How we portray ourselves to the outside world and how we think about the outside world are extremely different things. That's a pretty obvious statement, but hang with me for a minute, I promise that I've got a serious point. The difference, I think, is the way we WANT to act, and the way we choose to act. While a five year old doesn't worry about how his peers might reflect on his choices, an adult usually spends significant effort and time worrying about how they might be evaluated based on their decisions.
Personally, this has resulted in my outer self being (at least usually) polite and forgiving. When someone cuts me off in traffic, I wave at them to let them know there aren't hard feelings. When I shop at the supermarket, I I always smile and try to thank whoever helps me, or rings me up. At restaurants I leave generous tips, and thank the service staff for their time.
But my inner dialogue isn't so nice. My inner dialogue is like a catty teenage girl, frequently making judgments and thinking unkind things at strangers. Today, on my way across town to run errands, I saw a pedestrian crossing in the middle of the street instead of walking to the crosswalks nearby, and I slowed down and gave them a smile and friendly little wave to say, "Have a good day, stranger! I hope your walking activities are thoroughly enjoyable!"
Internally, though, my mental dialogue was quite different. My inner monologue was more, "I swear to the LORDS ABOVE AND EVERY SAINT WHO HAS WALKED THE EARTH, IF PEOPLE DON'T START USING CROSSWALKS I'M GOING TO SEE HOW THEY LIKE GETTING CRUSHED BENEATH MY TITANIC CAR OF VENGEANCE!" While I smiled pleasantly, inside my head there was a rampage of frustration that this random pedestrian refused to follow the rules, putting them in danger and inconveniencing me in a minor fashion. But, hey, minor or not, I was furious nonetheless.
They key is not letting anyone see your red-hot flames of fury.
When I got to the market, I tried to pull into a parking lane but couldn't drive forward because an old lady was apparently driving the wrong way down a one-way parking lot. So, I backed up, carefully waved her on, and gave her a thumbs up to say, "I know you drove the wrong way, but I don't take offense! I'm just glad to have the opportunity to help you on your way. Here, let me back my car up so you can get out! I'm certain you made a simple mistake, which is why you didn't drive the right way!"
Inside my head, I got mean. "SERIOUSLY? ARE YOU TRYING TO CONFIRM EVERY SUSPICION AND STEREOTYPE AT ONCE? OLD WOMAN ASIAN DRIVER MOVING 4 MPH IN THE WRONG LANE IN A CAR SO LARGE YOU CLEARLY CAN'T SEE OVER THE STEERING WHEEL? WHAT IS THIS, AMATEUR HOUR?"
I mostly just wanted to use this gif...
I didn't actually think that line. I thought MUCH meaner things.
I holstered my rage, found a parking spot, and went inside. I managed to walk past the dozen carts people were too lazy to put away without much anger (which, hey, is an improvement over my attitude most days!), I moved past the obviously poor parenting woman waiting at the store entrance (her daughter was cussing and screaming and whining about something I didn't understand, and the mother sat talking on her cell phone with someone named Debbie about someone named Mark), and pushed my way inside.
I had no time to be evil, so I only managed a disappointed glare.
Inside, I got through quickly and easily, and was on my way out of the store without another internal rage-fest. I was actually feeling almost pleasant. Then I noticed that someone had parked next to my car so close I couldn't get into it. They had parked OVER the yellow line, and were literally under 6 inches from my driver-side door. To get into my car I had to climb from the passenger side door. Again, my inner supervillain surfaced and I briefly let myself imagine the terrible things I would say to this person, if they were actually nearby. "You parked THAT close? Did you see the line? When you got out, started walking towards the shop, did it occur to you that this would inconvience me? Oh, it didn't? PERHAPS THAT'S BECAUSE YOU'RE A MORON. PERHAPS THAT'S BECAUSE YOU DESERVE HUNDREDS OF VELOCIRAPTORS HUNTING YOU DOWN LIKE THE SAD SACK OF FLESH AND IDIOCY YOU ARE."
I admit, I was lost in my head and smiling for several seconds while imagining releasing my rage on this obnoxious terrible parking-job individual, but there was nothing I could do so I pulled out (made much harder by the car's proximity to mine) and headed home. And as unfathomable as it seems, at the same place, the same random pedestrian crossed in front of me. Again. Not with a traffic light, on a road with a 50 MPH limit, this same idiot ignored the crosswalk at the end of the block and just slowly meandered across the busy road. Worse yet, this time, they made eye contact with me...and smirked.
They SMIRKED at me while inconveniencing me slightly, and the villain in my head couldn't even begin to handle it.
"THIS IS IT. THIS IS THE REASON I WILL DESTROY THE PLANET. WHEN THE FIRES OF MY VENGEANCE CONSUME YOU, WHEN ALL ON EARTH BEGINS TO CRUMBLE TO ASH AND DUST, YOU WILL ASK YOURSELF WHY IT HAD TO HAPPEN. YOU WILL ASK WHAT CAUSED SUCH EVIL TO BE BORN. AND I WILL ANSWER; THAT ONE GUY. THAT JAYWALKING DEVIL AND HIS SMIRK OF MALFEASANCE HAD TO BE PUNISHED BY CLEANSING FIRE. And when the world weeps, and feels my rage, they will know that THIS son of a ***** was the reason for their suffering, and they will hate him ALMOST as much as I do right now. BUT STILL NOT QUITE AS MUCH. BECAUSE I HATE HIM JUST THAT DAMNABLY BAD."
The pedestrian made it across the road and I slowly pulled my foot off the break. The pedestrian still looked at me, the same taunting smirk on his face. He raised his hand to get the 'thank you' wave that he clearly didn't genuinely mean, and I smiled and waved back. After all, it's important that I seem polite in public, right? I mean, I'd have to be CRAZY to let anyone else know the terrible, comically villainous anger that pops into my head when people don't follow social rules...
And there you have it: Though I'm a pretty nice guy, and I like being polite, internally, I'm like a caricature of Disney villains. I rage at minor problems, genuinely hate people who inconvenience me even a little, and couldn't tolerate bad drivers even if my life depended on it. And don't even get me STARTED on people who decide to talk politics just to argue...
*Cough Cough* most people *Cough Cough*
In any case, rage-y or not, painfully similar to Hades from the Disney film Hercules or not, I can genuinely say I hope your days don't involved frustration, or evil inner monologues. In fact, I'd go so far as to say I wish you a wonderful day, a great weekend, and after that, a wonderful week.
Thanks for reading, and I hope you'll stop by BB+B again soon!
-Brian
In the last year, I've struggled with work, and research, and finding financial security, and all sorts of complicated things that come with being a responsible adult. Most of the time, this has resulted in me feeling like this:
"I'm not hyperventilating...the Earth's oxygen must've run out!"
When I have asked friends and family for advice, they've been wonderful. I get support, letters, even a wonderful care package from time to time. Truly, I am fortunate to have the support structure I do in my life. I daily reflect on the pure and unadulterated awesomeness that are my family and friends.
Basically, "WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"
On rare occasions, though, people try to help me and end up actually making things worse. For example, when I received a supportive text message from an old college buddy. I was having an especially rough week, and he tried to cheer me up with the following:
"Hey bro hope all is good wit u just remember you are a sinner and can chose to be redeem from hell if you wanna. WWJD?"
This left me, as you might imagine, somewhat confused. I mean, my friend meant well! But...his support was both unhelpful and actually broke my concentration worse than stress of being busy ever would. There's not a whole lot I can criticize in his intentions, except for the part where his idea of a supportive text message to a relatively open and outspoken atheist is to remind me that apparently I'm sinful in the eyes of his God, and somehow the only way to show support is poor grammar, bad spelling, and pushing what I consider one of the worst belief systems in religion on me. I mean, in a religion with messages like 'Love conquers all' and the Golden Rule, he decided to send me the 'You belong in hell and are inherently sinful' message as a show of support.
This is my 'What the hell?' face.
When I'm saying, "I am having a hard time handling my workload" and "I am feeling overwhelmed by the responsibilities and frustrations of my job" there's pretty much nothing on Earth I would like to avoid more than being told "You're a sinner". And maybe most irritating of all, it ended with WWJD, which somehow he thought would be a useful question to ask when struggling with chemical analyses.
What would Jesus do? First, I'm neither attractive or thin enough to pose with my shirt off as most iconography shows Jesus doing. I wouldn't look majestic and deific, I'd look overweight and hairy, which MANY women I've met in the last years have informed me isn't really "in-fashion" this season. Secondly, I'm nearly certain nobody living 2000 years ago would be able to help clarify what I should be doing as a modern scientific researcher. I mean, "What would Jesus do?" Probably pass out in shock at the modern technology. Maybe cry a little. If I were in his shoes and shot forward 2,000+ years and saw the technology, I'd probably piss myself and pass out, so maybe he'd do that. Or go around preaching to people. Literally none of that is helpful.
I didn't respond to the text message, and I didn't correct my friend about sending incredibly unhelpful support, I just let it go. One of the common complaints about atheists and agnostics is that they can be obnoxious and force their beliefs into conversation, so I made a conscious choice to just appreciate the intent, even if the action was poorly thought out.
But as that day progressed I found myself repeatedly thinking about what a better person to suggest as a guide for life. Who would be better for me to emulate? Who could I try to live up to? I needed to find someone to emulate whose actions and beliefs are useful in almost any situation. I needed to find someone who never seems/seemed overwhelmed. I needed someone with passion but stability, a strong work ethic but who still recognized the value of fun, and someone who I personally look up to. Though the list of potential people was surprisingly long (for example, the amazingly crazy musician and inspirational speaker Andrew W.K. was on the short list for my new personal Jesus-figure) it came down to one person very quickly.
Mr. 'proof-of-the-existence-of-true-and-loving-goodness-in-the-world' Fred Rogers.
Seriously, Catholic Church, we've got another saint ready for processing.
If you don't know much about him, just know that he was AMAZING. Check out the following video for more reasons to love ol' Fred. Video courtesy of the awesome "Mental Floss" youtube channel.
And with the decision to try to emulate that incredible man came an almost immediate change in my behavior:
-That same afternoon, I thought, "What would Mr. Rogers do?" and chose to call my grandma and told her I loved her just because, instead of taking a nap like I was tempted to do.
-An hour later, when I felt like I'd hit a wall on my research progress, I took a deep breath and put on cheerful music, instead of giving up and going home to nap, which never stopped being the thing I WANTED to do.
-That evening, I took a nice walk through the woods, instead of playing video games or watching netflix.
It was incredible. Asking myself WWJD resulted in questions about the response someone born 2000+ years ago would give to modern technology, a pointless and unhelpful question. But asking myself WWMRD resulted in me taking better care of myself, feeling better about work, and showing my friends and family that I appreciate them.
As a result, I've concluded that from this day forth, when asking myself what I should do next, I won't think about religion, or ancient cultures. No, I instead will ask myself, "What would Mr. Rogers do?"
I imagine that right now, he'd say to end with the positive and loving statement of:
Thanks for reading. I hope you have a wonderful day. I really do appreciate you taking the time to read what I have to say, and the interest you have shown in this blog and all my other endeavors. And as always,
Have you ever worked in an office or office-like setting,
and had a task that was left unassigned?I mean, a task
left open on the off chance somebody came along and agreed to it?I’m talking about the sort of thing where a
boss walks in and says, “Someone has to handle ‘Project X’ this week.It’s a hard job, it gives no extra pay, but
is completely necessary for the company.Also, it is extremely frustrating, requires coordinating with people who
have no interest in helping you, and whoever takes this job is basically agreeing
to do ALL future Project X related work.”
Then the boss walks out the door with a smile on his face, because he or she
knows SOMEONE will pick it up.Some
foolish, unfortunate fool with good intentions and a feeling of inflated
obligation will make the mistake of accepting the job and being given a
thousand headaches and the emotional and career equivalent of an expertly delivered
punch to the groin.
Except, instead of jackass basketball player, it's life, and responsibility delivering the nut-punch
If you’ve ever worked in these sorts of office scenarios,
then you know what comes next: A test of willpower.Everyone in the room looking at their computer screens or work and just
praying they’re not picked.Everyone
avoiding eye contact and thinking, “Merciful Zeus let it not be me. I’ve got
better things going in my life than staying late at work to do a project I don’t
give a crap about.” Everyone holding out until EVENTUALLY someone's will breaks and they agree to the job nobody else wants to do.
Miraculously, one person’s hand will almost always shoot up.Some fool will think to themselves, “It doesn’t
seem that bad” and “I mean, someone has to do it!”That fool will take on the responsibility and
decide, “Sure, yes, I’ll do it, because that’s the right thing to do.” They might even have a bit of pride when they take on the job, because they feel like they're doing the 'right thing' and will be appreciated for it.
That person is an idiot.
That person is ALSO a leader.
Because he's the leader the office deserves, but not the one it wants right now...
I have worked in places like that, where everyone stares down and tries not to get picked for extra responsibility.I’ve
worked in those sorts of situations for as long as I’ve had a job. And like a complete
and utter idiot, I’ve usually volunteered myself for the terribly unpleasant
job of being ‘in charge'.
I know I’m the one to blame for being busy and overworked, then.No one pushes those jobs on me, or guilts me into them.No one tries to trick me into assuming
leadership when none has been thrust on me.The only person pushing those jobs on me is ME.And that’s because in the back of my head
there’s a tiny voice, high pitched and impossible to ignore that says, “It
needs to get done.Period.” That voice, which in my head sounds REMARKABLY like a chipmunk'd version of John Stamos never shuts up. He constantly, without fail, tells me that I should take on the task.
And in doing so, I usually convince myself I'm being a badass. I sometimes even imagine this wonderful speech in my head where the infinite
world is personified, and tells me, “Brian, you are the chosen one.You must do this job, because only you feel
obligated.You are chosen, because (like
most superheroes) you’ve convinced yourself you OWE the world your work!” And
if you’re wondering, yes, in this crazy fever dream, the amorphous and
infinitely complex world IS dressed like Princess Leia.
HELP ME BRIAN: YOU'RE MY ONLY HOPE!
When I was in high school, we were looking for Seniors to
help teach the freshman choir.Back
then, I signed up, and was given the privilege of handling a bunch of freshman
boys every day in choir class.At the
same time in high school I took on a job with the boy scouts as the senior
patrol leader, which for all of you who aren’t nerdy boy scouts, means I was in
charge of the troop as a whole.I also volunteered
for mission trips with my church.For a
while I became a tutor for my AP biology course. On and on, I kept taking on
these big tasks because I felt obligated, felt like I HAD to do so.In general, I was a ‘do it all, never stop
working’ sort of person, despite the strange contradiction of also being lazy
whenever it came to doing most things for myself.
And this continued in college.I joined clubs, got involved in and helped
run a fraternity, held down multiple work study jobs, was a huge pain in the ass
to be around and worked my butt off.Even
now in grad school, I’m doing it all over again, taking on roles I probably
shouldn’t take on.And like back then, I
still come home and wonder why I never have sufficient free time to do the
silly and unimportant things like ‘sleep’ and ‘have a social life’.
I wrote this post with the intention of bitching and
complaining, but about 3 sentences in I had to go back and start over, and write
what you see now.I had to admit that,
in reality, I don’t have these things pushed on me, I take them on
willingly.No one MAKES me do them, even
if I feel pressured from time to time, in reality it’s my CHOICE.It’s my decision. And nobody makes it for me.
Leadership is when you turn the triangle into a square with a corner
that says, "UNNECESSARY OBLIGATIONS", and still try to do all 4 things.
The thing writing this post DID remind me was that, though
it’s a pain, I choose my leadership responsibilities.And it made me wonder if, maybe, that’s the
real test of natural leadership.Maybe the
only difference between a follower and a leader is how much pressure it takes
to assume the mantle of responsibility.
I know it’s not terribly humble to call oneself a
leader.I’m not, though, claiming to be
a GOOD leader.A good leader probably
wouldn’t complain about it, and definitely wouldn’t write wordy blog posts
about their responsibilities. But I AM a leader nonetheless.I take on responsibilities and try to improve
the way for the people around me.I am
compelled, as if by magic, to tackle the tasks that the rest of the office,
club, or group leaves alone.And maybe, just
maybe, that’s a good thing.After all,
everyone wants to be in charge when being in charge is easy.It takes a leader, someone with the seemingly
impossible combination of an inflated sense of responsibility and too little
willpower to just resist the obligations, to get things done when being in
charge is hard.
So the next time someone at a leadership workshop, or during
a ‘Human Resources’ training exercises asks that age old question, “What is a
leader?” you will have an answer.A
leader is someone with enough willpower to accomplish anything, and yet not
enough willpower to turn down a challenge.A leader is someone who wants to do great things, but understand that
great things only come after you do the not-so-great ones. And a leader is
someone who believes that the world is watching, and cheering them on…even when
in reality, the world is laughing at the sucker who just agreed to spend his
weekend in the office, unpaid, ‘because it’s the right thing to do.’
Thanks for reading! Sorry to have been gone so long, lots of personal work to take care of, work stuff to take care of, and bouts with both writer's block and grumpiness. I'm working on it, and hope you stick around with BB+B for more fun in the future!
Hello Readers! I'd like to, before I get any further, apologize for the lack of frequent updates. Lately, I've only been writing 3-5 posts a month, and that's drastically less than I intended when summer began. It turns out, being a full time researcher in addition to having an active life outside of work is time consuming (who knew?). So, for the rest of summer my goal is to do at least weekly updates, however short they may be. I hope that is enough to sate your desire for tons and tons of Brian Allman stories, and if it's not...well, there's over a year worth of posts to read through in the archive! I hope that helps.
In any case, I'll be posting this week's true update later. Right now, I just wanted to post an apology about the lack of frequent updates, and let you all know that I haven't forgotten you, I've just had a hard time finding both time and inspiration for amusing content.
I hope to have you all come back and read more when I get back on my normal schedule. Thanks for reading, be well, and let me know if you've got ideas for what you want to see me write! Thanks, -Brian. You know, the one referred to in the site title. That guy.
Other famous bloggers have handled the idea of how inaccurate the typical doctor's "pain scale" is on multiple occasions. I think Allie Brosh, writer of Hyperbole And A Half may have done it best in her hilarious piece "A Better Pain Scale" (which you should all check out). I think, however, that I too have something worthwhile to bring to this heavily-blogged discussion.
This past week, I had kidney stones. I don't really know for sure how many. I know I passed two pieces of stone, but that might have been just one that broke up on its way out of my system. On the other hand, after I passed the big stones, I wasn't paying much attention. If a smaller stone followed up, I wouldn't have noticed. So, 'somewhere between 1 and a billion kidney stones' is about as specific as I can get.
My first and only other kidney stone experience happened almost exactly a year ago. At the time I thought I had appendicitis. I went through the terribly common ordeal for first-time kidney stone patients of going to the hospital only to be sent home with pain meds and the charming advice, "It's just a kidney stone. Prepare for hell when it passes. Good luck!"
Because of my previous experience with kidney stones, this time I knew what was happening. I didn't need to go to the hospital in fear that it was something more sinister. I had the luxury of knowing exactly what the problem was. I went to my normal doctor, scheduled a normal appointment, and went into the office to get checked out when it was convenient. When I managed to get in to see my doctor a day later, I had a conversation that went something like this:
Doctor: "On a scale of 1-10, how would you rate your pain, assuming ten is the highest?" Me: "I guess a four or five? So, extremely painful but not the worst pain I can imagine?" Doctor: "Oh, that can't be a kidney stone! A kidney stone is almost always a 10!"
Now, I'll skip the next twenty minutes of silly questions trying to rule out other possible causes ("Have you recently eaten any raw whale meat?") and skip back to when the doctor had a realization about why he and I weren't on the same page.
Doctor: "Have you ever broken a bone?" Me: "I think some fingers and toes, maybe? I'm not positive, I never really went and got them checked out at the time." Doctor: "If you rated the pain of breaking a finger on a scale of 1-10, what would you call it?" Me: "About a 4? I don't know, if it was a really bad break, maybe a 5, or a 6?" Doctor: "Oh...that's...that's just wrong."
Therein lies the problem with the modern pain scale. Wrong? You're telling me my subjective conception of pain is wrong? How can it be wrong when the pain scale isn't the same for every person. My first kidney stone was close to what I'd call an 8 in terms of pain. In my opinion, being stabbed by a spork covered in salt by your least favorite childhood nemesis would also be an 8. THAT was the equivalent comparison to me. It hurt, a lot, and then it kept on hurting. Oh, and once I thought it was done hurting, IT KEPT ON HURTING. MORE. AND IN A VERY BAD PLACE. So when I say it was an 8, realize that it's about as terrible of pain as I can ever remember experiencing.
At my doctor's office this past week, once we realized that we weren't dealing with the same pain scale we changed how we talked about pain. We tried to 'calibrate' the scale. In doing so, we discovered I have a very different outlook on the relative strength of pain than my doctor does.
The doctor, for example, called 'stubbing your toe hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to take the toenail off' a 6. I'd call that a 3. He said that having a really painful stomach ache was a 5. I'd call it a three again. He said that breaking a finger was an 8, or even a 9. As mentioned above, I call that about a 5. And he said that a kidney stone is nearly always a ten.
Now, maybe I'm crazy, but I can conceive of FAR worse pain than kidney stones. When I was young, I fell off my bike and gutted my leg, blood everywhere and pain for days. When I worked on an island in California, I got bit by an elephant seal, and was convinced it had broken my bones. I've had painful experiences aplenty, and to me, so long as there is a MORE painful possibility, then it's not a 10. A scale of 1-10 means '10 is the most extreme value conceivable'. So, if it isn't basically the worst pain possible, it's not a 10 in my eyes.
In the end, my doctor and I managed to use other comparisons to explain my pain. I started to give common examples of painful mistakes, and I used those as a reference to explain my pain.
Doctor: "So, what sort of pain would you compare this kidney stone to?" Me: "It's sort of like slamming your hand in a car door, except it keeps happening over and over. So, like the intense pain of slamming your hand in a heavy car door?"
This seemed to help my doctor understand. So, we continued, and recalibrated as we went.
Doctor: "Is that more or less painful than, say, burning your hand on the oven?" Me: "WAY more painful than that." Doctor: "So, like getting kicked in the nuts by someone wearing steel toed boots?" Me: "Actually...yeah, that's a perfect comparison." Doctor: "We call that a 7.5 or an 8."
And there we had it! My pain wasn't a 4 or 5, it was an 8. I was just trying to compare my pain to the hypothetical extremes I could imagine, while he was assuming that anything that hurts extremely badly will be called a 10.
Maybe this is why doctors don't always believe patients that say they are experiencing a '10' on the pain scale. After all, when one person calls a burned hand on a hot oven an 8 and another person calls it a 3, it's pretty hard to tell what the hell a 10 is. If doctors REALLY wanted to understand pain better, they'd take an approach like my doctor did.
Instead of asking, "On a scale of 1-10" they should be asking, "On a scale from "meh, not that bad" to "DEAR GOD my testicles! Who kicks a man in the applebag while wearing steel toed boots covered in fire ants?", how would you rate your pain?"
I'm pretty sure that would be easier. Thanks for reading! I hope it didn't gross anybody out, and I hope it made most of you laugh! Have a great day, -Brian.
Happy Father's day! On Mother's day, I wrote up a short piece to dedicate to my own mom as a sort of 'apology' for being difficult as a kid. On Father's day, more apologies would be redundant. Instead, I have a story to tell.
When I moved to Alaska, I drove here. Considering I lived in Indiana originally, that was quite the feat, but I did one better even than that. I drove first from Indiana to Texas, to go from my undergrad to where my parents lived. From Texas, I then drove to Alaska. The trip was around 4,000 miles of driving, and for the first 1500 or so miles, my dad drove with me to help with the trip before stopping off to fly home.
Now, it's nice enough already that my dad drove with me to help me with such a tough trip, but he didn't just drive with me: He spent time with me. As adults, getting a chance to 'get to know' our parents can be fun, and interesting, and frankly rather eye-opening. After all, when you're a kid you can't tell your parents any stories that start with, "So I'm drunk as a skunk..." but as an adult...well, you probably still shouldn't, but that doesn't stop me.
On this trip with my dad I got a chance to know him as more than the guy I'd grown up listening to (most of the time) and emulating. He wasn't just this strange figure who supported the family and cooked (my dad is a pretty wicked-awesome cook), he was a really great guy! I got to talk with my dad about big topics, and big ideas, and I loved hearing what he had to say (most of the time). Each night on my drive, which took around a week, I wrote down the notes from the day in a journal of sorts, and cataloged our trip and discussions in case I ever felt the need to revisit my experiences. Even now I see the notes and am proud that we had such big and honest discussions.
Along the way, some of what my dad and I discussed was heavy, and deep. We discussed what it means to feel masculine, and the importance of various concepts in our lives. We briefly argued when I stated that having a beard was good, my dad said he preferred clean shaven men, and I made a snarky comment about how 'clean shaven men' was an oxymoron. That conversation ended with us agreeing to disagree (though I still stand by my love of beards with a fierce passion).
We discussed religion and politics, and we discussed specific issues like separation of church and state, and federal aid to colleges. We talked about anything we could think of. We also listened to books on tape, and then discussed the merits of the stories, and our favorite characters. And I was ASTONISHED to find out that my dad and I often agreed! Given that most people in their teens and early twenties assume their parents are outdated, finding out my dad was informed, articulate, and reasonable was sort of like discovering that Santa is real, but instead of delivering presents he is a captain of industry, and so the childish wonder gives way to more adult wonder. Side note: That's a strange sentence to type, and I'm not sure the metaphor works, but it's how it felt so I'm keeping it in the post anyway.
We also talked about some smaller, sillier things. And then personal things. And then family things. We discussed how we all fit together in my family, and who my siblings and I have grown up to be. We discussed all these things, and at the end of the time I spent with my Dad, I felt that I knew him a great deal better than I had before.
We didn't agree on everything. Heck, there were some issues divisive enough to make us downright grumpy, and dour (such as our beard-debate...and our discussion of what constitutes 'good' driving snack food, because I still think Twizzlers are terrible driving food). But most of the time I came out of a discussion feeling like I respected my dad more, and that understood his viewpoints better. I felt like I knew why he felt the way he did, and that made a lot of what we disagreed about more understandable.
It was the best part of that difficult journey, getting to know my dad. Yes, I saw some amazing things in the trip. I met a few great people. I moved to Alaska, and began an adventure that while extremely tiring over the last two years has opened my options up, career-wise in a way I never would've expected. But without a doubt, getting to know my dad was a highlight of the trip.
My dad is pretty great: He's supported me emotionally, socially, financially, and he's given me and my siblings everything a kid could ask for. He isn't alone: My mom works with him and they together make the best parenting duo I've ever known...and although that's a small sample given the lack of other parents I had as a kid, I'm still confident I got lucky on the parent lottery.
So, Happy Father's Day, Dad! You're amazing. I love you a great deal, and I wish you a thousand good wishes every day, and ten-thousand on Father's day. I love that we know each other better, and I love you a great deal. You're the coolest guy I know, and I once met Gary Sinise, so that's a HIGH bar to match, much less exceed!
And as a final conclusion to my Father's Day affectionate post, I have a few selected 5 awesome quotes of my dad from our long car journey that I'd like to share:
1) "No blood, no foul! If you live by that motto you'll have a much happier life." (Context: We were discussing the idea of avoiding unnecessary anger, and how people often feel hurt or attack unnecessarily. My dad pointed out that if we were more forgiving of accidental insults or minor irritations instead of taking so much offense, we'd all be a lot happier in life)
2) "In a good book, the hero shouldn't be simple. Heroes have honor, care about people, struggle with decisions. But he does what's right, even if it's hard. That's a real hero." (Context: We were discussing our favorite heroes from literature, and he talked specifically about how the original Tarzan by Edgar Rice Burroughs grappled with morality, and even sacrifices his own happiness to bring happiness to the woman he loves)
3) "People don't quite get that there can be something special about being different, something unique and good. They only see the obstacles, the problems with being different, instead of the good. Maybe you don't focus as well as some people, but you hold on to a thousand random facts, a million ideas all at once. The reason you can't focus is because your head has too much in it, and that's a good problem to have. Being disorganized is one piece of you, but there's so much more, and special, about being you." (Context: we were discussing how I have been told by teachers all my life that I likely have ADD. My dad was talking about how he
doesn't know if he has ADD or anything of that sort, but that he 'gets'
what it's like having a brain that doesn't work 100% like everybody
else's, and how though it can be a burden, being different can also allow you talents and skills other people lack)
4) "Good music is about making people feel good. In my experience, good music makes any bad day better."
(Context: We were discussing why both my dad and I don't like a lot of rap, and why we really enjoy The Beatles more than most)
5) "I am your biggest advocate. Being a dad is about always going to bat for your kids, and always accepting them. A dad loves his kids no matter what, and takes care of them no matter what. No matter how old you get, you'll always be my son, and I will always be your strongest supporter." (Context: We were driving him to the airport so he could drive home, and I was thanking him for his awesome time driving with me. He took that opportunity to say something so sweet I had to pretend I had dust in my eye)
So Dad: I love you. You are a GREAT dad. I'm lucky to have you, and I wish you all the best every single day of your life. Happy Father's Day, and keep being awesome. From your loving, very lucky, and still-bearded son, -Brian
Having a beard is not actually a terribly impressive feat. Most men
grow beards by default, so having one is often seen more a sign of
laziness than super-sweet facial-hair growing prowess. As a result, lots
of people seem confused as to why so many guys are absolutely
infatuated with their face-fluff. Today, I'm here to teach you why so
many guys love facial hair, and why we feel like we belong to a special
organization of fellows I like to refer to as the "Beard Club".
Fake or not, that is some glorious, 'I don't give a damn' facial hair.
There are lots of reasons to grow beards,
and many guys fall in love with having facial hair for varied and
different reasons. Some people seem to think guys like growing a beard
as a function of our stereotypical laziness. For some guys, this may be
true. For most guys, it's not. Other people have claimed that
beard-growing is seen as a sign of masculinity, and in an age where many
gender roles are being redefined some men struggle to hold on to their
perceived identity and conceptions of masculinity. Again, that seems to
be true for some guys, but not for most. I think that there are many
complex and related reasons some guys grow beards, and I think for other
guys it's simple and unimportant, but for whatever reasons,
beard-growing is important to many guys, and it's often hard to
understand and explain why. Instead of trying to rationalize it, though,
I can only explain what having a beard is truly like, and explain why
those of us with beards are drawn to each other in a sort of fraternity
of facial-hair.
For the women in the world, realize
that for a lot of guys, beards are like women's boobs: They may not
actually be important in an existential sense, but we care about them
nonetheless. We want or facial hair to look good. Does THAT, perhaps,
clear some of the confusion up? Some women prefer their breasts being
large or small or well displayed or hidden, and some men feel the same
way about beards. Some women don't care about their breasts just as some
men don't care about their beards. For me, I would happily grow a beard
on my chest if I could.
I guess I'll have to settle for a Chestache.
For sale at LuvThatTee, a t-shirt site I help with on occasion! http://www.luvthattee.com/7-funny
In the end, I believe that having a beard
(or as we bearded folks call it, bearding) is something akin to joining a
prestigious and enjoyable club. The club is open to any comers, so long
as your face is covered in hair, and though many people might consider
joining, those who actually join often find themselves feeling welcome,
and at-home.
BEARD CLUB
Beard club, like fight club, has very few rules, and
they're all basically reiterations of the first rule. The first rule of
beard club is grow a beard. The second rule is don't shave. Which is to
say, grow a beard, but it's stated in a new way so we don't copy Fight
Club directly, even if we're basically like fight club but better.
Better in that we have beards.
Beard club means that
you have facial hair and take pride in growing it. It means you believe
that you look good with a hairy face, and people are welcome to stand
and adore in awe of your barbaric face-bristles. It means that you
believe that there are people who don't want to date men with beards,
and those people are called fools. Being a member of beard club means
that everywhere you go, people are nearly overcome with the urge to
reach out, touch your face, and shiver with barely controlled excitement
at the touch of your whiskers.
Even monkeys.
Bearding, above all, means taking pleasure
in having a beard and enjoying it, for whatever reasons you personally
please. Beard club members may come to the club because of the fact
that they get especially bad razor burn, or because they seek approval
from other men, or simply because they lack a chin and want to look more
intimidating. It doesn't matter why you come to beard club, because in
Beard Club, we all accept other mustachioed and chin-curtained men.
His beard says, "Welcome home, my bearded brother"
It has been noticed by man of my friends and family
that when I have a larger beard, when it's fully grown and glorious and
covering my whole face, other bearded men treat me more kindly. it's
almost like we belong to a shared group, and the truth is that's where
this idea of 'beard club' comes from. It truly seems that when you put
two men with facial hair together, they treat each other nicely, in most
situations (note: This isn't to say all people with beards are nice,
just that often bearded folks are nice to other bearded folks).
For
example, when I first moved to Alaska, I was completely alone. I
literally didn't know a single other person within a thousand miles, and
it was intimidating and uncomfortable for me. I hated feeling lost,
and as such I tried very hard to meet new people. I went to church,
even though I'm an atheist, because I wanted to feel a community. I
went to campus events, I attended the local freemason lodge meetings,
and I did everything I could think of to meet new people, and rarely got
results. But one beautiful day on campus, as I was walking along in
the short but gorgeous Alaskan summer, I passed another guy with a giant
beard, and out of habit and awe told him, "Nice beard!" as I walked
past.
He responded by telling me the same, and asked
where I was headed. When I said to a local eatery just off campus for
some food, he said he was headed that way too, and joined me. We spent
the afternoon talking, we hung out and grabbed dinner, exchanged phone
numbers, and I made perhaps my first real friend in Alaska. And the
only reason I met this wonderful, full-facial-haired friend? My beard.
It was just like this! Except, instead of being mutants and
in a film, imagine they had giant fluffy beards.
Finally, for those of you who will never
be able to grow a grandiose and beautiful beard (women, people with
certain lineages, or bad luck, or people who can only grow neck-beards,
or other unseemly facial hair), I can explain bearding like this:
Imagine
for a minute that you could have a sign that everyone noticed the
minute they saw you. This sign would say, "I am comfortable with how I
look, I enjoy being who I am, and I and usually pretty pleasant and easy
going." Would you want that sign? Would you want strangers to see you
as an authority figure? Would you want members of the opposite sex to
swoon at the mere sight of you? Well, if you said yes to any of these
questions, you may now understand better why men grow beards. If you
happen to be someone who CAN grow a beard and chooses not to, well I
hope this post slapped some sense into you.
I would even say, I hope it beard-slaps some sense into you.
Now, my friends, you understand what it
means to be a mustachioed or bearded member of the illustrious
organization known as Beard Club.
Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! If you want to do me a HUGE favor, follow me on Facebook, and share this post and others on BB+B you enjoy with your friends! Thanks again, -Brian
I am what is politely referred to as a 'Worry Wart'. I tend to over-think through the problems my life to the extent that I often spend hours, or even days devoted to figuring out all the possible problems and mistakes that I might make with a given interaction, project, or person. I once spent two hours in careful strategizing the best possible behaviors I could employ to come across as 'relaxed' and 'easy-going' at a party I was headed to that night...and realized after the fact that worrying about seeming relaxed was nauseatingly ironic. I was so deep into the irony-zone that I was in danger of becoming the King of the Hipster Country, which you probably haven't heard of...
Well, not THAT ironic.
Despite my tendency to worry, I overcome most of my fears, and try not to change my behaviors to accommodate unrealistic worries. Sure, I might be nervous and uncomfortable when I think about heading out to a party with people I don't know well, but I'll still attend. Sure, I'll spend so long thinking about every POSSIBLE iteration of opening conversations that I feel like Muad'Dib reading the possible futures (That's a Dune reference, for the majority of folks who are now confused), but I'll attend nonetheless. I might try on a half dozen shirts (they'll all look the same, but I won't notice that), I might have to listen to music to psyche myself up, and I might genuinely consider the pros and cons of pretending to have stomach problems, but eventually I'll go.
Like Barney from HIMYM, Bon Jovi is often the start of my 'get psyched' playlist
Despite how it sounds, can also be useful! Worrying is natural, and it's our way of thinking through possible problems and avoiding making unnecessary mistakes. Where would we be if we didn't worry, and plan? We'd sit on our toilets only to realize too late we're out of TP, or we'd start our oven only to realize we have no more frozen pizzas left to cook. It would be Anarchy! I can't tell you how often it's come in handy for me to always carry extra change, a lighter, a knife, a rain poncho, an emergency survival kit, two flashlights, backup batteries, cold weather gear, a change of shoes, and a toolbox in my car at all times. Well, actually I CAN tell you how often it's come in handy, because it's currently zero times, but ONE OF THESE DAYS it's going to come in handy, I'm sure of it.
Though, perhaps there's such a thing as 'over-prepared'...
* * *
A brief story to illustrate the positive aspects of anxiety might be useful here, since this post has teetered precariously on the edge of sounding down: As many BB+B readers will know, I'm currently in a Master's Biology program in Alaska, and frequently work outdoors, enjoying the short but nearly ideal Alaskan summer. This past month, enjoying the relative warmth of summer here in Fairbanks, I was asked to help out with some research on a local river. To me, that meant that we'd be spending a full day outdoors, likely on a boat and along various riverbanks, and I prepared as necessary. I packed everything I thought might be necessary, which I admit was quite a load of gear.
I packed a first aid kit, rain gear, a change of clothes in case I fell in the river, a little over a gallon of water, a lunch in a waterproof container, a small emergency kit (flashlight, matches, knife, TP, etc), a camera to take pictures, an extra pair of caliper for data collection, several plastic bags for either waterproofing or sample storage, and a pair of sandals in case my thick rubber boots got too hot. I packed these into other plastic bags or containers, attached a small clump of brightly colored flagging to my backpack so it would be easy to spot if it went in the river, and then got around to actually preparing myself. That meant coating myself in bug spray, sun screen, finding a pair of sturdy sunglasses, bringing my comically oversized hat out of the closet, dressing in multiple layers to ward off bugs and still have control over my temperature, and headed off to work.
I'm a little bit sad to realize how close to this photo I can be...
When I got there, I found that none of my three coworkers had brought rain gear, extra water, or really anything that I'd packed along. They considered my preparations unnecessary, and rather comical. Consequently, we spent the start of our field-work day teasing me about being overly cautious, and unnecessarily prepared. I smiled and ignored them, because after working outdoors for several years, I've found that it's far better to be overly prepared than under-prepared.
To briefly summarize our day without going too laboriously into detail... By the end of the day, I'd given out medicine from my first aid kit to two different people, those same two coworkers had needed to use my TP, I was one of only two people left wearing dry shoes (plastic bags, woo!), I had given out copious amounts of bug spray, sunscreen, and water, I was the only person without sunburn thanks to my oversized hat. Further, we had needed to use my extra calipers, extra bags for sample collection, had required my multi-tool to cut some wiring that had bent out of place, and finally I was the only person not squinting due to the bright and uncomfortable almost-24-hour-a-day sun.
On the ride home, no one said a word about my 'unnecessary' preparedness, and in the weeks since, comments about my preparations have turned from teasing to appreciative. I'm fairly certain most of my coworkers learned their lesson.
* * *
To get back from the main point outside the example story above, I want to tell all of my readers not to worry about me. Being anxious can sometimes be helpful, and I manage my anxious tendencies really well! Anxiety makes me careful and thorough. I handle my anxiety in such a way that it doesn't prevent me from being active and involved. Anxiety has taught me not to charge headlong into most tasks, and I spend enough time considering the possibilities that I spot potential pitfalls more easily than other people. Frankly, I'm rather happy to be a worry-wart: It's the 'silver lining' of anxiety that anxious people are often very careful, thorough, and detail-oriented. It's like having carefulness as a super power, except it comes with OCCASIONALLY crippling fear/self-doubt. And unlike people with actual superpowers, anxious folks don't often fight crime or monsters. Usually.
If you've seen Iron Man 3, you'll realize Tony DOES have a super power: Anxiety! (I can't find a source for this image. If you know the source let me know in the comments below!)
Before you get too sad or worried about me (though further irony caused by an anxiety-related post causing further anxiety would only cement my place as Hipster Royalty), let me be clear. I handle my anxiety really well! I am good at the many relaxation techniques every psychologist or doctor on Oprah or Dr. Phil (are those TV shows still around?) recommend.
The whole 'deep breathing to relax' thing? I'm on it. I breathe so effectively I don't even notice it. I'm a MASTER of breathing. If there were a PhD in breathing, I'd be Dr. Brian by now.
I'm also pretty stellar at the meditation thing. "Empty your mind" you say? Well, lucky me, I spend almost 7 hours a day with NOTHING going through my head. Does that make me good at meditating or simply "Asleep", I don't know, but I'm going to assume sleeping and meditation are the same and call it a 'win' anyway.
I'm actually pretty good at keeping my cool,even in crises, which is another rare gift for anxious people. Like, this morning when I got to my kitchen and realized I was out of bacon even though I wanted to have bacon and eggs, I didn't freak out! I went baconless AND managed not to have a complete breakdown...That basically makes a black-belt in crisis management.
In conclusion: I am clearly the master of relaxation.
Seriously though, everyone experiences anxiety to different degrees. For some folks, it's a problem and nuisance every day. For other folks, anxiety only intrudes during big events like when getting fired or season finales of their favorite TV show (both notoriously stressful occasions). For me, anxiety is a bit more common than for most, but there's still an upside, or silver lining: My car is friggin' READY TO GO for the apocalypse. When catastrophe strikes, all of my worrying and preparation will pay off in spades, I'm sure. After all, if I can save a river trip for several people with a single backpack, IMAGINE what emergency preparations I can fit in my car!
Thanks for reading, and as always I'd love to hear your feedback in the comments below! The 2013 BB+B summer continues, and I'll continue to bring more frequent stories, tales, and random rants to your computer! Check back often, or follow me on Facebook for the most up-to-date info! Thanks! -Brian
When it comes to exclamations of profanity, I've found myself extremely disappointed lately. No one seems to get creative! Cussing has become commonplace. People just throw the F-bomb out without thought, and it's ruined swearing for the rest of us. Whether done out of anger or joy, swearing is meant to convey intensity. Saying "I'm F***ing pissed" is meant as an exclamation of extreme and undeniable emotion. Saying "I'm pissed" just means you're irritated. Sadly, because so many people just throw the f-bomb into every other word it's now impossible to tell the difference between serious and meaningless swearing.
I'm not against cussing. I've never subscribed to the belief that swearing is something bad. I just think we need to improve on our swearing, be more creative with our cusses. The misuse of a few particular swears has robbed the rest of the cuss-words of their meaning.
Personally, I learned about creative cussing when I worked at aBoy Scoutcamp. When you work with kids, and especially when you're working for the Boy Scouts of America, you're not supposed to swear. As a result, my coworkers and I often had to substitute swear words for other phrases, and what we came up with, and the swear substitutes and lessons about swearing that learned from that Boy Scouting experiences are just too good not to share. So Today on BB+B, I give you:
Swearing Like a Champion: The Ultimate Guide to Cussing Like You Mean It
One of the first tricks to swearing like a champion is getting ride of the single syllable exclamations. "Jumping Jehoshaphat" is a great example of an older exclamation, and is more than a single word. If you hear someone yell "Jumping Jehoshaphat" you're going to pay attention a lot more than if they just throw out a standard "Damnit". There's a long history of fictional characters swearing like this, but the average everyday person doesn't swear with vigor of your average fictional character. An easy way to change that is to use phrases or statements. "By Thor's Hammer!" is a personal favorite, but really isn't a swear or cuss. Still, it's a great exclamation, and often people swear when they really just meant to show their surprise.
If you want to swear like a champion, phrases that employ religious figures, cuss-words, and creativity are ALWAYS awesome. Just check out the clip from "Team America" (NSFW clip, it's pretty obviously just extremely offensive cussing. Hilarious, yes, but NSFW.)
I Repeat: NSFW or around kids!
Using cool phrases or linking cusses together might be a nice way to spice up your swearing repertoire, but it's not the 'be-all, end-all' of swearing like a champ. You should also work on your swearing creativity.
One of the things I liked best about hearing adults try to hide their swears at the Boy Scout camp was that they found so many creative ways to say the same thing. For example, instead of saying "fuck", one especially old man we worked with said "coitus". It sounds childish, but you always knew it was just the same meaning as 'fuck'. Another older scoutmaster used the phrase "Stop acting like a thrice-cursed boob" and "Foul offspring of a she-beast!" instead of calling people idiots, or saying 'son of a bitch'. Seriously now, the next time you want to say sonofabitch, rather than using a phrase so overused it's lost all meaning, why not go with what he said? It's more creative, says the same thing, and YES it sounds more awesome and intense.
Lastly, aside from using phrases instead of single words, or trying to rephrase old swears or reinvigorate older phrases in new ways, CREATE new swears. My family grew up with the vintage phrase 'shozbot'. A college buddy of mine swore with the phrase "BY TENDER HERA'S LABIA!" while another more nerdy frat-brother used "Fiends of Fiends!" Neither of these are just rephrased or linked old swears, and yet somehow they are great. "Dagnabbit", while reminiscent of Yosemite Sam, is awesome and because it's not commonly used actually can seem MORE intense and exclamatory than the cusses we normally use. Remember: Swearing has a purpose. Forgetting that purpose is why people have begun to dismiss swears, and ignore their meaning.
Personally, I like to use all of these ideas to make my swears especially poignant. If I'm cussing, it's because I want to make a damned point. If I'm swearing, it's because I have a goddamned important thing to say. And if I'm trying to say what I need to say in the most intense, well described way possible, I want to use phrases that are awesome, badass, and generally creative. There's a whole world of swearing out there that you've never even imagined. So, try out something new, and I'm pretty sure you'll be pleased as shit that you did.
Thanks for reading, and if you're someone who isn't a fan of swearing, my bad! I hope that MOST people, however, enjoyed this post, and I really hope it inspires everyone to try new swears out, and encourages cuss-creativity. Thanks for reading, BB+B fans! -Brian
