"I think I love you"

In my innocence, that might be read, say, kindergarten, I loved everyone equally. It was a beautiful thing. We would celebrate by stuffing each other's hand-decorated shoe boxes with hand-crafted cards, then we would stuff our faces with goodies brought in by someone's mother. It did not matter what the cards said, for we could neither read, nor write.

When the skill of self-expression came to me, I was King of Hearts for a day. I could express myself with anonymity and zeal. No matter how unapproachable girls were, no matter what chasm of social class separated us, on that one day, they were helplessly, whole-heartedly mine, at least until they learned who I was. I stuffed their desks at recess, then spent the day reveling in their swooning and cooing over my cards. Unfortunately, my desk typically hosted lint balls and unspent pencils, even at the end of the day. This was the era of my "check yes or no," Valentine, and to me, no response at all was an even more damning reply.

Some schools have banned the practice of exchanging Valentine's cards for varied reasons. One claim is that the practice is inconsiderate of some people's faith. It is also argued by some that not all kids can afford to buy cards and candies, so it just isn't fair. Others, likely administrators who had the empty desk like me, condemn the ballot box popularity contest of Valentine's: "We don't want anyone going home broken hearted."

I am no policy maker, but I can offer a warning. Unrequited love can drive one to madness. In my quest for Valentine validation, I become a love junkie. I had to have it, had to get it, win it, make it. For years, Valentine's day was more than a celebration to me, it was a call to action.

There was no extreme, no boundary I would not cross. In seventh grade, for example, though I had never spoken to her, I determined Reletta Meeks was my One True Love. I skipped class seventh hour to buy her a dozen fresh roses (and where I come from, plant life of any kind is rare, so those roses came at a premium—around $45 in 1970's currency). I bought her a silver locket (another $50), and I even had it engraved with the anthem of the day, "I think I love you," Partridge Family lyrics sure to melt her heart. How did I, in middle school, afford such extravangces? I sold my comic books and pop bottles…all of them.

Things only escalated from there. The worst was likely the triple threat Valentine's day, in college, when I also learned of entropy. I was in a long distance relationship, fueling the fire with irresistible love letters. I was dating two girls on opposite sides of the city, from very different walks of life, certain they would never cross paths. And..I was still practicing the anonymous "enamortization" of the women of the world, at this time by sending loving praises to those I deemed typically unflattered by others. In simple terms: I sent Valentines to ugly people, hoping they would walk with a spring in their step, thinking I was doling out good vibrations.

On that particular Valentine's Day, I had the long distance love at arm's length, and I had the two local girls scheduled on either side of the actual Valentine's Day itself. Instead, and this baffles me even to this day, I scheduled a nice dinner with the spouse of a friend who was in Desert Storm (with his permission, even giving his wife a gift he had directed me to issue her in his stead). In my mind at the time, I thought I was being an ambassador of amore. I did not even foresee the potential of misrepresentation until it was on top of me.

One of the Unflattered was a research librarian and a pretty good sleuth. She happened to track me down with her own gushing confessional just as I was excusing myself from the company of local girl #1, late to pick up the soldier's wife. The confessional turned confrontational. The dinner with the soldier's wife was interrupted when a waitress-friend of local girl #2 berated me in public. Returning to my apartment, my head spinning already, I had no idea what I was in for. My long distance love, who had not only crossed Kansas but also my boundaries by letting herself in, was perched on my couch, by the telephone. She was dressed to kill, but was more in the mood for murder than a night out. She punctuated our last argument frequently by playing incriminating voice mails over and over.

Yes, I had been a jerk. My knee jerk reaction to the above, however, made me even more the fool. Like goths who populate our schools now, I went into a melancholy beyond measure. For years, I blacked out the holiday, boycotted it entirely. The mention of it would raise a bile in my stomach and curt curse words from my lips. Love was not to be had on a holiday, not to be earned with scraps of paper and commercial appeals. So dark were my thoughts on Valentine's Day, I came to chide those who did participate. I scoffed at everyone buying flowers and chocolates. I was the Grinch of Valentine's Day…and my mailbox went as empty as my heart.

I can attribute some my behavior to grade school valentine exchanges, and if the practice creates more monsters like I was, then I am all for taking it out of schools. If only it could be so kind and democratic as it was in kindergarten, all our lives…then I would say make every day Valentine's Day!

Thanks to time and reason, I now have the love of my life. Perspective has taught me that love is not manufactured nor purchased. There is no gimmickry nor infatuation fueling it. True love, for me, was a surprise. It popped up when I was not pursuing it. It blooms in her every gesture. It is amplified in the unconditional love radiating from our children. This love thing comes from thin air, not a greeting card. It becomes tangible over a home cooked meal, which is more tasty than anything in a heart-shaped box.

A site for your eyes

Sometimes there's nothing like a well-rendered image to brighten one's day. This is one of those sites I could spend all my idle hours on. Give it a glimpse. Worth1000.com http://www.worth1000.com

The Fifth Element

Perhaps my favorite movie, The Fifth Element is such a good sci-fi adventure! It follows traditional story lines (boy gets girl, unlikely hero rises to save the world) and yet it does it all tongue-in-cheek with a heavy dose of humor. Cast members include Bruce Willis and Chris Rock, so how could it go wrong. If anyone reading this has yet to see The Fifth Element, rent it!

If I were to have a tattoo, this might be it, the symbols of the four elements: fire, water, air and earth (reminds me of the band, Earth, Wind and Fire).

Always Watching...

My parents were conspiracy theorists. Someone was always reading their mail or watching their whereabouts. They went through a UFO phase, a tri-lateral commission phase…ultimately sticking with a fear mongering version of fundamental Christian faith which sought signs of the endtimes in everything from tea leaves to television.

Doubtless, some of that has worn on me and worn off on me.

After surfing blogs for a semester, I have arrived at a theory of my own. It goes something like this:

Suppose we launched manned interstellar vessels to explore, to boldly go where
no one has gone before, to infinity and beyond…all that. What if our explorers
were to encounter an alien life form. To study them, they tried fly-by's, only
to be spotted regularly. They tried living among them incognito, only to be
outed too often. As the studied, native life form developed, they became an even
greater threat, launching their own primitive space vessels, their planet
brimming with hostility and threat of global annihilation. What's a space
explorer to do? Data gathered was scarcely completed. Sure, we knew their planet
and climate, their population trends, their mass media warbling in every
tongue…but did we really know what made them tick?
Along comes private Sneed, suggesting: "Sir, I think I've got it. Why don't we leave behind a device to collect their inner thoughts, their collective conscious, their very souls if you will."
"Sneed," sneers the captain, "We don't have such a thing. Now get back to the galley and cook me—"
"Captain, I argue that we do." Sneed straightened his uniform with a tug and continued: "In fact, all we must do is actuate it, and they will self-report more information than we could ever use."

This, then, is my theory: Aliens built the Internet. I ask you, heard of many UFO's lately? Abductions? Of course not. There is no need. All the information that was once gathered through direct observation is outmoded. All an alien species requires to study us now is a good Internet connection.

Having revealed this to the public might cost my life. If this is my last entry, you know why. If it is censored by Those In Black Helicopters or some other entity, I guess you may never know.
Otherwise, however, I urge you to post the most bogus, misleading entries about our life and times that come to mind. Drop some acid or something and then write your blog…anything we can think of to misdirect our observers attentions.

…of course, if you read many blogs, you would likely agree that most bloggers have caught on to this already.

See related Google Conspiracy.

Dental Entry II

Look in that mouth; do you see thousands and thousands of dollars in dental work? No? Good! Poor kid, never had a chance. He had chipped teeth, broken teeth, cavities, etc. and had to have it all repaired...just his baby teeth! We spent months fretting over how it might go in the dentist's chair for him, but found an excellent pediatric dentist. I wish I had his dentist. Every time he visits, no matter what goes on in there (parents are forbidden) he comes out happy-go-lucky.

Waiting for my own special treatment, I felt even more guilty about my son's poor teeth. I resolved to make dental hygiene our top priority, to make it even more a family fun activity than wrestling or playing Ninja Turtles. Then again, as I argued with my wife in the first place, "Hey, they're only baby teeth."

I'm thinking, maybe Jax will be lucky and his real teeth won't get so corrupted. He gets a second chance. Wouldn't it be great if we went through teeth like a snake does skins? Every few years, maybe, we'd lose teeth and new ones would come in. Think of the repercussions though. Colgate and Crest would be out of business, let alone all those in the broader dental industry. People would say, "what the hell, why whiten my these teeth when I'm getting my new choppers next year. I can feel them coming in already." Imagine how funny it would be to see movie stars and corporate executives missing front teeth now and then. How would it change the stereotype of "toothless trailer trash?" I wonder if our culture is so vain that someone would come out with temporary false teeth, individual units which would fill the gap while the new ones emerged...or would it become part of our pop culture. Maybe people would become better whistlers, better at spitting water through tooth gaps...

Dentists are Blue Collar

When you really think about it, what distinguishes blue/white collar? People who work in demanding physical fields with their hands--blue collar. People who work in unpleasant environments--blue collar. People who use power tools on the job--blue collar. Dentists use pliers to wrench rotten teeth from one's head. They grind teeth down, etc. with power tools, then use bondo to affix repair pieces--glorified body shop work. This epiphany came to me as the dentist used some power tool to sculpt a filling. The tooth began to get hot. I could smell it. The tool reminded me of a rotary disk sander I used when I worked in a body shop, and how I would use it to attempt to remold a botched bondo job rather than going to get a more aggressive grinder. The smell was the same--hot bondo. I opened my eyes, something I don't do from the reception desk on, typically, and saw my dentist had on a full-face plastic visor, too...not unlike ones I've worn doing body work, etc. Last year when I visited, I peeked only once, when he had a knee on my chest and he was grunting and wrenching above me. The dental assistant was holding my head in place. Nick, my good ol' pal and dentist buddy, had a maniacal, sadistic look on his face. He looked pissed. Of course, he had been fighting to pull out a tooth for over an hour (it kept breaking into smaller, more embedded fragments). I was terrified then, but Monday when I peeked, he was just a blue collar body shop bud, grinding away in my mouth.

It must have been the gas. Once I embraced Nick, the dentist, as a blue collar good ol' boy, I thought about neurosurgeons. Blue collar. All of us, more or less, are in the same colored collars. My power tool is this PC. My unpleasant environment is sometimes the classroom. My physical burden is minimal, but hey, you try carrying a stack of essays and a cup of coffee.

Dental Entry I

So, I go to the dentist yesterday, our first "duty day" for faculty. (Some might joke that it's a toss-up: dentist/inservice, but I really don't mind inservice.) I think I'm going to write out a character in some short story about a guy who has no time to himself, whatsoever, so he addictively books appointments with dentists--sort of like that guy in Fight Club attends support groups--only my guy goes to several dentists and hygienists so he can have that half-hour alone in the very comfy chair to just think, relax, maybe listen to musak.

Dental Intimacy
Here I am already listing and drifting...My dentist is a swell guy, a community leader, someone I've known for 15 years. He's been on the board of my non-profit, on the school board, and who knows what else. He's well-travelled, has two children (both college grads now) and a sweet wife. I think everyone should be as comfortable with their dentist, should know them this well. When you stop to consider it, who else gets so intimate with you? Unless you visit a proctologist or an OBGYN, outside of your love life, no one but the dentist (okay and the hygienist) really get so intimate.

Swish your tongue around in your mouth, feel your teeth with your tongue. One by one. Feel all the ridges in the roof of your mouth. See? The mouth is an intimate place. If you're going to let a dental professional in there, you should know him/her. Otherwise--what a violation.

Dental Confessional
I don't know if anyone else does this, but when I sit there waiting I feel guilty. I dread when he comes in and says, "Not flossing much, eh?" or "Still smoking I see." or something worse. Maybe it is what confessional feels like for people of some faiths--they don't look forward to it, but it's important to their cleansing and repair. It's an accountability thing. So I feel guilty, I make promises to myself as I sit there looking at the damaged goods on a monitor (they call up your record on a computer screen and you look at your xrays for entertainment during the wait). I tell myself that it's insane to mistreat teeth, the only external, exposed bones we have. The only ones we have for life. I remember all the toothless people I know. I remember talking to old folks about implants and dentures...

BTW: George Washington, our first president, has a very interesting dental record. He had teeth made of ivory, wood (of course) and he had implants--implanted actual teeth...which he bought from his slaves. Bizarre, huh. "A forensic anthropologist from the University of Pittsburgh came to the dental museum, which is affiliated with the Smithsonian Institution, to supervise laser scans on one of the four known sets of Washington's dentures. The dentures are made from gold, ivory, lead, human and animal teeth (horse and donkey teeth were common components). The dentures had springs to help them open and bolts to hold them together." source MSNBC article.

Sometime I'll quote from my favorite Tom Robbins passage, a whole page or so on GW's teeth.

Huffing
Uh, I don't recommend this, but here goes: usually laughing gas has no effect on me. I theorize that the gas is much like any other inhalant or drug, that it hits harder if drawn in purposefully through the little capillaries (or whatever) in the nose. Advice--for best effect, blow your nose first. Don't breathe out of your mouth. Take deep breaths and hold them for a take. I knew all this from...reading about it...but I decided to apply it to laughing gas. I figured I was in for something ghastly from good ol'Nick the dentist, so I should be prepared. When they left me there with this goofy mask on, gas and oxygen hissing away, I decided to really pull down on it, really huff and puff, really get my insurance company's money's worth. (I also didn't think it really put much gas thru, that it was mostly a placebo). Let me simply say, CRAZY !

Arrrrh

Belowdecks, you'll find me pirate name. I'd also suggest the link to Talk Like a Pirate Day, if you're bored already.

Anyhow, this is to be my most public blog yet. Hopefully, I can squeeze out a post every day, regardless of where I might be mentally, physically, or electronically. It's not a matter of forcing myself to write; more a matter of getting around to it. Put me in front of a keyboard, and I can always fill a screen or two.

If you've strayed to this blog by some mischance, I hope there's something here for you. If you are one of my own family or students, you'll now be getting dangerously further inside my head. Have fun, for there's plenty of room there! Romp around.

Romp around my blog, too, and please share comments and the whereabouts of your blog.

My pirate name is:

Dread Pirate Read

Like the famous Dread Pirate Roberts, you have a keen head for how to make a profit. Even through many pirates have a reputation for not being the brightest souls on earth, you defy the sterotypes. You've got taste and education. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from fidius.org.

Start your engines

...and so it begins.