Verbisaurus Blogicus

“The things you put in your head are there forever.”
-Cormac McCarthy, The Road

Four times in the last two months, I’ve had to travel to Dakota County for various events and appointments. More specifically, I’ve had to travel to the cities I lived in – Burnsville, Lakeville, and Apple Valley. Each time brought with it a flood of memory.

When I saw the sign for Apple Valley, I noticed it now boasts over 49,000 inhabitants – up from 34,000 that was on the sign when I moved into the city, and the 45,000 that was on the sign when I moved out.

And then there’s every building: so many had new owners. “Oh, that used to be a Burger King; I see it’s a Kane’s now.” and “Rainbow Foods used to be there.” And I remembered that one spot where I filmed part of a video with a friend, and that other spot where my grandfather took me to practice for my driver’s license, and that other spot where I went to the theater with Jennifer and her sister Kara, and how I whined about the movie afterward, and Kara rolled her eyes at me. I slowed down as I passed one strip mall, to see if the fish store I used to blow my money at was still there.

During one of the visits, I drove down the street I used to live on, and stopped in front of the town home – and I immediately remembered so much – playing with my sister when we were kids, all the religious meetings held in our basement, all the times I dragged the TV and VCR into my room at night to watch a movie, making out with my girlfriend in the basement, housesitting when the rest of my family was on vacation, coming to visit my dad when he injured his foot, stopping to see my mom when she had important news to tell me, bringing Owen there to be with my mom and our family dog, and finally visiting there when my mom invited me over for dinner to meet the man she intended to marry. And not only that, I remembered the dates of all those events, and what was said, and what else was happening in my life at that time.

Really, each time I went, I was so overcome with memories I found it hard to pay attention to the road. More than once I had to stop short so I didn’t hit the car in front of me. There’s so much emotion, so much regret, I don’t really like going to those cities.

The other day, I was having dinner with a friend, and he related a funny story that happened once when he went out to dinner with his wife. But he couldn’t remember which wife – was it his current wife? Or his previous wife? This, to me, was the most fascinating part of the story. How could he not know? I would know.

In fact, I would know too much. I once apologized to that same friend about something rude I said to him. “When did you say that?” he asked. “In July 1995,” I said. “Really?” he asked, “Where were we?” and I had to explain the whole situation – an event he had entirely removed from his memory. Geez, I was so jealous. I feel I would be so much happier if every month, every year, was simply the present – the moment to be lived in – rather than another chapter in a memorized book of mistakes and wrong turns. A book where I can go back each time and figure out where I made the wrong decision, or where I was cheated or hornswoggled into what is now the current predicament. I wish each grievance was simply that: an unfortunate thing that is happening or that must be endured, rather than the nth time I’ve experienced something. Like I’ve explained dozens of times, what makes me annoyed or mad or discouraged with my kids, my job, my cars, and even myself isn’t that something didn’t go right, it’s that it didn’t go right for the hundredth time. For example, when my 5-yr-old asks for a snack as I lay him in bed at night, the annoyance isn’t that he’s asked…it’s that he’s asked for the thousandth time.

When memory works too good, it just serves as a repository for shame and regret and melancholy thoughts about events and situations that shouldn’t matter anymore. They shouldn’t matter because they don’t exist anymore. But they do exist – in my mind.

What was the last movie you saw in the theater?

What was the last concert you attended?

How many times have you left your home state this year?

When was the last time you saw your best friend? Flown on an airplane? Ate your favorite food? Slept somewhere besides your home? Bought a car? Got in a car accident?

What! You don’t know?

I know.

In late 2010, I joined Toastmasters, an organization for improving speaking and leadership skills. I really enjoyed it, and within a year I had become an officer in the club (I was the club Secretary), and made swift progress toward my goals. In fact, within a few years, I had progressed further than anyone else in the club.

Here’s how it works (or, worked, to be more precise, but I’ll get to that): A new member gets two workbooks, one for communication, and one for leadership. Completing the projects in either of those books gains a member an award and the status of Competent Communicator or Competent Leader, respectively. Then there are more workbooks – various ones a member can choose to suit their preferences – with other projects that lead to a bronze, silver, and gold level. Once they’ve completed all that, they’re a Distinguished Toastmaster, the highest level you can attain.

Soon after joining, I made it my goal to become a Distinguished Toastmaster. One day. There was no rush, and since I was busy with school, work, and parenting, I knew it would take time.

But then Toastmasters International changed the rules.

Last year, they rolled out a new program for giving speeches and other projects. A program called Pathways – it’s more online (instead of in book form), it’s more customizable, too. Both of those things are fine with me, but what wasn’t fine was that they said the old path was going away very soon, with no allowances made for what members had already accomplished in the former program.

It’s sort of like this:

Imagine you’re in high school. You’re progressing through the school system, taking required classes and electives as is fitting with the ultimate goal of graduating. But then, one day, when you’re in 11th grade, your school rolls out a new program. Instead of 3 years of math, you now need 4. And instead of one foreign language class, there are now 3 different foreign language classes, and you can take any one of them. And there are now different requirements for reading, technology, phy ed, art, music, and, well, everything.

Okay, so at first you figure this sounds fine. Surely this only applies to new students, right? Aren’t you grandfathered in?

Nope.

Okay, but then you figure it’s still all right, because you can just take that 4th year of math next year – when you’re a senior. And, anyway, everything you’ve done from Kindergarten to 11th grade still counts for something, right?

Nope again.

Oh, the school tells you it’s all right, – because you still gained valuable skills at school this whole decade, and you can always say you graduated from the local elementary and middle schools…but they no longer count toward the main goal, that big goal of graduating from high school. To ease the pain, they will give you one month to finish in the previous program. If you can. I know you were planning to take all of next year to complete 12th grade, but hey, you can do it in a month, right?

So that’s where I was at a year ago. In May 2018, I discovered my Advanced Communicator Silver and my Advanced Leadership Silver would soon count for nothing toward the goal of becoming a Distinguished Toastmaster. If I wanted to become a Distinguished Toastmaster, I could either start all over at the beginning (akin to an 11th-grader re-entering kindergarten), or squeeze in my final requirements in the next 2 years (akin to a 12th-grader finishing their senior year in a month).

Pretty bad. But, thankfully, I finished 12th grade in 3 months.

The big thing was that I needed to complete the task of serving as a district-level officer for a year, so I immediately sought out how to do that, even though I wasn’t ready, didn’t feel comfortable doing it, and wasn’t sure I had time to do it adequately.

Funny thing, when I showed up at the first meeting of district officers, I met several others who were just doing it now to get it over with so they could meet that goal. One of the people at the meeting said we should be doing it for the experience and not for the ultimate goal, but that’s bullshit: Toastmasters is the one who sets out that goal, and they were now the one forcing people to do it post haste. It reminded me of how I had a goal of being a Pioneer back when I was a Jehovah’s Witness. And the goal of being a Pioneer is literally spending a certain amount of time preaching. So then people in the religion – including some of my relatives – got annoyed that I was so concerned with garnering the needed hours. But that was the goal the organization set…I merely agreed to do it.

Anyway…

In May 2018, I listed everything that stood between me and being a Distinguished Toastmaster. Here’s the list, which has been posted in my cube at work ever since:
As you can see, there are 11 items on my list. Some were relatively easy, such as just giving a particular speech. Others were projects that take several months and involve various tasks. I included the deadline, which at the time was 25 months away and is now just under 12 months away. I’ve completed 7 of the goals, and am half done with two of the remaining goals.

So, I’m getting there. I’ll post an update in about 10 months.

For the first time in nearly my entire life, I have to update which home I’ve lived in for the longest time.

When I was born, my parents lived in the Dan Patch Apartment building right on the border between Burnsville and Savage. So, right from the start, that’s where I lived for most of my (very brief) life.

But on August 1st of that year, when I was a measly 50 days old, we moved into a mobile home: Lot #24 in Camelot Acres Mobile Home Park in Burnsville.

By late September, I was 100 days old and, concurrent with that milestone, I set a new record for where I’d lived the longest – a record that increased in length with each passing day.

My family and I, which eventually went on to include my younger sister, lived there for the next 7 years. In fact, we lived there for 7 years, 8 months, and 20 days.

Over the next few decades, I lived in a variety of homes: at my grandparents’ home, another mobile home, townhomes, apartments, and actual houses. But I never lived in any of them longer than I’d lived in that first mobile home. The closest I came was the 6 years and 7+ months that we lived in another mobile home.

Until lately.

By last spring, the current house I live in moved up to second place on my list of longest-lived-in residences, and by September I had, for only the second time in my life, observed a 7-year anniversary in one residence.

And, finally, today, I can say that the longest I’ve ever lived in one place is right now. Because now I have lived in my house for 7 years, 8 months, and 21 days.

Happy milestone to me.

Last Thursday evening was a good evening.

First, after work, I went to my daughter’s school. She played two roles in the school play Crumpled Classics. It was a play-within-a-play, where the main plot was that the students were trying to present some classic stories (Romeo & Juliet, King Arthur) to the school principal but, of course, their take on each classic was, well, crumpled. Isla had a smaller role in The Phantom of the Opera act, but her show stealing role was as the school principal. Isla really put her all into the role, and fully hammed it up as befitting a comedy. Her performance was made even funnier due to the fact that she was the shortest person in the play, and with students as old as 12th-graders in the play, their height difference was very noticeable. It was good fun, and I was very proud of my talented little 3rd-grader!

Afterward, we got ice cream from McDonald’s.

Then, after that, I went to The Rock Band Experience to hear my buddy Ryan perform in a Neil Young cover band.  Mercifully, the venue was not in downtown Minneapolis, so that made for a pleasant experience even before I arrived. But the venue was great, the acoustics were excellent, there were free snacks and free beer, and the intimate venue made for a concert experience that I absolutely loved. Owen came with me, and we sat in the front row watching Ryan channel his inner-Rhett on drums. When the set was completed, I shouted “Encore!” and the band agreed to a replay of “Cinnamon Girl” as long as everyone joined them on stage singing vocals.

Well, only about 5-7 audience members took the opportunity to run up on stage, but Owen and I were among them.

Here’s the cool thing:

On January 19, 1992, I was present when Ryan performed “Cinnamon Girl” along with a few other friends. I even videotaped the recording. Here’s a picture of Ryan on that day:

I never would have imaged that, twenty-seven years, three months, and six day later, I would be at an equally fun encore. Here’s Ryan last Thursday:

Yeah! The band did great! Ryan did great! The play was great! Isla was great! Sometimes – every once in a long, long while – life turns out to be surprisingly fucking awesome.

I haven’t really had a good day in at least two months. And I’m hard-pressed to say any day I went to work makes for a good day. So let’s just say it was a good evening.

There’s suddenly a strong impetus to finish some projects around the house.

If you’re one of the one or two people who ever visit this blog, you’ve probably noticed I spend quite a bit of time on improving my house. Though there are some frustrating moments (and jobs), for the most part, I enjoy it. I like figuring out how to do something – or using the skills and tools I’ve accumulated during my two decades of adulthood to make my house better – and I take pride in the end results.

Owen is slated to move into the basement. I have been down there a lot in the past 6 months trying to bring it up to readiness for him to live in. Jennifer has spent a lot of time down there, too, including several hours this past Friday. Around Xmas time, I started telling Owen he would hopefully be able to move in to his new room around the time of his birthday. But his birthday is now less than a month away, and there’s just no way the room will be ready by then. Actually, it’s not even a “room” yet.

Of course, the room doesn’t have to be fully completed for him to move down there, but the walls and floor need to be completed. And I can’t finish the walls – or even build the ones that need building – until new mortar is purchased and applied to the two outer walls and electrical is run through the inner walls.

Time and money. It’s always goddam time and money.

Lately, my friends have been really good friends – inviting me over for a beer, meeting me at a pub for a beer, or coming over to my house for a beer. That’s all great – and if you’re one of my friends who have done that, I certainly appreciate it. But it doesn’t get anything done. In fact, the beer probably makes me just feel worse.

Last week, I met up with a friend for a meal. I didn’t drink any alcohol, and after eating we played billiards and then bowled two games. I liked that because we actually did something – we got up off our butts and did a physical activity. So that was a step in the right direction.

But the best thing is actual progress on projects. If I’m gonna get together with someone, I want them to help me with a home-improvement project. Or I want to go to their house to help them with a project. I’m trying to get some stuff done. I need to get some stuff done. But it’s just not happening.