Or "One Night Only"
(note: this is a repost from earlier this year, but I was reminded of the wall earlier today and wanted to the give the wall it's due)
For the past month there has been construction non-stop next door to our coffee shop. During the holidays it had been a seasonal Brookstone store. Once the holidays were over however, construction crews moved in and began hammering away at the space next to us. Something new was moving in. The new store would need an entire new setup and layout than Brookstone had. I was curious as to what would be moving in. After asking a couple of people, I had the answer. It was going to be a Chico’s.
At first I was excited because I thought Chico’s sold super nachos and breakfast burritos. How convenient would that be! Breakfast blend coffee and breakfast burritos from Chico’s! A perfect pairing! Unfortunately, someone was quick to inform me that Chico’s did not sell Mexican food, but was in fact a clothing store. A clothing store for mature fashionable women. A one stop shop for things I didn’t need. Why couldn’t it have been nachos!
The good news was that it could bring in some new customers and new faces. So I was fairly patient with the construction and the loud noises. A bookcase nearly fell on my head several times, but no one got seriously injured. The crews always started early before daylight and worked through the better part of the day.
It was Friday morning when I walked into our coffee shop and I could hear the familiar noises coming from next door. I could hear hammers working and saws cutting as I made my way to the counter to start my day. Halfway to the register, I was caught by surprise by a noise that I have never heard coming from a wall before. I stopped. The noise came again. I laughed out loud. I couldn’t believe my ears. It sounded as if our wall had eaten a weeks supply of bean burritos and had finally decided to let it all out.
There were big sounds, little sounds, elongated sounds, and several large booming sounds. It was a gasternal symphony of sounds.
Our wall had become the largest standing whooppee cushion.
I found out that they were using a special drill that day to cut holes through metal. Apparently, the drill also cuts through cheese just as well.
It was Friday morning, our busiest day of the week, so I jumped quickly behind the espresso bar and began to work. Just like clockwork, our morning rush began. Customers were used to the construction by then and ordered drinks before waiting in front of the espresso bar to receive them. At first there were two customers waiting, then five, and soon there were was a crowd of about twelve. I worked feverishly trying to get the drinks done in a reasonable amount of time.
It was about that moment when the noise started up again. I looked up in time to see a customer glance at another customer with a downward stare and then take a step away. More noises followed. Uncomfortable shifting of shoulders and looking around. More booming noises from next door and suddenly the sleepy crowd became alert and awake. Everyone could hear it, but no one was talking about it. The wall tooted away contentedly oblivious to the fact of the ever growing awkward crowd.
I decided I needed to step in.
I extended my arms as far as they could go in a diagonal fashion, with my highest hand pointing out towards the offending wall.
“MAN, “ I said loudly, determined to be heard over the offensive harmony, “ SOMEONE SHOULD REALLY GIVE THAT WALL SOME BEAN-O!”.
I flashed the largest smile I could create and wriggled my fingertips at the end of my still extended arms. I looked around the crowd searching for the first smile or laugh that would put everyone at ease and get us started on a great Friday.
Nothing. I waited five seconds. Still nothing. Ten seconds. Not one smile or laugh escaped the crowd. Blank faces stared back at me.
I quickly dropped my arms to my side and got back to making drinks. It was the longest twelve drinks of my life. As the crowd filed out, drinks in hand, I realized that my life as a stand up comic had lasted an entirety of two minutes.
Saturday
Reaching Out
Paul and I were heading northbound on Craycroft. We probably travel this road nearly every day of the year because it is the same way to Paul’s parents house and to the gym. Our daily routine usually involves a trip to the gym and/or Paul’s parents house or a mixture of the two. The median is divided by concrete dividers that house various desert vegetation including flowers, bushes and cactus.
We are riding along when the car ahead of us catches my attention. It appears that the driver in front of us is part giant. He seems like a big fellow whose frame is barely contained in his car. It is further accented by the fact that his car seems unusually small. A big guy in a little car.
Most people usually just blend into their cars, but he sticks out and appears that any minute he is going to burst out of his car. I am trying to decide if he is actually as big as he seems or if the cars is just so small. It seems like a combination of the both. I am trying to decide his actual height, when his left arm pokes out of the car. His large arm reaches out and grabs a branch from a tree and rips it out and throws it to the ground.
Paul and I look at each other for a sec and then stare back at the car in front of us. His arms stays hanging on the left side of the car, nearly touching the ground. He continues to rip out vegetation and pull out branches as he drives along. He pulls out flowers from bushes, uproots small trees and scatters branches along the median. He is a giant of destruction leaving behind splinters of dead vegetation in his wake.
I am pretty shocked and amazed and how much he can reach and destroy from the reach of his car. Finally he comes along a part of the median which contain large cactus with prickly thorns. He hand remains out stretched and seems poised to give the cactus face a whack. I begin to flinch imagining the pain those thorns could do to a hand. He seems undeterred and is ten seconds away from contact.
I am glued to his hand awaiting the outcome. The giant or the cactus? One second from impact and he pulls his hand suddenly at the last possible second. I sigh a relief. He catches us watching him from his rearview mirror. He speeds off in a zigzag fashion never to be seen again.
That’s my adventure of the day.
We are riding along when the car ahead of us catches my attention. It appears that the driver in front of us is part giant. He seems like a big fellow whose frame is barely contained in his car. It is further accented by the fact that his car seems unusually small. A big guy in a little car.
Most people usually just blend into their cars, but he sticks out and appears that any minute he is going to burst out of his car. I am trying to decide if he is actually as big as he seems or if the cars is just so small. It seems like a combination of the both. I am trying to decide his actual height, when his left arm pokes out of the car. His large arm reaches out and grabs a branch from a tree and rips it out and throws it to the ground.
Paul and I look at each other for a sec and then stare back at the car in front of us. His arms stays hanging on the left side of the car, nearly touching the ground. He continues to rip out vegetation and pull out branches as he drives along. He pulls out flowers from bushes, uproots small trees and scatters branches along the median. He is a giant of destruction leaving behind splinters of dead vegetation in his wake.
I am pretty shocked and amazed and how much he can reach and destroy from the reach of his car. Finally he comes along a part of the median which contain large cactus with prickly thorns. He hand remains out stretched and seems poised to give the cactus face a whack. I begin to flinch imagining the pain those thorns could do to a hand. He seems undeterred and is ten seconds away from contact.
I am glued to his hand awaiting the outcome. The giant or the cactus? One second from impact and he pulls his hand suddenly at the last possible second. I sigh a relief. He catches us watching him from his rearview mirror. He speeds off in a zigzag fashion never to be seen again.
That’s my adventure of the day.
Tuesday
Knife in my Gut
or "Ocean Ommitance "
Two days after my thirtieth birthday and I find myself on a table getting cut open and put back together.
Originally, I had hoped that I might be in Brazil for my thirtieth birthday enjoying an internship, but with the economy in it’s current state, it was canceled. With no Brazil in sight, I decided to go ahead and schedule a surgery. I felt a surgery was still a notable life experience. Perhaps not as beautiful and breathtaking, but noteworthy nonetheless. I didn’t want a significant birthday to pass without a significant event. I was careful to schedule it after my actual birthday because I wanted to give myself at least a couple days of enjoying birthday gifts and friends before going under the knife.
I haven’t had a real surgery since I was seven and I was unsure about how the whole procedure worked. I was diagnosed over a year ago and I kept putting my surgery off. I felt that now that I was accomplishing thirty, it would be the first adult thing I could do. Adults were people who scheduled and had surgeries. This would be my crossing of the threshold called adulthood. Unfortunately I was still naïve about the severity of surgical procedures and gave no more thought to it than scheduling a haircut.
“I need to schedule an appointment for a surgery next week.” I told the receptionist on the other line. “Preferably sometime before Friday because I am leaving for California then. Maybe you have an appointment available Thursday? The earlier the better since I have a flight on Friday morning.”
There was a noticeable pause on the other end.
“I really don’t think it’s such a good idea,” she said sweetly,” Why don’t we reschedule when you get back? You are going to need some recovery time. There are plenty of openings three weeks from now.”
It was generous of her to suggest moving it, but I have never been known to deter from an idea once I have decided something. I think she sensed my solidity and although there were absolutely no appointments available on Tuesday, she made some magic happen. I told her that Tuesday would do and penciled it on my calendar. Tuesday gave me three days before my vacation. It seemed like an exorbitant amount of recovery time but I was sure I could find things to do.
Plenty of loved ones volunteered their presence on Tuesday , but I wasn’t having any of it. I scolded Paul and wouldn’t allow him to miss work because we were already leaving on Friday. He was generous enough to respect my request but he was insistent that his dad drive me. Paul’s dad tried to talk me out of getting the surgery before Friday‘s trip. He was making jokes but expressing his concern, during the drive over but I assured him I would be fine.
It wasn’t until after I signed the contract that I started to reconsider his advice. The contract stated that if something happened which resulted in my death that I was consenting a hundred percent. I was mulling the contract over, sitting with my lower cheeks to the wind.
“I could be wearing my last outfit on earth.” I thought rather grimly. A white polka dotted hospital gown.
I could hear an older couple through the thin sheet curtain behind me. They were being very sweet to each other and I could tell their tenderness was heightened due to their circumstances. If anything went wrong with her surgery, they wanted to make sure to say their proper goodbyes to each other. I started to sweat it a little, but before I could put my pants back on, I was lead away and put under.
* * * * *
A couple of hours later and I woke up scratching my nose. The nurse took that as a good sign and I received my walking papers with several stipulations. The first was to take it easy for a couple of days and second, I wasn’t allowed to enter the ocean. I could get my stitches wet, but the doctor didn’t think it was a good idea to enter the ocean and chance getting an infection. My uncle had just told me a story about a friend whose stitches got infected so bad that they had to operate on him three times . There would be no ocean for me in California.
It was as small price, but one I was sure I could pay. To Paul, that would be the greatest doctor order ever: to not enter the ocean. He loves going to the beach, but he hates the water. He thinks it’s unhygienic, dirty, and he believes seaweed is the mucus of the devil. He actually has never entered the ocean before and refuses to get close. He enjoys the sand and the laying about, just never the water.
It was our third day in California when we finally made some time to check out the beach. I didn’t even bother putting on swim trunks so that I wouldn’t be tempted. I just left on some basket ball shorts. It has been a couple of years since I have seen a Californian beach. We set up camp and pulled out some books and prepared to catch some sun rays. Placing the book aside though, I couldn’t help but walk to edge of the water and get my feet wet.
My recovery had been coming along fine, but for the first time I started to feel pain internally. It wasn’t my stitches so much as it was my soul. I have always associated the ocean with a form of communion with God. I stared at the ocean wistfully and decided to move in closer, at least up to my knees. I stared at the horizon and noticed everyone playing around me, splashing and riding waves. I barely even noticed the two white feet approaching next to me. It was Paul.
“The water is so cold!” he said as his feet touched the ocean for the first time. Just then a wave came in and touched the bottom of my basketball shorts. “Whoa,” said Paul, “be careful, you don’t want to get your stitches wet.”
“It’s just the waves.” I told Paul, “I don’t think it will go much higher.”
I showed Paul how I liked to play in the waves and how the sand sort of melts when the waves pull it back in. He smiled and stuck his toes in the sand and practiced catching waves with me, just to the bottom of his shorts also. This went on for awhile until a huge wave pushed to the shore and left a two foot piece of seaweed attached to Paul’s leg. His eyes widened and he shook it off faster than I thought possible.
“You still don’t like the ocean, do you?” I asked, but I already knew the answer.
“No.” he said giving a half smile.
“You didn’t want to touch the water, did you.” I asked smiling.
“Nope.” he answered quickly.
“You are completely done now and want to head back to our books and the sun.” I asked him, curious but confident at his response.
“Yes. Please.” he said emphatically, already moving out of the grip of the ocean.
I looked back at the vastness of water and then turned and started to follow Paul. I know the only reason he came out was to offer his solace and make my quiet misery bearable . The comforting investment about turning thirty is knowing that living doesn’t just consist of significant events but rather significant people.
BONUS PIC
Two days after my thirtieth birthday and I find myself on a table getting cut open and put back together.
Originally, I had hoped that I might be in Brazil for my thirtieth birthday enjoying an internship, but with the economy in it’s current state, it was canceled. With no Brazil in sight, I decided to go ahead and schedule a surgery. I felt a surgery was still a notable life experience. Perhaps not as beautiful and breathtaking, but noteworthy nonetheless. I didn’t want a significant birthday to pass without a significant event. I was careful to schedule it after my actual birthday because I wanted to give myself at least a couple days of enjoying birthday gifts and friends before going under the knife.
I haven’t had a real surgery since I was seven and I was unsure about how the whole procedure worked. I was diagnosed over a year ago and I kept putting my surgery off. I felt that now that I was accomplishing thirty, it would be the first adult thing I could do. Adults were people who scheduled and had surgeries. This would be my crossing of the threshold called adulthood. Unfortunately I was still naïve about the severity of surgical procedures and gave no more thought to it than scheduling a haircut.
“I need to schedule an appointment for a surgery next week.” I told the receptionist on the other line. “Preferably sometime before Friday because I am leaving for California then. Maybe you have an appointment available Thursday? The earlier the better since I have a flight on Friday morning.”
There was a noticeable pause on the other end.
“I really don’t think it’s such a good idea,” she said sweetly,” Why don’t we reschedule when you get back? You are going to need some recovery time. There are plenty of openings three weeks from now.”
It was generous of her to suggest moving it, but I have never been known to deter from an idea once I have decided something. I think she sensed my solidity and although there were absolutely no appointments available on Tuesday, she made some magic happen. I told her that Tuesday would do and penciled it on my calendar. Tuesday gave me three days before my vacation. It seemed like an exorbitant amount of recovery time but I was sure I could find things to do.
Plenty of loved ones volunteered their presence on Tuesday , but I wasn’t having any of it. I scolded Paul and wouldn’t allow him to miss work because we were already leaving on Friday. He was generous enough to respect my request but he was insistent that his dad drive me. Paul’s dad tried to talk me out of getting the surgery before Friday‘s trip. He was making jokes but expressing his concern, during the drive over but I assured him I would be fine.
It wasn’t until after I signed the contract that I started to reconsider his advice. The contract stated that if something happened which resulted in my death that I was consenting a hundred percent. I was mulling the contract over, sitting with my lower cheeks to the wind.
“I could be wearing my last outfit on earth.” I thought rather grimly. A white polka dotted hospital gown.
I could hear an older couple through the thin sheet curtain behind me. They were being very sweet to each other and I could tell their tenderness was heightened due to their circumstances. If anything went wrong with her surgery, they wanted to make sure to say their proper goodbyes to each other. I started to sweat it a little, but before I could put my pants back on, I was lead away and put under.
* * * * *
A couple of hours later and I woke up scratching my nose. The nurse took that as a good sign and I received my walking papers with several stipulations. The first was to take it easy for a couple of days and second, I wasn’t allowed to enter the ocean. I could get my stitches wet, but the doctor didn’t think it was a good idea to enter the ocean and chance getting an infection. My uncle had just told me a story about a friend whose stitches got infected so bad that they had to operate on him three times . There would be no ocean for me in California.
It was as small price, but one I was sure I could pay. To Paul, that would be the greatest doctor order ever: to not enter the ocean. He loves going to the beach, but he hates the water. He thinks it’s unhygienic, dirty, and he believes seaweed is the mucus of the devil. He actually has never entered the ocean before and refuses to get close. He enjoys the sand and the laying about, just never the water.
It was our third day in California when we finally made some time to check out the beach. I didn’t even bother putting on swim trunks so that I wouldn’t be tempted. I just left on some basket ball shorts. It has been a couple of years since I have seen a Californian beach. We set up camp and pulled out some books and prepared to catch some sun rays. Placing the book aside though, I couldn’t help but walk to edge of the water and get my feet wet.
My recovery had been coming along fine, but for the first time I started to feel pain internally. It wasn’t my stitches so much as it was my soul. I have always associated the ocean with a form of communion with God. I stared at the ocean wistfully and decided to move in closer, at least up to my knees. I stared at the horizon and noticed everyone playing around me, splashing and riding waves. I barely even noticed the two white feet approaching next to me. It was Paul.
“The water is so cold!” he said as his feet touched the ocean for the first time. Just then a wave came in and touched the bottom of my basketball shorts. “Whoa,” said Paul, “be careful, you don’t want to get your stitches wet.”
“It’s just the waves.” I told Paul, “I don’t think it will go much higher.”
I showed Paul how I liked to play in the waves and how the sand sort of melts when the waves pull it back in. He smiled and stuck his toes in the sand and practiced catching waves with me, just to the bottom of his shorts also. This went on for awhile until a huge wave pushed to the shore and left a two foot piece of seaweed attached to Paul’s leg. His eyes widened and he shook it off faster than I thought possible.
“You still don’t like the ocean, do you?” I asked, but I already knew the answer.
“No.” he said giving a half smile.
“You didn’t want to touch the water, did you.” I asked smiling.
“Nope.” he answered quickly.
“You are completely done now and want to head back to our books and the sun.” I asked him, curious but confident at his response.
“Yes. Please.” he said emphatically, already moving out of the grip of the ocean.
I looked back at the vastness of water and then turned and started to follow Paul. I know the only reason he came out was to offer his solace and make my quiet misery bearable . The comforting investment about turning thirty is knowing that living doesn’t just consist of significant events but rather significant people.
BONUS PIC
Time Traveling Dinosaurs
or "How an ipod saved my life"
The gentleman was extremely excited and he insisted I check out his computer screen. I was intially hesitant, but as is always the case, I was more curious than a normal person should be. The first picture was on his computer background. It was pink, fleshly, and mostly unidentifiable.
"Don't you see," he said pointing to the screen,"It's dinosaur flesh! Real live dinosaur flesh!"
I took a closer look, but still I couldn't make out any dinosaur that I have ever seen in a book. To be fair though, it was a cut-away cross section of dinosaur flesh. They don't usually show those in children's books.
"Don't you see," he exclaimed,"It's one of the world's biggest discoveries in recent years. They checked the DNA to all current DNA types available and there are no matches.It is an incredibly well preserved piece of dinosaur flesh. It really sort of changes everything, doesn't it?"
I thought about it for a moment.
"Well, I guess it depends on how well it cooks up with bacon and eggs." I said.
I wondered how much of the flesh they actually recovered. He continued with more details of the excavation and the implications it could have about the existence of God. I tried to follow his train of logic, but I wasn't sure if he was saying that it would prove or disprove the existence of God. Personally, I found it hard to believe that anybody would change belief teams based on discovered dinosaur meat. I think a majority of people have made up their minds on the matter long before looking at any physical evidence.
I tried to think of any implications that dinosaur flesh would have on my own personal life. Nothing immediately came to the surface. I tried to imagine it on a grander scheme. Would my life change if they had found a whole dinasaur walking around? Maybe perhaps some T-Rex that was discovered roaming around in a hidden jungle somewhere. (Assuming that there are some hidden jungles still existing on earth...although I sort of doubt it).
I just couldn't see how my own day-to-day life would change drastically from the discovery of dinosaurs. I started to take inventory of all the discoveries made during my lifetime and what they did to change the course of my life. Which discovery drastically changed my world? It was undisputable. The iPod changed my life forever.
I am dangerously aware that it may sound shallow, but I know a lot of people who feel the same way.
The first thing the iPod did for me was completely execute the radio. I would never have to listen to the same ten songs every hour again. It really allowed me to explore and enjoy more music. Uncountable amounts of songs are released on the internet everyday. Paul rounds them up on the computer and I put them on my iPod. It makes me feel connected to the pulse of the world.
Technically, I know that wonder really falls under the discovery of the internet, but without an mp3 player you couldn't fit it all into your pocket. Not to mention that with out it, audio books wouldn't fit there either, along with language courses, e-mail, and of course the ever present facebook. ( We won't even get into all of the apps, this isn't a paid advertisement).
Dinosaurs versus the Digital age? I think the dinasaurs are better off staying extinct. I am sure there are still plenty of discoveries waiting to change our lives. Here is my list of discoveries that I feel could be life changing:
1.Time Traveling - If this were discovered, it could definitely change
things up a bit.Although to be fair, it would probably not be in the reach of most people and if it was, I am sure it would be ridiculously expensive. So maybe it wouldn't really change anything after all.
2. Teleportation - Another great discovery that would be make the world smaller. If anyone could be anywhere within seconds, nothing would ever be the same. Of course, again I am sure it would be outrageously expensive and rule restrictive.
3. Life on other planets - Depending on what they knew and shared, I think that alien life would majorly shift our world views. Nearly every book would need to be rewritten in some way or another.
4. Fix-all cure/Eternal Life - Much of our life and view points revolve around our fraility and demise. Take those things out of the equation and what would we do with eternal life and flawless health? It would be interesting to see how great or evil we become.
These are my ideas for future life changing discoveries. Maybe they are kind of grand and far reaching, but I am curious to see what everyone else's ideas are. I know there are millions I haven't thought of, and probably a couple of actual pratical ones! Let me know!
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