How To Ruin Food

(If you’re short on time, skip to the bottom for numbered instructions.)

“I really shouldn’t eat this, what with it containing 12 grams of saturated fat.  Oh well, I’ll put in extra time at the gym tonight,” he said scarfing down the burger.

“I know.  I really went overboard last weekend on the late night snacking.  I think I ate two entire bags of chips and salsa,” she replied in kind.

They continued this way for the duration of the time it took for them to wolf down other foods they shouldn’t eat because of words and numbers on the packaging.  I know because I was eating with them.  You see, they were my friends.  I hadn’t seen them in such a long time, and I had finally made time to grab a bite to catch up with them.  By the time the food–if we can even call it that anymore–was finished, I was able to ask, “So how’s life?  What have you been up to?”

“It’s good.  Really good.  Oh, but look at the time.  I really need to get going if I’m going to make it to the restaurant on time after work tonight.  I really need to stop eating out so much,” she said.

Instruction for How To Ruin Food

Step 1 – Believe that there is any relationship between nutritional facts and self-discipline.

Step 2 – State the relationship.

Step 3 – Repeat Step 2 until time runs out.

All Good

Pete couldn’t remember meeting her.  He thought that was weird.  Then again, a big sister would’ve always been there, wouldn’t she have?  I guess he did have some early memories of her.  There was the often told bike incident with little Steven.  Oh, and for some reason he could remember her displaying shyness whenever it was clear she liked a certain boy.  And he’d never forget his favorite memory of their childhood.  It was the day he, ahem, stumbled upon a certain diary entry which contained a baggie of gum that she saved after she was given it–handed–directly from the mouth of a crush of hers.  (Not having much time for fear of being caught, he only found it because it prevented the book from closing properly).

He was so selfish that he always took credit for initiating his own desire to live with integrity.  Today, however, Pete finally took a minute and realized she necessarily would have been a founding influence, even if just subconsciously.  She did the ‘right things’ as a child, and not only stayed out of trouble, but was rewarded for it.  Rewarded with high grades at school, with being well-liked by everyone who knew her, and with achieving success in her passions.  Those were only a few of the things he unwittingly observed growing up with her.

She also never questioned or interfered with his dreams and pursuits.

Their only moments of tension came when he was too evangelical about the need for everyone to be like him.  Oh, and the morning when she criticized the smell of the slightly burnt scrambled egg-whites.  He was pretty upset at her for that.  What could he say?  Egg-whites were one of his only meals whose flavor he enjoyed some 60 days into the restrictive pre-contest diet, and she just had to say something, didn’t she?  Oh well.  On this day he is in no mood to hold grudges–he’s just sayin’.

These days he sees how she raises her family.  There is a lot of stress, there is a lot of yelling, there is a lot of frustration.  But what her children will remember is that there was a loving mom.  Always.  And that constancy, Pete and his sister (and their brother for that matter) knew from experience, was priceless.  In this moment of contemplation, he realized that her continuing to live with the values she demonstrated as a child should have never surprised him.  Either way, for him at least, the story only gets better.

There came a time when he needed help.  He needed someone he could rely on no matter what.  He needed a partner who wouldn’t judge him and who would hold him accountable.  His mind raced through the names of everyone he knew.  There was one name with which he couldn’t find fault, one name which he couldn’t dismiss, one name he knew he wouldn’t lie to out of respect, one name he knew would not let him off easy, and one name who would respect him through the journey.  There was one name whose unfailing love blinded her to weakness leaving only strength.

That name was Kate.  Thank you Kate.  And “Happy Birthday!”  All Good.

Longing

We used to be so close.  Your touch was so soft, so warm.  When I needed you, you were always there for me.  Sometimes you’d pull away in the middle of the night.  Sometimes you’d get all twisted up.  Sometimes it seemed like I had to fight to get you back.  But return, you always did.

Recently, I feel like the one who has been neglecting you.  I’m the one who has been staying away some nights.  I’m the one who has chosen a shoddy imitation of you–even though I know better.

When we touched the other night I almost cried.  A flood of memories came rushing back.  We used to spend hours upon hours together.  You don’t know how desperately I want to return to that life.  I just can’t right now.  There are bills to pay.  There are mountains to explore.  There is writing to do.

I’m sorry Sheets, but I just don’t think this reduced amount of time together will end anytime soon.  I miss you.

Professor Batman

This was my first post ever. The concept is still unbeatable; I’d like to think my writing has improved.
12 years later, what future do you see?

Pete Deakon's avatarCaptain’s Log

Even before The Dark KnightRises is released, a lot can be learned from Bruce Wayne.  Christopher Nolan’s adaptation of Batman and his self-imposed battle with the forces of evil is more than entertainment.  After all, could anyone argue that Bruce Wayne is not the greatest example of a successful man?

Once you take away the awesome gadgets, the state-of-the-art superhero body-armor, and the adoring community who benefits from Batman’s vigilante nightlife, you have a man. Plain and simple. Unlike most superheroes of the comic world, Batman possesses no super-human powers other than his own strength and cunning. He is a successful hero because he maximizes and focuses on his internal qualities.

Is Bruce Wayne simply a myth? Or is he a character who can inspire each of us to define our purpose in life, our personal measure of success.

Our entire lives we are taught to achieve success. In…

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A Letter to Friends Who Challenge Me – That I’ll Never Write

Dear Friends Who Challenge Me,

I’m writing to you on this fine September day because we need to talk.  Please understand writing this letter was not easy for me.  I can already hear some of your responses and I have only completed three sentences.  I simply wanted to say, “Thanks, but no thanks.”

You see, you have all–unintentionally I hope–ruined my life.  Up until I met you, I was happy-go-lucky and really thought I knew which way was up.  I went about my days with little or no concern for…anything, really.  The people I surrounded myself with would empathize with my every feeling.  If I was sad, they would shower me with sympathy cards.  If I was happy, they would throw me a party.  If I was mad, they would come rushing to my defense.  It was really quite wonderful.

Then you guys entered my life.  I can’t even remember which of you I met first, or how we met.  What I do remember is how I felt as you didn’t empathize.  At first, I can’t deny that you had appeal simply because you were different–as if a lightening bolt.  But over time, I learned to love you guys.  You provided a balancing perspective that I nearly forgot existed.  I treasured the perspective.  I finally felt grown up.

Living with you in my life taught me to really evaluate the situation.  Should I be sad?  Should I be happy?  Was anger really the appropriate response?  And no matter where we disagreed, you always let me make up my own mind and go my own way.  Your authenticity tore-down the shelter that my fear and laziness constructed.

Just the same, I think the time has come for us to part ways.  I know.  I know this is difficult and confusing for you to hear.  Believe me when I tell you I haven’t come to this decision lightly.  My problem is I just can’t relate to ‘normal’ people anymore.  When they live and talk, I want to be authentic with them, as you have been authentic with me.  It doesn’t work.  These new friends go silent.  They have no response.  Some of them become visibly agitated.  I have been called “mean.”  Their shelter is too strong.  More than that, they don’t even want to believe they have one.

You and I know that they’ll be happier without it, but I am still mad at you.  I feel so lost in these new situations that I really do think the best thing is for me to rebuild my own shelter.  I think it will be nice to take a break for a while.  I hope you can understand this decision, though I know you never will.  Maybe we’ll meet again someday.

Once Your Friend,

A Mugwump

Fear’s Heat

Waking up, he kept his eyes closed.  He was uncomfortable for sure.  Besides feeling like he was sleeping on uneven ground, he felt a disabling heat surround him.  It was a stifling heat.  He thought back to the last thing that he could remember.  He knew he was not alone.  He knew they had traveled to this place, their destination.  But where were they?  And where was she?  And why was it so hot?

Sweating, he could feel his pants clinging to his legs as if he had just climbed fully clothed from a hot spring.  A curiosity overtook his movements and he reached out with his hand blindly feeling for anything.  He felt something hot.  That’s all he knew for certain.  Suddenly he felt, not cool air itself, but the memory of cool air–the memory that cooler temperatures existed somewhere not too far from where he was.

Time taking effect, he began to remember where they were.  It was a campground.  They had setup their tent, and she wanted to take a rest.  He couldn’t believe his luck, and so they both crawled in the tent, sun blazing.  He remembered that before dozing off into a restful slumber he reassured himself that she couldn’t get into too much trouble within the confines of a tent, especially not a four-season, dual-door, dual-vestibule beaut like his.  Still, she did have a sleeping bag, a water bottle that emptied at a rate equivalent to a sippy cup, and Pingu, her pink penguin.

Finally, he heard her whispering.  It was unintelligible, so he made the decision to open his eyes and see she was up to.  Looking towards her whispers, he was immediately struck by a fear brought on by the inexplicable.  Her hair was soaked.  Her shorts just below her waistline were soaked.  In a moment, realizing she had not ‘rested’ but stayed up playing for who knows how long in a hot tent with no vents open, her sweaty hair made sense.  But why were her pants wet?  She was a potty trained three and a half year old.  Then he finally heard a full sentence as she guiltily turned, pouring water into her hand.

“Okay Pingu, we’re almost done with your shower.”

Review of “The Babysitter”–by Robert Coover

In Robert Coover’s “The Babysitter,” the experimental application of chronology renders it a textbook example of how post-modernistic writing can be a welcome return to storytelling as an end in itself.  While clearly based in a very familiar late-twentieth century suburban neighborhood, the short story’s delivery of information elicits a most visceral reaction from the reader.  Babies, toddlers, children, teenagers, adults, television characters and pinball machines are manipulated by men, women, boys and girls in a sequence that screams to be silenced.  Not wanting to discover our worst fears, we read on.

More than simply a description of a Friday night gone wrong, “The Babysitter” uses a seemingly unorganized sequence of events (which incidentally can be organized if enough time is given to it—though doing so falls in the category of crime, I think) to simply affect the reader.  The successful employment of this technique results in a victorious argument for the joy of reading.

Did a father molest a girl?  Did that girl sleep with those evil boys?  What the heck happened in the bathroom?  Those questions are only asked by readers who just recently finished Aesop’s Fables.  For Coover there is no moral.  There is no guiding principle.  There is no lesson.  And this real-time affect the story has on the reader?  It dissipates in the same amount of time it takes to read from the opening paragraph to the second paragraph’s first line.

The taboo subject matter is not taboo—though certainly still intended for adults—when conveyed using this post-modern form.  There is a certain genius demonstrated in the ability to make what is become what is not.  In “The Babysitter,” we enter a house full of distorting confusions and leave feeling better for it.

How To Laugh

(If you’re short on time, skip to the bottom for numbered instructions.)

“You have a sister?  What’s she like?”

“She’s cool.  You’ll like her.”

“Do you guys look alike, notwithstanding she’s a girl?”

“Not really.  She’s a lot lighter than me.  It’s actually kinda funny.  My sisters are all light brown, while I’m black–even though we have the same parents.”

“I knew someone who had the same problem.”

“What problem?  What problem is that?”

Lucky for her, he asked this only moments before bursting into one of the most contagious laughs imaginable.  Lucky for her, he had one of the best senses-of-humor available.  His ability to laugh transformed a moment more serious souls might have let become negatively charged into one filled with the glorious sounds of laughter.  Laughing uncontrollably, even she was unable to successfully join enough words together to mount whatever self-defense she had in mind.

Instructions for How To Laugh:

Step 1 – Resist all temptation to believe people actually think before they speak.

Step 2 – While smiling, immediately exhale the full amount of whatever air happens to be in your lungs.

Step 3 — Inhale as able.

Step 4 – Appropriate to the situation, repeat Steps 2 and 3 with ridiculously nonsensical  rhythm.

Is There A Point Beyond Which Truth Overtakes “Honor Thy Father and Mother”?

Rounding the corner, he heard her yelling.  Creating one of the most iconic images of a teacher lecturing a child imaginable, she loomed over the student one hand on her hip and the other extending her finger towards the students face.  Walking closer, he finally heard what she was saying.

“What was respectful about walking into the classroom with your mom berating the teacher on speaker phone?”

Secretly wishing he could hear the rest of that conversation, he hurriedly walked to his classroom.  Along the way he ran into a student.

“Didn’t class start 10 minutes ago?”

“Yeah, I tried to skip but got caught.  I didn’t want to come to school today.”

“Ha.”

“Hey Mister, did you hear what happened this weekend?”

Applying the no-news-is-good-news standard, he dreadfully replied, “Umm, nope.  What?”

“One of the students was shot and killed.”

**

“Huh-uh, my three year-old niece is going to be so smart.  She’s playing these learning video games already.”

“I don’t think video games are so great for three year old’s, even if they are supposed to be educational.”

“What?!  No Mister, you’re wrong.  She’s already so smart, and her one year old sister is even smarter already and she’s only one.”

Clearly an un-winnable argument, he tried to change the subject.  Then it occurred to him.  What these kids needed to do was unthinkable, unspeakable even.

For weeks he had struggled as he tried to pinpoint the problem that needed to be solved.  Step one of problem solving required “Recognize the problem.”  It wasn’t that the kids didn’t know information, it was that the kids didn’t want to know and didn’t need to know.  Unfortunately for them, he also knew what he knew: Learning opens the door to life.  The news from the morning reminded him this wasn’t a metaphor.  This day–especially this day–he was reminded of this not only logically, but emotionally.

As if an insatiable itch, his conclusion wouldn’t allow him peace.  He was a doer.  But this?  He could not bring himself to do it.

He wondered if anyone could understand the fear he felt.  He knew his track record.  Once he made up his mind he went to work.  But this time, he couldn’t do it.  He wouldn’t.  It was too dangerous.  Literally.  He wished he would’ve seen it coming so he could have just avoided the whole mess.  Where was his intuition this time?

These kids had one chance.  If they had any hope of changing their future, they had one and only one opportunity.  Someone they respected had to tell them the truth.

“Sorry kids.  Your parents are epic failures.  This is observable scientifically; it is measurable and quantifiable according to every scale imaginable.  The only thing you can learn from them is what not to do.  Your only hope is to internalize this and its unavoidable conclusion: You are on your own.  The good news is that none of this was your fault.  The better news is at your age you are fully equipped to take responsibility for your actions.  And if you choose to believe this and act accordingly, one day you will look back on this decision as simultaneously the greatest and worst day of your life.  So…what do you want to do?”