The Covid Effect

It’s been a year (give or take a couple weeks) since the initial cases of Covid-19 were reported in the city of Wuhan. A little more than a month later, the first documented cases would appear in the US and we were given warnings this would turn into a global pandemic. In the following months, the Coronavirus overwhelmed our culture impacting every American – some through getting sick but most through changes in lifestyle. 

When states begin implementing various orders to wear masks or close non-essential businesses, we thought it would only be a few weeks and life would get back to normal. Spring and summer passed with the pandemic dominating headlines, controlling American life, and a menagerie of state or municipality protections remaining in place. Now in autumn with winter upon us, we’re seeing new government measures issued to try and contain this virus and it seems things will never be the same. 

It’s obvious the shelter in place directives interrupted the way Americans live, work, and play. The three Es of education, employment, and entertainment all drastically altered how they exist and operate. When this pandemic is over (and it will be over eventually) it’s likely some of the changes in our lifestyle will never return to the way it was before. 

But is that a bad thing? 

There is cause for concern, elements of American culture in need of repair. We’re facing an enormous mental health crisis as isolation is not good for the human psyche. There is a generation of school kids falling behind as they’re missing essential learning while schools are scrambling to prevent making the pandemic worse. The masses of newly unemployed workers will need to find new jobs. Many who contracted Covid-19 and recovered have been and will be suffering long term effects of the virus. 

There is also reason for hope. Fewer pollutants have been released into our atmosphere and waterways because less people are travelling. Reduced exhaust and fossil fuel usage means we’re breathing cleaner air; rivers and lakes are clearer. People are paying better attention to basic hygiene – doing the things they should have always been doing like washing their hands frequently, sanitizing high use surfaces, exercising, spending time in the wilderness, and eating at home instead of getting fast food. There’s a greater attention on science and increased appreciation for nurses and doctors. Individuals are investing in acts of kindness and generosity in ways to inspire and renew faith in humanity. 

In this pandemic, as with most things, both the good and the bad inhabit the same space. 

But what about the post Corona life? What lasting affect will Covid have on our culture? With a few different possible vaccines on the horizon, I think it might be beneficial to speculate on what our world will be like after life returns to normal. Or if it ever will be normal again. 

Since business as usual went on lockdown last spring, corporate America adjusted. In the process, we learned to use technology to our advantage, canceling non-essential meetings and moving important group conversations into virtual spaces like Zoom or Google Meet. Employers got creative giving more employees the option to work from home. New remote jobs became available. Those still working on site have been encouraged to stay home when they’re sick. These are changes to American life I hope never return to the way things were before. 

I am optimistic supervisors, managers, directors, and CEOs everywhere have learned some things are better for an email and not every idea is worth a half hour meeting in a conference room. I wish for telecommuting becomes more prevalent as it will make our workforce larger and more diverse. More people working is good for the economy and more people working from home is good for the environment. Side note: I don’t miss my 25 minute commute to the office. I hope more people consider the health of their neighbors, friends, and colleagues before leaving the home with flulike symptoms. As much as we all hate wearing masks, people should keep them – not to wear indefinitely, but for times of illness. Maybe if people wore masks any time they were sick, we would live in a healthier society by limiting the spread of the flu, common cold, and other contagious diseases.

(psst, wear a mask) 

Still, there are things I miss in this Covid world. When this is all over, I hope some elements from our former lives resume as soon as possible. I miss concerts and movie theaters. I miss hanging out in coffee shops. I miss seeing smiles on strangers’ faces. I miss parades and festivals and farmers markets. Of everything we’ve lost, there is experience I miss more than anything else and I hope it isn’t gone forever: the samples at Costco. 

Please bring back the samples as soon as it is safe to do so.

The Theory of American Everything Part 1: A Scientific Lesson

Life is guided by a set of rules, laws, processes, norms, and various theories. Entropy, general relativity, Newton’s laws of motion, gravity, magnetism, photosynthesis, apoptosis, string theory, uncertainty principle, quantum mechanics. These rules of science explain how our universe works: from the tiniest molecules inside our bodies to supernovas in the furthest reaches of space. Yet these laws and theories are far from complete. Even the greatest minds of history, from Plato to Galileo to Curie, they were imperfect people working with limited understanding. As we study and learn more about the workings of chemistry and physics, scientists have disproved, revised, and expanded old concepts. Even Einstein’s memorable equation of E = mc squared has its limits. It’s generally true but it’s not exactly correct either; modern science looks at Einstein’s mass-energy equivalence in a “yes, but” manner. 

Scientists examine and experiment with all of these laws to test their veracity. The majority accepts them as a basis for their understanding. They trust in the validity of these scientific norms yet believe it’s not enough. There’s gotta be something more. Something that explains everything. Some of these scientists collaborated on an idea: a hypothesis of one overarching law explaining all known laws of science into one unified formula. They call it the theory of everything. 

In the theory of everything, scientists are hopeful to connect the disconnected rules of everything from thermodynamics to quantum biology to astrophysics. They’re looking for answers to unsolved scientific problems, define the singularity at the beginning of time, explain the exceptions to known scientific standards, and fix the flaws in existing theories. If proven, the theory of everything could provide a framework that ties electromagnetism and nuclear forces to particle physics and the entirety of the space time continuum. Depending on how much credence you give to the theory of everything, it could be the next big scientific breakthrough proving the possibility of elements once confined to the imagination of science fiction: dark matter, time travel, teleportation, and interstellar exploration. 

Scientists look into both microscopes and telescopes to answer the same question: why we are the way we are. When I study history, theology, politics, and pop culture, I find myself asking the same question. Why are we the way we are? 

What makes America America? How can we be so functionally dysfunctional? How can anything be so awesome and awful at the same time? How do capitalists and anarchists coexist? Is it possible for our socialists and our libertarians to get along for the sake of our general welfare? Why do we possess the cognitive dissonance believing it’s patriotic to call Obama an illegitimate president but treason to say the same thing of Trump? Why is this nation of invention and innovation also a land of religious cults and serial killers? How do we have the greatest military force of any nation on earth and still think it’s too weak? Why is the quality of our health care going down while the cost is going up? Do we need to make America great again? Or just make America great? How did we get so divided and polarized? Where is the balance between American exceptionalism and American idiot? 

If scientists can strive to find a unified theory of everything in our universe, we should be able to find a singular theory to explain everything about America. We need something that explains both California vibes and southern charm, amber waves of grain and purple mountain majesty, Starbucks and Chick-Fil-A, bowling alleys and sandlots, comic books and gospel tracts, Fried Green Tomatoes and Boyz n the hood, Dueling Banjos and Smells Like Teen Spirit. What is the theory of American everything? 

I think I’ve figured it out – the reason America is the way it is and why we are the way we are. It's all about they way we began.

Tortured

The last solid food I ate was Wednesday and I will not be able to eat solid food again until at least tomorrow. Why? Doctor’s orders. I was admitted to the hospital for a perforated and infected colon. It’s a level of pain I’ve never before endured and not one I would recommend experiencing. Medical staff had me on an IV drip and a clear liquids diet until my discharge at which point I graduated to a clear and full liquid diet. I can’t eat real food, but I can ingest anything that would melt at room temperature.

It’s difficult to explain how hungry I feel. I am reminded of the emptiness in my stomach every time an advertisement for a restaurant specialty or grocery item plays on TV. You really don’t realize how heavily food is advertised until a doctor places you on a liquids only diet. Every edible product in every commercial looks like it might be the most delicious treat ever cooked by God or human. Even foods you wouldn’t normally consume.

For example, I don’t like seafood. Can’t stand it. One of the most commonly aired commercials during my hospital stay was for Arby’s new fish sandwiches. After being confined for 24 hours without any solid food, and delivered meals consisting of chicken broth and jello, those fish sandwiches started looking tempting and tasty.

image courtesy of Arby's

This is the depths of hunger I attempted to describe to my kids when their mom brought them to visit on Thursday night. They came around dinner time. Room service delivered my liquid meal seconds after they arrived. They were curious about my food and I had to stop my daughter from stealing my honey packet. I told them they couldn’t begin to understand how hungry I was at that moment. “Those Arby’s commercials for fish sandwiches? They look delicious and I hate seafood.”

The kids laughed but Bekah had a different response: “Speaking of which, did you know Wendy’s serves breakfast now?”

Of course I knew that. It’s also the kind of food I should avoid for the rest of my life. But as soon as she mentioned it, I was hungry enough I could have probably eaten every breakfast item on their menu. She proceeded to describe in mouth watering detail Wendy’s potato wedges. She was torturing me. Intentionally. We’ve been divorced for several years but I’m sure she still finds immense satisfaction in teasing me.

When it was time for them to go, Chloe wanted to stay. She and Christian both had school the next day so Bekah reminded them they’d need to exit if they wanted time to watch a movie before bed. The kids both stalled and lingered a little longer so Bekah tried a new tactic. “C’mon. We gotta go. If you want to get Chinese food, we have to leave now. Do you want Chinese? We're going to go get Chinese.”

The last thing I heard as they left was Christian pleading, “Mom please stop.”

The torture didn’t end the moment my ex-wife was out of earshot. I was discharged the next day and out of the hospital before lunch. I stopped by my office to talk to my boss and walked in while site leadership was serving barbecued burgers and potato chips for an employee appreciation day. Annie asked me to deliver a bacon cheeseburger and fries on my way to see her. Friday night, Chloe baked a chocolate cake. Saturday morning, Christian cooked pancakes from scratch. Saturday night, I picked up three medium pizzas from Dominos. Sunday morning, I got donuts from the donut shop and fried bacon for a special breakfast. I didn’t eat any of it.

Instead of the parade of delectable delights moving through my kitchen, I’ve survived on jello and protein drinks. And I am starving. Figuratively speaking.

Those fish sandwiches still look amazing. And I don’t even like fish.

A Presidential Goat

This is Trumpet. He’s a goat. And he has some fantastic hair.

A few days ago, while doing barn chores, Annie had a revelation about Trumpet’s hair: it’s a combover. His hair has a certain presidential quality to it. Maybe not presidential in a traditional sense, more like it reminds us a little of the man currently serving as president. Then we got thinking and the more we realized our goat and our president have a lot in common. And it’s more than just the floppy coif on the tops of their head. Consider the following.

They can’t stay faithful. Donald Trump initially gained fame and notoriety through tabloid headlines highlighting his marriages, mistresses, divorces, and remarriages. He has five different kids with three different women. He’s cheated on every woman who married him. Trumpet is just as much of a philanderer. A couple weeks ago, Viola gave birth to twins. Trumpet is their dad. Meanwhile, he also got Didgeridoo pregnant and she’ll be going into labor soon. If you think two baby mamas are enough, you’d be wrong because he’s also been getting frisky with two of our other lady goats: Ukelele and Kazoo. We’re going to have a farm full of goats and he’ll the daddy of all of those kids.

Trump has a weird and creepy obsession with his daughter. I’ve lost count of how many cringe inducing and inappropriate things he has said about Ivanka. Like when Trump said he’d date her if she wasn’t his daughter. Or when he asked a writer if it was wrong to be more attracted to your daughter than your wife. Or when he gave Howard Stern permission to call her “a piece of ass.” Or when he awkwardly groped her hips at the RNC convention. Trumpet also has an incestuous fascination with his kin. Let’s just say we try to keep him separated from his sister.

For Trump and Trumpet, rules don’t matter because they do whatever they desire. You want to try and contain Donald Trump? Good luck. I’m guessing his unpredictability and subversion has contributed to the unusually high turnover in the Trump administration. Likewise, Trumpet shows little interest in what you want from or expect of him. He goes where he wants. If you try to contain him, he will jump over gates and fences to do what he should not be doing.

We all know that President Trump is a raging narcissist. His sociopathic behavior is mirrored in Trumpet the goat. As far as Trumpet is concerned, everything that happens around our farm is about him. When we go out to the barn, he jumps to greet us as if we only made the trek to see him. Then he circles around us until we acknowledge him. Should any smaller creatures stand between him and his destination, he will trample straight over the top of them. If Heartsong Meadow had a daily newspaper, he would demand constant front page mentions. He poses for our trail camera. He smiles when we catch him acting naughty. And don’t ever call Trumpet a goat – he might get confused and think you’re calling him the greatest of all time.

When we feed the chickens, Trumpet thinks we’re feeding him. When we feed the horses, Trumpet thinks we’re feeding him. It doesn’t matter what animal is being fed. Trumpet assumes all food is for him. He loves to eat, much like President Trump. What would Trump be without a bucket of KFC, his extra scoop of ice cream, or a taco bowl on Cinco de Mayo? Trump and Trumpet share an insatiable appetite. Neither of them, man or goat possess the will power to resist a Big Mac.

They have so much in common: megalomaniacs, obnoxious, loud, and constantly in search of a meal. At least in the goat’s case, the hair is real.

Bailing Out

Through geekery alone, my knowledge is significant. I can crack open a book, read, and absorb information; surf the internet and flex my Google-Fu; take classes and attend seminars. The possibilities seem endless. But there are limits. There are things that you cannot fully understand until experienced through hands-on application. I can argue superiority between Star Trek and Star Wars because I've seen all the movies and TV shows; I've played video games and board games related to both franchises. I've experienced both fandoms so my knowledge is equally practical and intellectual.

However ...

There are things where (until recently) I've had no need to learn through visual, auditory, or kinesthetic pursuits. Farming is one of those topics. During 1985’s Farm Aid concert, I knew American growers faced a financial crisis, fighting against political pressures. However, I was only six years old so the technical details and shifting dynamics in our economy were far beyond my grasp. I knew nothing of the changes corporate agriculture had on independent and small family farms. First grade curriculum doesn’t include the concepts of supply and demand, property rights, mass production, or GMOs. Even as I got older and learned about economic principles and American civics, costs and efforts required to harvest food were irrelevant to me. I was a product of the suburbs, completely disinterested in the agrarian lifestyle. I saw the American heartland as endless amber waves of grain, boring scenery between me and Grandma's house. I valued purple mountain majesty and fruited plains, preferred the scent of cedar groves and alpine meadows over dairy air, and would rather hear honking horns than mooing bovine. I was content to keep it that way. If I could go to the grocery store and buy prepackaged delights, then the plight of the farmer was not my concern.

Priorities have shifted over the past several months. Farming is no longer something other people do; it's a part of my daily life. My health improved because of the work it takes to build fencing and stack hay. I appreciate the view from my back porch where I watch the sunset every evening. I love the darkness at night, revealing a vast expanse of stars undiminished from the light pollution plaguing city folk. I also understand how hard you must labor to enjoy this life and how much it costs to maintain it.

We love our horses. Horses eat a lot of hay. Hay can be expensive - especially when the horses eat (roughly) a ton of food each month.

Until now, the financial side of equestrian care was a foreign subject. Money spent on field fencing is staggering for someone who has never investigated those prices. A trip to the theater for the newest Marvel movie (including soda and popcorn) is cheap compared to the price tags on saddles at the tack shop. I've been exposed to the world of rodeos, household repair, and farm maintenance. I now spend time in North 40 and Home Depot the same way a younger version of me once occupied Hastings and GameStop. I’ve become familiar with how expensive it is to maintain a farm with goats, geese, ducks, chickens, horses, and a free-spirited rabbit who does whatever it wants; I also see how hard my neighbors work with their pigs and cattle. We purchased hay from local farms - all of which are grown and harvested by young families or old men wanting to be productive after retiring from the workforce. I’m grateful for how much they spend on equipment and the hard work they do to cut and bale the hay we buy to feed our animals.

When I hear people talk about their motivations behind voting or Trump, it makes sense to me. Vibrancy fades once you get out of urban centers and bedroom communities. Small towns in rural America have been shrinking. I've driven through many dwindling municipalities with boarded up windows, signs announcing store closures, and empty streets on what should have been a busy day filled with people shopping for goods, services, and supplies. Their populations are leaving for better opportunities in bigger cities, costs of running a farm are increasing, profits from selling meat and produce are slimmer. Their way of life is slowly disappearing. Livelihoods of many Americans depend on their land, their crops, their livestock. They see an uncertain future, a possible end to their lifestyle. Justified or not, many of them blame Obama and Democratic policies for these changes. Afraid of losing everything they've ever known, they believe Donald Trump was the only candidate who cared about them. They thought Trump was the one would protect the familiar, he would be a champion of their values and interests.

Economic, social, political, and demographic insecurity. They were unsettled by changes in the populace from gay rights and immigration to lower attendance in their churches every Sunday morning. They saw massive societal shifts and it scared them. People who are anxious of losing their status, power, or influence can act irrationally. Fear makes us stupid. Trump tapped into those fears and exploited them. Now, the farmers who voted for him need rescue from the negative impacts of his administration.

It's sad because it was all entirely predictable. We could see this coming. Trump campaigned on promises of trade wars and tariffs. Democrats raged against his plans. Comedians and late-night talk show hosts mocked him. Conservatives voiced tempered concern. Economists predicted disaster. When Trump threatened trade wars, we all knew it wouldn't end well. We all knew what would happen. Those of us who opposed Trump tried to warn everyone. Yet Trump still won the election. The predictions of doom came true and the people hurt the worst by Trump's tariffs are (or were) his biggest supporters. Trump offered a $12-billion bail out to offset the consequences of harm caused by his trade war.

Money fixes everything.

How do you get a slice of that $12-billion pie? Our farm needs two more pastures fenced in, a new round pen, deer fencing erected so we can start our garden, privacy landscaping planted to shield our pool from view of people driving by, and several trees need to be felled or pruned. A pest control treatment would be nice. Our work truck broke down and needs replaced. When you live on a farm, there are always a list of projects you'll complete if/when you get a little extra cash. Our list is a little longer than most.

Realistically though, my family won't qualify for any funds. Nor will my neighbors, or the ma & pa farms where we purchase hay. Operations like ours are ineligible. The $12-billion will not be going to independent and family farms with small acreage. Instead, large corporate owned farms are getting it. Companies who stock the frozen foods isle at major grocery stores. Ag-industry giants who supply beef and French fries to fast food chains. The bailouts are gifts to big businesses, not to the people who need it most.

Let’s treat those poor farmer-CEOs the way many conservatives malign impoverished Americans. They don't deserve welfare, need a hand up not a hand up. It's time they pull themselves up by the bootstraps. They're just lazy. I don't pay my taxes so these people can have money handed to them – no strings attached. Who do they think funds their free lunch? They better not be buying beer or cigarettes. If they're unable to pay their bills, they should go get a second or third job. They could drive their tractors for Uber or list their farms on Airbnb. Perhaps they should be drug tested before they get a bailout. Why not drug test all their employees? Hopefully none of those employees are undocumented workers; we'd have to deport them.

If all else fails, we can vote differently in November than we did in 2016. We might still be scared; hopefully we're smarter.

The Kids Are Alright

On a Tuesday night a few weeks ago, I was sitting in McDonald's with my laptop and my standard order of a McChicken, medium fries, and a cup of water. When I am writing, I am more productive in public spaces than I am at home. Even with the distractions of people coming and going, I get more work done at a fast food joint or coffee shop than in the comfort of my living room. I prefer Jack-in-the-Box or Wendy's, but anywhere with free wi-fi is fair game for me except Starbucks - it's a bit too cliché.

This writing session was flowing as it usually does. I was typing out a film review in between bites of food, rewatching the movie trailer on YouTube, staring into space trying to determine exactly how to phrase a certain conglomeration of words in a way it would be coherent and reasoned. Then some teens began to enter the lobby. Then some more. And then even more. Three waves of youthful energy packed the place, roughly two dozen when all had walked through the doors. They all appeared to know each other, they bounced from one conversation to the next while waiting to place or receive their orders, a nebulous mass of human forms and boisterous voices.

Normally, customer traffic doesn't bother me. I can continue plucking away at my keyboard as if they're just ghosts in the room, present yet unseen. With this group of kids though, it was different. I stopped typing, looked away from my screen, and observed for the duration of their visit. Sure, they splintered off into small huddles like any other group of teenagers would do. However, they never remained in one conversation for long. They bounced around from one cluster to another. All smiling, happy, eager, and connecting with each other. I watched in wonder.

(like this but less creepy)

I remember being their age. between the ages of 17 and 19, the kids I hung out with would invade various food establishments after church on Sunday nights. We'd roll in, dine cheap, stay for an hour, then leave behind a mess. We were obnoxious, sloppy, and enjoying our time together. Twenty years ago, we were the wayward youth grownups blamed for the downfall of America. The kids I recently observed in McDonalds reminded me of my old group of friends. Descending upon a source of inexpensive edible junk, chatting and laughing the whole time, loving every minute, then leaving.

Yet they were different than the crew from my good old days. I was impressed by how they presented themselves. None wore anything flashy or revealing. None dressed grungy or slobby. Not over the top formal wear like they were on their way to a school dance, just smart and semi-professional in appearance. Each spoke with polite language. They were goofy and boisterous, yet they didn’t use any profanity, insults, or dirty jokes. They were all respectful toward each other and the other customers in the dining area. When they left, it was like they were never there. These teens were just like the kids I grew up with, only better. Their visit filled me with a sense of hope.

This transpired in the weeks after the shooting at MSDHS, before the nation-wide school walkouts and March For Our Lives protests. The kids from Parkland were constant faces on news channels, headlines both praised and criticized them. At the time, I wanted to write something about how great it was to see youth engaged in the political process. Whether you agreed with them, whether they’re right or wrong, whether they succeed or fail is irrelevant. We need passionate and energetic fresh faces involved with political discourse because the decisions our government makes today will affect them and their peers more than it will impact me and my generation.

After the shooting, I avoided writing about the topic. I've talked about gun control before and I probably will again but that wasn't the blog post I wanted to write. Instead I wanted to compose something encouraging those students challenging the adult world, political process, and the way we think about American rights. I was dismayed at the alleged grownups in the room who acted with a maturity level more fitting for grade school playgrounds. Yet I couldn't do it. I tried. There are four different drafts I deleted after I couldn't figure out how to say what I wanted to say in the way I wanted to say it.

I know what it was like to be young and ambitious and inspired and facing nothing but a wall of condescending elders. I felt like I had words for these kids that needed to be said. I wanted to let them know that they would be mocked and ridiculed for their actions. I wanted them to know how people will go to absurd lengths to defend their sacred cows, and when it comes to Murica, there's no greater sacred cow than the Second Amendment. I wanted to tell them the same thing I tell my son about bullies, their words and actions speak more about them than you.

Much of what I wanted to write about was obvious, the smear campaigns and ad hominem attacks were prominent in conservative media. I saw the fake news stories and photoshopped memes on Facebook. Everywhere I looked, I saw a grumpy old man complaining these kids were too young to have an opinion. Every news channel had a pundit claiming these kids were paid actors. I didn't need to warn them what was already happening was going to happen.

There's more I wanted to say. I wanted to let them know a day is coming when they'd look back and wish they had done things differently and it's OK to have those kinds of regrets. I wanted them to know they would make mistakes and they shouldn't let those errors derail them. I wanted to warn them of the danger of overnight celebrity. Historically speaking, youth and fame are not a good combination. The rush of everyone paying attention to you can be addictive. The lure of the spotlight is powerful and can be taken away as fast as it was obtained. However, I've never been famous; I don't have any legitimate advice from experience.

I hope they have strong emotional support. I hope they don't take these days for granted. I hope they remain engaged and do great things with their lives, yet I also hope they do the things kids their age typically do: attend sporting events and concerts, compete in talent shows, go to prom, graduate, take summer road trips, go camping, register to vote, enlist in the military, apply for scholarships and enroll in a university or trade school, get a degree, fall in love, fall out of love, start a career.

At the end of my high school days, the private Christian college I wanted to attend required all prospective students to memorize a Bible verse from 1st Timothy: "Don't let anyone look down on you because you are young, but set an example for the believers in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith, and in purity." I wanted to pass on the wisdom in this scripture to these kids leading the Never Again movement. It doesn't matter if they follow Jesus or not, if they're religious, spiritual, or none of the above. There is power in embracing your youth. Any time a young person finds themselves in a leadership role, older generations will attempt to discredit or discourage them. I wanted to tell these kids to not allow their elders to destroy them, to stand strong, to set an example for their elders so loud and noble and pure that it can't be ignored.

That is what I wanted to write, and I just couldn't do it. Then I witnessed local kids in action. I've spent a lot of time with teenagers as a youth leader, yet those interactions were all in controlled and supervised environments of church youth groups and summer camps. My oldest is now a teenager, yet I don’t see him when he's not around adults like me or teachers or youth pastors. My time at McDonald's was like watching kids in the wild, observing them in their natural habitat. No chaperone. No responsible adult monitoring. No grownups telling them what they can or can't do. Only a herd of teenagers free to do whatever they want and act upon their own desires. I couldn't look away and I was in awe. These were not the Tide Pod eating, Logan Paul wannabe, participation trophy receiving idiot youth my conservative friends warned me about.

Whitney Houston once sang, " I believe the children are our future." On a Tuesday night in late February, I was given a glimpse into days yet to come; someday soon they will be our elected leaders and corporate CEOs. Bring it on. Give them a platform and a microphone. Let them lead. Let them protest. Agree with them, disagree with them. Debate them. Educate them and learn from them. If these kids are our future, then the future is very bright.

Other than Papa John's

Once upon a time, I was a big fan of Papa John's. Then they closed all of their Inland Northwest locations. I was disappointed because I craved their garlic butter dipping sauce set inside each box of pizza. Confession: when we ordered dinner from Papa John's, I snagged the garlic butter cup before anyone else could get to it and refused to share.

They were gone though. And I moved on. There are plenty of other pizza restaurants in Coeur d'Alene. Seriously. We have more pizza joints than coffee shops. Still, the loss was reinforced during football season as Papa John's ads played during the commercial break of every Seahawks game, just rubbing garlic butter in the wound. Taunting me with the thing I cannot have.

Imagine my joy when they returned. A new store opened in Hayden. They're back. Then I had some. Unfortunately, the only item in my order that had any appeasing flavor was the garlic butter dipping sauce. The rest of it tasted like a junior high home economics experiment cooked by a bunch of football players forced to take the class against their will. So much for better ingredients.

This last week, John Schnatter, the founder and CEO of Papa John's, made a bold statement about his struggling business, feeble sales, and plummeting stock prices. He blamed the NFL. On a conference call with investors, Schnatter said, "Leadership starts at the top, and this is an example of poor leadership. The NFL has hurt Papa John's shareholders."

The NFL is not the cause of Papa John's decline. In the same period of time Papa John's profits have been sinking, Dominoes and Pizza Hut have both seen increase in sales and stock prices. When I meet friends for pizza, more often than not, we go to the Hut. So what is really hurting Papa John's?

I'll agree with Schnatter, leadership does start at the top, which is why his blame is misplaced. Whatever happened to personal responsibility? Perhaps Schnatter's leadership is to blame for Papa John's slump. Perhaps Papa John's dire financial situation is the fault of Papa's business practices. I won't be eating their food any more.

I love pizza, perhaps a bit too much. When there's a craving, well ... There are plenty of other pizza restaurants in Coeur d'Alene.

In a world where every other pizza chain is cheaper and tastes better than Papa John's, I'm not worried about a lack of pizza options. In fact, there are easily a dozen other options in my home town that I prefer above Papa John's. Here are five.

1. MOD Pizza: MOD is like the Subway of pizzerias. Only, better than Subway. Pick your size, sauce, toppings, and they throw it in a wood fire oven to cook while you get your drinks. It's quick, affordable, and delicious. This is my favorite place to get pizza in Cd'A.

2. Tomato Street: Sure, they do more than pizza, but when it comes to pizzas and calzones, Tomato Street gives you the most bang for your buck. Average prices with abundantly generous serving sizes. Leftovers will be likely. And you can color on their tablecloths.

3. Fire Artisan Pizza: This and the neighboring restaurant, Crafted, are two of the trendiest (and most hipster) spots in town, and their prices reflect it. Fire's pizzas are more expensive than Papa John's but their flavor is far superior. They make pizzas you won't find anywhere else. My favorite is the Camino - chicken, bacon, and red onions on chipotle BBQ sauce with fresh cilantro and habenero sea salt. Simply divine.

4. Northwest Pizza Company: Locally owned with prices similar to Papa John's, NW Pizza has great variety, superb ingredients, and a friendly staff. They also have an old school pizza diner feel that reminds me of eating at Godfathers or Alfy's as a kid.

5. Little Caesars: Let's be honest. This is not good pizza, this is cheap pizza. This is pizza on a budget. It's hot, fresh, and ready when you show up and you don't need to call ahead. Their flavor is similar to Papa John's but for one third the price. However, their crazy bread deserves some bragging rights. I'd take their bread sticks any day over most other pizza chains. Despite having pizza crusts that taste like cardboard, Little Caesars can't be beat when you're in a hurry or short on funds.

It doesn't end there. The list of places I'd rather get a pizza from before I spend any money on Papa John's is a long one. Papa Murphy's, Capone's Pub and Grill, Bullman's Wood Fired Pizza, Olive Garden. Heck, I'd take MacKenzie River Pizza and I haven't eaten there since my 30th birthday. Even frozen pizza from the grocery store is preferable above Papa John's.

Now I'm hungry. Who's up for pizza?

Status Check: Tidbits

You might see a bit of a slow down in the number of my blog posts over the next couple months. For a multitude of reasons.

1. It's summer and the kids are keeping me busy. They're spending most of their time at a day camp while I'm at the office. After I pick them up, the activity continues. JJ is playing baseball again this summer. I'm spending some quality time with each of them. And I am still trying to make Saturdays our adventure day. Most nights, by the time we get home, we cook dinner and start bed time routines.

2. I'm busy trying to get school done. It is more work than I anticipated, but it is the good kind of work. One recent class required the weekly assignments to be written as blog entries which was easy for me to figure out since that's what I do. In case you missed them, you can find those posts here, here, here, here, and here.

3. I've also written a couple articles for the parenting site They Call Me Dad. My second contribution was posted today and you should go read it. The first was published in April; you should read it too.

4. Speaking of writing, I am hustling to complete the first draft of my book. There is a lot of research going on and I want to have something that I can begin to share by the end of the year. In order for that to happen, I have to work my butt off. I'm roughly 20% through the project and I am more excited about it than anything I've ever written.

My temporary work-space. Note: Wendy's is not paying me to promote them, but I wouldn't object if they did.

5. Not everything in my life is about kids and work. I have been spending a lot of time with a wonderful woman and on Sunday we will be celebrating a year together. Thankfully, she supports my ambitions and encourages me to write, which makes everything else I talked about in this post so much easier.

That should summarize the state of life at The Faithful Geek. A five-for-Friday post on a Monday. As I start my 13th year of blogging, I am so grateful for those of you who regularly read along, for those of you who geek out with me, and for the few of you who periodically disagree with what I have to say. You have made it possible for me to enjoy something that I never imagined doing: to call myself a writer.

Thank you for sticking around. When my fingertips are not busy plucking out words and sentences and paragraphs for school, guest posts, or my work in progress, you will continue to find my thoughts about what it is like to be a Christian, a dad, and a nerd in this bizarre and beautiful world. Until then, do me a favor and click on an ad or two. It will make my oldest son happy.

The Violence Trap Part 1: An Anecdote

Saturdays are our adventure days. Anything to get out of the house. Go for a hike. Picnic at the park. Friends' birthday parties. But plans change. Kids get sick. Weather sours. Sometimes, we camp out in the apartment and do chores.

One rainy Saturday, it was obvious the kids were getting cabin fever. Their rooms were clean. Laundry folded and put away. Dishes washed and dishwasher empty. Video game time used up. Hours spent reading. All before lunch. (My kids are early risers.)

By mid-afternoon, they were turning bug-eyed from the doldrums of being cooped up and the dismal weather outside was not encouraging. They were like caged animals looking for a way to escape their enclosure and would soon turn against their zookeeper. Me.

With that in mind, I took them somewhere dry to play: Carl's Jr. We had already eaten lunch so we ordered sides of fries; I let them play while I caught up on my own reading.

Carl's Jr isn't my favorite place in the world. It always smells odd, but their food quality is a step above McDonald’s and their play area is easier when managing multiple children. For that one wet-weathered Saturday, we had the place to ourselves for most of the time we were there.

Late in the afternoon, and older man came in with his granddaughter. Hunched back, grayed hair, grizzled scowl, defined wrinkles - I would estimate his age to be five to ten years older than my father. He carried himself with the boredom and contempt of a man that is not enjoying retirement. He also had a large firearm strapped to his hip.

The gun did not bother me. I have a few friends who open carry, more who have a permit and conceal carry. They are all calm and competent gun owners. None of them flaunt the fact they are armed.

I was not worried about the old man with the big gun. Since I live in North Idaho, I would wager I am in the company of people packing heat far more than I realize. It is something people do around here.

But my daughter was worried. As soon as she saw it she came up to me and whispered, "That man has a gun."

"Yes, he does." I tried to downplay it as best as possible. "It's OK though."

"But why?" She asked, still at a conspiratorial volume.

"A lot of people do it," I whispered in reply, "It isn't anything to be scared of."

As I finished trying to calm my daughter's fears, my oldest son came around the corner with the same observation. "Did you know that guy has a gun?" Christian was whispering too, but not as quietly as his sister.

Before I could give him an answer, the old man did it for me. "And I have a badge for it," he barked from the far side of the room.

That is when my opinion changed. In one grumpy retort, he went from being an old man wanting to spend some time with his granddaughter to a jackass with a gun. He went from being an ordinary citizen with a weapon to a potential danger. He went from carrying a gun for self-protection hoping he'd never need it to carrying a gun in hopes of confrontation.

I know that is a lot of projection and speculation. Yet, if he was a responsible gun owner, he would have respected my ability as a parent to deescalate the situation with my own kids. There was no need for him to butt into our conversation. Even if interruption was necessary, the manner in which he responded was defiant. It was hostile, terse, and angry. There was no kindness in his voice. No attempt to ease their fears. To the contrary, his irate shout made them even more scared.

When I looked at him he was sneering at us. He knew he intimidated my kids and he was enjoying it.

I was offended. I was pushed into fight or flight mode so we left. (To be honest, we have not been back to Carl's Jr since then.)

As we drove away, the questions came. "Was he breaking the law?" No, no he wasn't. "You mean he's allowed to have a gun like that?" Yes, he is. "Is that normal?" Well, lots of people have guns.

The next question was not as easy to answer. "Why was he carrying a gun?"

The first answer that came to mind: "Because he's a jerk." But not everyone who carries a gun is a jerk. As I said before, I have friends who are always armed. They are good people with valid reasons for keeping a firearm with them at all times.

But this guy? This crotchety old man? "Because he's a jerk" is the only answer that fit. How bitter and broken does someone have to be to get a thrill from scaring elementary aged kids?

And he has a badge? I call BS. You do not get badges for gun ownership. Some states require permits for concealed carry, but not Idaho. We also allow you can openly carry without a permit. The only reason he would have a badge is if he was in law enforcement, but he was far too old to be an active officer or a security guard.

He's grouchy. Most likely dishonest. If he's expecting terrorists to attack a small town fast food joint or preparing to be the hero if a disgruntled ex-employee returns to extract vengeance, he's paranoid and/or delusional. And he derives pleasure from scaring kids. Jerk is the only descriptor I can contrive.

When it comes to talk about gun violence in America, it is hard to escape the rhetoric. Both sides use it. Those in favor of and opposed to any measure of gun control have a weapons cache filled with statistics and witty one liners that support their political stance. The arguments come out after every mass shooting. After every high profile officer involved death. After every riot. After every headline that include the words toddler, accident, and gun.

Murder rates, gun deaths, comparisons to Canada and Australia, spotlights on mental health, second amendment, militias, gun grabbing feds. When I hear these tired terms, "facts," and figures, I can't help but think one thing.

One of the most common pro-gun talking points is that guns are not the problem; people are. It was cleverly turned into a meme trying to draw parallels between Walter Palmer and Christopher Harper-Mercer. It said that a when the gun is used to kill a lion liberals blamed the person, but when the gun is used to kill Christians liberals blame the gun. Ignoring the logical fallacies and false equivalences in that meme, it highlights something that I do believe to be true.

America has a problem with violence. It has an obsession with guns. We have a problem of the heart and a crisis of soul.

If you want to say that guns are not to blame, I will agree with you. If you claim people are to blame, I am with you. People are the problem. But if you believe people are the problem then you should be willing to cede that some people should not be allowed to have guns because of those problems.

In my opinion, that old man at Carl's Jr getting kicks off of scaring my kids is one of those people who should not be allowed to carry a gun in public.

The truth about a boring life

I had a boring childhood. At least that is what I tell people. My parents were simple folk who loved each other and have remained married for more than forty years. They created the typical church-going, conservative, two child, suburban household. My only brother was five and a half years older than me but we never developed the typical sibling rivalry. Instead, we had a great relationship that allowed us to share many mutual friends.

There was nothing special about our family. No excitement. No grand adventures. I tell people that I had a boring upbringing. But that is a lie. If I truly had a dull childhood, I would not be a writer today. If you want to hear a tale, I have an endless supply. In reality, my days of youth are a wellspring of tragic and comical anecdotes.

When I was four I pretended I was Superman. When I was fourteen I pretended to be a rock star. Then I joined the drama club and discovered myself while pretending to be someone else.

In theater, I learned sword fighting, stage craft, and how to apply makeup. I broke the Wells Fargo Wagon on the closing night of The Music Man and survived an earthquake during a performance of Neil Simon's Rumors. One sunny summer day, after performing improve sketches with a few friends, a little girl came up and asked for our autographs.

I have stood on mountain tops, climbed waterfalls, jumped off cliffs, bathed in the waters of glacial runoff, and danced with wild mountain goats along a snow covered ridge.*

*goat not pictured

I have sneaked into concerts and and paid to attend rock shows. I have had the privilege to hang out backstage and socialize people who play music for a living. I became friends with artists, authors, actors, and musicians.

I trespassed to visit an allegedly haunted graveyard in the middle of the night. I've been kicked out of the Arby's in Ellensburg Washington more times than I can count. And once a friend and I stole a five foot tall cardboard display of the Pillsbury Dough Boy from a Burger King; their security guard chased us into traffic as we drove away.

That was all before I reached the legal drinking age.

So why do I lie and say my wonder years were boring? It is because I compared my life to others and found them far more fascinating. I never went to Disneyland. I never broke any bones. I never won first place in anything. The kids that I grew up with were all from wealthier families and they were all better looking and more athletic than me.

How could I compare? Their stories were more interesting. In the false light of comparison, I felt like my life had no sparkle or shine, nothing special or of any significance.

But all stories have value. Yours. Mine. Their worth is found in one simple truth: we are unique. You did not experience the most exciting day of my life and I have not experienced yours. Even if our biggest adventure was a shared event, your perspective would be different from mine. The event would be the same but the resulting tales we tell would be wholly different.

So be brave. Tell your story. Even if you think it is wholly uninteresting. I assure you, it is not.

The emasculating father

Two hours to kill between appointments and I have all of the kids with me. The three munchkins have an excess of energy. They need to go play somewhere but it's cold and damp outside.

Enter Burger King. Small fries and small Hi-Cs for everyone. And a playground.

There are a few other families here too. An older lady with her grown daughter and grandkids. A mom entertaining two boys while they are out of school for winter vacation. And at the table next to me, a dad with two young children - a boy slightly younger than JJ and a girl still in diapers.

There are a lot of kids playing. A natural byproduct of that quantity of young voices in a confined area is an increase of volume. One of those kids screams. I don't hear it but the dad next to me does. And he is not happy. He snaps and yells for his son to come down. Immediately.

The kid complies.

"Put your shoes on," the dad says, "We're leaving."
"Why?" asks the boy.
"Because you screamed like a girl."

Note that reason. Not, "because you screamed," but "because you screamed like a girl."

Really?

The first one would make sense. I've made each of my kids take a time out from playground shenanigans for screaming. That's a part of being a good parent - helping your children understand what is or is not appropriate behavior. But the other reason?

I understand that we (as dads) have high hopes for our sons. Many guys want their boys to be tough and rugged. To have boys that can beat up other boys. That think the only appropriate way to play with Barbies is dismemberment and decapitation. To have lumberjack beards by the time they start junior high. To be built like pro wrestlers and be able to slam dunk a basketball from the three point line with their eyes closed. To roundhouse kick a grisly bear in the face while chugging a can of Budweiser.

The most common instinct of fatherhood is to desire a son that grows into the manliest of men. Fathers fail when they try to force that manliness through insult, degradation, or emasculation. You will never convince a boy to act like a man by telling him he sounds like a girl.

Dads, please, don't be that guy.

All kids scream. Some louder than others. To assign that behavior to a gender specific role and use that gender bias to punish is not necessary. In fact, it's harmful. Boys have a hard enough time learning how to be secure in their own identity; castigating their masculinity doesn't help. We have a generation of broken men breaking boys. The cycle needs to stop somewhere.

The Way I Thought That Things Would Be: Grocery Shopping

If you read yesterday's post, you should now know about the disdain the younger me possessed when it came to vegetables. This searing hatred wasn't just a product of my childhood. It was present throughout my teenage years and lasted into young adulthood.

By the time I got out of high school, I started fending for myself more and more. My brother was married and starting his family life. My parents both worked full time. Most days, I was either working or hanging out with friends; I was rarely home. My diet consisted of jojos from the gas station, Chinese food from Safeway, grub from Fred Meyer's deli, Taco Bell's 59/79/99 cent menu, and movie theater popcorn.

Meal planning was not in my vocabulary.

I had just turned 20 when a couple of friends asked me to move to Nampa with them and split an apartment. Despite some initial resistance and paltry excuses, I accepted. It was the perfect time for me to move, and I discovered the Boise area was much better for me at that age than the Seattle area.

The downside of independent living was the increase in bills. My parents had been giving me a free ride. All of the money I earned was spent on food, entertainment, gas, and car insurance. Suddenly, I had to worry about stuff like rent and utilities. With a more restrictive budget, I had to (for the first time in my life) consider grocery shopping. For actual groceries.

Long before the 520 mile moving experience, even before Shane and Travis approached me with the idea of moving, I had a plan for stocking the kitchen when I finally moved out of my parents house.

Somewhere in the two years between graduating high school and the move to Nampa, I came to the resolution that I would always be adequately stocked. When I had my own place, my kitchen would never be without the three following items:

1. A gallon of ice cream
2. A bag of potato chips
3. A two liter of soda

As soon as one of those three things were empty, my plan was to make a trip to the grocery store and replace the depleted inventory. It's not because we had those items constantly available to us when I was growing up. But when I went over to friends' houses, it seemed like all of my friends had these items at their house. As it was clear that my friends were all from families richer than mine, I made a false equation that having soda and ice cream at your perpetual disposal equaled wealth. I thought that I'd feel like I was rich if I always had those three things ready to serve.

Then I moved out. I got my own place. My secret plan to rule the world (or at least rule my kitchen) could commence.

You can probably guess what happened. My plan was forgotten by the time my roommates and I made our first trip to the grocery store.

We did occasionally have soda, chips, and ice cream in our apartment. But stuff like laundry soap, toilet paper, and deodorant were far more important than the frivolous items I had previously considered necessities. It was during this phase of my life that I developed my spaghetti/nacho/potato diet.

But even then, I never imagined that I would walk up to a grocery story check stand with a shopping cart that looked like this:

Nothing but produce. Carrots, potatoes, bananas, a couple heads of romaine, oranges, cucumbers, and enough tomatoes for my daughter to eat one a day for the following week.

The younger version of myself thought I'd have no problem filling up a grocery cart with products from the deli, dairy, and meat counter. Take a spin through the pasta and cereal isles and a tour through frozen foods and I'd be ready to cook. The produce section was a foreign land. I did not have a passport or the proper immunizations.

I never thought I would spend so much time feeling, squeezing, and inspecting produce to ensure ripeness.

On the trip with the haul pictured above, only two more items made it into my cart before I paid and left the store. Some whole grain bread (another item the younger version of me never imagined buying) and milk.

I never envisioned I'd be one of those kinds of people in the grocery store checkout line. The health nut. The person without a single indulgence in their cart. I always thought those people were too pretentious. When did I become that kind of person?

tidbits

Be Very Afraid

While on our way to church my youngest son asked, "What would happen if a zombie pushed someone into a bush?"

Either I'm the coolest parent ever, or I'm doing something horribly wrong.

---

Third Time's a Charm

Bekah sent me to get her a McDonald's breakfast this morning. The conversation I had with the drive through order taker is as follows:

McD's girl: "Welcome to McDonald's please order whenever you're ready."
Me: "I'd like an Egg McMuffin meal with a large Dr Pepper."
McD's girl: "So that's a large Dr Pepper and two breakfast burritos."
Me: "No... Not burritos. An Egg McMuffin meal."
McD's girl: "I'm sorry. So I have two Egg McMuffin meals and a large Dr Pepper."
Me: "No! One Egg McMuffin meal with a large Dr Pepper."
McD's girl: "Oh..."

---

Tangible Security

We had a security system installed this weekend, which is nice as it will give us a discount in our homeowner's insurance. Bekah will also appreciate a little peace of mind when I'm away for a business trip or a youth event.

But no piece of technology is perfect, which we discovered Tuesday night when a false alarm was tripped. No one was home at the time so we didn't yet know it was false. The police were dispatched to our property, got the keys from Bekah, and entered our home with guns drawn. JJ and Zu got to see the action first hand. Unfortunately, Christian and I were at karate practice and missed the adventure.

---

Intangible Security

Our kids have struggled with emotional insecurity. Zu has attachment issues. Christian has Aspergers. JJ is, well, he's Bamm-Bamm. We've coped and managed and done our best to help our kids thrive. Despite our efforts, we had a child or two (and sometimes three) climb into our bed during the wee hours of most mornings. Zu would usually be awake when I left for work at 5:40am, and she would sometimes be joined by at least one of her brothers.

But there is something to be said for having your own space.

Since moving into the new house, all three kids have slept through the night. Not once have they crawled into bed with Bekah and me. And they have still been asleep every morning when I left for work.

---

Silence

It gets very quiet in our new house. We've made the deliberate decision to forgo cable TV services so we've eliminated that source of background noise. We're no longer living in generational housing, so there's no sounds of the in-laws floating up from the basement.

Nothing. Just silence. It is going to take a while to get used to that.

---

Fortunate Son

Me: "Christian, after dinner, what are you supposed to do?"
Christian: "Go take a shower."
Me: "Good, thank you."
Christian: "Dad, I got a fortune today."
Me: "From a fortune cookie?"
Christian: "Yes. It said I would have my best thought while in the shower this week."

When he got out of the shower, he told me that the fortune was true because he had the most amazing thought ever.

Living with aspergers: The good and the awkward

The amount of words flowing from our son's mouth should have been a clue that there was something atypical about him.

Research in language development in young children show that girls (usually) use more words than sounds because they thrive on communication. Those same studies show that boys (at the same age) tend to make more imitative noises - growling, motor sounds, vrooms, animal calls, etc. It's not that girls are not capable of making noise, or that boys don't know how to talk; under normal circumstances, the genders tend to gravitate toward specific types of vocalizations.

Christian defied the stereotype. He was the exception to the rule. He quickly picked up a healthy vocabulary. As new parents, we taught him words like thuggin' and gluttony. When he was three, he was trying to sing the chorus to Under the Bridge. Once he learned to talk, he never shut up. Now that he's heading into the first grade, he still won't stop talking. Unless he's asleep.*

His verbose habits were apparent on his first day of preschool when he told his teacher that the water he drank went down his esophagus and into his stomach. She noted that they woudn't need to spend anytime developing his vocabulary.

But just because he excels at talking, doesn't mean that he is adept at conversation. Interpersonal communication is one of the many challenges that kids with aspergers face. Conversation with an aspie affected child are frequently one sided and can be strenuous. Often, these kids latch on to a special interest subject and are compelled to work that topic into any and every discussion. At the moment, Christian's special interest is art projects and Mario Brothers (also, art projects about Mario). If he has something that he is excited to tell you or show you, I can guarantee it will be about his video game or a picture he drew.

Attempts to change the subject are possible, but only with significant effort.

Because of Christian's asperger tendencies, conversations revolve around him. And (thanks to his extensive vocabulary and boundless need to speak) he rarely pauses long enough to allow typical back and forth dialog. I'm surprised that kid is able to breathe while he talks.

But we're working on that.

While most people that know anything about child development (or child psychology) would discourage exposure to television (or at least recommend limited use), for aspie kids it's a helpful tool.

They don't pick up conversational skills as easily as neurotypical children. Aspie kids learn differently so parents need different tools. TV can be one of those tools. TV and movies help these kids learn proper conversation through mimicry that can't be absorbed through the observation of family or peers. Of this practice, the author of one book about raising kids with aspergers wrote it "should be used to facilitate social interactions." **

Parents of kids on the autism spectrum call this "scripting." Kids recite lines from media and incorporate them into conversation. This skill is part of why kids with aspergers can turn out to be great storytellers, writers, or actors. They have amazing creative minds and can shine once they learn to apply their own imaginations to the scripts they learn from TV.

As helpful as this can be, it has it's downsides.

Christian recently scripted the entire Life Alert commercial to Bekah. He asked her the hypothetical question: "Mom, what if one day, you were cleaning the bathroom, and you slipped and fell in the bathtub and you couldn't get up. What would you do? That's why you need Life Alert." He proceeded to list off the benefits of the service with genuine concern that Bekah might be hurt and immobile in the bathroom and would have to wait for 8 hours until a neighbor finds her.

Irrational to you or I, but in his mind it made perfect sense.

Scripting can also be entertaining.

I treated the kids out to Burger King last night. I know, they're a part the evil and vile fast food machine that is the downfall of modern society. You don't need to lecture me. But they had air conditioning and a playground on which the kids expelled every ounce of energy possible.

The TV was on in the play area and the kids were paying more attention to the shiny moving images than they were to their chicken sandwiches. The TV was tuned to Cartoon Network, but was playing a show geared toward older children so I asked one of the employees if the TV could be turned off. She obliged and disappeared into the staff area at the front of the store. A few moments later, she paused the TV signal and a Dish Network logo started floating across the screen.

"It's Dish," Christian said.

"Huh?" asked his sister.

"They have Dish Network here," he said. I nodded that he was correct.

He continued, "Dish Network doesn't have very many HD channels." We don't have HDTV at home, so I'm not sure why this matters. But his reasoning sounded familiar to me - lifted straight from a DirecTV commercial.

But he still wasn't done. "I don't like Dish Network. I like Diwec TV." (He still has trouble pronouncing his R's.)

From there he provided a worthy DirecTV sales pitch as good as any TV advertisement. Note to DirecTV, he's available for hire... as long as you have a Wii with Super Mario Bros to keep him entertained between takes.

* edit: He has been known to mumble a few words in his sleep. He also laughs in his sleep, which is just a bit creepier than talking.

** from When Your Child Has . . . Asperger's Syndrome by William Stillman

Five for Friday

My wife and I are reinstating date night. Or at least trying to. We're aiming to get out of the house - without the kids - twice a month. At least. And we still feel like we need a vacation.

But since a vacation for just the two of us is not currently an option, a date is better than nothing. A hockey game a few weeks ago, furniture shopping last weekend (don't knock it until you try it), and tomorrow night we're heading out to dinner with friends. I am looking forward to Texas Roadhouse.

Bekah and I are fans of Texas Roadhouse and have been for several years. We considered it good news when they announced they were opening a Coeur d'Alene location. So far, they've yet to disappoint. It is our favorite new restaurant. Coeur d'Alene's newest eatery is easily one of my favorites.

That's got me thinking. Mid-priced dining options are limited around here. I'm tired of Applebees and I burnt out on Olive Garden years ago. MacKenzie River Pizza was great when they opened but the service leaves something to be desired and the quality of food has declined. What does that leave? Chili's? Red Lobster? (I don't like seafood so that second option is out.) Texas Roadhouse it is.

But there could be more. here are five dining options I wish we had in Coeur d'Alene.

1. Old Chicago. The closest options are either in Boise or Bozeman - both over 350 miles away. Since I don't want to drive all day to get dinner, we need one here. Denver has one. Sioux Falls has one. Oklahoma City has one. I've eaten at all three. I'm bewildered that there are two in Boise but nothing around here, not even in Spokane. Great pizza, fantastic pastas. Their Italian Nachos is one of my all time favorite side orders anywhere.

2. Camille's Sidewalk Cafe. Bekah and I fell in love with Camille's while we lived in Sioux Falls. They make killer paninis and wraps. I'm sure someone around here makes a them, but I've not been able to find a suitable replacement. They use jalapeño-cheddar tortillas that have no rival. When we moved back to Idaho, I didn't realize that there were other Camille's Sidewalk Cafes. Turns out, they're all over. Unfortunately, none here. The closest is in San Francisco. We need one.

3. TGI Friday's. There used to be one in Spokane, but not anymore. What happened? I loved that place. Now, I'd have to drive to Nampa or Boise to eat there. Sad.

4. Sanford's Grub & Pub. This is one of my favorite places in Cheyenne (other than my grandparent's house). If you're ever in Cheyenne, it is a must see kind of place. It appears to be decorated by an obsessive-compulsive mechanic with a penchant for flair, their food is named in an auto-shop theme and it is all delicious. There are several locations in Wyoming but not much outside of the Cowboy State (Rapid City and Fort Collins being the outsiders). Could they make an exception and open one in Coeur d'Alene? Probably not, but it would be nice.

5. Hu Hot. Yes, I know there is a Hu Hot in Spokane. And yes, I realize there is a Mongolian Grill in Coeur d'Alene. But Hu Hot is far superior over Mongolian Grill. And I don't want to drive out to Spokane just to eat a meal. We need one here in the Lake City.

And for good measure ...

6. We probably don't need any more fast food options. After all, fast food is disgusting and unhealthy and should not be consumed. By anyone. But if there were a new fast food joint to open in Coeur d'Alene, I wouldn't object if it was a Culvers. ButterBurgers. Frozen Custard. Yum. We used to frequent the Sioux Falls location, and it's a customary visit every time we go to Cheyenne. The closest location to us is in Midvale Utah. It is mostly a Midwest franchise, but I think if Utah has one, we should too.

Five for Friday

There's only one New Year's resolution. I've hinted at it previously, and if you care to keep track of my progress, you can follow the WIP meter in the right hand sidebar.

That doesn't mean that I'm not looking forward to the future. My goals, however, don't fit into the next year. When I make plans, I go big. Here are five things I want to do in the next five years.

1. An Alaskan cruise. Bekah and I are planning on doing this for our tenth anniversary. Now it's just a matter of saving up the money (and figuring out who will take the kids while we're away).

2. Attend a Wild at Heart Boot Camp. I've read the book, and loved it. The boot camp/retreat is a deeper experience in the book's themes. What better way is there to celebrate being in my mid 30s than an adventure retreat?

3. Road trip with my son. Nowhere too far. Somewhere that's close enough to drive there and back. Somewhere like the petrified forest in Vantage, driving south to explorer Palouse Falls, or touring the Silver Mines in Wallace. He's six now, so he's getting to be the age that he'll not only enjoy - but also remember - having an adventure with his dad.

4. Start first day of school breakfasts. This was a tradition with my wife and her dad when Bekah was a kid. It's one of her fondest memories from growing up and she wants me to carry on the tradition with our kids. Zu and Christian will be in school next year and JJ will be following soon thereafter. Now, if I can only convince them to go somewhere better than McDonalds.

5. Institute the family vacation. As long as we've been a family, Bekah and I have always used our vacation time for specific purposes other than vacationing. We've been camp counselors, we've traveled for my grandparents anniversary and to Seattle to visit my folks. Our recent trip to Oklahoma City was a miniature family reunion and a last chance to see Grandpa before he passed. In the past eight years, we've never gone anywhere for the sole purpose to get away. I'd like to start doing that with some regularity.

Can't help myself

I must have social tourettes. Or some mild form of aspergers. Whenever I see some brand of social awkwardness, I can't help but blurt out the first thing that comes to my mind.

Example?

We stopped at KFC for dinner today. While pulling into the Triple Play/Holiday Inn/KFC parking lot, there was a man and woman waling out of Triple Play to their car parked next to KFC. The man was wearing cut-off faded camo cargo shorts, an over-sized t-shirt with beer brand insignia that was obviously converted into a tank-top by manually tearing off the sleeves, and fisherman's hat secured with string tied beneath the chin.

My initial thought (and the phrase that popped out of my mouth) was: "Oh, my... what swamp did we just wade from?"

If God ever wanted to smite me for being a judgmental jerk, this would have been the perfect opportunity. And the grammar police could also lecture me for ending a sentence with a preposition. I know, shame on me for both counts.

On Goals and Setting Expectations

A few weeks ago I gave a speech about goals. Not the importance of goals (I think we can all agree that goals are a good thing), nor on the act of setting them (which I think everybody should be setting goals for themselves). My speech was about accomplishing goals. Odd subject considering my track record of starting a million projects but only achieving a few.

It was about focus.

1. You can't focus on yourself. You need the emotional/material/financial support of others if you want to achieve anything remotely resembling greatness.
2. You can't focus on your competition or your obstacles. The things (or people) that stand in your way are distractions. While it's wise to know your limitations, you can't let it consume your thoughts.
3. You have to focus on the end result. The goal. You can't accomplish your goals if you ignore them.

Of course, the content of my speech was much more colorful and was illustrated by a story about kids playing in the snow and examples to support my three points. I'm sure some of my coworkers are beginning to view me as the office's own motivational speaker.

But I can't just speak those words without putting my own life behind it. I need to achieve some goals.

Recently, I'm finding more people in my life that write. Not just bloggers (which there are a few), but people who write for publication. One of my father-in-law's best friends recently published his first two books. My sister-in-law has a publisher and is waiting for her first novel to be released. Even my friend David is writing full length work (he and a cousin are competing to see who can write a better horror story by Halloween).

Here's my problem. I'm a "wow!" person (nothing to do with World of Warcraft). Jon Acuff talked about wow people on his blog once. Wow people are dreamers who have an endless supply of fantastical ideas, want to share them, but only carry out a small percentage of those ideas. His post is superb and you should read it. I have a couple of dozen story lines in my head. Chunks of plot and dialog. Characters (I promise it's not the voices in my head). There are several ideas (some of them might actually be great) but because of my WOW! personality, maybe one might actually make it onto paper.

I look at how long it took Miriam to finish her book. I did the math for my friend David and estimated he'd have to write an average of 3000 words per day in order to complete his horror story by October 31^st. It is so much work. I'm not opposed to hard work. But I put in 9 hours a day at my office. And I need to spend time with my kids and my wife. Update my blogs (and facebook). Keep in touch with my parents in Cheyenne. And...

David and I talked about this about a week ago. To write like I'd really like to (and the way he'd like to write), it would be a full time job. I marvel at those pulp writers who turn out new books on a regular basis. The Dean Koontzs and Stephen Kings; the Tom Clancys and John Grishams of this world. The ammount of work that they have to put in to churn out story after story is staggering.

I don't have the capacity to sit at home and write all day. I do not have the financial flexibility to quit my real job and become a starving artist. But I do have a little time. There are fractions of peace where I can sit and write. (And for the record, my experiment this evening of trying to write at McDonalds while the kids played on the Playland didn't work very well... I got about one page worth written and spent the rest of the time trying to make sure the ogres [older kids] were not flattening my two preschoolers.)

But I do have a little time available to write. So I've set some writing goals for myself. I hesitate to publicize these goals; for those of you who are long time readers of this blog, you will know that previous goals I've posted here haven't turned out so well. (I haven't abandoned them... they're just "in process.")

It's almost as if by speaking of my goals, I am all ready dooming them to failure. But As I mentioned before, I can't focus on my limitations. And it's not about me... it's about my writing. And I need your support - in whatever way you choose to express it.

My goals:
1. At least two posts per week on this blog.
2. At least two posts per month on What's Inside
3. At least one post per month on My Life in Music
4. 1000 words or more per week for my non-blog writing

I know that in the grand scheme of things, 1000 words a week isn't much. If I'm aiming for a novel length story, it would take me four to five years to finish. But I'm hoping that I can increase my quantity as I find regular success in 1000 words.

How about you? For those of you that write, do you set writing goals? What kind of goals have you set?

Oh, the things that children say

We have kids about that age. You know, the age were they turn into parrots. The age where parents need to watch what they say. If we speak as normal consenting adults, our kids might utter words that would embarrass us in a public setting.

For example, a friend of ours drives one of those oversized kid carriers - those vehicles that are too big to be a van but too small to be a bus. We saw her behemoth parked outside of a local business and Bekah stated, "Look, there's our friend's shaggin' wagon." To which Christian responded (with the hearty joyfulness that only a four year old could provide), "ITZA SHAGGIN WAGGIN!!!"

Sometimes, when kids say the darnedest things, we know that we the parents are to blame. Certain phrases are learned in the home. Other phrases are of unknown origin. Like Christian's statement about breakfast earlier this week. As we pulled into McDonalds on the way out of town on Tuesday, Christian asked, "Where are we going?" Bekah answered, "McDonalds." - "We're going to McDonalds," Christian replied, "that means the crack is up." I still have no idea what that statement means.

Then there are terms that are intentionally taught. Like how we taught Christian to say "I'm thuggin'" when he was younger. This past week, my sister-in-law and her husband introduced a new word to Christian and Zu's vocabulary: badonkadonk. Yup, I'm happy about that one.

Tidbits

Oops. I haven't posted anything for a while. Blog traffic is suffering. I've been a little too distracted by Bejeweled Blitz on facebook. The game is strangely addicting. Besides, there's 17 hours left in the current tournament and I've got to beat my brother's score... and Sam's.




Speaking of facebook: I'm often puzzled by the adds on facebook. Today, I saw an ad for what I assume is a web developer. The title read "Do you have a bad church website?" I'm not sure what they're asking. Do I have a website for a bad church? Or do I have a bad website for a church? I possess neither, but have seen both.




Speaking of odd things: I saw an abandoned Shopko shopping cart in a peculiar location while walking to work recently... the gravel lot across the street from Ironwood Athletic Club. Granted, a gravel lot isn't an unusual place to abandon a stolen shopping cart... but the distance. Roughly 1/2 mile, 5 - 10 minutes walking distance, and crossing Highway 95. If you're going to steal a shopping cart, and make the effort to push that stolen cart across a busy highway - past the hospital... why ditch it in the middle of a commercial complex? Why not go the distance? At least they could have had a little fun - taken a left on Lakewood Dr and ridden the cart down the hill and into Riverstone.




Speaking of things I've seen while walking to work: There is a gloriously obese woman driving a Smart Car who commutes along Ironwood between 5:00 and 5:30 in the morning. Every time she passes me, I can't help but think of Chris Farley's "fat guy in a little coat" song from Tommy Boy. I know it's mean, but I can't help myself. Yet I really want a Smart Fourtwo. On a side note, I saw her in the Jack-in-the-Box drive through this morning. Would that be a cause & effect fallacy if I make a correlation?



One final thought for the day: A coworker had been completely unaware of the torrential downpour that swept through town this morning. When he finally noticed the precipitation outside he asked, "What is this coming down outside?" I answered, "I'm not sure, but it's liquid. And it rhymes with pain."



Anyways... I'm off to play Bejeweled Blitz. See you after I beat my brother!