When I was younger I wanted to be a lot of different things. I wanted to be an astronaut, for example. Later, in high school, I had no idea what I wanted to be, when I "grew up." People would ask me over and over again, and I'd have no real answer.

In college, I found things that interested me, Music, Anthropology, Film, Sociology, Science. I wanted to be all of these things, and could have, I suppose, if I'd applied myself more. My problem was, I wanted these things to come easily. I wanted to be paid well for these things, I wanted.. wanted.. wanted...

What do I want now? I still dream of being a "writer." But my writing is mediocre, at best. I'm at peace with this. Writing is a hobby, an artistic release, of sorts. I find peace gardening, creating little magical areas in my yard where pixies and fairies dance the night away. Right now, for a living, I'm not doing anything I learned in college. I'm at peace with that as well.

People search their lives looking for meaning, purpose, and their place in the world. People have existential crisis' in their heads. I've found my place, my purpose, my reason for existing. My place is with my wife and my boys. My place is being a dad. My place is right here, right now. Nothing more, nothing less.

I enjoy life now day by day, minute by minute. I roll with the changes and just let things happen. Oh, I still worry, it's in my nature. I still fear, but I try not to let it own me. I wonder if we'll have enough money for groceries when the three boys are teenagers. I wonder if we'll ever save enough for any of our kids to go to college. I worry about their safety, and all of that. But I have a reason, a purpose, and it is right here, right now. Nowhere else.

I hear that the world has continued on over the last two weeks or so...without me paying much attention. People have died, people have been born, people have carried on throughout.

I've been quite content to be in my shell, not paying attention to it all. Today, though, I'm out of my home for the first time in over a week. The world outside is overrun with news of bad things. They're carried on the airwaves of every news station I turn off. I listen to music instead...close out the hurt, the anguish, the cries of the dying...but only for a little while. I want to enjoy this moment, this second, here on Earth, as if it were a utopia.

But I cannot lie to myself forever. I'll be back soon enough, to think about those things that are bigger than me.

These are my eyes. I have never seen anything with them. Look into my eyes and see the mystery that is life.

Hello, world.

Labels: baby

Today at 10:59am at Sacred Heart, a boy was born. 9 pounds, 10 ounces. Mother and baby, and two older brothers (one shown here), are doing well.

More pictures at the flickr site...

Labels: baby

I like Scott. Him write good words and stuff. Him stuff make Toadman laugh, think, blow coffee on computer screen. Scott make Toadman laugh since Toadman was child. Toadman known Scott since, like, Toadman was 0 years old or so. Scott friend. Go read Scott. Him say something today make Toadman smile, and think. Him smart dude.

No baby yet at toadhouse. Will go make fire and cook raw meat over it for Toadgirl now so she make baby soon. You dance naked around fire in woods for us. Give us big luck.

You click here, you read, Scott make you laugh, and think. Him smart. Oh, I said that.

Labels: blog pimpin'

While we're all waiting for the big moment here at [synaptic disunion], (that being, the birth of our third child), please go visit my niece and read her latest blog post HERE. She's my oldest sister's youngest child, and is too smart for her little britches. She's graduating from the University of Texas at Austin with a degree in Linguistics and a minor in Classical Civilization. Sounds like super fun topics to me! But hey, I graduated in 1995 with a double major of Anthropology and Film Production, and a double minor in Music and Sociology. I know, I know.. I couldn't make up my mind...I'm weird that way about college.

Anyway, congratulate her on her accomplishment!

Her whole blog is here: Cast in the name of God, ye not Guilty

Labels: blog pimpin'

I have a treat for you all today. A guest post by talented bad boy blogger, Brando, who used to pen (or would that be pixel?) the now gone blog One Child Left Behind. I've been reading Brandon's work since not long after he first started. His stuff is often funny, often touching, but mostly written under the influence of the fermented juice of the agave plant, or so he says.

I am honored to present to you, here at [synaptic disunion], a guest post by one of the internet's most talented, and drunken, writers, Brandon Rogers (aka: brando. aka: ducky. aka:"someone call a cab for the guy who's just passed out on the couch").

TEENY BOPPER, by Brandon Rogers.
I've got a sort of teenager bouncing around inside my body of late, imbued, imbibed and imbosomed with the useless knowledge of backyard bird potpourri. I am like this flighty manchild, leaving my bags of seed unprotected from the neighbor's peeping tomcat, more concerned I am with devising practical jokes that aren't so much 'ha ha' funny as 'brouhaha' funny. They are practical only in the sense that the sharp pangs of longing momentarily replaced with the oohs and aahs of seeing an Orange-crowned Warbler for the first time bring me somewhat to my senses.

MY SENSES include traipsing into town with a friend, even though my mood, both physical and emotional can best be described as pneumonial. I'm a bit quiet along the ride. Phlegmatic, perhaps? I notice that my friend's gas gauge shows an empty tank and bright orange lettering warns something I can barely make out, but which no doubt translates to 'GET FUEL NOW OR PERISH IN THE CHAPARRAL.' The whole time he's chatting, I'm obsessed with how much is left in the tank, and it adds a dynamic I absolutely adore to the conversation: Will we die and/or have to walk? I think. I like this added intrigue to the discussion. Breaking down only once, I ask, "DO WE NEED TO STOP?" using the first person plural and exaggerated hand movements so that he knows we're in this together, wildly, to the end if need be. He waves his hand, 'Nah.'

People know their limits, cars' and otherwise. But especially cars. People know their cars better than they know themselves, and that goes for people without automobiles, bicycles or subway passes.

I recognize the sensation of being chauffeured, acutely aware of NO FUEL, and immediately link it to an equally thrilling phenomenon: coming up with something you desperately need to write down and finding a piece of paper, but no pen! Or finding a pen but no piece of paper! Or the worst, which surprisingly is not finding neither, but rather, finding a piece of paper AND a pen, but after the very first letter the ink dries up, and this is what you do, incomprehensibly:

1. shake pen
2. try again.
3. try once more, this time tracing the first letter, hoping the residue ink on the paper will break the seal and lead to flow.
4. shake pen
5. press as hard as you can into the paper and make a sound like a grunting prisoner 6. reach into your pocket and find you have two other pens and a pencil 7. forget what you wanted to write 8. retrace the one letter over and over until your food arrives 9. god 10. stupid

When I get home and clean out my pockets a day later, I find a restaurant receipt, and in the inkless impression I can barely make out the phrase THAT LONG SOUGHT AFTER BEATLES REUNION IS GOING TO BE A HELL OF A LOT EASIER ONCE RINGO DIES.

I have no idea, either.

In these kinds of times, I used to say, 'Well, I'm just not normal.' But now I have to remind myself that I'm perfectly normal, even surrounded by everyone else who acts exactly the same and does differently from me. That only proves I'm stubborn. How normal is stubborn? My point. My point being also that we are all God's experiment, and there is no Heaven for science toys. I wonder if God knows we dream? How could God know this, I wonder, having no concept of sleep Himself. Because the thought of a sleeping God frightens me beyond my capacity for fear. Or the fear of hearing my own voice in the perfectly good and once-used digital sound recorder I keep with me at all times because my magnetic force causes ink rivers to flow upstream, ink wells to dry up into thin air.

Ruminations of God signals sleepy-time for the teenager inside, and I look for a pen and a scrap of paper nearby, ignoring the perfectly good computer in front of me, even more afraid of committing what I want to write now to a larger world than I am of a God visited by dreams He later has to spend interpreting. Time He might spend being otherwise productive.

This is the first sentence I write, and I leave the rest to a stack of papers on my desk, to be moved and shuffled at a later time: What color was the sky when it started?

I have no idea, either.

I've added a little widget to this page that I think is nifty. I had it once before, but wasn't able to format it very nicely. Now it's back, in an updated and more readable format, for your viewing pleasure. Should you ever want to know what I'm listening to at my workstation throughout the day, just glance over to the right, and look under [synaptic tunes]! Enjoy!

* update: Some people are reporting that they are getting an error. I'm not sure why this is. I have tried this page on multiple platforms using multiple browsers, with nothing but success. I can only surmise that there is a caching issue at work here, which is sad, because people really need to know what I'm listening to, you know? heh...

* Additionally, please be aware that information tags on mp3s are not all created equal, and that the Artist, Album, Song sections of this widget will express these imperfections. We strive for perfection here at [synaptic disunion], but we rarely reach such lofty heights, so, well, I suppose we'll all have to hold hands and sing through our pain...

Labels: geektalk

I suppose it would be ok to occasionally write a chatty blog post. I don't normally do it, cuz, well, I've tried to make this blog better than that, you know? Still, just chatting has it's merits, so here goes...

I've been working my tail end off around the house. But it's all good. I'm sore, tired, but things are getting done. I've painted a downstairs room, hung a door, relocated a heavy computer desk, and gotten ready to put up a baby bed. Yes. All of this doing and putting and relocating is due to our impending arrival.

We have another doctor visit today, complete with sonogram to check on the size of the baby. Last week, the baby was already at 8 pounds or so. The sono tech said she could have been off one pound either way though. Our last baby was 9.5 pounds, so I'm not too concerned about toadgirl being able to give birth to another one of this size. But, the doctor seems over cautious, oh well. We will be firm, but not stupid.

Anyway, enough chatty twaddle for now I suppose. I've been considering "live blogging" the birth, what do you think?

Labels: baby, chatty