So I took the family to see “Shrek the Third” this weekend. Really enjoyed it. If you have a daughter who is into princesses, you absolutely must see this movie, as it will provide an entirely different take on Disney’s fairest. Also, from here on out, when you see Snow White, you will hear a VERY different version of Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song.”
(Quick side note: Again, sincerest apologies go out to the poor souls working the concession at the movie theater, as I managed to dump my ginormous drink over on the counter twice. I still maintain the cup was faulty.)
That said, the true highlight of the movie was the movie trailer previews. I love the previews, especially with big movies such as Shrek, because you know you’re getting the first peak at something good.
But these trailers were extra special, as they were clearly geared to trigger blasts of youthful nostalgia for people like my wife and me. First came a trailer for “Transformers.” Based on the blank stares that greeted me when I bellowed “OPTIMUS PRIME!!!” there were not a lot of fellow Autobot fans in the audience. For those of you who were not young boys in 1984, the Transformers are “More than meets the eye. Robots in the disguise,” according to their mid-1980s commercial which is stuck in my head to this day. The basis of Transformers is that there are two kinds: Autobots (good) and Decepticons (bad). They switch from giant robots into regular objects (planes, trucks, lamps). In the movie, they come to planet earth to fight it out. But the bottom line is one of the main characters is a truck that turns into a robot and then back into a truck, which goes from cool to cooler to unbelievably awesome.
For my wife, the trip down memory lane was a preview for the Nancy Drew movie, which pits the teen girl detective against someone who wants to kill her for some reason. (I didn’t pay much attention, as I was more of an Encyclopedia Brown fan.)
But the previews had both of us taking mental trips back to when we were kids and got me to thinking of some other iconic pop culture things that Hollywood has yet to fully recognize. I’m not talking about movies and TV shows, either, because I think once Johnny Knoxville takes on the role of a Duke brother, we’ve scraped the bottom. I think it’s time they start looking into some other parts of the ’80s that hold potential silver screen gems:
Rubik’s Cube: It can be a story of the underdog. Let’s say, just for the sake of movie magic, there is a kid who can solve only one side of the puzzle at a time (occasionally he gets lucky and solves two sides by accident). The antagonist can be the show-off kid who can solve a Rubik’s Cube in about 11 seconds. Blindfolded. In the climactic scene, our underdog hero, who was unfortunately much shorter than EVERYONE until he was about a senior in college, produces Rubik’s Triangle, which he can solve in a matter of minutes. (Here we will use some poetic license and have everyone be very impressed with solving Rubik’s Triangle.)
Parachute pants: The wildly popular multi-zippered baggy pants were all the rage, and there was one sad little boy who never got to feel the electric boogaloo magic of said pants. It can be the sad tale of the young boy walking through the Memphis airport, seeing the pants in a store and trying to boondoggle his grandmother – a grandmother who was cursed with the grandparents’ affliction of buying ANYTHING kids seemed to want, especially if it was something the parents had already said no to – who looked back at him and said something to the effect of, “Are you nuts?” Imagine the tearjerking epiphany years down the road when the young man realizes his grandmother was merely trying to keep him from looking like a shrunken, white version of MC Hammer.
Space invaders: You kids today with your fancy video games with more than one button. Let’s go old school with a from-the-sky, row-by-row Atari 2600 invasion. The movie trailer has written itself: “Six rows of aliens. One red button. The fate of the universe rests on your thumb.” If we play our cards right, Yars can make a cameo and Journey will do the soundtrack.
Capsela: Everyone laughs at the kid who spends all of his time piecing together the plastic, motorized capsules, creating very cool cars, boats and the like. And the teasing continues. And the kid buys some more Capsela parts. And some more. And some more. And Gigantor the Capsela Monster is constructed, and through, say, a lightning strike, it comes to laugh, with a mission of vengeance. Make fun of Capsela kid, will they...
Those are just a few of the awesome things from my youth they can easily strike cinematic gold. And we have just scratched the surface, having not even considered the nearly endless possibilities that include Swatches, Jams, that a-ha video and I’m Not Herb. Wow, I can’t wait for the next time I got to a movie theater and see what Hollywood has in store for me next. The blank stares alone will be worth the price of admission.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Stay safe
I was forwarded an e-mail recently that talked about how, essentially, we were raising a generation of soft children who couldn’t handle growing up back in the day. It chided the use of such things as bike helmets, car seats and non-metal swingsets, and bragged about how we all grew up just fine.
Well, that’s all well and good, but not everyone got polio before the vaccine came along, but I think we can agree that we’re better off for having a vaccine.
I didn’t wear a bike helmet when I was a kid, and that was mainly because bike helmets were designed by water tower companies and rose about eight feet off your head, making you look like a giant two-wheeled mushroom.
But just because I didn’t crack my skull open isn’t a ringing endorsement for not wearing a helmet.
My kids are required to wear helmets when they ride their bikes or scooters. (They also have to wear chest armor when they joust.) My feeling is that just because I managed to survive doing some ill-advised or unprotected, there is no reason not to protect them where I can.
So basically it is a wonder that we made it through childhood, but that is hardly a reason to let my children grow up to beat the same odds, especially when safer alternatives are around.
Among the other ill-advised things from my youth:
1. The brick-and-board bike jump. Find a board, any board, and prop it up on a brick. Instant jump. This was dangerous for a couple of reasons: (1) If you got a board that was too thin, it might crack when you rode your bike over it, causing you to land well in front of your bike or (2) if you got a board that was too narrow and you still tried to jump it, your tire would slide off the board and you would end up as part of your bike in an incredibly uncomfortable union of flesh and metal.
2. Lawn darts. They are unavailable now (the Consumer Product Safety Commission banned them in 1998), and I have to say, that is a good idea. For those of you not familiar with them, they were giant darts to throw outside. They came with these plastic hoops, and you were supposed to put the hoops on the ground and see who could make the most inside the hoop. However, no one actually used the hoops, and kids opted to throw them at each other, which I think we can all agree is a bad idea.
3. Treehouses. Ten-year-olds have as much business constructing a tree house as they do constructing an actual house
4. Wiffle rocks. For the times when the crazy motion of a Wiffle ball wasn’t enough, we would put a small rock in it. The weight let it do extra crazy things when you threw it. Of course, on the off chance the batter hit it, the ball was coming zooming back at you, occasionally spitting a rock at you.
5. Crack the whip. When we would go roller skating, we would form a long line, with everyone holding hands. The first person in the line would start the crack by slinging his arm forward, sending the person next to him propelling forward, who would do the same thing with his arm. Eventually, it would get to the end, the last person would be snapped free, usually barreling into the end of the rink and doing a Pete Rose slide onto the carpet. True brainpower at work there.
6. Those fantastic metal swingsets. My kids have one of those wooden/plastic deals that you construct (in my case, over about three weeks). When I was young, we had the metal one that was rusted on the ends (the plastic caps had long since fallen off, so the sharp ends were just begging to give you tetanus). When you would start swinging, one of the legs would come off the ground, to the point where it became a game to see how high you could get the set off the ground. Topple it over? Bonus points!
So those are just a few examples of the things that, by all accounts, should have sent us to the emergency room. Just because they didn’t doesn’t mean I’m going to stand by watching my kids load up a Wiffle ball with rocks. Rather than look at this generation as weak or soft, I think I will just learn from my past and eradicate the obvious dangers where I can. I feel confident they can come up with their own hazards. Generation after generation has managed to develop new and exciting ways to endanger themselves, and I feel confident this batch of kids can continue the tradition.
Well, that’s all well and good, but not everyone got polio before the vaccine came along, but I think we can agree that we’re better off for having a vaccine.
I didn’t wear a bike helmet when I was a kid, and that was mainly because bike helmets were designed by water tower companies and rose about eight feet off your head, making you look like a giant two-wheeled mushroom.
But just because I didn’t crack my skull open isn’t a ringing endorsement for not wearing a helmet.
My kids are required to wear helmets when they ride their bikes or scooters. (They also have to wear chest armor when they joust.) My feeling is that just because I managed to survive doing some ill-advised or unprotected, there is no reason not to protect them where I can.
So basically it is a wonder that we made it through childhood, but that is hardly a reason to let my children grow up to beat the same odds, especially when safer alternatives are around.
Among the other ill-advised things from my youth:
1. The brick-and-board bike jump. Find a board, any board, and prop it up on a brick. Instant jump. This was dangerous for a couple of reasons: (1) If you got a board that was too thin, it might crack when you rode your bike over it, causing you to land well in front of your bike or (2) if you got a board that was too narrow and you still tried to jump it, your tire would slide off the board and you would end up as part of your bike in an incredibly uncomfortable union of flesh and metal.
2. Lawn darts. They are unavailable now (the Consumer Product Safety Commission banned them in 1998), and I have to say, that is a good idea. For those of you not familiar with them, they were giant darts to throw outside. They came with these plastic hoops, and you were supposed to put the hoops on the ground and see who could make the most inside the hoop. However, no one actually used the hoops, and kids opted to throw them at each other, which I think we can all agree is a bad idea.
3. Treehouses. Ten-year-olds have as much business constructing a tree house as they do constructing an actual house
4. Wiffle rocks. For the times when the crazy motion of a Wiffle ball wasn’t enough, we would put a small rock in it. The weight let it do extra crazy things when you threw it. Of course, on the off chance the batter hit it, the ball was coming zooming back at you, occasionally spitting a rock at you.
5. Crack the whip. When we would go roller skating, we would form a long line, with everyone holding hands. The first person in the line would start the crack by slinging his arm forward, sending the person next to him propelling forward, who would do the same thing with his arm. Eventually, it would get to the end, the last person would be snapped free, usually barreling into the end of the rink and doing a Pete Rose slide onto the carpet. True brainpower at work there.
6. Those fantastic metal swingsets. My kids have one of those wooden/plastic deals that you construct (in my case, over about three weeks). When I was young, we had the metal one that was rusted on the ends (the plastic caps had long since fallen off, so the sharp ends were just begging to give you tetanus). When you would start swinging, one of the legs would come off the ground, to the point where it became a game to see how high you could get the set off the ground. Topple it over? Bonus points!
So those are just a few examples of the things that, by all accounts, should have sent us to the emergency room. Just because they didn’t doesn’t mean I’m going to stand by watching my kids load up a Wiffle ball with rocks. Rather than look at this generation as weak or soft, I think I will just learn from my past and eradicate the obvious dangers where I can. I feel confident they can come up with their own hazards. Generation after generation has managed to develop new and exciting ways to endanger themselves, and I feel confident this batch of kids can continue the tradition.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Disney days
So my family has returned from our yearly Disney pilgrimage, and I feel obligated to share a few things with you that I learned during my four-day House of Mouse experience:
1. While it may not be dead, chivalry is certainly an endangered species. When we go to Disney, we stay on-site and travel everywhere by Disney bus. Coming home from the parks one night, we had two very tuckered out kids. My wife had Parker, our 4-year-old, asleep on her shoulder, while I carried Allie, our sleeping 6-year-old. We were the last group allowed on the bus and were relegated to standing-room only. There on either side of us were guys about my age, sitting with their significant others. One of them smacked his gum. And they enjoyed their seats the entire trip, never mind that a sleeping 6-year-old weighs approximately 1,100 pounds. Eventually, I simply plopped on the floor, since it was either that or get slung into one of the guys’ laps during a bus turn. I’m not sure what surprised me more: The fact that two grown men sat idly by while folks held sleeping kids, or the fact that their wives didn’t do what mine would have done in that situation, which was to dig an elbow deep in my ribs and, through gritted teeth, say, “STAND... UPPPPP.” When the bus arrived back at our hotel, I considered thanking the guys for allowing me to occupy their foot room on the floor. For some reason, I had a sense of good judgment and refrained.
2. We have a nation of children not learning properly. While standing in line for Star Tours, a Star Wars-themed simulator ride, a Stormtrooper in full uniform came strolling through the queue line, interacting with folks. Tons of folks my age were squealing to their children, “OMIGOD!!! A STORM-TROOPER!!!” Cut to everyone under the age of about 25, and there was nothing but a collection of blanks stares. Another time, we let Parker go into a store and pick out a toy. He opted for a Chewbacca action figure (“With Wookiee Fury Action!!!”). When he selected it, I made a loud (and well practiced) Wookiee call. The store got quiet and everyone stared at me. My wife was included in that group. My children will begin the Star Wars marathon viewing session soon. School will have to wait. They need to learn their Star Wars characters.
3. Lines are for suckers. We have fine tuned the art of Disney to the point where we hit all the top rides, but do so without spending half of our time in line. The longest line we ever stand in is about 15 minutes. We know the parks well enough to know when to go on which ride. Also, my wife carries a revolver.
4. My brilliant humor is unappreciated. While at Animal Kingdom, we were stopped at an exhibit looking at some animals. A duck that was sitting nearby took flight and buzzed right by my shoulder and then zoomed right by my wife’s ear. My wife did this Matrix-style avoidance dance, thinking she was under assault. She wheeled and looked at me, to which I simply said, “Hey, honey – duck.” You see, it was a duck ... and she should have ... ducked ... oh, never mind.
5. Some people have a sense of humor. Some don’t. I was parking a stroller and the kids both hopped out and started to run to their mother. As they passed me, I said loudly, “That’s right, children – run free – you are now the property of Disney!” Some people laughed. Others stared at me with a look that simply said, “Child abandonment is not funny.” Clearly, those are people without kids at Disney.
6. Princesses are magical. “That’s how they can be in two places at once, dear. Ooh, look – cotton candy!!!”
7. My children are the only ones on the planet without wheels built into their sneakers. Everywhere at Disney kids were wheeling past us with those sneaker/skates. I also find it unfair that I do not have a pair.
8. Once you get into the gates of Disney, it should be federal law that you can no longer comment on the price of anything. Most everyone is there voluntarily (Disney has a select program of forced roundups, but that’s mostly from the Midwest). You know you are going to spend 14 times what you planned. Accept it, and be happy and thankful Disney lets you leave, unlike those Midwestern “guests.”
9. “We’re all in this together.” That little reference is for those of you who, like me, have seen the Disney movie “High School Musical” 41,000 times. And, after attending a Wildcats pep rally in which my daughter got to dance with the East High crew, that song has been stuck on perma-loop in my head. I share it with you.
10. Nonsensical threats are sometimes the most effective. On our trip home, the children decided to engage in a yelling contest. Gripping the steering wheel ever tighter, I said to my wife, “Make ... them ... stop ... NOW.” My wife wheeled around, pointed to a pasture of cows we were passing and said, “Both of you be quiet now or your father might hit a cow.” They were both immediately quiet. I looked over at my wife and whispered, “That doesn’t even come close to making any sense.” “They’re quiet, aren’t they?” was her reply. Touché.
So, as usual, it was a great Disney trip, and we will most likely make our return next year. Hopefully by then, I’ll have my wheely shoes.
1. While it may not be dead, chivalry is certainly an endangered species. When we go to Disney, we stay on-site and travel everywhere by Disney bus. Coming home from the parks one night, we had two very tuckered out kids. My wife had Parker, our 4-year-old, asleep on her shoulder, while I carried Allie, our sleeping 6-year-old. We were the last group allowed on the bus and were relegated to standing-room only. There on either side of us were guys about my age, sitting with their significant others. One of them smacked his gum. And they enjoyed their seats the entire trip, never mind that a sleeping 6-year-old weighs approximately 1,100 pounds. Eventually, I simply plopped on the floor, since it was either that or get slung into one of the guys’ laps during a bus turn. I’m not sure what surprised me more: The fact that two grown men sat idly by while folks held sleeping kids, or the fact that their wives didn’t do what mine would have done in that situation, which was to dig an elbow deep in my ribs and, through gritted teeth, say, “STAND... UPPPPP.” When the bus arrived back at our hotel, I considered thanking the guys for allowing me to occupy their foot room on the floor. For some reason, I had a sense of good judgment and refrained.
2. We have a nation of children not learning properly. While standing in line for Star Tours, a Star Wars-themed simulator ride, a Stormtrooper in full uniform came strolling through the queue line, interacting with folks. Tons of folks my age were squealing to their children, “OMIGOD!!! A STORM-TROOPER!!!” Cut to everyone under the age of about 25, and there was nothing but a collection of blanks stares. Another time, we let Parker go into a store and pick out a toy. He opted for a Chewbacca action figure (“With Wookiee Fury Action!!!”). When he selected it, I made a loud (and well practiced) Wookiee call. The store got quiet and everyone stared at me. My wife was included in that group. My children will begin the Star Wars marathon viewing session soon. School will have to wait. They need to learn their Star Wars characters.
3. Lines are for suckers. We have fine tuned the art of Disney to the point where we hit all the top rides, but do so without spending half of our time in line. The longest line we ever stand in is about 15 minutes. We know the parks well enough to know when to go on which ride. Also, my wife carries a revolver.
4. My brilliant humor is unappreciated. While at Animal Kingdom, we were stopped at an exhibit looking at some animals. A duck that was sitting nearby took flight and buzzed right by my shoulder and then zoomed right by my wife’s ear. My wife did this Matrix-style avoidance dance, thinking she was under assault. She wheeled and looked at me, to which I simply said, “Hey, honey – duck.” You see, it was a duck ... and she should have ... ducked ... oh, never mind.
5. Some people have a sense of humor. Some don’t. I was parking a stroller and the kids both hopped out and started to run to their mother. As they passed me, I said loudly, “That’s right, children – run free – you are now the property of Disney!” Some people laughed. Others stared at me with a look that simply said, “Child abandonment is not funny.” Clearly, those are people without kids at Disney.
6. Princesses are magical. “That’s how they can be in two places at once, dear. Ooh, look – cotton candy!!!”
7. My children are the only ones on the planet without wheels built into their sneakers. Everywhere at Disney kids were wheeling past us with those sneaker/skates. I also find it unfair that I do not have a pair.
8. Once you get into the gates of Disney, it should be federal law that you can no longer comment on the price of anything. Most everyone is there voluntarily (Disney has a select program of forced roundups, but that’s mostly from the Midwest). You know you are going to spend 14 times what you planned. Accept it, and be happy and thankful Disney lets you leave, unlike those Midwestern “guests.”
9. “We’re all in this together.” That little reference is for those of you who, like me, have seen the Disney movie “High School Musical” 41,000 times. And, after attending a Wildcats pep rally in which my daughter got to dance with the East High crew, that song has been stuck on perma-loop in my head. I share it with you.
10. Nonsensical threats are sometimes the most effective. On our trip home, the children decided to engage in a yelling contest. Gripping the steering wheel ever tighter, I said to my wife, “Make ... them ... stop ... NOW.” My wife wheeled around, pointed to a pasture of cows we were passing and said, “Both of you be quiet now or your father might hit a cow.” They were both immediately quiet. I looked over at my wife and whispered, “That doesn’t even come close to making any sense.” “They’re quiet, aren’t they?” was her reply. Touché.
So, as usual, it was a great Disney trip, and we will most likely make our return next year. Hopefully by then, I’ll have my wheely shoes.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Heads up.
You can become very self conscious when you have, say, some sort of blemish on your face.
I certainly was the other day when I walked around with a golf ball-sized lump on my forehead that was nicely capped with a gaping wound.
At one point, standing at a business’ counter, my head pounding and blood welling from the inch-long slash over my left eye, I noticed several people staring, all a little slack-jawed.
I pointed to my forehead. “Yes, I’m aware of this. I’m going to get it taken care of now.”
Now your first question is probably why I had a big head gash. Your second is probably why I stopped to run errands before dealing with it. Let me answer the second question first: Because I had things to do, and I hate it when I don’t get my list done.
As for how it happened, I would love to give you a great story about how I fended off muggers or wrestled a puma. Alas, it was something far more dangerous: I walked into a door.
Oh, but it wasn’t any old door. It was a door from the garage to the kitchen, well documented to be one of the most ferocious doors in nature. You see, I was coming home the other morning to pack for a trip. I attempted to enter the kitchen through said door. As usual, I was in a bit of a hurry. I turned the knob and started to follow the opening door into the kitchen. About two inches after opening, my plan of entry – a fairly basic and oft-repeated plan – came off the tracks. The door stopped abruptly. I did not, and planted my face right into the door. I said a word I am not proud of because, quite frankly, it hurt and the moment needed something to capture it. I apologize to anyone who was within about seven blocks of me, as it really hurt.
I was a little stunned but gathered my bearings enough to realize that the reason for the sudden stoppage was that a floor mat had gotten wedged up by the door, I assume by a dog who refuses to use an actual dog bed but would rather fashion her bed each night out of a floor mat.
Still a little woozy, I wiggled the door enough to free the mat and then reached down and pulled the mat out of the way. I then threw the mat very hard onto the ground, partly because I was frustrated that I had just walked into a door and partly on the off-chance floor mats felt punishment.
I stepped into the bathroom and looked at a mirror. I saw the place on my forehead had already started to swell. Then I saw a little red line form. I touched my forehead, and the little red line suddenly expanded, and I realized I had a sizable cut on my forehead. And it had to get rid of A LOT of blood.
I went and got some paper towels to cram on my forehead to stop the bleeding. I then tried to pack, which perhaps shows just how hard the door hit me, because no sane person would try and pack with one hand while keeping a bloody compress applied with the other.
After a few minutes, the packing became futile, and I went downstairs to get some ice for my now throbbing headache. After a few minutes, the bleeding had mostly stopped, and I could once again see straight. I decided I would head out and take care of a few things on my to-do list, which now included “Put face back together.”
I considered getting my head stitched up, but then it occurred to me that without stitches, I could get a stylish facial scar. And just think if Harrison Ford had gotten stitches on that mega-million dollar chin of his. I can’t risk that kind of monetary gain.
Eventually, I went to a drug store to get some butterfly bandages. Standing at the counter, I asked the young clerk if she thought my forehead needed stitches. She stared at me, kinda grimaced, and said, “Uh, I don’t know.” Her facial expression, however, said, “Please go away, scary, bloody forehead man.”
After an hour or so, the pain started to subside, which was a good thing. Granted, the swelling was still pretty pronounced, and the cut was looking none too pretty. Add to that the lovely white bandage across my forehead, and I received very little eye contact. Everyone I came in contact with just stared at the head wound. Way to be sensitive, people.
By the end of the day, I had pretty much forgotten about the cut and wasn’t even thinking about it when I went into a gas station that evening. The woman behind the counter, however, clearly noticed, and said, “I see we have something in common,” as she lifted her bangs to reveal a long scar across her forehead. “Cancer,” she said, nodding in solidarity.
Shamefully, I had to respond, “No, ma’am. I walked into a door.” She looked at me as though I had somehow betrayed or tricked her. I assure you, no one holds cancer survivors in higher regard than I do, and I would be the last person to equate her battle with the fact that I can’t avoid splitting my face open with a door.
After a couple of days, the swelling had subsided. The cut is still there, and I am sure I will have a little reminder from here on out on my forehead. It’s OK, though, because it will be good one day to tell my grandkids about the cut. And how I bravely fought a puma.
I certainly was the other day when I walked around with a golf ball-sized lump on my forehead that was nicely capped with a gaping wound.
At one point, standing at a business’ counter, my head pounding and blood welling from the inch-long slash over my left eye, I noticed several people staring, all a little slack-jawed.
I pointed to my forehead. “Yes, I’m aware of this. I’m going to get it taken care of now.”
Now your first question is probably why I had a big head gash. Your second is probably why I stopped to run errands before dealing with it. Let me answer the second question first: Because I had things to do, and I hate it when I don’t get my list done.
As for how it happened, I would love to give you a great story about how I fended off muggers or wrestled a puma. Alas, it was something far more dangerous: I walked into a door.
Oh, but it wasn’t any old door. It was a door from the garage to the kitchen, well documented to be one of the most ferocious doors in nature. You see, I was coming home the other morning to pack for a trip. I attempted to enter the kitchen through said door. As usual, I was in a bit of a hurry. I turned the knob and started to follow the opening door into the kitchen. About two inches after opening, my plan of entry – a fairly basic and oft-repeated plan – came off the tracks. The door stopped abruptly. I did not, and planted my face right into the door. I said a word I am not proud of because, quite frankly, it hurt and the moment needed something to capture it. I apologize to anyone who was within about seven blocks of me, as it really hurt.
I was a little stunned but gathered my bearings enough to realize that the reason for the sudden stoppage was that a floor mat had gotten wedged up by the door, I assume by a dog who refuses to use an actual dog bed but would rather fashion her bed each night out of a floor mat.
Still a little woozy, I wiggled the door enough to free the mat and then reached down and pulled the mat out of the way. I then threw the mat very hard onto the ground, partly because I was frustrated that I had just walked into a door and partly on the off-chance floor mats felt punishment.
I stepped into the bathroom and looked at a mirror. I saw the place on my forehead had already started to swell. Then I saw a little red line form. I touched my forehead, and the little red line suddenly expanded, and I realized I had a sizable cut on my forehead. And it had to get rid of A LOT of blood.
I went and got some paper towels to cram on my forehead to stop the bleeding. I then tried to pack, which perhaps shows just how hard the door hit me, because no sane person would try and pack with one hand while keeping a bloody compress applied with the other.
After a few minutes, the packing became futile, and I went downstairs to get some ice for my now throbbing headache. After a few minutes, the bleeding had mostly stopped, and I could once again see straight. I decided I would head out and take care of a few things on my to-do list, which now included “Put face back together.”
I considered getting my head stitched up, but then it occurred to me that without stitches, I could get a stylish facial scar. And just think if Harrison Ford had gotten stitches on that mega-million dollar chin of his. I can’t risk that kind of monetary gain.
Eventually, I went to a drug store to get some butterfly bandages. Standing at the counter, I asked the young clerk if she thought my forehead needed stitches. She stared at me, kinda grimaced, and said, “Uh, I don’t know.” Her facial expression, however, said, “Please go away, scary, bloody forehead man.”
After an hour or so, the pain started to subside, which was a good thing. Granted, the swelling was still pretty pronounced, and the cut was looking none too pretty. Add to that the lovely white bandage across my forehead, and I received very little eye contact. Everyone I came in contact with just stared at the head wound. Way to be sensitive, people.
By the end of the day, I had pretty much forgotten about the cut and wasn’t even thinking about it when I went into a gas station that evening. The woman behind the counter, however, clearly noticed, and said, “I see we have something in common,” as she lifted her bangs to reveal a long scar across her forehead. “Cancer,” she said, nodding in solidarity.
Shamefully, I had to respond, “No, ma’am. I walked into a door.” She looked at me as though I had somehow betrayed or tricked her. I assure you, no one holds cancer survivors in higher regard than I do, and I would be the last person to equate her battle with the fact that I can’t avoid splitting my face open with a door.
After a couple of days, the swelling had subsided. The cut is still there, and I am sure I will have a little reminder from here on out on my forehead. It’s OK, though, because it will be good one day to tell my grandkids about the cut. And how I bravely fought a puma.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Nine years of bliss
So today my wife and I celebrate our anniversary. Just the other day I turned to her and said, “Has it been nine years?”
Fortunately, she knew that this was not a rhetorical question, but rather my way of sincerely asking how long we have been married, since I can never remember. And that, my friends, is what makes my wife great.
She knows that I cannot always remember that it was 1998 when we tied the knot, despite the fact that I can remember the years Bama won national titles or the Braves won the World Series or what year players’ rookie baseball cards came out during the 1980s. (1983 – what a year!)
Another reason I have a hard time remembering what year we got married is that we dated for so long before getting married. Marriage was actually not that big of a leap for us.
We started dating in 1993, so it wasn’t like we were going to get married and then on the honeymoon my wife would suddenly learn something new about me” “Wait a minute – you’re telling me that you’d rather drink beer and watch a football game than go antiquing? Who are you? What have I done!?!?!” In fairness, she may say that last part quite a bit.
Since we started dating in college, I see our relationship as having been divided into four stages:
STAGE 1: College. This was the free-wheeling, party time where we had fun despite being completely broke. We couldn’t go anywhere or do anything, but we’d have fun regardless.
On a completely unrelated side note, it was during this time that I learned she disliked tuna fish so much, all I had to do was call her up and tell her that I was making a tuna fish sandwich. She would get so repulsed by the idea that anyone would consume it she would bring me lunch, and it was usually something like McDonald’s or Wendy’s, which is big living in college.
STAGE 2: Young professionals. Similar to college, but with a hint more responsibility. We were still dating, but it was pretty clear we were moving toward a future. It was this stage when my future wife began peppering conversations with words such as “maturity.”
STAGE 3: DINKs. For the first couple years of marriage, we had the DINK lifestyle: Double Income, No Kids. This was a time of lots of fun with friends, social hours after work, etc. We started to discuss having children. I was surprised to learn that the idea of having kids did not terrify me.
STAGE 4: Kids. So the kids start rolling in, and that’s kind of the end of what some people refer to as the “fun” part of the relationship. Of course, I find having kids to be a blast, so it was not that much of a leap to give up sitting at a bar playing trivia.
So here we are, deep in the heart of Stage 4, and I have to say, despite the fun parts of the other stages, this is by far my favorite part, especially because when that pesky ol’ “maturity” word comes up, I can dismissively tell my wife that I am merely playing with the kids and she should lighten up and live a little. She often then responds, “That’s all well and good, and your spoon-hanging-on-your-nose trick is as impressive as ever, but you can’t use the kids as an excuse since we’re out to dinner and they’re at your parents’ house.” Touché.
Stage 4 will be the longest stretch in our relationship, as it will last for at least 15 years or so. From what I hear, Stage 5, the Teen Years, is not only a different stage but possibly takes place in a different dimension. I was once a teen boy, so you would think I would remember this. Of course, at the time, I was far too busy letting everyone know how incredibly put upon I was.
We are definitely at the awesome peak of the Stage 4, with our kids at ages 6 and 4. They are both at the age where they are independent and, on occasion, fairly rational creatures. Granted, sometimes arguing with a 4-year-old is like arguing with a pair of tube socks. Of course, the same can be said for my wife. HEY-OH!!!!
I kid, I kid. And I can kid, because, as my wife will tell you, she quit listening to me years ago. While I think she is kidding, I will say that she has a good sense of humor and knows that some good natured joking is my awkward, socially inept way of showing my affection. And that, good people, is the one reason why she’s stuck with me all these years: Sympathy.
Like any couple who’s been together this long, we’ve had our share of ups and downs, highs and lows. The ups and highs have been far more commonplace, something I attribute to the fact that I am, for lack of a better word, awesome. My wife can take some credit, I suppose, but her contribution has mainly been tolerance. Ha! More kidding!
My wife and I make a great team, and each anniversary is a chance for me to remember how lucky I am.
I plan to reflect again on next year’s anniversary, whichever one that is.
Contact Michael Gibbons at mgibbons@aikenstandard.com.
Fortunately, she knew that this was not a rhetorical question, but rather my way of sincerely asking how long we have been married, since I can never remember. And that, my friends, is what makes my wife great.
She knows that I cannot always remember that it was 1998 when we tied the knot, despite the fact that I can remember the years Bama won national titles or the Braves won the World Series or what year players’ rookie baseball cards came out during the 1980s. (1983 – what a year!)
Another reason I have a hard time remembering what year we got married is that we dated for so long before getting married. Marriage was actually not that big of a leap for us.
We started dating in 1993, so it wasn’t like we were going to get married and then on the honeymoon my wife would suddenly learn something new about me” “Wait a minute – you’re telling me that you’d rather drink beer and watch a football game than go antiquing? Who are you? What have I done!?!?!” In fairness, she may say that last part quite a bit.
Since we started dating in college, I see our relationship as having been divided into four stages:
STAGE 1: College. This was the free-wheeling, party time where we had fun despite being completely broke. We couldn’t go anywhere or do anything, but we’d have fun regardless.
On a completely unrelated side note, it was during this time that I learned she disliked tuna fish so much, all I had to do was call her up and tell her that I was making a tuna fish sandwich. She would get so repulsed by the idea that anyone would consume it she would bring me lunch, and it was usually something like McDonald’s or Wendy’s, which is big living in college.
STAGE 2: Young professionals. Similar to college, but with a hint more responsibility. We were still dating, but it was pretty clear we were moving toward a future. It was this stage when my future wife began peppering conversations with words such as “maturity.”
STAGE 3: DINKs. For the first couple years of marriage, we had the DINK lifestyle: Double Income, No Kids. This was a time of lots of fun with friends, social hours after work, etc. We started to discuss having children. I was surprised to learn that the idea of having kids did not terrify me.
STAGE 4: Kids. So the kids start rolling in, and that’s kind of the end of what some people refer to as the “fun” part of the relationship. Of course, I find having kids to be a blast, so it was not that much of a leap to give up sitting at a bar playing trivia.
So here we are, deep in the heart of Stage 4, and I have to say, despite the fun parts of the other stages, this is by far my favorite part, especially because when that pesky ol’ “maturity” word comes up, I can dismissively tell my wife that I am merely playing with the kids and she should lighten up and live a little. She often then responds, “That’s all well and good, and your spoon-hanging-on-your-nose trick is as impressive as ever, but you can’t use the kids as an excuse since we’re out to dinner and they’re at your parents’ house.” Touché.
Stage 4 will be the longest stretch in our relationship, as it will last for at least 15 years or so. From what I hear, Stage 5, the Teen Years, is not only a different stage but possibly takes place in a different dimension. I was once a teen boy, so you would think I would remember this. Of course, at the time, I was far too busy letting everyone know how incredibly put upon I was.
We are definitely at the awesome peak of the Stage 4, with our kids at ages 6 and 4. They are both at the age where they are independent and, on occasion, fairly rational creatures. Granted, sometimes arguing with a 4-year-old is like arguing with a pair of tube socks. Of course, the same can be said for my wife. HEY-OH!!!!
I kid, I kid. And I can kid, because, as my wife will tell you, she quit listening to me years ago. While I think she is kidding, I will say that she has a good sense of humor and knows that some good natured joking is my awkward, socially inept way of showing my affection. And that, good people, is the one reason why she’s stuck with me all these years: Sympathy.
Like any couple who’s been together this long, we’ve had our share of ups and downs, highs and lows. The ups and highs have been far more commonplace, something I attribute to the fact that I am, for lack of a better word, awesome. My wife can take some credit, I suppose, but her contribution has mainly been tolerance. Ha! More kidding!
My wife and I make a great team, and each anniversary is a chance for me to remember how lucky I am.
I plan to reflect again on next year’s anniversary, whichever one that is.
Contact Michael Gibbons at mgibbons@aikenstandard.com.
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