Random humor?

Blogger's Word Validation is a little less than random. Here are a couple of validation "words" I've actually seen:

HUGNWF
Huggin' wife?

KLPDRO
Kill Pedro? A political commentary on the state of illegal immigration?

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Oh, this is too funny! Seems the local animal shelter found and impounded my sister's chihuahua, the one that we thought was stolen. Nowadays they take a picture of the lost pooches and put up their mugs in a profile like on a personals ad. It's almost worh the $140 to get her out just to have a copy of this picture.

God : doG

Lo and behold, God read my last blog post. You see, out of the blue I get another call from another blast from the past. She's a high school friend whom I've seen here and there throughout the years, but not for a good long while now. She's finishing her residency and...getting married. Awesome. She also got me in contact with another couple people from the past, one of whom is also getting married. And the other, in turn, wants to do a little reunion with some other folks. Wow, how exciting! Incidedentally, she says she remembers me as the philosopher of the group. How 'bout that, I was an armchair philosopher back then too!

So I call up my buddy and tell him all this. He also knew these people. Dude, we're the only ones not married or on the marriage track, he says. How come no one loves me, he jokes. I half-seriously say because first you have to make yourself lovable. As guys are wont to do we just laughed and moved on to something else, quickly bypassing a rich opportunity for self discovery and introspective meditation. Whatever, like we haven't both done the drunken "I love you man!" back in the day when I was more apt to do that sort of thing.

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The chihuahua is gone. Someone came into the backyard and stole her in the middle of the night or the afternoon when no one was home. She was a pretty perfect specimen of the breed, excepting the bum leg, so someone must have taken an interest. That leaves a very lonely pit bull mix with a tumor with no one to keep her company.

The dogs have given me so much trouble that I haven't really given them any attention. Besides, I can't even give the dog a pat on the head without getting all stinky. Well, not that I admit to having a soft spot for her, but I've decided to at least give it a good soapy scrubbing to see if I can get rid of the smell. Then maybe, just maybe I might condescend to give it a pat on the head on the way out. She got her first scrubbing today. She'll get another tomorrow.

"God blessed them and said to them, 'Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it. Rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air and over every living creature that moves on the ground.'" Genesis 1:29. In other words, we have a unique role as caretakers and stewards of the animals. Thou shalt bathe the dog!

Forward and backward

I sometimes meet up with folks I haven’t seen for a long time and, sadly, I often find their personalities or circumstances have not changed for the better. You see the girl who was teased and marginalized in high school compensate by turning into a preening prima donna. You see the pretty girl who got attention for her looks turn into an ugly adult whose whole worth is wrapped up in others' admiration. Then you have the failed marriages, drug problems and bad life choices.

I met a couple of people last night I hadn’t seen for a dozen years. Now, they were just fine and their changes weren’t like those I’ve described above. Still, one seemed a little embarrassed at taking so long to finish school, was badly affected by a very long term relationship and was still “finding herself.” Another seemed embarrassed when I said she hadn’t changed a bit, probably because, as I noticed only later on, she actually had. I enjoyed seeing these folks and I’m glad I went, but I think I lasted all of forty five minutes before I left. A number of the conversations I heard were so obviously, at least to me, driven by insecurities, full of name dropping, gratuitous cursing and superficial banter.

Now, in all fairness, I could probably stand to loosen up a bit more and what I’ve written here is based largely on impressions anyway. I guess my own shortcomings were no less on display last night. I wonder what other folks’ impressions are of me after all these years. Do they leave a reunion feeling sad or disappointed like I sometimes feel? Are they glad they said hello? Do they compare their own story to mine and feel inspired, intimidated, proud (of their own story)? I always try to make folks feel good about what they’ve done and what they’re doing. Can I do more? I met someone who postponed some goals in order to have a family. Does she know how proud and even a little envious I am of her? (This as she laments that I’ve done “more” than she has.) Do they even think about these things as much as I do?

Well, I do enjoy looking back, at other people and myself, but I sure do look forward to meeting the folks God would bring into my life. I wonder whom I shall meet today….

Claim to fame

The Internet is such a neat tool for finding old friends and classmates. Many of them, I’m sure, would rather not be found, but I’m always glad to be found and I’ve had good reactions from folks I’ve found in turn.

When I was in middle school I met a skinny, outgoing and sometimes shy, hilarious girl on whom I immediately had a puppy-love crush. One year I got her phone number before classes ended. For one dreamy summer we talked about everything and nothing for hours. Sometimes we’d just sit there and not say anything at all--it was just nice to have the company on the other end of the line.

Fast forward nearly 20 years. She had a very unique name so I decide to do a Google search. All I get are tons and tons of fan sites for some hot, popular starlet--some woman that was on some hit TV shows and movies and so on. I try to weed through all those hits and look for those pointing to alumni links for one of the local colleges or something along those lines. Forget it, it’s not working. There are just too many fan sites and TV links.

Well, I’m sure you can guess how this post is going to end. Ya, it’s her. She became a starlet. I read a couple interviews and if you can believe anything in those things it sounds like she’s happy and doing what she has a passion for. Neat. I’d still like to get a hold of her, but I haven’t found a way to do so. Besides, I might seem to her like just another person trying to exploit a personal connection for personal gain. Truth is, I don’t watch TV so I don’t even want so much as an autograph. I just think it’d be fun to say hello and reminisce a little.

Oh ya, you want to know her name? No, that wouldn’t be fair to her, even if I haven't said anything particularly controversial. Besides, I don’t need to be getting any calls from the Inquirer!

Schadenfreudulistic expialadocious

There's a word missing from th English language. It's similar to "schadenfreude" (taking pleasure in the misery of others), but means finding relief in the misery of others because it makes your own troubles seem small.

Found on Craig's List yesterday:

I just took my dog out to go pee before bed, and while I was admiring the pretty flowers that were growing amongst the bushes, my dog barked at an animal under the tree. I immediately pulled him away from the tree and much to our suprise, a small duck flew out from under the tree, and smacked right into my motorhome before flying away into the night. I grabbed a flashlight, and from a distance, looked to see if there was a nest in the bushes, and much to my chagrin, there was. I could see the eggs were unharmed, and I made it a point not to touch anything or get any closer than I already did when I had my dog out.

Do you think Momma will go back to protect her nest, or should I call animal control to make sure the eggs are protected? I moved my motorhome far away from where we were parked by the nest, and I'm watching from a distance, HOPING that she'll come back to protect her eggs and keep them warm.

F[***], I feel TERRIBLE!!!!!!!! I don't want those babies to die!

Contrast and rant

This dude is selling my dream piano--a Yamaha C7 7' 6" concert grand, less than 2 years old--for only $25k. And as luck would have it, I just don't have that kind of cash just at this very moment. The smaller C6 used to be my dream piano, until I got a gander at this deal of the century. (Oooh, just saw another C7 for $14k.)
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On the other hand, I am now the proud owner of a three-piece suit. I have a few two-piece suits, but I've always wanted a three-piece suit (and a top hat and monocle, you know!). It cost me seven and a half bucks at the local thrift store. It's brand new and fits me perfectly, a small miracle.

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In fact, I'll take this opportunity to rant against business clothes made for, well, business men--fat American ones. See, I've got this huge 16 1/2 - 17 inch neck, but only a 32 in arm span. By the time I find a shirt with a collar that closes I can literally fit two of me into the rest of the shirt. Even "athletic fit" shirts are still a bit large below and they're hard to find. Not that I'm built like an Adonis, but let's face it, my genes come from south of the border and the typical American body type is just HUGE by comparison. And don't get me started on pants with crotches that hang down to the knee and legs wide enough for two. Just cause you're short doesn't mean you're fat--unless you're an American businessman, apparently.

Vignettes

I took my mom to O-Nami today. The best thing there was this tuna salad—fresh, uncooked tuna chunks with romaine lettuce tossed in a sauce of soy sauce, vinigar, sugar, spicy red bean paste (guessing) and sesame oil. That last ingredient wafted from my nose and palette up through my subconscious mind where it mingled with a tenuous web of vignettes of past scenes from another time. My mother broke me away from my reverie when she teased that I must be full. “No, just thinking,” I told her. When I was an undergrad a special lady captured my heart. We used to cook together, making such things as “potato mess” and a Korean cucumber salad with a sauce similar to the one from today’s tuna salad. It was the sesame oil that did it. I think I’ll always associated the taste of sesame oil with those salad days (oh man, that pun was right there for the taking!).

So with my mind still metabolizing that weird potion concocted of bittersweet memories and the aftereffects of last night’s sleeping pills, I was driving down Carson Blvd. when I noticed a couple sitting at a bus stop, the man sporting a Hemingway beard, the woman wavy blonde hair like someone’s I knew. She was lying supine on the bench with her head on his lap. He had one hand on her waist and his other hand weaved through her hair. They looked happy, I mean really happy. And then I noticed their clothes were shabby and dirty. I assumed they were homeless. Were they really as happy as they looked given their circumstances? The romantic in me wanted to nurture the kernel of a love-conquers-all story that was beginning to germinate somewhere in here…but then the light turned green and I drove off.

Mother's Day sushi

Wow, our mother’s day dinner was absolutely awesome. We set out to do something really nice for the sisters at our singles group. We had a pasta, sausage and meatball Italian dinner replete with all the trimmings—bread with olive oil and balsamic vinegar for dipping along with freshly roasted garlic for spreading, sparkling cider “champagne,” antipasto salad, after dinner coffee with Italian cookies, cake for desert. The tables were set with a fancy centerpiece featuring floating candles and flowers. Some of the guys put on a skit and I stood duty as gondolier for a photo shoot on our Venetian set. The other guys were cooks or waiters, wearing the traditional white shirt, black tie and apron. Oh, and each of the ladies got a single long-stem rose. A lot of work, time and a bit too much money went into this, but I think the ladies were definitely blessed.

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California is the home of all-you-can-eat sushi. In fact, there are several chains and umpteen little mom-and-pops that specialize in sushi/Japanese buffet here in Southern California. Tomorrow I will be patronizing O-Nami. (Sumo Shushi and Seafood and Todai are also favorites.) These aren’t just your typical Chinese buffets that are popping up all over the place. The quality, preparation and presentation are much better. Still, many folks look down their nose at these places as just another feeding trough for the hoi polloi. Not so, my well-heeled friends. For about $15 for lunch or $25 for dinner, you get to enjoy well-prepared, tasty, fresh and plentiful sushi and other good stuff without the guilt or worry over spending too much for your culinary experimentation.

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Got a call from my blind-call acquaintance . Hmmm... another deep thinker? Maybe. Good conversation, in any case. And that's all I'm expecting from any new acquaintance. I'm trying to meet new folks, but I don't have dating in mind, just making new friends and connections.

Gondoliers and spiders

I've been so busy with helping to put together a mother's day dinner for our church singles group that I've not been able to write much. It's an Italian dinner theme and I get to be the gondolier, among other things. No joke. I've got the hat, pants, shirt and pole already. Should be fun.

I'm learning a few things from this experience, though. It is very, very tough to work with controlling people. I'm no push-over, but I pick my battles. I'm no control freak. I'm learning why I don't get along with control freaks, i.e. machinists (machine shop guys), litigators, some engineers and so on.

I'm also learning what service is. That's right, I've always tended to stay away from volunteering too much. Time to change that. In every organization there seems to be a core group of people that get things done. I want to be one of those for a change. The whole church thing changes the paradigm a bit, though: the emphasis is on serving others not for your own recognition, but for the glory of God. Not everyone seems to buy into the idea wholeheartedly, though. I'm watching and learning a lot about my fellow parishioners---good and bad. And that's good.
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I inherited my sister's old room, the one that was always full of those long-legged spiders that hang out along the corners of the room. She didn't like to kill them since they really didn't do anything. She called them her "friends" and let them be. When I moved in I cleaned the room and got rid of the spiders. That didn't last long. They're back in force and now they're my friends too. I like them just where they are and I won't be chasing them away anytime soon.

Why? Because I'm deathly afraid of mosquitoes, their favorite food. I'm exaggerating a bit, but truth is I cannot sleep in the same room with a buzzing mosquito. As a kid I always seemed to get bit on my elbows and knuckles, as if wrinkly skin were a magnet for those flying beasts. Now I don't seem to get bit so much, but they still keep me up...unless I can't hear them. Even if I know he's still out there, as soon as I put on a pair of ear plugs I'm golden. I guess it's like riding in one of those glass elevators. So long as you close your eyes, nothing can hurt you.

But I'm definitely not whining here!

I can't sleep. Just saw Fight Club. Creative direction and story telling (descent into madness), crummy subject--a whiner whining about his whiney life. Get a life you whiney gen-Xer!

I'm just a little cranky, no? I think tomorrow (tonight) is going to be a sleeping pill night.

Dude, get a life. And you too! How embarrassing. Pshaw...not like this tough guy.

Tears

A woman is most beautiful in each of these three circumstances: when she is sleeping, when her hair is wet and stuck to the side of her face and when she is crying. Maybe it’s part of my “broken wing syndrome” or maybe part of being an older brother to younger sisters or just a propensity to be a bit tender hearted. The last time I saw a woman cry her salty tears wicked through my heart’s defenses like water through a napkin until all that was left was a sopping, pulpy mess despite ten years of fortification.

Today a woman’s waterworks did my heart in again. My kid sister is 13 and has to contend with some pretty tough circumstances in additional to the proverbial angst that accompanies that formative age. I won’t give details out of respect for her privacy, but suffice it to say her home life could be happier. When I went over to see her today her eyes were red and puffy. She’d been crying her heart out and I immediately went into Protector mode. Are you doing all right? What happened? Did your mom say something? Did somebody hurt you?

She’s usually warm and affectionate. Now I felt her stiff under my arm and I’m having a small panic thinking up the right words to say. Everything’s all right, she says. Nothing’s the matter. I don’t want to talk about it.

I settle for just holding her and telling her something along the lines that she’s not alone, she has me and her sister she can always come to. Some things we can’t change, but we’ll always try to help her. And so on....

Maybe the situation wasn't so dire as my gut initially told me, but I said elsewhere I can’t take matters of the heart lightly. And my sisters ran away with my heart long ago.

Aquarium

How geeky is this. I'm now the proud administrator of a home network called Aquarium with resident computers named Anchovy, Tuna, Starfish and Sardine.

For Maximum Value

I found myself on the defensive the other night, trying to explain away why I had a 40 pound bag of dog food on my shoulder. It was late, I was tired, but I’d promised my father to go buy food for the dogs. Those dogs have eaten a bunch of my stuff and we’re on uneasy terms. Besides, they’re dirty, they stink and I prefer cats. So I’m not in a very good mood when I walk down the pet food isle, the dog and the cat products appropriately arranged on opposite sides of the isle. Even so, I couldn’t help catching a glance at a woman picking out some cans of cat food and, though I could only see the back of her head, I thought she was rather pretty. Now, I’m a man like any other in some respects, but I believe God’s called us to be loving and respectful toward one another which means thou shalt not ogle the ladies! Now, in all fairness to myself, that innocent observation was a far cry from “ogle,” but still. I pick up a bag of the cheap stuff, FMV brand. For Maximum Value. That’s what it stands for, no joke. Now I’m walking back past the woman with the bag on my shoulder and consciously fighting the urge to turn my head and look back at her. I lost. After all, I’d never really seen her face had I?

Well, I’m glad I did because it turned out to be an old high school friend, indeed someone whom I’d gone to elementary school with! It was a very nice and warm greeting, not awkward like some of these things can be, except maybe for this snippet of conversation, “Just buying food for the dogs. Oh, but they’re not my dogs. They’re really my sister’s dogs. No, really, I don’t even like them, really. No, I’m a cat person [really, I swear!].” Trying to make a good impression? Maybe.

Turns out she lives one street over fom me. I gave her my contact info and now I can expect to have some nice conversation over a cup if joe one of these days.

True pathos

I just got finished talking about hands as symbols--the same hands that dropped my radio into the toilet the other night while I was...well, you know. And the self same hands that dropped my ice cream cone just as I walked out of the store.

I took my kid sister to get an ice cream cone at Rite Aid a couple days ago and just as we were exiting the store I brushed something off my shirt, but my hand overshot and I knocked the cone out of my other hand. It landed smack on its side, crushing part of the cone and making that sickening crunch sound like when you drop an egg on the floor. Time stood still for a few moments as her and I just stared wide-eyed at the smashed cone, watching a trickle of butter pecan begin to run away from the wreck like the chocolate syrup they used for blood in the original Psycho. Then her little face turned up to me and with the saddest eyes I've ever seen she said, "That's the saddest thing in the whole world." And she meant it. And I felt it. And anybody else would have too.

It's amazing how the littlest incidents, trivialities really, will elicit such genuine heart-felt pathos unlike anything the evening news can. It's like when, as little kids, we would help my father make his lunch the night before only to discover in the morning when we reached for the milk that he'd forgotten it. The sight of that wrinkled, tin foil bundle left conspicuously on the top shelf would put a lump in our throats and our little worlds would melt in a teary film.

Hands

Elsewhere I’ve written that hands as a symbol hold a particular meaning for me. (More references I've made to hands: here, here, here, here and here.) In a nutshell, our hands and what they represent—our physical selves—are the means by which we affect our world. No matter how sophisticated our thoughts, how passionate our speech or how active our inner life we are not disembodied minds, but physical beings. Nothing surprising there, but what if I were to ask you which of your five senses you would most unwillingly part with. It seems to me that there are work-arounds for each of the other senses, but touch is irreplaceable. Without touch we are cut off and isolated. If we add to that the inability to use our hands (or other parts) we become merely observers, unable to physically affect our world. We may move others by our speech, but ultimately I would find that as unsatisfying as watching someone else pet a kitten.

Hands are meaningful symbols to me for at least a couple other reasons as well. First, hands are a symbol of man’s unique ability to create and more specifically, of my own abilities and the immense pleasure I take in working with my hands. All my abilities, such as they are, I attribute to the abundant provision of God. For that reason, when I read that we are made in the image of God—the ultimate creator—I find myself staring dumbfounded at my own open palms, amazed and humbled that he should have chosen to imprint on me, on all people really, such a powerful reminder of who he is. Even the cuts and calluses are little symbols reminding me that as awesome as we have been made by our creator, more awesome is he who created us. (And you needn’t be a theist to appreciate this, I think. The theme is classic, i.e. Daedalus and Icarus.)

(Sidebar for philosophy buffs: Even a hardcore adherent of determinism-I probably used to be one--would have to admit its shortcomings. I believe that the ability to create new information, even where it consists merely of a novel rearrangement of preexisting information is just one concrete example that “something more” is at work. Awesome.)

And finally, even if nothing’s made sense so far, certainly any reader would understand this reason why hands are important symbols for me: at the most visceral level there is nothing so powerful as the touch of another person. Newborns probably understand little more than touch and with a touch they are quieted, comforted and lulled to sleep. Our pets are forever loyal for the price of the occasional pat on the head. We hold hands when we are in love. We hold hands when we pray. We clap them when we are glad. And, of course, we make love with our hands and bodies as well as our hearts and minds.

(And please don't zoom in on the picture, copy my fingerprints and steal my identity. Please don't.)