A Geek tragedy

I have a confession. I am a science fiction\fantasy geek. I grew up reading The Chronicles of Narnia, Lord of the Rings is my favorite movie, and I am a Star Wars buff. But there is a special place in my heart for Star Trek. I grew up watching Trek, in many different iterations. My mom was a major trekkie, loving TOS (that’s the original series for you non-trekkers.) I remember watching the premiere of TNG (the Next Generation) with my family, which is the one I fell in love with. I have seen all ten of the movies, some more than others, and I can explain the differences between warp drives, tricorders, phasers and photons with ease. So if you’ve heard of it, you might guess that I’m naturally excited about the new Star Trek reboot/prequel movie coming out next summer. It features new actors in the original roles, so we have Spock, Kirk, and McCoy at the beginning of their Starfleet careers. So when I saw the cover story on this week’s Entertainment Weekly, I had a geek overload:

But it was followed almost immediately by a spousal revelation I had a hard time digesting. Joy has never seen a Star Trek movie. She has never seen a full episode of any of the t.v. series. She barely knows any of the character names. She got Star Trek confused with STARSHIP TROOPERS! I am falling into a muted disbelief even as I write this. As this revelatory conversation reached a climax last night, she ended my ability to think straight with this zinger, “It’s all a blur for me. I get Superman 2 confused with the Empire Strikes Back.”
How this hasn’t come up in 10 years of marriage, I don’t know, but is there any doubt that opposites attract? I foresee some sci-fi indoctrination in my home’s future.

Release Valve

I have a lot of ideas floating around. I haven’t written creatively in so long that I can’t seem to organize the various themes and images running around inside my head into any coherency whatsoever. I have thoughts about God, religion, politics, culture, and most prevalently, the inner conflicts between these forces that not only wage war inside of me, but also in the world around all of us.
I want to write, but if I can’t corral these thoughts, I’m left with a disjointed mess. I used to think that is what stream of consciousness was all about. Lazy, egotistical writers who couldn’t be brought down to earth long enough to make their thoughts coherent, and in the public’s lack of understanding, they mistook it for genius. I’ve always thought that it was a case of the emperor having no clothes, and yet here I am, engaging in similar practices just to release the pressure inside of me.
Writing was once described as opening a vein onto the page, to bleed your very essence out in written form. I have longed to do that most of my life, and yet for more than the past decade, I have been paralyzed, unable to cope with what might come out. What if no one wants what I have to give? If my essence is out there and is rejected, then where does that leave me? I have retreated into the financial and mental safety of a “regular job,” where I can easily proclaim that it is just an income producing placeholder until I write the Great American Novel. At what point did it become my career?
At what point did I become so safe inside my carefully constructed lie that I forgot what it was to bleed? If I walk out into the world without a safety net, will I be caught when I fall? There is no question to the falling. I know it will happen-but what then? Where will I be left if I take the one chance I have given myself and I let the opportunity slip through my fingers into the void? Maybe I will be left, floating by myself, done. Is that better or worse than the alternative? Is that the moment that the great hand of God comes up underneath me, to carry me to the mountainside? Or is it a case of His hand being underneath me even now, and I’m not even walking of my own accord, but in fact I’m being carried into this great unknown?
Maybe this barely contained insanity is actually His doing. I feel as if I’m going to explode onto the page, and I need to focus that energy into a controlled flow from my fingertips. A camel going through the eye of a needle, and I am the man, rich with inspiration, who must humble myself to get into the heaven of release and accomplishment.

Brothers, Breathers, and Broncos

So I just dropped my brother off at the airport. This marks the end of an over-a-year-long attempt at getting him settled and independent. I don’t know how successful I feel about it, seeing as how he is moving back to Florida after all this time. I guess he did learn to live on his own for a while, and pay bills on time, and he did get a pretty decent job that he was successful at. I just feel like maybe I should have done more for him. He still doesn’t have a driver’s license, or health insurance, or a girlfriend, and although I know that none of that is any of my business, let alone my responsibility, I still feel like I didn’t do enough to support my little brother. I hope he finds everything he’s looking for back in Jacksonville, and I will be praying for him every day.
On another note, I’m looking for new employment. After four years of frustrated attempts at promotion with my current job, I’ve decided that it is time to move on, and hopefully move out, from Panera and food service in general. I’ve spent over 12 years working nights and weekends, and with my daughter now in kindergarten, I need to have more time than the few hours in the morning I get with her. That’s not even counting my wonderful wife, who I get maybe a day or two with a month, if I’m lucky. I need to work somewhere where my talents and intellect can be used and challenged. Hopefully I get something soon.
One current bright spot: the Denver Broncos. Completely written off in the preseason, including by me, they have started out 2-0, and look amazing, at least on offense. Looking at their schedule, it is completely possible that they will start out 7-0 heading into the bye week, although I would settle for 5-2. I’m so glad football is back. Now if I could just get my wife to agree to HD reception with our satellite company, I’d be all set.

Ryan, A to Z.

A: Attached or Single? Attached for 12 years and counting…

B. Best Friend? Joy, my lovely wife. It started on an indoor park bench in high school with rambling conversations. I had never felt so accepted and happy as I did when I was with her, and we haven’t stopped laughing together since.

C: Cake or pie? Pie, either pecan or pumpkin. (Ah, alliteration!)

D: Day of choice? Monday. It gets a raw deal. It’s not Monday’s fault you hate your job. I love the promise of a new week.

E: Essential Item? Deodorant. You can deal with almost any crisis if you don’t have B.O.

F: Favorite color? Green.

G: Gummy bears or worms? I hate both. Twizzlers is as close as I get to “gummy” candy.

H: Hometown? Born in Manhattan, Kansas, but Denver is home by any definition that matters.

I: Favorite indulgence? Sitting on the couch all afternoon with plenty of Coke, Garlic Parmesan Wings from Wingstop, and a Denver Broncos game, provided they are winning thoroughly.

J: January or July? Ryley’s birthday is in July. That means money spent and planning done, two things I don’t enjoy. It also means my baby is getting another year older, and that means one less year until I have to meet boyfriends. So definitely January.

K: Kids? Ryley. I didn’t know selfless love until she was in my life.

L: Life isn't complete without? Christ. Stereotypical, but the truest thing in my life.

M: Marriage date? December 28, 1998. I still can’t believe I actually got her to agree to it.

N: Number of brothers and sisters? One brother, two sisters, one half sister, three brothers-in-law, one sister-in-law, two ex-step-sisters, one ex-step-brother-in-law. An American family, yes?

O: Oranges or apples? Oranges. I love this fruit, but I tend to forget about it until someone else provides it, then I promise myself to buy and eat them more often, then I forget them again.

P: Phobias? Not really. I have an insane curiosity about the world that belies most phobias. I don’t believe in them, but the idea of ghosts freak me out a little.

Q: Quotes? "Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. But it rocks absolutely, too." This is my theme quote for the election, a belief I know both sides hold dearly.

R: Reasons to Smile? I have a steady job that pays the bills. I have a beautiful woman that loves me, a beautiful daughter that thinks I’m the greatest man on earth, and a God that thinks I’m pretty special. What more could I ask for? Maybe a few million dollars, too. That would be nice.

S: Season of choice? Spring or Autumn. I love seeing the world shift.

T: Tag 5 People: Huh? I don’t know 5 people online.

U: Unknown fact? ß That is kind of an oxymoron. Anyway, in the spirit of the question, as a child I had an extra tooth that grew between my two front teeth. It was a pointy canine tooth that was longer than my front teeth. I had to go to an oral surgeon and have it removed.

V: Vegetable? I don’t know that it qualifies as a veggie, but pickles.

W: Worst habit? I chew on pens. I’m that guy.

X: X-ray or Ultrasound? MRI’s are my intra-body scan of choice.

Y: Your favorite food? A New York Strip Steak. Texas Roadhouse has my favorite variety so far.

Z: Zodiac Sign? I think this is a load of hippo poop, so I’m making my own “Z” word. Let’s see...how about Zoo? In that case, my favorite so far has been the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo. You get a workout walking there, but they have great interactive exhibits, culminating with a chance to feed giraffes.

Stream of Consciousness

When I was younger, my sister and I used to play a game I liked to call the association game. We would start with a random object and then time ourselves about a minute while we allowed our thoughts to wander. After time was up we would tell each other where we ended up and how we got there. As an example, we might start with a penguin, and while I ended up at a car, she would be thinking of Des Moines, Iowa. I always thought it was a good mental exercise, but now I see that I was an incredibly bored child.
I have recently discovered a very similar phenomenon with my 5 year old daughter. Today I taught her about krill. To those without young children, it might seem a random subject, but allow me to follow the path of our conversation.
“Daddy, I’m cold. I’m going to turn into an ice cube!”
“No you’re not. If you did maybe I should use you to cool down my drink”
“I wouldn’t fit into a cup though!”
“There are cups that are big enough.”
“No there aren’t!”
At this point, we proceed to the internet, where I find this photo:



“Wow! But there’s not a straw big enough for that cup.” (The internet fails me here, as I am unable to locate a picture of a giant straw.)
“How do they make things that big?”
Here is where I delve into a brief introduction to the Guiness Book of World Records, and a 10 minute journey on the computer where we find the world’s biggest pizza, chair, sandwich, truck, tires, and hamburger. On a side note, my daughter now thinks giants might very well be real. We eventually get to this point:
“Find the world’s biggest banana.”
“Well, bananas are grown, Ryley, so it’s not going to be gigantic. The really big things are things people make.”
“What about the biggest animal?”
So now we’re looking at pictures of the blue whale, and a comparison drawing that shows that it is more than twice the length of a city bus.
“Do those whales eat people?”
That’s how we got to krill, the ½ inch shrimp-like creatures that blue whales eat. And that is a snapshot of life as a daddy to an inquisitive 5 year old girl.

Dr. Strangelove, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Scooter

Last month, I was transferred from a Panera with this:

to a Panera with this:

So, to avoid paying $1 an hour parking charges, and the wrath of the union of angry parking lot attendants (UAPLA), I've been looking into alternatives. My first thought was, of course, a motorcyle. Let's be honest, if you knew me, this would make perfect sense. Nothing would be a better match for my overwhelming studliness and masculinity. A cloud of testosterone follows me wherever I go. I was thinking something slightly more cost effective than a Harley, but still a good match for my awesomeness, like this:

But in reality, I can neither afford the bike, nor the subsequent insurance, registration, or hospital bills after I fall off at my first right turn. Instead I have fallen in love with the idea of a scooter. In Colorado, they only need a $5 registration for three years, max out at 35-40 mph, can be parked on sidewalks, and they can get 100 mpg. Guess which one of those features is my favorite? Here, I'll bold it for you; they can get 100 mpg.

My one problem? They look like something your gay uncle Seth would drive in the annual parade:

What all of this has taught me about myself is that while my masculinity might be threatened by the effiminate nature of the scooter, my inherent cheapness is now the stronger force in my life. I am now officially in my 30's. Cool doesn't matter anymore. White shorts paired with black socks and sandals are just around the corner. And I don't really care.

If you need me, I'll be clipping coupons from the paper.

Etch a Sketch

No matter how much of an artist you fancy yourself to be, spend more than ten minutes with an Etch-a-Sketch and you will have a new appreciation for the beauty of the straight line.
This is what I discovered today as I sat in a large play area watching my daughter race around on a scooter. Mind you, this was in hour four of our time at Mr. Biggs, the 144,000 square foot extravaganza of kid awesomeness in Littleton.
Other things I learned:
1. Mr. Biggs serves alchohol. Any connection to the brain-frothing techno music and constant kid screams? Probably just a coincidence.
2. Super-goth, meta-pierced weird chicks can still have cute little girls that love dressing up as princesses. I wonder if this disappoints them, as I might be if Ryley ever asked to dye her hair black and stop going out in the daylight.
3. I thought that working in a restaurant (my occupation) was the most thankless job on the planet. Thanks to seeing the girl cleaning up the play area, over and over again, followed immediately by screaming whirlwinds of destruction, I stand corrected.

I met my dad and his wife there to have lunch after church. Their suggestion. My dad is always on the lookout for new awesomeness to which he can introduce his granddaughter, and boy, did he deliver this time.
Being a single dad for the weekend, and feeling guilty about all the time I've been spending at work lately, I promised my daughter that for once we would stay until she was ready to go. Big mistake. I finally told her we had to leave at the five hour mark, with her insisting that she wanted to play just a little longer right up until she was passed out in the van, about 5 minutes after I pulled out of the parking lot.
Oh, to be a kid again. I wanted nothing more than to crawl in the back and close my eyes as well, but the laws of good parenting stated I shouldn't do that while driving down the highway. I can't wait to pick up my beautiful wife at the airport tomorrow, so I can take a nap.

Something at the Beginning

Everything has a start.
This is my blog's start.