Should I mention wine was involved?

Anyway, once I’ve exhausted the friends, relatives, and auto-import of my GMail address book I decide that I want to friend someone cool, smart, and likely to be eating at the same restaurants I am. Sure, I’d never met him, but he seems pretty down to earth and I did take 1 day of my honeymoon to read his entire book, so that has to count for something, right?

Apparently, it does. This completely made my morning.

And by other guy, I mean the side of the bathtub.

I woke up on Tuesday morning feeling fine and dandy. Instead of the usual waking up slowly I tend to do, I hopped right out of bed and went into the bathroom. While in the bathroom I began to feel nauseated. I actually thought I might get sick. I was trying to think about the night before. Why would I feel sick now? Am I really sick or is this just some sort of psychosomatic, self-fulfilling concern?

The next thing I know I am waking up leaning against the bathtub. The first thought flickers through my synapses. “Was I so tired I took a nap in the bathroom?” I vaguely remember not feeling well and thinking that I must have tried to use the coolness of the tub to soothe my illness. I also realize my knee kind of hurts. Then I notice the toilet seat is up and not flushed. Then I remember I had just gone to the bathroom. Next it’s the realization my face hurts. What the hell?

Holy crap, I fainted.

I have never fainted in my life. Ever. If I did, I at least thought I’d realize it was happening. I always imagined it like the movies. Things fade away. You feel yourself fall. Things go black and smeary. Some indication that there was a problem afoot. Perhaps a voice telling you to put your trays in the full upright and locked position. Something. Anything.

That’s not how it is at all. Not even a little bit. One minute I was felling a bit woozy. The next I am waking up from a nap.

I reached up to flush the toilet and sat on the floor gathering my composure. I was now feeling feverish, clammy, and sweaty. That was probably panic as much as anything. The cool tile floor was helpful to keep everything at bay. I thought I should get up and head into the bedroom, but I now had absolutely no faith in my body’s ability to keep me upright.

I heard Emily and the kids moving around and past the bathroom door. Once I heard Em nearby and called her in – making sure to have her open the door slowly. I didn’t need to be smashed by the door as well. I told her that I thought I might have passed out and that my face hurt. She actually didn’t reply with, “Well, it’s killing me.” This is why I love her. She did try to piece it all together and let me know I had a cut on my cheek. She got me into bed and took great care of me.

After a day of ice and pain killers and taking it easy I was feeling OK. The swelling is much better today, but the right side of my face could still play the Marlon Brando part in a community theater production of The Godfather.

I really don’t know what caused all of this. My guess is that I jumped out of bed too quickly and then locked my knees while standing at the toilet. Like anyone, I’ve had a head rush when getting up from bed or a chair, but nothing that made me feel sick and nothing that led to fainting. Had this happened just randomly in the middle of the day I’d be much more concerned. Since it’s pretty obvious what the catalyst was, it’s not too difficult to dismiss it. Even as it is, though, each transition from sitting to standing is a little more disconcerting and tackled with much more care and deliberation than any before.

The really strange thing is how a silly little thing illustrates the tenuous lease we have on life. I’m not trying to be dramatic here. I don’t think there is anything wrong with me – aside from a hurting, squishy face. It’s just amazing how a normal and mundane morning can go from uneventful to surreal and potentially, literally scarring. You start to wonder what might have happened if you fell the other way and hit the sink. What might have happened had this occurred while driving?

We have such faith in our bodies. They are so resilient, so robust. Even if they aren’t the snazziest model ever, they are surprisingly adept at getting us through the life’s bumps and bruises without much thought. We really take for granted all the little things we do every day – like standing upright. We expect it and it seems so simple. It’s not simple at all. Everything must work perfectly or things will crash. All it takes is a split second glitch; a tiny hiccup in the gross motor skills we don’t even think about to smack that realization into you.

That and the tub.

Today we were doing some general kitchen organizing. A lot of things in the kitchen haven’t found a home since moving in a few years ago. Many glasses and serving dishes and bundt pans are tucked in corners where they were placed “temporarily” in 2003. Throw in 4 kids, a couple of Easy Bake ovens and more coffee mugs than a hipster poetry reading and you have the start of a great weekend project.

Emily did a great job getting the pantry and spices organized. I found some old watches, half a dozen lens cleaning cloths, a few Leatherman multi-tools, and a couple of phone books (I can’t remember the last time I saw one of those) stashed around. Still no sign of the Baby Alive bottle that really got this underway, but we were making progress on the area of our house that most needed it.

Until…

Behind the cleaning products, extra vases, and plastic grocery bags I unearthed the peeps’ secret lair. A week ago I didn’t know peeps could be a pest. Now I can recognize their lair on sight. We’ve come a long way. Apparently, they’ve been stealing bits of felt from the kids’ craft bins. Sure, it looks nice and cozy until you realized the whole area is covered peep droppings.

This cannot be sanitary and I’ve had it. Has anyone ever had a peep infestation before? How dangerous is it? How do I get rid of them? I was thinking of going to the hardware store and getting some mouse traps or glue strips or something. Do you think that would work?

I’m this close to just moving.

Once again, as is the theme of the past few posts, I was wrong.

This morning I was clearing up bagel crumbs on the counter and pulled out the toaster (I’m very thorough like that). While I expected to find some bagel crumbs and maybe some bit of cinnamon raisin toast residue from yesterday, I never EVER expected to find what I found.

Peep poop!

EGADS! I may never eat in our kitchen again.

Now, I’m starting to get concerned.

Tonight, when we returned home from a little league game and some dinner there were 2 peeps sitting right in the middle of the kitchen floor. Just sitting there. Boldly. Like they owned the place. Like they were the ones sending in the mortgage checks every month. Unbelievable.

Emily took off a shoe – flip-flop, actually – and went to town. She got one right away but the other hightailed it to between the refrigerator and the cabinets.

Where are these things coming from?! Has anyone ever heard of anything like this?

The funny thing is, as much as I’ve wanted to write about any ONE of those things, what actually got me typing was the most bizarre thing.

I woke up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. Not a regular occurrence, but given the amount of water I usually drink not unheard of. Using my patented and perfected ‘unhappy mole in the headlights‘ squint I turn on the lights. I’m working hard to let as little light as possible into my delicate pupils but I’m certain I see something scurry.

I don’t care what it is, but nothing good “scurries.” It just doesn’t.

My many years of man-training have taught me to quickly grab a wad of toilet paper and squish any bathroom trespassers. It’s instinctual. It doesn’t matter that I can’t see what I’m going for. I’m like a ninja with a wad of Charmin. I pounce and it oozes. Boy, does it ooze. A lot.

I’m still too blind to see much but I know that wasn’t a crunchy cockroach or a collapsing spider. No, this was bigger. Much bigger. And gooey. It had mass and density. I’m growing more and more certain that I’ve just squashed a mouse with 5 squares of 2-ply softness. Oh, god.

I’m finally adjusting to the light and I’m revising my animal classification. Slowly. There are no yellow rats I’m familiar with. Yeah, it’s not a mouse. I killed a peep.

I’m not exactly sure how that is. I haven’t actively avoided it. I’ve seen people carving around me. Last year I even saw a million pumpkins being carved at the Boston common. When my band did Halloween shows, I remember Jason carving pumpkins. Yet, for some reason, I was never around to pick up a knife. I don’t know why that is.

Since Emily is a huge fan of Halloween, this year would be different. After a trip to the pumpkin patch a couple of weeks ago, everyone was going to be carving some faces. Now, what kind of pumpkin should I do? I thought about a pirate. Or maybe something computer related. Is it web 2.0 if it has rounded corners and spelled like Pumpkn? Decisions, decisions. Then, as fate would have it, I saw these instructions appear in my RSS feeds. Perfect.

Who cares that I’d never carved a pumpkin before? What does it matter that aside from some smelly clay during a game of Cranium I have no sculpting experience whatsoever? Who needs talent when you’ve got enthusiasm? This wouldn’t be the first time I bit off more than I could chew.

First things first. I needed an inspiration and this picture was it. Emily had sent me this picture from her camera phone a couple of years ago and I always liked it. It was super silly, but awfully cute. I was sure that carved into a pumpkin it could be pretty scary, too.

Working from a printout of the image, I removed the brightest portions of the image.

Unlike a normal jack-o-lantern. You’ve got to carve your gourd in a dark room with a light inside the pumpkin. You aren’t carving like a normal sculpture. To make items lighter, you have to carve away the pumpkin. To make them darker, you leave them thick. This often leads to things being inverted. Stuff that should stick out is going back in, etc. But not always. It’s really a bit of peculiar optical illusion and a little tricky at first. In fact, I wasn’t sure it was going well at all until I saw this photo as I was carving. It looked way better in the image than it did in person.

The fact that it looked so good in the camera led to the brilliant idea of carving with one eye closed to see the image in 2D. I could then focus on the contrast without worrying about depth.

It really didn’t take as long as I might have thought. A couple of hours all told. Initially, I was trying to keep the subject of my carving a surprise. It was quite funny when the kids would ask me what I was making. “Is it a witch?” “It looks like a monster.” All I could reply was, “Sometimes….”

The final product is far from perfect, but I think you can definitely see the likeness. I’d like to try again next year, but I’d choose my photo differently. This image has a lot of fine detail in the areas where her nose is scrunched up. That area is really key to making it recognizable and was extremely difficult to get right. In fact, I don’t think that I did. The areas between light and dark were so thin that it became a bit of a mishmash. Coupled with the somewhat unusual expression, even things that are intentional can look somewhat like a mistake.

Emily-O-Lantern joins the others in the front window.

I have to say, the best moment was as soon as I put the pumpkin in the window trick-or-treaters walking by started noticing and taking pictures. They were talking to each other. “Look at that face!” “I wonder who it is.” “Do you still have your camera?” I certainly wasn’t prepared for that, but I have to admit it kind of made the whole thing worth while.

Happy Halloween!

This was ordered for my birthday 6 weeks ago by the best girlfriend ever and it finally arrived on Friday. That’s right, it’s an entire case of sauce from the most scrumptious BBQ joint on the planet. Apparently, they were completely out and the order was delayed while they made a fresh batch. I don’t care if it arrived more than a month after my birthday. It was SOOO worth the wait. The ribs I made today were to DIE for.

I’m already freaking out that I only have 15 bottles left now. Mabe it’s time to reorder?

1. What did you want to be when you grew up when you were six?
Hmm…I’m not sure what I wanted to be at 6. I know that by 8 I had it all worked out. I wanted to be an actor. I remember going on a field trip in 3rd grade to a children’s theater production of Alice in Wonderland. I realized that if those kids were on stage they must be missing school, too. That seemed awfully fun so I looked into it. Turns out, I rather loved it and went on to appear in numerous plays over the years.

I was very serious about my craft. How serious? My uncle had a store that made t-shirts with custom iron on letters and I had a yellow one with glittery rainbow letters that said Hollywood Hurley. Yeah, I was hardcore.

2. Let’s hear about YOUR greatest weakness.
My perfectionism.

I really struggled with this one. I’ve got lots of weaknesses and trying to pick the greatest one is a challenge. I’d thought about procrastination. That’s good. Yeah, but everyone procrastinates. Maybe my hyperfocussing to the exclusion of everything else. Meh. That’s kind of boring. Perhaps it would be better if I talked about my distractibility. ADD is always popular.

Then it hit me. I was having such a hard time deciding because it was so important to find the exact right answer. It had to be “perfect.” Of course, nothing can ever be perfect. So I spend a lot of time procrastinating, hyperfocussing, and distracted because I’m trying to find a perfect answer that doesn’t exist. Rather than just going with something “good enough” for now, I’ll end up paralyzed to inaction looking for something better.

Yup, that’s it. The perfect answer.

3. Describe the soundtrack to a movie about a typical day as Aaron.
I have no clue. At all. None. What the hell does this even mean? Am I picking songs or just a genre? Should I talk about the crap I do and what I LIKE to listen to or what would make it more interesting on the screen? Who writes these questions? What kind of interviewer ARE you? Let me see your press pass again.

4. What are your three most random talents and how do you make them work for you?
A. I know where everything is. Everything. Even stuff that isn’t mine. If I’ve seen it, even with my peripherals, it’s stored away in the vault. Nary a girlfriend has been disappointed by this. I frequently find myself amazed by the fact that I know some random object is hiding in the drawer of the nightstand under the magazine behind that blue book.

B. I can compose gibberish lyrics on the fly. I’m like the Wayne Brady of the my iPod. Who really needs to know the words to songs when you can come up with some sort of ridiculous facsimile instead? Not me.

C. I have a highly evolved sense of spatial perception, probably brought on by years of playing Tetris. When it comes to packing a trunk, there is none better.

5. Where do you see yourself in five years?
I figure I’ll be settling down in northern California, taking my food pellets in my flying car on the way to the dot com where I made my millions but cashed out before the crash. On the weekends, I’ll work on restoring my jet pack in the garage of a craftsman style house on a leafy street with friendly neighbors. I’ll have trouble finding a regular poker game because people stop inviting me after I repeatedly run over the table. During the summer, I’ll spend some time travelling with the Mrs. to nearby planets (but the kids can only go on the terrestrial expeditions until they are 16).

Yeah. Seems like a pretty good life to me.

THE GUIDELINES:
1. Leave me a comment saying, “Interview me.”
2. I will respond by asking you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Hello Aaron:

Thank you for taking the time to contact McDonald’s. We appreciate your interest in our Shamrock Shake.

The Shamrock Shake is a “promotional” product offered for a limited time only. Since the decision to offer promotional products is made on a region by region basis, I have forwarded your comments to the McDonald’s regional office in your area for their consideration in deciding if they will offer the Shamrock Shakes to their customers next year.

Once again, thank you for taking the time to contact McDonald’s and sharing your comments with us. Hopefully, the Shamrock Shake will be offered at your local McDonald’s next year.

Tina
McDonald’s Customer Response Center

So, there you go. If you want to see shakes where you live next year, I guess you’d better start sending some feed back now.

For some reason, my thoughts turned to McDonald’s and their Shamrock Shakes. I haven’t had one of these in YEARS! Of course, since I never watch commercials I had no way to know if they had them or not. I thought they must, but to save a trip I looked online. There was no sight of them at the McDonald’s website. Ever since Supersize Me, though, their marketing has focused on the “healthy” aspects of their food and the benefits of exercise.

Yeah, whatever, clown. Give me a nuclear green shake and shut your fry hole.

So, if they won’t tell me about what they are ACTUALLY selling, I knew that Google would save me. A quick search for shamrock shake turns up this site. Bring Back the Shamrock Shake. WTF? According to this guy, they hadn’t made them in up to 10 years. Am I really that old? That’s crazy.

So, I dutifully clicked on the link to send some feedback to Ronald McDonald and I gave him a piece of my mind.

Bring back the shamrock shake!

I was about to get up and go to McDonald’s just to get one and a quick search on Google tells me you haven’t made them in years. What’s up with that? They were the best thing EVAR!

I’m sure you wouldn’t be able to whip some up for this year, but maybe next year you could turn it around and everyone will be happier. I know I would be. And so would my friends.

Luck o’ the Irish to ya,

Aaron O’Hurley

OK, so my last name isn’t O’Hurley, but I thought if I mick’d it up a little with an extra O’ I might garner more sympathy.

Not long after sending off my note of concern I see ANOTHER page on the same site saying that Shamrock Shakes have been spotted at McDonald’s in various parts of the country. Well, now there’s a mission. A chance. I don’t care if I end up driving to Ohio, I’m going to get a sweet sweet minty shake. I will not be denied.

Turns out, I wasn’t. 2 miles down the road at the closest McDonald’s I could find, they had them right there on the menu board. They didn’t have any big posters or anything on the building. They reserved those for the selling their Apple Walnut Salad. (Come on. Who do they think they are kidding?) You can click on the photo below to see the whole adventure. It may not have been as difficult as originally envisioned, still, it was so thick, and frothy, and just so shamrocky.

They are so choice. If you have the means, I highly recommend picking one up.

OK, so it’s been 22 days since my last entry.  Not the longest break by far, but it’s been a full 3 weeks.  I don’t have much time to write so I’ll make it quick.

The play went really well and the crowds got bigger every show.  Thanks to everyone who came out and to Ravi for the great DriveTime exposure.  

 While working on the play, an old friend hooked me up with some developers in San Jose who were launching a new website and needed help with some modules for their product.  I did a little work for them and they flew me out to California for a few days for some intense coding prior to the February 15th launch.  While there, they offered me a really excellent full time job. 

The opportunity was far too good to pass up so I decided to take it.  I finished the last weekend of performances and then flew to Nashville where my Mini was still sitting to be sold since I moved last fall.  I renewed my tags, had a lovely dinner with Jimmy and Tina, and on Thursday the 23rd I hit the open road.  3 days, 6 states and 2,400 miles later, I arrived in San Jose.  Well, Santa Clara to be exact. 

I’m working for just a great group of people in a beautiful setting.  Just to give you an idea, no one in the office had seen any of the best picture nominees this year so every day this week has included an afternoon matinee to catch up on them.  How great is that?  Throw in a birthday party on Monday and karaoke with some friends from San Francisco tonight and I don’t have time to sleep or do any pleasure surfing.  I’ve not even turned on a TV. 

There’s a lot of work but the people and place are wonderful.  Sure, it’s a little bit like Mayberry (except with traffic), but the gorgeous views I wake up to every day are stellar.  In many ways, I still can’t believe this is my life.  I’m not 100% sure I’ve ever really known what home feels like.  I think this might be it – and I like it.

I’m not sure why I did it. I was the kid who always knew what he was getting because I knew to ask specifically. Once the Sears Wish Book arrived in August, I would go about circling what exactly I wanted. I didn’t ask for a stereo. I asked for the stereo on page 235, Item K, with catalog number C430-1114. There was no mistake. Sure, it may have lacked the poetry and magic of Santa Claus but it was absent the potential disappointment as well.

Nonetheless, once the presents were under the tree, I was shaking and sifting with the best of them. I could usually pinpoint with great accuracy a number of the gifts for both myself and my sisters. My parents got so fed up that one year they decided to use a coded numbering system. Of course, once the presents were under the tree I had cracked the code in about 2 minutes. It helped that my older sister had asked for a bulletin board. That was pretty easy to spot and then it was all down hill after that.

Only once did they actually manage to surprise me. The year was 1986 or 1987. I wanted a CD player so badly yet, by the time Christmas morning had arrived, it wasn’t there. I couldn’t believe it. When my parents came back from the office conference room where they wrapped their gifts, I helped carry the loot from the car to the tree, inspecting every item. No luck. I checked every day. Nothing. Christmas morning there were no new boxes. Dismay was at hand.

Then, miraculously, as my father was handing out gifts, he handed one to me that wasn’t mine. It had my mom’s name on it. It was, of course, the coveted CD player. I had never thought to look at packages that were addressed to my parents. I guess it was my lack of interest in thing like bathrobes and necklaces. The camouflage worked like a charm. It turns out I had even carried the CD player into the house and placed it under the tree while never suspecting a thing. It was genius and I’ve never been more proud of my parents than I was at that moment.

I should confess that the snooping was bound to start before presents were wrapped and under the tree. Starting maybe in October, an extra sojourn into my parents’ bedroom closet to gaze at the high wire racks was always in order. I wasn’t tall enough to reach anything but once in a while you could make out the edge of a remote control car or some other prize. I’m not especially proud of myself but I’ve always been the curious sort. I was certain never to spoil another’s surprise and always acted appropriately appreciative and dazzled on the big day.

Now, 25 years later and I’m spending my first Christmas where I won’t be visiting my parents. It’s quite strange for a number of reasons. One of the most surprising is that the FedEx and UPS trucks have been making regular stops at my door; delivering boxes from Amazon to Tampa Bay. I’ve been alone in my house for countless hours with numerous gifts addressed to me. Some are sitting unwrapped inside plain brown boxes just a few feet away and I’ve not looked at one.

I’m dying to know what’s inside them yet I find it so satisfying to not look. What happened? What changes? Is it maturity? Is it appreciation of exactly what a surprise can be? Is it that since there is no one to catch me, snooping has lost its inherent thrill? I hope it’s not the last one. That seems like perhaps some sort of social or psychological problem I’m not prepared to address right now.

Whatever the reason, I’m ready and waiting. I’m counting down the days until Christmas and seeing what Santa brought. OK, maybe I’ll just go have one little shake first.

This wasn’t a wet, October snow, but the real thing and perfect day to buy a Christmas tree.

There I am. 34 years old and on my first visit to a Christmas tree lot.

I know many of you might not believe that, but it’s true. The year before I was born, my parents’ Christmas tree caught on fire while out by the curb waiting to be hauled away by the garbage men. It went up quick, like a, well, Christmas tree. This caused sufficient alarm in my mother as to decree the era of artificial trees had begun.

The tree they purchased for my first Christmas was the same tree we would use until I moved away and went to college. My first year out of the dorms there I bought a fake tree at a great price and used it for the last 14 years. For $35 it looked wonderful and I loved it. This year is different.

Like many people, Abby is insistent on a real tree so I was game to give it a go. I gave away my tree to some people at my yard sale in Nashville in August and haven’t looked back yet. So far, the branches are falling nicely and the aroma is divine. Far nicer than any sprays or candle.

While we’re talking about trees, what’s the deal with trying to call them “holiday trees”?

I get the idea of cities, governments, schools, etc., avoiding religious affiliation by using things like “Happy Holidays” and giving kids 2 weeks off for “Winter Break.” That is perfectly acceptable and what they should be doing. How can you complain about that? But if you cut down a pine tree, stick lights, ornaments, and garland on it – it’s a Christmas tree. Period. Is there a tree for Kwanzaa? Nope. Ramadan? Nope. Maybe Chanukah? Not hardly. Only Christmas. This particular decoration has but the one affiliation and to fail to identify it as such is a joke.

I may not be a Christian but I know a Christmas tree when I see it. Just as I’m pretty sure my Jewish friends know their menorah isn’t really a “Holiday Candelabra.”

GEOFFREY, Count of Brittany, is twenty-five. A man of energy and verve, he is attractive, charming and the owner of the best brain of a brainy family.

I think it’s all very clear now.

Happy Thanksgiving from Florida!

Sure, that’s all crap, but it’s quite a handy way to avoid doing something. But times, they are a changing…

Tonight, Abby and I went to the Memphis "Blogger Bash" and in talking over my lack of posting with Peggy and Len I’ve decided I need to just jump in. A few posts from now, this less earth shattering post will have moved into the archives and I can join the world of the "blogosphere."

Wait a minute. Blogosphere? That’s such a dumb ass term. Blogosphere. Who the hell came up with that? What do you know? Turns out it was William Click. I don’t care if he does share the same name as my step father, it’s stupid and I refuse to have any part of it. Forget I said anything at all.

Nonetheless, it’s great to be here.

This may not be the sort of post to move the hearts and minds of the world but it’s a start anyway. I’d like to send out a heart felt thanks to everyone at Cafe Francisco for all of their inspiration and encouragement to actually get the dust off this site.

And a special thanks to Mick for the nifty yo-yo parting gift.

More to come. I swear.