Clean as a Whistle

As I type this, the lights are on, the AC units are pumping away, and I'm freshly showered and clean.  Thank God.

Last night's freak thunderstorm knocked out our power -- again.  When we lost power for 48 hours last September, it was a whole new experience.  It created some good stories for each of us and even contained some elements of fun.  Despite that, it was something that I'd prefer to experience just once in a lifetime.  Today, with heat in the mid-90's, the last thing we needed was a full day without AC, power, and water.  But, that's just what we got.  

The storm hit at 10:45PM last night.  It was pretty vicious.  It all ended in about 30 minutes.  For me, a storm that combines to both knock out power and wake me up means just one thing --  a sleepless night spent staring endlessly at the alarm clock, willing it to start flashing "12:00."  Unfortunately, that never happened last night.

After laying there tossing, turning, and sweating, I finally got out of bed at 5:30AM.  After a brief survey of the yard (which, surprisingly, didn't turn up too much damage), I decided to get a jump on everyone else and head to the food store for ice.  Much to my surprise, everyone else had learned their lesson last September and, when I arrived, they were all there to greet me.  There were only about two dozen bags of ice left when I arrived.  I felt a little guilty grabbing six of them but that didn't stop me. 

After throwing the bags into the trunk, it was off to Dunkin' Donuts for Kim's coffee.  I think everyone I'd seen at the food store was there, too.  I waited patiently in line and, when I finally got to the counter, decided to reward myself for my industriousness with a couple of glazed donuts.  It wasn't until later, when I got home, that I realized I wouldn't have any running water to wash the sticky sugar off my hands.

The "sticky stuff on the hands" problem pretty much defined the day.  Other highlights included:

• Despite the stench that I know was clinging to me, stubbornly refusing to change the shirt that I'd been wearing for the past three days. It was clean when I put it on Thursday at 6PM after showering so it seemed OK to wear it again when I got up Friday morning. This morning, knowing that I was just going to stink all day and couldn't get a shower, I decided to just go with it again. I don't think anyone really minded that much.
• Cleaning out the refrigerators and filling up a couple trash bags with food that we knew wouldn't keep.  That seems simple, right?  Not for me.  I couldn't just let those bags sit in our baking hot garage, could I?  The proper thing to do would have been to take them to the dump.  But, there was no way I was going to join the rest of the world who I knew would be at the dump getting rid of storm debris.  So, I wracked my brain, thinking of the closest dumpster to our house.  After identifying it, I planned a trip and surreptitiously managed to get rid of the two bags without anyone noticing.
• Seeing my designated outdoor bathroom spot move from the woods, to the edge of the woods, to the corner of the house.  I'm sorry, but it was just more than I could take to haul my stinky body off to the woods in the heat.  On my third trip, I prayed that no one in the house was watching and just took five steps away from the basement door.  My prayer was answerd but, over dinner, I couldn't deal with my guilty conscience and confessed.
• Conducting a long, almost fruitless hunt for gas for my car.  You see, after dumping the trash bags, my fuel warning light started to blink.  I decided to head into Clarksville for gas.  Finding all three gas stations out of gas, I stubbornly decided to head further away from home into Columbia.  Two more empty gas stations later, I was down to 22 miles on my gauge and was a good 18 miles from home.  I knew that, if I drove home, I wouldn't be able to leave my garage.  So, I kept on searching until, with the gauge reading 20 miles to go, I finally found a station that was open.

Now that the power's back on, all these things seem like distant memories.  I'm about to go to bed.  I'm pretty sure I'll lay there with one eye open for a while, watching that alarm clock and praying that it doesn't go dark.  I don't think I can take another 24 hours like this past one.  Besides, I threw my trusty shirt in the hamper and really don't want to have to pull it out again tomorrow for day four.

What Katie Holmes Is Thinking Right Now

Now that Katie Holmes has filed for divorce from Tom Cruise, she's finally free to speak her mind.  Luckily for me (and you), I have the inside scoop on what she's thinking right now.  That's because she decided to get away from the paparazzi by hanging out at our house.  Smart girl, that Katie.

Right now she's hanging out in our kitchen, drinking an iced coffee, and randomly shouting out her thoughts about life post-Tom.  Here's what I've heard just in the past 5 minutes.

• "Why did I let him convince me to name her Suri?  The poor thing.  I'm just going to start calling her Joey."
• "Thank God I can finally wear heels again."
• "The only bad thing about this was that I was so close to having AARP Magazine delivered to my house for free."
• "This probably blows my chances of ever getting to the cleared theta clear status.  Oh, well."
• "Tom really can't handle the truth, which is that he's short, old, and has a crazy smile."

I told Katie she can stay as long as she'd like.

Heaven

Is there anything better than an outside shower?  If you can think of something, I'd love to hear it.

This morning, it's 68 degrees outside, the sky is blue, there's no humidity, and there's a brisk breeze.  In other words, the weather is perfect.  The pain in my ribs has largely subsided so I've started running again.  That's a good thing since I can now go back to eating entire bags of chips without feeling so guilty.

I went into Rock Hall this morning to go for a run and, on the way back, decided I'd cap my morning with an outside shower back at the homestead.  After parking the car, I headed inside, grabbed a towel, did a quick check to make sure that no one was expected to pay us a visit for the next 10 minutes, and headed outside for my "me" time.

There are several things about the outside shower at Fox Point that make it so great.  Here are just a few:

• First, there's the water pressure.  Like Goldilocks, I'm looking for water pressure that's not too strong and not too weak.  It needs to be just right.  Here, it's just right.  At home, we have a big shower head in our bathroom shower stall.  It sends out a nice large spray.  But, the water pressure is just too soft for me.  There's no such problem here.
• Next, there's an element of danger that keeps you on your toes.  That danger isn't from the possibility that someone will come up the drive and find you standing there in all your glory.  No, the danger comes from the large snake living under the deck.  Last weekend, it was hanging out on the steps right next to the shower area.  I know it's just a rat snake.  And, it's actually our friend because it keeps the house free of mice.  But, the darn thing is probably 4 feet long.  That's a bit too big for my liking. 
• Finally, the shower has no walls.  Yes, I'm an exhibitionist.  I like having my unimpeded view of the surroundings.  And, I'm absolutely certain that my surroundings like their unimpeded view of me.

Panic In The Streets

My work commitments in Los Angeles over the past few days consisted of purely social engagements – lunches, dinners, and post-dinner events. Those, of course, all took place at normal Pacific Standard Times. However, my “regular” work commitments continued to run on an Eastern Standard Time basis. That meant conference calls beginning at 5AM.

Because I was working that strange combination of East Coast and Pacific Coast times, I found myself with free time between 4PM – 6PM PST each afternoon. As I’m still not able to run (blasted ribs are still too sore), I went out for walks. The first afternoon, things were pretty uneventful. I put in a brisk but relaxing 75 minutes on wide, relatively empty sidewalks. I managed to bump into an old colleague from Mercer on the sidewalk and toured the construction site that’s being prepared for next week’s X-Games. It was fun.

The next day, I headed back out thinking I’d cover the same ground. It was another beautiful day, with temperatures around 75 degrees, a breeze, and no smog. I was looking forward to getting out. As soon as I stepped outside, though, I noticed a difference. Right outside my hotel entrance was a pack of skateboarders. I’d guess there were about 15 of them, ranging in age from 14 – 20. Some were sitting on the sidewalk. Others were standing with their boards in hand. One or two were taking runs directly at the base of the hotel, where the concrete gently sloped upwards for about 2 feet. They’d ride up the slope and then hurtle back down, directly into the path of the pedestrians. “This is odd,” I thought. But, since no one else was paying them any mind, I decided to ignore them, too. I headed south to cross 9^th Street.

As I stood waiting for the light to change, I noticed another pack of skateboarders on the opposite side of the street, also waiting to cross. There were literally 25-30 of them just standing there. As soon as the light changed, each kid tossed his board on the ground, put one foot on top, and pushed off several times with the other. Before I knew it, they were flying at me. I stood frozen. The racket was impossibly loud as their wheels clattered on the street. Skateboarders were now whizzing by me on either side. I forced myself to start walking and tried to stay on a straight line. Finally, they had all passed me. The cross-walk sign was now flashing red and I hurried to the other side.

I took a deep breath and headed off again down Figueroa Street. Not even 30 seconds later, I heard a growing rumble. I knew what that sound was – another pack of skateboarders were headed right at me. It grew deafening as I saw them approach. Quickly, they flew by me. One, two, three – I stopped at thirty-seven. White, black, Hispanic, dreadlocked, clean cut, old, young. Who the hell were these people and what were they doing? What had happened to my downtown walking route that had been so relaxing and calm the previous day?

That was when I heard one of my fellow pedestrians exclaim “That’s right. It’s Go Skateboarding day.” So, that’s what this was. It wasn’t a guerrilla army of skateboarders, come to wreak havoc on those of us not coordinated enough to join their ranks. That made me feel a little better. But, I’m telling you, for the rest of that walk, I lived in fear of that approaching rumbling of skateboard wheels on the sidewalk. I can still hear it now. It’s terrifying.

The Long and Winding Road

I had to head out to the west coast for business – again.  Given my departure time, I was unable to find a direct, non-stop flight from BWI to Los Angeles and had to make a stop in Salt Lake City.  After over 8 and ½ hours of travel time, I finally touched down at LAX last night shortly before 8PM PST.

Instead of taking a cab to my hotel, I decided to take the Super Shuttle.  It’s been a long, long time since I’ve done that.  But, I’d heard that the cab fare would be almost $50 while the Super Shuttle was only $16.  As I’m always looking out for our shareholders, I thought that I’d do them a favor and take the Super Shuttle.

I quickly found my way to the Super Shuttle pick-up zone.  I asked the employee there how long it would be until the van arrived and how long the trip downtown would be.  She told me it wouldn’t be more than a 10 minute wait and that the ride was only 35 minutes.  That didn’t seem too bad.  As luck would have it, the van pulled up in less than 5 minutes.  “How great is this?” I asked myself.  I happily loaded my carry-on into the back and hopped on board.

There had been three of us waiting in line when the van pulled up to our stop and now it was just the three of us in the van.  “This isn’t too bad,” I thought to myself.   The van had three passenger benches.  I was the last of the three passengers to get on board and, when I did, the middle bench was unoccupied.  So, I sat there.  That was directly in front of a young Chinese woman.  As I was taking my seat, I saw her dialing a number on her cell phone.  I figured she was letting someone know that she’d boarded the van and would be at her final destination shortly.  That seemed reasonable.

The driver of the van asked for my last name and my destination.  He typed them into his on-board computer and off we went – all the way to Terminal 2.  You see, Southwest is in Terminal 1.  I’d forgotten that LAX has 7 terminals.  I was now trapped on board as the van continued its pick-up run.  We picked up passenger  Fitzgerald in Terminal 2.  At Terminal 3, we picked up passenger Schmidt.  We skipped Terminal 4.  At Terminal 5, we picked up passenger Monje.  He got the front seat, right next to the driver.  Then, it was on to Terminal 6, where we picked up passenger Chittenden.  Finally, at Terminal 7, we picked up passenger Jeffries.

By now, I’d been in the van for nearly 20 minutes.  We had 8 passengers.  I thought we’d completed our run through all 7 terminals.  Not quite.  Our driver (I’d by now learned that his name was John) announced that he had room for one more and had been called back to Terminal 1!  “You have got to be kidding me,” I thought.  But, there we were, getting into the “Return to Terminal” lane so our van could circle back to the beginning of the route.  As we crawled to a stop at the Terminal 1 loading zone, sure enough, there was one passenger waiting.  She boarded the van and sat down next to me.  John asked for her name and destination.  In a voice with some sort of European accent, she announced “Ospendlamadanp.”  At least that’s what it sounded like to me.  The guy in front of me actually laughed out loud when she said it.  Poor John, the driver.  “Could you spell that for me?” he asked.  After several attempts, he seemed satisfied that he’d captured it reasonably accurately.

Finally, we were off to downtown.   By now 35 minutes had gone by.  When the woman at the pick-up zone told me the ride would be just 35 minutes, I didn’t realize that she meant that’s how long it would take to leave the terminal!  Who knew how long it would take to get to my hotel?

Remember that young Chinese woman who was dialing her phone when I got on board?  Have I mentioned that, the entire time we were driving around picking up passengers, she had been carrying on a loud cell phone conversation?  In Chinese?  It took every ounce of self-control I could muster to not turn around and ask her to just please be quiet.  While I don’t understand a word of Chinese, it was very easy to follow her conversation.  She was providing a blow-by-blow of either the trip she’d just completed or the trip on which she was embarking.  I know this because her side of the conversation went like this (in Chinese, may I remind you): “Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah San Jose.  Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-ski diving.  Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah San Francisco.  Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah Bryce.  Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah parasailing.  Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah San Diego.  Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah hiking.”  Are there really no Chinese words for ski diving, parasailing, and hiking?  Apparently not.

After finally leaving the airport, there wasn’t much traffic on the freeway.  The lovely young Chinese woman kept up her conversation.  I was now sitting on my hands so that one of them wouldn’t “accidentally” reach back and punch her.  My traveling companion Ospendlamadanp must have found that incessant chatter to be soothing as she quickly nodded off, only to quickly startle herself back awake after her head landed on my shoulder.  “I’m so sorry,” she said.  “No problem,” I said, “It’s been a long day.”  Five minutes later, Ospendlamadanp was asleep again and, soon enough, her head landed on my shoulder.  “I did it again!” she exclaimed apologetically as she woke up and hurriedly sat upright.  By this point, I could only laugh.

I did make it to my hotel eventually.  Believe it or not, I was the second passenger to be dropped off by the van.  Thank you, Jesus!  It had been 1 hour and 10 minutes since I first got in line at the Super Shuttle pick-up spot at Terminal 1.  I hope somebody appreciates that $34 I saved the company.

Observations

I'm on day six of my new walking regimen.  It's going OK but I'll be happy to eventually get back to running.

The main problem with walking is that it just takes too long.  It's taking me twice as long to cover the same amount of ground each morning.  That's discouraging.  Walking does have one major advantage over running, though.  It gives you a lot of time to notice your surroundings.  Here's what I noticed this morning:

• God created some pretty big slugs.  I saw one this morning that must have been almost 5 inches long, just oozing across the street.  I gave it a wide berth.
• Walking hurts just as much as running.  With running, it's my knees.  With walking, it's my hip sockets.  It kind of feels like my legs are coming loose from my torso.  I just can't win.
• There's a house in our neighborhood that has all it's blinds drawn, all the time.  I've noticed it for years but, while walking, I had more time to think about why that is.  Are they keeping something out or keeping something in?
• Deer are fearless or stupid -- or both.  As I headed up the driveway after finishing my walk, I encountered Bambi's granddaughter munching away at my lilies in the front yard.  I stalked toward her with a menacing snarl (or so I thought) on my face.  She quickly bounded away, only to be found less than 30 seconds later hiding just around the back corner of the house.  I think she thought I wouldn't see her and that she could just return to her breakfast as soon as I headed into the house.  Since I still can't run, I had to stride towards her again to scare her away.  She took off for the woods.  Now, though, I actually have peeked outside twice while typing this just to make sure she's really gone.
• Hardly anyone gets the newspaper delivered anymore.  That got me thinking about how society has pretty much killed off the paper boy.  What a shame.

Making Lemonade Out of Lemons

I haven't run all week.  Why?  Because I've become a really bad waterskier.

Sunday was my annual "let's prove I can still waterski" day.  For many years, I used to ski every chance I could get.  But, for the past 6 or 7 years, I've pretty much made it a once per summer event.  I'm not sure how that happened.  But, the result is that I've actually become pretty bad at it.  I'm fine (well, competent) on the left side of the wake.  As soon as I cross over to the right side, though, I get frazzled.  I've completely lost my confidence on that side of the wake.  When I'm out there, all I can think about is how I'm ever going to cross back over to the left side.

Sure enough, on Sunday afternoon, there I was.  I'd popped right up, dropped a ski, and moved to the left side.  After a short while, I began to signal to Kim to make a right-hand turn so that I could stay on the left side as we circled back around.  That didn't work.  She was looking ahead at where she was going, not behind her to take directions from me.  Soon enough, she began her left hand turn.  I groaned and crossed over the wake to the right.

As we completed the turn, I knew I was going to have to pass over the bumps the boat had created before Kim began her turn.  In 25 years of skiing, that had never been a problem for me.  You just need to bend your knees a bit, stay back on your ski, and go with the rolls of the water.  It's not that hard.  But, that was before I'd developed this complete inability to ski on the right side of the wake.  It was too late now.  I was stuck.  I hit the first roll, started to lose my balance and, before I knew it, I was airborne.

I've fallen before while skiing but it had been a while.  I can't remember ever having a real bad fall.  This time, though, I came down hard on my left side.  Five days later, my ribs still hurt.  I can't sleep on my side (which pretty much means I can't sleep), it hurts to get up out of a chair and, worst of all, I can't run.  I tried on Monday and took about three steps.  I tried again Wednesday and quit after 50 yards.  After a couple days of inactivity, I've convinced myself that I've lost all my muscle tone and have added at least an inch around my midsection.  I know that's not true but, when I look in the mirror, that's what I see.  So, yesterday, I decided to start walking.  As long as I don't walk too fast and don't take any real deep breaths, I'm fine.

This morning, I headed out at 5:20AM.  My ribs were aching but I refused to have another day of no physical activity.  I headed down the driveway and then got an idea.  Our street is lined with sycamore trees.  Last year, we had them all de-limbed up to 8 feet as they'd started to look like bushes on stilts.  This spring, most of the trees had started to send off new branch shoots from where the limbs had been removed last fall.  It was driving me crazy to see that.  If I was going to have to resort to walking on the street, I might as well make it productive.  So, I headed back up the driveway to my trusty shed, grabbed my smallest set of pruning shears and headed out for my walk.

Thirty-five minutes later, I was back home.  For the first time all week, I felt good.  No, my ribs still hurt.  But, I'd pruned every single one of those darn trees.  A couple times, I found myself looking over my shoulder to  see if anyone was watching.  Technically, I wasn't doing anything wrong but I really didn't want to answer any questions from any neighbors.

I think I made it through my job unseen.  But, I'm sure there will be some quizzical looks this morning as people head out to work and see all those little piles of sycamore branches in their front yards.  All I can say is "You're welcome."

Proof That 2012 Will Mark The End of the World

Today was full of shocking news:

• Cristiano Ronaldo missed an extremely easy breakaway, only to see his Portugal team "pulled back from the precipice" of Euro 2012 oblivion by Silvestre Valera's late winning goal.
• The U.S. Anti-Doping Agency decided to press forward with its case against Lance Armstrong; I guess they decided that, with the Roger Clemens trial finally nearing its end, we needed another side show.
• Our trusty Camry finally broke down (we'll fix it, I swear).

None of those stories, though, is the one that has me questioning my place in this world.  Nope, the story that has me questioning is everytying is the extremely disheartening news I just read about "House Hunters."

I am stunned to learn that the darn show may not be real  Can you believe that?  Some of the homes they show aren't even for sale!  Some of the buyers have already made up their minds before they even start taping!  Many of the homeowners consider more than three homes before making a decision!  Good Lord.  I've never used so many exclamation points in a single paragraph.  That's how shocked I am.

Did you really think that there are home buyers so desperate to appear on TV that they agreed to only consider three potential homes?  Really?  Seriously, who cares if "House Hunters" is staged? I know that I don't.  I just want to keep living vicariously through all those potential homebuyers.  It's my heroin.  Don't take it away from me.

And don't start taking any potshots at "Selling New York."  I won't stand for that.

Dagnabit!

Until I got home from work tonight and took a look at the day's mail, I'd completely forgotten about the morning of May 27th.  Thankfully, the Automated Traffic Enforcement Unit of Montgomery County was thoughtful enough to send me a reminder of what I was doing that morning.

Now that I look back, I remember it pretty well.  For the second straight weekend morning, we'd gotten up early for our 6:30AM departure to the Poolesville Polo Grounds (remember them?) in beautiful Montgomery County.  There's no easy way to get there.  It's a 30-mile trip through a series of country roads, broken up by a 5-mile stretch of MD-124 that takes you past office parks, strip malls, and the occassional town house development.

On both of those early weekend mornings, that 5-mile stretch was largely empty.  Empty, that is, of everything but red lights.  That's right.  Despite the fact that there was virtually no traffic on that lonely stretch of MD-124, I think we caught every one of the nearly two dozen traffic lights that must have lined that stretch of road.  With each successive red light that we hit, my sighing and carrying on grew worse.  Looking back, it's kind of surprisign Kim and Jay didn't throw me out of the car.  Finally, we made it to Darnestown and the lights were gone.  Hallelujah, I thought.

Little did I know that Montgomery County had a new trick up its sleeves for me -- speed monitoring cameras.  Yep, they caught me.  That's definitely our minivan with the dents in the rear and the Thunder bumper sticker staring out at me from my mail pile.

I feel completely set up by Montgomery County.  It's like they purposely got me aggravated with all those stupid, poorly timed traffic lights on MD-124. Then, when they knew my patience was exhausted, they stopped with all the traffic lights and let me get my hopes up on Darnestown Road, with its wide open vistas and broad shoulders.  Who would have ever expected a 30 mile per hour speed limit?

I'll write you your check, Montgomery County.  I don't really have a choice, do I?  But, I'm going to take some time to think about what to put in the memo field.  There are a couple things I'm considering.  I'll leave it to your imagination.

Another Reminder

We've had absolutely beautiful weather the past few weeks.  Each morning, when I've gone out for my run, it's been in the mid-50's with virtually no humidity.  It's been almost fall-like weather.

Today was no different.  When I headed out at 6:30AM, it was 56 degrees, the sun was already shining, and I was the only person in the world outside enjoying the morning (except for my neighbor, who I passed coming back into the neighborhood as I was heading out -- and I thought I was motivated).  Eight miles later, I was back in the driveway, feeling great.  The thermometer showed that it was now 59 degrees.  All in all, a morning run can't get much better.

I was feeling so good that, after getting cleaned up, I decided to quit stalling and finally register for the Baltimore Half-Marathon.  I've been putting it off for no good reason other than my fear that I once again won't be able to break 1:40.  That's been my goal ever since I finished last year's race.  I've been tantalizingly close each of the past few years but I've not been able to crack that barrier.  "This will be the year," I told myself as I logged on to the Baltimore Running Festival web site.  "After all, I'm not getting any younger."

Just in case I wasn't aware that I wasn't getting any younger, do you want to know how many times the registration site told me how old I was?  That would be three separate times.  The first time was after I read the waiver language.  If you're under 18, you need to get an adult to sign the waiver for you.  So, you have to enter your birth date after you read the legal text.  I did that and the site very kindly automatically calculated my age for me.  A big bright "45" popped up onto the screen.  Then, twice more during the registration process, I had to enter my age.  Who knows why.  Couldn't they simply carry over my age from the first time I entered it?  Do they do this to everyone or only to recent birthday celebrants?

To top it all off, I had to order my CareFirst BlueCross BlueShield t-shirt.  I know that I shouldn't be wearing the competition's logo (or even have it in my house).  God knows they don't need any more free advertisting.  But, each morning, I find myself pulling on one of the four that I already have.  The problem is that they're actually pretty nice.  Hopefully, none of my co-workers will ever see me.

Thank You (I Think)

Bear with me.  I'm going to keep up the birthday theme for one more post.  I promise that this will be the last one on this topic -- at least until next year.

Kim made an awesome birthday dinner for me on Tuesday night.  She grilled some fancy hamburgers with carmelized onions, mushrooms, arugula, and blue cheese.  She also made a nice green salad with oranges and roasted beets.  To complete the meal, we had leftover Popeye's french fries.

Why leftover Popeye's fries?  Because, on Sunday, we'd stopped at Popeye's for dinner.  It was the first time we'd been there in quite a long time.  We ordered a 10-piece bucket, ten chicken tenders, and four orders of large fries.  When the woman at the cash register said our bill was $44, I couldn't believe it.  I double-checked the receipt and saw that each order of large fries cost $3.99.  That seemed just a tad bit outrageous.  But, the damage was done.  I silently steamed while waiting for our order to be filled.  Then, I saw them starting to fill the fries order.  Who knew that a single order of "large" fries at Popeye's is supposed to be enough to feed an entire family?  We walked out of there with a shopping bag full of fries.  The workers there are probably still talking about us.  That's why we had Popeye's fries on Sunday, Popeye's fries on Tuesday, and still have a bag full of them in our refrigerator today.

But, this isn't about Popeye's fries or my birthday dinner.  It's about what happened after we were done eating.  I'm not too old to get birthday presents.  This year, I'd asked for some comfortable shorts to wear around the house, a new pair of running shorts, and some hugs and kisses.  After getting all of those, I still had one gift to open.  I did my usual annoying routine, sizing up the gift box, weighing it in one hand and then the other, shaking it around, and finally making a guess as to what was inside.  For this one, I guessed it was a ream of printer paper.  That's just what it felt like.

How wrong I was.  Kim had gotten me an iPad.  She captured the moment on camera when I saw what it was.  It's a pretty funny picture.  The look on my face is equal parts surprise and horror.  Surprise, because I had absolutely no idea that this was coming.  Horror, because now I was going to have to figure out this blasted new technology.

I'm telling you, when I saw the iPad, I could feel my brain just go haywire.  I literally couldn't process any thoughts.  My shoulders sagged and it felt like a heavy stone had just dropped on me.  That feeling stayed with me for the rest of the night.  I think it was because I just didn't know what to do with the darn thing and I felt, like I always do, that I had to immediately figure it out.  When I pulled that iPad out of the box, turned it on, and was staring at it, all I could think was "OK, now what?  What does this thing want with me?"

Two days later, I've got my e-mail running, I'm loving the picture quality, and I've got my first two apps loaded (the New Yorker and SiriusXM, of course).  The iPad is great and I know I'm going to love it.  It was a great gift and it will be perfect for me (and all of us) with all the travel I'm doing.

But, as I come to terms with my new iPad, I'm also trying to figure out why I reacted the way that I did when I first saw it.  Why couldn't I just be gracious, smile, say "thank you," and mean it?  What is it about anything new, particularly any new technology, that causes me to freak out?  And, why do I hate the thought of having to spend any time at all learning something new?  Am I really that crotchety?

The answer is "yes."  How do I know?  Because I actually used the word "crotchety" correctly.

 

Birthday Blahs

Tomorrow's my birthday.  I'm not the least bit excited.  Birthdays just mean I'm one year closer to my ultimate demise.  That's just the way I see it.

To celebrate the big occasion this year, I have something special planned.  I've been looking forward to it for over 6 months.  It all started the last time I visited the dentist.  After my cleaning, I was checking out at the front desk.  At our place, they never let you leave until you've scheduled your next appointment.  For years, I've always had my appointments at the end of the work day.  God forbid I leave work early or miss an important conference call, right?

This time, when checking out, I decided to treat myself.  I'm going to ask for an early morning appoinment, I thought to myself.  I figured that would allow me to sleep in, have a nice leisurely breakfast, and brush my teeth for a second time at home before leaving for my dentist appointment.  If you have to visit the dentist, you may as well do it on your own terms for once.

So, there I stood at the front desk, looking at the woman who keeps the appointment book. She knew the drill with me and asked if I wanted an appointment at the end of the day again.  "Actually, I'd like something first thing in the morning," I responded brightly.  She flipped through her appointment book, looked up, and said "I've got 8:30AM on June 5th."

You have got to be kidding me, I thought.  June 5th?  That's my birthday.  But, I was the smart guy who'd asked for the early morning appointment.  "OK," I meekly said.  "That's fine."

So, here I am.  It's the night before my birthday.  As if that's not a dreary enough thought, I've got a dentist appointment waiting for me as soon as I wake up in the morning.  Next year could be an absolute banner year for me.

The Payoff

At 20, 18, and 15 years of age, our kids are getting pretty old.  By this point, we've pretty much done all that we can to try and set them on the right path.  We can attempt to make minor course corrections if we see them going astray but that's about it.

I've lived with the three kids for their entire lives.  I've seen the good, the bad, and the ugly.  Despite all the time I've spent with them -- talking, listening, goofing around, ragging on them -- I still find myself wondering who they really are and what they're going to be like when they "finally grow up."  I think I got some pretty good answers in the past couple of days.

• Hannah was interviewing for a summer job at a "real" company.  If she got it, it would be her first true job in a professional setting.  It was important to her.  During the hiring process, she had a series of interviews.  At her last one, she was asked the question "If you could meet one person from history, who would it be and what would you ask them?"  As Hannah told me about the interview, she said "I know they probably thought I'd say Jesus or Oprah.  But, I said Joe Paterno.  I told them I'd ask him how it felt to be betrayed by the university to which you'd devoted your entire life."  I thought that was a pretty interesting response for a 20-year old who was trying to make a good impression at a job interview.  She could have taken the easy road and given a pat answer.  But, she decided to say what she really felt.  I liked that.  The easy road's never as much fun.
• For his birthday, Nick got a tent.  He's not an outdoorsman.  None of us are.  But, he really wanted a tent.  Why?  So he could camp out at Paternoville next fall.  You see a theme here, don't you?  Not to worry, this isn't really about Joe Paterno.  You see, Nick has always been a hoot to watch opening presents.  The expression on his face when he's opening a gift is exactly the same as an 18-year old as it was when he was a 3-year old.  It's a priceless mix of anicipation and joy.  Sure enough, as soon as Nick opened the box and saw his tent, he decided he needed to set it up.  Five minutes later, we had a two-person tent in our family room.  Then, he loudly announced that he was going to sleep in it.  Yes, on the night of his 18th birthday, our grown son spent the night happily asleep in his new tent on our family room floor.  That's Nick -- silly, spontaneous, and very easy to please.  I could learn something from him.
• Last night, Jay found himself in the middle of a competition with two friends.  They got the bright idea to see who could hold their arms above their head the longest.  After an hour, we picked him up to bring him home but he wouldn't let that end the competition.  The whole ride home, he dutifully held his arms above his head, not knowing if his friends were still doing the same.  When we got home, he got a text -- one of the guys had dropped out.  Now, there were just two competitors left.  Ninety minutes in, he got another text.  The message asked if Jay wanted to call it a tie.  If you know Jay at all, you know that Jay doesn't do ties.  Instead, he quickly hatched a plan to sucker his friend into thinking he was OK with the tie.  He got him on speaker phone, agreed to a countdown at which time they'd both drop their arms, counted down, and then refused to drop his arms.  As his friend started to talk about how, after dropping his arms, they hurt even more now that the blood was rushing back into them, Jay gleefully shouted that he'd tricked him and was the winner.  I get that this particular episode shows Jay to be a ruthlessly competitive kid who isn't above tricking someone in order to win.  I've clearly still got some work to do with him on that front.  But, I can't fault his perseverance, strong will, and desire. 

I like the way these kids are turning out.