Chemical warfare, warfare, warfare

So, it is now Monday after Thanksgiving and tomorrow I will go back to work. This has been by far the worst Thanksgiving imaginable. On the bright side, when I show up to work tomorrow and people ask me how my holiday was, I will be able to speak to them without sounding like mush mouth from Fat Albert thanks to all the blisters in my mouth finally clearing up.
Perhaps I should back up a little and tell you how this all got started.
I had big plans for the Thanksgiving holidays. The wife and kids and I were headed south to visit with my mom and aunt, both of whom I haven't seen in quite awhile. The trip also held a particular importance to me due to the fact that my aunt hasn't been doing that good lately and I wanted to see her, be with her, for the holidays. So, on the Saturday before we were to leave, we head a few hours north to drop my two dogs off at my neice's house. We planned on staying the night, which actually turned out to be for the best. As soon as we arrived, I began suffering through cold chills. The types of chills that no matter what you do, you can't warm up and your teeth are sporadically clicking together like one of those plastic wind up mouths that chatter and jump around on those little feet. By the next morning I was running a pretty serious fever.
Over the course of the next five days, I sat on the couch suffering through a 103 degree fever. My wife and children stayed away from me, with the exception of the time she came home from work on her lunch break to take me to the emergency room and drop me off. The professionals at the E.R. diagnosed me with Bronchitis and a upper respitory infection. I was prescribed an antibiotic and some pain relievers. I suppose I was hoping for something a little more helpful. I was pretty sure I had H1N1, but the doctor seemed to dispell that notion by simply saying, "We haven't seen that to much lately." I tried again to suggest that perhaps I did have the serious version of the flu and he once again stated that he hadn't seen it around lately. As though that couldn't certainly mean that I had it. I mean, after all, if this guy hasn't "seen it in awhile", it musn't be, right?
Anyway.
My fever finally broke on Thanksgiving afternoon but my mouth was filled with canker sores so I couldn't eat. I didn't eat much at all prior to Thanksgiving. That night was the first time I was able to eat solid food since I hadn't gotten sick. We had what my daughter referred to as Thanksgiving Mac and Cheese. We shared one box of that processed cheese delicacy.
It is now officially 9 days since the start of my sickness and I am almost back to 100% with the exception of some of the larger blisters hanging on to make talking, chewing and breathing a laborious and somewhat painful evolution. Additionally, I have lost 12 lbs. My skin is returning to its normal color vs. the grayish color it has been over the last week. All of this, just in time to go back to work. I never made it to see my mom and aunt, I didn't get to eat Turkey until last night and I had to spend hours in the emergency room, which I can't stand. What a nightmare this holiday has been.
I apologize for the rant and even more for the mispelled words and improper grammar, but I wanted to let you all know that the Piggy Death Cough pulled my card and took me out of the running for a second, but I am back now. Slightly thinner, and a little less cocky about the "war" on the flu, but back just the same.
Until next time, enjoy the pure random.

Batman, disabled dancers and more

I consider my Dad to be an expert, or at the very least, extremely knowledgeable, in numerous subjects. For example, I call him the "Human Calculator". The name speaks for itself, but until you see him mentally calculate compounding interest on a Roth IRA account based on an average success rate of the stock market over the last 70 years in the same amount of time it takes you to remember what a Roth IRA even is, you have no idea. Additionally, he is well versed in old cars, motorcycles and holds a 2nd degree black belt in Taekwondo. He also has a vast knowledge of weapons and weapon history. It really doesn't matter what kind of weapon you may have a question about, as long as it is hand held and makes a loud noise, chances are he owns one, has shot one or knows the history of it. It was because of his library like knowledge of weapons that I called him earlier today with a question.
The question itself was fairly simple and the conversation was quick. Nothing really remarkable about it as Dad and I have had similar conversations in the past, but what I considered later struck me oddly. I use my Dad as a resource for knowledge and advice. I trust him. He has what I would consider a great deal of credibility. That fact got me thinking about what MY children might be able to call me about when they grow up. What "expertise" will I hold in their eyes? How “credible” will I be?
I never really have considered myself overly knowledgeable about any subject, let alone numerous subjects. It never occurred to me before today what information my children would rely on me for. This is, of course, beyond the regular lessons that a father is expected to teach their young ones like the value of hard work, integrity and what it means to give your word. I am not speaking about those lessons, I am talking about the smaller, perhaps more interesting things that make up an individuals particular “specialties” or talents. You know, the good stuff that Dads are supposed to know.
At this point in my life, I am pretty knowledgeable when it comes to music history, Batman comic books, photography, some art history and I used to know how to make explosives out of pool cleaning materials and tin foil. A quick glance at that kind of knowledge and I don’t see anything worth passing on to future generations.
Up until now, I suppose I never really thought about my kids seeing me as a credible source. I did, however, expect that my advice might be worth something to them, but an expert? Hardly.
I suppose I simply figured they would tell stories about me to their children and their children's children. Stories of how Grandpa Edwards once swam where the equator meets the dateline, or how he was a published photographer or perhaps they would prefer to tell more embarrassing stories such as how, after walking in to the den and glancing at the T.V., he mistakenly announced to a room full of people that the dancers currently being featured on the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade “sucked”, only to be told by Grandma Edwards, in a near whisper, that the particular group of performers being shown were actually physically disabled. In hindsight, I suppose that’s why I thought they were uncoordinated.
I didn’t mean to be a jerk about it, it was an honest mistake, but fairly typical of the open mouth insert foot policy that rules a majority of my “social mistakes”.
So what will my kids call me for? I don't widdle wood; I can't fix a car engine, I don't know the best way to grow a vegetable, and apparently I am a pretty insensitive guy. In short, I better get a hobby if I expect to keep up with the standard my father has already set. A hobby that I can do in my spare time and can speak about with some credibility. Something, no matter how superfluous, that my kids will think to say, "Hey! Dad knows about that." Whatever I decide on, I'm sure that my kids will at least let me believe I'm an expert, at least I hope they grant me that.
Until next time, enjoy the pure random.

Fat Spiderman Owned by Pigeons

The title pretty much sums it up, "Fat Spider Man Owned by Pigeons". It's not new, but it is funny. I would submit that if we, as a species, were going to send something out into space with the intention that one day it would be "intercepted" by another race of beings to be reviewed, I would say our humor would be most appropriate. I wouldn't necessarily send out the entire catalog of YouTube, but send a few videos like this, the series "The State", anything from Seth McFarland, Cheech and Chong and Benny Hill.
Until next time, enjoy this piece of pure random.

Oh, grow up.

The signs are everywhere. I see them in the mirror, I see them in my personality, I see them in my actions, my words, and my thoughts. I am getting older, there is no denying that, but why don’t I "feel" older? I figured by now, as a somewhat worldly man in my 30s, that I should at least start feeling more mature. I'm not even sure what being mature means really. My "vision" of what defines maturity is spotty at best. Should I smoke a pipe and talk about politics while attending some theatre play or art exhibit opening? I haven't the foggiest.
This isn’t to say that I am immature and can't take care of my life in a responsible manner, I do. I am a devoted husband and father of (soon to be) three children. I take care of my two dogs. I ensure my house is clean and well maintained. I work hard and have enjoyed success in my career. I pay my bills on time and am friendly with my neighbors. Even though all of these "attributes" seem to qualify me as a responsible adult, I still feel like I did when I was a kid when it comes to things I should care about; or at least the things I’m told to care about.
Some would say that perhaps that means I am young at heart. What I see instead is only a semi-adult, an apprentice of adulthood, a learner of life lessons. I have found myself speaking with men, not much older than myself, and feel as though I am less an adult than they are. That their maturity levels surpass me by such a large margin that what I am thinking must be true, that I have not fully "arrived" at adulthood. I still laugh at farts for crying out loud! How can I be a mature full-fledged adult when I still laugh at a fart?
Now, granted, some of the feelings I had when I was 17 have worked themselves out and I am slightly less moronic than I was then. I was never really the kid who cared much about what you thought. Whether it was about me, the way I dressed or the friends I kept. However, now as an adult, I REALLY don't care what anyone thinks outside of say, my wife, but I am at least respectful of our differences now. Additionally, I am not as unsure about my life or who I am now as I was back then. I have a clearer picture of all that. I didn’t have much of what you would consider a “life plan” back then and now, I can plan and pursue while still maintaining some flexibility to account for change.
See, that is exactly what I am talking about.
My attitude towards planning a life and still maintaining flexibility is very mature, especially since it is coming from a guy who is counting down the days until Modern Warfare 2 is released. Yes, I purchased the Prestige Edition, and yes, I am very excited to try out the night vision goggles that come with it.
Trying to determine whether or not I am a real adult reminds me of what a friend of mine once said about his father. He referred to his dad as having "Peter Pan Syndrome". I asked him what that meant, and he said, "My father never grew up". There are plenty of people out there like that. All of them looking to get by on the minimum, get something for nothing and wonder across the face of the Earth like zombies in search of hand outs instead of "brainsssssss". I don't feel as though I belong in that category, but I am trapped somewhere in between responsible and ridiculous.
I see recent pictures of people that I went to high school with or knew as a child and, for the most part, they all look like adults. They talk about their families or careers and have opinions on health care reform or the current status of global economics. Perhaps I am ridiculous because I don't care to engage in conversations about these types of things. I suppose that is what I mean by feeling like a kid. The opinions on topics which are the drive for so many water cooler conversations don't interest me that much. Its not that I am not concerned with health care reform or global economics, I am, and so is my Roth IRA, but I am just not as concerned as what people are saying about them. For example, I think I would rather turn on my Playstation than sit through a town hall meeting regarding the town landfill. It just doesn’t interest me like I think that maybe it should.
In closing, I may not have taken a big ol’ sip of the maturity laced Kool-Aid, but I am doing alright anyway. I take care of what needs to be taken care of, I consider and reconsider options and act accordingly and more importantly I am trying to raise responsible and sensible future adults. I do all of this while still occasionally getting in some video game time or having burping contests with my three-year-old.
Since I have been writing this article, I think I may have gotten a little more mature. I think I may now hold an opinion on landfills; they smell like a fart.
Until next time, enjoy the pure random.

Let me "stress" this...

Let's talk about mechanisms. Not the type of mechanisms associated with biology, chemistry or philosophy. Not even the mechanisms associated with sociology, technology or engineering. I am referring specifically to coping mechanisms. The little cogs in the machine of life that are designed to directly, or in some cases indirectly, deal with stress.
I have a tendency to write, organize, plan and simply "do" when I am stressed. These are my methods of coping. In an environment, like our everyday lives, that is so random, these methods seem to make sense to me. I can create order where there is none, see organization out of a disorder and piece together a plan out of nothing but variables. It's pointless, it's frustrating; it's my coping mechanism.
When I was younger, I used stress as a motivator to accomplish my goals. The higher the stress level, the "sharper" I was. I covered alot of ground very quickly thanks to stress. One thing I realized as I got older, however, is that the more you depend on stress to get you through, the harder it was to shake that "edgy" feeling you get during and afterwards. It's almost like adrenaline, but dirtier. Now, I can hardly relax at all. Unfortunately, I don't have the energy of an 18-year-old anymore, so the "doing" part of my coping is sometimes shelved until I can get up motivation to "do" something.
Hobbies are good ways to alleviate stress. In fact, that is a good portion of the reason I began to write this blog. It is a hobby that takes time, planning, some time to research, organize and produce. It's a perfect fit for my desire to produce while trying to make sense out of something that is impossible to detail.
Perhaps if I had more money I could have hobbies that made more of an impact on either my life or the world. Certainly more of an impact than simply blasting out my opinion on every subject that happens to lazily wander across my path. Maybe I could skydive, or even better, skydive for charity! I suppose I am not altruistic enough to pursue such lofty sounding acts for the good of the order. Like most, I can only do what my time, energy, circumstance and disposition will allow, although, I'm sure I could do more if I tried.
In the end, I'm sure that at some point in my life I will look back and see a variety of mole hills I crushed, mountains I leaped over and opportunities that I flat out missed, all while applying my tactics for sanity and peace. Luckily, I have the support of family and friends that will make that journey not only manageable, but meaningful.
So, with all of that, I suppose what I am saying is that stress is the result of the journey and being tired is a side effect of the trip. A little fatigue certainly beats the alternative.
Until next time, enjoy the pure random.