Walking in the Light

Just dropping in an update. Life is good, everything is going well. Here are some highlights:

Though the scale infuriatingly refuses to acknowledge any loss of actual weight, I am fitting into clothes I haven’t fit in since Freshman year of college, which feels good. The workout plan I’m on is Nate Green’s Built for Show, and I highly recommend it for guys. It’s not the gimmicky, “6 weeks to being Adonis!” crap that most workout books advertise (*cough* Mackie Shilstone *cough*). Instead, it’s a legit, year-long workout plan. I suspect that the beauty is not so much in the workouts themselves as getting you to the gym 3 days a week for a year. In any case, his workouts are fast, hard, and effective. Furthermore, I just switched to phase 2 and did the first phase 2 workout last night and today I’m so sore I feel like I just had rough sex with a wild stallion. In this scenario, I was the woman.

Work has been work. Come in, handle some claims, make some phone calls, strike some deals, then spend the day reading Fall of Giants on my Kindle, waiting for those golden LSAT scores to come in. Speaking of which…

My current book is Fall of Giants by Ken Follett. Some of you may recognize him as the author of one of my all-time favorite books, The Pillars of the Earth. The man is a master of storytelling and character development. I’m not quite halfway through the book and I am totally enchanted by the characters and their lives. As a boon, the novel is historical fiction set during WWI, and it’s been fascinating to learn more about the real-life circumstances surrounding “the other world war”.

Anyway, this blog is the result of an utter lack of topic ideas. Hopefully my muse will return soon and I’ll be able to pump out something interesting. Until then, stay strong guys.

So I know not that many of you (read: none of you) who read this blog are very familiar with Magic: the Gathering, but I was so excited about this card that I had to write about it. But before I get to the card, let me rewind it back a little bit.

This card that I’m about to talk about came out of the gates with a moderate amount of hype before it was generally agreed that the card was not very good. It’s value plummeted from $15 a piece to $2 a piece on a good day. I have always loved this card and have ALWAYS tried to find a way to play with it, but in the previous format, the consensus was right – the card just wasn’t good enough.

In response to the new format after the last block rotated out, I decided to try my hand at brewing a deck of my own. This was my first real foray into the world of deck building, and I was really anxious to try to put one together that was both entirely of my own devising and actually good. Of course, given the wide-open nature of the game currently, I thought this would be a great time to try out my girl, Admonition Angel:

She is the stone nuts. I won’t get into the specifics of why she’s so great within the context of the game, but just the picture will be enough for me to explain that Admonition Angel represents pretty much everything I love about Magic: the Gathering.

I mean, look at her. Have you ever seen a more badass angel? That girl is b-core (that’s Baumgartner-core, for those not in the know). The art is super epic, and the flavor (fantasy element) of the card is really winning.

Check it – first off, she’s in a Cathedral. Home girl is Catholic. Score. Second, see that halo AROUND her head? In the story, the angels of Zendikar have these halos because the bright light shields them from seeing anything impure. It does, of course, allow holiness to shine through. Third – check out that sword. Need I say more? This one has taken down countless hordes of demons with that sword. Like I said, guys – Stone. Nuts.

I’m pretty sure Admonition Angel boasts my absolute favorite art in the game.

Finally, this is one of the really interesting elements of Magic: the Gathering. I know this is lame and corny and incredibly dweebish, but sometimes, Magic actually helps call me to holiness. Art like Admonition Angel really stirs something in me – that deep and ingrained desire to participate in this epic fight. It helps to remind me that the fight we’re all in *is* epic, in the first place – and that’s something that I know I forget about a lot of the time. This stuff calls me to prayer. What more can you ask from a game?

By the way, in case you were wondering, my deck actually is sick. I’ve top 4’ed the last 3 weeks with it. Pro Tour, here I come!

So, as most of you are no doubt aware, I’ve taken the LSAT. It’s been a long road and a long time coming, but this Saturday I actually showed up on time and took that behemoth down. I won’t know my scores until January 10, but I’ve experienced a strange phenomenon that began immediately, despite the delay in the receipt of my scores:

I have senioritis again.

Okay, so it’s technically not senioritis since I’m not a senior in any sense of the word, but it feels *extremely* similar to senioritis. Let me explain.

I’m really tired of my job. I’m tired of coming to work every morning, and being chained here for 8-9 hours a day while I listen to people whine about some little inconvenience for which they want to be unfairly compensated. It’s tiring. It’s frustrating. And it makes me feel like I’m wasting my time. Working 8-5 like this has really made me realize how valuable my time is, and spending each day watching it burn away is really, really hard for me. It’s even worse knowing that this is so temporary – I have no intention of sticking with my current job for any length of time. In fact, I don’t plan on sticking with it past this summer. But I have to stay with it, or else I’ll be totally broke. I’m beginning to understand what it means to be a slave to money, and it sucks, guys. It sucks bad.

I have no motivation to perform at work anymore. I get here in the morning and try to figure out how I can entertain myself until work is out, all the while doing enough “work” to seem productive. To make matters worse, I’ve address the issue of my lack of work with my supervisor, who has done nothing to change anything.

Every minute that I spend writing a pointless claim review, every minute that I spend talking on the phone to a moron who cut his own finger at a restaurant and wants money for it – all I can think about is that every minute is one minute closer to being out of this job forever.

Don’t get me wrong. I definitely feel a certain amount of gratitude for the fact that I even *have* a job in times like this. And as jobs go, this one is definitely not the worst. It’s just not for me. Nothing about it makes my heart feel fulfilled.

So I’m counting the days, guys, until I can get out, say goodbye to this place, and start the new chapter of my life – the one that actually leads somewhere.

The Blessed Virgin Compared to the Air We Breathe

I was recently turned on to a podcast by a priest named Fr. Michael Schmitz. The podcast is a weekly upload of his homily, basically. He’s a young and a very insightful priest who seems to be able to connect really well with the young Church. I admit that I’ve only listened to several of his homilies, but I have been impressed with his charisma and the messages he seeks to share, so I thought I would write about it. (Side note: I downloaded about 20 of his podcasts and loaded them to my iPhone so I can listen to him at work today).

Last night, I listened to his homily from this past Sunday, in which he focuses on the Mass as the Great Sacrifice. At one point he discusses the consistent historical link between worship and sacrifice. This has been the focus of my prayer since I listened.

God does not need our sacrifices. He gains nothing from them. We cannot offer him anything which he doesn’t already have. Slaughter one sheep or a one thousand, either way this sacrifice doesn’t affect God one bit. And yes, it has been said that he gains pleasure from our act of dominance over our will in his name, but again, this seems theoretical, unnecessary, and uncharacteristic of the loving and order-driven God we worship. All of which begs the question: if God does not need or benefit from our sacrifices, why then does He require them?

This makes me think back to A Knight’s Tale, to the scene in which the aggravating leading lady requires Heath Ledger’s character to purposely lose a jousting tournament to prove he loves her. Girls may swoon over this, but as a guy, I found this request petty, selfish, shallow, and actually offensive. This woman is asking this guy she supposedly cares about to give up the things that are most important to him, all for the sake of her reassurance. (And before you girls clamor up with a “but she tells him to win it in the end!!!” I respond with the assertion that it doesn’t matter. The losses he had sustained could have been insurmountable by that point, and even if they weren’t, I don’t know where she gets off thinking she can play all these manipulative games for her own satisfaction.)

I can’t believe that our God is like this. I can’t accept the idea that He asks us to make sacrifices all for the sake of some petty sense of satisfaction. That’s like a dog owner asking his dog to do tricks for his amusement, just for the purpose of proving that the dog is obedient enough to do them.

The only solution that remains to my perception, then, is that God requires our sacrifices not for His sake, but for our own. This is the concept I’ve been wrestling with since I listened to the podcast last night. I can accept the theoretical idea that God requires sacrifices for our own sake – that is in line with the God I know. But what benefit we receive from these sacrifices is another story. Do we grow in discipline as a result of them? Possibly, but that doesn’t seem quite correct to me.

The conclusion that I’m dancing with right now is this: God requests our sacrifice. It is our decision whether or not to pay that sacrifice to Him, but when we do, we bolster our courage and confidence in ourselves, as believes who have responded to God’s call. It is our opportunity to rise up and give something back to He who gives us everything. Perhaps God doesn’t WANT our sacrifices, but He requests them because He knows, buried within our hearts, WE want to make our sacrifices. We long for any tiny, precious opportunity to show our gratitude to the One who breathed life in us. This is much like a mother who allows her child to spend his allowance on a trinket gift for her for Christmas – though she doesn’t need it, she knows the joy and satisfaction it gives the child to offer it to her, and so she gladly accepts it.

I don’t know if this explanation is satisfying, complete, or even correct. I would love to hear your thoughts about it, though. This is, of course, a mystery the scope of which I don’t flatter myself to think I can address in a blog post, but that’s kind of the point, right? To work our way through these mysteries so that we can come together to a deeper understanding of the God who fathered us.

I’ll be praying for you.

1) Create a stellar physique for myself, and enable myself to perform well athletically.

2) Speak Spanish at an intermediate level.

3) Fix my car up, including replacing the windshield, replacing and painting the bumper, and checking/replacing the spark plugs, air filter, and brake pads, etc.

4) Write a book and begin the process of publishing it.

5) Spend a long weekend hiking and camping in Glacier National Park.

I made this list because I don’t want to live my life day to day anymore. I want to identify the goals I have and actually start working towards them. And I can actually do all these things, logistically AND financially – in fact, accomplishing this entire package of goals will only end up costing me 10 dollars a day, with the bulk of that cost being the Glacier National Park trip.

The thing is, I’m a dreamer/doer. I think of things I want, and then I do them. Only I haven’t been doing that lately, so it’s time to get back on track. I’m in a pretty good place right now, all things considered. I don’t have everything under control, but do we ever, really? And it’s time for me to sit down and start thinking about the things I want to do – really want to do – and go for them. So, I’m going to do it. I’ll post on the progress here. Wish me luck, guys. I’m going all in.

Solution: Picking heavy shit up, and throwing it.

This is what I did yesterday. Well, not exactly, but I’m pretty sure it was one of the manliest workouts out there right now. Seriously. Any of you guys out there doing your curls and crunches can admire yourselves in your little pink panties all day long. You have nothing on the monstrous workout I did yesterday.

I threw up at the end. Okay, well not really, but you would have.

All right, let me break it down.

We started with some dead lifts. Let’s just stop there. I am of the opinion that dead lifts are the absolute manliest lift you can do this side of lifting a beautiful girl out of a pit of snakes. You’re just using your brute strength to take something really heavy and hoist it off the ground. It’s simple. It’s primal. It’s what men do. It’ll wind you really fast, but it’s okay, because you’ll feel like a total BAMF. Which is what I am.

Second is squats. Another purely virile move. You set some more heavy shit on your shoulders, and you use your tree trunk leg muscles to push it up. Compare this to pushing a train off an old lady trapped underneath, or carrying the world like a titan. You feel it in your butt, your hams, your thighs, your back, and your abs.

Third – barbell presses. If dead lifts are the manliest move, barbell presses are a close second. You take a barbell and weight, hold it in your hands, and press it up until your arms are extended. Works every single muscle in your upper body, and trains you push a closing steel door up so you can allow the elderly and the children to escape a lockdown.

Okay, all of this has been pretty B-core (that’s Baumgartner-core for those of you not in the know), but the next few moves really separate the boys from the men. This stuff is old-fashioned. It’s the moves your grandpa did, back when they didn’t have electricity or the internet and men had to support their families with the sweat from their brow. Are you ready?

Sandbag tosses. That’s right. You take a big burlap sandbag, grab it with your strong, masculine hands, pick it up, and toss it as far as you can. Repeat until you start to cry.

Sledgehammer swings. You take an old tire, and you beat the bejeezus out of it with a sledgehammer. This is awesome. Talk about your catharsis. You know who screams into pillows when they’re ticked? Little emo boys. You know who grabs a sledgehammer and pounds the living daylights of out something with it? Men. Do this about 20 times on each side and you’ll be too exhausted and sore to care about the little worries like unemployment or terrorism.

Finally, our last move – the BAMF. That’s the name I just made up for it. For the BAMF, you take that tire you just pounded with the sledgehammer, attach a rope to it, put on a harness, and drag the tire as far and as fast as you can until you physically collapse. As you get stronger, you can move on to other objects – bigger tires, fat people, cars, trains – whatever. If you can dream it, you can drag it, boys.

This was me after.

For those 2 or 3 men who log onto this blog, I highly recommend you throw out your maxi pads and try this workout on for size. And for the women who read it - well, I hope for your sake you find a man B-core enough to tear this one down.

1) Adoration.

Dear friends,

Today, I’m going to offer five book reviews for five books that I really love and highly recommend. If you’re looking for a winter read, I think any of these will fulfill that need. These aren’t necessarily my favorites, but a lot of them definitely fall into that list. So, without further ado:

1) The Pillars of the Earth, Ken Follett – This book is amazing. It’s a historical fiction novel set in England in the middle ages. The story revolves around the construction of a Cathedral, but it’s totally character-driven. In this one (admittedly large) volume, you have so many stories. This is one of the few books that I flat-out couldn’t put down. I read it straight through the night – several nights in a row. I cannot recommend this book highly enough. Also, for anyone interested, Starz made a miniseries that’s pretty accurate and completely awesome.

2) Black Swan Green, David Mitchell – Black Swan Green is a sad, sweet, beautiful coming of age story. It follows the main character Jason through a year during his adolescence, where he faces relatable problems like bullying, peer pressure, love, friendship, and the breaking apart of a family. Mitchell is a master of this kind of narrative. This book is really relatable and engrossing. I would say this is my required reading for boys.

3) Wizard’s First Rule, Terry Goodkind – The first book in Goodkind’s magnum opus, The Sword of Truth series. In some ways, this book is your typical High Fantasy adventure; in many ways, its messages about life, freedom, masculinity, femininity, loyalty, faith, and society absolutely garner it a unique place all of its own. Read this book. Trust me. You’ll learn so much from it, about the world around you and about yourself.

4) Paradise Lost, John Milton – This one’s not just A classic, it’s THE classic. It’s the book that men memorized all the way up until the internet came. It brought inspired Patrick Bronte to work his way out of the fields of Ireland into Britain, birthing Charlotte Bronte, one of the world’s most renowned writers. It’s actually literally the hinge upon which all English literature turns. It changed the world of writing forever. Milton is a genius, and if his insights on theology, philosophy, humanity, etc. don’t entice you, read it for the incredibly well-crafted characters, the heartbreaking story, and the achingly beautiful language Milton uses to create his Eden.

5) Me Talk Pretty One Day, David Sedaris – This is a collection of essay memoirs, and easily the funniest thing I’ve ever seen in print. Sedaris’s voice is familiar, clear, and above all, hilarious, as he wins readers over with his self-deprecating humor and endearing sarcasm. This book is a portrait of David, his family, and, especially, his time in France. If you’re looking for a laugh, look no further than Me Talk Pretty One Day. Be warned, though – Sedaris’s other works don’t even come close to approaching the genius that is this one.

So there you have it. Hopefully this has inspired you turn off the tv (or log off of hulu) and pick up a good read for the beautiful weather!

Stay strong, guys.

Kori

So we’ve all heard about this “Man Law” movement. You know, the list of rules that all men are called by virtue of the existence of their Y chromosomes to follow? It’s a good idea, and a pretty good observation. I agree with the fact that, while all men are unique individuals, there are still some rules or expectations that every man, regardless of his age, race, orientation, religion, etc. are called to follow.

But not the rules on the published “Man Law”. Those are a little too superficial for me, and a little to society-driven. For example, according to the Man Law, “cock-blocking” a buddy (preventing a buddy from having sex, for the urbandictionary.com disinclined) is strictly forbidden. However, we know that in Christian circles, “cock-blocking” a buddy is actually a sign of care and respect for your friend and for the girl.

All this having been said, I’ve been brainstorming up a list of Man Laws I think are more legitimate. I don’t have many yet, but this is what I’ve got so far:

1) You must always lend a hand if a man asks you to help him move something heavy, regardless of what else you might have to do at the time, unless what you have to do at that time involves either a wedding or a funeral. It does not matter how close you are with this man. If he was humble enough to ask for help, step up. As a corollary to this rule, a man should never ask for help unless he is providing beer.

2) If a group of men are in the company of one or more women, and one or more of those women challenge or insult the masculinity of one of the men there, it is the duty of every other man in the company to rise to help their brother defend his masculinity. You must never take the girls’ side. If you actually agree with the girl(s), tell your brother later. Don’t ever shame a brother in front of a girl.

3) No man shall ever offer another man advice or correction in front of other men or women. Any well-intentioned coaching should occur out of the public eye. ie while playing football, no man should ever stop to explain what another one is doing wrong or how to improve. This is belittling.

4) Men shall have no need for voting, argument, or discussion of any trivial matter (who will drive, who will find the remote, etc.). Instead, all men shall defer to and respect the decision-making authority of Rock, Paper, Scissors.

5) Men’s clothes are communal. If a brother needs to borrow clothes for any reason, you are obligated to lend them to him, regardless of whether it is a hat or a tuxedo or a pair of boxers/socks. As a corollary to this rule, no man is expected to remember to return this clothing unless you ask for it back. As a further corollary, you are not obligated to lend him clothing if you absolutely need it (ie. It’s your only sports coat and you need it for the same night, etc.)

6) If you borrow one of your brothers’ cars, you must return it with a full tank of gas. If you borrow it for more than one day, you must also wash it.

Okay, so this is only the beginning, but keep em in mind, boys. They will be the measure by which your manhood is judged. And if you have any more to submit for consideration, feel free.

So recently, I’ve been working really hard on getting my health under control. Granted, I’ve only been doing for like a week, so we have a long way to go before we can see if I can stick to it in the long run. But here are the changes I’ve been making:

Previously, my diet went something like this: Breakfast: Vanilla Iced Coffee and Sausage McMuffin from McDonalds. Lunch: Eat out (Sushi, quiznos, chick fil a, etc.). Go home, eat a bunch of reese’s peanut butter cups and whatever Dad made, which is something heart-healthy.

My new diet is now: Breakfast: 1 Package of Weight Control Maple and Brown Sugar Oatmeal, drizzled with honey and mixed with a handful of raisins. Let’s stop here for a second.

This is disgusting. I have always HATED oatmeal. It tastes like nothing and it feels like vomit in your mouth. I had to add the raisins and honey to make it swallowable. The first day I ate this for breakfast, I literally swallowed 2 spoonfuls and threw the rest away. Today, for the first time, I finished a bowl of oatmeal. And it wasn’t that bad – you know, once I jacked it up with raisins and honey. The thing is, I know it’s going to take while before I come to really look forward to oatmeal in the morning, if I ever do. But it’s so heart-healthy, and I’ve actually been feeling so much better throughout the day – energized and upbeat and responsive. I stay full for a longer time, and I feel like my body is just getting cleaner.

I also decided to switch to 6 meals a day. So I have my breakfast (groan) oatmeal, and then at around 10:00 I eat ½ a whole wheat bagel with peanut butter (which is awesome). For lunch, it’s something along the lines of a frozen lean cuisine (Hopefully I don’t lose Man Points for this - they’re so convenient and healthy!) and some kind of extra, like a handful of wasabi peas. Then at midafternoon I eat a handful of almonds, for the fiber and the good fats. At dinner I have whatever nutritionist-approved meal my dad makes, and I have snack before bed in the form of a protein shake or some nuts or fruit.

I want to add more fruits and vegetables into the mix, but one step at a time right?

Finally, I’ve been taking a multivitamin and it’s amazing. First of all, it turns my pee green. Like, a bright, clear, neon green. It actually looks a lot like lemon-lime Gatorade (you’re welcome for that visual - yummy). Combine this with the fact that I’ve upped my water intake to about a gallon a day, and I see a LOT of green pee.

I’ve been making it a point to run, lift, or do some form of exercise every day that I can. It feels so good to be proactive with this stuff.

Here’s the thing: it’s only been a week, but I feel so awesome! Every day now I wake up and I’m energized and ready to face the day. I stay powered all throughout the day. I just feel like a machine. It’s the best.

Hopefully, if this continues, I can end up looking like Brad Pitt or David Beckham or some other awesome ripped manly man. But even if I don’t, I feel awesome, and that’s making it all worth it.

Except maybe the oatmeal.

To anyone still following, I have a three word message for you today.

Are you ready? Here it comes:

Yesterday. Was. Awesome.

Seriously, I had the best day yesterday. From beginning to end, it was perfect. Definitely the best day I’ve had since graduation, hands down. Let me walk through it again.

So my best friend Jason spent the night Saturday night. We’re really close and we live about an hour and a half apart. We lived together for three years, and not living with him anymore has been a really big adjustment for me, and I miss him a lot, even if I talk to him all the time. Anyway, I love it when he spends the nights, because it feels kind of like we’re living together again. We can talk as long as we want to, and then see each other again in the morning, hang out, have breakfast. It’s a really refreshing thing for me, and I always really value any opportunity I have to see him.

So Jason and I woke up on Sunday, hung out, put together some magic decks and played with them a bit, which was great too. I love playing magic and I haven’t had the opportunity to in a few weeks, so it was really fun to get back into it and play a couple of games, especially with these two decks that I’ve been working on putting together for a while. It was a ton of fun.

Then Jason left and I headed to my grandmother’s house for her birthday. While my grandmother herself is generally kind of miserable and depressing to be around, I got to see my cousins and, especially, my cousins baby girl Ella, who was so hyped up I’m certain her mom injected her with a pixie stick before they came. Anyway, Ella was adorable, and I got to play with her for a long time. I’m usually a huge grouch when it comes to kids, but when I actually interact with them, I always just fall in love. And there’s something about being around little kids that’s just great for your spirit, you know? It really invigorates you and helps put things in perspective.

Then, after Babs’s party, I had the opportunity to partake in my absolute favorite midafternoon activity – NAP!!!!

Now, I love taking naps. Ask my roommates in college, on any given day at around 3-4 PM I was locked behind my door taking a little snoozelet. I think I love taking a nap so much because it’s an opportunity to actually physically slow down, pause, and give yourself a real break from life for a while.

I slept from 3 until 5:30. It was a good, deep, solid little nap, and I woke up tired but refreshed, and ready for the great night ahead. I hopped in my car and went to St. Margaret Mary for Mass.

This was awesome. There was nothing over the top, outrageously great or noteworthy about the Mass, but SMM is really a sacred place for me. At that Church, I decided, as a young adult, to pick up my cross and follow Christ. I matured from a cradle-Catholic to an adult in my faith there. Later, in college, when I started losing my focus, and falling away, it was one fateful trip to SMM that got me back on track. Going there is almost like going on a pilgrimage to me. It’s not my home parish, nor do I regularly go for Mass, but so many moments of real spiritual growth occurred for me there, that going back is always a real joy and an opportunity for reflection. I realized there last night that my spiritual life has been languishing a lot since I left from college. I’ve definitely been under a lot of attack and I’ve taken a lot of hard blows – from the enemy, from my family situation, from my financial situation, and from the people still at school. And even though I’ve known in theory that all comfort and solace comes from the LORD, last night that really sunk in and allowed me an opportunity to make a decision to re-embrace my relationship with my God.

After Mass I headed over to a local pub to hang out with one of the other awesome, solid men I call my best friend. Daniel is much further away from me than Jason is, but we talk very frequently, and he’s been such a great friend and a real rock for me. Our relationship has definitely been one of the most challenging in the past, but the fact that Daniel and I have been able to face a lot of really daunting challenges and make it out no worse for wear gives me a lot of faith in him as a Brother and a Friend, and a lot of faith in our relationship’s ability to endure a lot of hardships and make it out shining. (Yeah, I know you’re reading this. Don’t get a big head about it.)

Anyway, Daniel was in town for the evening, and I met him, Jason, and some other great people to spend some time and catch up. We joked and laughed and played and tackled each other and made bets and called bluffs. And it was such a healing experience for me, to be in the presence of all these people, but especially these two men, these two brothers, and be able to feel and understand and trust in their unwavering love for me and commitment to our friendship.

Have I mentioned that I love these guys?

Then, on the way home, I got on the phone with Jace (did I mention that we talk a lot?) and talked to him about how I really felt at Mass that I wasn’t stepping up, wasn’t doing my job as a spiritual leader in our friendship, which is something that is just so important to me. We prayed together on the ride home. It was a really awesome way to end off just a great day.

I know this post wasn’t funny, or witty, or insightful, and I’m sorry if I disappointed you on that front, but I was just so moved by the gift that Christ gave me in my entire day yesterday that I felt like I needed to both reflect on it for myself and share it with you guys.

Here’s hoping that all your days are filled with as much joy and love as mine was yesterday.

Stay strong.

I’ve decided to become a better man.

Stop. Before you scroll down to the comment section to give me a pep talk, wait and hear me out. I’m not feeling bad about myself, or deficient, or whatever. I believe that I am good man. But I want to be a better one.

So I’ve enlisted the help of one of my favorite websites/blogs – theartofmanliness.com, which published its impressive course “30 Days to a Better Man” some time ago. It’s really an interesting and diverse program, touching of all sorts of subjects, from “write a letter to your father” to “memorize a significant poem”. I saw it, bought the e-book, but haven’t begun until today.

Don’t misunderstand. This blog is not going to become a diary for my progress through the 30-day program, because some of that stuff isn’t really appropriate for publication. But I did just want to talk about the first task, Day 1, which I’ve been thinking about and ruminating on.

The assignment for Day 1 is to draw up a list of core values. Not a definitive list – in fact, you’re restricted to five. This was difficult, actually. For one thing, it was difficult to pin down specific values that were important to me. Then, it became difficult to siphon through the values that I actually have and the value I just wish I had. I guess the list I put together is somewhere between the two.

I’m not expecting anyone to be interested in this, by the way. It’s just given me a lot to think about, and besides, I wanted this list to be somewhere I can find it in case I lose the physical copy.

These are my core values – the values that are most important to me as a man right now. These are not necessarily my strongest qualities. In fact, these aren’t even all qualities that I can honestly say I possess. But they *are* the values that are most important to me, that I admire, and that I most want to develop. My hope is that this list will steer my actions and my decisions to work toward the goal of developing and perfecting these values.

Devotion – I value complete devotion above everything else. By this I refer to devotion to my God and devotion to my loved ones. I want every decision, every action, every movement to be in the interest of serving my God, my family, and my friends, and strengthening my relationship with them. I want my constant prayer to be in all things “Serviam” – I will serve.

Integrity – This value encompasses many others. Honesty, loyalty, trust-worthiness. I want to strive always to be a man of true integrity. Such a man does not lie, or cheat. He’s a man one can trust always to stay true to his word and stand a pillar of dependability in a castle made of sand.

Courage – The strength to make the difficult decisions. This value applies in all situations, whether the decision be a professional risk, or a personal risk, or a physical risk. I want the courage to climb to the top of a tall tree and the courage to stand up for myself the ones I love, and make the decisions that will be most fruitful and rewarding regardless of how terrifying they may be.

Discipline – This is a value that is very important to me but that I *really* need to work on developing. It applies to every aspect of life – eating, exercising, studying, working, praying, learning, sleeping, playing. Discipline in these areas separates the men from the boys, and I really long to develop this aspect of my masculinity.

Independence – One of my most treasured values, and one that I hope to continue always to develop is my sense of independence. My life is mine alone, and it is mine to live however I see fit, without submission to any buy my God. I will not be captures or enslaved by any entity – work, family, friends, responsibility. Instead, I will balance these important aspects of my life on my own terms. I will control my own happiness and my own future. I will be dependent on no one and nothing. Each day I will rise up and take command of my own life, my own future, and my own destiny. I will work under the direction of my King and within the parameters of my core values to progress in my journey and my lifelong search for happiness, fulfillment, and masculinity.

I work with HAZMAT.

Well not really. I work with a third party administrator for insurance providers. But the claims department is pretty much a HAZMAT.

Usually we all keep to ourselves. We work on our claims, we stay in our cubicles. We’re a quiet bunch. So it’s understandable that when one of us goes missing, it takes a while for us to figure it out.

So at around 9:45 I hear someone say “Where’s Melanie?”.

Melanie was gone.

We all just kind of exchanged puzzled looks until one of our supervisors Kip came out and solved the mystery.

“She has a stomach bug and she was violently ill. She left about an hour ago.”

The words were not even out of his mouth when pandemonium ensued. All of a sudden, every female in the claims department whips out – out of NOWHERE, mind you – cans of Lysol, bottles of antibacterial sanitizer, alcohol wipes. I blink and all of a sudden everyone has a face mask on. It was downright apocalyptic.

“I will NOT catch a stomach bug!” Melissa says, spraying Melanie’s vacant cubicle until Lysol starts dripping from her computer monitor.

It is at this point where Carrie, the secretary, runs in from the other side of the office, holding a bottle of Lysol in the air and spraying as she dashes between the cubicles, leaving a trail of mist streaming through the air like a ribbon dancer. Meanwhile, Kimberly is spraying herself down – I mean literally soaking her hair in Lysol - and Ginger is crawling on her hands and knees in the break area wiping the floor down with alcohol. You would think it was ebola Melanie had come down with instead of a simple stomach virus.

I mean, I can’t even describe how absurd this was. Every mother in the office called their children at home to make sure they weren’t feeling feverish, nauseous, hot, cold, tired, or hyperactive. Doctor’s appointments were made in preparation for the illness they and their families would inevitably contract.

“But you don’t understand!” Carrie insisted through her facemask. “There are no windows in here!”

I still don’t get the facemasks. Last time I even saw those it was on a news story about SARS.

So now I sit here, waiting for the hazy cloud of disinfectant to settle and the taste of rubbing alcohol to fade, and I just can’t wait for the go ahead to take this face mask off. Because hey, it’s better to be safe than sorry.

It’s only Monday, and I’ve already had the best claim of the week. I know this because there will never be a claim as hilarious as this one. Let me back it up for you.

This is the loss report I receive:

“Claimant fell from 3rd floor balcony at Ramada Inn in Metairie. Video footage is available. Claimant admitted to front desk that he was intoxicated. Putting insurance on notice”

That’s it. So this claimant – let’s call him Dude. We have a couple of other statements from neighboring guests. Apparently, Dude was having a wild time in his hotel room. Loud music, lots of noise, the usual bro fare. My guess (and the other adjusters’ guesses) was this Dude was hanging with his bros for a last summer hoorah before school starts. Getting wasted, scoring the honeys, whatever. Apparently the party got a little out of control and Dude took a little tumble a la Scarlet.

So it’s time for Super Sleuth Kori to put his detective hat on and get to the bottom of this. So I pick up and the phone and decide to give Dude a call. I was just going to take a casual little interview to lock down Dude’s admittance to being loaded the night of the incident, close off the report with a liability assessment of 0%, and move along with my life.

But that’s not exactly what happens. Because when I call the number, an old man answers the phone.

Surprised. Unsettled. Is this Dude’s father? Grandfather? What’s the deal here? I politely ask to speak to Dude.

“This is he.”

Whoa whoa whoa, hold the phone. YOU are Dude? You’re like the crypt keeper! This must be some sort of mistake. Maybe you have a son with the same name?

Nope. One Dude, and one Dude only. Except Dude is not a dude. He’s an adult man. And here’s the story.

This man, the Artist Formerly Known as Dude, was on a business trip to New Orleans for his company, which collects urine samples from across the country to do drug screenings. The Artist Formerly Known as Dude went to dinner with his boss the evening of the incident.

And that’s all he remembers.

That’s right, folks. Utter blackout. Absolutely no recollection of finishing dinner, paying the bill, going back to the hotel, falling three stories off a balcony, or being in the hospital. The next thing he remembers is around 7:00 the next evening, when he’s on a flight back home to Arkansas with a bad headache and 2 black eyes.

He doesn’t remember the raucous party.

He doesn’t remember the neighbors complaining.

He doesn’t remember the police showing up and telling him to keep it down.

He doesn’t remember the hospital.

The Artist Formerly Known as Dude doesn’t even remember falling off a freaking balcony.

Are you ready for the kicker? The Artist Formerly Known as Dude is FIFTY FIVE YEARS OLD!!!!

This 55 year old man got completely wasted out of his mind, threw a humongous one-man party in the Ramada Inn, and then jumped off the balcony!!!!

This guy is hardcore.

The best part is that the boss woke up the next morning, went to his hotel room, and the Artist Formerly Known as Dude wasn’t there. Didn’t answer his calls either. So, concerned about his employee’s whereabouts, Mr. Boss goes down to the hotel desk, asking if they knew anything. They inform him that his employee fell 3 stories off a balcony and is in the hospital now. Mr. Boss then continues on with his day of work and then goes to pick up Artist Formerly Known as Dude at the hospital that evening.

Did you catch that? Mr. Boss left his employee (and assumedly friend) rotting in a hospital after a 3 story fall for the WHOLE DAY while he was out collecting pee. What is going on up in Arkansas? I mean, really.

I’m willing to bet there’s a whole lot more to this story, Hangover-style. The pieces are just not fitting right. Did Mr. Boss roofie the Artist Formerly Known as Dude? What happened between dinner and the fall? Was there a tiger or Mike Tyson involved?

I think I’m going to spend the rest of this day thinking of the possible events that occurred that night to the Artist Formerly Known as Dude. Expect a post about this. I’m willing to bet he had a pretty epic night.

If only he could remember it…

Growing up in my household, I was the one with the appreciation for beautiful things. I would like to say that this was the result of some divine favor, that out of all my family members God looked upon me and chose me to be the one to appreciate the beauty of life and art and creation. But if I’m going to be honest with myself, it’s probably more a result of my inherent laziness than any kind of providence.
My parents used to make us work in the yard all the time, picking up sticks. If there is anything more mundane and torturous than picking up a thousand little sticks outside in the heat of Louisiana summer, I have not experienced it. And they made my brother and me perform this task literally every weekend. Of course, it never occurred to me that if I had just picked up all the sticks the first time around, we wouldn’t have to do it so often, but I was too busy moaning about how unfair my life was to think past the moment. All I knew was how infuriating it was that I walked around, wilted and sweating, bending over like a slave to pick up twigs while my ran drove around on the lawn mower, his hair blown back in the wind, pointing and laughing at me in my misery.
And there was literally no reason why these sticks needed to be collected. Though my father insisted that these tiny little sticks would ruin the blade on the lawn mower, I knew better. I was lazy, but I was not stupid. The lawn mower could easily have plowed right over them with relative ease. I tried to think of other reasons why he would want a thousand little twigs. Surely he didn’t want a fire; after all, the heat index was roughly 110 degrees on any given day in the summer. Perhaps he wanted to build a tiny little log cabin for gnomes.
In any case, I would find just about any reason I could to avoid doing this job, or to abandon it in the middle. And in the late afternoon, that reason was frequently the sky.
“What the hell are you doing? I still see sticks on the ground”
“I’m looking at the sky, dad. Look how pretty it is”
“Yeah, it’s gorgeous. Now go pick up the sticks. What are you gonna do if I roll over one with the lawnmower and it spits it up into my eyes and blinds me, huh? Is that what you want?”
Even at a young age I knew this was unlikely. The physics of it all just didn’t add up. Regardless, I would sigh, take one last longing look at my only source of procrastination, take another look at the miniature forest of twigs on our lawn, and promptly go inside to get a glass of water and watch TV.
As I said, it is to these experiences that I attribute my love for beautiful things as I was growing up. It seems understandable; in my young days, I compared the beauty of a sky or a living room with air condition to the relative ugliness of a Saturday spent picking up sticks, and I focused my attention on those things. It’s the same basic concept when it comes to art. Anyone who likes to look at beautiful things does so because they’re better to look at then the ugly ones.
My whole word was rocked, though, when art, ugliness, and my father all collided.
There’s nothing that will instill pretention in a child quite as effectively as being in college. This is especially true if that child’s parents could boast a High School Diploma as their highest level of education. If I was snooty before I went off to university, it was nothing compared to the air of superiority I held after having attended for a few years. I came home one Friday evening to grace my parents with a weekend of my presence. It was always good for them, I figured, to spend some time around me and take advantage of the opportunity to absorb some of the culture to which I had been exposed for the last several years.
But when I walked in, I dropped my laundry hamper in horror at the sight I saw before me. There, in the hallway, was the most hideous “painting” I had ever seen in my life, and my father right beside it, beaming like a proud new parent.
“Do you like it? I know you’re all into paintings and stuff”
Clearly I did not like it. Clearly I would not like it. This thing hanging on the wall – even now I cannot find the words to describe it.
It was a faux painting printed on canvas, but even the cheapness of it wasn’t the turn off. If it had been a cheap printing of swans or gentlemen or ballerinas, that would be fine, if a little tacky. This image was not a montage of ballerinas. This image was a montage of fictional gangsters.
There was Marlon Brando, his cotton-stuffed cheeks identifying him as Vito Corleone. On the lower left, several unidentified mobsters held a gun up to a screaming man’s forehead, grinning perversely. Scarface was represented at the top, introducing the viewer to his little friend. And there, dead center, was Tony Soprano, clad in a Hawaiian shirt and smiling affectionately at a severed head in a bowling ball bag.
It was truly the most horrifying image I’ve ever seen.
My mother, for her part, handled it with all the grace of little Ralphie’s mother when her husband uncovered that leg lamp. That leg lamp was hideous. This painting was worse. But when I started with a “what the-“ she abruptly pursed her lips and shook her head. Apparently, she had accepted this mark of insanity, at least for the moment.
Through the years that painting has been one of my dad’s prized possessions. Whenever someone new comes in the house he inevitably steers them past the family portraits, past the trophies of our accomplishments, past his wife and children, even, and brings them to this “painting”.
“Ain’t she a beaut?” he says. “See here, there’s Tony Soprano. Remember when they cut that bastard’s head off?” And his guest will smile and nod uncomfortably and start paying close attention to my dad’s accent and any mention of family members or connections.
The rest of us, whenever we had company, did our best to shield them from the monstrosity in the hallway.
Since those days, a lot has happened. I’ve graduated from college and gotten a job. My dad had a heart attack and survived. We’ve painted the walls, replaced the furniture. But this painting remains in its original spot, hanging grotesquely for everyone to fear and avoid. Mom and I talk about taking it down, replacing it with something else, but we never do. Dad doesn’t really pay attention to it anymore, no longer describes it proudly to any mailmen or salesmen who come to our door, but it’s somehow, in a way none of us can quite describe, become a part of him. It’s as much a part of our home now as he is.
I have a feeling that when my parents pass away and it’s time to divide the estate, my brother and I won’t be fighting over the china or the property divisions or my parents assets. No, none of those things. In my imagination I foresee my brother and I fighting over who gets to keep that horrible, accursed painting to display it proudly in their living room and trap unsuspecting guests. “See this guy? Tony Soprano. Remember when he cut that guy’s head off”?

This is Miracle Powder. This is the stuff of gods. It is rest for the weary. It turns men into deities.

This is not cocaine.

This is corn starch.

It's a common kitchen item. It functions primarily as a thickener for sauces and gravies. You probably have a box of it in your kitchen somewhere. I do.

But I don't just have a box in my kitchen. I also have a small ziploc bag of it hidden in one of my bathroom cabinets.

You see, my friends, I have a little problem. A little annoying, recurring problem.

I chafe.

I chafe bad.

Sure, okay. Lots of people chafe. What's the big deal?

The big deal is that I don't chafe...normally. I don't chafe like everyone else chafes. Or rather, I don't chafe where everyone else chafes.

I chafe in...

I chafe in...

I chafe in my buttcrack.

There, it's out. I've said it. On hot days I come home with a painful, bloody buttcrack. It burns. It itches. It makes my life miserable. And there's only one antidote.

Corn starch.

You see, I get home, and I go up to the bathroom, and I grab a handful of cornstarch and just pack it all up in there.

And oh, my friends, you don't know. You cannot possibly know the glory of the feeling of a handful of cool, fresh cornstarch in a hot, chafed, bleeding buttcrack. It is heaven. It is bliss. It is a sensation unlike any other that man has ever had the divine blessing to experience. With the help of our powdery friends, two butt cheeks slide effortless against each other. It's almost as if the skin was removed and replaced with silk. That's exactly it. You're walking around with a silk buttcrack.

This gift, though, like all great gifts, comes with consequences. It's a very delicate matter, walking around with a butt full of corn starch. Boxer shorts + corn starched butt = serious difficulties. You can forget about walking on dark carpet. As you walk, the excess powder can sprinkle out down your pant leg, leaving a little trail of cornstarch in your wake. It's an embarrassing problem, but at least it leaves the witnesses puzzled and not disgusted.

There it is. My big confession. I feel so much better now, don't you?

Just watch out for the little white trails, okay? If you see them, you'll know why the man leaving them behind has that extra little pep in his step, but you'll probably want to steer clear of them all the same.

There are a lot of things about women that men just don’t understand. We men are simple creatures. We like to be comfortable, we like to be effective, and we like to feel accomplished. Those are pretty much our three great motivations. Be comfortable. Be effective. Feel accomplished. Anything that doesn’t fall into one of those is just lagniappe.

But women – they’re complicated. And not in the way that makes them superior, like the way The Brothers Karamozov is superior to Hop on Pop. They’re complicated in the unnecessary way, like how Finnegan’s Wake is more complicated than pretty much anything ever written. They’re complicated in this baffling, “why the hell is that even important to you?” way.

And, in the same vein, they like weird things. Correction: they are obsessed with weird things. Like shoes, for instance. When a man looks for a shoe, he goes back to those three basic criteria. Comfort. Effectiveness. Accomplishment. Are these shoes comfortable? Are they effective for what I need them to do? By buying these shoes, am I accomplishing my goal of having something to protect my feet or support my ankles so that I can succeed in walking, running, hiking, playing sports, whatever the reason. You will never, ever, ever hear a man call a shoe “cute”. We couldn’t care less what the shoe looks like. And, with the exception of business or dress shoes (which can be explained by the criteria as well), we will always, always, always choose function over style. A woman will buy a 6-inch heel with a tiny toe torture chamber because it looks “cute” (despite the fact that the men will then have to endure an endless tirade about how their toes are bleeding and deformed after wearing the little cuties for a day).

But there is one thing that women almost universally obsess over that men could truly not give a damn about. This thing is perhaps the greatest puzzle to man who thinks he knows women.

Luggage.

Seriously, luggage? I cannot count the times I have been in a store with a girl when she finds some piece of luggage she finds “adorable”, “beautiful” or – that accursed word again – “cute”. I have seen girls go slack-jawed in admiration over luggage. I have seen girls ask random women in airports where they got there luggage.

And this luggage is not cheap! These babies comes with price tags of sometimes hundreds of dollars! Ask a man what he could do with a couple of hundred dollars and he’ll immediately start calculating bills in his head. Ask a woman what she could do with a couple of hundred dollars, and what will you hear about? The omg SOOOOOO CUTE floral luggage they have at Bloomingdale’s that they’re just DYING to have.

So I ask you – what is it with the luggage? Why do you obsess over what is essentially a bag of clothes that no one will see except the grimy airline loaders, the hotel bellhops, and the inside walls of your car trunk? What is it about this that makes you need to have it? At least a purse is an accessory. It’s stupid, but it’s at least regularly viewable. But luggage? You will buy that, shove it in your attic, and take it out 9 months later, smelling like moth balls and probably gnawed on by some rodents, fill it with clothing, and throw it in your trunk. Why would you spend a small fortune on that?

If we lived in a world entirely populated by men, things would be different. There would be no “luggage”. There would be trash bags. If we were feeling particularly flamboyant we might tie a thin rope to the top to distinguish it as ours when it goes to fraternize with the other garbage bags full of clothes. But women will let their electricity go out that month just to get her hands on a new set of luggage.

I think the fascination with luggage is one of the most defining differences between men and women. But hey, it could be worse. They could complain when you leave the seat up.