Shopping and Dropping

Impulse buys. 

We all have them.

I had one the other day.  I’m getting into John LeCarre novels lately, and there’s one with a great cover illustration at Barnes & Noble that I’ve had my eye on for a while (my major gives me full license to judge books by their cover, and I'm loving the graphic style that Matt Taylor brought to the series).  Every time I walked by it, flipped through the pages, thumbed that coveted cover, I would rationalize my way out of buying it.

…I could get it at the library if I’m so keen to read it…

…If I love the cover so much I can just google it and print it out…

…There are other things, more important uses for $15…

Why did I cave this week?

Let’s just say I had a bad day.  Something I was gunning for fell through, throwing off my schedule and my mood in a major way. 

What to do?

I didn’t want to drown my sorrow in food that I’d have to run off later. 

I didn’t have time to go to the gym and work out the frustration.

I had twenty minutes to kill before picking up B. from class and as the car was coming up on Barnes,  on an impulse I turned into the parking lot. 

The next thing I knew I was back in the parking lot on page 4.

B. was tickled to see I had “actually bought something” for myself. 

Every once in a while, she’ll get a little something for herself after payday as a treat, but I, the pathological sourpuss, won’t bite on such occasions.  She buys on positive impulses – when she’s in a good mood.  Normal, right? 

But when I’m off work, blissfully enjoying my weekend, my wallet seems to clam up. When I’m feeling great, I want to go swim or hike or do something that usually doesn’t require much cash.  The  proper impetus to crack open my bank account seems to be a really sour mood. 

Why am I this way?   

Is it a guy thing?  Maybe dudes are more prone to buy when we’re feeling low, and women shop more when they’re loving life:

Women shop until they drop.

Men shop because they drop.

Maybe…

I’m keeping the book, regardless.

What was your last impulse buy?

What did you get?  Why did you get it?

S

Checks and Balances

This morning I woke up at 5:20 am.

I'm an incurable morning person.

...But I can cure myself until my alarm at 6:15.  So I rolled over and dozed for an hour.

I got up early this morning and was immediately wide awake.  I love that feeling.  That aware, alertness, daring the world to bring it on.

I leaned over, kissed B. and got up to wash my face and throw on some clothes.  Almost immediately B. snatched my free pillow and snuggled up to it.  She says it smells like me, I think she just wants some free cushion.

I love our little morning routines.

I went out to the living room, found my shoes under scattered laundry and got ready to go.

Then, as I packed my leftovers for lunch I spotted it.

Exhibit A.

Evidence of our tenuous treaty as an imperfect couple.

My wife is lactose intolerant.  But she loooooves cereal.  Crispix especially.  And let's face it, if you have cereal, you MUST have milk with it.  So my wife bathes her cereal in milk and then scoops out the swimmers, leaving the liquid white pool behind in the bowl.  She then proceeds to leave the milk bowl out on the counter.  When we're both home, I have no problem finishing her milk for her.  We have no cat, so it's left to me to empty the saucer.  (what IS a saucer?  I just know cats drink milk from it)

But this bowl had been poured late last night, after I had brushed my teeth and was getting into bed.  But sweet B. didn't pour the milk out into the sink.  She left it out on the counter.  Again.  She always does this; if I'm not there to empty the bowl, it sits unemptied.

This used to bother me.  It used to reeeeally annoy me that (A) so much milk has gone to waste and (B) it is left to me to either pour it down the sink or, if there are enough of the little bottom-of-the-box cereal particulates floating around (she calls them "scooby snacks") that, to prevent drain cloggage (no disposal), I have to flush the milky mixture down the toilet.

It used to bother me.

Why, you ask, am I so benevolent and forgiving?


Because every relationship has checks and balances.


I have a little forgetful tendency that sends shivers down B.'s spine.

Actually, it usually gives her goosebumps too.

When we shower (hehe) she usually hops out first to get started on drying/straightening/curling her hair and I buckle down and focus on any missed patches while shaving.  After I've thoroughly inspected my freshly scraped face, I turn off the water, grab a towel, and make a Home Alone face in the mirror as I apply aftershave.

What I DON'T do is push down the shower valve.  This means that the next time someone (i.e., B.) turns on the water, rather than pouring from the bath faucet to test the temperature comfortably on her hand, the water left to cool overnight in the pipes sprays out of the shower head down her unsuspecting back.

Oops.

Exhibit B.

I swear, I don't do this on purpose.  I try to remember.  I try to be nice.  She tries to pour out her milk.

But sometimes we forget.

I love that we can check each other with our forgetfulness.  It's a good reminder that neither of us is perfect.  Besides, the day I don't come home to a bowl of milk left out will be a sad day indeed.


I'll probably have to just shower at the gym.


What's your check?  What do you tolerate in others?  What do they tolerate in you?


S

On Flexibility

I can touch my toes.  Usually.  That’s about as flexible as I’m likely to ever be.  But all yoga and tai chi and stretches aside, Mrs. B and I have had to make some changes since getting married and it’s required some flexibility on both our parts. 

We recently had to give up hopes for a San Francisco trip this summer and focus our money elsewhere.  Elsewhere means school.  Summer school has been thrust upon both of us this year.  As she finishes her 7 week crash course in chemistry, I will begin my 6-hour, 4 days a week regimen of my least favorite part of my major: figure drawing.   

And we can’t even suffer at the same time, no, we've got to tag team it so we never get to have a vacation together!  Sheesh!  So, in order to cover our summer tuitions, the beaches of sunny CA slip from our fingers. 

This trip was inspired by a rewards system we had set up for Mrs. B to kick her nasty coca-cola addiction.  Not that Coke is nasty, but if she went without it, she would experience migraine-like symptoms.  Dependency is no fun.  So, our incentive plan was born:

After 3 weeks cola-free:               I treat her to filet mignon. 

After 6 weeks cola-free:               $100 shopping spree

After 9 weeks cola-free:               Weekend trip to San Francisco!!!

But alas.  Bills and two tuition payments and car registration and rent and tires and a pile of other things quickly depleted our SF fund.  I feel bad for my wife, of whom I could not be prouder.  She went through weeks of hellish headaches and withdrawals and is rewarded with chem labs and exams.  But life goes on.  We adapt.

Indeed we do.  My plan, upon first entering the Visual Arts department at my school, was to work from home as a freelance illustrator and be a stay at home dad before the kid(s) start(s) school while my lovely wife pushes through med school and goes into oncological research. 

But things change, and we must be flexible.  Medicine no longer interests my wife, and the profession itself seems to be in a precarious place with insurance systems changing so dramatically.  She wants to be present in our kids' lives, as do I.  And I've realized the true “feast or famine” nature of freelance work and have begun seeking more steady work.  Never go into the arts for the money, but if you’ve already committed enough of your bachelor’s to it, try to find the most profitable career path within its parameters. 

Plans change, life changes you, so change with it, I say.  I’m not the man I was going into school, why on earth would my plans be the same as I leave?

How do you stay flexible with life?  How does it flex you?

Fresh Eyes

My dad once told me that he went to see E.T. in theaters knowing nothing about it.  He’d maybe seen a poster once.  Then the movie was all new to him, he got to see it with fresh eyes.

Just one of my many quirks is my manic, obsessive tendency to turn something as simple as watching movies into a ceremonial life event.  My dad did this with me and the classics like Citizen Kane and On the Waterfront.  He made sure the atmosphere was just right when I watched the Grapes of Wrath for the first time, when I finally heard Henry Fonda speak Steinbeck’s poetic words about the human soul.

For some reason my brain sponges up stories (and my reactions to them) better than just about anything else.  I remember the stoic, blown away, contemplative, almost reverent silence in the car on the way home as my brothers and I digested what we had just witnessed (The Dark Knight).  I remember when my wife started rejoicing that I was actually crying for once as we watched Schindler’s List til 3am on New Years.  I remember begging my dad to take me home when the Cave of Wonders roared to life at the beginning of Aladdin. 

I could blame it on my dad majoring in film and theatre.  I could say it’s just one of my myriad quirks and compulsions.  I’m not here to diagnose.  Suffice it to say:

Movies are memories and memories are movies in my mind.

I take this stuff way too seriously.  I realize that.  But there is an etiquette, a protocol that I follow when it comes to partaking of Hollywood's spectacles: 

Some trailers are trailers, but most trailers are spoilers. 

If it’s gonna be good, don’t watch too much prematurely or it’ll ruin the experience.  This has served me well in the past.  I didn’t know about Yoda’s crazy surprise flippage in Episode II until I saw it on the big screen.  I didn’t know about the army of metallic suits flying into battle in Iron Man 3 because of a commercial, I experienced it firsthand.  If I’m excited enough about a movie, I’ll plug my ears, shut my eyes and murmur to myself IN THE THEATER to avoid spoilers. (this has happened for the second Hobbit movie coming out this winter and B. won't forgive my freakish ways)

Now I realize this can backfire, and it has: Green Lantern, Spider Man 3, Snow White and the Huntsman, the latest attempt at The Three Musketeers with Logan Lerman.

But I stick to my protocol.

And now, after a year of waiting.

I have seen only one trailer. (which revealed nothing – thank you Mr. Nolan for your discretion)

I haven’t been able to escape the posters and promos. 

I’ve looked away from commercials and avoided more revealing trailers like the plague.

And now.

At long last.

We’re going to Man of Steel!

I am so ready.  Superman was always my favorite growing up, because he’s what I want to be.  He’s the moral backbone of manhood, defending truth, justice and the American way with an innocent simplicity that is oh so rare in any hero, fictional or non.  

Plus, growing up, I liked that we have the same first initial.

Some accuse the spit-curled alien clad in red underwear (although not this time!) as emotionally unapproachable and too perfect.  They berate him as a glorified Boy Scout, nothing more.  Some say his skewed value system is out of date and out of touch.  Others complain that the franchise is fraught with Judeo-Christian themes and images (the whole "Savior of the World" motif).

I’m glad my childhood hero is still celebrated.  I’m glad that something as ridiculous as a man from another planet in blue tights and a red cape flying around saving us is still globally recognizable by the big red “S” on his chest.

I’m glad I share his initial.

I’m excited to see my hero with fresh eyes.

Just please let it not suck...

Please Nolan...

S

Hey Kiddo

Hey Kiddo,

It’s Father’s Day, June 16,2013.
  

No, you’re not in our family right now.  I’ve thought about this little project and I realize it’s strange to blow the dust off of it after so long on today of all days, so I guess I should explain.
 

By the time my dad was my age, he was a father.  Now, I’m not a dad yet.  Not planning on being one for a while.  But I’ve seen the way my relationship with my dad is differs from my siblings’ relationships with him. 

Your mom tells me time and time again that I’m my "father’s son."  I’m never fully sure of what she means by that, but I take it as a compliment as often as I can. 

My point is, your uncle Dallin’s version of my dad is very different from mine.  He’s being raised and fathered by a Judge Advocate General for the United States Air Force in his forties.  I got to see my dad as a young kid trying to figure out how to provide for his new family – a situation that drives very close to home right now.  Many of my younger siblings only know my dad, the Major; I knew my dad when he’d just graduated from his major. 
  

I don’t know if/when God will see fit to send you to us, kiddo.  So in the meantime, I’m going to try to recollect as much as I can, so you too can know your father as a young man.

Love,

S