Catching up with my brother…

Jul 082013
 

Tummy was feeling a little unhappy Saturday afternoon.  Lots of napping.  My brother asked me what I had eaten at the ballpark the night before.

“Uh…1 and half Crazy Crab sandwiches, a licorice rope, a deli sandwich or two that was in the suite, some chicken wings, peanuts and popcorn of course, a carrot cake cupcake, half of a huge cookie that wasn’t so delicious, some beers here and there.  Oh and some pizza.”

He was a little surprised that I didn’t have a hotdog. They were there, just didn’t move me for some reason. And only one garlic fry.  I don’t know why I had just one fry.  I think at that point in the night, I was feeling okay. Must have just been carb conscious. My willpower must have gotten a second wind at that point!

Anyway, he just stared at me waiting for the dawn of the obvious to rise for me.  But it wasn’t clicking for me. I’m used to being able to eat like that and not feel it, while he’s a little more…delicate. Looks like I’m becoming more like him now.

Update: At work, talked to some co-workers, half of them also feeling a little funk over the weekend.  All signs point to the chicken wings…I may not be gaining on my brother as much as I had thought!

Sharing time.

Jan 212011
 

A while back I started to notice my hair was thinning.  My brother constantly tells me that, but mostly to make himself feel better.  Though lately, I thought he might have finally become right.  I wasn’t sure I could sport the gel-less flattop again.

Then I washed my hair with shampoo (instead of the bar of soap I normally use) and it all bounced back to life.

Crisis over.

But during that time, I did notice that cliche of the hair moving down one’s body.  My belly had gotten hairier.

And that lead to some serious navel gazing. Not the artsy fartsy type where I ponder how to become a better husband/father/employee/citizen, but where I actually just started noticing my bellybutton.  And in that pursuit, I discovered something I found slightly odd.

Not the marble sized lint balls – those guys have been around for a while.

But this newly bolded center line of hair on my stomach and my belly button were not aligned.

At first I thought it was just lights and mirrors and shadows playing a trick on me.  But after several different lights, angles, mirrors, and shadows, the effect was consistent.

Of course, I take the basic symmetries of my body for granted and know at a detailed level, everything is slightly different.  Coordinating a distributed system like our body’s cellular development is no simple task and I should be happy with the fact that my two legs are close enough in length that I can walk without too much of a limp.  But having an off center belly button?  Come on!

I’m wondering if it has always been that way and I just didn’t have a measuring line, till now.  Or maybe, over the years with my fascination of gaining and losing circumference around my waist, things might not have snapped back the same on both sides.  Or do I just sleep on one side too much and over the years, my bellybutton has just succumb to gravity?

Do I base my hypotheses on cartoons too much?

Anyway…just thought I’d share this little story so you can have a chuckle at my asymmetries…

…and wonder about your own.

high fidelity dreaming…not.

Jun 072010
 

I was dreaming the other night we’re at the beach and I had misplaced my glasses.  For some reason I was using prescription sunglasses instead of contacts.  And so I’m just looking around for the glasses.  Which is kind of hard when your eyes are as bad as mind.

Then Catherine says – “Hey, those girls over there are topless.”

And I look over.

And I can’t see anything!

You’d figure, since this was a dream and all, that my vision would some how be miraculously restored and then it’d lead to some hi-jinx.  But no.

I’m getting old and my brain is getting lazy.   It no longer wants to render my dreams completely but is writing in cheesy plot twists (Cris can’t find his glasses!) to avoid having to build out extensive sets (and body parts).

Sigh.

The inner rebel is gone.

Jan 162010
 

The Robinson’s were kind enough to deck our family out with shirts with this on them.

And I guess it was kind of a dig, but they’re not really the type to make digs like that, which makes it that much more special of a dig.

Anyway, I wore the shirt yesterday.  And I was planning on buying 2 dozen donuts on the way to work.  But I got a late start, chit chatting with our nanny and Sal and getting her family tickets to go see Avenue Q and explaining why it wouldn’t be appropriate for my kid to go see this play with muppets, yet it was okay for her kids to go.  Double standards and all.

So I thought I could grab a donut at lunch, or a snickerdoodle, or at least a couple cookies from the catered lunch at the interview function I was set to rebel against my shirt.

I got distracted at lunch, figuring out how much more food I could get into the to-go box vs. a plate.  But it was chicken saag…with extra carne asada fajitas on the side under the naan.

And then the interview thing – there were no cookies left.

And when 5 o’clock rolled around and Brian was getting a coffee I looked at the donuts behind the glass and I just kept on venting about work instead of throwing down some change for the donut.

So the shirt kind of worked in a reverse negative backwards kind of way.  We’ll see if it still works post fat dunking.

Points of view…

Jan 152010
 

Last night, there was something on TV talking about the passage of 20 years.

I thought about 20 years for a moment and realized that in 3 years, I’d have known Catherine for 20 years.

I shared my joy and excitement of that fact with her.

“Well, this year, I’ll have known you half my life.” She snorted with semi-disgust.

I was quite taken aback with the amount of dislike she was able to compress into such a potentially sweet moment.  I had to come up with a rebuttal.

“Uh…well, I see it as you’ve doubled in age.” I was able to snort back.

It’s all just perspective, honeybun.

povglass1000

doing the math.

Oct 062009
 

We browsed at some suits over the weekend.   Not so much because I’ve got a new build, but because my current suit has sported a few holes.  There was a beautiful 3 piece Hugo Boss suit that they didn’t have in my size, but still was very sharp.  I didn’t bother to talk about ordering the suit cause it was $975.

Walking away with Catherine we had this conversation more or less.

“Nice suit, but it was 1k.”

“Oh.”

“Though…my last suit lasted 15 years.  So then it’s less than $100 a year…”

“Yeah. But. Uh.”

“What?”

“I don’t know if you can wear that suit in 15 years.”

“What? Why not?”  Here I’m thinking she’s implying that my body’s gonna change shape drastically again.  Not that I haven’t already gone into a the tailor’s and told them to let out the pants.  All the way.  Whatever’s legal in the state.  (Florida for some reason has the most relaxed laws around this by the way.)

“It’s stylish.”

“Oh.  And what?  I can’t wear that in 15 years?  When I’m…uh…oh…52.  Yeah.  I guess that wasn’t a 52 year old man’s suit.”

Sucks.

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