A Day In My Life

I hit snooze on my alarm clock two extra times this morning trying to ease the burn of waking up. It doesn’t. All it does is land me at work fourteen minutes later than I had planned on arriving, but no one will be watching.

My feet hit the floor and my knees crack slightly from the night’s immobility. I head to the bathroom; brush teeth, wet face, fix hair, gargle mouthwash, deodorize, exit.

My room is lit from the sun but not enough to expose my heavy eyes to the sun’s harsh brightness. I dress slowly. I catch a glimpse of the clock, but the time doesn’t matter. I continue to move methodically around my room as I collect my things.

I make a mistake while tying my shoes and am forced to start over. I consider just wearing sandals, but I know I can’t. I fix my shoes and throw my bags over my shoulders, careful to shut my bedroom door behind me.

Walking down the stairs out of my apartment shouldn’t hurt but it does. I step outside but immediately turnaround to lock the door. The bolt clicks locked. I emerge from the shade of the building and the sun’s rays instantly scorch my eyes. They shut automatically and I rub them to ease the pain.

They slowly adjust to the light of the day as I walk down the block to my car. I throw my bags in the back seat with less care then normal but it doesn’t matter. I feel my muscles stretch as I pull the seatbelt over my chest. I turn the key in the ignition and the engine rumbles before simmering down.

The cd I had listened to the night before comes on and the volume seems obtrusive to my sensitive eardrums. I begin to adjust the volume but it is normal. I pull out of the parking spot that I choose the night before because of its proximity to my apartment and drive up to the iron gate that dictates who enters and leaves the neighborhood where I live.

My exit is granted. I pull up to the shiny red stop sign, turn my head to look both ways as I’ve always been taught, and pull out on to the busy US-41 Tamiami Road. My foot gently pushes down on the pedal as I accelerate past the forty-five mile per hour speed limit to just above fifty.

After a series of greens I am sitting at a stoplight on Alico Road about seven or eight minutes from work when I notice my eyes in the rearview mirror. They appear as though I am squinting and are glazed over enough to reflect a blurry image back at me.

I turn right on to Ben Hill Griffin Parkway and hit the first light allowing me to further inspect my appearance. There are two creases under my eyes that indicate exhaustion but I am not tired. At least I shouldn’t be.

I pass two more lights before waiting a few moments to turn left on to campus. I think about how I am going to adjust my day to account for my weariness. I make compromises with myself about things I will move from the morning to the afternoon when I am more awake and in the rhythm of the day.

I wind my way through campus to the Athletic Department and pull into the area I usually park. I turn the car off and take several deep breaths before exiting the vehicle and grabbing my bag from the back seat.

I walk across the hot black parking lot slower than normal but it doesn’t really matter cause no one is waiting for me. I lazily stroll through the automatic doors instead of pulling one open for myself. The stairs leading up to the Department hurt slightly more than they did the day before. My legs feel fatigued but they always feel that way in the morning.

The corridor leading to Athletics is empty and I labor toward the office entrance. I swing the door open with more force then I would have imagined given my weakened state. I take about ten steps and turn right then maybe twenty more before reaching the door to my office. I gently pull it open and drop my gym bag in its usual spot before rotating my swivel chair to sit down.

I take a seat, slip off my shoes and into my sandals, take out my computer and charger, log on to the Internet and away I go. Another day, a different set of tasks to complete, more thoughts to pop into my mind.

There is no jolt of energy that fills my body and no magical spark that lifts me up. I only have myself to push me through the day, to produce my best work in spite of my body and mind telling me to power down to fifty percent.

In a few hours I will be fine. The lines on my face won’t be as deep, my eyes will have pushed open and I will feel slightly better. I’ll think about the weight that I am carrying and why I wake up feeling so burdened.

I will go through my day, like I do every day, and do the best that I possibly can, but is it enough. The weight will still be with me when I get home. I can’t relax it away. All I can do is get up the next day and try not to hit snooze two extra times so I don’t arrive at work fourteen minutes later than I had planned even though no one will be watching.

Long Live Super Chicken & Tarzan

During high school my friend Jeff and I did some random things for seemingly inexplicable and unknown reasons. I don’t know if we did these things out of sheer boredom or we just wanted to see how other people would react to us but we did them nonetheless.

One of the more random and ridiculous things that we did during high school was that we came up with code names to find each other during sensitive times when we felt anonymity was of the utmost importance. Why we felt we would ever find ourselves in such a situation defies all forms of rational logic but I digress.

In actuality I’m pretty sure that we were just acting stupid one night and decided that code names would be cool to have and use in school. We probably also figured that using code names during lunch would get a rise out of people and add another element to our shtick.

So, as a result, after that day Jeff and I became secretly known as “Super Chicken” & “Tarzan.” I remember we tried to get our third amigo Mikey to come up with a code name for himself but to his credit he was pretty discerning when it came to deciding whether to get involved with Jeff and mine’s antics.

While I seem to recall Jeff choosing his code name because it was random and hilarious when yelled across a crowded room, I picked mine for a very calculated and premeditated reason.

My rational for selecting Super Chicken as my code name was threefold; 1) He had a sidekick who was a lion named Fred that would always mix his “Super Sauce” in a martini glass that gave Super Chicken his super powers, 2) He had his very own egg-shaped crime fighting vehicle called the “Super Coupe” that he and Fred would fly in to rescue innocent victims, and 3) He had his own incredibly awesome theme song.

The lyrics to the Super Chicken Theme Song are as follows:

When you find yourself in danger,

When you’re threatened by a stranger,

When it looks like you will take a lickin’, (cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck)

There is someone waiting who

Will hurry up and rescue you,

Just call for Super Chicken! (cluck, awk!)



Fred, if you’re afraid, you’ll have to overlook it,

Besides you knew the job was dangerous when you took it! (cluck, awk!)



He will drink his super sauce


And throw the bad guys for a loss


And he will bring them in, alive and kickin’ (cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck)


There is one thing you should learn


When there is no one else to turn to


Call…for Super Chicken! (cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck)


Call…for Super Chicken! (cluck, awk!)

Now how awesome is that? I mean come on, what high school student wouldn’t want to have that as their official theme song?

However, I hadn’t thought about our code names in years until just after New Years when Jeff and I were in Nashville we went to lunch with my friend Leigh at Which Wich?, a sandwich shop that allows you to create your own sandwich, but requires you to put your name on your order so they can identity your personal sandwich when it’s ready.

After selecting what Jeff and I wanted on our sandwiches it was obvious to both of us what names we needed to put on our orders. So, for the first time in the better part of a decade we dusted off the old code names and wrote them out on our sandwich bags.

We had a chuckle after handing over our order forms and then explained to my friend Leigh why we were so amused with ourselves. As she nodded with approval Jeff and I shared a look that we give each other often after engaging in ridiculous behavior.

In the end, even though they may seem silly to everyone else, I guess some jokes are never lost among friends. Therefore, I think in that look that Jeff and I knew that as long as were friends we would always engage in ridiculous behavior together no matter how old we got or how silly it looked to everyone else.

I Think I’m Ready To Fall

A unique part of the curriculum at McCracken, the Junior High School that I attended, was that they had an “Adventure Education” program. This included taking a course each year where the focus of the activities were team-oriented and intended to build trust and bring out the best in all of us.

The activities that we participated in were usually in small groups or the entire class working together to problem solve and uncover the best ways to complete tasks. There were activities where we had to pass objects while linked to each other in a crazy way, figure out the quickest method for transporting an item from one end of the gym to the other under certain restrictions, and games where we had to keep a ball in the air for the longest period without it touching the ground.

I even recall one activity where we had to guide our blindfolded partner through a maze of rubber balls across the gym floor using only simply instructions such as, take one small step with your right foot or lift your left foot up six inches and take a regular stride, to keep them from hitting a ball and having to start over.

However, by far the most memorable activity that we did was the “Trust Fall.” The trust fall is where we stood on the stage that made up one side our gym, and fell backward into the waiting arms of our classmates and teacher. The stage was probably only five feet high but in the sixth grade it took a lot of guts and trust to conquer this activity.

We trained for the trust fall activity for weeks doing various exercises to ready our minds and gain confidence in our classmates. We practiced falling backward on mats, attempted to communicate our fears to the group and looked at the task from all angles to understand why it was important that the entire class complete the challenge.

After ample preparation the day of the trust fall finally arrived and the first brave soul climbed on the stage. As one of the bigger stronger kids in the grade I was designated to stand across from our teacher, in the center of the row each student would fall into, since that was where the most weight would land.

About half the class completed the fall on the first day with the rest of us set to go in two days when we had our next class period. Since I was leery of heights and the idea of falling backward I was biding my time toward the end when necessity would propel me on stage.

The second day proceeded with the same swiftness and ease of the first with successful fall after fall. It was like an assembly line of students one by one ascending to the stage and falling backward into the awaiting arms of their classmates without a hitch or second thought.

I was the last person to attempt the trust fall but after seeing all of my classmates land safely I had little doubt that I would be fine. Another young man about my size took my place in the middle across from the instructor as I lined up my heels with the edge of the stage. However, after giving the first command that let the class know I was ready to fall the student who had taken my place in the line below began having a seizure.

Immediately the class became panicked and dispersed around the boy as I turned around in horror to see that no one was below me. The combination of that helpless feeling and seeing the boy on the ground completely freaked me out. Needless to say we ended class early and postponed my fall until the next class period, which incidentally was the following Monday.

After having all weekend to think about my impended fall and sufficiently working myself up about it, I once again entered class and climbed onstage. Unfortunately this time my mind was not at ease and my confidence level was lacking. With the boy who had taken my place in the middle not there to catch me I feared that my classmates would let me slip through, and the thought of turning around and seeing no one again was also haunting.

I trembled as I repeated the commands that I was ready to fall several times as I rocked back and forth on my heels. Seconds passed, which felt like minutes, as I teetered on the edge of the stage. I began to get overwhelmed by the moment and felt my chest tighten before I accidentally rocked back slightly too far for my pendulum like momentum to bring me back on stage, and just like that it was over.

As my classmates lowered me and I planted my feet firmly back on the ground I received several words of encouragement as well as a pat on the back from our teacher. I felt very satisfied with myself for having completed the trust fall that day after the event that had taken place during my first attempt.

In a way I had to conquer the trust fall activity twice since after we had prepared for weeks as a class my attempt was thrown a curve-ball that I wasn’t ready for. I then had to gather my strength and focus on what I had learned during our classes to regain my trust in my classmates and the activity.

This definitely wasn’t easy for me to do since I went into my second try believing that I wouldn’t be able to conquer my fears and trust issues. However, something inside me calmed me just enough at the last instance so that I was able to fall backward into the awaiting arms of my classmates. I don’t know where exactly that confidence came from that numbed my body to my fears but I guess that’s the point.

What I learned that day was that we all have the strength to do anything deep inside us, and it only takes an instant to let it out. However, if we are crippled to by our fears to the point where we can’t trust our instincts for a fleeting second then that confidence will remain buried and the task will go uncompleted. Thankfully, in the case of the trust fall, I let down my guard just enough to allow me rock back past the point of no return and conquer my fears.

This Is A Blog About Everything

Recently several people have commented to me that I seem to have the ability to write a Blog about anything. I guess what they are implying through this observation is that in their opinion no matter how small or insignificant a subject or situation may seem I am still able to write about it.

After thinking about this idea I suppose it’s true that I have written many Blogs covering topics and ideas that people would not have necessarily deemed “Blog worthy.” Having come to this realization I have developed a theory about how I am able to do this.

My basic thesis is that I can talk about anything, therefore I can Blog about anything. What I mean by this is that when I am comfortable with my surroundings I can pretty much talk to anyone about any subject no matter how little we have in common or how ridiculous the subject might seem.

That is why I feel as though I am able to write Blogs about seemingly any topic. Since I am exceedingly comfortable expressing my thoughts, opinions and ideas through my Blog I constantly feel inspired to Blog about anything and everything all the time.

Topics pop into my head when I see or hear something that sparks a memory or idea that I feel might be fun or interesting to write about. Furthermore, most people like to talk about themselves, which is something that I have no trouble doing, therefore it is an easy connection to see how I am able to easily write daily Blogs since many pieces are me talking about myself.

While I am always excited when my posts receive comments from people expressing their stories, reactions and opinions I don’t necessarily need anyone to respond in order for me to feel as though people are reading and hearing each Blog’s message.

In a way by Blogging I am having a one-way conversation where I get to do all the talking that I want, but instead of conversing with someone and them being stuck listening to me yap away, readers can decide if they wish to be on the receiving end.

That is why I am really not concerned about writing Blogs that are seemingly about insignificant topics or tell stories that most people would consider to be minor. When I am inspired I don’t think about why I should or shouldn’t write a blog about that particular topic, I just sit down and write and it as well as I can.

In the end while I can completely understand what people mean when they say that I can seemingly write a Blog about anything I don’t really see it that way, since writing Blogs is something that I am passionate about, therefore to me no topic I am inspired to write about appears to small or insignificant.

It’s Super Sunday Baby!

I love the Super Bowl. Let me reiterate so we are clear; Love The Super Bowl! Super Bowl Sunday is one of the most awesome days of the year even though I have never had any vague personal involvement in it. I mean you know an event is big when it requires two weeks of media build up, before hours of pre-game coverage, before it can even begin.

From a ratings perspective there is nothing bigger then the Super Bowl, short of another M.A.S.H. finale, since the experience of watching the game appeals to pretty much everyone. This is mostly because the way many people watch the game is at a Super Bowl Party with tons of friends, family and beer.

If you aren’t interested in the teams that are participating, don’t like pro football or aren’t even into sports in general you can still enjoy the Super Bowl. Heck we all know people who use their DVR to fast-forward through the game to get to the commercials, and even though I am a huge football fan I love watching the ads as well, since there are always several memorable beer, soda, chip or car commercials featured.

Not to mention that even if you don’t like sports, aren’t invited to a Super Bowl Party and have an embargo on watching commercials you still have to tune in since you don’t want to be the only one in the office on Monday morning standing at the water cooler who has absolutely nothing to contribute to the post-Super Bowl conversation.

So you see there’s really no choice about whether to watch the Super Bowl or not. As Americans we have come to embrace the Super Bowl as the première yearly “event” (not “sporting event”), and the game has been integrated into the very fabric of Americana.

The pageantry of the day from the elaborate pre-game coverage to the different superstar half-time act that performs each year is ostentatious in the way every true landmark event in the United States seems to be today. Therefore, whether the game is ultimately a flop or an all-time classic is a bonus when you consider everything surrounding it.

In all honestly, during my years of watching the Super Bowl I have only had one bad experience. As someone who lives and dies with every Chicago Bears game when they were in the Super Bowl a few years ago the weeks leading up to the game were agonizing, not fun, and the game itself I was too nervous and anxious to actually enjoy.

I am not saying this because I’m bitter that we lost to the Indianapolis Colts, I’m saying this because in the time leading up to and during the game I was so nervous since I felt like I had so much invested in the game, that I couldn’t just sit back, relax and enjoy the ride.

However, this year I am sufficiently over my disappointment from the Bears regular season and am fully behind the Colts v Saints Super Bowl match up. Now all I need is for it to be 6:25 pm est. on Sunday so that I can sit down with a cold beverage in hand, a piping hot pizza on the table and a bunch of people who enjoy yelling at the television as much as I do so that I can once again enjoy the Super Bowl in all its glory and grandeur.

A Lesson In Bartering

A few weeks ago we played a game at Alico Arena against the University of North Florida that was broadcast on Comcast SportsNet. The opportunity to play on television is rare and coveted on our level since it gives smaller programs the chance to gain exposure and name recognition.

Each team in our conference is guaranteed at least one “TV Game” during the season usually as part of the Comcast Spotlight Game of the Week on Friday nights. Playing North Florida was the first of two conferences games that would be broadcast for us this season, but it was the only one we would play at home on television leaving everyone very excited.

About an hour before game time I was standing in the coaches locker room when our Head Coach asked me to make sure we got a copy of the television version of our game immediately afterward. He explained that the quality of the game, with multiple camera angles and high production values would be easier to review than the copy we produced from a single camera.

Additionally, he explained that the play-by-play and commentary during the game broadcast on Comcast would also offer opportunities for him and our players to hear what unbiased analysts thought of how we are playing.

So, I set out to track down someone from the Comcast production team who could help me. I followed a series of long multiple colored cables outside to the back of our arena where I found two production trucks parked.

After knocking on several doors I was finally directed to the guy who be overseeing the games final production stages. He was very polite and had no problem acquiescing with my request except he did have one stipulation that he required in return for a copy of the game; he wanted a FGCU Men’s Basketball t-shirt.

My immediate reaction was that he was kidding but I played along and we continued talking for a few minutes. At the end he told me his shirt size and I realized that he wasn’t joking but rather bartering.

I then ran inside to find our equipment manager so that I might acquire a medium-sized men’s basketball t-shirt before the start of the game. However, after finding the shirt I decided that it would be prudent discourse in this situation to wait until after the game when he had my finalized copy so that we could make a fair one for one exchange.

When the game was over our Head Coach gave the post-game talk before I ventured back out to the productions trucks, t-shirt in hand, still not completely convinced that the guy wasn’t joking. I found him and we exchanged goods with each of us quickly inspecting what we had received before parting ways. I then walked the disc back into the arena and got it to our Head Coach who was happy that we were able to get a television copy that he could review that night.

After that experience I thought little about our exchange of goods until last night when we played at Mercer in a game once again televised on Comcast SportsNet. This time without prompting from our Head Coach I knew that I needed to get a copy of the television broadcast immediately after the game.

I once again followed the cables to the production trucks parked in back of the arena and found the man in charge of the game’s final production. However, I didn’t realize that exchanging a t-shirt for a copy of the game was a common practice in these types of situations, and not an exclusive policy of the guy who had worked our North Florida contest a few weeks earlier.

Unfortunately, this time when a t-shirt was requested I had none with me to offer. Luckily the guy was understanding of my predicament and provided me with a copy of the game afterward even though I didn’t have any FGCU gear for him.

However, while this was quite friendly and accommodating on his part he didn’t let me completely off the hook. So, as a result, when we arrive at the office tomorrow morning I need to add a pair of things to my “To-Do List” for the day; a) mail out t-shirts to the guys who were responsible for producing our game last night and b) grab a bunch of extra t-shirts to take with me on all road trips so that I am always ready for when I have to barter as part of my job in the future.

I’ve Killed Before And I’ll Do It Again

As I wrote about in “Moving Out And Hopefully Moving On” I recently moved into a new apartment. While my roommates would hardly consider the accommodations to be anything special I have attempted to explain to them that to me the place is a huge upgrade.

While my first year out of college living in the Eckles dormitory at Western New Mexico University wasn’t particularly homey, I didn’t really care because I was just happy to be breaking into the profession. However, my second year Barbara moved to Silver City and we found a small one-bedroom apartment about a mile from campus and just a few blocks from the dental office where she worked.

The carpet wasn’t in great shape, the stove was a potential fire hazard and the water heater was so small that every time you stepped into the shower and desired hot water you essentially had to play a game of beat the clock. But those issues, along with several others, Barbara and I could deal with and made the best of.

However, there was one thing about the apartment that we couldn’t and wouldn’t get used to, the roaches. Now, it is very common in places that don’t have much of a winter season for houses to have roaches, and as we all know they are incredibly hard to get rid so we were pretty much stuck. Furthermore, the roaches entered our apartment into the bathroom via a hole underneath the sink and that was where we almost exclusively found them.

As tough as Barbara was she would normally call me into battle where using whatever hard flat object I could find I would fight our intruders to the death. I honestly couldn’t blame Barbara for not wanting to deal with the roaches since they were around the size of a quarter and represented everything that is gross and unattractive in the world.

Over time I felt more and more terrible about the fact that Barbara was forced to live in such inadequate conditions. She put up with enough living with me, and therefore didn’t deserve to have to deal with roaches crawling across the bathroom floor while she was brushing her teeth at night.

So, I set out to do everything in my power to prevent her from having to come in contact with a roach. I called our landlord and they paid to have the apartment sprayed, but that only helped temporarily before they were back. After that I bought the most powerful roach repellent on the market and sprayed it religiously to try to detour their migration to our apartment.

That appeared to work marginally well but Barbara would still occasionally walk into the bathroom and come face to face with one of these hideous creatures. That was when I decided that since I stayed up later than her I would periodically go into the bathroom and kill roaches so that they didn’t have a chance to hide and then appear when Barbara walked in and turned the lights on the next morning.

Additionally, I tried to make sure that just before Barbara got up for work in the morning that I would wake up and get into the bathroom first to extract any roaches that were there waiting on her. Over time I did the best I could to keep Barbara from having to see any roaches, but ultimately nothing I did was going to completely shelter her from them.

By the time we moved back to Skokie in mid-June I think we were both sick of living in such awful conditions, but felt that the overall experience had been worth it. Looking back on it I wouldn’t have changed anything about the experience because frankly every apartment in Barbara and mine’s price range was going to have a roach problem.

While the roaches were pretty gross they were only in the bathroom and not any other parts of the apartment. That is why when I look back on the experience I honestly believe that Barbara and I were lucky to live in the apartment that we did since before moving out we realized that the wall where the roaches came from we shared with our neighbor, only they didn’t come from his bathroom, they came from his kitchen.

Can You Give Me Directions Back To Wisteria Lane?

During my junior year of college the show “Desperate Housewives” premiered on ABC at 8:00 est. on Sunday nights. The show was constantly being advertised during sporting events, and after a while my friends and I became intrigued by this new drama featuring several alluring actresses.

Perhaps it was mere happenstance that a few friends and I sat down to watch the original episode of “Desperate Housewives,” but either way we tuned into the pilot and were instantly hooked.

After a few episodes we found ourselves discussing it among our group of friends and realized that most of us enjoyed the new program. As a result it was suggested that we all congregate at my apartment, where we usually hung out anyway, and watch the show.

All were invited to attend our inaugural “Desperate Night,” and as hosts my roommates and I provided the requisite munchies to keep everyone happy. Probably six or eight people showed up to watch and a few even stayed for the “Grey’s Anatomy” double feature.

Since we all had fun we decided to make it a weekly tradition. After a few weeks the crowds got bigger and bigger until the living room was packed with viewers. While the core of the group remained the same from week to week it seemed that different people from the periphery we showing up just to hang out and be a part of everything.

From there the evening expanded to include dinner and often times people would hang around afterwards discussing that nights episode or the direction of the show’s various plotlines. When break came and we all went home to visit our families most of us still text messaged or called each other after the show to share our reactions.

Our Sunday night “Desperate Housewives” tradition was so popular that we ended up continuing it through the shows second season, which ran concurrent with our senior year. However, after graduation many of us moved to different cities and struggled to keep in touch with one another over the summer.

After I moved and settled into my new surroundings in Silver City I set out to acquaint myself with some of my past traditions from college, which included watching the new season of “Desperate Housewives” on Sunday nights. Since I was lonely I thought that the show would help reconnect me with my college friends and make me feel a little more normal.

Unfortunately, after watching the first few episodes of the third season by myself, and talking with a few people about it over the phone afterward, the experience clearly wasn’t the same. In fact, I quickly realized that I didn’t even really like the show and found myself questioning the bizarre story lines and subsequent character’s actions and motives. A few of my friends felt the same as many of us lost interest in the show early in the new season.

At first I was confused by the fact that I no longer enjoyed watching the program, and was nostalgic for the times in college when we would all get together and watch. What I soon came to realize was that I probably never truly enjoyed the content of the show, but rather liked it simply because it was a vehicle for getting all the people I cared about in the same place every week. Now that “Desperate Housewives” no longer helped to unite my group of friends every Sunday night it didn’t serve a purpose for me and it’s flaws as a series were exposed.

However, even though I haven’t watched “Desperate Housewives” in years, and until recently didn’t even know that it was still on television, it still holds a special place in my heart. In the end “Desperate Housewives” wasn’t a great show with compelling plot lines and rich characters, but it was entertaining and a show that appealed to a wide-range of people and personalities. It was this appeal that initially brought my friends and me to Wisteria Lane and kept us coming back every Sunday night like clockwork to get lost in it’s crazy world together.

The Fun We Had On Monkey Island

My parents never bought us video game systems when we were growing up. We never had a Nintendo, Sega, PlayStation, Xbox or any of the other systems that I’m forgetting or weren’t aware of. The only thing we did have was a single Game Boy that the three of us were allowed to play on long care rides when we went on vacation, and even then we only had a few games like Mario and Tetris.

Even though my parents refused to invest in video games systems I never really missed them growing up. I remember it being a treat when I would go to my friend Ryan’s house and play Nintendo or hang out with my friends Mikey and Jeff playing PlayStation all night, but I never left their houses feeling like I needed to have a game system of my own.

While my parents wouldn’t buy us video games they were more than willing to invest in educational or semi-educational games for the computer. I think it’s fairly obvious what an educational game is, but what I mean by a semi-educational game is one that isn’t necessarily catered toward learning a specific subject, but still requires you to think to progress though and complete the game.

One game in particular that my dad and I would play every night when I was in grade school was called Monkey Island. In the original incarnation of this old computer game the basic premise was that you used a combination of clues with trial and error to solve problems and advance your character through the different stages of the game to find the treasure at the end.

My dad and I would play almost every night until we achieved something that we liked to call a “major breakthrough”. This was where we would make a discovery or uncover a secret that would propel us to a different stage. Sometimes we would make several major breakthroughs in a week, and other times we would go days without being able to advance in the game.

We were constantly thinking about the clues that we were given and working through the problems that our character faced during the day so that when we sat down in front of the computer we could make progress. When we finally did make a major breakthrough I would run into the other room where my mom was usually relaxing or watching television and let her know what had happened in the game, even though she probably had no idea what I was talking about since she had no context.

I remember loving this game and playing with my dad even though it lacked what every non-sports video game today seems to glorify; violence. We used deductive reasoning to solve problems not guns, and we defeated opponents using our cunning not by stabbing them. Furthermore, it was a game that my dad and I could play together and both enjoy.

I know that we finished Monkey Island 1 and 2 together, but I think that my dad played the 3rd installment with my brother since I was a little older when it was released. When I think back on it I am almost shocked with how I never so much as asked for a video game system growing up. I suppose part of it was that I knew my parents would be resistant to buy it for me, but I’d also like to think that even in grade school I recognized something unique about my situation.

You see I was the only kid I knew growing up who didn’t have a video game system, and while some kids would have seen this as a death sentence I honestly never felt like I needed one. In the end whether I recognized it or not I was actually really lucky not to have one, since it allowed me to spend more time with my dad instead of alone in my room playing video games.

My Friend Mac And Me

With the unveiling of Apple’s new iPad I have once again seen technology move forward while I continue to stand still. The iPad looks to be a potentially revolutionary device for how we experience the Internet as well as how we present, store and send information.

My introduction to the iPad has felt like all the innovative and extraordinary generations of mobile devices that have come before it while I have remained locked in a different era of technological capability.

You see toward the end of the summer before my senior year of college I decided that I wanted a laptop. As someone who advocates the purchasing of high quality technologies I invested in a Mac. While this purchase initially set me back it has more than made up for it through longevity and reliability.

While many of my friends who bought inexpensive laptops around the same time have long since replaced them, and in some cases replaced the replacement, I continue to use my original iBook G4. In fact, this Blog, and for that matter pretty much all of my Blogs have been conceived on my Mac laptop.

I often refer to it as my baby and over time have treated it as such to respect its fragility. When I purchased my Mac four and half years I knew that I had to make it last. Along with my computer I purchased an Apple Care warranty that covered me on all issues that weren’t inflicted through accidental carelessness such as dropping or spilling on it.

Other than needing to have my hard drive replaced, which incidentally occurred during the last month of my three-year warranty, I haven’t had any problems that couldn’t be resolved over the phone or through a short Genius appointment. However, even though my Mac has never really given me cause to worry about it breaking down I have been increasingly concerned about how much longer we will be together.

Part of this is because for the past year and half my Mac has lived without a warranty meaning that at the first sign of trouble I would have to dig into my pretty much empty pockets to fix it.

The other part of the equation is that technology today isn’t necessarily built for the long-term since it is almost obsolete once it’s taken out of the box with how quickly technological developments and innovations happen. That is why I consider it a minor miracle that my Mac and I have been together for so long especially considering how much I’ve used it over the years.

Although, the fact that my Mac has lasted me so long has been slightly bittersweet for several reasons. On the one hand I have essentially no money and can’t really afford to replace my Mac with another Apple luxury computer, but on the other hand if my Mac were to finally breakdown (knock on wood) I would be forced to reallocate funds and work out a way to buy a new one thus improving my technology.

You see as much as I love my Mac, and as great as it’s been to me over the years, a substantial amount of improvements have been made since my iBook G4 was released almost five years. To be completely honest I am getting rather anxious to enjoy many of the new features and benefits that are offered by the newest generations of Mac laptops, which many of my friends now enjoy.

However, deep down I know that I need to make my Mac last as long as I possibly can because a new computer would put me in a precarious financial position. Furthermore, my Mac has served me so well over the years that I believe I owe it the courtesy of letting it decide when it has exhausted its usefulness, and therefore letting me know when it’s time for me to move on to a newer model.

I know my Mac is at a point in its life where it experiences slight flutters turning on every once in a while, and may not be able to handle too many open programs at once, but damn it that’s okay because we all slow down as we get older. In the end none of those things really matter since my Mac has always treated me well, and as long as it is alive and running it deserves the same treatment from me.