Tell me if you're not here

Yesterday, I stopped by the ATM to pick up some cash. On the machine was the following sign:

Audio instructions available for the visually impaired.

So my question is this: who exactly was the sign for?

Are hamburgers supposed to be that color?

This past weekend I decided to visit my incredibly handsome twin brother Ron and his family. (After all, I am my niece's favorite uncle.) A few weeks ago, Ron asked if I wanted to come up on Thursday so that I could go along with him on a field trip with Shayla's school. Naturally, I said yes.

Well, he found out a few days prior that he misunderstood. It wasn't a "field trip"; it was a "field day" where the kids get to do various outdoor events to celebrate the coming end to the school year. Even so, I still planned on being there.

Ron failed to mention that he volunteered us to work one of the events for the morning shift. We ended up running the obstacle course. Every 10 minutes, a group of kids would arrive at our event. Ron would go over the course while I demonstrated, and then we had the kids start. Occasionally, Ron and/or I would be challenged by the kids to race them, so we HAD to comply. (And yes, we let the kids win. Most of the time.) Once their time was up, they moved on to the next event, and we got the next batch of kids.

Once the morning group was done, the kids with parents there had the option of going home for the day. Shayla decided she wanted to eat lunch in the cafeteria, so we stayed. I enjoyed a hearty lunch of milk and an unusually-colored hamburger made of a meat-like substance.

After lunch, Shayla again had the option of going home, but one of her classmates was having birthday cake later that afternoon, so she wanted to stay. We watched a movie and then headed to the playground for recess. After recess, things got interesting.

As we were walking back to the classroom, an alarm bell sounded and an announcement was made that the school was being locked down. All the kids and teachers (and dads and uncles) had to rush to the classrooms, lock the doors, and turn out the lights. The kids each sat in their individual cubbyhole.

While sitting in the dark, we adults found out that a man with a gun was within a 30 mile vicinity; thus, the lockdown. He apparently had shot a police officer and stolen a car. He abandoned the car in a nearby town and took off on foot.

In an ideal world, the kids were supposed to sit in their cubbyholes in the dark until the lockdown was over. However, after about 30 minutes they started to get antsy, so they quietly had the birthday cake in the dark, and the teacher read them a story.

After another 30 minutes, the school started letting kids out of the classroom if their parents were there to pick them up, so we headed home. We planned on swimming at the nearby community pool that afternoon but decided to stay inside until after the gunman was caught. As far as we know, he never was.

Thankfully, the rest of the visit was much quieter.

At least I don't have a fat ass

This is my fourteenth season to coach boys soccer, and it's been a difficult one. The coaches in our soccer association decided to play against other teams in the Austin area (I voted against it because I didn't want to travel), and because we did so well last season, we were placed in the hardest bracket for our age group (U12). Unfortunately, the people making that decision didn't take into account that I lost almost half of my team to other sports, and I had several new players this season with much less soccer experience.

And the season hasn't gone well. So far, we haven't won a game. We played well in a few of the games, but in the others we didn't play well at all. Sometimes it seemed like we were back in U5 when all the kids just ran to the ball, not worrying about positions or passing. Herd ball.

(And just so I don't just pick on the kids, part of the problem was me trying to figure out where to play some of the kids. It took me several games to decide where everybody should be playing.)

In practice, it's hard to work on aggressiveness and playing positions because we only have half of a field to practice on. The other half of the field is used by a U14 girls team. So last week, I asked the other team's coach if they would like to scrimmage against us. That way, we could play on the whole field, and we could work on playing positions.

And it helped. In our game last weekend, we played much better. We still lost, but other than a few defensive lapses in the first half we outplayed the other team. In fact, we didn't allow them to score the entire second half of the game.

So at practice last night, we scrimmaged the girls again. As noted earlier, they're bigger than my boys are, and they foul a lot, but we don't call most of them because I want the boys to learn to deal with bigger opponents.

One of the smaller boys on my team was playing midfield, and he was battling with a couple of bigger girls for the ball, and he was getting fouled and knocked down a lot. Usually, this is very quiet and polite boy. However, he'd had enough fouling and told the girl, "Stop pushing!"

To which the girl replied, "Maybe you shouldn't be so small."

There was a pause, and then the boy retorted, "At least I don't have a fat ass."

No, not the nicest thing to say, especially to a self-conscious teen-age girl, but in all fairness, she did start it. And it wasn't the worst thing to happen in the scrimmage. A couple of my players had to leave early, so I ended up playing defense. I tried to clear it up the field with a good, hard kick and ended up hitting one of the girls in the face with the soccer ball. We decided then that it was a good time to end the scrimmage for the day.

My breath is Aqua Net fresh

At work, I sometimes have early morning meetings. Usually, these are conference calls with my coworkers in India, and I'm just in my office by myself. On some mornings I'm running a little later than normal. Instead of rushing to get cleaned up and driving through traffic, I just head into work right out of bed. (Well, first I change out of my Spiderman pajamas.) After I'm done with the meeting, I just use the showers we have at the office.

That's how my morning started yesterday. The meeting was over quickly, and I headed to the bathroom that has the showers. The showers are in separate room from the bathroom, behind a badge-access door, because you're supposed to pay the monthly fee for the fitness center in order to have access to the showers. The shower room has several showers, some lockers, shampoo and soap dispensers in the showers, washcloths, towels, and a counter with a hair spray dispenser, a mouthwash dispenser (with little cups), shaving cream, and disposable razors.

However, there isn't a sink in that room. If you want to shave or brush your teeth, you have to take the shaving cream or mouthwash into the main bathroom where all the sinks are. It seems like a poor design to me.

But I digress.

After showering and getting dressed, I took a cup of mouthwash to the sink area with my toothbrush and toothpaste. I brushed, rinsed, and was gargling the mint-flavored mouthwash. I'm not sure how it got into the mouthwash, but I also detected the slight aftertaste of hair spray.

For those that don't know, hair spray is not a taste you can get rid of by drinking a huge glass of water. I'm sure alcohol will work, but since we don't have a scotch machine at the office (and I don't drink), a Coke did the trick.

Tagless shirts

For my birthday last year (Oct. 7th, in case you needed a reminder), a friend of mine gave me a lovely t-shirt. One of the things I like about it is that it's a nice simple design: not too flashy, not too bright. Kind of like me, I guess.

Another thing I like is that it's tagless. It has the care instructions printed inside the shirt where the tag would have been. So there's never a tag poking you in the back of the neck, and you never have to push the tag back into the shirt.

However, the one thing I don't like about the shirt is that it's ... tagless. Because sometimes it takes me until after lunch to realize that I've been wearing it backwards all morning.

What I lack in skill, I make up for with enthusiasm

Dancing is something I enjoy. If you've ever seen me dance, you know I'm not great at it, but what I lack in skill, I make up for with enthusiasm.

Many, many years ago I had a girlfriend whose name started with the letter Teresa. She was a few years older than me and was constantly fretting over what she perceived was my immaturity. I think it had something to do with the fact that I was immature.

A month or so into our relationship, we went to a wedding. The groom was actually the younger brother of one of her ex-boyfriends --- a boyfriend that she lived with for four years --- so she was very concerned about making a good impression. To that end she decided that we weren't going to dance to any fast songs at the reception.

We danced to the slow songs, but she wouldn't dance to the fast ones. And I sat through some really good fast songs. Heck, I even danced the Hokie Pokie just to get out on the floor.

Finally, Young MC's Bust A Move started playing. And I literally begged, "Please, can we dance to this song?" And she replied, "Fine, but if you do anything crazy, I'm walking off the dance floor."

And I did really well at first. Both feet were on the ground at all times. My hands stayed below shoulder level, and not once did I do any sort of spin ... up until the part of the song where Young MC sings, "Break it down for me fellas!" and the bass and drum interlude kicks in.

And I broke it down for him!

After a few spastic arm moves and a spin, I looked up and Teresa had already stormed off the dance floor. She sat at our table, arms crossed, glaring in my direction. When I walked back to the table, another couple sitting at our table gave me high-fives and congratulations, while Teresa remained in the "glare" position.

As you might expect she ended the relationship a few months later. She said it was because I was "too immature."

To which I replied, "Am not! Am not! Am not!"

You've got the wrong one again!

Earlier this week, my grandmother turned 91. Even at that age, she's still very sharp (at least compared to the rest of us in the family). However, she doesn't hear that well, and she won't wear her hearing aids, so you have to talk to her VERY LOUDLY.

She also gets me and my brother confused. I've been known to get Christmas cards from her to "Don and family" even though Ron is the one who is married with a kid, and I'm ... uh, not. She also thinks Ron lives in Austin. I don't really fault her for that since we are twins, and she's not the only one who gets us confused (see My brother Ron is a PIG!).

I sent my grandmother a birthday card, and I was trying to call her to wish her a happy birthday. Normally, you have to catch her near the phone or someone else has to be there to hear it, but I couldn't get anyone to answer all morning.

I called my brother to make sure I had the right number, and I did. He said he had talked to her 10 minutes earlier, and although no one was at the house when he called, he said Dad was up there visiting so I might be able to get through when he's back at the house. He also said she thanked him for the birthday card, but since he didn't send one he assumed she thought he was me. He said he just went along with it and told her she was welcome.

I kept trying to call and finally got through later that afternoon. I wished her happy birthday (loudly). My niece has the same birthday as my grandmother (just 85 years apart), so she asked me if my daughter had received her card yet. I planned on going along with her until I heard my dad yelling in the background, "You've got the wrong one again!"

It didn't matter anyway. She didn't hear me still talking, so she said her goodbyes and hung up on me.

The Ranch Style Beans Incident

Back in the summer of 1987, my incredibly handsome twin brother Ron and I were walking around the mall one Saturday to kill time. One of our friends --- let's call him Richard B. (because that's his name) --- saw us and invited us to a pool party his parents were having. Since it involved free food (which we Youngs never turn down), we said, "Sure!" and headed over to their house.

We arrived at Richard's house and were introduced to his parents. The parents had a few guests of their own, but it wasn't too crowded. The food was ready when we arrived, which included bratwurst and Ranch Style Beans, something I think is the second greatest invention of all time. (The first is Cheeseburger Macaroni Hamburger Helper ... duh!)

After a little bit of food, a little bit of swimming, a little more food, and a little more swimming, I decided to go for thirds on the Ranch Style Beans. I know, it sounds like I was being a pig, but in my defense, I was only going to get a couple more bites. Plus, everyone else had already eaten at least one helping.

As I was spooning out the beans, I noticed Richard's mom, Mrs. B., was glaring at me. Apparently, she thought I was taking more than my fair share. "Well, why don't you just take the whole damn pan?" she said with a hint of disgust.

Looking back, a mature person would have explained that he was just getting a small amount and that everyone had already had a helping or two, but being mature is something I'm rarely accused of. As Mrs. B. gave me the evil eye, I glared back at her, dumped the entire pan of beans on my plate, and ate every bit of it. Yes, it was way too much food, and yes, my stomach hurt after, but I was going to win this battle of wills. And I think I did.

Surprisingly enough, Mrs. B. never really liked me that much.

EPILOGUE: A few years ago, Richard's lovely sister was my date to a Halloween party. In addition to the pictures we took of us in costume, we also took one with the both of us holding a can of Ranch Style Beans as a memento for Mrs. B.

They say the memory is the second thing to go

They say the memory is the second thing to go. I was reminded of this when I was at the grocery store this morning. After selecting all of my items and going through the checkout line, I realized I had forgotten my wallet. As nice as the employees are, they weren't going to let me pay with my striking looks and incredible wit. However, they were nice enough to hold my groceries while I drove home to get my wallet. It's fortunate that I lived close by.

I have an excellent memory. Anyone who's had to listen to one of my stories told in excruciating detail can attest to that. I remember my first crush. I remember quotes from obscure movies. I remember the two interceptions I made during my high school football career. I remember the time Ron dove into a swimming pool, hitting my head with his head, causing each of us to get 5 stitches.

But I've forgotten some things, too. I don't remember going to a friend's wedding, even though she has a picture of me standing next to her at the reception. A few years ago, I was filling up the tub for a bath, and I went off to do other chores. Thirty minutes later, I realized that I'd left the water running. When I went to check on the bathroom, I found out that I had forgotten to turn the water on.

They say the memory is the second thing to go.

"What's the first thing to go?"

I don't remember.

That's how the game of Uno is played!

Another Christmas has come and gone. This year, I drove up to my brother's house outside of Denton. My dad and sister were also there, so my oldest brother was the only immediate family that couldn't make it.

The drive up was largely uninteresting, except for when the truck in front of me (and one lane over) lost their load and had some mattresses and box springs come flying out of the back. A queen size mattress landed in my lane, but my "race driver" reflexes allowed me to dodge it. I was like a NASCAR driver that could also turn right.

I spent a lot of my time watching football on TV. Ron's cat Dude would sit with me, but he seemed uninterested in the games. We also played Uno with Ron's daughter Shayla. Ron still hasn't learned the ol' "let the kid win" lesson, and when he made her draw 8 cards she threw her cards down crying and quit. (In his defense, he claimed that she doesn't mind drawing cards when it's just the two of them playing.) She did rejoin the game later, and we even let her win a few games (even Ron).

We got Shayla to go to bed early Christmas Eve, and Ron snuck out of the house in the cold rain to ring sleigh bells outside of her window. She ran into the living room very excited because Santa's reindeer were outside her window. She wanted to go outside and see them, but we convinced her to go back to bed. Ron was finally able to come back into the house once we got her back to bed.

The excitement didn't wear off though. She got up at 2:15 Christmas morning to see what Santa had brought her. I was sleeping on the couch in the living room, so I had to get up, too. But I couldn't really complain too much since Ron and I used to set the alarm for 12:15 when we were kids. We wanted to give Santa a minimum of 15 minutes to carry in the heavy stuff.

After a good Christmas lunch, I headed back to Austin. Again, it was a fairly uninteresting trip. I did get passed by a red Mercury Cougar near Austin. The driver was dressed as Santa, and his wife (or girlfriend) was dressed as Mrs. Claus. I guess the reindeer were napping.

All-in-all, it was a good Christmas. I did learn a couple of lessons: 1) don't play Uno with my brother, and 2) when I send Christmas greetings via text messages, I need to sign my name. Otherwise, I just end up getting several phone calls wondering who just sent them a message.

I hope everyone's Christmas was merry. All the best in the coming year.