Who asked me, anyway?!?

Senseless

2007-04-21T10:37:00.000-07:00

Since it's impossible to understand something that defies understanding, I have not even tried to comprehend what the VT shooter was thinking before and during his rampage. How can you make sense of something senseless?

So instead of trying to understand what may have been going through the mind of a person who was clearly disturbed, I've been trying to understand something that at least seems like it should be more concrete and understandable: Why was he allowed to buy guns?

I'm not in favor of disarming civilian America. Nor am I a gun-toting NRA looney. I fall somewhere in that vast grey area in between. I grew up with a few guns in the house, and my dad taught me to use them safely and responsibly. I have friends and family members who own guns, and who also use them safely and responsibly for hunting. I'm personally not really interested in hunting, but I don't really have a problem with those who do enjoy it; I think it's a perfectly respectable hobby (most of the time, anyway).

Here's what I don't understand about the whole gun thing: Why does anyone other than law enforcement or military personnel need a handgun? These weapons are made to be easily concealed. They are specifically designed for killing people. Why are people allowed to own them? They're not practical for hunting. Protection? Well, if handguns were illegal, you wouldn't really need one to protect yourself from someone else with a handgun.

Obviously making handguns illegal wouldn't completely solve the problem; someone who really wanted a handgun would still probably be able to get one, but at least it would be more difficult than just walking down the street to the nearest gun shop or pawn shop. I believe it would help. There is no legitimate reason for the general public to own handguns.

And you know, the same goes for assault rifles. And machine guns. There are certain firearms that make sense for in hunting or skeet shooting or marksmanship, and there are others that don't make sense for anything.

I'm not trying to take away anyone's Second Amendment rights (and so far as I can tell, the Second Amendment guarantees no specific types of arms, so regulating exactly what types of weapons a person may own would still not infringe on that person's right to bear arms). I'm simply suggesting that we protect and preserve everyone's right to live and prosper without the threat of violence by persons with handheld weapons of mass destruction.

Heroes

2007-02-15T09:18:00.000-08:00

I'm excited. Tonight I get to see my favorite band and musical heroes, Storyhill, perform at CSPS, which is a very nice, intimate venue. I'm really looking forward to it. It's been... oh, a couple years, anyway, since I last got to see them. Too long! If I were in charge of Storyhill's booking, they'd play around here a LOT more often.

You know the world is changing...

2007-01-03T14:42:00.000-08:00

...when Sesame Street now teaches kids to turn off their cell phones during musical performances.

Tech savvy

2006-12-21T10:16:00.000-08:00

I got a new cell phone the other day. I'd had my old phone for well over two and a half years. The "3" button didn't work so well anymore, but otherwise it still worked great and suited my needs just fine. If not for the troublesome 3, I might have just kept that phone forever. Well, for a while longer, anyway.

Not too long ago I made the technological leap from CDs to mp3s. I purchased an mp3 player (albeit a used one from a friend for $10, but an mp3 player nonetheless). I've even used it in the car! Our newer vehicle has an input jack for an mp3 player or other auxiliary device, and the car stereo will even control what the mp3 player plays (theoretically, at least; I didn't actually try that, 'cause I was driving at the time).

Anyway, back to the cell phones. As I said, I'd been quite pleased with my old Nokia phone and my cellular service provider. I almost never had a problem with reception, the battery maintained its charge well (I usually only had to charge it once a week or so, and kept it on pretty much all the time other than at night)... Yeah, my phone and I had gotten to be pretty good friends. Except for that 3. So I decided to go ahead and see what other phone I might be able to get (for free; I'm sort of cheap when it comes to stuff like that (hence the $10 for a used mp3 player)). My Nokia had served me well, but heck, if I was entitled to a brand new phone--one with a functioning "3"--I figured I might as well get one.

I went into the cell phone store at the mall and casually perused the selection. Only one or two of the numerous devices available appeared to actually be free. I asked the one employee in the store at the time, and he pointed out the one phone which was, in fact, free, and the other one that was buy-one-for-$50, get-one-free. Hmm.

He asked what plan I had, and I said I didn't know. He typed my cell phone number into the computer and then said, "Oh, you have an old plan. You can't use a new phone with your old plan. You'll have to upgrade your service to this," and he indicated a new plan described on a big poster thing.

"Okay," I replied. Then I decided to just look on the cellular service provider's web site, which seemed to offer a wider selection of phones, many of which were purported to come free of charge for the phone itself. So I continued to just browse the phones in the store, and then another employee approached and asked if I had any questions about the phones. I told him I didn't. He expressed surprise that with so many phones to look at I didn't have a single question. I thought some more about it and came up with a couple questions, you know, just to make him feel useful and important.

Those questions and his answers actually led to more questions and more answers, and I began to realize that this guy seemed to know more than the other guy did. Then I noticed that his name tag advertised that he, Jason, was the Store Manager. Wow. Dude carried some clout. He said he'd check to see if the old plan carried with it any additional incentives to switch to a new plan and the new, obvisouly better cellular technology.

As luck would have it, there was such an incentive. The provider was willing to give an additional rebate on any phone I desired. Jason then upped the ante and said he'd go ahead and give me one of the should-cost-$50 phones, which he assured me were awesome, for free, plus a second phone also for free, because the price point wasn't much more than the additional rebate. Then I asked if he'd be willing to do that on any of the other phones. He asked if I had a particular phone in mind. I did, and told him which phone it was. He said he could do that. Two of those phones for free if I got the new service plan and ditched my dinosaur of a cell phone.

I took the deal.

My new phone, to me, seems pretty fancy. Not only can I call people with it, but I can take photos, shoot video, send email, surf the Internet, watch videos, listen to iTunes... Now, to the average modern cell phone user those might all seem like pretty basic things. Keep in mind, though, all I'd ever done with my cell phone before was call people. Oh, and I'd sent like three text messages. But that was it. This new phone... it's like a whole multimedia experience in my pocket.

When I got home the other night I took a couple photos, which I promptly deleted. Yesterday I programmed some speed dial numbers (which I'd also done on my previous phone) and recorded my voice mail message. This morning I set up voice dial on a handful of my most-frequently called contacts. That's pretty fancy for me. I think I'll probably almost never use most of the fancy features on my new phone, and will likely cancel my cell phone Internet access, which is separate from the actual calling plan. Still, it's kinda fun to have a new li'l toy to play with. I might actually use the iTunes feature some. I like music, after all.

So far I'm not convinced that the new phone and new service are an improvement over the old phone and old service, at least for just talking on the phone. Only time will tell, I suppose.

On a completely different subject...

Yesterday I read a brief story on the local paper's web site. The story was about the opening of a new stretch of road and the related development and additional road projects that will follow. Of one of those additional road projects, which will connect two of the city's busier streets, the story read, "The new road is in paramilitary planning stages." I found that quite entertaining, and wondered how the writer might have come up with "paramilitary" instead of "preliminary." Our local paper doesn't have a reputation for editorial accuracy.

This is a really long post. Didn't see that coming. Merry Christmas!

Chicken Pot Pie

2006-11-29T17:23:00.000-08:00

Not long ago, my wife found a recipe that yielded a very yummy chicken pot pie. She modified it somewhat to make it easier and yummier. I now am posting a similar, though even easier version of this recipe, in case you're interested in making a chicken pot pie. Just so you know, this is a combination of based-on-memory and made-up-as-I-go. If it turns out to not be yummy, well, sorry. Let me know and I'll try again.

Here's what you need:
2 cans of condensed cream of chicken (or mushroom, or celery) soup
2-3 potatoes, diced
1-2 stalks celery, chopped
1/4 onion, diced
1/2 bag frozen mixed veggies
1 can diced, cooked chicken (or 1-2 chicken breasts, cooked and diced)
Maybe some milk. Yeah, let's say you need some milk.
Salt, pepper, and poultry seasoning (or some other generic seasoning (maybe Spike?))
1 refrigerated pie crust (the kind you roll out)

Here's what you do:
Preheat the oven to... oh, let's say 375
Cook the potatoes, celery and onions
Dump the soup into a casserole dish
Dump in the potatoes, celery and onions
Dump in the frozen veggies
Add about 1/4 teaspoon each salt and pepper, and about 1/2 teaspoon of the other seasoning
Drain the chicken and dump that in, too
Stir it all up in the casserole dish
If it looks too thick, add some milk (or half-and-half) until it doesn't look too thick anymore
Stir it up some more, if necessary
Unroll the pie crust on top of the glop in the casserole dish. Roll up the extra dough on the edges. Try to make it look pretty, if you're into that sort of thing. Poke some holes in the pie crust.
Put it in the oven for... how 'bout 30 minutes, or until the crust is nicely golden brown.
Take it out of the oven and let it sit for about 15-20 minutes.
Eat.

I could use some advice.

2006-11-29T16:54:00.000-08:00

This evening I received an email from a member of my extended family (actually, two of them). The person who sent the email is well on the right of the political spectrum, which I've known for a long time. I occasionally receive emails from this person espousing the many virtues of George W. Bush or lambasting various Democrats or encouraging readers to support the war in Iraq wholeheartedly, etc., etc. I sometimes skim through those emails, maybe laugh a little to myself, and delete them, but usually I just skip straight to deleting them.

This particular email encouraged me to visit this website, which is highly recommended by some guy who just happens to be good friends of a guy who used to be a US ambassador to various countries in Africa, and who therefore has his finger squarely on the pulse of the world, or something.

Ignoring my usual inclination to mostly ignore the contents of these emails, I decided to see what this reputedly awesome web site was all about. Well, as you may have already discovered, it's basically spewing hatred. I mean, at first when I saw it I kinda chuckled at the rampant patriotic theme, but quickly my amusement turned to disgust as I actually read the text. I can't stand crap like this.

You know, I'm a Christian, and I believe completely and absolutely that I have been saved by the grace of God through Christ's death and resurrection. I also know that in the Bible we are called to make disciples of all nations. I believe that Christianity is the one true faith.

However, one thing I simply cannot tolerate is intolerance (sorry--that statement has always kinda cracked me up, so I had to throw it in here). In all seriousness, that kind of intolerance and blind hatred really, really upsets me. And then it's being thrown at me by my own family, whom I love dearly.

So how do I respond? Do I respond at all? Obviously they're entitled to their opinion, however much I may disagree with it. I feel a very strong urge to reply to everyone who received the email and state that I don't agree with the message on the web site and ask that they not send those kinds of messages to me in the future. At the same time, though, I don't like conflict, especially among family. I've seen too many families split over arguments or differing political views or something else like that, and I certainly don't want that to happen. What do I do? This bothers me in many ways on many levels, and I just don't know what to do about it.

GHETTO

2006-11-14T11:04:00.000-08:00

Check it out, yo. Here’s a photo of my mom and her siblings in front of their crib in Compton, California. My mom is the particularly thuggish looking one second from the left (man, her feet were HUGE!). My uncle is sporting the flattest flattop I’ve ever seen. That’s gangsta.

Thou Hast Mail

2006-11-13T14:16:00.000-08:00

I got an email from Jesus today. Outlook informed me that I had a new message, so I checked my inbox, and right there in the "From" column, in bold letters, it read "Jesus."

"Wow," I thought to myself, "I've never before received an email from Jesus." It wasn't even marked "high importance." So I opened the email to see what the Messiah had written, and discovered that it wasn't actually sent by Jesus Christ, Son of God, Savior of the world. No, it was sent by the guy who teaches the breakdance class where I work. Except his name is Chuy. Maybe Chuy is short for "Hey-Seuss."

Realizing the Truth

2006-11-09T12:04:00.000-08:00

I guess I have to conclude that it may, in fact, be true that no one cares what I had for lunch. I figured that was just some kind of blogger smack-talk. Or smogger black-talk. What?

Still, I feel an undeniable urge to report that today I didn't have lunch at all. No, today I indulged in brunch!!! Now, if that's not at least mildly interesting, well... Oh, all right. I give up the fight.

Tom Vilsack has announced that he's running for President in 2008. I'm only a scant couple of years from being legally old enough to run for President. Alas, I'll still be too young to run in 2008, so my bid will have to wait until 2012 at the earliest. I'll just barely be too young; technically you have to be 35 to serve as president, and whoever is elected in 2008 will take the oath of office probably less than a week before my birthday in 2009 (it's usually on or around Jan. 20th that the President is sworn in, right?), so I'd be a week or so shy. Tough break. I was born a couple weeks late, though, so I guess it's my own fault (cursed tardiness!).

I find it hard to believe that absolutely no one cares.

2006-11-07T13:00:00.000-08:00

An interesting wrinkle in my lunch plans today. Intrigued? I thought you might be.

I brought with me to work today a frozen meal. A frozen sandwich, more precisely. A Lean Cusine frozen panini sandwich, to be even preciselier. I planned to eat it for lunch. As we all know, though, sometimes even the best laid plans don't come to fruition. C'est la vie.

My plan to consume the aforementioned frozen panini was laid completely asunder when my wife called and offered to bring me some lunch. She was out and about already, and planned to pick up some lunch for herself, and thought to offer to bring me something. I accepted her offer. Having already been informed of her location, I quickly considered the proximate dining establishments, then suggested that she might pick something up from Burger King. I'm nothing if not a quick thinker and decisive... decider (W: "I'm the decider, and I decide..."*).

Shortly after she called, my wife brought me a two cheeseburger value meal, which I proceeded to eat. My panini will wait.

* Turns out he didn't decide after all.

Update

2006-11-02T09:59:00.000-08:00

My daughter turns 1 tomorrow. I can't believe it's already been a year since she was born. Wow.

She's learning and growing so much every day. She took her first steps last weekend, and quickly progressed from two or three shaky steps to walking most of the way across the room (still quite shakily). Her vocabulary is slowly expanding; the other day she pointed at a book and said, "read that," as she sat on my lap. This morning she learned that Santa Claus says, "Ho, ho, ho!" though her version sounds more like "Ha, hoo, ha," or "ho, hoo, hoo," or "ha, ha, *giggle*." She seems to more or less have it down, though. She also can consistently pick out a pig or a duck from a lineup of various critters, and if you ask her what a cow says, she'll say, "moo." She loves music and loves to dance; she starts to wiggle and bob her head whenever she hears music, whether it's from one of her toys, the TV, a CD, or one of her parents singing.

Basically, she's great. She's happy and she makes us extremely happy. Hooray!

And to keep this from being just a child-focused post, I will now tell you what I plan to have for lunch ('cause I think that's generally accepted as primo blog fodder ("blog fodder" is kinda fun to say)):

A Smart Ones frozen meal consisting of roasted turkey with gravy and mashed potatoes. Delicious? No. Nutritious? Well, allegedly, but that's debatable. Filling? Uh... no.

I used to not like The Simpsons.

2006-09-28T10:49:00.000-07:00

Ashlee, O.J., Marc, the furniture store in Cedar Falls… I hated ‘em all.

No, not really. I’m actually speaking of The Simpsons, the popular animated series on Fox. Perhaps you’ve heard of it. Back some 18 years ago, or whenever it was the show began, I was not able to watch Fox. The network was still in its infancy, and therefore widely unavailable, especially to residents of rural northeast Iowa. Not long after The Simpsons came on the air, though, you started seeing Bart Simpson’s likeness on t-shirts, plush toys, plastic dolls, etc. I remember attending the Iowa State Fair one summer when such Simpsons fare was particularly ubiquitous. I decided then, for no good reason, that I didn’t like The Simpsons. I didn’t like the show, and I especially didn’t like Bart, for I was sick of seeing him at every turn during my visit to the State Fair.

I believe it was the following summer when I went to Adventureland with my church (or maybe school; I don’t remember). Again, Bart was everywhere I looked. My blind hatred for all things Simpson intensified. In fact, I decided that day that I would try to win one of the giant Bart Simpson dolls only so that I could dump it in the yucky, mucky, amusement park pond beneath one of the roller coasters. That, I thought, would show the world not only that I did not like The Simpsons, but that no one else should like The Simpsons either. Ha! Well, I decided I didn’t want to get in trouble, so I never went through with my plan, but that’s beside the point.

It wasn’t until I was in college, when some of my friends began to speak fondly of The Simpsons, that I began to lighten up a bit on the ol’ yellow folks. And then, when I started dating someone (whom I later married) who watched The Simpsons fairly regularly, and who often extolled the show’s hilarity, I finally began to watch it myself.

I had a change of heart. I realized that the show wasn’t just funny or just entertaining, but freaking hilarious. After I graduated from college and had my first place of my own, and therefore many, many hours to kill each week, I began watching The Simpsons daily. I actually scheduled things around syndicated episodes of the show. I became a true fan of The Simpsons, and remain one to this day.

So thanks to those who opened my eyes and opened my heart to that lovable cast of three-fingered, milk-through-the-nose laughter-inducing louts. I’m better for it.

Accident prone?

2006-09-05T11:48:00.000-07:00

Recently my wife accused me of being accident prone. I was in the kitchen at the time, using a knife in a manner that apparently led her to believe I was about to cut myself (I wasn't, by the way). She said something to the effect of, "I don't know why you're always telling me to be careful doing stuff like that. You're the one who is always hurting yourself."

I disagreed with her, stating that I was not, in fact, prone to accidents, and that my higher incidence of household mishaps was only due to the fact that I did more things that could potentially result in such mishaps. I mow the yard, I slice 'n' dice in the kitchen, I cut the cheese, I change the baby's diapers, I wrestle mountain lions in the back yard... She sits atop piles of fluffy pillows and eats cotton candy all day!* Of course I'll have more accidents!

Anyhoo, I got to thinking more about my alleged accident prone-edness, and started to wonder if maybe she's right. Some examples:

Last night I lit some charcoal to grill our dinner. Shortly after I started the charcoal, it started to rain, so I rigged the grill and its lid to cover the burning coals, while still allowing adequate air flow, etc., for them to get going properly. It worked great--the coals were still going strong, despite the heavy rain. So I went out a bit later to spread the coals and put the grill back in its proper position. I didn't think about the fact, though, that the grill had been licked by flames for 20 minutes or so previous to that, and I just tried to pick it up with my finger and was subsequently burned. Yow!
Also last night, as I was eating the dinner I'd just prepared on that very same grill, I bit the inside of my cheek really freaking hard, and let loose with a pained, closed-mouth yell. Yow! I bit it in the exact same spot I'd bitten numerous times the week before, and which had just finally started to heal enough that I wasn't biting it all the time. I have a tendency to bite my cheeks and lips and tongue an awful lot, it seems...
A week or two ago I was making supper (maybe I just shouldn't cook anymore...), and had some pasta boiling on the stove. I wanted to see if the pasta was done, so I scooped a noodle out of the water, blew on it and let it cool for a bit. Then I picked it up with my fingers and tried to put it in my mouth. Now, this was a long, squiggly, hollow noodle, and as I put it to my mouth, scalding water poured out of it, onto my tongue and lower lip, and down my chin, leaving a bright red line down the center of my chin. Yow! The next day the skin came off, and I looked like a dope.
A couple weeks ago I was sweeping our deck, and bashed my knuckles on the roof of our dog house (which, by the way, our dog has used approximately one time for a duration of about 43 seconds since it was built seven years ago), leaving them scraped and bloodied. Yow!
A few years back I was on a portage during a Boundary Waters canoe trip. As I slogged through the mud, a pointy stick jammed between two of my toes (I was wearing sandals), leaving a decent sized gash right in between 'em. Yow! It got all full of mud and stuff. Our guide/counselor advised me that the best possible thing to do would be to wash it in lake water. Later in the week a leech thought it had died and gone to heaven when it latched on right in the middle of my open wound.
And a number of years ago, the most oft-cited incident: We were visiting my sister-in-law and her husband for Halloween, and were carving pumpkins. I stabbed a brand new, super sharp Rada knife into the top of my pumpkin, placed my left hand on the pumpkin to hold it steady, and promptly pulled the knife directly into my left thumb, neatly filleting it nearly to the bone. Yow! As soon as I did that, I jumped up, ran to the kitchen sink (that's where I go when I cut myself), and said, "I need stitches." We all went to the hospital, where I did get stitches.
When I was a kid, I was playing football with a neighbor kid ("Heh, heh... Spaghetti."), who punted the ball to me. I ran under it, and as I caught the ball at a dead sprint, ran straight into the trunk of a cedar tree with all its branches cut off. I split open my shin (all the way to the bone, this time!) and got to have stitches then, too. Yow! Also, the first shot of painkiller the doctor gave me didn't work, which he realized about halfway through giving me the stitches... I managed to hold onto the ball when I hit the tree, though!
I stayed home sick from school one day, and decided that the best treatment for my illness would be a little woodcarving. I got out my fancy set of Xacto knives and started cutting away at a little piece of wood that would eventually turn into a convincing replica of a boot! As I carved, the knife slipped, and I cut open the knuckle on my left thumb (my left thumb has had a tough life). Yow! I jumped up and ran to the kitchen sink (see above), and then my dad took me to the doctor. No stitches that time, though--they taped it shut!

That's probably enough examples, and really, it's not so many considering how flippin' old I am. Lately, though, I seem to have little mishaps with alarming frequency. Could it be that I am, in fact, accident prone? Or perhaps I'm just careless. Or stupid. Or maybe the first is the result of the latter two. I never have considered myself to be accident prone, but maybe it's time I took a good, long look at the evidence.

*I should go ahead and state that this is an exaggeration, if you didn't already get that. She MORE than pulls her weight around the house...

Fancy a wiggle?

2006-08-22T15:17:00.000-07:00

I was reading back over some of my old posts (http://whoasked.blogspot.com/2005/08/uninteresting-thing-happened-on-way-to.html), and decided to share a story of something weird I'd done to someone else. Here goes.

* * *

A few years ago (sadly, I don't remember exactly how many), my friend Jason got married. The ceremony took place in a small town in Northeast Iowa, and the reception was held at a large hall in Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin. After the ceremony, the wedding party all loaded up in a couple limos (only one of which had AC...) for the trip to Wisconsin.

At the reception, we all dined and drank and danced and did other things (not all of which began with the letter d), and generally had a fun time. As the evening wore on, everyone began to say their goodbyes and prepare to leave. Jason and his new bride did the same.

As my wife and I were leaving, I spied Jason and his wife leaving the building. Being the jolly sort of fellow that I am, I decided to run over, grab Jason's hips, and shake 'em a little bit. Strange, yes, but not really out of the ordinary for me at the time. So I did that. I ran over, grabbed his hips, and shook him back and forth just a little. Then I turned and ran back over to my wife, who was waiting by our car.

"What are you doing?" she asked, laughing.

I shrugged and said, "I don't know. Wiggling Jason."

"That wasn't Jason," she said, laughing even more.

I turned and looked, and realized that she was right. That guy was not, in fact, Jason, but some other poor stranger of a groom, left to wonder why the crap some guy had just grabbed him by the hips and shaken him. My wife then told me that as I ran back towards her, the guy's new bride (they were another couple holding their wedding reception at the same facility) turned to him and asked, "What was that?" and that the guy replied, "I have no idea."

I was a little embarrassed, so we went ahead and got in the car and left. The end.

...a banana

2006-05-04T16:31:00.000-07:00

It's hard to believe that my little girl is six months old. Yesterday, actually, was her six month birthday. Today she is 26 weeks old. So, half a year old either yesterday or today, depending on how you look at it.

She's such a joy. I can't really describe it... She has just brought so much happiness into our lives. When I come home and see her and see her smile when she sees me, it's just an incredible feeling.

She's an extremely happy girl; she rarely cries at all, and when she does, it's normally for only a brief time. She's been going to day care twice a week since the beginning of February, and the day care staff have really only heard her cry once.

She's also getting big. We took her to the doctor yesterday for her six month visit, and she weighed about 15.5 pounds and was about 27 inches long. That puts her at the 90th percentile for height and about the 45th for weight. She's working hard on forward motion, and is starting to make a little progress. When she gets on her tummy she can spin herself around different directions pretty quickly.

Well, I just thought I'd share a little update. Goodbye!

Matt

Superpowers!

2006-01-05T17:03:00.000-08:00

I have recently come to the realization that my little, infant daughter possesses at least one superhuman ability. It's sort of neat, really - my little girl may one day be a superhero, after all! I wonder what she'll call herself...

This little girl has the ability to accelerate time to an almost immesurable degree! Wow! I mean, she has somehow made two months go by in the mere blink of an eye. Maybe two or three blinks. Still, fast!

As I think more about this ability of hers, I guess I'm not really sure how she'll utilize it to make the world a better place... "Ha-ha!" she'll say to villains, "You may have absconded with that priceless gem, but I have made you late for your mani/pedi!" And off she'll go. Hmm. Not really comic book-worthy stuff, is it.

Still, it's a pretty amazing ability. I kinda wish she'd stop using it all the time, though, and just let the time pass at its normal, lazy pace.

Wunderhosen

2005-12-17T08:19:00.000-08:00

Well, hello. Been a while, eh? Yeah, sorry. There's been lots of interesting, blog-worthy stuff going on in my life of late. I haven't written anything for a while because A) I haven't had much spare time, due mostly to the aforementioned interesting, blog-worthy stuff, and B) I haven't been able to decide what stuff to write about. As a result, this particular post will almost certainly lack coherence and direction.

The MOST (at first I accidentally typo'd "MOIST") interesting of the the interesting, blog-worthy goings on is the recent birth of my first child. I am now a dad. My wife and I have a beautiful little girl, who was born on November 3. She's absolutely perfect. I could just sit and gaze at her for hours (and I have). Life has been fairly drastically different since her birth, but not at all in any way that will cause me to complain (right now, anyway; I might feel differently during a 3:00 a.m. feeding... but she's definitely worth the lack of sleep). So that's the big news in my life.

As I've written in a previous post, I have a tendency to be late for... well, pretty much everything. Surprisingly, my daughter was born exactly on her due date, which is pretty rare. Perhaps she's already working to overcome her genetic disposition for tardiness. Anyway, as late as I usually am for things, having a newborn has made it that much more difficult to get to wherever I'm supposed to be on time. It's hard enough to get myself somewhere at a given time, and now I'm responsible for getting her there, too! So just to make sure you're aware, if you're expecting me somewhere at a certain time, be prepared for me to be late, and then be prepared for me to be even later. I apologize in advance.

As Christmas approaches, I'm starting to realize that it will become a much more child-focused holiday for my family. Two of my sisters also have children, and my sister-in-law has three children as well. That means that at both Christmases (that is on my side of the family and on my wife's) there is a potential to have present four kids under the age of five. Not long ago - about five years ago, I'd say - there were NO kids under the age of five at either family's Christmas celebration. How times change. We'd all stay up late on Christmas Eve, exchanging gifts and consuming a variety of delicious beers, and have a merry time together. It'll be kind of weird to have the focus shift to the little kids now. Obviously that's as it should be. You know, it will be an adjustment, though.

The kids have also made me realize that our traditional family gatherings at my parents' house are probably numbered. As siblings' families continue to expand, we'll all probably want to establish our own family celebrations, which will eventually turn into our own family traditions (the idea of "establishing new traditions" is pretty self-contradictory, since a tradition, by definition, is not something new; this idea seems to escape one particular member (by law only) of my family), over which our own children can someday fret about abandoning (maybe THAT is the real tradition). I'll be sad when the Christmas comes when we don't visit my parents' house for Christmas Eve, or drive to my in-laws' house on Christmas Day. I'll miss the time with family, but I know I'll cherish the time with my wife and kid(s).

Well, however you and your family celebrate Christmas, I hope that you enjoy it. I hope that the joy of the season and of the Christmas holiday eclipses any drama you might experience with your family. I hope you cherish the time with your loved ones. Merry Christmas!

Matt

Another story

2005-09-22T15:19:00.000-07:00

My brother-in-law is a pharmaceutical sales representative. The job requires him to travel all around southeastern Iowa, visiting various doctors’ offices and attempting to sell his wares to the doctors there. It’s not a job I’d enjoy, nor be particularly good at, but he excels at it.

Well, one day, he stopped at a gas station to purchase a soda and use their pay phone. As he was using the pay phone, which was one of the outdoor ones you still see occasionally, a young boy, perhaps five or six years old, approached him. The boy walked over and just stood, looking up at him. “Hello,” my brother-in-law said.

The boy didn’t answer, but simply unzipped his fly and peed on my brother-in-law’s shoe. My brother-in-law, who had not anticipated this turn of events, jumped back quickly, out of the boy’s… stream. Then the boy’s mother saw what was going on.

“What are you doing?!?” she asked her son. “You don’t pee on him!”

With that, the woman took her son by the arm, and led him away, presumably to find those on whom he was supposed to pee. The mother said nothing to my brother-in-law. No “Sorry my kid peed on your shoe,” or anything of the sort. Just took the kid away.

My brother-in-law hung up the phone and went inside to wash off his shoe in the gas station’s restroom.

The end.

The Compton Story

2005-08-27T08:48:00.000-07:00

I’m afraid that putting this story in writing for all to see will only lead to disappointment and dismay. Be forewarned, this story only barely qualifies as interesting, and even barelier qualifies as funny, despite what past and present members of the CTK youth group might tell you. And now our story.

* * *

It is a well-known fact, and obvious to everyone who meets her, that my mother is street. She’s ghetto. She’s got mad street cred, yo. That all stems from the fact that as a young girl, she lived for several years in Compton, California. That’s right—she’s straight outta Compton.

When I was in high school, my family took a vacation over winter break to visit my mom’s cousin, who lives in California. We all loaded up in two brand new Winnebago motor homes, to be delivered to motor home dealerships in the greater Los Angeles area, and headed west.

While we were in California, my mom decided that it would be a really good idea to show us all where she’d lived when she was a girl. I, having not considered the fact that my mom’s street cred would protect us from harm, thought that was an exceedingly bad idea, as I did not want to spend any time at all in Compton. But my mother insisted. “Yo, get in the ride and I’ll show you my ‘hood,” she told us.

So all six of us—my parents, my three sisters and I—all piled into my mom’s cousin’s car—er, ride—and headed for Compton.

Once we reached Compton, it became obvious to all of us that my mom did not remember exactly where her house had been. The natural solution, of course, was to drive slowly up and down the streets of Compton, looking for this house she only vaguely remembered. So we rolled, windows down, bass thumpin’ (probably to either Miami Sound Machine or Manheim Steamroller—street, yo!), air jacks lifting our ride up and dropping it back down, slowly through the streets of my mom’s old ‘hood.

“Oh, I think this might be—no, that’s not it,” she’d say. “Oh, here it is! I see—no, that’s not it, either… [pause] There it—nope, I guess not…” Meanwhile, I was sinking lower and lower into the back seat, trying to make myself as invisible as possible, for fear that a stray bullet—or one meant for us—might find me.

Finally we turned onto a street that she seemed to legitimately recognize. She pointed at a small, ranch style home with bars on the windows and two kids playing in the front yard and said that that was where she’d lived. She said, “Phil,” that’s my dad, “pull over to the curb!” Phil did so. My mom leaned out the window and said to the kids, “I used to live in your house when I was a little girl!” The two kids got up and ran inside, and after looking at the house—or “crib”—where my mom had once lived, we drove away and eventually out of Compton, much to my relief.

To this day, my mom occasionally gets calls from Snoop, Dre, and some of her other old homeys. They drop by now and then and they all roll, sippin’ on gin ‘n’ juice (laid back), with their minds on their money and their money on their minds, as you might expect.

That, my friends, is the Compton story.

Matt

An uninteresting thing happened on the way to the Met…

2005-08-26T15:22:00.000-07:00

Yestermaday I was reading a post on Greg’s blog, which is always good reading, and came to a realization:

Interesting things don’t happen to me.

That’s sort of an overly blanketful statement, I suppose. I mean, yeah, occasionally something interesting might happen to me. More often, though, only somewhat interesting things happen to other people around me. Even more often, interesting things happen to other people who are nowhere near me (sort of seems like a statement of the obvious…).

The blog entry that led to this realization told an interesting story of somewhat strange and interesting things that happened to Greg and some of his presumably interesting friends. I thought to myself after reading it, “It’s been a long, long time since anything weird like that has happened to me.” I seem to recall that my life was once more full of strange and interesting occurrences, but more recently… not so much.

So how, I wonder, do I bring back some of the interestingness that’s been missing from my life? Perhaps I could start spending more time in public places. The general public, after all, is largely composed of very unusual folks. Perhaps some of them would begin interacting with me in interesting ways. Another possible solution would be for me to inject more spontaneity into my life (although can you really plan to do that?). You know, just get up and go do things when they occur to me, which could, then, lead to interesting goings on. A third possible solution would be for me to look at the sorts of things that normally happen to me anyway in a different light, and try to infuse them with interestingness. That seems sort of unnatural, though.

I’d like to share an example of a somewhat interesting thing that happened to someone other than me: Last Friday evening, my wife and I went downtown to enjoy some live music on the Ped Mall. There were many other people there. At one point during the show, I sort of half noticed a man get up from where he was sitting in front of us and walk off away from the stage. Then, a moment later, a woman who was sitting near where he’d been seated jumped to her feet, looked frantically about, then pointed at the man and shouted, “Him!” At that, the woman’s husband, who’d also been sitting there, ran after the man, caught him from behind, and shoved him hard onto the ground. The shovee fell down (but managed to hold onto his cigarette!), then looked up and asked, “What the [flip]?!?” A fair question, I thought. Then the husband/shover asked gruffly, “Where is it?” and some other man stepped between the two and said, “He put it in the trash can.” Then the husband/shover and his wife went to a nearby trash can and pulled out what I assumed was her purse, which the first guy had apparently stolen, only to discard in the nearest trash receptacle. Then the woman recognized a friend, gave the friend a hug, and began chatting away about various pleasant things completely unrelated to what had just taken place. It was all pretty weird, and while I was there to witness it, none of it happened to me.

Rather than lament the fact that such things don’t happen to me, I should probably just be grateful that I wasn’t involved, so maybe that’s a bad example. I’m not saying I’d like for strange men to steal my wife’s purse, or for angry people to shove me onto the ground (which I’d argue was not interesting, but just plain sucky). If I’m really looking to have more interesting things happen to me, though, I suppose a good way to make that happen would be to instigate such exchanges. I could start stealing purses and immediately throwing them in the trash. Or I could try to pick fights at random. Or I could hug strangers. Well, no… then they’d have stories of interesting things that happened to them, and I’d just be stuck with stories of weird things I’d done to other people. I already have a few of those.

I guess I should just be happy with my rather uninteresting existence. I’m not saying I’m unhappy with my life as it is. On the contrary, I rather enjoy it. I’d like some new stories to tell, though, ‘cause the Compton story is getting old.

Matt

Once upon a time, you and I would have been friends.

2005-07-18T15:21:00.000-07:00

Hello, hello. Welcome back!

I had a really nice weekend. It started off well, as I had Friday off work. I was out of coffee, though, which was sort of disappointing. Despite my lack of coffee, I persevered, and managed to enjoy my weekend. Anyway, yeah, I got to be at home on Friday, which was nice. My wife came home for the day at about noon, we had lunch together, and then we loaded up the car and headed north. First we dropped off our dog at my parents' house, then drove over to EWALU Bible Camp, just outside of Strawberry Point, Iowa. I spend four of the best summers of my life on staff there, met lots of truly wonderful people, and made some of my fondest memories. This past weekend, Charlie and I performed a concert for the current summer staff.

It was tons of fun to be back at camp again. We got the stage all set and the sound system ready to go (well, Charlie did pretty much all of the set-up while I dined in Strawberry Point; sorry about that, Charles), did a brief sound check, and we were ready for the show. Another former staffer took the stage first and played a handful of his own tunes, which were quite good. Then Charlie, Jesse and I went on and played for about two hours. Man, was it fun! The audience was attentive and appreciative, and seemed to really enjoy our music. It was really neat to play for them.

After the show, we took down all the equipment and packed it up, then got to hang out with some old friends. That, too, was lots of fun. The next day I had meetings in the morning, but then got to enjoy lunch with the staff and friends, and then enjoyed a couple hours in the camp's very nice, very large swimming pool. 'Twas delightful! The rest of the weekend was spent relaxing with family and playing with our littlest niece.

All in all, it was, as I've already mentioned, a really nice weekend. Camp is awesome, and I love going back there. It's a little strange, though, to go back now as an "outsider." I'm still pretty involved with the camp; I'm on the board of directors, I try to volunteer at least a few times each year, we occasionally take our youth group up there for a retreat or a service project of some kind...

Being back during summer camp, though, is different. The summer staff always forms such a tight-knit family over the course of the summer, and it's weird to be there and not be part of that family. The bond among the staff is obvious. That, I think, is one of the neatest things to observe about camp. Even Charlie, who had been there for only the preceding week, had formed an obvious bond with at least some of the staff.

As much as I enjoyed the time we spent at camp this past weekend, I felt like I was intruding. I didn't feel like I could just sit down and hang out with the staff (though I did, at least a little bit). I found myself looking at the summer staff and thinking, "Once upon a time, you and I would have been friends." Instead, though, I just sat there looking around at the group of friends, feeling like I didn't really belong. It was a little awkward, and made me feel a little sad. It made me realize that I will probably never get to experience summer camp in the same way again.

It also made me cherish the time I did spend on summer staff that much more, though. It made me think back fondly on my summers at EWALU, when I was surrounded by a huge group of friends and I felt like camp was mine and ours. When I visit now, it feels like it's theirs.

Still, I love that place, and I love the people I met there and the time I spent there. There will always be a certain sense of it being mine; it will always (I hope) feel like a second home to me. I want to someday take my kids there often enough that they feel the same way.

Thanks to everyone at camp this weekend. You all helped make it the wonderful, relaxing, pleasant time that it was. I hope to visit again soon.

Matt

I'm allowed to change my mind, aren't I?

2005-07-18T13:25:00.000-07:00

Over this past weekend, I thought more about my recent decision to post a daily Bible passage on my blog. My initial thought was that I'd be doing a service to those who read my blog (few as they may be), sharing the Good News with the world, etc., etc. I still believe that those are worthwhile endeavors. However, I've decided that this is not necessarily the right place to pursue them. So, after posting only two such daily passages, I've decided to discontinue the practice.

After only the second one, I realized just how long my blog would become in a very short time. I think that it would quickly have become so long and full of daily Bible passages that some of my small group of readers might stop reading. That certainly is not the goal I had in mind. So instead of placing those daily passages on my blog, I would instead like to encourage you to visit the web site of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (www.elca.org) and find their daily Bible passage page. You can either just read it there each day, or you can sign up for their listserv, and they'll email you each day's passage. Then you can read it, ponder on it all you want, post it on your own blog if you feel so inclined, or post it as a comment on my blog. The important thing is that you would still be getting that daily dose of Scripture.

So that's that. Maybe occasionally I'll post a passage and share my thoughts about it. Maybe not. Have a nice day!

Matt

Amateurcrastinator? No, I get paid for it!

2005-07-09T07:11:00.000-07:00

Good day! I'm at work this morning, toiling away (obviously!) at my desk. Actually, I'm procrastinating. I have a fair bit of work I need to do today, yet here I sit, creating a new post for the ol' blog. Hmm.

I used to occasionally say, "I was going to procrastinate, but I'll do it later," thinking I was quite clever and funny. I'm pretty sure that I was the only person who ever found that phrase even mildly entertaining, though. Oh, well.

I've always been kind of a procrastinator. Back in my school days, I pretty consistently waited 'til the last possible minute to work on projects or papers, complete an assignment, or study for an upcoming exam (if, that is, I studied at all). It seemed like there were always better (or at least more enjoyable) ways to spend my time, so I would put off those other things until I could put them off no longer.

I still do that. If I have a particular project that requires my attention, I'll often let it sit until the last minute. Unlike during college, however, it's not usually so I can go play frisbee or Betrayal at Krondor or do some good hangin' out instead of working on the task in question. Now it's more likely that I'll try to take care of smaller projects as they come up, until I absolutely have to work on the bigger thing.

This system seems to work for me, for the most part. When it comes time to get things done, I'm almost always able to buckle down, focus, and accomplish the task at hand. I think I work fairly efficiently under pressure.

For the non-procrastinators I deal with, though, that seems difficult to understand. Many of the people I work with now and have worked with over the years are the types who like to get things done and out of the way well in advance of deadlines. They're organized and prepared for each and every project or event, usually before a deadline hits. I, on the other hand, am pretty comfortable being mostly prepared in advance, ready to wing it if necessary. I don't usually get too flustered, as long as the major details are taken care of.

Those non-procrastinators, though, just don't like that. They think I'm disorganized or ill-prepared, and assume, therefore, that my project won't get done or my event will fall apart. I'm normally pretty confident, though, that things will come together. I try to calm their fears by exuding optimism that everything will be fine, but that seems to only go so far.

Some people probably think that I do just enough to get by. I don't think that's the case. I just function a little bit differently than other folks. I prefer to work under a little more pressure, I guess, and I like to sort of fly by the seat of my pants (where'd that phrase come from, anyway?) and roll with the punches. I don't need to have a detailed game plan. I understand that some people might read that as just getting by, but I take a little umbrage at that. I take pride in the things that I do, I want to do them well, and for the most part I think that I do.

At the same time, I don't want to use that as an excuse for procrastinating. It would be easy to always say, "I work better under a deadline," and go about my blogging or whatever. I know that it's something I need to work on, despite what I see as my strengths working under pressure. I'd probably have a little less stress in my life if I took care of things before the last minute, and it would probably make my boss a little happier. So I'll work on it.

Well, having said that, I should probably get to work on that project I've been putting off. Or I could write a few emails... Ah, we'll see how it goes.

Matt

The Impending Fruition of Mr. Peabody’s Grand Plan

2005-07-05T15:53:00.000-07:00

Greetings, reader o’ the blog. I trust you’re well.

I have the extreme good fortune to have a job that I truly enjoy. For several years I toiled at a job that I did not enjoy in the least. Well, that’s a bit harsh, probably. My former employer was, undeniably, a solid, well-respected organization, and though its employees’ salaries were not always exceptional, their benefits were pretty outstanding. In addition, I worked with a lot of really good people. The job itself, though, was not enjoyable. But I digress. My point is that I now have a job I love.

Despite my contentedness with my current state of employ, I do still find myself occasionally troubled by some things about my employer. That’s natural, right? Most people don’t agree 100% with every policy, every decision their employer makes, right? I hope that’s the case…

The municipality by which I am employed seems bent on increasing tax revenue. To be fair, its residents enjoy many fine services as a result of that tax revenue, but I’m not sure the benefits outweigh the greater cost. Property taxes and sales taxes are probably its two largest sources of revenue (just so you know, I haven’t actually done any research to back any of this up—I’m just going on my own observations, etc.). The best way to increase both of those sources of revenue is to encourage development. Increasing development, of course, contributes to urban sprawl (already an obvious problem in this area), and urban sprawl is quickly gobbling up the pretty, hilly landscape surrounding the community.

Have you every heard the song “Little Boxes?” I haven’t for a long time, but it’s become more poignant for me over the past several years, as I’ve witnessed urban sprawl. I think the lyrics go something like, “Little boxes on a hillside / little boxes made of ticky-tacky / little boxes, little boxes / little boxes, all the same.” Don’t ask me to tell you what, exactly, ticky-tacky is… I often think of that song, though, as I drive past the vast housing developments.

Residential development is not the only problem, however. This particular town has basically become one giant strip mall. Driving down its main thoroughfare is like running a gauntlet of consumerism. It’s literally dizzying, especially at night, when the entire length of the street is lit with all types of signs for an amazing array of chain restaurants, stores, and other businesses. And it’s expanding! No longer is that type of concentrated commercial development focused on the main thoroughfare; it’s creeping out along other arterial roads, spreading and weaving its way into previously non-commercial areas. I can think of at least two recent commercial developments where numerous large, mature trees were cut down to make room for a new store or strip mall. Perhaps the most frustrating part of that for me personally is that both of those commercial developments could have been located on nearby land (I mean like right across the street) that was already cleared and leveled and available for purchase. There aren’t many nicely treed areas left in the middle of this town, and it upset me that two of them were sacrificed for commerce.

“Well, Matt, that’s the price of progress,” one might say in response. I guess I must have a different definition of “progress,” in that case. To me, a progressive community is one that understands the value of preserving some natural areas even though they could be developed, that realizes there is value in improving existing housing, and that values quality of life over quantity of revenue.

I’ll admit, this is a pretty cynical assessment of the city’s priorities. They have also set aside some parkland, built new trails, and used environmentally responsible building techniques and materials for a few of their newer facilities, and it's a darn good organization for which to work. I also realize that this particular city is not unique in its tendency to encourage as much development as possible. Recently other nearby communities have displayed similar tendencies.

One city in particular, which I would have thought less likely to woo such massive development, recently approved the building of a new Wal-Mart Supercenter, which will replace the existing very large Wal-Mart store and be located within a couple miles of another Wal-Mart Supercenter. That whole situation makes no sense to me. There’s no need for two such stores in such close proximity to one another. Yet despite common sense, there they’ll both be not long from now. That same city also approved the construction of a brand new, giant Menards store, to be located maybe a mile from the existing—and again very large—Menards store. They claimed that the present Menards was not large enough to serve the customers effectively, or something, and also claimed that there was not adequate space around the existing store to allow for expansion. I find the latter claim especially difficult to believe, since there’s nothing but open space around the store. So thanks to that city’s recent decisions, there will be two extremely large stores sitting completely empty, and I, for one, can’t think of what other stores might be interested in moving into the vacated spaces.

I guess that’s not my responsibility, though. My responsibility is simply to spend my money at these stores, or at the chain restaurants, or at the strip malls or coffee shops or mega-malls or supercenters. I’m supposed to help feed the monster. And you know what? I do. I admit that despite my best intentions to be a responsible consumer, I do go to at least some of those stores. I think Starbucks coffee tastes good, so I occasionally buy it. I appreciate the convenience and low prices of the big stores (though I will say that I do not typically do any shopping at Wal-Mart (I guess that’s the extent of my boycott)), so I sometimes shop there.

So ultimately it’s my fault that our cities place such importance on development. Not solely my fault, but you get the idea. I probably engage in about as much sheep-like behavior as the next consumer. If given a choice between a buying something from a locally-owned store versus a big chain store, though, I’ll probably choose the local place. I could be more pro-active about such things. I know I’m a bit of a hypocrite. I do at least consider the consequences of my purchasing habits, though, and I guess the whole point of this blog entry is to get you, the reader, to do the same. I may not sway anyone to only buy local, or to boycott Wal-Mart, but if you at least consider the ramifications of your purchasing habits, then I guess I’ve achieved my goal (which I didn’t even have in mind when I started writing).

Just some (locally-produced) food for thought.

Matt

Nate the Snake

2005-06-23T14:16:00.000-07:00

Ever heard that joke? It’s funny. Ask Charlie to tell it sometime. Better yet, ask him to tell you the clown joke, if you have ample time to kill.

Anyway, on to my post. The title is only somewhat connected to the subject matter. Once you’ve heard the joke and read my post, I suppose you’ll figure it out. You’re fairly bright, after all.

As I’m sure most of my close friends will tell you, I’m consistently late for… well, pretty much everything. I have the absolute best intentions of always arriving at a predetermined time, yet I somehow manage to always miss the mark, often by quite a lot. It’s got to be pretty annoying for my friends. I don’t know how much time they’ve actually collectively spent just waiting for me, but it must be significant. Enough to have enjoyed an average length novel, probably.

I have no idea why I’m always late. Part of it, I suppose, is that I overestimate how efficiently I can complete a task. I tend to be optimistic that I can accomplish things quickly and easily, despite my vast experience to the contrary. Simple seeming tasks often end up taking longer than I anticipate.

This bugs my wife a lot. My work schedule keeps me away from home until 7:30 or 8:00 most nights, but due to some tasks taking longer than I planned, I occasionally end up coming home later than I told her I would. She doesn’t appreciate that, which I can understand. I try to call and let her know when I’m running late (I try to do that for my friends, too, but they’ve pretty much come to expect it anyway), but sometimes I think that instead of taking time to call her, I should just keep plugging away at whatever task is at hand and get home a few minutes sooner than I would if I did call. Well, that line of thinking doesn’t really go over well when I explain why I didn’t call.

I think that another reason I’m consistently late is heredity. My parents are the same way. When I was a kid, our family was always the last to show up for church on Sunday morning (a tradition I’ve carried on to my own family, by the way; it’s like a big “faith baton,” passed from my parents to me…). We’d scurry into the nave a couple minutes after the service started and make our way up to one of the front pews (which made it that much worse—everyone had to watch us come in late!). I always figured it was because of my three sisters and all their primping before we ever went anywhere. Turns out that wasn’t the reason—we’re just late people, apparently. Another example of this genetic tendency for being late is that I was almost always the last kid to be picked up from basketball practice, baseball practice, youth group, confirmation class, or just about any other activity in which I was involved as a youth. My parents knew what time my practices, etc., were finished, yet they were almost never there waiting for me afterwards. I nearly always had to sit and wait for one or the other of them to come pick me up. If not for that, though, I guess I never would have had all those nice chats with the evening janitorial staff…

I honestly feel terrible about being so late all of the time. I hate that I make my friends wait for me. I hate that I leave my wife at home, waiting for me to return from work so we can spend a little time together before bed. I really don’t like the stress that accompanies running late all the time.

When Charlie and I went to the National Association of Campus Activities conference in Rochester, Minnesota, this past April, we were running very late, and ended up missing the booth set-up time and… the fun, meet-people time, I think. Turned out to not be such a big deal, but still, it was stressful. I don’t think I was actually late that day, though. There were a couple other problems that delayed us. The first was related to my tendency to be overly optimistic about the amount of time required to accomplish a task—I didn’t plan an early enough departure time for the trip to Rochester. The second was that I forgot our performance contracts, which at the time seemed vital, but turned out to be completely unnecessary (not to imply that it was an unsuccessful trip…). So… even thought I technically wasn’t late (and I should probably point out that Charlie picked me up at my house right at the specified time, leaving me little opportunity to actually be late), it was still my fault that we were late that day.

So I guess I just want to apologize to all of my friends and to my wife and to anyone else who may have been forced to wait for me at some time. I’m sorry. I’ll try to be on time. I promise that I’ll try! In the meantime, it’s probably safest to add at least 15 minutes to whatever time I say I’ll be somewhere. Hmm… Ironically (but not surprisingly), since I ended up writing a bit more than I’d planned, I’m now running about 10-15 minutes behind schedule… I suppose I should go, then.

Adieu!

Matt

Itty Bitty Hibby

2005-06-22T13:58:00.000-07:00

My wife and I have now been married almost seven years. We’ve been extremely (some might say sickeningly) happy over those seven years of marriage. We get along well, we hardly ever argue or fight, we usually work well together. We’ve both been fortunate enough to get good jobs with good organizations. We have a wonderful home and the prettiest dog to have ever lived. Our life together is really quite good, and we’ve definitely fallen into the “married couple” routine.

Soon, however, our routine will be drastically and forever changed. You see, we have a child on the way (that is, my wife is pregnant; there’s not some mysterious child in transit between here and wherever mysterious children come from). We’ve known for quite some time now, but haven’t yet had the chance to tell all of our friends. In fact, as I write this, several of my close friends are still in the dark (hopefully I’ll have a chance to tell them before I post this (though I doubt any of them will ever read this; I probably won’t tell them about my blog)). Yet, ‘tis true. Come November of this year, our happy little family will expand by one.

It’s rather daunting to think about. I am going to be completely in charge of another human being’s life (well, probably more like ½ of a human life; my wife, meanwhile, will maintain functional control over my life and her own, as well as the baby’s). This tiny person will be completely dependent on me for its’ survival. If I don’t provide the care necessary, s/he won’t make it. That’s it. Granted, I’m being a little dramatic here—my wife will be around to care for our child, and if I turn out to be a really horrible father, some agency will surely intervene. Honestly, though, the baby’s life will be in my hands. That’s about equal parts terrifying and amazing.

It’s difficult to fathom exactly how much our lives will change as a result of the birth of our first child. Lots of people have told us, “Your life will change forever,” or something similar, but no one has really told us exactly how our lives will change, nor how much.

I’m pretty happy with my life as it is. Don’t get me wrong—I’m tremendously excited to meet my little son or daughter, and I’ve no doubt that I’ll love being a parent. Still, I can’t help but wonder what things I’ll never get to do, or may never get to do again. Will CST ever go on tour? Probably not. Will I ever get to go camping? Eventually, but probably not as often as I’d like. Will I ever pack up the basic supplies, so to speak, and head off into the wilderness to live? Well, I probably would never have actually done that anyway. But now I can’t. It’s not just that I won’t anymore—now I’ll have a little baby who needs its’ daddy. I’m beginning to realize that all of my decisions will carry much more weight now.

I might not get to go backpacking or whitewater rafting or rock climbing anymore. I may only get to go camping on very rare occasions, at least until the kid is old enough to go along. I may not get to buy an old stand of timber in Minnesota and build a log cabin. I probably will never get to go on tour with CST. There are all sorts of things—things I really enjoy, or think that I would enjoy—that I’ll probably never get to do.

I think, though, that the first time I see my child, I won’t care about any of that. I think that I’ll fall in love immediately and completely. If I can hold my son or daughter every day, if I can watch my child grow and learn and smile and laugh, if I can experience all of those magical times with my child, I think I’ll be able to get by without rock climbing.

Having said all that, I think I’ll try to go camping as often as possible (which probably isn’t very often at all with a pregnant wife) this summer. I’ll try to go see movies whenever I can. Maybe I’ll even try to do some rafting or climbing this summer. Who knows. It doesn’t matter all that much, really. I’ll probably enjoy those things more when I can share them with my kid(s) someday. I think I’ll keep my subscription to Backpacker, though.

Matt

Nothing in particular to say...

2005-06-15T15:41:00.000-07:00

Greetings, no one. How've you been? I have been quite busy of late. Work, while I enjoy it immensely, has been very demanding the past couple of weeks. Lots of 10 and 11 hour days, running around, etc.

We started a big new program this week, and we're serving free lunch to any kids (under age 18) who show up. It's a USDA-funded program to provide nutritious meals during the summer, when some kids don't necessarily get a decent meal during the day. Each of the last three days we've served over 130 meals, which I think is outstanding. In addition to providing meals, we also do some programming. Usually just a simple, 45 minute organized activity to give the kids something to do for a little while, and hopefully get them out and active. It's a wonderful program, and will benefit kids immensely. There sure are a lot of details to take care of, though. Hence my recent long days of work.

On a completely unrelated note, I was disappointed today to find out that Charlie's and my upcoming show this Saturday night had to be cancelled due to a scheduling conflict. It seems the venue was double-booked, so we were left out in the cold. Ah, well. That sort of thing has happened to us a few times now. It's not the best feeling when we're told, "Yeah, you were on the schedule, but someone else wanted to play that day, so what could we do?" Granted, one of the other times it happened we were bumped for a pretty big name act, so I really couldn't blame the venue. This time, though, not so much. Some band I've never heard of. To be fair, they've likely never heard of Central Standard Time (our band, I mean, not the time zone).

And so it goes with CST. One day we might feel poised to take the music world (or at least the local market) by storm, the next we might feel ready to put away the guitars and sound equipment and call it quits for CST. I don't think we'll do that anytime soon. We do so enjoy performing and playing together, and it's really a pretty easy hobby to keep up, so I guess there's no real reason for us to quit. I certainly don't want to quit. I hope Charlie doesn't want to quit. I hope there are a least a few people out there who would be disappointed if we ever quit.

Well, that's all for now. I'm off to play a little Schweibert and be cool for a while. Until next time,

Matt

Danged newspapers, anyway!

2005-06-02T11:14:00.000-07:00

I'm frustrated today. I look forward to Thursdays for a couple reasons. One of those is that the local newspaper's special entertainment section comes out on Thursdays. I really enjoy seeing live music, and am a fan of many local musicians, so I quite enjoy reading some of the stories pertaining to live music. This particular Thursday also happens to coincide with the first show of the Music in the Park concert series, put on each summer by the city of Coralville.

It just so happens that Central Standard Time, my own little folk duo (with my friend, Charlie), is playing one of the Music in the Park (MITP) shows later in the summer. Today I hopefully anticipated seeing our name in a riveting story about MITP. Well, my hopes were not realized. There was, indeed, a brief (and hardly riveting) story in the paper about MITP, but alas, no mention was made of Central Standard Time. A MITP schedule accompanied the story as a sidebar, but we were not listed on the schedule.

How frustrating! Our MITP performance could potentially be a pretty big deal for us. Anywhere from 300-600 people typically attend MITP, and the other group performing on July 21 (the date of our show) has a large local following. That means that we could potentially be reaching a large, new audience, which is no easy thing to do. Unfortunately, many people may not know that we're even playing now, due to the glaring omission in the aforementioned newspaper article. We're supposed to start at 6:00, versus the typical MITP start time of 6:30, so we may not have many people there at 6:00 to see us play. They might all show up around 6:20-6:30, expecting to see the other group, who won't actually play until about 7:20 that night.

Anyway, I'm upset with the whole situation. I sent an email to the author of the article, and I may have been a tad harsh. I don't think I was mean, necessarily, but my message didn't have a very friendly tone, either. I doubt she'll run a correction or anything, so I guess that's that. Hopefully enough people will pay attention to the MITP promotions, see that music starts at 6:00 that particular evening, and come hear Charlie and me play.

In the meantime, feel free to join us for any of our upcoming shows! We have 'em listed on our web site (www.cstime.net), in case your interested. Au revoir!

Matt

Am I Really That Arrogant?

2005-06-01T18:30:00.000-07:00

Greetings, and welcome to the first entry on my newly-created blog. I’d never even so much as considered writing a blog until just a couple days ago, when suddenly I decided that it seemed like a good idea. I’ve no idea why I came to that conclusion so suddenly. There was really no life-altering event that made me decide I should record some of my random thoughts for the sake of posterity. I guess I’m just in a mood to clutter up the Internet with more meaningless drivel. Congratulations to you, by the way, for finding it! I honestly have no idea how you would have ended up here, reading these words, and frankly, I won’t be surprised if I’m the only one who ever reads them. Oh, well.

So as I mentioned, I decided out of the blue that I should start a blog. I have a few friends who write blogs, and I guess they must enjoy it, or they wouldn’t continue. I don’t know if many people actually visit and read their blogs, but I suppose a handful of the gazillion daily Internet users out there probably end up finding my friends’ blogs. Anyway, I guess the idea of taking my own unimportant thoughts worldwide is appealing enough for me to give it a go.

As I’ve thought more about the idea of keeping a blog, though, it occurred to me that it’s really sort of arrogant to assume that anyone other than myself would give even half a hoot about my thoughts, feelings, observations, etc., on whatever random topic about which I decide to write on a given day. Why should anyone else care what I think? Yet I (like who knows how many other bloggers) have decided not to be dissuaded by that, and to chug onward with my bloggerific activities.

That begs the question, then: am I really that arrogant? Does my decision to go ahead and start a blog mean that I do, in fact, think that my thoughts are worth the time and effort it requires for others to read them? Do I believe that my blog will somehow improve the lives of others or make the world a better place?

I guess I must be that arrogant. I guess I must think my thoughts are that valuable and worthwhile. That’s sort of a weird realization… I’ve always considered myself a pretty down-to-earth, humble guy (then again, maybe it’s arrogant to think of myself that way; sort of like the line from Weird Al’s “Amish Paradise”: “I know I’m a million times more humble than thou art!”). That must mean I’ve had a skewed self image for all these years. Perhaps you’re thinking even now, “Yeah, you’re a pretty cocky SOB, Hibbard, and it’s about time you realized it.” I hope that’s not the case, but if it is, I’m sorry for being a cocky SOB.

I’ve had similar thoughts in the past—you know, wondering if I’m more conceited or cocky than I realize. My buddy Charlie and I are in a band (Central Standard Time), and we play mostly music we’ve written ourselves. I’ve often thought it seemed arrogant of me to assume that other people would be interested in hearing me sing songs that I’ve written. As with the blog thing, though, I haven’t let those thoughts stop me from performing as often as possible. Arrogant? Well, maybe. In my defense, though, at least a small number of people do seem to genuinely enjoy our music, which is nice.

Ultimately, I suppose, the decision to write a blog or to write and perform music has very little to do with arrogance or with the audience (real or imagined). I think that most folks (myself included) decide to undertake such endeavors for the personal satisfaction and pleasure that it brings. I really like writing music, and I really enjoy singing and playing guitar. Charlie would probably tell you that I must enjoy writing long, meandering missives about nothing in particular (or anything I can think of at the time), and he could show you a very sizeable collection of old emails from me to back that up.

And so I’ll proceed with my blog. I won’t promise to be the most attentive blogger; I’ll probably write somewhat rarely, as I’m moved to do so. I hope you read my posts and enjoy them, but if you don’t… well, that’s fine, too. I’ll probably write them anyway.

Matt