Anyone Seen A Post Around Here?

There was one, I know it. Though I’m not sure where it’s gone.
I’ve checked the closet, the guest room, the attic; even out in the lawn.
I worry I won’t see it again. It’s such a frail thing.
Can anybody help me please? I’m hanging by a string.


I didn’t leave it at the bar; and was told to stop looking there.
911 said it’s no emergency, in defiance of my despair.
The police came to my house and issued me a citation,
They told me not to call again, and put me on probation.


The neighbors shake their heads, and the postman doesn’t have it.
It’s absent from my spam folder, and I don’t like this one bit.
It’s not at the bank, the Walgreens, the store.
I’m going mad and can take it no more.


So I’m resigned to sit here and weep bitterly,
The victim of some dark wizardry.
Could it be voodoo, a jinx, a malediction, a curse?
Or maybe something much, much worse?


Alas, the search is simply imagination,
And truly is the result of consternation.
That’s right, I saw my words up and vanish,
Making this hunt false, and merely outlandish.


But a few ideas have returned to me,
And I am quite pleased to see
A tiny, small glimmer of light,
As I sit and again start to write.




Ok, Shel Silverstein I’m not…but I figured this would be a light-hearted way to say that I think I’ve reemerged from the rock I’ve been under lately. And to those of you who emailed me to check on me, no I haven’t been trapped in my office’s restroom. I did have a “hiatus message” all written up, but awesomely, I didn’t check to make sure I posted the message…leaving it unhelpfully in my draft pile.

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Well, That Just Happened…

It may just be a popular meme, but with the utter dependence on love of our smart phones, I doubt that’s the case. So, I feel I can say with some degree of certainty that I may be one of only 93 people in the modern world who doesn’t bring my phone with me to the bathroom. And that’s worked out nicely so far, especially since I’ve never had to resurrect my phone after it was accidentally sacrificed to the porcelain god…though I’ve heard plenty of horror stories.

phone water

Um, let’s just keep this between us.

Well, I learned an important lesson recently: it’s actually not that bad of an idea to bring a phone with you into the restroom at work.

And yes, everything you are about to read actually happened.

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The Face of Waiting

It’s Monday……for better or worse. I generally pick the latter as my view of this particular day of the week.

case of the mondays

Such a great movie…and right on point.

Getting back into the groove of work and trying to not look ahead longingly to Friday afternoon can sometimes be a tall order. A long list of voicemails and emails to respond to, staff issues to be resolved, conference calls to join, and regaining momentum for ongoing projects only helped to solidify my wish for it to be the weekend.

As I plodded through my morning, Loverboy’s “Working for the Weekend” popped into my head. It was against my will, but I guess it was appropriate nonetheless. And because my brain can be an obnoxious bully sometimes, the song kept randomly reemerging throughout the day, like some kind of torturous Jack-in-the-box.

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Being Awkward at Costco

Raise your hand if you’ve ever felt awkward.

Dang, I can’t tell if I’m the only one to raise my hand or if you all are feeling too awkward to raise your hands about feeling awkward. Man, that sentence was awkward to write. An now I’m sitting here in front of the glowing screen of my laptop, my hand pathetically raised, without a soul in sight. I guess that didn’t pan out as expected.

Well, my recent contest with awkwardness came while I was at Costco. Which is weird because I try to find a reason, any reason, to go to Costco. Maybe you’re a Sam’s Club fan, or an advocate of some other regional wholesaler, but you get what I’m saying. I don’t know if it’s the feeling of saving a few pennies on some industrial-sized item that will last for years in my house or if it’s the simple novelty of slaloming around the store, gawking at things that I want to buy while figuring out if the vehicle I brought is large enough to bring it all back home.


Hmmm, that enormous box of Goldfish crackers would be nice to have, but my cart’s already overflowing and I didn’t bring a rental truck. I wonder if I can I Tetris it all into my trunk?

Anyway, I felt no awkwardness initially as I began to roam up and down the cavernous aisles. Feeling a bit like Gulliver in the land of Brobdingnag, I hefted massive things into my over-sized shopping cart. Of course, in the midst of my shopping and rubber-necking, I had to periodically stop on a dime in order to not make road pizza out of unsupervised small children as they darted carelessly in front of my Big Rig of a cart.

All was going well, but I knew awkwardness would be rearing its ugly head. I could feel it, deep down, slowly bubbling up to the surface. It would only be a matter of time.

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Stats and a Moment of Reflection

I check out The Daily Post quite regularly. Not as frequently as its eponymous name suggests I probably should, but often enough. Finding sources of inspiration for writing topics and discussion can come from anywhere and I try not to limit myself to anything in particular.

Perhaps it’s a bit of perfectionism, perhaps it’s anxiety, perhaps it’s a lack of confidence, but I’ve written 12 different drafts from Daily Post prompts that have never come to fruition. In those cases, I find that I don’t have a seemingly interesting enough post, a unique enough perspective or take on a particular topic, or am unhappy with the end result and the drafts are subsequently remanded to writing purgatory…forever locked in the prison of my mind, occasionally being tweaked in the hope that they can be released in the future. But in all likelihood, they probably will never see the light of a screen day.


I go off course and get lost occasionally. Sometimes I think I need Google Maps to help me figure out where I’m going with a topic.

As I read the latest Daily Post suggestion for a topic, I found it resonated with me in quite a remarkable way.

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Serenity When?

It started off as a somewhat promising evening. Dinner was finished on time and placed on the table, our three year old Jason ate without protesting every morsel of food on his plate, and our three month old daughter, Maggie, was content to gum a fluffy owl during the meal instead of crying.

We were on a roll. But bedtime was lurking around the corner.

And sure enough, it was then that wheels came off as they usually do. Jason, like most three year olds, tries to prolong bedtime as much as he can. This is the segment of the day is where the majority of consequence threats come into play.

Jason initially starts his nightly dissent by army crawling up the stairs at the pace of a slug trudging through molasses. Upon reaching the top of the stairs, he darts off quicker than lightning into a bedroom, any room really, that isn’t his.

“Serenity now” I demand to the ceiling, ¬†only half-joking.


As the hour of bed approaches, step back and marvel as a mild-mannered child morphs into an impish hooligan.

Finally corralling the rampaging bull of a preschooler in the bathroom, he contests the brushing of his teeth with a combination of clamping down on the brush and telling me that he needs to spit…318 times.

Concluding the Battle of Dental Hygiene, we begin the Potty Conflict. I’ll spare the details, but suffice it to say, there is a significant discrepancy between Jason’s ability (and staunch confidence) in standing up to pee and his aim.

“Serenity now” I mutter to myself. Any hint of joking has left my pleas.

We power past the PJ dispute, make it through his chosen story for the night, and conclude with the standard hugs good night. In the aftermath of all the nonsense, I hope for no more chaos and wish for a feeling of relief to wash over me like cool water on a scorching day.

Maybe the rest of the evening will go smoothly. No? Of course not.

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The Poke and the Pinkeye

He was sick. Sick as could be with that eye agony; and when the doctor finished looking at his eyes, he was allowed to sit up, and I felt my mind racing. The diagnosis, the dread diagnosis of conjunctivitis, was the last that truly registered in my ears. After that, the follow-up questions and answers seemed merged into a foggy, amorphous buzz. It conveyed to me the feeling of dejection, perhaps from its joining in union with the hum of the overhead fluorescent lights.

Ok, I may not have the style or clout like Edgar Allen Poe, and this situation was nowhere near as dramatic as the Inquisition (for those that recognized the above paragraph’s allusion), but it was one of the first references that entered my mind. At the very least, it seemed like a humorous parallel to start my story. Having children seems to be the modern bladed pendulum or even perhaps the Sword of Damocles; all hell can break loose without a moment’s notice.


Amazing how an innocent smile can belie the destruction that has just happened…or is on its way.

It all started innocently enough this past Saturday afternoon. My three year old, Jason, was in the playroom, switching between making Play-Doh animals and trying to corral our obstinate dogs into the faux zoo he had constructed with Legos. My wife and I were in the midst of an intricate dance in the kitchen as we switched between preparing dinner for later that night and handing off our three month old Maggie. Continue reading

Finding Appreciation in the Bitter Cold of Winter

I have to admit, I like winter. I do. Parts of fall and spring are good too. But I sure like winter. I’ll wait for you to get the scorn for me out of your system.

All better? Ok.

Yes, in summer you can go fry on the beach or elbow your neighbors at the crowded local pool, go for a run/bike ride outside wearing just special lightweight, sweat-whisking clothes, go camping and bury your poop in a hole in the ground, and other fun outdoor activities that generally don’t result in frostbite.

Truth be told, pretty much anything above 80 degrees is hot for me. Once it hits 85, it starts feeling brutal. Honestly. And that’s probably where it all starts for me.


Yeah, that pretty much illustrates it.

Most people’s jaws drop to the floor when I say I like winter. That’s never more true than when January rolls around with its single-digit temperatures and below 0 wind-chills. Most everyone I know from family, friends, and co-workers to business associates or random people I pass in the office building strike up a conversation by complaining about the winter season.

I’ve come to expect it, and have regularly found myself either forcibly chuckling along or just silently standing by when this comes up. The same is true when any discussion relating to “good vs bad weather”, spring vs summer, or similar conversations arise.

But I’ve tried to regularly remind myself that even if I don’t like something, I can find things to appreciate within it. And I felt the same can be true for many people during these cold winter months.

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It’s The Most Nostalgic Time Of The Year

About halfway through an article about QB pocket presence, I figured I’d change gears and try for something slightly more fitting for the season and go finish the football post later on.

I dunno, there’s something about this time of year that brings with it a sense of nostalgia that is maybe only rivaled by thinking about Oregon Trail.

oregon trail

Ah, memories

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Cold Beer…a Constitutional Right?

Warm beer sucks. Unless maybe you live in or are from Europe.

Wait, no. Warm beer sucks.


An Appeals Court recently upheld an Indiana law that states grocery stores and convenience stores cannot sell cold beer. A trade association has, for the last few years, been trying to get that Indiana law invalidated on the grounds of it being unconstitutional. I did a double take after seeing that and had to look more into it.

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