The 6-D's

There are a few quick stories I want to share with you readers today; some are heart warming, and some are heart wrenching. Ok, so there is really only one that is the latter, but prepare yourself nonetheless. I like that word: nonetheless. It’s like three words in one. It’s like the trinity. It’s like a good face wash. It’s like a nail clipper. This is a tangent.

D-1: Dogs

The first story is of two of my favorite people in the world: Buster and Murdok. My mom told me a story about these two fellas that brought joy to my heart. The PUD meter reader came up to—you guessed it—read the meter, and she told my mom that she loves coming to the house because she loves the boys. She said that they are so nice that the other meter readers actually talk about how they too love reading my parents meter, simply for the chance to rub the ears of two of the sweetest dogs (I mean, people) in the world. I love those guys, and apparently so do a lot of other people. I don’t know a single person that has anything bad to say about them.Why can’t all Christians be like them?

D-2: Dash

The next two stories are about my nephew, Dash. He had a big birthday bash today, and unfortunately Amber and I were unable to attend. I do know, however, that Dash will love me nonetheless (there it is again). Andy recapped a conversation between Dash and Kaeden to me the other day that went something like this:

Kaeden: Dash, who do you like better…

Dash: Eric.

Before Kaeden could even get the rest of the question out, Dash already knew that he liked me better. That warms my heart. It’s the same feeling as when he tells me out of the blue that he loves me “so much.”

D-3: Divorce

The next story about Dash is the heart wrencher. To preface this, Kaeden is often called Kaedster in the Lemiere house, and Dash can’t quite say Blackmon yet, so he says Backman. A few nights ago, I was playing some Nerf basketball with Dash down in Andy’s basement while Amber and Andy were chatting away. Dash and I were having a good time, giggling and the like, when all of the sudden Dash had a complete mood change. His face dropped as he looked at me and said, “I like Kaedster Backman.” Tears welled up in my eyes, because on this particular night, Kaeden was not staying at Andy’s house. I knew Dash was really saying that he missed his brother and wished he were playing Nerf ball with us. I picked Dash up and he rested his head on my shoulder. He just turned 3, but he already knows the unfairness of being away from his big brother. It is so hard to see families bifurcated by divorce, especially when there are youngsters. I’m so tired of our culture thinking that LOVE is a feeling, rather than an action. This story continues to break my heart.

D-4: Decrease

I knew that last story would be tough to read—at least, it was hard for me to write—which is why I put it in the middle. That way you ease into it with some good stories, and now can ease out of it with some better stories. This story is about Amber’s grandpa Bob. You may have read in a previous blog that he has cancer in the brain, but there is good news: the tumor is shrinking and everyone is very hopeful. We are not out of this one yet, but this is certainly great news for the family. We all appreciate the prayers.

D-5: Dean’s List

Speaking of Amber, she got a 4.0 this last semester at WSU. She would probably never share this info with most of you out of her humility, which is why I get to share it for her with whomever reads this. You can be proud; I am.

D-6: Disillusion

The last D of the 6D’s has more of a philosophical undertone to it. Amber and I are currently on a weekend getaway at Eagle Crest Resort (thanks Todd), and we seem to be somewhat fashionable for these parts. We went to a movie in Bend, and the lady bifurcating the ticket stubs told us we were just the cutest couple and proceeded to compliment our styles (whatever those are). Later, as we were walking along the sidewalk in downtown Bend, a couple girls walked by and commented to one another about how cute Amber’s purse was. I was feeling pretty good about myself and the arm-candy that accompanied me, when I saw my reflection in a large storefront window, and all was lost. As stated in previous blogs, I am a critical perfectionist, so it wasn’t hard for me to see an extremely large handful of imperfections in the way I looked. This brings me to a question that I’ve been asking myself for a while now: would you be more insecure about your appearance if you never saw your reflection, or if you saw it multiple times a day like you do now? I don’t know the answer. You probably don’t either. It’s cud to chew on though.

All these short stories turned out to compile a pretty long blog. I hope if you read this far, you considered it at least somewhat worthwhile. I think I will end this in sort of a Sesame Street way:

This blog was brought to you by the words Nonetheless and Bifurcate, and also by the number 4.0. Thanks for reading.

D-End (I couldn’t resist).

Below is a video of Dash in his Halloween costume. You may have already seen it on Andy's blog...

Urinal Yearnings

Since Amber and I bought our house and began fixing it up a bit, I have been making a list of things that we would want if we were to ever build our own place. Some of these things are pretty typical for new homes, and some are a bit more eccentric. I like to think that Amber and I are somewhat creative people, so the idea of building a house can at times get me excited. I can’t tell you all of our ideas, since they are classified, but I will tell you one thing that I want in particular: a urinal. I know that most females reading this will think that is a stupid idea, but think of how easy it would be to clean. No problem.

I have always struggled with urinals for one reason though, and that is the shape of them. It seems that urinals are made in a parabolic shape. Sure it is pleasing to the eye, but what a poor design! If you can recall back to your geometry days, a parabola has some unique characteristics. There is a point on the axis of symmetry, called the focus, which plays a big part in everyday applications of a parabola.

For instance, if you have ever watched a football game on TV and seen the guys holding a big dish with a microphone in it, you have seen this in effect. When sound waves enter the dish (which is a parabola), all the waves are redirected back at the microphone (which is at the focus), making it possible to hear player conversation from the sidelines. The same is true for a flashlight. The bulb is placed at the focus, and all the light waves bounce off the shiny parabola to send the light out in parallel waves to make a more intense beam. Here is an illustration:

As you can see, parabolas are great in real-life applications. A satellite dish is another example. Now, think back to the urinal, and imagine that you are standing at the focus of the parabola. That’s right! All of the pee will splash straight back out onto you! (refer to the figure) I told you it was a poor design!

I have good news for you though, my friends. A couple days ago, Kelly McCown and I were at Chevy’s restaurant and the urinals there were more practically made. No splash. Just relief. This is the type of urinal I want in my future house.

Now, I cannot prove that toilet companies actually made urinals in an exact parabolic shape, but I can tell you that they should have done a little more porcelain engineering. Hey, maybe that’s what I’ll major in…

Soon-To-Be Sexagenarian

Well, my 28^th birthday has come and gone, and I am left feeling old. I must admit, I’ve been feeling old for a while now; after all, I am halfway through my late twenties. Actually, since I am a math nerd, I feel I must clarify and note that turning 28 marks the 1/3-point through my late twenties… I’ll be halfway when I am 28.5. Anyway, as my age keeps climbing, I realize that I am becoming more and more like my dad and grandpa. This is not a bad thing, as I love and respect them both; it is just a strange thing to realize.

For instance, when my dad used to play basketball with us at open gyms and the like, I can remember him running around with a smile, cracking jokes and just having fun. I play basketball quite a bit still, and I find myself being less competitive and more laid back, making jokes and just having fun. Don’t get me wrong, I still hate losing and get down on myself when I don’t play well, but I’m not about to argue with someone over a call or anything like that. I’ve also noticed that I sweat more when I play, which is also indicative of me aging (not to mention the soreness my body feels from time to time).

As previously stated, I added an integer to my age. As far as presents go, I was pretty excited about what I got from my parents and grandparents: a hose, and a wheelbarrow. See? Old. I asked for these things because they are necessary to the outdoor projects Amber and I have started around the house. What happened to the days of asking for Legos and G.I.Joes? I suppose all those hours of building things with Legos were preparing me for my eventual homeownership. I did build a wall of landscaping bricks around a little tree last week, which obviously could never have been accomplished without my vast Lego experience.

Yes, I’m getting old. I now pass on the vanilla coffeemate and drink my coffee black, I get excited about making my yard look nice, early bedtimes and getting up early bring me happiness, and I even have sprouted a few chest hairs recently. That last bit may have been too much info for you, but I’m an honest fellow. Of the three Lemiere boys, I am the shortest, weigh the least, and I am the least hairy. My Grandma Doris would argue that I’m also the ugliest. That is called getting the short end of the stick. Some day, when I’m really old, I hope to have the gift of a beard, which will certainly etch my name into the books for the ugliest grandson. Even though Andy is her favorite grandson, she still asks him regularly if his razor is broken.

Since it is more than likely that I will only continue to age, I suppose I just have to accept these things. At church last week, I realized that I went to high school with a girl’s sister, to which she replied, “You’re old.” In Monty Python and the Search for the Holy Grail, there is a scene where Arthur, King of the Britains, comes upon a person collecting filth and says, “Old woman.” You know the scene… it is actually a man named Dennis, and he states that he is 27 and NOT old. Well, I’ve got news for you, Dennis: had King Arthur found you one year later, he would have addressed you correctly… except for the woman part.

(Wondering about the title? A Sexagenarian is someone in their sixties. I'm currently a Vicenarian.)

Buick Blunder

Yesterday I saw a bumper sticker that read:

"I'm not spoiled. I'm just well taken care of."

As I looked at the car on which the bumper sticker sat, I scoffed. Here in front of me was a late-80s Buick, faded and unwashed. The green fuzz that had begun to grow on the bumper indicated a sponge had not caressed the car in quite some time. (To clarify, the bumper sticker looked relatively new, and was obviously not placed on the car immediately after it rolled off the lot in the 80s) I read the bumper sticker again. Spoiled? And you drive an old beat up Buick? How could that be? I thought to myself, "I have a nicer car than this person, and mine is a 94 Acura, which is also faded and dented. I don't consider myself spoiled."

Suddenly I had an apostrophe (that's what Smee said in hook when he meant epiphany). Lightning had just struck my brain. The person in front of me could be the happiest, most content person on the planet, and here I am judging them by the car they drive. I'm an idiot. So I repented and kept driving.

Moral: being spoiled does not mean having nice, new stuff.

Pepper Pain, Grandpa Bob's Brain, and Bella's swain

Yesterday, March 27^th, was a busy day for birthdays. Officially, it was my brother Andy’s birthday, but there were a multitude of birthday parties. We ended up going to our friend Angela Green’s 30^th birthday party, and her husband Rob set up an Amazing Race for all to take part in. It was a fun day, but Amber and I have never seen the show, and we got paired up with Brad and Tiffany Phillips, who have also never seen the show. Needless to say, we came in dead last. We were ok with it though.

The very first part of the game was a little Angela trivia game, and for every question answered correctly, your team could remove one of the possible “foods” that we were required to eat. In the end, our team was left with a can of green bean baby food, canned Vienna sausages, and two habanero peppers. Brad downed the baby food like a champ, the girls attempted the sausages, and I took on the peppers. I popped the first into my mouth and chomped down. As my teeth broke the skin, a sweet taste hit my tongue and I initially thought that it was a joke. I thought, “Rob put normal peppers out, but told us all they were habaneros.” Amber had started to nibble at the other, so I grabbed it from her and ate it since the first one wasn’t bad at all. Suddenly, it hit me. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. I didn’t gag or vomit or anything like that… I simply hurt… badly. Now, I like spicy things and thought I could handle this pepper. After all, I like the sriracha chili sauce, I like jalapeños on my subway sandwich, and I always go for the hot salsa. This pepper was different. For those of you that have had a habanero, you may know what I’m talking about.

After wolfing down the sketchy foods, we set out on our tasks. Many of these tasks required running, which I am fine with. However, when there are some habaneros stewing in your stomach, any activity is less enjoyable. In fact, if you are ever angry with your stomach and feel like punishing it, go ahead and have an iced coffee from Starbucks and top it off with a couple peppers that are around 100 times hotter than a jalapeno. That’ll show it who is boss. I don’t suggest actually doing this though, because you only punish yourself.

On a more serious note, we have a prayer request. We found out recently that Amber’s grandpa Bob has cancer in his brain. This is a man that has already beat lung cancer, partly because he quit smoking cold turkey after smoking the majority of his life. After having half of a lung removed, we thought we had this thing licked; but it seems it has spread a bit. Frankly, I’m a bit surprised that cancer has the guts to actually mess with a guy like Bob McCarty. Bob is known for not taking any guff from anyone and is the type of guy that will pay thousands of dollars in lawyer fees just to get out of paying a 200-dollar fine from the city for chopping up a tree in front of his house. He told the city that if they want him to keep the tree, then they have to come clean the leaves off his yard.

So please add our grandpa Bob to your list of things to pray for. He is going through radiation and is still in good spirits, but cancer is always a scary fight.

To end this blog on a lighter note, let’s discuss the Twilight movies. In a word: terrible. Bad acting coupled with a plot encompassing a teenage girl in love with a vampire and a werewolf is a recipe for rubbish. I don’t understand the hype. I can kind of understand the teenage girl fetish for a buff Jacob and a pale Edward, but do these movies deserve all the buzz? I guess I’m just not into the whole staring, heavy breathing, over-emotional portrayal of forbidden love between teens. Actually, to be fair, Edward is something like 104 years old, so this movie series is promoting some serious cradle robbing. And by the way, where do Jacob’s sweet jean shorts go when he transforms into a wolf? Shouldn’t he be naked when he becomes human again? Now that would really drive the teen girls wild…

*Note: I am starting my own club. The required attire is cutoff jean shorts, tennis shoes, and no shirt. Club activities involve cliff diving, running in the woods, fighting, and throwing temper tantrums. Now accepting applications.

I leave you with these...

The KEY to success for a band is the band name... (a satire)

Your band name defines you. Without a good band name, your band will never get out of the local scene. It doesn’t matter how good your band is. Yes, the key to success is to have the right moniker. Without it, you may as well hang up your instruments, cut your hair, and find a normal job. So, how do I get a good band name, you ask? Read on.

There are three keys to consider when choosing a name for your band. The first is to have a number somewhere in the name. This can be random or meaningful, and the number can be spelled out or in numerical form. Examples:

U2, B52s, UB-40, Blink 182, Matchbox 20 (originally Matchbox Twenty, but changed it later), Five for Fighting, Jackson 5, 7 Mary 3, Three Dog Night, Zero 7 (utilizes both), 98 Degrees, Maroon 5, Sum 41, 10,000 Maniacs, Four Tops, M83, All 4 One...

The list goes on and on. The second thing to consider is putting a color in your band name. Examples:

Maroon 5, Pink Floyd, Green Day, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Black Eyed Peas, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Silverchair, Deep Purple, Black Sabbath, Blue Oyster Cult, The Black Crows, Cream (does this count?), Green Jelly, James Brown (this is a joke), Pink, Yellowcard, Great White, White Snake, White Lion, White Zombie, The White Stripes...

This list goes on as well. If neither of these ideas jump out at you, then there is still one more to consider. Try putting two random words together (this often works with the colors too). Examples:

Radiohead, Motorhead, Coldplay, The Talking Heads, The Flaming Lips, Maroon 5, Silverchair, Wolfmother, Goldfrapp, Lifehouse, Nickelback...

I’m sure you can think of more too. Again, I can’t stress enough the importance of these three keys when starting a band. If you want to be the biggest and best band in the world, incorporate all three keys into the band name… just like Maroon 5…

Miracintosh

As I was driving out of my neighborhood one sunny Sunday afternoon, I passed the home of Matt Milligan. He was working in the yard, so as any passer-buyer would do, I gave him a whistle. He looked up, I stopped, and we exchanged some short banter. He said, “You need to update your blog.” That was a few days ago. In the past few days, I have sat down to write a new weblog, but couldn’t find anything interesting to write about. Well you all can brace yourselves now, because there has been some excitement worthy of Internet documentation.

This morning, I got up and differentiated some equations. That’s the news. Isn’t that exciting?!? Just kidding. That isn’t the news. Around 12:30, I received a call from my lovely wife, and she was distraught. She was bawling, and said, “Eric, I did something stupid.” My first thought was that she got in a car accident; luckily, that wasn’t it. You see, she takes a class from WSU Vancouver on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so she has to drive down there. She does really well in college and is really smart (more on that later), but today she had a slip of the mind. On her way home, while driving on I-5, something happened. Her laptop—which she left on the roof of the car accidentally—slid off and fell into the highway. Just about everyone has accidentally left something on the roof of their car and drove off: a gas cap, a drink, child, etc. If you haven’t, you will. When she called to tell me, I didn’t even get mad at her. I was pretty impressed with how I handled it, actually. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I probably deserve the “Husband of the Day Award.” It's very prestigious.

Luckily, Amber was in the left lane when the Mac jumped ship, so the computer fell into the grassy area between north and south bound; at least that is what Amber thought. All she knew is that it slipped off before exit 11. After driving back through that stretch of road, she couldn’t locate it and didn’t want to stop on the side of the freeway. She had to get to work, so I, husband of the day, drove down to the area where she thought it might be and I went hunting. After a few passes, I couldn’t see it either. I decided I would stop and walk around to locate it. At this point, I didn’t care if it was broken; I just wanted to make sure no one else got it in case it did still work. There is some sensitive information in that thing.

Then, a miracle happened. I found the laptop. We always carry our laptops in little sleeve cases, and I believe it saved this particular Mac because… IT STILL WORKS! (At this point, I would like to take the opportunity to praise Apple computers and rag on PCs, but I can’t. When I used to be in a certain band, we flipped our van and trailer at about 55 mph and my Dell flew out into the middle of the highway and was fine. So I guess in the “falling at highway speeds” category, Macs and PCs tie.) Without the case, I believe the laptop would have come open and been smashed to pieces. Keep in mind; this is the older Macbook that has the white plastic casing. As you can see below, the case has some holes in it now, and the computer is a bit scuffed up. Not bad though, considering...

I have to say, the whole situation reminded me of when my brother Andy ran over my Fender Jazzmaster guitar. I watched it happen. I still get sick to my stomach when I think about it, and I think Andy does too. That was a miracle too, because it was also in a case, and he ran over it in such a way that I only had to replace the bridge. After fixing it, I sold it to some sucker in Texas. In my ebay description, I said, “The case is pretty beat up, but the guitar is in great condition. Isn’t that what cases are for?” I had to do my best to get the tire mark off of the case.

So here is what I learned from the events of today:

1. God can use a laptop, a highway, and little old Eric Lemiere to perform a small miracle.

2. Always transport a laptop in a case of some sort.

3. I can drive pretty well using only my peripheral vision. (I had to because I was looking at the side of the road while driving)

4. I love my wife… a lot. I didn’t really learn this today, but I was reminded. At a time where I could have gotten really mad at the possibility of losing a thousand bucks and a lot of info, I found myself feeling really caring for her and nothing else. Sounds like a “duh” moment, but I really like the fact that I love my wife this much even when she makes a potentially costly mistake. (This does not mean, however, that you can continue to leave used q-tips on the bathroom counter, Amber. Throw them away!)

I think I will take this opportunity to refer back to my comment about Amber being a smarty pants in school. She recently wrote a paper about literature, and her instructor was very impressed. So impressed, in fact, that she wrote things in the margins like “Yes! Great Point!” and “Beautiful” and “Wow” and “Excellent analysis.” The paper apparently even gave the instructor chills when she read it. Here is what was written at the end of the paper:

“You absolutely have to pursue a graduate degree – I think I’ve said that maybe twice in my teaching career before now. The ideas you discuss in this paper could easily be ground-breaking work.”

Amber is really proud of the compliment, but felt like she couldn’t tell anyone without sounding conceited. So, unbeknownst to her, I am telling you all. I’m proud of her too.

Blog Summary:

Matt Milligan wants an update. Amber throws computer at I-5. Husband of the Day finds said computer dirty, but in working order. Use a case. I love my wife, who breaks literary ground. The long awaited end.

(I hope this holds you over for a while, Mr. Milligan’s Island)