Not polite small talk

I recognize that people who do not have children probably cannot fathom the love that parents feel for their offspring. I also recognize that children are capable of bringing immeasurable joy to their parents (as a great example, see this post I wrote a few months ago about my friend Vance). Even with those two things in mind, I cannot understand why people think it is okay to ask childless couples when or if they plan to have children. It is a very personal and intimate question. As an aside and just as rude, I hate when people ask single people about their dating prospects. When I get the child question or I hear someone ask the relationship question, I always think about the French and how, except in very intimate relationships, they do not speak of such things because it is not considered polite. There are many things I like about the French, but their approach to these topics is at the top of the list.

I also always wonder why people cannot think outside of our social box. Why is everyone expected to progress through this life by growing up, finishing school, finding a mate, getting married, having kids, working, retiring, and then dying? Some people choose a different path and they should not be berated about it. Choices define and make our society wonderful.

After my diatribe about how it’s a personal issue, I’ll paradoxically go ahead and put my feelings out there in cyberspace:

At this point in my life, I do not want the responsibility of completely being responsible for another human being. On weekends, if I want to sleep late, I don’t want to have to get up early to feed someone who can’t perform the simple task of putting cereal in a bowl and pouring milk on top of it. I want to sleep through the night without waking up to fill someone else’s stomach. I don’t want to change dirty diapers. I’ve done it and it’s no fun. To quote my friend Wade, “Even a puppy knows to drag his ass.” I mostly don’t want to clean baby puke off me. It’s not spit-up; it’s puke. I don’t care if it’s just milk; it’s still puke. It has been ingested by a human being and then regurgitated; it’s puke.

I also want to travel when and where I want and am financially able. I want to go see a movie anytime I want, day or night. I want to go to dinner with Jennifer anytime I want. I want to write in my journal without interruption anytime I want. Sometimes, I want to sit on the couch and do nothing.

I have plenty of emotional issues in my life. I don’t need to create a whole new package of human emotions, worries, and issues. I don’t want to, for the rest of my life, worry about a person that I’ve brought into this world. For the rest of my life. I cannot imagine how parents feel when, as teenagers, kids suddenly decide that their parents aren’t cool and don’t know anything. These beings, who have been cared for and protected and sacrificed for, suddenly decide that parents don’t know anything?!? I don’t like teenagers. I suppose there is an amount of vindication when, as adults, most of us realize that our parents know a little more than we once thought. Maybe.

All that said, I honestly believe that children are a miraculous and incalculable gift. I deeply respect people who choose to have them. It’s just not for me right now. I haven’t worked me out yet. It may be selfish; it may be mature. I think it’s mature, though. How good a parent would I be if I don’t want to care for a child? I don’t fear the responsibility, I just don’t want to resent someone through no fault of theirs. At this point, I do fear that I would harbor some resentment.

Mostly, if you have made it to this point in the post without totally discounting what I’ve said and you encounter couples who don’t have children, don’t ask if they plan on it. They’ve probably been asked, at the bare minimum, six thousand times. It’s not polite small talk. In my opinion, it isn’t polite at all unless, and I cannot speak for others, the person asking is my friend.

Maybe I should just move to France. I have always wanted an apartment in Paris.

Bicycle lanes are for bicycles

When I was driving to work today, a little later than I wanted, there was a guy riding his bike in the middle of the car lane. I didn’t actually look at my speedometer, but he seemed to be riding at exactly 7 miles per hour. Regardless, it was not a time I wanted to drive slowly behind a cyclist. I understand that people have a right to ride their bikes where they want. As a matter of fact, I think it’s a great way to exercise and I especially respect people who use bicycles as transportation to and from work. But, when I’m late to work, I don’t want to be slowed down by someone on a bike.

I find such delays truly infuriating when there is a bike lane. The nice folks in Little Rock city planning put the bike lane along Rebsamen Park Road for a reason: it’s a popular biking spot and use of the bike lane presumably eliminates the desire of people like me who want to step on the accelerator and drive right over you silly people in your spandex shorts. Spandex, are you serious? Unless you are training for the Olympics or the Tour de France, you shouldn’t wear spandex. Ever.

I, of course, would never run over anyone intentionally. I also know that I ought to go with the situation and not let a little delay irritate me. It was my fault for not getting up early enough to have plenty of time to get to work. Still, I think it’s plain courtesy to use the bike line if it’s there.

Viking or Pirate?

Which would you rather be, a viking or a pirate?

It may seem trivial but it’s a question that Jennifer and I have debated with our friend Wade literally for years. It started several years ago when we were in Chartres, France and toured the catacombs of the cathedral where there is the remainder of ancient well. Tradition holds that marauding vikings threw the townspeople in the well if they didn’t give the vikings what they wanted. After we toured it, Wade jokingly said that he would love to have been a viking, taking what he wanted, and throwing the French in wells if he didn’t get what he wanted. I responded to him by saying that being a viking would be okay, but they resided mostly in cold climates; being a pirate would be about just as good as a viking, but you probably would have lived in the Caribbean.

Arguments for both sides have developed over the years. I still choose pirate.

I brought it up at Jennifer’s birtday party last night, maybe randomly at the time. J immediately answered something like, “That’s not even a reasonable question because I’d be a ninja.” While it made me laugh, it’s not the question I asked. Today, he sent me an email with a picture of all three. I laughed out loud.

So…which would you choose?

Let’s do the Loco-Motion

Since junior high and Friday Night Videos, I’ve always sort of liked Kylie Minogue. I think her huge popularity in Europe is somewhat baffling but interesting. Don’t misunderstand, I’m not a fan and don’t have any of her cds. Still, I liked it a few years ago when Can’t Get You Out of My Head was a U.S. hit and could be heard on Top 40, a format that I usually abhor.

I saw this on Yahoo news today. I love the picture – she looks great sporting the sunglasses and her short hair. When I first heard about Kylie’s battle with cancer, I was somewhat saddened. From what I’ve seen, she has met it with grace. Good for you Kylie.

Mick Jagger and I do have something in common

I have sporadically kept a journal for the past 15 or so years. I do not revisit them as much as I should. Today I was flipping through my current one and reading a few entries. Sometimes, when I read things I wrote in the past, I wonder what precipitated my thoughts. I wonder that about an entry I made on 7/5/06. It seems like a short time ago, but I cannot remember why, at 1:10 p.m., I made the following list (numbered merely for ease of reading, they are in no particular order otherwise):

Places where or times when I feel God’s presence more keenly than during church:

1. On the beach
2. In the ocean
3. Hiking in secluded places, especially mountain tops
4. Anywhere with Jennifer
5. Talking with good friends
6. Drinking a few beers and talking with good friends
7. Listening to Patty Griffin and, sometimes, Johnny Cash
8. At U2 concerts
9. Newborn wards at hospitals
10. Gothic cathedrals – I don’t count this as church because I’m not Catholic and I am normally only in the cathedrals to admire the architecture and dedication it took to build the big sons of guns
11. Catacombs
12. Cemeteries

I must have been in an especially funky mood about the practice of Christianity. Anyway, I found it interesting. I think I still agree with each one. I realize it is my issue and I am always as close to God as I want to be – even in church. I am just totally dissatisfied with church lately.

The Matador – Redux

After seeing The Matador a few months ago in the theater, I wrote this post about it and recommended it. It recently came out on dvd and I remembered liking it so much that I bought a copy. I watched it last night and found it funnier the second time. I think that not everyone will enjoy it. But I do believe those who appreciate dark humor will. It is thoroughly enjoyable.

Elevator Travails

When I step into the elevator at the end of the day, I want to go home. I don’t want to do anything else. I don’t want to engage in small talk about the day, or about what I plan to do that evening or over the weekend. I want to ride to the bottom of our building, get out, and silently walk to my car. After yesterday, I mostly don’t want to play name that tune.

As I was riding down, the elevator stopped on the fifth floor. A woman got on whistling Patience. I thought, “This woman CANNOT possibly be whistling a Guns and Roses song!” Instead of stopping to say hello, she continued whistling and wildly nodded a greeting to me as she crossed the threshold. Expressionless, I looked at her and dropped my eyes to the floor. Almost as soon as I did, she stopped whistling. I was silently thankful until she practically yelled, “I love that song!” I didn’t have to respond as she blurted, “I bet you don’t know what it is! Guess!”

It is almost unbelievable that this effusive woman got on the elevator and virtually commanded me to guess what song she was whistling. I was incredulous that it was a song penned by Axl Rose. Axl Rose of all people.

I didn’t say anything. I thought for a second that she would drop it. I was sorely mistaken. With ridiculous joy in her tone she said, “I knew you wouldn’t know. I’ll sing it for you then.” So, as the elevator was stopping on the ground floor, she started to serenade me with her version of Patience. After what seemed like ten minutes, the elevator doors opened and I quickly stepped off and headed toward one of the building’s exits. Thankfully the woman went to another exit, but not before she added, “Now it’ll be stuck in your head all night.”

I’ve posted about the elevator in the past, but yesterday is the worst I’ve ever experienced. It was the elevator ride that I thought would never stop.

What I’m Doing

Reading

The Catcher in the Rye. I’ve never read it, or anything else by Salinger, before. I started it 3 weeks ago and only read a few pages. I didn’t like it at first; I found Salinger’s descriptions repetitive. So I put it down for a while. This past weekend, I decided that, if so many people love the book so much, it has to have something to offer. I started again from where I had left off. Something clicked and I am really enjoying it. It’s funny and sad at the same time. I think it perfectly captures the frustration with society and restlessness that most of us experience during our youth. I’ve also grown to enjoy the descriptions that I, at first, found repetitive. I now find them very personal and feel as if Holden Caulfield is sitting with me telling his story to me. In my opinion, it doesn’t get any more true than that.

I plan on reading A Confederacy of Dunces next.

Watching on TV

Good old Tivo has been capturing The 4400 and some Dr. Who episodes that I missed during the year’s broadcast. This is season 3 of The 4400. I found past seasons a bit thin, but I’m a science fiction junkie so I kept watching. This season is really exciting. Good improvements to plot. Dr. Who is just really good. Interesting plots, entertaining stories, serious undertones but with enough comic relief to not be too serious. I recommend it. Over the summer, SciFi is showing most of the first season again. Season 2 starts in the fall.

Summer TV is a weird thing. When I was younger and used to watch much more TV than I do now, I don’t ever remember new shows during the summer. Now, though, in addition to The 4400, I try to catch America’s Got Talent and Rockstar Supernova. Both of them are purely fluff, but I enjoy them.

Watching at the theater

Saw Pirates of the Caribbean 2 this past weekend. It was okay. I personally think it lost a lot of the cleverness of the first one; the witty dialogue wasn’t as witty. I didn’t hate it; I just didn’t love it.

I’m looking forward most to Clerks II. Clerks is one of my favorite movies. I hope that Kevin Smith doesn’t pull a George Lucas and mess up his masterpiece with a needless sequel. I also want to see The Lady in the Water and, while I am a bit reluctant to admit it, Miami Vice. I’m tired of Jamie Foxx but Michael Mann usually makes an exciting movie (hello, Collateral and Heat).

Listening

St. Elsewhere by Gnarls Barkley. It’s incredible and unclassifiable. I love it.

Shake Your Money Maker by The Black Crowes. It’s one of my favorite all time debut albums. Chris Robinson’s unvarnished style kills me. I hadn’t listened to it in a long time until, last week, I heard Hard to Handle and decided to revisit it. I’ve listened to the whole album 3 of 4 times since.

Living with Ghosts by Patty Griffin. I just recently got this album, even though it’s Patty’s first and I’ve been a fan for a few years. I love all her stuff. When I hear her sing, it resonates deep in my soul. Living with Ghosts is, in my opinion, more raw and emotional than her others.

Two Thoughts for a Friday

The Birdman was at our house last night. We watched Rockstar Supernova with Jennifer, then played some Xbox. While he was there, he had a great idea for a blog post. I momentarily considered stealing it, but then I thought better. If you read this Jason, post your post. I think it will be a good one.

I don’t recall how or when I started stopping by this blog. K is not someone I know and I don’t think I’ve ever even commented on any of her posts. She frequently posts pictures, though, that I find terribly interesting. Last week, she wrote a post about bananas. She talked about how bananas grow on plants, not trees. I was floored. I was fairly skeptical, but luckily she also posted this link to the Chiquita website. If Chiquita doesn’t know bananas then no one does.

Groceries

As I stood in the back of a lengthy line at Kroger yesterday, a lady got in line behind me and pushed her cart well into my personal space. I moved forward a bit and she pushed her cart forward the same amount. I turned to look at her. I slowly examined the contents of her cart. She had several cases of soft drinks, hamburger and hot dog buns, and innumerable bags of chips. After staring for a few seconds, I sighed loudly, left my cart where it stood, and stepped to the right side of my cart. I turned again to look at her reaction. I could tell she understood that I was irritated with her, but I’m not sure she knew why.

I decided to ignore personal space lady and turned my attention back to the Tetris game I had been playing on my mobile phone, and which she had interrupted. After completing a couple of lines, the man in front of me bumped my cart and broke my concentration. I suddenly realized that, in my irritation with personal space lady, I had moved my cart too close to him. I apologized as sincerely as possible. He mumbled some recognition of my apology and proceeded to coo at the baby sitting in his cart.

I hate baby talk. I’ve never understood why grown adults resort to inarticulate half conversation when presented with babies. I’ll admit that I’ve even been guilty of it. I find it a source of self loathing, but I have done it.

Luckily, I was forced to suffer his embarrassing display for only a few seconds. The cashier soon finished scanning baby talk man’s groceries and started to pull his empty cart behind her so the lady bagging groceries could fill it with my freshly scanned groceries. To my surprise, baby talk man left his child in the cart while he walked to the other side of the register to swipe his credit card. For a couple of seconds, the cashier looked at the man and from side to side, obviously bewildered. She then suddenly plucked the baby out of the cart and held her while pushing some buttons to finish up baby talk man’s transaction.

I freely admit that the baby, with her huge cheeks, big blue eyes, and fat thighs was pretty cute, especially when she smiled and laughed at the cashier. I thought it was weird, though, that baby talk man let the cashier pick the baby up and weirder still that the cashier did it. The cashier only held her for a few seconds but I just thought, “You held that kid and now you’re going to put your hands all over my groceries.” I immediately realized the ridiculousness of my own neurosis and tried to think that the baby probably didn’t introduce any additional bacteria that my food hadn’t already seen. “Just another reason to wash everything well,” I thought.

After baby talk man finished paying, the register tape ran out and the cashier struggled to replace it. She apologized and I said something like, “No problem. It’s gotta be done.” I think it took her longer than it probably should have, but, when I go to Kroger, I just prepare myself for quite a wait. Accordingly, I didn’t think much about it.

Personal space lady did not feel the same way. Only a few seconds after the cashier had opened the register to reveal the empty register tape spool, personal space lady sighed more loudly than I thought possible. The cashier, the lady bagging groceries, and I stared at her. I can’t say for sure but I think, after that, the cashier moved more slowly. After another few seconds, personal space lady pointed to the adjacent speed checkout lane and asked, to no one in particular, “Is this one open?” It obviously wasn’t. There was no one standing behind the register and the light above the register was turned off. The cashier stopped in the middle of replacing the tape, looked at the woman from head to toe and back again, and simply said, “No.” I snickered.

I believe to break the tension, the lady bagging groceries looked at me with kind eyes and asked, “Paper or plastic?” I smiled at her and said, “Plastic is fine.” She smiled back but didn’t say anything. Everyone was almost silent for the rest of my transaction. I was glad to get out with my groceries.

Movies

I saw three movies over the past two days. It was great. Here they are:

The Devil Wears Prada
I enjoyed it but, like the book, it basically consists of flashy clothes and pretty people without much depth. But, by straying only slightly from the narrative of the book, the movie more clearly emphasizes the Faustian dilemma faced by the protagonist.

Superman Returns
I found this movie okay. The special effects are outstanding and I loved the parts where Superman does his super stuff. The rest of the movie, though, focuses on Superman’s struggles of being Superman in a human world. I found myself not caring. I loved Kevin Spacey as Lex Luthor and Parker Posey as Luthor’s girlfriend.

An Inconvenient Truth
Anyone who believes that global warming is not a serious problem should see this movie. The evidence Gore presents is undeniable. Unfortunately, I’m afraid that only those who already believe it is a problem will bother. If you are interested and haven’t seen the movie yet, check out Climate Crisis, the movie’s website.

St. Louis and the Fear of Flying

After Jennifer and I celebrated our anniversary last Thursday night, we went, over the weekend, with Jennie and J to St. Louis to watch the Cardinals. The trip was fun. The game was hot; the Cardinals lost. Unruly kids behind us spilled water on Jennifer and Jennie. My intent is not to complain about the game. It really was fun. I just wish those things hadn’t happened. All of that, though, is for another post.

Driving back from St. Louis yesterday, and seeing huge tracts of farm land, reminded me of my recent trip to New York. On the way from Little Rock to LaGuardia, I changed planes in St. Louis. Because I’m scared of crashing, I have always hated and feared flying. On the flight to St. Louis, I kept myself distracted by looking at the tracts of land from 30,000 feet. I marveled at how the section lines are still fairly visible and what an impact the original government land grants still have on the way ownership of the tracts is divided. The distraction didn’t last for long, though, because I started thinking about how terrible it would be to crash, in a ball of flames, into one of the fields.

As we flew, I then started considering why I am scared of flying. The only reason I was able to think of is the fear of death, which is stupid because, philosophically, I’m not even scared of death. I believe that the human soul continues after this life. Actually, as a Christian, I happen to believe that my next life will be much more wonderful than this one. Still, my emotional response to death is decidedly different. The thought of taking that unknown, unaccompanied journey scares me.

I wondered why death is on my mind each and every time I walk on an airplane. I decided that is must be the perceived lack of control. Ridiculous. None of us have any control over when we die. The international space station could fall out of orbit and hit my car while I’m driving home from work. Given the current state of international affairs, North Korea could get fed up with W and use its intercontinental missiles to bomb Little Rock with a nuclear warhead. Any day of the week, someone could grow tired of corporate politics and come shoot everyone on my floor at work. I could catch the West Nile Virus from one of the mosquitos that, during Summer, bite me almost every time I go on our backyard deck. None of those things are probable, and neither is dying in a plane crash.

So, as I sat there looking at the fields, I decided that I would no longer fear flying. Having such a fear is illogical. Worse, it displays a colossal lack of faith. Fear is, after all, the opposite of faith. Besides, even if my death is a fiery one, plummeting 30,000 feet in an aluminum tube, at least I’ll make the evening news.