Regular Life

In Tulsa last weekend, my favorite time was one cool morning playing with Benjamin in the front yard. He picked up a couple black plastic stakes advertising the lawn service Shannon’s uncle uses, and following his lead we pretended they were swords. We fake fenced a bit and then he mimicked pulling a trigger and fake shot me. If this disturbs you, then get ready — kids love to pretend to shoot.

Figuring I didn’t want to bring a knife to a gunfight, I pulled my sword’s imaginary trigger and did my best vocal impression of a Star Wars blaster.

“No, daddy, your sword can’t shoot. Only mine can shoot.”

I laughed. “Well, that doesn’t seem quite fair, son.”

Our time reminded me that weather can be pleasant in May and that our four-year-old boy (sneaking up on five) thrives outdoors.

While we can’t offer him the wooded environs of my childhood, I am glad that his first question when I get home from work is, “Can we go outside and play, Daddy?”

The poor kid. He got pretty much the same skin his old man has, so all of that outside time comes with a price. Sunscreen. Lots and lots of sunscreen.

For one morning in Tulsa, however, we didn’t have to worry about such things. We were just father and son in the front yard, battling like pirates.

I was moved a week ago to share this, but I made myself wait.

In 1979, a young man hoping to make it in the film business began taking a photo each day with his Polaroid SX-70 camera. He categorized them by date and didn’t stop until the day he died. That day came only 18 years after he started — a long time to continue such a project, but a short time to live.

Those who loved him made sure his photos survived and in 2007 began an exhibit featuring 6,697 of them at Bard College in Annandale-On-Hudson, New York.

Started as a private site for those close to the project, the website featuring Livingston’s photos found its way into the public eye and, thanks to being Digg’s second-most-popular link of the week, crashed. I sat on this post until I could see more of the pictures myself and knew the site was up and working again on a more robust server.

Although a few photo-a-day websites manage to capture our imaginations, the ubiquity of those that don’t makes it difficult to sort through the chaff. Livingston, however, managed to capture ordinary moments in an extraordinary way. Perhaps that’s because, unlike so many modern bloggers, he wasn’t doing it for show.

The moving article I can’t hope to top (sent by Alvis) incorporates highlight photos with narrative:
http://www.mentalfloss.com/blogs/archives/15131

Livingston’s Photos are here (the link in the article above does not work as of 5/28/2008):
http://photooftheday.hughcrawford.com/

As some of you know, it’s become a bit of a tradition for me to see a new movie when our family visits my wife’s Tulsa relatives. While I typically take a few of the kids with me, this time I let them see Iron Man (which I already had seen) while their parents and I watched the latest in a line of movies whose last entry came in 1989.

I don’t usually do movie reviews, but as a big fan of the original trilogy, I’ll throw in my take.

Notice: there may be spoilers here, depending on how strict your standards are.

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull does three things:

• introduces Shia La Beowulf Labeouf as the successor to Professor Jones’ throne of adventuring archaeologist,
• serves up a tough guy with whom Indiana must ultimately tangle in hand-to-hand combat, and
• goes sci-fi rather than supernatural.

Sure, it does more than that, but I figured three were plenty to cover here.

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It’s been that kind of month at work — lots of storm clouds with hope beginning to shine back through. Nothing in particular was going on; it just was busy and my schedule was unpredictable.

Conventionally translated to “storm and stress,” the German phrase “Sturm und Drang” more literally means, “storm and urge, storm and longing, or storm and impulse,” according to its entry on Wikipedia.

Lately I’ve been too “just the facts” out here. A robot can regurgitate facts and happenings.

I should have emphasized that two weeks ago I met in person three intelligent, witty, and warm individuals who I hope always will be my friends. The following weekend, in the town where we live I hung out and laughed with people about whom I can say the same.

It’s amazing what we humans will do to make an emotional connection with others, and sometimes shocking that we let ourselves avoid it. We rarely overtly express that’s what we’re doing, and often words are unnecessary.

Machines already exceed our strength and agility, and may one day surpass our brain power. I like to believe that the one thing we always will have over them is our emotional connection, that intangible and visceral feeling that comes from seeing a person laugh, cry, or shout.

Why are we so good at bringing life to each other’s lives, and why is it so important? Because since the beginning we have felt what machines do not and may never know — Sturm und Drang.

If we ever stop interacting in ways that help us face it, whether here in cyberspace or in the same room, we will become robots ourselves.

If you normally spend between four and five minutes reading here, then today is your big break.

You get to spend about the same amount of time listening, because I’m offering up a hodgepodge of clips that help paint a sonic portrait of what goes on in our lives. No, it isn’t just a bunch of cutesy kid stuff (he said, knowing that the first and last clips are exactly that).

First up, Benjamin talks on the phone to his only first cousin. This clip is compressed for time, because the sound of Benjamin listening isn’t very compelling. But the Star Wars stuff is. (0:16)

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The next two clips capture unexpected (and loud) moments during dinner preparation, when we forgot the recorder was running.

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Note: Mr. B and Mrs. B have been renamed Sir B and Lady B. The other implied they were our elders.

With the flurry of activity here regarding my recent weekend of meeting online friends without getting murdered, I haven’t had a chance to mention a first Shannon and I had with Sir B and Lady B. In fact, from start to finish Saturday helped me remember that I used to make friends without a computer (although neither method is better nor more “real” than the other).

Please excuse there being so many pictures of me; Shannon handled camera duty most of the evening.

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(Note: This is the sixth in a series of posts about the first meeting of three online friends.)

Did I forget to mention that Moonshot and Norah left Saturday morning, so we guys were on our own? Wouldn’t it be funny if we took advantage of that to use the cups as props in public without embarrassing a spouse?

Saturday after the City Museum we stopped at a liquor store and grabbed a bottle of 12-year-old Single Malt Scotch. As Simon and Moksha poured from the bottle of The Balvenie Doublewood, I thought maybe I was on a roll with my tastebuds, so I asked for a small taste.

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(Note: This is the fifth in a series of posts about the first meeting of three online friends.)

At least one of you has looked at kids in those crawl tubes at fast-food restaurants and thought, “I wish they had that for adults.” On my recent trip to St. Louis, a unique place granted that wish and more.

I don’t know that a long, drawn-out narrative would do this place justice, so I’m going to let the pictures tell most of the story. Warning: veritable photographic blowout ahead.

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(Note: This is the fourth in a series of posts about the first meeting of three online friends.)

At age 37, I finally found a beer I like. More on that later.

The appetizing aroma of Moonshot’s Irish stew in the Crockpot welcomed us back from the Adrenaline Zone. Conversation wandered from our blogs to topics that we probably never will post on them. Despite the written nature of our relationships up to that point, repartee came naturally.

Simon in a daze of 40 sleepless hours and the rest of us tired, we played a hand of a Zombie card game and reported to our respective beds shortly after 11 o’clock.

The Bagels

Saturday morning I awoke at about 7 o’clock to sounds familiar to my weekends: a child after a good night’s sleep. Norah giggled and shrieked happily in the living room with Moonshot. The difference this time was that I, too, had slumbered sufficiently. (Note to self: do that more often.) I lay there flat on my back for at least 15 minutes, wondering what the day held for us.

I wandered to the sun room and saw Simon sleeping soundly. Bright sun lit up his blankets, but a swath of shade covered his face. I quietly walked back through the kitchen to the dining area, where I had a clear view of Moonshot and Norah at play.

Norah rushed over to me. “Hi, Norah. Good morning,” I said. She smiled as her blue eyes peeked out through her bangs. She blurted out happy babytalk and scampered back to her mommy.

Arlo the Scottish Terrier barked and growled.

“Oh, he just now realized you weren’t Moksha,” Moonshot said. Of course, she didn’t say “Moksha,” because that would be weird.

A few moments later, Moksha walked through the front door bearing a box of fresh bagels from Panera Bread Company. We moved to the kitchen’s breakfast nook and got our fill of the delicious dough rings.

Simon wandered into the kitchen. “Did I hear someone mention chocolate chip?” he said. He has a thing for the tiny, sweet morsels.

Moksha rummaged around in the bagel box. It turned out the Grens had devoured all three of the chocolate chip bagels — except Norah, who still was busy licking the cream cheese off of hers. Our taunted token Canadian bravely soldiered on and we prepared for our next scheduled venture.

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Note: This is the third in a series of posts about the first meeting between three online friends.

At Moksha Gren’s home — affectionately dubbed “the Grenstead,” we marveled at how we all looked in three dimensions. I was a bit surprised that we stood so close to the same height. Though I had more hair than either of them, my tall forehead helped even up the reflection score.

We were treated to the presence of Moonshot and Norah, the ladies of the house, and Arlo the dog. Toddler Norah — a true cutie pie — entertained us by sliding around on the hardwood floor in her slippers and sporting the camouflage hat she picked from the store shelves. Moonshot entertained us by keeping Moksha in check. In his defense, it was unfair that Simon and I didn’t have our wives on hand to do the same.

The foosball table called to us from the sunroom. Moksha had the best answer, dispatching Simon and me like the rank amateurs we were. I learned that letting go of the grip to spin the players is not acceptable. Note to self: do not expect to win foosball against anyone who actually owns a table.

After lunch at a local microbrewery, we hung out at the house before heading out to play Demolition Ball. Have you ever seen this? Labeled “whirlyball” and probably other names around the USA, it is a combination of basketball, jai-alai, and bumper cars. Moreso than basketball, the goal resembles Pyramid in the new “Battlestar Galactica.” I probably lost some of you just then, but stay with me. There’s suprisingly little sci-fi content from here on out.

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