Entry for May 9, 2013

While trying to get Sebastian ready for school this morning I noted he was singing Christmas songs which quickly led to him asking if he could write a letter to Santa. I explained it's a bit early for that, but he persisted. Eventually I relented, partially because it wasn't worth fighting over and partially because I was curious to see what he would write. So after about ten minutes of writing at the desk in his room, he emerged with a sealed letter, complete with a hand-drawn stamp. I assured him I would mail it and opened it during his morning shower. It said the following:

Dear Santa,

When is your birthday and what do you want?

Love,

Sebastian

I'm kinda at a loss as to what to do. I think its nice that he wants to get Santa a present, but I just don't know how to explain to him that all Santa wants is some peace and quiet and a bottle of anejo rum.

Entry for May 5, 2013

This morning Sebastian finally started to understand how compounding advantages is tied to adaptation in regards to evolution. In doing so he had loads of question about how certain things like our eyes evolved. Excitedly, we hurried to YouTube where I remember seeing an excellent video, narrated by David Attenborough, explaining the evolution of the eye as an example of how things slowly change. I was proud that he was making this leap and that I had the resources to help him to further grasp the concept. Except, our internet from Charter Communications was down, again. No problem, fired up the phone on Verizon 4G, only to find an error message saying, “Youtube video not available on mobile device." Wait, the tablet! Nope, still incompatible. Netflix? Hulu? Not there. Reboot everything. Call Charter. Give up on hold. Finally, I attempted to draw pictures and tried to explain it using a book that was way over his head, but he lost interest and asked if he could go do a puzzle instead. So here I am, finally back online, having missed an incredible opportunity to capitalize on a momentary spark of clarity because the evolution of our technology is somewhere in-between Homo sapiens sapiens and a primate at the zoo hurling his own shit at things.

Entry for January 10, 2013

After I spend a lot of time with the boy it takes me some time to slip out of Dad-mode. This morning while I was sitting with Sebastian at Starbucks, trying to get him to sit up straight and not slurp his hot chocolate, the guy seated next to us in his mid-twenties burped. Instinctively, I said, "What do you say?" To which the guy immediately said, "Excuse me. Sorry." I then sat there for a minute mortified I would do that; then realized I must have said my line in such a voice that he didn't even question it. The power of that ability came over me and I immediately decided I should use this new power responsibly to help make the world a more civilized place. After feeling justifiably awesome for my necessary world changing work, it then occurred to me that this is exactly how those old men who stand in malls yelling at kids to pull up their pants get their start. I then sunk back into my chair and sipped my tea, only to hear Sebastian pipe up with, “Dad, don't slouch.” So I guess I may not change the world, but at least the boy will be reasonably well-behaved.

Entry for January 10, 2013

I have finally realized that the same generation that coddled the next generation, blame them for being coddled, and uses it as an excuse to avoid giving power to the next generation, is the same generation insisting on continuing policies that will destroy the earth by the same time that they have to give up power.

Entry for November 21, 2012

Some mornings I wake to the crushing realization of how much is dependent on my immediate actions, drive and example. I'm shaken out of slumber and into a world where the feeling of overwhelming guilt of incomplete tasks and waiting responsibilities feels unmanageable. The sheer weight of this realization crushes down upon me as I struggle to find the strength to simply face what must be done. And some mornings I make pancakes. Pancakes with chocolate chips. I like chocolate chip pancakes.

Entry for November 5, 2012

The internet is giving me tunnel vision. I no longer see anything in the margins, only the text in the middle. Pictures disappear, flashing rectangular games, half-naked women, political ads and commercials for the greatest website ever are completely invisible. I wasn't sure if it was spilling over into my real life, but then I realized that I don't see billboards, ads on cars or banners anymore. I have a feeling I could walk by the secret to life, written on a 100ft sign, illuminated, flashing and moving directly into my path, and my eyes would just move around it, forever losing my chance and knowing the cosmic answer to who, what, and why. But maybe that is for the best. Maybe losing the constant stream of noise is as close to enlightenment that I'm meant to be. Perhaps my zen, my nirvana, my personal heaven is simply having a couple extra minutes of peace.

Stay Puft Deferred Gratification

In 1972, psychologist Walter Mischel, then of Stanford University, created the marshmallow task to test deferred gratification in children. Simplified, a marshmallow was offered to each child. If the child could resist eating the marshmallow, they were promised two instead of one. The scientists analyzed how long each child resisted the temptation of eating the marshmallow, and whether or not doing so was correlated with future success. Following up with the kids years later, that they found that the longer kids had managed to wait, the better they did socially and academically as teens. The new update to this study was released this week and now includes an expansion to a child’s beliefs about the reliability of the people around them and how that can dramatically shape their willingness to wait for a better payoff. The more stable the environment, with consistent, honest interactions and, most importantly, tangible rewards overwhelming lead to the most favorable outcomes. What I found most interesting was the study’s finding of how substantive compensation over ethereal, from dependable authority figures, had such a long-term and profound impact. Having your child earn a new bike by doing specific tasks was quantifiably more valuable in their long-term success than telling them that the potential for acquisition of a bike included some sort of supernatural force. So Santa bringing them a new bike may make them happy, but having them earn a new bike (with Santa bringing them a new helmet) has a much higher probability of producing an adult who understands what it takes to be successful. Ultimately, the study’s findings made it very clear that, in order to give a child the best chance at future success, parents, teachers, guardians and family are strong encouraged to base their long term rewards in reality and not resort to otherworldly threats or rewards.

Entry for October 22, 2012

My Grandmother turned 97 this year, and although realize world is a different place than when she was younger, it never really hit home until she made an offhand comment while watching the news the other day. It was during some generic story that they showed kids playing in a ball pit. Not knowing what that was, she asked my son Sebastian. For the ten minutes following his explanation, she explained what it was like being a young child in the 1920s. It was absolutely fascinating and really drove home how much has changed in such a short period of time. It warmed my heart and made me sad that someday, almost 100 years from now, my little four-year-old son could be explaining his current childhood to his own Great-Grandchild and what life was like in the long forgotten days of the 2010s.

Entry for October 20, 2012

I had a dream last night that the house was swallowed up by the earth, only to reemerge 1,000 years from now, almost unchanged. A team of scientists was tasked with trying to learn about this by-gone era and formulated all sorts of hypothesis about why there were dirty dishes in the sink and a pile of clothes on the bedroom floor. The shoes casually tossed next to the shoe-trees, the broken PS3 remote that still hasn’t been thrown away, and the tools I left on the table from fixing one of my son’s toys were all important clues and caused great debates as to their significance. Our bodies, still undisturbed in beds, were not freshly bathed, nor had our teeth been properly brushed the night before. The overall conclusion that they were able to extrapolate from our century old lives was not a favorable one. When I awoke this morning I felt remorseful for being a bad representation of our time and immediately took a shower, brushed my teeth, and cleaned up the house a bit. Now that I’m done and can reflect on the entire experience I realize that, yes, we would have been an accurate description of the now. So if the house is swallowed up later on this morning, you can thank me for not making all of you look like the slobs you truly are.

Things I've learned from being very sick this weekend

I need to do a better job chewing my food. There is no good place to be when stuff starts coming out of both sides simultaneously. Leaf blowers are extremely loud even from a great distance. Cold tile is only a welcoming comfort for a short period of time. You will not be able to even think about whatever food you ate before you got sick for a lengthy period of time. While a quick blow to the head of anyone who enters your sick room to ask, "So, how are ya doing?" feels like the right response, you will not have the energy for it. When you've been expelling liquids for more than 24 hours, apple flavored Pedialyte is the greatest tasting liquid ever. Always leave the path between you and the bathroom open and unobstructed. Bedroom air molecules have a mass greater than molecules located anywhere else. Never sneeze or blow your nose anywhere besides seated on the toilet. Suicide may seem like an option, but your body makes sure that you don't have the strength for it. Never trust a fart. No matter how nice people are to you, you will hate everything about them while being equally grateful for everything they do. All light is too bright and unnecessary. You will be looking for a word to describe your teeth while sick, that word is “fuzzy.”

Provino's Salad Recipe

I see people on Pinterest are stealing this content. If you want the recipe, please visit this actual page. I will not reveal either the portion size or measurements of what is the world's best Italian salad, but only because this is the only known published recipe and I would like to leave a little mystery. Not to worry, after a couple of attempts, you'll get it. Salad: Iceberg Lettuce Shredded Red Cabbage Chick Peas (Garbanzo Beans) Thinly Sliced White Onions Quartered Tomatoes (Slicing) Sliced Pickled Beets Shredded Mozzarella Cheese Sliced Cucumbers Sliced Mushrooms Dressing: Salad Dressing Oil Red Wine Vinegar Finely Chopped Parsley, Basil and Oregano Black & White Pepper Salt I also have the recipe for their rolls. That I will sell to the highest bidder with the bid starting at $1,000.

Friendly Country Liniments

Hey ya'll, I just wanted to give a quick shout out ya'll. Ya'll might notice a lot of people on TV ya'll overdoin' their Southern accent ya'll as a marketin' gimick ya'll. Now I'm just not pickin' on Paula Deen or anyone else ya'll, I happen to like the Southern accent, I'm talkin' about anyone who is tryin' to sound a bit more invitin' and friendly ya'll for no real reason ya'll. Cause it seems, ya'll, that Southern peoples are known as being hospitable ya'll; so adoptin' an over exaggerated Southern twang or unnecessarily dumbin it down while droppin’ your end g’s ya'll is the best new way to loosen people up to whatever it is that yer sellin'. So just remember ya'll that when you hear someone sayin’ ya'll, ya'll, just a little too much or Southernin’ up a bit more than should be realistically possible ya'll, ya’ll about to be sold somethin’ ya'll.

A Note To My Christmas Dinner

In my heart I know that making the conscience choice to eat another living creature, killed only so I can enjoy it, is probably not the right thing to do. Just as I know that, even though millions of years of evolution have made me crave meat, I now have a variety of acceptable alternatives that could easily keep me healthy and well fed. That being said, I love meat.

This afternoon I perfectly roasted a 14lbs, Kosher, organic, grain-fed, brined, turkey that produced some of the finest gravy ever made. So maybe it is a fetish, a perversion that allows me to do something that I know is probably wrong, but feel the need to do it anyway because I like it so much. Maybe that is why I don’t give a second thought to how and why this turkey was given life only to have it brutally taken away. I guess that I could have insisted on its humane treatment while it was alive, but really that’s missing the point. Nothing will change the fact that this delicious looking dead creature lived and died so that I could find it yummy. And somehow that really doesn’t bother me enough as it probably should.

Call it the evolutionary programming, my apathetic or underdeveloped sense of morality or maybe it’s something more akin to the norms and moral of my culture, but I just can’t convince myself that it’s ethically evil enough to stop. Sure, I’ve seen the videos of slaughterhouses and the disgusting environments that most of the animals that we eventually decapitate and disembowel live in; just as I’ve killed and eaten several creatures. I have been present at, been part of and have experienced life leaving a body both voluntarily and involuntarily, and yet I cannot mentally link the two with something that I will soon eat.

So I’m sorry, sort of. I know that you had a horrible existence, brought into consciences only to live in deplorable conditions and die at a young age. I am sorry that your cooked, dead corpse is now resting on my counter, so that body you once called your own still retains the same juiciness it had before your head was mechanically separated from the rest of your body. I am sorry that I used your entrails to make a sauce that I will soon ladle over a plate full of sliced you meat. But most of all, I’m sorry that I just can't bring myself to stop. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to carve you up and devour you without feeling immoral or dishonest in any way. And for that, I apologize.

I No Longer Support Breast Cancer Awareness

This being Breast Cancer Awareness month, I feel that it is a good time to announce that I am no longer in support of breast cancer awareness. That’s right, I, Brian Hamilton, am publicly refusing to continue to support breast cancer awareness. I’m taking the pink ribbons off of my car, will be throwing out all of my food, clothes and random products adorned with some sort of pink awareness support logo and refuse to purchase anything else emblazoned with anything labeled “Breast Cancer Awareness.”

I can feel comfortable with my choice because, between the concerts, walks, celebrity commercials, endless product placement, nonstop rallies and general pinkified everything, I think that we’re all pretty damn aware of breast cancer. It’s gotten to the point where I’m checking myself, hourly, and have started to lecture larger breasted women on the benefits of regular mammograms – without once offering my own services. Moreover, I have no idea what, if any, of my money spent on something bejeweled with a pink ribbon or covered in pink is actually going towards breast cancer or if it’s just some company using that as a marketing gimmick.

So there, no more pink ribboned anything. I even plan on staying away from anything pink. Upset stomach? Mylanta only. I’m pulling the Owen’s Corning insulation out of my house. And I may even protest outside of Victoria Secret. We get it; breast cancer is a horrible, horrible disease that has killed millions of people, several friends and my aunt, but enough with the Awareness. We’re aware, I promise, now can we please focus on actually reducing deaths and not just painting the world pink?

Dinner with the Proles

The other night started off as an evening of great calamity: Sebastian hurt himself, causing everyone to forget about the pot on the stove, which promptly went up in smoke, forcing all of us to flee the house, still dressed from the formal gala earlier in the evening. So out to dinner we went, reeking of burned rice and wearing our Sunday best, heavily accessorized with facial woes. In the car minutes later, and after the all too familiar argument of, “Anything is fine.. ..except that,” we decided to find the biggest dive in Anderson that was still suitable for a two-year-old on a busy night. A few minutes of Garmin searching and wasted gas later, we were walked into the overflowing dining room at a local CiCi’s Pizza.

Now I am by no means the classiest person in town. I forget table manners, have a body that constantly accumulates construction and automotive repair damage and my social mistakes would cause Emily Post to publicly shit herself (classy, I know). But through it all, I think that I probably maintain a slightly above average level of refinement. That being said, upon entering into CiCi’s I realized that we, sadly, would clearly skew the regular clienteles previously established level of decorum by quite a margin.

The only open table in the restaurant was next to an infant, alone and crying, in her car seat. Her face was covered in marinara sauce and, by the accumulation of tears, both of her parents had been gone for more than a couple of minutes. Eventually her mother returned, dropped a cheese stick into her lap and went off to refill glasses. The crying persisted and I had to hold Kela back from going over to sooth the ignored child.

We took turns collecting our pizza and drinks, and once we sat down we immediately realized that the table adjacent to us contained nothing but children under the age of twelve. Listing in on their conversation we soon found that their parents had dropped them off and gone to dinner at another restaurant. Their meal had been paid for and they were given ten dollars to play games until their parents came to get them. They were having a discussion as to whether or not they would spend the money on games or split it up for later use. After several minutes of heated argument, they agreed that they would spend half of their money on arcade games and half on Rockstar Energy Drinks at the Dollar General located in the same shopping center.

On the other side of our table was a family with a dad sporting a bandage from a fresh neck tattoo, his wife, a very large woman sans one desperately needed bra, and three young children emblazoned with ads for G-Force the movie, WWE Raw and Coors Light. I’m not sure where you even find a Coors Light shirt in 2T, but I’m guessing that it’s somewhere that you shouldn’t take a two-year old. They sat quietly, not looking at each other, inhaling pizza by the stack and only occasionally looking up to see if the dessert bar had been restocked.

The entire restaurant seemed to be populated with similar groups. Things outside of what we would have considered normal, but in this environment, was typical. I know that social norms vary from class to class, and even with classes, and within each subset are clearly defined rules and mores, equally punished and rewarded for adherence, but it was extremely interesting to experience those differences first hand. No matter the food, location or socioeconomic status, a meal is a time for sharing and coming together. Sometimes that is a dinner at home with the family and sometimes it’s bad pizza surrounded by unfamiliar stories.

Entry for August 25, 2010

The ignorant can never be truly blissful because fear sells better than peace.

Fig Spice Cake with Fig Cream Cheese Icing

Fig Spice Cake

1 lb fresh figs, stemmed
1/2 vanilla yogurt
1 1/2 cups cake flour
1 tsp double-acting baking powder
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp ground cloves
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 cup unsalted butter
1 tbsp unsalted butter
1 cup sugar
2 eggs

All ingredients should be at room temperature when starting.

Preheat oven to 350F and prepare cake rounds by lining with parchment and spraying with Pam for baking.

In heavy pan, melt 1 tbsp butter. Halve figs and pan fry on medium until fragrant. Move to food processor, process to liquid and allow to return to room temperature.

Combine eggs, sugar, butter, yogurt and figs into small bowl and mix well.

In a larger bowl combine cake flour, double-acting baking powder, salt, cinnamon, cloves and baking soda.

In several batches and using your largest spatula, fold the contents of the wet ingredients into the dry bowl until mixed well. Use large folding turns and try not to over mix. Allow to rest in pans for five minutes.

Bake for about 45 minutes, checking regularly for doneness.

Remove from pans and allow to cool thoroughly before icing.


Fig Cream Cheese Icing

8 oz cream cheese
1 lb box + 2 tbsp powdered sugar
1 tsp vanilla
4 tbsp soft butter
6oz figs, chopped fine or blended, but still chunky
Blend all ingredients until smooth and creamy. Let stand for at least ten minutes and then ice cake.

* Cake best when covered and stored in a refrigerator.

Your Sport Bores Me

I’ve tried for years to get into watching sports. Professional and college football, baseball, basketball, boxing and soccer, but I can’t. I enjoy being with a group, grabbing a couple beers, eating fried foods and rallying around a shared experience, but I just don’t care about the game itself. For a while I thought that there was something wrong with me. I went to a myriad of live games and even tried following a couple of teams. A couple of years ago I even let a friend talk me into a fantasy football league to see if that could spark any interest. In the end, I just couldn’t be bothered.

This last week a friend of mine invited me to a strip club as part of a bachelor party and, much to my surprise, I had the same “Meh” reaction that I would have had if he had invited me to mind-numbingly boring NASCAR race. As much fun as the party portion would be, I could care less about the rallying point for the event itself. So after a couple of pints at the pub, I think that I’ve figured out the reason for my disinterest: I’m not really involved in any way. When I played sports I was physically invested in the game itself. My performance could directly alter the outcome. Whereas, when I’m watching sports or half-naked dancing women, I am in no way involved in what is actually happening and I have no chance ever getting to take part in what I’m watching. Sure, what I’m watching can be an amusing distraction, but I believe too deeply that life is not a spectator sport. So I just sit there, watching, and wonder when it’s my turn to go in and play. And when I realize that it isn’t going to happen, I lose interest and want to move on.

Now there are occasions where the game itself is actually so big that it is a rallying point, but when those happen more than a couple times a year, they really lose their impact. Other than on those special occasions, the distraction of the game is just that. Besides, we’re all adults who are perfectly capable of throwing a party without needing an excuse. Watch, I’ll prove my point:

Friend: The game is on, the BBQ is lit, beers cold and bunch of people are coming over. You in?
You: Yeah, be there in a few.

Friend: The BBQ is lit, beers cold and bunch of people are coming over. You in?
You: Yeah, be there in a few.

See? It’s the same thing, except that, instead of drinking beers, eating junk foods and making jokes with a group of friends, you have to pretend that the reason that you’re there is to see some boring game – and I just don’t want to have to pretend to give a shit anymore. So please don’t stop inviting me to these parties, but please don’t ask me to care who wins.

Phone Groan

I have a friend, we’ll call him Michael, because that’s his name, who has a Droid phone. I mention this not because I feel that he needs recognition for his purchasing power, but because I needed a new phone and after experimenting with several other friends phones, found his to be the best. Moreover, the new version, the Droid X, had just hit the market.

But let me back up for a moment. My previous phone, which was the most durable, long-lasting, dependable phone that I’ve ever owned, finally decided that it had a good life and died on me. I originally paid $20 for this phone and it did everything from the basic phone features, to double as my iPod after my iPod bit the dust. It was a good phone, but it was a piece of technology and thus doomed from the start.

So into the local Verizon store I went to get the new hotness, which I hoped would not only last me as long as my previous phone, but would also giving me options that that my old phone lacked. I spent the next hour playing with every phone in the place, only to come to the conclusion that indeed the new Droid X was by far the best phone in the store.

So up to the counter I went, sure, confident and fully prepared to commit the next several years to being dependent on this one device. The young girl walked over, smiled and asked me what she could help me with. I explained that my previous phone had lived a good life, but it was time to move on. She agreed and we went about the business of ordering my final choice. And that is where things went bad.

So there I was, ready to shell out the $200 for a phone and she hit me with the first bit of bad news. If I wanted the new Droid X, I would need to pay an additional $30 a month for a data package. That was in addition to $45 a month fee for regular service, unlimited texting and plenty of minutes. But being the math wizard that I am, I quickly calculated that the new hotness was going to cost me about $1200 for one year of use.

But that is when I took a step back and rethought the phone. The Droid X was nice, but Kela’s new i5, blu-ray, 500GB, Windows 7 laptop was half of that price and does twice as much. I liked the Droid X, but $1200 is a weeklong cruise in the Caribbean even after paying for drinks. For the same price as a year with the Droid X I could have paid someone else to finish the concrete stucco work on the outside of the house.

I now have a nice low-end Samsung Alias 2, which does everything that my old phone did, except a little faster. I just couldn’t justify $1200 a year for what is little more than a toy. But maybe I’m looking at this wrong. Maybe I’m supposed to just buy these things because they are the new hotness. Maybe I’m extremely uncool for analyzing this more monetarily than socially. Maybe I’m a dork for even writing all of this down, but hey, you’re the one who sat there and read it.

To Have and Have Not

Having lived just long enough to have gained the appreciation the art of complaining, I would like to have a minute of your time to bitch about having to listen to certain individual’s overuse of the word “have.” Given there are certain situations in which said word is needed, rarely should that ever be in place of a verb. It is nothing more than sheer grammatical laziness or a conversational nightmare. Listening to some continually use it in place of a millions of more suitable action words is mind numbingly insulting and makes me want to beat them senseless with a college thesaurus.

So in the spirit of conciliatory, non-bludgeoning, peace I would like to offer the following corrections to a few simple sentences so that we can all treat each other with a bit more linguistic civility:

Lazy: I’m having breakfast.
Better: I’m eating breakfast.

Lazy: I have a new phone.
Better: I just purchased/received a new phone.

Lazy: Have a seat.
Better: Please take a seat.

Lazy: I have had enough of this.
Better: No, you haven’t.

Now let’s all bask in the glory of simple, honest language that conveys a message without resorting to unnecessary substitutions.

Feel free to now have at me.