Shallow Thinker

CNN recently published an article that discussed how much more likely you are to get a promotion if you dress nice than if you don’t.  It went on to say that the sun rises in the east and that politicians sometimes lie.  (Perhaps the last sentence isn’t true, but it’s just as obvious.)  The premise is that you dress for the job that you want, not the job that you have.

I delivered a presentation today, so I dolled myself up all nice and pretty.  After looking in the mirror, I’ve decided that I haven’t really dressed for the job I want.  I’ve either dressed to be a sales rep or a waiter at Red Lobster.  This isn’t the look I was going for.  I should have worn Bermuda shorts and a Hawiian shirt because the job I want is to be a retired millionare living in the Bahamas.  Last time I dressed for the job that I wanted, my boss told me that an NFL jersey and shoulder pads were not appropriate for our work environment.

Well, the “diet” part of the description is a blatant lie, but I have been without caffeine since lunch on Sunday.  My keen mathematical skills indicate that time frame to be over 72 hours.  Not bad for a guy who was averaging over 100mg a day.  I feel this amazing sense of accomplishment.  I should celebrate with a nice, cold beverage…

Yesterday was our anniverssary.  Last night was supposed to be our date night.  I put Ladybug to bed while Kelley handled Butterfly.  After mine was asleep, I snuck out to get us a nice dinner from Carrabbas.  After returning home, we both relaxed to enjoy the wonderful food and some good conversation.

That lasted all of 10 minutes.  Ladybug woke-up and was not happy.  Now’s decision time.  Do we let her “cry it out” in hopes that she’ll get herself back to sleep, or do we try to get her to calm back down quickly so that she can get back to sleep?  It’s always a tough decision…and I always make the wrong choice.

I marched upstairs, leaving behind the ever-so-tasty Pollo Rosa Maria, rescued Ladybug from the confines of her crib and rocked her back to sleep.  She woke up as I was doing the “transition” into the crib.  More crying.  More rocking.  More sleeping.  Another bad transition. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

After a while, I gave up, put her in her crib and went back downstairs, tagged Kelley, and finished my meal.  After I was done, Kelley marched down the stairs with the echo on an unhappy Ladybug still ringing through the house.  This time, daddy couldn’t make her happy, so I took her downstairs.  The girl was WIRED.  I don’t know what Kelley feeds these girls when I’m not home, but 17 cups of sugar is not appropriate for a 16-month old kid.  She ran across the downstairs, said hello to the dark, moved toys around, read books (a page at a time in between the other things), and just had a blast.

Finally, around 10:30, signs of fatigue started showing.  It may have been because of all of the activity.  Most likely, it was because of the Benadryl that I gave her.  (Official Product Slogan:  It might work on allergies.  We don’t know because we’ve never used it for that.)  After a few more books, and demanding to hold a stuffed monkey, she drifted back off to sleep.

So our “date night” was spent trying to console a kid who really just wanted to run around the house and act like a loon.  I wonder where she gets that from…

Today is a day for celebration!  It was 7 years ago today that Kelley decided against her better judgement and married me anyhow.  It’s a day that she’s probably regretted more than she’s appreciated, but I’m very happy that she’s stubborn enough to stick with me.  I think she just likes me for my boyish good looks.  See, look how young I look as we gaze off into the corner of the picture…

I’ll never be able to adequately describe how awesome my wife is and how much she means to me and to our girls.  It’s been an amazing journey that started with a beautiful girl praising God with her beautiful voice on a stage at Mercer University.  It seems only fitting that we completed out 7th year with Kelley on a different stage, praising her creator through song once again…a gift that she has passed on to both of her girls.

I’ve posted before about my amazing levels of self-control.  I am a beacon of discipline when it comes to important things like not eating vegetables or only driving cars that have engines.  The battle for mental supremacy with myself if never easy, but I usually feel really good when I’ve accomplished something that I told myself I didn’t think I could do.  (I’ve learned that I should never listen to myself because I’m usually wrong.)

Caffeine has slowly begun to loosen it’s hold over me so that I’ve dropped from 108mg a day to about 45mg.  Not the most remarkable improvement for the time frame, but it’s still an improvement.

But now, something new has crept into my life.  I was looking online after lunch and saw something interesting.  I called my wife and she confirmed my suspicions.  The package has arrived.

There at the house sits my new gaming console.  Here at work sits the console owner.  What is this slight scratchy sensation in my throat?  I wonder if it will….oh no….here it comes… - cough - Oh, my.  That cough most certainly did not sound good.  I probably need to go home right now.

I’ve decided that I don’t want to be an engineer anymore.  It’s not the subject matter.  I really enjoy that.  Workload? Nah, it’s not that bad.  I could stand to be a little more challenged at times, but I’m content.  The pay? Well, yeah, I’d love to make a billion or two a year, but not that either.  So what is it?

It’s the wardrobe.  Boy, engineers dress nerdy. I should offer a bit of disclosure before I start, though.  When I was in college, my roommate, Seth, could wear just about anything and make it look cool.  One day he went to class wearing a couch cushion and toilet paper and looked like he was on the cover of GQ.  I tend to be the polar opposite when it comes to wearing clothes.  Give me a tuxedo and I’ll turn it into a $3,000 girl repellent.  So you should know that I’m no fashion guru; however, I do have some advice for all of my colleagues:

Sometimes I look around my office, which is chocked full of engineers, and I wonder if I’m trapped in 1974.  What in the world is with all of the solid-color, short-sleeve, button-up shirts?  Is the intent to say “I’d like to wear a formal shirt, but my arms get really hot during the day“?  Only slightly better than the solid shirts are the patterned versions of the same thing.  I guess I understand where the guys are coming from.  Sometimes, you feel like a golf shirt is too casual.  Then again, a nice dress shirt might be too much.  But the choice that you have made is not a compromise between the two…NAY!  It is a declaration to all of the world that your social skills are severely lacking.  Listen, guys, within 15 seconds of starting a conversation with you, most people will have already figured out that you’re a nerd.  There’s no need to openly declare it prior to having a discussion.  At least let innocent bystanders think that you might be a normal person.

Most times, I wear a long-sleeve, button-up shirt.  I think that it looks professional…not to mention that I’m always ready for impromptu meetings with people who may appreciate full length sleeves.  On occasion, however, I may want to dress down.  So, if I don’t feel like wearing a golf shirt, I’ll wear a dress shirt, but “casualize” it a little by rolling the sleeves up.  This gives the professional look, but allows me to be a bit free.  (Note: The degree of sleeve rolling varies depending on the fit of the shirt and the mood I’m in.)  It just looks 150 times better than what some of my coworkers are choosing.

So, engineers out there….please heed my call.  The short-sleeve, button-ups should never be a choice for you.  Now, Seth could pull it off, but he’d leave the shirt unbuttoned, untucked, and have a solid color t-shirt underneath.  But he’s Seth and you are not.  (unless, of course, you are Seth….in which case…Hey Seth!)  When you’re choosing your clothes and you’re sure that today is an appropriate time to wear that short-sleeve, button-up, just remember this helpful hint:  NO!

Vacation Bible School is in full swing at the Z.  This means that Kelley spends the evenings getting to know 4th & 5th graders while Butterfly and her friends are spoiled at the feet of our friend the Sweet Southern Belle.  The past two nights, Butterfly has come swinging in the door excitedly telling me about her activities, songs, stories, snacks, and even telling about her teacher.  (She told Kelley that her teacher was really good and must have taken teaching lessons.)

Since the event lasts until 8:30, it would mean getting home around 9:00…much too late for Ladybug.  So, I keep her with me and we waste the evenings away eating ice cream and flopping on pillows.  On Sunday night, I thought it would be a good idea to take Ladybug shopping with me.  She usually enjoys walking around the stores and eating things off the dirty floors.

Apparently, Kohl’s doesn’t have a large Sunday night crowd, so the nearly-empty store must have invited Ladybug to express herself.  Almost immediately after we walked in the door, she began running and yelling.  I chased her past t-shirts, pants, bras, suits, and into the shoe department.  It was at this point that she decided to point to each and every shoe and call them by name.  “shoe……shoe…..shoe……shoe….shoe…..”  I’m pretty sure that she found them all.

A few times in the store, people commented on Ladybug and mentioned how cute she is or how pretty her eyes are.  I gave a smile, said my thanks, and continued escorting her to pull more things off of shelves.  But some people saw her and didn’t say anything at all.  How could they do that?  Do they not realize how adorable my kid is?  Maybe deep down inside, they’re just jealous that their kid isn’t as cute as mine.  More likely, though, they take a look at me and assume that she’s not mine.  At any rate, next time you see us running through Kohl’s, do the polite thing.  Tell us how adorable we are.

This past weekend, we visited with my parents in the greater, downtown, metropolitan-area of Jefferson, GA.  As we pulled into the driveway, first things I saw were the blueberry bushes.  When I was a young lad, I would occasionally be tasked with plucking these small fruits the bushes.  A task that I loathed.  I could spend weeks on end picking berries only to find that I was still on the first bush and only filled up a thimble.  And to be honest, I didn’t even like the things all that much.  My wife and girls could sit down and eat them like candy.  I’d much more prefer to get a hold of a beef jerky tree.

This past weekend, the bushes were bursting forth with ripe berries.  (Well, there were some not-yet-ripe ones on there, too, but that doesn’t sound as poetic, so we’ll just ignore that fact.)  On Thursday, after we finished supper, my mom took the girls outside to pick some berries.  Butterfly thoroughly enjoyed herself.  She reached for every ripe berry she could find, even climbing into the bush for some that we couldn’t/wouldn’t reach.  Ladybug preferred to simply hold/squish a few in her hands as she toddled around the yard.

The scene was perfect.  My mom, wife, and two daughters were enjoying themselves finding these little treasures and placing them into the baskets.  After some contemplation, I decided that I was simply an ignorant youth many years ago.  I started picking blueberries to make the family participation complete.  What was once a burden would soon become a source of joy.

About 45 seconds later, I decided that I was really brilliant in my younger years and that picking blueberries is a tedious, unending, pointless venture that I would only wish on those who I despise the most.  Oh, the torture was unbearable.  I quickly claimed that Ladybug was tired and needed to play inside before bedtime, scooped her up, and removed her from the viciousness that was going on in the name of “harvesting”.

The only redeeming quality of the blueberry picking experience is blueberry cobbler.  (Of course, my mom had a fresh cobbler baking when we arrived.)  I’ve decided that we do not need a blueberry bush at our house.  What we need is a bybrid plant that combines a wheat stalk, sugar cane, and blueberries.  That’s right, it’s a blueberry cobbler bush.  You’d wait until the hottest day of the summer and let the sun “bake” the cobbler to a nice golden brown, and then eat it right off the bush.  Once I figure out how to combine that with an ice cream plant, I’ll stop working and just live off the land.

My dad has clearly improved his golf game.  He was +7 on the day and I was +3.  I would have been + a few more, but I didn’t want to go into the poison ivy to get some of the balls that I saw.

Keeping score by the real golf way, I shot a 71…on the first 11.  I think I was about 50 over par for the entire 18.  I expect Nike to be calling me for an endorsement deal pretty soon.  I’ll wait by the phone.

A couple of pictures of the event are on the Flickr account to the left.

It’s no secret…I like food.  My mainstays are meat and cheese.  Supporting casts are usually potatoes and ranch dressing.   Bread is only a filler or a means to convey food to my mouth.  Its use should be minimized so that I can maximize the meat and cheese consumed.

Today’s lunch break took me to Wendy’s.  As I waited on the vehicle in front of me, I tried to decide what to eat.  The “Baconator” sure did look tasty, but at $4.70, it seemed a bit pricey.  So, I ordered two Junior Bacon Cheeseburgers instead.  I removed the contents from one sandwich, slapped them onto the other and viola…a slightly smaller variation of the same thing…for 50% less.  But I had to waste an entire bun to do it.  Wendy’s was actually rewarding me for wasting their supplies.

Recently, I was in Subway…I wanted to “eat fresh.”  They have several foot-long subs that you can get for $5.  Given my affinity for meat, this seemed like a good option.  However, that’s an awful lot of bread.  My other option would be to get the 6″ version of the sub for $3.80 and then ask for “double meat” for an additional $1.80.  So for $5, I can get a footlong sub or for $5.60, I can get the same sub, but use less bread.  Naturally, I got the footlong, folded the meat over, and used the rest of the bread to feed the ducks behind our office.  Subway was rewarding me for wasting their supplies.

Now, a wise person would look at this situation and decide to simply speak to the person behind the counter, explain what you want, and help keep from wasting the excess.  My experiences have led me to simply avoid trying to get the person to do anything out of the ordinary.  Heck, my health would probably be better if I only ate one small burger or the 6″ sandwich, but the ducks wouldn’t appreciate me as much.

This weekend, the family and I plan to go and visit my parents.  Scheduled in there is a little time for Dad and I to hit the links.  Temperatures are supposed to be around the 90’s, so we’ll probably get started in the morning.  Golfing can take a lot out of you, so we’ll plan to have a big breakfast beforehand or stop for lunch in the middle…maybe both.  I’m not very good at golf, but then again, my Dad isn’t breaking any course records either.  So, it would seem like everything is set to play.

The only potential problem that I can see is that I donated my golf clubs to goodwill a couple of years ago.  Now, some may see this as a detriment to the game.  Based on how bad I am, however, I think that it might actually improve my game.

I’ve also devised a new scoring system that I’m hoping will soon be adopted by the USGA.  I start the round by counting the number of golfballs that I have.  If I encounter any water, then I automatically assume that I lose a ball there.  If there are any large bushes within 50 feet of a fairway, that’s another lost ball.  If the course goes close to the driving range, I assume that I will “find” 7 balls.  Same goes for playing behind some really old guys…you can actually earn a couple of clubs that way too!  At the end of the round, I see how I did.  The goal is to have as high a number as possible.

So there’s the game.  My competition will be rough because my dad has this thing that scoops the ball out of the water, so he’ll probably net a few more than me.  I’m working on another scoring system that involves eating a sausage biscuit before each swing, but we’d have to buy in bulk from the vendors….I’m still working on getting a discount for more than 500.

Very, very rarely, I will put aside my nonstop attempts at humor and have a serious discussion with my wife.  I think that she values these discussions in part because they are so rare, but mostly because we get to catch-up on our lives together.  Sounds like an oxymoron, doesn’t it?  Kids have a way of helping you stay so close yet so disconnected.  At any rate, we had a chance to talk and discuss where we’re headed and some things that we’d like to do.

We eventually got around to discussing my work.  I enjoy what I do (for the most part) and I enjoy my work environment.  If advancement in my company is desired, it would look really good for me to have an advanced degree.  I’d love to have a Master’s degree.  The problem is that I really don’t want to earn another degree.  The bachelor’s was rough enough.  Now I’m thinking of taking advanced courses in engineering on subjects that I’ve long since forgotten?!

The net result of this work would be that I could put a few extra letters on my resume.  Just a simple “MSE” and voila….I’m a changed man!  It’s amazing to me how heavy those letters can weigh on my career.  Would I be any more capable of performing tasks after getting a degree?  I’m of the opinion that I’d be as equally inept then as I am now, but some people above me certainly value those three letters.

So, I’ve payed a whopping $35 and applied to grad school….just to see if I can get in.  If I don’t get in, then hey, dilemma solved.  If I do get in, then I’d need to go through a lot of hoops to have my employer pay for it.  If they don’t…dillema solved!  If my employer does say that they’ll pay for it then, then watch out, folks.  You’ll no longer be able to address me as “Shallow Thinker”.  No sir, you’ll have to address me as “Master Shallow Thinker”.