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self absorbed

Scales.Hi internet.  Sorry about not writing to you lately.  Here goes.

Rode my bike to work the past couple days. Not quite ready to say I’m “doing” it now… but I do have some mild intent to establish a routine, I suppose. For me it’s an easy way to get a few calories down on those days I miss the gym.

Unfortunately, I decided to start just as the weather is warming up – but the morning ride is still beautiful and cool. I bring tennis shoes and shorts with me, ad change before the brutally warm ride home in the afternoon. (Worse, the ride into work is generally downhill, whereas the ride home, logically, goes back up.) And so, when I get home I’m fairly slicked with sweat and winded – which isn’t that bad, since I’m home at that point, after all.

Anyway, with just two days down, I’m enjoying it – and considering the time difference between riding and driving is truly minimal for my short commute – I think I’m going to try and keep it up.  Today, by which I mean Tuesday even though it’s midnight now, I actually rode over 20mi – but that’s a story for another day… because… man… it is a story.

And, since we’re on the subject of exercise and sweat and whatnot – I feel compelled to bring up my progress towards my “Aruba goal.” We leave for a week vacation in Aruba in just a couple weeks, stopping in Atlanta overnight and meeting up with Sharaun’s folks – who are coming as friends, family, and babysitters – and then heading to the island. Believe me, I am looking forward to this like nothing else. Only a week more to go and we’ll be poolside for hours each day, playing on the beach with Keaton, and lounging around in hammocks with our bellies full. For me, the start of vacation made a convenient goal-date for my current weight-loss plans. Having started at a portly 250lbs near the end of January, I wanted to be down to 215lbs by Aruba.

Now look, I know, I sound like a chick… targeting a “vacation weight” and all. I guess I’m OK with that. (And, wait till you read the next paragraph if you really want to question my testosterone levels anyway.) Regardless of this, I’m extremely happy to say that, as of last week’s official weigh-in, it appears that my goal of 215lbs may be realized. Last I checked I was sitting at 219lbs with about two weeks left before we leave. In an ideal loss-per-week world, I will end up at 215lbs on the nose just before departure. I have to admit to you guys that, as odd as it is for me to talk about this kind of thing, I’m really happy with my progress thus far. And, without risking too much more of my manhood, I will mention that my post-Aruba goal is to get down to 200lbs by the 4th of July. Aggressive, to be sure, but I think ultimately doable if I work hard.

Now, as happy as I am with my Aruba weight, I’m still pudgy and as hairy as a yeti. As I’ve aged, these things have bothered me less and less. So much so, in fact, that during last year’s vacation in Mexico, I did nothing to alter my appearance – and simply rocked the body hair au-natural. And, honestly, even though I’m aware of it and just an itty-bitty bit self conscience about it, I didn’t give it much thought and it surely didn’t get in the way of my enjoying myself. But see, this time around… I feel like I’ve worked really hard to shed some pounds before we go… and having realized that goal makes me want to… address… the whole hair thing. I know it’s vain, but I’m totally planning on ridding myself of this hair pre-vacation.

Oh yeah, you read that right. And, since I’m a bloggin’ kinda guy… I figured I’d write about the “procedure” here.

Here’s what I want to do: I have tons of hair. My back, my chest, my shoulders… it’s literally a sweater. Again, I’ve come to embrace my hairiness, and it really doesn’t bug me as much as it used to. However, to complement my weight loss and just overall make me feel snappy, I want to get some work done before we go. No, I don’t want to go college-boy hairless, but I’d at least like to take care of the back and shoulders. Hopefully I can get this done without leaving an unnatural or abrupt “fire line” on the chest hair I’m not interested in removing… I guess that’s left to the skill of my “technician.”

Anyway… after I make the appointment and git ‘er done, I’ll post here about the trauma.  But for now, sleep is calling and I need to heed.  Sorry today was so self absorbed… but this is a blog after all.

Goodnight.

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some such nonsense

Batch.Keaton and I are alone tonight.

Sharaun abandoned us for a New Kids on the Block concert somewhere down south (uh-huh, another one).  She carpooled with some other New Kids freaks she met on the internet.  Did you know they have a whole social-networking site just for New Kids fans?  They do.

Actually, speaking of the New Kids… I have to admit that I’m impressed with their marketing.

First, they know their former tween and teen fans are now in their thirties, and have recognized they have disposable cash they are only too happy to burn to steal away from their kids and families and relive those boyband crushes, if just for a night (or… an endless string of nights, perhaps).

Next, they’ve really taken advantage of modern “marketing 2.0.”  Seriously, I would not give these guys credit if it weren’t due.  However, they use the internet to it’s maximum, they use text and voice messaging to cellphones, they use social networking – all these things to whip a fanbase into an excited cash-burning frenzy.  And, it works… it totally works.

Eh, but they still piss me off.  At least they make Sharaun happy.  I got this text from her around 10:30pm: “I touched Joe’s hand!  It gets better and better.”  Sheesh.

Anyway, with Keaton and I on our own for the evening I decided I’d take her on a “date” to one of her favorite places for dinner.  There’s a Ruby Tuesday so close to our house you can hit it with rocks if you aim right (and don’t throw like a girl, as I do).  Around 6pm we walked down there together, holding hands as we crossed the two streets on the way.  I had a wonderful time, and judging by the macaroni and cheese in her blonde hair, she seemed to enjoy it too.  Almost makes $20 for a salad and small bowl of macaroni and cheese seem tolerable.  Almost.

Goodnight guys, I’m not waiting up for Sharaun… they are gonna hang out after the show in hopes of meeting up with the “band” and going for waffles, or some such nonsense.

Love and kisses.

– Postscript –

Sharaun walked in the door and fell into bed about thirty minutes before I left for the gym this morning.  I start my workout at 6am sharp.

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portrait of an evening

One night in time.Hey Wednesday.  Nothing much exciting today.

5:00pm – The ranks begin to file out of the sawmill.  I opt to stay back for some later meetings.

6:30pm – Home at last.  Quick dinner of leftovers (don’t knock leftovers, I encourage Sharaun to take this simple and economical approach to dinner whenever possible, and I actually feel fiscally responsible eating food for more than just a single meal).

7:00pm – Sharaun leaves for her volleyball game.  I’m completely beat from a rough day at work and I’ve laid down on the couch after our meal (not typically at all for me).  Since I have Keaton now, I do some “cheat” parenting and put on a Backyardigans and she sat with me on the couch to watch.

8:00pm – I get dressed for the gym.  I have designs to head out the door the minute Sharaun gets back home.

8:15pm – We begin the bedtime ritual: Brush teeth; pre-sleep potty; get into that nighttime diaper (still haven’t been able to shake that thing); read a book, say a prayer, sing a song, and part ways with a kiss.

8:30pm – Sharaun’s home, and she meets me in Keaton’s room as I’m wrapping up.  I’m off to the gym.

9:45pm – Home from the gym after an hour on the machines.  Feel good, and consider trying to write a blog entry.  Nothing comes easy… so I decide to get some e-mail done instead.  For some reason, my thoughts on what e-mail I need to draft and/or reply to really crystallize nicely after an hour on an elliptical.

11:45pm – Done with e-mail and doing some small PowerPoint work, also chatted for a while with some of the Shanghai team for good measure.  Wonder again if I have a blog in me, but again nothing comes easy.  Start thinking about what I did today, mining for blog-fodder.

11:46pm – This blog is born, 11:50pm – written, and 12:00am-  delivered.

Goodnight.

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“Hi Keaton! Daddy hit a truck.”

Stupid truckWhen I was in Oklahoma for my Grandfather’s funeral, I sat down for dinner with my family one evening and, awaiting our drinks, pulled out my iPhone to send an e-mail home to Keaton and Sharaun.  I titled the message, “Hi Keaton!  Daddy hit a truck.”  I typed, “I love and miss you and Mommy” in the body, attached a picture, and hit send.

Yeah, I hit a big ol’ delivery truck.

Earlier that day my I drove my brother and I over to my parents hotel (which, amazingly for middle-of-nowhere Oklahoma, was booked the entire weekend – forcing us into a different hotel just across the highway).  We were meeting up to head down the road a piece to the Indian (Native American?) casino – to blow off some steam and get some time away from all the “business” of the visit.  After heading up to their room to fetch them, we all climbed into my rented Mazda 5 and readied for the trip.

I started the car and glanced in the rearview mirror: all clear.  Then I fiddled with the iPhone setup, plugging in the concoction of cables I carry in my laptop bag at all times – just to be sure I can interface my iThings with whatever audio system I may encounter (rental cars, hotel stereos, etc.).  I got everything hooked up and pushed “go” on the Pandora Radio app (I put it on the Grateful Dead station, since a nice noodling road tune sounded appealing for the drive).  And, without re-checking the rearview mirror, I put the car in reverse and started away.

Smash!

I looked behind me, fearing I’d hit someone, and all I could see was truck.  Sometime between when I’d originally checked the mirror and when I decided to pull out without checking again – a delivery truck had pulled up behind us so the driver could run into the hotel and drop off packages.  And now, I’d slammed into this inch-thick steel bumpers with the rented Mazda’s plastic fenders.  The Mazda didn’t stand a chance, and a quick look at the delivery truck showed nary a sign of incident.

We laughed, and ultimately headed off the casino.  Didn’t even stay to tell the driver, as our vehicle was rented and his was basically a tank there didn’t seem to be much point.  Dinged up the Mazda pretty good, but nothing a new fender wouldn’t fix (no metal/body damage that I could see).

When I turned in the car at the airport, I filled out an accident report.  For whatever reason, admitting I’d hit-and-run a delivery truck seemed “off” to me, so I wrote that someone backed into me in the hotel parking lot.  I have no idea why I chose to lie about this, when, ultimately, I don’t think fault plays a role when it’s an insured rental, but I did.  Oh, and trust me, Sharaun hasn’t let me live it down either – she was aghast at my fib.

Here’s the picture Keaton got that day:

Look what brown did for me.

Forgive me Hertz, I’m sorry.

All this week, whenever I’m backing up with the family in the (busted) Ford someone smartly warns – “Watch out for delivery trucks!”  Funny stuff, that.

Goodnight.

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easter

Hippity.What a fantastic Easter.

The weather was unbeatable when we got home from church, perfect for hiding some eggs around the backyard and letting Keaton loose to hunt for them.  She did great; I guess three years old is the right age for really looking for eggs instead of just wandering around waiting for someone to point them out.  Was a great time.  Check out some images from the hoopla at the bottom of this post.

After Keaton’s nap we joined some friends for a big Easter get-together at a local park.  There was plenty of food, fun games, and a big grassy hill for the kids to roll down over and over and over again.  Grammy and Grandpa of course joined us for the food and fun – they’ve got one more day in town before their short flight back north again.

And, in just a couple weeks we’ll be packing up for a week in Aruba.  I cannot wait.  For real, I can’t.  Not because work has been particularly taxing lately (although it has, actually); and not because I feel like I haven’t had any “downtime” either (because, I have, here and there) – but moreso because I’m looking forward to spending some time with the family “just us.”  Additionally, I think it’ll be a great time having Sharaun’s folks join us for the week.  Yep, some family time is just what the doctor ordered.

OK, I’m outta here.  Some pictures for you:

Goodnight.

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sharaun can win anything

Winner winner.Tuesday and, after a hard-fought Monday at work spent trying to catch up from the two days missed last week, I plan to put in another blitz for 5pm (or 6pm… or 6:30pm… or 7pm).

I’ve mentioned before on the ol’ bloggy-blog-blog about my wife’s luck when it comes to radio call-in contests.  Over the years, she’s managed to win just about whatever she sets her mind on winning (and not just as a stay-at-home mom either, her streak extends well back to her pre-Keaton working days).

At various times she’s won an Xbox, an iPod, shopping sprees, and too many concert tickets to list.  I’ve also mentioned before her predilection (deviance?) for “teenie bopper” music.  Mmmm, yes… that’s right.  Despite her clear advancement into her thirties, she’s remained a staunch Top 40 listener, and holds in high regard some of the more “bubblegum” manufactured pop artists of the current week.  It’s OK, I’ve come to terms with this… sorta.

I’ll assume you’ve read the two linked blogs above, and just start with my homecoming from work today: It’s 6:45pm and I walk through the door.

“I don’t have much time,” Sharaun says, “I’m sorry.  You’re dinner is on the table and there’s a salad made for you in the fridge.”  Now, I’m pretty frazzled from a busy day, but I’m also as hungry as a post-hibernation bear and decide a waiting dinner is pretty nice for having just crossed the threshold.  I give her a quick kiss and “hello” and sit down to eat.

A few bites in, I turn to her, she’s now sitting at the computer.  “What are you doing, anyway?,” I ask around bites of homemade flatbread pizza (she can make it where it’s so low calorie I almost burn it off entirely just chewing and digesting). “I’m waiting to buy New Kids on the Block 5-star tickets,” she replies.  I sigh silently to myself.  No, I don’t “condone” the spending of hundreds of dollars on the New Kids on the Block, but then again, my “non-condoning” means little when I deliver it with a “but go ahead and do it if your conscience can stand it” smile.  Anyway, God knows what I’ve wasted hundreds of dollars on in the past…

But really, as an aside, these guys have to fade back into obscurity soon… I can’t continue to finance their reunion; it has to end.  I swear, the day they re-break-up I’ll celebrate our savings as fervently as Sharaun did they day they reunited.  Hurry up guys, the nostalgia can only last as long as us husbands feel charitable.

As she sits there, frantically putting in her credit card info after clicking what I can only assume was a button marked: Buy Insanely Overpriced Tickets Now!, she’s also got the radio on in the living room.  See, not only do the New Kids tickets go on sale at 7pm, the radio is giving away tickets to the Britney Spears show this weekend.  In fact, the radio has been giving away tickets to the Britney Spears show several times a day for the past couple days, and Sharaun’s been trying to win them now for about two days.

The contest goes like this: The radio plays itty-bitty snippets of Britney Spears songs all munged together, in some seamless mess of song pieces, and then gives away tickets to caller 107 provided they can name all the tunes correctly.  Earlier last week she asked me to show her how to record things on her iPhone, so she could capture the song snippets for later analysis.  Yes, I showed her.  Then, as the days wore on and she didn’t win, the radio amped up the contest by reversing some of the songs in the mangled mashup.  When this happened, Sharaun asked me if there was any “nerd” way to figure out what the backwards songs are. (Not sure why she came to me for the nerd-consult, actually.)

Since I have some experience with things-backward, I replied in the affirmative: “Sure, I can reverse the recording for you.”  And so she mailed me an AIFF file at work, I flipped the audio and mailed it back, and she set about decoding.  Around 3pm she IM’d me to exclaim she was 99% sure she’d figured out the tracks.  Understandably, I shared her elation and dropped all my important work-related business to jump up and down in my cube and shriek with her over the phone for a bit (this is sarcasm, for those wondering).  Sigh… I work in a cube while my wife deciphers Britney Spears songs to win radio contests…

Anyway, it’s 7pm and the radio says it’s time to win Britney tickets.  I hear the quick garble of drum-machine thick songs come from the living room, and ask Sharaun, who is quite preoccupied with buying her New Kids tickets, if I should call for her.  Of course I should.  Except, I’m not really into it… I’m eating my flatbread pizza and trying to get Keaton to eat her dinner and just overall not caring.  About ten calls into it I realize I’ve fat-fingered the number she told me and I’ve been calling the wrong place.  Frustrated, and noting she’s now apparently done celebrating her New Kids cash-flush, I hand her her phone.  She asks for mine as well, and she sets about dialing the station in turns from each.

And yes, you know she won.  She always wins.

[audio:sharaunwins.mp3]
Listen to Sharaun win right here.

Thanks Erik for the text: “The radio says you’re a nerd.”  Yes, that was Keaton you can hear in the background shouting, “Are you talking to Gracie’s mommy?!  Are you talking to Gracie’s mommy?!”  Gracie is a good friend of Keaton, her mommy, Michelle, is who Sharaun is sharing her radio-spoils with – hence the, “Michelle we got it!” comment.

I just thought it was a fun story, and I had the audio to make it all media-rich.  Deal with it.

Goodnight.

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like a wrung-out rag

Looking back at Grandpa's resting place.Back from Oklahoma and the early flight and past stressful days saw me sleep straight through some gorgeous windows-open sunny Northern Californian weather this afternoon.

Grandpa’s funeral was an experience; to be sure.

It really was something otherworldy.  Partly I think because of locale: the middle of America is much different from the west coast; and partly because of the fact that my folks, my brother, and a cousin were the only blood-family present.  That’s not to say Grandpa didn’t fill out the little mausoleum  where they held the services with friends and acquaintances, but the combined feelings of being among a different kind of America and being family yet likely the least close to the man we’d came to pay tribute to had me feeling a little bit like an explorer from another planet; misplaced.

On top of all of this there was tension, doubt, grief.  I returned home today and realized I felt like a wrung-out dishrag; like a spring that’s been coiled and is finally getting to relax.  I guess I didn’t realize it while we were all there, but there was a lot to keep my mind busy and a lot of physical hither-and-thither too.

Grandpa’s viewing was the first I’d ever been to.  In fact, this is the first funeral for a blood-relative I’ve ever attended.  I either lost my other grandparents when I was too young, or they had no services.  The viewing was held at a brown-brick funeral home in the central Oklahoma countryside.  A pretty building, all angles and lines, set amongst the scrub just off the road.  As we walked in a pale overweight man greeted us.  Experienced with grief, he was as sober as any man could have been – and I think welcomed us.

Mom and Dad had already been, but John and I had not. They led us around the corner into a room with several smaller rooms opening from multiple doors around the perimeter.  I walked past the first door and caught a quick glimpse of the gentleman in repose the room: A flag-draped coffin and a stark white face flashed by.  Each little side room had the deceased’s name on a plaque near the doorway.

We passed into my Grandfather’s room and there he was: Peaceful, eyes closed and hands clasped, he looked thinner than when I last saw him and he was clean-shaven.  His head cocked slightly to the side and the smallest hint of a smile on his thin lips.  His ears were just as big as I remembered them, and seeing his face brought instant recognition.  He was in a nice gray suit and tie, and his skin looked clean and tight, although not so tight as to look unnatural.   In my immediate reaction, a huge smile split my face.

Not a normal smile; I immediately recognized it as the same kind of sad-proud smile I’ve experienced with Keaton before.  It may sound silly to relate the two, but I remember when Santa broke Keaton’s little heart this past year in Florida, and I was so sad for her, yet so proud of her for trying to play it tough – that I can remember smiling this same sympathetic smile.  I was happy to see Grandpa, and I was sad to see Grandpa.  I was proud of Grandpa’s life, and I was sad to have it be over.  It was that kind of smile.

I walked close to the casket and looked at him for a bit, trying to remember some of the times we’d spent together.  I didn’t have much, but I could recall his voice the last time Sharaun and I went to visit him.  As the family began to leave, I stayed in the room an extra minute and said a little prayer of  my own; something to say goodbye.

The service itself was the next day.  Everyone crammed into a little mausoleum near the center of the cemetery.  The plaster on the walls was shedding and the place had the smell of age.  Grandpa’s coffin was arranged in the corner and a few rows of folding chairs sat facing it.  The minister had met Grandpa through a hospice ministry program he runs, and had come to visit with him over the past year or so.  He stood behind the casket.  One of Grandpa’s hospice nurses sat back there too, in her scrubs.

The service was simple and nice.  We sat in the front row.  The nurse had wanted to sing for Grandpa.  At a couple points during the service she sang hymns, acapella; she had a gorgeous voice.  The minister mentioned conversations he’d had with Grandpa about God and Heaven and salvation – all things I’d have loved to had an opportunity to talk to him about myself.  Too bad.  Age always imparts such keen views on things.  He read a few passages.  My brother got up to speak, he did a great job… just a short funny story about a roadtrip he’d taken with Grandpa.  The folks who took care of him spoke; heartfelt and short.

At the end they asked my brother and I if we could lend a hand lifting the coffin onto the hoist that would allow them to put Grandpa in the wall.  He’d share a slot with his wife, her ashes already in the casket alongside him.  As I lifted my Grandfather’s body over my shoulder and positioned him to be sealed in the wall behind a white marble marker, I could only think about how light the casket seemed.  Before we all left I said “goodbye” one last time.

And that, along with a few hours at the blackjack table on Indian land – to blow off some steam, was the extent of the long weekend.

It’s good to be back home.