The talents we don't...

I'm not anything if I'm not slightly above average... at everything...  I've come to terms with my slightly above averageness, which I will refer to as a complex knows as SAAness.  For instance, since I have discovered "blogging," which apparently has been around for a while, I have stumbled onto others "blogs."  One of my new favorites is the World Renowned "Hyperbole and a Half" (("CLICK HERE NOW")), which catalogs a clever and very human young lady and her goal to achieve one very simple thing, to win at internet.  Like most things in this world, her best stories are told through cartoons.  So I think to myself, "hey, self..." (for those of you who don't know me, I address both sides of my conversation in third person, and generally verbally, preferably louder than a mumble, because frankly, only crazy people mumble to themselves, right?!  Anyway, "hey self, that's a good idea, you should incorporate some of that into your own writings, you are at least SAA when it comes to drawing.  So in a desperate attempt to come up with a story regarding our oldest dog, who tends to be a bit pushy, demanding, for lack of a better phrase, bitchy, the best I can seem to muster is this.

I think you can clearly decipher the point... but still.

Another example would be something I used to cherish in the confines of my own bedroom.  I have been playing guitar for over 10 years, but once I realized I had a few chords down I decided to venture into the world of "EVERY FREAKIN' PERSON IN AMERICA PLAYS GUITAR NOW-A-DAYS," and for pete's sake I cannot name a single person whom I know that plays guitar worse than I do.  Sure, I'm good enough, especially when playing around people who do not play guitar, but put me in a room with some buddies, and I'm a sand-bagger.  I can't even move my hand as quickly as they do when I'm not touching the strings, and then the pick accidentally pings one, flips out of my hands and lands in someone's cleavage... which is even worse when it's only the guys and the closest thing to cleavage is sitting in a chair in front of me and his shirt isn't quite long enough in the back... He usually keeps the picks. 


I'm the slowest on my motorcycle when we go trail riding, but not to the point where they have to wait for me, just always in the back.  When I log into a video game, Guild Wars, CS:Source, Far Cry or Starcraft 2, I'm usually the "nuub" in PvP.  Half my bonsai die, my Christmas tree leans a degree or two off, but it's noticeable enough to me... I was always the "co"-captain, the 3rd best pitcher on the team, and the 6th man in basketball.  I always wondered why Jack is good at this or Steven's good at that.  Like my dad used to always say, "why can't you just pick something you're great at and be great at it?"  But now, I think I see my SAAness as a gift, not a curse.

Now there are two types of brains out there.  I am not a self-proclaimed "high functioning brain" person.  I will never write the great-American novel or song that touches everyone's heart, make the perfect investment decisions that net vast fortunes, ski or climb the highest mountains or dive the deepest waters.  That's just not me.  What I will be able to do is guarantee a C+ to B- average in anything, new or old, I ever put on my plate, no matter how many things I add or subtract from my daily routine... and I have come to appreciate that.  For instance...

As opposed to someone on the other side of the coin, the concert pianist, the next Picasso, or Socrates.

So such is the nature of life.  If it weren't for the crazies that didn't go crazy, we'd still have things like Polio, but if it weren't for people like me, we'd have never had things like beer pong.  I may not be part of the "goes down in history" crowd, but I appreciate not having the propensity towards psychosis as well. 

Have Smish Will Travel

Everyone needs a hobby.  I need many.  My wife doesn't.  She claims to be the ADD one in the family, but in the long run I have a harder time staying on target than she does.  Sure, a quick trip to get ONE item at the grocery store takes her longer, the pretty colors call her name, but when it comes to something she's ready to focus that wandering attention on to, she might as well be a starving hawk seeing it's first field mouse in weeks.  She needs to be dedicated, devoted to one or two ventures that provide pure elation at all times.  I appreciate this attribute in that it guarantees her dedication to me... I hope.

Thanks to our marriage, I effectively distanced her (in a sense) from one of these few but intense loves of hers, snowboarding.  Don't get me wrong, as a skier I think we have the greatest mountains in the world where we live now (except Alaska of course), but as a snowboarder who prefers rails and boxes to drops and nipple-deep powder, we tend to disagree on this particular topic.  Perhaps she's in the right, since at 29 I know occasionally writhe in lower back pain caused by a slightly bulging sciatic nerve.  Snowboarding in the Denver area is a year round activity.  Like most of the rockies, there are available patches of snow on the 4th of July, or any other day of the year.  The difference is the culture associated with snowboarding today is best defined through kids up and around there, who eat, breathe, live and work to spend a few brief moments a day on the slopes.  After a year or two of over 200 days of snowboarding, it was a hard change for her and I appreciate her willingness to move.  I also appreciate this attribute in that it guarantees her dedication to me... I hope.

So after a season of me trying to find a mountain that bests suits her... and failing... I've come to two conclusions; first, I'm going to have to stop trying to fit the Breckenridge peg into the San Juan's hole (that didn't sound right?!?) and second, we're going to have to find her something that she can love even more so...

The best way to replace a love is to actualize a long term dream.  My wife, being the motherly sort, takes great joy in the care of others.  And not just other people.  Her parents home holds many interesting books of many fascinating pictures of her and her many brothers and sisters.  Among the home-made dresses and self-inflicted hairstyles include photos of the parvo-stricken dog and a young girl walking a duck on a leash or sitting on her desk as she diligently finishes an evenings worth of homework.  A love for animals, specifically dogs, and a joy in having something small and delicate to "take care of" combines nicely into a great addition to our lives.

And so enters, "The Smish."

The name/title/description/catch-all phrase "Smish" is, as usual in our quirky family, a conglomerate of many different words and events that has morphed and created itself into an actualized identity.  I doubt myself the next Shakespeare, creating my own words when existing onces simply do not suffice, but "Smish" has truly become a mantra within our household.  "Smish," which serves the purpose primarily as a proper noun and therefore warrants capitalization, takes it's origins from the English word, "fish."  In context it refers both to the scale-covered water-dwelling member of the animal kingdom, as well as it's usage as a verb; as in, "fish around for trouble."  Emphasis added to the word trouble.  Throw in a small amount of child-like humor and swap some phonics in for others, and after months of fine-tuning, we have created the word, "Smish."  Granted Shakespeare was much better at the job than we, proven by when he decided to "ass the ass" in power, and created the word assassinate.

Further descriptions of "The Smish," and her minions, collectively known as, "The Smishes" will, I'm certain, make their way into further posts, so I will save further explanation.  But as any good ADD addiction goes, why have one when you have have two... or three... or four?!?  

When Number four came along, we had narrowed it down to a set purpose.  If you're going to do something, why not do it full boat, and with that we made our third attempt, albeit much more successful than the previous two, to launch into the wide world of Show Dogs.  For those of you who have never experienced this slight niche of American culture, I will answer the two most common questions now... Yes, in many ways it is "really like that movie with the dad from American Pie," and; No, well bred dogs do not have tons of health problems.  Regarding that last statement, in fact quite the opposite.   

So here we are, a Toyota Corolla, 3 dogs, and hours worth of "family time" ahead, traveling the rugged Southwest in search of AKC Championship Points.  Other times it's "Mom and her pup" off on their own excursion, as you could probably guess finding accommodations that accept multiple animals can be quite challenging.  Above you'll also notice I said 3 dogs, we have 4.  Here's the discrepancy.  The frustrations increase thanks to my oldest dog, one I've had much longer than I've even known my wife.  She tends to be on the "yappy" side, and that's putting it kindly.  She is a topic of conversation for a future time, but needless to say, fear of being expelled from any animal-tolerant hotel, and potentially from showing dogs in the AKC thanks to being expelled from an animal-tolerant hotel, we have to find a location for her to stay when we leave... she has all but burned every bridge for all available free (friend) options.

The ME TOO!?!'s of Pack Mentalities

We are now "small" family of 6.  Small being the operative word as 4 of us are under 15 pounds, 3 of us under 5... Me, I weigh 240 (on a good day), and my wife, well, she could put on a few pounds, but she'd disagree with that last statement... don't they all!
Our "little ones" are just that, four-legged, hairy balls of ego, excitement, arrogance, and terror.  In that order, they go Trigger, Bryco, Laurel and Oakley.  Laurel is 6, Oakley just turned a year and the boys are both under 20 weeks.  For those who don't know, Chihuahua's are as loyal as any dog, maybe more so.  Like most small things, insects, rats, etc... Chihuahua's are most comfortable within the safety of numbers.  Hence our family's pack mentalities.  My wife and I would not want to admit it publicly, but we both have our favorites.  Thankfully it's not the same dog, and thankfully our favorites change (at least mine do, she'll always be rather partial to a specific one as it was her first baby that she'd wanted for 20 years).
My wife and I love our relax time, around the house, at the park, in the car, a nice walk... it doesn't matter, but being newly-married, young and in love it's nice to just spend time with each other.  However, we also lead a pack.  And the mentalities of the pack revolve around two things... 1) MINE!!! and 2) ME TOO!!!

For those of you who have dogs, you understand the first one.  Unfortunately for those of you who don't have multiple dogs you can't understand the second.  I didn't know this until last year.  See, I've had Laurel for 6 years.  She's a bitch.  Please excuse the language, and I love her more than anything, but she is arrogant and spoiled... and since I've replaced her as alpha female she's become mean.  My wife loves Laurel, takes great care of her, she's healthier than she's ever been... but they sure don't like each other.  Such is the nature of the beast.  Hell hath no fury such as a woman scorned.  Laurel is scorned.  It's a long fall from head cheerleader the second cheerleader and my little Laurel has taken the fall poorly.  But she'll adjust... maybe... eventually... maybe...

However, now I have Laurel, and a wife... and three new ones we've acquired this year.  This makes me the leader of a pack.  Leading a pack is much different than having a single companion.  This is where the ME TOO!!!  comes in.  Perhaps I should add a few question marks in there as well as exclamations as a dog's ME TOO!?! comes with a cocked head and perked ears... it is both a demand and a question.  Laurel's ME TOO!?! comes with a childish whine.  She's the mouthy one.  Barks at everyone, even me when I come home.  Whines when she doesn't get her way.  Hufflepuffs and snorts.  No one would ever argue that she has character... or at least personality.

So sometimes I like having my companion.  My wife is my companion and I like our time together, but often, the rest of the pack neither understands nor approves.  How dare we try to steal away out of the house for a short while to leave the dogs to fend for themselves.  How dare we!!  So often depending on destination, one or two of them get loaded up to go with us... now when I say one or two of them get loaded up to go, eventually all four end up in the car as we're backing out.  It's bad enough to want to go ourselves, but to take but one, how dare we show favoritism.

But such is the life of a pack.  There has to be a pecking order, there is no equality in real life.  Equality is a fancy concept invented by people of higher stature to feel better about having to look at all those people of lower stature.  Sure, you can call yourself equal.  We're still not going to pay you the same for the job or let you have equal rates on a loan or treat you the same in public, and we'll be mocking you in the privacy of our own home.  But we feign equality to feel good about ourselves.  I'm not one for forcing equality.  Equality should encorporate   Don't get me wrong, I'm not talking about discrimination and there is a drastic difference between treating someone appropriately and treating someone equally.  But the word equality has taken on a whole new meaning since the 1960's and it's unfortunate.  In the real world you are either eaten, or you eat.  And in a pack, there is a constant struggle for supremecy.

So all day long, I'm am staring at a sea of ME TOO!?!'s scattered across the floor, all with the same hope and expectation as the other... Do I get to go?  Am I top of the list?  Why can't I pee on the floor?  I wouldn't change it for the world, there's something beautiful in being needed... Nothing makes my wife and I laugh harder, hug firmer, love deeper than to watch four small animals run as fast as their tiny little legs can carry them across the field at the park, or sit in unison desperately trying to be the first one to get the treats.  Besides, it's kind of nice being the head of the pack, what man doesn't enjoy a little smug in their life some times.

honeydo's and I Love My Wife! bumperstickers

The list. Every married man knows the list. It shows up at 4:45p on most Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday afternoons. I'm just learning the list. I've been married 7 weeks. For those of you who smirk at that last sentence, I welcome all wisdom :)

The guys (and gals) I work with call it the honeydo list. I'll save the explanation as it should be self-evident. Many of the older gentlemen in my cubicle-farm receive theirs via phone message. Even the divorced guy get's his phone call a few times a week, they share four children and feign stability and civility for their sake, the honeydo phone calls which are made out of earshot of the kids however, do not. I'm still a twenty-something, and my wife is a few years my junior so mine come via text message. A form of communication that was just slightly behind my time and I've yet to fully appreciate its "benefits."

From her perspective, texting is a great way to stay in constant contact. Something I love dearly about my wife. Everyone else unfortunately can go away. My mother recently discovered text messaging. The week she did was a long week for me as she also discovered Facebook. Previously I was able to avoid texting people because they all knew I didn't do it. Now they know I do because they've seen me sharing informal sweet-nothings occasionally with my dear K. Now instead of simply having a phone that can interrupt me at any point in time, it also allows the lazy to scrawl a brief message across my life without any real show of effort. And I diligently hop-to, in hopes that perhaps it is an informal sweet-nothing sent back my direction... often it is not. Sometimes it is simply, "pick up Gala apples at the store."

The honeydo list can invoke a series of emotions depending on location, quantity of items to be acquired, and particular vehicle I've chosen to take to work on any given day. There is actually a matrix... For instance...

1. I rode my motorcycle to work
+ 2. it is a beautiful day outside
+ 3. minimal luggage to be returned
= as far as I'm concerned, I just snuck a ride in after work.

or

1. I took the truck to work
+ 2. she needs something from Home Depot
= as far as I'm concerned, I have an excuse to gather stuff for the next "project"

However, the flip side of course is... picture scenario one, except it's begun to rain, or she has a dozen things that need picking up at multiple stores... or frankly, any other aspect of the matrix can be positive or negative, but if Walmart is involved, it is a trump card that cancels any underlying positive lining and guarantee's personal frustration. It's inevitable, everyone shops at Walmart. And they're all there when I am.

But like a good soldier, inevitably I ride into the parking lot in pouring rain needing to pick up closet shelving that weighs fifty pounds and secure it to the bike with no tie downs behind the vegetable oil diesel F-150 with a camper on back and a black cloud of smoke billowing in my face staring at an "I Love My Wife" bumpersticker and I think to myself, "I do."

... becoming man

Almost 30. Life has changed dramatically over the past 5 years... or 10 years or 20 years... I can remember each of those points fairly vividly; the smells of a little-league ball park (or simply a park with white lines spray-painted in the grass) and my father standing at the chain-link fence praying I get on base, screaming instructions in his most loving tone. He never missed a game. Perhaps I'm 17 again, seeking a young girls warmth between basketball practices, wondering if she's the one, knowing she isn't all the same, but exploring the possibility with all the heart I knew how to muster at that age. Finishing college, angry at the world that is so much dumber than I am. Arrogance and alcohol cloud judgment and ignore wisdom, youthful vigor clamors to be considered part of the world yet has no knowledge of it's true place.

No, instead I am almost 30. Neither young and foolish nor wise and weathered. Perhaps still arrogant. Excited. Engulfed in the world God has built around me, so far from the one I probably would have built for myself. My wife is so beautiful, strong, and was clearly intended just for me. Our little "family" of Chihuahuas so distant from our families we were born into, thousands of miles away we have become our own island of hopes, desires, dreams. We find our entertainment and place in the world around us. Perhaps I have found my place.

A man in his twenties is at a carnival. Life behind you seems dull and gray, the streets you've walked down tell stories, but the lights in front of you, the screams and songs and smells of cotton candy, are enticing. The carnival is expensive. The women have beards. The games are all rigged. The rides appear outstanding the repetition of it all catches up with you. And just like a casino, the odds are on the house, or they wouldn't waste the time setting everything up. The hot dogs are ten bucks! You leave poorer, you smell of hay and horse manure, and still behind you you hear the screams, see the lights, and smell the cotton candy.

I've never been grateful for having gone to a carnival, but I always go. I always force the laughter, and inevitably I have a good time.

In life, as I've left the carnival and headed back into the real world, I don't feel like I actually learned anything from the experiences. They were just experiences. Opportunities to help me choose what I enjoy, what I don't, but actually "learning" anything? I don't know about that...

I do know that I love my family, the one that raised me, the one I am building now. I enjoy a great number of different hobbies, and I suppose that is why I start my blog. My father always told me, choose something and stick with it. He spent almost 60 years in the same industry and now in his mid 80's still reminisces about it. It is OK that that is not me.

I simply wish to share my love of many things. I'd rather be a renaissance man than an expert at any one thing. Perhaps the one thing I did learn from my twenties is that those experiences may not shape who you are as a person, but they shape who you want to be, and what you want your time to be spent doing.

This will be my testament to those experiences.