotten the closest she's ever been).
Apparently they're a variation on Kentucky Angel Biscuits, but in roll form. Or, at one point, Ruth said something along those lines.
Deana Mae did a lot of cooking and baking, as I recall. I remember when the old house was still there and the new house was finished, she made a lot of Christmas candy.
Deana Mae's biscuits don't make it to every holiday meal any more. Ruth will sometimes whip up a batch, but I think it might be a lot of work.
While there are many more reasons to miss Deana Mae than her rolls, it is something I think of every time we all get together to eat.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 6
Today's tradition: Christmas at Grandma's.
My older siblings (and older cousins... and Aunt Rachel) are going to have to let me know how accurate my memory is here. I really feel at least twice in my early years we had a big family Christmas at Grandma's. I don't remember the exact date (Christmas Eve, Christmas Day (but in the evening), or some evening before), but I remember going there. I remember getting a Wizzzer one year while there. Anybody remember the Wizzzer?
I have many memories from Grandma's. I still remember her phone number. It was one of the first phone numbers I ever memorized. I have about one memory of Grandpa, as he passed away when I was very little... but I remember him well, and Mom used to tell stories of me eating hard candy by sucking all the sugar off, and then giving them to Grandpa to finish, and how funny he thought it was. I just remember people helping him move around once. That's the only Grandpa memory I have... beyond Mom laughing and telling me that story about the candy.
Aunt Deana Mae had a daughter, Linda. Aunt Lois had a daughter and two sons, Toni, Mike, and David. Aunt Rachel had two sons and two daughters, Alan, Roy (Bryce now), Cheryl, and Karen. And then there were the (up to) eight of us. I have to add the "up to" because I'm not sure that we had Christmas at Grandma's in Ruth or Sara's lifetimes.
Aunt Rachel's family lived (and live) in Omaha (and/or the surrounding area), so seeing them was always a big deal. Karen was just a couple of months younger than me, and they were all just as crazy funny as the rest of us... so it was usually a pretty good time to be around them. I was so young for these events, however, most of what I remember are just the feeling of how great it was to have everyone there--and maybe everyone wasn't there the times I'm remembering, but it sure seemed like it.
I don't know that all of the cousins have been in the same place since then--except maybe at Grandma's funeral in 1982. Even then, I don't know if everyone made it or not. And, obviously, it wasn't exactly a joy-fest.
I keep thinking it would be great to get everyone together some Christmas, but then I realize everyone has their own families now, and I can just imagine how much fun it would be as a kid to have to go hang out with kids you're vaguely related to (second cousins, first cousins once removed, and so on) while the older folks sat around and laughed themselves sick. Or maybe they wouldn't hate it... but one of us better get a mansion first! There are a lot of kids of cousins (and some grandkids of cousins)!
Anyway, I've gotten off track a bit, talking about family... but that's one of the first traditions I remember missing once it stopped. I don't know why it stopped... or even if it was two years in a row that I'm remembering. I just remember being sad about not getting to see my cousins from Omaha, and not getting to have a big Christmas to-do, and thinking it didn't seem right without it... but then getting over it once my presents were ready to be opened.
My older siblings (and older cousins... and Aunt Rachel) are going to have to let me know how accurate my memory is here. I really feel at least twice in my early years we had a big family Christmas at Grandma's. I don't remember the exact date (Christmas Eve, Christmas Day (but in the evening), or some evening before), but I remember going there. I remember getting a Wizzzer one year while there. Anybody remember the Wizzzer?
I have many memories from Grandma's. I still remember her phone number. It was one of the first phone numbers I ever memorized. I have about one memory of Grandpa, as he passed away when I was very little... but I remember him well, and Mom used to tell stories of me eating hard candy by sucking all the sugar off, and then giving them to Grandpa to finish, and how funny he thought it was. I just remember people helping him move around once. That's the only Grandpa memory I have... beyond Mom laughing and telling me that story about the candy.
Aunt Deana Mae had a daughter, Linda. Aunt Lois had a daughter and two sons, Toni, Mike, and David. Aunt Rachel had two sons and two daughters, Alan, Roy (Bryce now), Cheryl, and Karen. And then there were the (up to) eight of us. I have to add the "up to" because I'm not sure that we had Christmas at Grandma's in Ruth or Sara's lifetimes.
Aunt Rachel's family lived (and live) in Omaha (and/or the surrounding area), so seeing them was always a big deal. Karen was just a couple of months younger than me, and they were all just as crazy funny as the rest of us... so it was usually a pretty good time to be around them. I was so young for these events, however, most of what I remember are just the feeling of how great it was to have everyone there--and maybe everyone wasn't there the times I'm remembering, but it sure seemed like it.
I don't know that all of the cousins have been in the same place since then--except maybe at Grandma's funeral in 1982. Even then, I don't know if everyone made it or not. And, obviously, it wasn't exactly a joy-fest.
I keep thinking it would be great to get everyone together some Christmas, but then I realize everyone has their own families now, and I can just imagine how much fun it would be as a kid to have to go hang out with kids you're vaguely related to (second cousins, first cousins once removed, and so on) while the older folks sat around and laughed themselves sick. Or maybe they wouldn't hate it... but one of us better get a mansion first! There are a lot of kids of cousins (and some grandkids of cousins)!
Anyway, I've gotten off track a bit, talking about family... but that's one of the first traditions I remember missing once it stopped. I don't know why it stopped... or even if it was two years in a row that I'm remembering. I just remember being sad about not getting to see my cousins from Omaha, and not getting to have a big Christmas to-do, and thinking it didn't seem right without it... but then getting over it once my presents were ready to be opened.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 5
When I was growing up, there was only one present we could give our elementary school teacher for Christmas. Everybody in my family say it with me now:
Stamps.
Yes, today's holiday tradition is one from the early 70s (and maybe into the 80s... Ruth and Sara would have to report about that). No matter what cool thing we wanted to get out teacher for Christmas, Mom--who worked at the Post Office--insisted on us giving stamps.
In her defense, it's a very practical gift--or was back in the 60s, 70s, and 80s, before you had to start explaining to high school students what stamps are. Speaking as a teacher, most of the things I get (if I get anything--7th grade is not elementary school) are nice, but I find a use for them, rather than the need being there already (although the candy dish I got last year has become a very useful item... it keeps the candy I shouldn't be eating over by the front door, where I almost never go).
I don't know how many years I gave a teacher stamps. Probably seven or so. Maybe more. Possibly less. I don't know that Miss Tyner got stamps from me my Kindergarten year, but I remember Miss Wolfe getting them for sure. (Or maybe it's Miss Wolf... I didn't remember how to spell "Miss Ewens" correctly, so all bets are off!) I have no idea about Mrs. Denny, Miss Coulter, Miss Ewens, Mrs. Chipman, and Mr. Smith, but I'm pretty sure they all got stamps from me. It seemed like the most uncool, impersonal gift to give.
I guess I could hunt some of them down and ask them. I sent Mrs. Denny and e-mail once, but never heard back from her. She was about to retire, according to my principal at the time, who knew her from whatever school district he'd worked at before. On the one hand, I think, "Like they want to hear from you..." On the other hand, I have plenty of former students I'd love to hear from.
Whatever, it's almost like work. If they aren't on Facebook, I'm not going to try much harder than that! Plus, Miss Wolf(e) and Miss Coulter got married, I think!
Anyway, there's a Christmas tradition for you. I don't know that I'd advise going with that gift in this day... maybe a Netflix gift subscription would be better.
Stamps.
Yes, today's holiday tradition is one from the early 70s (and maybe into the 80s... Ruth and Sara would have to report about that). No matter what cool thing we wanted to get out teacher for Christmas, Mom--who worked at the Post Office--insisted on us giving stamps.
In her defense, it's a very practical gift--or was back in the 60s, 70s, and 80s, before you had to start explaining to high school students what stamps are. Speaking as a teacher, most of the things I get (if I get anything--7th grade is not elementary school) are nice, but I find a use for them, rather than the need being there already (although the candy dish I got last year has become a very useful item... it keeps the candy I shouldn't be eating over by the front door, where I almost never go).
I don't know how many years I gave a teacher stamps. Probably seven or so. Maybe more. Possibly less. I don't know that Miss Tyner got stamps from me my Kindergarten year, but I remember Miss Wolfe getting them for sure. (Or maybe it's Miss Wolf... I didn't remember how to spell "Miss Ewens" correctly, so all bets are off!) I have no idea about Mrs. Denny, Miss Coulter, Miss Ewens, Mrs. Chipman, and Mr. Smith, but I'm pretty sure they all got stamps from me. It seemed like the most uncool, impersonal gift to give.
I guess I could hunt some of them down and ask them. I sent Mrs. Denny and e-mail once, but never heard back from her. She was about to retire, according to my principal at the time, who knew her from whatever school district he'd worked at before. On the one hand, I think, "Like they want to hear from you..." On the other hand, I have plenty of former students I'd love to hear from.
Whatever, it's almost like work. If they aren't on Facebook, I'm not going to try much harder than that! Plus, Miss Wolf(e) and Miss Coulter got married, I think!
Anyway, there's a Christmas tradition for you. I don't know that I'd advise going with that gift in this day... maybe a Netflix gift subscription would be better.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 4
At some point every Advent or Christmas season (usually Advent), I turn on George Winston's December and sit by the tree with all non-holiday lights in the house turned off.
I've written about this on here before, years ago. It's like my yearly meditation time. I listen to the piano music, I watch the lights, I watch the shadows caused by the lights, I watch the play of light and shadow on the ceiling, and I just think about my life, the world, people in my life--both past and present, what was, what is, what might have been, and what might be.
Sometimes the CD goes around several times. Sometimes I go to sleep for a bit. Sometimes I pray, sometimes I talk to myself, and sometimes I'm silent the whole time.
It's my little slice of heavenly peace.
My favorite thing to do is imagine the lights on the tree as some sort of analogy, and play with different ideas of what they lights could be. I get as many different colors as possible, all individually blinking... so it could be anything. The "little light" of different people shining out and going away. The prayers being sent up. A sped-up version of lives on Earth.
Or, just pretty blinking lights.
Sometimes I will do this more than once a season, but it happens every year--or every year I put up a tree, anyway!
I've written about this on here before, years ago. It's like my yearly meditation time. I listen to the piano music, I watch the lights, I watch the shadows caused by the lights, I watch the play of light and shadow on the ceiling, and I just think about my life, the world, people in my life--both past and present, what was, what is, what might have been, and what might be.
Sometimes the CD goes around several times. Sometimes I go to sleep for a bit. Sometimes I pray, sometimes I talk to myself, and sometimes I'm silent the whole time.
It's my little slice of heavenly peace.
My favorite thing to do is imagine the lights on the tree as some sort of analogy, and play with different ideas of what they lights could be. I get as many different colors as possible, all individually blinking... so it could be anything. The "little light" of different people shining out and going away. The prayers being sent up. A sped-up version of lives on Earth.
Or, just pretty blinking lights.
Sometimes I will do this more than once a season, but it happens every year--or every year I put up a tree, anyway!
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