Worcestershire Sauce and Other Anomalies

How in the world do you pronounce "Worcestershire"? I think everyone pronounces it differently. Some say, "Wore-shuh-shire." Others, "Wore-shuh-sure." And yet others, "Wore-chester-shire." There are a myriad of pronunciational options....and it drives me crazy. What is this word? What is it even referring to? Was Worcestershire the name of some English villa where it was invented? Is it the name of the dude who invented it? All mysteries.

Untiil I checked out Wikipedia. And they provided two pronunciations that I have not heard yet: "Wuster-sure" and "Wuster-sheer." Unbelievable. Turns out this stuff does come from Wuster-sure, England. Big whoop.

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When you pop in a DVD, it usually takes you to the Main Menu. I was thinking about that lately. "Main Menu." Why would we call this initial screen a "menu"? A menu is the list of dishes available at a restaurant. The options on the DVD opening page are not this at all. So, how random, in reality, is it to refer to this opening page a "menu?" It makes just as much sense to me to refer to it as a "Main Law Code." Or a "Main Itinerary." Seriously, people. A menu? Worlds of food and digital/visual entertainment collide.

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This past weekend Kat and I took a flight from Charlotte out to Texas. I hate flying. I am terrified of it. So, as we were sitting there waiting to take off, the flight attendant walks around and checks to make sure everyone is buckled in and sitting upright and all that. No big deal. Standard procedure. We had our window closed (because frankly, I can't look out the window without feeling like I am going to die) and she told us to open it. Well, no one questions why anymore. So we did. "Hey, why do you want us to open the windows? I don't understand why that is such a big deal?" Her reply was assuring, "In the event that we crash, I need to be able to sufficiently see our surroundings to make decisions." That is what I need to hear as I sit there sweating and panting in terror already. I have to open up my window because we just might be crashing. And, I might add, I don't really think that my open window is going to really accomplish much if we are all hurdling to the earth from 23,000 feet at 400 miles an hour. But I will comply to your silly rules.

Bicentennial Blogging

This is a self-congratulatory post. It is to celebrate the fact that this is my 200th time to do this. Ever since I started "blogging" way back in Feb of '05, I never dreamt I would keep it going this long. I never would have thought that I would make it this far. Wow. 200 posts. I feel like something. I feel like someBody. I am a somebody. I am important.

Feb '05 to Aug '07. Exactly 2.5 years. 30 months. 200 posts. That's almost 7 posts a month for 2.5 straight years (well, granted, May Madness throws those numbers off a bit). What a wonderful ride it has been.

Here's to public narcissism.

A Moment of Silence for My Youth

Kathryn and I have been doing what any normal and educated person would be doing in the record setting heat of summer: doing intensive manual labor in the yard. Afternoons have been spent hunched over, ripping up weeds, digging up plants, developing blisters on my hands, and sweating most of my body weight away. Stupid, I know, but we are on a mission to put in some new beds in our front lawn and we will not let catci, bees, or 104 degree heat stop us. I like to call it: Mission Impossible. I sing the theme song often to Kathryn's dismay.

So, while we have been breaking our backs in the oppressive Charlotte heat, we have developed a quick friendship with a neighborhood girl named Jericca. I think that is how you spell it. She most likely will not be reading this, so I suppose it does not really matter either way. Jerrica is around 10 years old and has recently moved to Charlotte from Indiana. She is a very sweet girl and loves to pet our dog when we go on walks. Lately, she has meandered into our yard and helped us dig holes, spray plants (and me) with water, and get dirty with us.

And she has been relentlessly inviting herself over to spend the night with us. At first I thought, now, this is just odd. Why in the world would this kid want to spend the night over at our house? Honestly, what would we do? Does she think we'd stay up all night eating ice cream and playing board games? Does she not know that we are probably the most boring house on the block? We usually eat a healthy dinner (thanks Kathryn), watch an episode of Lost, and then go to bed around 10 o'clock. She would hate it over here. I could think of a few more houses on our block that would be much more exciting and entertaining.

But then I remembered what it was like to be on the same street with grown-ups. You assume their world is so exciting and adult-ish. And I realized that this is how Jerricca sees us: grown-ups. We are married. We have a house. We drive cars. We work with plants in the front yard. That is about as grown-up as it gets. It finally hit me. I am no longer a child. I am one of those grown-ups. Do I feel like it? Not even close. Do I feel like I am merely pretending at this thing called life? Yep. Do I have any idea how insurance works? Nope.

If only Jerrica knew who I really was. I wonder if she would still want to sleep over then, knowing that I am really just a person like her in this grown-up body living in this grown-up house. I don't have the heart to tell her that I am not nearly as interesting as she thinks I am.

Bee-asco

Our latest run in with the elements of nature have taken the form of us getting attacked by bees. I know, it just never stops. So allow me to describe the Bee Fiasco (hereafter Bee-asco):

Episode 1: We were out doing some yard work about a week or two ago and out of nowhere Kathryn screams at the top (and bottom) of her lungs. I run over to her and she is hunched over clutching her ankle. "What happened?" Her reply: Something bit me and it really hurts. I surveyed the ground and happened to see a bee, somewhat stunned and motionless, so I stomped the life out of it thinking it was the culprit. I wasn't sure. Kathryn limped around for the next day or so it hurt so bad. We thought that maybe it was a spider. When it began swelling and developed a red rash around it, we knew that Kathryn was allergic to it....whatever it was.

Episode 2: I was mowing the other day and was going over a particularly rough patch of grass. There were twigs and small rocks around this area, so it was not a smooth mow but one marked with the clanking sounds of rocks hitting metal and sticks getting snapped. Out of nowhere, a searing pain hits my leg and I immediately assumed that a shard of glass had been shot out of the mower and stuck in my leg. I looked down, expecting to see a blade with blood pouring into my shoe, but rather saw a yellowjacket burrowing into my skin. And almost instantaneously, another searing stab to the back of my leg, right behind my kneecap - you know that really sensitive spot on your body. I knew I was under attack when I noticed the swarm of bees developing around me. I did what anybody would do in this situation: I let go of the mower, frantically waved my hands in the air, and ran away screaming in panic. I had uncovered an underground bee hive.

Episode 3: The following morning I was making up the bed and upon turning over a sheet, exposed a yellowjacket crawling inconspicuously across our bed. I took off my house slipper (yes, I wear house slippers) and pounded the life out of it. I thought...ok, now we have a problem. They are making their way INTO our house. Something must be done. I declared war, then and there.

I was clueless as to what to do with them. How do you kill these things? Where are they even coming from? After talking with a few folks and reading about it on the internet, I learned what to do. Stake out the nest. Find out where they are coming from. After a good while I finally saw the hole. In and out they went. Then, last night was the first strike. A cup of gasoline down the hatch. That should do it. We'll see. Tonight is another stake out....just to see who survived. And if need be, I will pour some more down. I'm tempted to light it, just to end this nonsense for good. You know, let them know that I mean business.

Till We Have Faces

Well, I finally did it. After years of scoffing, slandering, and sneering, I finally succumbed to the pressure and created an account on Facebook. Back in the day, while everybody combed through pages of friends, wrote on each other's walls, and poked each other (a practice I am still uncomfortable with), I stood by the computer laughing at them. Judging them. Thinking they were inferior, less in the kingdom, and certainly not as good as me. But I must admit, I have had a change of heart. And a change of schedule as well.

I have not been able to get off of this thing for the past 48 hours. I find myself updating my profile, uploading pics, searching out long lost friends, and stalking my friend's friends every free moment I have. And when I am not doing that, I am brainstorming about it. The Book of Faces has taken over my life. I am now that guy I once hated. I am him. I am on Facebook.

My internet world has collided with my real world. Today someone related to me in person (that is, face to face) about something that I had done online (that is, facebook to face). "Nice pic," or something like that. Facebook has not only seeped into my personal schedule but it has seeped into my daily relationships. People now relate to me through my profile. They write on my wall then laugh about it to my face (my actual face) when they see me. I am not only on Facebook, I am Facebook. I have embodied it. I am a walking wall. People actually poke me.

So I ask you this...because you probably have much more Facebooking experience than I do...how do I stop the madness? How do I unplug? I'm telling you right now, as soon as I upload this post, I'm going back to Facebook. In fact I've wasted enough time writing this stupid blog. Must....go....back.....to....Face.....book.....

Why My Wife Would Never Survive in the Wild

Kathryn has been dominated by the elements. In the past few days alone, she has received like 20 mosquito bites, a crippling bee sting on her ankle, an open blister on her hand from using a rake, a searing burn on her elbow from a cooking mishap, and several spots of poison ivy on her arms and legs. Oh yeah, and last week she was scrapped on the leg by an old, rusted fence. My poor, sweet wife.

I am Inconsistent.....Like You

I drove to Baton Rouge this past weekend. It was a delightful trip. Good time with old friends. Good coffee. Good food. I like sitting at a coffee shop for 4 straight hours and have different people cycle through and sit down and visit. That's just good old fun. (Emphasis on "old.") Certainly the worst part of the trip was the 12-hour drive. Coming back from BR up to Charlotte took a bit longer. 2 hours were added as a I sat parked on the highway behind major wrecks and road construction. I never really realized how exhausting it is just to sit there and do nothing. And I got one of those half-n-half tans on my arm. My left arm is darker than my right, since it hogged all of the sun for most of the drive. My left arm had fun in the sun.

On my journey back, I had a stimulating conversation with one, Russ Edwards aka DangerRuss aka Fussel aka Russ-in-a-Bag aka Sandwich aka RussBomb aka R-to-tha-You-to-tha-Double-S-Yall. We discussed "phone talking" and which ear we usually use when we are operating a cellular tellular. We both noticed that it is challenging to hear and hold the phone when you switch to the ear that you don't use very much, your "weak ear," if you will. I can only last so long on my weak ear until I have to switch back. We have come to the conclusion that your "strong ear" has been trained to hear phone conversations, whereas your weak ear hasn't. My strong ear is my right one.

The interesting thing is: my strong side of my mouth is my left one. I mean, I favor the left side of my mouth to chew food on. Very rarely do I pop over to the right. I only do it when I am consciously thinking about it.

So I talk on my right and I chew on my left. I think that balances out somehow.

Cactus: Ode to Hatred

I have spent the better part of my week digging up cactus from our yard during my free time. I am convinced that cactus is part of the fall. This evil plant has stubborn, extended roots, water-filled cactus branches (ie., very heavy), and the obvious needle-peppered exoskeleton. I have been hacking away at these monsters bit by bit. Once they are uprooted, I try to manually lift them into a thick garbage bag with my extra-thick leather work gloves. But work gloves are no match for their penetrating thorns. I have to stop every minute or so, remove the gloves, and pluck out the piercing needle from my finger. Not the most pleasant experience. I have previously written (vented) about poison ivy and onions and their feeble, delayed, defense-mechanisms. I have finally found a plant that I can respect as far as its committment to not being harmed. There have to be millions of thorns on just one cactus stem. Every possible spot to touch this thing is littered with skin-piercing, bamboo-like splinters. The cactus is clearly an introvert. It wants nothing to do with anybody. Or anything. It remains, truly, an island.

I hate these things and I have no idea how to effectively get rid of them. As for now, I am loading them up in bags, struggling with all of my might to lift the bags to the street, and hoping that the city will take them away. Please, City, take them away. They have no place here in our yard.

Why I'll Never Be Rich

The other night as I was dozing off to sleep, I began to brainstorm about old television shows that I remembered NOT for their content but specifically for their opening jingle-like song introduction thingy. And if I was a betting man, I would bet that the majority of our culture knows these shows more for their opening songs than what these shows were actually about. For some reason, I can recite the songs verbatim, but could probably count on one hand how many times I've actually seen an episode.

1. The Andy Griffith Show
2. Cheers
3. Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
4. The Brady Bunch
5. The Beverly Hillbillies


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On another note, why is walking an old lady across the street the universally understood pinnacle of what consititutes a "good deed?" Honestly, who has ever ONCE in their life walked an old lady across the street? If I ever saw the opportunity to actually take an elderly stranger by the arm and assist her across an intersection, I would probably refrain from doing so out of the fear that I would naturally assume her to assume that I would be going for her purse. And if for whatever reason I did manage to assist her across the street, I think every one who would be looking on would be amusingly shocked. They would nudge each other and whisper, "Wow, that guy is actually helping an old lady across the street." And then I would receive my merit badge in heaven.

Sweating Chicken Grease

A few months back I received a set of coupons from Chick Fil A in the mail. It wasn't those stupid 50 cents off coupons, these were the real deal: Free Chick Fil A sandwich (2 coupons of that one) - no purchase necessary....Free chicken biscuit with purchase of cup of coffee. However, on the coupons, it noted "Please use by 2/28." Interesting way to put it, I thought. They are politely asking me to "please" use this by a certain date.

Anyhoo - I let the coupons sit around until 2/27 and then remembered about the wonderful offer Chick Fil A had graciously provided me. So I went and got a chicken sandwich for lunch. For free. No purchase necessary. And then on 2/28 I went over in the morning and got my chicken biscuit with my (purchased) cup of coffee. And a few hours later I went back to cash in my last free chicken sandwich for lunch. I wouldn't have crunched in so many chicken outings if it hadn't kindly asked me, "Please use by 2/28." I wanted to respect their kind and polite request. On that final lunch trip, as I was awaiting my final free chicken sandwich, I asked the cashier just want it meant exactly to "please use by 2/28." She told me that it meant that it did NOT expire on 2/28 and that I can have used it for as long as I wanted. Hmmm. That would have been good to know on my first chicken outing. But as a result, I had Chick Fil A for 3 out of 4 meals. And I won't be going back anytime soon...although I did appreciate their coupon flexibility and their polite way of informing me.

Guilty Banking

Today we went to the bank to get out some money. And I noticed that while I was in the bank I felt...well...unnecessarily guilty. I feel very insecure/self-conscious at the bank. If I look around the bank I think that some police force looking through the security cameras will think I am being suspicious...you know, like I am scoping out the place for a future hit or something. So I catch myself looking around the bank and stop very suddenly. Which then makes me even more worried because a sudden stop of surveying the bank looks even more suspicious. Certainly somebody is going to emerge from the back and pull me aside for questioning.

So then I just look straight ahead, tunnel-vision style. Just plain awkward. The cameras are all pointed at me. Tellers are looking at me out of the corner of their eye. Certainly someone thinks I am about to rob this place. And all I want is to make a withdrawal. I thought about making some sort of joke about all of this internal insecurity with the teller, you know, just to make it absolutely certain that I was not going to rob the bank because afterall, I am joking about it now, and who jokes about robbing a bank and then actually rob it? That's what I thought. But then I felt that such a move would backfire...and they would see my joke as an intentional ploy to lower the teller's defenses. So I didn't make the joke about robbing the bank. I'm thankful I didn't. I think joking about robbing the bank while at the bank is equivalent to saying "bomb" on an airplane. It is just something you don't do.

Well, somehow I made it out of the bank without getting arrested for making my withdrawal. And then Kathryn and I went out and bought a house.

Memories of Awkwardness

I just remembered a very awkward, and yet very amusing, encounter I had a few months back. In January, I flew out to Colorado to represent RTS at Young Life's Staff Training at Frontier Ranch. My mission: Get YL staff people to get seminary credit with us. It was an easy assignment. And it turned out to be a great trip, despite several nights of 6 degree weather.

I had been emailing back and forth with a woman in the YL office named Barb. I had filled her in on when I would be arriving to the airport and she had notified me that she would be there to pick me up. Keep in mind, we had been emailing. I have no idea what she looks like, how old she is, or even how we are going to get in contact with each other when I touched down in Colorado. Oh, but I would know in time.

So I land that afternoon sometime and find my way to the baggage claim, surveying the crowd for anyone holding signs or wearing YL garb. There was an older woman standing alone by the carousel holding a handmade cardboard sign and as I approached her, what was black-markered onto the cardboard read "Matt." I approached her smiling and said, "Hey, I think you may be waiting for me." Her eyes lit up and she set down her sign to embrace me. Sweet woman, I thought. I returned the hug and said, "Hey, it is so nice to meet you," but I was interrupted by her - "Oh my goodness!! You have changed so much" (by this point, she was touching my face). She was gazing into my eyes in a way that gave me confidence that this woman was indeed not Barb. I stepped back a bit and interrupted her (she was going on about something) and asked her, "Are you looking for Matt Howell?" Her smile began to fade. "I think you may be looking for a different person." We both gave an awkward laugh, she picked up her a sign and moved along. Here, I had just embraced a complete stranger...an elderly woman...one that touched my face and gazed into my eyes. The awkwardness persisted though, because I had to stand there and wait for my luggage and she had to stand there and wait for "Matt." I watched her out of the corner of my eye to find out if Matt ever showed up and what he would have looked like.

He never did. And by the time I left and got paired up with my real ride (which incidentally was not Barb at all), she was still standing alone beside the luggage carousel holding her little sign and waiting for "Matt.". I sort of want to think that she is simply a lonely old woman who spends her days waiting at the baggage claim holding a sign with a generic name on it in the hopes that she might, for a moment, feel what it is like to be embraced. In that event, I am glad I made her day. She certainly made mine....at least from the standpoint of, "Wow, I just held a complete stranger in my arms."

May Sadness

One a day for all of May.

Well, my friends, it is officially over. The month long meyhem of May is complete. What a joy it has been to wake up every morning and shuffle into the office in a zombie-like state to contemplate, create and produce a thought-provoking, socially-aware contribution to the market place of ideas. It is a shame that such an endeavor ended in but a whimper. Whimper.

So, after perusing the month-long catalog, feel free to note which post you particularly enjoyed or particularly hated. That way we can feel like we are in this together....that we have both survived the madness of May. And it will make me feel good about myself.

1. How do boy-bands get together?
2. Kathryn and sleeping pills
3. Ancient Near East salty meat
4. Organic Peanut Butter Snobs
5. Man Vs. Wild (Zebra Sushi)
6. Hot House, Cold Water
7. Nut Thins = Nuthin
8. Climaxing of: American Idol, 24, House Closing, Exams, May Madness
9. B.O.N.E. = Bone Heads
10. Double Digit Day
11. Termites Only Eat Wood
12. Kathryn's Trump Card Wins Argument
13. Mother's Day
14. Debit Card Madness
15. Half the Madness
16. Leftover Banquet
17. YouTube Debube
18. B.F.Egypt
19. M&Ms Melt in Your Hand
20. Litterbugs
21. Check Writing and Church
22. 24 is Getting Lame-O
23. I Shaved a Mustache and Took a Few Pictures
24. Adverbs Are Going Extinct
25. Onions and Gum
26. Oops, I Forgot About May Madness
27. It's Opposite Day!
28. $4 Rebate and 41 Cent Postage - Wha Happened??
29. Nougat Conundrum
30. I Don't Want to Write Any More
31. May Gladness

Whimper.

May Sadness Eve

One a day for all of May...

This morning I am tired and grumpy and not much in the mood for carrying on the torch that is Mad Madness. I hate May Madness right now. I hate its ever present pull on my life. It is an ever-present storm cloud, hovering over my head. It is the law - demanding of me everything and promising me nothing in return. It is the mean office manager hanging over my shoulder tapping his clipboard, evaluating everything I do with a suspicious and critical eye. And tomorrow it is all over. Tomorrow I am free. I am bound, I am bound, I am bound, I am bound for the Promised Land - the liberation of May Madness into what I will implicitly think of as June Gladness. Free from the pressure. Free from the anxiety. Free from the relentless demand to write and write and write. I want to go back to bed. I am sleepy. And grumpy.

A.C.R.O.N.Y.M.

O.A.D.F.A.O.M....

Ok, seriously. What is nougat? I know they pack this stuff in 3 Muskateers, Zero, and Choc-O-Fun candy bars, but what is it? Is it chocolate? Fluffy caramel? Something completely different? Last night at the restaurant where Kat and I went for dinner, they offered some sort of dessert something-or-other that featured nougat. I've never seen nougat outside of the context of a 3 Muskateers candy bar. I suppose that either I've been very sheltered when it comes to nougat or more likely, nobody really knows what this stuff is and occasionally includes the word on their dessert menu. TTFN.

Rebates and Postage Rates

one A day for All of mAy...

I bought a Brita water filter replacement filter thingy yesterday. It came with a $4 rebate. A whole $4 rebate. Wow. Are they really going to send me a check in 6-8 weeks written out to Matthew T Howell for 4 bucks? It is really completely pointless. I wasn't even counting on doing the rebate, it was just there and available. Here is the interesting part (as if you weren't already riveted thus far), postage is freakin' 41 cents. That's like nearly 1/8th of the entire rebate. So really, this rebate is worth about $3.50. It is probably going to cost me more in gas to actually take my rebate check to the bank for depositing. $4 rebate? Absolutely worthless.

Opposite Day

"Hey Matt, you're the coolest kid in class."

"Really? Gee, thanks."

"Ha ha! It's Opposite Day!!" [haughty laughter here]

Remember Opposite Day? Remember its irregularity on the calendar? You could go to school and never really know if today was the day where everything said was really the opposite of truth. You would try to insult somebody and on that special day they would receive it as a compliment. And compliments become insults. What I never really understood about Opposite Day was that if you declared it to be Opposite Day on the given day where all things were truly opposite, then it wasn't really opposite day. In other words, the statement "It is Opposite Day" must be opposite-ized as well, which means that it isn't truly Opposite Day. And then if that is true, there is really no point in opposite-izing the statement. It is a logical conundrum, this Opposite Day. If it was TRULY Opposite Day, these little kids should have declared that "It isn't Opposite Day." But then again, this would not be very helpful information to the person who was just informed that they were the "coolest kid in class." They believe that they received a kind compliment. And afterall, today is not opposite day. But it is. Only you can't say it is. Because then that statement would be subject to being opposite-ized. And round and round we go into the logical abyss that is Opposite Day. Or rather, Opposite Madness.

May Forgetfulness

Still one a day for all of May...

It is 1:19 pm. This is the first time in all of May Madness that I have forgotten to post a blog in the morning. I woke up. Went about my day. Went to RTS graduation as an usher and I must say, I ushed the mess out of that event, as I tend to do in my ushing engagements. After graduation I went to the reception to get my recept on. They had lemonade. And soy-glazed chicken nuggets on a stick. And Scottish Meatballs. And a vat of 7-layer dip. It was nice. But yet, I left the Madness of May behind. And in turn, I let down all of my committed, dedicated, faithful fans who rise each day with me in eager hopes of reading this blog. Please forgive me. I know this must be a shocking blow to all of you. I'm sorry. For the remainder of May Madness, I will rise extra early and write with more vigor to atone for my own forgetfulness.

Onion Gum

One a day for all of May!

I put onions in the same camp as poison ivy - I simply don't understand their self-defense systems. Cutting open an onion, for whatever reason, emits a fume/odor/?? that burns your eyes. I've actually cried before while chopping up an onion. I hate it. And as for it's self-defense? It doesn't really stop me from chopping it open, probably because the self-defense fume/eye thing only happens AFTER you've already chopped it open. How does that help preserve itself? That's like having an electric shock connected to my wallet and whoever steals it receives some sort of said shock. Sure, they get zapped but they also get my wallet. Not much of a security system. And so, I'm perplexed by the actual point of the eye-burning fumes that emit from a gutted onion (and poison ivy). But I have learned a trick that will even prevent the onion eye fumes. The next time you are chopping an onion, pop in a piece of gum. Some type of mint works well. Spearmint, even. I read about this trick on the walls of a bathroom stall. Tried it out. It worked. No more weeping while chopping.

Killing the Adverb Slow

One a day for all of May...........................

I believe that we as Americans are slowly killing the adverb. We just don't use them anymore. For some reason, they have lost their usage. Or we simply hate the L-Y combination. Kathryn sometimes tells me she feels "badly" when she feels...bad. That just sounds really odd. Badly. I want her to say that she feels bad. But that is not grammatically correct. It is not adverbially accurate. It is not syntactically significant. So, she feels "badly." And sounds silly.