Month: November 2009

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Cigarettes: The Drinkable Version

As followers of the financial superhero Dave Ramsey, my wife and I are both allotted $10 each at the beginning of every week for what is called “blow money.” We can waste it on whatever we want: going out for lunch (instead of bringing our lunch to work), buying a CD, picking up a magazine at the book store, anything that would fall under the category of “disposable income”.

Because it’s evitable we all blow money each week. It keeps us from going crazy. Besides, we all “deserve it”. But my wife and I are putting perimeters on this human tradition. In the terminology of a child, it’s our weekly allowance. The rest of our income is for our needs (groceries, gas, etc.) and paying off our debts. No exceptions.

 

In the past year since we started doing this, my “blow money” has mainly been spent on the cheapest coffee available at Starbucks ($1.75 with tax). Taking the five minute drive during my lunch break as my workday escape. Sitting in a comfy leather chair, reading a book, sipping what truly is wonderful coffee.

And really, I must admit that a major reason I frequented Starbucks is because all of the staff there knew me by name. There is much truth in the lyric from the Cheers theme song, “You want to go where everybody knows your name.” But like any fast food joint (which Starbucks definitely is, just an upscale version of one), the place has an extremely high turnover in staff.

I realized last week all the people I knew there have gone on. And I just don’t feel like starting over with a new cast of characters. So as of last week, I stopped going.

 

Conveniently at the same time, I learned that the new office I now work in is a two minute walk from a beautiful walking park. So now I can take a nature walk (comparable to a state park) during my lunch break and read outside at a picnic table next to the flowing creek beside me. And when it’s too cold, I can walk an extra five minutes to Barnes and Noble and get the warm atmosphere I liked so much at Starbucks.

So now each week I use less gas, get more exercise, see the great outdoors, and don’t waste $10 a week on coffee.  And now I’ve converted back to work coffee, bringing in good creamer from home like Spiced Vanilla.  Still, work coffee is pretty awful. I entitle it “Cigarettes: The Drinkable Version”.

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Long Sleeved, Button Downs are the Shirt

In 8th grade, I saved my parents plenty of money because instead of hoping for new cool clothes for the 1994-1995 school year, I just used my dad’s closet as my wardrobe. At the time, I was around 5’ 6”, compared to my dad who is 5’ 11”. Obviously there was a notable size difference at the time, but it didn’t matter.

Because I didn’t need Tommy Hilfiger to be cool. I needed my dad’s long sleeved, button down shirts (AKA “casual dress shirts”). Worn unbuttoned over any random t-shirt pulled out of the drawer. And it didn’t really matter if the shirts matched each other either.

 

Fifteen years later, I now wear long-sleeved, button down shirts every day to work. Uncomfortably tucked into dress pants to look professional. And when I get home, I change into jeans. But the shirt stays.

Why are casual dress shirts so awesome? A few simple reasons.

Most importantly, they are made from thin, yet quality material. I am a man, therefore I get hot easily. That being said, casual dress shirts are designed so that the sleeves can easily be rolled up, and because of the turbulence of the buttons on the sleeves, they actually stay up, unlike a sweater or hoodie. And people think that rolled up sleeves on these shirts look good. It’s professional/hip.

And with a casual dress shirt, no one really has to know how little money I spend on them. There are no obvious logos to notice. I buy most of mine from the Unclaimed Baggage Center near my hometown for around $6.

 

These shirts link back to boyhood. Transformers, Go-Bots, and even Legos. Boys love things that change into different things. I can go from a professional working man to a casual dude (but not a slouch).

Hoodies are great, but they do have a sloppy connotation attached. And sweaters are okay, but sometimes when I wear them, I feel like I’m wearing a sweatshirt, which makes me think of Hanz and Franz from early 1990’s Saturday Night Live.

Long sleeved, button downs are the jam. And best of all, when my wife and I are out somewhere and she gets cold, which is indeed a constant occurrence, I can sacrifice my casual dress shirt to keep her warm. Only to reveal the dorky Transformers t-shirt I happen to be wearing underneath. Double win.

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How to Be Weird in a Publix Grocery Store and Get Away With It

 

When a small kid falls and bumps their head, there is a Two Second Delay where he or she must decide whether to cry or to laugh, whether it is a painful or funny moment. They must choose which they want more- nurture or fellowship. As an older brother in 1987, I clearly remember that happening to my sister, who was three years old at the time. I said, “Dana, don’t cry. Laugh instead.”

Then I started making indistinguishable animal sounds and rolling my eyes and puffing up my cheeks. Her facial expression went from the verge of crying to actually laughing instead. That’s when I learned that it is possible influence the response of a young child during The Two Second Delay. Since then, I have been keeping this in mind as I am exposed to antsy kids in shopping carts at stores, forced to go shopping with their moms.

 

Last Sunday, in the produce section of the local Publix, a Russian-speaking mom with her little boy and girl facing her as they both sat in the cart caught my attention. The boy was grabbing for some grapes and his mom told him no. So he did it what he knew best.

He started squalling. Whining. Crying. Over grapes.

The Russian mom’s back was turned away from me, but the boy could clearly see me from 15 feet away. I made eye contact with him and started doing my best impression of a bumbling buffoon. It worked. From tears to giggles.

And the best part: I only did it when his sister, who was sitting right beside him, was looking the other way. So every 10 seconds, I would make stupid faces at the boy. Immediately, he would tug on his mom’s shirt sleeve and bump his sister with his elbow, each time failing to get their attention in order to see me before I stopped.

 

This happened for several minutes, as we all made our way through the the fruits and vegetables. And I never got caught. That boy went home, with his mom and sister, both thinking he was crazy for pointing at nothing. I’m sure they were just glad he stopped his tantrum.

I have been doing this procedure for about 20 years. It’s really great. I highly recommend it.

 

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Different Kinds of Bad Breath: Cigarettes, Sinuses, Sour Milk, Garlic, Dorritos, McDonald’s…

There are certain things I could keep myself constantly preoccupied with if I allowed it. Like the fact that my nose is peripherally visible. Not everyone constantly sees their own nose any time that their eyes are open. But I do. It’s not a nuisance, though. Not like that weird red thing chickens have hanging off their beaks. That would be awful.

One of the major “preoccupiers” I think about is breath. The bottom line is this: Unless someone is chewing gum, chances are that if another person smelled their breath, the air that came out would be classified as “bad breath.” Naturally good breath is a rare genetic miracle. The best we can really do is mask the air we breathe out.

 

And even then, it can be a tricky situation. Sugar only makes a person’s breath worse. Peppermints and cough drops make for some of the worst bad breath once they are eaten. (I personally endorse Trident sugar-free gum with Xylitol as it actually helps fight cavities.)

Since the 3rd grade (for the past 20 years), I have been keeping a sort of mental collection of some of the variations of bad breath I have encountered. In the likeness of wine tasting, in parenthesis is the hint of the scents found in each type:

Morning Breath (dead possum and scrambled eggs)
Stale Breath (work coffee and library books)
Sinus Breath (draining mucus and goat cheese)
Snack Cake Breath (sour milk)
Garlic Breath (the garlic, the whole garlic, and nothing but the garlic)
2:00 PM Breath (muddled lunch aftertaste and the onset of Morning Breath)
Didn’t Brush Teeth Today Breath (rotting log and outdated cinnamon gum)
Smoker’s Breath (ashtray, gasoline, pesticides, and a diesel mechanic shop)
15 Year-Old Boy Breath (Dorritos and Mountain Dew)
McDonald’s Breath (ketchup, diced onions, “meat”)

 

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The Way a Name Sounds Compared to How a Name is Spelled

My name is… My name is…

Some people have long, complicated names. Like Ben Roethlisberger. Or M Night Shyamalan. I’ll even throw Weird Al Yankovic in that category. But just because a name is short, that doesn’t mean it’s not complicated. My name, in theory, is very simple. Especially when it’s written down.

But when it’s simply spoken, especially over the phone, to someone who has never heard my name before, they usually don’t get it right on the first try. Some popular variations include, but are not limited to the following, in all possible combinations:

 

Mick Shale
Mike Snell
Rick Schell
Nicky Shaw
Nic Snow
Mickey Show
Nate Shelton
Ned Shells

Because when all a person has to go on is what they simply hear, they are working with a muddled form that sounds literally like this: “Nicgtkahshelahw”.

I remember how fascinated I was when someone pointed out to me about ten years ago that often, when we say a word, we don’t correctly pronounce it, because we can get by without doing it clearly. When we say “cat”, we pronounce it “caaa”. We leave off the “t”. I had to practice a few times at first. Then I realized it’s true.

But if we are sure to emphasize the “t”, the word “cat” literally sounds more like this: “cattuh”. We tend not to hear the extra syllables we add on to the end of words. And we make a habit of leaving off the strong consonant sounds on the ends also, as previously mentioned.

 

I wonder, too, what mental image my last name gives people. Personally, I’ve always envisioned a turtle shell, hence the picture of a turtle at the top of this site. But people usually tell me they think of “a seashell at the ocean”. When in truth, “schel” is simply the German word for “loud and noisy”, which over time evolved into “Shell”. It would be nice to imagine my ancestors were a bunch of cool hippies hanging out at the beach. But in reality, not so much.

Secretly, some sort of picture pops up in my head for everyone I know- as soon as I hear their last name. I’m taking requests, actually. For those who send me a request on facebook I will reveal my mental image for their name.

I expect no one to actually do that, though. That would be like getting sucked into the TV screen.  It’s what we in the theatre world call “breaking the 4th wall”.