What's This?

This thing just looks foreign to me. The whole interface of it all. The title - what the heck is a Stizl? Stupid name regardless of what it izl.

In a hotel in Chicago. Stuffed from a nice Italian dinner at Piccolo Sogno, thanks to our agency friend. A little bored, but happy with the day's progress (took beautiful photographs of giant cookies - really). Wasn't bored over the weekend. Flew out here late Friday night and had some fun with bro-and-sis-in-laws. Drank a few too many beers, ate a ton of food in restaurants (which continues), and probably gained a pound or twelve.

This hotel has a fitness center, but I don't feel motivated to use it. I'm ready to get tomorrow done, hit a little Miracle Mile shopping for my wife, and go home Wednesday to see the family and get ready for some Thanksgiving fun. Only the best of holidays would roll an invitation to overeat and watch tons of football all into one.

I learned something Friday night. People still don't understand the letter/number system for Southwest Airlines' boarding process. I'm amazed at the impatience and inability of people to do these two simple things: LISTEN and LOOK. That's all it takes. (The above is maybe the most creatively written blog post, by me on this blog, and it was nearly 2 years ago after waking up in the middle of the night with this revelation that we use letter/number combos ALL THE TIME with no trouble, yet getting on a plane with it is nearly impossible. It still makes me laugh.)

I take too many things for granted in life, but not this: my ability to listen and absorb knowledge, information, and even the random bit of useless trivia now and again.

By the way, I highly recommend the book A Painted House by John Grisham. Hadn't read his work before, and this must be a great departure from his courtroom/lawyer dramas as it's written from the perspective of a 7-year-old boy in the cotton fields. It's about family, sacrifice, life lessons, and hope for something better. I also finished 'Tis by Frank McCourt and Born Standing Up by Steve Martin and am halfway through Slam by Nick Hornby, just on my flight out here. (Slam, not the others. That would be some type of record).

That's all I feel like writing about for now. Glad to have typed a few strokes again.

Crickets...where has Stizl gone?

I haven't written anything lately because I spend too much time thinking about writing. Ask me about that next time I see you; I'll have to explain.

I'll say this: John Irving either has some deep-seeded father issues, or he simply has the mind to create the gripping fictional tales his Garp longs for. I read The World According to Garp in about 2 weeks, which is, for me, flying through a novel. I can't wait to get more of his stuff.

My wife made a good point tonight over garlic burgers and beer. (Yes, a romantic Wed. evening every woman dreams of.) I was blabbering about how I hadn't blogged in a while because I couldn't recently find the time to write my observations or op-ed column-styled posts about life happenings. She pointed out that this particular blog may be an outlet for me in that respect, but that the small group of readers - family, friends - who would take the time to read it simply want to know what's going on in my life. Throw on some pics and let them know we all went to the water park, in other words.

So I'll probably start doing more of that. But not until after my vacation next week. We're all flying to Chicago on Friday, then driving to Michigan on Sunday for a week to catch up with friends and hang out with the family at the cottage. I'll get a chance to finally meet my niece, Elizabeth, do my kind of skiing (less snow, more motor) for the first time this year, let the kids 'drive' the Sea-Doos, catch some delicious bass, and maybe even share a reflective, love-drenched moment with my wife over garlic burgers steak and beer.

Why Reading is Good

[NERD ALERT! This is about reading.]

It's not because your parents tell you it's good. They're right, but the reason they say it at the time is because they simply want you to quit asking for snacks.

"No, you can't have a brownie sundae with crushed candy canes on top. What even made you think of that? You should go read a book or something. It's good for you."

Seriously, if my kids haven't asked for a snack during a particular 15 minute time period, I start to worry. And if I haven't responded in complete disbelief that these children ask child-like questions with impunity, they start to think I'm not an old grumpy bugger after all. But I normally do. This paragraph is like a triple negative. I’m not even sure what it says now that I haven’t continued writing it.

 

To reading, then. I started writing a thoughtful, what-does-it-all-mean essay on the effect reading has on our psyches, but it disappeared. Twice. I saved it as a draft here in this Blogger control center, and it completely vanished. So I re-wrote it, naively in Blogger again, and it vanished again. It was Blogger's way of saying, "Dude, that was way over your own head. Stop now before you subject your readers to this painful, meandering interpretation of the long-stirring thoughts in your usually sealed off brain."

 

So instead, I'll try and summarize in a few sentences. The more I read, the more information I absorb. Duh. More specifically, the more I read books set in historical, real-life contexts, the more I understand about myself and my own humanity. I haven’t even read these books with that purpose (I’m off to find myself! blah blah blah), but the result is just that. Confused? I’ll use a quick example with the book I’m reading now, Angela’s Ashes. Frank McCourt, the author, is a kid growing up first in Brooklyn, then back in native Ireland in the 1930s and '40s. He’s Irish-Catholic of course, lives in squalid conditions I’ve never had to endure, sees the depression in America and something altogether more bleak in Ireland; basically, we have nothing in common. Except he is a boy, and he is human. And when I find myself relating to the dreams, needs, questions, and “sinful thoughts” of little Francis in his boyhood, I just feel like my life is a little more normal. I also feel really grateful to have been born and raised in the late 20th century in America, in West Michigan, to my parents, in my little world.

 

See? That’s just one perspective out of one part of one book! I go through this like 3 or 4 times every time I read something now. Reading is good because the stories are experienced in your own head, using your own creativity, and stirring your own emotions. I love TV and movies, but they’re created with someone else’s imagination, and often produce false senses of emotion through musical crescendos or REALLY INTENSE CLOSE UPS.

 

Your teachers were right. Reading is good. They just weren’t explaining it right. It’s not because you’ll know the correct answers to a test, or because you’ll be able to recite Shakespearean lines when you’re picking up chicks, or because you truly need to understand transcendentalism. It’s because you’ll understand your place in this world a little bit better.

 

And you may pick up a few answers (questions?) on Jeopardy!, which is never a bad thing.

Reading is fun-da-mental!

I tried reviewing some books in a post last year, and it wasn't my favorite thing to do. If I started and finished a book, that means I generally enjoyed it. It's hard for me to put in to words why or what exactly I liked best. Sort of like the way I communicate about life and love-- right, honey? Clear as mud.

But I just finished a book whose main character is now in my top three of book characters. The book is A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving. I had not previously read anything by Irving, and this was a weighty piece. It takes a while to trudge through some of the early setting and discussion of the narrator's experiences with various religious denominations (episcopalian vs. congregationalist vs. catholic vs. whatever... sorry for not capitalizing), but if you make it, the story is memorable. I finished the book laying in bed the other night, and I felt like Owen Meany's life was a part of my memory, not just my memory of the book about Owen Meany. Does that make sense?

Anyway, thanks Mom for a great book! I already bought Irving's The World According To Garp, which is apparently his signature novel. I also purchased Closing Time, the sequel to Catch-22, a book I thoroughly enjoyed and a movie I recently rented. Who doesn't love Alan Arkin? He's great in everything I've seen him in! If you haven't read Catch-22, the movie won't mean as much but it's worth watching due to a formidable ensemble cast.

Musings from the ORD

Oh wow - I'm in a hotel room again, big shock. This time a plush Comfort Inn within range of approaching 747s just outside of O'Hare airport, or ORD as we travellers like to say. Annie and I take unusual pride in our knowledge of 3-letter airport codes and use them frequently to refer to cities, even when the airport has no bearing. LIH baby! It's like text message codes for grownups, LOL.

Work doesn't provide me a laptop yet, so I decided to take Annie's home laptop for this trip to get some work done, and it was the best decision ever. Not only can I get work done, but I can download recent episodes of Rescue Me, write this, and watch Monday Night Football all from the relative Comfort of my Inn. I'm always late to embrace the convenience of certain technologies, but I always really appreciate them once I do.

It seems like I write about sports in just about every blog...well, it ain't changing here. The kids are on a parks & rec soccer team, and I've been able to see several of their games. They're in that 6-8 age group so they either follow the ball around in a confusing mob, or stand in one place because someone told them to play a 'position'. It's fun. I can't sit still during these games. I want to coach them up with my limited knowledge of soccer (2 yrs in H.S., woo-hoo!) but they're not ready for skill-specific coaching yet. I want to encourage them to 'compete' and 'win', but they don't really care yet. And I want to yell at the team parent-coach sometimes because the assigned parent-coach doesn't do any coaching. Parent-coach's strength is in choosing who brings snacks each game. I don't have much of a point to this paragraph yet, so... I should probably coach one of the kids' sports someday.

I miss home and especially my core group of guy friends a lot lately. Fall is the best in Michigan, and I always looked forward to busting out the hoodies and jeans and sweaters, going to tailgates at GVSU and watching the Wolverines every Saturday. I can do most of that stuff here (hoodies are outlawed), but not with the same friends. Fall is the time where we always find more excuses to get together with friends, I think because from childhood through college we're accustomed to a new school year starting and it feels like a sort of reunion. I haven't gone to school in 6 years, but I still get that feeling. Anyway, friends: A shout-out to you, and you know who you are. My inner circle of testosterone-laden, bad joke making, mini-muffin tossing, horrible poker playing buds. The Dudes. You're all fatter, balder, and uglier than last time I saw you, but I still love ya just the same.

I finished reading High Fidelity, and I'll give it 2.5 out of 4. I never could separate the characters from their Hollywood film counterparts. Imagine a quasi-British John Cusack, drifting in and out of accent with sometimes moppy black hair and other times spiky blonde hair and ruddy complexion. It doesn't quite work. I'm reading non-fiction again, Under the Banner of Heaven by John Krakauer. Where religion goes wrong, and how! It's actually not funny, and rather disturbing. Speaking of, I was reminded of the power of religious emotion and selfish extremism when my company was accused of "banning" Christmas by a powerful political action group. Not caring that their claim was false, many of my colleagues and I received hateful emails and voice mails from people around the country claiming to be Christians and patriotic Americans. I don't want to tell the story here, but call or email me and I'll fill you in and send some entertaining links. I also received some understanding and thoughtful emails from others whom I personally know to be Christians - we're not all nutty, arrogant judgers - whew! Either way, it reminded me that as humans, we all fail miserably and frequently, but I have a lot of respect for people who maintain religious faith and do so with class and perception and grace.

How did I get on that topic? Anyway, I'm tired and this laptop is burning my legs through my dungarees. Good night now!

I should write more, too

It's been a while, and so much has changed. I've been to Orlando (via Denver), Salt Lake City (via Memphis, then Denver), Los Angeles, Salt Lake City, Denver and Salt Lake City in the past two weeks (...I've been ev-ery-where man, I've been ev-ery-where...). Travelling by plane is the best time to catch up on a growing favorite activity of mine: Reading. Nerd Alert! Joking. All the cool people I know read, and they read more than me, and probably better books than me. In the past few months I've read, and recommend based on x out of 4 stars, the following books: Devil in the White City by Erik Larson (4 stars) - I can't believe this part of American history is not more well known; Skeleton Coast by Clive Cussler with Jack DuBrul (3 stars) - Cussler weaves another tale of shipwrecks, political unrest, unbelievably diabolical plots to cause harm, and the heroes who prevent it; The Meaning of Sports by Michael Mandelbaum (2.5 stars) - recommended by a brilliant sports/political journalist, Gregg Easterbrook (Tuesday Morning QB), this book compares the defining traits of the 3 major American sports - Baseball, Football, and Basketball - to 3 distinct social eras in our history: Agrarian, Industrial Revolution, and post-Industrial Revolution. I gave it 2.5 because I knew a lot of the factoids already, but LOVED the section about baseball's history - that alone makes it worth the read for any baseball fan - and found the comparisons interesting. I'm currently reading High Fidelity by Nick Hornby (incomplete) - easy, fun read but difficult to separate the book's British setting and characters from the Cusack/Hjejle/Black cast of the US movie.

I was travelling for work, doing a marketing presentation to groups of franchisees as part of day-long regional meetings. As small as 4 in our own Salt Lake market, to a group of 50+ in L.A. My portion was about an hour and a half of presenting, discussion, and answering questions. Tiring, frustrating at times, but rewarding. I probably learned more from them than they from me. (Charon - was that an acceptable sentence structure? Sounded weird.) I also ate a lot of cookies and catered lunches, which is one of two reasons my dress pants have been, well, not exactly 'fitting' lately.

Annie and I find it difficult to be separated when we travel for business, which is ironic considering we 'dated' from a distance greater than the entire Central time zone for a couple years. I'm home now for a week, then I leave for a Chicago-St. Paul leg of the same meetings. 3 weeks from now, I'll be in Hawaii for my first time! A much needed vacation that Annie has been diligently planning in my absence thanks to The Ultimate Kauai Guidebook (TBD stars). Time to stop donating money to the local 24-Hour Fitness (the other reason for the tight pants) and start getting in beach shape.

Let's see, what else... Oh - since I last wrote, Michigan got Duck-waxed by Oregon, then rebounded for 4 straight wins. Speaking of 4 straight, I'm the only 4-0 team in my Fantasy Football League. Double Nerd Alert!! Hey guys - remember how I won the league last year and how much of a fluke it was? Check yourselves before you wriggedy-wreck yourselves. Tommy Brady just hit for another TD pass...it's going to be a great Sunday.

And the big news? (drum roll please...)

We bought a new car! Gotcha, suckers. We leased it, actually. I say 'we' only in the sense that I was present for some signatures. Annie did all the work, since it is her need for new, shiny things with satellite radio and 3rd row seating that led to this decision. Nissan Pathfinder - gray, leather, loaded. Bu-bye to the Jetta, hello to extra space for soccer gear and trips to Costco (48-pack of TP? No problem.) Babe - we've finally made it! New TV, furniture, the car, and nearly unmanageable debt. We're so 21st century.