In 2014, I gave some gift ideas. This year, let's combine the two. Here, in a guide to the holidays, are some more gift ideas.
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Gift buying can be tedious. Whether it is honing in on the perfect gift or buying for someone difficult, deciding what to buy can put a lot of strain on the holidays. Here is some help:
The Gift that Keeps on Giving
Want to reduce stress and add deliciousness to someone's life in the coming year? Pre-pay for them to have queso every time they go to their favorite Mexican restaurant in 2017. Its simple, hand the maitre d' a $100 bill, hold up a picture of the gift-getter, and say "this son of a bitch doesn't pay for queso the whole year!". Whoever gets the gift will be floored when queso comes out with the initial chips and salsa. No decisions to make, just a meal-turned-fiesta EVERY TIME they go.
Feliz Navidad!
Membership to a Colds Club
Some of my in-laws got me a three month membership to a beer club for my birthday and it was fantastic. Once a month, I received a brew shipment composed of a couple of selections from different out-of-state breweries. Sometimes knowing that quality cold ones were en route is all that got me through the month. Just kidding, but it was exciting.
There are some questions about whether you can ship alcohol in Kentucky. My thoughts? Don't ask. Maintain plausible deniability: if colds show up on your doorstep, thank the sender and drink them, no questions asked.
Christmas every month.
Weird sign I took a picture of in a store
Who would want this? Maybe someone on your list?
I do not know why someone would want to hang this up. Why the permanence? The message seems like something that shy youths text to one another. I hope it is not a blanket declaration to all readers, because that would be the epitome of desperation. Anyway, maybe you know someone who wants this sign. At least there is potential for a lewd joke.
Some exotic cheeses, a case of moderately-priced red wine, and a Killers album release date
This morning at 5:15 I rolled into the gym sleepy and groggy from last night's cold ones. I was nearing beginning my routine of listening to my headphones and wondering around aimlessly for a little while when I was approached by a YMCA employee, whom we will call "floor person". I had a few previous encounters with this floor person, whose job is basically to patrol the exercise area. Before, she had told me that I was not allowed to take my shoes off to deadlift (apparently she makes exceptions for people doing yoga, which is infuriating). As she approached, I looked down to see my shoed-feet and wondered what the hell she wanted this time.
"Eric, yesterday when you were dead-lifting, I got a couple of complaints about how loud it is when you drop the weights after you are done." Naturally, wanting to confront my dipshit accusers, I said "well, who was it that complained?" The floor person refused to tell me, to which I said that the complaint was noted but that I would not be changing anything about how I dead-lift next Tuesday or any Tuesday thereafter. The floor person, agitated, recommend that, if I cannot lower the weights quietly, I use less weight. Well, that's not an option, bro. Then she pointed to some guy dead-lifting for reps and said "see, he can do it." Now I was getting steamed, "that's 135, (floor person), that is NOT THE SAME AT ALL." Then she sniped "well, you need to either make less noise or use less weight". In an effort to control my outrage at being told by a gym employee not to make noise with weights AT A FUCKING GYM, I stepped onto a slow moving treadmill and assured the floor person that I would make the "slightest of efforts" to make less noise.
As I strolled along on the treadmill, I recalled the part of the exchange where the floor person told me that I wasn't the only member of the gym and that it is her job to make sure everyone is comfortable. Seething, I yanked the cord that you are supposed to yank if you are passing out on the treadmill and it came to a sudden stop. I stormed off to the front desk and asked the woman working there if she was the manager on duty. She informed me that she was in fact the branch Assistant Director, an admission that I am sure she immediately regretted.
I told her the gist of mine and the floor person's conversation. Then I proceeded to tell her that I did not believe that "comfort" of the members should be the top priority of a gym. I reminded her that we were at a gym and not a hotel. I asked her if this particular floor person frequently accosted other members despite them abiding by the rules of the gym or if I was being singled out. And finally I pointed out that there was not a sign prohibiting a loud lowering of weights. During this entire exchange, she nodded her head and said she agreed with me. Whether she did or whether she just wanted the maniac in front of her to leave her alone, we will never know. Fortunately, I reminded her many times that I was not "mad at her". Eventually I shut up and she told me she would pass along the information to the Director.
Later, in an effort to cheer myself up, I was listening to Lonely Island on the elliptical when I saw the Assistant Director accompanying a familiar face into the gym mat area. Apparently this guy and another guy had gotten into some type of verbal altercation and the familiar face went to grab a mediator. As I watched this guy's mouth move, it became apparent he was doing a lot of needless complaining, Suddenly I recalled that this asshole was doing some type of side bend on the back extension machine (it should be noted that despite this being an improper use of the machine, he was not cited by the floor person) just a few feet from where I was dead-lifting yesterday. It appeared I had unearthed one of my accusers. But how to play it?
After I finished my last "Level 7" "hill" on the elliptical machine, I decided to talk to the Assistant Director one more time. Before she could see me coming, I slipped in front of her and immediately began contrasting whatever happened between those two guys and my situation. While they were making complaints, I was responding to a complaint lodged against me. While they had obviously broken a posted rule barring verbal abuse, I had not broken any posted rule. Finally, while they had been instigating one another, I just wanted to put my headphones on, limit interactions, and go about my business.
In the end, I decided to appear to be the bigger man and closed my bitching with a plea for the status quo. I told the Assistant Director that I never wanted this. That, despite being impossible due to the inability to time travel, I wish mine and the floor person's conversation had never taken place. I told her that I wake up early to lift as a means to relieve stress from "a one-year-old, a three-year-old and over a hundred clients, of whom at least half are currently incarcerated." Most importantly, I told her that "I love this YMCA, from the sauna, to the childcare, to the readily available clean towels and I would never want to go anywhere else." However, I did remind her that this situation needed some type of resolution and that we would see what happens next Tuesday.
I am afraid my scan card will be deactivated tomorrow.
A couple of weeks ago, I hit my baptism so hard. Sis's bday was the day before, so it is safe to say I was in party mode all weekend. Baptism morning I was still feeling the effects of a late night (7:30), so I bonked out for an A.M. siesta before the big event. Next thing you know dad busts in with no chill whatsoever and tells me its time to go. Then he loses his cool when he realizes I filled up a record diaper. It was not my fault sis wanted Mexican for her bday. Naturally, I went wild on some refrieds and nachos. Sue me, pops.
Anyway, him and Nana scrambled to get me ready to meet up with moms and sis at church. Dad drove kind of fast on the way, which was fun at first but unsettling on the tummy. Once we got there, moms started asking pops why we were late. We were only one minute late so I said to mom, "what did you think they were gonna do, baptize somebody else?" I really clowned her.
Once the big moment arrived and we all went up front with Pastor Jane, the feels started hitting me so hard. We had my big church moment going, I was still kind of sleepy, and Pops wouldn't let me see the bulletin. I had to shed a few tears guys. Then, out of the blue, Pastor Jane, who is normally pretty chill, starts dousing my dome with H2O! I was not mentally in bath mode, so that really threw me off and the tears kept flowing. After awhile Pastor J took me on a tour of the big church room and I got to meet my new church fam. Then I got treats.
Guy's Baptism by Crosby
My birthday weekend culminated with Guy's baptism, which teetered on being an absolute disaster. While Mom and I managed to get to Sunday school at 9:45, Dad and Guy were nowhere to be found at 11:00: the starting time for Guy's baptism. Then, at what was probably about 11:05, but felt like 11:15 due to embarrassment, Dad comes storming in like a lunatic with a sock-less Guy. Dad seemed defeated and appeared to be out-of-breath. Although he had simply been tasked with dressing a child and driving them to a location ten minutes away, he behaved as if he had just fled a war-torn country. Thankfully, mom and I were there to calm the chaos.
Cool pose, Dad.
When it came time for the ceremony, Guy became upset, which is understandable considering he likes to be on time to major life events and his feet were probably cold. For some baffling reason Dad would not let him look at his own baptism bulletin, which upset him more. Guy cried and cried as he tried to get his bulletin, and in a monumental display of weakness, Dad managed to let Guy knock the bulletin out his hand three times. I did my best to get Guy's attention and cheer him up a little bit. For my efforts, I got a "watch out, honey" from Dad. Watch out? For what? Fortunately, me, Mom, and Pastor Jane got Guy away from him and shored up a successful baptism. Afterwards, all Dad could talk about was what he was going to order at the celebratory lunch. Yeah, you earned that.
The Heart classic "All I Wanna Do Is Make Love To You" is both powerful and beautiful. But it is also one of the most fucked up songs ever written.
If unfamiliar, please check this out
As a courtesy to my readers, I will walk you through the lyrics of the song in order to show you just how truly messed up the story really is. (The lyrics are in bold and my comments are in italics).
It was a rainy night when he came into sight Standing by the road, no umbrella, no coat So I pulled up along side and I offered him a ride
A woman, apparently cruising for loose men, happened upon a woefully under-dressed stranger getting rained on. Seeming to take pity on him, she creeps to a stop and volunteers to drive him. But what are her true motives? (foreshadowing) He accepted with a smile so we drove for a while
Possibly lacking verbal skills, the man proves he knows as little about the dangers of accepting rides from strangers as he does about dressing for inclement weather by accepting the narrator's proposition with a smile. The two drive aimlessly for reasons unknown.
I didn't ask him his name, this lonely boy in the rain
Preferring to think of her passenger as possibly-under-aged and wet, she declines to ask his name.
Fate tell me it's right, is this love at first sight
Wait, what? The aimless, silent driving has apparently created quite a spark between the two. She asks fate (which does not make any sense when you think about it) if the two of them are now in love. It is unknown what, if anything, fate answers.
Please don't make it wrong, just stay for the night
This does not make any sense at all, but it is clear she wants him to spend the night.
All I want to do is make love to you Say you will you want me too All I want to do is make love to you I've got lovin' arms to hold on to
In the hopes that he will accept, the narrator proposes that they have sex. As part of her selling of the idea, she emphasizes her arms and that them having sex is her singular focus.
So we found this hotel, it was a place I knew well
For some reason they have to locate a hotel that she knows the exact location of. She has spent a lot of time there. This is something of a plot-hole, which will be explained later.
We made magic that night. Oh, he did everything right He brought the woman out of me, so many times, easily
Apparently the hapless nitwit is a very capable lover.
And in the morning when he woke all I left him was a note I told him I am the flower you are the seed We walked in the garden we planted a tree
She slipped out before he awoke and she left him a note with an extremly confusing analogy. Don't try to find me, please don't you dare Just live in my memory, you'll always be there
She asks him not to try and locate her, but demands that he stay in her memory. Both requests are odd. If he wants to find her, it will not be hard, considering that she frequents the hotel they just spent the night in. And the second line sounds like something from Inception.
All I want to do is make love to you One night of love was all we knew All want to do is make love to you I've got lovin' arms to hold on to
Oh, oooh, we made love Love like strangers All night long We made love
The primary theme is really driven home.
Then it happened one day, we came round the same way You can imagine his surprise when he saw his own eyes
They run into one another and she has birthed his child. He is shocked. I said please, please understand I'm in love with another man And what he couldn't give me was the one little thing that you can
She makes one perfectly reasonable request: that he accept that she sought him out, used him for his sperm, had his child without telling him or ever intending to tell him, and that she was in love with an impotent man, and not him, the entire time.
STILL UNANSWERED: So if she was in a relationship the whole time, why did she know the hotel so well? Did she repeat this same scenario over and over until pregnant? And if so, why did she think her and the lonely boy in the rain were fated to be with one another?
All I want to do is make love to you One night of love was all we knew All I want to do is make love to you Come on, say you will, you want me too
All I want to do is make love to you One night of love was all we knew All I want to do is make love to you Say you will, you want me too
Tomorrow is Guy's first birthday, but we are celebrating today. Needless to say, I am pretty excited. Most of the main players (Nana, Grammy, Papa, Papaw etc.) will be here and the treats will be given out willy-nilly. Yours truly will almost certainly be charged with opening all the gifts, primarily because Guy would just try to eat all the wrapping. Unfortunately, Dad will feel the need to intervene with the occasional "now, Crosby, you know those are Guy's gifts, not yours". Yes, Dad, I know that, that is why I am writing it now, six hours before the party. It will not be necessary to reiterate at any point during the party.
As for Dad, he is masquerading as if he is not turning this party into exactly what he wants. First off, Mom told him "hey, your parents want to know if they can bring anything". To which he stammered and replied "uhhh, I guess we could tell them to bring... beer", as if this is some novel idea and he does not always ask his parents to bring beer to every get together. Second, we are having pizza and Dad keeps saying "I'm okay with whatever kind you all want", which sounds like he is being flexible, but is really just a factual statement that he loves all kinds of pizza. Finally, we are having the party in one of his favorite places: the backyard. He will set up the tent for shade, get out the corn-hole boards, and make a playlist of some of HIS favorite music. Fortunately, the over/under on someone asking him to turn the music down is about five minutes.
Despite Dad trying to make the party his own, we all understand that it is for Guy. That is why Mom and I made him his own cake and he is going to get to stay up until 7:30, a whole half-hour past his bedtime. He will get some gifts and probably some cash for his college fund. Hopefully, he gets some kind of scholarship so he can "bonk" beers at some state school and I can use the remainder of his fund to begin my study abroad (Paris).
Being a one year old is a big deal. I would know because I have been there and done that. You learn to walk around and get some words going, most of which benefit yourself (more, mommy, daddy etc.). One-year-olds have to kick the formula, which is tough at first, but once you go milk, you never go back. The best thing about being one? NO ACCOUNTABILITY! Want to grab a knife? Go for it! Because safety is the primary concern, discipline gets thrown out the window. Sometimes, I long for the days of being one, but then I remember the perk of being two: screen time! The house rules say no TV for Guy. Which makes this picture I snapped while Dad was watching Guy yesterday all the more interesting...
HAPPY BIRTHDAY BIG GUY!
Crosby Jane Proctor is a two year old and a frequent contributor to proctorstype.com.
What's up world??? I figured after almost a year it was time to hit dad's blog so hard. So anyway, I am kicking it at home for the third straight day because of the no fever policy at school. Girls, I guess I'm just too hot. (Sorry, had to throw a little dude humor in). The first couple of days I chilled out with Mom, but today Pops has the gig.
This morning he told me not to worry because when sis was little he watched her one day a week. Well, first off, I am not worried because worrying messes up my chill. Second, I don't think he realizes the difference between me and Cros; she may need to be "intellectually stimulated" or whatever, whereas I am just trying to live my life. The only way this day could go sideways is if we skip some meals or forget snack time. If we grub, we're good pops.
He also keeps asking me what I want to do. Its simple dude: bonk a bottle, bonk some solids, and bonk out for nap. I may hit some cardio and crawl around or do some body-weight lifts, but I am not trying to get after it that hard AT ALL today. TGIF, pops, do you know what that means? I say we queue up some Linkin Park to rage a little but also hit the feels so hard.
The only beef I can see arising is if dad makes the fake chicken nuggets and eats them all while I am napping. Share the love pops and let me get in on that honey mustard action too. If we need to make two boxes, so be it, it is dude's day after all. And if Mom wonders why we ate so many nuggs, we will just blame it on the dog or something.
Guy Thomas Proctor is a dude's dude. This is his first blog on proctorstype.com.
Hummus has been around for a long time. (I guess. I didn't really bother to research it, but it is Greek or something so it is old.) However, hummus has only been a "thing" for a handful of years now. Most grocery stores carry it and it is a frequent appetizer selection at restaurants. But try going to a 1992 Kroger and finding hummus. NOT HAPPENING. Hummus, despite existing for a long time, has only been a mainstream food for about ten years.
So why is it that so many people parade around consuming hummus and saying that have been eating it "forever?" I would very much enjoy splitting a hummus app and not having some asshole bragging about this being his 1000th hummus plate. We get it, you like hummus, can't you just say that without inflating the stats? Even worse is the false hummus connection with a past event. "I remember being a boy, my dad taking me fishing, and us just eating hummus right there on the dock." NO YOU FUCKING DO NOT!
Delicious, but also a source of rage.
On the complete opposite end of the spectrum are people who treat hummus as if it is the latest creation. I was at a ballgame a couple of years ago and Sabra was giving out samples. "Hey, want to try a new healthy snack before the game?" Well, I've had hummus before, but if you want me to act like some dipshit who hasn't in order to get a free snack then I will. Now, let's go back to the hummus app sharing scenario I discussed earlier. "Oh hey, this could be fun, how do you say it, ho, hooo, hoomus?" Its "hummus" jackass and now you've convinced me to get the spinach and artichoke dip.
Tonight, my wife is going to a "party" where the host sells a special line of clothing that cannot be purchased in stores. Basically, a friend-of-a-friend's basement becomes a pop-up store and invitees congregate to discuss how "cute" various things are and inevitably make a couple of purchases. The host gets a cut, invitees/customers get something unique that they want, fun is had and friendships are formed. Everyone wins.
This got me thinking, I have never once been invited to something like this. These purchase parties are not just limited to clothes; from kitchen stuff to jewelry to "meal prep" parties, there are plenty of potential invitations to be sent. But I have not received even a pity invite. And that is fine, because, as construed, I would not be interested whatsoever in attending one of these events. On the other hand, anytime one comes up, it trumps whatever "plans" I may or may not have had, so I end up at home with the kids for bedtime.
The reason for the superiority of these parties over my loose and/or nonexistent plans is the structure and planning involved. Invitations are sent, snacks are prepared and if the host is a good enough friend, attendance is basically mandatory. Compare this to "going to Ben's to watch the game" or the even less imperative "going to Ben's to drink beer". Obviously, my "plans" are going to lose out every time.
With this in mind, we, as uninvited men, need to start our own comparable purchase parties. First, whatever we sale cannot be easily purchased at a local store. Otherwise "you don't need to go to that, just go get it at the store" is the easiest of retorts. Second, the host needs to be selling something we would actually want to buy. Finally, and unfortunately, this cannot be half-assed or the ruse will be exposed.
What could meet all this criteria? AN IMPORT BEER PARTY. It would not necessarily need to be an actual "imported beer", but rather a beer that cannot be purchased locally. The host would drive somewhere, buy a shit load of beer, and at the party sell the beer at a premium that covers cost and makes a small profit. For example, I could host a Yuengling party since it cannot be purchased locally. I would drive to Cincinnati, get a keg of 'gling, and as many cases as I could fit in my car. At the party, guests could buy cold ones from the keg for $1 and/or a case for $25-30. Honestly, breaking even financially would be more than worth it.
These could "set the mood"
Now I just need someone to explain "invitations" to me.
The youths are telling me that I should play Pokemon Go. Apparently it is a phone game where you go to real places and look for fake cartoon characters. It makes absolutely no sense. How do you win? Can you win? And even if you "win", by whatever definition, what do you get? These are rhetorical questions. Please do not reply to this post and tell me anything else about the game.
Now, I will be the first to admit that I do not "get it". If that makes me "old" or "out-of-touch", then so be it. But I want this to be clear: at no point am I ever going to want to have anything to do with this game whatsoever, in any sense of the imagination.
I know there are others out there who agree with me. You may be afraid to say "I do not want to play Pokemon Go" for fear of being ridiculed by a grown-up wondering aimlessly around a parking lot looking for an image of a little orange dinosaur named Peekechoo. Fear not, I am here for you and I made up an alternative game for us.
#Spotthecoldone is simple, no apps are required. You look around for a brew and when you find one, you crack it open and drink it. That's it, you win. And on yeah, part of the "fun" of Pokemon is the social media aspect, so that is why I made the hashtag. If you find a cold one, feel free to post something with the hashtag. Have fun and be safe.
That's right, it's approximately a quarter of an individual serving sized bag of "Harvest Cheddar" Sun Chips. Whoopty doo, right? It certainly seems mundane, but it is all I can think about. You see, we do not keep that many snack-type foods around the house, due primarily to snacks being an all or nothing proposition for me. So, even though Harvest Cheddar Sun Chips are barely in the chip top 50, I am craving their synthetic ched flavor.
Unfortunately, these chips are not mine. I did not eat 3/4 of a bag of Sun Chips. This has all the looks of being my two year old daughter's (loyal readers know her work) chips. And for some reason my wife does not like me eating all of the kid's food. It seems like this would be the end of it then, but it isn't, it has not been, and it is unlikely to ever be. I just cannot help myself.
It usually starts like this: I spot some sort of treat in the cabinet and begin obsessing over it. If it is already open, before I even know what I am doing, I am removing the chip clip and sliding my hand in. Just one won't hurt. But then shit always goes right off the rails. One turns into two and two turns into crumbs.
So now, instead of a little theft cover-up, I am trying to dispose of a body. I take the packaging and begin to wad it up. If I am afraid it is too loud, I can turn on the garbage disposal. I will not want it visible in the top of the trash can, so I walk it out to the large outside trash bins. Sometimes it just lays right on top, so I grab a stick and push it under some of the full trash bags. Once I am confident the remains will not be found, I put the chip clip back in the drawer as to not raise suspicion about why it is sitting in the cupboard not clipping a fucking thing.
This tried and true method has a success rate of 0%. My wife and daughter have snack photographic memories that would put Will Hunting to shame. As soon as the heist in sniffed out, I end up looking like some kind of monster. Why don't I just let my daughter have her chips? If I want Sun Chips so bad, why don't I just go out and buy some? All I can say is, I do not just want some Sun Chips, I want those Sun Chips. Speaking of those Sun Chips...*turns on garbage disposal*
The primary perk of being a parent is getting one day a year to celebrate being a parent. 364 (365 this year) days each year are dedicated to diapers, routines, and walking around in circles picking things up. But on Mother's/Father's day, parents get to shine! There is usually a meal involved, maybe a gift, and certainly a Facebook news feed full of pictures of you with someone else where the someone else looks good in the picture.
I am fortunate to have already experienced a couple Father's Days before. One year I messed up and planned a joint Father's Day pizza party at New Albanian Brewing Company before realizing it was closed on Sundays. Thank God almighty, we scrambled and ended up on this side of the river for some classic BBC brews. Another year we had a cookout deal here at the house with plenty of jams and cold ones. Sure, a couple mistakes have been made in planning, but Father's Days have been awesome for me to this point. But now I have two kids and deserve this day more than ever. Father's Day 2016 is going to be LEGIT.
Involve the kids?
If it were not for my kids, I would not get to celebrate this day. But my kids are also the reason I am clinging so tightly to one day out of the year to celebrate. So should they be around? I have a buddy with three kids who celebrates Father's Day each year watching the final day of the US Open and drinking by himself in the basement. I do not think the kids are allowed to break the threshold of the doorway leading to the basement stairs. On the other hand, I am sure there are plenty of dads out there who enjoy being around their children so much that they want to involve them in every aspect of Father's Day. Personally, I think there can be a happy medium: bring the kids around but have an understanding that the father's role in the upkeep of the children is diminished for 24 hours.
Thanks for FD2K16 guys!
Want a gift?
I am always going to take experiences and getting to call the shots over material gifts any day. If you want to get me some quality cold ones or a frozen pizza, that is certainly appreciated, but not necessary.
Oddly, I thought this year was going to be different. I had been talking up cellphone cases that wrap up and are akin to a wallet. Then I received an email from Amazon that read something to the effect of "Iphone 6S case XTR4590Y has shipped!". Later, I was on the Amazon webpage and our suggested items included a few different leather-looking IPhone case/wallets. I was onto something. I even talked to a friend at work about how the cases work and what features to look for (I am not sure about the mirror, but the magnetic strap is impressive).
I have to admit, even though I am not a big "gift guy", I was pretty excited. Then yesterday my wife told me "hey, you may get an email about an IPhone case, I had to order one for a shoot at work, they will pay us back." There that goes! Back to planning what I want to do...
So, what is the plan?
The yard is not where I want it to be at this point in the season. Unlike some (Mr. Goody 2 Shoes across the street, I am looking at you), I do not prioritize my yard over my family and career, but I do want it to look good. So I am thinking about getting an Oberon mini-keg and spending most of the morning and early afternoon working in the yard. And I do not mean just mowing, there is a huge bush I want to cut down and lots of trimming/weeding to be done. Hell, I may even get started on a decorative centerpiece in the front. After that, either the zoo (I can get as many Safari Ales or whatever they are called (at $6 a pop) as I want) or a Bats game with double nachos and an Against the Grain pre-game. All of this is weather-permitting of course. If we end up indoors, look out either Mellow Mushroom or El Toro or maybe BOTH, it is Father's Day after all.
If I am a father struggling with Father's Day plans can I contact you?
Absolutely.
Last night I was eating out with my family for mother's day when, naturally, Abraham Lincoln's childhood home came up. It did not take me long to come to the realization that visiting famous people's birthplaces is simply not for me. It is something I cannot imagine being very appealing whatsoever. However, many people seek famous people's birth homes out. I think I would rather hit up a botanical garden.
Now don't get me wrong, I enjoy learning about the childhoods of artists, politicians, etc. It is interesting to discover where they are from and how that influenced them. I just do not ever need to be there physically. What could that possibly add? "Do you think this floor board creaked like this when John Cougar Mellencamp was learning to walk?" I do not know and do not give a shit.
A few months ago I had many friends and family members sharing with me that Bruce Springsteen's childhood home was for sale. They know I am a huge fan and their hearts were in the right place, but I worry that my response was not what they were expecting. "Oh, cool. I wonder how much it costs. Yeah, that's cool". It was intriguing that it was for sale, but that was all I could muster. I expect they will save the next interesting or fun news item for someone else.
Oh, so this is where my all-time favorite musician was born? Uhhh, does this town have a zoo?
Lastly, although I obviously do not care for visiting birthplaces, I love a good famous person grave. I was perusing a local cemetery and realized Pee Wee Reese is buried near many of my family members. It added a tinge of fun to an otherwise somber experience. And on our honeymoon, we visited a cemetery in Paris where many famous people are buried. Who needs the Eiffel Tower? Look at all these lyrics someone scribbled by Jim Morrison's grave. Just keep me the hell away from his childhood home.
Once, when I was a much younger and hungrier man, a buddy and I finagled our way into a "girls dinner" at O'Charley's restaurant. Approximately ten girls ordered full meals while the two of us just got bowls of soup. Why did we just get soup? Because we knew we were going to clean up when the teenage girls could not finish the gargantuan O'Charley's portions. Not to mention, the endless stream of delicious, soft, buttery O'Chucks rolls.
"Don't throw out those one and a half chicken tenders, slide those over here." "Those loaded mashed potatoes look really good, oh they're too filling you say, pass me your plate and I will spoon them onto mine." "Can't believe you don't want the croutons on your Caesar salad, put them on this napkin.""That honey mustard has at least a couple more dips in it, let me get one of those fries and scoop it out." IT WAS TOO EASY, like taking candy from a baby (or unwanted food from a friend). By the time the meal was said and done, I had paid the price of a bowl of soup, yet consumed nearly 3000 calories. How did I do this? Easy, scavenging.
Waste not, want not
Scavenging is an acquired skill. We are humans, not buzzards,and thus we are not natural scrap-eaters. In order to reap the benefits of other people's plates, you need to hone your scavenging abilities through the following three steps:
Step One: Ask
No one is going to know you want their unwanted food unless you ask. For some unfathomable reason, some people would rather throw uneaten food away than offer it around to everyone else. Start with family and close friends. Simply ask "are you not going to eat that?" and nine times out of ten it is yours. Alternatively, you could try a passive aggressive approach where you continuously comment about how you wish you ordered what someone else ordered or that you cannot believe how just one person could eat all that food. Both approached may make you look a tad pathetic, but they will also make you more than a tad less hungry.
A quick success story with the ask approach: I had started training with a crop of new attorneys at my current job and during the first week the group went to lunch at a favorite Mexican place of mine. One of the attorneys got three fish tacos, which is what I considered ordering before I went with the more filling and economical nachos. Long story short, my asking someone I barely knew if they were about to throw out a delicious baja fish taco saved said taco from the trash can while simultaneously satisfying my taco craving.
Step Two: Stare
Once you have the ask down, it is time to work on non-verbal scavenging. If you see something you want simply stare at it until the person with the food is uncomfortable. They will eventually offer it up. This technique is extra effective on dates. You keep the focus on the food and not your date so that they do not get too cocky. Simple? Yes. Effective? Yes. Weird? Well, are you hungry or not...
Step Three: Establish yourself as a known scavenger
Once you have executed many successful scavenges using the ask and stare approaches, you can slowly build a reputation as a scavenger. This is considered the pinnacle of scavenging. Family and friends will lean towards ordering more food just to appease you. And no one will unwittingly allow a server to collect unfinished plates without asking if you want it first. I am proud to say I achieved this status long ago and if you can focus your energies while putting in the requisite effort, you can be a known scavenger too.
After a rocky start to planning my novel, I have decided to adopt the "snowflake method", a novel writing process that happens to be the top hit when one googles "how to write a novel". (shout out to Randy Ingermanson for the helpful article). I have completed step one (a one sentence summary, in my last novel post) and now it is time to move on to step two: "take another hour and expand that sentence to a full paragraph describing the story setup, major disasters, and ending of the novel." Ingermanson suggests three "disasters" and an ending, each comprising approximately one quarter of the book. This sounds easy enough. In fact, I thought about this during the car ride home and while cleaning up dinner, easily meeting the requisite hour. Without further ado (already sounding Shakespearean): A fling with a student and a drop in class enrollment leads to a young professor (Ted) exiting a loveless long-term relationship and taking an involuntary semester-long sabbatical. Having already purchased the non-refundable tickets, Ted is left to take his hapless best friend with him on a vacation to Paris. Once back home, Ted gets a DUI after being suckered into driving a (unbeknownst to Ted) married woman home from a party. As Ted deals with legal and crazy husband problems, he is counseled by a long-term crush, of whom he is unsure of her motives. (ENDING OF THE NOVEL) A few things: 1) I cannot just give away the ending of the novel. Please do not forget this is a $$$ profit deal. 2) I need to temporarily move to Paris to write that section of the novel. Familial obligations, negative financial implications, and the lack of vacation days will make this difficult. So it is very important the first quarter of the book is on point so that I can get my bosses and my family on board. Sure, uprooting my family to move us to Paris to work on a novel that does not have the first word written seems unnecessary, but I want Ted to really get a feel for the city. 3) The way I have been titling these is confusing because I am on "PART IV" of writing my novel, but on part two of the snowflake method. I will try and rectify this.
4) Please feel free to comment, Facebook, email, twitter etc. any ideas you would like to share regarding Ted or the novel generally.
I was not going to blog tonight. The game is on, I have the kids to myself, and they are finally sleeping. The plan was to relax, but then something happened that I will never forget. And this story needs to be told.
First, you need a little background. As I was unloading the dishwasher I noticed that a cocktail glass had cracked and needed to be disposed of. We all know there is only one way to properly get rid of a cracked glass: throw it really hard into a large trash can so that it breaks into a million pieces. This technique is not only effective, but also fun. Obviously, this is what I decided to do. I also had to get it on video because breaking glasses is something that my friends on social media want to see.
Now watch the video (not for the faint of heart):
As you can see, through no fault of my own, I was instantly placed in peril. There was a glass flying through the air with a mind of its own. It may as well have been a grenade. It could have conked me in the head and knocked my unconscious. It could have broken on the concrete and forced me to clean up another mess. And what if the neighbor was out back smoking? He could have ended up in the morgue! My life was flashing before my eyes when something amazing happened. Listen to the video, no screams, no sounds of glass breaking...
It's easy to doubt the existence of miracles until you see one with your own eyes. I hope my story warms your heart. Chicken Soup for the Soul editors can contact me at eric.t.proctor@gmail.com.
A co-worker suggested that I should blog about what "grinds my gears" because I frequently complain about trivial matters. It is a very endearing quality. In fact, it is the prevailing trait of a "crotchety old man", which I am often described as being. I must be a joy to be around.
At first I resisted the idea. Would anyone actually want to read along as I bitch and moan about seemingly mundane things? Eh, maybe. Plus it may be a cathartic experience for myself. Here goes:
Speaking of co-workers, I have another co-worker who enjoys sharing what can only be described as "video recipes". They are the biggest pile of bullshit on the entire internet. Buzzfeed (kill me now) is the most prevalent creator of the videos. I guess people share them so other people will watch the video and be able make quick, delicious food just like the sharer. Too bad the videos are a fucking fraud. There is nothing quick about them at all. For those of you who are fortunate enough to not have seen one, here is an example for "baked potato wedges" (just in case they are taken off of the Applebee's seasonal appetizer menu and you decide you want to make your own) :
Let's begin with a comparison of the length of the video, a minute and a half, with how long it would actually take to make this single serving of potato wedges: approximately 17 hours. So many steps are skipped and the video is sped up. Hell, the recent construction of the new bridge across the Ohio looks fast and easy if you watch a time-lapse video in which the entire construction is shown in 30 seconds.
Now look at the pre-portioned little bowls of spices. First off, measuring out quarters of teaspoons and what not is not as easy as it sounds. And I hope you have a robust spice rack to accompany the 17 different herbs and spices in the average "blend". Out of Paprika? Do not fret, just grab one of those pretty little clear glass bowls with the perfect amount of paprika in it that this blasted video assumes you have lying around.
And what about the 30 minute ice bath?
"Hey honey, let's watch our favorite show on tv."
"I'm sorry, I can't, I am giving my potatoes a thirty minute bath!"
"Okay, I want a divorce."
THE WASTEFULNESS is out of control. If everyone in your neighborhood made these there would be enough paper towels (pat drying the damn things) and aluminum foil (perfectly lining the baking tray) to fill the local landfill. But hey, these wedges have a tangy zip to them!
Last but not least, and the most egregious part of the whole deal, is the complete lack of any mention about the inevitable clean up. Don't worry about how many calories are in the wedges because they will be more than burned off by the time you get the kitchen back to any semblance of what it was pre-wedges. The video shows an entire load of of dishes without even showing what they are going to be served on. And do not try any of that bullshit where you just get by with a "rinse" of the bowls that just has spices in them. A complete cleaning will be necessary.
These videos make me want to vomit.
Now I know what you are thinking: why don't I just ignore these videos? Well, then what would I have to rant about?
Eric Proctor is a "crotchety old man" and the primary writer for proctorstype.com.
I woke up at 6:15 this morning to a quiet house and decided I was going to really get going on the novel. I opened a word document and did a save as "novel.docx" (what is with the "x" by the way?) For a brief moment, things were really coming together. But then I ran into what writers dread more than anything else in the world: writers block.
Now is it even fair for someone who has not written a single word to say they have writers block? There is no evidence that anything is actually being blocked. I could just as easily say I am going to be a professional golfer but have the yips. I am equally not writing and not playing golf to the same degree, right? WRONG. I have actively been brainstorming ideas for the novel as well as discussing it with friends and family. So, yes, there are potential words to be written and they are being blocked. And writers block is a son of a bitch. I just wish F. Scott were around today so he could tell me how he worked through it. My guess would be alcoholism and prolonged bouts of depression. That does not sound appealing necessarily, but sacrifices have to be made for any craft.
Before I pour a 7 a.m. drink, I am going to try a different unblocking method. If you remember from "Writing my novel PART I", I was advised from a google search to write a one sentence summary of my novel before actually beginning to write it. And if I can not do that then I am still in the pre-writing stage. I am most certainly still in the pre-writing stage. I just hope I have not "friend-zoned" myself to the pre-writing stage.
I like to think that blogging about writing a novel is my pre-writing. Unfortunately all this has produced is a main character name (Ted, badass name) and a few loose ideas such as a trip to Paris (badass city), and a favorite band. I am scrapping everything except for the name and (maybe) the trip to Paris. I need an occupation and a time-frame in which the novel is going to take place. From that will come my one sentence summary and we can move onto step 2.
Here goes:
A young professor uses an involuntary semester-long sabbatical to discover himself and look for love.
Many years ago, in an effort to culture myself and escape the drabness of business school, I took an art history elective. Each day the professor showed slide after slide of paintings, photographs, sculpture, and architecture. While doing so he did not merely introduce biographical information such as the artist and the date, he also delved into what each work symbolized. It was an enjoyable class and a real eye-opener for me (it was a real eye-closer for others since it took place in a darkened room at 2:30 in the afternoon) and I would like to do the same for you all with my recent instagram post entitled "The Duality of Man":
"The Duality of Man" by @proctorstype, 2016
Get it? If not, that is okay, there is a lot to examine here. First, let me just say that art does not just happen. Once the inspiration struck (a few beers in), I had a lot of planning and drinking to do. Sure, there were many chores I could have been doing, but those are fleeting, whereas The Duality of Man will outlive us all.
Let's start with a comparison of the two pictured beverages. What jumps out at you? Light vs. dark? Mug vs. glass? Economy vs. premium? Random glassware vs. corresponding glassware? Domestic v. import?
Now apply this to the human condition. No, really, apply it to the human condition right fucking now. The keystones represent the every-man; they are easily obtained, they go down easy, and are fairly neutral, if not over-looked, in the grand scheme of beer. A beer drinker could go through life pounding stoners and be perfectly content. But is this what life is? Is it merely a passing through in which mere satisfaction is the primary objective? Or is there more?
Look at the Guinness. The Guinness is darker and heavier. The Guinness is more respected and sought after. But it does not come without strings attached. The Guinness is more expensive and takes more time to pour. Does Guinness represent a greater good or something far more sinister? Must we strive for something? Is man expected to just wait for the little bubbles to finally go away in order to drink from the cup of life? (man, this is on point right now). The renowned philosopher Brandon Flowers writes "if dreams come true, I get to drink the cup". Is it that the Guinness, the "dream", is required in order to be fulfilled or should we bypass the dream and just start sucking down stones? You tell me.
Last but not least, look at Carl, perfectly placed in the center. One may think that because he is a dog and "man's best friend" that he represents neutrality in this eternal struggle. Maybe he is not the yin or the yang. Well, all of that is wrong, he just happened to be laying there and he made the picture a hundred times better so I left him in. Stop reading so much into stuff.
Readers who have checked in recently know that I am in the initial stages of writing a novel. So initial in fact that I have not written a single word of it. What I have done is come up with a protagonist (part I here) and receive some advice from a two year old (Crosby's advice here). Although I remain wordless to this point, I made a huge stride this morning when I decided on the theme of chapter one: saloning.
Not only is describing a trip to the salon a perfect way to get inside Ted's mind, I am also making up a word (saloning) that may end up in being used as slang by middle-aged women. Twitter followers (@proctorstype) got a glimpse of what chapter one will be about when I live tweeted my salon experience today. Although I do not want Ted to be entirely based on myself, I do want him to share some common thoughts and experiences, with saloning certainly being one of them. Like myself, Ted will feel extremely out of place initially then really delve in and let the salon experience relax and soothe him.
I considered just writing chapter one on proctorstype.com but then realized that I would be giving readers and twitter followers (since I am basically just taking my series of tweets and elaborating on them) the goods for free. And considering the novel's main purpose is a cash grab, I need ensure all the sales I can. So, please continue to read as I waste all my writing time writing about writing a novel, but if you want to know how Ted got his haircut, you will need to wait for the hardback or download the electronic version to your preferred device.
Apparently dad is planning to write a novel (you will want to read about his "progress" to understand my suggestions) in the hopes of obtaining a financial windfall. I think he is going to have to explain to me, again, why this is a sound idea but playing the Powerball is not. Anyway, being the supportive daughter that I am, I decided to give him a few pointers for developing and writing a riveting story.
First off, he is going to question my literary credentials because I am two years old. Well, let me put this in perspective. Every night I get to select five books to read in my tent before I go to bed. On the other hand, dad received a book he was really excited about as a gift last May that he has read about a quarter of. Obviously, at the very least, I can remind him of a few main ideas.
He can't put it down, until 8:05 when he falls asleep.
Character Development
Every Curious George book begins by telling you that George is a good little monkey and is very curious. In one sentence the reader learns an immense amount of information about George that better helps them understand the predicaments his innocent curiosity get him into. Without developing George as a character, the reader may believe him to be a nefarious actor or possibly even confuse him with the Man with the Yellow Hat.
Contrast this with "Ted". As of right now the plan is for Ted to have a favorite band and from that the reader is supposed to understand why he does what he does and is who he is. Why is Ted vacationing in Paris...because his favorite band is Rage Against the Machine? That does not work. A good development sentence would be "Ted is a fairly well-behaved man in his mid-thirties who occasionally struggles in social situations."
Foreshadowing
In Curious George and the Pizza the reader is presented with two events that signal the central theme and eventual climax of the story. First, Tony (the pizza maker) receives an order from a nearby factory that is about to close. Then George tries to make his own pizza but ends up upsetting many of Tony's customers. From this the reader knows that something is going to interfere with the pizza delivery and that George is going to need to rectify himself in Tony's eyes. At the risk of spoiling the end, I will stop here, but you get the point.
Now in dad's story, we could use a couple triggering events to understand why Ted wants to vacation in Paris. (Isn't it pathetic that this is basically all we know about dad's upcoming "novel" so far?) Maybe he has a grandmother that always wanted to go to Paris but passes away before she can. This would be incredibly sad, but who knows if dad is planning on taking a dark turn. Or maybe he bought tickets for him and a girlfriend but she dumps him for his best friend before they can both go. Well, I guess that is sad too. Hopefully dad can come up with something better.
Stop screwing around and write word number one of the first sentence.
Do you think Margaret & H.A. Rey were plopped on the couch watching basketball in the evenings? Better yet, do you think they were wasting time writing about writing something else? No. They were writing and illustrating. Oh yeah, dad, you should learn to draw too. Books with pictures are better.
It recently occurred to me that writing a best selling novel is a legitimate way to make a lot of money. And if I had a lot of money I could buy name brand chocolate milk and possibly hire a nanny. So, it seems like something I should do. But where to begin?
I googled "how to write a.." and realized "book" is a more popular search than "novel". I feel safe in saying I have a leg up on people googling "how to write a book". So I proceeded with my superior google query and found out step one is to take an hour to summarize my novel into one sentence. Considering I have, at most, 25 minutes before Guy wakes up, I am sure as hell not wasting an hour on that. I'll give it about three minutes. Hmmmm...
"A cool guy goes through a series of life events."
Let's compare this to the example on the webpage: “A rogue physicist travels back in time to kill the apostle Paul.”
I can see advantages to both. While my sentence lacks in specificity and creativity, it also does not require scientific or biblical research. I am declaring right now that I do not want to have to study ANYTHING to write my novel. This is certainly not going to be The Davinci Code (did I even spell that correctly?). My "cool guy" may go to the Louvre on vacation or something, but he is not going to be deciphering anything.
Apparently I have gotten ahead of myself by proceeding to step one. [Wait, now that is a good sentence, I am definitely using that in the novel.] I am going to just close this first stage by writing six ideas/themes to implement in the story:
1. The main character (cool guy) will be named Ted (badass name)
2. Ted's favorite band is Rage Against the Machine but he does not necessarily agree with their politics.
3. Ted goes on vacation to Paris at some point.
4. Ted describes people to readers by saying "he/she seems like the type of person who (something)". For example "this guy seems like the type of person who gets really excited when an armed homeowner shoots an intruder."
5. Maybe squeeze a murder in somewhere
6. If Ted has kids then they take really long naps and he has the requisite time to put into money making ventures.
The holidays and subsequent winter season are a difficult and stressful time for many. Fortunately, a recent series of events put a positive spin on this time of the year for me. I hope the following recounting serves as a beacon of hope for all...
The Gift Exchange
In early December of this past year I was invited to attend a "holiday lunch party" in the courthouse with the judges, staff, prosecutors, and fellow public defenders who regularly work in the third floor courtrooms. The primary festivity was a white elephant/yankee swap (!)/dirty Santa/ whatever the hell you like to call it gift exchange with a $15 purchase limit. "Gag gifts" were encouraged. Being new to the scene, I really wanted to get the perfect gift. So, naturally, I waited until the night before the party and purchased a mountable bottle opener that looked like the head of a lion. I figured the $13 listed price was close enough to the limit, but was surprised to see such a sought-after item was in fact on sale for $8, barely half of the suggested limit.
The next day I arrived to work and realized that my cheap gift was also bag-less. Then the first blessing kicked in, a co-worker had a spare festive bag that they gave to me. The fleeting confidence that accompanied the bagging of the lion head quickly dissipated as the party began. I was seated on the far interior of a bench, which meant when it was my time to get up and get a gift I would have to either ass or crotch 5-6 people when trying to pass...not the best way to meet new people. Plus, as the first gifts were opened/stolen it quickly became apparent that $15 gift cards and booze were the standard gifts. Animal-themed trinkets were nowhere to be found.
I was completely overcome with dread, not only for when my shitty gift would be opened and scoffed at, but also for my uncomfortable journey to get a gift when my number was called. But then, just as before, blessings continued to flow. My friend next to me selected a huge bag that turned out to have a thoroughly-wrapped Kroger gift card in it. As soon as my number was called, I stole this gift and managed to retain it for the duration of the exchange. So not only did I not have to get up and make an awkward trek, I got a gift card to buy beer with and a huge bag to put another un-wrapped gift in (for an afternoon exchange I had also half-assed).
Isn't she a beauty?
I could not finish counting my lucky stars before I noticed someone grab my gift form the pile. I braced myself and expected "oh great, I got the worst fucking gift in the whole pile, I bet this only cost $8". Instead, almost as if it were sung by an angelic chorus,: "oh cool, a lion, I'm a Leo, no one better steal this from me!". There are 7 billion people in the world and the only one who would like that ridiculous gift received it.
This seems like an appropriate place for the story to end. How much more could a man possibly be blessed? Well, I found out today. This morning my wife was making out a grocery list and I wanted her to add beer to it. This would normally be a fairly standard request, but I have already purchased and consumed what the vast majority of people would consider to be "enough" beer this weekend. Justifying an additional brew purchase from the "money that goes to feed our family" would be tricky. So, I slyly offered up the gift card while asking for a 4 pack of Guinness cans (~$8.49) and 16 16 oz. Keystone Lights (~$13). She wrote it all down and NEVER ASKED HOW MUCH WAS ON THE GIFT CARD. So I managed to stock up on damn near $22 worth of brew in exchange for an $8 lion head bottle opener.
The law school of which I am a fresh alum recently decided to connote itself as, loosely stated, a "compassionate" law school working towards "social justice". There is debate about whether this was a good idea and/or necessary and two highly-regarded professors have publicly weighed-in on the issue. (here and here)
I will not be taking sides, at least on Proctor's Type anyway. Rather, I have an additional proposal for the ideological direction of the school...pizza. Now I do not quite have the exact phrasing down yet. "Striving for Pizza" seems to over-state the importance and "a "pizzariffic" law school" sounds like something from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Semantics aside, the idea is simple: the Brandeis School of Law has pizza readily available EVERY DAMN DAY. It would be a pizza guarantee and would be formally recognized during orientation in a manner similar to the oath signing ceremony.
Current students and recent alumni would be quick to point out that between the school itself, student groups, and legal research providers, there is already quite a bit of pizza to go around. A student who was willing to join every student group and take in countless training sessions could easily eat free pizza 3-4 times a week. But that is not what I would call a "pizza guarantee", not even close. There needs to be an area of the building where there is conditions-free pizza, a pizza "safe place", so to speak.
Many may worry about the financial implications of providing endless pizza within the law school. To that, I provide two arguments. First, our school is frequently tabbed as a "best value" law school, with full time in-state tuition coming in at less than half the cost of many private schools. If a slight tuition raise were necessary, so be it, we are all too used to customary raises in tuition without any explanation whatsoever. At least this raise in cost would have significant tangible benefits accompanying it. Second, enrollment numbers at law schools across the country have decreased significantly and Brandeis is no exception. Just think how many potential students deciding between two schools would choose the one that always has pizza over the one that does not. Further, someone deciding whether or not to go to law school at all may be swayed in that direction if they knew the amount of pizza involved. More students means more tuition dollars plain and simple.
Last but not least, I must emphasize the importance of pizza variety. Law school is a stressful environment filled with hours of reading and studying. Papa Johns every day is not going to spice it up enough. Don't get me wrong, Papa Johns can be a part of the rotation and is very good (side note: I want to thank the angel from heaven who ordered for school events and frequently ordered a green olives one topping. I often got the majority of that S.O.B to myself), but we need to get creative. Why not install some ovens and have some Papa Murphy's ready to bake so as to coincide with a particular student's schedule? Boombozz on Fridays would decrease skipping class for a three day weekend. Mellow Mushroom on the day of the law school prom (whatever that is called) would add to the glamour of the evening. The possibilities are endless.
In sum, pizza unifies everyone in a unique and special way. As the Brandeis School of Law contemplates how to set itself apart in the current realm of legal education, it should seriously consider a pragmatic and non-controversial pizza guarantee.
Eric Proctor is a 2015 graduate of the University of Louisville Brandeis School of Law and a pizza lover.
