Spiritual Wanderer

Home wrecker

    My work out here is coming to an end.

    I flew to L.A. on a super-saver, last-minute, bags-extra flight in order to help my brother and sister-in-law renovate their new house, soak up some March sun and just do some overall latitude adjustment.

    Alas, as a home handyman my strengths lie in programing the DVR and making sure I close the refrigerator door. Oh, I can vacuum up a storm and make neat little piles of other people’s stuff to be dealt with later but let’s just say my sister-in-law May’s initial request that I do a bit of drywall patching when I woke up Sunday morning was met with a reasoned “Umm...”

    Thankfully they were employing a real handyman who knew the difference between drywall and dry white wine. So it was on to my next task, laying their kitchen tile.

    Umm ...

    Bag after 50-pound-bag of grout and tile cement lay stacked in their garage along with newly purchased trowels, a couple pallets-full of beautiful clay tiles and one man’s dream of becoming a Mason after reading Dan Brown’s The Lost Symbol. The directions for the tile cement were easy enough so after measuring three times and using an old cup we found lying around, (and calling my brother at work who had internet access and the ability to convert ounces to quarts), I got to mixing.

    Fifty pounds of lifting and half an hour later I was ready to flop down my first square kitchen tile. Unfortunately, I had mistakenly mixed up the grout instead of the cement.

    May and Areal, the Filipino handyman, exchanged polite looks and said a few words to each other in Tagalog. Note to self: look up the translation for “dumbass.”

    Another 50 pounds and another half hour and I was ready. The creamiest tile cement you ever saw flowed from my bucket of wonder and we were ready to slap down that ceremonial first tile, with the hidden coins for prosperity underneath and hopes of at least getting something right riding on every move.

    Apparently you don’t want creamy tile cement on your floors.

    Areal took the bucket back to the garage and hand-stirred another couple pounds of the powder into my concoction and came back within moments carrying actual tile cement. I glopped it down, said a few incantations to the holy Bob Villa and all went according to plan. That is until the second tile went in a good three inches lower than the first. Okay, I’m exaggerating, but not by much. The first tile was like a platform, a mesa, a scenic overlook in a kitchen that wasn’t planning to have an island.

    Apparently you want your entire floor ... what’s the word ... level.

    By now I was familiar with the Filipino word for "incompetent" although I have to say, May was nothing but gracious and amazingly sweet. I honestly don’t know how she stomached having me in her brand new kitchen mucking up all their first-time-homeowner plans.

    Fully giving up any of his real plans for the day, Areal took the trowel, lifted the original tile, spread the cement properly and dropped it back into place thus narrowly avoiding Ty Pennington and the Extreme Home Makeover team crashing through the kitchen wall.

    They found a job I could do. The tiles were a few differing shades between something that looked like yellow and red to something that looked like red and yellow. They wanted a chaotic randomness to the arrangement on the floor.

    Bingo!

    For the next couple hours I busied myself with the artistic directorship of grabbing the tiles May was sealing in another room and painstakingly arranging them for Areal’s final installation. I felt like the little boy in his Mom’s kitchen who’s given the very important task of holding onto the egg so it doesn’t roll away.

    Yes, I was called upon to mix up another batch of cement and yes, I screwed that up too. As a general rule you don’t want a quarter of the mix still in powder form at the bottom of the bucket when you’re through. And THAT’S a little free home improvement tip brought to you by the management team of Spiritual Wanderer International.

    This is one of the reasons I don’t do Habitat for Humanity builds. I’d be the guy serving sandwiches to the real workers and trying not to spill lemonade onto their freshly laid carpet. Everybody has a talent.

    “If I had a hammer, I’d poke somebody’s eye-eye out,
    I’d use the wrong end, and drop it in the grout.”

    My final task out here is to do some videotaping of my brother Dean’s class at UCLA. I don’t have to mix anything except, maybe sound and thank God, Allah, Buddha and Lugh there’s no grout involved.

    I think this pretty well puts to rest my notion of saving a bit of money by refinishing our hardwood floors while I'm laid off. I thought maybe Marci could strap sandpaper to the dog's paws and make 'em run around like crazy while I'm stirring up the polyurethane in the garage. 

    What could possibly go wrong?

Hey, you found me. Thanks!

Just stumbling in here for the first time? Grab a seat and something cold to drink. Return customer? You know the drill, there's the requisite buy my book link up there on the right and below are some fascinating, hilarious and somewhat poignant tales if I do say so myself. If others say so, then we're on to something. A few absolutely free, completely gratis chapters from my book Spiritual Wanderer are listed on the left. And anything else you need is probably around here somewhere. Even silly promotional videos of me! Want to send me a message? Okay, but please no SPAM, promise!

My Favorite Films of 2009

    I’m about to make people mad.

    Apart from politics, religion and coffee choices, there’s nothing people hold more near and dear to their hearts than movie preferences. Sure, Americans love their pro sports teams, but nothing else seems to get as much dissent going as movie conversations. Everybody has an opinion. I gotta hand it to professionals who make their living discussing and critiquing movies. Roger Ebert must not be able to show his face in public for fear of some putz pelting him with an over-ripe fruit because Ebert liked Nicolas Cage in Knowing, (a film which the top critics on Rotten Tomatoes gave an apocalyptic 13%).

    This year I decided to do something different with my annual list. Since the Academy went all rogue and nominated 10 films for Best Picture, I figured that act alone unchained and allowed me to look at things a bit differently. Okay, that’s not really why, but just go with me on this. I thought I could do a far greater service by just sharing the movies I enjoyed the most this past year. Wow Rodney, how cataclysmic! You’re crazy demented.

    One of the advantages to being underemployed, apart from showering only when I feel like it, is cheap movies. I don’t think I paid full price to see any of these and many of them cost me only $4.00. And just as a quick note to my graphically adept friends, these picturess don't flow in worth beans on this blog so look forward -- like I'm doing -- to the near future when we'll get a much more photo-friendly platform.

    Anyway, I think there were big, important films this year that should win or carried great messages of hope, redemption and lots-o-latex, (Up and Watchmen, although radically different, contained two of the greatest uses of latex). But since this is my blog and I’ve proven time and again that I only do what I want to do here, I present you with:

The 2009 Films I Enjoyed Watching The Most

    I Love You, Man: If you’re a guy, which I’m guessing about 50% of you are, you really have to see this movie. Paul Rudd stars as a happily adjusted man in a committed relationship who goes in search of a buddy-pal. You’ve heard the term “bromance” before but this movie, with Jason Segel brilliantly playing the object of Rudd’s intentions, re-defines the genre. It’s hysterical yet thoughtful. Poignant yet not too caught up in proving a point. Of the literally scores of films I saw this year, I can’t shake this one from its top perch. My wife had to endure YouTube video after YouTube video of the band RUSH from the early 80s after I came home from this movie. I love you, babe.

    The Hangover: I can’t believe it, but this film was almost Number One. I saw it alone at first but then rented it with my family, (which I don’t recommend if  your kids can’t handle vastly inappropriate subject matter like my jaded daughters can). The  women-folk in my house loved it. Four guys going on a tear through Vegas? It doesn’t sound like a chick flick and it really isn’t. Ed Helms, (from The Office), and Zach Galifianakis, (from Between Two Ferns), steal their scenes and make this hilarious film ultimately meaningful. Well, meaningful in a sick, perverted, disgusting way that I wouldn’t recommend to everybody. And please, don’t watch the closing credits with anybody younger than 21. I think it may be illegal.

    Up in the Air:  Frequent visitors to this site know I got laid off twice in 2009. It’s no surprise that Up in the Air -- about a guy who flies around the country laying people off -- resonated on a certain visceral level with me. George Clooney plays such a smooth downsizer that I almost wanted to star with him in my own bromance. Sure, I never really bought into the seminar he was teaching in the side-story but this film had a lot of heart mixed in with the angst and a cleverly downplayed emotional undertone which hit me hard in the gut.

    Avatar: Please, we all know this picture should win and probably will if Hurt Locker doesn’t booby trap it. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with this film even though the plot is pretty shallow. It has great action, wonderful cinematography and even soldiers as aliens playing basketball. I love the environmental message underlying the movie and there's certainly something to be said for its anti-war stance. Go see it on the big screen while it’s still around and if you can shell out the cash for 3D and the IMAX experience, you’ll be glad you did.

    It's Complicated: Here’s where I go off the rails and most of you go searching for better, more informed sites. I loved this movie and I think it was one of those perfect Hollywood films that don’t pretend to be something they’re not. This is just a fun story about rich people losing love and finding it again. Steve Martin is great and Alec Baldwin is tolerable as they both vie for Meryl Streep’s affections. Think Mama Mia meets Last Chance Harvey. Well, maybe not. Forget I mentioned that comparison.

    Angels & Demons: Okay, so now you wanna throw something rotten at me, eh? If It’s Complicated didn’t rile you, this one surely will. Say what you will about Dan Brown but his books are infinitely readable. I’m just finishing The Lost Symbol right now and at points I envision Tom Hanks already playing the lead. Look, Dan Brown’s story lines are always fun and fast-paced. Ron Howard brilliantly stuck to the story line except for the very ending, (thank goodness), and this film is simply the best intelligent action film of the year.

    (500) Days of Summer: I know lots of folks loved this flick with the Indie feel, (although it was distributed by a Fox division). So I don’t feel too weird giving it a hearty and happy recommendation. It doesn’t play out the way normal love stories roll and the ending isn’t what you assume it will be. The acting is understated and flows exactly like a normal un-scripted conversation would. It’s tough to describe this film as a romantic comedy and I think it does it a disservice to use that often maligned phrase. Rent this movie. Please. Everyone will like it on a Friday or Saturday night.

    Julie & Julia: I’ll admit it; I have a mild crush on Julia Child. Wait, no, I mean Amy Adams but who doesn’t?  It’s the feel-full movie of the year. Nothing objectionable here unless you’re a lobster’s rights advocate. Meryl Streep proves once again that she can star in several big movies at once and not confuse her accents. Eat a big dinner before watching this or be prepared to whip up some french toast, french fries or french guiana afterward.

    Capitalism: a Love Story: I first met Michael Moore back in 1987 when he was filming Roger & Me in Flint. Okay, that was the last time I met him, but I sound cool and connected if I say “first time.” I’m a huge fan of the man who seems to track nearest to my liberal tendencies and makes no bones about his desire to help the little guy, (no jokes here, please!). Sure, I think his ideas are pretty far out there in this film but every movie he makes needs to be watched with an eye toward future policy.

    Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans: I don’t know the premise behind this movie, but I think they took Nicholas Cage aside ahead of time and said, “Okay man, act like all those guys who impersonate you.” It was Nick Cage acting like Nick Cage. Remade from a 1992 film, the 2009 version’s about an over-the-top cop in down and out New Orleans. It's grungy, drug-filled and has symbolic reptiles that apparently only we, and Cage can see. Don’t expect anything but to be entertained.

These are the five also-rans. I liked them, thought they were enjoyable to watch, but didn’t rise into the top 10.

     Zombieland: A teen love story, an America ravaged by zombies who sprung from Mad Cow disease and a surprise appearance by Bill Murray -- what better way to spend an evening?

    State of Play: Yep, you feel a pit of pride down deep in your tummy as the newspapers roll off the press at the end of this movie, but only if you’re a newsie. Russell Crowe plays a perfect newshound in this age of shrunken budgets and corporate idiocy.

    Up: Pixar rules. No doubt about it. They don’t just wow us with great animation, they share a warm life story that truly defines the family movie.

    He's Just Not That into You: I think                                           I run the risk of having my man card taken away but I liked this movie more than I probably should have. It answers the question, “What do guys really think?” Rent other stuff first but if it’s between this and All About Steve, do yourself a favor and ignore that God-awful film and grab this.

   The Hurt Locker: Hey, just so you know, I liked Hurt Locker but by no stretch of the imagination can I say I enjoyed watching it. Like Precious, it was a very good film but the enjoyability quotient was about as high as the Tea Party’s tolerance for health care reform. Jeffrey Fieger’s newest revelation and lawsuit notwithstanding, this powerful movie keeps you stapled to your sofa. But it seemed to base much of its dynamic on “will this explode or won’t it?” Enjoyable? No. Well done? Definitely.

    It's quite possible I've missed something. I think there was some movie this past summer about Hannah Montana turning into a giant robot and attacking earth with GI Joe but I didn't see it. If you agree with me, wonderful. If not, there's always that comment section there on the right. I'd love to hear your favorites, (and honestly, get the web traffic).

    Breaking News: I just learned I was picked to attend an Oscars party in Los Angeles this Sunday so hopefully my choices won’t ruffle too many boa feathers. Well, actually I’m crashing on my brother’s couch on the outskirts of L.A. and we’re going over to his friend’s condo to watch the Academy Awards but still . . .

    Also: A few of my students love the movies as much or more than I do. One wants to review them for a living. You can tell your friends you caught his act before he hit the big time by checking out his Film Gazing blog. Unlike here at the Wanderer site, Carter’s actually giving stuff away for free. The winner of his Oscar Pool gets a DVD of their choosing. I should've thought of something creative like that.

Stalked by a Balloonatic

   A student in my class did the unthinkable. When we went around the room introducing ourselves, she was open and honest about something that really bothered her. She confessed to having a strange fear of balloons.

    Big mistake.   

    That was all I needed to hear. I’m helping teach an Online Reporting class where we show the students how to use multimedia tools to tell their stories. As an example, I took my little Panasonic Lumix point-n-shoot camera and created this two-minute video.

    I didn’t think fear of balloons was a real affliction until I wandered across Globophobia in my research. Some people just experience a vague uneasiness around them; others actually fear deflated ones. Apparently Maury Povich did a whole show on this phobia. Strangely, I had to overcome a vague uneasiness about watching Maury in order to continue my research.

    I ran into other quirky fears like Arachibutyrophobia, which is -- I’m not kidding -- the fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth. Podophobia, which strangely several of my students claim to have, is the fear of feet. But my favorite is the aptly named Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia, the fear of long words.

   It's no telling how many millions of children are scarred for life after being forced to sing Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious along with that mean Mary Poppins.

    Normally I’m a sensitive, caring, new millennium man, but I couldn’t stop laughing about my student’s fear. When I showed this movie in class, they couldn’t stop laughing either. My anonymous student loved it too and actually asked for a copy of this movie on DVD.

    So if you suffer from Kainophobia, the fear of anything new, I suggest you click elsewhere. And if you’re afflicted by Geliophobia, cover your ears.

    And eyes.

Oh(no) Canada

(Just to be crystal clear, this video is something I found on YouTube and didn't create myself. Thanks for asking though.)

    I have a confession to make. I think I’m Bi. Wait, it’s not what you think, (or think you think). I can’t decide what’s a more bad-ass Olympic sport, Curling or Skeleton. Athletes in both have their own panache. I suppose that makes me a bi-athlete.

    Face-first sledding down a frozen track that somebody died on last week? That takes an enormous mixture of guts, insanity and probably tequila. Sliding a chunk of rock on an icy shuffleboard court and pretending it’s a sport? Well, let’s just say alcohol had to be involved.

    I can’t take my mind off either sport. Granted, the women Skeleton riders keep me riveted by the sheer nature of their sheer clothing. Add the lack of a steering mechanism at 80 mph and you have the epitome of a fast woman. The Curling guys just make me wanna laugh or invite them over to clean my floors. We get a ton of dog hair all over the place and with those lightning-fast sweepers, it’d be spic and span in no time.

    That flying rutabaga or tomato guy on snowboard’s pretty cool but if he crashes it’s just snow he falls into. Lindsey Vonn keeps wiping out yet looking fabulous; that just makes me mad. And don’t get me started on that whole shooting a rifle while skiing thing. What sort of deranged mind came up with letting people strap on fairly cumbersome equipment then making them ski really fast with loaded weaponry? They had to be Russian.

    I remember the first time I learned that while ski jumping the participants were never more than three or four yards off the ground. It broke my heart; I thought they were flying above the trees until I noticed said trees were just scrawny little jack pines. Granted, that old Wide World of Sports crash kept me coming back for more over the years.

    They’re getting close to my inner schadenfreude with Snowboard Cross. And since the Olympic Federation has repeatedly chosen to leave unanswered my request to allow rifles in the Short Track Speed Skating competition, (Apollo Anton ... OH NO!!!), then Curling and Skeleton are my de facto favorites.

    But hey, they have Nordic Combined and Alpine Combined, why not combine Skeleton and Curling? NBC’s sagging ratings would immediately spike and Bob Costas would need a ventilator just to describe one run. Fox News would immediately blame Obama for not thinking of it sooner. And for one brief two-week period we’d all sing Oh Canada and really mean it.

EXCLUSIVE: Interview with The Yak

When your mascot's downsized, you know you've got problems.

    I caught up with The Yak at a mascot basketball game Saturday at U of D. His hair needed attention after living in a large steamer trunk for months but it was nothing a quick brushing couldn't fix. His translator and I were laid off from the Detroit Free Press on the same day and it was good to see him after so many months. He agreed to an informal sit-down interview since neither of us were doing much at the time. No one knows his true identity and he asked me to respect that. Even in Layoff Land you can take the man out of The Yak, but you can't take The Yak out of the man.

    Rodney: So Mr. Yak, what have you been doing since that fateful day in June?

    The Yak: Oh, freelance work here and there. I've been decorating some bars for the seasons; Halloween, Christmas, I even did a great Marty Gras display at The Inn Place in Royal Oak.

    Rodney: Marty Gras, interesting choice of words. When did you know that things were going south at the paper; what tipped you off?

    The Yak: That's easy, when The Yak section went online only. Everyone else took buyouts and I was the only one left in the department.

    Rodney: I'd say that's a dead giveaway. Is it harder to forage for food and sustenance these days in this climate?

    The Yak: The climate's great actually. The cold weather makes the suit more livable and I don't sweat as much. I remember one time when we traveled to Orlando a woman handed me a baby in a soiled diaper to hold. It was 95 degree heat and that smell just wafted into the outfit. That climate was tough.

    Rodney: That's not what I meant by climate. Speaking of diapers, is it boxers or briefs? 

    The Yak: Depends.

    Rodney: Depends, I get it. Funny. You've gone all over the world. What are some of your more memorable Yak trips?

    The Yak: Well the Olympics are on now and we used to travel to those venues to preview them for the children; Japan, Australia, Italy, Utah. In Rome some kids almost set me on fire until photographer Rashaun Rucker kicked his ass. I was attacked in New York City's Chinatown with firecrackers too but mostly it was just a bunch of great times and fantastic travels.

    Rodney: Ah, Ray Rucker. Glad he had your wing, err, your hoof. Hey, I've always wanted to know this. Which synonym for Yak makes you madder, "vomit" or "chatty?"

    The Yak: Oh, "chatty" I suppose but I don't really get mad at either one.

    Rodney: I was just being silly. Along those same lines, and I know this is a sensitive subject, but I Googled Yak products and supposedly your cheese is high in Omega-3 acids, the good fat. Do you, uh, eat your own cheese?

    The Yak: Just my toe cheese. We've all done it.

    Rodney: As long as I'm on ridiculous topics, we both worked for the Detroit Daily Press. What do you think went wrong there?

    The Yak: That place was a cluster fuck; I'm surprised it lasted five days.

    Rodney: I hear you. So what will you write down on the 2010 Census when it comes to your mailbox?

    The Yak: Unemployed, will work for food.

    Rodney: I guess being The Yak, your employment opportunities are somewhat limited.

    The Yak: I'm thinking about stripping on weekends. It's come to that.

    Rodney: Now there's an image. Seriously, what are you looking to do next?

    The Yak: I've applied for several jobs in graphics and design. I'm looking to decorate more bars, do some business cards. There's work in Traverse City; I'd love to live there.

    Rodney: I really appreciate you taking the time to Yak with me, oops, you hate that. I also want to thank you for suggesting that I do the freelance work for this basketball game. Is there anything else you want to tell the readers of Spiritual Wanderer?

    The Yak: I went downtown to pick up the costume the other day and was invited to come into the newsroom. It just felt too weird, so I didn't. I do miss the people I used to work with at the Detroit Free Press though. Tell them that.

    With that, The Yak readied to run out to center court. The players left for halftime and mayor Bing, who was also in attendance, watched as the assembled mascots were announced. And this is exactly how the announcer called them onto the floor:

    "From The Detroit Tigers, Paws!"

    "From The Detroit Lions, Roary!"   

    "From Mongolian Barbeque, Mongo!"   

    "From Red Robin, Red!"

    "From The Detroit News, The Yak!"

Friendly parenting

    Instead of a Sweet 16 party for my eldest daughter, we played Whirly Ball this weekend. There's nothing crazy or different about that, apart from none of the kids in the group having played it before. It made me realize though, how much we let our daughters make decisions and think for themselves.  

    All their lives -- for Skye, 16 years and for Taylor, 14 -- we've heard parents shouldn't be friends with their kids. We've been told over and over again you have to be the authority figures and not someone who hangs out with them like buddies. Sure, you have to be parents first but we would've missed so much if we weren't integrated deeply into their lives.       

    I think treating the girls like equal partners is the key. Ever since they were wee lasses, Marci and I spoke with them like their opinion was relevant and infinitely interesting. I remember grocery excursions where I'd bend over the cart staring into their tiny faces asking, "Ya know sweetie, I can't really tell the difference between transfats and monosaturated fats ..."    

    It was sort of like engaging with melons sometimes, but for the most part their big eyes would stare back at us as if to say, "Well, okay, if I could talk I'd explain how molecules bond to different triglycerides but until then I'll just drool a bit."

    The stares, though, that I got from other shoppers led me to believe they’d truly never seen grownups talking to little people. It may as well have been a leprechaun in my shopping cart. “That man’s nuts,” their gazes seemed to say.

    When a family friend wrote recently saying how much she enjoyed bumping into Taylor, I was proud but not surprised to read, "She is so sweet. She asked me all kinds of questions. I’m not used to teens talking so much!"

    It’s not something new. All their lives the girls have enjoyed chatting folks up. I think partly they love the surprised looks on people’s faces. But more and more, people seem to understand the parent/child connection doesn’t follow old, conventional norms anymore. That same woman who wrote also described her relationship with her kid as being akin to two soulmates.

    I can’t remember really playing with my parents. Don’t get me wrong, they were fine people and to this day, my mother is one of my closest friends. But they surely didn’t spend hours on the living room floor with us, like I did with my kids. I can’t tell you how many pairs of pants I ruined because the knees tore out from carpet burns and crazy daddy antics.

    Play Whirly Ball with you guys? Heck yeah! Totally. I was even asked if I wanted to invite a friend.

    No honey. But thank you. You girls are friends enough for me.

Everybody, look busy!

    The jig's up. Some of my students have found this blog and are asking about it. You over there, hop to. See that mop in the corner, start swabbing the decks. We have to appear like we're doing important stuff here; the future captains of the writing industry are watching. Man, it could use some dusting too.

    One student asked what Spiritual Wanderer was all about and I told him that was the toughest question to answer. How do you explain, and not look like a goofball, that sometimes weird stuff happens to you? How do you recount the streetlight thing or the socket wrench appearance and still maintain credibility? It's like writing a Facebook status update while drunk and waking up the next morning to find 28 comments and 7 "likes" about your diarrhea. And why, pray tell, would anyone buy a book that highlights your dog's poop?

    Another student let me know Spiritual Wanderer is available for 610 rupees in India, (by the way, that's a 12 rupee discount doncha know). So let's pick up the pace here gang. Rumor has it there may be some e-book news coming up so until then and until we can get a more photo/video/graphics friendly platform going here maybe we can all pitch in and at least sweep up a bit. The future's watching.

Remaining relevant

    One peril of having a birthday in your 40s is appearing old and stale. I don’t wear those pointy hats anymore or yearn for pony rides. Comfy cargo pants and a few good books are on my wish list. Right now, my February birthday is still something I look forward to; my wife’s, my eldest daughter’s and my own are all in the same week so it becomes a gala. But I can see the day in the not-so-distant future when I’ll groan instead of smile as early February looms. Strangely, that’s the same thing I face with blogging.

    Right now I’m groaning at my blog as the newest post withers and dries up. The iPad post is so last Wednesday and even though it received a tremendous number of hits, now it’s about as useful and relevant as Jon Gosselin or The Octomom. When you write a book, people understand that it freezes your thoughts at the moment of publication; they don’t expect updates or tweets. Put your thoughts online and, POW, if you don’t have a pointed-hat-wearing-pony every couple of days, you too risk irrelevance.

    But what do you write about on the last day of January as a few melancholy snowflakes swirl around your neighbor’s chimney as seen from your study floor? How do you smack the occasional reader in the jaw with powerful prose that leaves a black and blue mark and makes them beg for one more hit? How do you interest even yourself?

    Oh, I suppose you could write about the moment earlier today where you sat on the floor crying with your daughter about how she’s growing up so fast and how, even though you’re so proud of her accomplishments, you sometimes in the pit of your psyche miss the little girl she once was.

    You could tell your blog about how even during these bleak times of only earning one seventh of what you used to earn, you still seem happier than you were before. No, your blog wouldn’t necessarily believe you, but maybe some of your readers would. If you believe it in your gut, they will, (at least that’s what you tell your magazine writing class).

    And Rodney, you might just want to openly opine about why you’re hesitating to attend an upcoming photo conference because you lost two photo editing jobs in 2009. But there’s a rawness there, a bit of an exposed nerve that hasn’t scabbed or scarred up enough yet.

    No, it’s best if you remain quiet and not write half-formed thoughts just to have something different or new or fresh. Just keep that funny Steve Jobs post there atop your blog and enjoy the few stragglers that wander in late to the party. Don’t open the barn door too wide, all the ponies could escape.

My Steve Jobs predictions

    If you're like me, you can't wait until Wednesday when Steve Jobs comes down from the mountain with his long-awaited tablet and issues our latest consumer commandments. What will the new Apple device be? What will it do? I've been channeling Nostradamus, (well, History Channeling him anyway), and have come up with a list of highly probable gadgets. Don't ask me how iKnow about these, iJustdo.

       The iStrain: It’ll actually be smaller than the iPhone. Look for the iStrain Nano in time for summer.

     The iHop: This fascinating device will be flatter than a pancake.

    The iRaq: It’ll cost you and your children and children’s children billions of dollars.

    The iSoscelese: Contrary to popular rumors, it’ll actually be triangular.

    The iKea: You have to put it together yourself.

    The iRonic: It’s the opposite of whatever you’re expecting.

    The iDo: A killer app automatically seeks out and proposes to your true love, even if you don't have one.

    The iOdine: Instead of costly medical procedures, just connect the iOdine to your bodily USB port, (sold separately), and await diagnosis.

    The iWitness: Since every news organization is shrinking, just turn this machine on and it will gather all the news in its own WiFi hotspot.

    The iMax: It’s 100 feet tall and 300 feet wide when unfurled but actually folds down to the size of an iTunes gift card.

    The iScream: A thrill ride/horror movie in one portable device.

    The iDea: A memory booster and IQ enhancer.

    The iOwa: It’s flat, corny and boring.

    The iMdb: It contains every movie ever made and interesting tidbits about Kevin Bacon.

    The iRs: This nifty machine will actually hide all your income in the iTunes Store.

    The iZod: It’ll be dressy, yet remarkably casual.

    The iUd: Uhhhh, nevermind.