My phone conversation with Poppy

Here is my first phone call from Poppy, as she and mommy were driving home. I had just walked in the door.

Me: Hello? (silence) ...hello?
Poppy: Hi.
Me: Who's this?
Poppy: Poppy.
Me: Oh, hi! How's it going?
Poppy: I'm gonna get the orange bike.
Me: Oh, ok.
Poppy: The one with bees and butterflies.
Me: Well that's good...
Poppy: Are you at home right now?
Me: Yes.
Poppy: Did you beat us?
Me: Well, I thought you'd be here. I wasn't racing you...
Poppy: Why did you do that?
Me: Uh, I don't know. Sorry. Where are you?
Poppy (pointing to house): Right there. (sound of garage door opening)

Our talk continued even as she came in the door and stood right in front of me.

I'll probably miss this when she's a teenager.

The hazards of Extreme Belting

Aloha

Here's a photo of the play I'm in, called Nurse Jane Goes to Hawaii. The story is about Vivien, a romance novelist whose next opus is created around the events unfolding before her. And trust me, that's the easiest explanation there is.


And now, the cast of characters.

From top left:

Bill: married to Betty; had a daughter with Doris
Doris: married to Edgar
Edgar (me): married to Doris; had a son with Betty
Betty: married to Bill; Vivien's editor

From bottom left:

Peggy: Bill and Doris' daughter
Peter: Edgar and Betty's son
Vivien: romance novelist

Sorry.

Area man kicks chair, wall

Editor's Note: For those of you who do not know me, the following story is an exaggeration of the truth. Not the fortune cookie, though. That actually happened.

Area man John's Brain, distraught by a shortened lunch hour and a poor selection of dining options, turned and kicked a nearby chair earlier today when he became disillusioned by a fortune cookie which contained no fortune.

Although details are sketchy, it is alleged that the kicked-upon objects also included a nearby wall.

"Oh, this is rich," Brain said. "I'm loving this."

The day up to that point, Brain recalled, had sucked. "I was already in a bad mood when this crapload of work came in," he began, "and we decided to cut our lunch hour in half. Of course I didn't bring mine, so I had to go running off like a lunchless moron."

"I just wanted some soup," he continued. Then, wagging a finger and shaking his head, he explained, "But they always have to make it difficult, don't they."

It was unclear if Brain was actually asking a question.

Although he reported finding several places in the vicinity which offered soup, the only choices available were split pea or a "nauseating cajun broth that smelled like a decomposing forest."

"I mean come on, don't try so hard," he exclaimed, motioning to nothing in particular. "I had to book it three blocks to the next cafeteria, and guess what?" After a short pause for effect, he added slowly, "Split puke and wood rot."

Brain ultimately decided on chicken stir fry, accompanied with a free fortune cookie. "I figured 'What the hell, if the gods are going to mock me, I might as well know the joke,'" he mused.

The resulting irony of being denied even a false fortune led to the kicking incident. When asked to comment further, Brain suddenly appeared to grow disinterested with the interview before slumping into his chair to resume his duties.

This afternoon we went to Herbergers, where I spent $90 on a $90 pair of shoes that cost $90. The shoes, which cost me $90, were not on sale. I went to the cashier, told her I would like to buy these shoes for $90, and was charged the full $90 retail price for the shoes.

The price of the shoes -- which was $90 -- was paid in full. I agreed to pay the whole amount of the non-negotiable price advertised for the shoes.

The shoes which cost $90.

The Universe Explained in Six Words

holy crap this place is huge

Reasons to have lunch on Saturn

1. Rings make the most awesome park bench ever

2. I'm 800,000,000 miles from the nearest office appliance

3. View of Jupiter beats the crap out of looking at photos in break room

4. 56 freakin' moons!

5. Estimated time of return, via car at 60 mph: 7,607 AD

6. Skip stones across atmosphere

7. Moon the Cassini orbiter and then blame Titan

8. Finally a reason to walk around in a space suit

9. No pollen allergies

10. Can't hear people's annoying ring tones

11. No elevator crowded with people also going to Saturn for lunch

Feel free to add your own reasons!

I recently read about a scientific discovery that claims our brains are plastic. Not the kind of plastic that dad complains about, but neuroplastic.

Traditional thinking asserts that our brains become wired when we're young and all the neurons and synapses and dendrites set like cement, eventually turning us all into stiff, angry, old people.

The idea itself is not that new. There are books out there that tell you how to train your brain and keep it active and all that, but the book I saw -- I can't remember the title at the moment -- says our brains can be physically altered by how we choose to think well into our adult lives. We can change it.

I've always suspected it, but of course I'm a genius.

A few weeks before I read about it, I was at work. It was a slow day and I was thinking how cool it would be if ninjas came cartwheeling down the hall and I heroically saved everyone I liked, while a select few got a Chinese throwing star to the forehead. The reason it's safe to think that is because ninjas will never have a reason to infiltrate a work area that touts paper cuts as its number one hazard.

Long story short, I decided to try an experiment. Every time I felt the boredom coming on I would tell myself that I was happy by thinking of good memories. Soon I was flooding my brain every five minutes with surges of happy neurons. (Yes, the job is that boring. Not every ten minutes. Every five.)

So in conclusion, our brains are plastic and you can make them happy if you want. Isn't that the best news ever? Now everyone go flood your brains.

To help you with ideas, here is a short list of memories John used in his experiment

1. On the road to Spicer in the Nature Wagon in July with no air conditioner
2. Trip to South Dakota in the Nature Wagon in July with no air conditioner
3. Looking for agates at Camp Cuyuna
4. Eating ice cream and watching Friday Night Videos
5. Making home movies with a gigantic video camera

Happy wiring!

Husband forgets which film he just saw

Area man and movie enthusiast John's Brain announced Saturday that he had completely forgotten which epic movie he had just finished viewing after coming upstairs at his family's home.

"He has no idea," said Posy, his wife of 12 years. "We've seen so many epics. We can't tell them apart anymore. "

The clearly agitated Brain remained adamant about recalling the event. "It might have been Star Wars," he said, nursing a large mug of coffee. "I don't know. It's going to bug me all day if I don't figure this out."

The couple began citing possible films but ultimately could not decide on which one he had actually seen.

"There's this poor farm boy in it," Brain said, "and someone gives him something and he doesn't really want it. It's a sword or a ring or an egg or something. Something magic and maybe evil. Either way, he's a farm boy."

"Is it Lord of the Rings?" asked Posy, attempting to help.

"No," countered Brain, "I think Harrison Ford was in it. He was fighting all these people. I think they were Nazis or maybe stormtroopers. Was Darth Vader a Nazi?"

Debate also focused on the differences between Ewoks and Hobbits.

At one point Posy suggested Dirty Harry but, Brain reminded her, that was fellow aging actor Clint Eastwood, not Ford. That series, which follows the story of a hardball San Francisco detective, was also dismissed due to its lack of wookies.

"If Dirty Harry was a wizard," Brain added, "the case would have been solved in ten minutes. And besides, who ever heard of a wizard named 'Harry'?"

Brain then removed his glasses and pinched the upper bridge of his nose. "Was it Star Wars? Because there was this poor farm boy."

Giveth up thy what now?

On the bus ride home from work, I read the following message on our church's sign out front:

Give up your fear of dying

A week later it said:

Give up your fear of living

The week after that it said:

Give up your guilt and misery

Come on, this is the Midwest. By Easter we'll all be dead from boredom.

And he was never taken seriously again.

Mystery Radio Theater Presents

The name's Brain. I'm a detective. I dig around in peoples' lives and pull out the stuff they don't want but can't get rid of by themselves. Why? Guess I think it'll make 'em feel better. Never saw a guilty man die happy.

Tonight's episode: The Case of The Missing Dagger

It was early. I was stuffing the last bit of oatmeal in my mouth when I read the headline on the box:

Five Times More Omega 3's Than Regular Oatmeal!

I didn't really know what all the excitement was about. I was never good at math or Greek. I don't know why all those extra 3's are five times better at the end, but it's more than I could say for regular oatmeal.

Then I saw the little dagger symbol.

In my business that means someone has more to say but they don't want you to know what it is. So they make a footnote and stick it somewhere else, thinking you either won't care or won't have enough time to go snooping around.

I've seen a lot of daggers in my day, I even used a couple myself once. But I never saw anyone tag one on that didn't lead somewhere else. Whatever else this guy had to say, he thought he could bury it on a simple 6-sided box.

Not with me on the case. He'd have a better chance of winning the lottery with a parking ticket.

I pulled the box closer and felt the adrenaline hit me as I snooped around, weaving in and out of eye-popping graphics and exclamation points, I could smell that footnote, it was close. But every time the lead got hot I'd stumble over a nutrition label or a drawing of a heart with wheat coming out of it.

This guy was good, a real pro. It took a full minute for me to realize that I'd been staring at a sign that said "Enhanced with barley and ground flaxseed." What the hell does that even mean?

By now I knew I'd be late for the number ten downtown, so I dropped the box and hoofed it down the street.

The distance seemed to make it worse. I spent the whole day stirring it over in my head. They always say not to dwell on things, but I'm already a snooper, and snoopers can't not be dwellers.

By the time I got back home my curiosity was higher than a cat on nip, I couldn't wait to get back to the chase. I picked up the box, found the headline...

Then it hit me. I was looking right at it.

That was the footnote.

The dagger was at the beginning of the headline, not the end.

The adrenaline burned off like a match under a faucet. I felt like a two-cent stamp on a trash bag.

They say that losing is like winning, it just doesn't feel like it yet. I don't know what that means, but if it's true, then I'd just won the lousiest game against the best loser of all time, but somehow I'd feel better about it later.

It doesn't matter. I'll never meet him anyway. And tomorrow I'll be hungry all over again.

The name's Brain. I'm a detective...

Ok, I'm back now.

And now for some local news.

Weary customer uses shopping cart to rest top half of body; solace sought

In an attempt to stave off a "mental wall," area man John's Brain was seen slumped over his shopping cart during a trip to Target last evening. He was waiting for his wife, Posy, to return from a trip to the restroom with their daughter, who allegedly had to "go potty."

"I just want to go home," Brain said. "I came here to get yogurt and meat, and that was an hour ago."

Although there was no prior indication that he was suffering from fatigue, Brain suggested that the sugar rush from his hot cider drink was wearing off.

"If I'm here much longer," he said into his coat sleeve, "I just know I'll walk out with the third season of The Simpsons. It's on sale and I'm right here and I've wanted it for like a month."

Brain then fell silent and began rocking the cart back and forth with one leg.

Witnesses reported seeing a woman emerge from the restroom a few minutes later with a young girl who, when asked to comment, replied, "I went potty!"

The family then proceeded to the checkout, where they completed their transactions and left the store.

Popcorn Lust, Part II

I found the air popper I had in college. The little plastic intake fan was cracked, so I applied some Gorilla glue, stuck it on and, to use a dated term, Bingo!

I have air popping closure.

Elbow Banging

I am banging the hell out of my elbows lately. I'm fed up with the pain of how it feels, causing me to get angry and wave my arms and bang my elbow on the counter.

High-risk activities for elbow bangings:

1. turning in chair at work
2. eating at kitchen table
3. reaching for shampoo dispenser in shower
4. getting out of car
5. carrying daughter to bed

I could hold a concert where all I do is walk around on stage, banging various objects with my elbows. The applause might be worth it.

And now, a neural detour

Saturday morning I woke up, and in less than two minutes I was in the presidential debate of 2004. That's right, in the debate. Against Bush. At the podium. In my bathrobe. And I was making some good points because I wasn't dreaming.

What the hell? Why would I think of such things on a beautiful day off before driving home for my 3-day Easter weekend?

Other mornings I've had comedy routines go through my head, or how I'd apologize to a friend years and years after an argument, or what I would say at a family member's funeral. And at the time it makes total sense to be thinking of it. But if I have to decide what to have for dinner...(sound of clock ticking)

If you could go back in time, or forward -- anywhere but the present -- I'd know just what to say, which is why I can't think of a good ending for this blog right now. I'll see what happens over Cheerios tomorrow and get back to you.

Popcorn Lust

I bought an air popper at Target today. It blows. Half the kernels just kind of fell out with the ones that popped. Some shot out like I'd packed it with gun powder. The butter melted fine.

When I was a college freshman I got a Black and Decker air popper because they didn't allow microwaves. (Too evil?) It was a well-built, self-contained appliance. Loud, sure -- but that thing could air-pop a buffalo if the need arose. (It didn't.)

Yet here we are, 17 years later -- 17 years to perfect the science of air poppage -- and I'm zipping up a flak jacket and barking orders at my wife (who, I'll admit, is neither getting caught up in the drama nor firing the flares like I asked her to).

So we turned to the Internet, as do all who survive a war with a household appliance. We went to Sears, Kohl's, Bed Bath & Beyond, Herbergers, JCPennys, Linens & Things (whatever the hell that is), Walmart, and even Black and Decker, who no longer makes them. Every model looked the same as the one I bought, basically a Pez dispenser with a backwards Darth Vader helmet.

All I'm saying is, don't buy an air popper unless you are filming a war movie that takes place in your kitchen.

Happy Daylight Saving Time

Since Daylight Saving Time is not considered a holiday (and it should be), I chose to celebrate it by getting myself a white chocolate mocha. (I stopped drinking coffee two weeks ago.)

I'm also holding a moment of silence -- because I lost 60 of them -- to mourn that holiest of hours, the one that gave itself so I could have more light in my day.

And to curse the guy who thought of it. I'm sure there was a reason, and I'm sure he didn't sleep much, and I'm sure he was a dork.

Technically the loss of one hour and the acquisition of more light should not make that much difference, yet today I felt like I had been on a plane that went around the globe nonstop and then dropped me off at my job. What if I were a landscaper? A pet groomer? The guy who bends paper clips for a living?

I know it doesn't sound like a holiday, what with all the drinking, mourning, and cursing, but I feel that it should be one anyway. And I wish you all a Happy Daylight Saving Time.

I'm John's Brain. Good night, and good luck.

I've got a pleasant voice

Last week I was approached about narrating a DVD for a medical book. Seems the regular guy had a thing about saying medical terms the not-right way, forcing their hand. That's where I come in.

I used to be in radio. It's almost exactly the same as what I do now, which is proofreading medical text.

So you see.

Anyway, I've been doing it for six years and can pretty much pronounce medical words until I regurgitate and have to consult a gastroenterologist.

The moral of this story is, don't sit on your hands waiting for something cool to happen, because it will take about six years.

Paradise: I'm lovin' it

I was on teflonjedi's about-me page and listened to an audio clip of the Olympics theme.

That is probably my all-time favorite song. When I get to Heaven, that is the song that will be coming through the speakers, right as I am handed a plate of Chicken McNuggets.

Heaven is Olympics and Chicken McNuggets, is all I'm saying.