Pudding. It’s supposed to be the easiest thing to make, right? I mean, how can you mess up pudding? (read this guys pudding story, it’s much better) After all, if this lady can make pudding, surely I should be able to as well, right?

From the beginning. The recipe calls for all this stuff, and non-instant pudding. I run through my store getting all the ingredients and check out fast so I can catch the bus home. I get it all, run out the bus and realize that I forgot the pudding! It’s the most important part, so like, there is no skipping it or replacing it. I end up missing my bus, but I have to get the pudding. Being the genius that I am, I buy pudding cups that you buy in the freezer section of the store. I’m thinking the non-instant pudding is the mix and the pudding cups are what I need, also I’m in a hurry so I’m not really thinking. I get home and realize how retarded I am. Back to the store.

Finally I get everything I need. So I’m making some fudge sickles or something, just rolling along and all the sudden we have mass ciaos. Note to anyone who makes pudding, when it starts boiling, REMOVE FROM HEAT IMMEADETLY! SO the pudding starts exploding everywhere, all over the stove, on me, on the floor, in the sink, you name it, it’s brown. I’m talking brown like after that one girl walked out of the bathroom at Mazzio’s Pizza one night and I had to clean it up cause I was working. Everywhere is this stuff. Also it kind of reminded me of my bloody nose and how I bleed all over my self and hands and clothes, except it was brown and not red.

So I get all the pudding cleaned up and learned on the second batch what not to do. So in the directions you’re supposed to put the pudding in a pan first, and let it half freeze, but I thought, “Eh, why wait? I’ll just poor it right into the Dixie Cups” which just happen to have a wax coating. Yeah, I don’t realize that my hot pudding is melting the wax into the mix until after I get the second batch poured as well. So I’m left with one and a half batches of Wax-Pudding-Pops for 20 MCFers who will be coming in less than five hours for the Dessert Progressive. That’s awesome.

Not only do I not have dessert, but also the house is messy. I need to get this rug that was given to my by a professor cleaned. I run down the block to ace hardware and rent a run doctor. The guy working the counter looks like Jack Osborn and I’m supposed to give him MY credit card? Fine. 30 bucks for a couple of hours of work. Kind of I know I’m being robbed, but what can I do?

I live in an apartment building, so kind of it’s not hard to be loud. Rug Doctors are loud. I feel really bad at this point. If anyone was doing anything, they’re done doing it now. I’ve ruined the rest of the buildings night and it’s only 6:30. Well, for the most part Rug Doctors aren’t are to use…until it starts spraying water by the gallon out the backside.

Update: 1. Waxy Pudding 2. Soaking wet dirty area rug.

I call the 1-800 number that comes with the Rug Doctor and she cures me of my ills. Thank you Amanda. So direct and to the point! I get most of the carpet dry and still have time to clean/pick up the rest of the house.

Still don’t have dessert though.

After discussing for way to long about what to have for dessert with Leah (we like to think we choose not make decisions, not that we’re unable to), we decide to have ice cream sandwiches. Needed are cookies and a gallon of ice cream. Like lightning I run back to my grocery store. Actually I ride a bike. It was kind of funny, I looked like a superhero or something. My jacket was flapping wildly in the wind and my shadow made it look like I was flying.

I make it back at 8:35, we went to the progressive, and ended up at our house. Turned out well, but the MCFers had no idea how hard it was to get it all done.

Fudge sickles: $15.98
Ice Cream sandwich: $11.70
Rug Doctor: $32.08
Flowers for the table: $11.24
Having people love the apartment: Priceless

Nevada. That’s about as far away from anything that happens in the world as I know, unless of course, you consider the “Blue Hair Incident” of ’96 as a big deal. Nevada kind of allows a safety net, if you will, to the rest of the evil. Oklahoma City was a really big deal, but I don’t remember ever feeling super upset or distraught over it. A friend who is a musician has a song called To Entertain. Here is a small segment of it:

We make these movies
Two hours of macro reality
And how they move me
Till I can’t feel this tragedy

It’s funny how I could not feel
Something more
I think I’ve seen it all on HBO before

He wrote his song after September 11 because he couldn’t feel the pain and sorrow that he thought he should have, as if he were too conditioned to this kind of thing. See, I just heard this song on Sunday for the first time, and then just two days later I talked to someone I work with about Columbine.

Enter point of blog entry.

Sarah works at my high school with me, and she went to Columbine. She was a senior the same year I was, which means she was IN Columbine during the shootings. She had gone to school with Dillon all her life, and just a week earlier talked to him and called him “Dilly,” (a common nickname she used for him) and asked how life had been. She had four years of German with Jeremy, so like, she knew these kids. She told me that she was with a group of freshman when the shooting started. They tried to get away because the boys were just around the corner shooting. They hid in an office, hoping to keep safe. Sarah, the senior with all the freshmen, didn’t think she’d make it out alive. What amazes me the most is that she said she wasn’t really scared. “I just thought, “I’ve had 18 good years, GOOD years. A lot of people don’t get that.” Very matter of factly. She wasn’t saying this to brag or try to boast, she was just saying how she felt. Her goal in the office was to keep the freshman calm until the boys came for them, and then that would be it. Trapped. Hunted. Helpless.

Her story has been stuck in my head ever since she told me it. She wasn’t bragging or looking for attention, and she didn’t try to blow the story up for more thatn it was. Just telling me what happened because it was a part of her life. Sure, it was still distant to me, but suddenly I had a friend who was in the thick of an abstract event. I don’t know why, but I can’t shake these questions in my mind:

Would I hide and hope to live?
Would I be a fighter and go down in flames?
Would I be calm or crazy?
Would I chop it up to, ‘At least I had a good 18 years’?

I honestly don’t know, but I am amazed at how Sarah handled herself. Maybe also I’m a little ashamed of how I might feel in that moment. Probably angry, desperate, confused, maybe even bitter. But would I have that right? I’ve had a great ride for the past 23 years. Sure, I can’t hear out of my left ear and I work 50+ hours a week and have 17 hours of class, but some people would kill to have those opportunities. I have a ton of awesome friends, a family that loves me dearly, a beautiful and amazing future wife, a year away from teaching in a real class room…

Starting today, I’m adopting Sarah’s philosophy. No matter what happens, I’ve had a good run. This has been a good race, and I hope I’ve done well with the time I’ve been given. After all, things aren’t really as distant as they seem from Nevada.

Tonight I was at a concert for a local Christian singer who I love to support, and during this concert he said something that was really interesting. I know not everyone who reads this prescribes to the idea of Christianity and all the comes with it, so you should probably stop reading if you don’t care. Cause I’m gonna be on this subject for just a few more minutes.
So Jeremy, the singer, explained before one of his songs, that an old preacher/teacher/philosopher…I forget who it was, talked about this: Revelations 4: 6-11 talks about the four flying creatures covered in eyes and continually trying to cover their eyes forever circle God in Heaven, and they repetitively, always, forever say, “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord, the all-powerful God, who was and is and is coming!” The creatures say this all the time, like a broken record. That’s all they do, forever. So this preacher man suggested that maybe there is more to that song that they sing, but they forget it, and are unable to get to the next part because the glory of God is so great and because they are blinded by his glory.
The way he described it, it was amazing to think about.

Do you ever miss the days when you didn’t have to be responsible? Oh, how I do. It’s not that I don’t want responsibility or anything; I’m fine with it. But I miss being able to sit down and not think. I miss just relaxing, and my brain being in one place at a time.
Tonight at the concert, and for the past month, I’ve had my head in so many other places. I’m trying to plan lessons for class, meet with teachers and observe, teach my class and make it not boring, work both jobs, lead a Bible study, SO much class work…I’m not trying to complain. I like that I have an opportunity to go to college. A lot of my students can’t afford such a luxury. I just wish that I didn’t have to leave my apartment at 5:45 in the morning and get back at 9:30 at night. Sometimes I enjoy just sitting down and not thinking. What’s happened to me…I’m becoming and adult, and I don’t like it!

Well, it’s that time of year in Minnesota. Today I put on the Mizzou pull over and got out the jeans. Yes folks, September 19, and it’s already winter. God bless Minnesota. See, the thing is, when you’re from here, you’re fine with this kind of nonsense. You’re totally at ease with the cold house and blistering wind, but when you’re from somewhere warmer, say…Missouri, it comes as a bit of shock. See, I should still be wearing shorts for at least another two weeks, and the pull over shouldn’t come out for another month. Welcome to the great north!

But rather than complain about Minnesota, I’ll stick to the sunny side of life. There are lots of good things too. This is what I know of them.


MINNESOTA’S TOP TEN THINGS THAT MAKE THE SNOT FREEZING WINTER BEARABLE


1. If you don’t have a car, you can still have a life via that bus system, bloody nose and all.
2. The leaves are the most amazing things ever when they turn colors. This isn’t saying too much, and in fact I’m not sure it should make the list at all.
3. The “mega-mall.” Where else can you find five Gaps, six American Eagles, 12 gazillion Victoria’s Secrets, and a Krispy Cream all in one place?
4. Admission Possible, my job. The kids make it worth it.
5. The accents are awesome.
6. People have limited months to spend outside, so even in 30 degree weather, there are tons of kids playing, families walking, and runners running.
7. Walking to work in -16 degrees is breath taking. You can’t breathe, for real.
8. Two major cities in one. Never a dull moment, for those with cars. I'm not one of them.
9. People are more proud of Minnesota than Josh is of his…well, you know.
10. The girl is here, er, well, she’s in Egypt, but she was here, and she will be again shortly. That’s worth of keeping in the list.

So I’ll try to maybe tell you all what’s up later.

peace.

I was thinking the past couple of days about how I don’t really have anything to post on my blog. And I feel like I have to have some kind of something up. People (3) keep coming to the site and are seeing nothing worthwhile. And in fact I thought I had something funny to say today, but then the toilet in the Macalester Library finally flushed, and with its contents, so went my blog post. So, you don’t get to hear that slightly funny story. Instead I’m gonna post a slightly funny, but more not so funny story we had to write in class today. Let me explain, we had to write this paper on the spot, which kind of equaled what most almost final drafts look like for high school kids…that’s why it’s not very long and it’s not well written. Then again, nothing on my site is well written, so I guess nothings new. We had to write about a regrettable moment. I haven’t given this paper any thought; it’s just something to post. And I still feel like a jerk for it, don’t hold me accountable for it any more. Here goes:



Of all my regrettable moments in my life, and believe me there are dozens of them, the single biggest moment I wish I could take back was the time I called the girl with the large lips and big nose an elephant. Granted, I was only in fourth grade, and she in third. But the pain she felt then was as real as the pain I feel now when I think of my intolerable taunting.

As far as kids go, I was, on average, extremely nice. I always shook the adults hands at church, I said please and thank you to everyone who ever gave me anything, and I politely recited Christmas songs on demand at family Christmas functions. If I were an award handed out at the end of school or for a bowling league, I’d be the Congeniality Award for sure. But sometimes, on a rare occasion, I would earn the What A Jerk Award.

In Mrs. Noble’s class, I was pretty hot stuff. I was really funny, a few months older than the other kids, and had more friends than I could count. Life was good when I was the king. And I occasionally made all the dorks, nerds, and ugly poor kids know it. I remember one day at lunch, a little girl, Amanda, who had bigger than normal lips and nose sat down across from me. I was the funny kid, so it was my obligation to call attention to what was probably an all too familiar feature on such a little girl. “Hello Dumbo! Welcome to my table, Dumbo the elephant.” Reading these words now rips my heart in two. If I were an adult way back in 1989, I’d probably physically beat myself up.

Sometimes when I go back home I see that little girl. Except now she’s in her twenties and working at Wal-Mart. I wonder if she remembers me and what a jerk I was to her so many years ago. Whenever the chance arises, I avoid her register; mostly of embarrassment and sometimes simply fear. But once in a while I work up the nerve to check out in her lane. I feel that as a mature adult who wishes for nothing but to correct his past, it is my duty to not hide. When I do work up the nerve to show my disgusting face to her, I pray that I’ll have the courage to apologize for the tears she must have cried at night and for the friends she never had. I want to be able to say I’m sorry for being the bully in her life. I feel compelled to tell her how cruel fate is, for just two years later I was the dork, nerd, and ugly poor kid. I know how badly she must have felt when she was alone in her bed at night, crying herself to sleep because I was there too. But somehow, no matter how determined I am to say I’m sorry, I always shrivel up when it’s time to perform. Maybe I’m not the man I used to be, but I’m also not the man I hope to become.



Thanks for checking in folks. I'll have more later.

peace.

This was supposed to be my post last night, but I couldn’t get online for a while because our internet was having a few problems. But the lady with the Indian (Sudeb, not Sitting Bull) accent walked me through it and all was well. At that point, I had to email some other people first, and then went to bed.
I digress a lot.
Yesterday I had class at 6pm. I waited on the elevator which never comes because someone upstairs likes to hog it, or have sex in it, or whatever they’re doing that makes it not come downstairs me. So I decide that I’ll just high tail it up the 8th floor. Wow. That’s a lot of steps. I found myself panting and gasping for air. See, I’m not fat, in fact, I’ve been running a lot. But 8 flights of stairs, with each floor containing 30 steps or more…that’s at least 240 steps one way! Not wanting to be late for class, I took off.
I get the 8th floor only to discover that we’re not on the 8th floor, we’re on the seventh! Ah, how stupid of me! Rather than walk all the way back down the hall to the 1.) slow elevator or 2.) stairs down the hall, I decide to exit to the stair case that it just a few doors down. I’ve never noticed this exit before, why not give it a try? When I arrive to the seventh floor, I see this sign. “Emergency door only. Remain locked.” Yeah, so it opens from one side, but not the other.
I’m the other.
270 steps.
I think, ah, I’ll just go back up to the 8th floor and get back in the hall.
300 steps.
What would seem just perfect to find, I’ll give you a hint, it has to do with a locked door. Crap. I know what’s happening, I can just picture my decent down each flight. But I have to try. 6th floor. Locked. 5th floor. Locked. 4th floor. Locked. 3rd floor. Locked. 2nd floor. Locked. 1st floor. Locked. Basement. Locked.
570 steps.
Crap crap crap crap crap! I’m trapped in a stairwell. The only door that could open is the basement door and it will set an alarm if I try. Remember, it’s September 11th, not a day for false alarms and loud noises. So I climb 30 steps up to the first floor. I knock, loudly, for several minutes. No answer. 30 more steps up. Again, I knock. Still no answer. Dang it! I get the same response on the 3rd and 4th floor. I’m trapped like a rat, folks! I’m not going anywhere. Forget returning my over due books, cancel all my meetings. “Honey, I’m gonna be late for dinner.”
690 steps, and climbing. Pun intended
Fortunately I have a cell phone. I dial info, and they give me a wrong number. I Dial info again, they give me the write number. Oh, but as luck would have it, no one answers. I call again, yeah, still they’re not answering their phone. If I want, I can leave a message, someone will probably get it in the morning. At that point I will be soaked in urine and feces, made friends with a volley ball, and who knows what else. I’m not leaving a message. The school doesn’t call me back when I’m at my house, let alone in their stairwell.
6:15 at this point. Over fifteen minutes in solitary confinement and it’s not looking good. I’m prepared to bust through the basement door and cause all sorts of chaos in down town Minneapolis. “Don’t worry, I’m out of the stairwell! You can go back to your offices and dinner dates! Thanks for listening, though!”
810 steps.
I bang on the 1st floor door again, still no answer. I try the 2nd floor again, still no answer.
So I return the basement door.
900 steps.
On the count of three…one, two…Wait, what, did I just hear a noise above me? I run back up to the first floor, nope. 2nd floor, right. 3rd floor..oh oh, yeah, oh it can’t be! Someone cracked it open!!! Free at last, free at last! Thank God Almighty, free at last!
It took 990 steps….maybe a few more but I was FREE breathing the artificial air in this high rise building! Ah, the smell of newspaper and burnt burritos from the microwave! I’ve never felt so alive!
I don’t know who the poor sucker was that went into the stairs after I left them, but the door closed behind me. I would have propped it open for them too, but I was late for class.
Oh, and I took the elevator from the 3rd to the 7th floor.

So I’ve been debating whether I should post something about Johnny Cash or not. To begin with, I didn’t know he died until about 1 when I was listening to the radio. I couldn’t believe it! I’ve listened to that guy since I was a little kid. See, my parents raised me on good old country music: Dolly Pardon, Kenny Rogers, Ricky Skaggs, Conway Twitty, George Jones, Holly Dunn, Charley Pride, Oak Ridge Boys, Alabama…
I digress.
I don’t really know what to write about him, so much. So I guess I’ll just put my favorite Johnny Cash lyrics that I remember, and I hope I get them kind of close. Here goes:
Know what, I think I’m going to butcher that little list. How about I stick with listing my top J.C. songs. Again, here goes:

1. A Boy Named Sue
2. Give My Love To Rose
3. Ring Of Fire
4. I Walk The Line
5. Highway Man
6. Tear Stained Letter
7. Poncho and Lefty
8. Folsom Prison Blues
9. Ghost Riders In The Sky
10. Man In Black

Probably this list does nothing for anyone, but these are songs I remember my
“folks” playing and singing when I was a wee lad. Maybe there are other songs I really like too, but I’ll just stick with these for now. See, I also like his cover of Closer even though I find it a bit odd.
Regardless of what style of music you like, you’ve got to hand it to Johnny, he has been one of the most influential singer/songwriters in history.

I guess I should make a Top Ten List for John Ritter, too. Here goes, my favorite John Ritter T.V. shows.

1. Three’s Company
2. 10 rules For Dating My Teenage Daughter
3. That magic show special that he hosted once
4. Wasn’t he in something else too?

Okay, so that didn’t go nearly as well as I was hoping. Turns out I don’t remember ten shows that Ritter was in. But his dad, Tex Ritter helped get Johnny Cash started! I shouldn’t make fun, especially if it’s going to be read by other people. Like, this isn’t one of those jokes that I can laugh to myself about and no is the wiser…Sorry.

“Ah, I'd love to wear a rainbow every day, and tell the world that everything's okay. But I'll try to carry off a little darkness on my back, 'till things are brighter, I'm the Man In Black.” - Man In Black – Johnny Cash

Yeah, that last post pretty much sucked it up. I think I'll start telling stories about my kids that I teach. They're way funnier than I am, and they say things like, "This is OC!" which really means, out of control. Or, "She got a lot of baby-momma-dramm!" My favorite was when they said I looked "Pimpalicious". Best compliment ever. Really I just hadn't showered, was wearing a hat backwards, and in an old t-shirt from Spirit and Truth. I'll dress like a skank more often.

Let me begin this post by informing you that I don’t have a car/van/Vert/truck/Gary or any other means of transportation that comes in useful when you just want to drive down town and drop off a paper or whatever you might be dropping off, aka, drugs. I ride the city bus. Yes, mass transit is a beautiful thing sometimes. Get on the bus and just chill. So that’s how I’m mobile, the 63 Sunray route. I get the same bus driver, he hits the same curb at the same bus stop, I nod to the same old black man on my right…like clockwork the 63 is.
Moving on.
One summer day I’m in down town St. Paul. See, I took a summer classes and that really sucked it up. Regardless, I was in down town St. Paul. I’m waiting for the bus to come by, just minding my own business, doing the reading for class that I’m supposed to talk about in ten minutes. I’m in my work clothes because I just got off and hadn’t changed at the school yet. Well, all the sudden I get that feeling in my nose, you know, when you feel it dripping and you have to stop it. Right, well all get it. Mine is a little different, though. See, my nose likes to bleed, a lot, and often. I don’t know why, but it’s nasty. Yeah, so I wipe my nose thinking it’s your average snot, but it’s not snot. Crap, a nosebleed at the bus stop. Ho, it doesn’t end there. It doesn’t just drip, it pours, gushes even, like a volcano that oozes out red lava and covers everything. My nose did that.
So I’m sitting and, crap, the gushing. I don’t have a tissue, a napkin from McDonalds, not even a freakin’ piece of paper to stop it with. Here’s the other thing about the bus stop, there are like, 20 people standing around me. They see me bleed, one girl at the bus stop freaks out and runs, RUNS away. She doesn’t know what’s going on. Maybe I have AIDS, or maybe I’ve just snorted a line or something. Who knows, it’s the city, things happen. So all I have to wipe my nose on is my hand, then the other hand, then the palms of my hand.
“Anybody (20 people) have a tissue? I could kind of use one right now.”
“Oh gosh, no, sorry.”
“Ew, mommy, look at the man turn red.”
“Wow, that sucks.”
Yeah, I know it sucks buddy, I’m the one with the bloody hands here. I’m the one who is the freak at the bus stop. There is NOTHING I can do….except one little thing. Remember those pants that The Boy used to have, that converted into shorts? Yeah, those are my work pants. So I unzip, and blow…Nice. Finally a guy runs to a store down the street and give me a paper towel. Thanks, could have used this three minutes ago. So now my nose has stopped bleeding, by I have dried blood on my face, all over my hands, and on my clothes. I looked like I just committed a murder or something. I’m a regular O.J. Except really it’s just nose bleed blood. Luckily I had clothes to change into. But the bus driver still thought I was a freak, and rightfully so.
Point of story, don’t get a nosebleed on the corner of 5th and Minnesota because those people don’t carry tissue.
Also, avoid the Clap.

So my little web site intended for me and maybe D, got spread around I see. It got spread like a bad case of the clap at The Waffle House. 28 visitors, and I’m pretty sure that only 4 of those 28 are me. If you’re reading this, it’s way more than 28. Thanks. I’d also like to thank my mother for berthing me after nine long hours. While I’m saying thanks, this next post goes out to my boys in the hood. I see you as I am riding by on the bus and I think, “Yeah, now that’s my posse!” Oh, and thanks to the people at Verizon. Phone is up and running again. You’ve got my back Donald, I know you do.

I had this really big post in the works. I don’t want to talk much about it, or talk it up. But it came to me while I was at work. I think it’ll take a little while to compose, so I’m not gonna worry about it in the five minutes that I’m giving myself tonight. Instead I want to tell you about the paper I wrote tonight. I managed to successfully include Beethoven, the L.A. Lakers, and teaching together in an essay. I can’t decide if “So play on Beethoven, your music is the delight of thousands of teachers who seek to mimic your beautifully constructed masterpiece” is my favorite line, or if, “All three subjects had a place in my class and deserved attention, but similar to anchovies and pizza, they did not belong together” was better prose. Either way you go, you’ve got a winner. Deb, you’re gonna love reading this jewel tomorrow. Have a can of Red Bull in one hand and a gun in the other. You can never be over prepared. I think the last time I was THIS proud of a paper was in my Amish class when I included John Melloncamp’s Small Town in a little diddy about the Amish. Those were some crazy days.

Jennifer Potter has really short hair, obladi oblada life goes on brahhh...Lala how the life goes on. Could you still braid the chest hair, though?


peace.

I just want to take this time to say thanks to the folks over at Verizon Wireless. After one sold year of phone service, they decide I must have had it too good, so they bend me over for what I can only hope is a short while.

Let me explain.

Never mind. I just typed that whole story out, and believe me, I'm doing you a favor by deleting it. We both saved time and face. I'll leave it at this. Verizon Wireless is filled with phone opperators who have no power and refuse to let me speak to their manager until I've explained the story to them. On four occasions a manager tells me, "Oh yeah, we'll call you back." Guess what, the phone ain't ringin' folks. I think Ben Folds sums it up best:

"I'm pissed off but I'm too polite when people break in the McDonald's line," except sub in "when the Verizon people lie to me about calling me back and fixing my freaking problem, and then proceed to give me a bunch of crappy answer that I know are lies. Also when they refuse to give me their operator numbers because they know they're idiots and I'll report them," with "people break in the McDonald's line." It almost works.

Now it's time for a break down.

Never gonna get it never gonna get. Never gonna get it never gonna get it. Never gonna get it never gonna get. Never gonna get it, whoa whoa whao!

The end.