Off the Meat

My friend Greg makes the best chili I've ever had. His graduation from culinary school provided him with a bag of tricks, but he also has a discerning tongue. Food is more than a meal with Greg. When dining together we often talk about the subtleties of a certain plate, and are generally on the same page. Somehow eating with him reminds me to slow down and taste my food. I mean really taste it, savor it.

Sadly Greg doesn't own a restaurant I can frequent. Not sure if his dreams involve such an idea, but I'd design his logo and menu for free. Receiving an invitation to a meal at his house is a welcome treat. Besides having a kick-ass wife, an adorable string bean daughter, and a remarkably verdant back yard, the seemingly effortlessly prepared meal always satisfies. And there isn't a scrap of meat in his house.

For a long time now, I've been contemplating going veggie. The reasons are obvious and somewhat endless. At the core of the reasons are that I don't enjoy the idea of killing something and then benefiting from it. I'm not a spiritual man but I subscribe to the idea that everything affects everything. A calf restricted from sitting or turning in their cage that also can't avoid standing in their own fecal matter doesn't scream yummy to me. Or humane. The rancher that deals with this sort of thing has to become desensitized to it or suffer mentally. In their desensitization they bury simple / basic traits of kindness which eventually will be expressed to other humans on or off the ranch. And so on.

There is no way I'm swearing off fish however. Which makes me a Pescetarian. How was this line determined? Not sure, but with Tokyo around the corner, I'd be foolish to go hardcore. I've had dreams about Japanese sushi. I will be skipping the chicken and horse shashimi.

It's only been a week and I can't say I'll never have meat again. I feel better, am sleeping better, and haven't really missed it all that much. Next thing you know I'll be protesting naked outside a fur store. Don't worry, I won't share photos of that.

Velvet Murphy

I've had only a few moments of self enlightenment in life. One was inspired by a Velvet Underground song in my teens. "And everything was all right" might seem like a throw away lyric spewed forth by a hippie laying in the middle of a field, but taken to heart and applied generously, you'd be surprised at how comforting those five words are. Everything is all right turned into everything will go on. Letting one small thing ruin your day is setting you up for a big tumble when something big actually happens. How you react to life's daily trials affects your mood, the moods of those you encounter, and can / should ultimately set a mellow, relaxed pace for your entire life.

Murphy's Law provided me with the other moment. In it's original dismal verse, it paints a picture of an unlucky soul that the world is set on destroying. Take from that the basic message, with none of the depressed self loathing, and you get: Anything that can happen will. A phrase that, in it's preparatory sense, allows someone to consider every possible outcome in any situation. Coupled with the Velvet lyrics, I'm provided caution and comfort simultaneously.

Driving down the highway I am both worried about getting cut off and all right with it. When a loved one passes, I'm never surprised because sometimes people die. When they're gone, Lou's words level me out and push fond memories of the deceased into consciousness. I'm often one of the few at a funeral with a smile.

A few days ago the job was posted. I've waitied over two months for the post and have been trying to get to Seattle for nearly six. I've always known that things might not go my way. In prep, I've attempted to think of every possibility so, if confronted by bad news, I would be only mildly depressed as opposed to homicidal. For all the attention and thought I've given this job quest, I neglected considering one possibility.

The Seattle company had lay-offs just prior to the job being posted. Instead of walking papers, open positions were offered to the newly jobless. I hadn't considered this as a possibility, which is fine because I can't think of everything. But had the position been handed to someone with one foot out the door, my fragile kitten self would have been sent spiraling. Or maybe I would have been happy for them to get the position. After all, I still have a job. Even if I hate it.

Too Swamped to Post ...

... Busy applying for job.

Gift Guilt

Our third wedding shower was this weekend, which is good because we desperately needed a new ice cream scooper. Some of our household items are comprised of a mismatched, hand me down mess. Not wanting my divorce to linger, I succumbed to material requests in an attempt to get the ex out of my hair quickly. Mom provided me with spare cookware and plates that met my low maintenance needs for nearly a decade. Getting new stuff, especially since I asked for new stuff from some of you the first time, upsets what little etiquette I have. No matter, because all of this if for the lady.

At first the lady wanted to elope. The idea of a fairytale wedding never appealed to her. As preliminary plans were laid for our secret nuptials, the lady decided she wanted her sisters there. Once they were added, she couldn't get married without having a few of her close friends there. Inviting a few friends and sisters would upset the uninvited mom, and if mom was coming dad would surely be upset if not asked.

Even though our invite list expanded to include close to two-hundred people, remnants of that initial plan remained. Making our wedding bigger, we had only one rule we never comprised: Make sure everyone had a good time. Beyond that, every tradition we could break has been tossed aside. We will not be lighting a unity candle, I won't be fishing out a garter with my teeth, and having desert and wedding cake seemed redundant, so we opted for a cheese cake ending to your meal.

Both the Minneapolis and Chicago showers were well attended, featured our favorite drinks / snacks, and were lovingly planned by our friends and family. Thinking about this planning, we are overwhelmed. When thanked for all this attention, our families and friends respond similarly with earnest sincerity about how much they love both of us. Friends have said that an evening dealing with my ex was not offset by the pleasure of my company, resulting in sparse invitations to social engagements. In contrast, everyone likes the lady. So much so that everyone, no matter how much they like us on an individual basis, like the combination of us even better.

I'm at a loss as to why the lady went thirty-two years without getting hitched. I'd like to take this moment to thank all those less than perfect practice dudes for leaving her alone. I've never been happier. I've never been more myself, with no filters, and I've never smiled as much as when I see her face after a long day. The gifts you give are an expression of how you feel about the lady and I. They are given freely because you are happy for us. Every time I guiltily think about getting gifts from you, I'm reminded of the lady's smile; The only gift I really want.

My Life On Hold

Summer is typically a tough time to make plans. Mostly because so many plans hit the table, without enough empty slots to accommodate them. While most of these plans are social and welcome, it's the downtime that gives pause for my mind to wander and obsess about the Seattle gig. I've been lying to myself. Tricking myself to believe this is not taking so long. Once I realized the self inflicted denial, I started to feel exhausted from the anxious, excited feelings. There's nothing I think about more.

You should see my closets. Considering a possible move, I've been boxing up non-essentials for months. I love organizing, so even if I don't get the gig, I'll be happy to have things tidy. Five garbage bags later, I can see the back of several cabinets, have consolidated plastic tubs, and have separated myself from so many "One day" items. Cleaning and organizing is a welcome side effect to having anxious feelings.

I should be painting the molding, fixing the closet door, putting some wood putty where the dog chewed the cabinet, and caulking the tub. These were the first chores I considered when first applying for the job, since selling the place would go smoother after tended to. When was that first interview? April? Let me check ... March 18th was my first phone interview. That's over four months ago. Or eighteen weeks, or one-hundred-twenty-six days, or three-thousand-twenty-four hours, or one-hundred-eighty-one-thousand-four-hundred-forty minutes, or ten-million-eight-hundred-eighty-six-thousand-four-hundred seconds.

Considering this, it's excusable that I've found premature preparatory chores to keep my brain busy. Especially since I haven't even applied for the job yet.

You're Not Helping

We sent your wedding invite this week. The lady and I had a nice moment taking turns throwing clumps of invites into that big blue box before going out to breakfast. I'll never be able to forget the smile on the lady's face as the last of the marital mailing slipped from her fingers.

We're both in our mid thirties and have some money saved for the wedding. Having it completely paid for by the parents is tempting, but it makes us feel icky. The parents are helping and it's understood any money received is our wedding gift as well to help pay for it all; Whatever we need it for: Wedding bills, honeymoon, or a new iPhone, it's our gift. Grandma's friend Karen, visiting from Germany this October, wants to know what special German flavored gift we'd like for our wedding. A fancy, German born gift is not going to mollify our planning hearts into forgetting that Grandma invited a woman we've never met without asking.

We've been forced to make a few tough decisions about who to invite. There are a few friends we would love to invite, but space does not allow. The capacity of the room is so tight that a single person over one-hundred-sixty will require tables to spill onto the dance floor in a connecting room. That awkward moment when the bus boys come to take your table really makes you feel wanted.

Asked if Karen from Germany could attend, room might have been made but we've decided to put our foot down in an attempt to squash any further discourteous maneuvers from grandma. With my backing and assurances, the lady made an awkward, uncharacteristic, and lengthy phone call to a woman who has manipulated, lied, and belittled her for thirty-seven years. Not going to say the lady and I feel good about buttin' heads with grandma, but it is an accomplishment of sorts for the lady.

The lady and I have wedding plans under control. The invites we lovingly dumped into the mail box had been stamped and ready for months. Almost everything is done and the level of stress is minimal. Sure a move across the country might escalate the stress, but my money is on grandma being responsible for at least some of the escalation.