Head Trauma and Mad Science

There are two fish in a tank.
One turns to the other and says, “Do you know how to drive this thing?”


Wow, almost two years since my last post. Sorry about that. Stuff got busy, and I got writer's block. I'll try and make it up to you in the future. Here goes...

You know who Igor is? Of course you do. Think of all those monster movies where the scientist has a hideous little assistant with a speech impediment. “Yeth, mathter. I thall prepare the monthter.” My very favorite portrayal was Marty Feldman's character in Young Frankenstein*. Picture him in your head. We'll come back to him later.

As I may have mentioned before, I'm kind of a big guy. At 6'4” tall, I have become quite the expert in hitting my head on things. If I had a dollar for every time I bumped my noggin, I'd be swimming in loot. This summer, the house my wife and I rented had a pot rack hanging over the trash can. I'd have to check my records to be sure, but I believe I hit my head an average of 1.6 times per day.

Lately, I have been bashing my melon against the ceiling in my very own basement. Most of the space is very nearly tall enough for me. However, it is sprinkled with beams, light bulbs, vents, and various and assorted non-incorporeal fixtures. For the last couple days, I've been working down there on some kitchen improvement projects, and all that banging and dodging caused me to have a revelation.

Remember Igor? We talked about him a couple paragraphs ago. Close your eyes and picture the character in question. Got him? What did you see? Hump on his back? Hunched over? Weird shuffling walk? ... What else? I bet he's small. If the guy you're picturing straightened up, how tall would he be? Maybe 5'4”? Well my friend. I think we may have been imagining this guy wrong all along. I think Igor was a rather tall dude. That was my revelation.

As I moved about the basement, gathering tools, sawing, sanding, spraying, assisting behind the scenes whilst my beautiful and talented wife did the major cosmetic stuff, I noticed something. To avoid whanging my dome against the multitude of potential mishaps strewn about the ceiling, I had to hunch over a bit. I also had to do this weird limping shuffle thing, both to avoid the detritus that abounds on a basement floor in the midst of a renovation, and also to avoid raising the level of my noodle to bashing heights.

Igor wasn't a small misshapen castoff from society. The guy was probably an All-Transylvanian linebacker or something. Then he goes and gets a grad-assistant research job with Dr. I-hope-osha-doesn't-notice, and a decade later, there he is: hump, limp, and an email that says that the good doctor will get around to looking at the latest draft of his dissertation just as soon as he gets back from the EEMSA** conference next week.

BAM! Get your noodle around that one. Looking back, this “revelation” looks a lot more like the symptoms of a concussion. Whatever. I hope you enjoyed it. I'm going to go have a lie down and an ice pack.






*Marty didn't have the speech impediment thing going on. For a good example of that, check out some of Terry Pratchet's Discworld books.

**Eastern European Mad Science Association

My Dog is Lactose Intolerant

Those of you who know me know that I am quite a fan of mixed martial arts. That’s how this story starts. Once upon last night, in my living room, I was watching the fights with my wife and our friends. The fights were great, the food was amazing*, the beer was fantastic, and all was right with the world. Little did I know that everything was about to change.

Whilst dishing out some homemade mint chocolate ice cream for my guests and myself, one fateful scoop got away from me and ended up on the kitchen floor, where my dog promptly descended upon it. This is one of those innocent seeming scenes that often unfold at the beginning of horror movies. A scientist absentmindedly drops a test tube, a barrel falls off a truck, a young couple drives into the woods for a little hanky-panky. It was that kind of event. Nothing too out of the ordinary, and no way (short of a frantic soundtrack) to full comprehend the gravity of the moment.

Friends went home, and the wife and I cleaned up and got ready for bed. All seemed right with the world.

Our first hint at trouble came around 3am. Zeb** was whining to be let outside. He hasn’t had trouble getting through a night since he was a much younger puppy. Zeb came back inside, and I crawled back into bed. Zeb followed, because he’s adorable and likes to cuddle up next to us sometimes. Less than three hours later, I would witness first hand the consequences of my cavalier attitude towards the scooping of iced cream.

I was awoken by a splatter sound. It sounded as if my dog was peeing in our bedroom. My assessment was off. I rushed Zeb to the yard, and upon returning discovered that the splattering sounds I had mistaken for urine was, in fact, a horribly loose stool.

Apparently, my dog’s digestive tract does not cope well with dairy. At 6:30am, my wife and I were faced with the evidence of this shortcoming on our bedroom carpet and (far worse) our comforter. Not. Cool.

Not a good way to start Independence Day.

We cleaned the floor and washed the bedding***. Zeb looked sad and guilty through most of the process. It was not a great morning in the Wagner household. But, as Lord Byron said, “Adversity is the first path to truth.” So, clearly, Hallie and I are on our path to the truth... which is probably a good thing. SO, if anyone is in the market for truth, we’ve got a head start. You’re welcome to come along, though I’d recommend getting your adversity somewhere less messy... maybe from an old light bulb or a scratched DVD.


p.s.

Zeb is just fine now.







*My wife an I tend to make friends with people who can cook.
**That’s the puppy-dog mentioned above
***As a side note, our washing machine is not a fan of queen sized down comforters. I ended of finishing that part of the cleaning process in the shower, struggling to manipulate, and then wring out a giant water-logged comforter.

So.... I've been married for a year....

A couple is lying in bed. The man says, "I am going to make you the happiest woman in the world."
The woman replies, "I'll miss you..."


On June 20th, 2009, I married the most wonderful woman ever. Those of you with calendars will note that the date I just mentioned occurred 366 days ago. In other words, my wife and I just had our one year anniversary... Holy cow. A year went by. My first reaction to that factoid is one of shock. How could a year have possibly passed without my realizing it? Isn't your first year of marriage supposed to be some kind of traumatic adventure?!? I don't feel traumatized. Do I feel adventured? I had to think about that last question. Lets make a list of the cool, interesting, or, at the very least, difficult things that have happened to my wife and I in the past year. By the end of the list, we should be able to determine whether or not my first year of marriage was eventful enough.

Things I Did in My First Year of Marriage:

Traveled out of the country: Canada for a su-weeeeet honeymoon)
Narrowly avoided being eaten by grizzly bears
Climbed a mountain (a tiny one)
Got a puppy
Slept next to the puppy crate until he got used to things
House trained a puppy
Started and finished an internship
Had a "First Thanksgiving" with my wife (Complete with waaaay too much AMAZING turkey)
X-mas with the in-laws (we hauled our two cats and puppy along)
Ran the Warrior Dash
Ran the Armadillo Dash
Started a tradition of Homemade Pizza Fridays
Started training with a new dojo
Graduated
Got hired
Remodeled a kitchen with my wife and mother-in-law
Officiated at an awesome wedding (Hallie did a reading at it)
Brewed awesome beer
Officiated at the Navasota Special Olympics
Bought a rotisserie and learned how to make sweet gyros
Malted my own barley
Kicked copius gluteus maximus in a co-ed innertube water polo tourney (sadly, it wasn't enough to win)
Started a blog


Looking at the list, I must conclude that my first year of marriage has been sufficiently awesome. And that's just based on the spectacular/adventurous stuff. Add in the fact that my wife is just about the coolest person ever, and you, my friend, have a recipe for the greatest year ever. Last night we had dinner at the same place that played host to our rehearsal dinner, and followed it up with a piece of wedding cake (as apparently we are supposed to do). Other than that, we hung out, read comic books, and watched movies. 1st anniversary = successful.


That is all. Have a pleasant evening.

It's a Girl!

A woman has the last word in any argument. Anything a man says after that is the beginning of a new argument.


First, no, I didn't have a baby. Nor, is my wife pregnant. Wanna know what happened? I got a new baby sister! My brother-in-law Troy married the loverly Mary this past Saturday, and I. Am. Pumped. I won't bore you with too many wedding details. If you were there, you had a ball. If you weren't, the anecdotes probably won't mean very much to you. If you've ever been in a wedding, or known someone who has, you know all about the last minute emergencies and dramas without which it seems, no ceremony can proceed.

Here's a rundown of the important stuff:
-The bride was beautiful
-My wife looked AMAZING
-I was the officiant (and a pretty good one if I do say so myself)
-Tears of joy all over the place!

I believe I've mentioned Mary before. You can find her blog here. Though I expect you may have to wait until after the honeymoon for her to update it. Troy I haven't mentioned yet (give me a break, I have an enormous family and only a few blog posts so far). He's a way-cool dude. Imagine one of the smartest people you know, who's also a stellar athlete, and a gourmet chef (I know, the perfect combo... single ladies everywhere should despair). They are a great couple, and I'm looking forward to watching them grow as a couple and raise what may very well be the fairest skinned children in the history of humans having babies.

I will be sure to post some pics once I get my hands on them. In the meantime, use you imagination. To aid your imagination, I was wearing a sweet black pinstripe suit with a pink shirt, black silk suspenders, and a pink paisley tie. Hot. The bride was in a white dress. Hot. The groom was in a tux. Hot.

Right about now (or a couple paragraphs ago) you might be wondering about my role as officiant. "Kyle!" You may have exclaimed, "I didn't know you were a religious man, let alone a member of the clergy." Well, dear reader, I am not a religious man, though I am a member of the clergy. Troy and Mary asked if I would officiate their marriage, and I said, right away, that I would dust off my whistle and pick up some yellow flags at my earliest convenience. After some confusion, and a bit of explanation, I rushed off to my local internet to find the Universal Life Church, of which I am now a Reverend.

Am I a heretic? Am I, your friendly neighborhood blogger, mocking God and religion? Is it indeed blasphemy for one such as myself to claim the title Reverend? Well.... Yes*. Not really**. No***. I helped my friends/family put together one of the most important days of their respective lives. For any other debate or remarks regarding religion, you'll have to wait until I feel brave enough for a blog post or five dealing with the topic.

To summarize: The wedding was AWESOME! My new family members ROCK! Everybody's happy!

Have a nice day.


*I am a heretic in that I choose to fundamentally disagree with many precepts of quite a few organized religions, and choose, instead, to follow my own way.
**I would never mock God, though I often mock ridiculous traditions that are often attached to Him/Her/Them
***I am absolutely irreverent towards some "holy personages, religious artifacts, customs, or beliefs", though me calling myself a reverend really has nothing to do with that.

Judo Day 1

A minister dies and is waiting in line at the Pearly Gates. Ahead of him is a big guy in a judogi with a worn black belt who has cauliflower ears and looks like he's been around the block a few times.
Saint Peter addresses this guy, "Who are you, so that I may know whether or not to admit you to the Kingdom of Heaven?"
The guy replies, "I'm Joe Johnson, Judo competitor and national champion for 17 years."
Saint Peter consults his list. He smiles and says to the Judo competitor, "Take this silken robe and golden staff and enter the Kingdom of Heaven."
The Judo man goes into Heaven with his robe and staff, and it's the minister's turn. He stands erect and booms out, "I am Joseph Snow, pastor of Saint Mary's for the last forty-three years."
Saint Peter consults his list. He says to the minister, "Take this cotton robe and wooden staff and enter the Kingdom of Heaven."
"Just a minute," says the minister. "That Judo man gets a silken robe and golden staff. How can this be when I have been preaching the gospel all my life?"
"Up here, we work by results," says Saint Peter. "While you preached, people slept; but when he entered the dojo, people prayed."



Well, I told you to expect a report on my first night in the new dojo. Here goes...

In a word... ouch. It has been quite a while since I've done any grappling, and my muscles are reminding me exactly which ones were used. Last night we focused on ne-waza (ground fighting for those of you who aren't judo players and don't speak Japanese). After warming up*, we proceeded to spend 40 minutes on chokes. So, for 40 minutes my partner and I took turns setting up and applying chokes using each other's gi's (uniforms) and forearms to squeeze shut carotid arteries. It. Was. Awesome! We followed the instruction time with several 2 minute randori (free rolling) rounds, and finished with some drills. It was a good first class, and I'm looking forward to getting back to it tonight. Hopefully we'll be working more throws and get into the stand-up grappling that is judo's trademark.

It occurs to me, that some of my fan base may be unfamiliar with judo. Well... I'll have to remedy that another time. While I would love to expound upon various martial arts for pages and pages, I expect I would lose what little readership I have amassed. In the not too distant future, I promise, I will write a (hopefully) not too boring compare and contrast that will let all of you understand my hobbies just a bit better. Until then, wikipedia has a pretty good article.

It appears today's post is big into brevity, as such, I'll leave you with some bonus material. Here are some quotes from my favorite president/judoka**. I'll stick his name at the bottom of the blog for those of you who may not know to whom I am referring.

Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy much nor suffer much, because they live in that grey twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat.

Don't hit at all if it is honorably possible to avoid hitting; but never hit soft.

It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by the dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions and spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who, at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly; so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory or defeat.

A man who has never gone to school may steal from a freight car; but if he has a university education, he may steal the whole railroad.

A man who is good enough to shed his blood for his country is good enough to be given a square deal afterwards. More than that no man is entitled to, and less than that no man shall have.

I have always been fond of the West African proverb "Speak softly and carry a big stick; you will go far."


*read "warm" as "dripping with sweat"
** Give up? Teddy Roosevelt.

All the world's a stage and all the men and women are merely players.

Two Eskimos sitting in a kayak were chilly. They lit a fire in the
craft, it sank, proving once and for all that you can't have your
kayak and heat it too.

Big weekend. I graduated on Saturday. Pretty cool huh? I can now add a Specialist in School Psychology degree to my Bachelor of Arts. The SSP sounds sooo much cooler. "What is an SSP?" you might ask. Is it like an MA? Is it a Phd? Does this mean you're a school counselor? The answer to all those questions are "Sort of, no, NO." An SSP is a 60 hour graduate degree that culminates in a one year, 1200 hour internship in the schools. (For comparison, most MA's are in the 30-ish hour range, and PhD's are somewhere in the neighborhood of 100 plus a dissertation, and sometimes an internship). The degree means that i eligible to be licensed as a school psychologist (Licensed Specialist in School Psychology in Texas), which means I can do psychological and learning disability assessments, deliver therapy, consult with teachers for behavior problems, as well as deliver other services and training in a public school setting.

Sorry. That got long winded. Here's the short version. I'm graduated! Woot!* I can now begin my life as a productive member of society. I can changed my linkedln status to reflect my new degree. My C.V. no longer has an "expected" graduation date. Life is good.

On a separate (but still stage-related) note, my wife and I went to see our local theatre's presentation of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. It was awesome. Oompas Loompa-ed, Willy Wonka-ed, and Charlie rocked it out. Go support your local theater, unless, like us, you have a local theatre... in which case, support that one.

That's all for now. Expect another post after Tuesday, when I'll have my first night at the new dojo. Will I kick ass? Will I get my ass kicked? Tune in next time to find out!**


*I believe that is the appropriate exclamation.
** Is that a cliff-hanger or what!?!?

Happy Mother's Day

Your momma so fat, all the restaurants in town have signs that say: "Maximum Occupancy: 240 Patrons OR Your Momma."

Happy mother's day everybody! If you haven't called your mom, then goodness sakes! What are you doing reading a blog? Today, instead of writing about bits of my life that you may or may not care about, I'm going to do one of those sweet poems where I spell a word vertically and write stuff with each letter.

M is for the multitude of boo-boos, fevers, and various owies that mom nursed me through.
O is for owe. To quote Lincoln "All that I am or ever hope to be, I owe to my angel Mother."
T is for teaching me... how to cook, count, read, laugh, and a million other things.
H is for hugs. Moms give the best.
E is for everything I'll never have the words or the time to thank her for.
R is for reading to me. Mom got me started with He-Man, Calvin and Hobbes, and Wayside School, and I never looked back.


Well there you are. Happy mother's day mom! I love you!