I was a Good Samaritan

I gave $20 to a stranger on Friday night. I happened to not be in a hurry, so I decided to hear him out on why he needed money for the bus. The last time this happened was in the bus station. Guy showed me $12 and said he just needed $8 more to get a ticket. So I said, OK, I don't have any cash, but you give me the $12, and let's go to the ticket booth and I'll put your ticket on my credit card. Guy didn't expect that, but worked out in his head that it didn't end with him having my cash, so he backed out. Obvious fraud. So I was expecting the same thing. This guy looked pretty clean-shaven and clothes were clean, so I stopped. He had a bus ticket. He had ID. His ticket was in his name, leaving Cleveland the night before. He had missed his bus. He said he was discharged from the Army for mental issues. He had his military ID and a huge bag of prescription meds. He said there was a $15 fee to transfer his ticket. I called Greyhound. He was right about the fee. He said he was going to a mental institute in Michigan. I said that was a good idea. He said he had been asking for help all day and everyone passed him by, including a Pharisee and a Teacher of the Law. I said that was too bad, maybe they were in a hurry to get to a prayer meeting. I said I would call and put his ticket on my credit card. He seemed enthusiastic. I was sold. I couldn't get through to the ticket agent, so I took him to the ATM and gave him the $20. I felt great! $20 was no great loss for me, but was a huge help for him. My satisfaction was entirely vicarious. I imagined him sitting on the bus, taking his mental disturbances out of Cleveland and to a safe place.

Some strange coincidences coincided to allow this fateful meeting.
1. My friend had just texted me to say he would be late, so I was willing to give this guy 30 seconds.
2. I was out of cash, and already planning to stop at an ATM.
3. His name was Robert.

Now, if this had happened when I was a believer, I would have seen the unmistakable hand of God at work, cleverly nudging things behind the scenes to unfold his Plan. And I think I could have been forgiven for thinking so. In any case, lacking any expectation of eternal reward for my kindness, I was forced to take all my reward in this life.

I then met up with my Catholic friend, and he asked why I would help someone, as an atheist. I explained that I didn't need God or eternal reward to feel good about being good. I explained that it was similar to the way sports fans take pleasure in the victories of their team, even though their loyalty is mostly arbitrary and they don't even know any of the people on the teams they cheer for, or have any reason to prefer their team over any other. In my case, I actually had an interaction with the person I derived vicarious satisfaction from, so it wasn't that hard to explain.

Mogadore Lake

So, in classic Bob Allen form, I showed up to an event on the wrong day yesterday, bringing my brother and his wife. How could that happen? I know, it's ridiculous. The Canoe Orienteering event is actually today, and the date was clearly posted. But as usual, everything worked out fine. Better than fine actually. Did you know that the islands on Mogadore Lake are covered in delicious blueberry bushes?? Or that blueberry season is still very much in full swing? Well, they are, and it is.

The smell check

It looks like Ask.com has sided with me on the issue of milk expiration dates. Believe it or not, there are people out there who will throw their milk away if it is past the date printed on the jug. I have tried to reason with these people, to no avail. The truth is, your milk will probably be fine for up to a week after the date. Simply use the smell check, now endorsed by What's Cooking America (.net).

Breakthrough

Tonight I had a culinary breakthrough. I was munching some strawberries, and had just bitten one in half, when I noticed that strawberries are actually hollow. Duh. I did know this already, but it really hit me tonight as something significant, and I immediately scavenged the leftover s'more materials on top of the fridge for a chocolate bar. Ok ok, so if the stem is the strawberry's hat, you'd cut him in half around the waistline. You can enlarge the cavity with a paring knife, then fill both sides with melted chocolate, and scrape off any excess so the chocolate is flush with the cut surface. Now carefully put the 2 halves back together and put in an empty egg carton to keep the berry upright, preferably stem-down. This keeps the halves from sliding apart. Put in the freezer for 1o minutes or so, and you are good to go. The solidified chocolate holds the berry together. If you are careful, it will be hard to tell that the strawberry was even cut. So now you have all the tastiness of a chocolate covered strawberry without getting melted chocolate all over your fingers.
I think the next step here will be to use a large needle to inject the chocolate directly. I'll keep you posted on that.

salsa

Week 4 or 5 of salsa lessons and I still can't find the beat and dance at the same time. Counting out the steps, I dance fine. Turn on the music, and it all goes to crap. So last week at Salsa Pam and I are watching this instructor dance with this amazing woman wearing an amazing salsa dress. Both of us are completely captivated, her more by the instructor's mad skills and me more by the twirling embodiment of grace and sensuality. She was very vigorous, and totally in her element. I tell Pam I am totally not ready for that girl, definitely need several more months of practice before even approaching her. Well of course she ends up coming over and asking me to dance, seriously throwing off my inner balance. It turns out I was right, I was totally not ready for her. My poise was... lacking. Also, she seemed to want to talk to me, which put attempting any actual dancing completely out of the question for me.
So now I view my inability to dance as a major hurdle in my path of personal growth, not to mention my ability to inspire confidence in women. I feel like there is some inner sexiness that is trying to come out on the dance floor, but so far has been stymied by my rhythm issues. Seriously stymied, to the point of being totally imperceptible. This is a problem.
And drastic measures have been taken. Dance websites have been pored over, gigabytes of salsa music have been downloaded and burned to CDs, and NPR on my drive to work has been replaced by my newly download tunes and 1 2 3, 5 6 7, tap tap tap, tap tap tap as I strain to pick up the beat. 3 days later, it already feels more natural. I'm improving!

Why am I doing this? Well, I'm good at other things, like more thinking type things. I have no natural ability here tho, that I know of. So I think I need balance. Too much thinking lately, not enough dancing. And Salsa is actually really fun when I am feeling it. I haven't quite fleshed it out yet, but this also somehow ties into becoming a person that can face and accept his own mortality, and still enjoy life. Still working on how that ties in.

girlfriend

My girlfriend has moved to Manhattan to start her career with Deloitte. I am trapped in Cleveland until I can get out of debt. My brother thinks it's a hopeless situation. I've only really known this girl for a couple months. He thinks I should find a new girlfriend that lives in the same city as me, but I'm not interested in that. I'm way too happy with this girl to even consider looking for someone else. Even if I can only see her every 2 weeks, I'd consider myself very lucky. So I guess I'm going to be visiting New York on a regular basis, and working my ass off here to get myself to where I have some more options. That, and hoping she doesn't catch the eye of too many exciting international businessmen, investment bankers, or other wildly successful New Yorkers with a mind to seduce a beautiful young woman. More on this later.

arabs, part 1

Yesterday my brother and I drove all over the greater Detroit area with G, our new business partner. We stopped at a Mediterranean eatery for lunch and to sit in on a sales meeting with one of G's client's brothers. The floors and walls were real marble tiled. The tables were real polished marble slabs. And the lamb was so delicious because, we later learned, it had been soaked in yogurt the night before. Apparently that's halal (kosher).

After lunch the owner took us back to his office. The door was held open by a small length of dirty cotton string tied to one of the many file cabinets. A TV on top of the cabinet was tuned to the Lebanese news channel, which was hosting a very impassioned discussion in Arabic about Hamas and Fatah. Between deep draws on his hookah, the owner poured us all tiny Styrofoam cups of Turkish coffee from a large silver pot on his very messy desk. He smokes all-natural tobacco, which he cuts himself.

G and the owner soon got down to discussing business. In Arabic. I tried to pick up as much as I could about G's sales technique, but soon realized they were just chatting. I tried to figure out what the ads were about on the TV. It seemed like they were switching back and forth between a car commercial and something to do with banking. G stopped to explain that you could get a free car when you opened a large enough CD at one of the Lebanese banks. It all made sense.

The owner got a call finally, from his brother, who was apparently on his way. I stared at my empty Styrofoam cup, and listened to the constant chatter of Arabic, punctuated periodically by the vigorous bubbling of the hookah. I yawned. The owner laughed and offered more Turkish coffee.

the vandal

one of our workers, whom we affectionately refer to as "the vandal," has just referred me to one of her favorite websites. http://www.cryingwhileeating.com/ the first one is kinda lame, try some others. ridiculous. she thinks it's the funniest thing ever. i guess it might be.