Edward J. Pluchar - The Blogsplitter

I’m not actually doing this.  Do as I say, not as I do.

In any case, I read this prompt and felt somewhat motivated by it.  It’s a simple idea (presented in a bit of a cheesy way, but consider who is recommending the link).

Though I haven’t been excercising every single day, the concept of an exercise streak has prompted me to exercise more often.  In particular, it has prompted me to make time for exercise, rather than to do it when it’s convenient, or when I feel it’s overdue.

Thus, I have enjoyed a number of runs and walks with my family, and a few runs by myself.  The beautiful weather helps.

Maybe you’ve heard the new Old Style radio commercials featuring brief improv bits.  They take a Chicago-centric topic and apply the following prompt:

“Kraeusening is the Old Style brewing tradition of making things better.  Today we’re going to kraeusen…”

They’re bad.  I know Adam Fischer feels me.

On the Red Line:  ”I’m going to install rollercoaster restraints so we can really whip around those turns.”

On the Asian Carp in Lake Michigan:  ”I was on the Internet the other day and they have their own social networking site, there’s so many of them!”  Also, “If I was going to kraeusen an asian carp, I would make a half man, half carp.  Carp centaur.  Carptaur.  Yeah!”

On the local bars:  ”If I could kraeusen my local bar, all the food would taste fried and be as good for me as a plate of hummus.”

The spots end with, “Everything you just heard was completely unscripted.”

I wish they would kraeusen Old Style commercials.

This will not be poetry, but Frango Mints deserve a poem.

If you’re a long-time reader, you’ll remember a post I had about High Fructose Corn Syrup (HFCS) and its observable effects.  I used Snickers as an example.

Frango Mints (available at Macy’s) do not have HFCS.  The ingredients are all natural.

Still, I’ve had all-natural candies and cookies before; even in moderation, many of those will still leave a certain dullness of mind or general lethargy after the initial kick.

Not Frango Mints.  They are as smooth on the mind and body as they are on the tongue.  Of course, the moderation rule still applies - I only have 2 in a sitting.

If you’ve not had the pleasure, consider a trip to the cellar at Macy’s.

I’m a big fan of local newspapers.  Some of you know I wrote for a local newspaper when I was living in West Virginia, and it was a very satisfying experience for me.

Accordingly, we subscribe to the local paper here.  There is a twice-weekly paper that appears to be free (like The Valley Ranger!), and there is the one we pay for, a daily covering Joliet and its surrounds.

In a recent edition of the twice-weekly paper (sorry, y’all - bi-weekly has two meanings, and I think it is better fitted to mean “once every other week”), there’s a short sequence of stories about our new hometown, New Lenox.  The stories, however, are not intended to be linked together.  The headlines and brief commentary:

Page 3 - New Lenox named one of country’s safest towns

Yeah, that’s good news!  Reminds us of Sinks Grove, sans neighbors shooting friends with sawed off shotguns.  The article touts our town’s comprehensive efforts toward emergency response programs and the prevention of dangerous situations.  Selection made by an international review committee through a process that originated in Sweden…cool.

Page 5 - New Lenox schools may cut bus transportation

Oh.  That doesn’t sound too safe for the students.  Maybe it’s a sign of the times.

Page 7 (with accompanying photo) - New Lenox playground burned

Holy Zeus!  Marcy, pack the car - we’re going back to Sinks Grove!

Apparently no one was harmed, so I do not feel bad saying that this struck me as hilarious.  Not only do you have this marvelous context set by the previous articles, but there’s a color photograph of the playground completely engulfed by orange and yellow flames.

At least the arsonist(s) had the decency to wait until the international review committee from Page 3 had already left.

I’m puzzled.

I have long accepted that women are better communicators, in general, than men.  There always seemed to be a consensus, actually.  Wherever you looked, men were willing to concede the honor, and women were confidently accepting it.

I work in a place dominated, in population and hierarchy, by women.  One might think, then, that communication is a foundational asset for our organization, from which we soar to astounding heights!

No.

Maybe it’s a minority thing.  I have enjoyed fairly effective communication with most of the men here, at least the ones I need to communicate with.

Or it could be a gender barrier.  Maybe the communication I receive IS clear and complete, from one woman to another.  Somehow my maleness interrupts the communication.  But come on - who really thinks it’s that?

Here is an example, from an e-mail correspondence, translated into dialogue:

Co-worker:  Classroom A will be using the training conference room at 10am.  (Note:  It is worth saying that I’m glad I was informed, because this is not always the case).

Me:  Just to be clear, is this the room where we hold the all-staff meetings?  (There are a few large conference rooms, and more than one is used for training).

Co-worker:  The large one…

Her last response is verbatim and punctuatim.

I take some of the blame here, because I once pitched the idea of naming the rooms for the sake of clarity, and haven’t followed up.  Still, it’s her final response which suggests that names would not clear up the confusion.

Sigh.

In other news, you should see renewed activity on www.plucharbabyblog.com for the next several months.

According to the linked article, the linked video is the first time we have ever captured an extra-terrestrial lightning storm with audio to match.  Be sure to read the article, which is short and fascinating.

There’s a student here with a rather whiny affect.  He sounds a little bit like StrongSad from www.homestarrunner.com.

Yesterday in the hall, I overheard him delivering the line in the title to this post.  That’s the whole reason eavesdropping was invented, to enjoy lines like that.

On an unexpectedly related note, I have on this blog commended the work of our staff here.  Their work remains commendable.  However, I’m a little put off by a pattern which seems slightly more prominent here than at other places, for reasons I haven’t fully understood:  I will sometimes say hello to a person, who seems to be the single, unmistakable subject of my greeting, and that person will say nothing in return.  In fact, they seem not to acknowledge my presence except in the effort it takes to pretend not to have heard me.

This is only a few of the staff, few enough to be numbered on one hand.  Still, should it be any number of people?

Maybe I’ll start greeting the toilets instead.

I came across an “advertisement” for vocations to the Catholic priesthood recently.  In it, the subject of the ad briefly tells his story, concluding that nothing has ever made him happier than bringing hope to those who have turned to despair.

Even more interesting, to me, was the following:  ”I have learned to put my faith in God, and not my weaknesses.”

As I said to Adam Fischer, this thought plunged into my heart, the rich realization of those words.

I have approached so many things, mundane and profound, from the baseline of my weaknesses.  ”These are the ways I can fail, so I will begin immediately to compensate for them.  My energy will be devoted to the worst-case scenario.  Then I will at least survive.”

I might have said, “Here is what I have accomplished before, and this is what I hope to accomplish.  I will concentrate my energy on the lofty goals.  God will either aid me and/or permit me to accomplish it, or there will be some purpose to my failing.”

It would be true and fair to say that there are others, many others, who have a similar downward inclination.  This new appreciation came to me on Good Friday, reshaping my experience of Lent and Easter this year.  If you find yourself slumping, counting your shortcomings and marking the pitfalls ahead, find your inspiration in the title to this post.

Amelia attends the day care where I work, appropriately named “Tiny Steps.”  She rides with me to get there, we spend lunch together, and then we ride home together.

It’s helped reveal to me that I am in love with my daughter.

I walk by the day care room at least 4-5 times a day, and when she’s there, I always peek in.  I’m always excited to peek in moments before I reach the day care room.

My tasks just before lunch are completed swiftly, with all efficiency.  My burden is lighter as I go to see her.

And she - I wait for this - she begs me to come hold her, she chews on one hand while the other grabs at my hair because that’s how excited she is.

I help her to walk, she shows me the toys and kids she’s playing with, we go outside into the sunshine, and then I leave her so that I can come back again later.

That’s my birthday.  I discovered this (the “Tuesday” part) while talking to a student here at Giant Steps.

Student:  Hello.

Ed Furlong:  Hi.

Student:  When is your birthday?

Ed:  April 7th.

Student:  (Pauses)  What is the year? (sic)

Ed:  1981

Student: (Pauses for no more than 1.5 seconds)  You were born on a Tuesday.

Ed:  You know, I think you’re right…

Helen (teacher):  He’s never wrong.