Now I'm Dangerous

I've taken the 5 minutes to screw with pictures and finally figure it out---now I'm gonna be in trouble!

This is me 

Interesting list of Potential problems

So one of the books which I read last week had to do with mistakes made that make your writing suck.

“The 28 Biggest Writing Blunders (and how to avoid them)” 1992, William Noble. Writer’s Digest Books.

Here are the blunders:

1. Don’t write for your Eighth Grade Teacher
2. Don’t Complicate the Obvious
3. Don’t be a slave to a Grammar Guru
4. Don’t Freeze and formalize language
5. Don’t “Journalese” or “Slangify” words and phrases
6. Don’t Overuse the Thesaurus
7. Don’t Underuse the dictionary
8. Don’t Duck the punch in punctuation (???--what does that mean?)
9. Don’t wallow in a sentence straightjacket
10. Don’t write the perfect paragraph
11. Don’t get tricky and jazzy with style
12. Don’t add adverbs and Adjectives to prettify your prose
13. Don’t sprinkle the poet’s urge over the narrative product
14. Don’t let rhythm and sound turn sour
15. Don’t dabble with “smoky” words
16. Don’t expect the maid to clean up your mess--This one's for you, Nicole...
17. Don’t hug fad words without your fingers crossed
18. Don’t get cute with spellings and dialogue
19. Don’t wave away botched metaphors and cliché’s
20. Don’t passify your verb voice
21. Don’t hide parallelisms in the thicket
22. Don’t ignore intriguing italics
23. Don’t repeat without relevance
24. Don’t assume author absolutism
25. Don’t wrap characters in the same grammar blanket
26. Don’t shift to Neutral when mood and atmosphere change
27. Don’t underestimate the richness of the English Language
28. Don’t be afraid to make your own rules

Blunderooski

Here's why I moved my blog by the way--I pulled it up at someone else's computer and then couldn't make the damn link go away...and it was where my buddy Mike D. would be sitting at some point later...I sent him several of my blog entries and he really liked them, but is OBSESSED with finding the URL. And he’s already started to kind of mock me, like “why don’t you go blog or something…”He’s come at it from different angles, so it just tells me he wants this for some reason, and it’s probably not a reason that would be good for me.

Another reason is that it was probably a little too easy for someone to find me what with the naming of the blog and all...Hey, it's not paranoia if they really are after you...

So I couldn't chance it--Yes, he's my friend, but it is an odd relationship.

He's a turbo-powered genius, but, like many of that ilk, goes through friends like water. There's a wake of pissed off people behind him. My wife has even cut him off from ever eating her homemade lasagna again due to a time where he went back on a money deal between us (I forgave him and never mentioned it again). And when he gets in a fight, he goes freakin' scorched earth on your ass.

He's got a very funny sense of humor, and after knowing him for about 10 years now, I just know when he's moody and I tell him "Dude, call me when you get off the rag!" and promptly hang up on him. But I've stuck with him through some hard times, like getting a divorce from the love of his life--I know he appreciates me for that. Also, I appreciate that he helped me get my current job and really helped me learn the ropes in the lab when we first met as undergrads.

One of my favorite memories of college was when we were writing a paper together, and when we finished all the experiments, we called an unauthorized margarita party in the lab at 2:00 AM (shhhhhhh)! We got in the mood because we were working with citrus fruits and their essential oils, so the smell permeated the lab for weeks and finally we needed to do something to blow off steam from our constant wisecracks about tropical, fruity drinks.

But you have to watch your back all the time around this guy. Once at a formal conference he put a picture of me in his presentation without, ahem, clearing it with me—It was a photo of me in grungy hunting clothes and I was pretty trashed out. Another time he did a presentation at our company with me as a South Park character and made my character do all kinds of silly things. And from the “When Will I Ever Learn” department, another time we were testing a high speed camera and I sat and made silly faces for about 2 minutes—Yep. He saved the footage and whips it out every now and then to amuse everyone around us...

Before the outrage builds and you think, "What an asshole!" Let me get to the high points--they are significant too. On several occasions we’ve been hunting and had great times smoking cigars under the stars and just hanging out and having deep talks. We've had fun times. Working together, hunting, hanging out at the house playing computer games... And we have been the most successful sales team in company history. I think I’m as close to him as a friend can be in his world. My world has several deeper levels of friendship in them, thank God.

But I love my blog. I love the freedom to be cheesy and moody and euphoric and goofy and try too hard to be funny and then end up being accidentally melancholy and sometimes painfully mediocre. It’s so cool that I can let things play out as I go and see what the result is…I promise someday I will edit my stuff and someday I MAY even put a picture or 2 in this bitch. But I have to guard my deepest thoughts against being projected on a 20 foot screen in public for someone’s personal amusement. They’re too valuable. And I’m a little too vulnerable.

The Passion, Part II

Trying hard not to say "sorry"!

One thing about living life with passion is that you get passionate about negative things, too! When you see life in vivid colors, even black is a vivid color!

No, I'm not about to mix up some wacky Kool Aid and end it all, I promise!

I feel so good about my blog from yesterday because it feels good to face that demon publicly. There's something about putting something down formally that makes you organize your thoughts and examine how you really feel about it. It's not pretty to feel bitter. If someone asked me if I was bitter, I would say "no", because I know it's not good to be that way--but when I read my own stream-of-consciousness writing I see bitterness and sadness and grief that needed to be expressed.

I think that was a healthy thing to confront. What I am sorry about is dumping that load on others.

Hopefully it gives people a clue about me. Maybe someday my kids will read my entries, by then printed out and stored somewhere, and know their dad was a real person with challenges in life, and it will give them comfort that I overcame some of them.

In another note of weird Serendipity, I got a call yesterday (they day after my posting) from Kurt, the Guy who Rolled Down the Mountain from my story Rollin' Rollin' Rollin'. I hadn't spoken with him for over a year, and he still lives in Oklahoma. He was here on business and was about 20 miles away, so I shuffled my plans around and met him for lunch.

Here's an excerpt:

Me: "Man, it's really good to see you! I was just thinking about you."

K: "I was thinkin' about you, too..."

Me (I wonder if he was blog-surfing and found my entry and is here on a mission to kill me?)

Me: "So, what have you been up to, lately?"

K: "I got me a new quarter horse, and I'm thinkin' about makin' me a mule. Already had a jackass. Put 'em together and you get a mule!"

Me: "Really! Why a mule?"

K: "Don't know. Guess I always wanted one. They're unique, you know."

Me: "Yeah, I guess they are..."

K: "Well, they can't reproduce, that makes 'em unique!"

So, suffice it to say that this was the highlight from our lunch...although it was good to see him and he looked well.

Then, I went to the airport to meet my Aunt for the first time. Different than I expected, in a good way--she was very sweet. We had about an hour to chat as she changed planes, so it went way too quickly, but she seemed to like me, anyway. As she was leaving, Ryan ran up and hugged her and said "I Love You!" to her, quite spontaneously.

All in all, a good day. Peace!

Rollin', Rollin', Rollin'....

I was just looking at my Itunes list and apparently, I've played "Stacy's Mom" 3x more than any other song...I may have a problem.

But that's not what's on my mind today. I have to get this story down on some kind of media before it gets away from me...

In the summer of 2003, the company that I work for called an unexpected meeting in Teluride, Colorado. All of us flew in from all over the country to this tiny airport, then we were bused into this beautiful resort at 8000 feet. For those of us who live at sea level (most of our company is on Long Island), we were immediately hit with the lack of oxygen. It was a pretty funny experience-I think on paper it seemed like a good idea, but the logistics and the altitude were a huge topic of conversation for the whole week. The people that planned the meeting thought it was going to be a grandiose experience for everyone, and half of us, including my out-of-shape ass, were paying for oxygen at the oxygen bar! $50 for freakin' air!

A big player at these events is the open bar--While I'm really not much of a drinker, when someone else is buying :), I like to drink Long Island teas--they were $12! (so I had to stop at 10...)(just kidding) Everything at this place was just crazy-priced. One night I ordered room service by myself and read a book instead of going out with everyone--it was like $120! For a pretty average meal.

But I couldn't pass up the opportunity to participate in our "Fire at the Summit" chili cookoff. We were supposed to put together a marketing plan all week, then we would have a big contest where everyone would cook their chili and present it with a whole marketing campaign. Sounds creative, right? Well, the overwhelming majority of people could not care less about that event, and we really didn't have tools to do a good job, so I decided that it was probably better teamwork overall to just go with the flow and somewhat blow off the contest than to be a standout, slave-driving maniac trying to win whatever lame prize was cooked up. So that's what I did.

On the down side, I drew a team with the top-ranking VP of the company, Bob, his secretary (aka the one who can pull favors for you at any time if you are just nice to her), Jennie, my aforementioned buddy Mike D. (whom you have to watch yourself around somewhat because he's all about what's in the best interest of Mike D.), and a guy named Kurt, our new rep from Oklahoma.

When I say "from Oklahoma", I mean this guy, 45, about 5'4", 240 lbs. (yes, built roughly like the Tasmanian devil) with a short, jet-black, military-style clean-cut haircut was from the backwoods of Oklahoma. I can't put the town's name because everyone there is related to him somehow. And, unfortunately, Kurt was taking over for me in covering Oklahoma City--I say unfortunately because I felt a big obligation to help him find his way with the company, and I took a lot of personal responsibility to hang out with him--in retrospect I was fighting the urge to distance from him...

When we first hired Kurt, I had put a good word in for him after working with him for a couple of days on a trial run. It turns out that people (customers) from Oklahoma tend to hate people from Texas and especially people from Dallas (aka me)--they see Dallas as the big brother city trying to influence their more pure, honest culture with materialism, snobbery, pollution, and other high-falutin' ways. Kurt tended to relate immediately to our targeted customer demographic, so I thought it would be a good fit and I gave my blessing. Turns out he had been overachieving during those days, had no personal work habits at all, no organization skills, and it's possible that in those first two days I saw him in his only two shirts with collars. I heard him tell the same story about sewing up a "mama cow"'s uterus with baling wire about four times in one day.

After being with the company about six months, Kurt had been faltering in his performance, and now at the meeting I felt a little defensive about having recommended him. I was determined to make this whole situation a go.

Then Mike D. absconded with a bottle of Jack Daniels, and mayhem ensued--Actually, it was the second bottle that doomed us all...

I remember being very focused on making chili that was subsequently pronounced by the judges to "look like chili, but tastes like mud" (award for the worst-tasting chili). There was a live band playing '70's music, and my fellow employees looked at me with a collectively puzzled expression when I called out "Turn it up!" at precisely the perfect time in Lynard Skynard's "Sweet Home Alabama"--I think it may just be a southern thing...

I turned around, and there was Mike D. with a huge bottle of Jack that he had stolen from the table of potential chili ingredients by walking up when no one was looking and slipping the bottle into the pocket of his apron. He was grinning like the devil himself when he started to pass the bottle among our friends. I didn't see ol' Kurt swigging away until the second bottle was halfway gone. By that time, the contest was over and we were all headed inside, with the Texas-based contingency pretty much blindly staggering like a migration of drunks from last call.

Our company is conservative, and, even at casual events, the New Yorkers seem to always look like they just took off their tie. Some of us manage to pull off wearing BRAND NEW, dark blue jeans with nice sport shirts. A few minutes later, when my protege' was standing on his chair in the 4-star restaurant screaming "wooooo hoooo!" at the top of his lungs, I realized he was wearing sweat pant shorts, a grey University of Oklahoma football workout shirt, and a bandana tied around his head like Charlie Sheen in "Platoon", with a big wad of dip in his mouth.

The third bottle of Jack would end up going down in the annals of company history. I could have made a fortune if I had kept the presence of mind to save it because it ended up being a turning point in company history--of course, it could also be referred to as "exhibit A" in court somewhere...

With this bottle, my esteemed Texas colleages started calling out different members of the company. When it had gone around a little, their collective buzz was so intense that I think none of them could remember anyone's name.

So they just cut to the chase and called out the president of the company, who was visiting from Japan.

If you've ever seen the movie Black Rain, the mood was very similar to the scene when Sato, in a required gesture of solidarity, bitterly cuts off his finger to show that he is united with the other bosses. The pres, probably contemplating the thousands of dollars in headhunting fees he would have to spend, walked very methodically to the front of the room. He mechanically took the bottle with both hands--one supporting the half-full bottle from the bottom, and the other hand around the neck. In one motion, he hoisted the bottle and downed about half of what was left like Michael Jordan downing gatorade. When he was finished, he bowed very formally and briskly handed the bottle to a very drunk cajun guy who proceeded to parade the bottle around the room.

There was stunned silence, then a roar of applause from the 150 or so people present.

Trust me when I say there was a huge HR fallout from that dinner in later weeks from some of the stuffy suits from New York who were there at the meeting, but the president (amazingly) complimented our manager at the comradery and uniformly and cohesively drunken group. Our boss was later promoted to National Sales Manager and the stuffy suits were all fired! But first, we all had to survive that night...

Thirty minutes later the dinner was over and I was waiting outside near the top of the mountain, trying to catch a breath of ridiculously thin air. I had appointed myself the token sober person who would sort out where all my sloshed cohorts would end up sleeping eventually. Someone had to get them back to the hotel.

I looked up and saw them singing "Louie, Louie" (which strangely sounded great coming from them) and holding hands in a chain, running around the top of the mountain like possessed chimpanzees. But it was hilarious. Then I saw Kurt...rolling down the side of the mountain.

I was determined that he wouldn't die on my watch, so I ran over to stop him before he body-slid down the rocky ski slope. I remember thinking of a joke an old Greek man once told me, which, translated into this situation, would be equivalent to me showing up with a decapitated Kurt in Oklahoma and asking his wife "Was his head attached when he left?"

I put my arm around him, partly to hang on to him, but also, I'm ashamed to say, for some leverage to dive away from his projectile dinner...and lunch...and morning coffee break...then, oddly, a license plate and some baling wire....

There were sounds coming out of that man that were clearly not human--it sounded like a microphone connected to a massive concrete drainpipe, complete with low rumblings, brash, echoing, mutated churning guts and the acoustics of Carnegie Hall projecting off the side of that Colorado mountain. And then he collapsed like a sack of laundry. A 240 lb. dead weight sack of laundry. That smelled like an indescribable blending of....well, some things are best left as not described.

The van drivers who were supposed to take us down were on to us. I tried for 45 minutes before I could get one to come over--maybe they had seen this before due to the altitude. After awkwardly dumping him in the front seat, we pointed his head out the open window and told the driver to get us the hell out of there. His utterly unconscious condition had started to attract the attention of the whole company, and it was not only a downer for the evening, but was also an embarrassment to our regional group. Once we made it down the mountain, the driver opened the passenger door and Kurt poured out and landed in a heap, face-up in the parking lot by the entrance to our swanky hotel. Grey chili and Jack Daniels streaked along his side of the van....

I asked the hotel for a wheelchair, and they agreed, and went to get one. There were about 5 of us that were pretty close friends, and we were gathered around kind of giggling about what was going on. Then someone spotted the next van coming, with all the executives of the company. Which inspired the funniest damn thing I've ever been a party to.

We grabbed Kurt up off the parking lot and propped him, completely out cold, on the bench in front of the hotel. One guy sat holding him up from each side, one guy behind him holding him up by his shoulders, and the rest of us crowded around talking. Some quick-thinking girl grabbed Kurt's sunglasses which amazingly remained in one of his pockets and put them on him.

Yep, we reenacted "Weekend at Bernie's" with our ol' buddy Kurt. As the big bosses went by, we were laughing so freakin' hard I can't see how they didn't know what we were up to. But the report that we got later was that they walked by and Kurt looked okay.

We figured out that the hotel called the cops because they were concerned that Kurt might die in their hotel room and they would need a crane or something to haul his huge ass out. But since we had made it this far, we each grabbed an available piece of clothing attached to Kurt and hauled him into the elevator and into his room. Someone had the bright idea to undress him, which resulted in me, just a thoroughly grossed-out observer at this point, seeing that he had let loose and soiled himself (hey, if I don't write it down, nobody will ever know). I think only two of us witnessed that unfortunate detail. We gave up on processing the body and just propped him in his bed with his head aimed at a trash can.

We five friends sat vigil for about 4 hours in his darkened room, drinking water and juice and, perhaps inspired by the humanity of the night's events, spoke earnestly and honestly about what we wanted to do with our lives. Soon, it became evident that Kurt could possibly live through the experience, and we all left before the drainpipe abruptly awakened again...

Kurt lived, but not much longer as an employee of the company. He missed all the meetings the next day, but incredibly showed up, ready to go, for the golf outing. He quit to work in another line of business, and at the time he left he wasn't even among the bottom 3 performers, but around the company, the experience is reverently and superstitiously related as a morality tale of not running amok during company outings.

To me, it was just one of those things you never forget...

Tuesdays with Morrie--condensed

I read 4 books this week...weird to say that, because it was a busy week.

Tuesdays with Morrie was not one of them, but there was a quote that was nagging me, so I finally looked it up--ended up finding 2 good quotes, so here they are:

Background: Morrie is dying of Lou Gehrig's disease, and trying to chronicle his philosophy of life.

#1 from page 92

"This is part of what a family is about, not just love, but etting others know there's someone who is watching out for them. It's what I missed so much when my mother died--what I call your 'spiritual security'--knowing that your family will be there watching out for you. Nothing else will give you that. Not money. Not fame."

He shot me a look.

"Not work," he added.

#2 from page 93

"Whenever people ask me about having children or not having children, I never tell them what to do," Morrie said now, looking at a photo of his oldest son. "I simply say 'There is no experience like having children.' That's all. There is no substitute for it. You cannot do it with a friend. You cannot do it with a lover. If you want the experience of having complete responsibility for another human being, and to learn how to love and bond in the deepest way, then you should have children."

So you would do it again? I asked...

"Would I do it again?" he said to me, looking surprised. "...I would not have missed that experience for anything..."



SO...now nobody has to read that book (it was pretty good)...

The Passion

I've been working with my professional coach--much to Fran's disgust. She really didn't like the guy at all on first impression, and she is usually very insightful.

After spending a few conference calls with him, I certainly acknowledge that he is flawed in multiple ways (I had to quit in order for him to work with me--I think it was a matter of pride to him. Additionally, I still drive him crazy by being late to every meeting, and have missed 2, but in order to work with him I made him promise to go with that, so he's just biting his tongue over it), but he has challenged me to accomplish some brainstorming and organizational work that has been helpful. He also feeds my ego, which is often voracious--I try to cut him off when he does that because it makes me very uncomfortable and I know it isn't productive.

I also think that's a cop out that he uses when he doesn't have anything prepared.

Here are some useful things he has done:

1) Took me through an exercise where you evaluate where you are right now in your professional life, what my personal definition of "rock bottom" is (mine is being fed through a tube, collecting welfare, and having to wear depends), what the pinnacle of success is (mine is having a house in a beautiful country with a writer's studio and workshop surrounded by about 10 acres--having autonomy to write). And where you are--fortunately, at this time, closer to the pinnacle than the bottom. Then chart out how to get to the top, evaluating decisions as they come up as whether or not they take you closer to your goal.

2)When we identified that there are some decisions that are possibly coming up for me, he came up with a very good plan of action for interacting with people at work to see if a promotion is going to benefit me or not. He was quite insightful about this.

3) And then there was that thing this week.

He nailed something down for me, which was worth all the time I've spent with him so far...

We were talking about a couple of things, and he stopped me and said "Right now, I can just hear the passion in your voice for what you are doing."

And that was it! I've never had it put exactly that way, but it fits!

Passion: \'pash-en\ n 1. The sufferings of Christ between the night of the Last Supper and his death...4. intense driving, or overmastering feeling or conviction c: an outbreak of anger 5. Ardent affection

As for #1--I thought the movie was great! Of course, that's not what we're talking about. Nor are we going with #5--that's personal, but I certainly feel that, too...

I put "anger" in the list, too--You know, I think sometimes intense feeling for something can be misinterpreted as anger against something--one of the hazards of my diagnosed condition.

So my goal for the rest of the blog entry is not to insanely overuse that word in every sentence...

It's just so obvious now that I can't believe I didn't see it before. I have used metaphors like "I just put my heart and soul into it".

But I could do worse than to be accused of living with passion.

The "intense driving" and "overmastering feeling of conviction" makes me feel like I'm basking in the absorbed glow of everything around me, soaking up every drop of life as it washes over me.

Of course, there is a downside--People that don't get what you are about think you are just absolutely nuts. They think you're a workaholic, flaky, dramatic, single-minded, shallow, insincere(<--this is a big one), etc. I think it's threatening to some people, and they have to turn it into a negative. I'm sure it's annoying to some to see the way I handle things--they may think I'm a show-off or overachiever.

But there's more to it, and anyone that gets to know me soon realizes that I'm sincere, deep, loyal, balanced, and, maybe, above all, focused. I do wear my heart on my sleeve for all to see, and I do have a flair for the dramatic, just because I think it's fun--like my own private, harmless entertainment at the expense of the world.

-I really and sincerely love people--even knuckleheads (they make things more interesting).

-I've gotten perspective and appreciate the growth it brings when I go through rough times.

-I like working and the challenges it brings (although in the heat of battle I can go crazy).

-I love my wife and kids (imagine that!)They bring me so much joy...

-I appreciate sunsets, beauty, art, music (even if I can't remember who's playing), poetry, architecture

-I'm amazed by science and nature, and the more I learn the more I'm amazed

-I'm really interested to see what happens next in the world!

Yes, it could be worse than to be accused of having passion!

CSI:Kenmore

For those without Tivo, it changes your world. And your mindset. The other day, there were a lot of hectic things going on around them, and my son told Fran (my wife) to "Pause the world!"--then he laughed and commented that they had left the remote at home.

First a little news: Offline, I've written about 80 pages of my first novel. I'm going to wait until my first draft is completely done before I share any of it. It is pretty different from this journal writing, but I want to throw in a little more subtle humor to keep it interesting reading. The real trick is going to be editing. Here's a funny story: Don read about my (as yet unfinished) encounter with a serial killer and told me "I think it's wordy" (My response: here is the edited version of Huckleberry Finn: Two guys go down the river.). But Don is an editor for a...I just realized I don't know what the hell Don does...commodities trading journal--so he has to cut down writers that get paid by the word(?) (See my post "I am such a liar"--No, Don's not a liar--except about some tapes that went missing from my room while we were growing up (just kidding Don! Yes, I've let that go).... but I think he's supposed to write like the instruction manual to a dishwasher).

In another ADD momentary digression--As soon as I wrote that entry, my dishwasher suddenly revolted and broke down on us. They sent a guy in to fix it that, seriously listen to this : LOVED Dishwashers. He goes home and watches his dishwasher working (seriously). He knew so much about dishwashers that it made me embarassed that I knew so little. I call this the Radio Shack Syndrome--the ability of someone who has cornered the market on trivial knowledge that endeavors to make you feel stupid about a trivial subject.

Me: I would like to buy some 9V batteries
Radio Shack worker: What type of 9V batteries?
Me (thinking I'm smart): Just the regular kind
RS dude: There's no such thing.
Me (pausing, waiting for guy to say something else)
Me: I thought batteries are batteries--I just want a 9 volt
RS dude (sighing in disgust): What's the transistor power and amperage of the device?
Me: You've gotta be kidding me - you don't have to be an electrical engineer to buy batteries!
RS: (staring, adjusting pocket protector)
Me: Should I just walk across the street and get them from Albertson's?
RS: What is this going in?
Me: A Remote Control car for my son
RS a-hole: Is it motor type T-93 or C2400?
Me (sheepishly walking out, stunned): What the hell is this? How can you make me feel dumb about freakin' batteries? If this guy is so smart, why does he drive that shitty looking Ford Escort with the Yanni sticker on the back?

So, back to dishwasher man: He began a CSI-like investigation into what ours was doing, and we figured out that there was a weird series of events:

1) Our dishwasher came installed with 4 months worth of Jet-Dry pre-installed (we bought it in May).
2) Apparently, Jet-Dry makes your dishes, like, unbelieveably cleaner
3) Wal-Mart had a sale on little dishwasher bricks which had a Jet-Dry ball built-in. Me, being Mr. Stock Up, bought 2 huge packages.
4) Me, being addle-minded and not remembering significant things like, Oh yeah, you haven't had a checkup in 7 years or oh yeah, you haven't changed your oil in 7000 miles, completely forgot about anything except "Yep. We're set for dishwasher soap!"
4) Perfectly coinciding with a breakdown of the heating element, we ran out of these Jet-Dry built-in dishwasher thingies.
5) Even after the heating element was replaced, our dishes weren't getting clean.
6) Mr. Rain Man dishwasher dude determines that our washer ran out of Jet-Dry and, since we ran out of these pre-loaded ones, we weren't using a "rinse agent", resulting in lowered performance of the dishwasher.

In case you are interested:
1) He doesn't put the soap in the soap holder--he throws it inside the dishwasher "We don't like the popping sound it makes when it opens up..." Well, I guess I don't either, but I didn't realize that was an option.
2) "My wife and I got this exact same dishwasher model, but we got the stainless steel interior so I could adjust the operating temperature in the control panel and make the dishes get washed with hotter water, which dries better with no spots" (Fascinating)
3) Apparently, he has trained his wife to listen for the "rinse cycle" to kick on--then she quickly opens the door to the dishwasher and shakes the racks to remove excess water--this helps the dishes get "extra dry" with no spots...
4) He kept closing his eyes and going into a zen-like trance with both hands on my dishwasher, which was fine with me, I guess.

10 minutes til Wapner!

#2 Song in my Ipod

I guess I'll never freakin' know--Fran's already grabbed it and claimed it for her own--no doubt filling it with Sarah McLachlan sappy stuff, Enya, and Sheryl Crow--if one stinking Celine Dion thing ends up on my playlist, I'll spontaneously throw up.

Now comes the real challenge--it's really a test of your true likes to prioritize playlists. I mean, I like Rush (can't dance to it, but it's still okay--who the hell ever heard of 11-14 time?), but do I REALLY like Rush that much? I think to myself "Of course, you love Rush--put them on your 'favorites' ", but when the songs come on I always skip over it. Hmmm. something's up there.

Not sure I really want to get into this and display my absolute idiotic taste in music. Especially to Don the Music Snob -- and yes, you are!

So the challenge arises to build the perfect Ipod, so when I die they can bury it with me because it will be pretty much crap to everyone else in the world.

There's a great Woody Allen movie, Radio Days, in which he tells a short story with an ongoing cast of characters associated with each song. It's a fantastic movie about him growing up. It has been occurring to me that I get the same mental flashes with different songs--

Here's an example: Right now, I'm listening to U2's "New Year's Day". It brings to mind 2 different things: The first is that U2 came to Dallas at the beginning of school when I first went to public high school in the middle of my freshman year--up to that point I had been going to Christian School, where no one was allowed to wear anything that didn't feel like a straightjacket. Well, on one of my first days at the public school, a bunch of the kids came to school wearing concert shirts to the U2 concert from the previous weekend--it said "Smell the Flowers" in flowing script. Well, being naive, I was very curious if there was something that I should know about and didn't know (I had no clue it was a concert shirt). I had to check out about 20 shirts as discretely as possible to figure out what the writing said, and I'm sure more than one of the girls thought I was checking her out (okay, damn it, maybe I was). The second part of this flash memory is riding in the bus back from church camp later that year--this weird dude was singing New Year's Day very loudly and off-key, and everyone was laughing. I had no clue who he was, but it wasn't very funny and I was wondering why everyone was laughing so wholeheartedly.

During that year, I helped organize a group to sell refreshments to help raise $$ for medical bills for some kid named Jody, who was dying of bone cancer--we worked every Saturday for 3 months or so, selling hot dogs, candy, and drinks at church basketball games. I later found out that Jody was the kid on the bus. Every time I hear that song, at least for a split second, I remember Jody.

Boy, that movie would suck if it was written by me, huh?!