I haven't quite been getting the sleep that I've needed this past week.  It's mostly been my own fault, staying up watching shows, etc.  Still, I find that the more tired I am when I hang around people, the funnier (or at least goofier) that I seem to be.

I notice this most often during my Wednesday church choir practices.  It didn't take long for me to develop a bit of a reputation as a goof-ball.  Thankfully, my director is a fantastic, good-natured person who usually deals with my antics with good humor (such as mock-seriously asking my mother, who is also in the choir, to "control her son").  I like livening up a group and getting to see people smile, and sometimes even laugh to the point that they're crying.

While I try to bring levity with me to any gathering, when I'm tired it's almost effortless.  When fully rested, I sometimes notice that I am trying too hard to get that smile or laugh.  Yet when sleep-deprived, the witticisms seem to pop up naturally.

Now, I would still prefer to have more sleep, but at least there seems to be a side benefit.  Unless ... being tired just makes me think that I'm being funnier ...

Nah, I'm hilarious.

I'm not much for sports.  I like playing them and enjoy watching them is someone I know is playing, but I'm not much for watching professional teams.  I don't dislike watching them, I just prefer to spend my limited time doing other things.  Yet when I head the news that Jackson might be building a stadium for a minor league time, my interest was piqued.

There is something that I like about baseball.  The deliberateness, the pacing, the way every pitch can have so many variable outcomes despite the relatively small strike zone, the fans, the sounds, even the food all give me a feeling unique to this type of event.  Unfortunately, the major leagues have become an exorbitant luxury.  Even with free tickets, the costs of the food alone make the game less enjoyable.  Add this the fact that the only seats that I can afford are so high above the action that I would be better off watching the game on television, if I cared enough about the teams to watch it ... which I don't. 

But a home team ... that's a different story.  My family once got tickets to the box seats for a minor league game and immensely enjoyed the experience (I was not able to attend).  With a team in Jackson (which I hope would be called the Jailbirds), I would be sorely tempted to get season tickets.  To give me an excuse to get out, let life slow down, and enjoy time watching a game with my family.

Who knows if or when this idea might come to fruition, but I like the idea.  And if I, a person who is "not much for sports," am excited about the idea, I can only guess how many other people would be interested.

I have always like the smell of coffee, but until last year, I hadn't been able to stand the taste.  My first experience, that I remember, was my mother bringing my sister and I to a friend's house and having a "coffee party."  Then, as until recently, the coffee tasted like little more than warm water (which is not something that I like to drink).  Adding cream just made it taste like watered down water.  Adding sugar didn't give it the substance I wanted.

At Alex's graduation, Janelle decided to use a concoction called coffee bunch which is made out of a coffee syrup, whole milk, and even amounts of chocolate and vanilla ice cream.  Normally, I don't even like coffee ice cream, but I really liked this drink and have since made an effort to make it at least once a year.  I also have come to like some cakes and desserts that use coffee.

It was taking Alex up to college last summer that got me hooked.  Despite knowing that I had a ten-hour drive in front of me, I had stayed up entirely too late the night before.  Long drives can be difficult for me alone, but they are worse when the person riding shotgun is lightly snoring.  Unfortunately, that was the condition we were in on the drive up: I was feeling exhausted while Janelle and Alex were dozing.

When we stopped at a McDonald's, I decided to try a mocha.  Now, I know that doesn't count as coffee for you purists, but it got me hooked about the same as the chocolate punch.  My carpool ride last year was often started with a stop to pick up a couple of mochas to wake us up.  I had thought that caffeine didn't have much of an effect on me as I can fall asleep even less than half an hour after having a caffeinated soda, but I discovered that just a sip of the mocha kept my eyes from drooping while taking those long morning drives.

The sad news is that both I and my carpool compatriot are on austerity measures right now.  Stops to McDonald's (even just once a week) are now a luxury that we literally cannot afford.  Still, I'm usually able to convince my loving wife to set up the coffee maker (a machine that I have not taken the time to understand) on Fridays, and I've stirred up some lost cost mochas for us at least once each week.  It's funny how something I didn't care for just over a year ago is now something that I don't want to live without.

Today's Gospel reading is disruptive to most people's versions of justice.  I suppose that it's one of the reasons why I like it so much.

In the Gospel, Jesus tells a parable about a vineyard owner who sends his overseers to hire people at several times through the day.  At the end of the day, starting with those who only did a few hours' worth of work, he pays every worker for a full day's wage.  The ones who worked the entire day, having seen the ones who worked for a shorter period of time paid the full day's wage, are angered when they receive the same amount.  The owner asks them why they are upset.  They have received what was promised them.  Why should they be upset that he was generous to others who were not as fortunate to find work at the beginning of the day.

This is what I love about Jesus's style.  He asks us to examine our most basic prejudices, preconceptions, and desires.  We are reminded in today's first reading that our "way are not [God's] ways," that God's thoughts are as high above our thoughts as the heavens are above the Earth.  This isn't bragging; it's a challenge, a lofty standard that we need to stretch out and reach.  In this case he warns us about "fairness."

"I worked longer, so I deserve more" is what the first workers are demanding, but God's justice is greater than that.  What about the unlucky?  What about those who still do the work, but join late due to circumstance?  Doesn't everyone deserve the full day's wage?  

I think of the men who gathered in job markets and street corners during the Great Depression.  All of them needed money for their families.  All of them were willing to take nearly any type of job.  Some would wait around all day with nothing to show for it.  Some would only get a few hours of work and thus a few hours of pay.  Jesus tells us that ALL need to be fed, provided for, and protected.

Of course, this parable is often quoted when talking about our ultimate salvation, but I believe that Jesus is telling us that this relates to our day-to-day lives.  Our economies should be based on this.  Our lives should be lived this way.  We need to rethink our concepts of fairness and justice.  We need to grasp for the ideals that Jesus has set for us.

We went to the Renaissance Festival in Holly, Michigan, as is our annual tradition (aside from my years in Alaska, I have gone every year since 1990).  We went with Janelle's brother (who is only in town until next week) and sister (and her family).  Despite a dire weather forecast, no storms (let alone major ones) marred our visit.  Here's the quick run-down:

A Zucchini Brother is back.  While still one of my favorite shows, his final act just seems desperate.

Ded Bob is still funny.  It's been a few years since I've watched the show, but although his voice seems slightly different and his "dummy" is considerably smaller than before, the old act still holds a massive audience.

One Step Further, the show that proceeded Ded Bob, was pretty entertaining, especially the "wall of jorgoling."  Some of their pop references went over my head; I feel old.

Prices are getting even higher: $2 pickles, $7 turkey legs, $6 bag of kettle corn (which I did not purchase) and $3 for a 1/4 pound of fudge (which I also didn't get).

Trevor bought a wooden sword to replace the one we bought him last year that he then broke by trying to smash ice with it.  I bought the other two boys wooden swords.  This was Rowen's first, and the one Connor wanted just looked cool to me.

We brought canteen backpacks that only hold about two water bottles worth of water but were well worth bringing due to their convenience.

My want list from the festival: a cool (in more than one way) hat, a leather (brown?) pirate overcoat, sturdy pirate-ish boots, comfortable pirate pants (are you sensing a theme?), and a new shirt (although the one Jenni made still works pretty well).  I like my current garb, and I really cant justify getting another outfit that I only wear one day out of the year, but I have been wearing it for about 15 years.  Still, see the note about higher prices ...

Yesterday, I got home later than I expected from work.  I was getting school stuff done (more than I expected, but not as much as I wanted) while my carpool partner was sitting on an interview team.  I arrived home a little before 6pm, ate dinner, and then had company over until 10pm (we played Carcassonne with two expansions).  I turned on my computer to write a post (for which I had an idea that I have since lost), saw that my brother was online and then played Starcraft and worked on logic puzzles until about midnight.

In short, it was a good day.

I have gotten spoiled ... well, more spoiled.  Earlier this year the toilet seat which we had used since soon after buying our house finally cracked and had to be replaced.  As long as I was replacing one, I decided to replace the one in the kids' bathroom since they were complaining about the current one anyway.  For them, since Rowen was in potty-training, I got a more expensive seat that included a built-in potty chair (which he hardly ever used since he insisted on using the "big" seat) and a "no-slam" lid.  Considering the abuse my children put their toilet through, I felt the no-slam feature was a good investment.

A few months later, the cheaper seat which we purchased for our own toilet cracked (please, don't comment).  While some might make jokes about my weight, the culprits included the seat itself, which was not the most sturdy to begin with, and a young child or two who were slamming the lid.  Despite my wife's concern about the cost, I again went with a no-slam lid and a higher quality seat.  Now, I haven't had the chance to use it during cold months, but thus far it is the best toilet seat that I've used.

There is, however, one small problem.  I am in the habit of shutting the lid before I flush, a habit I developed after watching demonstrations of how much fecal material ends up on bathroom ceilings if the lid is up.  Because the lid is "no-slam" (and because I am a bit impatient), I have to use a little more force to get the seat to a spot where I am comfortable flushing.  This does not cause any real difficulty while I use the toilets in my house.  Unfortunately, few other places have no-slam lids, and I now find myself using more force than necessary (or at least not being as cautious) when closing other toilet lids.  I have become a toilet-lid-slammer.

I am guessing that this is why my cheap toilet seat took so much abuse in such a short period of time; the boys were used to the no-slam lid on their toilet and had forgotten that we didn't have one on ours.  I now have to give myself a mental reminder when I go to other people's bathrooms that I need to be careful when closing their toilet seats.  I think that I'm getting better about it, but I still have lapses.  I now find myself wishing that everyone got the no-slam lids.

Ah, first world problems ...

I know that the title of my web site seems a little, well, weird to those who don't know me.  Even for those that do, I suppose the connotations of "weird" don't necessarily fit their vision of me.  The word "weird" can bring to mind the strange and grotesque, the mutated and perverse.  Yet here I am, proudly (or perhaps defiantly) referring to myself and my interests as "weird."

I suppose that a part of it is because I was called weird (or some derivation) so often while in school.  I have never really fit in with my peers, my community, or even with societal expectations.  Rather than take offense at this difference, I embrace it.  I am weird, and uniquely so.  Sometimes my weirdness is in my conformity to the "norm" while still obviously sitting outside of it.  I don't fit easily into the categories in which people are usually defined.  Even in the realm of geeks and nerds, I feel that I sit apart.

Truthfully, a good part of my weirdness is that I am rather content with myself.  Sure, there are things that I would like to improve, but even my oddities are something for me to celebrate rather than avoid.  "I celebrate myself and sing myself ..."

Soon after I arrived in Fairbanks for the first time, and after I had knocked on every door in my dorm, I decided to set myself apart.  I bought a bunch of construction paper, markers, glue, and moss.  I then made my dorm room door look like a castle wall, with moss between the "bricks," a construction paper sconce and torch, and the title "The Land of the Weird."  

Weird, no?

For the first time in over eight years, I will not be teaching a class at Baker College of Jackson in a fall semester.  With my wife's broadening schedule and some changes in my school schedule this year, it was not practical to teach an evening class, and due to lower student enrollment, they are not offering the Saturday classes that I used to teach.

It did not fully hit me until I sent the email declining a class this fall, but I have been at Baker for quite a while now.  I have been teaching classes there nearly every term since only two months after we moved to Jackson.  I have been teaching there since almost a year before Connor was born, let alone Rowen.  When I first started working there, George W. Bush was still President, Jennifer Granholm was in her first term as Governor of Michigan, we had not hit the "great recession," and the first iPhone had not yet been introduced.

I am concerned about how this will affect our overall finances, but I hope that I will see an improvement in my health during this reprieve.  Last year at this time, I was teaching two classes (although one was independent study).  The issue with teaching extra classes during the school year isn't just the class time, but the number of hours that I spend every week preparing for class and grading assignments.  During weeks when papers are due, I often lose the entire weekend.

One way or another, this fall is going to be different than any other fall semester than I've had at Lincoln.  I hope that it works out for the best.

Today, we celebrate the raising of the Jesus on the Cross.  It seems to be a strange thing to celebrate, the death of our Lord, but Jesus's death leads to everlasting life.  It was something that He prepared for well before His birth.

In today's first reading, we see that the concept of exalting a creature on a staff was a way to provide healing.  In this case, Moses places a bronze serpent on a staff to heal the Israelites from the venom of the snakes that are plaguing them.  All they had to do was gaze upon the staff (and believe) and they were healed.

Jesus's death and Resurrection are saving us from a more vicious snake attack: that of the devil tempting Adam and Eve (and us) to sin, the ultimate venom.  By gazing upon Jesus on the cross and believing, that venom is removed from us and our path to eternal life is clear.  Jesus makes this comparison between Himself and Moses's serpent staff in today's Gospel reading.  This is not a coincidence; it is part of God's greater plan.

As Catholics, the Sign of the Cross is a consistent part of our lives.  We say this small prayer before and after our other prayers, as we enter and leave church, and when we are moved to do so in our daily lives.  The cross is the sign of our redemption and future resurrection.  It affirms our belief in the Holy Trinity.  And it shows us that life can be born from death.

I've been fighting a cold (or perhaps a flu since there are occasional spikes of fever) since Monday afternoon.  Today is the first day that I went without taking decongestant during the day--I still plan on taking some before I go to sleep.  I was able to keep my energy up during the days, as well as the evening open house on Wednesday, only by sleeping through most of the evening on both Tuesday and Thursday.  Finally, I am at a point where I can feel that the cold is nearing its end.

It's at this point in an illness where I usually get a sensation that I call a "cold euphoria."  Basically, despite the fact that I do not feel well, I feel great at the same time.  It usually is the strongest when I am not taking any kind of medication, so I know that medical side-effects are not the cause; however, I will not rule out the idea that it is a symptom of exhaustion.

I have never quite been able to explain the sensations I experience in a cold euphoria.  I feel tired, but the good kind of tired, like after having spent the day applying physical labor to a just cause.  My mind feels unburdened in that hazy way it feels when coming out of a pleasant day dream.  My body, though tired, notes changes in the air, both in temperature and tactile sensitivity.  Basically, I feel like I have come through some sort of trial in triumph and my mind and body are looking forward to a well-deserved rest.

This euphoria can last a few hours or a few days.  I never clearly remember when it starts or when it ends; I only notice it when I am in it.  When in one, I want little more than to wear comfortable clothes and just lay back either sleeping, reading, or playing a low-stress video game.

When I explain this to most people, I get the impression that they have not experienced anything similar.  I figure that they probably chalk it up to another one of my eccentricities.  Still, I wish more people could experience this feeling (without the use of drugs, I should add).

As today is the anniversary of the attacks made on September 11, 2001, I wanted to share where I was during the attacks and the aftermath.

I was on my prep hour in my portable classroom at Colon Jr./Sr. High School when the planes struck the buildings.  A student of mine knocked on the door.  He told me that I needed to turn on the television because we were being invaded and New York was being bombed.  This particular student was not the most trustworthy of students, but this seemed to be a rather tall tale even for him.  I didn't believe he was serious, and I told him so, but I wasn't able to figure out what he thought he would gain by getting me to to turn on the television.

I calmly explained to the student that it wouldn't be possible for bombers to make it to the United States and that we certainly weren't being invaded.  (Classic example of an adult thinking that he knew more just because he was older.)  I told him to go back to his class, and I turned on the TV as he left.  I punched in the channel for CNN and was immediately mesmerized.  They had just switched back to a live shot because the first tower was collapsing.

I can't fully express what I felt.  I was horrified, as I believe most of us were.  I was also intrigued, like a gawker at a traffic accident, my eyes and mind wanted to see more due to my natural human curiosity.  The savage within me called for immediate war against whomever might have done this.

The bell rang and I forced myself to turn off the television.  An announcement came over the PA requesting that all teachers turn off their TVs and continue school as usual, that the office would keep us updated.  Of course, that made it so most rooms turned on the TVs right away and kept them running.  I wish I could say that I was one of them.  Instead I tried to keep my scheduled lesson plan running.

I regret that.  I feel that I deprived my students from seeing some of their own history that day.  Maybe I at least provided them with a shelter from the news that was otherwise bombarding them that day, but as a teacher of history I feel I did them (and myself) a disservice.  

Due to a large-scale power outage, my district already has its first "snow day."  It's only the second week of school.  While I, of course, enjoy having a surprise day off from work, I am concerned about what this might mean for the end of the school year.  Truthfully, I would prefer to go in to work today if it meant that I wouldn't need an extra day tacked on to the end of the school year (or the loss of a different planned day off).  My AP course, in particular, has a hard deadline for its test and thus benefits more from having school now rather than having school after the test.

A lot of people (meteorologists, farmer's almanacs, etc.) are saying that we are looking at one of the snowiest winters in my lifetime and that we can expect not just school closings, but entire area shutdowns.  While I do enjoy snow days, this only increases my concerns about having a school year that extends past its usefulness and well into June.  Despite there being almost no correlation between number of school days and how much students actually learn (see nearly any college or university course), and even evidence that suggests the practice of "making up" days does not benefit students, we are looking at doing just that.

Still, I plan on enjoying the day.  I am already able to catch up on my blog, and I plan on getting in some quality video game time.  This day off even gives me the opportunity to see my youngest off to his first day of preschool.  I won't be as happy as I'm adding time at the end of the school year, but I need to enjoy the present since worrying can't change the future.

Time to go shovel ... oh, wait ...

Today's readings focus on the Christian responsibility to help others make good decisions, but they each highlight this idea in different ways.