This is the only photo of me and Amy back in 2008 at a pizza parlor. She was the first and I’ve glad I got to share some great memories with her. It was by chance that I met her at a silly high school dance – I was in the right place at the right time, on the outskirts, for her to spot me and ask me to be hers, because for some reason I looked desirable from afar and she said I danced well, if you could even judge it in the dark. None of this would have happened, none of those moments on the porch swing, not those late night phone chats, not that first kiss, if I had ditched that dance and instead concentrated on other things – but I was a guy on a mission that night and came away with what I was looking for – even if I wasn’t expecting anything to really happen but a forgettable homecoming.
Christmas is all about miracles. To be able to change someone’s life for the better or at least give them hope is the best thing this season could offer.
So I am freed from a 1000 year imprisonment of my own lamp, like Genie in Aladdin? And I am asked to choose one person to grant the proverbial three wishes to? Well, after a short thought process, I know who I would choose.
To my dad, who I’ve known since day one, I grant him three wishes that are intended to be used to:
Ask for regular, organic hips (getting rid of the artificial ones) to be able to walk and run freely again for the first time in a long, long time. This would surely help him get in shape and be healthier and happier.
Get the job he always wanted with that top notch university degree of his. He always wanted to be a medical biller but has gotten sidetracked in life.
Rise above the people who control him and be able to make his own decisions.
Remember those lovely genies who grant wishes? Well, you’re one and you’ve just been emancipated from your restrictive lamp. You can give your three wishes to whomever you want. Who do you give your three wishes to, and why?
Every week, Cee Neuner puts out a set of questions for bloggers to answer. These are usually simple, fun, and made to get to know each other and to get the writing juices flowing within us.
Are you a hugger or a non-hugger?
I’m definitely a hugger, but I have my limits on it. Hugging helps to relieve stress and induce good feelings inside. I feel I need one every once in a while just to rekindle the spirit within me and shake off the lonely feelings. The last real good hug I had was from my father, which is probably the best thing that could come between us and strengthen somewhat shaky and distant bonds. On the other hand, I need my space and respect other’s spaces as well. It would be creepy to just walk up to a random person on the street and offer them a warm embrace.
What is your favorite toppings on pizza?
Sausage, pineapple, pepperoni, olives, just to name the usual suspects…the list could go on though. If you want to know my least favorite toppings, it would have to be anchovies or sardines – I’m never had either of those on any “normal” pizza and I can guess that they have no rightful place in my land.
The absurd Frankenstein pizza below looks rather delicious:
If you were the original designer of one existing corporate logo, which one would you select?
The Nike swoosh is one of those logos that just speaks to you. And you can fit it on almost anything such as clothes, shoes, and backpacks and not forget what it means. I love its simplicity and enduring brand power. It’s also fun to draw on notebook covers. To be the designer of this is to have bragging rights to the God of all logos.
So strong and positive.
Complete this sentence: Where I can seek my solace is…
my family, where else? They’re the only ones who can really feel my sadness and give me encouragement. They are my safety net to fall back on when it feels like I am hitting a wall and have no where to turn to.
I suppose I don’t have to answer the bonus question, because I really don’t have anything for it for this time. Well, I guess I’m looking forward to getting over this ear infection I have really soon am grateful that I have people who can drive me to the doctor to get it checked out.
The other fine Tuesday I was a little misinformed About something that was said Across the hall of my dorm I heard an excited freshman ask “Do you want to eat, Stevie?” But of course there are no commas where I come from So this sounded a little creepy It also being my name So the time to flee came
I suppose I’ve had an on again off again relationship with the semicolon; it really comes in handy when two thoughts are similar and there’s no need for two separate sentences. I have become a natural at using it and have improved my writing in great ways. This little mark that is a comma with a period over it used to baffle me, but it is now truly embraced. Me and semicolon starting dating a few years ago and have shared a couple of interesting sentences under candlelight together, many of them making me look highly intelligent and scholarly. I chuckle a little whenever I employ the use of this weird mark – it barely gets any spotlight and is not particularly loved by novice writers. It gets a chance to shine in poetry though.
Now, the exclamation point is one mark I have generally shied away from. I use it very sparingly in writing, because the overuse of it tends to make the passage come off as silly and immature, and I DON’T WANT TO LOOK LIKE I’M YELLING! I think of the exclamation point as a period with a tall hat on, like a bishop. My general rule is that it should not be used more than five times, one or two times in a paragraph, but that of course is objectionable.
“Cling to your rope! As the ship wrestles with her ferocious waves…and sends brave men crying for their mommy!”
F. Scott Fitzgerald stated his thoughts on overuse of the mark:
Cut out all these exclamation points…An exclamation point is like laughing at your own joke.
Me and the full stop or period go a long ways back…way, way back. It’s the one mark that can’t be ignored and is basically the cornerstone of all punctuation. If there wasn’t any such thing as a period, sentences would never end or we’d have to find a more unconventional way to show the ends of sentences, such as creating every sentence on a new line, though there are ways now of using emoji but only in the informal world of Twitter and Facebook – and that would just make blogs and everything else look like the websites of children.
The comma is also an important part of everyday writing, the difference between telling you want to eat someone and telling you want to eat with someone.
Do you like my clever pun on the word “punctuate” in the title? Like the saying “I eat punks like you for breakfast”?
We all have strange relationships with punctuation — do you overuse exclamation marks? Do you avoid semicolons like the plague? What type of punctuation could you never live without? Tell us all about your punctuation quirks!
I definitely like to say that I’m not like my dad, who is so square he could be pass as a building. Stuck in his ways, unable to do anything new. His clothes have stayed the same, his haircut has stayed the same. He was in the marching band; I wasn’t. He had a dog as a kid; I’ve had nothing but a clowder of cats.
The world also revolves around him, as far as he’s concerned. Getting mad at pedestrians for crossing the street, flipping the bird at a driver who cuts him off, and then proceeding to put on a “I hate the world” look for the rest of the day. He also doesn’t know when to not text, sending one about his work schedule every week, sometimes in the middle of the night. It’s the same thing and I don’t really care. He’s been listening to the same music for as long as I’ve known him, the oldies station going back to when it wasn’t known as the oldies station, but something like “new wave” or “new rock”. Flipping through the stations and coming across a catchy Katy Perry or Maroon 5 song, I know it won’t stay on there long. And, flip, I’m right.
On the bright side, he loves hockey and has been going for the Red Wings ever since they were called the Dead Wings. I remember when he used to tape the games on a VCR (sad nostalgic tear), getting it programmed to automatically record the primetime game on the channel, while he was away at work. He would watch the game later, with a bowl of sherbet in his lap and usually shirtless with a hairy dad body, now enjoying having the power to speed through commercials and get to the good parts of the game. As a little kid I would sit down on the couch and observe the game, he occasionally shouting out a random swear word, yelling at the TV everytime a call didn’t go the Wings way. I didn’t have much interest in sports back then like I do now but I tried to watch and understand the meaning of the game, getting that these red suited guys skating up and down the ice and crashing into other players, trying to put a little black rock into a net, was a very special thing to my dad. He still love the Wings to this day, now going down to the Michigan Theatre to see them compete in the playoffs. 24 straight years now, every year since my birth. They don’t always win but they sure put up a fight. I’m not a big fan of hockey like him though. I love football; he only watches it occasionally.
I have realized I’ve inherited some of his self-centered attitude. I do think about myself a lot and am very private with my thoughts. We both can be quieter than a calm sea at times and go off into a corner with no one realizing we’re there. We’re both highly intelligent and have a way with crunching the numbers and strategizing, especially with board games like Clue. He’s very crafty at that game and has a religious passion for it but I’ve since caught up to him in skill after years of trying to figure the game and his sneaky strategy out (some cheating probably involved). He is a good father though who has been through some tough situations in his life, like having to have artificial hips implanted and not being able to enjoy the freedoms of running and excessive celebrations, in fear of misplacing his hip plates and possibly having to be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. Which would only add to his pleasure of having people seek pity for him.
My mom, on the other hand, can be a bit of a dim lightbulb. She has a limited education and can say some derogatory things without knowing exactly what’s she saying. She is also absentminded and always forgetting something: wallet, keys, charger cord, driver’s license, library card, credit cards. I like to joke that she would forget her head if it wasn’t screwed on tightly. She not very good with vehicles either, every car she’s owned being broken down and the victim of wear and tear as well as a chronic messiness of bills, wrappers, cans, bills, bottles, crumbs, bills, candy canes, and more papers.
If there is one thing we have in common, it is probably our forgetfulness. I have left behind a couple of possessions in my lifetime and am always misplacing things like my wallet, phone, and those tiny memory cards that like to flip across the room and land in oblivion, being found a year later when things are being moved around. The charger cord extension for my Handycam was left behind in a hotel room last December, forcing me to charge it by plugging it into the computer with its short cord. I’ve gotten along nicely so far, having used the camera to take shots of full moons, the blood moon coming up in a couple days.
There are some similarities between me and my folks, such as the way we look (people are always saying my dad and I look alike) but I like to have some separation in terms of personality and style, even staying away from getting into the same jobs, just to say that I am my own unique person. I love my parents, but sometimes they can do the stupidest and most embarrassing things (please don’t pick your nose, dad, and touch the chips we share) that make me want to never totally end up like them. A good way to be, I say.