Forever My Home

It has been several weeks (months?) since my last post.  Life has been busy.  Life has been great.  I can only hope that my handful of devoted readers and supporters are still around :)

In my formative years, I was blessed to have the opportunity to experience many different houses with my family.  My Dad had a bit of ADD when it came to housing...We moved a total of 6 times from the time I was born until I was 18, and no, my Dad was not a career military man.  Fortunately, we always stayed in the same general area of Indiana, and I only had to change schools once in 5th grade.  

I always enjoyed the experience of getting to know a new house, but one house in particular will always be my favorite.  It will forever be the house that comes to mind when I think of home.  I have more fond memories of this one particular house than any other.  Countless family events, sibling clashes, the barn with horses, the pasture, the gully, the pond, and the wide open freedom for my imagination to run wild as I acted out Indiana Jones or played the part of a ninja in the yard.  It was certainly an incredible place to grow up, and for that, I am thankful.

I love the fact that my Dad built this house with his bare hands.  In fact, family legend states that the logs for the house were delivered on the day I was born in June of 1983.  This fact, as well as the fact that Dad was the builder, made the house extra special for me. 

The house sat at the end of what I thought at the time to be the longest driveway in existence, and it only seemed longer when I started school and had to walk down to the bus.

In its original form, the house had four bedrooms and a bathroom on the top level, with the master, living room, dining room, family room, laundry room, and kitchen on the main level.  It was completely open on the inside, with two of the bedrooms upstairs overlooking the living room.  There was also an open view of the kitchen from the hallway upstairs.  The entire concept promoted togetherness.  It also allowed me to master spying on my sisters' boyfriends to insure they didn't get fresh with my sisters...

Eventually, my Dad added on a garage and four seasons room with a hot tub, as well as a patio.  Overall, the house had everything.  A wood burning stove, a wrap around porch with a view of the entire property, a treehouse with a rope swing on the pond.  On Sunday afternoons, I always looked forward to sitting on the porch with Dad as we shot snapping turtles in the pond with a .22 rifle.  Different times indeed.

There are far too many memories for me to list, but I will always remember feeling loved and safe in this house.  Our family of six spent time taking care of the two horses, one calf, and one pig we kept in the barn, but I am sure Dad probably did most of the work...My brother, Justin, and I would talk our laid back Uncle Don into playing catch with us as we sat on the roof of the house, just outside the windows on the front.  He would toss the ball up to us and wait for us to throw it or roll it back down.  We always looked forward to the times Aunt Dori and Uncle Don would come up from Alabama for a visit.

There may have also been an incident (or possibly several separate incidents) in which your's truly rode his big wheel across the front porch completely naked.  Only one such incident was confirmed on film, and I am sure the image will make an appearance during the slide show which will be shown at my and Jennifer's wedding in April.  You all now have something to look forward too...

I remember how we would watch Cosby together and eat home made pizza.  I remember how Grandma and Grandpa would come over and we would all play Rook for hours.  There were countless nights I spent at the dinner table asleep as I refused to drink my milk and was not allowed to get up until I did.  It turns out, warm milk is even worse...

The picture below is from Christmas of 1984 when I was one-and-a-half.  Apparently we managed to successfully assemble a gingerbread house.  Adrienne, the first born and Family Commander In Chief, is on the left, followed by Justin, the third born Know-it-All.  Erin, the second born Easy-Going Free-Spirit is next to him, and lastly, your's truly - the last born adorable little guy on the right. 

That wonderful picture was taken in the living room, which is pictured below.  My Aunt Dori recently came across the picture above in a keepsake box which belonged to my Mom's Mom, Nana.  It makes me smile to know that Nana treasured memories of her four grandkids in that house as much as I treasure the same memories.

It feels great to take a moment and reflect on such great memories.  I was, and continue to be, blessed with an amazing family.  I am further blessed to have the honor of marrying Jennifer and becoming part of another amazing family.  One of the most amazing things about Jennifer is the fact that she was raised with nearly identical values as I was, and that, I believe, is the basis of our connection.

As I look ahead in life and think about the future, I can only hope that I am able to provide for my family and create a home which my children can remember fondly.  I do happen to be the least handy man on Earth, so I do not believe I will be able to construct such an actual house as my Dad did.  Even if I cannot physically build my family a house, I will certainly provide for them the requisite love and faith needed to make it a home.

I will always remember the log house, and all the love my family shared for so many years there.

Vows...

As my upcoming nuptials are quickly approaching, I have been thinking a lot about vows.  Jennifer and I have discussed on multiple occasions whether or not we will write our own, or recite the traditional Christian vows...We have not yet decided either way.

Knowing that we could very well end up writing our own, I have been kicking around some ideas of what I could possibly write.  I must have typed and deleted a page of words at least ten times by now.

How does one put such love and commitment into words?  It is clear that Jennifer and I are in love.  It is clear that we both love each other.  We are both aware that there is a considerable difference between being in love and loving someone.

Photo Credit: Linnealiz Photography

We both are in this for the long run, no matter what comes our way.  We will never give up on our marriage, and the big "D" will not even be a word in the vocabulary of our relationship.

We are both aware that our marriage will require love, even when being in love is not easy.  Hard work, commitment, and a conscious decision to wake up every day and choose to love each other will be the cornerstone of our marriage.  All of this is a given as far as we are concerned.  We have discussed it, and we are on the same page.  But how am I supposed to convey this to her in front of God and all our family and friends?  Even if I can come up with the words to say, how am I to say them without turning into a sobbing mess?

At the end of the day, I know it will all work out.  If it comes down to it and we decide to write our own vows, I know that I will be inspired and will be able to eloquently state how much she means to me and how I will be devoted to her for the remainder of our lives.  I know that I will be able to commit to her and promise her my love, and that I will not take her for granted.  I am aware that God has blessed me with her as a gift, and it is up to me to care for and treasure her for the gift and blessing she is.  I will lead her and our family in life, and in Faith.

All of these promises, I have no problem making.  I just need to find a way to write and say them...As for the sobbing mess, I cannot make any guarantees.  I could very well lose it the minute I see her coming down the aisle.

Imitation = Flattery...

Halloween: The one day a year when people can dress up and pretend to be something crazy and nobody will think twice about it.  The possibilities are endless, limited only by one's imagination!

Personally, I have never really gotten into the Halloween spirit.  I say it is because the day coincides with my Mother and Grandmother's birthday, but I cannot blame my lack of enthusiasm for the "holiday" purely on this.  I just do not really care for it.

Regardless, I do enjoy seeing others dress up, especially at work.  It is always the die hard Halloween enthusiasts which dress up and come to work, so the costumes are usually pretty good.  Today, there was one particular costume that I thought was absolutely great.

It appears that my wardrobe has caused me to be well known around my office.  Who knew that green or "barn door red" pants, sweater vests, blazers, neck ties, and driver's caps attract attention?  I guess the peacockin' around the office has indeed drawn attention to me - although, I must admit I would rather be known for my work ethic and ability to perform difficult tasks (after all, I do not think my wardrobe will get me a promotion).

Any way, one of my coworkers decided to come to the office in a "Bryan" costume, which consisted of purple pants, a sweater vest, and a drivers cap:

For the record - I do not own purple pants...Side Note: I did once purchase a pair of lounge pants which I believed to be blue while in the store, but ended up being purple when I got them home.  As a result, I will forever be known as "Plum Boy" by my brother-in-law, Rick.  Caveat Emptor (thank you, one semester of Law School) when shopping under fluorescent lighting in a bargain warehouse...

Back to the costumed coworker...At first I was not sure whether to be insulted, or flattered...What does it say about my wardrobe when it inspires a Halloween costume?  I began to rethink my life choices, but only for a split second.  I then realized how absolutely hilarious it was that a coworker actually thought about it enough and chose to dress up as me!  Imitation is the greatest form of flattery indeed.  

I will not be discourage by the imitation which occurred today.  I will not sacrifice my sense of style.  It is who I am, like it or not.  At the end of the day, I guess it feels pretty good to be inspirational to others!

Happy Birthday Mom and Grandma!

"Wooo" FAIL

I have yet to have anything funny or entertaining happen in my life over the past week, so much like J. Peterman, I am going to borrow from Cosmo's entertaining life.  That's right, this week, I am going to steal a story from my Sister.  It is a little gem that cannot go unpublished...

Imagine, if you will, several 32 to 39 year old moms taking a girls weekend to Nashville, TN for a much needed break from the kids.  Heading into the weekend, the ladies decide to find a man for one of the single group members.  Already, this has a recipe for hilarity...

The group of ladies is on the prowl...We will call them cougar kittens, since they are still young.  They visit numerous bars, imbibe numerous beverages, and dance the night away while keeping an eye out for a suitable mate for their single companion.  After a weekend of unsuccessful hunting, five of the ladies pack into a soccer mom shuttle and begin their trip back to Indiana.

I can imagine the mood in the vehicle.  The lack of success in finding a man for their friend, combined with a killer hang over leads to overall low morale in the vehicle.  As they prepare to leave Tennessee, they must stop to get fuel.  The driver steps out to pump gas as the remaining four women begin to discuss the weekend and discuss the difficulties of finding a good man for their friend.  Just as they get into conversation, a strapping young local rolls up on a crotch rocket and stops at the gas station to have a drink ...

At first, the man appears to be quite rough looking.  His garb consists of Carhart pants with a large silver belt buckle and a motocross racing jersey.  Although they couldn't tell if he was a cowboy, biker or logger, the ladies believe he has potential and decide to go in for the kill.  The situation which ensues is perhaps one of the most hilarious I have heard in years.

As the ladies observe the prey casually sipping his Red Bull, they begin to formulate a plan to attract his attention.  Keep in mind that the majority of these wonderful women have been married for several years, and have had little experience peacocking in the modern era.  The last time any of them attempted to draw the attention of the opposite sex (intentionally, and other than their spouse), it was common practice to roll down all the windows, crank up the music, and yell "Woooo" as they cruise by the target.  And so the plan came together.

The lead "cougar kitten" frantically began scrolling through the iPod, attempting to find the perfect song to blast from the vehicle.  The additional backseat passengers prepped for their role as supportive Wooo Girls.  The plan was in full swing as the driver finished pumping the gas and got back into the soccer mom shuttle.  It was going to be a moment of epic proportions.  They would roll away, blasting a cool rap song with lots of bass, "wooo" - ing to the best of their ability.  The target would notice the obvious hotness and wave them down, asking for the single lady's digits.  Done.  Game bruised.  

If the plan had worked out as intended, I would have nothing to write about today.  Fortunately for me, and anyone who happens to read this, the plan did not quite work out as planned.  The driver entered the vehicle, the song was queued up, the windows were rolled down.  Just as they started to pull away, the "cougar kitten" hit play.  Much to everyone's surprise, the contemporary Christian worship song written by Rich Mullins, "Awesome God" blasted from the speakers.  Laughter erupted in the vehicle, and none of the ladies were able to utter even the smallest "Wooo"....Epic. Fail.

God bless my Sister and her friends for their efforts to find a man for their single friend...apparently our Awesome God has a better plan in mind for this young lady, and the strapping young local in the hillbilly uniform was not the man for her...

This Girl...

I am head over heels in love with This Girl...

Everything about Her makes me heart beat faster and my soul fill with happiness.  She is the most genuine and sincere person I have ever met; nothing about Her is fake.  She is respectful and pleasant, rarely ill-tempered.  She takes neither me, nor others, nor life for granted; She appreciates her many blessings.  She does not waste her many talents, and She is always considerate of others.  She is a woman of God; a steward who is unwavering in her Faith. 

She loves to laugh; She loves to smile.  Her nose crinkles ever so slightly when she smiles.

She loves her family, and treats mine like her own.  She knows the value of an amazing family.

She knows and speaks my Love Language, as I know and speak Hers.  She is my best friend...

I have promised my life to This Girl, forsaking all others...

I will honor and respect This Girl for the rest of my life.

God has truly blessed me by bringing Her into my life.

This Girl is My Girl, and I will love Her for always...

**Special thanks to my Brother, Justin, for these photos, and everything else he does for me**

Bumper Stickers

What is it about a car that makes people want to advertise random facts and bits of information?  Personally, I will never disfigure my vehicle with any sort of slogan or picture, and I will likely never understand people who do.

My personal favorite is the honor roll bumper sticker.  We have all seen them: "My Kid is on the Honor Roll at Bla Bla Bla".  What demonstrates pride better than adhering a sticker to the back of your bumper?  I recently saw an interesting variation of this particular sticker.  It proclaimed, "I Love My Kid Even If He Is Not On The Honor Roll".

I could not help but think of ironic bumper stickers to add to this person's vehicle...something along the lines of, "My Kid Hates It When I Patronize Him", and of course, "If My Kid Were On The Honor Roll He Would Know What Patronize Means".

One recent trend that has become particularly annoying is the application of the family stickers on the back windows of mini-vans and SUVs.  The infamous stick figures which inventory each member of the family:

Photo From: http://www.familystickers.com

I can only hope that I do not end up with such a decal on my vehicle at any point in the future.  I am pretty sure that my wife to be feels the same way, but perhaps I should confirm...The only acceptable decals are the removable sort; the nice magnetic football helmets or school logos which can be removed during the off season if desired.

I suppose a bumper sticker is intended to make a bold statement, but I still contend that they are slightly absurd.  I do appreciate the American Pride bumper stickers, but I find it funny when people place them inside the window rather than adhering them permanently.  Such an application states, "I am proud to be and American, but not proud enough to make this a permanent badge on my bumper..." - If you are going to display such a sticker, at least stick it on...

At least those who plaster their cars with the stickers commit to doing so, although I chuckle a little when I see election bumper stickers from years ago.  Bush Cheney '04 Baby!

Ultimately, it is none of my business whether people decide to apply a bumper sticker.  Honestly, this entire blog post is pointless drivel, but hey, I didn't have anything funny or exciting to write about this week.  Sorry for wasting your time...

#craziness

My beautiful fiancé, Jennifer, and family friend, Shelly, decided many months ago to jump out of a perfectly good airplane.  Normally, my Mother-in-Law to be, Susan, would cover such an event on her blog.  She in fact attempted to do so many months ago when the two crazy jumpers attempted their first jump.  

During the first attempt, we all sat around waiting for their turn to go up, up, and away, but the plane’s hydraulics malfunctioned and all remaining jumps for the day were cancelled.  Susan’s prayers were answered that day as she was entirely opposed to the crazy idea.

I suppose if a plane’s hydraulics are going to fail, it would be an ideal time to be wearing a harness and a parachute; it also a great time to have trained professionals on board.

The second attempt came a few months ago.  Shelly and her family were up from Louisville visiting for the weekend, so Jennifer and Shelly decided to use their rain check.  Again, Susan’s prayers were answered and the cloud cover was too thick to allow jumping that weekend.

This past weekend, everyone was in town again and the ladies decided to finally use the rain checks they were given.  We all headed to the airport in Greensburg.  Well, most of us did…Susan opted to stay home rather than condone such activities :)  

I chose to be supportive from the ground as I do not handle heights or general nonsense very well.  The weather was ideal, so they finally had the opportunity to jump.  They were pretty excited.  I was pretty nervous…The hash tag #craziness was appropriate for the day.

Up they went...

Down they came...

At the end of the day, everything went well and they arrived safe and sound.  I still think they are nuts, but I am happy that they were finally able to experience the rush.  I am sure after coming all the way from Louisville twice, Shelly was happy to finally get to jump!

The Meat Makes the Man...

Food has long been a passion of mine.  I love to cook it, I love to eat it, and I love to share it with others.  I think I have an emotional attachment to food because it has always created such great memories for me.  Food often means getting together with friends and family, and fellowship is truly one of God's greatest blessings!

One of my favorite things about cooking is the feeling I get from watching others enjoy what I created.  Not that I cook simply to fish for compliments, but I love to hear how much others enjoy the culinary creation I have prepared.  I most enjoy cooking on a grill.  I currently sport the Weber Genesis:

Genesis E-310 3-Burner Black LP Gas Grill

• Porcelain-Enameled three burner gas grill
• 38000 BTUs
• Front-mounted control panels with cast aluminum end caps
• 637 square inch cooking area
• Porcelain Cast-Iron cooking surface
• Individual electronic ignition modules at each burner
• Stainless Burners
• Safety grip control knobs
• Restyled Stainless Steel work surfaces with Cast Aluminum end caps

Insert Tim the Tool Man Taylor grunting here as needed...She's a beauty, huh?  Three burners of indirect flame...I like to fire it up to 600 degrees to get the cast iron grates exceedingly hot, then kill the gas supply to the middle burner and cook at around 400.  This thing makes grilling easy...

Back to the food...I prefer to grill beef.  There are few things better than a perfectly cooked steak.  My default cut is Strip Steak, but I also enjoy Strip Steak, Sirloin, and Tenderloin (as long as it is not wrapped in bacon - don't get me wrong, I love bacon, but not wrapped around my tenderloin...wait, that sounds odd...).  Anyway, I suggest you procure a nice Strip Steak from you favorite butcher.  Take said Strip Steak, and apply the following rub:

• 1 Tablespoon Montreal Steak Seasoning

• 1 Tablespoon Light Brown Sugar

• 1 Teaspoon Onion Powder
• 1/2 Teaspoon of the following: Paprika, Cayenne Pepper, Garlic Powder

• Olive Oil

1. Get out your mixing bowl and combine the
Montreal Steak Seasoning, light brown sugar, onion powder, 

paprika, cayenne pepper, and garlic powder.
Mix them together well with a fork.

2. Now place your steak on a serving platter or baking dish.
Rub in the spices into the steaks and then place some
olive oil over the rubbed in spices.  Then flip the steaks over and repeat.

At this point you can either wrap the steaks in Saran Wrap and put them in the fridge for a few hours, or you can let them marinate for one hour at room temperature.  

Once the steaks have mingled with the rub, take them out to your preheated grill and toss them on.  For a 1" thick steak, I shoot for 6 minutes per side, which usually ends up Medium.  Only flip them once, and do not peek at them while they are cooking.  Lid down and walk away...As Dad used to tell me, "If your lookin', it's not cookin'!".

After 6 minutes a side, pull those bad boys off the grill and resist the urge to cut into them.  Always let them rest on the plate untouched for at leas 5 minutes to let the juices settle.  If you cut into it immediately, you lose all the juices.

The brown sugar in the rub carmelizes and makes some great char marks:

Mmmmm...That is good eatin'!  

I am a huge fan of A1 Steak Sauce - but not for steaks.  If you have to put A1 on a steak, it either was low quality beef or it was not seasoned/cooked correctly.  A1 if for sandwiches, baked potatoes, or bread only...And for the record, requesting A1 when at someone's house is tantamount to slapping your host/hostess in the face!

My lovely bride to be, Jennifer, recently paid me the absolute best compliment.  Whilst dining at a local "steakhouse" she uttered what was perhaps the most meaningful thing she could say at that very moment...as we sat enjoying dinner together, she looked me right in the eye and said. "Your steak is so much better than this one...".  It brought tears to my eyes, and a smile to my heart.  The meat makes the man, and in her eyes, I am The MAN! 

Reflection...

In the past week, we have all had the opportunity to reflect upon the terrible events of September 11, 2001, as well as the effect that day has had on us all in the decade that has since passed.  It is easy to become lost in the day to day shuffle, and I was happy to see so many taking the time to remember and reflect.

As I was reviewing some media coverage, I came across the article below, which was published in Men's Health Magazine in December, 2001.  The article speaks volumes to me.

It was only recently that I realized my role as a man.  In 2009, and the first part of 2010, I was going through some difficult times.  I took the opportunity to really figure out who I was.  With the help of God and the utilization of the message in John Eldredge's Wild at Heart, I was better able to understand what God meant for me when he made me.

This article was timely in the months following 9/11, and is still relevant today.  In many ways, I feel this article is an Eldredge-esque wake up call for men:

A Man’s Reach By Hugh O’Neill Originally published December 2001 Men's Health Our country has been wounded. We’re grieving the loss from the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, and the death of the passengers who took on a group of terrorists in midair and perished in the woods outside Shanksville, Pennsylvania, saving other folks the bad guys sought to slaughter. In the days right after the assault, like most Americans, we tried to salvage some lesson that might be salve for the ache. But apparently, if you spend too much time thinking about the NFC East, your brain may be overmatched in the brutal terrain of thousands immolated for no reason. We couldn’t form a coherent thought, never mind rescue a sustaining fragment from the ruins. But then, as the full extent of the tragedy became clear, a TV-screen tableau formed an image that will be worth clinging to, whatever happens in the future. Whether the dogs of war are loosed, or wisdom and love can find a way around necessity, the memory of police officers, firefighters, ironworkers, and emergency medical technicians moving methodically over the great heaps of rubble will remain an inspiration for dealing with a crisis and plain old daily life. With a stubborn mix of strength and care, those guys just worked. One chunk, one bucket at a time, they set about moving the mountain of I-beams and concrete and glass that had entombed their countrymen. We were struck by their plain doggedness, the relentless simplicity of lift and carry and continue. Facing an undoable task, they did what men do best—they began. Their ambition extended only to the ends of their arms. Nothing fancy. Just men and their muscles and their wills at work. They looked about them, bent over, and bore away the nearest burden. Here’s the lesson we’re determined to learn. Men are most useful when, like those rescuers, we focus on the small circle around us. We dream of big opportunities—to dazzle hordes of women, to reinvent capitalism, to matter. But so many of us get lost in big plans, or trapped by vague angers and old regrets, that we forget what those rescuers knew—that a man’s job is right here, right now. The opportunities aren’t out there. They’re asleep upstairs, wearing Spider-Man pajamas. They’re at the supermarket buying stuff for dinner, and now, after the attack, a little more fearful for the people they love. Yesterday’s game is in the books. The assignment, lieutenant, is to focus on the task at hand, to seize opportunities that are right in front of you—within your arm’s reach. The word “ambition” has come to mean the drive to move up in the AP rankings, to achieve wealth or standing. But in truth, a man’s “ambit” is nothing more or less than the circle in which he moves, the compass of his connections. We hereby decree that “ambition” is the more modest, but more demanding, urge to enrich the circle in which you move, whether you’re a Wall Street player or a firefighter from Bay Ridge who may die on the way up the stairs of an inferno. The attack on America has, for now, done what all those sixth-grade teachers couldn’t do—wiped that smirk off our faces. It’s a good bet we’ll be wise guys again. But we’re also hoping that the theologian Thomas Moore is right, that melancholy carves out a space in the soul where wisdom can grow. And we’re determined to shrink our circle, commend our attention to that which we can control. We’re going to deploy our love and energy in classrooms, on ball fields, in churches, in bars, in our offices, in the backyard, throughout the ambits of our lives. Don’t mistake us. We remain four-squared behind great achievements in the common world, including the rebuilding of whatever time reveals to be right on the World Trade Center site. But a few months out from this tragedy, we find ourselves in search of a manhood a little more attentive, one that dreams of stewardship, not empire. In all the great men we’ve known—fathers, teachers, brothers, pals—their strength came from a sense of duty. Left foot. Right foot. We’re at war, all right. And terrorism is just one of our enemies. The other is carelessness. To honor the memory of the folks who died, and the service of those who dug, we’re going to try our best to make ourselves useful.

Stewardship.  Serving others with a sense of duty.  Leading and growing my family's Faith.  Loving those around me (or those in "the ambits of our lives").  I will not lose heart, nor sacrifice my strength.



God Bless...

Vintage...

It has been several weeks since my last post, and surprisingly, several people have mentioned that I am slacking.  I am happy that people care enough to notice my procrastination, and apologize for being so lazy...

I thought it would be fun to take a trip down memory lane.  Some of you will not recognize the Bryan you are about to see in the images which follow.  Some of you will remember him fondly.  Some of you will laugh uncontrollably...Prepare for Bryan, circa 2002 to 2005....

Ambition and Potential

We will get things started with a glimpse at my Ball State University student ID.  This beauty brings back some memories...I chose to grow my hair out because honestly, I was not having any luck with the ladies when I had short hair, so I figured it couldn't hurt.  As it turned out, the long hair didn't help much either, but I sure tried.  I would go back to my parents house once a semester to have my Mom cut my hair.   Good times...These days, I would love to have just half of my hair back, but my forehead continues to get larger for some reason. 

The Classic "Less Than Sober" Look 

I am not sure where this picture was taken, but I am fairly certain I might have enjoyed a beverage or two prior to it being taken.  It looks as if I am about to yam all over the place, right?  You may notice the neck tie and button down shirt under that sweet hoodie.  I felt it was important to dress in the proper attire when drinking.

A Tale of Two Brothers

"One of these things is not like the other..." - I used to make fun of my brother for his lack of hair.  I once Photoshopped my magnificent mane onto his head for a birthday card.  Karma is now kicking my butt as my hairline retreats year after year.  We still enjoy goofing off with our nieces and nephew though...

Don't Wanna Brag, But...

      

Check out the pecks on that dude...Full disclosure: I was 117 pounds in the picture above, and I bet a good 2 pounds of that was hair!  Notice the classy PBR...I was clearly just getting started with my love of beer when this picture was taken.  I know this because it was not long after I started drinking beer that I went from that scrawny 117 pound hippie to a 170 pound graduate. 

Is That a Helmet?

I am not really sure what to say about this one...It sort of speaks for itself.  Let's just say that Michael Kelso had some major competition in the Muncie area.

Or was it Davy Jones?

I guess it would depend on the generation which serves as the point of reference.  While working at the frozen yogurt, or "fro-yo" joint, customers commented on my coiffed helmet head, claiming that it was similar to one of the aforementioned.  I just thought it would get me chicks...

Giddy Up

    

Halloween at the yogurt shop gave me the opportunity to break out the cowboy had and pistols.  It was a fun night, especially when a customer came in dressed as an Indian (dot, not feather - sorry if that is offensive to anyone...).  We posed for a cowboy and indian picture.  Probably not the most politically correct picture I have ever been a part of.  I guess after this blog post I cannot run for public office...

Our Lady

Our Grandma is an incredible woman and has inspired and taught me more than I can ever put into words.  I cannot express how much I love her, and I consider myself, and my family, blessed to have her.  That said, we clean up really well.  Just sayin'....

Composite Picture 

Here we have the classic cleaned-up Bryan, complete with dashing smile and snazzy neck tie.  This was the picture taken for my Delta Sigma Pi Business Fraternity composite.  Sadly, shortly after this picture was taken I decided that in order to seek gainful employment at some point I would need to cut my hair.  And thus ended the great hair experiment of 2002 through 2005.

Old Man…

It was not too many years ago my sister used to joke with me about being an old soul…I was known for rocking plaid madras pants on a regular basis.  She once asked me if I beat up a 90 year old and stole his pants, to which I responded, “that is making the assumption that I have the strength to beat up a 90 year old man” (I am not known for my athleticism, or strength…).  I did not listen to any music made after 1974.  I wore a tie nearly everywhere I went.

These days, I still get accused of being old…I drive no more than 5 mph over the speed limit; I think it sort of drives Jennifer batty since she is a speed demon…A safe speed demon – no worries, Susan…PS thank you for teaching her how to talk her way out of a ticket…I have several hats which appear to be from a 70 year old man’s wardrobe.  These are just a few of the reasons why some people may accuse me of being old…

Lately, this week especially, I have been feeling old.  I cannot eat a can of Campbell’s Alphabet Soup without it spelling “indigestion” in my stomach.  It used to spell “yummy” in my tummy.  I went to the gym on Tuesday and I am still sore on Friday – not just sore, but sore to the point that I am considering buying geriatric compression socks at Kroger during my lunch hour just to alleviate the pain in my calves…Yes, I feel old this week.

Old Man take a look at my life…I’m a lot like you.  If I am a bright eyed, bushy tailed 28 year old feeling this old, how old will I feel when I am 75?  If I cannot tolerate American Eagle stores because the music is too loud now, what will become of me later?  It is not that I mind getting older.  It definitely beats the alternative.  I just want this week to finish up so I can walk without cringing…

Remainder of None

Math has never been my strong suit…For as long as I can remember I have struggled with most mathematical calculations.  I was far more interested in figuring out the best way to remove the hair from my sisters’ dolls, or the next best way to launch a bottle rocket without a bottle. 

I did not realize it at the time, but looking back I now realize that I was once in remedial classes for math.  I believe it was around third or fourth grade.  I got to spend part of my day with Mrs. Manning.  I just thought I was special.  I was chosen to spend time with an extra teacher reviewing flash cards and working on long division rather than going to recess. 

It turns out I was indeed special, but in a different way…I now blame my lack of athletic ability on the fact that I was forced to stay inside and crunch numbers rather than hone my dodge-ball skills and master the simple skill of throwing and catching a ball on the playground.  They were my most decisive years for development of athleticism, and I was doing long division.  Tragedy…

Long division has always been especially frustrating for me.  I think it is mostly due to the fact that I felt (and continue to feel) it is irrelevant.  Why punish myself with long division when I have a calculator or Excel?  I guess I was just ahead of my time when I attempted to convince my remedial educator that I would not NEED to know how to do long division.  Turns out, I was right (thank you, electrons).

I managed to fumble my way through my math classes for the most part.  Geometry was the only other bump in the road.  We had a tenuous relationship at best; it seems I was a little too obtuse…Algebra, Trigonometry, and Calculus were not a problem for me.  Apparently my brain is better suited for the abstract and complex hypothetical calculations of higher level math, and simple things like multiplication and division are somehow beyond my level of comprehension.  Who knew?

Third grade was a long time ago.  Today, If someone held a gun to my head and asked me to solve a mathematical problem using long division I would no longer be alive.  It is difficult to imagine a scenario where I would be held at gun point and forced to use math, but hey, there are some crazy people out there.  Regardless, I would not be able to save my own life. 

I suppose I have a remainder of none when it comes to long division knowledge and ability.  I am fortunate in that one of my future wife’s many abilities happens to be mathematics, so I will not have to look like an idiot in front of our children when I cannot help them with their elementary level math homework…

What’s the Synonym for “Synonym”?

I do not envy those who endeavor to learn the English language.  There are words which sound the same but have two meanings.   There are words that can be replaced with other words and offer the same meaning; there are seemingly arbitrary rules about placement of modifiers, participles, prepositions.  Not to mention my personal pronunciation favorite, the diphthong.

Most of us have been speaking English (or some form of English) most of our lives, and we still do not have it mastered.  I know the rule about ending a sentence in a preposition, but that remains a trap I continue to fall into (or rather, a trap into which I continue to fall).  Having grown up in East Central Indiana, which is the home of ending a sentence in a preposition, I feel that I will forever violate that particular grammatical rule.

I recently noticed a “Tweet” on the Twitter that those kids are using on the interwebs.  I am unsure of its origin, but it made me laugh.  It posed the question: What’s the Synonym for “Synonym”?  My friends, that particular tweet is right in my wheelhouse when it comes to comedy.  After I finished laughing, I began to think about the question at hand.

According to the thesaurus in Microsoft Word, the synonyms for “synonym” are “substitute” and “replacement”.  Imagine any foreign soul armed with both this knowledge and a lactose intolerance attempting to order a milk-free latte at Starbucks.  The conversation plays out like this in my head:

Foreign Person: “I have the small size latte with milk synonym.”

Barrista: “Small is tall, and we do not have milk with cinnamon.”

Foreign Person: “Small is tall?  That confuses my mind.  Milk synonym, not cinnamon, if it pleases you.”

Annoyed Barrista: “Milk cinnamon?”

Irate Foreign Person: “My stomach make of the gas when milk I have, so synonym my milk with non-milk liquid, if it pleases you!”

All right, that is enough of that…The argument continues in my head, but for the immediate example I believe this exchange will suffice. 

Learning any language is difficult, but it seems that English is likely the most difficult to grasp.  It is almost intentionally confusing at times, and one can only hope to achieve a level of sufficient comprehension in order to convey his, or her, thoughts. 

Just remember, Superman does “good”, and nine times out of ten, you mean to say you are doing “well”.  Unless you are a charity worker or volunteer, then I suppose you can state that you are doing “good”…

STOP BREATHING [On Me]!!!

I have the fortunate blessing of having an amazing family.  I am the youngest of 4 children, having one awesome brother and two amazing sisters.  We have always been close, but at times I may have gotten on my oldest sister’s nerves…

Our family vacations usually consisted of a trip to Alabama to visit my Nana and Papa.  We had some great trips, and I have fond memories of Papa commenting on how much he enjoyed our visits, but wished we would not clog up his septic system…

Most trips were aboard the 15 passenger van, affectionately referred to as “Big Blue” on account of its color.  It was red….Colorblindness is no joking matter.

I, along with my 3 elder siblings, was confined to the back of the van.  The situation was almost ideal in that the large van had three rows of seating.  Too bad we had 4 kids each fighting for their own bench seat.  As the youngest, I drew the short straw and was placed with whichever sibling could tolerate me for a few hours.  This meant I usually shared a bench with my brother as he belched up the noxious gas produced when one combines Mountain Dew and beef jerky. 

My oldest sister was notorious for her type A personality and short temper when we were growing up.  She did not travel well and often got car sick.  My parents attempted to drug, err umm, appease her with dimenhydrinate; Dramamine being the brand of choice.  The meds usually knocked her out for most of the trip, but sometimes its efficacy was inadequate, which meant she was groggy, sick, confined, and awake.  The perfect storm…

On one occasion I was relegated to the rear bench seat as my brother and second oldest sister were each sleeping on their respective bench.  This meant I was confined to the back of the van with my oldest, cranky sister.  Apparently I was offending her with my involuntary respiratory function, and every couple minutes she insisted that I stop breathing on her.

In a relatively short time period, the command of “STOP BREATHING ON ME!” became, “STOP BREATHING!”  While I do not truly believe that she in fact wanted me to discontinue respiration and end my life, I do believe that I was annoying her immensely.  I thought I was just enjoying the ride, listening to my cassette tape of Plain White Rapper – it was the only tape I owned.  Sometimes I got to borrow my brother’s Milli Vanilli tape…

As we travelled down Interstate 65 I would keep an eye out for the rocket at the Alabama welcome center near Huntsville.  It was a beacon of hope that signaled our trip was nearly over, and I would finally be able to breathe in peace (photo courtesy of my oldest sister, Adrienne).

 But seriously, the van was blue…

Quick Lube

I am not known to be a particularly handy man.  Long ago, I realized that I am better with creative pursuits than mechanical.  As such, I patronize local establishments when I need my oil changed every 5,000 miles or so.  I openly admit that I am not particularly loyal to any one establishment, and I often visit the one with the lowest priced coupon offer. 

Most recently, I attempted to take my car to a place near my work for a $19.99 oil changed and tire rotation.  Not too bad for a coupon printed on the back of my Kroger receipt…Upon requesting said services I was informed that the approximate time in the queue was 20 minutes, and another 45 minutes would be necessary for the actual service.  Unable to accept the fact that an oil change would consume an hour and five minutes of my life, I chose to take my coupon and find a shop which could perform a simple lube job at a more agreeable pace.

My second choice was more expensive, coming in at an alarming $50 for services rendered; however, I happened to have a $10 off coupon which made it slightly more tolerable.  Sure, $40 was twice what the other place was going to charge, but the second establishment promised to have me in and out in 20 minutes.  That’s a quick and simple lube job my friends.

 I had pulled my car up to the bay and was waiting in line as the drama began to unfold before my very eyes…Service on the car in front of me was just being completed.  As I was next in line, I was in the waiting queue as the technicians reviewed the work with their customer.  They changed a light bulb in her rear turn signal.  They topped off her fluids.  They put a new sticker on her window stating her next oil change was to be done at 128,000 miles.  She was in full agreement as they ran down the list, until they said 128,000 miles…

The woman politely informed the technician that her odometer only read 80,000 miles when she brought in the vehicle.  She asked for an explanation as to how her car accumulated 48,000 miles during her 15 minute oil change.  This is where the technician made his first mistake, informing her that she must have been wrong and the car must have had more than 80,000 miles on it when she brought it in…

Clearly, this man is neither married or dating a female…To instantly respond to a woman by telling her she is wrong without offering any other reasoning is certain to cause problems.  Further, he offered no suggestions other than the fact that she was wrong and refused to discuss the issue further.  She was clearly, and rightfully, frustrated with the technician and sped away after arguing her point.

After she left, the technicians openly joked about her inability to read her odometer.  “How’d she mess that’n up!?” they said in their colloquial Hoosier accent (I have one too at times, so nothing against it…).  “She musta gone pert near 40,000 miles without’n oal (that’s how some of us say “oil” in Indiana – “oal”, like “coal” without the “c”) change!” they continued…

What the technicians did not realized is that 1 mile happens to equal 1.6 kilometers.  When THEY read the odometer, THEY changed the unit of measure from miles to kilometers (which is particularly easy to do on a 2008 Honda Civic, which happened to be what this particular female patron was driving).  As it turns out, 80,000 miles is roughly 128,000 kilometers (128,747.5 to be exact).

Now friends, I am no expert on the workings of the internal combustion engine or its maintenance.  I do not pretend to have a clue when it comes to fixing a car.  However, when a 48,000 mile discrepancy comes up in a matter of 15 minutes, I do believe I would have tried a little bit harder to investigate the mileage delta rather than insulting the woman’s intelligence.

After witnessing THEIR error in reading the odometer, I began to become nervous about having this particular crew service my vehicle.  My nervousness was an accurate premonition…

Upon completion of my oil change, I began to drive away.  Just as I was about to turn onto the main thoroughfare, every light on my instrument panel lit up; check engine, cruise control, traction control, etc…They were all on!  “What the what!?”, said the Liz Lemon voice in my head...

I returned to the shop to have the technician pull the codes.  No major mechanical problems, but the sensor to my air filter was not reconnected after they checked my filter for cleanliness…Though it was a simple fix, I do not see myself returning to that particular establishment.  Admittedly though, even if they hadn’t made that error on my vehicle, I would still “pass” on patronizing that location due to the way they treated the female patron with the crazy mileage…