"I don't even like baseball!" or "I've gotta stop wearing this shirt."

I wear a Detroit Tigers t-shirt - navy blue with the English D on the front and "Sheffield" and "3" on the back. I wear it pretty often because it's comfortable and I think the navy compliments my pasty skin tone.

Now, many of you know my complete apathy for sports in general and you might say, "Why a baseball shirt, dude?" Well, others of you probably know my middle name is Sheffield. It's my mom's maiden name and I was the only brother lucky enough to get it. I take pride in it and when I found a shirt with the name on it for eight bucks, I snapped it up.

However, it has become a problem. I'm contemplating not even wearing the stupid thing in public any more. Wearing the shirt causes two things I don't like: #1 - It makes people talk to me - scary people. #2 - It makes me lie.

Incident #1 - A month ago I was standing in line at my local Subway, just wanting to buy my footlong chicken, bacon, ranch on wheat and get back to work. Behind me I hear, "We oughta cut that dude." I turn around and there's a short, stocky guy with bloodshot eyes and a long, bristly goatee standing behind me saying, "We oughta just cut that freakin' guy." I had no idea what he was talking about. He seemed so grim and angry at first, I thought he was threatening me in the third person or something. (Something only an English teacher would consider, I suppose.) But I saw him gesture to my shirt and I realized he was talking about Gary Sheffield. So the number one thing I don't like had already happened: a scary guy was talking to me. Then the number two thing I don't like happened: I started lying (or, more accurately, started pretending I knew my head from a hole in the ground when it comes to sports and that I care.) "Yeah, dude, I know what you mean. The boys sure aren't making anyone happy this year, that's for sure," I say. I knew that the Tigers were off to an awful start and that people were mad about it. I still don't know if Gary Sheffield even still plays for the Tigers. The short guy cursed and fumed for another minute about paying all this money for new players and getting bad results. I nod and cluck my tongue as if to say, "Yeah, dude, yeah. I'm feelin' you, brother." I pay for my food and hightail it before he starts talking stats.

Incident #2 - A couple of weeks ago, I was walking through our neighborhood. Our van had thrown one of its wheel covers and I was looking for it. As I'm walking, a guy speeds by me on a bike and says as he passes, "Hey, Chef!" At first I think he's mistaken me for his favorite short order cook at the local Coney Island. Then I realize he didn't say "chef," he said, "Shef." He looks back and sees the quizzical look on my face and says, "Where's that guy even been lately?" I shrug my shoulders as if to say, "I don't know, dude. Where has ol' Shef been lately anyway?" Fortunately, he didn't turn around and come back to chat so my only lying came in the form of a faux-knowing shrug. "Where is ol' Shef anyway?"

Incident #3 - Today, I was in the nearby gas station buying myself a cool, fizzy diet Coke to slake my thirst. As I stood there, once again from behind me, I hear a voice. "Seven oh five?" I turn and see a shaggy, scruffy, I'm-too-cool-for-haircuts hipster with a Tigers ballcap on. "Sorry?" I say. "Seven oh five? Tonight? Isn't that when the game starts?" He almost imperceptibly nods at my shirt as though it was our not-so-secret sign or something. Once again, the lying begins only this time I actually start outright fabricating stuff: "I don't know. I've been totally out of it because my Internet has been out at home and my cable too. I don't know what time the game starts. Heck, it could be going on right now and I wouldn't even know it." The guy wonders aloud about why so many people are already downtown in their Tigers regalia if the game isn't for six more hours. I lie some more. "I know what you mean. I've seen people all over today (in their Tigers gear) and I don't know what they're doing if it's a night game." I paid for my soda and ran away, shaking my head.

How do you explain to a lifetime fan? How do you say it exactly?

"Sorry, man. I don't know anything about baseball. Don't even like it really. It's just that my mom's maiden name was Sheffield and that's my middle name and I've always been sort of proud of it. You know, it's kind of royal-sounding and stuff and there's that town in England called Sheffield and everything. So I bought the shirt because it was cheap and it had my middle name on it. But yeah, I don't really like baseball all that much. Sorry."

Maybe I just need to stop wearing the thing.


(I get mistaken for this guy all the time!)

The Deal

So here's the deal: my mom's cancer is in her breast, under her arm, under her clavicle bones, and in the lymph nodes on either side of her neck. It is not, however, in her liver or anywhere else (not in the lungs, pancreas, etc.) So the bad news is that this confirms her as a member of the suckiest club on earth - stage 4 cancer sufferers. The good news is that is could have been worse. Had it been in her liver or elsewhere, it would be a whole other thing.

So she starts chemo on Monday and will have it once a week for anywhere from 3-5 hours each time. She'll have to take some pretty mondo steroids to prep her body for the chemical onslaught it's about to undergo and she will probably lose her hair. So maybe instead of Telly Savalas, maybe she'll be looking more like a bald Jose Conseco. (Mom's always been a baseball fan but I think taking steroids is perhaps taking it to an extreme.)

Anyway, the point is that now we know where we're at and we can proceed from here. For those of you who are interested, we'll be holding a fast for her this Sunday. If you're the fasting sort and feel so inclined, please join us as we fast for her comfort, health, and strength.

Waiting

It's a little after nine in the evening here. It was warm today, almost 90 degrees. More than that though, it was humid. Being outdoors felt like I was walking through a warm, shallow bath all day.

Right now I'm just waiting. My mom went to get the results of her radioactive scan from Tuesday at 4 p.m. her time. It's now past 7 p.m. her time and I haven't heard anything. My lovely cousin Kathie called to see if I knew anything. Several people have e-mailed with good wishes and sympathy. We're all just waiting.

I guess I wonder what my mom is doing right now. My dad is with her, of course. But are they driving around looking at the lovely summer landscape of southeast Idaho as the sun begins to set and the shadows get long? Did they go out to eat and they're sitting in the dark, murky depths of a Sizzler talking over steaks and a baked potatoes? Did they just go home to rest and be still for a bit? I don't know.

My mom has told me several times that she has the distinct feeling that the cancer has spread beyond what the doctors have detected thus far. She said, "I wasn't surprised when they diagnosed me and I wasn't surprised when they said it might have spread. I won't be surprised to find out that it's pretty far along."

I talked to her earlier today and she sounded tense and burdened. She is very brave, I think, and faithful but I think all the pressure of possibility was squeezing her today.

It's hard to describe how my dad sounds right now. He's a good man and a faithful man but he is also a problem solver. He is a fixer and, in all my life, I can't really think of any problem, any damage that he hasn't been able to repair or improve. I suppose it's a male thing in general to be task-oriented and to want to fix things - whether it's a squeaky hinge or a crying wife -- we're fixers and we want to make things better ASAP. The difference between my dad and most guys, however, is that he has the knowledge, tools, and determination to actually repair stuff. All my manly determination adds up to driving our malfunctioning car to Livonia Auto with a prayer in my heart that whatever is wrong won't cost too much. My dad actually fixes things and is used to being able to do so.

So then you can imagine the confusion and frustration of being presented with a problem that is potentially unfixable. It's one thing to have a cruddy second-hand car that you can't seem to get to run exactly right and it's entirely another to face the possibility of your spouse being sick and not being able to get well.

Ecch. I feel maudlin. I hate maudlin. Maudlin is like grief's weak, lame cousin. There's nothing cool about it.

Here's something that made me laugh. I'm planning on getting one of these for my dad in another decade or so:

toothpastefordinner.com

At Will

Ugh.

I want to be a regular blogger. I do. I like it. I like that you like it. It's a nice little circle of back-patting for me.

However, there are certain disadvantages to working at an underfunded non-profit in the heart of a decaying city. No tech support is one. When the computer breaks, there isn't anyone to call. When there's no Internet signal or, worse yet, there is a signal but your computer for some random reason won't connect to it, you're just kind of up a creek. So it is with me. We have a signal - my computer registers that much. But, as of yesterday, my machine stopped recognizing any network connection. So it's like our little modem is all hooked up with no place to go.

It bothers me.

There are other blessings and curses to working where I do. One interesting element is that we are all "at-will" employees. No contracts, no union, nothing. This means that I could walk downstairs right now, find my boss, say to him, "Dude, I would rather take a bath in thumbtacks than work here one second longer," and I could walk out the door without even a look back. They couldn't get me for breach of contract or come after me for not offering two weeks notice. Nope, I could leave this second and that would be that. Nice freedom, right? Maybe. What it also means is that my boss could come upstairs, find me, and say, "Dude, you're wearing a yellow shirt. I hate yellow shirts. They make me so angry! You're fired!" and I would be fired and that would be that. No reason, no notice, no explanation. Fired. Not so cool, eh?

Well, essentially that's what happened last week to two different employees. They'd filed a letter of grievance to the Board of Directors about the behavior of one boss, the program manager. The big boss, the exectutive director, called up one of the women and said, "Did you send that letter of grievance to the Board?" The employee said, "Yes, I did." Big Boss said, "Well, here's something to grieve about: you're terminated." And that was that. She was to be out of the building by the end of the day.

The next morning, the other woman who complained was terminated in similar fashion and she too was to be gone by the end of the day.

Everyone here was freaking out, whispering in hushed tones, "Isn't that illegal - to just fire someone for complaining about bad work conditions?" Then Big Boss came over and gave the talk about being "at-will." Most everyone quieted down and went back to work. Sounds messed up? Well, it is. But what do you do?

This situation, to me, sums up the nature of working here: two pretty nice co-workers got fired for wanting things to get better. At the same time, because one of them isn't here, I'm able to use her computer now that mine refuses to connect with the Internet. Conditions are so poor that I can overlook two hardworking people getting canned for not just lame reasons but bad, unethical reasons simply because it means that I get an Internet connection that works.

Is that the most depressing thing you've ever read or what? One the one hand, I feel like a total sell-out. I would have liked to have walked out that day and said, "If you're going to be evil, I'm not interested in working for you."

On the other hand, I feel like a husband and father who has to do what he has to do in order to fulfill his responsibilities.

Adult life is full of compromises.

Anyway, on the cancer front, because I know many of you are interested, there's really no news yet. My mom should be out of her fancy, radioactive scan by now. I imagine she's having lunch with Aunt Fay, Karen, and my dad right about now. We'll probably have the results tomorrow. When I know, you'll know. (Assuming I haven't been fired by then and that I have an Internet connection.) Til then.

Little Known Facts About Lost or The Glory of Wikipedia

Here are some interesting tidbits about various cast members of everyone's favorite show, Lost. (Well, maybe not everyone's. But mine. And this is my blog. And I will write about whatever gosh darn thing I choose. Got it? Got a problem with that? Huh? Wanna step outside? Huh? Think you're so tough?)

Anyway.




Naveen Andrews (The noble, ingenious, and deadly Sayid Jarrah): Born in London, England, the son of Nirmala, a psychologist, and Stanley Andrews, a businessman, both immigrants from Kerala, India. He was raised in Wandsworth, South London (beside the River Thames) and had what he has described as a "very repressive" upbringing. Andrews was raised in the Methodist denomination. At the age of 16, whilst at Emanuel School, he fell in love with his mathematics teacher, Geraldine Feakins with whom he had a son, Jaisal, born in 1992.

Didja get that? Indian, not Iraqi. Methodist, not Muslim. Fell in love with and had a kid with his math teacher when he was 16? Say what now? Sayid is one of my favorite Lost characters so its a little disappointing to hear that kind of weirdness about the actor who plays him. Oh, and he was born on the same day as me.



William Mapother (The evil and murderous Ethan Rom): He is a first cousin of Tom Cruise (as his father and Cruise's father were siblings). Mapother had a cameo role in Minority Report opposite Cruise.

This connection never would have occurred to me in a million years but now that I think about it, I actually can see family resemblance. When Ethan beats the heck out of Jack in the rain in the first season, his grim "Don't mess with me" look is very similar to Tommy-boy's "I'm really intense and angry now" look.

Interesting Casting and Story Developments:
The main character Jack was originally going to die in the pilot, and was hoped to be played by Michael Keaton; however, ABC executives were adamant that Jack live.

Before it was decided that Jack would live, Kate was to emerge as the leader of the survivors; she was originally conceived to be more like the character of Rose.(Which, I guess, means older, wise and calm, and possibly black.)



Dominic Monaghan auditioned for the role of Sawyer, who at the time was supposed to be a suit-wearing city con man. The producers enjoyed Monaghan's performance and changed the character of Charlie, originally a middle-aged former rock star, to fit him.

Jorge Garcia also auditioned for Sawyer, and the part of Hurley was written for him.

When Josh Holloway auditioned for Sawyer, the producers liked the edge he brought to the character (he reportedly kicked a chair when he forgot his lines and got angry in the audition) and his southern accent, so they changed Sawyer to fit Holloway's acting.



Yunjin Kim auditioned for Kate, but the producers wrote the character of Sun for her and the character of Jin, portrayed by Daniel Dae Kim, to be her husband.

Sayid, played by Naveen Andrews, was also not in the original script.

Locke and Michael were written with their actors in mind.



Isn't trivia fun, kids?

Update

I promise this isn't going to turn into As the Cancer Turns. I'll write about other stuff, fun stuff too - if for no other reason than my mom reads this blog and I can only imagine she'd rather read about something else too.

Nevertheless, here's the latest: Mom had a CT scan and an echocardiogram yesterday and was scheduled to begin chemo this morning. Following yesterday's scans, however, the doctor said they needed to hold off because there is a suspicious looking lymph node in her neck that needs to be looked at more closely and some kind of spot on her liver. He says they need to determine what these mystery markings are before proceding.

She's scheduled to take some ultra-fancy scan with special radioactive goo next Tuesday that will hopefully reveal everything the doctor needs to know.

Now, if these other things turn out to be nothing (scar tissue, cysts, etc.) then Mom goes ahead with a long, grueling session of chemotherapy that will make her sick, tired, and bald. (Funny how the effects of chemo are so similar to those of raising children. I mean, sick, tired, and your hair is falling out? It's like they're the same.) But with that there is the possibility of remission and cure.

On the other hand, if the cancer has metastasized and it actually is cancer on her liver and in her lympthatic system, then she moves officially from being stage 3 to stage 4 and, at that point, is considered incurable.

If that's the case, then she will take a much milder course of chemo treatment that will basically serve to keep the cancer in check.

So the possibilities at the present moment are:

1. The possibility of cure but at the heavy price of sickness, fatigue, and looking like Telly Savalas. (Which, actually, when you think about it like that, is kind of cool.)

2. The possibility of it being terminal but with the advantage of less chemo-induced difficulty.

So, as usual, life doesn't offer a perfect, rosy path in any direction. It's more like, "Would you like a punch in the face or one to the gut? Which do you prefer?"

Stay tuned tomorrow when I will not write about cancer but instead will reveal interesting, useless, and little known facts about Lost cast members that I have recently discovered.



Who loves you, baby?

The News

So here's the deal: last week my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. She has a malignant tumor that's six centimeters across and, according to the doctor, is fast-growing and aggressive. With her current pathology report and exams, her doctor figures the cancer is stage 3. She begins chemotherapy this Thursday and will continue every other week for eighteen weeks.

When she told me about her diagnosis (she called me from the circus at the Madison County fairgrounds where she had some of my nieces and nephews), she said, "Well, it wasn't the news I wanted to hear but life doesn't stop for things like this. So we'll just move forward and take it as it comes."

So there it is.

My mom is trying to be realistic and faithful about the whole thing and so the least I can do is try to do the same.

I don't have a lot of patience for mundane things right now and, frankly, a lot of stuff seems mundane. It's hard for me to care about the lame stuff going on at my job when things that actually matter are happening. Nevertheless, as Mom pointed out, life doesn't stop. I still have to go to work and do a good job. I still have to function as a husband and parent. I still have things I need to do. The lawn needs to be mowed even though there's cancer in the world.

Somewhat in that spirit, I'll continue to blog. And I'll continue to post about useless, random things just like I always have. It keeps me sane. I'll keep you updated on my mom too. So one day I'll post the latest news on how she says she's reacting to chemo and the next day will be a close examination of a Buck Rogers comic panel from 1939. Just so you know what to expect.

Curse Update Part 2

Half an hour after the copier broke, my boss called to say that the technician came right over and, upon inspection, discovered there was absolutely nothing wrong with it. Apparently, being affected by the curse is a matter of proximity.

Curse Update

This morning I broke our new fancy copy machine. It was working fine, turning out clear, crisp, dark copies for everyone in the world but then I of the cursed hand reached forth and attempted to make 13 copies of Stephanie Mills' essay entitled "Could You Live With Less." The copier, being a breakable thing, broke.

A Few Funnies For The Weekend

toothpastefordinner.com


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toothpastefordinner.com


toothpastefordinner.com

Unbreakable? I Think Not.

I'm breaking stuff and I don't know why. And if I'm not breaking something, I'm losing something. It is as though I've invoked some mysterious mummy's curse that, rather than involving me being killed by a guy wrapped in bandages or being eaten by carnivorous Egyptian scarabs, has to do with me destroying things that make my life more convenient.

The last three days:

Wednesday, while driving to Utica with the girls to drop off the newsletter file to the printer, Maryn tells me to shut off the radio so it won't distract her from counting in her head (she was trying to count the minutes until we arrived). I shut it off and not only does the music stop but the digital clock disappears. Suddenly, no radio and no clock and they're not coming back.

Yesterday, I pick Suzanne up from work and, as she comes out the door, she looks at the van and gives it the "Something's wrong" stink eye. She gets in and asks, "Where's the hub cap?" The plastic wheel cover is missing from the front, driver's side tire. Now our van looks completely ghetto.

Last night, I knock my glasses off my night stand and when I reach over to turn on the lamp to retrieve them, the lamp knob snaps off in my hand. No more lamp.

Early, early this morning (3 a.m.) I wander into the bathroom, do my business, try to flush, and the toilet handle falls off onto the floor.

Also this morning, once at work, I opened my office window to let in a breeze and one of the small (8x5) panes of glass popped out and fell three stories to the stairwell below where it shattered.

I know I am only encouraging the mummy's curse of destruction by asking this but: what next?

The Silver Lining of Funny T-Shirts

Just back from a very tasty lunch with Suzanne. We went to the Milano Bakery in Eastern Market here in Detroit. It's a Michigan version of Geraldine's bakery in Idaho for those of you who know that place. (Similarities: tasty bread made right on the spot, great soups, fresh cookies. Differences: black Baptists behind the counter rather than white Mormons.) It was really good and we will undoubtedly be back.

It's been a weird couple of weeks for me with lots of emotional ups and downs. In some ways, the last little while has been momentous and wonderful. Good things have transpired and I'm in a different place spiritually than I have been in years. I'm speaking in church this Sunday and it will be the first time I've done that in probably four years. It's a good thing.

There have been other, smaller but still very cool things going on. A short story I wrote a couple of years ago got accepted for publication in Irreantum, the literary journal of the Association for Mormon Letters. I submitted it to last year's fiction contest and was told that it was in the final five or six but ultimately didn't make it as a prize winner. Since then, the new fiction editor got a look at it and decided it was something she'd like to include in the fall issue coming out in November. Publication is always nice and it's particularly satisfying this time because it's in a genre outside my area of expertise. Poetry is one thing but fiction is a whole other animal and so it's nice to know I did something right where it's concerned.

My two daughters successfully finished first grade and kindergarten respectively and have commenced a summer vacation that promises to be full of sun and pool splashing and good times.

My older brother sold his old house, bought a new one, and is getting set to move his family up to Moscow, Idaho for law school.

Suzanne completed the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure a couple of weeks back and did a terrific job, getting a great time even though she was running with a crowd roughly the same size as Dallas suburb. (That's a lot for those of you not up on your Texan suburb sizes.)

But life has a funny way of dropping difficulty and fright into your lap without much notice. Bad things happen. Circumstances get hard and suddenly you have to rely on faith and believe that things will be okay, that whatever happens is what is supposed to happen and will be for some good, wise purpose.

There are some health concerns in my extended family and I'm worried. My mom, she of great faith and calm head, tells me not to freak out and, being my mother, it kind of helps to hear that from her. But still. I'm not a fan of uncertainty and even less a fan of my loved ones suffering.

I'm obviously not writing about it because I want to blab all the details just yet but rather because writing about something sometimes brings it down to size. It's as though writing about a problem captures some of the attendant anxiety and fear and somehow keeps it contained in the ink or pixels. It's the same thing I teach my students - writing is a form of thinking and it had the capacity to be a problem-solving mechanism. It's not just something to do when assigned by a teacher.

Anyway, if you're the praying sort, send a few my family's way. I'd appreciate it. I'll fill you in on more details later.

Enough heaviness.

Allow me to share with you some t-shirt designs I came across early today that cracked me up:











(This last one is a line from the Paul Thomas Anderson film There Will Be Blood which almost none of my readers will have seen. The Admiral possibly. Tracy maybe. Anyway, trust me. It's funny to have it on a shirt.)

T-shirts courtesy of Snorg Tees.

Snidely Whiplash Is Awesome

Listy-Listiness

1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? The book in the Bible.

2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
Last year sometime.

3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING
Yeah, because I like things that are messy and completely illegible.

4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT? Pepper turkey from the Winco deli.

5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS? Two daughters.

6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
I doubt it. I've met people like me and I don't like them very much.

7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT? See answer to #3.

8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? Nope. Tonsil free since the late 70's.

9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? Only if I was interested in testing out the efficacy of adult diapers.

10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? Frosted Flakes.

11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? Never.

12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? As my dad used to say, "You're real strong. But smell doesn't count for everything."

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM? Ben and Jerry's Phish Food.

14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE? Whether or not I can take them in a fight to the death.

15. RED OR PINK? Red.

16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? My gut.

17. WHOM DO YOU MISS THE MOST? Thanks to Verizon's Friends and Family plan, I never have to miss anybody ever again.

18. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE? A Fiber One bar.

19. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? A student talking on his cell phone, trying to get directions to East Jefferson and Mount Elliot.

20. IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? Aquamarine.

21. FAVORITE SMELLS?
Fresh mown grass, hot motorcyle engine, Sunday pot roast, baking cookies, lilacs.

22. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? My mom.

23. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH? Tennis or volleyball. Not curling.

24. HAIR COLOR? I say blond. My daughters say brown.

25. EYE COLOR? green

26. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? Never.

27. FAVORITE FOOD? Pasta with cream sauce.

28. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? Happy Endings.

29. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED? Justice League: The New Frontier

30. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING? Black.

31. SUMMER OR WINTER? Spring and Fall, please.

32. HUGS OR KISSES? yes please

33. FAVORITE DESSERT? Coconut dream bars.

34. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW? Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell.

35. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON TV LAST NIGHT? The Bachelorette. (Deanna is kinda trampy. I mean, kissing six guys is one thing but kissing them with tongue on tv? All the "Oh, she's so classy" talk kinda goes out the window.)

36. FAVORITE SOUND? Wind through pine trees.

37. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES? Beatles.

38. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME? Detroit, probably. Tijuana maybe.

39. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT? No.

40. WHERE WERE YOU BORN? Pocatello, ID

It Finally Happened

Someone finally asked me about my ultra cool Umbra wallet. At my neighborhood Subway/gas station, I was paying for my footlong Cold Cut Combo on Monterey Cheddar when someone said, "Hey, my man, where'd you get that little credit card case?"
I told him where I got it and he nodded as if to say, "You, my man, are cool and my life will now be better because I intend to follow your sleek example." Or something.

Anyway, a while ago I decided I was a little too George Costanza in terms of my wallet practices. I had receipts, photos, punch cards, and video rental membership cards sticking out of a hunk of leather the size of a small ottoman. It was too much and I decided to downsize. I'd seen Umbra cases in stores before and really liked them because I'm fan of clever cases and containers of all sorts (especially metal ones for some reason. I collect Altoids tins even though I hate Altoids.) I decided it was time to take the plunge. I bought the card-sized case for six or seven bucks at the DIA gift shop and transferred all the essential stuff into it: debit card, driver's license, student ID, library card.



(Mine's black instead of red.)

And since then, I have largely been cash-free. I may carry a five around in my pocket or whatever, but generally, it's all about the cards. I've decided cash is so 20th century - old news, my friends. This attitude, while very forward thinking, is very annoying to Suzanne when it comes to provide the girls' lunch money or buy a .99 bag of chips at the gas station. All she wants is a cheap snack and all I do is shrug my shoulders in a "what can I do? I'm a creature of the 21st century" sort of way. I think my 21st century-ness makes her want to go all medieval on me sometimes.

Anyway, back to my cool non-wallet wallet. The case fits into my front pocket and is completely unobtrusive. It's a darn sight better than the giant-wallet-panty-line many men have. Just say no to the worn-out square on the right back pocket of your pants, my brethren!

So for the last few months, I've been paying for stuff by taking out my sleek metal case, pulling out a card, sliding it, replacing the card, and then letting the elastic cord that attaches the lid click everything back into place with a satisfying "snap!" Everywhere I've gone, I've expected someone to say, "Hey, that's kinda cool. Where did you get it?" It only took six months but someone finally recognized my 21st century cool. Now I'm happy.

I Hear Voices

I love voices. To me, there's something really interesting about the sound of a person's voice, particularly when disembodied (over the radio, over the phone, recordings, etc.) When I was a kid in American Falls, I fell asleep every night to the sound of the radio that was perched on a shelf above my head. Usually it was just tuned to a top 40 station broadcast out of Pocatello but on Sunday nights there was some religious show that had a guy standing somewhere in public (a college campus?) and basically accosting strangers and asking them about their views on God and the Bible. I don't remember anything about the religious content of the show but I do remember the different qualities each person's voice had, how interesting and varied they were.


I always knew my local DJ's by name and knew their sound when they did uncredited commercials on air.

When we were kids, my older brother, Jason, and I would borrow the family tape recorder (black, oblong, the buttons labeled "record, play, rewind, fast forward, stop, pause)and make tapes of ourselves talking and, as soon as we recorded something funny, we'd immediately stop, rewind, and listen. There was something magical about our weird, tinny-sounding voices coming out of that black box.

I was never really aware of my fascination until I started working in radio after high school and I started thinking about how I sounded when I was broadcasting and how my coworkers sounded. When I did start thinking about it, I was struck by how some people's voices didn't always coincide with their physical appearance.

I was also working at JB's family restaurant at that time and I remember two other employees had wives who were constantly calling to talk to their husbands. Stefan, a huge, profane, sweaty cook, had a wife whose voice made her sound like a supermodel - soft, feminine, warm. She was married to Stefan who looked like Jabba the Hutt's uncool, glandular, older brother so it will come as no surprise to you that, when she came in to the restaurant, she did not look like a supermodel. She was very sweet and obviously a saint to be married to him but her voice was infinitely more attractive than she was.

At the same time, there was Lyle, the waiter. His wife was blonde and pretty with really striking brown eyes and a bright smile. Over the phone, however, she could have been a guy named Chuck who worked the night shift at the docks. She had a terrible-sounding voice and it mystified me how there could be such a disparity.

Anyway, it was around that time that my dad introduced me to Garrison Keillor's A Prairie Home Companion radio show and I really got into the way people spoke and the weight and texture each voice had. I especially enjoyed it when he would get people to speak who weren't "broadcasters" per se -- musicians or writers and people like that.



I started to get into NPR in general and really love the personality and tone that each reporter brought to a story, the unique quality interview subjects had. I fell deeply in love with the Fresh Air and the voice of Terry Gross. (I later saw what she looked like and was struck, dumbfounded really, again by the difference between the way a person can sound and their physical appearance.)



Anyway, I was thinking about this last night because I was watching a cartoon with a lot of celebrity voice work. (Suzanne was on a Girls Night Out with her friends. What do I do after my daughters are asleep? Watch a superhero cartoon, you bet.) Twin Peaks and Desperate Housewives alum Kyle Machlachlan voiced Superman, Lucy "Xena" Lawless was Wonder Woman, David Boreanaz of Buffy and Bones was Green Lantern,etc. A lot of celebrity voice work isn't terribly inspired. It sounds okay but it's nothing special and a lot of the time, you get the sense that the actor just needed a project that would enable him/her to get paid without doing wardrobe and makeup. (Shark Tale anyone?) Even more often, you see animated movies with big A-list names and it's clear their casting has more to do with name recognition than with being right for a particular role.

One choice that was made in this cartoon movie, Justice League: The New Frontier, was casting Jeremy Sisto as the voice of Batman. Sisto currently plays Detective Cyrus Lupo on Law and Order and was recently the abusive husband in the Keri Russell picture, Waitress. He has this really creepy voice that's both nasal and deep. Rather than an obvious, guts-of-granite type voice (like Kevin Conroy, the one who has done most of the Batman cartoons over the last fifteen years), Sisto's odd, unexpected voice makes Batman actually creepy and a little scary which is the whole point of his character. So I thought it was a brilliant choice and one of the more interesting aspects of the film.



Anyway, there are certain people whose voices I could listen to all day. They could read the phone book and I'd be on the edge of my seat. Garrison Keillor is one. Peri Gilpin is another. Terry Gross (even though I know now what she looks like), Jeffrey R. Holland, Allison (of 96.3 WDVD), Orson Welles, Holly Hunter, Sarah Vowell, Elizabeth Pena, and Patrick Warburton are others.

Oddly enough, when I came in this morning and checked my regular websites, there was a list on Entertainment Weekly's site about celebrity voice work in cartoons. I don't agree with everyone on their list but it's interesting to see. Check it out here.

"My Life Is Good. Really Good."

I feel pretty good right now. For the last week or two, I've had two things hanging over my head: the school newsletter (which I am now in charge of thanks to Indira bailing on me) and this new group of wild, loud, untamed, unmannered students.

As of this morning, the newsletter is finished and just needs to be sent off to the printer. So, on that front, even though it's only Thursday, it feels like Friday to me. The weight is lifted.

As for the students, well, they're coming along. It's slow progress - many of them have never learned either in school or in their homes to wait their turn, to share, to stand in line, to watch their mouths, to stay on task. So when you get twenty people like that in one small, hot room, it can be chaotic to say the least. However, they are making progress. A large part of getting them to behave is earning their trust. I've found that once my students see that I really am interested in teaching them and that I'm going to hold them to certain standards, they begin to work a little harder and respond a little quicker. I don't have standing-on-the-desk, "O Captain, my captain" moments by any stretch but when one student starts texting on his phone in the middle of class and another student says, "Put your phone away, fool. This is Mr. Brown's class," it's almost as good.

Additionally, I met with the new Director of Graduate Studies in WSU's English department yesterday and came away very encouraged. I'd been worried that I may still have classes yet to take. I have to fill out a form and get my credits transferred from Boise State before I'm absolutely certain but more likely than not, I won't have to take anything else and I'll be able to proceed on to the Qualifying Exam. That's its own hurdle, but it's one I'm happy to face as opposed to taking more classes.

I finished reading Potok's Zebra and Other Stories as well as Eugenides' The Virgin Suicides and both were very good. Eugenides' book is set in Grosse Pointe, Michigan in the 70's and is vivid and descriptive and does a nice job of evoking the confusion, intoxication, and obsession of being a teenager. There are moments when it's a little too languid and dreamy but never for long. His second book, the Pulitzer Prize winning Middlesex, is far superior but The Virgin Suicides was still worth my time.

Eugenides is a good writer but I'm pretty sure Potok is a great one. With one exception (the last story, "Max"), every bit of Zebra rocked my world. The thing is, I can't explain exactly what it is about his style or his characters or any of it that I find so compelling. I think that inexplicability is related to why I think his work is great.

To me, great art (books, music, theater, painting, etc.) is like falling in love - it's powerful and complicated and mysterious and almost narcotic. In both love and art, there are positive elements that you're able to identify if asked ("She's really funny" or "I really like the colors in this painting") but if required to put your finger on exactly why a given person or a given work gets you all fired up and gushy-headed, you probably can't do it. And if you can, it's probably not great art or great love. I think there's something mysterious and chemical to why certain things work for us and trying too hard to explain or define it is probably counter productive.

Anyway, bookwise, I've already moved on. Last night, Suzanne bought me an early Father's Day gift - The Chinatown Death Cloud Peril by Paul Malmont. It's got a great premise: set in the 1930's, it takes the creators of two of the great pulp fiction characters of all time (Walter Gibson who created The Shadow and Lester Dent who created Doc Savage) and makes them the protagonists of a their own pulpy adventure story. I love pastiche stories and this is an interesting meta-pastiche that doesn't just appropriate literary characters but the creators of those characters. I read the first chapter while Suzanne was looking for birthday presents for her friends and, by the time she was done, I came to her, book in hand, and suggested it would make a great present . . . for me. (I'm such a good helper.) So she's got it hidden downstairs somewhere but I'm looking forward to reading the rest of it shortly.

I also know that it just happens to be true

"Sometimes when we lose ourselves in fear and despair, in routine and constancy, in hopelessness and tragedy, we can thank God for Bavarian sugar cookies. And, fortunately, when there aren't any cookies we can still find reassurance in a familiar hand on our skin or a kind and loving gesture or a subtle encouragement or a loving embrace or an offer of a comfort. Not to mention hospital gurneys, nose plugs, an uneaten Danish, and soft spoken secrets, and Fender Stratocasters, and maybe the occasional piece of fiction.

"And we must remember that all these things, the nuances, the anomalies, the subtleties, which we assume only accessorize our days, are, in fact, here for a much larger, nobler cause. They are here to save our lives. I know the idea seems strange but I also know that it just happens to be true."

Name that movie, folks, and the corresponding Gospel principle in these words.

Awesome

I am stealing this from Captain Admiral's blog because it made me laugh out loud.