Building a Bus

Love you, L.
Let's build this bus, together.

My oldest grandson L and I both love LEGO. Sometimes I am still his LEGOfer, constructing, deconstructing, and reconstructing anew. I'm cool with this assistant-type role. As his Grandpops, I am happy to be his apprentice or his mentor, as needed.

And that got me thunk: is it more satisfying to build LEGO alone or with a trusted someone? The answer is of course both. It depends on your goals, what you're seeking from the experience, but there's something else at play too.... 

Maybe you're LEGOing freestyle, enjoying collaborating with a partner, creating something unplanned, unexpected, going with the flow. Or maybe you aim to prove something to yourself and yourself only, hoping to overcome a challenge, show that you have what it takes to build something complicated, to overcome the onerous.  

Whatever the intent, I think far too men think they have to construct LEGO alone. 

November is men's mental health month. Turns out the skills required in constructing LEGO are essentially the same ones needed to be mentally fit: managing your thoughts, regulating your emotions, problem-solving, controlling what you actually can, leveraging your strengths, and (please) LEANING ON YOUR PEOPLE. 

Here's the thing: let's say you're building a bus. This is certainly a LEGO task one would expect to do on his own. But then consider that bus a metaphor, a pretty good one for life itself. Sometimes therapists use this comparison to illustrate how to manage this trip we call life. In this metaphor, you are the bus driver: you choose the direction and you know what's driving you. Then there are the passengers: these represent your inner thoughts, your emotions, your doubts, your fears, your mistakes, your painful memories. And finally, the noise: some "passengers" may be quiet or even encouraging, but others tell you you're stupid or a failure or weak and worse. 

Dear friends, passengers lie. They make it difficult to construct the route, steer, maintain and repair the bus, plus it's hard to kick them off the bus, alone. A trusted someone (personal or profession) can help you or someone you care about: who doesn't need that sometimes?   

Frankly

Frankly, what's Halloween without Frankenstein's ghoulish but tragic Monster? 

My spouse went full Prometheus and fashioned this creature together (without human parts) in her pottery class. Insert a candle and voila: 9 parts adorable and 1 part fire hazard. She made several types for each of our 5 grandturkeys. And for that... all the applause emojis. 

As Mary Shelley said, "live and be happy and make others so." And with that dear friends, a happy Halloween and to all a full pillowcase of candy. 

Things that deserve the stink-eye (but I don't care):

I've had my crocs sliders for way more than a decade. I know their age because my son and I have exactly the same feet and I loaned them to him in 2014 when he left for college. I am thrilled we forced him he chose post-secondary learning, but almost everything else he took with him to college disappeared (principally most of my savings) but his feet (minus foot mushrooms) returned thanks to my crocs, which also returned! Small wins!  

This is the reason I love these crocs. They're just so available; they slip on easily, quickly, no fuss, no matter the assignment. Thus, they've seen some shit. (Literally, but they are easy to hose down.) And speaking of shit, our current weather: two snowfalls thus far, no melting yet, grr. But my crocs can handle any weather. So yes, I continue to use these to take out the garbage. Nope, no socks. Just sending it, snow be damned. If you're Canadian you know this sort of delusional behaviour. To misquote Dylan Thomas, rage against the dying of the light your foolhardy resolve against the (inevitable) weather. When the going gets tough, the tough wear crocs sliders FOR AS LONG AS POSSIBLE. Winter is a test. These crocs are proof, verification of my Canadian citizenship, that I belong to the EH-team. Croc hard or go home (but I'm guessing only for about a week or two more or let's be honest, I'll lose a toe, sigh). 

Legs

You do you, M.
💗Pops

When we last saw our southerly grandturkeys, our youngest granddaughter M (13 months then) was soooo close to walking. We assumed she would master it within days and be running around the next time we saw her, but a month later, M takes only a few steps, her parents in front and behind her, coaxing and clapping. 

Of course no one is concerned about this whatsoever, but I know what's really going on. Like me, M is a thirdborn.

When my daughter asked me to explain that, I laughed and said, "she doesn't need to walk—you're her legs." As is her older sister, her Dad, both sets of her grandparents, her aunts, her uncles, the babysitter, the food delivery dude... let's be honest: if you knew her, you'd be her legs too. You wouldn't be able to resist. Her random-tooth smile? Contagious. Her demeanor? A tad wily. 

Science says birth order—although not a diagnosis—does indeed have an impact. It's reductive to presume traits for any child considering birth order or otherwise, but thirdborns (often the youngest) are rare these days. According to Statistics Canada, thirdborns comprise only about 12% of the babies born in Alberta annually. 

So, by virtue of when they join the family, thirdborns will always be competing for their parents' divided attention, parents who are more experienced, less anxious, and inevitably outnumbered. M's specialized skills may include attention-seeking, social savvy, creativity, risk-taking and so on. From personal experience, M may eventually aim to distinguish herself from her siblings, assert her independence and identity. How? By becoming the wildcard, the oddball, the black sheep. No matter who M becomes, I will enjoy helping her find her legs, cheering her on. 

Dear friends, did birth order and family size impact you? 

Let's be honest

If this photo activates your stink-eye, er gives you the chills, you are not alone. Overnight here the temperature was -5°C (23°F) but considering there are essentially two seasons in Canada—Winter and July—frost is actually (unlike most weather) predictable.  

Yes, for those in the (forever) true North strong and free, it's time to (re)embrace the cold (but please not like last year, sigh).  

If that sounds preposterous to you, well congratulations, you probably live somewhere consistently warm(er) BUT, remember cold exposure has some incredible benefits: mosquitoes basically explode like the tiny Karens they are. Sure not literally, but we Canadians like to imagine them cancelled quite dramatically. The truth is though that cold weather health benefits include few allergy triggers, boosted immunity, extra calories burned, and let's not forget hypothermia. 😱

Medalist?

I think we all know someone like this champ aka loose meet cannon. But there's so much more to unpack in this genius Steed cartoon—it's got me thunk. 

First reaction? I chuckled. Second reaction? I remembered teenaged-me that time I placed fourth in ALL four high school track and field events, including the hurdles (which had four participants that year, ha). This aptly defines my youth sports career trajectory. Think flatline, ha.

I don't know about you, but it may not be a surprise then that I do not identify with any of these hurdlers. Sure, it's a dopamine party to WIN, but I don't ever win...well, except for that drawing contest in Grade 2 and I'm still confused and conflicted about that. Anyway, although I (almost) never win, I feel like I've won everything. I just default to gratitude. (Thanks, Grandma.) Loser? Sure. Sore? Nope. I don't care about winning. I don't want to be first. In many cases, I don't even want to participate in the "race." ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I'm not saying I'm not bummed when things don't go the way I'd hope, nor am I nauseatingly positive when times are tough. I just don't dwell there (anymore) and I forget to be annoyed. And to be honest, it's probably unhealthy that I expect to be disappointed, but I can always outwit that feeling by cheering someone else on. Nor do I have low expectations for myself and others. I am not saying that achieving excellence isn't important. It is; I just don't care to compete. 

My third reaction? This brilliant cartoon is an entire story. What happened during the race?! Who is this smiling overgrown toddler? Did he cheat? If you're certain he cheated, consider that in hurdles there are apparently multiple ways to be disqualified: lane violations, obstructing others, deliberately knocking down the hurdles, going around or under the hurdles.... Hilariously, he wasn't disqualified, so couldn't one argue he's just both fast and clumsy? 

But for me this cartoon is special because of the obstacles. In addition to his medal, he's proudly wearing those obstacles. He's unflappable. He's antifragile. And those others on the podium? More than the win, isn't that what they really need to succeed? 

Dear friends, I do not wish obstacles in your path, but I know you will encounter them, so when they occur may I suggest you be neither an optimist nor a pessimist—not even a medalist—but instead continue Sisyphus-ing your way up that hill: be an obstacalist. If you ask me, language like that can be a lifeboat. 

Sweet (but temporary)

Thanks, T. 

I'd say this beaut of a cupcake represents how (about) 76% of us post-referendum Albertans feel today: celebratory. Perhaps it should feature the red maple leaf but no matter, today still tastes sweeeeet. 

Nevertheless, like cupcakes, we all know this is temporary. We sent a clear message to those who'd prefer to stoke more division, but like chalant folks everywhere (I hope), we know that continued democracy is no cakewalk, and so we will enjoy what's pleasing today, and eat with our elbows up. 

New Paragraph

Today feels like a bit of a "pilcrow" day for us Albertans. Voting regarding our separation referendumb ends today.

As you know, a paragraph is all about unity encompassing a topic, an idea, an important point. Fellow Canadians will see the irony here, sigh. But what I'm contemplating is how a pilcrow signifies a new paragraph, and in our case, an historical one. 

Writers and readers know there are several reasons to begin a new paragraph; today is about two of those reasons. 

In this unfinished political story, will the outcome signify a transition toward the next chapter in Canadian unity? Or will the results be a signpost pivot into a fool's paradise? Stay tuned. 

Got me thunk.

Are men still obsessed with remote controls? Sure, I am. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (The TV's my best friend, ha.) But in this era when fewer people actually watch content on their TVs, isn't this now just a reductive stereotype?  

I'm curious because of my youngest grandson, M, pictured here reaching across the coffee table for the clicker. Some context for you: 

1. The moment he spots it, nothing will deter him from his quest for this holy grail, this diadem of an object. He's like Odysseus/Ulysses and this is his Odyssey, ha.
2. HE'S 9 MONTHS OLD. 
3. HE CAN'T YET WALK (so think of the extra energy expended). 
4. Once spotted, toys strewn about mean DIDDLY-SQUAT by comparison. 
5. He cares little about the actual TV. Mostly, he yearns to hold it and press buttons buttons BUTTONS....  

In contrast, his two-and-a-half year-old sister will find the clicker and hand it me. Hmm...is that more proof of this theory? You might think that our grandchildren watch a lot of TV. Nope. Sure, his older sister and I watch Miss Rachel or Bluey occasionally, but TV time is limited. No 9-month-old should be watching TV.

So, is he obsessed by the buttons or is this some inner drive for the (great and mighty) power afforded by this dopamine-regulation doodad? What's going on in his budding mind? Is he already astute enough to have gleaned its magic? Have you seen similar behaviour in near-toddlers?

Yes, dear friends, I apologize, but these are things I think about. 

What does the research say? Well, Facebook says men are indeed obsessed with remotes so yup, science. I josh. Truly, I hope Facebook's extinct by the time my grandchildren are adults. I have no idea what the research says, but I'm curious what you say? In this age of smartphone obsession, does anyone even care about the remote control? What have you observed? Who in your family has jurisdiction? Do you and your partner have (legally) separate TVs/ clickers? (My spouse and I are both Gen Xers and yes we do, ha.) 

Who raised you?

Well, this 1970s model TV, mostly. 

I was at a social function recently and when I returned to my seat, I accidentally kicked one of the table legs hidden by a cloth. A brief tumult of wobbling objects ensued. Before I could apologize, someone at the table joked, "who raised you?!" 

I chuckled, but I thought of our big old 100-pound TV.

My aim is not to disparage my parents, (nor my teachers, some of whom I loved) but if you're a Gen Xer, you know. My childhood Gen X friend fully credits wolves with raising her, so the TV? Not so bad. 

Anyway, in terms of rearing me, I credit TV with a solid 70%, plus 10% to reading fiction and my encyclopedias, and also a grateful 15% to my grandmother. If you're a math whiz, that leaves only 5% for my parents. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Since they were rarely home, my parents' influence on me might best be described as unintentional, trivial, fleeting. This isn't bellyaching; it is (was) what it is (was). 

NO the TV did not buy my jeans, my running-shoes, my winter coats; nor did it pay the electricity bill or bake fresh bread—a nod to my parents for all those essentials. But the TV did indeed provide. Provide what? My worldview. 

If you're thinking, I wouldn't admit that the TV is mostly responsible for the lens through which I interpret the world, what I know to be true, what I value, and how I consciously (and unconsciously) act on that viewpoint, well touché, but it's just facts. 

So regarding worldview, what did the TV actually impart? Lots. If you're still reading this, perhaps this somewhat chronological list of my childhood favourites provides some insight?

1. Mr. Dressup & Sesame Street
2. The Flip Wilson Show
3. Sonny & Cher
4. Star-Trek
5. Maude
6. MASH* 
7. The Muppet Show
8. SCTV
9. The Jeffersons
10. The 6 Million Dollar Man

Picture kid me: part artsy, part social activist, part student of comedy, part stuntman, all woke nerd. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ TV was my babysitter, my family, my most welcome escape, but (like my beloved Lego) it helped me assemble myself. When I think about what the miniseries Roots did to my psychology. Whoa. And I'm sure TV is why I remain foolishly optimistic that everything can be solved in about 30 minutes (minus commercials). If only, eh? Sigh. 

But one of the biggest influences? Mork & Mindy. Mork (Robin Williams) was my favourite (fellow) outsider. Remember Mork's observation on loneliness? It still chokes me up. He was all comedy and all pathos, and also everything. Mork was a bit of a psychic catalyst. I already felt like a social alien, but Mork (and the way all the kids at school endorsed him) helped affirm my curious nature and taught me it might actually be okay to be different (but probably not, so keep that nervous system cranked, sigh). 

Dear friends, were you also fortunate enough to "know" him? Or some other character you saw yourself in? Did TV inform your worldview? Or something else? (It seems to me that unexamined worldview is at the core of life's more pervasive problems.) 

Things one should never outgrow:

see last Friday's post (or if you're too "busy" pootling, don't bother). 

What a fine new word! It's the opposite of scoot. A nod to being irresolute. And if you're reading this while snuggled into your rocker recliner, moot. 

Happy pootling. 
 

12/hr.

I purchased this card (by Eat Haggis)
in Scotland this summer. :)

Home. 'Tis not so sweet for some. Sigh. But my home? The sweetest. My (long) weekend plans include 

a) nothing
b) nothing
c) nothing
d) all of the above. 

Despite the relief of no real plans, sadly, here in northwestern Alberta, it's raining, with snow forecast tonight. Sigh. So what better weekend to stay hame sweet hame?

If you noticed, I sighed twice in this post thus far. Fun (?) fact: science says that although excessive sighing is a worrisome well-being indicator, on average, we humans still sigh every 5 minutes, or 12 sighs per hour. 

That many?! I had no idea. 

And why do we sigh? It's a response to anxiety and stress. But apparently typical sighing is connected to optimum lung health and acts as a nervous system reset. Although we are encouraged to seize the day, it seems our bodies are designed to seize the peace. I like that. 

Dear friends, whether you're home or not this weekend and whatever the weather, I wish for you some contentment. In other words, slow down: no more than twelve sighs an hour. 

All Along

I'm no scientist, but I've long known there's an abundance of lessons (and solace) among the trees. Only recently though did I learn that leaves don't really change colours as Autumn progresses; more accurately, they unveil themselves. 

We all likely learned some of this in elementary school: in Spring and Summer, abundant sunlight and heat enables leaves to create the nutrients trees need to survive and thrive. Leaves absorb the light for photosynthesis to occur in cells containing green-pigmented chlorophyll...but did you know that this pigment masks other pigments already within leaves?

During Autumn, daylight decreases and temperatures drop, signaling plants to form a kind of cork between leaf and stem and as leaves die, chlorophyll breaks down, the green pigment disappears, and other pigments are revealed: yellow, orange and red—those beguiling Fall colors.

Think about that: the colours were there all along. 

There's something altogether reassuring about this. Perhaps there's much more within us humans too? More resilience? Untapped hidden potential? Some of the answers we seek elsewhere? I'd like to think more likely than not. 

Poet Mary Oliver also felt more likely than not. In her poem, "When I am Among the Trees," she describes herself returning to the forest, her sun-dappled and comforting first love, just listening. And although she feels "distant from the hope of myself," the surrounding trees invite her to "stay a while." They say," “It’s simple...you too have come into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled with light, and to shine.”

Dear friends, if you too are preoccupied with life's seasons or some other matters and needed a boost today, I hope something helpful is revealed here. If not, go to the forest. 

Whose hands?

Do yourself a favour and add
The Muppet Thought of the Week
YouTube channel to your life. 

A good friend and I were texting about her artwork. She was mired in that inevitable-for-creatives Lynda Barry 2-Question loop: Is this good? Does it suck? Curious, she uploaded a photo to get AI's assessment.... 

With all the nuance of a stapler, AI concluded it was "not a famous artwork." 

As you can see from the screenshot, I joked that AI is most certainly an unreliable narrator, and yes, I implied it: an inferior Muppet. Let's be honest about AI: who knows whose hand is shoved up in there?  

But upon reflection (yes, this is what my brain burns glucose doing), I shouldn't have picked on Animal, who is actually quite an endearing Muppet to me, sort of a furry characterization of the id. I mean, he loves a good time and he drums with passion—he's a beast. (Sorry.) No, AI is a different Muppet.... 

Now, if you're not Gen X, nor (oddly) is 6% of your brain (like mine) absolutely devoted to Muppets characters, you may have already left to mow your lawn, or whatever, but if you're still with me, I'm almost there. 

A better Muppet to represent AI is Captain Link Hogthrob, of Pigs in Space fame. Why? Well...Hogthrob is a smug, self-serving, one-dimensional fool, but somehow remains "qualified" to be captain of the ship, similar to how AI is now steering this ship we call life. Yikes. 

To explain further, let's consider AI's qualifications. Can it boost human innovation? Yes. Can it help us solve problems? Yes. Is it wise? No. It has never lived—it is indifferent to life; for us passengers on this ship, it couldn't care less. And if it does develop a sort of wisdom, then whose? 

Dear friends, like Hogthrob and "leaders" of similar ilk, AI is untrustworthy and therefore unfit to captain our lives. So, whether you're pro AI or not, shouldn't we regulate its (inevitable) role in everything, and monitor the "hands" behind it, especially those already profiting from it? Ha, Kermit would agree that we're moving too fast. 

How to say it?

Apparently, you can buy these
stickers, lol. I miss Betty. 

I'm still thinking about emojis* and their role in our lives, so when I teased a friend via text recently and she responded with🖕I laughed—a bit surprised by her cheeky ambush mic-drop of an emoji. I countered with a fist bump, a sign of respect for her comic timing. But what did I actually appreciate about our exchange? It provided a good laugh. Who doesn't need that?

With that in mind, a thought for today: here's to giving the finger. 

Some might (understandably) frown—this is not exactly a "gift" one should "give" recklessly, emoji or otherwise. But consider this example: when I first visited my brother in the hospital soon after he shared his terminal cancer diagnosis, this was what I noticed immediately. That laugh was a most welcome way to begin that visit and that conversation. Although that "finger" didn't cure my brother's cancer, the environment felt better, safer, less severe. 

Sometimes the finger says it so well. Better than anything else. But why is that? It's science. 

Giving the finger (or saying the words) can decrease pain. And although the science is less conclusive, witnessing someone giving the finger may provide secondary catharsis, decreasing stress as it activates mirror neurons that boost feelings of empathy, shared justice, and social connectedness. Sudden thought: imagine attending some team-building session where the finger is employed to empower all participants! Attention workshop leaders: I think I'd find the novelty of that hilarious. (I dare you.)

Dear friends, these days we often feel so powerless in a world that can feel doom-y, a world where it sometimes takes too much energy to resist the bleak. Permission (for those who might need it) to use science to boost your nervous system today. 🖕😀

*Update: AC and one of his followers explained how to use the Genmoji function (iPhones) to create your own emoji. Thanks—I immediately made an orange shirt emoji. Solved. 

Here we are, sigh.

I was watching an interview a few days ago and the subject turned to the camera and said, "Start being chalant." What? Honestly the interview was insignificant background noise and I was barely paying attention, but that statement? I heard that. 

Sorry if it's difficult to read this screenshot featuring late September google trends. Data reveals that over the past month, Canadian's online use of the word chalant has increased 550% and 250% over the last year. I was not aware that chalant was a word, but nonchalant certainly is, so I gather there's a curious upswing in language encouraging all of us (understandably) world-weary folks to shake off our apathy, resignation, or hopelessness and... what? Get involved? Do something? Care? 

If that sounds like a NOPE to you, who could blame you? So imagine being an Albertan right now....

On October 19, in the beautiful, enterprising, and prosperous province of Alberta (Canada), we will be voting in a referendum that (almost) no one asked for, and for those who would disagree with this assertion, I say that this "referendumb-and-dumber" (as one clever Albertan comedian describes it) could have at least waited until we had a general election. And don't even get me started on the millions spent on this political stunt. But here we are. 

Sure, when I say no one asked for this, I must clarify that our government did have a series of town halls last summer so an (invited/stacked) panel could "listen" (er kowtow) to (30% of) Albertans and use that "data" to develop new policy (advance the narrative manufactured at their party's annual general meeting beforehand). Yes, some dissenters were able to attended these town halls but when they spoke against the panel's obvious scapegoating and bias, they were labeled disruptors (and I kid you not) one high school student's mic was cut and he was told by the panel moderator he should be spanked. 

Cut from this shitstew to the one currently brewing regarding the TEN (I am not kidding) questions borne from those town halls, questions that many say are problematic (confusingly verbose) all the way to racist and illegal. Spoiler: it's all of the above. 

Nevertheless our provincial government says this will provide the mandate for subsequent immigration policy and independence from Canada. The most contentious question is this: should Alberta remain a province of Canada, or begin legal proceedings to separate and become independent from Canada? (Note: I have condensed it to 18 words; the actual question has 37, sigh). 

Polls continue to say that over 70% of Albertans do not want to become an independent country. But what about the 30%? Led by outspoken prominent (crooked) separatists/lobbyists (who meet and talk money with US officials connected to the expired cantaloupe himself), they spread mis/disinformation to radicalize and fundraise off disgruntled Albertans (some of whom have legitimate beefs about federal government policy). In a short video, this Albertan explains it all soooo well.

Anyway it's time to apologize for this post. You see (cleansing breath), everything within me wants to be nonchalant about this situation. But I cannot. If I (and my neighbours) don't get off the couch and VOTE for Canada... well you know where this is going and *looks side-eye at the world* you know this isn't just in Alberta, is it? 

Dear friends, I would love for you to now flush this entire post from your mind but please retain the ONE IMPORTANT IDEA I hope continues to trend, the word/the act that might just save us all: be chalant. 

Make it easier.

I'm wearing my orange shirt today. But...where is the orange shirt emoji? 

In fact, where are all the Indigenous-themed emojis? Why is Indigenous culture so underrepresented? My phone allows me to choose a feather or a turtle. All good, but I'm speaking to an overt, observable, and official signifier. Like the Inuksuk or the Metis flag for example? And most definitely an orange shirt?

I recognize that using an emoji is not exactly the utmost form of allyship. For some it would seem performative. No, regarding Canada's dark history of residential schools and that legacy, an emoji isn't reparation. But apparently 92% of the world's texters use them: emojis are part of everyday life, ubiquitous to communication. This is a simple way to demonstrate unity. 

Full disclosure: I'm not Indigenous. So maybe Indigenous folks are already working on this? But how are emoji's made? And who approves them? Research led me to the Unicode Organization. If you're curious, this video (5 mins) provides some answers, but I still wonder: are they makers or gatekeepers? 

Orange Shirt Day asks us to acknowledge, learn, and continue to take action. Let's make that easier. 

Sit with the....

source

So I happened upon this clever cartoon, one I've seen before, and it got me thunk: are people blogging again?

Hmm. And then I wondered, why am I blogging again? 

It invites me to create, to practice this craft. It's exercise for my mind. It's a journal: part timeline, part lifeline. I also have more time. Moreover, I appreciate this community: I love that in 2026 there are still people in the world marveling at everyday life, people who are (mostly) flinging benevolence into the web instead of what we all know social media is flinging dumping for clicks and likes and follows and coin and all things (mostly) nefarious. In this lunchroom called life, I want to sit with the bloggers. 

But is there another reason? 

I started in 2010, so I remember the blogging heydays. This source provides an interesting blogging history referring to its "golden age" as 2005-2012, greatly disrupted from 2010-2016 when (bingo) social media platforms flooded cyberspace. It seems to me we've all been immersed in (and afflicted by) that haze for years. But what about now? 

Well, dear friends, AI says (irony forthcoming) folks are blogging again because we're "tired of generic, AI-generated text and short-form social media noise, creating a demand for authentic human perspective." In this instance, AI, you are indeed correct, but I still don't want to sit at your table. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Things one should never outgrow:

playing Picasso face, ha. 

Every day children teach us (if we're paying attention) that there are often other ways to utilize objects than their intended design might suggest. Who says Magna-tiles are more about engineering than the arts? My oldest grandson L demonstrates that like all well-designed toys, they are both STEM and STEAM.  

There's a name for this limiting thinking habit: functional fixedness. You know— stuck thinking or perhaps fast vs slow thinking. We all do this. Taylorism and assembly-line thinking is inherent in many systems. In the name of efficiency and productivity, education sometimes teaches us to see (tidy) categories instead of (messy) spectrums. But those spectrums? That's where the imagination goes jet-skiing. 

This is what I love about us humans: for every brilliant monomath along comes a playful polymath from left field. Let's be honest, you know a guy, don't you? Like this guy. 😂 Everyone knows this guy. Or consider *mic drop* this gal. 

I've been a stuck thinker more times than not, but I'm also the guy who once made a hornet sword when I could have simply bought some wasp spray. Efficient? Um, it worked (temporarily), but here's the thing: it was 100% more FUN! 

Dear friends, do you play Picasso face, aka are you a part-time MacGyver, aka how do you avoid functional fixedness? 

Ding Dong

Take 2...not bad...but many iterations to follow.

When my son's fiancé asked me to make their wedding cake, I did not hesitate, "Nope. No thanks. No. Nah. 😕😕😕 Certainly not. Nuh uh. : / I cannot. Are you serious? I reject this premise. Sorry. Noooo sir-ee."  

Then she explained that it wasn't a cake for the guests but a heart-shaped one they would cut for photos and share with each other on their wedding day. 

"Ohhhhhh... uhhhh.... noooo.... welllll... your wedding is a year away, so.... [cut to Brittany Broski tasting kombucha for the first time meme, lol]." Creatives gotta create and I do like a baking challenge: see evidence here, here, here, here, or (ha) here. 

But what kind of cake? They said I could decide but it should be some version of chocolate (like my cupcakes). So I did some research AND THAT'S WHEN I DISCOVERED THE PERFECT CAKE AKA a DING-DONG CAKE. I will let you google that. Two words: ermine frosting. 🤯Whoa! You're welcome. 

But what makes this cake so perfect? Well well, I have been calling my son a ding-dong since he was a toddler (among others things). The inside joke value here is basically five stars, amirite?! (I fully acknowledge and respect that you may be neutral or only mildly amused by this nonsense while I laugh with abandon at what is likely only hilarious to me). Anyway...

It tastes AMAZING. They LOVE it. One problem: *record scratch* now I have to figure out how to decorate a wedding cake. *deep sigh* Okay, yes, I sound like a big baby. Anyway, dear friends, if you have any cake-decorating tips or tricks, do tell, because (to use an accurate nickname) noob. 😉