What's The StepDude blog all about?

Greetings, friends! I'm four (<--) words in and already my knuckles are creaking. While writing is a passion of mine, blogging has been an "I'll get to it later" task for about a year. Not coincidentally, it's been as full a year as I've had. We welcomed Oliver into the world last October 14, one month after I started a new job in the healthcare staffing industry. I went from marketing cookies to healthcare professionals. In a neat moment of irony, the anesthesiologist in the operating room gave me a cookie to help my blood sugar return to normal after I nearly passed out during the C-section. Recall - if you know anything about childbirth (or are over the age of 4) - that the father neither carries nor delivers the child. And yet I almost fainted, all while my wife - who was the actual surgery patient at the time - was telling me to hang in there and everything would be fine. Such is my constitution for all things hospitally and snippy and suctiony and birthy. My son's first sights and thoughts out of the womb: 
Bright lights!
Somebody's hands - must be the doctor.
Where are they taking me?
Oh great, my Dad's a shivering wuss. Won't make it through a diaper change, I bet.


And he was right! The first diaper change was a disaster. (How does the poopy get on his heels?)


So The StepDude is named such because initially I was considering a blog about raising step-children; which were the only children I had a few years ago. But I still like the name and it's memorable and I had the URL, so there. I moved all my old posts here too, for simplicity. I find that the older I get, the less things I want to keep track of. Life, unfortunately, has a way of making that an uphill battle; from children to job responsibilities to usernames and passwords to friends' children (Oh, hey Frank. How is, uh, Chr...Jay...your littlest one doing?) to vitamins and supplements to assorted remedies which help one poop. More and more while I have the focus for less and less. I can't complain though - my life seems comically easy at times. Justin Bieber has faced more adversity (i.e., getting blended.)


More to come in the near future. It'll sound more like a column and less like "this dude's blog about his boring life"; I'll feel better about you sharing it with strangers via Shoutface and Bookperch that way. Or do what I do and just email a "hyperlink" to Mom and Dad. They'll read it. (By "they" I mean my own Mom and Dad. Their email address is...)

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.

Appetite for Destruction

Time for another installment of "My 30th Year: What Have I Done?"

After mulling over the options for what to do with our dysfunctional shower, I came to the conclusion that I could do only one thing, and that I would do that one thing...alone. Destroy it. Destroy it all. So I did. Sort of. Don't you. Hate it. When. Advertisers. Use. One or. Two. Word Sentences. With. Periods. For. Emphasis.

Yep. Where there used to be 3 walls and a floor of tile encased with glass sliding doors, we now feature gaping studs with disintegrating insulation and exposed plumbing. Great success! (see pic above) I'm now officially done with what my own hands can achieve. You know what's fun? Dropping a 5 ft. section of drywall, with ceramic tile attached, off the upstairs balcony onto the concrete patio below.

I was in Chicago last week on a photo shoot for work, and should have been blogging. Unfortunately, I spent most of my free time digesting dough and chocolate. I consumed more cookies and brownies in three days than any man ever should, especially if that man wants to indulge in the skinny jeans craze. Don't worry, I don't.

Give me "The Leaner" any day

Annie and I had a quiet, but much needed at-home Valentine's Day. We hadn't spent quality time together, sans kids, since the W. Bush administration. Our mornings were separately endured - she at the hair salon, where I had a dozen roses delivered via super secret courier, and me at a local mall, filling in as Big Cookie Cake decorator in a corporate-supported V-Day promotion. I anticipated doing more 'marketing guy' work, like standing around and looking confused, but demands were such that I had to put my limited decorating skills to work. While you catch your breath from "yeah right" giggling, realize I am not crafting wedding cakes here - just some colorful borders and Valentines-y messages using icing on ginormous cookies.

Let me be honest here: I hate malls on holidays. I'd rather work on 50-year old plumbing at the cottage than service crazed consumers at a cookie shop, but I try not to let this conflict of interests bury my enthusiasm for my job. But there were moments - two in particular - where my creative efforts in cookie design were genuinely appreciated by customers, and that made me feel good. Not as good as the text message that buzzed in my pocket when Annie got the flowers, but good enough to make my morning of work seem meaningful.

Our Valentine's evening began early, with New York strips on the grill (while still daylight), seasoned red skin potato wedges, homemade salad, and plenty of red wine. Maybe it was the wine or the lame comedy we watched, but our night ended early, too. This is finally getting me to the subject of this post...

Due to the early bedtime, I woke at 4:30am and could not get back to sleep. So I made my way downstairs and did what anyone else would do in my situation - watch 2.5 hours of the NBA's All-Star weekend on DVR! For those who aren't pro basketball fans, this event includes competitions of shooting, hamming & mugging for the camera, and dunking (sort of). For the record, I have claimed victory in several basketball skills competitions on lesser stages in my lifetime. Two free throw shooting competitions (Jr. high camp, and an impromptu high school practice competition, where I nailed 62 in a row); a 3-pt shooting competition as a sophomore or junior at a Christ In Youth conference, and a slam dunk contest (seriously) at the freshman orientation all-nighter at Grand Valley's fieldhouse. The dunking victory came on a 9-ft rim, but still, I won a brand new GVSU hat, so that's how you know it was real. I claim and remember these accomplishments both to boost my self esteem (sad, I know), but also to move closer to making my point: I can appreciate these skills competitions, but this year's NBA "jam" was more like a jar of spoiled apricot preserves*.

Nevermind the fact that the 3-pt shooting contest's participants were nobodies who also happened to SUCK AT SHOOTING 3 POINTERS, but the dunk contest fell to the saddest and lowest point in its history. In short, the Sprite All Star Sprite Slam Dunk Fest sponsored by Sprite became a rigged, gimmicky Sprite ad featuring some mediocre dunks. If you saw this event, you might recall the unending delays while defending champ Dwight (rhymes with Sprite) Howard set up false hoops, donned Superman capes (fresh last year, recycled this year), and tried to catch passes from random spectators on his way to a few o.k. power dunks. Then, the NBA's favorite tiny leaper of the decade, Nate Robinson, donned a Sprite-green uniform and shoes, and grabbed a green basketball to leap over the aforementioned Superman for his contest-clinching dunk. Alright - this dunk was okay, unlike his previous round dunk where he stepped off a guy's back. He's short! The whole point is that he can jump super high; so why is he using a step ladder?!

Worse than all the shenanigans were the announcers, including former 3-pt and dunk contest participants, who constantly fawned over the antics and acted like this was some great theater. Reggie Miller, bless his ugly...shooting form, mentioned "kryptonite" and "Lex Luthor" eleventeen-thousand times during Nate Spritenson's green-clad effort. HA HA HA - it's a Superman reference! Look, the great dunk contests of the 80s showed nearly the entire array of what humans can do whilst dunking a ball through a hoop, but they still had to do it, on the spot, cameras rolling, without missing! If you missed you got docked! Now, they allow you not only several full minutes, but 2 extra attempts if you don't get your goofy costume-enhanced dunk down the first 1 or 8 times you try it.

NBA: Get the stars back, drop the ridiculous props and teammate gimmicks, give them 1 attempt per round, 6 or 8 rounds, and put MJ, Dominique, Spud, Clyde the Glide, Kenny "Sky" Walker, Larry Nance, and Dr. J on the judges' table and give us our contest back! Gosh!

*Apricot preserves is the grossest jelly flavor of all time. If you say any other flavor, you are wrong!