Category: Life

  • ODDS and ENDS: Candy, Tottenham Stuff, and Merch Store

    (So sue me if I go too fast…)

    The dirty secret of Halloween is that parents eat their kids candy when they aren’t looking. Any parent who denies this happens is a liar. We all do it. When we parents get together while taking the kids out Trick or Treating, it’s what we talk about; “What candy did they get? How much did they get? It’s just not healthy to let kids eat that much candy. We’re doing them a service.” The wife and I do buy a mixed bag of candy that we hide in the apartment and snack off of… but eventually, late one night, possibly after a few drinks, we reach into the kid’s bucket and see that she has three Skittles pouches, so she won’t miss one. And it’s awful when we do it, and we feel so guilty, but forbidden candy goes so well with watching Great British Baking Show.

    Seems like Tottenham is the only team I have left to support for the foreseeable future. Cowboys have crapped out, and I could care less about the World Series. Sure, I guess I could again try my hand at following the Knicks, they look like they should have a good season. No, it’s Tottenham Hotspur or bust! They are playing really well in the Europa League, and are sitting at 2nd in that tournament’s table. It just them in the Premier League that is pulling me down. Those three losses are like an albatross, and it also seems like they give up a goal right away at the start of each match… But… it’s still early.

    Oh, the Merch Store is open. Go get all your 1999 Blogging Gear are great low prices. Remember, each item sold goes to a good cause which is helping me buy a new MacBook Air, or sending my kid to college. All depends on how much we raise.

  • Short Story Review: “War Dogs” by Paul Yoon

    (The short story “War Dogs” by Paul Yoon appeared in the October 28th, 2024 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Illustration by Wesley Allsbrook

    I had no idea that airports have animal centers. I feel like I should have known this before, I mean, with all the time I have spent at airports and seeing all the animals that come through there, it seem obvious now. It must be such a mystifying experience for animals to be loaded on a plane, taken to some place new, and how their heightened senses discover that new place.

    If you couldn’t guess, Paul Yoon’s short story “War Dogs” takes place at an animal center at one of New York City’s airports. It is an intertwined story of animal caretakers, a veterinarian, a mother traveling to Korea, a brother and sister set of dogs from Afghanistan, and a horse. Some of these characters ran from destructive situations to start better lives, some are pulled back into their old world, some are physically changing which causes them fear, while others want the comfort of those they love.

    The story was structured in eight sections, or vignettes. Each sharing insights and developments with the characters. It was a practical form to use for this story, as Yoon’s storytelling was well balanced, so we never dwelled too long on one particular plot line. It reminded me of jazz, with the theme acting as the rhythm of the piece, with each character getting a solo. This allowed each character to get fleshed out, giving some depth, and I am being vague on poupose to not spoil this story.

    Yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it didn’t wrap everything up as it should have. What this piece felt like was the first chapter of a novel; characters are being introduced, goals are set, complications develop, questions are raised. But not everything is concluded, leaving many questions left in the air. In this state, I was left feeling stood up, and incomplete.

    I understand the old adage that a writer should leave the reader wanting more, but in this case I want a novel about this place, the animals, and the people. I don’t need to tell you Paul Yoon is a good writer; read this and you’ll see. And if this was the first chapter of that novel, then I bet it would be great.

  • And I Got Readers

    In fact, I have them on right now.

    I have been fighting that I needed them for some time. My arms are only so long, you know. But the time came. The optometrist said it was time. I didn’t want bifocals, so readers was my only option.

    I had been watching my friends over the past few years, struggle to read menus and their phones. We would laugh about getting older, but not being able to read was a problem. Then slowly over time, I watched as friend after friend would sit down at the table, take a menu, and then produce a pair of readers that rested gently on the edge of their nose. They could read the small print, while I had to guess, like deciphering the Rosetta Stone, as to what did the Chop Salad come with?

    The real issue, if I get fully honest, was that reading virtually everything was becoming a problem. Not only did I start feeling a strain on my eyes after reading for a bit, but this pain was making me hesitant to read for enjoyment. And there was no way that I was going start making the fonts larger.

    We all get older, and everything does come to an end. The joyous days of reading anything and everything unencumbered are over. This means that I will need to always wear shirts with a pocket, or I need more sports coats.

    I will not do the chain for the glasses – that is a non-starter.

  • Talking to my Dad

    I video chat with my dad every week. We occasionally text when something funny happens, or when we need to change the time that we will video chat, but video chat is the main way that we communicate with each other.

    He sits in his study; I sit in my office/bedroom. Sometimes my wife wanders in to say hello, or to join in the conversation. The kid comes in from time to time. Usually for about five or ten minutes to tell grandpa about all the things that is going on. I don’t force them to join, nor do I try to exclude them from talking to my father – it’s an open-door policy – but I especially don’t want them to feel obligated to talk to him.

    These chats are a continuation of the weekly chats I had with my mother before she passed. I mean I always called my parents on Sunday, as they did to their parents. The video chatting started when the kid was born, and Ma wanted to see her granddaughter. Who can blame her, the kid is pretty cute. Yet, in all these video chats in the past, my dad would be there, but he would hang out on the periphery of the screen. He was there, paying attention, throwing in a comment or two, but he was clearly in a supporting role.

    After my Ma passed, I made a point of wanting these chats to continue. Making sure that my Dad had someone to talk to, even if I was 1,500 miles away. (I wasn’t the only one. My brothers and sisters-in-law also made sure that he wasn’t alone, but they do live within driving distance of him.) For many reasons, it wasn’t easy at first. With so much loss and sadness, it can take some time to find your footing again, and also discover that joy can still be had in this world.

    Now, six years on, the guy doesn’t stop talking. It’s like he’s had all these conversation in him, and now he can’t wait to get them out!

    I know that I am lucky and fortunate that I am getting this time with him, to know him.

  • ODDS and ENDS: Coffee, Tea, and Cookies

    (Oh, to feel love’s sting…)

    I have loved coffee for as long as I can remember. As a kid, coffee was the key to adulthood; it’s what all grownups did in the morning – drank coffee and ate breakfast, or complained about what their day was going to be like. I can see my parents, coffee cup in hand, watching me and my brothers opening Christmas gifts. It’s what my Uncle Ron drank all the time, especially when he would visit and smoke his pipe – the only person who was allowed to smoke in our house. I got my first coffee mug on Valentine’s Day, when I was in the 6th Grade. It was a corny mug that had a heart shaped handle and said “The Luv Mug” on it. My Ma gave it to me. I was the only twelve year old who was drinking coffee and reading the paper before school. I’m not the type of person who gets a headache if they don’t have their coffee in the morning, and I am also the type of person who can drink coffee all day, and it doesn’t affect my sleep, but I am the type of person that if I don’t drink coffee in the morning then I feel like the day isn’t right.

    Over the last two years, I have started drinking tea in the afternoon. Actually, 4pm to be precise, and only from October to March. You know, the cold months around here. I don’t know why I started doing it, and it would be easy to throw my wife under the bus on this one, as she does like a peach tea from time to time. But I got a box of Black English Tea, made a cup with a little milk and sugar, and it became rather satisfying in the afternoon. I even have a specific mug that I use for my tea. Funny how before, I only viewed tea as something that one drank when they sick, like had the flu. Tea was like coffee, but not as strong, so it was more water and less caffeine, you know, what sick people need.

    I have to go to Trader Joe’s today (Woop! Woop! On 125th!) to pick up a few things for the weekend. I know I shouldn’t do it, but I will buy a bucket of cookies. I woke up this morning knowing, to my core, that I would walk into that store, and get that plastic container of chocolate-chip cookies, and eat most of them over the next two days. For no other reason than I want to. I have been good about going to the gym, and sticking to my running two miles three days a week, and I started to notice that my shirts and pants aren’t so tight, and my energy has been up, and I do feel more focused. And I am focused on eating cookies all weekend long.