Reading on the Road

Everyone wants to read more. At least, I've never heard of anyone who wants to read less. I think deciding to read more has to be the second most popular New Year's resolution—right after trying to lose weight, joining a gym and making sure I have to wait 10 minutes to get on any machine for the first 21 days of every year.

As you know, I don't really like making New Year's Resolutions, but I always do try to make a conscious effort to read more. Lately (and by "lately," I mean the last three years), I haven't been reading as much as I want. Earning a MFA actually kept me from burying my nose in books. I worked, I went to class, came home, pretended to do work, went to bed and then repeated the process. There wasn't room for much extra-curricular activity there. And when there was, I didn't read anything.

But, lately, I've been doing my best to crank through some books. I'm just finishing the Lord of the Rings trilogy for the first time (spending a lot of time in Mordor). I fell in love with "The Alchemist," Paulo Coelho's classic. In fact, I liked that one so much, I not only learned his name, but I also subscribed to his fantastic blog. I've joined a nerdy reading group, where we're going through Thucydides' and Aristotle's original works and discussing them on a monthly conference call (in between Dungeons and Dragon sessions and smoking pipes).

But most of the "reading" I've done lately has taken place in my car. Those of you that know me, probably aren't that surprised—you know how much emailing/texting/Twittering I do from the highway's fast lane. But I'm not talking about actual reading, I'm talking about audiobooks.

Three days a week, I spend anywhere from 3-4 hours on the road. I have a 75-mile commute, about 20 of which take place in busy, rush-hour traffic. It's a good way for a man to go insane. So I had to find some way to occupy myself and provide distraction from ramming my Camry head-on into some jerk's BMW. So, I visited my local library and started picking up audiobooks.

Being a visual person, I didn't know how I'd do. But it's turned out to be a great success. After just a minute or two, I find myself completely engrossed in listening to the book. I still pay attention to driving, of course, but my brain doesn't really wander otherwise. And it makes those 75 miles just whip by, even when I'm just doing 4.5 miles an hour and drifting leaves are making more progress. Thus far, I've "read" Hemingway's "Old Man and the Sea" (every word counts), David Sedaris' "When You Are Engulfed in Flames" (classic Sedaris, and always funny), Augusten Burrough's "Running with Scissors" (delightfully depressing), and the Ken Burns' audiobook companion for the Mark Twain documentary (surprisingly good). Considering the lengths of the books, I've made pretty good progress over the past two months or so. Right now, I'm halfway through Jane Austen's "Pride and Prejudice," which has given me an opportunity to get through a book that I probably wouldn't have otherwise read.

So, while this has been a boring blog post for you to read, I did want you to know that I'm enjoying myself. And, perhaps, encourage you to find a way to read a bit more... even if it has to be an inventive way. Just, for the love of all that's good, don't become the girl in front of me at the gym, reading Cosmo while she barely pedals the stationary bike.

Mikey's a Double Uncle...

I won't post pictures (yet), because I haven't gotten approval from my brother, his family, and gotten the signed signature of a certain 7-pound bundle of gums, tears, and swaddling cloth. But I wanted to let y'all know that my niece, Allison Renee, was born this past Monday.

Babies are a funny thing. They terrify me. No because their eyes are glazed, they claw at nothing and are as loud as all get-out (whatever that means). But because I don't know what to do with them.

First off, I have no idea how to hold them. Their heads just flop around if you don't support them—at least that's what I've been told. So I make my arms into some sort of basket, have someone drop (gently) the infant into the cavity, then cock my shoulder up. That tilts the basket upwards, and sort of supports the child's head and neck. But, boy, does it give me a crick in mine.

Then, once I've got the baby, I have no idea what comes next. I can kind of bounce them by lifting my shoulder up and down. But that just makes me look like I'm doing the "What is love?" dance from SNL... "Baby don't hurt me, don't hurt me... no more!" Plus, the movements are pretty jarring to the kid, who'll immediately start screaming.

While they're bawling, I try to distract them with delightful running commentary. For example, when I held Allie (my new niece) for the first time, I explained to her the wonders of Velcro, how it works with miniature hooks and loops, and that it's made in the great state of New Hampshire, which is also known as The Granite State. She just cried some more. Then, I explained she was wrapped up like a burrito and I regaled her with the wonders of meat, rice and beans tied up in a tortilla. She quieted up a bit then.

So I sat there, neck getting sore and florescent lights glowing off the tile floor, holding a baby that really did look and feel like a warm burrito. I was totally unsure of what to do, so I yammered on about nonsense. Until she opened her eyes.

Her lids flickered, sleepily (it's hard work being born). Then they opened halfway. The big, blue orbs looked up at me. Probably, she couldn't see anything. Maybe she saw a shadow. But I saw her; I really saw her. And I stopped yammering. She wasn't crying anymore. It didn't matter how I held her. Just the fact that I did.

Yeah, I can do this uncle thing. It's not so scary after all.

Heavy Metal Flow Chart

This was just too good to pass up. It's a heavy metal flow chart that breaks down hardcore band names into five basic categories: Deadly Things, Religion, Death, Animals and Badass Misspellings.

I'm giving it the big double devil horns right now. Check out the full-size chart over here.

Mike's a Fraidy Cat...

I HATE scary movies. Simply can't stand them. It's not because they're really scary (they're not), it's because my mind makes them more terrifying than any director ever could.

When I see a zombie ripping into someones skull and there's cracking noises and body fluids spewing, I can feel the plates separating in my head and taste the gooey salinity of my own gray matter. And let's not even talk about torture flicks that have crazed madmen doing things to a subject's eyes and/or fingernails... I lie awake a night afterward, knowing that as soon as I close my eyes, I'll see needles and pincers coming at me in the dark. Even worse, I can barely stand to have my manicurist do my nails after seeing something like that.

I don't have the intestinal fortitude to deal with those movies. Happily, I can avoid going to them. Most of my friends aren't into horror. Whenever one does want to go, I can make excuses like I haven't re-alphabetized my bookshelf or my grandma's dog needs a sponge bath. But no matter what excuse you can come up with for not seeing the movie, you can't escape the trailers.

Usually, they're easy enough to spot when you're in the theater. That deep, scratchy voice (like Keifer Sutherland's in slow-motion) comes on, the room gets dark, the bass swells, you hear panting noises and the girl on screen is suddenly, inexplicably half naked. Then, before you know it, all you see are blunt instruments pounding flesh, explosions of blood and flashes of some sort of zombie-freak dripping black ooze. Ick.

They're easy enough to avoid. I can get up and make a last-minute bathroom trip. I can look at the floor and comment how solidly my shoes are sticking. I can stick my head into popcorn or just dive behind the seats. Usually there's just one and then on comes a preview for Shrek 4 and all is right with the world.

But, lately, these trailers have been all over TV. Maybe it's because I've been watching way too much SportsCenter (on repeat, for background noise), but it seems like I have to suffer through another ad for The Unborn every commercial break. I can't explain it, but that trailer bugs me like no other. Maybe is the creepy, dead-eyed (and skinned) kid. Probably it's the guy crawling backwards up the stairs with an upside-down head. Or it could be because the whole premise has to do with a freaky happenstance with the heroine's eyes (I hate anything to do with eyes). I just can't watch it. Every time it's on, I frantically reach for the remote and switch over to the TeleTubbies or the View—anything that's less frightening.

Ugh. I don't get it. Why do they make those awful movies? And why do people go to them? Maybe I'm a wuss (okay, I'm definitely a wuss), but I really don't understand the appeal. Perhaps it has something to do with the risk of wetting yourself in public? Can someone help me out here?

In case you don't know what I'm talking about, here's the trailer. I'm going to go hide underneath my covers now.

The Balls Dropped

I hear Brad. I don't like making resolutions, either. I'm also not a huge fan of other people making resolutions—not so much because I like to impose my views on others, but because it means there are lines to use every treadmill at the gym and the natural section of the grocery store runs out of Clif bars.

But, because it's the beginning of a new year, it's as good a time as any to take inventory and see if there's anything I'd like to get accomplished in the next 364 days (give or take).

Relationship
This one's foremost in my mind, mostly because Sonja and I find ourselves shelling out cash to pay wedding vendors on the 2nd and 16th of every month. I think goal-o numero uno for '09 is to pull of a successful, star-studded gala on June 5th, have an awesome 2-week Italian honeymoon and have enough left over to come back to an apartment and not have to immediately move in with either set of parents or the Newington Bus Terminal.

Writing
I'd like to have more stuff published. There really is nothing like seeing your name in print on a piece that you slaved over (or put together at the last minute). The only thing that comes close is cashing the accompanying check—that's pretty sweet, too.

Seriously, though... I cranked out 150 pages of a book for my thesis project. I turned it into my adviser at the beginning of April and haven't touched it since. Some downtime was necessary, but I need to get back to it and see if someone's wiling to pay me for some (possibly) or all (I'd have to change myself) of it. That, and I'm still going to be submitting here and there as I—in theory—write daily.

Personal
(Stealing Brad's "more/less" theme... plagiarism is the most sincere form of flattery.)
More: reading, blogging, time-management, running (one marathon, minimum), recipes learned and facial hair. Five out of six won't be bad...
Less: ditto on the nail-biting, procrastination, sleep deprivation (yeah, right), impulse buying (again—yeah, right) and TV-watching.

Anyone else have some big plan for '09? Or are you taking the odd years off?

Merry Christmas to all...

It's a dark, dark time in our country's history. Everyone woke up this Christmas, walked past the tree they cut down from their neighbor's yard instead of bought and the presents re-gifted from the heady days of spending in '07, and picked up the paper or flicked on the news. The Grinches/anchors gleefully reported cheery headlines like these:

"'Worst is yet to come for retailers,' analysts say."
"Retailers' holiday sales plummet 4 percent"
"Retail sales down, even online"
"US holiday retail sales plunge amid recession"

So what if retailer's stocks are up and Amazon rocked it this year? The apocalypse is upon us. Americans stopped spending willy-nilly, Billy didn't get his Xbox 360, Suzy didn't get the entire 4-dozen collection of American Girl dolls, Dad didn't get his new S-Class and instead had to lease an Aveo. This season's hottest gift? A water purifier and a shotgun both purchased at Wal-Mart, so you can protect your things once droves of unemployed rioters start roaming the streets like packs of wild dogs (over-under of that happening is January 16th... and if you're in Detroit, it started in November).

In the immortal words of John Stossel's mustache, "Give me a break!"

Let's not let the Christmas season get ruined by dour predictions of doom and gloom in the stock markets. Don't feel guilty when you use your holiday bonus to pay of a credit card or pop it into a just-in-case savings account. This is supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year—an opportunity to celebrate with family and friends—so don't ruin Christmas just because your 401k took a hit. Take the time off from work (if you're lucky enough to have it) and enjoy life for a second.

Hope your Christmas, New Year's, Chanukah, Kwanzaa and Festivus all rocked. Merry Christmas!

(This public service announcement has been brought to you jointly by Prozac, United Auto Workers, and Lehman Bros.)

(Kidding... it's actually brought to you by my Charlie Brown Christmas Tree—pictured above—that Sonja and I cut down during last weekend's snow storm. Merry Christmas!)

MichaelandSonja.com

Just a heads up... I've started to build a website for our upcoming wedding. It's up now at MichaelandSonja.com.

Right now, it's nothing fantastic. But it's a website and I put it up all by myself (which is an accomplishment even though I used iWeb and "Made it on a Mac"). Let me know what you think and if you have any ideas for what else I can do with it.