Conceptually Speaking, I'm Tired

The North American International Auto Show is upon us, once again. Growing up, and even into adulthood, this was a must-see event. There was something exciting about previewing the latest and greatest car models...not to mention the cool concept cars. You brave the crowds, fighting for a chance to catch a glimpse of that three-wheeled thingamabob, or that car with the doors that flipped up like wings. You imagine the most futuristic vehicles sitting in your driveway, getting in, and having it take you to work as you sit back and read a book! Or, perhaps, just checking out what other cars you might consider to replace the one you already own, but have suddenly grown tired of.

That's how it used to be. But the auto show kind of grew, and crowds became a bit unbearable, and while it is still fun to look at new cars, it just isn't worth the hassle.

And apparently, "old fogy" mode has kicked in for me, because frankly, I'm growing tired of concept cars. I'm tired of the automakers teasing us with awesome looking vehicles that we'll never see. I'm tired of outlandish ideas that no one should ever see. We get it, Ford, GM, Chrysler, Honda, Toyota, Nissan, etc. You can come up with some really nifty, eye-pleasing candy for us to sample. But what's the point? You won't sell us more. I feel a bit like Charlie in the Chocolate Factory...given an everlasting gobstobber that I'm not allowed to eat.

What's the deal? Why can't you show us real vehicles? Or, rather, realistic? We're mature enough to handle it. In fact, we're mature enough to handle those far-fetched styled vehicles as well.

I remember asking my dad, once, why they don't make concept cars for real, and one reason he gave was that there is a point where the public won't buy something that is too futuristic. Yet, that seems less true today. Personally, I think futuristic would sell nicely.

And even when we are taunted with a vehicle that is production-worthy, either it, too, is never seen again, or by the time it actually makes it to the marketplace, it is old news. Ford's Thunderbird was a prime example of that. The concept vehicle was an awesome reincarnation of an American classic. People raved about it. But several years later, after the design had been watered down, the whole "retro" movement had become old news.

Give us the future now, because frankly, I've grown tired of the concept car. It no longer generates excitement, but frustration. Frustration that instead of that sleek-looking vehicle on the podium, we get that clunky-looking counterpart sitting on the floor next to it.

Go, Go Gadget Stem Cell

As I've posted before, I'm vehemently against embryonic stem cells, because for me, it involves the destruction of life. Instead, I have always felt there are other possibilities yet to be explored that, should embryonic stem cell research be allowed, might get left behind and never tried.

But today, in the news, another source of stem cells, potentially as valuable as embryonic stem cells, has been revealed: stem cells from amnio fluid.

This is what scares me about this whole thing. Scientists (and those persons longing for cures for their respective diseases) have been pushing for embryonic stem cell research so hard you'd think it was the Holy Grail. Yet, in doing so, they are missing a vital stepping stone: finding a source of stem cells that doesn't depend on destroying life. Of course, to those who don't see embryos as "life" in the same sense I, and other like me, do, it is no big deal.

But to me, this new source solves the problems. It gives flexibility unseen before in adult stem cells (despite the fact that several different therapeutic uses of adult stem cells have been developed...something which embryonic stem cell research can't claim). It also shows how utterly blinded much of the research community has been, staunchly trying to push embryonic stem cells as the only real source, rather than thinking creatively in new ways to use stem cell research without controversy.

Of course, in one article, a scientist is quick to say something to the effect of, "Well, this doesn't mean we should stop embryonic stem cell research." No. Of course not. Because that would be admitting that, just perhaps, the hoopla around embryos as the only source isn't true. Rather than celebrate this as a great advancement, the scientist is still trying to hold to a principle.

Not that I necessarily blame them. We all do it, don't we? When we believe in something, and work hard at something related to that belief, we will be skeptical. And, truth is, we don't know for certain that amnio fluid as a source of stem cells is completely as flexible as embryonic stem cells, even though early research points that it is. Of course, we also don't know that embryonic stem cells will ever result in therapeutic cures either. It is all theoretical right now.

But for now, I'm ecstatic about this discovery. If offers a controversy-free way to progress in stem cell research, which should make both sides of the debate happy.

And, me being a skeptic myself, I'm still not convinced that I'll ever see a cure for my diabetes in my lifetime, no matter what the source is for stem cells. But if it offers hope to some, that's great. I can say that with tremendous confidence and relief, now knowing there is a new path for stem cell research that does away with the destruction of new life.

It is still a waiting game, however. Years of research behind us, and there is still years of research ahead of us, for which I'm still thankful for companies such as Lifescan, which makes my blood testing meter, and Minimed, which makes my insulin pump, and Lilly, which makes my insulin. Because until there is a cure...until we can say, "Go, Go gadget Stem Cell" and watch it miraculously transform in a new beta cell...there is still the need for treatment.

Exercise: The Great Unknown

I'm a rather healthy guy, if you ignore the fact that I have diabetes, bad back, joint pain in the hip, numb fingers, and, at the moment, a cold. But I'm also getting old. Well, not old old. But older. At last count, I was 33 years old. And given that in the past two years I moved up a pants size, and my belly, which used to be somewhat flat is starting to look a bit, well, less flat, I'm considering starting an exercise program.

Ah...not just any old exercise program. No. I'm planning to join a gym. I'm fortunate to work for a company that has an on-site fitness center. I have to pay to use it, but it is convenient. And in the world of exercise, convenient is a must. (Then again, that treadmill we have in our bedroom is rather convenient as well, and I think I've used it a total of ten times.)

So, in the next couple of weeks I'm going to start my journey at becoming "Mr. Buff." The kind of guy that turns the heads of ladies every time I walk by. Actually, that happens already, except they all seem to look away rather than at me.

Okay, okay. I don't care what the ladies think (except one particular lady who happens to sleep with me...and yes, I'm talking about my wife!). But I do hope to get into shape. Or at least into a different shape.

What will be interesting will be to see how such a change in my life will affect my diabetes. Will my insulin requirements shift? Or my LDL cholesterol levels drop? Will I have more frequent lows? Or maybe less frequent highs?

Or will I just throw my back out?

It is the great unknown. Wish me luck. And in the meantime, I can think of one thing my wife will really absolutely love about my exercising: she can help me pick out some new workout clothes. (Uh...what did you think I was talking about?)

On Your Mark, Get Set...Attack!

Well, the holidays are over. That's a good thing. Because like every holiday break, this one was jam-packed with stuff to get done. And so I'm glad to get back to work so that I can relax.

Honestly, though, once I finished repainting the boy's room, we had a nice time. New Year's Eve involved staying up and playing games with the family until midnight, pausing, of course, to stuff ourselves silly with delicious desserts we won't see again until next holiday season. And, the brunt of the cold that has infiltrated our household (despite my wife's best efforts, diligently slathering us
with antibacterial hand sanitizer every time we left the house, touched a store cart, or even looked like we were about to sneeze) waited until after New Year's Day to really take any of us down.

My third boy faced the worst of the wrath with a high fever and severe cough. Thank the Lord for Motrin and Albuterol, however. Together, along with a decent dose of prayer, we kept him out of the hospital this year. Poor kid. Two days ago, I put the DVD Cars into the player while the family ate. I forgot about him for a bit, but when I finally headed back in to check on him, he was just staring at the menu screen for the movie. I had forgotten to press Play, and he was too out of it to care.

Anyhow, back to New Year's Eve. This year, my wife bought us Uno Attack! It was a blast to play, and it is the first time we were able to play a family game where the entire family could play...even our three and four year olds. (Of course, they needed a measurable amount of assistance from Mom and Dad, but they had a blast.) My daughter mostly got a kick out of pushing the button and having a stream of cards shoot out. My youngest son got a kick out of being able to choose between playing his yellow seven, his yellow six, or his yellow two. My second oldest son got a kick out of trying to earn as many cards as he possibly could, then trading his hand with Dad so that I'd end up with fifty thousand points. My oldest just got a kick out of playing.

My wife? She got a kick out of winning. She blew the rest of us away, actually.

All in all, it was a blast, and we pretty much repeated the evening the following day and played more Uno Attack and eating more delicious desserts.

Hope you all had a great holiday! And now that it is over, I hope you can actually get some time to relax!

Short Story Published!

As I had mentioned last year (isn't that fun to say?), my short story The Dreammaker has been published in the January 2007 issue of Beyond Centauri. I haven't yet received my print copy, but it was a giddy-inducing moment to see it posted on their website, only to discover that my name appears on the front cover! Very exciting. This is my second published short story.

I, of course, will encourage everyone who is anyone to go purchase a copy so that you can show it to all your friends and family and say, "Hey, I know this guy!" even though we've never met outside of this virtual forum. It is a science fiction/fantasy magazine for children/young adults.

And as a teaser, I'm going to post the first few paragraphs here to whet your appetite for more. If you want to read the entire story, you must buy the magazine! (By the way, as of right now, the only way to get to the January 2007 issue at the website is to go to the main Genre Mall webpage. You have to scroll down a bit to see it. Apparently, the subpage specific to Beyond Centauri still lists the previous version as of this post.)

So here it is:

The Dreammaker

by Ryan Bruner

When the boy moved in across the street, Christy could tell he wasn't quite normal. His jet black hair sat on his head like a crooked beret--long on one side and short on the other. His eyes were bold and bright, and his clothes hung so low that he had to hike them up every time he sat.

He sat a lot--under the Oak tree next to the road--reading comic books. And he watched everyone and anyone who drove or walked by, his gaze following them as though staring into their very souls looking for something. Then he would turn back to his comics.

For three days, Christy peeked out at him through her bedroom blinds until his gaze focused on her. Even from across the street, she felt naked, as though he were taking something away from her from the inside out. It almost hurt, and she flicked the blinds closed, gasping for breath.

She tried to avoid him, but each time she peered out to see if he was still there, his eyes glared up at her. It was silly, she knew. He had just moved in. He was probably one of those shy types hoping someone would be his friend. How could she not say hi. They were neighbors, after all.

...

Christmas, and a Contest (sort of)

Hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas! My daughter ended up with a broken leg a few days before! But she's got a nice bright pink cast now, which my wife stenciled with daisies and hearts, so she's all good.

This year, my wife and I did our "stocking game" again. It really is the best event of the holiday season. Spending limit: $20. But this year we had 7 Christmas words, and we each drew one out from a box and threw away the rest. Then, we had to buy presents that spelled the Christmas word for the other person. When it came time to open them, we had to try to figure out the word.

My wife had ANGELS, meaning, she had to buy gifts for me spelling the word ANGELS. I did the same for her with the word SHEPHERD. A lot of fun, and tricky, since we only had about an hour to find all the gifts. (I kind of cheated, though. I had trouble finding another H, so I had to pick Hazelnut Cappuccino Coolers, but Hazelnut really was the flavor, not the name of the product.)

Last thing. As I mentioned in my last entry, I was going to post my children's short story to my website. Well, it is now available. Go check out The Tri-Country Airplane Throwing Contest and let me know what you think. Better yet, print it out and give it to one of your children and let me know what they think of it! It is, after all, for kids.

Upcoming News

I'm not yet listing this news on my website because it is a bit early, but I figured I'd mentioned it here.

First of all, a few months ago I had a short story accepted for publication in Beyond Centauri, which is a science fiction/fantasy print magazine for young adults. My story, The Dreammaker, will appear in the January issue. I'll post when the magazine is available officially, but I'm excited because it is my first print publication credit, as well as my first young-adult credit.

Second, I had written a children's story (amazingly, involving absolutely nothing supernatural!), which I have shopped around to a couple major kid's publications. Neither accepted it, so I'm going to place it up on my stories section. Since it is for kids, I'll welcome anyone to print it out and give it to their children to read. In the next week or so, it should be up.

And, since we are approaching Christmas, I wanted to wish everyone a Merry Christmas now, in case I don't get a chance to post again before then!

The Diabetic Role Model

When I was just a sprig in Tennessee (err, a kid in a middle school in Michigan...but I just watched one of the Christmas episodes of Little House on the Prairie last night), I was quickly turned into a diabetic role model.

See, I wasn't the only diabetic in my middle school. In fact, there were four of us...which, statistically speaking, is rather impressive. Anyhow, the school nurse thought it was important for us diabetics to form this special club or something, meeting once a month to discuss all the trials and tribulations of having the disease. She would also use it as a way to sneak in lessons on nutrition, but I was on to her about that.

Anyhow, the thing is, by the time I was in middle school, I was well versed in my disease, and was pretty much over any "issues" that might come along with it.

But there was another boy with diabetes who wasn't over it. He had been recently diagnosed and was bitter about it, to the point of trying to pretend he didn't have the disease at all. Given he was likely still experiencing a bit of honeymoon period (time when the body hadn't fully quit producing insulin), he would try to go days at a time without taking his insulin, and ultimately end up in the hospital.

So, I was elected (by way of an anarchy, actually...it was the single vote of the school nurse that mattered) to be this other boy's role model. I was to befriend him, talk to him about dealing with diabetes, etc. And I did just that.

I'm not sure how much of a role model I actually was, though, because mostly I thought he was kind of a whiny baby. I mean, get over it already. You're a diabetic! All your bemoaning isn't gonna change that!

But, regardless, he did confide in me, and I helped him through a few rough times over the course of about two years.

I've always been somewhat of a loner when it comes to my diabetes. I pretty much take care of it myself, only relying on my endocrinologist to write me prescriptions and run my A1c tests. But looking back in hindsight, having dealt with a great many more diabetics, I can see how important it is for some to have such a role model...someone to inspire them to push through the emotional turmoil it apparently brings. Someone to teach them. Someone who will listen and understand. And then I realize how even I, the loner, find myself drawn into diabetic-exclusive conversations when I meet with a fellow diabetic.

We are a club. We have something in common that those without the disease can't ever completely understand. For some, like myself, it isn't a big deal. For others, it is a major life-changing event. Regardless, there is an instant comradery among diabetics that seems to transcend other differences in personality and beliefs.

Like it or not, I'm a role model. I always have been. And those of you who have lived with diabetes for years are role models as well. You see it in the Diabetes "OC". You see it in such on-line groups as insulin-pumpers.org. And if you have a child with diabetes, you just might want to encourage them to become a diabetic role model as well. Because there is something amazingly transforming when you realize that you have something to offer to others that they can't get anywhere else. Becoming a role model empowers that person by helping others.

I don't know whatever happened to the boy I helped back in my middle school days. We went to different high schools and never saw him again. But I can't help but believe that I made a difference in his life.

O Christmas Tree

Have you heard about the airport in Seattle that removed the Christmas trees?

The whole situation is kind of sad. Apparently, in response to the fact that there were Christmas trees, a Jewish Rabbi requested that menorahs be placed in the airport as well. Of course, the airport, now fearing that if they placed a menorah, would then have to follow with other holiday decorations, decided to just take down all the Christmas trees instead.

This wasn't what the Rabbi had wanted, nor the airport workers. The workers pooled their money and bought Christmas trees of their own and put them up.

What makes this situation odd to me is that idea that Christmas trees are a Christian symbol. They aren't, actually. Despite having become associated with Christmas, the Christmas tree is not originally grounded in Christian tradition. It has nothing to do with Christ or his birth. And, actually, the time of year we celebrate Christmas really has nothing to do with the Bible. It was originally chosen to coincide with some pagan celebration.

Perhaps I'm odd. When I see a Christmas tree, I don't think of Jesus. I think of the holiday season. Now, I suppose if the airport had put up a nativity, it is a different issue, as that is clearly religious in nature. But Christmas trees?

Not that I blame the Rabbi in this, either. I certainly would have no issue about there being a menorah. The festival of lights and the event that the menorah represents demonstrates the power of God in a time before Christ. Problem is, if you put up a menorah, you definitely are placing a religious symbol up...which could lead to Christians insisting on putting up a nativity.

Rather circular problem I think. And, as I understand it, up until this past century, the festival of lights was a rather minor holiday as Jewish holidays go.

Whether people think the Rabbi was wrong for asking to put up the menorahs, or the airport was wrong for taking down the Christmas tree, or the airport workers were wrong for putting up their own trees in protest...I think it demonstrates something sad. People seem to forget that these holidays are meaningful to individuals. The public display of such symbols are in response to individuals wanting them there. Isn't this supposed to be a world of "tolerance"? (Which, actually, I take issue with...but I won't get into that here.) Yet, rather than tolerating anything, we say, "Hey, they got their way...I should get my way, too!"

That's not exactly tolerance.

Well, really...I think everyone should stop worrying about who wants to display their Christmas tree or menorah and get back to the real reason for the holiday season: shopping!

(Uh, that's a joke, by the way. Sarcasm. You know?)

Getting It All Wrong

I was rather irritated with last night's episode of ER.

Actually, this entire season hasn't been all that great, but I've been watching the show since it's inception, so it is hard to give up, you know? Anyhow, if you don't watch, they introduced this character this season who is supposed to be a Bible-believing Christian. And, of course, they decided to cast this character as a stereotypical dumb-blonde. I've tried to tolerate that, because it is, after all, ER.

But last night made me mad. Because we got to "sit in" on a Bible study.

Apparently, the writer's of ER have never actually been to a Bible study. Because generally speaking, a Bible is involved. Here, it was more like a group therapy session. And while there isn't anything wrong with that...there is when the supposed leader of the Bible study is offering advice that is counter what the Bible says.

And then further, it is most frustrating when the one character who is sitting in who doesn't believe any of it sort of lies, making up a bunch of stuff about "purity of spirit", and suddenly everyone in the Bible study is swayed to his way of thinking, accepting the fact that everything they have been studying (presumably, even though they didn't really show it) is "antiquated".

I felt a bit ill at that moment. I mean, it was a blow to Christians who truly believe, who turn to the Bible, and yet have this show that just tried to imply that everything they believe is antiquated and irrelevant, etc.

One major flaw I saw was when the leader went around the room to talk about how you should deal with various sins. So, for the sin of pride, offer up humility, etc. Good. Fine. Then comes the issue of "lust". This is where, of course, the non-believing character says to offer up "purity."

Okay. Except the leader said, "Well, I was looking for chastity..."

Right there. That's where things went bad. Because, guess what? Chastity isn't the Bible's answer to lust. Chastity and "sexual purity" are not the same thing. (Oh, and when the guy said "purity", he wasn't talking "sexual purity", but this ambiguous "purity of spirit", which was meaningless, but apparently everything in the room loved because it meant they could go and have as much sex as they wanted or something.)

Anyhow, believe it or not, the Bible encourages sex. It celebrates it (Song of Solomon) in fact, and Paul actually instructs the church that they should get married and have sex! Why? Because of lust!

Sex is the answer to lust, not chastity. Of course, the Bible expects sexual purity, meaning that sex is kept within the marriage. But within that marriage, you're supposed to be having a grand old time in bed!

You know, I don't really have a problem if people don't want to believe that. What I have a problem with is ER making fun of the Christian belief, and even goes so far to get that belief wrong. Yeah. It's easy to poke holes at a belief that isn't actually accurate.

In the end, the Bible-believing Christian doctor decides that it is okay to have sex any old time as long as there is "purity of spirit", and the non-believing doctor decides, for the first time in his life, not to have sex. (Which is a portrayal I don't necessarily have an issue with, since that happens. Plenty of Christians fail to live up to sexual purity. It is one of the reasons, in fact, we believe...because we fail!)

Next time, get it right, ER. Why not actually show Christianity, for once, how it actually is rather than trying to insult us with misrepresentation? I don't know. Maybe it wasn't intentional. Regardless, count me as one who found the whole thing offensive.

The Family That's Sick Together...

Bronchitis. Fever. Sore Throat. Coughing. Runny Nose. Ear infection.

These are just some of the things in our house right now. Six people in our family, and six people with some degree of illness.

'Tis the season to be sick, I guess. I was sick a month ago, and got over it. But in the past day, my cough is returning. My oldest boy had avoided any signs of illness until two days ago, when he started complaining of a sore throat.

There is a positive to the family that's sick together...I just don't know what that positive is yet. I'm sure I'll think of something eventually.

It's a bad time for it, too. (Not that there's ever a good time to be sick.) I have a choir Christmas program this weekend. Three performances. Plus, Saturday, my family (well, those here in Michigan) is having the annual Christmas get-together where we over-eat and hand out gifts to our nieces and nephews. So, we'll probably end up contaminating their families in the process, just in time for Christmas!

And speaking of choir programs...I'm very excited about this year's program. See, it's not just a choir program. It is an entire drama. And this year, I wrote the script. Well, not all of it. See, our Worship Minister had these comedy "sketches" (apparently, no longer called skits) he found in this book. They were short, unrelated sketches. And then we had a choir program with a bunch of Christmas songs of various styles, but again, unrelated.

So, he called upon me to write a funny script to tie it all together. And so, in two months time, I had done just that. It was rather fun, because I'd never really written comedy before until this past summer. And that script was only about seven pages. This script was considerably longer, written for four main characters instead of one. The promo for the program (which I also wrote) goes like this:

It's Christmas Eve, you're trapped in an elevator with four strangers, and the mall just closed leaving no hope of rescue.

No, it's not a promo for Die Hard 10 - it's a hilarious peek into the peculiar lives of Randy, Martha, Stephen, and Mel. Can they learn to recapture their Christmas spirit? Or will the elevator music get to them first?

On Monday, we had our first full rehearsal...and it was my first chance to see my script acted out. What a feeling, to see something you worked hard on come alive like that. I've done other choir programs before, written narrations, even wrote a complete choir program, music and all...yet, this was the first time I wrote of this caliber something outside my usual comfort zone.

So, if you're in Southeast Michigan this weekend and want to come see something funny, let me know and I'll tell you where to go!

If They Could Just Stay Little...

So, my boys have outgrown their Carter's outfits. They are into Spiderman and Jedis, and have even taken a fascination with basketball.

And it seems my oldest boy is moving into a new stage of maturity. *Sniffle*

It seems, without consulting us (his parents) first, he has decided to become...responsible! It is a scary thing, because it means we (his parents) have to loosen our grip a bit more than we're ready to do.

But he's ready. He's all for it. A few days ago, I even assigned him his first home-improvement project: replacing an outlet cover in his bedroom. It had one of those child safety ones where you have to press a button to access the outlet. But, such a cover prevented the ability to plug certain things in. So, I handed him a screwdriver and outlet cover and let him at it.

Of course, I did this without telling my wife until after he was done, at which point she said, "But, he could have electrocuted himself!"

But she is handling it all quite well, having discussed with him how hard it will be for us to give him more responsibility, but how we know he's ready, so be patient with us. (My wife is always so incredibly perceptive of our kids, and actually, you know, talks to them about things like this, which they, of course, love. Weird.)

And so I have to wonder what's next. This is just a small precursor to such big events in his life, from ordering his own food at Burger King, going through puberty, to eventually learning to drive a car (eek!), falling in love, getting married, having children...

Uh. I'm getting ahead of myself. I can't take it in all at once. Thankfully, children don't grow up quite that fast...though it seems close to it. Still, I can't help but wish if they could just stay little until their Carter's wear out. Because this whole giving them responsibilities thing is hard.

I guess it's time to have that Spiderman talk. "With great power comes great responsibility." We'll tackle the birds and the bees later. *Gulp*

Great book, for teens, kids, and grown-ups, too!

Right now, I'm in the process of finishing reading my first book by author Scott Westerfeld.

Uglies is a story set in a future where being ugly (that is, normal looking) is practically a crime, where everyone, on their sixteenth birthday, is turned pretty. The main character, Tally, can't wait to be pretty so she can be with her best friend...who was already turned pretty three months earlier.

Generally, I haven't made many book recommendations here, but I felt Mr. Westerfeld's work deserves some recognition. It really is fantastic. The book is targeted as the young adult/teen, but it is written in a way that can appear to younger kids, as well as adults. In fact, since I was "reading" it in audiobook format, my older boys were really enjoying hearing parts of it. So much so, that my oldest said to me, "You'd better not listen to this without us!" (I think they were drawn in by the concept of the hoverboard, which plays a prevalent role in the book.)

I've really enjoyed every minute of the book, and am excited to finish it. (Only a couple chapters to go.) Mr. Westerfeld has a way of really capturing the thoughts and feelings of the 16-year-old protagonist, Tally. She is an imperfect character, whose flaws go beyond being "ugly". Yet she is a character you care about, and see her struggling with knowing just what the right thing to do is.

On top of this, Mr. Westerfeld paints a believable, albeit far-fetched, future.

One bit of irony in this is that my short story, "Buyer's Remorse", which can be found in the stories section of my website, has a very similar extrapolation of the future. When I first read a blurb about Uglies, in fact, I was a bit taken aback.

Fabulous book, however. Part one of a trilogy. If there is a young adult in your life who enjoys to read, you might consider this for them! Or, for yourself!

Sportin' a 'Tude

Have you heard the phrase, "Sportin' a 'Tude"?

In our household, this phrase is particularly apt right now for two completely unrelated reasons...and in both cases, the reasons are, I'm here to say from the get-go, not genetic.

Let's start with the whole sportin' thang. See, I'm not really a sporty kind of guy. Generally speaking, if you made me choose between watching a Superbowl game on television, or having a cavity filled at the dentist, I'd be hard-pressed to pick the Superbowl game. I just don't like to watch sports on television unless it involves being timed to some sort of music. And gymnastics. I like to watch gymnastics...although, perhaps that still counts, since many of the events in gymnastics are, in fact, timed to some sort of music.

Anyhow, my boys have seemed not to inherit my distaste for televised sports, and so last night, while my wife and I were out in the living room watching House, MD, my three sons were all cozy on our bed watching football. And when the football game ended, they watched basketball. As I headed off to bed, I had to kick them out, to which they protested, telling me the game wasn't over.

So?

But, alas, they were absorbed into it. (I still kicked them out, however. It was late and they needed to be in bed. Or at least I needed to be.)

Sportin'.

Now, the 'Tude part involves our daughter, who recently arrived at the tender age of three. And, in due form, threw the biggest tantrum I've ever seen any of our children ever throw in their lives. Tantrums just aren't part of my parenting experience, really. Yet, there's my daughter, so upset because I wouldn't let her play Polly Pockets in our bedroom that she refused to move. I gave her a warning: come out, or go into your crib.

The next twenty-five minutes she spent screaming from her crib, so loudly that every time I saw tail lights passing by outside our living room window, I was sure it would be followed by two police officers knocking at our door.

Fortunately, she gave up, and I got her out, and she was sad and made me hold her and play Polly Pockets with her, and I had one of those pathetic parenting moments where I thought that maybe I had done the wrong thing, just see how upset she was, yada yada yada. Until she started Sportin' a 'Tude again a few minutes later, quickly quelled by a threat of going back to her crib. She seemed much happier after that.

A 'tude.

And this morning, I went to make myself breakfast, and there sat my family at the table, family room television tuned to basketball highlights, my daughter all upset because no one was getting her a drink.

Sportin' a 'tude, indeed.

I'm Thankful...Really.

I'm a dweeb. Or else I'm just busy. Not sure which it is, actually. But definitely one of those.

Why? Well, because a week ago I posted how I was going to spend all of last week talking about being thankful. And a week later, I have not made a single new post.

So I'm a dweeb.

But I really am thankful. I'm thankful for my wife, my kids, my family, my friends, my dog. Okay, not my dog. I don't have a dog. But I used to have a dog, and I used to love that dog, and he was a constant companion that I could turn to anytime I needed a listening ear. So I'm thankful that I used to have a dog.

Mostly, I'm thankful for a God to loves us...you and me...so much to overlook my dweeb-ness and offer forgiveness and salvation anyhow. I'm thankful for the opportunity to be thankful to Him, and for the ability to praise Him. I'm thankful for the ways he has guided my life, my decisions, and even bonked me on the head (spiritually speaking, of course) during a time when I wasn't talking to my wife (well, before she was my wife) and told me to get back together with her. He's a smart guy, God. Turns out, my wife is the most wonderful person in the world, and I wouldn't trade her for anything, and she completes me as a person like no one else could. I'd be a complete dweeb if it weren't for her, but because I married her, now I'm only an occasional dweeb.

I'm thankful for life's lessons, for unexpected directions, and directions very much expected and appreciated. I'm thankful that, even though my wife ended up in the E.R. overnight a few days ago fearing she was having a heart attack or something, that it turned out to only "potentially" be something worse, but ended up being relatively minor. (Well, minor in the grand scheme. To call excruciating pain "minor" when you're in the throes of it would probably result in her calling me a dweeb or something, so I feel I should clarify that.) So, yeah...my wife's fine and her heart is in good shape.

I'm also thankful that with each passing year, I'm simultaneously becoming less and less a dweeb in many areas, and more and more a dweeb in others. Ah well. I guess I should be thankful for that, because it means I have opportunities for growth still ahead of me. It would be boring if I had "arrived" and was completely dweeb-free.

So, this post is to let you know that I'm thankful...really. I just was busy last week.

Or I was a dweeb.

Give Thanks Where Thanks Is Due

For those of us in the United States, we are just a few days from Thanksgiving Day. So, I thought it would be a good time to, you know, be thankful and stuff.

So this week I'm going to talk about things I'm thankful for...even those things that aren't easy to be thankful about. But before I begin, I was thinking about the act of being thankful, and how it requires that there is a receiving end. I mean, what point is there in thankfulness if there is no one to thank.

I might say that I'm thankful for having a house. But really, what did the house have to do with anything? It isn't really about the house. It is about all the opportunities I had growing up where I learned, got a good education, eventually a job and income to pay for the house. It is about all the people who buy cars who need the parts that my company makes, which gives me a job.

I might say I'm thankful for my wife. But what that really means is I'm thankful for all the effort my wife puts into being my wife, for loving me, loving my children, even when I'm acting like a doofus. It means I'm thankful for the parents who raised her to become the person she is today, as well as all the other people who helped shape her.

I might say I'm thankful for living in this great, free nation. But that means I'm thankful for the men and women who died to not only protect this country, but for the men and women who didn't die, as well as those who had the intelligence and vision to draft our constitution, etc.

I could say I'm thankful for my diabetes, because my life has grown out of that part of me. I am who I am because of a disease. But the disease isn't something worthy of thankfulness. And perhaps I'm not thankful for the disease at all, but to a God who helped me to grow strong in the adversity that diabetes brought me.

I guess the point is to give credit where credit where credit is due. Give thanks where thanks is due. Think about the things, people, and circumstances you are thankful for...but don't leave it there. Think about those who made those things, people, and circumstances possible.

I'll have more thanks to share tomorrow.

Why I Write, Part Two

So you have this idea. This really great idea. But you know, like all great ideas, unless you do something with it, it will eventually be forgotten...until someone else comes along and actually does something with the same or similar idea, at which point you are hitting yourself over the head for not having done anything with the idea when it was your own!

Did you follow that?

I get ideas all the time. Once, when I worked at a Little Caesars pizza place, Little Caesars decided to introduce flavored crust. So, they shipped these giant rolls of stickers with the letters C, B, S, and P on them. When someone wanted, say, poppy seed on their crust, you stuck a little "P" sticker on their ticket so the person making the pizza would notice.

Thing is, there were four giant rolls, and we often had four people answering phones at the same time, and the stickers would end up unraveling, getting in the way, or we'd lose one of the sticker rolls or something. So, one evening when business was slow I started tearing apart a cardboard box and folding it this way and that, stapling it here and there, until I had created a dispenser that held all four rolls of stickers very neatly.

One of my co-workers was in awe. "How do you come up with ideas like that?"

(Honestly, it was no big deal.)

But that question seems to be a common one to authors.

"Where do you get your ideas?"

Well, you see, there's this idea factory... Okay, okay. Who knows? Ideas just come. Some times they come by purposeful observation of the world around you, and sometimes they just sort of pop into the head out of nowhere. I think everyone has ideas. But what makes an author an author is that they don't just brush off the idea. They file it away, or nurture it, and grow it until you have an entire garden of ideas to draw from.

And if an idea is strong enough, it doesn't leave you alone, and you either have to ignore it, or write it down.

I think any writer will also tell you that not all ideas that they write down are necessarily good ones. I have a folder on my computer full of short stories with ideas that I thought were good, but when I bothered to write them down, they were rather disappointing. Of course, I keep those files around in case someday I wish to revisit the idea, maybe placing a new twist on it.

But regardless, exploring those ideas is really a huge part of why I write. It is asking, "What if?" and then playing it out, seeing if it can reveal something unique, or entertaining, or profound. Often it doesn't. But sometimes it does.

Why I Write

I once read somewhere that in order to be a good children's writer, you have to still be a child at heart. The idea stuck with me, because in many ways that's true. I still find myself drawn to the things of my youth...yet at the same time, I definitely see how some of that childhood has eluded me as I've aged. It helps to have children of my own, though.

My wife once noted how when a little girl asks to play Barbies with an adult, for the adult it pretty much amounts to bouncing the Barbie-doll around in front of the child while she plays along, acting everything out. It's true, too. In fact, it made me self-conscious of the fact that I tend to do the same thing with my own daughter now. I guess grown-ups have a harder time getting into the roll of Barbie and really playing it out.

Yet, when I was a kid, my friends and I would spend hours with our Matchbox cars, which it seemed could talk to each other...except that we knew that it was the little people inside the cars talking to each other, despite the fact that there weren't any little people inside the cars. Imagination.

All this is leading somewhere. Because I thought I'd share a moment from my childhood.

When I was a kid, as I wrote in a previous blog entry, I was fairly obsessed with superheroes. My next-door neighbor, Shelley, was also my best friend, and we played superheroes practically daily. (Either that, or "kidnapper", for some reason.)

Anyhow, there was a time period where the two of us tried to convince the other that our superheroes were real. Not just constructs of our minds, but real, in-the-flesh people. It started innocently enough, having our imaginary super-friend that we, of course, could only see. But it grew from there. I remember once going into the bathroom and having this conversation, loud enough for her to hear, with myself. Of course, I disguised my voice, which I'm certain fooled her into believing my superhero was with me. Soon, she did the same thing.

And then, there were the infamous "Autograph books". Do you remember those? It seemed that everyone had one...expensive books with nothing but a bunch of blank colored pages to have your friends (or famous people, I suppose, if you knew any) sign. So, my superhero signed my autograph book. I disguised my handwriting, of course. So there it was...proof of the existence of my superhero.

Except she didn't believe me...so I had to sneak and swipe her autograph book and sign it using the same disguised writing, never letting on that I had gotten my hands on it.

This whole thing went on for an entire summer. Neither of us would budge, and both of us became increasingly clever at how we were trying to prove how our superhero existed. I revealed facts and secrets about him that of course only a friend of a superhero would know. She did the same.

And finally, the day of revelation...the day we both fessed up and admitted it was all a hoax, which we both already knew anyhow. Yet we believed that we had made the other believe it all.

Isn't that so typical of childhood imagination? Not just the worlds and situations we imagine...but the self-delusional things as well. Truly believing that we have convinced someone that something is true (in this case).

Sometimes I miss that...because I think that it is a power far greater than super-strength or being able to fly. It is the power to exist in a whole other world.

And that is why, today, I write.

Heroes, of the Super Kind

From the time I was six years old, I've been fairly obsessed with superheroes. It started with Superman and Wonder Woman and Batman, of course. I mean, how could it not? I even watched some of those old black-and-white Superman reruns where the guy is filmed laying on a table with a fan blowing his cape, and made to look like he was really flying. Of course, to the eyes of a six-year-old...he really was flying.

And a year later, my next-door neighbor and best friend and I moved one to creating our own superheroes. (Actually, you can read more about that on my website under "About".) But my love for superheroes that weren't my own creation never waned, and I was drawn to not just superheroes as people, but superheroes as in vehicles. Lemme see, there was Airwolf and Knight Rider and Street Hawk and Blue Thunder and, of course, the Transformers. Oh yeah...and this weird cartoon about this teenager who accidentally drove into this beam of light some scientist was working on that made it so that he and the car sort of became one and he could transform from human to car and back anytime he wanted. As stupid as it sounds, I really loved that show. Nevermind, I have no idea what it was called.

Anyhow, as I grew up, I never lost that love, and to this day, I rarely get more excited for a new movie than one involving superheroes. Even bad ones, like the recent version of The Fantastic Four. (Sorry...but come one guys...you can do better!)

A few weeks ago, I stumbled on the show Heroes. You know. "Save the Cheerleader. Save the world." Now, I had seen some ads for the show, but I never realized it was about superheroes, and so I felt a bit put out that I missed the first six episodes as a result. But I tuned in to the last two and I'm really really enjoying it.

But, I'm also really really hating it. Because I swear the writers of this show are stealing my ideas. I've now had no fewer than 4 specific ideas that I either have used or plan to use in my own books. What's up with that? And by the time my book is published (eh-hem...and of course it will be published one day...I hope), people are gonna go, "Oh, he's just copying that show Heroes." But really, I'm not. Because I started working on this thing like three years ago.

My story is my story, however, and so I must swallow my pride and except the fact that I'm not entirely original in everything I do. *Sigh* So, I'll sit back and enjoy Heroes, and hope that the seeming popularity of the the superhero genre will be a boon to my book. I hope.

Visiting Heaven

Several years ago, my wife and I splurged and bought ourselves a new, king-sized bed. It was wonderful having a decent mattress, for once.

And by "decent", what that really means is, it was relatively cheap. We got a great deal on it, going to this little mattress shop that insisted that their mattresses are identical to the big-name mattresses, only cheaper. The folks were friendly, and so we...eh-hem, I mean I...I decided to go ahead and buy from them.

A few years later, of course, we learned the hard lesson that you get what you pay for. This finally came to a head last week. See, my wife hasn't really slept in our bed for quite a while. It is too painful. I've tolerated the bed, but even I was waking up throughout the night having to take ibuprofen. It was getting ridiculous. So, we took a trip to a real furniture store. One that sells real beds made by brands you've heard of before, like "Sealy" and "Simmons" and "King Coil".

Now, I must interject here that prior to visiting said furniture store, my wife and I did some internet research. And you know what? It turns out it is really hard to come to any firm conclusions on any given mattress. A mattress that one person loves another hates. Take the Sleep Number Bed. You know, the bed advertised by Lindsay Wagner? I've heard a few people say how they love theirs. Then I check into more reviews, and it seems to be almost universally loathed by others. Fine, check that one off the list.

Then we looked into the Tempurpedic "memory foam" beds. Good reviews, bad reviews, and not to mention prohibitively expensive. Traditional beds? Same thing.

Fortunately, we got to actually try out the beds in the store. We even got to try out this cool computerized contraption that you lay on which measures your personal pressure points and figures out which bed would be best for your body. My wife and I were analyzed, and we found an absolutely wonderful bed.

But then, we tried a natural latex foam mattress by King Koil. Wow. It was like visiting heaven. The bed sort of just enveloped you in luxury. Of course, the salesman declared that he just convinced his own parents to buy that very mattress. Sure...and had we chosen the Sealy Posturpedic, he probably would have told us how his brother just bought that one. Regardless, it was an incredible mattress, well beyond our price range. So, of course, we bought it. Delivery in a week!

The hope is, of course, that my wife and I will be able to sleep comfortably for years to come. So, watch this space in about 20 years and we'll let you know how it goes.