Melissa and Neil in Salado

Wood drastically underestimates the impact of social distinctions predicated upon wealth, especially inherited wealth

I wish I could suffer fools better. Usually, I'm fairly tolerant unless something is especially egregious; then, like Will Hunting, I don't know how to let go.

We were in Waco over the weekend attending Melissa's grandmother's wedding. Naturally, we met her new husband's middle-aged children and their college-aged kids. The family, all Aggies, except for one daughter, mentioned to Melissa and me their family's annual Thanksgiving divide while watching the game. We knowingly nodded and mentioned how difficult it will be deciding how to dress our kid - either in burnt orange or maroon. The daughter recalled dressing her child in a maroon top and orange bottoms, or vice versa.

At this time, her college-aged kid came over, overheard part of the conversation, and mentioned a line of clothes called A House Divided. They sell onesies, t-shirts, and all sorts of clothing with the colors and logos of adversarial universities. We mentioned we had seen some Texas/A&M clothing and even some Texas/OU clothing.

The kid then says, "Texas/OU? That's weird. That's a fairly new rivalry but Texas and A&M have hated each other for a long time."

Luckily, we were still inside the church and Melissa guided me away before I could say anything.

Next morning, I was watching ESPN and they were previewing the Lakers/Celtics championship. I wish I was paying more attention so I'd have some names.

Anyway, the sportscaster, who just happened to be female, showed a picture of Bird followed by a picture of Magic. The voiceover then said, "Celtics. Lakers. It was with Larry Bird and Magic Johnson that this rivalry began." I couldn't hear anything else because my head caught fire.

Gordon Wood just published a book titled The Purpose of the Past: Reflections on the Uses of History.

Knowing something about anything that happened prior to our own birth is sometimes useful.

Strangers in the Aisles Exchanging Glances

My thoughts are these: if I didn't mind them being strangers, I'd make them all my friends.

Typically, I make trips to the supermarket void of any human contact. From finding products on the shelves to trading my dollars for these wares, I don't have to speak or interact with another unless I choose so. And I rarely do.

When I stopped for dinner tonight, I was still on the phone with my brother. Walking in right behind me was a lady who appeared to be about my age; she was talking on her phone.

Typically, I need to not talk on the phone while at the store. Though I have a written list of everything I need to buy, I tend to wander around the store if I'm caught up in conversation, even visiting the same aisle twice. Not only that, I don't always buy exactly what I came in for. Once, I came home with creamed corn instead of kernel.

Anyway, I noticed this lady several times within the store, both of us still on our phones. Like me, she'd pick up something, walk to the other side of the store, and return for something else that could have been picked up on the first visit. A few times, we shared knowing glances of being caught up in conversation and not paying attention to the task at hand.

Just as I ended my conversation, I found myself walking down the same aisle as her. By coincidence, she was ending her own conversation. As soon as I said, I'll talk to you later, she, in her own conversation said, Okay, I'll talk to you soon. As we put our phones away and casually laughed at our science insusceptible, logic so inflexible, she wondered aloud if perhaps we were unknowingly talking to each other on the phone. If we were, I replied, I sincerely apologize, ma'am.

Though people still are strange even when they are strangers, every once in a while, I don't mind the faces that come out of the rain.

Reclaiming My Manhood

After six rounds, I still didn't see any bullet holes in my target.

For a second, I thought about shooting at Chris' target. If he got mad and said something, I'd just say, "Hey, I'm sorry buddy- I thought I was, uh, shooting at that S.O.B. Kennedy."

Everything is either a joke or a movie line. Occasionally, it may even be a joke from a movie line. Point is, there isn't much I take too seriously.

I previously mentioned Brian; he's Dallas Police Department and the reason I was in the position I was in. He grew up in Mesquite and went to college at Texas Lutheran. Point is, he's redneck through and through. Which means he likes guns.

Sunday morning, Brian, Larry, Chris, and I went to Garland to a shooting range Brian frequents twice a week. Larry needed to sight his scope, mine had never been sighted, and Chris and Brian just wanted to shoot some stuff up. We were still feeling bad from the time we took Brian out to play his first round of golf a few months ago. We needed to do something on his turf, something he could organize.

I hadn't fired a live round since high school. But for the occasional BB gun, I hadn't fired anything in a very long time.

Not that I think they are the exception, but the place Brian took us to is very serious about safety. The range is an open field with targets on the far end and booths on the other. About five feet behind each booth is a painted strip. Every fifteen minutes, the range calls a cease fire. Once it is called, everyone must step clear the chamber, open the bolt, and stand behind the stripe. After that, everyone is clear to walk to his target without touching anything on the booth. Upon returning behind the stripe, the range calls off the cease fire and everyone is free to shoot again. I found the regimen quite comforting, actually.

Anyway, I was a bit nervous loading my rifle. Like I said, it had been over fifteen years that I had squeezed a trigger. After shooting six rounds, I looked to see if I had hit anything. Nothing. I looked at the targets next to me and saw holes scattered around them. I didn't say anything for fear of being made fun of. I eventually told myself that the scope must be off, but I don't know enough to try to adjust it myself.

After the first cease fire and confirming that my target was still fully pristine, Chris offered to sight it in. I prayed his first shot would miss paper as well. Half a dozen shots later, he still hadn't figured it out. Brian took his turn and didn't hit paper, either.

While Brian messed around with my rifle, however, I shot his; his is a .30-06, mine a .243. I've always been comfortable with my vision and I was able to control my breathing. After unloading eight rounds, I knew they all hit their target, one landing in the eye. I could walk the football field's length and retrieve the target with pride.

It was a fun day spent with the boys. Especially experimenting with Brian's AR-15, the civilian model of the military-issued M16.

Now that the days are longer and the weather is warmer, I'm looking forward to the next outing, whatever it turns out to be.

From The Weekend

- I've never really had a decent watch. For the longest time, until I decided I should start acting like an adult, I never wore one; even then, it didn't change the way I acted, only the way I looked. I never put much money into a timepiece. My last watch set me back $20 and lasted almost four years.

Through some admitted user error, it broke last February. Since then, I have used my hiking watch which is perfectly appropriate for wilderness trails and deserts but less appealing at art galleries and symphonies.

So I started looking at the watches worn by my brothers-in-law. I can't spend on a watch what family members have spent on a car. Last night, however, I went to the mall with Melissa and Hilary and bought a watch that should last at least the next ten years.

And I only had to spend on this what I've previously spent for a suit.

- My life has become a cliche.

Yesterday, the boys went to the shooting range while the girls stayed home and worked on the nursery and went shopping.

Also, I think it's the first time in my life I've ever said, "I need to run out and get more shells."

- Two weekends I was sick. One of those weekends coincided with the fitness center putting down new flooring. Then two weekends in a row passed with various family commitments. That's how long it's been since I've been to a yoga class.

My legs and back started to tighten up and I knew I was only one awkward move away from throwing my back out. After yesterday's session, I'm quite sore but can at least touch my toes once again.

Also yesterday morning, we were in the middle of a a move that took more strength, balance, and dexterity than I could muster. Selena, the instructor, intended to tell us to finish it off by extending the pointer fingers. Instead, she mistakenly instructed to extend the middle fingers, which I think is what everybody wanted to do in the first place.

- Some friends of ours had a housewarming party last night. We've know Christy for ten years and Jeremy for about four, when he started going with her to Christmas parties and other work-related events.

When Christy first told me of their get-together, I mentioned that after three years, it was too late for us to welcome people to our home; besides, I added, I'd have to let people in my house and talk to them. Of course, I was joking (or was I?). Christy nodded her head in agreement and said that was exactly Jeremy's argument.

Last week, Christy told me she was in the back yard and met the neighbors over the fence. She was excited at meeting those who share a neighborhood. Jeremy was less than thrilled and told his wife she needs to stop being talking to people.

I think we'll get along just fine. And I changed into my party clothes.

All In The Family

The family is expanding.

And once Bocephus arrives, he'll have many names to learn quickly.

Even then, he'll have to differentiate two Uncle Eric's (actually, one is an Erik), two Uncle Brian's, and two Uncle Chris'.

Jenny has been married for eight months to Erik. Brooke is in a serious relationship with Brian that is headed that way. Even Chris has a Callie friend whose parents he has met, I understand, at a hockey game. Quite an auspicious beginning, based on my own history. Not to be left out, Nikki is on-and-off with the Foz and Hilary is playing the field.

I mention all of this because of a series of events from a few Sunday's ago. Larry, Brian, and I were in the kitchen cleaning. Brian, as he is quite capable of doing often, said something stupid that got him in trouble with Colleen. While Colleen tore into Brian, I couldn't help but chuckle and watch with delight. Larry asked me if I was amused and I responded that I felt like the old dog with a bunch of pups running around.

Before that incident, we were all talking about how several months ago when Erik got The Talk with Larry. He did something stupid, as he is quite capable of doing often, Jenny told Colleen, Colleen told Larry, and Larry and Erik had a little conversation. I feigned jealousy at never getting that talk, the one that occurs between disappointed father-in-law and chastised son-in-law.

Each Sunday evening, Melissa and I watch Brothers and Sisters. It's not great, but has some redeeming qualities. Mostly, I watch it because it reminds me of my in-laws. It's a show where somebody's cellphone is always ringing to update with the latest gossip and the men involved with a family member suddenly become invisible when drama shows up on the front door, which is always.

And I'm becoming one of them.

A few weeks ago, Jenny left what turned out be a completely innocuous voice message on Melissa's phone. What threw us off, however, was when she told Melissa to call her back immediately. Melissa off-handedly speculated that she was probably pregnant. Suddenly, my acquired propensity for family gossip kicked in. We called Brooke - nothing. We called Colleen - she was happy over the phone but nothing. Chris, nothing. Jenny didn't answer her phone and we didn't hear from her for the rest of the weekend. Obviously, the gossip ended up where it started - with nothing.

Temperance Versus Tolerance

Sarah Brown: Let us help you not to lose your money
in gambling dens and bookie joints.
      
Gambler: This doll has captured my attention.

Brown: Let us give you strength to stop drinking.

Gambler: She has lost me.

SB: Welcome to the Save-A-Soul Mission.

Another uniform election passed this past weekend. Like much of everything else in life, almost everything has changed but all remains the same.

Other than the normal obligation I feel to vote, particularly in local elections, there wasn't much incentive. They mayor's race was not going to be close; none of the city council candidates inspired me. One could have, but his literature boasted of a family of four while the photograph only showed three of them.

I get e-mail alerts from the county election office that I could follow while watching the Red Wings take control of the Western Conference Finals.

Like most municipal elections, turnout was lousy. In my county, it was 7.16%.

And Melissa still won't take my dares. I tried to get her to ask an election clerk where we need to caucus for Obama.

Frisco, in addition to electing school board and other municipal officers, voted down a proposal to extend serving hours until 2 a.m.

Despite the fast growth of the past five years, Frisco still seeks to maintain it's Smalltown, U.S.A. image. I'm glad the ISD will build enough high schools to maintain all of them at a 4A classification with the UIL. All things being equal and based on current construction, our kid will never have to travel more than two miles to attend school until he goes off to college.

This vote, straight out of 1919, however, pitted economics against personal morality. The economics-first camp expressed concern that tourism, a substantial and still growing industry in Frisco, will suffer at the hands of a defeated proposal. Their line of reasoning is that out of town convention-goers will not choose Frisco hotels if they aren't allowed to drink past midnight. The morality-first camp countered that streets will soon be filled with drunken teenagers swerving down the streets when they should be safely tucked in their beds and that the only new business Frisco will attract will be strip clubs and prostitutes.

I may not know a lot, but I do know that tourism increases the collection of local sales taxes. Sales taxes counterbalance property taxes. An increase in the former typically effects a flatline in the latter. If it comes down to spending your money or mine, guess which one I'm choosing first.

The 2000 Collin County census counted less than 800,000 persons and the county is still under home-rule law. Because it is under that population threshold, individual cities are allowed to set restaurant's serving hours. Anything above that threshold, which Collin is expected to be after the next census, and state law takes over. The only glitch is that Frisco lies in two counties and will probably result in half closing early and half staying open for two more hours.

In the end, the point is moot.

I can't even remember the last time I've see the clock read 2 a.m. I just hate people telling me what I can and what I cannot do, even though it would otherwise have no effect on the behavior I would otherwise choose for myself.