Dinner at Four…

I was eating dinner last night and my four year old son casually says to me, “Hey, nice watch.” “Thanks.” I replied. “Where’d you get it?”, he continued. “From my brother.” I said. I wasn’t quite sure how to explain that in inherited it when he passed away in February of 2002.

“Oh… He give it to you?” “Well… yes… when he died.” I said. “Oh… They don’t allow watches in the cemetery?” “Well, I guess when people die they really don’t need watches any more.” “Oh”, he said… seeming to finally be satisfied with this line of questioning and as to the origins of my watch and why my brother might decide to part with it.

I watched him for a few minutes eating his dinner, and, well, being four. Mostly when he sits at the dinner table he does anything and everything but eat. I spend most of my dinner telling him to eat his. A little perpetual motion machine with boundless energy, he is as impish as he is lovable.

Death And The Very Young…

You know, I’ve written before about kids and death. More specifically, how kids think about or try to understand death. It is interesting. When I was about six years old, I remember being freaked out by what death really meant. I have the distinct memory of asking my mother if she would die one day and how tormented I was to learn that indeed one day both she and my father would die. They were my life and the life of my brother and sisters and “the family”. If they “left”, it certainly would be the end of the world as I knew it and that was mind-blowingly clear to me. It was a bit unsettling, I don’t mind telling you.

Anyway, it doesn’t seem to bother my kids in quite the same way. Maybe it is just a concept to them or maybe we (my wife and I) seem a bit more disposable.

Well, Sunday we were driving to the movies and happened to pass a cemetery. My four year old son and my six year old daughter were with me.

The conversation went something like this, “Hey Drake, there is a cemetory over there. When you die, they put you in the dirt there. They have everyone’s name there and that’s where they put you when you die.” my daughter said.

“Wreally?” My son replied. “Yes… They have my name, your name, Mommy’s name, Daddy’s name…” “Do they have Nia Nia’s (Grandmother) name?” asked my son.

“Yes. They have everyone’s name.” said my daughter. “Wreally? Everyone goes there?” “Yes she confirmed.” “In the cemetery?” “No, it’s called a cemetory.” she wrongly corrected.

I had to chuckle a little at how my daughter was taking such joy at teaching the ins and outs of something she really didn’t understand and was really thin on the details about. It struck me how we all do the same thing… wanting, to be experts on things (especially the more shocking and sensational). We take such pride and self-importance from speaking about things we really don’t understand; but I guess that is the nature of us humans… 10 parts reality and 90 parts bullshit not.

I vowed, as I listened to older sister educating younger brother, that I would try to be a bit more diligent in my own instructions and explanations in my role as father and chief bullshitter instructor during their formative years… I just have to brush up on my details about God, the moon, life, death, war, hate, love and sex… Hmmm… I’m screwed.

How Many Good Friends Do You Have?…

“How many good friends do you have?” That was a question that was asked of me when I was visiting with a friend in Minsk, Belarus in 2000.

My friend asked be in the apartment of her friends Svetlana and Svetlana’s husband Petre, and they were all looking at me… patiently and quietly for my answer. They had been talking among themselves and suddenly my friend turned to me and all conversation stopped awaiting my answer.

“I would say four or five.” I replied. There was a pause. “How many could you drop in on unannounced at any time of the day or night?” This was beginning to feel like a trick (or at the very least, “loaded”) question… “Why… none.” I replied; feeling quite proud of the fact that I would NEVER impose upon my “close friends” like that… My friend turned to Svetlana and Petre and translated my reply since neither spoke English.

There was a pause… broad smiles all around… a head nod or two and then they all faced back to me. “Then you have no close friends.”, my friend informed me. I didn’t see that coming… I wasn’t quite expecting such a declaration (which at the time felt more like an accusation). They (the three of them) had trapped me in some kind of an admission of something which they had suspected about “us Americans”. They had won their battle (to prove a point of one sort or another) and were chattering in Russian about other things as I sat there a bit stunned. It was an awkward evening on the whole. My friend had grown tired of translating the conversation and for the rest of the evening I sat there politely nodding with a stupid grin on my face, pretending I had a clue as to what was being said (which I didn’t)… If I looked half as stupid as I felt… well… I must have looked like a Ringling Brothers reject… because I felt pretty stupid sitting there, abandoned in my language cocoon.

But the comment did make me think. And it made me reflect on the differences between our cultures. Where we would view NOT bothering friends, as a sign of friendship; they view BOTHERING friends as a sign of friendship… and they wear it like a badge.

In America, we have become a bit spoiled. Here, things work pretty much like they “should”. If you want to buy something… or if you need medical treatment… you go to the store, or the hospital (as the case may be), stand in line, plop your money down and you get what you want. Simple… In Belarus… it doesn’t work that way. In Belarus, you have to know someone. Your friend’s cousin’s friend’s father is a doctor and he can get you medicine because (no matter how thin) there is a personal relationship between you. No relationship? No medicine.

They are able to deal with their broken system through the strength of their personal relationships… it is necessary in their world. Our world? Hey… you can get by all by yourself… but I wonder if that is ultimately a strength in our culture or a weakness.

Sure… it is nice that things work as they should and everyone can basically get what they need and want (as long as they have the money)… but this also means we don’t NEED each other… we don’t need anyone; and I wonder if that isn’t a shame.

We have our lives… our television shows… our comfort (don’t interrupt my American Idol)… it is impersonal and (I believe) not very nourishing to our souls. They, on the other hand, hold the “group” in regard. Here, our independence is king. There, it is relationships which are prized above all else.

I have to believe that in our effort to be self-sufficient, we have also separated ourselves from others… and in so doing… from the vibrancy and the flow of life. We are social animals at our core and it seems a shame that we find ourselves living more and more isolated lives, where family and friends are viewed as inconveniences rather than nourishment, entertainment and the fortress within which we live.

The Difference Between Youth and Old Age…

Recently I had discovered that I’m getting old. I know… I know… It isn’t like this should have come as some big surprise or shock. In fact I have been getting older all my life, but for some reason I feel much the same way I did when I was 14. My intellect and my emotions are that of a freshman in high school, even as my body has continued to rot underneath me. Strange…

Anyway, somehow over the years I’ve managed to turn a blind eye to my aging. I don’t look in the mirror that much and that definitely helps with the denial. When you have kids, however, denial goes out the window… you are continuously confronted with your own mortality. It is hard to pretend you are youthful when a real “youth” is looking up at you from way down below… acting all… all…. “youthful”. There’s just no way you can ignore the differences. For one, kids don’t like to take naps! Can you imagine?! I’d give my right arm for a nap right this very second, or any second for that matter…. Kids??? They hate them. In fact, when my one year old gets sleepy, he’ll fight and cry and struggle until he is finally and totally exhausted and falls into a sleep that I can only dream (pun intended) about (little bastards).

The other main difference between adults and kids are feet in the pajamas. There is just no way that an adult can get away with it. Kids?… cute…. Adults?… creepy… unless you are a hot 24 year old woman… then maybe…. but as soon as she hits 25?…. it smells of desperation (hey… look at me, I’m cute). I, for one, would really like to have feet in my pajamas but I know my kids would laugh at me and I’d have to hide them from my wife, friends and the postman… it just isn’t worth it… but I miss them dearly.

Pissing in the Dark…

“Daddy, I shu shu shu’ed (urinated) with the lights off.”, my son said to me the other day. He is four and a half and quite often, I don’t quite understand the meaning behind his declarations.

“You went to the bathroom in the dark?”, “Yes”, he said with a broad smile across his face. “Why?” I inquired. It was about five o’clock in the evening and with the days so short now, that meant that he urinated in complete darkness, and trust me when I tell you, his aim ain’t so great with the lights on…

The look of puzzlement on my face must have been apparent, or else he was equally baffled by the silliness of my question… “Because I’m not afraid of the dark.” He proudly proclaimed with his chest puffed out like a hero back from a long war ready for the medals that were surely to come his way.

“Oh.” I said. “Well, that’s good. That’s very good. But don’t you think you should maybe keep the lights on so that you can be sure you hit the toilet?”

My comment drew a little bit of an eye roll which let me know that he thought I missed the point as much as I was sure he had missed the toilet.

Little kids sure are interesting… What is important to them is often the lesson… the victory… and not so much the results… in this case the urine on the floor that I had to clean up. You know… I can’t say that the little guy is wrong. I suppose that in confronting one’s fears there is always the chance that uncontrolled urination will be involved… perhaps it’s better that it is our bravery and our sense of adventure that is the cause and not the fear.

Busy-ness…

Well, well, well… look who is posting! Yes, I know… few and far between. I found that there is a direct relationship between the average length of one’s posts and the time between posts (the longer the average post size, the longer between posts) and also, the length of time between posts (the longer it has been since you posted… the longer it tends to be before your next post).

This isn’t rocket science but I find it is interesting the inertia which sets up against something I actually like and want to do… bla… bla… bla…

Well, that isn’t really the reason for this quick post. You see, my wife just called in a panic. She said a black bear was walking around the yard and wanted me to call the police to get an animal control officer there since this is the time of morning when a lot of kids are outside waiting for the school bus.

Animal control does not start in our town until 9:00 a.m., so I called the police dispatch. “Hello, officer? There is a black bear walking around our yard and we live in a large development with lots of kids outside waiting for the school bus. I think you should get someone over there to make sure it doesn’t hurt anyone.”

Officer’s reply: “Just stay away from it. That’s generally the best thing. It is just looking for food and will wonder back into the woods once it has something to eat.” Me: “Ya, but what if that happens to be a school kid?” Officer: “Oh, this is typical for this time of year. Just ignore him. It will be fine.”

Hmmm… Now maybe I’m overly paranoid… Perhaps if I lived in Alaska I’d be sitting down and letting bears eat out of my lap as I sipped on a beer while lying in the afternoon sun… But there is something about hungry, large, wild animals with reputations for being aggressive, that doesn’t seem (in my mind) to go comfortably with small children waiting for school buses… call me a fuddy-duddy.

The Anal Probing is Over…

Yes, yes… the anal probing is over. Our IRS audit has finished… Oh… my last prostate exam also turned out okay. As far as that goes, it seems that an irritated bladder lining can also create the same sensations as prostatitis and all the bitter tea I had been drinking was irritating my bladder lining. I guess that’s one for “all in moderation”. Anyway, I feel lucky that I have a urologist who thinks outside the prostate. So many doctors are so anxious to prescribe medication or surgery, that it is extremely fortunate to have one that really wants to know what they are treating before they jump to conclusions.

So… back to the REAL anal probing… the audit. I mean, yes, the prostate exam is embarrassing, awkward, humiliating and an entire range of other human emotions but for sheer abject terror… there is nothing like the dreaded IRS audit. At least with the prostate exam, you know the doctor is going to leave everything where it is. When the IRS goes up your butt, there is that fear that they will take something you need… like your liver, lungs, heart or endocrine system.

In our case, we got off easy… if you can call $5,700 and change “easy”. The auditor actually turned out to be a nice lady and she and my wife hit it off. Fortunately, the auditor did not elect to inflict a penalty, which she could have. So… all in all… we have to say, we made an innocent mistake and are paying what we owe (plus interest). It was fair. I got a new set of underwear and an appreciation for cpa’s out of the deal and the government got what was coming to them. Everyone is happy… not an awful, though still terrifying, experience. All’s well that ends well. Now we just need to find the money to make the payment… argh….

On a related note… my four and a half year old car has just gone over 200,000 miles. That is approximately 77 trips across America (for those of you who have trouble imaging what that actually relates to)… just in case you think I might be relaxing in my old age… too bad car dealers don’t give you frequent driving miles… that would be cool, wouldn’t it?

Finally, the answer to my riddle a few postings ago:

If you want to find a single heavy ball among nine identical balls and only have a balance scale which you can only use twice… here is the solution. First, split the balls in three groups of three. Put two groups on the scale… one on each side. If the scale balances, then the heavy ball is in your hand. If one side of the scale tips down… then that set of three has the heavy ball. So now that you know which group has the heavy ball, repeat the same process except using single balls from the group that contains the heavy ball. One ball on each side of the scale and one in your hand. If the two on the scale balance, then the one in your hand is the heavy ball. If one of the balls on the scale is heavier than the other, the scale will indicate that. Either way… you will know which of the nine balls is uniquely heavy and you can pass your application test and become employed (hopefully).

Peace out….

Bonnie Tyler’s “Total Eclipse of the Heart”… The Way it Should Have Been

Okay… I know, I know… there is this rule that you don’t post something that has already gone viral… But, I just saw this for the first time and nearly wet myself.

If you lived through the totally cheesy, spandex 80′s… this Bud’s for you. Enjoy

(Shout out to “Literal Video” and Dascottjr who rewrote the lyrics).

Kurt Cobain…

Kurt Cobain was a moment in time for me… When I hear his music, I’m immediately transported back in time… to a time… that despite many trials and tribulations, I loved.

I was living in Portland, Oregon and Kurt, along with his band Nirvana, was at the head of the pack of some pretty amazing music that was coming out of the Northwest.

I’m sure the music wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but for me, it hit the right spot. It was something new under the sun and it pretty much marked that period for me.

It is interesting how a person or a band can become a phenomenon… something bigger than life… For whatever reason the world latched on to Kurt for a ride and the sheer weight of that took its toll.

Kurt was a victim of his own success perhaps… and now he is but a tragic figure in music history, having taken his own life on April 5th 1994… Already more than fifteen years ago… I still can’t think of him or my life in Portland, Oregon without the two being linked… I’m sure it will always be that way.

I heard a song by Cat Power yesterday which made me remember Kurt… It was written about him and is called “I Don’t Blame You”. The song made me feel sad… Sad for him… and a little sad for a time which has passed when life was a little more simple, if only in my mind.

Life can be a sad thing sometimes… but even in that sadness… it is hard not to be moved by its beauty… Here is the song by Cat Power with a video of Kurt and the lyrics below….

Last time I saw you, you were on stage
Your hair was wild, your eyes were red
You were in a rage
You were swinging your guitar around.
Cause they wanted to hear that sound
That you didn’t want to play.
I don’t blame you.

I don’t blame you.

Been around the world, in many situations
Been inside many heads in different positions
But you never wanted them that way.
What a cruel price you thought that you had to pay.
And that for all that shit on stage.

But it never made sense to them anyway,
Could you imagine when they turned their backs
They were only scratching their heads.
Cause you simply deserve the best.
And I don’t blame you

They said you were the best,
But then they were only kids
Then you would recall the deadly houses you grew up in
Just because they knew your name,
Doesn’t mean they know from where you came
What a sad trick you thought that you had to play.
But I don’t blame you

They never owned it
And you never owed it to them anyway.

I don’t blame you.

Pet Peeves…

I don’t know why… but lately I have been noticing things… things which get under my skin… Things that don’t make sense, but are there none the less like a burr under a saddle… a pea under a mattress… a fly in the ointment… stupid, silly, ridiculous stuff… Small or large… I’ve decided to start pointing these “head scratchers” out… because, quite frankly, they get under my skin and venting a little always helps… doesn’t it?

Okay… first pet peeve… I’ll call this pet peeve number one, though the number one is just because it was the first one I thought about but is by no means my “number 1″ pet peeve. Okay… a couple of weekends ago I did a craft show for my wife in Stone Mountain, Georgia… beautiful spot… hot and humid weather… very “summer like”. As I finish my rather lengthy set up and begin to settle down for four long days of sitting in a craft tent and hocking our wares… I hear loud music coming from the vendor beside me… CHRISTMAS MUSIC!

Now… most shows do not allow vendors to play music because it isn’t exactly polite to the vendors within ear-shot and if everyone wanted to play their own music, you would have quite a din… a cacophony of sound… and most vendors understand this and are sensitive and self-aware enough to restrain themselves… not so my neighbors.

Now I am a wimp respect people and their stupid hair brained desires and I get that they were selling Christmas things… but holy crap… Not only were they playing Christmas music… they were playing only ONE 40 minute tape of Christmas music over and over and over again… not ONLY that, it was from the forties or fifties and the Partridge in a Pear Tree was swapped with “The Good Bible of My Lord”… that doesn’t even fit… AND… AND… the tape was stretched!!!!! So not only did I listen to the SAME God awful Christmas tape from half a century ago for ten hours a day non-stop for four days… but it was speeding up and slowing down. They might as well have hammered a nail into my eardrum or put bamboo under my fingernails or water-boarded me (actually the water boarding might have been nice, as hot as it was). THAT is my pet peeve number one. People not being aware enough of others around them because of their own self-interest or because they just can’t empathize with others. Horrible! Bad, damaged Christmas music in September? PLEASE! I didn’t even mention that the craft show had country music performers playing throughout the weekend about 150 feet from us… so you got this nice mix of insipid noise blasting at you in an already uncomfortable situation (sitting in a craft tent ten hours a day). Nice…

Oh… here is another thing… not quite on the same scale. I’ll call this pet peeve number two. On the other side of me were two very nice people… We did a lot of talking… commiserating… and rolling our eyes at the Christmas music couple. They told me about their life and I told them about mine… And as we were leaving… and bidding fair-thee-well, the woman (very nice woman), says to me… “Say hello to your wife and family for me”…. What?…. “Hey, Hon… this woman you never met asked that I say hello to you and the kids”. Pet peeve number three is when I do that.

Oh… and before I go… Here is another… pet peeve number 4. My niece has started high school this year. She told me yesterday that all students… teachers… and staff… are required to wear ID badges while at school. Now look… I’m all for protecting our kids… believe me… and I understand where this badge thing comes from… I get it… but where do we draw the line? Is it safer to have everyone wear badges at school? Yes… probably. But isn’t it also safer to have them all wear bullet proof vests? What about helmets? Do you know that I had an English teacher in prep-school who walked out of the library building… tripped on the steps… hit his head on a rock and died? Really… an awful tragedy… he had a three year old son… If he had worn a helmet, that could have been prevented. He would still be with us today… But that would be insane, wouldn’t it?

Where do we stop with all this? Somebody has to draw the line and increasingly, it seems that no one wants to draw that line in a reasonable place… Everyone blames everyone else for their accidents and misfortunes, so no one wants to be reasonable any more…

Okay… that about wraps it up for today… and to be completely honest… pet peeve number 5 would probably be listening to other people’s pet peeves.