Along for the Ride

My education transformed and transported me. It's a common story. It's an important story too. As MLK said, "nothing in the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity."

Recently, both my children graduated: one from college and one from university. This was my #1 bucket list item. I've been working on this dream for 20 years. Determined, my wife and I made this happen. My children are starting their adult lives debt free. I'm grateful. I'm happy. And I'm looking forward to where it takes them next. Because I am finally going along for the ride.

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

exhausting all methods to commercialize and novelty-brand pretty much anything and everything. Unnecessary. See bottled water.

And in December, it really ramps up, doesn't it? As comedian Jim Gaffigan says, "everyone has the unspoken agreement that what happens in December, stays in December."

Well said Jim. Which is why I should never have mentioned this.

Nevermind. Carry on.

Just so you know, the answer is no.

Could there possibly be a better Christmas tree than Charlie Brown's?

Just so you know the answer is no.

Is it ever worth it or at all necessary to line-up to buy the newest version of anything?

?

A bucket of 2274 pennies for your thoughts?

#approximately
#canadianprobz

Let's be honest:

this wants me.

#itdoes
#icantell
#dontbeshy
#iwantyoutoo

A Face Like That

Do you ever get the feeling kids look at us adults like we’re nuts? Lately, I do.

I’m not sure who said this recently but it stuck with me: “little kids must wonder why we don’t have more toys.” Think about that. For a little kid it must seem like we have all the power, all the money, all the freedom to do whatever we want and yet, unless we adults have more money than Oprah, we don’t go buck wild.

Instead, we save. And of course we do. I believe in saving because it makes me feel secure and prepared. I guess that’s why I very rarely buy things I don’t need. This isn’t bragging. I’ve made my share of mistakes with poor differentiation between wants and needs. Anyone want to buy my film projector? Anyone? I didn’t think so. Anyway, spending money frivolously makes me anxious. Sadly, being an adult is so darn expensive.

But you know what I need? Not want, but NEED? I need an Argo. That’s right. I need an amphibious all-terrain vehicle. I also need all-season, all-terrain tracks for my spanky new Argo. This means I can drive it in sand, mud, snow, dirt and especially for this: like a maniac, I want to casually drive that sucker down a hill right into a giant swamp while my passengers gasp. And then float, float, float to the other side and do it all over again.

Why do I need this? Why not? It just sounds like pure fun. Think about it. Think about what your face looks like when it’s having pure fun. When was the last time your face looked like that? My face looked like that about two months ago when I went fishing every morning and every evening for about four days. No kid ever goes two months without a face like that. Kids understand the importance of pure fun. That reminds me. I need a boat too.

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

when my teen son has more cash than I do!

#donotworry
#heisnotadrugdealer

Wordfuse (Celebrity Edition)

72 days? Seriously? Kim Kardashian and Kris Humphries couldn't get along during the honeymoon phase?

Celebrity marriages are like diets. They sure have a lot of them over the years. And 95% of them fail.

Wait a minute? Who am I talking about again? 

Anyway, we all know marriage is not easy. But like most bickering-induced kerfuffles, soon the whole thing will only be mentioned in parentheses (Lisa Marie Presley & Michael Jackson).

#blundertaking
#nincomtroop
#strestrogen
#acrimatrimonious
#fauxthentic
#fiascodependent
#numbsational

My entire day in six words:

Another chip out of my windshield.

Wordfuse (What Sucks Edition)

AKA someone's sucking our wallets dry again.

I suspect it hasn’t even crossed your mind but gas prices are a tad high. And rising! No I don’t imagine anyone’s noticed. 

Anyway, I’ve been trying to determine why. So sometimes news programs discuss this issue. That’s informative. And entertaining too. People are interviewed and stuff. It’s especially interesting when they ask gas companies to explain it. Hmm. Doesn’t that seem like a conflict of interest? A tad phony? Words like supply and demand are bantered about like punchlines. But the joke doesn't ring true to me.

So I google it. Ahhhh. Then it all becomes clear. Like fog. In the rain. After midnight. In a power outage. In deep space. In a black hole.

I like to fancy myself as a more than a doofus now and then and considering I have some higher education, shouldn’t I be able to understand why gas prices are so high? The long answer: nope. So therefore I’m forced to devise my own theories based on events that are clearly linked:

~Natural disasters disrupt millions throughout the world. Gas goes up.

~War in Libya. Gas goes up.

~Conflicts in Syria continue. Gas goes up.

~Osama bin Laden is killed; terrorists vow revenge. Gas goes up.

~The Canadian government decides to have an inquiry regarding high gas prices. Gas goes up.

~Someone claims the world is going to end next Saturday. Gas goes up.

~Oprah ends her show. Gas goes up.

~Arnold Schwarzenegger splits with his wife after 25 years of marriage. Gas goes up.

~Charlie Sheen says something stupid. Gas goes up.

~Donald Trump says something stupid. Gas goes up.

~An oil baron needs to buy another airline or maybe Mexico or something to make himself even more rich. Gas goes up.

~Uh oh. I just realized that by posting this...yup, you guessed it: gas goes up. 

A Hoarding Lesson

I helped my teen son clean his room today.

Whoa.

You know that show Hoarders? It was just like that minus
a. the weeping relatives.
b. the petrified cats.
c. the patient therapist.
d. all of the above.

Yup, d. But with a special nod to c. In other words, I have no patience with this particular compulsive behaviour because I have my own compulsive behaviours, okay?! I'm a bit of a clean freak. My wife would say I'm more of a neat freak than a clean freak because her concept of a clean bathroom and mine differ greatly. (As far as I'm concerned if there's no poop stain on the toilet seat the place is pretty clean but she has standards I guess.) Nevertheless, I like a tidy house.

Although not your typical episode of  Hoarders, one thing was the same about our cleaning adventure today: anxiety was indeed buzzing around that boy's hoard-o-leum like a hornet trying to escape from a jar. A jar with heaps of clothes on the floor. And old Lego sculptures peeking out from underneath their blankets of fuzz-dust. And also a jar jammed with approximately 129 Airsoft plastic BBs and an ice cream pail with a target duct-taped to it. Grrr.

Anyway, if I had asked him on a scale of 1-10, I'm sure his anxiety level was a solid 7. Tense. My wife did pull me aside at one point and whisper, "remember what it's like for hoarders; what seems easy to you is often painful and difficult for the hoarder." But since he wasn't paying me $100 an hour I hucked the gentle approach out the window. Besides, according to the unquestionable authority of eHow, one should be cautious because "this process is often not as simple as it may be portrayed on television." Really eHow?! Reality television is unREAListic? Shocking.

Anyway, in keeping with my own pea-brained approach to curing hoarding (and let's be honest, parenting in general), my favourite part of this task was when my son realized that I was pocketing every bit of change I found in his hoardcrap-piles.

Teenhoardboy14: You can't do that!
Me: Why not?
Teenhoardboy14: That's my money!
Me: It's not like you even knew you had it.
Teenhoardboy14: But I was looking for that.
Me: What for? You obviously think it's junk. Because if you really valued this money you've earned, these gifts you've received, your expensive clothes, all the keepsakes in this room, all the books, all the electronics, all buried under all this stuff, then obviously it wouldn't be buried under all this stuff. If this stuff actually meant something to you then you would care enough to organize it and keep it safe. Therefore, someone who understands how valuable these things are and knows the meaning of GRATITUDE should have them. That's why I've been taking any money I've found along with these other things in my pocket (one expensive guitar capo and a sweet new mini-flashlight I just wanted to steal).
Teenhoardboy14: *stares at items from my pocket, mouth agape*
Me: Here's the lesson: someone who DOES understand the value of these things should be using them. I understand the value, therefore these are now mine. *we stare at each other; in my mind I am wondering if all he heard me say was Charlie Brown parent-speak aka nada*
Teenhoardboy14: Fine. I get it. Let's finish cleaning. *glowers at me* But no more lessons.

And no mitts either. I was hoping to find some to steal. Bummer.

Thankful for them. First.

     One of my most memorable Christmas experiences mostly happened underneath the kitchen table.

     Someone at school tried to convince me that Santa didn’t exist so when I was sent to bed on Christmas Eve I waited and waited and waited until everyone had gone to bed. Silently, I then took my blanket, tiptoed into the kitchen and crawled under the table to wait for Santa. Santa wasn’t going to make a fool out of me.

     Almost immediately I fell asleep.

     I guess I missed Santa because the next thing I recall was seeing my Mom's legs moving around the living room next to the couch where my two brothers and I had safety pinned our Christmas socks, the big wool ones my Dad wore, equal space between each sock. I watched my Mom moving silently. So I waited while she worked. And waited. Soon she returned to bed. And then, of course, I went to take a peek at the gifts she placed on our ratty old couch. It was still dark but there was just enough light...and then, there it was. (Cue music.)

     At that point, I forgot Santa. Who cares about Santa when the perfect, perfect gift is perched on the couch just waiting to be played with? A miniature John Deere snowmobile. Green of course. With a little switch and then there it would go, bumping over the carpet and later, lurching over snowdrifts. I think the hood even lifted.

     That gift wasn’t from Santa. It was from my Dad. I knew it right away.

     I returned to my room with the snowmobile, promptly flicked on my light and turned on the little switch underneath my most awesome little snowmobile.

     The whole house woke up.

     My mother was probably angry and frustrated by the noise, anxious to get back to sleep, weary from her busy Christmas preparations (the turkey would always thaw in the kitchen sink overnight) but she did one thing exactly right: she let me sleep with my new snowmobile.

     I have received many terrific gifts over the years but this is the childhood gift I remember with the most joy.

     Kids young and old, this is my message for you: don't spend so much time thinking about Santa. What to give. What to spend. What to do. Wondering when enough is enough? Worrying. None of that matters. Santa doesn't deserve so much of your time. Nor the credit.

     Instead, notice what your Mom and Dad do. Or did. Or tried to do. Or gave. And be thankful for them. First.

Weird Word-of-the-Day Wednesday

In honour of a little discussion I had with my bank today, today's weird word is "amortization." Apparently this word refers to the "process by which your loan principal decreases over the life of your loan." Like with a mortgage. Well...
I experienced some amortization fun-and-games today. Somehow, my last mortgage payment was magically paid despite no evidence of an automatic deduction from my account which is how my mortgage has been paid for the last ten years. Hmm. Could it be a mistake perhaps, especially considering that my bank just switched to a new computer system? Hmm.
Despite nothing deducted from my account, bank staff repeatedly assured me that my mortgage payment has been made. Thoughts in my head during this conversation: Um, by who then? Did Oprah give away random mortgage payments on her show today? Am I like your one millionth customer?
Here's the kicker: I can't prove I didn't make my payment. Talking to a bank about an error they made is like talking to people who work in airports (or maybe Lindsay Lohan I bet). One thing I am sure of though: when the bank discovers their mistake only one person will be responsible: me.

Problem #781

I finally know what my problem is. (Well, problem #781 anyway.) I think I have an “irrational escalation of commitment” issue.

Haven’t heard of this error in thinking that could be costing you money? Neither had I.

Consider this. Do you hate to throw out spoiled milk? Why not use those expired milk-chunks-of-goodness as a substitute for yogurt or sour cream? Because, let’s be honest: you paid good money for the bovine swill so it’s just wrong to throw it out, right? Well true, this is an exaggerated example but if you have a misguided notion of the value of stuff that you own, you might have what’s referred to as an “irrational escalation of commitment” issue.

This error in thinking occurs when our pride over-rides our ability to assess the true value of something we own. It’s why many of us tend to spend yet another $1000 on an ailing vehicle (that was once a good deal) because after all, “I spent $12000 on that piece-of-crap already!” Does that really make sense though? Why not cut your losses, sell that rust-heap vehicle and invest that money in something reliable instead of increasing the odds of throwing away even more money?

This makes me think of all those sterile and generic urban storage facilities people pay hundreds of dollars to rent monthly. Does it really make financial sense to rent a small apartment for your junk? Maybe we all just have too much stuff? And therefore, can it really be valuable?

I am guilty of this too. After all, I am storing a few garage sale items that I’m sure will sell for loads of money someday at my upcoming imaginary garage sale, the same one I’ve been rescheduling for the past decade. (Note: I don’t even have a garage.)

And that brings me to my main point: um...does anyone need a mint-condition 1980s filmstrip projector?