Puke of the Brain

Today is the sun is shining. Today I'm insanely busy. Today... is Puke of the Brain Monday! (See? This is what you get for not offering a creative theme. Now you have to sit and read my random thoughts - just know that this is all your own fault for not helping a sister out. )

Anyways.

It's very windy today, kinda like Santa Ana Winds, but chillier. As I was walking up to work this morning, a gardener was using a leaf-blower on the sidewalk. A LEAF-BLOWER. As I'm fighting my way up the walk and my hair sticks out straight behind me and the dust of a thousand empty lots wiggle into my eyes, this guy was futilely blowing specks of dead plant a few feet before they blew back in the gale-force gusts. I felt like asking him if he has a hard time getting up in the morning.

This weekend, a group of about 75 20-somethings went to Mammoth Mountain and tore it up. We ate lots of Pita Pit pitas, had a gi-normous guys against girls snowball fight, played Snow-lympics, sledded, boarded, skiied, played Mafia, board games, charades, answered silly questions and stayed up way too late. One of the funniest moments was playing Charades (guys against girls, of course,) and hearing the guys yelling out answers: "Huuuuuh! Gruummphhh hubbbabab bubbbba humph" and then the girls, about three octaves higher: "Eeeeeeee! Aiyyyyie yiyiyiyiyiiiiiiiiiiaaaaaa!" (Of course, they were saying real words, not war cries, but that was the only way I could convey the difference in tone. Anyways, 75 people in one itty-bitty Condo living room yelling answers gets intense. And guys and girls talk differently. That's pretty much my point.)

One part that was not so fun was when I took an ice chunk to the throat in our oh-so-intense snowball battle. The Trache doesn't respond well to hard cold objects thrown at blazing fast speed. But it was worth the pain for the love of war. The boys paid dearly for their crimes, and more than one tackling occurred.

Speaking of which, remember when we were little, and boys would pull our hair and throw Four-Square balls at us to get our attention? When you're outside playing in the snow, the old rules of playground flirting apply - and still work, oddly enough. Kirsten and I both got body-slammed by our chosen fellas, and weren't offended in the least. Quite the opposite, actually, although we got some snow down their necks to show our "disapproval".

I do not like gas station coffee. Yuck. However, on a cold night, when Mafia is calling and sleep is not going to be found for several hours and Starbucks is closed, it can be quite good. Although I admit that I averted my eyes from the last watery drizzle coming out of the cappuccino machine - lest I be unable to stomach my $1.19 of gas station goodness.

Well, my faithful readers, more brain-puke is coming, and I know you're dying to hear it. However, it's after 5 pm, I've already stayed over an hour late at work, and there are things to done, fields to plow, stories to prep and freelancers to harangue. Back to work, me hearties.

Dead White Guys Are Pretty Smart

"Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could; some blunders and absurdities have crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; you shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense."

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Ennnnnhhhhh...

I'm sick. Full-on no voice, can't breathe, awesome cough that makes people turn and look with either sympathy or disgust: S-I-C-K. I looked back at the last time I was this under-the-weather (October 5th, 2007, if you'd like to know,) and my complaints are about the same.

I don't understand sick days, (hence why I'm moaning in discomfort and forcing myself to work,) I sound like a depressed bullfrog, and I would very much like some graham crackers.

On a happier note, I'm thankful for a great man who takes good care of me, (he went to the grocery store twice last night for tea, honey, Advil, and other sicky-feel-better things,) yummy juice and (hopefully) a nap soon.

Oh, and have I mentioned that I bought a kayak? Because the thrill of boat-ownership hasn't really worn off. Even when I'm sick.

2008 - Bobby McFerrin's* Worst Nightmare

I've been thinking about this a lot lately. Mostly because I have a tendency to worry myself to an early death, and our worst, most obvious behaviors are often what we gloss over in ourselves and despise in others. So before I say anything else, just know that I do recognize my worrisome tendencies and am sadly and acutely aware that I am not perfect.

In church on Sunday, they showed a flashy video (as Mariners, the ultimate in relevant megachurch, is so apt to do,) of things that are worrying Americans, and particularly, I suppose, affluent Southern Californians in 2008. Images with titles explaining our fears, such as " Iraq War" "Recession" "Presidential Primaries" "Global Warming" "Terrorism" and a host of others that I can't even remember, backed up with stressful-sounding rock music to enhance the effect. It's an impressive list of concerns, and I have to admit that I had a bit of a knot in my stomach after such a stirring reminder that I'm not actually in charge around here.

After they got everybody sufficiently riled up, they calmed us all down with a ballad of God's love and faithfulness, after which we all settled back into our semi-contented state, believing that we have more things to be concerned about now than any generation before us, but that we are quite righteous in giving it to God and worrying slightly less.

We are, as a society, becoming more and more accustomed to living in worry and discontent. To think that 2008 is the worst year yet, that we're overwhelmed with hardship, particularly in Orange County, of all places, is laughable and disturbing. Our worry is not a fleeting mood that comes when the rent is more than the paycheck; for most people at Mariners those days are such a distant memory that they can hardly remember what a bounced check looks like. It's a constant attitude of disgruntled living that colors our days, darkens our sunshine and batters our souls without us even realizing it.

What exactly are we so upset about anyway? We live in the most affluent, freedom-loving democracy in the world. We worry about terrorism, but not nearly like those who have lived for years in a war zone, losing countless friends and neighbors to pointless violence. We worry about Global Warming (which personally, I believe is an unfounded scare tactic - perhaps another blog on that will come later,) but we drive trucks and SUVs to work, gladly vacation all over the world, and willingly produce tons of waste per day, simply because we were too lazy to wash a dish or cook at home, and would rather buy it now and throw it away. Although we say we're worried about politics, only 64% of U.S. citizens over 18 even care enough to vote. And although Recession is a buzz word for furrowed brows and long sighs, I haven't seen many folks giving up their $6 coffee or $40 manicures lately.

OK. So now the people who've plowed through think I'm naive and have oversimplified the problem, and the people who don't care have long since left me to my rambling. Here's my point. It's become the fashion, as Jane Austen would say, to be a pessimist.

Here's the truth. We live in a beautiful, democratic country. We are blessed with freedoms of speech, religion, privacy, safety and affluence beyond what most cultures ever dream of. Everyone I'm writing this to has eaten today, and it was probably something that they actually wanted to eat, not the only thing they had. We have wide-open spaces, well-engineered cities, and above all, a God who loves us immeasurably and a purpose for being here.

We've got work to do, I'll give you that. But that's why we're here. Not to wring our hands in worried irrelevance, but to go forth boldly, speaking truth, living in love, making a difference, and above all, being content - and letting the Big Guy worry about the end result. I have a feeling He's got it covered... even in 2008.

*The composer and performer of the famous tune: "Don't Worry, Be Happy"

The Seven Dwarves - Bashful

I've kept Bashful to the end because, well, he's the most embarrassing. I don't want to write what I'm bashful about on my blog! I'm bashful about it! Plus, being the modest guy that he is, Bash didn't even want to grace the blog with his presence. "You'll be fine without me," he said. "Besides, I'll just blush...and...twist my beard... and... st-t-t-tutter." But I wouldn't let him hide behind red cheeks and facial hair - I told him that we'd committed to this series, and we were gonna see it through, dadgum it.

He seems OK with it now, and even smiled for the picture, despite the pain he must be inflicting by all this beard braiding.

So, without further ado, a few things that make me Bashful, and a few stories about this weekend (with blushing twists):

• Magazines. I buy a lot of them, and I keep them for a really long time. That's kind of weird, not really embarrassing, unless you count the amount of money I spend on them and the racks to keep them in.
• I get really tired of wearing makeup. Often times, I just don't put it on. I don't usually care until I run into a particularly pretty girl, at which point I always remember the awkward red spots on my nose or bags under my eyes. Ick.
• Note to personal trainers, buff dudes, and desperate gym guys: the gym is not a good place to pick up girls. I smell bad, you do too, and pick-up lines do not work on the self-conscious, or anyone else for that matter.
• Compliments. I get all hot and nervous inside when I'm told I'm good at something, pretty, etc. I'm learning to say thank you and leave it at that.
  
• Now about the weekend - it was phenomenal. It had several things going for it from the start: it was Adam's birthday/Valentine's Day weekend, Ashley was coming to town, and we had Monday off. It got better, because, as you saw before, I bought a kayak, Texas food is delicious, and girls are just as good as the guys at planning Valentine's Day surprises.
  
• "This is getting really embarrassing!" Jill has the best reaction ever to surprises, and when the entire restaurant stops and stares, you know you have a winner. Check out how we spent Saturday morning.
• "It won't be fun if I'm not in the picture..." Ashley is the Queen of Moment-Capturization, even if it requires a teensy bit of staging and some eye rolls from the less-patient members of the family.

So, that's a wrap of the Seven Dwarves. Please comment with suggestions for a new series, topics you would like discussed, or literary character whom you would like me to embody for a day on these pages, to either a comic or tragic end. The sky (aka my finite imagination and abilities,) is the limit!

We Interrupt This Broadcast...

...of the 'Seven Dwarves' series for a very special announcement.

Dani Linthicum, wanna-be adventurer, Pacific Ocean lover and curly-hair-in-wind expert, is now the proud owner of her very own Hobie Revolution ocean kayak, in the sunshiney hue of Golden Papaya.

She is now accepting name suggestions, congratulatory notes and bottles of expensive drink to break over the hull on the eve of her maiden voyage.

Thank you for your kind attention. We will now return to your unpaid regular programming.

The Seven Dwarves - Sleepy

Hello, my faithful readers! Today is Friday. We all know what that means - our poor little selves get to bounce between the exhaustion of finally being done with another week of perpetual motion, the incredible high of the coming weekend, and too much caffeine coursing through our little veins. This generally leads to an abrupt collapse Friday night and an insatiable craving for Cinnamon Toast Crunch on Saturday morning, after a bowl of which the world returns to its axis and we start again, ready to run ourselves ragged with work and fun and errands and commutes and getting gas and milk going bad and church and making coffee and cleaning showers and editing off-road articles and writing html and laughing and admiring the ocean and working out and listening to good music and kayaking and living life.

So, anyway, back to my original point. It's Friday and I'm tired. Sleepy, even. (Did you see what I did right there? I brought life and the blog theme together...)

Things that make me Sleepy and (bonus!) a few notes on sleeping in general:

• Fridays
• Boredom
• Watching Golf on TV
• Sunday afternoons
• I can't fall asleep unless I'm laying on my right side. I didn't know this about myself until Valerie pointed it out to me when I slept below her in Oxford.
• Speaking of sleeping below Val, I'm a very heavy sleeper. Val is not a morning person. We shared a bunkbed in Oxford, and every morning my alarm would go off, I would not hear it, and Val would forcefully shake the bed to wake me up. This was very aggravating to her, but lucky for me, she loves me anyway.
• I also can't sleep unless I'm hugging something, so I still sleep with a stuffed animal curled up in my arms. I know, I'm adorable.
• I scare easily when I'm sleeping.
  
• I'm grumpy/cranky/no fun at all when I'm tired. Sorry to anybody who's tried to interact with me when this is the case. I promise I'll try to be nicer.
• When I'm going to sleep, watching TV, or just sitting for too long, I wiggle a lot. A LOT. When I'm watching LOST or Prison Break or something equally nerve-wracking, I wiggle even more. I swear it gets stressful toxins out of my body, but it also drives some people crazy.
• While we're on the subject of wiggling, I can't sit normally in a chair. I have to have my legs tucked up to my chest, or folded Indian-style, or feet on the dash/desk, or somehow splayed out in a more interesting fashion than feet on the floor or demurely crossed legs. The only time I will control myself is in business meetings, fancy restaurants, or short skirts. Even then, it's a challenge.
• I slept on a couch for two years in college, and for four months in the bower.
• Before I bought my college couch, I seriously considered putting a hammock in my room. I still think that's a pretty awesome idea.
• Sleeping while traveling does not work for me. Planes, trains and automobiles are not comfy.
• More than once, I've fallen asleep on my couch, only to awaken at 3 am with candles still lit, laptop open, and wondering if it's morning, only to look down and see that I'm still in my jeans.
• When I worked as a wrangler, Ami, Boss and I would sometimes eat lunch wherever we were working, and then settle down for 40 winks in the tall grass, hats over our eyes and the smell of a summertime hayfield all around us. What beautiful days.
• Wranglers didn't sleep much. I lived off of 5 hours a night for months at a time - only getting more sleep when I was home for a rare weekend. Thanks, Mom and Dad, for letting me come home to sleep and eat.
• Cabin leaders don't sleep much either. I was 19 the first summer I worked at camp, and I thought I my eyes were gonna dry up and fall out I was so tired. By Day 2.
  
• Going back to sleeping at Mom and Dad's, the Ranch house is seriously the BEST place on Earth to sleep. It's 36-miles-away-from-town quiet, ranch-style peaceful and boasts amazing beds and cozy sheets. Plus, when you get up, Mom's always been cooking something, so the house smells great, and there's a latte machine readily available. Paradise. Can I come home this weekend for a nap?
  
• Napping on the beach, or after a day at the beach, is the most amazing summertime experience. I can't wait for warm weather again...
  
• In college, I usually had Friday afternoons off. After the noise of Chinese Food Friday had subsided and before the fun of Friday night began, I usually had time for a couple hour snooze. Sometimes I really miss college.
  
• Even writing this list is making me really tired. Time for a Friday nap...