"He was a pimp'' ''I was a pimp" -The Other Guys

That was a revelation for Allen Gamble. Terry Hoitz had been telling him since Allen's past had been uncovered that he was a pimp, not running a simple dating service. He was a pimp, and a very successful one, I gather.
Have you ever realized that you weren't who you thought you were? Maybe somebody broke the glass on the fact that you have an affinity for using like in every sentence, chewing with you mouth open, making snide comments about the people who walk past, or not passing the ball in a pick up game of 3-on-3. Maybe you have a tendency to forget to clean the bathroom when it is your turn in the rotation, don't put in an equal effort on a group project, or talk during movies, telling everyone who hasn't watched the movie to 'Watch this.'
I think I may talk football too much. Sorry if you don't like it. I also talk Ryan Reynolds, clothes, musicals, and Ryan Reynolds, if that is your fancy. I also have a condition where I fall asleep if I am comfortable, so if you see my eyes fluttering in a conversation, it's not you, it's me. I tell stories of other people, cause I have few about myself that I find entertaining, so my stories almost always start with "I have a friend who..." Additionally, I never come up with original plans, and never make a certain decision. You will here a lot of 'sure,' 'I can do that,' and 'I don't know' from me if we are making plans. I also have trouble giving an honest opinion.
I have my faults, and recognize many of them. Now, I haven't voiced (keyboarded?) all of them here, but I do try and work on these shortcomings. I know that I will never be perfect, but I know I want to be, so I  try and work on it every day. Please help me. Politely point things out to me that I can work on, especially if you are willing to help me with it if I ask.

may the force be with you. always.

Time to reference another show I have been streaming via netflix: Psych.
It is funny, entertaining, rather immature, and has a wonderful, cute, and quirky love story. Last night, I watched the episode with the high school reunion with Rachel Leigh Cook. Gus had been voted most likely to succeed in high school, and his former classmates looked down on him for being less than what they projected him to be, and he got down on himself because of their opinions.
I have never really had any goals for myself. There have been things I wanted to do; write a book, climb a mountain, track down a deer through the woods and a run, break 4.7 in the 40 yard dash, learn how to dance (both ballroom and break), sing a song without going off key. I never had any real expectations when it came to my professional future, though.
Part of my job with Associated Bank is demoing samples for Festival Foods. A former teacher came by and we chatted for a little bit while she sample the potato salad, and a few days later, she came by again, this time while I was in the bank itself. She looked surprised, then relieved. She told me that she had expected more from me than handing out free samples for a living.
Oh really? Is that so? You judging me?!?!? I have hardly ever pushed myself, never actually planned ahead, and the closest I have come to real five-year plan is "I think I will be alive at that point... not sure what i'll be doing, though!"
I think this is typical of many people. Feel free to tell me if you have, but I know very few people who go all the way through college without once changing their major (even if they revert back to their original major) and then never change careers after that. During freshman orientation at SNC, I was told the average person changing careers, not jobs, 6 times. What good is a five-year plan if you are going to be changing careers every five years, and jobs at an even more rapid rate? Why plan ahead if the best laid plans are going to be changed by outside forces?
I have learned to simply try and control my life in a way that is in accord with Alcoholic Anonymous; One Day At A Time. I have an AA coin in my wallet, and repeat the serenity prayer at times when I am feeling weak or unimportant. I have acquired a list of the 12 steps and have worked to follow them. I make plans with a long term goal (for me that is a month), but work to get through each 24 hour span to make it a victory. I have to make conscious efforts to accomplish my goals each day, whether it be homework, school work, work work, scripture study, working out, or blogging. I am not the type of person who makes a goal, and then follows it through to the end. I don't have the drive and determination. I don;t have that willpower.
Because of THAT, I am scared. I am about to put myself in a position where I will be dedicating myself to two years of missionary work. I know for a fact that the Gavin Strawn that has walked the sidewalks of St. Norbert College and run CC at North High and played Ultimate Frisbee at Field of Dreams cannot accomplish this daunting task. That guy just doesn't have it in him to do this. But I know that guy will be helped.
The Holy Ghost has been given to me that I might be able to draw strength from the Lord when I ask in faith and with righteous desires. I know that with help from Heavenly Father, I can be successful in anything that I set out to do. When I turn myself over to the work, and put forth the effort to humble myself, to make myself a vessel for the Spirit, then I will be able to do things that I never dreamed possible.
It is in humility that I can find strength, and it is in the Lord that I will find peace. I just have to make each day a goal, and live one day at a time.

The truth is written on all our faces -Cal Lightman

Anyone who hasn't seen Lie to Me, I highly recommend it. It is a fun blend of loose science, fairly realistic office romance, and a main character whose narcissism drives him to be far more confrontational than is necessary. I absolutely love it.
Cal Lightman, played by Tim Roth (one of the more underrated actors in the world in my opinion), studies microexpressions; the brief twitches of the muscles in peoples faces that reveal the truth that only those specially trained can hide or alter. He uses his skills to read people, discover what they are lying about, and then work to uncover the truth. He is employed by politicians, the FBI, CIA, and private institutions in business, academia, etc. What Lightman does on the side, however, is screen every single boy who attempts to get close to his daughter, nose into his co-workers affairs, and terrorize local gyro stands. He reads everyone, whether he is getting paid/asked to or not. He reads every emotion that crosses their face, and judges them and criticizes them, and maybe even, if he is feeling overwhelmingly charitable, comforts them.
The reason I bring this up is because A) I have been streaming three seasons of the show for the last week with my dad, and B) because I cannot express myself in words and a times wish that I could be read like a book.
I made a trip up to school this week, compliments of my friend and her willingness to drive 68 miles (136 round) twice, and I was able to talk with a number of dear friends. In one particular conversation, I found out that one of my friends reminded me of me; she can't express herself effectively. Through a series of halting and repetitious statements, I found that her feelings on feelings matched my feelings on feelings... and if I write feelings one more time I am sure someone is going to demand my Man Card, and then offer me a Miller Lite 16oz aluminum can.
I am also streaming a series of Josh Groban songs, which does nothing to help my status as a man. I also want to watch jersey boys, hairspray, and Phantom of the Opera (starring Gerard Butler). I have insane amounts of difficulty being able to fully understand and then explain my feelings, but these things, this popular media, helps me. I know that touching, haunting, and Scots-Irish music make me shiver and tear up. I know that Romantic comedies get me. I know that if I simply try and describe the last scene of Last of the Mohicans to someone, I shrivel inside thinking of the pain, anguish, fear, and loss of a father witnessing his son's murder his son, and a women seeing her sister throw herself to her death, resigned to believing everything was lost, and I cannot stop myself from shaking with sobs, and wiping the tears from my face. I know that Miracle, Remember the Titans, and Rudy all make me want to work harder than I ever have to accomplish something amazing. I know that I have been touched by the spirit at so many keep points in my life, and I have been guided and directed by a still, small voice that displays far more patience with me than I have ever displayed for anything, and without that guidance, I would be lost. My chest tightens when I disappoint those that had expectations  for me or were relying on me. I cannot put these things into words without much preparing ahead of time what I am going to say. All I know at the moment is variations of heat and color that I feel within myself.
I now know from first hand experience that I am not alone with an inability to voice how I feel. I can reference it at times, but to flat out be able to tell someone how I feel is no where near one of my qualities. I am shy, and when it comes to how I feel, I will add reserved and quiet. My smile may mask my pain, and my tears are often that of joy. I don't know how to tell you how I feel, or how to fully express it. I apologize if this shortcoming has ever affected any of you, but it's who I am, and I am trying to get better at communicating. I just hope we can all have patience for those who can't find the words, and also patience for those who seem to never run out of words... or maybe we should all train to be microexpression experts.

Pork, mother. PORK!

Keeping to my word, I will tell you all about my mother's cooking.
The other night, I had traded hours with someone so instead of working the morning shift until afternoon, I worked the morning shift until close. I had a number of plans for that evening that included making hummus, cooking chicken, making dinner... well, a lot with food. So when my mom texted me asking if I wanted a ride home or if I wanted to run, I accepted the ride. I was tired and a little annoyed when my mom got to festival, but we did a quick walk through of the store looking for good sales (89 cents for shampoo and conditioner, and buy 2 ice cream sandwich boxes and save $7), and then we went home. I walked in, and a beautiful wafted over me. As it turns out, mom used the extra hours that I was away at work to cook up last weeks sale items (pork chops and squash). I looked at the chops, and my mouth started to water, and I was even craving the squash a little bit (but refused to admit that). We piled it all up on wild rice, and I took my first bite.
Now anyone who has cooked pork understands the difficulty of finding a balance between dry and pink. You don't want it either. My mom had nailed it. It was actually JUICY, and the meat was all white. That first bite sent heaven seeping into my taste buds. The rim of fat had a slight burn to it, just enough to give it a firm texture, and it was soaked with flavor. I ate a pound and a half of pork that night.
Between moans reminiscent of "What about Bob," I was able to ask my mom what in the world she had done to make a dinner that would make Thor sit back and bellow out his appreciation, and if I could have the recipe. She blushed a little, and said she just made it up as she went along. Needing the recipe, I quickly questioned her so that she would be able to remember what she had done. We pieced together that she had made a vinaigrette marinade, and had soaked the pork chops for a little bit, then pan seared them in a white wine (with the vinaigrette) just enough to tough the outside a little, then thrown the whole pan in the oven to cook for a bit.
Good enough. We would be able to has out the details later, but I had a rough idea on how to make the greatest meal I have ever tasted. I don't think I have ever eaten out, and not preferred my mother's variation of the dish. She is spectacular. Shrimp and chicken jambalaya, pineapple and red onion foccacia, three cheese frittata, bacon spaghetti carbonara, chicken and dumplings, soft biscuits with a sausage saw mill gravy,  juicy chicken teriyaki, Polish meat balls, and her deserts and even sandwiches just knock every thing else out of the park. The only thing I have ever had that is close to it is Il Ritrovo, and eating at Big Sal's house when visiting in-laws. He makes the best parmesen chicken.
I would love to be a food and mattress critic. It would be the perfect job for me, except for one small thing. The review would read "Bard's pork would make you go 'mmmmmm. OH!!!' and the squash would bring a 'wow!' to your lips.' I don't think that is what they are looking for. But I absolutely love food, and I am not overly picky. There are definitely things I don't want to eat, but I have grown a taste for previously shoved aside foods such as spinach and bell peppers. But buffets, all day breakfasts, old style burger joints, Italian restaurants, and my mom's cooking all make me happy. Culvers, McDonalds, and Wendy's make me happy, even though I know the food probably (understatement) isn't good for me, but it tastes good, because it is how McDonalds is SUPPOSED to taste.
I can't cook like my mother, but I want to learn how. If I could serve up dishes half as well as my mom, I will have a happy household... and I would probably become the most popular missionary in my district.

Mr Frodo!!

So here is the dealio. I have not read the entire book "The Fellowship of the Ring." I was maybe 50 pages from the end when I put it down, never to finish it. I remember reading that a dark cloud flew over head, and Legolas freaked out about it, but then I stopped. I don't know why I didn't finish, but I do regret that a little bit... so now I have to read the whole series in order.
I have lived my life without regretting too much. I do regret not taking chances that were fairly risk free, but I was still too chicken to do them. I regret accidentally giving Preston Pond a bloody nose right before Sunday Evening Discussion. I regret making an AIDs joke to a man who turned out to be gay. I regret not dedicating myself to a single thing in my life, because I was so afraid of failing that I refused to commit so that I could never know that my best wasn't good enough, because that would hurt too much.
This isn't at all what I was planning on writing about when I started typing tonight. I was going to talk about my mom's wonderful pork chops (tomorrow, I promise). Instead, I am realizing that I do regret things in my life. As of right now, if I had it to do over, I would make changes. I have yet to reach that point where I am afraid of losing the great things in my life by going back and changing my mistakes. I don't have a beautiful marriage with a wonderful wife and children, or that perfect job that allows me to work 25 hours a week and still make bank. So as of right now, I can look back at life and say 'crap... shoulda done that different.'
I was talking to my mom at dinner tonight (SUCH PORK CHOPS!!!), and she joked that I need a pre-mission bucket list. I instantly started rattling off a plethora of things I always wanted to do, but didn't. I want to take a chance, and attempt to accomplish these things before I leave. So if you get a random text or call from me in the near future, just know that you are on my bucket list.

soooooo precious!

The other day, I was biking home from work, and there was a young mother with her 4 year old daughter waiting at the intersection to cross the street. Also waiting (aside from me, your narrator) was a large truck with a man behind the wheel making awkward yelling noises that did not match up with the lyrics of the music blaring overly loud from his sound system. As soon as his light turned green, he screeched off hooting. The mom began to walk across the street, and calmly spoke to her daughter. "Did you her that man yelling and making all that noise?" she asked. The girl nodded and asked "Why did he do that?". The mom told her with a perfectly straight face "Because he is really just a little boy." I didn't stop laughing until I got home.
These are the small and simple joys in laugh that I don't remember often enough. Such wonderfully, lighthearted moments that are pure and beautiful. Children and their loving and easy going parents at such peaceful moments are a thing that we can each aim to cherish and hold dear to our hearts.
It is not just these times shared between loved ones. We can watch the sunrise, taking photos and drawing pictures, however poorly they are done. We can run through the most serene place we can find, reveling in the solitude of abandoning the hustle and bustle and the demands of the world behind. We can immerse ourselves in the reading of stories, both new and classical. We can drive till the tank empties, meditate, climb a mountain, listen to music for hours on end, jump in a pile of leaves, build a snowman, fly a kite, do yoga, go swimming, build a sandcastle, plant a garden full of flowers and fruit bearing bushes, or simply drop off into a deep sleep to dream.
I spend so much of my time worrying; about money, work, being on time for meetings and appointments, classes (when i was in school), getting a PR (when i raced), trying to figure out when i could read my new book, or play football, or ultimate frisbee. Instead, I should have simply enjoyed the moments of happiness when I experienced them, and dwelled on them later when I was in less than sunny moods.
I think that Shawn Spencer, the lead character in Psych, said it wonderfully. "Take lots of pictures. Not of sights. Don't take pictures of buildings. Take pictures of moments, because that's what matters."
Find the moments that mean the most to you, and never forget them. 

Keep on keepin on.

To open, congrats to Brian Curran and Austin Gabrielse on  completing the Chicago Marathon this year (4:05 and 3:03), and Mike Buettner for having a go as well.
In other news, I now admit that my freak out and over reaction may have been uncalled for following the packers falling into a 14-0 deficit. However, at halftime, I calmed myself realizing that 14-6 was not that bad a score given that the Packers got the ball first. 30 minutes of game time later, the Packers pull off a 25-14 victory. Dropped passes, sacks, and poor running did nothing to prevent the Green and Gold from keeping Ryan, Turner, White and Jones off the field in chunks, then force them to go down field, where the secondary finally came alive.
Going down 14-0 in the first quarter is disheartening, especially when it happened off a Grant fumble (first in 325 touches). I am pretty sure that I would be hanging my head, and feeling my feet get heavy, and my reaction time slow. I don't think I would be able to play effectively at that point. But McCarthy's team, Wisconsin's team, stood strong.
I hope that I can find that strength. Many days find me worn out, tired, angry, restless, irritable, or any of a number of other negative emotions. It takes me a great deal of time and energy to force myself into a positive light. At work, at church, or at home, I need to force myself to be happy. And that just doesn;t make any sense to me.
People like being happy. It is a positive emotion. So why do we allow ourselves to feel so negative so often. According to the economic law of utility, every decision that someone makes is made to maximize one's happiness, or minimize the expected loss (thus preserving the greatest amount of utility). So by staying angry, we are, for some reason, enjoying the anger more than the happiness. Where do we learn that? Will I teach that to my children?
I fear getting married. I am afraid of raising my children. I am scared of messing up someone else's life because I don't know what I am doing. I want to help my children be the most successful they can be. I'm nervous about having to handle a budget for mortgage, car payments,  utilities, etc., and forgetting that one check. I want to be willing to ask for help. I want my friends and family to be willing to offer their advice and help. Trust me; I will need it.
That sure is looking ahead.
More in my immediate future, I want that help and advice and support in my preparation and and service of my mission. mere months away from going away for two years, I am more nervous than I have ever been. Please, keep me and my family in your thoughts and prayers.