Category Archives: Paul

How Much Ice Cream…

…would it take to kill you, and how would our favorite dairy derivative succeed in finishing you off?

I’m not talking about a frozen half-pint being used to bludgeon in your skull, or a melting fifty-gallon drum being used to drown you in. Although those are fascinating topics in their own right, should I feel an urge to start writing mystery novels.

No, I mean if you were reasonably healthy and started eating ice cream, as in LOTS of ice cream, how much would it take to send you off to the cornfield?

Would it be a boring, slow, and prosaic passage as you put on a couple pounds a day, finally getting to the point where slimy Los Angeles television critters were trying to get you on your own reality television show and they had to cut out the wall to get you out of the room when you hit the half-ton mark and had the inevitable congestive heart failure?

Would it be slightly quicker (as in, a year or two rather than a decade or two) as the trans fatty acids clogged your arteries, a gram or two at a time gleaned from the half gallon a day of Cookies & Cream you were shoveling into your face, until some cardiologist screwed up the experiment with a quadruple bypass?

Would all of the sugar send your glucose levels skyrocketing and in just a month or two you would be heavily into advanced Type 2 diabetes leading to “something bad” happening?

Or would it be a matter of death by brain freeze, where either your skull explodes a la David Cronenberg or it gets so bad you start hitting yourself in the face with a ball peen hammer until it stops?

Asking for a friend. Of course.

(DAMN my head hurts! Just a couple more spoonfuls and then I’ll stop, I swear!)

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No Context For You – September 15th

Wasn’t this a Jim Carrey movie?

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Looking For The Word…

…to describe the action of puckering your lips, blowing, emitting vowel-like sounds in your throat, all while simultaneously flicking your finger rapidly up & down across the lips to make “bur-burbeling” sounds.

You all know what I’m talking about. It’s a universal thing, we learn it as we’re pre-verbal infants, from the Australian outback to the strollers of Central Park. If you have no pride or self-respect and are willing to record yourself doing it and then putting that video clip out on the internet for all the world to see, it’s this:

For the record, Siri was no help, although she was hilarious. In particular, the first answer returned was profound!

So, that. THAT sound or noise or action or thing.

What’s that called?

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Third Degree

We’ve been really busy at work. There’s a fair amount of stress right now and I’m as tightly wrapped as anyone.

I’m also fond of letting my inner five-year-old class clown out to play when the spontaneous opportunity presents itself.

Late this afternoon the guy from the parking garage valet comes in. My office is near the front so I get to see what he wants. He’s getting ready to leave for the day so he’s making his rounds, distributing keys back to those who left them earlier in the day and haven’t yet picked up their cars. He’s got a set of keys to give to Jenny.

We don’t have a Jenny.

He insists, says she gave our suite number as her destination. I go to double check, maybe someone’s here that I haven’t seen, a visitor of some sort? Nope, just a dozen or so of us in at the moment and none of us are a Jenny.

He insists.

Sorry, I don’t know what to tell him. We don’t have anyone named Jenny.

He says it’s the keys to a Lexus.

Cue the inner five-year-old class clown.

Wait – I’M JENNY! A Lexus you say? Yeah, that’s mine, I’ll take the keys. You seem skeptical. You need ID? Sure, I can give you my phone number. It’s 867-5309!!

*crickets*

No one got it? Not one person?

I prance down the hall in disbelief, calling everyone out of their office. It’s time for a confrontation. NO ONE got it?

At which point in the thundering silence, She-Who-Will-Remain-Nameless yells, “We GOT it, Paul! We can’t help it if no one thought it was funny!” The office explodes in laughter.

Thus it was that my inner five-year-old class clown slunk back down to my office looking for a 50-gallon drum of aloe vera to wallow in. That was a full-body, 3rd degree burn.

Well played, She-Who, well played.

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Advice

In a random Twitter thing tonight someone I don’t follow and never heard of asked people to tell her things that they wish they had known or been told when they were 24 years old. (She’s turning 24 tomorrow.) Someone I do know and follow on Twitter had answered, I liked some of the other answers that were popping up in my feed, so I thought for a minute and answered. That answer in turn has been liked and retweeted a few time, which in turn got me to thinking.

I think there’s a huge perspective issue at play here. She’s looking forward, asking for pearls of wisdom from those who have been there, which is great. Advice is always easier to get than to actually put into play, but good for her for making the effort and asking an interesting question.

But my answer, given in the context of “what do I wish that I had known when I was 24,” implies that I know it now. But is that necessarily true?

Somewhere along the line I had the realization that while I might “know” what I was advising this internet stranger, it wasn’t necessarily something that I was doing yet myself. Or, at the very least, while it might be “wisdom” that I had earned, I couldn’t be sure that I had changed my actions to implement the lesson learned.

Could I look back in five years (ten years? two years?) and wish that right now I was keeping that advice in mind instead of waiting another two years (five? ten?) before acting?

Could be.

Perhaps this old dog should not just learn that particular trick, but practice it every once in a while.

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Joy & Sorrow

Joy is having a really, REALLY great idea for an article in response to something someone at work said about something else I wrote a couple weeks ago.

Sorrow is realizing that it’s gonna take hours to write and do a decent job on and I really, REALLY don’t have the time.

Joy is realizing that anyone at work actually reads this crap.

Sorrow is realizing that anyone at work actually reads this crap.

Joy is observing the indifference with which my brain is already off on a story line and hook for writing that really great idea. Joy? Sorrow? Whatever! I’m working on this, I’ll get back to you…

Sorrow is realizing that the brain will probably get back to me at about 02:13 AM and then not let me get back to sleep.

When I heard that life was all about finding balance, I don’t think this is necessarily what they were talking about.

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Where Can I Find A Six-Pack Of This?

https://twitter.com/Ali_Davis/status/905138529763639296

I love the sentiment – couldn’t find this at either Costco or at the Liquor Barn, although it might be under a slightly different label at the latter.

Either way, it occurs to me that it’s not just “they” that are trying to do this. Even when we don’t have people in power like we currently have “people” in power, the tiny little things in the day can add up, from the ridiculous to the sublime. (Or vice versa.)

The secret is to find that aforementioned magical elixir.

We must be doing it, most of us at least. We still get up tomorrow and somehow get out the door and try again.

But it would be nice if every now and then it was a little bit easier than the day before. That proverbial “one step forward” after what feels like so many steps back and sideways.

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That Moment, September 5th Version

…when you realize that the primary reason you don’t just start primal screaming in the middle of your day (aside from the way it tends to freak out your office mates) is that you’re not sure you’ll be capable of stopping.

I know that it’s good that I’m not in Houston, still be underwater.

I know that it’s good that I’m not in Oregon, burning and choking on smoke.

I know that it’s good that I’m not in South Florida, looking down the barrel at the biggest, baddest hurricane in recorded history in the Atlantic.

I know that it’s good that I’m not in Bangladesh, where 41,000,000 (not a typo) have been affected by their worst flooding in history.

But some things still suck and make me want to build a pillow fort under my desk with a big bag of Oreos and M&Ms and a good book and hide there until it gets better.

Adults don’t get to do that.

Or so I’m told.

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Is It The Roller Coaster Or Is It Me?

The ups and downs, the loops, the negative G’s, the sudden stops and starts, the 180° hairpin turns…

They seem harder to handle these days. Were they actually easier thirty years ago, or am I just losing a step (or five)?

Eight hours a day, some days ten, some days more, some with barely the time to breathe or catch lunch, all the while spinning and flipping and trying to land on your feet, or at least not with your spleen impaled on something sharp.

Too much adrenaline. Not enough cavalry coming riding over the hill to cut me some slack.

Too much adrenaline, even before the elderly blind assclown on his phone in his full-sized Mercedes runs through the stop sign and damn near ruins my day on a more permanent basis.

Too much adrenaline.

And yet, once or twice in the middle, a victory, or at least a vague feeling that perhaps breaking even or possibly a bit better might be on the horizon.

So we’ll do it again tomorrow.

 

 

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Confession

“Bless me, flight instructor, for I have failed to maintain currency. It has been five years, ten months, and twenty days since my last flight as pilot-in-command…”

I didn’t get to fly today, which was a tiny disappointment (there was a mechanical issue with the plane I had reserved, and the only other plane available had a glass cockpit, which I haven’t ever flown), but I did get started on my “rusty pilot” ground training.

For those unfamiliar with the process (which I’m assuming is probably most of my audience), a private pilot needs a few things to fly legally. First is a pilot’s license, which I got back in 2009. Those don’t expire, but they’re useless (legally) without the other components.

The second is a current medical certificate. These have to be renewed every two years for guys like me who are just flying little Cessnas and Pipers. (For commercial pilots, the ones flying you around on United, American, Delta, Southwest, and so on, it’s every six months.) Since I hadn’t flown in almost six years, my medical certificate had expired about four years ago. Being a bit older and taking some different medications meant some additional paperwork, which meant some additional time, but I finally got that taken care of in early August.

The third thing I need to fly legally is a “BFR” or “Bi-annual Flight Review.” Every two years, I have to have a flight instructor make sure that I still know what I’m doing. It’s not necessarily as stressful as having an FAA check ride, but it’s a couple hours of work and you have to prove that you’re still competent. But that assumes that you’re current, you’ve been flying regularly, and you occasionally practice and/or use procedures that might not be everyday occurrences.

When you haven’t flown in five years, ten months, and twenty days, you are neither current, practiced, or competent.

So the task at hand is to get the BFR done, but it’s going to take more than just the legally required minimum of two hours of flight instruction. My guess is that it’s going to take something like ten to twenty hours of flying, along with a lot of ground school and other review of the rules, regulations, aerodynamic theory, etc.

Much of the ground school stuff can be done on my own, and I’m in fact well into doing that. About three weeks ago I wrote about a software issue I was having – that was referring to a fairly extensive software package of videos and tests that I had ordered as part of a “rusty pilot” training package. It’s working now, so I’m going through hours and hours of review tutorials.

Today I thought we might start the flying part, but that wasn’t to be. I did get a bunch of the paperwork out of the way with the flight school and I met my new flight instructor. We went over the plan of what to expect for this process and got started on the ground training. I’ve got my marching orders on the studying and we’ll start flying in a couple of weeks. (The scheduling is going to be a bitch to start – between work Monday through Friday from 9 to way past 5 every day, my CAF work all day on Saturday, there aren’t a lot of options left for flying. Then when I have to not only find a hold in the flight instructor’s schedule but also a plane that’s available at the same time, with a LOT of other people also wanting to rent planes on Sundays, I have a problem.)

All in all, confession is good for the soul (I’m told) and I’m glad to see that next step behind me. Now, instead of five Hail Marys and two Our Fathers, for penance I’ll go watch the next video on airspace review.

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