I hate early mornings so much that I can never remember the my good dreams.  By the time I've cursed the sun for rising too soon, I've forgotten all about those dreams where I've solved the world's problems in six and a half hours of sleep.  Sorry, America, economic recovery will just have to wait until tomorrow morning.  I'll try to write it down, immediately, next time. 

Naturally - because my life works this way - I have no problem recalling the dreams I'd rather forget.  The first of these recurring dreams involves my wedding day.  There I am, in some large breath-taking Renaissance-era cathedral with ridiculous stained glass; everyone I want to be there is there, and I've already warned them to forever hold their peace(s) because I know what I'm doing; and I smell really good, too.  Just as I turn to kiss my new wife, I wake up.  Without fail, I always wake up at that moment.  So, let's summarize:  since age seventeen, I've not kissed the woman of my dreams even in my dreams, nor have I at least seen her face, yet.  This is my life.

But let's direct our attention to the other sort of dream I'd like to forget.  It's the one where I'm a father of pre-teens.  They're smart, reasonably attractive, and athletic enough not to have their heads flushed in toilets, everyday.  They even have good hair that you'd want to fondle with your unsanitized hands, even though we who have nice hair kind of hate that.  The scenario soon goes downhill when I realize that my children are bad.  Really bad.  Not bad like bringing guns to school, failing to master subject-verb agreement in writing, or enlisting in the Army just for the free tee shirt and thermos. I mean that everything they are is everything bad that I am, as if they've only inherited my bad personality traits.  I can live with me being far from perfect, because I understand that Perfection is an entity with an impregnable force field around it, just to keep me out.  I get it.  I'd like to think my children might have a better chance at it.

I suppose my subconscious fear is that because I had a bad father, I'll also be one, as if being so is genetic.  Consciously, I don't believe that, but I know that my subscious mind could beat up my conscious mind, anytime.  It would also kick it while it was down, and spit on it for good measure.  Second only to the combination of peanut butter and chocolate, my subconscious mind is the most powerful force in the known world. 

I half-jokingly blame Mom, but I'd be more correct to blame myself.  She proved that you're truly never too old to learn when she finally realized that I don't respond well to traditional methods of punishment.  She likes to say I was punishment-resistant, but in my book, I'll say that "I've been overcoming obstacles since I was a young lad."  Tomato, tomahto.  On one occasion where I did something I shouldn't have, she opted for something worse than denying me my allowance, sending me to my room, or forbidding me from taking Ms. Thing to see Aladdin on Saturday; she simply said:  "If you want to be that way, that's fine, but just hope you don't have children just like you." 

Zing!  Speaking of better punishment than taking away my Sega Genesis...  I've never forgotten that.  On days when I have the bad child dream, I'm glad that my kids will have half of someone else's DNA.  Maybe they'll have a chance not to be the downfall of society (yeah, right; it'll be too late by then).  Let them inherit my wit, my hair, and my stellar taste in watches; but they can have HER personality.  I'm ok with that.  The best thing I can do for them - and whatever is left of the entire world by then - is to choose the right woman.  NO PRESSURE. 

Oh, and I can be less-flawed.  I'm not sure which will prove to be the greater feat.

TheBigShowAtUD©

That's when I learned to make mental notes of my questions, so that I could hide out in the library and ask smart, attractive girls for answers, hoping they wouldn't laugh at me (yeah, right).

Somehow, people thought I was smart, because of the questions that I didn't ask.  They'd say "You seem so perceptive and thoughtful, like you're just taking it all in and ruminating."  Naturally, I told the truth and said "Naw, I don't even know what 'ruminating' means!  I just didn't feel like talking and being a moron, today.  You can't imagine what lunacy I considered asking earlier."  I've found that it's generally not the question, itself, that's dumb; it's either bad timing or that the inquirer makes known that s/he lacks knowledge that such a person ought to have.  It may not be a stupid question, but had you not been playing online poker in class, you'd have heard someone up front ask that question five minutes ago.  It may not be a dumb thing to ask, but a person your age ought to know that, by now. 

Common knowledge, as it were.

It's a lonely place to be when you don't know what's going on, yet everyone around you clearly does.  All you can think is "This does not seem like the opportune time to ask 'What's going on?'"  I was thirteen, in a foreign country, on an educational tour with my eighth grade English teacher and a handful classmates who were certain their mothers just wanted to be rid of them for ten days.  We were in a cemetery somewhere in France, and there was a large crowd of picture-taking men and weeping young women by a particular tombstone.  There were flowers, everywhere... and Yours Truly was clueless.

Parting the sea of people twice my size, I reached the sacred spot, and quietly asked a teary-eyed women whose grave it was.  She kindly told me before walking away, but I can still remember standing there with my patented "You must be kidding me, I still don't get it" look [see profile picture].  As much as I wanted to ask who this person was, I didn't, lest it be that I ought to have known, and would make someone within earshot think that I had failed at life.  I made a mental note to find out, one day, but I forgot.

Fast forward to ten years later.  There I was not studying for an exam.  Instead, I was uploading a new profile picture to this very site when I suddenly remembered that day in the French cemetery, and that I had forgotten to find out who that must-have-been-really-famous-guy was.  A few clicks here and there, and I had my answer:

Hello?  Honey, are you ok?  I feel like maybe you're not.
Yeah, I haven't slept much, because I can't stop coughing.  How'd you know?
I'm your mother.  I know everything.  I sure hope it's not...
It's not swine flu, Mom. 
Go take your temperature.  There's a thermometer in your kitchen cabinet above the sink.
How'd you know there's a thermometer in my kitchen?
I put it there, silly.  Go get it.  Be careful going downstairs; I know how you are in the mornings.


Found it. 
Insert.
I know.  Wait, which end?
Which end?  Matthew, don't be gross.  You know it goes in your mouth.  It's not the kind of thermometer that goes in your....
I know... I meant... nevermind.  It's in.  Hey, I don't know if I'll be able to read the numbers.  They're small.
Matthew, how many times do I have to tell you to get contacts, already?
Um, you usually say to get glasses.
Well, I had a dream that you wore glasses.  You're not a glasses person. 
Thanks. 
Try the electronic one next to it, then.
There's an electronic one? 
Yes, Matthew.  The rest of us in the world are happy to welcome you to 2009.
Yeah, yeah.

Did you HEAR about that Little Wayne character?  I meant to ask you what "attempted gun possession" is.
Hm?  Oh, well that just means...
And WHY are these rappers always getting into trouble?  They're making us look bad, every time.
Us?
Yes, Matthew.  Our people.  Look in the mirror, sometime.  Are you my son, or aren't you?
Um... you tell me.  You were there. 
Stop being silly, Matthew.  Don't think you're too special to ignore paying attention to current events.  They affect us all. 
Mom, I'm not Lil Wayne.  I'm young, black, and male, but I've never been to jail, except on a high school field trip.  Statistically, I am special.
Fine.
It's not nice of you to threaten to revoke my black card, like that.
Honey, what's a black card?
Nothing.

Oh!  I forgot to tell you!  Yesterday, some of us at work learned that the "J" in JCrew doesn't stand for anything, in particular.  Ha.
JCrew?
Yes, you know.  The store.
Well, speaking of revoking black cards...
Hey, just because I'm old doesn't mean I have to dress like it. 
Oh, speaking of... what do you want for your birthday?
Very funny, Matthew.  Don't call your mother old.  I'm not.  Am I?  I mean, sometimes, I look in the mirror, and I see an old woman.
Oh, stop. "Almost-sixty" is the new "almost-forty."
Matthew...
I'd say it's the new "almost-thirty," but I'M almost thirty, and that would be awkward.
Matthew!
Besides, the creepers at Macy's check you out all the time.  You're not old, Mom.  You're going to look just like that for the rest of your life.
Stop trying to charm me, Matthew.  I'm being serious.

Can I take this out, yet?  The last thing I need is mercury poisoning from chomping down on this thing while responding to your antagonizing.
Not, yet.  If I were a gambler, I'd bet that you're too sick to work.  But I'm your mother, so I won't take your money, like that.  Call Bryan and tell him you're not coming in to work.
How'd you know his name is...
I told you.  I'm your mother.  You told me his name, once, and I have a sharper memory than my age would indicate.  There will be no nursing home for me, Mister.  I'll be living in the mother-in-law suite of your estate, you know.  I'm not kidding.
Right.  My estate, where I'll live with my mother.  Can't wait.  I'm sure that'll be a tremendous selling point for a woman to marry me.
Well, I've been your mother for your whole life.  The least you can do is cover the property taxes for my living space.  Is that too much to ask?
You always guilt-trip your kids...
What?
I said... I can't talk with this... in my mouf.  Hold on.
You used the old one?
Yes, I didn't feel like unwrapping the electronic one.  It's too early in the morning for real work.
That's you, all right.


Oh, wow.
You've got a fever.
Yeah.  101.  Awesome.
I was right, once again.  Next time, I might decide to take your money.  Anyway, be sure to drink tea, eat, take a shower, and don't watch those trashy soaps, all day, and do not go to happy hour.
Right, because that's what I do when I'm ill.  Thanks, Mom.
I say that, because I love you.  Have a good day.  I'm bringing you a pie, later.
Pie is good for a fever?
Oh, I don't know.  But I don't want to eat this by myself.  Take better care of yourself.  I love you.
Of course you do.  I'm the best son you've got.

---

Well, well.  I've got a three-day weekend, now!

TheBigShowAtUD©

The trouble with problem-solving is overcoming the illusion that some problems have no answers.  I, however, am a firm believer that there's a solution for every problem.  Unfortunately, not every problem has a simple answer like "next time, take your ATM card out of the machine before you leave;" "well, then, you shouldn't hook up with everyone, like that;" or "maybe you ought to go to bed earlier, sleepy."  But most men already know that there are really only two potential answers to every problem:  OxiClean and duct tape.  If your problem is deeper than that, seek professional help.

Sometimes, a problem is so complex that the answer is truly amazing. 

Problem:
"Watson, what's happening to us?  We're just some lab rats with no lives, man.  What does it all mean?!"
"Well, Crick, I happen to like the thought of someday mapping human genomes!  If only we had a Nobel Prize-worthy idea for how this all works together."

Solution: 
The double-helix structure of the DNA molecule.

Icing on the cake: 
Winning the Nobel Prize.  Try to say were undeserving.  TRY.

That means there are cures for cancers, AIDS, and exotic flues.  I have no idea what they are, though.  In high school, I once had a nosebleed right there in the hallway.  The principal hosed it down with some spray that kills 99.9% of everything, including HIV.  I thought I was really on to something when I told Mom about it.

"Hey, if they have stuff that kills HIV, why can't they use that to cure patients who have it?"
"Honey, that would mean also killing the patient."
"Oh... so... it MIGHT work, though, yeah?"
"Mmmm, promise me you won't be a chemistry major in college.  You're much better with English."
"Uh, thanks, Mom.  Thanks for letting me down, gently.  Dream-crusher."

Since the world is replete with problems, let's be glad for those who daily bring these issues to our attention.  Where would I be as a professional without them?  The sarcastic among you might call them "complainers" or "whiners," but I prefer to label them "Problem Identifiers," or the pretentiously politically-correct term "Vexation Aggregators."  I almost like that one.  Think about it: how many things would stay unchanged without the help of protesters and the like?  Imagine how they've helped the President set his agenda.

"We're live outside the White House, where there's a sudden protest rally against... uh... stuff.  Sir, what is this about?"
"Freedom!"
"Freedom from what?"
"Tyranny and oppression!"
"Uh, ok.  You're holding a sign that says 'We don't like it.'  What's 'it'?"
"Injustice!"
"Ok.. More from Anderson Cooper 360, after... ok, sir... sir!  Put that rock down.  Oh, $%#$#."

The world's problems are our opportunities.  That's why I grew up to become a problem-solver.  Not only because Mom says I am a failed scientist, but also because the world needs more people to take issues from "what, now?!" to "here's what."  People pay for that, you know.  Of course, there are plenty of people who are paid to "solve" problems: ninjas and mafia hit men, for instance.  Let's leave them out of this, though.

How to escape them is not the sort of problem I want.

TheBigShowAtUD©

Considering my history of embarrassing moments, her moment wasn't so bad.  Not really.

You'd like for your garden-variety blunders to occur in private, where no one but you knows that you just did what you hope only you know just did.  I'm reminded of this each year between early-November and late-February, because that's a lot of days to walk to the mailbox and back knowing that I'm going to slip and fall on a patch of ice, and curse the skies until my bones mend.  It never fails.  And you know how it is:  once I'm back on my feet, I have to look around, quickly, hoping no one saw that.  Even if I am lucky enough to be alone, I know I'm going to go down like the Titanic right into a snow drift while dropping my winning Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes entry form in a pile of snow for some kids to roll into a snowman that won't melt until March.  Some dude in Oshkosh, Wisconsin will get my money on Super Bowl Sunday.  That jerk.  

I suppose my most embarrassing moment isn't that bad, since I was only a child, and children often do things that older people find funny.  Or, Mom is just a mean person.  I'm only embarrassed about it, because she tells it to everyone who will listen.  I no longer believe her, but she claims that I had mental breakdown at the hospital the day I broke my left arm.  A mind explosion, as it were.  I prefer to call it a light bulb moment, or the first step toward a lifetime of brilliance, is standard in my life (or something like that).  As even-keeled as I am, she swears up and down on all things holy that I lost my mind when I saw my x-rays.  Each time, she tells this to people who don't realize that I have feeling.  She laughs out loud - smacking my knee as the tears well up in her eyes - and says "... and YOU said, 'THOSE AREN'T MINE!  THOSE BONES ARE WHITE!'" 

That's when I pinch the bridge of my nose between my eyes to prevent myself from hyperventilating by alternating between "drinking heavily will not solve this" and "you were a psychology major; you don't need a therapist...today." 

Compared to that, what the young woman did over the phone wasn't nearly so bad:

"... and 'P' as in 'Paul.'"

"Wait, is that like, ya know, a man's name, or the guys who carry caskets?"

"Oh... like, pallbearers?"

"Yeah!"

"Um, well it's still the same letter."

...

"OH MY GOD, you're RIGHT!  I can't believe I just said that.  I'm.so.sorry.  I'm so glad you can't see my face, right now."

See?  She shouldn't feel bad, at all. 

TheBigShowAtUD©