Color me healthy

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The "That's Outrageous!" column in Reader's Digest usually picks some obviously and universally appalling sin running unchecked, then draws attention to it. For instance, if the Riverbuttle County Sheriff's Department holds an annual fundraiser for the Riverbuttle Soup Kitchen where, for five bucks from the county coffers, local officials can rape FFA pigs, "That's Outrageous!" would talk about how awful it was that Riverbuttle County taxes are going toward porcine defilements. And rightly so.

This one from December, however, has been eating on me and I'm going to say why I think this "That's Outrageous!" is totally outrageous.

The column complains that government officials get to build up sick days--even cash them in when they retire if they remain unused. The author complains about a number of valid--yet tangential--concerns that certainly are outrageous, but the sick days problem sounds more like jealousy.

The problem he has with the building up of sick days is that the practice doesn't really exist outside government. And if the private sector doesn't do it but government does, it must be bad. Nine times out of ten, this is probably true (see: pig sex), but not in this case.

The complaint is that by letting employees build up sick days, we are rewarding healthy workers.

Um.... Shouldn't we reward healthy workers?

Point one: Healthy workers come to work, get more done. I understand the counter argument that the government plan might encourage people to come in when they're ill in order to build up days for a retirement payout, but just give management the authority to require someone to go home and take a sick day. Problem solved.

Point two: Healthy workers keep insurance rates down for everyone.

Seems to me that healthy workers ought to be rewarded.

By having sick days that expire, we are, in truth, punishing healthy workers. Sickly folk get days off. Healthy workers come in, but with no additional compensation for the additional work they do.

With the expiration system, they can only get that compensation if they lie and don't do that extra work.

They only get compensation when they call in sick en route to the golf course.

Let's reward our healthy workers, corporate America. Let's roll over their sick days.

LDotFMotNYl: Deleted Scenes (4)

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(Note: This is the fourth in a series of deleted scenes [visit 1 and 2 and 3]. If you are arriving here for the first time either because you received an LDotFMotNYl or if you do not know what the LDotFMotNYl is, you might consider visiting here first.)

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Thteed Family Policy on Electric Refrigeration

This year we have suffered from electric refrigeration units that have a) died, b) had doors that open in impossibly inconvenient directions, c) arrive filthy, d) have poor (nonexistent) interior lighting. Having successfully lived through these traumas, we elected to reconsider our slavish policy for electric refrigeration / our gungho policy in favor of electric refrigeration. As alternates, we discussed daily ice purchases, Northern Yukon real estate, and the Canned Chili Diet.

We’re sticking with electric refrigeration.


Commentary

First, that ? next to the Canned Chili Diet was a registered trademark symbol in Word.

You'll notice that this one never reached a final form, with two versions of one sentence, for instance.

Lady Steed didn't think we needed two policy stories and I liked the other one better. She ended up cutting them both.

In retrospect, I'm glad this was cut. At the time I thought it was funny. I don't think so anymore.

Discipline

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Today I sent a kid out of fifth period. On the form, under REASONS, I wrote this:

talking
moving desks
smashing an aluminum can on his head
blowing pencil shavings
cussing
pretending to be a train

Stupid freaking Internet!!!!!

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I love my friends--don't get me wrong--but now that we have Internet in our bedroom it's like they're all here all the time and they won't leave!!! I'm tired! I want to go to sleep!

But wait! Look who just sent me an email!

Hey, you people! I have to get up at five in the morning! Can't you go home! It's not like we won't see each other tomorrow!



I need help....

We are a happy family -OR- Turnabout's fair play

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In order to share the love, let me tell you what Lady Steed said when I came home from work today:

"Wow! You look cool! I mean, I would never dress you like that. And I would never go out with you dressed like that. But you look really cool!"

Several items of business this afternoon

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1. Afterlife is still available and will be for six months. Check it out.

2. Bill Thomas will not be running for reelection! I will not comment here on whether or not Bill has been good for his constituents or the country, but I do think that it's about time we had a race in our district. He has been running unopposed far too long.

3. Whether you sing the song "Beans, beans the magical fruit!" or "Beans, beans, the musical fruit!", the truth is beans are cheap and friendly to A Month of Abject Poverty, and so you just have to get used to the magic/music.

For your perusal

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The March issue of Quantum Muse is now online. One story thereof was written by me a good long time ago. So long I can barely remember writing it. Aged though it may be, it was still good enough for QM. Mayhaps you will like it too.

(If so, feel free to tip me.)

Afterlife

Svithe: Success & Jealousy

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Being somewhat talented in words can, I am afraid, make me a bit of a snob. I am ashamed of this. I am ashamed to admit that I probably would not have listened as I should have to Moses (who said, "I am not eloquent ... I am slow of speech) or Enoch (who described himself also as "slow of speech"). I admit that I am impressed by--not sophistry--but good wordsmithery. And so it is no surprise that one of my favorite speakers among current General Authorities is Elder Jeffrey R. Holland. In particular, I return to "The Other Prodigal" again and again, attempting to turn myself into a good person.

He begins by retelling the parable:

Among the most memorable parables the Savior ever told is the story of a foolish younger brother who went to his father, asked for his portion of the estate, and left home to squander his inheritance ... in "riotous living." His money and his friends disappeared sooner than he thought possible--they always do--and a day of terrible reckoning came thereafter--it always does. In the downward course of all this he became a keeper of pigs, one so hungry, so stripped of sustenance and dignity that he "would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat." But even that consolation was not available to him.

Then the scripture says encouragingly, "He came to himself." He determined to find his way home, hoping to be accepted at least as a servant in his father's household. The tender image of this boy's anxious, faithful father running to meet him and showering him with kisses is one of the most moving and compassionate scenes in all of holy writ. It tells every child of God, wayward or otherwise, how much God wants us back in the protection of His arms.

But today we're not talking about that son.

...being caught up in this younger sonÂ’s story, we can miss, if we are not careful, the account of an elder son, for the opening line of the Savior's account reads, "A certain man had two sons"--and He might have added, "both of whom were lost and both of whom needed to come home."

I am that second son.

I was out in the fields working today, dutifully, as I have always done. And when I arrived home, caked in sweat and dust, I saw a party in full force, celebrating my brother who ran away and squandered his share of the family's wealth and who is now being treated like a war hero.

I am bitter.

Feeling unappreciated and perhaps more than a little self-pity, this dutiful son--and he is wonderfully dutiful--forgets for a moment that he has never had to know filth or despair, fear or self-loathing. He forgets for a moment that every calf on the ranch is already his and so are all the robes in the closet and every ring in the drawer. He forgets for a moment that his faithfulness has been and always will be rewarded.

No, he who has virtually everything, and who has in his hardworking, wonderful way earned it, lacks the one thing that might make him the complete man of the Lord he nearly is. He has yet to come to the compassion and mercy, the charitable breadth of vision to see that this is not a rival returning. It is his brother.

Holland calls this a "fictional affront." And he's right. The only reason I have become suddenly unhappy is "because another has had some good fortune as well."

I am under the false impression that, if my father loves my brother, he therefore loves me less. "But God does not work this way."

He does not mercilessly measure [us] against [our] neighbors. He doesn't even compare [us] with each other. His gestures of compassion toward one do not require a withdrawal or denial of love for [another]. He is divinely generous to [all of us].

The trick is to learn to feel that way about each other.

An example:

Fob began as a place where a few writers serious about the discipline could gather and help each other grow. And, I think, Fob has been a success. But I will make a few admissions here:

When Master Fob finished his third novel before I started my second, I felt like he wasn't leaving room for me in the marketplace.

When Melyngoch broke my heart on paper, I felt I might as well microwave my computer.

When Queen Zippergut read scenes that my wife laughed at more than she ever has at my stuff, I felt like fading away.

It's as if I think that the amount of talent God has given the world is limited, and every ounce of talent someone else shows is one more ounce that has been denied me.

Quoting Elder Holland quoting Henri J. M. Nouwen:

In a world that constantly compares people, ranking them as more or less intelligent, more or less attractive, more or less successful, it is not easy to really believe in a love [or a God] that does not do the same. When I hear someone praised, it is hard not to think of myself as less praiseworthy; when I read about the goodness and kindness of other people, it is hard not to wonder whether I myself am as good and kind as they; and when I see trophies, rewards, and prizes being handed out to special people, I cannot avoid asking myself why that didnÂ’t happen to me.

We are trained to compare ourselves to others, to find our worth in being more than someone else.

We shouldn't.

I'm glad to say that my fellow Fobsters have never struck me as being hateful towards each another just because they are also good. They've been quite good examples to me.

Among Elder Holland's recommendations for overcoming these prodigal tendencies are applauding the work of others and serving others. Fob has applauded me so roundly as to almost make me cry. They've selflessly helped me craft better work, leaving me better than I was.

This is Zion. These are the people who love you as themselves and find joy in your successes. When Master Fob became the first of us to make money, I don't remember us being ashamed of ourselves or hating him. And that's right--that is how God is with us.

To quote Nephi (whose personality I find annoying, but that's just me being wicked again),

Hath he [the Lord God] commanded any that they should not partake of his salvation? Behold I say unto you, Nay; but he hath given it free for all men; and he hath commanded his people that they should persuade all men to repentance.

Behold, hath the Lord commanded any that they should not partake of his goodness? Behold I say unto you, Nay; but all men are privileged the one like unto the other, and none are forbidden.

We are alprivilegeded. We are all equal candidates for salvation.

I know this is true. I still have many, many moments where I let another's success make me feel less, but I know this is a lie. I know God loves me like he loves you. And if I can learn to love you as he does, I can be truly happy for your successes--every bit as much as I am for mine--and I will do all I can for you. As you do for me.

Brothers and sisters, I testify that no one of us is less treasured or cherished of God than another. I testify that He loves each of us--insecurities, anxieties, self-image, and all. He doesn't measure our talents or our looks; He doesn't measure our professions or our possessions. He cheers on every runner, calling out that the race is against sin, not against each other. I know that if we will be faithful, there is a perfectly tailored robe of righteousness ready and waiting for everyone, "robes ... made ... white in the blood of the Lamb." May we encourage each other in our effort to win that prize is my earnest prayer, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Amen.



Last week's svithe.

Dad: The Leading Cause of Childhood Obesity

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So Lady Steed returned home from Tehachapi after I got home from work. The Big O was sleeping and she brought him in and laid him down on our bed. She changed clothes and left for stake women's conference (if you want to know what that is, ask her, I wasn't invited for some reason). When O woke up, he was distraught at arriving to a world of consciousness without the presence of his mother. He cried and cried and so forth. He couldn't believe she was gone--her Birks were still by the door--yet she was.

He wanted to go out looking for her, so we found our shoes and coats and hats (it's very cold in the AV just now) and went for a walk through the apartment complex. We only saw two cop cars, so that was good. Or bad. Depending.

As we walked I talked to him about dinner. Lady Steed had thrown together a delicious and nutritious potato soup before she left. He wasn't sure he was interested. So I talked about how afterwards he could have some ice cream--we still had some SpongeBob left--but he remained noncommittal.

We picked up the mail where I too received some exciting news and we came home.

The Big O was frustrated at our failure to find his mom and so asked for comfort via a box of conversation hearts. After a while, he was ready for soup. But he had not forgotten the ice cream. Or the old gummy NASCARs we recently found in a box somewhere.

If he gets diabetes at sixty months it will be my fault. Sans me, he would always get healthful (ie, mommy-determined) meals.

I need to start paying attention to what I eat as well.

The last couple weeks an alarming development has occurred. Here I am, six months from thirty, and if you see me naked in direct light you will notice that I am developing love handles.

The eventual emergence of such a thing has always struck me as a certainty, but to have it actually happen is a bit too much like learning that, for instance, I am not in fact an immortal demigod.

Weird, in other words. Offputting.

And this fatty development also has given me a weird, nascent desire. I think I might want to "exercise."

I'm not sure what "exercise" is, and I've never thought much of finding out, but now I have love handles! Egad! Perhaps I should do something!

But wait. If I start exercising for that reason, I am exercising for vanity and vanity alone. No other reason. I've never exercised for health reasons before. Perpetual shortness of breath and a dwindling lifespan have never been reason enough before, so if I start now, it is only because of vanity.

(Speaking of, I love Ecclesiastes. It always annoys me when people say it's depressing.)

Anyway, ask not for whom the fat rolls.

It rolls for me.

Symbiosis

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This whole move-to-California thing has really messed up my reading/writing regimen. It used to be I spent hours and hours and hours every week on a bus, where I read and wrote a great deal. Not so anymore.

But the last little while, things have come alive in the reading area. Besides the books mentioned in my LA post, I have also read Scott Card's Women of Genesis series (the books now out), almost caught up on my Zoetropes, and last night I wrapped up The Austere Academy.

I think all this reading has been filling my cistern because tonight, during the last session of my waste-of-time class, I began writing the first new piece of fiction (that I believe I will actually finish) in several months. And it's going to be good. I know it is because of the title: "The Evil Demon that Lives About 4 Inches Behind My Forehead." That's got masterpiece written all over it.

Reading and writing are necessarily intertwined. It's AIAO: art in art out. If I don't get my recommended daily allowance of words in my skull, nothing comes out on paper.

No doubt this new ability to suddenly have absolutely brilliant, demon-infused ideas is also related to my selling a story this week. It will be the first time I've been paid to write since I left the paper. (I don't count grade sheets.)

Anyway, like the Pluvianus aegyptius and the Crocodylus niloticus, reading and writing are pals and are never far apart.

Moral: Demons are okay if you read about Abraham first.

LDotFMotNYl: Deleted Scenes (3)

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(Note: This is the third in a series of deleted scenes [visit 1 and 2]. If you are arriving here for the first time either because you received an LDotFMotNYl or if you do not know what the LDotFMotNYl is, you might consider visiting here first.)

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The Big O as Narcissistic as His Parents

The Big O's main difficulty in brushing his teeth is distraction by his own pretty face perfectly reflected just inches away. How can he be expected to focus on something so petty as dental hygiene when he could be looking at himself in the mirror?

Geneticists and ethnographers visiting the Thteed household immediately pointed to this behavior as certainty for his parentage.

"The father has spent countless hours of his life making faces in the mirror," said investigatory team leader Dr. Randolphus Von Pejos. "But that is a mere mayfly compared to the Galapagos turtle's length the mother specimen has stood there with her tweezers."

The happy couple, not knowing any better, treated news of the study results (to be published in the summer issue of Vanity Studies International) as absolutely fabulous news.

Commentary

It is absolutely true that the Big O enjoys examining his face in the mirror. And it is true that sometimes he is so enchanted watching himself that he can't properly brush. (Although proper brushing is only vaguely likely in the best of circumstances.)

It is equally true that his parents have mirror problems as well. I can get stuck in front of the mirror, trying to solve the mystery of male beauty, yes, though I am more likely making grotesque faces. If Lady Steed did not forbid it, that is. She says my faces are "scary." They are not scary. They are living sculptures of a wide range of emotions.

(Incidentally, I have a somewhat unique--though unrefined--drawing style which I think ain't so bad. But once I drew some figures on the chalkboard at Institute. Later, when class started, the students and instructor were appalled, wondering who defiled this Mormon Sanctuary with such "evil" drawings.

(They weren't evil. They were smiling! And waving! They were friendly! Gruntsch.)

Anyway, it is also true that Lady Steed has an unhealthy and possibly unholy relationship with her tweezers. This truth is what kept this portion of the letter out of the final draft. Lady Steed didn't want you to know.

Heh heh.

Oscar wisdom frothing

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I was once known as someone terribly knowledgable about current film. Not any more. But in case you are interested in how badly I anticipate losing Edgy's game, here's my savvy re: this year's nominated films on horrid display:

(key)

1-Seen it
2-Desperate to
3-Want to
4-Not interested enough to bother
5-Truly uninterested
6-This is a film?

6-AUSREISSER (THE RUNAWAY)

3-BADGERED

1-BATMAN BEGINS

4-BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN

2-CAPOTE

6-CASHBACK

2-CHARLIE AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY

1-THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA: THE LION, THE WITCH AND THE WARDROBE

5-CINDERELLA MAN

4-THE CONSTANT GARDENER

5-CRASH

6-DARWIN'S NIGHTMARE

6-THE DEATH OF KEVIN CARTER: CASUALTY OF THE BANG BANG CLUB

6-DON'T TELL

3-ENRON: THE SMARTEST GUYS IN THE ROOM

6-GOD SLEEPS IN RWANDA

2-GOOD NIGHT, AND GOOD LUCK.

3-HARRY POTTER AND THE GOBLET OF FIRE

3-A HISTORY OF VIOLENCE

1-HOWL'S MOVING CASTLE

4-HUSTLE & FLOW

6-JOYEUX NOël

4-JUNEBUG

2-KING KONG

6-THE LAST FARM

2-MARCH OF THE PENGUINS

4-MATCH POINT

4-MEMOIRS OF A GEISHA

3-THE MOON AND THE SON: AN IMAGINED CONVERSATION

5-MRS. HENDERSON PRESENTS

5-MUNICH

2-MURDERBALL

6-THE MUSHROOM CLUB

3-THE MYSTERIOUS GEOGRAPHIC EXPLORATIONS OF JASPER MORELLO

4-THE NEW WORLD

3-9

5-NORTH COUNTRY

6-A NOTE OF TRIUMPH: THE GOLDEN AGE OF NORMAN CORWIN

2-ONE MAN BAND

6-OUR TIME IS UP

6-PARADISE NOW

3-PRIDE & PREJUDICE

6-SIX SHOOTER

6-SOPHIE SCHOLL - THE FINAL DAYS

3-THE SQUID AND THE WHALE

1-STAR WARS: EPISODE III REVENGE OF THE SITH

6-STREET FIGHT

3-SYRIANA

2-TIM BURTON'S CORPSE BRIDE

5-TRANSAMERICA

6-TSOTSI

2-WALK THE LINE

1-WALLACE & GROMIT IN THE CURSE OF THE WERE-RABBIT

3-WAR OF THE WORLDS

-----

Sentence fragment reviews of the 1s:

Batman: Very good indeed.
Narnia: Even more disappointing than expected.
Howl's: Good but not great.
Star Wars: Nice recovery.
Were-Rabbit: Quite enjoyable, chuck.

-----

Hoo. Not impressive. Not only have I only seen five of the films nominated, but it's all cartoons and popcorns. Some ill-in-the-head folks are likely to give me crap for that. So let's look at my (currrent) 2s as well, in hope of redemption:

CAPOTE
CHARLIE AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY
GOOD NIGHT, AND GOOD LUCK.
KING KONG
MARCH OF THE PENGUINS
MURDERBALL
ONE MAN BAND
TIM BURTON'S CORPSE BRIDE
WALK THE LINE

Am I redeemed?


-----

Now! I encourage you to take advantage of my alphabetization and make your own Oscar list. Show me up. I know you can.

Infighting

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So people have been coming to my blog still searching for that address over in England. I searched for it myself and finally figured out why people looking for it are arriving here: I posted it as part of that nasty, phishy email I had received. I hope people arriving here in search of more information are leaving wiser and not sending their personal information away in this ridiculous--but very well crafted--scam.

All people arriving at Thmusings in search of 21 Campshill Road Se13 6qu Lewisham London England please be warned that they're playing you for a sucker.

-----

On a more personal note, someone else arrived at my blog searching for daltongirl loves cicada more than you.

Fine.

But, Cicada, please be aware that I now hate you forever.

-----

Someone I like better is Miss Nemesis, since someone arrived searching for link:http://missnemesis.blogspot.com, and my dear wife because of the search lady steed california.

-----

Other recent searches include "why spam makes no sense" and another round of o' so krispie hairstyle.

It's good to know I'm providing such a vital public service.

Four (blanketyblankety) things

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Four Jobs I've Had

Removing stickers from boxes
Cleaning clean toilets
Putting stickers on boxes
Peddling alchohol, smokes, and pornography

Four Movies I Can Watch Over and Over Again

Napoleon Dynamite
About a Boy
The Incredibles
The Hudsucker Proxy

Four Places I've Lived

Bear Lake
Nauvoo
Cheju
Tehachapi

Four TV Shows I Love

Space Ghost Coast to Coast
Malcolm in the Middle
Futurama
Arrested Development

Four Highly Regarded and Recommended TV Shows That I've Never Watched a Full Episode of

Lost
24
My Name Is Earl
Everybody Hates Chris
(and practically any other one you could name)

Four Places I've Vacationed

Grand Canyon
Lake Tahoe
Morro Bay
the Moon

Four of My Favorite Dishes

Plates
Cups
Saucers
Fingerbowls

Four Site I Visit Daily

Your blog
My blog
His blog
Her blog

Four Places I'd Rather Be Right Now

Home
Bed
Asleep
Mmmmm

Four Bloggers I Am Tagging

Scott Adams
Defamer
Boing Boing
Google
And, if she wants to, Lady Steed

Homesick

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I want to be home with my wife and my child. Some days it kills me to leave in the morning. This is one of those days.

Svithe: Text from Habbakuk

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(Note: First-time visitors brought by the LDOTFMOTNY Annual Report are invited to start their Thumsing experience here.)

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2:14 For the earth shall be filled with the knowledge of the glory of the LORD, as the waters cover the sea.


Nice, but arguably a mixed metaphor.

I don't suppose that matters....



Last week's svithe.

prelude to A Month of Abject Poverty

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Since moving to the AV, Lady Steed and I have become rather more spend-happy. We eat out quite a bit, for instance. It did not used to be this way.

Recognizing our decent into monetary madness, a couple weeks ago we decided to declare March A Month of Abject Poverty, in which we would behave as fiscally responsible persons and not spend money on anything but milk, bread, eggs, and gasoline. That decision seems even more prescient now as we return from our trip to LA.

Calendrical difficulties

We arrived at the hotel and checked in; the district's check was sitting there, awaiting my arrival. The next morning we arose early and drove from Downey to Cerritos the hotel where I would be instructed in teaching young people to be intelligent. Only no one was there. Unless you include several hundred lawyers. Or Estée Lauder executives. Which I don't.

So I ran back out to the parking lot and asked Lady Steed and the Big O to wait a minute while I figured out what was going on. I found the hotel's event manager and discovered myintelligencee-instruction would be taking place not on Wednesday and Thursday, but on Thursday and Friday.

Huh.

So I called my district's sub-line, said I was going to be sick Friday, and returned to the parking lot, in sudden possession of a day off. First item of business: paying for an extra night at our hotel.

Travel Town

We decided to spend the day in LA's massive Griffith Park--especially in Travel Town, where the Big O could see all sorts of trains. (Including, it ended up, one with wheels taller than his father.)

While in Griffith Park, we spent $10 on minitrain rides.

Fortunately, the gift shop was closed.

Lunch

We left the park and freeway-meandered our way towards Hollywood, thinking we would magically run into the famous Pink's and get a dog with the Dogg, but instead we found The Hot Dog Show with its hot dog angel logo and ate there instead.

For $20.

Books

I had been reading my first-edition copy of Kurt Vonnegut's Jailbird that I picked up with a coupon at Pioneer Books once and so brought it with me to LA. The first day of the actual conference, I was reading the second-to-last paragraph just as Lady Steed arrived to pick me up. Our meeting place was in front of Borders and I was about 60 seconds away from standing up and walking inside to buy a new book.

Normally, I am not allowed to buy new books, since more than half of the zillion books we own I have not yet read. But since I was about to be alone in the wilds of LA without an unread book, that rule wasobviouslyy to be ignored. I was quite excited at the prospect.

Then that excitement was run over by a Ford Taurus driven by my wife.

Which was okay. She was reading The Timetraveler'ss Wife--a Valentines gift--and was probably done by now, so I would just read that next.

Except she was not finished, curse her.

We stopped at a Costco near our hotel to get gas, only to discover it was a gasless Costco. But we stopped the car anyway and I went inside to purchase a book.

Not only was this Costco gasfree, but it was also nearly bookfree, the crummiest selection of any Costco I have ever seen. But I was able to find a worthy volume, and I purchased it.

I had read Michael Chabon before, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, which I had liked okay even though it polluted my mind with an image I fear I will never loose and which image still gives me the heeby-jeebies; and we own Summerland (though I have never read it, lovers aside).

Once again, I liked the book okay. I noticed that the author bio says he lives inBerkeleyy. So if Lady Steed and I end up moving to El Cerrito, I'll have to invite him to join Fob East Bay. (Although...can I start my own Fob? Yes, I'm a cofounder of the original Fob, but can a Fob be begun without a Master Fob? Before I met Master Fob, I had an idea for a writers group remarkably like the current incarnation of Fob called WWAG. Perhaps I'll invite Mike to WWAG East Bay. I'm sure he'll join. After all, having seen his picture, I now know that Michael Chabon is none other than my friend the Flourman. Done.)

Anyway, Lady Steed was late picking me up Friday, so I finished The Final Solution and went inside to buy a book. I had a hard time deciding even what I felt like reading, but I ended up considering H.P. Lovecraft whom I know very poorly. I found him and picking a volume was tough--one had a lengthy introduction by Joyce Carol Oats!--but I settled on the one with this quote on the cover:

"On of the greatest short novels in American literature, and a key text in my own understanding of what that literature can do." --Michael Chabon.

Felt like destiny.

(Also: we wandered into a Ross Friday and purchased three books for the Big O, including the one pictured. Um, and jeans, sandals, a beading toy....)

Lady Steed and the Big O

While I was learning how to teach (more on that some other time), Lady Steed and the Big O went to the aquarium and the zoo, cheap prospects neither, and various freeway shenanigans. She can tell you about them--I wasn't there. Suffice it to say we lost money.

Food

Eating out.

(check)

Buying vast quantities of tasty frozen foods/crummy yogurt cups/ lots of cookies.

(check)

Eating out.

(check)

Money saved

We left LA so late Friday night, we did not make it to IKEA. Approximate savings: $215.

Not purchasing MirrorMask even though we were so happy to see it for sale. Approximate savings: $20.

Not purchasing train paraphernalia at Travel Town. Approximate savings: $35.

Not purchasing pufferfish tshirt. Approximate savings: $15.

Therefore:

Therefore, we enter March more certain than ever that it must become A Month of Abject Poverty.

Therefore, if you invite us to dinner, you're paying.

We have a Marie Callender pie in the fridge we can share afterwards.

And lots of cookies.

When I drive, I drive with my brights on

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My commute is through a deserted desert wilderness. Speeds are generally high and the roads have just enough wave to them that you can never be entirely sure you can see all of oncoming traffic. And so passing has this delicious element of danger. Tastes like iron filings. Yum!

Anyway, because of the desert, I, even in daylight, tend to put my lights on.

Skip ahead to my mechanical abilities:

Besides my lack thereof, there is also the fact that whenever my beloved Lapper loses a headlight, it is the dead of winter. And so I am changing a headlight with numbed fingers. Thereby losing screws and springs and nuts into the guts of the automobile, never to be recovered.

The result is that now, one headlight points up into space, a little to the right of the car. The other’s not exactly right on either.

And so in order to see at night, I have to use my brights.

I have electrical problems anyway and so my “brights” are still duller than most people’s dims. The brights have been on nonstop for two years now and only one person has flashed me. They were obviously insane.

The only people ever to be bothered by my headlights are truckers I’m passing—as the one headlight shoots directly into their cab. Poor truckers.

So I have my brights on. And I usually have them on day and night.

But the Lapper’s getting a break this week. Lady Steed, the Big O and I are going to LA in the Taurus tonight. I have a seminar the next two days and the other two get to go to the zoo and a train museum. They’ll have fun, but I’ll get the better food.

More on why they don’t get good food when we get back.

In the meantime, read this post over and over.

LDotFMotNYl: Deleted Scenes (2)

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(Notes:

(This is the second in a series of scenes deleted from the LDotFMotNY letter. The first included an explanation of what these scenes are.

(If you are here because of the LDotFMotNY letter, you are cordially invited to visit this post first.)

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(Rolling the second deleted scene.)


Thteed and Fob Families Meet to Discuss Possible Merger

This summer, the Thteed Family had a weeklong meeting with Fob Family Inc to feel out the possibility of a merger between Junior Member the Big O and Fob junior member S-Boogie in 23 years . A good time was had by all, though the Big O did not approve of the hugging that occurred.

An additional meeting was held in December to test the viability of this merger, where innocent kissing occurred. However, caution reigns as other suitors, unable to meet this year, remain eligible and available.





Caption: >>Junior member Big O Thteed and Junior member S-Boogie Fob enjoying reading and the Big O barely tolerating hugging






















Commentary

This scene is unique in that it was totally penned by Lady Steed. (This is not why it was cut.)

The ultimate reason this scene was cut is simple (and don't tell S-Boogie): the Big O has another long distance relationship with another girl named S-Boogie (what are the chances!) and although he has not seen her since December 2004, it seemed unkind to send her an LDotFMotNY letter with this scene included.

Lady Steed fought hard to keep it, since the event in question was included in the Fob's Christmas letter, but I prevailed.

Did we make the right decision?

You be the judge.

All I'll say is that the year-end kissing mentioned did not look so innocent to me....

My First Svithe

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(Note: First-time visitors brought by the LDOTFMOTNY Annual Report are invited to start their Thumsing experience here.)

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Shortly after I began teaching at Bedrock High, the teacher in whose room I teach sixth period, got into his browser's history and found my blog. He asked me about it the next day and thought it was strange that I would be so open about my life in such a potentially public forum. I have never particularly considered my blogging to be that revealing but I understood his concern. Then he asked me if a blog was like a prayer list or something.

A prayer list.

I was immediately disappointed in myself that I had never used Tehachapiltdownman as a religious forum. And told myself that when we brought the Internet into our home, I would blog each Sunday on something godly. This is the first such venture. And the first such venture begins in an unusually ungodly manner: With boasting.

Yesterday I learned how to juggle.

That's right, yesterday. Juggling. And in the last, oh 36 hours, I've gotten pretty decent at keeping three items in the air. I started with toy carafes, then decided to roll some socks and use those instead.

I suppose for some people, learning a new trick is no big deal, but I am the oldest and doggiest person you can ever hope to meet. I haven't learned a new trick since my few months of motorcycling back in the early Nineties. And before that it was learning to ride a bike at age six. I don't learn new tricks. It's not something I do. It's one of the ways I'm able to hold onto my title as World's Most Boring Person, Northern Hemisphere. (And someday I will best that Kiwi Matilda Methelsen and take the Whole World title.)

The religious significance of this new skill is simple: It is never too late to change. If I can learn to juggle, I can maybe learn to exercise, thus living past forty; I can maybe learn to move outside myself and better love my neighbors, thus adding to the beauty of the world; I can maybe learn to serve God with my whole heart, might, mind and strength, thus making a difference to Him, to me, and to the people I love--or should love.

Being a Christian is not a simple thing. The concept is simple, of course, but truly loving all the people in the world? Have you tried it?

If I can make my next new trick charity, I suppose I'll be doing okay. I guess I'll start by, gulp, trying to love you. Wish me luck.