Scary Close

It has been more than three years since Donald Miller published his last book and I was jazzed when his most recent, Scary Close, came out. Each of Miller's previous books have been absolute treasures to me, filled with wisdom and truth that have consistently served to inspire me and to lift me up. Miller has a droll point of view, never taking himself too seriously, but able to relate to me as if we were sitting across from each other talking over coffee. His writings have helped me to learn more about how I want to live my life, how to be a good friend, and how to move away from the negative things that have sunk their talons into my flesh. In Scary Close we witness first-hand how Miller learned how his approach to relationships was designed to attract the multitudes for adulation while eschewing the intimacy of close relationships. As he grew frustrated with his approach to life that left him alone and isolated, he intentionally worked with counselors and close friends to understand how his personal defense mechanisms were actually putting up roadblocks that kept people from getting close to him. He was finally able to learn to be willing to impress fewer people to honestly connect with more.

Scary Close follows Miller in his courtship with his girlfriend as he worked to set aside his old false persona that was all bluster and self-defense. He learned how to develop intimacy with others such that he came to be the same person on the outside that he was on the inside. He learned how to allow others to feel safe in his presence by finally allowing himself to be honest with others. This taming of the Miller as it were, results in a noticeably more domesticated point of view compared to his more free-wheeling guy persona on display in his past books. Now Miller is more sensitive and measured as opposed to shoot-from-the-hip. More touchy-feely and less dive in and see what happens. More refined and less raw. More arugula salad and less grilled meat. However, he still has a way of presenting an approach to living that is inspiring and worthy of consideration. I enjoyed my time with this book.

Mozartkugel

Looking at the photograph accompanying this post, if you have a sufficiently sophisticated and refined palate, you will undoubtedly recognize the wonderful slice of heaven known as a Mozartkugel. If you were to carefully pull back the fancy foil wrapping, you would find inside a particularly delectable confection made of marzipan, nougat, and dark chocolate. The picture on the outer wrapping is of one Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, who is depicted because he was a chocolatier of quite some renown. A man feted for his technique with banishing the bitterness of the seeds of the cacao tree and for developing cutting edge procedures for proper fermenting of the beans encased within the seed pods. His secretive processes for drying, cleaning, and roasting these beans are unparalleled to this day. Ask any chocolatier and they will tell you that the fever surrounding Mozart's cacao nibs has never been duplicated. Mozart was well ahead of his time in lauding the healthful properties of chocolate, from its fantastic flavanol antioxidants, to its amazing alkaloids, to its soothing serotonin.

It is clear that when you have a passion for something, that one thing can become your legacy and your identity. ... Mozart? ... As he is depicted on fancy confections, must have been famous for discovering them. Right? ... Well, wrong. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart knew nothing about chocolate. He was a classical composer who lived in the mid-to-late 1700s. He composed over 600 pieces in the genre of symphonic, concertante, chamber, operatic, and choral music, many of which are considered by experts to be among the finest in these different categories. I wonder if Mozart would be frustrated to learn that some folks know nothing about his music and simply assume that he was only some candy maven. I don't know about you, but I would be more than a little frustrated if the impression that I left with people that I interacted with was completely opposite to who I am or what I would claim to be. However, sometimes we might think we are a fine composer, but everyone really only sees us as a candy maker. It could be that their impressions and opinions of us are completely wrong and ill-informed. However, it could also be that what they see is a much accurate reflection of who we really are. They might just have a much clearer perspective of us than we do.

Words of Radiance

The second sweeping epic in Brandon Sanderson's The Stormlight Archive is entitled Words of Radiance and picks up where the first part of the tale, The Way of Kings, ended. Kingdoms are under attack both from within and without. Forces on the outside control a deadly assassin, who has been tasked with killing the leaders of the lands. The Assassin in White is a being with mastery of the forces of the universe who appears to be unstoppable. From the inside, the highprinces of the land squabble and plot to fill their treasuries and to consolidate their power.

In The Way of Kings we met two men of principle and honor. Highprince Dalinar, the uncle of the Alethi king, has been receiving prophetic visions warning of the end of the age. Without truly understanding the details of what he has been given, rumors are swirling that the once mighty warrior is a craven who is losing his mind. Slowly he becomes convinced that his visions are true signs of what is to come and he works against those who would destroy him to try to save the kingdom and the people of the land. The other man that we have met is Kaladin, a man who was betrayed after saving his highprince and sent into slavery. Eventually he was forced into a troop of men who carry bridges out onto the Shattered Plains to allow access for the armies to cross between the different mesas. Using powers that he doesn't understand, he eventually saves the lives of Dalinar and his son. He and his bridgemen are then chosen to be the personal bodyguards of the king and Dalinar, along with their families.

The regular battles with the Parshendi, the race of warriors who live across the Shattered Plains, continue. They had claimed responsibility for sending the Assassin in White and the highprinces bonded together to defeat them. However, their thrist for revenge finally gave way to petty lusts for power and riches. The Parshendi eventually saw their numbers declining and in a last desperate attempt to defeat the humans, delved into the old magic to call forth a storm to destroy them. Relying on ancient prophesies, ultimately the Alethi people find passage into the long abandoned city of the protectors known as the Knight Radiant. The secrets of this city and the disappearance of the protectors of humanity must be learned if people are to survive.

The next part of story set for release in the first part of 2016 is tentatively entitled Stones Unhallowed. I definitely look forward to diving in the moment it is published.

In the News 10

While I have not touched an actual newspaper in some time, I do skim through the online news headlines each day. There is always something that catches my attention, whether it involves human conflict, a human interest piece, the sports wrap, or just the usual absurdities. In this series, I carve out a space for my opinions, reminiscences, or comments.

Little League Baseball - Last summer there was a feel-good story in the news about a plucky group of youngsters from Chicago that came out on top of the official Little League World Series. This team was not just your regular generic group of 8 to 12 year olds, but was a group of African-American kids from Chicago that were the great symbol that might ultimately stem the tide of decreasing numbers of black folks in baseball. Several months after the celebrations died down, it was found that the coaches had subversively stocked the team with ringers from areas well outside their jurisdiction. In a league with a long history of cheating and scandal, it is abundantly clear that the problem with youth sports is not the kids, but the adults. The team was stripped of its title on Feb. 11, 2015.

Jerry Tarkanian - The UNLV Runnin' Rebels were a force in Division I men's basketball in the 1980s. Year after year the teams were absolutely stacked with talent and they played a style saturated with showmanship and attitude. In direct contrast to the young guns out on the floor, their coach was a ringer for Uncle Festus on the Addams Family. He had a nervous habit of kneeling on the floor in front of his bench munching on a towel. Jerry Tarkanian was definitely the face of the team, a skilled coach, and more than a bit of an instigator, especially when dealing with the leadership of the NCAA. Jerry died on Feb. 11, 2015, the only person cut from the cloth that he came from.

Observations 84

My occasional blog series "Observations" was created to be an outlet to share a variety of topics that pop into my field of view as a result of a condition that many bloggers are afflicted with known as "blogger's eyes". In this state we view the world on the constant look-out for topics on which to write about. Today's blog came about from random odds 'n ends of things that I have noticed over the past few weeks.

• Who are these people who walk into your office, see that you are engaged on the telephone, and still try to have a conversation with you? Ahem, ..., wait your freakin' turn pal!
  
• In an online ESPN story the following appeared, "... texted that he would "smack TF out of" her, with "TF" interpreted to mean "the f---"." Does this clear it up for you?
  
• I came across a sweet story on the news where the parents of a newborn girl with a bright red birthmark got tattoos to match the birthmark of their child. This made me smile.
  
• The official creed of the United States Post Office is, "Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds." However, both times that we had snow this winter, the mail delivery stopped. Hmmm, and snow was the first thing listed in their creed. I would hate to see how quickly they give up when the rain, heat, and gloom comes.
  
• I just heard a radio spot for the U.S. Air Force focused on a list of American heroes. One of the heroes they listed was Lance Armstrong. Maybe the fine folks at the U.S.A.F. have not listened to the news for the past several years.
  

Michael

I am regularly amazed about how quickly "bad news" turns into just plain-old "news". On Monday mornings my group at work has a regularly scheduled meeting. The agenda includes announcements, reports of accomplishments and issues for the previous week, and overviews of project schedules. My group includes about 30 scientists and about 5 minutes before the start of the meeting, people begin to wander into the assigned room. As most of us have worked together for many years, there is quite a bit of comraderie and discussions of happenings from the weekend. This week's meeting started off with news that a technician from our group was found dead in his apartment. After a minute or so the available information was relayed and our group leader moved into the regular agenda for the meeting. From that point forward things proceeded along the regular same-old, same-old course. There were reports and discussions and laughter and business as usual. I was amazed that there was absolutely no remnant of the death announcement, no pall of sadness or loss over the proceedings.

As for me, I was left impacted by the loss. Michael worked in the lab space right below mine and I had to pass through his area to get to the stairs leading up to my area. I would say hello to him on my way and would regularly borrow tools from him. On Friday he came up to my area to look at some work that I had completed and we talked about my new process and we had an extended dialog about the work. When we were done he headed back off to his responsibilities and the last words that I said to him were, "Have a good weekend."

As of now, there has has been no news of the cause of death. However, I heard from one of the guys that worked more closely with him that he had been complaining of circulation problems recently. It is suspected that maybe he suffered a heart attack. When I went out to my lab after the meeting I lingered for a moment at his desk. Hanging on the wall were his reading glasses and a few personal items that brought him comfort. It was strangely quiet in that space and I felt uneasy about disturbing anything. His area was laid out as it always was, just waiting for him to come back. Goodbye Michael.

The Cursed Burrito

Woe unto me. Alas, I am undone, undone by a breakfast burrito. Yet I implore you not to feel pity for me as my troubles were, each and all, self-inflicted. Let me tell you my chilling, cautionary tale. Last Saturday morning I awoke early and got my shower. The warm water spraying down on me helped not only to cleanse me, but also to invigorate my spirit. By the time that I hung my cotton towel back on the rack, I was eager to face the new day. However, before I could climb that mountain or tote that bale, I first needed a nutritious breakfast. But in my frame of mind, a bowl of bland flakes or benign puffs would not do. I decided that I would endulge myself with a couple of scrambled eggs mixed with ham and cheese, wrapped in a gently steamed wheat tortilla.

About halfway through my burrito, I suddenly started to feel a bit full, so I willed myself to consume no more and I went about my day. Several hours later, after I had completed a number of chores and errands, it was past lunch time. However, I felt so completely glutted I was nearly compelled to swoon. However, I clung to my manly toughness and pressed on. At 5:00 p.m. my internal chronometer told me in no uncertain terms that it was time for dinner, but I still felt stuffed like the proverbial Christmas goose. By 7:30 p.m. I was growing concerned that my state of over-satedness would never ebb. I was frantic, beside myself with fright. Furthermore, I was getting kind of ticked off with my tummy's lack of ability to take care of business.

By 8:00 p.m. there was little change in my condition and I began muttering audibly to myself, gesturing wildly at my stomach. In a fit of pique I decided that vigorous exercise was called for, so I began fast-walking in a loop throughout my house. I continued for about 20 minutes until I felt like a fool. However, my tummy felt better. I was finally able to have a small snack before bed time. At that point I figured that I was once again master of my domain.

When I woke up the next morning my calf muscles were tighter than a gnat's arse spread over a jam jar. I have never been in such a condition. The pain was exquisite. I could not get my muscles to stretch out. When I walked I resembled a pirate swabbie comically hobbling around on two peg legs. Now several days later, my condition has not improved. I have become an object of ridicule and the brunt of jokes of the local school children. Next week I am definitely going to sleep in.