Everyday is Halloween

Surrounded by coworkers disguised as skeletons, cowboys, and who-knows-what, I sit in my t-shirt and jeans. I’m wearing a Baltimore Oriole’s hat as well.

A skeleton says to me, “And what are you supposed to be? You can’t just wear a hat and call it a costume.”

“I’m an O’s fan.” I say.

“Is that supposed to be scary?” the skeleton asks.

I reply, “Have you ever seen one before?”

Recap

Since I was seventeen years old, I've had difficulty keeping weight. Fortunately, I've discovered a recipe for success: eat crappy food, lift weights, don't run, and watch lots of TV. It's working. I recently broke 175 lbs for the first time in my life.

As the pounds increase, so has the weight on my shoulders. The NFL, MLB, NHL, NBA, and college football have increased my work load. An unknown soldier stole my identity and nearly $900, presumably a waiter at a local Mexican restaurant. I have since been redeemed. I've recently hosted two childhood friends, presented a controversial church talk, and camped out with a bunch of Mormon zealots. Each of these is deserving of its own story, but this recap will have to suffice.

More importantly, Torin Van Young has made me an uncle four times over. Stranger still, my brother is a father. With his birth came reflection. I was born on my father's birthday, and my father born on his, all of us the fourth children of our families. As unrealistic as it may be, it would be nice to carry on this legacy. Slow down -- of the five siblings, I remain the sole, single survivor ;)

I Tip Around 20%

First dates are like tips at a restaurant. Very few want to leave a tip, but one feels a sense of obligation throughout the entire meal. The customer orders, eats, views the bill, and calculates a just amount based on the server's performance, the quality of food, and overall atmosphere. Unfortunate for the server, the tip may be affected by matters out of his or her control.

Take, for example, a Boomer: These people rarely tip over 15%. A college student: Tips are based on gender and attractiveness. A man on a date: Tips in an attempt to impress.

The point: First dates are like tips at a restaurant. The girl, in my case, is already at a great disadvantage. I have preconceived ideas and expectations. I like certain foods more than others. For the most part, she can't control her physical appearance. Hm, I guess that's really it. I can't think of anything else out of her control. She can't control her physical appearance, and that's it. Every other matter is in her hands.

Aha moment: Tips are like a kiddy pool, very shallow. This explains why most first dates are also last dates. This has been my experience. Sad, I know.

Disclaimer: This little deductive reasoning exercise is in no way a commentary on any recent dates. Rather, it is more of a self-discovery.

Vitamin A

Solitude's sting lingers like coping with exclusion. Pain is relative.

It's no secret to the regular readers of this blog (with exception to the few random people in Brazil who make regular visits) that its author is searching for companionship. Suddenly alone in a foreign state, Maslow's research strikes a little too close to home. But my life is a ziggurat not a pyramid.

One day I received a text message that changed my life forever. In today's world, courage is often omitted and replaced with technology. After all I could do, and for the first time in my life, I surrendered. I turned to the internet and found a lonely soul. We met. It was awkward. Days later this same Lost Soul expressed a desire to meet again. Now with my wits, I kindly declined. In response, Lost Soul offered me satisfaction in exchange for my friendship. I was appalled.

Maslow's pyramid might tumble without level three, but for a man who built his house upon rock, his pyramid is inverted, it's foundation rooted into the ground. Life isn't a box of chocolates and empty calories. It's much more like a carrot patch.

Fruity People Are the Best

This afternoon at work, I had a few moments to chat with friends online. Breaks have not come often recently, so I decided to multitask. I was chatting AND enjoying a sweet nectarine, cut by mine own hand. In fact, I brought my favorite pocket knife to work in order to cut it. Fruit, to me, tastes so much better when it's cut finely at sharp angles -- which is one reason bananas aren't my favorite -- that's not to say I don't like them, however.

Whilst chatting, my friend mentioned her carefree day near the poolside, where she consumed several cherries. She also mentioned that a mutual friend had a distaste for the small fruit, and she simply couldn't believe it. "Cherries are a mediocre fruit," I told her. The debate was on --

Plain conversation between friends is a blessing under-appreciated --

"Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne're succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need."

Assuming all fruits are equally fresh and ripe, I've compiled a top 10 list. Many fruits can be combined one with another, and many can be added into desserts, pancakes, muffins, and more. All aspects of the fruit, including taste and health, were taken into account.

"Forbidden Fruit a flavor has
That lawful Orchards mocks --
How luscious lies within the Pod
The Pea that Duty locks --"

10. Lime/Lemon
9. Apple
8. Clementine
7. Kiwi
6. Mango
5. Strawberry
4. Huckleberry
3. Pineapple
2. Raspberry
1. Nectarine

Berenice

Today, July 4th, I rose from bed and made pancakes. Then, I attended church. I anticipated too many patriotic testimonies, so I brought a biography of Edgar Allan Poe. Interestingly, his lonely, difficult life caused me to reflect on mine. I had a different kind of spiritual experience ... I think I will attend fast and testimony meetings without a book to read nevermore.

I returned home to a posse of suspicious citizens partying in the apartment complex pool. I walked up the stairs leading to my apartment door. I switched on the air conditioning, gathered my dirty clothes, and headed back down the stairs toward the laundry room on the far side of the pool. I passed the barbecued corn, the limes, and the Gothic tattoos and reached the laundry room door. As I pried it open I heard a caw. The posse turned its head away in time to miss my glance, but the raven's obsidian eyes gazed into mine. The washer started and the charcoal raven took flight over the grill and out of sight.

The persistent heat of Phoenix does not relent for a holiday. And so I relaxed inside as the fireworks celebrated the bringers of victory. This day in my life was simple. I observed The 4th of July in my pajamas, and on my bed I felt a reverence for my Independence forevermore.

I will never forget July 4, 2010. It was a simple day spent with a friend.

PHX & COX

I moved to Phoenix, AZ. I work for Cox Media as a Research Analyst, and I am primarily responsible for cable programming. It's my job to know what's on TV and what time, day, and channel programs air. Eventually, I might know a lot about TV ... well, cable TV. As a perk, Cox provides me with free internet and virtually free cable TV (including expanded cable like NFL Network, Tennis Channel, HBO, etc).

I arrived to Phoenix, a city completely unfamiliar to me, on a Thursday and started my new job the next Monday. I had precious few days to search for an apartment. Fortunately, a high school friend of my mother's let me stay with her family while I searched. I found a place near the Phoenix Zoo.

For the first time in my life, I have my own apartment. I have access to a pool and spa, a fitness room, and even my own covered parking space. However, I did not have a bed, dresser, or any furniture when I moved-in to my new place. IKEA saved the day, and Wal-Mart of course ... and don't forget Family Dollar. I still don't have much, but I don't need much. Strangely, I keep finding that I need more, though. I am continually thinking of things I need in my apartment, like a vacuum for instance.

Buying stuff sucks, pardon the pun, but it can be fun. I am done buying "essentials" for now. Wait, I still need a couch, a lamp, a desk would be nice, a Crockpot, a nicer frying pan, a toaster ... the list goes on.

In the Background

For the last five months I have searched for employment almost every day. On a Monday in May, I received three job offers within four hours, two came within five minutes of each other. It was difficult to make a final decision, but I did ... or so I thought.

About two months ago, I applied to a research job with CBS in San Francisco. I interviewed and never heard back. A few weeks passed and I emailed CBS to follow-up. "While we were impressed with your skills, we've chosen another candidate whose qualifications more closely match our needs at this time," was CBS's response. I was upset and discouraged, and so I gave a simple reply, "Your loss."

Two more weeks passed, during which I received the three job offers and accepted one. Then CBS emailed me, "We would like to continue our search because our final candidate decided to take another position within our organization. Are you still interested in the position?"

Strange, I thought. I have since been interviewing with CBS while preparing to move to Phoenix for the job I have already accepted. CBS now wants me to travel to SF for an in-person interview.

More, this morning I received a phone call from a number with a 212 area code, New York, my old stomping ground. I was hesitant to answer, but I did. According to the man on the phone, my soon-to-be employer in Phoenix and its background-check service is unable to verify my past employment, Primetime Golf. Of course.

Stay tuned.

Light Tennis

A few days past, two friends in their mid-twenties played tennis on Skyline High School courts in Idaho Falls, ID. School, of course, is still in session. The strange, sonar bell rang around 12:20 indicating lunchtime for the students. A student parking lot expands the entire length of the south side of the four tennis courts. For 45 minutes cars buzzed in and out, leaving and then returning from lunch. A small truck returned from lunch and parked near the two friends around 12:45.

The door opened a few inches, a few more, and finally a girl appeared. Then, the friend serving on the south baseline stopped. He caught the tennis ball on his serve toss instead of striking the ball. He inhaled and caught an aroma too strong to be natural, and then perfume flooded his olfactory.

"Can you smell that?" he said to his tennis partner. "Somebody is using way too much perfume." He tossed the ball, served, and eventually lost the game. The two friends switched sides.

"You're right. It does smell over here. Somebody must have went home and smoked their lunch," he said.

View Larger Map

Soon

The horizon is
brighter than the rising sun.
Tomorrow is here.

Calling All Cabs

Recently, I was flown to Arizona for a job interview. The short trip and interview went well. I was impressed with the organization of the company, its employees, and Arizona on the whole. Although, travel is somewhat humdrum to me, with one exception. Meeting new, strange people is an experience like none other, and airplane travel nearly forces a person to do so.

The Beatnik: I found my aisle seat upon boarding the SkyWest Delta connection flight from Salt Lake City to Phoenix. To my wondrous surprise, I was greeted by a beatnik. Surely, he was born a few generations after the Beat Generation, but a beatnik he was indeed. His hair was rowdy and dirty and found its way onto my shoulder and arm on several occasions. His voice was soft enough to save every whale on the planet. His knowledge, a little outdated, he openly shared. He displayed his mp3 player with pride, a Microsoft Zune.

"I am a supporter of non-iPod mp3 players, and the Zune may be the best on the market," I said. He started spitting numbers, prices, and comparative data in my direction. Patiently, I awaited my turn, then, explained I had worked for a large media research company and had conducted a professional comparison of the two devices. For the first time, his mouth was visible through his curly, peanut-filled beard, he smiled. I listened to him tout the Zune the entire duration of the flight. We landed and he wished me a sincere good-bye.

Alim: The company for which I was interviewing was kind enough to pay for a rental car or taxi service. I chose the taxi. After the interview, I had several hours at my expense. I called a cab to drive me to Tempe in order to meet up with a friend. I waited on the curb and Alim picked me up. "Take me to this address, please," I said as I showed him a text message on my phone. He agreed. We discussed basketball, children, immigration, politics, employment, and life. Alim, an African-American from Los Angeles, is a father to an eighteen-year-old military man. He played collegiate basketball, drives a cab part-time, and was recently divorced. On the way to my destination, Alim found himself lost. He made me aware, knowing that I was a complete stranger to the area, and deliberately stopped the meter.

Finally, we arrived and Alim agreed to pick me up two hours later in order to drive me to the airport. He trusted me with his personal cell number, and sure enough, he picked me up promptly after the call. On this ride, he shared with me the following story:

I learned my lesson of honesty years back. Getting ahead in life isn't about money or prestige, it's integrity. I was driving a cab one day and the guy in the back left his wallet. I took the wallet to the police, but I took the $150 and told them I had found it on the street. Three months later, I was on a bus on my way to workout. It was hot. I took off my hat and put my keys and wallet in it. I stepped off the bus without my hat, keys, and wallet. So, of course, I tried stop the bus. It didn't work, so I jumped in a cab and said, "I'll give you twenty bucks to drive and stop in front of that bus when it makes the next stop." Long story short, I waited for the passengers of the bus to step off before I stepped on. I found my hat, keys, and wallet ... less my $500 in rent money. I wasn't mad, I didn't curse. God taught me a lesson, and I learned it.

Which is greater: the man in a taxi on his way to an important board meeting or the taxi driver? It is difficult to appreciate in a world so full of depreciation, but it is possible. In fact, it is necessary. Flannery O'Connor was right, A Good Man Is Hard to Find, but I found two in the most unlikely of places.

The Best Policy

When I was a kid, honesty reigned supreme. It held the final say in nearly all of life's circumstances. When I was a kid, integrity meant telling the truth even during times of struggle. It meant coming clean when pleading the fifth was more convenient. When I was kid, trust was greater than love. "You have my word" was as good as a stiff handshake and steady eye contact. When I was a kid ...

I remember the day I became a man. The world has a way of teaching that never lets me forget. I was completing a math assignment in Mrs. Burton's class. We had been working on some principles new to me, and I wanted to master them. Then, Mrs. Burton returned our assignments from a few days prior. A friend of mine received a "C" on his graph assignment and came to me for consolation. "I'll never become a doctor with grades like this," he said. I tried to comfort him, but I felt something strange. I kept a stern look on my face, but my belly warmed, my pulse quickened, and my body smiled. "It's OK," I said to my friend as I placed my hand on his shoulder and turned my eyes away from his, "You're gonna be just fine." I glanced at my graph assignment as I continued to speak to him, and the "A+" stared back at me bold and red. I felt happy.

That day in Mrs. Burton's third grade class is the first time I can remember feeling good about another man's disappointment. It was the day I became a man like all the men in our world, selfish and artificial. It was the day I began to fight my natural man.

Today, right now, I am unemployed. I apply to several jobs every day. Many people reply to my applications and promise interviews, emails, phone calls, and follow-ups. Rarely do they hold to their word.

Q: What has happened since the early 90s when I was a kid in the third grade? A: Economics, inflation has caused man to depreciate.

If there were only more children in this world and fewer men.

Crash Into You

For as long as I can remember, when I have lived in Idaho Falls and had access to a gym, I have organized a weekly basketball game. In the olden days, in a time before cell phones and instant messaging, I made a list of acceptable players and collected their phone numbers. It was grueling work calling each person and even more difficult to obtain any level of commitment. It was not uncommon to receive a comment like, "I will try to make it," or, "Yeah, I'll probably be there."

Nowadays, I send out a mass text and patiently wait for replies. The text usually reads something like, "Bball @ 9 tonight @ Charlotte. R U coming, yes or no? Doors will be locked at 9:15." Oddly, I receive quite a bit of resistance with this method as well, maybe more. It must be too much to ask, because I frequently receive similar ambiguity. Worse, many people give no response to the text and still have the gall to show up unannounced. Even worse still, some people show up without receiving an invitation at all: Basketball Crashers (BC).

On rare occasions, due to their extreme lack of common sense, a BC (often remarkably similar to a CB) obtains national notoriety. I can think of two such people: Chip Douglas and Jackie Moon. Laughter can accompany a BC, but eventually it is drowned out by sheer stupidity. So, for the good that they do bring, I can only think of one course of action to repay each Basketball Crasher to whom I am indebted. I will make a surprise visit to their weddings, anniversaries, and birthdays. Lastly, I will hold the hand of the woman who gives them children as she is giving birth to a new, improved generation of crasher. As a Birth Crasher, I will coach her threw it with patience. When the child arrives, I will take it in my arms and whisper, "I out-crashed your father."

It remains a mystery how a Basketball Crasher knows when a game is taking place, but I am almost certain it has something to do with Aurora Borealis.

Feel-O-Saw-Four

To Creationists, agency, the freedom to choose, is a gift from God. To an Evolutionist, it is a natural element of life. Regardless of point-of-view, agency is the engine of life. My life, a mix of Joseph and Charles, has been full of choices, most of which I have faced with logic and rationale.

There are rare occasions, however, when action is taken without respect to agency. During this state of indecision, divine intervention or natural selection, life moves forward. In this sense, it is a blessing to be acted upon.

The greatest blessings in my life are direct results to decisions made beyond my reason, logic, and control.

The majority of life is spent reasoning and rationalizing. When reason and logic cannot help, it is then when man lives.

Suspicious Secret

Someone knows something, a secret. This person is divulging information to people responsible for hiring me, or in most cases right now, not hiring me. It simply cannot be a streak of bad luck. Once, maybe. Twice, a little odd. Three times, shame on you!

ABC4 and CW30, a local ABC affiliate in Salt Lake City, advertised an opening for Research Director. I responded to the ad, and with my Nielsen TV experience, I was selected for an interview. I cleaned myself up and headed south, only after about a month of exchanging emails, phone interviews, and proving myself time and time again. After I arrived in SLC and just prior to my interview, I received a call, "Chase, my general manager has decided to take an alternate route. We are canceling the position. I just wanted to call you before you made the trip all the way down here." Gee thanks.

Big Dog Satellite, a Dish Network provider in Idaho Falls, called me to interview for a management position for a new office on the east side of town. I was hesitant to accept the invitation, but I did accept. I showered, shaved, and did the other "S" and suddenly received a phone call, "Chase, one of my guys is sick today, so I am short-handed. We will have to reschedule it. I will call you in a few days." I received no such call.

Idahoan, you know, that company that makes, packages, and sells fake potatoes, phoned me for an interview yesterday. Actually, it was an employment agency that contacted me. I was a little surprised because I had not initiated any communication in this case - a sign that things were too good to be true. Once again, I took care of the three "S's." I took my keys from the kitchen counter and headed for my car in the garage ... ring, ring, buzz, buzz. "Chase, Idahoan just called and wants to hold off for a week or so, and they might also rethink this position."

Please, whoever you are, stop telling people whatever evil secret you are telling them.

WTF.

Order Up, Squidward!

My triumphant return to my homeland has been somewhat tight-lipped. As such, I often see people around town that are unaware of my proximity. When our eyes meet, which I avoid at all costs, I see curiosity.

"Hey, nice to see you," they might say. "Are you back for good?"
I answer with politeness as short as possible, "Yes," and the curious look turns to betrayal.
They then say, "You are? Why didn't I know about this?"

Similar interactions have repeated frequently in the three months I have been back in Idaho, with one bright exception:

My brother invited me to a "business lunch" one afternoon. It is against Young Nature to decline anything free, especially food, so I gladly accepted. Upon arrival, and after leaving Denny's with a free Grandslam Breakfast, I chatted with the restaurant manager, an old friend, and avoided another person caught in the corner of my eye. We were seated and all was well ... and then it happened. The person whom I had deliberately placed in the corner of my eye was now forefront, the owner of the businesses I managed prior to New York.

We had an awkward exchange, and then I realized something. "Are you our server?" I asked.
"Yes, I am," he said.
I could hardly believe it. For the tiniest fraction of a second I felt a bit of sympathy, but it quickly grew into an evil pleasure. And I spoke, "Well, this will be nice for a change."

I placed my order with the server training the man now serving me.

Tick Talk

Nothing in life is free. Time is money.

I once drove 70 mph in a 60 mph speed zone on a 3 hour trip: I saved some time.
One time, I told a professor that I would read my essay aloud in front of the entire class if he would allow me to retrieve it from my nearby apartment: I bought some time.

Time after time, time is on my side ... yes, it is.

Right now, currently, I have lots of time, in fact, my time is free -- free time. There is one problem, however, I must spend my free time as I receive it. I must spend my free time in real time. If time is money, then I suppose I have quite the net worth ... well, at this very moment, for this very second anyway.

During this time of free time, I have come to the conclusion that unemployment or retirement is the only way to be continuously rich. As soon as I find a job, I will lose all of my free time and thereby become poor.

7.0

Unavoidable
Expenses are part of life.
Earthquake insurance.

Earthquake insurance
At discount rates in Haiti,
It's the new must-have.

It's the new must-have,
Red, white, and blue on 9/12.
Misfortune is green.

Fort Hall

Life is a series of continuous lotteries.
Buy a ticket and expect to lose.

I am fortunate to be a winner.
I don't expect to win again.
I am happy to play at all.

Life is a gamble.
Double down.
Go big.
Go home.