CPUnk I write right. Right? Aye.

26Dec/090

Santa didn’t make it this year — but he was here anyway…

Christ­mas day is over, 2009.  It’s very late at night, and as I went to put the kids to bed, I saw the rib­bon that is tied at the top of the stairs as an early morn­ing bar­ri­cade, hang­ing from a sin­gle knot, hav­ing done it’s job and been par­tially removed so kids could come downstairs.

For years, ever since our kids could walk, Santa has been the secret worker of mir­a­cles who tied that rib­bon, ever so qui­etly, at the top of the stairs.  That giant, bright red bow was always the first thing the kids would see when they woke up — a promise from a very won­der­ful per­son that not only had he been there and yes indeed it is Christ­mas!, but that they should stay where they were until mom and dad appear to bring them down­stairs.  That bow, more than any­thing else, means Santa to me.

When I was a young child — per­haps five or six — my brother decided to set me straight on Christ­mas.  I remem­ber it the way you might remem­ber the details of a car acci­dent.  Being an ancient seven years older than I, he called me to my par­ents bed­room one day while the folks were at work, and sit­ting on the cor­ner of their bed, he informed me of facts I won’t dis­cuss here.  My sis­ter had half-heartedly tried to stop him, and couldn’t believe he was doing it — but he did it any­way, and I was hurt by that.  To this day, I do con­sider it a self­ish act, and I don’t know why my child­hood had to be cut off like that at a whim.  I can still remem­ber the shock, and the hurt.  To this day.  I’m pretty con­fi­dent that he didn’t mean to do some­thing so severe.  But he did.  Right through my heart.

I didn’t real­ize until I was very much older that my par­ents, upon dis­cov­er­ing what he’d done — made a rule that as long as I wanted to hang stock­ings, we’d do the whole thing.  Every year, I’d be asked — well into my teens — and every year I’d just say “Sure, why not?” … not real­iz­ing that it had become some form of pun­ish­ment for my other sib­lings.  It wasn’t until I was some­where around 17 or 18 that I real­ized it — when my sis­ter yelled, “Oh come ON!” … I was unaware until that moment that I was a bur­den on their Christ­mas.  I never wanted to do stock­ings again after that — or much else regard­ing hope, inno­cence, child­hood, or imag­i­na­tion that involved trust.

So, when my kids were born, and Santa started vis­it­ing our house — I for one, was sur­prised to be ecsta­tic to have him arrive.  What a joy to have his foot­prints in our fire­place (lit­er­ally, one year, it would seem), to see the eaten cook­ies, to find scraps of eaten car­rots that had fallen from the roof and onto the lawn.  How great to just know that if my kids asked for some­thing specif­i­cally from Santa — it was all but guar­an­teed to be deliv­ered.  The ride has been won­der­ful, like sit­ting on top of a bag of toys, fly­ing through the sky, fear­less and open-heartedly embrac­ing the dan­ger­ous light­ing bolt called Joy.

But this is the year.  The one in which the ques­tion has been asked in earnest, and the expla­na­tions were given.  You do it to show that you can be trusted, because it’s time — but you don’t want to do it, I assure you.  Some­where, at the edge of my imag­i­na­tions, on a snowy bor­der between me and the fan­tas­tic — I thought a gate was gen­tly clos­ing again… but this time, I was happy to find out it hasn’t — this time, I think I finally got it.

As I reached up and untied the rib­bon, which is now just a rib­bon again — I real­ized that I’d been given a won­der­ful gift … a joy to cel­e­brate the arrival of such a great per­son for so many years; such a mem­ber of the fam­ily, such a per­son of Love.  I real­ized that while I have been forced this year to take the train­ing wheels off the fan­tas­tic notions that swirl around Christ­mas, I and my fam­ily are begin­ning a more sig­nif­i­cant jour­ney together regard­ing the true gifts of Christ­mas, the truly mirac­u­lous Per­son involved, the most won­der­ful Friend who will not leave or fade away.

In life, we are all so des­per­ate to grow up; that is, of course, until we’re old enough to be des­per­ate to regain our youth.  Things hap­pen to shat­ter our inno­cence, and things hap­pen to regain it … but through it all, one thing holds con­stant for every­one, belief or not — we want to know.

In walk­ing through these years with Santa, and shar­ing the Won­der and the Joy with my chil­dren, a part of me that had died too soon was res­ur­rected — and I under­stood, in the small­est ways, what it means to be whole again in places I thought I’d lost.  I cher­ish the time I’ve had in the snow with that won­der­ful man … and I cher­ish the fact that God made it pos­si­ble for me to have that piece of Joy for so many years, to find it again with my kids — deliv­ered by some­one as won­der­ful and real as Santa.

This Christ­mas, more than any other, I’ve dis­cov­ered that know­ing is a process of becom­ing more than you thought pos­si­ble, by accept­ing more than you thought rea­son­able.   What I know now is a Joy I didn’t know before, and that is an expe­ri­ence that can­not be taken away.

Faith is what Christ­mas has always been about, and should be about… it is not the process of prov­ing how much we’ve grown by dis­prov­ing all the del­i­cate dreams of the peo­ple around us — instead, it’s the process of show­ing just how mature we really are in embrac­ing those ideas that are so sim­ple to dis­credit in a ratio­nal world, but so invin­ci­ble when we let our hearts open just a little.

To know, I first had to believe … but when I couldn’t, I watched the Joy-filled eyes of my chil­dren believ­ing, and decided to believe because they did … and when I did that — I tasted true Joy.  To real­ize, in spite of all my jad­ed­ness, that I have truly received Joy, well that fills me with Won­der… and those two Gifts are mine to keep… for­ever — placed in my stock­ing by Some­one who Loves me, a lot.

There are plenty of ways to shat­ter a dream — plenty of ways to sneer, like an angry 12-year old boy, at the beliefs of oth­ers — but at the end of the day, it is only the ones who Believe that get to par­take in the Won­der and Joy of Santa… every­one else gets the lump of coal that comes from know­ing better.

So many peo­ple feel that the process of under­stand­ing the Mys­ti­cal comes first from know­ing and then believ­ing, that it is impos­si­ble to build a frame­work of trust­wor­thy pre­dictabil­ity if you don’t start with what you know and build out­ward.  But, while that may be true in things of real­ity, for things of the fan­tas­tic, the oppo­site is true.

In Faith, you must take the child-like step to Believe, even when it makes no sense … then, and only then, you may very well find your­self show­ered in expe­ri­ences you wouldn’t trade for the world.

So, for any­one, any­where, who looks up at the sky in the hopes of glimps­ing a face that mat­ters… Merry Christ­mas.  I, for one, can assure you — yes, He does exist…

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25Dec/092

Why Yoga is not a valid sport (or religion)

I have noticed more peo­ple mak­ing Yoga and I thought it would be good for me to make sure that peo­ple know, espe­cially for Christ­mas, that it’s not a reli­gion.  Then I real­ized that even more impor­tant than that is the peo­ple who think that it’s a real sport.  So in the name of every­thing Holy — I’m clar­i­fy­ing that it’s not a sport, and peo­ple who wor­ship Yoga should learn some­thing from this too.

1. Chil­dren do not do yoga because it is not fun

Admit­tedly, the absence of fun does qual­ify yoga for the def­i­n­i­tion of reli­gion, or reli­gious acts — but as we all know, all sports are based on some child­ish game taken to an extreme.  The Eng­lish game of Smash-bat, for exam­ple, is clearly a children’s game — but when peo­ple from Great Britain, like that Beck­ham guy, who’s mar­ried to Sporty Spice, who prob­a­bly has Yoga daily do it — it is not a game any­more — it is a sport.

Any game can become a sport — but a sport must have, at its roots, chil­dren hav­ing fun, so that angry men can play it for money later and hate each other on tele­vi­sion.  Yoga is not fun, and while it does talk about cats and dogs and other ani­mals in strange posi­tions a lot, it is not fun enough for kids.  Thus, it is not a sport… and since nobody would ever watch angry men on tele­vi­sion com­pet­ing for yoga points, it is not a sport again.

B. Yoga does not involve bells, chant­ing, or candles

All good reli­gions, and I’m exclud­ing the stu­pid ones, have at least one of the big three — bells, chant­ing, or can­dles.  Granted, yoga can hap­pen while peo­ple are chant­ing, but most peo­ple who dance yoga aren’t into chant­ing while they make it… same goes for can­dles.  I also fig­ure that since peo­ple are stick­ing their feet in their ears for doing yoga, they can’t spare a hand to ring a bell, so there are no bells in Yoga.  Since Yoga doesn’t have chant­ing, bells, or can­dles — it can’t be a real religion.

Third. I can’t per­form Yoga

Since yoga is all bendy and upside down, I can’t do it, I am likely too tall for yoga.  I can do reli­gion, I can do games that kids like — which also means that I can do sports — and since I can do those, but I can’t do yoga moves, I can surely tell that yoga isn’t a valid sport or religion.

Con­clu­sion

My sense is that even though yoga is a mar­tial art, and that’s cool — they don’t hit any­body, so that’s stu­pid — and a lit­tle gay.  But the bend­ing stuff can be cool, except that it hurts a lot, which makes it stu­pid again.  But mostly, with yoga being just some non-hitting mar­tial art, and not a reli­gion or sport — I won’t think about it on Sun­days, either dur­ing church (like sports), or after church (like reli­gion).  Merry Christ­mas (to all you non-stupid reli­gion­ers, and even you yoga users, too).

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10Dec/090

Signing up for the GMAT — or why I may hate Kaplan

I am study­ing for the GMAT in prepa­ra­tion for pos­si­bly apply­ing to busi­ness school.

Since I’m dry on my alge­bra (a squared minus 2ab plus b squared equals what?!!!) — I fig­ured it would be a very good idea for me to get a tutor… so I chose Kaplan, which is a nation­ally rec­og­nized test prep com­pany.  The jury is still out on whether that was a good idea.

Three weeks ago, I paid my fees, which were not insub­stan­tial, to get going on my tutor­ing.  The peo­ple at the Kaplan cen­ter (in the Uni­ver­sity Dis­trict), were nice enough — and they told me to come in for a diag­nos­tic test.

Cool — will do… I drove there in my truck, spent a long time try­ing to find a hole to cram my long-bed F-150 into around that school — and then went to take the paper test.

Please, sit right here, and fill out this bub­ble sheet.  Awe­some — I love me some bub­ble sheet… just like the old days.  Mind you, now the tests are all done by com­puter — and there are major dif­fer­ences in that … but for the diag­nos­tic, no prob­lem … I’ll just sit here in this room with these other peo­ple who are also tak­ing diagnostics.

Like this nice man next to me … who seems to need to talk to his friend in the next cubi­cle… oh wait — they’re just dis­cussing how to plug in his lap­top — using the power port on the other side of my cubi­cle … no — that’s fine — please run your power line across my feet — that’s ok … oh, am I dis­turb­ing you?  Mak­ing too much quiet and intrud­ing on your talk­ing?  Sorry … I’m just tak­ing a TEST!

Get up … head down the hall of the KAPLAN cen­ter in Seat­tle (have I men­tioned that this pain is from Kaplan?) — and get to the front desk.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry … but well — there’s two men hav­ing a con­ver­sa­tion in the test room?“
“What?!  Oh, I’m so sorry — we hate when they do that … let’s go up there and make them stop.”

Up we go.

“Excuse me, sir,”, said the nice young lady, “you really can’t talk in here.“
“What? I am with the mak­ing of talk?  I do not under­stand why for you are say­ing this to me.  Tell me, other man to whom I have been speak­ing, what is this she is say­ing.  Here, let me hang my head in shame, we will not speak loudly any­more — only softly.”

She turns to me.  “Would you like to fin­ish your test some­where else?”

“Yes.  Yes, I would.”

So, I head to one of the class­rooms (I am sorry, my friend — I was just about to use this for my noon-time prayer? Oh.  Sure.  I’ll keep mov­ing) … get to a room and start work­ing on my test.

In comes a guy to eat his lunch.  He’s quiet though — all is well.

Oh — wait — lis­ten to THAT.  The gig­gling, shriek­ing, laugh­ing, shout­ing, crazed stu­dents who don’t real­ize other peo­ple exist are run­ning up and down the hall­ways (all 20 of them) play­ing slap and tickle between the girls and the boys.  Isn’t that FUN???? Have I men­tioned that this is hap­pen­ing at the KAPLAN cen­ter in Seattle?

Well — what­ever, it’s only a diag­nos­tic any­way.  I did ok for no sleep, this sort of envi­ron­ment, and no prep (which was the sane plan — want a good diag­nos­tic of my “z” game as I called it).

So, I fin­ished that — got my score later (after a few bugs and hic­cups on the web­site that are too bor­ing, but stu­pid, to describe) — and they planned to get me a tutor.  At this point, it’s Novem­ber 18th or thereabouts.

Hav­ing dis­cussed the sit­u­a­tion with the tutor­ing coor­di­na­tor at the KAPLAN cen­ter in Seat­tle, I indi­cated that I was likely going to want to take the test in mid-December, so I can take it AGAIN if some­thing goes bad.  So, the coor­di­na­tor is under the impres­sion that I’m gong to take the test in mid-December, remem­ber that.

Well, a week later, I reach out and he’s indi­cated that the really good tutor might be able to wedge me into her sched­ule — awe­some.  She and I con­nect, and start talk­ing about sched­ules.  She’s under the impres­sion that my sched­ule is very inflex­i­ble, and that I have to start my test­ing in mid-December — so we bet­ter get at it!

But after we talk — we both real­ize that if I sign up for the Ulti­mate Prac­tice Test (a full-drill true test expe­ri­ence at the test cen­ter, sans real grade), we could see how I’m doing, so I can actu­ally sched­ule against my required due date, which is Jan­u­ary 8, 2010.  Mid-December was my home-made “prac­tice test” — but since they have this awe­some thing avail­able, the UPT, she and I can coor­di­nate a bet­ter sched­ule.  Super!

But she can’t start until Decem­ber 8, bogus.  But that’s ok — it’s worth it, we work it out, super.

Finally, Decem­ber 8 comes around.  She’s great — her name is Cat — really great, lov­ing it.  Her first day with me, she tells me that at this late date, I really should sign up for my actual test and the UPT — now!  Oh.  I was under the impres­sion there was plenty of time… and nobody said any­thing to me any­way … and hey, aren’t they under the impres­sion that I’m test­ing mid-December?  What?!!!

So I head to www.mba.com (blech) … and rapidly go to sign up on Decem­ber 9, 2009.

Fill out lots of intru­sive infor­ma­tion (Are you white?  Are you mar­ried?  How much money do you make?) … and then sub­mit your profile.

“Thank you for sub­mit­ting your pro­file.  You won’t be able to sign up for two busi­ness days while we process your pro­file… but here’s access to the things you can’t do yet.”

Umm… what?  Ok — let me call in.

“Hi, thanks for call­ing — it’ll take you 20 min­utes to answer our ques­tions — why don’t you just go online?”

What?!! I … what?  Seri­ously?  Ok — whatever.

Fol­low­ing day (today).  Email arrives.

“Thanks for sign­ing up for mba.com … you’re cleared to sign up for tests and stuff.”

Great.

So I head to the web­site to sign up.  Phew.  let’s take a look at the first week in January.

“Sorry, every­thing is just about booked — you can have an 8am test in one of these locations.”

Arg!  What?  8am?  In the morning?

Ok — well … let’s … oh, what’s this but­ton do?  Shows all avail­able for the week?  That’s inter­est­ing… click.

Mys­te­ri­ously, a time slot for 12pm on Jan­u­ary 8 appears (woot!)

Click THAT baby!

“Thank you for select­ing your time.  Would you like your scores sent online, or online and by mail?  Would you like your reports sent online?  Would you like your sched­ule sent online?”

Hmm… I think I’d most likely like to get the scores online and in the mail… that makes sense.  Let me think about these other ones.  I guess … oh, I’ll just leave the defaults — that’s ok.

“Thank you for mak­ing your selec­tions.  Please enter your credit card information.”

Rum­mage, rum­mage — where’s my credit card… ahh — ok … type type type … there you go, mba.com.

“Your sched­uled appoint­ment isn’t com­plete yet!  Please con­firm the infor­ma­tion below, check the ‘I accept’ but­ton, and then continue.”

Sure — no prob­lem.  I accept.  Click.

“I’m sorry — that time is no longer avail­able, please sched­ule another time.”

What??!!!!! The extra 2 min­utes I took to fill out your forms lost my seat?  Are you kid­ding me?

Ok, ok ok … give me 8AM.

Final­ize order.  Begin email to my tutor (the only con­tact I have at Kaplan).

“Hey!  Arg.  Nobody told me (for the three weeks I was in con­tact with Kaplan) that I should sign up for my test.  I’m barely squeak­ing in at 8am — this sucks.  Why didn’t any­body tell me?!!!”

Ok … well, she had instructed me to sign up for the UPT a week prior to the actual exam.

Umm… how do I do that.

Head to KAPLAN.  Look at my syl­labus.  In there is a line about sign­ing up for the UPT.  Click.

“Here’s an expla­na­tion of how you need to do this.  We don’t have any per­ti­nent data for you — just an expla­na­tion that you need to do this.  Over at mba.com/kaplan.  Have a nice day.”

arg… ok … mba.com/kaplan

“Please fill out your information”

Mr. … Mal­colm … Mead … etc…

“Have you taken this test before? [yes/no] … please include your KaplanID”

No. Click.

“You can­not pro­ceed with­out a KaplanID, which you will find in your syllabus.”

Um… what?

Ok — flip back over to KAPLAN.

“You have to fill out your UPT appli­ca­tion at mba.com/kaplan — you’ll need your KaplanID, which you will find above this section.”

Above this sec­tion?  I’m on a pop-up page … there’s no above here … this is all there is?

Email tutor:

“Arg … how do I find my KaplanID?  This is insane.  Why is this so painful?  I’m really pretty ticked off now. –Malcolm”

Check my email records — ahhh… here’s my receipt with my Enroll­ment ID … phew.

Back to mba.com

Copy/Paste.

“I’m sorry — that’s not a valid KaplanID — you will need to find it in your syllabus.”

Back to syl­labus (at this point I have about 6 or 7 win­dows open slam­ming back and forth try­ing to find info).

Oh — thank God!  Here’s some­thing marked “infor­ma­tion about sign­ing up for your UPT”

Click.

In the janki­est plain-text look­ing puke lan­guage pos­si­ble (read, writ­ten by a coder, not a web-developer), is a para­graph that bab­bles about tak­ing steps .. and here’s your KaplanID (which is some­thing like 12012398230.asadf23423).

Copy/Paste into mba.com

“Thank you for reg­is­ter­ing for your UPT.  What dates would you like?”

Jan­u­ary 1, or thereabouts.

“I’m sorry — we don’t have any­thing avail­able on those dates, nor do we have any­thing avail­able where you will be tak­ing your actual test.  Here are some 8am tests slots in other test cen­ters … ha ha … you should have applied sooner, you over­charged loser.”

Great… umm…

grrrr.…

Skip it.  Write another email to the tutor.

“What is the MATTER with these peo­ple?  Arg! –Malcolm”

Get home — fully amped.  Feel­ing agi­tated and mis­er­able because of KAPLAN.

Kathy tries to hose me down — no good … gotta lock myself in the study.  Get away from her and the kids — no inno­cent bystanders.

Fume, rage, fume, rage … call 1800-KAP-TEST

“Thank you for call­ing — please nav­i­gate an ardu­ously long-winded voice­mail tree.”

Beep — boop — beep.

“Thank you for call­ing — your call is impor­tant to us.  Your call will be directed to the next avail­able operator.”

*click*

What?  Hello?  What?!

GRRRR!!!!!

Call 1800KRAP-TEST again.

“Thank you for call­ing — please nav­i­gate an ardu­ously long-winded voice­mail tree.”

Beep — boop — mistakeboop.

*click*

SERIOUSLY?!!!!

Call again!

“Thank you for call­ing — please nav­i­gate an ardu­ously long-winded voice­mail tree.”

Beep — boop — beep.

“Thank you for call­ing — your call is impor­tant to us.  Your call will be directed to the next avail­able operator.”

Wait … wait …

Real per­son, “Hello, thank you for call­ing Kaplan.  Our offices are closed right now — would you like me to take a mes­sage for you?”

“Yes please?  I’d like to file a complaint.”

“Oh, ok — please describe the com­plaint?  What’s your phone number?”

I give all the info — hang up.

Let’s go check mba.com again — because I’m twisted.

Sched­ule GMAT — click

Review avail­able dates.

“There is a slot open in North­gate on Jan­u­ary 8, 2010 at 12pm”

WOOT!  Scream out loud — “Honey, help!  I need my wal­let RIGHT NOW … run!”

Kathy comes run­ning in, grabs my wal­let — I reach over and pull every­thing out of it onto the floor, scat­ter­ing it across the floor “just get the gray card — get it now!”

She hands me the card.

Type fast — fly fin­gers fly!

Click — yes, I’ll choose defaults for deliv­er­ies — here’s my card infor­ma­tion — sub­mit request … oops, didn’t click the “I accept” ok — check the box — click!  Woot … it’s saying…

“I’m sorry, you already have a test sched­uled on this date — you can­not sched­ule two tests on the same date.”

AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHH!!!! (I think I actu­ally said that as I screamed across the house).

I screamed enough that Kathy came over from the din­ner table qui­etly and closed the doors to the study.

I was just try­ing to resched­ule — where do I do THAT?!!!!

Find an innocu­ous link called “View Appoint­ment Activ­ity” — what­ever THAT means.

Oh — there’s my reg­is­tered 8am … it has a resched­ule but­ton!  Woot!

Click resched­ule.  What’s your avail­abil­ity for Jan­u­ary 8?

“I’m sorry — 12pm is not avail­able on that date.  Would you like 8am?”

Ok … for those that know me — I’d just like to point out that I did not throw either my phone, nor my lap­top at this moment.

I just screamed — a lot… in a room with closed doors.

No pro­fan­ity though — just screaming.

Defeat.

Despair.

Leave the room — go to din­ner.  I’m recall­ing that I bumped into the avail­able 12pm because I’d expanded my search to include Ore­gon and Canada — the 12pm is still in North­gate — but I had seen it due to des­per­a­tion is all.

Din­ner is over.  Chris calls.

“Hey man — how’s it going?”, he asks.

“Pain … suf­fer­ing… despair — you?”

“Just work­ing.”

I aim­lessly nav­i­gate mba.com — see­ing if I can find that resched­ule but­ton again — maybe over the next week I can just poke and poke and poke at it — like at Tick­et­mas­ter for a good show.

Oh — right, it’s eas­ily found under “View Appoint­ment Activity”

Chat­ting with Chris.

Resched­ule — click.

“There is an appoint­ment avail­able at 12pm at North­gate on Jan­u­ary 8″

At this point, I think what Chris hears is some­thing like:

“Ohmigodohmigodohmigod … dude — I can’t explain — just can’t talk — I gotta do some­thing … where is it?  Gotta get it — I need my card … I can’t explain man — gotta move fast … look out!”

Chris described it later as sound­ing like I was play­ing an online video game.

Well — I scored the 12pm slot on Jan­u­ary 8, 2010 … only cost me an extra $50 for the resched­ule (an hour later).

Should I hate KAPLAN cen­ter in Seat­tle?  I’m not sure yet.  They should have told me to reg­is­ter weeks ago.

I mean … what if I actu­ally was tak­ing the test in mid-December?

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