27 February 2010
Owen and I walked to the park today. As we approached a cross-walk, I pointed out a large plastic square with a ‘3’ on it just lying in the snow. I picked it up and showed it to Owen. “Look at this big 3 just sitting here in the snow,” I said.
He said: “What’s your idea for what it’s there for?”
“Well,” I said, I think it fell off this sign,” and I pointed to the large SuperAmerica sign directly above us. I showed Owen how there were removable numbers on the sign that the employees put up there to display the price of gas.
“What was your idea?” I asked him.
“I thought the 3 was there to show that we live on Earth,” he said. I guess he figures that there are ‘3s’ liberally sprinkled throughout the planet so that would-be intergalactic travelers can quickly identify which planet they’re on. (And, yes, Earth does = 3 because it’s the third planet in line from the sun.)

This evening, the three of us went to a nearby Mexican (and El Salvadoran and Peruvian) restaurant for dinner. While examining the menu, Jennifer asked: “What’s the difference again between a burrito and an enchilada?” Since I didn’t know, precisely, how to answer her question, I referred her back to a joke my old friend Joel used to say: “Everything at a Mexican restaurant is just the same three ingredients in different combinations.” We both laughed.
It’s true, you know. I mean, I think 3 is an exaggeration, but no matter what a person orders at such a place, they are going to get a plate with a tortilla stuffed with cheese, tomatoes and lettuce, with rice and beans on the side. There might be some beans inside the tortilla, and the tortilla itself might be hard or soft, but, essentially, there’s no point in fretting over whether to order #5 or #33.
It’s funny how something as innocuous as that can make me miss Joel. I only started getting to know him in the last few years that I was a Witness, but we had a lot in common, and I always enjoyed being with him. In 2006, he and his new wife Laura even moved a couple towns away from us (which was close comparatively), and I was excited to have him so close. We saw movies together, we worked on some films together, and we joked about all manner of pop culture lore. We had some great email exchanges, too, and I knew any link he sent me was bound to be compelling (or, at least, a time-waster).
Then I left the religion, and he said he wasn’t gonna be my friend anymore. Actually, he didn’t say anything, so I emailed him to see if he’d come over one evening to watch a movie with me. He declined, saying he’d heard I might be detrimental to his faith. He said if things ever changed, he’d hook up with me again.
Still waiting…

28 February 2010
Today I kept thinking about not having a new house for the baby. At the time Jennifer got pregnant, I had reason to believe that we’d be moving into a house within six months. But thanks to some end-of-the-year rulings in Congress (fuck you, Democrats), we now have to wait three years. As Jennifer pointed out, we never miss an opportunity to fail, and this is just another instance of that. I’m not sure how the whole home-birth thing will play out now. I wanted our newest edition to be born in a home – our home, the way it’s meant to be…but I guess a short sale from two years ago means I can’t have a house.
This is, of course stupid. For one thing, had we declared bankruptcy two years ago, we’d be eligible for a house, so I guess we should have stopped paying all our bills instead of just one. It’s hard to see how the government can support such a contradiction logically, but this is the same government that will give me 90 days in prison for mugging someone, but 5 years for downloading a song. Go figure.
One option is to have a friend or family member buy a house and then rent it to us for a year until we are eligible to buy it. Even though I’d be happy to make this profitable for whoever would be willing to do it, I don’t think there are any options here, either. I mean, we are better with our money than, well, pretty much all of our peers, but there are still some big issues. For one thing, most of our friends are poorer than we are, having been likewise screwed over by their parents (via a cult), too. Then there’s my Dad, who might actually be willing to do such a thing, but having lost his rental property last year, and currently on unemployment, I don’t think he’s in a good position. My mom would likewise be willing to do such a thing, but she’s married to a guy that won’t even talk to us, so I don’t think he’d be willing to do business with us.
Maybe Jennifer and I should’ve hit up our relatives for cash back in the ’90s, back when all our siblings were doing it.

On another note: check it out – I’ve successfully written about something everyday for two months now. After reviewing some of my posts, I realize all my posts are either depressing or sarcastic. This probably explains the lack of interest in this blog. I’ll try to keep this going a little longer, if for no other reason than so that I don’t look like a loser to my future self reading these posts, but there are only so many depressing thing to write sarcastically about.
Either way, so long February, and good riddance.

24 February 2010
Today I attended class for the fourth time this semester. I think I finally got it right this time, though.
For the first two class periods, I stayed late at work and then drove straight to college. This made for a couple of very long days (especially ’cause I was sick, too). Last week, I went home after work, but I didn’t get home until 4:00, and since I had an appointment in the writing center at 5:30, I only got to be home for an hour. Today, though, I got home at 3:30, and I didn’t have to leave again until 6:00. Granted, it was still a long day, but at least I had a decent break at home for a while.

25 February 2010
Today, my mom picked up Owen from preschool. I’m glad she did; we finally got it to work right. See, last week, she was supposed to pick him up, but he was very sick that day so, instead, she came over to our apartment and had to sit with a sick boy all day. It made me feel bad, because I knew Owen had been excited to have his Grandma come pick him up from school and I knew my mom was looking forward to seeing Owen for the first time since mid-October.
Anyway, today things proceeded more smoothly: my mom arrived at Owen’s preschool a half-hour early (she’s like that) and, after he came out of class beaming with happiness at seeing his Grandma, the two of them lunched at Mickey’s Diner which, I think, is Owen’s favorite place to eat (well, it’s in his top five).
I’m starting to view Thursday evening as the beginning of weekend lately. All three of us are done with our classes by Thursday afternoon and we all sit together and watch Survivor before going to bed. True, I still have to get up and go to work on Friday, but that’s a lot less stressful than school.

26 February 2010
Today, several co-workers and I took our lunch break at Qdoba, where we met up with a former co-worker (she quit about 2 years ago). She had a baby recently, and so well all got a chance to see it. I felt bad that she had the baby strapped into the car seat (even though she was awake and alert) when we first got there. I figured it must’ve been really boring for her to stare at the ceiling. So, I got my lunch quickly, set my food down at a table, then ran back up to the line and asked to take the baby. Of course, the mom was pleased, as this allowed her to get her food without having to deal with baby and car seat.
I set the car seat down on the floor and immediately unstrapped the baby. I set he on my lab and held her with one hand while I ate lunch with the other. Her mom asked I minded holding her, and I said: “Well, she’s not crying, and she doesn’t smell like poop, so I don’t think there’s a problem.”
On a side note, I think it’s funny when I ask a question like: “Why did you name the baby _______?” And the parent answers: “Because my great-aunt (or whoever) was named _______.” Because, from my perspective, that’s not answering the question. That’s answering the question: “How did you become aware of this name?” which is not the question I asked. It’s as if they are only giving me a partial answer and I’m supposed to know the rest. For example…
Q: Why did my parents name me James?
Partial Answer: Because my Dad is named James.
The rest of the Answer: And my parents decided that ‘James’ was a pretty good name and that, by naming me after my Dad, I would be forced to honor him.

21 February 2010
We went out to dinner with my mom tonight. She said her husband complained she was spending too much money on her visit to Minnesota, so we paid for her, though she insisted on covering the tip.
We ate at the Olive Garden. I have an ambivalent attitude towards that place. I don’t have anything against it, really, but I don’t really have anything for it, either. I’m not a fan of Italian cooking. Spaghetti, throughout my whole life, has been the de facto dinner-to-make when we don’t feel like making anything interesting. Essentially, spaghetti is to dinner as a peanut butter and jelly sandwich is to lunch. And ravioli? Nothing special. Oh – and I pretty much detest lasagna. It’s one of the few food items that I will not touch, even if we’re invited over to someone’s house explicitly to eat it.
And, really, if we are going to go to an Italian chain restaurant, Tucci Bennuch, Macaroni Grill, and Buca all outrank Olive Garden in my mind.
So why did we go? What can I say? My mom loves the place, and the unlimited salad and breadsticks mean my son can eat all he wants at no extra charge.

22 February 2010
This morning, I found out one of my articles got accepted in The Secular Nation, which is the magazine for the Atheist Alliance.
That was pretty much the high-point of my day. I really had a tough time bringing myself to care about anything today. I did what I had to do at work, but I kept staring at the clock waiting for it to be over. During lunch, I made a cursory attempt to revise the paper that’s due in class this Wednesday, but I didn’t make much headway. As I was leaving work, I discovered my Pop-eye figurine – which had been sitting on my desk at work for over five years – was gone. Unless a co-worker hid it as a lame practical joke, or I somehow misplaced it, I’m gonna guess it was stolen.
Tonight, after Owen went to bed, I still didn’t feel like doing anything. I didn’t feel like surfing the web, updating this site, working on my schoolwork, reading a book, watching a movie, or even making myself a snack. So I went to bed.
So…bottom line: apart from some cool news @ 9:10 this morning, this was a completely bland day.

23 February 2010
I picked up Owen from my sister-in-law’s home this afternoon. Another obnoxious drive through Minnecrapolis (I’ll spare the details this time). I asked my sister if I could borrow her big book of baby names. Like my wife, she’s also pregnant, so I didn’t want to wrest the book from her unless she didn’t need it. She said she already had names picked out, so she didn’t need the book.
Technically, though, I don’t think I borrowed it so much as I asked for it back. Once she handed it to me, and I flipped through it, I realized it was the same exact book as Jennifer and I had purchased years ago (long before Owen). Jennifer must’ve given it to her sister to look through during her prior pregnancy.
Anyway, the book is called A World of Baby Names. I love this book! It divides names by ethnicity – so there’s a chapter of Czech names, a chapter of Native American Names, a chapter of names from mythology, and so on – 31 chapters in all. The cool thing about it is that I immediately know which chapters to skip (I’m not giving my kid a Biblical name). With other chapters, I read a few names and see if I like the ‘style’ of that nationality’s names, and then I continue (or discontinue) reading as warranted.
Thus far, I’ve only reached chapter seven (“English Names”), and I’ve discovered that I basically just hate nearly every name on the planet.
Funny fact: the author dedicates the book to her children: John, Brian, Joseph, and Anne. Do I really want to find a name from a woman who chose those names? Thankfully, almost apologetically, she quickly adds that her children were named before the book was written.

19 February 2010
It seems our VW Jetta is about due for retirement. A loud knocking noise caused me to bring it into the machanic’s shop last night, and today they called saying the repair would cost over $600. Admittedly, this isn’t a lot of money compared to some car repairs but, for one thing, I am really sick of my cars breaking down every time I get my tax refund. How do the cars know that I suddenly have an influx of money?
But secondly, and more importantly, screw that fucking Jetta. We bought that thing five years ago, believing we were so hip and cool for having a German car. And, for a while, I did like it. It’s definitely fancier than my Cavalier. But the thing needs repairs at least twice a year – repairs costing several hundred dollars each time. I agree that Volkswagen makes a better quality car than General Motors, but who can afford the upkeep? Maybe we just bought a lemon…who knows?
All I know is: a new car is looming in our future, and it ain’t gonna be a People’s Vehicle this time.

20 February 2010
Today I ventured over to St. Anthony Main Theaters for a screening of Waiting for Armageddon. Although it was a little dry, and didn’t seem to have any message, I suggest it to all my readers (both of them). My reason for attending was not, however, simply because I wanted to see a film about apocalyptic cults, but because I had been invited to take part in a discussion panel following the film.
There were four people on the panel: one woman (a representative of MFA who served as moderator), me, and two other men – both in their 60s and both pastors at churches. One was the pastor at an evangelical church who viewed each question as an opportunity to ramble, Abe Simpson style. The other was a pastor of Grace Lutheran Church in Apple Valley.
The discussion was very interesting, I thought. The moderator asked us questions mostly concerning our impressions of the film. She then took questions from the audience. I learned that, contrary to what I imagined, most people in the audience were not non-religious, they were actually made up of mostly Christians who came to find out about even wackier versions of their faith.
At one point, this question was asked: “How do you feel that having the world-view that Armageddon is coming influences a person’s life?”
The two pastors both answered that such a view can help bring a person closer to Jesus, and that it helps to give a person focus. My answer was basically that it fundamentally alters every normal action the person would otherwise have. This was immediately argued by an audience member who countered that many of his relatives believe in an imminent rapture, and he doesn’t feel that they are traumatized. I then spoke for about five minutes about how traumatizing it is, culling mostly from my own life, but also referencing the film and pointing out that if I was to convince the audience that the end was coming exactly ten years from now…wouldn’t it greatly influence how they live out those ten years? I also noted that most of the trauma isn’t consciously observed by the cult member until they have excused themselves from that belief.
Following the discussion, that audience member came up and shook my hand, saying he enjoyed my comments. Two young Christian men came up and talked with me about the Witness mentality for about 10 minutes and were surprised to discover that a person would actually remain in a religion after (to use their words) “leaving God.” I guess they assumed that most people leave a religion, and then fall away from God. Sorry, not in my case.
Oh – and on the way out the door, another Christian handed me a free copy of a book he had written. I always get a kick out of the way Christians love to pass out literature. I politely took the book… penance, I guess, from all my years doing the same to other people.

16 February 2010
I got lost in Minneapolis again today. I had to drop my son off at his Aunt’s house this morning. She watched him while Jennifer and I were at school and work, respectively. The ride there went smoothly, even though part of the directions called for me to “make a left on Cedar Avenue” and then “make a right on Cedar Avenue.”
The trip there to pick him up this afternoon was a different story. I’m not sure why, but MapQuest had me get off the freeway ~2 miles north of my destination, which, in Minneapolis makes no sense. I had to drive through downtown, then curve around the Metrodome, then, according to the directions, take the 35W exit and then – without getting onto 35E – take the 11th street exit. Nevermind the nonsense of that, I couldn’t find either exit despite the fact that I was driving ~10mph and was at the exact spot where the exit(s) should’ve been.
I ended up following University Avenue into St. Paul, then doubling back on I-94 (through horrid traffic) thereby reenacting the same route I had taken this morning.
When I got to my sister-in-law’s house, there was no place to park. I drove in a 3-block area looking for a spot…but there was nothing. Anywhere that looked like a spot was, instead, a dumping ground for snow. I even tried to fit into one spot, but was unsuccessful (though it did get me honked at!). I finally just called my sister-in-law and told her to bring my son out into the middle of the street where I would be waiting, blocking traffic.
Minneapolis. I hate that city.

17 February 2010
I stopped at my college’s writing center this evening before class. Thanks to car trouble and traffic, I was ten minutes late for my appointment. When I arrived, before I could even tell the student at the front counter my name, he said: “Just for future reference, if you’re more than 5 minutes late, we cancel your appointment.”
I looked at the clock and saw I was 8 minutes late, and I explined to him that it wasn’t due to negligence on my part. He repeated his prior statement.
“Well, did someone else take my place?” I asked, figuring another student must’ve walked in and was being assisted in my stead.
“No,” he said, “I was just letting you know…”
I cut him off. “Oh, well can I still have my meeting?”
He said I could. I don’t know what his problem was.
Anyway, it didn’t matter. I knew more about the style and documentation questions I had than did the student who was helping me. I mean, she was friendly, and it was nice of her to fit me in when I was a whopping 3 minutes past the deadline, but she couldn’t help me very much.
Two hours later, I turned in a draft of my first college paper in years. I’m expecting a C.

18 February 2010
Last night, recounting car troubles, bad weather, three weeks of sickness (it still hurts so bad to swallow that the pain wakes me up at night), a crashed computer, looming lay-offs at my job, too much schoolwork, and other assorted inconveniences, I said to my wife: “This has been the most miserable month we’ve had in a long time.”
She didn’t agree, but only because she claims she doesn’t rank the months of her life in discreet, tidy packages like I do. Man, sometimes I wonder what her deal is.
Anyway, in the middle of the night, Owen came into our room to sleep in our bed. This isn’t a big deal. He does it often. But tonight, about ten minutes after crawling into bed with us, he puked. A lot. And it was all egg yolk, becuase that was the last thing he ate before bed. So, since eggs already smell like vomit, things smelled pretty bad. I picked him up off the bed, and he puked again. Meanwhile, the bucket we had set next to his bed (where the vomit was supopsed to go) was still just sitting there, doing nothing.
So we had about a half hour of giving Owen a 2:00am bath, rinsing off sheets, pillowcases, pajamas and mattresses, and then taking the clothes down to the wash. And, of course, we didn’t have enough quarters to then run the dryer.
After putting mew sheets on the bad, and getting Owen back to sleep in his room again (with orders to NOT come into our bed), I set up my bed on the love seat. Jennifer’s coughing keeps waking me up, so for the past six nights I’ve either slept on the floor in Owen’s room or on the sofa (which is about 5 feet long). I began to set my alarm for this morning and Jennifer came in the living room for some reason. “Can February get any worse?” she asked.