A Good Dog...

Everyone knows at least one good dog. Even if you're allergic, a devout cat lover, or generally petrified of canines, you know a good dog. And the reason that you know a good dog because nearly every dog is a good dog.

I think it's because dogs are fundamentally happy. You come home, and they're happy to see you. You take them for a walk, and they're happy to go out. You hear them bark and let them in, and they're happy to come in. They're happy to eat, sleep, run, and play. All they need is someone to be with, and they're happy. We can learn a lot about happiness, I think, from our dogs.

Dog Rules for Happiness:

• Work everyday. Every dog's work is different, but equally important. Some play catch, some herd sheep, some run in the cold, and some have to guard the house.
  
• Play everyday. Do something other than work for at least a little while. Even if it seems really stupid to everyone, like chasing your tail, or disemboweling a stuffed animal, go for it.
  
• Sleep as much as possible, just remember to wake up for all the important stuff: kids going to school, dads coming home from work, and, of course, when you need to go to the bathroom.
• Watch out for strangers, but be willing to love everyone. Sure, dogs may be wary at first, with a little sniffing and pawing, but dogs will warm up to anyone who is kind to them. And it has absolutely nothing to do with the car you drive, how much you make, or what you look like, a dog will love you.
  

In spite of these admirable traits, dogs do have their detractors. I've heard it all before: they're too smelly, they make inconvenient messes, and can be unexpectedly expensive. But, the reality is that life is smelly, messy, and expensive more often and not. And if there's anything that we can learn from a dog, it's how to be happy and loving in spite of circumstance.

The hard part about having dogs, though, is that they is inevitably die before their owners. When the time comes, it's incredibly hard to say goodbye to such a selfless friend. I could cite countless amounts of personal anecdotes, but I don't think I have the emotional strength for it. In the end, that's the the greatest proof that everyone needs a good dog, because even though we know that we will outlive them, we take them into our homes anyway, because we know that we will end getting far more than we give.

More randomness...

Lately, my mind has felt like Boggle. Every few minutes someone shakes my head, turns over the little egg timer, and I'm left trying to make words from random letters until the last grain of sand finally falls.

I think that If I were a boggle game, these would be my latest words:

• TEAM (1 point): I hate the word team. I hate it because people use it all the time at work. A group of software developers doesn't constitute a team; it's just a group of poorly dressed nerds with questionable social skills. If I'm on a "team", then I demand a lucrative endorsement contract, an offseason, and the ability to break the law without repercussion. Team is one of the original business buzzwords, way before things like "synergy" and "paradigm shift", and people like to use it to promote camaraderie and give everyone warm fuzzies about working together . For me, though, the word team makes me think of Initech and impending TPS reports.
• MAYBE (2 points): Let's face it people, Jack Johnson was right: "maybe" pretty much always means no. It particular, it means, "No, but I'm not brave enough to say no, so I'm going to be disingenuous and suggest that I might do something when I really have no intention to do it at all." I'm guilty of it too. Beware the maybe. If you really do mean maybe, then find a different way to say it.
  
• LEAF (1 point): My yard is covered with them; beautiful yellow, orange, and amber maple leaves larger than your hand ... which have now been rained on, so they adhere themselves to everything in the yard with the force of some invisible industrial adhesive. They also smell like wet dog. Blech.
  
• DOG (1 point): My neighbor has the coolest dogs ever. One looks like a wolf, and the other, well, might actually be a small bear. They never ever bark. A few weeks ago, we were watching these little tiny Yorkies, and every time we'd left them out back to do their doggy business, they'd tear up to the fence at full speed and start barking furiously. Wolf and Bear would then trot over to inspect the ferocious Ewoks. They were pretty unimpressed, despite the fervor of the barking. Then, on Saturday, I went outside with the leaf blower to try and pry the leaves off the lawn. Wolf and Bear came over to see my new Toro leaf blower with cast aluminum impeller. I got pretty much the same reaction as the Yorkies. I'm pretty sure the neighbor dogs think I'm some sort of Labrador that uses power tools.
• WEIRD (2 points) - Jodi just declared that I am weird. This shouldn't be news to anyone. I only come in one flavor: weird.

And ... time just ran out. Shoot. I'll bet everyone got those same words, too. Oh well, seven points isn't bad.

The Dog/Cat Debate

I know that people feel strongly about their choice of pets. Me, I'm a dog person. It's not that I don't like cats, but they don't seem to like me. Growing up, my best friend had a Siamese named Rosebud. I was never anything but nice to that cat. But, every time she saw me, she would hiss like I was the undead:

So, I'm not a cat fan. I don't really dislike them though. I'm a sucker for the purring and all that, like anyone without cat allergies. Cuddle factor aside, I think it's pretty clear which animal is superior in the dog/cat debate.

My roommate, Dane, and I had this argument all the time. He thought that the cat's independence and cleanliness made it the perfect pet. He thought dogs were dumb -- primarily because they hung around with people, which Dane also thought were dumb.

And Dane was right. Dogs' have a weak point in that they are slaves to the affection of their humans (and vice-versa). But when it comes down to it, there's one argument that trumps them all in favor of the dog: There's no such thing as a "seeing-eye cat."

Appetite for Destruction

Winter sports seem particular insane to me. Maybe it's because our minds are addled by the lack of sunlight, but somehow we become convinced that snow is actually a soft and forgiving substance, forgetting the rocks, trees and general hardness of the underlying surface. Just ask the freestyle skier who just head-planted on national television exactly how soft the snow is.

We decide to hurl ourselves down a steep incline on some device that serves to reduce the life preserving friction that normally exists between man and mountain. At least in the case of skiing and snowboarding, we have some control over the sliding that necessarily ensues, but not so in sledding. Of course, none of this would be a problem, if it weren't for gravity.

Let me illustrate.

Before: and After:

Or, in a similar fashion:



Normally I refrain from sledding, because I don't want to get hurt in the middle of snowboard season. I relented this time, and I must say that there's something particularly wonderful about screaming your way down a mountain with reckless abandon.

The coupe de drace, though, wasn't captured on film -- and a good thing, too because I'd never live it down. On the day's fastest sled, I took a running start and jetted down the white surface. I deftly avoided the bigger bumps that would threaten to separate me from the sled. (Odd, isn't it, that we clutch so tightly onto the thing that is responsible for our rapid descent?)

I sailed past my friends at the base of the hill with surprising momentum. It was then that I noticed the four wheeler parked directly in my path. Thinking that I'd slow down now that I was on the flat, I contentedly watched the driver taking pictures of his kids. Totally unaware of my speed, I closed the gap much fast than I anticipated. I rolled off to the side, but much, much too late. My shoulder collided with the front left tire of the ATV with more force than I care to remember. It was then that the father pulled his face from the camera's viewfinder, looked down at me sprawled and moaning, and said, "Oh! ... I thought I felt it move."

We meet again Trebek!

I've been thinking today about my brain -- about all the stuff that's crammed in there. For example, I know where the word stiletto comes from, the meaning of quixotic, and what a Stradivarius is. I also know all kinds of gee whiz science things like why the sky is blue, why water expands when it freezes, and why you can't ice skate when it's very cold. I know weird medical things, like how MRIs, CTs, and SSRIs work. I also have the typical manly knowledge, like the difference between carburetors and fuel injection, 2 stroke versus 4 stroke, and why you want a limited slip differential. I also do okay when it comes to literature: I can quote a little bit of Dante, Dickens, and Demosthenes. I've read Austen, as well as Aeschylus and Asimov. I can also quote, at length, parts of the Princess Bride, Top Gun, Sneakers, So I Married an Axe Murderer, and several SNL skits. Give me an actor, and the odds are good that I'll be able to name at least one movie that they've been in before.

Now, before you shake your head in disgust, please know that I'm not trying to paint myself as a Renaissance man. Just knowing this random stuff doesn't mean that I'm actually intelligent (or would be successful at Jeopardy, as my mom thinks), but it may certainly give that illusion.

There is a very real irony in what we call intelligence, for in the last three months, I have not once, but twice, left my check card in the ATM and driven away without it. So much for being smart.

The problem of texting

I'm ambivalent about text messages. Sometimes it's perfect to be able to fire off a little message when you have nothing particularly important to say, or if you have something to say but don't actually want to talk to the intended recipient.

But, I think they're almost too convenient. I've come to this conclusion because I have a friend who doesn't have text messaging. Every text I send has minimal cost associated with it, and since I'm trying to be cognizant of that, I don't want to send them on a silly whim, like I do with so many other people. It's made me wonder what it would be like if all my text messages were actually calls. I'd never call to say pointless things like, "Ungh, my staff meeting is SOOO boring", or "This totally cute girl just walked by." And I'm thinking that's the problem with the text message: it trivializes communication. It's so convenient that we stop working at it -- which, if you're a male like me and not prone to communicating well anyway, practically dooms you.

Of course, texts are great for saying things inconspicuously, like if a co-worker has his fly down, so I don't think I'd ever be able to give them up. But outside of that, I'm thinking I might try to lighten up on the texting a little. If it's not important enough to call, is it really that important?

Conversational Plagiarism

I have a friend who is dating someone who has no opinions. She seems to not care about anything. On the one hand, it's great because she's pretty much always up for whatever he suggests. On the other hand, it can be rather dull at times. Friend explained that when he expresses his opinion and asks what she thinks, she pretty much always agrees but doesn't add anything. We decided this is conversational plagiarism. You can't just take whatever I said, simply add, "I agree", and have that count as a meaningful statement.

Unrequited Love

A friend and I have been exchanging e-mail lately about our experiences with “unrequited love.” If you don’t know about unrequited love, then you’re not old enough to read this blog. Bookmark this page and come back in a year or two.

Unrequited love stings unexpectedly, well after you thought you had moved on. A scent, a song, or an old friend’s innocuous question can resurrect memories of what might have been. You carry those memories like badges of honor, passport stamps of the places your heart has been. Their dull ache is as comfortable as it is painful, a reminder of how good things can be.

So, as bittersweet as a love unrequited can be, I wouldn’t wish my memories away. How else will I know what I’m looking for? And how else will I recognize when I've found it?

Please Hold...

I'm on hold with Papa Johns. I hate it when they put you on hold. The thing I don't understand is why they ask if you will "hold". What do they do if you say no? Will they immediately take your order? Is that why I was on hold for 15 minutes, because I was the only one polite enough to be put on hold?

No spoilers here!

So, I just finished the latest Harry Potter book. Yes, I know it's 6:00 am on Friday morning. Yes, I have been up all night reading. I delayed as long as I could, but on Wednesday, when I walked into Sam's club and saw pallets and pallets of the books, I impulsively threw one into my cart. Then, that night, at about 11:00, I started to read -- and was so engrossed that I just didn't feel sleepy. So, I read through the night, went to work, came home, and picked the book up again around 8 hours ago. (About 50 pages an hour, I guess.)

I have to admit that my insatiable desire to finished the book was not fueled so much by it's shear literary value, but because I simply had to know what was going to happen. Now, don't take that to mean that I don't enjoy the novels on their face, but they are children/young adult books, after all. I find myself so enamored with the completeness and creativity of the world created by Rowling. And, her message is frequently quite pertinent: "Those who are best suited to power are those that have never sought it."

Now, I'm going to bed.

Fortunes

This was my fortune from the local Chinese place a few days ago when we went out to lunch. I'm ashamed to admit it, but it excited me a little. (As the only single guy in the office, it also got a lot of laughs.)

It also made me think of how eager we are for some sense of fortune in our lives. Disregarding the obvious religious implications, I think that we want to believe that we're a cog in a larger machine, working towards something amazing as part of a master plan. I think that's why we're so enamored by fortunes and horoscopes, because we want them to be true; we're enamored by kismet and karma.

It may seem utterly preposterous to give more than a seconds' thought to something like this fortune, but I'll freely admit that I did. And I don't think it's a bad thing at all, because everyone sees in their fortune what it is that they want to see -- the things they most want out of life, and the fortune can give them hope, which may just be the catalyst that they need to get to work. That's really what it's all about, I think, our sense of fortune helps us keep motivated, so that we're ready whenever our ship decides to come in.

Power Outage...

When I got home from the movie Friday night, my garage door wouldn't open. I nearly shook the opener into oblivion trying to get the last ounce of juice out of it before I noticed that the street light across the way was dim, and every single light in my house was out. Sometimes my powers of deduction amaze even myself.

This was the first power outage in my new home, and believe it or not, I was prepared! I knew where to find my headlamp, and I had some candles near the fireplace. I even cooked a late snack on the grill; yes, the same stainless steel, 80,000 BTU monstrosity that I just "had to have" when I moved into the new place.

Because it was already late evening when I arrived, the outage was hardly an inconvenience. I enjoyed the flickering candlelight and the sudden stillness of my little slice of suburbia. I went out to the backyard and looked up into the sky, where the stars were so readily visible that I was almost surprised. The surrounding communities all had their power, so the night sky to the north and south had the tell-tale yellow glow of civilization. It seemed decidedly out of place, particularly as I reached down to feel the twinkling dew that was starting to precipitate onto the backyard grass.

Eventually the moment wore off, and I decided to just go to bed, since there isn't much to do when the power's out. (As my roommate noted every time he flipped a light switch and nothing happened.) Lately I've had this sore muscle between my shoulders blades -- which started to ache with fatigue just as I laid down for bed. In response, I stumbled into the bathroom and located the tube of mentholated icy/hot cream which I'd come to love. I rubbed into onto the base of my neck, my nostrils filling with that familiar minty/old folks home scent. I laid myself back down and anxiously waited for the cooling sensation that I knew was coming.

But nothing ever happened... I had rubbed Colgate Extra Whitening on my back.

Hide-A-Key

I have a little hide-a-key box that I use in case I get locked out. It's quite convenient, but there's one thing about it that makes no sense to me:


Why does the "Hide-A-Key" box have a picture of a key on it? If you're the one who hid it, aren't you going to remember that there is a key contained inside? Do most people have dozens of little metal boxes scattered around their yard so that they need to label the one that contains the key? Furthermore, isn't the picture just going to make it easier from someone other than yourself to identify the contents of the box?

Am I the only one who has thought of this?

Character or Plot Driven?

It seems like the shows most popular to watch and the books most popular to read are plot driven. Like an episode of 24, the characters are merely players, reacting to a series of events. We learn about the characters by their response to situations rather than their internal motivations. In fact, their motivations may be entirely unknown, and, though interesting, not entirely relevant to understanding the story.

It's for this reason -- this lack of depth -- that plot driven novels and programming are lambasted by critics, and we, as the consumers of such media, are likewise criticized. Is this criticism warranted? I think yes, and the reason why is because our lives themselves have come plot instead of character driven.

When was the last time you did something simply because you wanted to do it -- something that no external force dictated or required? Does your work satisfy your character, or merely the physical requirements of your existence? Are the other people in your life flat characters that act as props, or are your story and theirs interconnected beyond common events?

It may seem like my expectations are unreasonably high, but the reality is that it is human nature to stick to the plot driven. It's significantly less complicated and still very satisfying. To make the commitment to leading a character driven life is actually much more complicated than it seems, and I am in need of it more than anyone.

What is the character driven life?

1. Who you want to be (your character) drives the things you do, the things you study, the people you associate with, and how you spend your free time.
   
2. When you do find yourself in a situation, of your own making or not, your response is a conscious product of your character, not merely a reaction.
   
3. You realize that the people who play different acts of your life are also characters in their own right. Regardless of how well you think you've figured them out and want to reduce them to plot elements, you give them the benefit of the doubt.

So, that said, sometimes it's fine to get just read a Clancy novel.

Penguins at the disco!

At Hot Topic a few weeks ago, I saw a T-Shirt that showed a penguin in a very Saturday Night Fever pose, with the caption, "Penguins at the Disco". It still makes me laugh. In general, penguins make me laugh. Everything about them is funny and endearing. They're birds, but they can't fly and they're rather portly. They waddle around on the snow like their shoelaces are tied together. They scoot around on their bellies when its convenient. They look like they are wearing tuxedos, and usually stand upright like people. What's not to love? If it were possible, I would definitely have a penguin as a pet.

I'll admit it. I like penguins. I have ever since I did a report on them in the 2nd grade. I used to know all about them, the Adele penguins, the emperor penguins, and the macaroni penguins. This was before every computer animator in the world realized the penguin is coolest animal in the world and decided to make a movie about them. I liked them before they danced, sang, surfed, or engineered an escape from a zoo.

So yeah, I like penguins. Whoever made "The Penguin" as a villain in Batman was an idiot. Whoever picked the penguin as the mascot for Linux was a genius.

Blessing the Food

I come from a home that blesses meals before eating them (and not just on Thanksgiving.) Growing up, every time we gathered around the table, there was this pensive moment when all four of us children would avoid making eye contact with dad to avoid being chosen to say the prayer, as if we would turn completely invisible if we stared hard enough into our empty plates.

Eventually though, someone would be selected, and after perhaps a little protest and/or coaxing, we'd bow our heads and one of us would address our omnipotent Creator. We weren't a particularly reverent bunch, and there was a fair amount of peeking, poking, and giggling during this process. It's a wonder we weren't all struck down at some point.

Now, before I kindle any holy wrath, let me just say that I like the idea of asking a blessing and expressing gratitude for the food that we eat. We do, after all, live in a world of scarce resources, and I happen to live in very fortunate circumstance. There is one thing, however, that I find very ironic about what we say when we ask a blessing on the food. In our household, this part went something like, "...please bless this food that it will nourish and strengthen our bodies...", (I'm sure every denomination and household has their own variation on this theme.)

Is it just me, or is it a little pretentious for us to thank God to giving us the means to provide for ourselves, but to then turn around and expect Him to also make it nourishing? Nothing proves my point more than every church activity I ever attended. At these events, essentially that same blessing is asked, and I have to wonder if we really expected God to make make Kool-aid, hot dogs, and Jello salad healthy. Even the miracle of the Eucharist pales in comparison to the transmogrification required to turn foods consisting entirely of fat, sugar, and carbonation into something with actual vitamins and minerals. If we could somehow turn skittles into wheat grass, we'd probably solve this country's obesity epidemic.

I thought of this tonight as we sat down to a meal of Domino's pizza, and I asked the same blessing that I'd been asking since I was a little child. Afterward, I wondered if my prayer should be something more like this: "Please bless this food that our LDLs will stay low, our HDLs will go high, and the cured pork products will not cause our triglycerides to skyrocket... We pray that the salt might be prevented from giving us high blood pressure, the fat from giving us love handles, and carbs from making us too sleepy to actually work off these excess calories."

I believe that God can work miracles; I genuinely do. But then again, changing the chemical composition of my food might be a bit much to ask. Maybe what what I should really pray is something like: "God, we sincerely thank thee for this food ... and seeing as we know better, we also ask thy forgiveness for eating it."

Of Flesh and Fire...

There is a age old question than many have tried to answer: Thoreau, Twain, Kipling, Allen and Seinfeld are just a few that come to mind. The question is, "What does it take to be man?" Well, ladies and gentlemen, I believe I have found the answer.

A Man knows how to grill. That is to say, he cooks raw meat over open flame (or briquette ... I'm not picky.) Now, I realize there are other ways to establish manhood, such as: the lifting of heavy things until a hernia is induced, the killing of spiders without flinching, and the memorization of every Schwarzenegger line ever uttered (except for those in Twins, Junior, and Jingle all the Way -- damn you for those, Arnold.) But, none of those things alone is enough to prove manhood, whereas grilling is itself the culmination these most basic manly skills.

• Fire: To grill, man must harness the primordial power of fire. Nothing proves Man's superiority over nature more than causing blue flame to explode out of every orifice of a BBQ grill or summoning a 6 foot tall pillar of flames from nothing more than a mound of carbon lumps and a gallon of legal fire accelerant.
• Flesh: To grill, one must handle, nay -- even enjoy to handle -- raw animal flesh. While most are capable of picking out meat when safely ensconced in cellophane, not so many can take it out of the package, massage it with spices, and fling it onto a heated surface. The grill man has no such qualms. He has no fear of blood or bone, and has, on occasion, let his eyes linger over that marbled rib-eye and wondered if cooking is even necessary.
  
• Faith: Grilling is half art and science. No amount of marinade or spice can compensate for simply "knowing" when the meat is done. The true grill man submits to the mysticism of the grill, acknowledging that is a process over which he does not have total control. He risks derision and e. coli in search of the perfectly pink steak and the moist but not chewy chicken breast.

Indeed, the grill man, is a real man.

Eating alone...

Why is it so awkward to eat alone in a restaurant? Not only is it somewhat uncomfortable to ask for a table for one, at some places it means that you're resigned to crappy service or sitting at the bar. Perhaps the worst part is when your server assumes your solitude is involuntary and takes it upon him or herself to be your friend for the evening. No, I promise I'm not lonely, I'm just out here on business, and your in front of the TV during a bowl game.

Am I one of "those" guys?

Last week I drove to Logan, Utah, to watch my college alma mater, the Utah State Aggies, take on it's conference rival, the Nevada Wolf Pack. Along with 10,000+ screaming and clapping fans, I anxiously held my breath as we won a very tight game. And it was there, with those 10,000 fans, screaming and clapping like I was still in college, that I had a horrifying thought: "Am I turning into one of those guys?"

You know the guy I'm talking about. He's over forty, balding, and pot-bellied, but still wears his college hoodie like a badge of pride, as if the athletic accomplishments of his favorite academic institution give his life meaning. He yells at refs, scowls at opposing fans, and spends most of the game on his feet, regardless of the little kids behind him who can't see.

The day after a game, his voice is hoarse from the yelling, his back aches because of the plastic chair that would be better suited for a toddler, and he's grouchy as hell because his team lost. He yearns for the days of coach so-and-so, and for that great player with so many wins who would have gone pro if he hadn't been busted for smoking weed.

Thankfully, I'm nowhere near this bad. But, it occurred to me, as a co-worker made fun of my Utah State t-shirt on game day, that men have a strange way of getting all tangled up into sports. I thought of this again when, with a tie score and only seconds to play, one of our players was fouled and went to shoot his free throws. At that moment, I was nearly as anxious as I would be on a first date or a job interview. I had to ask, why do I do this to myself? Why do I subject myself to such emotions when the outcome is completely outside of my control?

Sports fanaticism is one of the cruelest forms to masochism I can think of. It's like being in love with a girl who you know will break your heart at least once or twice a year. And it's not just a "I'm not really into you" kind of break up, but a grinding, decimating, sob-ridden break up that sucks your will to live. And yet, you come back, season after season, only to be body slammed into the mat again.

You may think that I'm being over dramatic, but every team looses. It's inevitable; it's the nature of sports. It's actually one of the great things that children can learn from sports-- how to lose gracefully. Of course, if you're one that is grief stricken and wrought with torment when "your team" loses, it's probably fair to say you missed out on that lesson.

In the beginning...

Not a very original title for a "first" blog post, is it? Certainly not.

Blogging is an interesting phenomenon, when you think about it. Why on earth would anyone be interested in the random thoughts of another person? You'd think that everyone has enough random thoughts of their own. But, for some reason, humans seem intrinsically interested in what other people think. Perhaps the human condition necessitates this collective self-consciousness.

So, I'm choosing, at 2 am, to contribute to the mush of thoughts that is the blogosphere. Perhaps my musings will go unnoticed. If not, I will certainly wonder who would read such things as I would post.