![St. Patrick’s Day… Irish? Your Choice.]()
by Richard Timothy | Mar 17, 2010 | Lightbulbs and Soapboxes, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Working Observations
It wasn’t until I was in college, the second time, that I made my first real Irish friend. I mean “Irish” Irish not some Irish mutt, which is made up when somewhere along the family tree there is a small branch or neighboring shrub associated to the tree. This equates to the individual being 1/28 Irish or something like that. This friend, let’s call her Jen, because, well, that’s her name, even though she always insisted that everyone call her Irish. So Jen and I use to always get in discussions about being Irish. Her stand was that because she was Irish she was better than everyone else. I took up the opposing view telling her, “Naut Uh!”
To which she would retort, “Does too.”
And then I would follow that up with the always reliable and irrefutable, “Does not.”
We would keep this up for a good three to five minutes, and then would be asked to pipe down by our teacher, threatening that they would take away our recess if we kept it up.
My perspective at the time is that national pride meant elitism. I thought, at the time, when you start expressing pride you begin segregating others. The goal of unity and people coming together would always go away when people would start advertising that people not of their heritage were lesser people. I use to blame the heritage for this segregation. Turns out it has nothing to do with heritage, but more to do with whether you’re a complete and total prat or not. I mean jerks are everywhere. It has nothing to do with where they come from. It’s a personality type that tries to make others feel inferior. It has nothing to do with where you or your ancestors are from. Usually, I think it’s just a matter of how you were raised.
I’ve been doing a little study on St. Patrick’s Day, turns out it started out as a Catholic holiday. Initially it was a one-day break during Lent, which included consuming a fair amount of alcohol. It wasn’t until the 1600s that the Catholic Church put it on their calendar to be an officially observed holy day.
Something I didn’t know is that on two separate occasions the Catholic Church changed the day of St. Patrick’s Day. Once in 1940, they moved it to April 3rd, to avoid having it with Palm Sunday, and again in 2008, when they moved it to March 15th because the 17th was during Holy Week. For the record though, the rest of the world still celebrated it on the 17th.
One of the things I get a kick out of in regards to St. Patrick’s Day is that it is much more inclusive than once thought. Sure, initially it was for St. Patrick the patron saint of Ireland, but it’s evolved a bit over the 1000 years it’s been around. It’s true, the Irish have observed March 17th as a religious holiday for over 1000 years now… at least that’s what the History Channel told me. Personally, I’m going to trust the History Channel on this one. But today, St. Patrick’s Day has become a sort of an “everyone gets to be Irish if they want to be” day. On March 17th no one cares if you are Irish or not. You can even claim to be an honorary Irish on the 17th and everyone is pretty much fine with it, as long as you are wearing green and/or have a green colored beverage in a pint sized glass.
It’s also amazing to me how many people I have met that are not Irish in any way, but can claim Irish rights and heritage simply by being born on March 17th. Surprisingly, I’ve never met anyone who disagrees with this practice either. It’s really the only day I can think of that offers participators a choice of nationality. The day has sort of taken on its very own mythology in that regard. Personally, I think it’s kind of groovy.
That being said, there is one more thing I need to share, which I really could not pass up. It’s about what happened at work today, which on a plus note did not take place in the lavatory. It is about today’s division wide potluck. On occasion the department I work in and its sibling department plan an occasional potluck for the month’s token holiday. Meaning yes, we had a potluck planned for St. Patrick’s Day.
I even made sure that my donation to the pot luck was the color green. The thing is, it was guacamole green because I had signed up to bring guacamole to the potluck… the potluck was a nacho and taco bar. Yes, my work had a taco bar to commemorate St. Patrick’s Day. Isn’t that kind of like celebrating Thanksgiving with sushi, or New Years with just water, or, I don’t know, maybe St. Patrick’s Day with tacos? Even though the gesture was appreciated, I think it sort of missed the point. But in the event of a free lunch I’ve learned that people don’t really care if the food and holiday match. What really matters is that it’s free.
To make up for it I think we’re having Tai food tonight for dinner… don’t worry I’ll get some green food coloring to make it legit. Hey, Angela is craving Tai food and when that happens, even on St. Patrick’s Day, my job is to enjoy dinner with my wife. I’m neither Catholic nor Irish so I pretty sure that karmically I’m still good.
So Happy Irish-if-you-want-to-be Day to you all. I hope it’s been grand. Cheers.
What are your thoughts?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: St. Patrick’s Day, taco bar, jerk, History Channel, and good karma.
![St. Patrick’s Day… Irish? Your Choice.]()
by Richard Timothy | Mar 15, 2010 | I Think There's a Point, Lightbulbs and Soapboxes, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Public Service Announcement, Reviewed and Recommended
Together… its one of those cuddly words that keeps you encouraged as you go through life trying new things and most of the time it makes what you are doing better, case and point, watching MST. I enjoy watching MST, but I do have some friends that add to this experience. I don’t enjoy watching MST with them, I LOVE watching MST with them. It makes the lame jokes smileable, the smileable joke laughable, and the laughable joke… well let’s just say that I’ve been known to push pause and have a little potty break due to unrelenting laughter. Together the experience is vastly better.
Together Frodo and Sam left the Shire for an adventure that be summed up only by saying, “they had a hell of a time” and not in a good way. Still, we did get three painfully long movies to enjoy as a result of them leaving the shire. Likewise, together the Goonies found One Eyed Willie. Together Igor and Dr. Frankenstein created life. And together the Emperor and Vader took control of the universe.
Hmm, ok so maybe the last two were not the best of examples, but you get the point. There are many groovy things that can happen when people start working together. In fact, one of the greatest novels of all time was the result of two brilliant authors working together. Of course I am referring to none other than Good Omens. A book that I believe everyone should own and that should be placed in hotel rooms around the world to accompany that other hotel room book. Hey, all I’m saying is that people like options. Having only one book in a hotel room is the opposite of options.
You know, I had this friend use to steal Bibles out of hotel rooms. I always found it amusingly ironic that he was so hell bent on stealing multiple copies of a book that had an entire section devoted to instructing the reader that they should not steal. I mean sure, if he had stocks in a Gideon printing press it would make at least some sense, but no… no stocks, no rhyme, no reason. Well, maybe a reason. I think he was trying to impress some girl. Ah, the youthful attempts of trying to impress someone you fancy. Interestingly enough this is the exact same equation for making oneself look a little like a jack ass… who knew.
So Chris Brogan is a bit of a community and social media guru whose blog I check out a few times a week. If you have a business, I recommend reading his blog. One of the things I dig most about him is his reoccurring message of “together”… working together, creating together, brainstorming together, etc., and how, when we work together, we can reach more people and accomplish more than if we try doing it all alone. In fact it was on his blog that I originally saw this video:
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WfBlUQguvyw]
Click here if you can’t see the video.
The song… eh, I’m not a huge fan, but it not openly or angrily opposed to it either. But the video, I think the video is a brilliant example of people working together to create something that for the span it takes me to watch it, makes the world a better place. One of my favorite parts of the video is when everyone who is helping with it throws up their name in from of the camera. It a simple moment, but you get to see all of these different names in different languages in different hand writing. It’s a moment that shows this collection of people from all over the world working together to create something beautiful that makes me smile. Personally, I’ve never considered me smiling to be a bad thing.
I’ve discovered one of the grooviest things about my blog is you. I’ve met a number of fabulous people so far simply by explaining what I am doing and why I want to be friends. It’s been a brilliant experience. I’ve been introduced to some new novels and authors. Some of which I’ve now read. I’ve also been reminded of a few books that definitely deserve to be reread. I’ve met a few musicians. Some of you have shared your work with me and some of it has been grand… and then some of it has been, well, something that I have been able to suggest to others that I thought might enjoy it, but that wasn’t really my style of music.
I’ve received some amazing encouragement and incredibly helpful critiques… and through this whole process I’ve met some new people who I’m getting to know via their comments and Facebook wall posting that keep making me laugh. I’ve even received some words from people that have not so much encouraged as they have offered short messages about my inadequacies as a writer. Sometimes it’s a preference thing, and in some cases it’s helped me edit and update something that needed a little work that I had overlooked. So, a thank you to them and a thank you to all of you who read, smile, smirk, and laugh… and for letting me know.
I’ve also gotten some fabulous wine suggestions and drink recipes. Bea, the caipirinha was lovely and when I get a few more mixed drink recipes together I’ll make sure I share them with everyone.
I’ve even received a few suggestions for places to post my writing to introduce it to more people. And I have met a lot of fellow bloggers and writers. One such writer, Nora B. Peevy, recently sent me link to a rather groovy online search engine tool that could assist any writer who has a goal to get published, but is not 100% sure where to start. The site is http://duotrope.com/. It’s a free site and it allows you to search via genre, theme, length, pay, etc. for places that publish the type of writing that you do. So if you are a writer, check out this site of endless possibilities for places you can submit your writing, and hopefully you can get published. It’s a dream worth having and achieving.
Thank you Nora for sharing this with me so I could pass it on to others. Nora writes dark fiction and has been published a few times already (/cheer). In fact she has a new short story coming out in the June issue of Twisted Tongue. If you dig the dark fiction genre of writing you should check out her site and read some of her work.
So feel free to share with me. I think email might work best in this case. So send me an email if you think there is something we could work on together, or if you have something you just want to share that you think deserves a Smirk commentary or side note. Even if it’s something as simple as adding a splash of strawberry basil jam on your brie cheese when eating them with crackers… which is mind meltingly nummy, which is a lot like yummy only there’s a n involved. And on the delicious scale it fits right between “yummy” and “oh my (insert deity of your choice here) that’s good.” Plus, I’m pretty sure the strawberry-basil jam brie cracker snack would have been illegal during the cold war for both inspiring creativity and making people happy. If you happen to be one of those people that hate brie cheese… let’s just begin by agreeing to disagree and leave it at that. The one thing I hate more than carrots in Jell-o is having a “Doesn’t like cheese?” Wallace and Gromit moment with someone I find to be of a rather grand.
Anyway, thanks for reading and thanks for sharing. To you writers out there, I hope that site helps you out some. I know I’ll be utilizing it.
So, what do you think?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: together, Good Omens, thank you, and brie and jam.
![St. Patrick’s Day… Irish? Your Choice.]()
by Richard Timothy | Mar 11, 2010 | I Think There's a Point, It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, When I Was a Kid
Whenever I begin telling people about my beer journal I get the look. It’s not a standard look, hence why it’s “the look” instead of “a look”. It’s the look that the face unconsciously creates when people hear something that processes a bit confusingly. Only a bit though. The look is a mixture of partial understanding, but at the exact same time the other word(s) create the confusion. I suppose you could call it the “I almost get… I think… what?” look. I’m not sure it’s the type of thing you can practice either, which I like the thought of. It adds to the authenticity of those moments when a do receive the look. Of course there is always the chance that the person listening to me will just get angry because I said something that perplexes them, so instead of the look, they’ll just call me a dirty name and walk away.
To those of you who may not know, I am not a beer drinker. I’ve never even tasted the stuff. I just have no real interest in doing so at this point in my life. Part of the added confusion to this story is that during the time I was creating my beer journal it was during a period in my life when I had yet to taste alcohol in any form other than cough syrup, which usually made me gag and want to expunge all the contents of my stomach. So, likewise, when I started my beer journal it was a touch baffling to those around me.
So what exactly is a beer journal? It’s a documented event wrapped in glass and fill with beer. Here’s how it worked. I was living in Logan Utah at the time, doing that college thing and having a grand time hanging out with friends old and new. Most of these friends were big fans of beer consumption, and in homage to this practice they would create a celebration on almost any given evening so that groups of people could gather together to assist the consumption of this elixir. Yeah, so I went to a lot of parties and drove a lot of people home. Then on April 12, 1999 it just happened. I picked up a beer, two in fact, and stuck them in my pocket to commemorate the evening.
It was for my friend Brandon’s 25th birthday. His wife Jules, girlfriend at the time, had planned a surprise party for him. I went over and played some poker with them for about an hour and then we headed over the Ibis, the coffee shop Jules and I worked at, saying we had a quick meeting and then would be heading to the bar. When we got there the place was filled with friends and beer. Not just any beer, but special ordered beer that Brandon had much love for… Henry Weinhard’s Hazelnut Stout and Blackberry Wheat. So I took one of each, one for the poker night, and one for the surprise party. When I got home I took them out of my jacket pockets placed them on my dresser. And that is how it all started.
Over the months, I when I would go to parties, I would always take a beer home with me. It was always unopened and always a different beer. To those of you concerned that I was breaking party etiquette, it’s not like I was stealing beer. People knew what I was doing. I let them know all about it. And yes even though they gave me “the look” when I told them they always supported me and even started to make sure they would set one beer aside just for me. Granted, to help with this exchange, I always made sure I brought a six pack for people to enjoy. A six to one exchange rate is a pretty good deal, especially if that exchange is beer.
After the first twenty to thirty beer I collected, it was becoming a little difficult keep them all straight. So I invested in some little label stickers and started documenting each beer with the date and event. There was the Moosehead Beer for the Cinco de Mayo / Farewell Liz party… because nothing says Cinco de Mayo quite like a Canadian lager. There was my Icehouse beer, the only can I acquired for my journal, which Jules and Brandon gave to me as my get well beer when I threw out my back and was stuck in bed for about a week.
There was the bottle of Blue Moon for the night I said goodbye to my friend Jasamyn, who was moving to San Francisco. There was the Uinta India Pale Ale for Kyle’s 25th birthday and the Fischer LaBelle for my sister Fee’s 23rd birthday. The Guinness Extra Stout was for my first Eddie Izzard party and the bottle of Melbourne Bros Strawberry for the evening I went to see Tori Amos in concert.
Yes, there were beer signifying more birthdays, move farewells, and even some for reunions of old friends and family. There was the “Be thankful for Friends” party, which was remembered with a bottle of Moretti Birra Friulana. There was a beer for the occasional first date and one for the goodbye to an ended love. There was even the Pilsner Urquell for my first day going back to college. And…
And then it just stopped. Not the parties, just the bottled reminder of them. There were a few reasons for this. The first was the storage of the thing. I was quickly running out of space. My dresser was covered with full bottles of beer, as was my window sill. A beer journal begins taking up a lot of space after 7 months. The practicality was no longer there either. At some point in my life I would be moving and if things kept up, the thought of moving hundreds of full bottles of journal beer seemed like a task that I really had no desire to be a part of. I think the novelty was done as well. I have experienced many grand celebrations and a few unpleasant evenings, it was time to process and remember in a different way. So, I bought a camera. The beer journal ended January 20th, 2000… wow just over 10 years ago. Maybe I should go get a beer to commemorate my 10 year anniversary of my beer journal… hmmm. When the journal ended I had around 60 or different bottles of beer, and one can, compiling my beer journal. Oh, one more thing, trying to keep the dust off of all those bottles was becoming a chore that I never really wanted in the first place.
Then came the question, “What the hell do I do with all this beer?” Correct! You drink it! Well, not me personally, but I had an evening, a sort of celebration. I invited an armful of close friends, who drank beer, this was key, and with three or four coolers of ice we chilled all the beer and I played MC. People would grab a beer and show me the label. I’d then tell them the story about the evening that the beer was a journal entry for. Then we would either toast the remembered celebration, or give one last goodbye to those that I had said farewell to.
Near the end of the evening, all the attendees, well those who could still speak coherently and mostly stand, told me it was the most amazing and brewfully tasty party they had ever experienced. I’d like to think my stories helped them come to that conclusion, but I have no misconceptions. I know and you know it was predominantly, say 99.999998%, the 60 different types of beer they helped consume through the evening. Alcohol is amazingly resourceful in that regard. Still, it was a great night for me as well. By morning all beer had been opened and most of the bottles were empty. I think Rob was the one who said that the hangover was worth it and he’d gladly do it again if I ever made another beer journal then needed to be let go.
I’m not sure I’d recommend this practice… well repeatedly anyway. For me… I think it was worth the experience at least once. Who knows it might even be more worthwhile if you are actually a beer drinker. Although, I’m not sure how effective an evening of storytelling and letting go would be if the storyteller became schnookered during the process. Yes schnookered. This is a technical term meaning epically inebriated, plus… it’s a lot more fun to say than “really, really drunk”.
If you happen to be a sad drunk it might be a little rough on your friends when you you get to the beer that you picked up as a journal entry for your favorite teams playoff finals cup bowl game and they ended up losing. Causing you to get all emotional while drinking that beer and telling everyone it tasted of tears and failure. Then while cradling the empty bottle in your arms you start weeping. Remember the celebration of the beer journal should be a positive thing. If you only get beer entries for the bad things that happen I recommend stopping the beer journal before you even start. Then again, if you decide to give it a go, it then becomes all about your and your journey, so who knows, maybe it will help. Good luck to any of you that decide to give this a try. Feel free to send any questions you may have about it.
As for you, any of you have your own odd type of journaling? What are your thoughts on the beer journal?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: bottled beer, beer in ice, Tori Amos in concert, telling story, and birthday party.
![St. Patrick’s Day… Irish? Your Choice.]()
by Richard Timothy | Mar 9, 2010 | I Think There's a Point, Lightbulbs and Soapboxes, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Public Service Announcement, When I Was a Kid
Music… it’s always been one of those unifying arts. The collection of chords and rhythm combined with lyrical accompaniment has been a catalyst for documenting and remembering very specific moments from my life. There are songs we use to rejoice and celebrate events and lives, gone, present and on their way.
There are songs that rejuvenate us using beats and chorus that instills in us an uncontrollable desire to move both emotionally and physically. Sometimes it’s a subtle as smiling as we tap of our toes and bob of our heads. Other times we let the power of the song flow thorough us and we stomp our feet and raise our hands above our heads in joy and adulation, while we sing out loud. Then there are songs that, well, let’s just say that there are entire city populations that owe their existence to three people, their mother, their father, and Barry White.
Music also instills in us very powerful and protective emotional reactions from their listeners. Think I’m kidding? Just try telling a Skynyrd fan that Skynyrd sucks and… I’m not sure you’ll get to the “and” part, before a beer bottle is used as an implement for getting you to shut up. Likewise, try telling a Lil… (some random rap artist) fan, sorry I don’t listen to rap so I’m not sure what artist in that genre has the more avid “most likely to attack you for bad mouthing them” fans. My rap education stopped around Run DMC’s team up with Aerosmith, and the Beastie Boys License to Ill album.
Then again, if you tell a Depeche Mode fan that their music sucks, they’ll most just avoid making eye contact with you and hope that you just go away. But once you do leave you can be assured that they are going to bad mouth you with each other and probably say a few profanities about your mother.
Then there is the same genre clash, questions like the Stones or the Beatles, Frank or Dino, Bell Biv Devoe or New Edition, or Joel or Mike. It’s something I think we all do. A sort or personal preference in genres that to the outside listener might not make a lot of sense, but to you personally, there is a line! The big one for me was the grunge movement that lasted about three weeks back in the early 90s. It was always Nirvana or Pearl Jam. I’m not sure why, but I could not stand Nirvana… I still can’t. I was always a fan of Pearl Jam, but Nirvana… it was the difference between using sandpaper or Kleenex to blow your nose.
Still, there are two things I’ve noticed over the years in regards to my attachment to music. First is the evolution in my musical listening repertoire. It altered immensely over the years. Song I swore I’d listen to all my life and want played at my funeral are now songs I can go the rest of my life without ever hearing again. Music I hated in my youth now has a place in my listening palate. Then there is some music that falls under the same category as fingernails on a chalkboard, dentists’ drills hitting an open nerve, or ally cats copulating at 3 AM outside your window.
The other thing is that my affinity and intense musical appreciation as been greatly reduced over the years. I know that the music industry is taking a huge bite due out of their profits due to piracy, but it’s kind of a double edged sword. I know that there are many people are leeching the creator’s talent, and that sucks. I do feel that if you love a song or an artist you really should pay them for the aspects of their creation that truly moves you. That is the brilliance of this whole electronic musical era. You can check out the entire album and then purchase only songs on the album that are worth a damn.
I think music piracy began as a result of years of fans being crapped on by the music industry in regards of quality vs. quantity of musical reward. Here’s what I mean. Remember back in the day when you would hear a song on the radio and become smitten by some catchy tune. The song was so brilliant that the only natural next step and option was to purchase the artists entire CD. Sure you could listen to the radio for hours so at a moment’s notice you record the song off the radio, but the damn DJs always talked through the beginning of the song…EVERY TIME! This is the key reason radio DJs are some of the most hated people on the planet.
A CD was your only option at getting an unviolated copy of the song. The problem was there was never a listen before you buy option. These CDs were always locked down. All you got was a sticker on the cover advertising that they performed the “Smash hit…” you were after, and a price tag letting you know the album would cost you about $15 to $20. I think the sale price was usually $13 to $15.
As you drove home you’d listen to the song that inspired the initial purchase over and over again. Then once you finally got home, you’d go to your room and:
- Place that “Do Not Disturb” door sign that you took from the hotel you stayed at while on vacation the summer before.
- Close the door.
- Place the new CD into your player.
- Have a moment of silence asking the music gods to bless your CD so that it would be the Holy Grail of all musical purchases you had ever made up to that point.
- And then press play so that you could properly take in the majestic brilliance that was your new musical purchase.
Things usually broke down like this (let’s say the CD had only 12 tracks)…
Track 1 – Listened to for 30 seconds… “Eh, it’s ok, but not really as good as track 3 (the reason for the purchase).”
Track 2 – Listened to for 25 seconds… “At least tract 3 is next.”
Track 3 – Listened to for the whole song… “Ahhhhh. That’s the stuff. I love this song.”
Track 4 – Listened to for 30 seconds…“Hmmm.”
Track 5 – Listened to for 25 seconds…“Still, track 3 is really good.”
Track 6 – Listened to for 10 seconds, skipped forward one minute, and listened to for 10 more seconds… “Lame”
Track 7 – Listened to for 10 seconds, skipped forward one minute, and listened to for 5 more seconds… “Sucks.”
Track 8 – Listened to for 10 seconds, skipped forward one minute, and listened to for 2 more seconds… “I should have just purchased the damn single.”
Track 9 – Listened to for 10 seconds, skipped forward one minute, and listened to rest of the song… “Eh, maybe… that might take a few more listens to get a proper feel for it.”
Track 10 – Listened to for 10 seconds, skipped forward one minute, and listened to for 5 more seconds… “Are they really this consistently worthless?”
Track 11 – Listened to for 10 seconds, skipped forward one minute, and listened to for 2 more seconds… “It would appear so.”
Track 12 – Listened to for 10 seconds, skipped forward one minute, and listened to for 2 more seconds… “$15 for only one damn song… worthless one hit wonders!”
Then, to feel better you would go back to track 3 and listen to it about 12 more times and then leave my room in a better mood, but still with a lingering hint of disappointed. Sure there were albums that were the opposite of this, 10 songs you loved vs. the 2 songs that sucked, but those were the exception and were a very rare occurrence at that. In my experience, for every ten CDs I bought, 7 to 8 of them were $15 singles that had 40 minutes of inexcusable musical vomit professionally referred to as filler tracks. One or 2 enjoyable songs, and then there was the one in ten that gave you the 3 or above ratio of songs worth listening to.
On a plus note, this corporate musical CD release practice of paying $15 for only one enjoyable song is responsible for a great deal of my profanity practice growing up. 
Again, I don’t feel bad for the corporations in, but I do feel bad for the artists. It was the artists that came before them that made all of those one good song CDs that ruined it for the musicians of today. It’s a kind of musical karma I think. If you give that much musical rubbish to the world, it’s going to come back and bite you where it hurts the most… and for the corporations it’s their wallet.
Just remember, if you pirate a CD, at least remember to go online and purchase the song that motivated you to rip the CD in the first place. Rarely is an entire album with the entire purchase, if a song give you joy, tip the artist a dollar as of way of saying thank you.
Any thoughts on today’s Smirk?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: music, plug ears, cd shop, and tip jar.
![St. Patrick’s Day… Irish? Your Choice.]()
by Richard Timothy | Mar 4, 2010 | Confessed Confidentially, Gratefully Grateful, Lightbulbs and Soapboxes, My Cutie Baby Sweetie Pie, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
So to assist my cutie-baby-sweetie-pie with her Ignite Your Spark Conference I ended up taking last Thursday and Friday off from work. Yeah, I’m a pretty kick ass husband. Hmm, maybe I should start teaching a class. I could call it, um, ohhh, I know! KAHN… Kick Ass Husbands National. That way when people look into the sky and yell KAAAAAAAAHHHHN! It could actually be considered a good thing. I’d like to say I’m taking the whole “KAAAAAAHN!” thing back, but I can’t really. That’s because I think the Kirk approach to Kahn was the original take on it. There’s nothing to take back. If anything I’d be completely reconstructing it. I guess you could say I’m just taking it.
I think this would be the first KAHN lesson:
Chapter 1 – Get Married.
It seems to me that in order to become a kick ass husband the first thing that would need to happen is for you, in fact, to become one. Sure if I really wanted to I could change it to KAPN, Kick Ass Partners National, but frankly I don’t appreciate the lack of pun and I’m not especially keen on accessorizing with eye patches and birds sitting on your shoulder.
Side Note: I will concede that if you choose to acquire the status of husband via some other means not limited to the concept of traditional, or nontraditional, union ceremonies involving rings, flowers, and/or shotguns, then I will ask that you submit your process for how you acquired such status. It will be reviewed and voted on by me and a bottle of Chianti. For the record, the bottle always votes yes and your chances of getting in do increase as the evening progresses.
The conference was a fabulous time for both me and my ego. Everyone was so kind and friendly and happy. There were a few things that I consistently heard from women while at the conference.
- “You’re Angela’s husband? Oh! It’s so nice to meet you.”
- “I love your wife.”
- “I’ll bet you can’t wait for this to be over.”
- “All the support you’ve given her is just amazing. You’re amazing.”
I always responded to the second statement with an ecstatic and resounding, “Me too!” because it was both clever, cute, and true. Hmm, that seems to exceed the both identifier. Let’s just go with clever and true then. It was the third statement that always left me a little confused. I mean I understood what they meant, but with all the hours, tears, joy, worry, excitement, and other roller coaster of emotions that you embrace throughout a year of putting a conference like this together, I could wait. I wanted to savor every moment I could of those two days. It had earned that from me, and I deserved experience all I could before it ended.
I wish that theme was able to stay concrete throughout the event, but here’s one of the things I learned… hauling hundreds of books up and down stairs and trying to clam presenters down when they mailed something and UPS had not delivered it on time, and having an endless stream of questions directed to me that I just couldn’t answer to help assist those asking the questions, does have a tendency to wear on ones bubbly exterior. It left me a little like a helium balloon that has exhausted most of its supply of pixie dust. It’s not popped or deflated, it’s just lost its soaring ability. It mostly just hovers and begins moving a lot slower than it did before.
I think I may have managed to leave the conference a bit stronger than when I started it. Again, this is solely due to the hours of lifting and hauling heavy boxes up and down flights of stairs. Let’s just say that when I got out of bed Saturday morning my legs, especially my calves, started a revolt. Much like the towns people carrying torches on the way to ol’ Doc Frank’s place. My legs and feet felt like they were burning. Every step hurt and I didn’t even wear heels! Next time I’m getting those gel shoe inlay things.
Emotionally, sure it was exhausting, but there were those moments that picked you up, dusted you off, and got you ready to start all over again. One moment that just killed me, and not in a “oh no zombies, run for your life or they’ll ea…AHhhhh!” kind of way, but in the “I’m not going to cry, I’m not going to cry, I’m not going to cry, ok I’m going to cry” kind of way. It was a special break out session all the VIP guests got to experience with Lisa Nichols.
The thing about Lisa is that you either know who she is, which will cause you to get excited about this next bit. Or, is some lady you have never heard of her before, which probably won’t mean as much, but still worth reading about.
So Lisa is giving her presentation. Chatting with everyone in the room, making everyone laugh, and most cry. Encouraging everyone and letting them know that now matters, and so do they. As the end of her talk drew near, she decided to give away a few items to some people in the audience that she felt could use them. Out of the 70+ people in the room, guess who she calls up? No… it wasn’t me, but it was my little sister. This got her all emotional, which got my parents, who were sitting next to me, all emotional, which got me all emotional. Hey, hit my thumb with a hammer and swear for a good ten minutes and eventually I’ll be fine. But put my little sister in the front of a room crying tears of joy, transition and hope, and you better just pass me the tissues as soon as you finish grabbing some for yourself.
Lisa was emotional, amazing, and healing, so in a word… um… let’s go with emazaling. Yes… YES! I do believe that covers it nicely. It was two days of people coming together to encourage each other, listen to each other, help each other, and empower each other. When you are surrounded by that much love and support, it doesn’t matter if you arrived under dark clouds. You become the sun that dissipates those clouds, and you shine. More than that though, you know it’s ok for you to shine. I saw that a lot at the conference… it was beautiful.
Only a year to go until we get to do it all over again!
To those of you who made it to the event, and/or helped us out with the event, thank you, thank you thank you. I love you all. Feel free to share some of your thoughts on event.
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: yelling Kahn, shotgun wedding, carrying boxes, happy woman, and box of tissues.
![St. Patrick’s Day… Irish? Your Choice.]()
by Richard Timothy | Feb 23, 2010 | I Think There's a Point, Lightbulbs and Soapboxes, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Pratchett Perspective, Public Service Announcement
It’s hard to believe that it’s already been three weeks since that crusty eyed morning where I decided to check my messages right after waking up and found a message from one of my readers (thanks Erin) with Terry Pratchett in the subject line and a link entitled Terry Pratchett: my case for a euthanasia tribunal.
As I read the piece I started thinking about it, the big “it”… the “what is it all about” kind of “it”. I mean I know that the situation is sad for both groups of people, the first group being the adoring fans, and the second group, still adoring fans mind you, but family and friends that know him as not just the author, but the person as well. Having personally witnessed what Alzheimer’s does to a family member, there is certain amount of laughter associated with the heartache. My mother said that when it got really bad you had to laugh to keep from crying.
I laughed because it was funny that my grandpa had forgotten what words he considered were bad and kept trying to teach them to my grandma. There is something magically endearing about a little old man trying to teach his wife (she had had a stroke) how to say “oh hell.” He would even encourage her. “Come on Nora, say damn it. Daaammn it.”
When I got to the end of the Pratchett piece I had to ask myself, if it was possible to find a smirk in all of that. Was this even the type of thing that deserved my style of commentary? After thinking about it for a good… however long it take to eat a bowl of cereal, I opted to go with my gut feeling. And, in the words of the always eloquent Foul Ole Ron, let me just say, “bugrit.”
I think as fans, when we first learned of Pratchett’s condition, we took in the full scope of what that all meant. The loss of Terry would be enviable. It was almost as if we started morning the loss of a great man who is still here with us. On a plus note, I still have a number of books to get through still before I even finish the all of the Discworld books for the first time. So, at least I have that going for me. Not to mention, I’m sure he’s still writing more Discworld stories for our eager minds to consume so that we can regurgitate laughter and joy all over anyone who might be in the same room with us as we read it work.
On thought is that it… well, it does help one prepare a bit. I mean sure personal expiration is the only guarantee we have in life, but there’s a kind of appreciation I have in knowing that it’s on its way, as opposed to the opposite end of the spectrum as with Adams unexpected end. No “so long”, no “fish”… it was just a headline that no one was really sure was real or not from the first few times of reading it. Terry’s announcement, I think, has helped prepare us, well, helped me prepare for “it.” His “it”, not my “it”. My “it” at this point is the type of “it” that would result in me exclaiming a loud “she” before the “it”.
I’m not sure why, but Rincewind has always reminded me of Pratchett, the man, not the author. I’m not sure why either. I don’t know the man at all. I mean I know what he looks likes, but I’d probably not recognize him if I bumped into him on the street. Not unless someone else was there to point it out for me. When it comes to Terry Pratchett, I know the man is an author. Oh, and because of an interview I read in the past year, I know that he loves playing Oblivion. He’s English… I’m clear on my facts in that regard, but I’m not sure about much more. Things like, when his birthday is. Who he thinks would win in a fight between an Alien or a Predator, or what he did before he did what he does now.
I’m not a very good fan am I? Maybe it’s just that I’m not a traditional stalker type fan. Ahh the stalker fan… so I had this friend whose name sounded like the name of a type of dog, but for her sake was spelled differently. She was a huge Dean Koontz fan. I mean huge. So one day, she just so happened to find herself at a Koontz book signing, which was a result of some her getting two days off from work, finding a sitter for her child for that time, getting a plane ticket to California, booking a hotel room close to the book store he was going to be at, and getting to the book store by 3AM so that she would be one of the first in line to meet him.
Out of all the things she could have said to him… the conversation broke down something like this, “I am one of your biggest fans.”
“Really?”
“I celebrate your birthday.”
“My birthday. What do you mean?”
“Yes. Every year. I bake you a cake and everything.”
Dean then writes down some notes and says, “That gives me an idea. Would you be ok with me using some of that in the book I’m currently working on?”
It was the phone call I got after this had happened where she told me about the above conversation, and then screamed in a bouncy, overly excited tone, “I’m going to be in a Dean Koontz book!” I tried telling her that this was not really a compliment. She failed to see how it could be anything other than one.
No, I’m much more of a lighthearted, “Thanks Terry” kind of fan. Sure it would be groovy to meet him, but if I don’t, it’s ok. As for my Terry aka Rincewind perspective, it’s just how I see it. He’s always seemed to me to be a bit of a reluctant hero. That is until the capital “A word” became a chapter in his life. And like those moments when Rincewind becomes fed up enough that running stops becoming the first choice of action. A choice was made to face it head on, which seems exactly what he’s doing now.
He a vocal Alzheimer’s awareness poster child and his donations, as well as his open dialogue towards assisted death, is that Rincewindian stand. Granted, it might not end all that well for him, but as he goes through his journey it is going to help an entire world of people whether he expected it to or not. It’s the type of thing a knight might do, though it’s probably best not to tell him that.
I could romanticize about the literary nobility and juxtapose it with reminiscent alter ego characters that may or may not exist. In the long run I don’t think it’s going to be all that useful. Perhaps it’s just a bunch of fluff in the imagination of a life I don’t know. What I can say is this, if there is one thing I’ve learned from Pratchett’s work, it’s the fascination of life, his fascination with life. Even Death is fascinated by the human experience called life.
As he said in the closing of his Richard Dimbleby lecture, “If I knew that I could die, I would live.” I think the world has a bit of Pratchett left in it. I like to think that part of life is about giving. We have volumes of gifted wit and wisdom from that man. I’ve gotten a few emails from readers who talked about how Terry’s books had gotten them through the harder times of their life. Giving them some comfort, hope, and even more so, giving them laughter when they didn’t think they had any left in them.
In some future day, when the headlines yell that Death has finally come for the old knight, I expect that before shaking hands he’ll wait for Terry to finish his brandy as they both listen to Thomas Tallis play on Terry’s iPod. Then after the official game for his soul is played. Then, regardless who wins, they’ll head to the desert, because it’s his choice.
I really don’t see an end though. As Pratchett has continually suggested, that’s the thing about belief. It keeps giving life to those you believe in, long after the headlines tell you they’re gone.
Any thoughts you’d like to share?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: Death, Terry Pratchett, Foul Ole Ron, and happy phone call.
It wasn’t until I was in college, the second time, that I made my first real Irish friend. I mean “Irish” Irish not some Irish mutt, which is made up when somewhere along the family tree there is a small branch or neighboring shrub associated to the tree. This equates to the individual being 1/28 Irish or something like that. This friend, let’s call her Jen, because, well, that’s her name, even though she always insisted that everyone call her Irish. So Jen and I use to always get in discussions about being Irish. Her stand was that because she was Irish she was better than everyone else. I took up the opposing view telling her, “Naut Uh!”
My perspective at the time is that national pride meant elitism. I thought, at the time, when you start expressing pride you begin segregating others. The goal of unity and people coming together would always go away when people would start advertising that people not of their heritage were lesser people. I use to blame the heritage for this segregation. Turns out it has nothing to do with heritage, but more to do with whether you’re a complete and total prat or not. I mean jerks are everywhere. It has nothing to do with where they come from. It’s a personality type that tries to make others feel inferior. It has nothing to do with where you or your ancestors are from. Usually, I think it’s just a matter of how you were raised.
One of the things I get a kick out of in regards to St. Patrick’s Day is that it is much more inclusive than once thought. Sure, initially it was for St. Patrick the patron saint of Ireland, but it’s evolved a bit over the 1000 years it’s been around. It’s true, the Irish have observed March 17th as a religious holiday for over 1000 years now… at least that’s what the History Channel told me. Personally, I’m going to trust the History Channel on this one. But today, St. Patrick’s Day has become a sort of an “everyone gets to be Irish if they want to be” day. On March 17th no one cares if you are Irish or not. You can even claim to be an honorary Irish on the 17th and everyone is pretty much fine with it, as long as you are wearing green and/or have a green colored beverage in a pint sized glass.
I even made sure that my donation to the pot luck was the color green. The thing is, it was guacamole green because I had signed up to bring guacamole to the potluck… the potluck was a nacho and taco bar. Yes, my work had a taco bar to commemorate St. Patrick’s Day. Isn’t that kind of like celebrating Thanksgiving with sushi, or New Years with just water, or, I don’t know, maybe St. Patrick’s Day with tacos? Even though the gesture was appreciated, I think it sort of missed the point. But in the event of a free lunch I’ve learned that people don’t really care if the food and holiday match. What really matters is that it’s free.
To make up for it I think we’re having Tai food tonight for dinner… don’t worry I’ll get some green food coloring to make it legit. Hey, Angela is craving Tai food and when that happens, even on St. Patrick’s Day, my job is to enjoy dinner with my wife. I’m neither Catholic nor Irish so I pretty sure that karmically I’m still good.
