Kidney stones and the people who love them

Last week at the gym I did a pretty exhaustive oblique/lower back set. The next day I was sore and it wasn't really comfortable to sit or stand. And then someone jokingly punched me in the lower back. And then the next day I was at a park and someone errantly threw a frisbee which carried for about 50 yards before hitting me in the kidney. Right in the kidney.

Which all reminded me of when I passed a kidney stone in 2004. And then of a year later when I passed another one.

Those were pretty traumatic experiences. You'll know what I'm talking about only if you've ever birthed a child or had a kidney stone. Or if for some other reason you woke up in a cold sweat and were so hysterical that, after debating whether knocking yourself unconscious using the lip of the bathtub was the best option (a close second), you laid down in the most disgusting area on earth -- the space between the toilet and the shower -- and tried to fall back asleep. And then after that didn't work you drove yourself to the emergency room (the drunk and the drugged are incredibly superior drivers to those with a migrating kidney stone), where you signed paperwork while jumping around and crying and screaming, and then rotated between sitting and standing and laying down and running/walking circles around the room while people with minor head wounds jumped you in the queue.

The second time was more familiar and I kept it more intimate. Just me in the bathroom, vomiting and dryheaving and hoping that I would pass out or die.

Those were the days.

P.S. A funny thing to do is to call the ballhog on your pickup basketball team Kidney Stone -- because s/he never passes the rock.

Lifetime statistics

I currently have a little streak going: I've worn a suit for 12 consecutive weekdays (a lifetime statistic I hope never to replicate or better). This got me thinking about other lifetime statistics. I wish these were compiled somewhere. An international public libreric. Hah. I modified another word. See how easily I did that?

Back to the subject of the post. As an example here, I'm wondering how many goals I've scored (+4 based on a pretty nifty pick-up outing in the park on Saturday). How many times have I half-tripped, and then turned around and looked menacingly at the crack that tripped me? How many quarts of homemade applesauce have I consumed? How many times have I fallen asleep while riding on public transportation? How many times while sleeping on public transportation have people made fun of me?

To take it a step further (this topic was breached in an earlier post) -- where do I rank all time in these categories v friends and v the world. Am I tops at anything, or in the top percentile? I'm sort of convinced that I scored the first goal in 1994. As the clock turned to midnight, I unleashed a ferocious shot at the Goshen College Rec Center. I'm thinking it hit the back of the net at around 12:00:01. Maybe it was even faster. Maybe it was 11:59:59, in which case it would've been the last goal of 1993. Still not a bad trophy to put on the mantle in your gameroom. If I had a mantle or a gameroom.

This sort of all goes along with me being a nostalgic person in the present moment. And I'm not just interested in magnitude or in historicals, I'm also interested in real-time stats and projections. Like when I'm hanging out with someone, I'm also thinking about how many hours I've spent with them, and how many hours I'll spend with them in the future. Imagine walking by someone in the street and seeing a stat sheet hovering above their head that listed these kinds of things. You'd realize that it would be the last you'd see of some people, and that some casual or new friends could end up being the people you know the best when it's all said and done.

If this isn't stuff you've ever thought about, then forget I ever brought it up.

Oh and a lifetime highlights video would be nice too.

I wonder how many song lyrics I know.

I wonder how many times I've made a reference to Brad Miller's diminutive stature.

I wonder where Brad Miller ranks in terms of shortest people ever.

Summer!

Summer has finally arrived in London. It's expected to last for at least the next 10 days - 2 weeks.

Speaking Briton

Grosvenor = grovener
Leicester = lester
Berkeley Square = barclay square
Davies = davis
Thames = tems
Bath = bauth
Derby = darby
Edinburgh - edinburrow
Holborn = holeburn
Marylebone = marleybone
[West India/Heron/South] Quay = key
Gloucester = glosster
Tottenham FC = wankers

Dangerous things!

1. Umbrellas - already discussed. With this being the rainiest "summer" in the history of the UK, my opinion has only been reinforced. I love Rihanna, and I love her new song, but if I were to follow the directions of her lyrics in literal fashion, there is no doubt in my mind that I would lose at least one eye in the process. Because if you're of average height, you're holding the umbrella (ella-ella-eh-eh-eh) at my eye level and if you're like every person who's ever held an umbrella, you're not keeping tabs on where all 50 stretchers (yes, the little bendy-expandable frame wires that carelessly extend the rib (cover) are called "stretchers") are jutting out to as you hurry down the street. Also I got a pretty bad accidental knock to the knee by someones goose-headed wooden crook.

2. Revolving Doors - even the actual utility is still a mystery to me. What possible advantages are there to regular doors apart from climate control? These can be dangerous too, in kind of a passive-aggressive way. Plus they're heavy and clumsy and I don't even want to think about getting caught up in one. Those in the know usually bypass them for regular doors.

3. Free biscuits (cookies) and tea/coffee at business meetings -Probably only really dangerous if you average 3 or more meetings per day and you have no self-control. Or an alternative to having no self control would just be that you're from a cultural upbringing that encourages thriftiness, not limited to but certainly including eating all free food, drinking all free anything, and the occasional washing, storing and re-using of ziplock bags.

Freakin Weeken. Amen.

Going to the prom, maybe

I never went to the prom in High School. We went to "Banquet" -- a much tamer (more sober, less rubber), much more Mennonite version of prom. Instead of dancing we ate supper.

And yes I realize that even saying supper instead of dinner geographically identifies me as a simple Midwesterner.

Well turns out I might go to one tomorrow. I'll probably wear a silver sequion suit and just do it up proper.

Döner Kebab v Shawarma

I'm not going to give you the entire history here (Wikipedia can provide that), but I will give you a quick summary and the consensus opinion on which is better (consensus provided by me).

While döner kebabs are more easily found in London (preferred by Turkish kebab shops, which are plentiful), shawarma's (the Arabic translation for döner kebab, are preferred by Lebanese kebab shops) are clearly superior -- they taste better, they're more easily transported, they're easier to eat.

Döner kebabs are available everywhere and they're cheap. But eating one while walking is a logistical nightmare -- even if ordered properly: small, wrapped, open, and late at night while you're wandering around aimlessly or waiting for the night bus. The pita bread is more like a taco (hard taco, in terms of coverage: 3/4) on a döner, whereas the pita bread on a shawarma is more like a burrito. You see what I'm getting at.

Another tip: if the shop is nice, go lamb; if the shop is dodgy, go chicken. Mix at your own risk.

Thanks for asking.

Sorry for being redundant again

I just realized that I alluded to things 'getting better' in each of the last two posts. I must really be on a good trajectory right now.

Other things I've realized recently:

1) That in regards to ironing shirts, it's too bad that the easiest part to iron is the back, which really accomplishes the least.

2) That people who can fold fitted sheets flat will always impress me.

(I'm in some sort of domestication phase.)

3) That HBO's new show Flight of the Conchords -- which I've seen two episodes via iTunes -- is absolutely brilliant. If I could be anything in the world, I would be the writer for a show like that... well actually I would have a show on NPR's global equivalent (PRI) -- a sort of variety show (Garrison Keillor/This American Life combo) with skits and story telling and music and it would bring out our similarities and heal the world. And then second to that I would be in a band like Arcade Fire or Broken Social scene. But thirdly I would want to write a hilarious TV show or movie. I did write a movie, I'm just not sure how hilarious it is.

Does this ever happen to you?

Facebook goes down, and you're completely incapacitated for a few minutes? That's happening to me right now.

Guess I'll head to the gym. It's upper back today in week 3 of my 'look-like-Brad-Pitt-circa-the-movie-Snatch' workout. So far, so good. Last time my Aunt Karen saw me with my shirt off she was impressed that she couldn't see my ribcage. Things have only gotten better.

I bought a toaster

So now I can prepare any of my top 4 dishes, toasted.

The good times just keep getting better.

Iberian picture show

Here are some pics from the last few weeks. If you're somewhere cold or rainy (like I am now), it might be best to stop reading now. Also, one of the captions may or may not give away the ending of the most recent Harry Potter book.

All pictures were taken by me using this camera.

Lagos, in The Algarve, Portugal (can easily be confused with Lagos, Nigeria). It's a really beautiful region.

Just beaches and hot bods.

Next I went to this villa in São Brás de Alportel (still in The Algarve).

Albufeira. Also in The Algarve. There were several women on these beaches who FORGOT HALF OF THEIR BIKINI.

Madrid.

A classy restaurant called The Ham Museum, and Real Madrid's stadium.

SummerCase Music Festival.

Portuguese sounds kind of like Russian sometimes, and kind of like French other times. The Spain Spanish-with-a-lisp thing will always bother me a little, but life's a compromise. Salud.

I deserve this weekend

This week in statistics:

16 meetings
2 cities (Madrid and London)
39*2=78 handshakes (one coming and one going - I'm destined for a cold)
4 taxi rides
13 trips on the Tube
6 trips on the DLR (Docklands Light Rail)
10 complimentary bottles of water
1 cup of tea
3 cookies

Assuming the meetings lasted about an hour each and that I talked for about 75% of each, that means I talked for 720 minutes or about 12 hours. About pretty much the same stuff over and over again.

Next week I have 17 meetings. My life is incredibly difficult.

Testimonials from houseguests at the 191

"The flat was really pretty clean, surprisingly. Unless you look really close. And it's really a nice flat. Unless you look really close."
-- Ashley Kraybill

"The aerobed slept like a dream, eh? And we were given cheese and juice before bed, which caused me to have strange dreams aboot strange things."
-- Allan Reesor-McDowell

"It was a little bizarre that there wasn't any silverware or plates, but I managed to cook an entire Mexican buffet using only aluminum foil and chopsticks. No problems with the kitchen appliances though -- they're ace."
-- Anisa Garnett

"I was forced -- even tricked -- into watching soccer, or whatever they call it in that cold, rainy city. So I mostly just sulked. The place was nice though and I can't complain about the stocked fridge. Or can I?"
-- Ashok Tholpady


Now accepting reservations for people whose names start with letters other than "A".

Foodie

I've learned my lesson once and for all regarding: ordering food from a menu I can't read.

Last weekend in Madrid I was at a tapas restaurant, and thought I could translate enough words within the menu items and descriptions to rally up a delicious feast. Historically I've not been good at guessing what to order -- in Morocco a few years ago I accidentally ordered smoked salmon for 3 consecutive dinners. I've not really enjoyed salmon since.

This meal didn't really turn out any better. I just pointed at a few things and figured that because there were words mixed in that identified cheese, bread, ham and chicken that the result would be a good one. Instead I ordered two nearly identical HUGE dishes, and a COLD OLIVE SALAD. I don't typically like cold salady things, and olives are honestly one of the more disgusting things in the world (they're brown or green and wet? come on.) I also hate wasting food so the fact that I had more food than I could ever eat even if I liked the food was upsetting.

So after eating bits and pieces I decided to get a takeaway box (which was a whole other exciting Lost in Translation exchange), thinking that I'd give my extras to one of the many homeless people I'd seen around town during the afternoon and prior night. Someone who liked olives. So then of course I couldn't find a homeless person anywhere. eh-neh-wair. I walked around for 2 hours. How unlucky can one person be? (I of course realize this is an ironic statement when juxtapositioned with actual homelessness.)

Finally I found a guy sleeping and I left the food by his bags. A few steps later I passed another homeless guy and immediately had whatever the opposite of shopper's remorse is.

Also learned during that walk that, like most countries in Europe, The Simpson's are huge in Spain. And also that the Spanish really enjoy large Bingo halls.

Back for the long haul

Okay travels are done... until August.

Madrid was good fun. On Sunday I was able to utter one of the more impressive responses to the question "What did you do last night?". That response was: "I saw Arcade Fire perform in Madrid".

It didn't really have the impact it could have, since I was still in Madrid the next day and most everyone else was at the concert (I went to Saturday night of the SummerCase music festival) as well. And also because no one there speaks English. I need to work on hablo'ing Espanol.

Apart from Arcade Fire there were some other fantastic performances. I also caught:

LCD Soundsystem
The Maccabees
Lily Allen
The Flaming Lips
Bloc Party
Scissor Sisters (who headlined the festival and started their set at 3:30am)
Belle & Sebastian (DJing though, not playing an actual show)
Editors

Arcade Fire was easily the best. It was their first show in Madrid and I was a bit confused as to how they were so popular there. Turns out that although the Spanish don't understand the lyrics (and do the whole 'singing the sounds of the words instead of the actual words' that captures my attention whenever I'm traveling), the melodies that the violins and trumpets and accordians produce sound kind of like soccer/football chants. I think even the band was pretty intrigued when the crowd started singing 'ole, ole, ole, ole' -- but to the tune of No Cars Go.

Smile like you mean it

So today there was a section in the morning paper about how improve your happiness quotient. (Eat more quotients! I mean croissants!) And one thing it said to do was to just smile for no reason... which was strange timing because I've been doing this from time to time lately (in addition to sitting up straight, eating breakfast regularly and drinking more water), and it f'ing works!

After a few awkward minutes, the world really just brightens up. We all have a lot to be thankful for. Like last evening when I was doing this, I suddenly started realizing how many beautiful birds were walking past me (birds are girls, Mom). And then I heard music playing -- something I hadn't noticed earlier when I was just walking around trying to look important. And then I went and ate sushi, and it was the BEST SUSHI EVER. But that part doesn't really count because it really was just the best sushi ever.

So try to smile more people, and not just when you're reading this blog. We are all blessed. Some with talents, some with wisdom, some with the ability to wind people up and others with the ability to calm people down. And some with trips to Madrid tomorrow so I won't be writing again until Tuesday.

Adios muchachos!

MennoMeat

My friend Brad Miller and his new bride Jessica started a website for Mennonites who like swinging. It's called www.MennoMeet.com, but I like to call it MennoMeat.

And actually swingers are not allowed -- it's strictly for singles. Apparently you're not even allowed to be a member if you just want to meet Mennonites because we make good friends or because you want to trade recipes.

Anyhow, I think it's kind of amusing and a half-decent idea, even though my participation is sure to be tongue in cheek to some degree (because I live in London and I'm really immature and also because I am still a traditional non-virtual networking kind of guy when it comes to meeting the ladies).

That said I do love Mennonites. I love the fact that we have so much common sense and are so brilliant at cooking things and building things and the fact that we understand that we are citizens of the World and that possessions are overrated and stewardship is so obviously symbiotic and that loving is easier than judging and that peace and justice are more interesting than tabloids.

Oh and that we're humble. I especially love that.

Tanner than Danny*

I'm back. And so is your daily blog fix.

So -- my trip. I went to The Algarve. If you've never heard of it, it's the southernmost region in Portugal made up mostly of beaches and English-speaking people. There are some Portuguese people there as well, and a few non-beach areas, but they're definitely in the minority.

I'll post some pictures later this week. It's really incredibly beautiful and quite hot and pretty accessible. And also pretty undiscovered with the exception of the circus that is New Town Albufeira.

It's nice to know that no matter how cold and dreary London gets, I'm just a 10 minute walk, 1 hour train ride, 2 hour plane ride, 15 minute bus ride, 2 hour bus ride and 20 minute walk from The Rising Cock hostel in Lagos.


*Get it?

The wetter here is awful

If you didn't hear about the fantastically beautiful and warmest London April on record, you probably also haven't heard about the torrentially cloudy and rainiest June in London history either.

Well roundabout two weeks ago, I was thinking to myself: "It's mid-June. And I'm cold. It rains three times a day here. When is it going to get warmer for the love of all things good?"

And apparently I was thinking out loud because someone spoke back to me and said: "Remember those two really hot and sunny weeks in April? That was summer".

So I pretty immediately booked a trip to southern Portugal. I leave tomorrow morning and stay through next Tuesday. You won't hear from me again until I'm properly tanned.

1-2-3-4th

Just overheard two non-English speakers playing thumb war (I don't condone war of any kind).

1-2-3-4-I-declare-a-war-thumb

Learn to speak American!

Here in London American's are celebrating by:

1. Eating pizza (single slice).
2. Eating donuts.
3. Drinking Budweiser and other light beer/water.
4. Watching Die Hard: 4.0.
5. Stealing tea packets and throwing them into the Thames.

Happy 4th everyone. Hope it's warm where you are.

What cops are doing in London

Walking around in twos.
Carrying serious looking guns.
Surveying things.
Looking pensive.
Riding horses.
And bikes.
Walking.
Wearing funny hats.
Wearing shiny, fluorescent vests.

Never too high, never too low

Today I had a great meeting that I think saved an account. I was so happy afterwards I gave a homeless guy 6 dollars on purpose.

Then later I had a meeting scheduled and brought all these donuts and juice. And no one showed up.

No more fag time

Fags = cigarettes. So I'm only being insensitive to smokers despite the title worthy of Fox News.

As you may remember from my 'July 1 is going to be the dog's bollocks post', today the England-wide ban on cancer-sticks begins. This morning on my way to the gym an old man was standing outside of a pub smoking. And I kind of felt bad. Poor guy had probably been smoking at that pub for 50 years and now he has to go outside to get his fix. And while today is nice, if the last few weeks are any indication, he's going to get rained on a lot. So I was kind of sad for him but not really. This means I can stop dividing my clothes into "smoking" and "non-smoking" classes.

I'm predicting that in the coming weeks and months, I'll be somewhere and will find myself inexplicably content. And I'll wonder why I'm so happy, and I'll realize that it's because there is no smoke being blown in my face.

Other good news:

My 401k completely vested at work.
My good friend Allan Reesor-McDowell is in town for 36 hours starting today.
I'm going to Portugal (Algarve region -- Lagos and Faro) next Friday.
And then Madrid the next weekend.