Shallow Thinker

I don’t really care much for my new phone.  It has some neat features, and is helpful for texting, but the helpfulness in texting comes at the expense of the other features that I regularly use.  I called Verizon, and they said that not only could I swap it out with a different phone, but that they’ll call me back tonight when I’m home so that they can reactivate my old phone, process the order for the return of the new one, and go ahead and get another phone in the mail to me.  Now that’s pretty cool, eh?

So now I have to pick a new phone again.  Here are my options:

1. Get one like my wife’s.  The biggest benefit here is that I could have a charger at home and at the office.  The downside is that the cuteness of the phone my distract from the cuteness of my face.  We can’t have that.
2. Get a different phone that has the same basic stuff that my old one did.  There’s no point in getting a new phone in this case, now is there.  I might as well be stuck in the stone ages with silly alphanumeric keys.  Heck, I might even have to hunt for my food tonight or reinvent the wheel.

3. 

   The is this one other option….Verizon is offering a free Blackberry.  It has all the features that I need, and even a bunch that I don’t.  In the event of an emergency, I could relay valuable information to my family….like stock prices or sports scores.  The only minor issue is that there’s a slight fee increase for the services.  And you you believe the nerve of my wife…she actually thinks that I don’t need these services.  She’s so stuck on this whole “budget” concept that she can’t understand how much this device could enrich our relationship!

But, you know what, loyal readers.  I think you should have a say in this decision.  I feel so isolated and alone when I make this kind of choice.  So, submit your vote.  Here are the choices

Choice 1: Your wife is wrong.  You need…nay, deserve, this type of device.  This is a time for action. For change.  For FREEDOM!  Let us rise up and crush the oppressive tyranny that holds us down.  Let us join in arms and receive e-mails that have been pushed to our devices!

Choice 2: I do not think your wife is wrong, but I do think that you are right.  How in the world could I ever oppose such refined logic and deep-thinking?  I even think that it might be anti-American to vote against you.  This country doesn’t need “change” or “hope” or “catchphrase that McCain uses”.  No, what this country needs is more people like you with the ability to utilize your phone as a GPS.

So there are your options, America…please vote wisely.

My cell phone contract is up.  I could keep this phone, pay month-to-month, and be free from the chains of a large corporations.  OR I could get a free phone, sign another 2-year contract, and be burdened by “the man” for another couple of years…

Yeah, I’m getting a new phone.  Here’s the one that will be delivered to my house today:

Now I can send text messages to all of my buddies about all of the cool things that I’m doing…like sending text messages.  I won’t have to use that burdensome alphanumeric keypad to tell Lance when another Falcons player gets injured or to taunt him as Tech scores a touchdown in the 4th quarter to pull within 36 points of UGA.  (That’s right, your 3rd string can’t stop our starters!)

Queen Kelley cares nothing about fancy communication or phone features.  Her phone demands included the words “cute” and “pretty”.  Hers came in yesterday and I was able to use my keen engineering skills to transfer over all of her imprtant information.  When I call her, it should still play “Hunka Hunka Burnin’ Love”.

Please be sure to tell Queen Kelley how cute her phone is.  Or, you can TXT her about it if you want.  I’m just not sure if she’ll be able to write you a response or not because of her silly, archaic, alphanumeric keypad.

It’s nice to be recognized when you do good work, isn’t it?  Some people are great at doing work behind the scenes, but even they have to admit that it’s reqarding to be appreciated.

My appreciation was noted last night when Ladybug decided used her 18-month-old wisdom and deemed that I was worthy of being inducted into the alphabet.  During the middle of supper, she burst forth into song, and this is what transpired:

“Aye-Bee-See-Dee-Eee-Daddy…”

So there it is, folks.  I have officially become important enough to replace “F” and “G” in the alphabet.  Granted, those two letters don’t carry much weight, but still, I’m in the alphabet.  Not many of you can make that claim.

Tonight marks the beginning of this season’s 6Forty.  I’ll be grinding my axe (strumming my 6-string) while the girls lay down some killa trax (sing in joyous harmony).  If you’re in town and got nothing better to do, come by, enjoy the music, and listen to Lance as he applies the verbal smack-down (teaches a lesson).

Oh, and if you’re wondering what to wear….lots of jewelry!

Today marks my return to school.  In 2001, I finished with my BS in Engineering and declared myself done forever.  This evening, I will walk through the hallowed halls of academia to try, try again.  One of our family friends is starting her undergraduate studies at Mercer this week and I was thinking about the difference between her approach to school and mine.  Which then led me to ponder the differences between my various “First Days” of school.  Here’s what I came up with…

-> In the early years, my big decision was what kind of lunchbox (and matching thermos) I would take with me that year.  In high school, a lot of emphasis was placed on the new fashion.  In college, I worried more about getting to class a little early to scope out the perfect seat.  Now, I’m more worried that I’ve forgotten so much of my undergraduate courses that I’ll be lost.

-> In elementary school, my supplies (crayons and scissors) magically appeared at my desk.  In high school, I helped pick out what was needed and my parents paid for it.  In college, I spent the summer hitting up the sales at the office supply stores so that at the start of the year, I had clearly-labeled, white, 3-ring binders for every class (OCD, anyone?).  This time, I’ll probably just grab a pad of paper and a pencil from the office supply closet on my way out the door.  I hope that back-packs and trapper-keepers aren’t required.

-> Lunch was defined by the type of lunchbox (and matching thermos -see, it was a big decision) that I had when I was a wee lad.  By high school, I was buying lunch and trying to get the milk that others didn’t want to drink.  (Seriously, how was that little carton suppose to quench my thirst?!  Luckily, kind folks like Alana and Amanda helped this poor, growing boy by donating their milk to me.  Because of you, girls, I have the physique that I have today….just think what I would look like without your help.)  In college, I grabbed a cheap, unhealthy meal wherever I could.  Now, I’ll….well, that one hasn’t changed since college.

-> In elementary school, I was there because I had to be.  It was just a fact of life.  In high school, I realized a lot more of the social aspects of the scene.  I devoted a little time to studying.  In college, I really wanted to be done in four years, so I studied a little more.  I met some really cool people there and forged some deep friendships.  This time around, I’m really looking at school differently.  I see these courses not as requirements for a degree (though they are), but as tools that can assist me in what I do.  I hope that this outlook isn’t detrimental.  I got through high school and college just fine by doing the bare minimum (and sucking-up to teachers).  I hope that taking and interest in my course work doesn’t hurt my grades!

So, here I go….off to school.  I still hope to make some friends.  I hope that my teacher is nice.  I hope that my pencils don’t break.  But most importantly, I hope that my dream about showing up to class with no pants on doesn’t come true.  Apparently, I’m still on probation from the time when that really did happen.

CNN published an article (here) about a group whose Bibles were confiscated at the Chinese airport.  While they were breaking the law in China, the article goes on to address the bigger issue of human & religious rights in the tightly-controlled China.  The following quote was given by Qin Gang, a spokesman for the Chinese Foreign Ministry:

Chinese citizens enjoy freedom of religion in accordance with the law.

If your church must register with the government in order to exist, is it still “freedom of religion”?  If it must be “in accordance with the law”, is it freedom?

The separation of church and state is an amazing concept here in the states that is debated feverishly on various topics.  It’s good to be able to have those debates and not worry about a showdown with a tank. (image description)

*Disclaimer: My wife reads this blog, so I’m going to claim that the basis for this post happened to someone else instead of me.

Every once in a while, I…er, um……my “friend”, stops by McDonalds on the way to work.  It’s doesn’t happen often, mind you, because this “friend” is the definition of human health and conditioning.  But just like a car needs gasoline, the body needs a sausage biscuit with cheese.  So at any rate, this “friend” swung into the drive-through and ordered a heart-healthy dose of meat, cheese, and biscuit.  “Drive around to the first window.” he was told….so he did.

At the first window, my “friend” handed the cashier his credit card.  (That’s because his wife takes all his cash.  She then asks him several times throughout the week if he has any cash, just to make sure that she’s not allowed any to slip through.  It’s amazing that he puts up with it, but this guy is simply amazing in his devotion.)  The cashier took the credit card, pushed a couple of buttons and then exclaimed “oh no!”  She called for help.  Nothing.  She looked around.  Nothing.  Finally, she left the cashier’s post (still holding the credit card).  At this point, the friend was pretty sure that she’d punched the number in wrong and instead of $2.54, she’d charged him $254.00.

Finally, she came back with the manager.  A small lady of Hispanic descent.  The following exchange took place.

Cashier - I pressed cash, but it’s credit.  I need you to override the transaction so I can process the credit card.
Manager - *looks confused*
Cashier - I pushed the wrong button.  I need to do credit.
Manager - Credit?!  Yes, Credit OK.
Cashier - Yes, but I pushed the “cash” button.
Manager - OK, OK.  Yes, Cash OK.
Cashier - I have credit. *shows card* Pushed Cash *displays pushing motion on screen*
Manager - OK. *begins to walk away*
Cashier - NO!  Push bad button.  Need you to fix it!
Manager - *still confused*  Need fix credit?
Cashier - Si!  Fix Credit!
Manager - *punches buttons on screen, leaves*

The cashier handed me him back his card and apologized for the delay.

In the aftermath of it all, I’m left wondering about my prejudices.  On one hand, I don’t want to be judgmental and assume that everyone is an illegal alien, nor do I want to demand that everyone speak my language.  On the other hand, you would thing that the MANAGER of McDonalds would be fluent enough to understand the rest of the employees.  I decided that the best thing to do was to just leave and be thankful that my biscuit was still hot.

No, wait, I mean my “friend’s” biscuit.  I left with his biscuit.  No,I mean he left with my biscuit.  No, I mean, someone came to my office and told me this story about a certain biscuit that shall remain nameless.  Whew…that was close.

Last night Kelley and I attended the annual Summer Reflections at the Z.  Lance, as he does each year before school, showed a video with pictures and movie clips of the youth throughout the summer.  Meanwhile, our little girls played in their respective preschool classes.  Butterfly’s teacher was unable to attend, so Mr. Rickie filled-in.

Around 7:30, I went ahead upstairs to get the girls.  The video still had a way to go, but I’d eaten too many chicken nuggets and couldn’t stand to eat another one.  Upstairs, in the jungle themed room, Mr. Rickie sat in a small chair in the corner.  Butterfly and her best friend (we’ll call her Jitterbug…because it’s a cool name) were standing close to Rickie and jumping up and down.

“DO IT AGAIN!”  Shouted Jitterbug.  Butterfly ran over to me and said, “Daddy!  Watch what Mr. Rickie can do.”

So, Mr. Rickie place his hands together and magically, pulled his thumb apart.  (For the faint of heart, the magical instructions are here.)  Again, the girls jumped up-and-down excitedly.  Then Jittebug and Mr. Rickie had the following conversation:

“I wanna catch it!”
“No, you can’t have my thumb.”
“But I wanna hold it.”
“If I give you my thumb, you’ll drop it and you’ll lose it.”
“I won’t drop it, I promise!  I’ll hold on to it tight!”

Mr. Rickie later commented how he’d done that same trick six months ago and the girls could not have cared any less.  But today, this was the neatest thing they’d ever seen.  Unfortunately, though, in another six months, this trick will become boring again and Mr. Rickie will have to come up with new surprises…which I’m sure he will.

It’s neat to watch ‘em grow and learn and become so excited about the world around them.  A part of me wishes that they would remain this naive and innocent to the nastiness of society, but I know better.  What I do know is that the only way to combat the cruelness of world is with an unquenchable love for others and for their maker.  And there’s one true way to instill that in them.  It’s to hope beyond all hope that my girls turn out like their mama.

My car isn’t even a year old yet and the thing has been lying to me.  I first caught noticed something was up about 6 months ago, but I decided to let it slide.  After a while, I couldn’t take it anymore.  I took out my camera phone and got photographic evidence.  See if you can identify the problem:

Did you catch it?  Well, yes, there’s the obvious fact that I’m not good at taking pictures and my camera phone is crappy.  But look at the gas gage and then look at the bottom mileage number.

If you do the math (and I’m sure that you already have) here’s the mileage I get per 1/4 tank:

• 1st 1/4 tank - 181.4 miles
• 2nd 1/4 tank - 132.8 miles
• 3rd 1/4 tank - 139.1 miles
• 4th 1/4 tank -  91.9 miles

So, on the first 1/4 of a tank of gas, I’m really, really efficient.  On the last 1/4, I burn gas like there’s no tomorrow.  I heard from a friend who rented a Nissan Maxima, and he noticed the same thing.  So, if we assume that I drove consistently throughout the tank of gas (and you can trust me because I have a blog), we’re left with two possible solutions.  (1) The 2008 (maybe earlier, too?) Nissan Maxima and Altima gas gages aren’t very well calibrated.  In fact, they’re way off.  The first 1/4 is actually more than 1/3.  (2) My car is just much more efficient when it’s belly is full.

I don’t know which is more believable at this time.  If it weren’t for the fact that I’m in the middle of my 11th free month of XM radio, then I might take the car in to get checked out.  I’d rather have the free radio than the fixed gage.  If the “free 3 month trial subscription” ever ends, though…

I’ve written before about Google’s 411 prowess.  Their latest endeavour is “street view” which gives you an actual view of the streets.  Sounds harmless enough…right?

It’s interesting some of the things that you can store away in your brain.  My wife always looks at me weird when I spout out a proverb that fits into a discussion.  We’ll be talking about decisions and I’ll say “fish or cut bait”.  She’ll look at me and say “what?!”  It’s not my fault, really.  I blame Ms. Schwartz, my high school English teacher (all 4 years…plus 8th grade, too)  Every Friday was devoted to cramming in a bunch of stuff that required memorization.  Mythology, Proverbs, Idioms, vocabulary.  I liked it because it was kind of like story time…and I didn’t have to diagram any sentences.

So here I am, 16 years after the first time I walked into her class.  I was thinking about this past weekend and one of her phrases came to mind “comme il faut.”  (I always thought it was Latin, but the Googles tells me that it’s French.)  The phrase is roughly translated “as it should be” or “fitting.”  Allow me to explain:

Saturday morning  I woke up with a mission.  I needed to do some work on the house and I figured that I’d better get started first thing before the sun heated the roof up to 750 degrees (F or C - take your pick).  I walked outside and this amazingly cool breeze rushed through the air.  Some people would classify this as the beginning of fall.  My muscles tightened just a little because my bones could feel it…I could smell it…football weather.

After playing on the roof (and surprising myself at how well my project turned out), we piddled around with some music and then had lunch.  Kelley sprinted off to watch a movie, and I spent the next couple of hours entertaining my two biggest fans.  That evening, we went to visit Rickie and Sheri again.  The girls love the pool, but they really love Mr. Rickie and Ms. Sheri.  We were able to enjoy supper with them and play with some of their plastic fruit.  Sure, they have toys, but plastic grapes are hours of fun.  Mr. Rickie has made so much of an impression, that Ladybug will now run up to him with open arms when he’s approaching.  I got to sit back and watch her pick him out of the crowd on Sunday afternoon and run to play with him.  He didn’t seem to mind occupying her.

Sunday afternoon, I got to spend some alone time with Butterfly as she “helped” me set-up some sound equipment at our church.  While I was untangling cords and finding music stands, she sang into the microphone and played the piano for me.  After about an hour I was done, but Butterfly insisted that I play my guitar “like rock and roll” so that she could dance.  I obliged and then we headed home.  The only detour was to stop and get Butterfly her slushie…a treat that she spent more time playing with than eating.

So many little things were crammed into the weekend, but it was one of those that just hangs in the air…like the smell of popcorn drifting onto the gridiron on a cool friday evening.  Coming in to work this morning was a little tougher than normal.  I got an extra kiss from Ladybug and hugged Butterfly just a little tighter.  Weekends like this aren’t anything extraordinary.  It’s just plain ‘ole living…the way it should be.

Ladybug is a fast learner.  One of her favorite things to do is sing her favorite songs as she toddles through the house or rides in the car seat.  The words aren’t always perfect, but the mumble is distinct enough for us to figure out what she’s singing.  For instance, we’re regularly treated to the alphabet song that starts “Ay Bee See Dee Eff Eff Shee…”

Bedtime with Ladybug is my responsibility.  I don’t know how we came to this arrangement, but Kelley usually handles Butterfly with all of her lotions, book readings, and endless songs.  Each night, I take Ladybug and we begin our ritual.  Here’s how it goes

• we pick out a book, read the first three lines, Ladybug tires of book and squirms around to get down and get another
• repeat previous step a few times
• we find Elmo, turn off main light, and sit in rocking chair
• I sing a few favorites.  usually “bing back” (my bonnie lies over the ocean) and “ABC”
• I softly quieten down and rock Ladybug…she should be drifting off to sleep now
  
• Ladybug choose to have an impromptu anatomy lesson.  She points out my nose, beard, and mouth.  Then she says “tun”, and sticks her tongue out for me to see.  She grins because she knows I’m going to laugh at her.
• Now it’s time for Ladybug to sing.  She usually starts with “ABC” but usually mixes in “twinkle twinkle” with it just to make sure she gets enough in.
• The evening always ends with her own edition of “Happy Birthday to You”  In her case, almost all emphasis is removed from “happy birthday” and placed on “to you”.  In a low, barely audible voice, she sings “hap-pur” and then as loud as possible, belts out “CHOO YOO“.  over, and over, and over
• Eventually, the song dissolves from mumbles to grunts and then fades away altogether as Ladybug drifts off to sleep.

The bedtime ritual takes entirely too long, and I’m probably not doing her any favors by acclamating her to being rocked to sleep each night.  But I wouldn’t trade it for the world.  Each night, I look forward to learning where my nose is located and then being sung my repetitious birthday greeting.