Top Ten Disappointing Moments

My post yesterday where I revealed that I'm still bitter about Misfits of Science going off the air got me to thinking about disappointing moments you experience in your childhood. So, I thought I'd do a bit of Letterman here and list my top-ten list of disappointing moments experienced as a child. And, of course, in true Letterman form...just being I call them my top ten doesn't really mean they are my top ten. Just a random list of ten.

So, here goes:

1. It's summer, and your favorite television show is on at 8:00. Captain America! (Okay, okay...so I have this thing for superheroes.) So, you're out playing with your friends and then it starts to get dark. You hurry inside, check the clock and discover it is now 10:00! You played through your favorite show! You were out having fun when you could have been a vegetable in front of the television! And, since the summer months are all reruns, it means you won't get to see the rerun at all!
2. For a month, the family has been planning a trip to Cedar Point. There is nothing more that you look forward to. Then, you wake up early, ready to go...and it is pouring down rain. You click on The Weather Channel, hoping the rain hasn't hit Sandusky, OH...but alas, it has. You try to convince your folks that maybe it'll stop raining. Maybe by the time you get there it will be clear. But they don't listen. They never listen. And so, you have to wait another week. (Which, since the rain lingers for the next four days, turns out to be a wise decision on your parents part...but you'll never admit it to their face.)
   
3. You studied for your upcoming math/science/English/history test, and know the material backwards and forwards. This is the time you're gonna ace the test. This is gonna pull your grade up into A territory, keeping your GPA high enough to remain on the Honor Roll. You sit down to take the test, and nothing makes sense...as if you studied the wrong subject or something. You get your test back the next day, and it is a B-minus. A B-minus! Suddenly, your hopes of getting into your favorite college are dashed, and you know you're destined to wallow in mediocrity the rest of your life.
4. Finally, after months of bugging your mother to death, you convince her to buy you that box of Honey Combs cereal, because now is the time they have free bike license plates inside the box. The next morning, you race down to the kitchen and see a grin on your older brother's face because he already dug out the license plate for himself.
   
5. Lasers! There is nothing cooler than to think that you can own a real-live set of laser guns! The game? Laser Tag...and it is the top item on your Birthday list. You review the list with your folks, and they seem to get it. If they get you only one gift that year, you want Laser Tag! Then your Birthday arrives, and there is a big box there. Just the right size! You know what it is. You start to open it, and sure enough, there are the guns...then you peel away the rest of the Scooby-Doo wrapping paper, and find it isn't Laser Tag, but the "Laser Light Game Set." A cheap knock off. It barely works, and it doesn't even use lasers. And the next year, when you ask for Laser Tag again, your parents say, "But you never played with the one we bought you last year!" So, instead, they buy you a new pair of jeans.
6. The newspaper is holding a Thanksgiving Day Parade coloring contest. The best submissions will be displayed on live television during the airing of the Thanksgiving Day Parade. So, you sharpen your crayons, buy several copies of the newspaper for that day and start coloring. You pick your best one. It is incredible. You've never colored better in your life. Rudolph's nose is the perfect shade of red, and you really believe that Santa's belly is made from a bowl full of jelly. You send off you entry, and then sit watching the television screen, never even getting up to use the bathroom. But when they announce the winner, it is a pathetic-looking entry that only won because the kid who colored it has been a quadrapelegic for most of her life. Come on...it isn't your fault you aren't paralyzed from the neck down!
7. You sit down to watch Misfits of Science. But it isn't on. Week after week, you wait for its return. But three years later you try to accept the fact that it is off the air for good. Fortunately, I still had MacGyver to watch. (This disappointment was repeated several times with such great shows as Probe and The Whiz Kids.)
   
8. You sit down for family dinner and discover it is Pepper Steak night...again! (Which means spending the first ten minutes picking out each and every pepper by hand.)
   
9. Worse, you sit down for family dinner and discover that the menu includes sauerkraut.
   
10. You go to the doctor's office, your mother telling you that you probably have a bladder infection. This, because during the drive home from Florida the previous week, you literally stopped off at every single rest area between Michigan and Florida...plus a few stops alongside the edge of the road...to pee. Bladder infection. Just get some antibiotics and go. Until they inform you that you have been diagnosed with a disease. Diabetes! And, as any intelligent nine-year-old can tell you, having a disease means you are going to die a horrible death in a matter of days...or a few weeks at best! And then the truly horrible news: you won't be allowed to eat sweets any more!

Go ahead and share some of your disappointing childhood moments!

Tag, I'm It

Have you played tag recently? Actually, I did. With my kids, a few weeks ago. It was a very bad idea. I was sore for a few days afterwards. Apparently, running around when you're 33 isn't the same as running around when you're 10.

But, here I am, playing tag again. Fortunately, the only thing I have to exercise this time is my fingers, since it is Blog Tag. (Actually, giving my recent RSI to my hand, perhaps it isn't so fortunate.) I was tagged by Nichole.

Rules are (apparently) that I must reveal five typically unknown facts about myself, and then tag five other people. First part is easy. It's all about me! Second part is harder, because I don't got no friends! Let's give it a whirl.

Facts about Ryan you probably never wanted to know:

1. To this day, I am bitter that the television show Misfits of Science was taken off the air. It was, of course, a clever take on the superhero genre. At least, I thought so. Apparently the viewing public disagreed.
   
2. I didn't attend my own Prom. I didn't even want to attend my own Prom. Instead, I worked for double-time at Little Caesars. And despite the warnings from my friends that I would someday regret not going to my Prom, thus far I have yet to experience even the slightest tinge of regret.
3. I've dated exactly two people in my life. My wife, sure. But there was also this horrible moment during a time my wife (well, before she was my wife) and I weren't talking and this girl asked me to take her to Meijer (doesn't sound like a date...but it was definitely intended to be a date). I originally said no, but my parents told me I needed to go out, so I called her back and said yes and had one of the worst evenings of my life. We spent 45 minutes at Meijer, most of the time yelling at the store manager for the service charge of one penny by utilizing their mailing servies. I was so embarrassed. I'm glad I got back together with my wife, believe me.
4. In Junior High School, three years running, I won the "Standing Long Jump" competition at this annual class competition. Basically, there were various sport-related events such as wheel-barrelling each other across the gym, trying to knock down the most plastic bowling pins with a bean bag, etc. I was on the team specifically for my frog-like legs, and I usually outdid the other teams' best efforts by at least a foot. It was a proud moment, indeed.
5. I once sprained my ankle. (Actually, twice.) But it wasn't for anything noble, like scoring the winning kick in a soccer game or anything. No, instead, my friends and I were taking terms jumping off the roof of their wood-shed, seeing who could jump the farthest. It was about twelve feet high, and we had this nice three by three cushion to land on. We would move it out a foot at a time until it was somewhere between ten and twenty feet out. We'd run, jump, and land on the cushion. But then, one last attempt, I missed the cushion, slightly off center, and landed one foot on, one foot off. I ended up with crutches for several days, and a weak ankle for years.
   

So, there you have it.

As to five people to tag? Uh...let me think on that and get back to you. I'll edit this post later...

Okay...updated. Here are the people I'm tagging...ready or not!

1. Sandra Miller, A Shot in the Dark, http://artistmom2two.blogspot.com
2. Scott Johnson, Scott's Diabetes Journal, http://scotts-dblife.blogspot.com
3. Kerri, Six Until Me, http://www.sixuntilme.com
4. Martha O'Connor, http://marthaoconnor.blogspot.com
5. Kristin Nelson, Pub Rants, http://pubrants.blogspot.com

Now, Kristin probably is a long-shot. She's a busy literary agent...but I LOVE her blog, so I figure the worst that can happen is some of you might head over there and check her out! Many others I would have tagged appear to already have been tagged. That's fine...although, I think that means I'm one of the last in my social network to be tagged, which is kind of like being picked last by the captains of the baseball teams back in my school days. (Sniff, sniff.) It's okay. I'll get over it.

Something New...Kind Of

Did you know that November is National Novel Writing Month? See, several years ago, a small group of folks set up this idea of trying to finish a draft of a novel in a month. Tall task. The point wasn't to have something ready to be published, but to have something, period.

The movement has grown, and this year I know several fine writers participating in the event. Me? No way. Minimum word count is 50,000 words. There is no way I could write 50,000 words in a month...particularly a month like November when I'm busy with my singing group, and choirs, and Thanksgiving...not to mention all the other stuff that entails being a husband and father of four.

I do wish luck to those attempting the task. But I am participating in another sense. I've just about finished up my last round of edits to Mindburst, and so I'm jumping back into writing. I have two other projects in the works, but another that I decided I'm going to start. Something new. Kind of.

See, it all started several years ago while I was busy directing my choir and writing diabetes-related software. I had this epiphany of sorts for a novel. I have ideas all the time, and usually if I ignore the idea, it goes away. But this one didn't, and pretty soon, I had conceived the story line for three interconnected novels spanning about 200 years.

I did a bit of writing, but time prohibited me from doing much work on it until I dropped choir and finished working on my software. I started writing, and got about 15,000 words in when I came up with this great idea about kids with mental powers living trapped inside this asylum. So, I shifted gears and wrote Mindburst.

Along the way, I decided that I wanted to write for the young adult audience, which means my fabulous idea spanning 200 years was on hold, indefinitely. Flash forward a couple years to several months ago, and I figured out an entirely new story that utilizes some of the ideas from that original trilogy, but does it in a way that is aimed at young adults. A lot has changed, but I'm excited about it and so I've decided, after much indicision on the matter, to go ahead with it.

So, November, for me, is the start of Lockdown (working title). I won't get 50,000 words written. I'm not sure I'll get even close to my goal of 20,000 words. But it is always fun to jump into a whole new world and see what happens. (Actually, I know what happens...but that's beside the point.)

Anyhow, if you've always had some inkling of a novel rummaging inside your head, this is the month to sit down and just write!

(In the meantime, as my blog post from yesterday points out, you can read chapter one of my novel Mindburst on my website now. Go check it out!)

Mindburst, Chapter One!

I have a special treat for you! Well, I'd like to believe that. Actually, I've posted on my website the first chapter for my novel, Mindburst! You can read it, and then wait with hopeful expectation that I'll secure an agent, sell it to a publisher, and then read the rest in about two years.

So, go check it out here!

Pumpkin Day

Friendly reminder: If you are on an insulin pump, don't forget to change the time to reflect the change in Daylight Savings!

Tomorrow's the big day. The day my kids are really looking forward to. Pumpkin Day.

Oh. That's not what you call it? I know, I know. But we aren't really doing the same thing as a good portion of the world. Pumpkin Day is, in our family, a celebration of God's Creation...of the world he provided, including pumpkins!

There are no costumes for us. No trick-or-treating. No ghost stories. We just aren't into that. Instead, we go out to dinner as a family. Well, that's just the start...but let me just say that if you ever want to have absolutely no wait, go out for dinner on Oct. 31. Last year, we went to Bob Evan's, and there were only two other tables with people. I don't understand it. I guess people are busy doing other things. Can't imagine what.

So, we have a nice, leisurely family dinner. Then we head home for the carving of the pumpkins.

There is a book we read called The Pumpkin Patch Parable. It compares how the carving of a pumpkin symbolizes the salvation offered through Jesus Christ. We read this book together, and then carve our pumpkins, always in a way that is happy. No mean or evil looking things. We are celebrating, here!

Finally, we have our treasure hunt. We have clues. The kids have to solve the clues and find the next clue until finally, at the end of the hunt, we have a bag of goodies.

It is a wonderful family time, and my wife and I look forward to it every year...as do the kids!

And this year, we're planning on spreading the fun across two days. It really is too much to do in one day. Last year, we had to rush through the treasure hunt because it was so late. So, this year, we're having the treasure hunt on a second day. I guess we'll have to change the name to "Pumpkin Days".

A Definitive No

Controversy alert. This post deals with a subject that has raised heated arguments across the political field lately. However, my post isn't politically motivated, but personally motivated. I don't expect everyone to agree with me, but figured I should bring it up. This is, after all, my blog.

I don't support the ADA. I also don't support the JDRF. Kind of odd, considering I've lived with diabetes for most of my life. These organizations do a lot of good, I don't deny that. Yet there is one very strong reason I can't, in good faith, lend my financial support their way. Quite simply, it comes down to embryonic stem cell research.

Both organizations support it. I even called to find out if they financed such research, and the answer was a definitive yes. Which means my support is a definitive no.

I suppose if you don't share my views on "life begins at conception", then you don't see the issue. But for me, life begins at conception. Which means that embryonic stem cell research in any form is destroying one life to potentially benefit another. If you want to understand how it feels to me, consider this: if the issue were dealing with killing a newborn baby rather than an embryo, would it seem reasonable to say, "This baby's life isn't as valuable as the millions who might benefit from it's death."

Perhaps to you it isn't the same thing. But to the millions of people in this country vehemently opposed to embryonic stem cell research, that's exactly what it is. It isn't a matter of pushing our religious views on society, or taking a political position (although, granted, I'm sure there are some out there where that is the case). For me, and those like me, it is about saving a life.

Thing is, to date, all this talk about embryonic stem cell research is just that: talk. There have been no therapeutic advances made. Yes, part of that is due to lack of funding. But part of that is because progress is being made in adult stem cell research.

For whatever reason, that seems to be lost in the debate. Because today, there are treatments that make use of adult stem cells, and I'm constantly reading about new advances in adult stell cells which are showing them to be far more flexible than once believed. They may be harder to work with, but progress is being made.

If funds start going to embryonic stem cell research, then funds will be taken away from the adult stem cell research. That would be a shame, because there are actually reasons why adult stem cells might be the better route. One major reason has to do with rejection. If there is a way to harvest a person's own stem cells and use them for treatment, then you have eliminated a major hurdle in any kind of treatment. The body rejects foreign substances. If I were to be treated with cells derived from someone else, then my body will very likely attack those cells. Which means I would then need to be placed on anti-rejection medicine for the rest of my life, which has a host of health implications itself.

But I digress. Because I don't mean to go into all the benefits of adult stem cells versus embryonic, or vice versa...because ultimately, for me, it doesn't matter. What matters is the life that is ultimately destroyed.

As a diabetic, someone who theoretically could be cured by embryonic stem cell research, I just don't want it. I'd rather live my life out with all the risks of complications. I'd no more ask for a cure from an embryo than I'd ask some baby to die so that I could live a healthier life.

I honestly don't have ill feelings towards people like Michael J. Fox, who wants to return to a normal life, and so sees the embryonic stem cell research as their only hope. It isn't their only hope, of course...but I understand their position. But there are many, like myself, who also suffer from diseases, who don't want that kind of research done.

So, for me, that means foregoing support for ADA and JDRF.

I half expect there to be responses to this trying to "educate me" on the subject. Go ahead. But I'll just state that I'm not at all uneducated. I've read both sides of the debate quite exhaustively in the past several years, following advances, etc. So, talk amongst yourselves, if you want. I just wanted to clear the air on this, and make it clear that for a great many people, the "stem cell issue" is not at all political...an important thing to realize in this politically-charged time.

Being Disabled

I'm having some repetitive strain issues in my right hand, so my blog will be sparse for the next couple weeks as a result. I hope to be back in full form soon. In the meantime, I'm learning to type one-handed. I'm glad to know this is only temporary.

But it actually serves as a good intro to something a fellow writer asked from me involving disability. I suppose most of us take for granted that our children can choose from the million and one toys available from Toys R Us or Wal-Mart, etc. But parents with children who have disabilities have more limited options.

That is where AblePlay comes in, a non-profit creation that helps filter through the toys by providing ratings and reviews specifically geared towards special needs kids. Check them out.

And if you know anyone who has special needs children, please tell them about www.ableplay.org.

The Wide, Wide Weird of Sports

Professional sports events brings out the "weird" in people. Particularly big-time events such as the Stanley Cup, or World Series, or Superbowl.

Detroit is no stranger to such events. Well, okay...I don't know that the Lions have ever come close to the Superbowl, but we have won the Stanley Cup and World Series a few times, and both Michigan and Michigan State have been to the Rose Bowl.

Despite this, it still surprises me.

Several years back, the Red Wings were on their way to win the Stanley Cup, and apparently people were throwing dead octopus on the ice and driving around with brooms tied to their cars. I think the broom had something to do with wanting a "sweep", but I'm not entirely sure. The octopus? Not a clue.

My wife and I walked out of Meijer late one evening, and there were cars honking like mad driving along the road. It was my wife who realized it probably meant the Red Wings just won the playoffs. (She turned out to be right.)

Now, Detroit is in the spotlight again. The Tigers are in the World Series. Personally, I couldn't care less. But apparently, the rest of Detroit does care. And last night was one of the sightings of "weird".

There I was, sitting on a bench at church with my four-year-old, and in the hallway comes this big, burly, and balled-headed army man. That isn't a typo. I don't mean bald-headed. I mean balled-headed. (Although, he happens to be bald as well.)

He had painted his entire head white, with red lines curving around his face like the stitching of a baseball. My first reaction was he was trying out an early Halloween look, where Uncle Fester from The Addams' Family, must have had surgury gone horribly awry. But no. As he approached, I realized it was more horrific than that. It was actually a person turning their head into a baseball!

My four-year-old laughed at him, but as the balled-headed man walked away, he said, "That man's gonna scare someone!"

I just don't get it. It is a game. And painting our heads, or wearing giant foam-rubber hands or evening throwing out octopus onto the ice isn't going to make the team play any better. It is almost like people honestly think that the more excited they are for the game, the louder they yell at the television screen, the more people they have at their sports-watching party, the better the team will do.

I've tried to break to folks. I've tried to tell them that when their favorite sports team wins a game, they had absolutely nothing to do with it. They do not have any magical powers over the athletic abilities of the athletes. Nope. The athletes did it all on their own.

Yet, when the team wins, I notice it isn't, "The Tigers won!" Instead, it is, "We won!"

We? We. Weird.

It'll be interesting to see what happens as the World Series progresses. Not because I care one iota about how the Tigers do. But I am interested in seeing just how weird the weirdness will get from the Tigers fans.

How Gray Is Our Gah?

I'm in this ensemble group at church. We've been preparing for a concert we'll be performing on November 15, which means I've spent most of my time in the car listening to the songs and perfecting (eh-hem...or a reason facsimile thereof) the nuances of the parts I'm responsible for.

One of these songs is a praise song that is fairly popular right now called, "How Great Is Our God." Some of you with more contemporary worship services just might have sung it on a recent Sunday.

Thing is, I'm really irritated with this song. Well, not the song itself, but the artist who sings this particular song on the album. See, in recent times, the "breathy" sound in voices is rather popular. Sometimes it can give a song an ethereal feel, or a passionate feel, or a raw feel, maybe even a heartfelt feel. (Heartfelt feel? Hmm. Kind of redundant sounding.)

Anyhow, the guy who sings this has that rather breathy sound to his voice. But all too often, being breathy also means that the singer doesn't actually pronounce the words.

I'm fine with breathy. Really, I am. I enjoy to sing breathily myself. But please, make sure you actually a-nun-ci-ate your words. Otherwhy ih migh soun lie thih! (Translation: Otherwise it might sound like this.)

Anyhow, this guy doesn't enunciate. At least, not well enough. And as a result, rather than a praise song to God, it is a praise song to Gah! And Gah isn't so great in his version, but he is rather gray.

Fortunately, I know how the song is supposed to go, so I'm not so confused by it all. But I can't tell you how many songs I've listened to where the artist doesn't pronounce their words clearly, and I end up listening to the song for months never quite sure what they are saying.

Of course, there are plenty of other songs with similar problems. Have you ever wondered, for example why people are "Bringing in the Sheets"? (After all, that makes more sense than "Bringing in the Sheaves" to this generation, doesn't it?)

Or have you wondered just who "Jose" is when you sing the Star-Spangled Banner? ("Jose, can you see?")

Anyhow, I'm still trying to figure out just how gray our Gah is. Let me know if you find out. Oh, and if you want to read more funny misheard lyrics, there is a website devoted to them. Check out http://www.kissthisguy.com for a lot of laughs.

Father-Son Not Equal To Father-Sons

As any parent will tell you, parenting is hard work. And if you don't think so, then you just might not be parenting hard enough.

I say that last part with a bit of self-accusation, because in the last few weeks I have started to see that I was missing out on a fundamental part of parenting. That would be alone time.

No, no. Not me having alone time (although, now that I mention it, I certainly would love more alone time), but me having alone time with one of my sons (well, or daughter).

As we have told our kids, there are positives and negatives to having a relatively large family (and by "relatively", I mean we have four kids, which by today's standards seems large, but historically speaking is quite small). One of the positives, of course, is always having a sibling or sibling to do things with. A built-in friend, so to speak.

The downside is that we have a lot of laundry. And dishes. And just generally, not enough room. But even more than that is the time factor...the opportunities for Dad (that's me) to spend time with each of his kids individually.

For quite a while now, we've had "Boys' Nights", where my wife goes out with a friend I get to spend supposed "quality time" with my boys doing the kind of things boys like to do.

But, as it turns out, a father spending time with his sons is very different from a father spending time with his son. My oldest son had made this increasingly clear with some rather pointed statements (nicely disguised under his keen sense of humor), and requests to do something alone, like playing a game of chess.

So, I sat down with my wife, as we often do when something is nagging us about the state of our parenting, and discussed the issue. I love to talk to my wife about these things. She is absolutely the greatest mother on the face of the planet. She just has this sixth-sense about how our kids feel. Me? Well...I'm ashamed of the times I've dismissed their feelings just because I wanted them to get the playroom straightened up.

Anyhow, my wife helped me determine what was missing in my fatherhood, and then we worked out a game plan...how to have more father-son time on a regular basis. Fitting it into an already tight schedule is difficult, but I consider the effort worth it.

And so, this week began the one-on-one time. While I enjoyed the ability to connect with my boys on an individual basis, the true joy came in just seeing their faces, their excitement, just to be with Dad. And I'm looking forward to getting to know my own kids at a whole new level, carrying forward, hopefully, into adulthood. Because I don't want my boys to grow up one day and wish they had known their father better, or that I had listened to them more. Time to start, today.

Questioning My "Real Man" Status

There are certain times in my life that I fear that maybe, just maybe, I'm not a Real Man.

Oh, I've fathered four children and all that goes along with that, and I am instantly turned into a zombie the moment a television turns on within ten feet, but there are a few nagging issues.

One has to do with who is going to the World Series this year. Or, more specifically, the fact that I don't really even care. The only reason I know that my home team of the Detroit Tigers made it is because at work and at church and even at my physical therapy, that's the subject of conversation.

"Did you watch the game?" is the frequently asked question from the last few weeks.

I try not to look like an idiot. I mean, it is one thing to not watch the game. It might even be okay to not necessarily want to watch the game. But to live in Michigan and not even know that the Tigers are playing...well, your manhood is thrown into question.

I'm a rare breed, I know. A few years back, the Associate Minister was teaching a Bible School lesson. He was quite a jokester with a wry sense of humor. Anyhow, for reasons that allude me, he said, "Wild horses couldn't drag it from me!"

My first reaction was, "Cool! An Anne of Green Gables fan." But then I realized he said it with a tone of contempt. And he quickly added, "Boy, do I absolutely hate that movie."

Apparently, his wife adores the movie...and his knowledge of Anne was the result of her punishing him by making him watch it. (He really is a sweet husband, though. He ended up suprising her with a vacation to the real "prettiest plot of land on the North Shore".)

See, I love Anne of Green Gables. I even watched it with my boys a few months back, figuring I should enrich their lives with good and virtuous movies. They claimed not to like it, mostly because there were no light sabers or explosions, but I'm here to tell you that they were fixated on it while it was on.

Anyhow, the point is, my love of Anne-girl is another mark against me and my right to being called a "Real Man". "Real Men" don't love Anne. They loathe her. Instead, they are supposed to skip out on ER visits to watch the big game. (Seriously. There was an article on www.msnbc.com about it last week.)

But I do take relief when my wife says something to me, and I can give an appropriate grunt in response while absorbed in the latest Geico commercial, only to have her ask me to repeat back what she said, and I can only say, "Hmm. I got nothing!"

I guess I am a Real Man. After all, I bet my wife hasn't noticed that the gecko from Geico has a different accent now than it did a few years back. And that's important information. At least to a Real Man.

Ramblings of a Poindexter

I have a wonderful, loving wife whom I adore, and I was absolutely certain adored me. That is until two days ago. Because it was two days ago that her true feelings came out. She, very politely mind you, informed me that under no uncertain terms am I allowed to use the good toilet paper in our bathroom. No, I must use the bargain toilet paper, the same toilet paper that the kids use. The good toilet paper is hers and hers alone.

And so now I know where I rank. Somewhere below the stuff you wipe your bottom with. Rather unflattering, I should say...but it's okay, because she bought some Ben and Jerry's ice cream for me and me alone once that was "to die for", so I know she loves me. Just not as much as her toilet paper.

And yes, this little experience got me to thinking about the whole grand scheme of life. Or, at least, it got me thinking about a seemingly unconnected event in my life that nearly destroyed my self-esteem.

You see, I had to make a little stop-off home from Cedar Point one time. I was really sick, probably from something I ate, and went in to this gas station to use the bathroom. On the way out, I picked up something to drink and got in line behind this rough-and-tough truck driver. He glanced back at me, looking me up and down, and said something like, "Hey, Poindexter, you don't look so good."

Now, I know I am a geek. I take pride in my geekhood. But did I really look like a character from "Revenge of the Nerds"? Apparently so. Of course, I was delirious, and my judgment may have been a bit off, but I figured the guy was a jerk. That was until I got out to the car and glanced in the mirror. I did look like a nerd, because I still had on my sportstrap that held my glasses on while riding the roller coasters. Being as it was night time now, and nowhere near any coaster, I suppose I did look like a Poindexter.

That night I went home and cried.

Or else I just fell asleep. But I could have cried, if I hadn't been so exhausted...and sick...and well, pretty much so well-adjusted that I thought the scene was rather funny.

I generally don't worry what others think of me. Except when I do.

For example, when you are on your way back from the cafeteria carrying your 24-ounce container of yogurt parfait with fresh strawberries and blueberries and kiwi, and you go to open the door and you drop the container of yogurt parfait with strawberries, blueberries, and kiwi, splattering yogurt and fruit across the floor right in the very path every person coming from or going to the cafeteria takes.

Not that such a thing has ever happened to me. But if it did, I would be embarassed, and rushing trying to get it cleaned up with few people noticing.

I have to wonder why that is? Why should being called Poindexter mean nothing to me, but having an accident like dropping yogurt parfait (eh-hem, hypothetically speaking) all over the floor is terribly embarrassing?

I think, ultimately, it is somehow my mother's fault. I have no clue why. But I figure if I come to that conclusion now, on my own, it'll save me thousands of dollars in therapy later. Which is good, because I'm going to have use that money to buy my wife some more "good" toilet paper. Shh! Don't tell her, but I used some to blow my nose this morning.

The Symptom Game

Okay, folks...how's it going in guessing your BGLs based on your symptoms? Learned anything? And yes, if you found it proved to be a worthless exercise, and you learned I'm nothing but a dweeb, that counts.

I have two topics to discuss today related to diabetes. The first is regarding yet another symptom to watch out for.

In general, going high for a short while is no biggie. But staying high can be dangerous. So, what symptoms can you look for? There are the usuals, such as extreme thirst, frequent urination, feeling a big sluggish. But how about feeling full?

I realized this past week that I've never mentioned this one. Well, at least I don't remember mentioning it. If I have, consider this a refresher. Because when your BGL goes high, your body attempts to halt the digestion process. It doesn't need any more food, since there is already a backlog in your bloodstream.

Generally, if you eat, within an hour or two, you tend to feel normal again...as in, not full. But if you are high, an hour or two later, you may feel like you just finished Thankgiving dinner. For me, this is a sure sign that I'm high. It means my digestive system has shut down for the time being, and usually, I'm pretty safe to give myself a large bolus...first, to cover the already high BGL, and second, to cover the food that remains undigested in my stomach.

And the second topic is in response to a news item I read today where a diabetic man, 35 years old, was confronted by police. The man was hallucinating and experienced seizures. The police weren't aware of his diabetes, however, and they had to use a tazer to get him under control. Problem is, the tazer ultimately killed him.

It is sad, but not altogether unusual. (Well, the tazering and dying might be unusual, but I'm talking about the fact that the police misjudged the man's actions.) This is a danger diabetics face...that if they experience a particularly bad low, the symptoms that result could be mistaken by others for improper behave, such as being drunk or violent. And, in some cases, the response taken by others to protect themselves could be dangerous or downright deadly.

I don't blame the police. How are they supposed to know the difference unless diabetics wear bright read tattoos across their forehead with the Medic Alert symbol or something? They can't. Which means it becomes our responsibility as diabetics to do what we can to prevent these situations.

As much as we work to keep ourselves from being high...being low is worse. I've mentioned it before, but the reason my doctor ultimately put me on the pump was not because my A1c levels were horrible (since I was managing about a 7.1 while on 4-5 shots a day). It was because in order to achieve that level, I was experiencing frequent lows. Lows are dangerous, sometimes from external sources.

So if you could do anything to improve your life as a diabetic, the first and foremost place to start is keeping your BGLs up and not down.

X-Men Revisited

You may not believe this, but I like science fiction. I know, you're probably thinking, "What? That can't be! Not Ryan!" But it's true. And I'm particularly fond of the X-Men movies.

It if funny. I spent my childhood playing superhero games that are surprisingly similar to X-Men. And my novel has some definite similarities. Yet, I wasn't really introduced to X-Men until the first movie came out. I never read the comics, since I've never been much of a comic-book kind of guy.

Anyhow, I loved the first two movies. Bryan Singer did a fabulous job of not just giving us action, but giving us strong depth of character. But then he was called off X-Men 3, and a new guy came in to take his place.

I saw X-Men 3 at the theater, and I'll admit, I was terribly disappointed. It was lacking something. That Bryan Singer touch, I guess. I was so disappointed, in fact, that I didn't really care much about seeing it again.

But, sitting on my shelf were X-Men and X-Men 2, so I had no choice but to buy the third movie to complete the trilogy. And, since I bought it, I watched it. Let me tell you, I'm glad I did.

See, there is always a danger going into a movie with certain expectations, because what might otherwise turn out to be a good movie doesn't seem to due to expectations. Of course, that's not always the case. I had expectations for Star Wars 1, 2, and 3, and later watched them again and again, but still find myself utterly furious at George Lucas for pretty much ruining the series. (Okay, Revenge of the Sith was pretty good, even if he cheated and ignored some of the rules he had laid out in the original series. But I digress...)

Anyhow, in my subsequent viewing of X-Men 3, I decided that it actually is a pretty good movie. Oh, it isn't as good as the first two. But it is enjoyable, and there were definitely things I missed the first time through that added some depth the second time.

Oh, by the way, if you do end up watching the X-Men 3 DVD, please take the time to watch the movie all the way to the end. And by end, I mean including the credits. Yep, sit there until the screen goes completely black as the last bit of text crawls out of view. Why? Because there is an relatively important scene they show that changes something that happens in the movie. And that's as much as I'm going to tell you. (See, I was talking about the movie with a friend of mine, and he wasn't aware of this scene, so I had to tell him about it.)

What's the point of all this? Nothing earth-shattering. Actually, I have no idea whatsoever, except to say that I enjoyed my second viewing of X-Men 3. That's it.

My Secret (Pathetic) Garden

Last year, I had this little play tent set up in the backyard for the kids. It was there all summer long, and so by the time the weather had completely destroyed it (either that, or it was the kids who destroyed it!), the grass underneath was non-existent.

So, what do you do with a dead spot of grass? I suppose I could have just planted seed. But I had this fabulously educational idea. As my family was wandering through K-Mart, I found the rack with seeds for flowers and vegetables and pumpkins and thought to myself, "Self, we should plant a garden!"

My boys helped pick out what the plant. Carrots, corn, beans, peas, red peppers, and pumpkins...plus a couple packets of Zenias for the front yard.

Thing is, our little splotch of land was precisely three feet by four feet, which mean foregoing the recommended "18 inches between plants". I also had to mix into the clay that serves as our dirt with some fresh top soil. And one fine day, me and the kids spent several hours tending our own little secret garden.

My boys were very good caretakers of the garden. They watered it every day, and got all excited when a tiny plant would pop up through the soil, only to have their excitement dashed when I had to inform them that it was only a weed.

Eventually, though, the plants did start to poke up through the soil. Of course, it was about this time that their interest waned. Or at least, my interest waned. I kind of lost the passion, and ignored several of the larger weeds that were taking over.

At some point mid-summer, we had our first crop. Peas. Due to the small space, we grew exactly one meal worth of peas. We cooked them and ate them, but I couldn't help but notice that our little garden looked nothing like the gardens my mother grew when I was a kid with corn taller than me, and going out everyday to pick a fresh bowl of green beans.

The red peppers never did much of anything. The corn never grew more than four inches tall, and the beans were dried out and dying before we could harvest a single one. And even now, we have this lovely pumpkin vine stretching out across the lawn. Notice I said pumpkin vine. No pumpkin. Not even the hint of a pumpkin.

And what about my Zenias? Thing is about Zenias is I loved them as a kid. I thought they were pretty in their multi-colored blooms. And how cool was it that you could pluck them and have next year's seeds all ready? But, like the garden behind the house, the Zenias in front of the house never bloomed. Oh, I have these nice tall green little stalks, but no flower.

My garden is pathetic. My Zenias are pathetic. Okay, okay. I'll admit it. I'm pathetic. I'm one of those people who likes to find the shortcuts to something, rather than invest the time and energy it takes for a decent crop.

And so I think about this in terms of parenting. It is so easy to take the shortcuts in life with parenting...to do what is easy, hoping it will all work out in the end. But it doesn't work out. Shortcuts mean you aren't investing the time and energy into the kids that it takes to raise them into highly successful and well-adjusted adults.

I have to constantly remind myself of that. Take care of the weeds that are infesting their attitude, spend time with them, watering and feeding them the love and attention they need. If you don't, you end up with what I've heard called "credit card parenting". If you don't do what you need to do to parent your child today, you'll have to deal with the bill later...with interest.

And so while my secret, pathetic garden might not bear any fruit, I will endeavor to ensure my kids do.

Life B.D.

I was "born into" diabetes more than twenty-four years ago at the age of nine. And at some point between then and now I have forgotten what life was like Before Diabetes (B.D.).

I have said before, and I'll say it now, that I think diabetes is worse on the parent than it is on the child who is diagnosed. Oh, sure, I had my ups and downs early on. I was a wimp when it came to shots, for example, and so I went one-and-a-half years before I finally gained the courage to do it on my own.

Well, okay. I didn't have courage. Rather, my parent were so fed up with my refusal to do it myself that they gave me an ultimatum. Prior to that ultimatum, I twice before started to give myself my shots. Once, in order to be "rewarded" with a new bike. Of course, shortly thereafter I miraculously froze up and couldn't do it. Another time, they uped the ante, and bought me a new computer if I jabbed myself. I did, and I got the computer, and once again froze up.

The last time, however, was a bit more compelling reason. I either started to give myself a shot, or else my backside would experience the belt. Some might consider that a form of abuse. But guess what? It worked, and never again did I have any trouble injecting myself. Amazing how that works.

Anyhow, the point is there is the early learning stuff, the lifestyle adjustments, and the bouts of jealousy when your friends are eating M & M cookies or having a second slice of chocolate cake, but all in all, you just deal with it.

Parents, though...they can never let it go. They can never stop worrying about their son or daughter. They can never stop wishing a better life for them, wishing away the finger sticks and constant jabs, and wishing they could live a "normal life" again. There is that passion there for diabetes research, and the hope that they will, within their own lifetime, see their child cured from this hideous disease.

But I can't help but stand back and advise parents to relax. There are far worse things your child could be going through, and guess what? In time, diabetes will become no big deal. A time will come when they, too, don't remember Life B.D. I certainly don't.

I do remember the false hopes that my own mother's passion for a cure gave...and the ultimate let downs that resulted. I followed the progress of research for years, seeing each small step forward an indication that a cure was "just around the corner". But over and over again, that hope resulted in far worse pain. And to this day, I see such hope as harmful to kids. But kids have to come to terms with their disease. They have to understand that they are likely stuck with it for the rest of their lives. Only when that happens can they get past the jealousy and self-pity they will experience at times.

It isn't beneficial to think there is a cure soon. Perhaps there is. Perhaps five years from now, I won't be able to blog about my life as a diabetic because I'll be living a normal life. Perhaps. But most likely not. Instead, I deal with my disease as just part of who I am. It is the hand I was dealt, and now I have to play the hand out the best I can.

I can't tell parents not to worry. I'm a parent, and since there are life-threatening food allergies and asthma, I can understand that worry. But please, for the sake of your child, don't pass that worry on to them. Don't ever, for once, think that by highlighting all the "bad things" that could happen to them or does happen to them now (shots, BG testing, etc.) that you are in any way helping your child. You're not. Guess what? For 24 years (well, actually more like 22, since when I was dignosed, BG meters weren't really around for most of us), I've lived with those finger pokes and jabs with the syringe, and I'm stronger for it.

My Life B.D. is gone. A distant memory. And I'm not sorry for it. You shouldn't be sorry for it either.

Not a Sound From the Pavement

Before my wife and I were married, she told me this heroic story about her father, and how while he was serving in Vietnam, he narrowly escaped being blown up at some munitions compound.

Then, sometime later, as we were sitting with her parents talking about whatever we talked about back then, and my wife brought this story up. As it turns out, she had a few itsy-bitsy details messed up, and he didn't narrowly escape. He wasn't even on duty at the time, and no one was hurt.

It seems that our minds like to fill in details to a story to make it more exciting, or at least make us feel more important than we really are.

That would be me. Mr. Important. Or not, as it turned out.

See, here's the thing. I play the piano. I started lessons when I was five, and continued through most of high school. I got to be quite good. Well, at classical pieces, anyhow. So good, in fact, that I went to Festival one year and played a piece by Mozart...Sonata in C I believe it was...and was told by the judge that I had the best grasp of interpretting Mozart he had ever seen.

It was a proud moment. And yes, that part of my memory is quite true.

In the coming year or so, my piano teacher challenged me with new things, until one day she told me that I had learned everything she could teach me, and there was little point in taking lessons from her. I was ecstatic to think I had reached such a stage.

And then, I went to the subsequent Festival playing yet another piece by Mozart, originally picked out by my piano teacher. Fantasia in D minor, or something like that. I loved that song, but was disappointed when, while my performance was excellent, the same judge that I had the previous year told me that I really needed to work on my interpretation of Mozart, because I had taken far too many liberties with it.

And I had. I knew I had. Frankly, the stylistic decisions that Mozart had jotted down for the song weren't right, in my mind. So I spiced it up a bit. While I played every note as written, I had my fun with tempos and interpretation.

No biggie. All that is true, too.

And for years afterwards, even after I had moved, and lost my piano, I would tell people the story about how I had become so good that my piano teacher felt I didn't need her any longer.

Then, a few years ago, my piano teacher came to a program at my church. I forget what it was, but afterwards we had a nice time catching up.

And the truth was revealed. I was never as good as I thought I was. No, it seems my teacher's decision to break our ties had nothing to do with my advanced abilities, and everything to do with the fact that I wasn't listening to her. Sonata in C? Great interpretation because I actually listened to her. Fantasia? Well, I stopped listening. I decided it was time to be "creative"...to the point that her advice fell on deaf ears.

This was all news to me, and I was devastated. Well, okay, I found it vaguely humorous, though somewhat surprising. All this time I had convinced myself that had I not moved and lost my piano, I could have been the next Horowitz or something.

But no. I was just a schmuck who wouldn't follow directions.

Funny the kinds of things the memory creates...including an inflated ego.

It Was My Idea First

About four or five years ago I had an epiphany. A complete story idea sort of plummetted into my skull and couldn't escape. This happens frequently, actually...but in this case, it was an idea for a novel.

At the time, I was busy with other tasks, and so the story sort of simmered in my brain on low, taking form until the day came that I finally sat down to start writing. I wrote about 15,000 words of this story, a science fiction tale set 200 years in the future in a colony on Mars. I won't go into details for this story, as some of the ideas I've since pilferred for other stories and even a young-adult science fiction novel (not set on Mars) I may write some day.

But one itsy bitsy piece of this story was an idea I had. The future of computing. In my mind, there will be a day where individuals don't own their own computers. There is no need. Instead, there are "dumb terminals" everywhere, basically generic computers with all the processing power, but no actual data on them. Instead, each individual carries with them (perhaps as jewelry, or an implant, or something) that contains your personal computer files, operating system, and any other data. You simply walk up to a terminal, and wirelessly the terminal reads the data from your implant and you have your own custom computer system with you at all times.

So, today, I read an article...and it seems there is a company doing just that. Oh, it isn't so advanced as what I envisaged yet, but it is the first step. But let me make this clear: it was my idea first!

I know I have no rights to any monies associated with the product, but I feel I deserve at least a little fame for making this technology plausible in my uncompleted, abandoned novel.

If you're really interested in what the real-life software can do, go here. Read all about it. Pretty nifty idea, actually (if I do say so myself). I think it is a matter of time before such a technology will grow ubiquitous. Yes, you heard it here first, but I think this is the future of computing.

If you follow the progression of computing, it only makes sense. First, there was the mainframe. Then, someone had the bright idea of making "dumb terminals" that allowed multiple users to access the mainframe computer. Basically all computing power was on the mainframe.

Later, we started to see personal computers enter the market. Quite a shift. But we also started to see "distributed computing", where users could use their personal computers as "dumb terminals" to access a network of workstations. This eventually grew into the internet that we know today. But the PC still remains a mainstay. Still, with all the computer power scattered across the landscape, why not give access to each user's "personal computer" environment no matter where they go? The PDA was one attempt at this, but it wasn't quite right. As much as the PDA was a cool gadget (and still a useful one at that), it still can never fully replace the personal computer (be it a laptop or desktop).

At least not until this new technology is fully developed. It is a start. Kind of cool, though, to think that my idea might actually come to fruition. Too bad I didn't file any patents or anything. Oh well!

Underwear and the Great Clothing Shuffle

It's that time of year again, when plummetting temperatures means the great clothing shuffle is upon us. Every fall (well, and spring), this great event takes place. Pull out the boxes of the fall clothes, throw out the shirts that last year you thought were hip but this year are already out of style (well, okay, so "out of style" applies to my entire wardrobe...so let's just say, the shirts that are the most out of style). It also means washing all the shorts and short-sleeves so that they can be packed away, except for a couple standbys in the likely event we get a day or two of warm weather.

Now, this event has grown in complexity over the years, since our family size has also grown. We have three boys and a girl all growing faster than we, as parents, would like (especially when I have to consider that this year, my oldest boy practically needs an entirely new wardrobe). Fortunately, my wife is the master of organization. She sorts the clothes by size, season, and sex, and since we can't very well get rid of anything until the younger siblings have their chance at the same clothes, it all comes down to a huge mess of boxes. Our family is single-handedly keeping Rubbermaid in business.

During this shuffle, I've been putting off doing my own laundry, keeping the washer free for my wife to get the kids clothes sorted. (I leave such work for her since, frankly, I'd be more inclined to toss everything out and start anew each season. All I'm responsible for is retrieving and returning the boxes from the closets without pulling anything.)

Okay, truth be told, it is just an excuse. I hate doing laundry, and so until I'm out of underwear, I make do the best I can.

Well, yesterday, I ran out of underwear. And you'd think I'd just throw in a load. But no, not me. I have to dig through my drawers and see if I can find anything else to get me through another few days.

Sure enough, I have my wife and my kids to thank, because for Father's Day this year, they made me these "matching" hand-painted boxes and undershirt sets perfect for sleeping. Thing is, the boxers are fairly worthless as boxers. They have a fly that won't stay closed no matter what you do, so you still have to wear underwear under them. And then my kids used so much paint that these boxers are actually stiff. After a few washings, you can't really bend them.

But I was desperate, and so right now I'm typing this dressed in boxers that I'd be somewhat embarassed to be found in should I end up in an auto accident. So I guess that means I need to wash my clothes tonight, eh?

Or at least my underwear.

And maybe...just maybe...I'll do my clothing shuffle while I'm at it.

The Great Space Coaster

Anyone remember that show? "The Great Space Coaster"? I used to watch it as a kid. I only started watching it because it had the word "Coaster" in it. I was, and still am to this stay, a huge coaster enthusiast. I love coasters!

Sadly, the show had nothing to do with roller coasters. But, it did have the furry animal who always said, "No Gnus is Good Gnus". Or something to that effect.

But don't worry, this post isn't about that show. It is about news.

First, I wanted to follow up on my physical therapy just to say that my physical therapist must be punishing me for some horrible past trauma in her life involving someone who resembles me. Or least, that's how it feels. I've had two appointments so far, and never once has she offered to massage my neck and shoulders. Nope. Instead, she is tugging my leg this way and that, and pressing on my lower abdomen so hard I had to hold in the tears. Very painful. Of course, when I tell her this, she presses on my thigh gently claiming she's only pressing that hard. Impossible, I tell you! But, I can't complain, because the amount of free rotation I had without pain on the second day of physical therapy was already better than before I started, so she seems to be doing something right.

Second, I'm still trying to find an agent. However, I did have a "scare" (literarally) a couple days ago. See, I pulled into the driveway, shut off the engine, and opened the door all set to head inside, when my wife just pops out of nowhere in front of me, thrusting the phone in my face. She scared me so bad that I screamed like a little girl. Into the phone. My first inclination (well, second, if you count the urge to pee my pants) was that my mother had died or something. But she quickly told me it was an agent who had previously expressed interest in my manuscript.

Of course, I'm sure I deafened the agent with my scream, but I took the phone and headed inside, all ready to hear the words, "I'd like to represent you."

It didn't happen. No, instead, she was pleased with the changes I had made to the manuscript, but had a few more "issues". We talked for several minutes, and she explained to me the issues, but the conversation ended without an offer. The good news is that she still wants to see one more revision.

That's great news, actually. But scary news as well, because this next revision is a make or break moment. At least with this agent. If I don't get it right, then we part ways. If I get it right, then she'll take me on. Let the nail biting begin!

So, I'm back to editing my manuscript again. In the meantime, I do have a bit of interest from a couple other agents...but those relationships aren't nearly as far along yet. We'll see.

Anyhow, the fact that I have no real news means that "no gnus is good gnus!" Which is why I mentioned The Great Space Coaster.

Oh the Great Space Coaster!
We'll Explore!
On the Great Space Coaster...

Let the Therapy Begin!

Based on the title of this entry, I bet you figured this would be about how I finally faced the realization that I'm totally messed up, and there is no hope for me without professional help, and so now I'm finally giving in and going to see a therapist.

But, I'm afraid you'd be figuring wrong. Because frankly, I haven't faced the realization that I'm totally messed up.

No, instead, I'm talking about physical therapy. Which, in my mind, might very well be a worse realization, because I don't need physical therapy for an injury I obtained while sliding into third, or diving across the sand court and landing on my shoulder while making a save on the volley. No, I'm having physical therapy for a pain in my hip that seems to have happened without any significant event happening whatsoever.

And that, of course, means I'm getting old. At least, my body is. My mind is fine. No problems there. I'm as sharp as...

Sharp as...

Uh...what was I talking about?

Oh, right. Physical therapy.

I don't know what happened, seriously. Near the beginning of the summer, I started feeling pain in my hip (well, the joint between the hip and my leg, in the front). Walking is fine, but various motions where I rotate my leg, such as sitting cross-legged on the floor, have been increasingly painful. I figured it was minor, and so ignored it for most of the summer. But ignoring it didn't seem to actually help, since the pain was getting worse, not better.

I bit the bullet, saw a doctor, who then did an X-ray to rule out arthritis. (Arthritis! I mean, if you want to make a guy feel old, threaten him with arthritis!) But I'm arthritis-free. Instead, I have some tendon problem with a name I can't even tell you because I can't read the doctor's handwriting.

Next stop? Physical therapy. Starts today.

I've never been to physical therapy, and suddenly I realize I have no idea what in the world the protocol is going to be. Do I strip, don a white towel in a steamy room while "Hans" massages my back? I'm pretty sure that's a spa, not therapy.

Do I dress up in sweats, lining up with twenty other folks and go, "Uh-1, uh-2, and lift, and stretch, that's right uh-1, uh-2..."

No, I'm pretty sure that's an aerobics class.

I do know I have my own personal "therapist". I think her name is Cassie, or Carrie, or Callie. I just remember it starts with a C and ends in an -ie. Oh, and I found out yesterday that my first appointment will run 45 minutes to an hour. Not exactly sure what I'm going to be doing for that long. But am I going to have to strip and don a white towel? I hope not.

And the weirdest part of all this is that for the past few months, I've been trying to avoid moving my leg...and now I'm going to pay some girl big bucks to purposely cause pain. I don't think they realize that I'm a wimp. A full-fledged, self-diagnosed wimp. I don't like pain. My wife laughs at me when I hurt myself, because I'm the kind of guy who yells, and jumps around howling for five minutes when I stub my toe. Me no like pain!

But, I suppose it is all for the best. Hopefully, after my scheduled six sessions, I'll be able to sit cross-legged again normally. So, let the therapy begin.

The Dish Washer

Once upon a time, a long time ago, in a house far, far away (well, actually, about thirty miles north of here), I had to do the dishes. Actually, not just once, but regularly.

Now, for whatever reason, my mother has always insisted on washing dishes by hand. Oh, we had a dishwasher, but apparently she found the ritualistic dip, scrub, rinse, and dry for each plate, pan, or cup soothing. Uh, yeah. Right.

Me, on the other hand...I was a dishwasher man. And I became a dishwasher-loading expert. Today, I'm one of those people who can't stand it if you don't have the bowls in just the right spot, facing just the right direction. And don't even get me started on how you load the silverware basket!

But never can I say that I actually enjoyed doing the dishes. I suppose I didn't mind it, but soothing? Uh, yeah. Right.

So I was quite pleased when my oldest son was finally old enough to instruct on the ways of doing the dishes. Seven years old is the magic age in our house. You turn seven, and you can scrape and load. So, for an entire year, my boy had the chore of loading dishes.

Then, my second boy turned seven, and so the baton was passed. But, you see, my second son has some issues. He sort of lives in his own little world at times, and you can see, everyday, that his mind isn't on the dishes.

So almost everyday for the past six months I've had to remind him.

"You cannot put dishes in the dishwasher that have food stuck to them."

So, he scrapes off the food. Of course, then he feels the need to rinse off every spec of residue there is before placing the plate in, probably using up about 100 gallons of water in the process. So, I have to remind him.

"You don't have to rinse the dishes that much. Just so there aren't pieces of food."

So, he stops rinsing, and we're back to having food stuck to the plates.

And then there is the fact that he seems in too much of a hurry to actually finish loading. He kind of spreads the dishes around so that it looks like there is no more room, ignoring the fact that we can't see our counters, dumps in the detergent, and rushes off. I check on him and have to remind him.

"You have to fill the dishwaster! If you don't, you'll just end up having to load it twice."

So, he goes back and finishes loading. Well, at least he adds a few more dishes. I think he has a vision problem, though...because he seems incapable of seeing the glasses and silverware strewn across the counter. Once, he even loaded all the bowls (because I reminded him he would need them for breakfast the next morning). But come next morning, there were no spoons.

"Yes, well...in order to have spoons, you have to actually put them in the dishwasher. Now you're gonna have to wash them by hand."

He stares at me blankly, as though I had just asked him to fly.

Of course, when I started my son on the path to responsibility by assigning him dishwasher duty, I expected it to mean I wouldn't have to think about it. But now, I'm beginning to realize that perhaps I should go back to doing it myself. I don't know...I just think it would be more...more...soothing.

Uh, yeah. Right.

Uninspired

It is Wednesday, and I haven't written a new blog entry. I don't know why. I'm uninspired I guess. I guess last week's topics zapped me of anything interesting.

Maybe tomorrow folks.

In the meantime, may you have a wonderful day!

The Cover Up

I had considered now tackling the opposite side of the issues I discussed in the last two entries...but I decided against it. Although, the comments have been interesting, including Patti's, with whom I actually agree. But, as I said, I was trying to give a one-sided view on purpose.

Anyhow, today (actually last night) I was thinking about another topic that is aimed at diabetics, and my favorite topic: being self-aware of your symptoms.

But in theming with taking the "other side" of things this week, I wanted to talk about the things that make it more difficult to self-diagnose highs and lows.

What symptoms do you feel when you are high, and at just what point do you feel them? Likewise for when you are low? Symptoms can vary depending on just how high you've been, or how long you've been high, etc. Let me use my symptom of coughing. If my blood sugar is on the rise, generally passing the 200 mark or more, I tend to cough a lot. So, even if I don't have my meter handy, I'll generally take corrective action.

But there is a danger in this if there are other likely causes of the same symptom. And in my case, coughing can also mean a bit too much caffeine.

If I drink, say, two bottles of Diet Mountain Dew in a relatively short period of time, two things happen. First, I have to go to the bathroom, and second, I start coughing. This is because caffeine dehydrates. It runs straight through the body. But if I'm not paying attention, I might confuse my coughing and frequent bathroom trips as a high. I might correct when I don't need to, and end up low instead.

So it is important to not only be aware of your symptoms...but to be aware of anything else that might cause those symptoms, or mask those symptoms.

On the other side of things, I know that when I'm particularly tired, I'm far less aware of being low. That's because one symptom of being low is tiredness or lack of energy. So, when I've been particularly active, having worn myself out, or just tired from a lack of sleep, I'm more prone to end up low. Instead of noticing symptoms at 70 mg/dL, I might not notice them until I reach 50.

It is like a great "cover up"...where something else fools you into thinking you are high or low when you aren't, or fools you into think you aren't high or low when you are!

So what does this mean? It means that despite your best efforts in learning your symptoms...it has to go beyond that. You have to get to the point where you are also aware of when something else could be causing those symptoms. It also emphasizes the point that frequent testing, no matter how good you may be at determining the state of your BGLs, will always be needed.

But now I have a challenge for you. Or, perhaps, homework. I want you all to work on predicting your BGLs. How? Well, randomly, before you perform your usual BGLs, pay attention to how you feel. Note any symptoms you may or may not feel, as well as things you might not think of as symptoms, such as just feeling down, or tired, etc. Then "guess" what your BGL is. I generally say if I'm within 50 mg/dL, I'm pretty accurate. See how well you do. But don't just do it once. Do it for a week, or two weeks. And see if you start noticing any patterns. When you are way off, look at how you feel and figure out why it is. But always keep in mind the "cover ups".

For example, if you say, "Well, I'm really worn out. No energy today. I bet I'm low."
But keep in mind that you also only got four hours of sleep last night. So you test, and you find out you are 423!!! Ah, yes...don't forget that a symptom of extremely high BGLs is a lack of energy as well!

Okay. Let's synchronize our watches...and good luck!

Edit: By the way, I just realized that today marks the 1-year anniversary of the Ryan Bruner blog! Woohoo!

The Price of Healthcare

A few comments from my post yesterday on whether good Healthcare should be considered a right got me thinking, so I thought I'd just go with it, and tackle another harsh reality of Healthcare: the seemingly never-endingly rising costs.

Now, I'll once again offer warning that I'm tackling one side of the issue here. Clearly there are things that can be done, but lowering healthcare costs can be tricky, and I wanted to cover a few reasons why that is.

Let's start with a common suggestion: that healthcare in America should transform into something similar to what is found in Canada. A government-based national healthcare plan. After all, it works in Canada, why not the U.S.?

But there are several differences. First and foremost is overall population. The U.S. has close to ten times the population of Canada, which would also mean, theoretically, close to ten times the healthcare costs.

That, however, is really only a small part of the picture. The bigger picture, which people seem to forget, is that up until the last few years, most major medical advances have been made in the U.S. While plenty of research happens elsewhere, it is mainly in the U.S. that significant developments and discoveries in new medications and treatments for diseases takes place. The research involved in this progress is expensive. Very expensive. It can take decades for research to result in any usable results...and that research takes money. Lots of it.

So while going to a government-subsidized healthcare system may sound appealing, it also means that research, in general, would grind to a horrific standstill. So, if you thought that cure to diabetes was just a few more years away, under government-sponsored healthcare, that would grow to several decades away. (Although, as I've mentioned, I personally see a cure as several decades away anyhow.)

Anyhow, this brings me to the seemingly high costs of medical supplies and medicines. Scott mentioned the cost of test strips at $1 a piece. Does seem exorbitant, doesn't it? But these are commercial companies we're talking about. Companies who are not only trying to make a profit (as that is the goal of any company, and the driving force behind our capitalistic society), but they must always be on the cutting edge, developing new technologies. That takes research. Research is the ultimate money pit. There is absolutely no profit from research unless that research leads somewhere. And so, companies must come up with a stream of income that allows them to finance the research which will ultimately lead to the next level in diabetes treatment (or cancer treatment, or heart disease, etc.).

Think of it this way. When you pay that $1 per test strip, you aren't just paying for the materials and production costs of the strip itself, but you are paying for the company to develop, perhaps, the next continuous glucose monitoring system. Or perhaps the money isn't going into developing anything related to diabetes at all, but some other area of research the company is heavily invested in.

The reason why "generic" versions of medications and medical supplies are so cheap is because those companies don't need to spend money on research. All they are doing is taking the research another company did and copying it (once patents expire). But the company who did the research to begin with can't afford to make such a price cut. They need a source of income to move forward.

Now, granted, these companies are, as I mentioned, looking for a profit. A great many of them have shareholders, etc. But profit is, and always will be, a driving force behind research. I mean, frankly, I wouldn't be working where I do if I wasn't getting a paycheck. And I'm always interested in a larger paycheck. Okay, so perhaps the people at the top of the companies seem to be paid excessively. But is it really that excessive? Think about it. Those companies need experienced people who can ensure the longterm survival of a company. To keep such people at a company (be in medical or any other field), they need to be rewarded greatly, or else they'll go someplace else, and you'll end up with a mediocre company president or chairman who might drive the company into bankruptcy. Where I work, the president of the company made, last year, more in bonuses than I'll make in a lifetime. Yet, that president is always driving our company to profitabiliy in a very unstable time.

Okay. Next up, waste. Minnesota Nice's post about throwing on a once-used vial of insulin brings up another reality of healthcare in this country: the lawsuit. Or, rather the pursuit to avoid one. While it seems ridiculous to throw away that much insulin, hospitals are looking to avoid any possible source of infection, etc., that could jeopardize patients and result in a lawsuit. And while tossing out a vial of insulin after one use does seem excessive, from a cost perspective, do you have a better alternative? Because what would it take to avoid cross contamination with absolute certainty? There is a nursing shortage in this country. Medical staff work long hours, and are underpaid. So, medical errors can happen. Hospitals need to do what is necessary to minimize those errors.

So, why not implement a system which will prevent the contamination without the waste? Well, because it would mean hiring even more people throughout the hospital, investigating and implementing more checks and balances, leading to greater inefficiencies, which ultimately drive up costs. So, while throwing away a $100 bottle of insulin may seem like a waste, it would likely cost more to have a system in place that would eliminate the need to throw away that $100 bottle of insulin.

One solution, of course, would be for the insulin companies to produce hospital-sized vials, so that far less insulin is being thrown away. Okay, fine. But what financial incentive do the insulin companies have? It means that there is less waste, and therefore less profit for them.

I could go on and on here, but I think the point is made...despite our frustrations with the expense of healthcare, much of it cannot be avoided. Or, if it were avoided, we might not be very happy with the results. It is going to take a huge overhaul of the healthcare system that involves every level, from the consumer, to the doctors and hospitals, to the drug and research companies, and yes, even the government. Getting everyone to talk together in the same room and come to an agreement on how to solve the problem is likely a near-impossible task.

So, for now, I live with my $1 per strip expense. It is the price of healthcare, after all.

Is Good Heathcare a "Right"?

Let's face it. Having diabetes is expensive. If not for the individual, then for the individual's insurance company who foots the bill for test strips, insulin, syringes and/or pump supplies, quarterly doctor's visits, A1c tests, urine analysis, cholesterol screenings, annual eye exams, and if it should progress, treatment for complications such as retinopathy, neuropathy, heart disease, kidney problems, etc.

Lovely.

But I'll admit I'm split on the issue of the "right" to health care people tend to have. And, while I can argue either side very well, I wanted to focus on the more controversial side today, if only for the purpose of causing us to think. (I know, I know. Thinking makes my head hurt, too.)

There seems to be a lot of effort fighting for the "right" for everyone to have good health care. And, not surprisingly, most of the voices calling for such a fight are the very people either without health care, or with maladies that require it.

But I have to wonder just where the line is. At what point does the "right" end? The way many talk, you'd think we have a "right" to not be sick, that we have a "right" to not come down with colds, or the flu, or AIDS, or cancer...or diabetes.

The fact is, illness is a part of life. It is a part of this world. It isn't going away. Every time we make progress against some life-threatening disease, another one pops up. And treatment for existing diseases is growing more and more expensive.

So, where does my right to live as a healthy individual begin and end? And just what level of responsibility do I have in this?

Let's focus solely on diabetes. As the list above indicates, there is a lot of stuff that costs a lot of money to keep me healthy. And while it is all fine and well to say that my life is worth more than whatever the associated costs are, the fact is our country is bleeding, financially, when it comes to health care. Health insurance companies can't afford to treat everyone, nor can the government. So there must exist a give and take.

Unfortunately, everyone always wants to be on the taking side. But such mentality has to change.

I have a responsibility not only to my own life, and my own family, but also to my company which provides health insurance, as well as to the health insurance company itself (yes, I know...don't have a heart attack) to limit my health care expenses as much as possible.

There are many ways to do that. The first and foremost is taking care of myself. I've met many people who make no effort to take care of themselves, but then expect everyone to jump in and save their lives when their lack of responsibility for their own health catches up to them. I'm not suggesting any level of "enforcement" of this, of course. There is no effective means to judge who is taking advantage of the system in such a way. But the point is to encourage everyone to do everything possible to take care of themselves.

Of course, no matter how well I take care of myself, the fact is I'm still a diabetic. That isn't going away. (Sorry, but I'm not holding out much hope for a cure in my lifetime.) So, then, taking care of myself is confined to the hand I was dealt. As a diabetic, it means constant monitoring, for example.

But here is where things get tricky. If I want to stay healthy my whole life, just how much is reasonable for my health insurance to cover? Let's say they only pay for a box of 50 test strips a month. Am I willing to foot the bill to pay for more if I need them, knowing that it is my own life at stake, not the guy's writing checks at Blue Cross Blue Shield? And if not, why? Why would I expect BCBS to pay for something if I'm not? I've drawn a line in the sand, saying my own life isn't worth that much, so some insurance company should pay it instead.

Now, as I said, I'm being one-sided in this, because I realize many just can't afford the strips...or other care. But stay with me. I'm only trying to promote some discretion in how one determines their "rights".

Let's look at another expense. In my case, I have an insulin pump. Fact is, I don't need an insulin pump. I lived most of my life without one. Sure, I had to give myself four, five, sometimes six shots a day, and sure, I couldn't get quite as good of control as with the pump...but I was managing decent control. Staying under an A1c of 8, at least. The motive for getting the pump, aside from the fact that it is just cool and would help get a tad better control, was because I was having frequent lows on injections.

So, my insurance company foot the bill for a $6000 medical device, not to mention the additional cost of infusion sets and reservoirs. Now, in theory, the better control it offers should result in fewer complications and ultimately cost the insurance company far less money in the long run.

But today, I face a choice. My insulin pump just went out of warranty. It has been four years on the pump, and I'm happy to say I've kept my A1c levels at or below 7 for most of that time. I've had fewer lows. But my pump still works, and even though there are newer, better versions of the pump out there, and my insurance company would cover a replacement (being mine is out of warranty), the fact is I'm going to wait.

Why have the insurance company pay for something new when what I have today works just fine? And then, what about the fact that now I could get Minimed's Paradign REAL-time pump system with continuous glucose monitoring? Insurance companies won't pay for the CGMS part...and rightly so. Perhaps it would provide better control, and greater convenience. But do I have a "right" to that? Again, there is a line in the sand...and truth is, I don't think insurance companies should cover such an expense...not until it is cost effective for them.

So, here I am, living with an out of date pump. Boo hoo. Truth is, I'm so incredibly thankful and blessed to have it, I just can't see taking advantage of a "right" I have to a replacement pump unless something goes wrong with this one.

Anyhow, I suppose I'll stop now. I can imagine some of you rolling your eyes, going, "Yeah, easy for him to say. He's got health insurance." Or whatever. And I agree. It is easy for me to say. My tune would be very different if I didn't, I'm sure. Still, I think each of us can do anything we can to help out the health system in this country. And perhaps one day I'll write up why I think big business is good for health care, while at the same time it is bankrupting health care. But not today.

The Impossible Dream

I had this dream last night about my book.

Okay, actually I didn't. Rather, I had this daydream about a dream I had about my book. And it didn't happen last night at all. (Sorry, I just have this tendency to want to tells these horrific lies, like the time I was out with J. K. Rowling and I told her that it was because of her that I wanted to become a writer...)

So, back to the daydream of the dream. See, there I was walking through Barnes and Noble children's section when I happen upon my book. There it was, all shining as though rays of sunshine were streaming in through the ceiling (or maybe it was just one of those really expensive sun lamps) overhead. It was a truly angelic sight. Mindburst, by Ryan Bruner.

Thing is, there was only the one copy. And it seemed as though no one else in the store was aware of the bright light proclaiming the wonders of my book, because not a single soul made a second glance.

Then I realized that I was standing in the way, so of course no one would take a look. So, I hid around the corner, crouched down next to the Star Wars section, which was no small chore because it meant fighting off four different boys desperate to find the next book in the Jedi Apprentice series.

"No," I told them. "They aren't here. Go look over there, in that shiny light. Maybe you'll find something you like."

Eventually one of the kids managed to beat me up and get his Star Wars book. And still no one glanced at my book.

So I found an employee, who found the manager, and I offered to sign the book.

He hemmed and hawed and then said, "Well, I'm sorry, I can't let you do that."

"Why not?"

"Well, we've had the book on the shelf for three years now, but not a single person wants it, so we were going to ship it back to the publisher."

"But I only started writing it two years ago."

He shrugged. "Nevertheless, if you sign it I can't return it."

"Well, what if I buy it."

Looking me up and down, he said, "You're going to buy your own book?"

"Sure."

So, I go back, sign my own copy of my own book and take it to the cashier to pay.

"What a great find," I said (another of my great lies). "An autographed copy, even!"

She nodded and handed me a flyer. "You can save 10% if you sign up for our book club."

"Do you have any kids? They'd love it, I'm sure."

"Will that be cash or charge?"

I pulled out my card. "Charge."

Then she handed me my credit card slip to sign, checking that my signature matches the one on my card. Glancing at the book cover, she smirked, and my face went white. She handed back my card and said, "Thanks, Mr. Bruner. Enjoy your book."

Drat. Foiled again. I'm going to have to remember to pay cash next time. And the last part of my dream involves going out to my card and tossing my own book in the back end of my car, where another several hundred copies haphazardly sit.

Of course, not a bit of this is the least bit true. Just me daydreaming. And you'd think that if I'm the one in control of my daydreams, they could be a bit more upbeat. I'll have to talk to Dr. Phil about that the next time we do lunch together.

So Long, Barbie

Do you ever get mad at society in general at something that really is rather pointless? I'm not talking about the big issues, but small things that, in the grand scheme of life, amounts to very little?

Well, I'm in that boat right now. And I suppose part of this is because my daughter is getting old enough to make frequent visits to the "pink aisle" in the toy stores. It used to be I'd follow my sons down row after row of action figures and light sabers and Legos. But now, I have to throw in dolls, and doll furniture, and doll books, and clothes that you can dress up in to make you look like your doll.

And it is there, in the pink aisle, where society has gone inexplicitly wrong. Okay, so it was a bit upsetting to learn that Barbie and Ken broke up a couple years ago. What's up with that? Isn't there commitment? Why couldn't Ken just pop the question?

But it isn't Barbie that I'm concerned about. Barbie is old-school. I'm talking about Barbie's commercial nemesis, the Bratz dolls.

I'm sure you must be aware of them. They are everywhere, even popping up on t-shirts these days. Where there used to be a rull row of Barbies, you now have Bratz.

The name alone infuriates me. Who, in their right mind, would want their daughters owning a doll that seems to glorify "brat-dom"? But, no, that's not bad enough.

Remember all the complaints about Barbie? About her impossibly perfect figure? Well, magnify that with Bratz, with a figure that is downright insulting. And the clothing? We might as well start teaching our girls the art of becoming a prostitute! Dress like a slut, live like a brat. It is the "me" generation, and this doll...

Okay, calming down. See, it truly does infuriate me. But I'm not just mad at the sick minds that decided Bratz was a good idea. They, at least, had the almighty dollar influencing them. What really makes me mad is that the public seems to be rewarding that decision. Bratz are enormously successful, and that only happens because people are buying them!

Can't people see the problem with these Bratz? It is instilling a mindset in young girls about how they should dress. And the clothes they, themselves, dress in follows. I, frankly, can't believe the clothes young girls are wearing these days.

Where are the protests? I would think both the conservative Christian as well as ultra-liberal feminist, and everyone in between, would be outraged at these things. Sexualizing girls like this. It is crazy!

And so what does this mean for Barbie, who I always felt dressed a bit too provocatively anyhow? It means she is losing ground. So, what does Mattel do? They come out with a new Barbie that looks suspiciously like a Bratz doll!

Well, so long, Barbie. Your days are numbered. Bratz are planning to take over the world. God help us all.

Strange Symptom

In the twenty-four years that I've been a diabetic, I've learned a thing or two. Or three. And one thing that still amazes me is that there is always something new.

I love to preach about being aware of your symptoms. Pay attention to the signals your body gives you, because even the slightest thing could mean something.

And so, I think I've learned another. A strange symptom that I've never heard listed in any "high blood sugar" symptom list, but I'm becoming increasingly convinced of in myself.

But before I tell you what that strange symptom is, I'll tell you what isn't a strange symptom. At least, not for me. When my blood sugar is high, I get one or more of the following: frequent urination, extreme thirst, excessive coughing, feeling sluggish or depressed, restlessness in my sleep, or a sticky taste in my mouth. Oh, I'm probably missing some others.

If I notice any of these, symptoms, it is a sign to test my blood.

But I've become aware of a pattern. See, I frequently wake up in the middle of the night with an extremely painful and/or stiff back. Sometimes it is so bad, I have to take some ibuprofen. Now, admittedly, we don't have the best mattress in the world, so naturally I've been blaming this on my bed.

But the thing is, if it were just the bed, why is it sporadic. Shouldn't I have back stiffness and pain every night?

Then recently I began to notice that my back is worse the higher my blood sugar is. So, I've been explicitly paying attention, and sure enough, pain in the back equal a high BGL.

There you have it. Another strange symptom. To test this, one night last week I was having trouble sleeping due to my back. So, I pumped out a couple units of insulin. I didn't even bother testing. (Not recommended, by the way, if you aren't keenly aware of your lows when you sleep. Fortunately, I am.) Guess what? My back stopped hurting...at least, enough to sleep.

So, I'll urge you all (at least, those with diabetes), yet again, to be mindful of what your body is trying to tell you. Don't dismiss anything. It might be nothing. But look for patterns. Look for any and all means you have for judging your BGLs based on how you feel. The more symptoms you are aware of, the better care you can take of yourself.

I've got a little secret to share. And don't tell my endo, please. But my last A1c was a 7.0. Okay, my endo knows that part. But what my endo doesn't know is that I achieved that by testing my BGLs no more than once a day. I'm bad, I know. I should more often. So should you. But I was lazy, and the battery died on my meter, and I was trying to save money on strips. Amazingly, I was able to keep my A1c at the 7.0 level, however, almost entirely through being self-aware of my symptoms.

Now that I shared that secret, however, let me tell you that going very long without frequent testing does jeopardize your ability to accurately judge your BGLs. So, this three-month test is over, and I'm back to more frequent checks. Yet, it goes to show how much your "Spidey-sense" can help you keep good control. Of course, I still look forward to the day that I can afford the new Minimed Paradigm Real (or whatever it is called) that continuously monitors your BGLs for you, if only because it is cool!

Writing For Boys

A couple weeks ago, I took my son to the dentist. He was nervous, because he had to get his first filling, and I scared him to death telling him about the shot of novacaine, which it turns out he didn't even need.

Anyhow, to calm his nerves, I handed him a book I had brought along to read. A book for young-adults. He read it for maybe a minute (if I'm being generous) then put it down.

"You don't want to read it?"

"No," he said.

"Why not?"

"It's boring."

"But you barely read it!"

"Yeah, but there were no explosions on the first page."

Explosions. That's what happens when you let your boy read Star Wars books. Not only do you have to have action, but the action must be on page one, paragraph one. And it must be an explosion.

Flash forward to today, where someone asked about some young-adult thrillers geared toward boys, or perhaps books similar to those by Meg Cabot, except targeted to boys. It seems her son is much like my own, as well as like myself when I was a boy.

And now the wheels are cranking in my head. It seems more difficult to attract boys into reading than girls. So, what would it take to get boys interested? And can I write books that I think boys would want to read even more than girls?

I'll admit my novel Mindburst is targetting myself. It is based on my own childhood playtime, and my love affair with superheroes. But I also made the main character a girl. Why? Well, the reason is many-fold, but one reason is that I figured that it is more likely a girl will pick up my book than a boy. Boys would like it, I think. Then again, they may be turned off at the female protagonist. Who knows?

And the book I'm currently writing is most definitely targetting girls. Think Tuck, Everlasting and you'll have an idea of what my new book is like. (Or may be like, since I'm only about halfway done.)

The question becomes, how to write for boys? How do I appeal to the kid that I was when I was, well, a kid? How do I write something filled with the action that boys like, but also isn't just another Star Wars wannabe?

I have no answers. But it is worthwhile for me to consider it, because I think more needs to be done to attract boys to reading. We are seeing a lot of progress there, actually, with authors such as Eoin Colfer (Artemis Fowl, etc.). Maybe some day I can jump in.

So, those of you with boys...what do they like to read? Give me some ideas, because I'd like to find out who is doing the whole "writing for boys" thing right, and maybe learn a thing or two from them.

Deciding a path

There was a discussion about websites on a forum I frequent. It was mostly about what links to include where, etc. I'll admit I'm trying to figure out the future of my website. I don't like sites with too many links. And if you put links on, how can you be judicial enough to include the best ones? I have a lot of published (or soon to be published) friends, and as much as I would like to just include links to their sites (writers helping writers, and all that), I'm also faced with the reality that I want my own website to, eventually, appeal to youths. Which means I can't include links to authors of books definitely geared toward adults.

But a very inciteful...err...insightful person mentioned how you can't be all things to all people with your website, and how as a young-adult writer, I should start working on defining my on-line persona.

I've been trying to do that, actually. But the way he put it got me to thinking. He gave the example of Lemony Snicket, aka Daniel Handler. His website plays off of this false identity he created to promote his books. Brilliant, if you ask me. How can you not want to read his books when they start out with a warning telling you not to read it?

Anyhow, I don't plan to create a false identity. I like who I am, frankly. And I'm not really good at being something I'm not.

So, then, who am I? Or rather, who do I want to be? Where will this blog take me? My writing? My website? How do I shape how people will view me as that author?

There are many paths to take, I suppose, and I'm only just beginning to form where it will ultimately lead. One frontrunner is to play up a particular weakness I have. Or weaknesses, perhaps. Because people like to relate to other's weaknesses more than their strengths, I think.

Take, for example, the dichotomy I face with reading. I love reading. I love books. But I'm also a very slow reader. I'm a very hard-to-please reader. Which means, for me to actually finish a book (when it is not in audiobook format) takes either a lot of work on my part, or must be an absolutely tremendous book on the part of the author.

What can I do with that? Well, I think kids need to understand that they are not alone in this. Being a slow reader hasn't hindered my dreams of becoming a writer. Being slow at anything shouldn't hinder their dreams, either.

Well, anyhow, that's the idea. Creating that persona...a persona that appeals to my audience, and yet is still me. So, I have a goal ahead of me. In the next year, other than having a book on its way to publication (I hope!), I also would like to decide on and define the path I will take here. I need to start now.

So, I ask you this. What are the weaknesses from your own life, or the weaknesses your kids see in themselves? What are the areas that they must work at, struggle with, whatever? These should be the place I focus my attentions, and see how I can relate myself to that in any way.

Maybe.