Way back in 2006, my wife got me a Fisher Space Pen for Christmas. For the next three years, I carried that pen with me everywhere. The pen was with me:

- for the birth of my second child.
- at the conception of — nah, I’m just kidding. That’s gross.
- for the signing of my will.
- when I went to Apple’s WWDC and saw Steve Jobs.
- when I met Jon and Cadiz12 in Chicago.
- at my best friend’s wedding.
- when Tiger Woods was having lots of extramarital affairs.
- etc.

The point is, it wasn’t just a writing utensil. It was a part of my daily routine. I’d twirl it in my fingers when I was deep in thought. I’d write with the pen upside-down, just because I could.

One day in January, I was getting ready for work, and I couldn’t find my pen. I almost made my kid miss his bus, because I was looking for my pen. It was very troubling. That night, I had mentioned at the dinner table that I still couldn’t find my pen. My son sheepishly went over to the toy box and pulled out his sister’s little purse. From one of the side pockets, he pulled out the pen. I was mostly excited to have it back, and only partly wanted to give the kids both up for adoption. But let’s focus on my excitement.

Just over a week later, my pen went missing again. After some mostly civil interrogation, I was pretty sure that my kids didn’t know where it was this time. And as much as it pained me, I deemed the pen lost. Because it had been over 3 years since I got the pen, I figured I owed it to myself to go buy a new one. I don’t want to be in the habit of buying $20 pens, but if I can make them last, I’m OK with it. So I went out and bought a shiny new Space Pen. All was right with the world.

Until three weeks later, when the NEW one went missing. By this point, I was pretty angry about all of it. And though we do OK for ourselves financially, I’m not looking to spend $20/month on pens. So after going to a pretty dark place, emerging from that dark place, then having a rational discussion with The Wife, I decided to not buy a new Space Pen.

So for the past several months, I’ve been trying to cut down on my sadness by carefully avoiding flood conditions, greasy writing surfaces, extreme temperatures, and outer space. All the while, I’ve been making due with these lame pens with non-pressurized ink cartridges that would totally melt like sissies at 150 degrees. I’d like to say that I’m over it by now.

But I can’t.

Way back in April 2005, I needed a creative outlet. So I started a blog. In the first few weeks of my blog’s existence, I received comments from a couple of strangers (to me – and at the time, to each other) named cadiz12 and Jon.

Five years later, I (again) need a creative outlet. And though I currently suck at blogging, I’m still receiving comments from cadiz12 and Jon. Except now, they’re not strangers to me. And because I had dinner with them, I have visual proof that they’re no longer strangers to each other.

[To be clear, I had nothing to do with these two people getting together. But because I got to watch their blog friendship grow from the very beginning, I kind of feel like I was there. And it's always fun when two people who you already like as individuals get together.]

Jon and Cadiz12 are engaged, and they’ve entered a wedding contest – no, the ULTIMATE wedding contest. And I like these two more than I like any of the other contestants, so I want them to win. In order to win, they need votes. In order to get votes, they need you to go here:

http://www.ultimateweddingcontest.com/entries/36688

Your vote gives them a better chance to win, which makes them happy. If you vote as a result of reading this post, that also makes me happy, because I like to help. And the knowledge that you made three other people happy should make you happy. Don’t you deserve some happiness, too? Of course you do. So go vote.

I hope that the next President of the United States:

• cares about people.
• knows what it feels like to be discriminated against in his own country, and that he’ll use this knowledge and his position of power to make sure that other Americans don’t have to feel the same pain.
• represents my country well on the international stage.
• doesn’t allow tradition, personal beliefs, or religious beliefs to be an excuse for discriminatory polices.
• is concerned about the fact that the wealthiest 1% of Americans own approximately 40% of America’s wealth.  (For the record, I think an uneven distribution is natural in a free-market economy.  I don’t think everyone should be worth the same.  But just like there’s a difference between a successful business and a monopoly, there’s a difference between a healthy distribution of wealth and an unhealthy distribution of wealth.  And in either case, I think it’s the government’s responsibility to step in.  My wealth should be determined by my work and my ability to make sound fiscal decisions.  The more drastically top-heavy the balance is, the more we’re in a position where my wealth could be virtually eliminated as a result of bad decisions made by ONE PERCENT of the population – see economic crisis of 2008, Great Depression of 1929, etc.)
• is serious about fixing our dependence on foreign oil.
• lives through his entire term in office.
• takes action to show that he cares about education of American kids.
• doesn’t talk down to me.
• doesn’t embarrass me by being dumb or having sexual relations with interns.
• makes an effort to inspire those who didn’t vote for him.
• is the guy I vote for, so that I can feel a greater sense of ownership over the successes and failures of this country.
• doesn’t like to sleep, because he’s got a lot of work to do.

I didn’t mean to go on a blog break last week. But the girl audibly laughed for the wife early last week, and I spent all my free time the rest of the week trying to get her to laugh for me. She finally did last night. I assume she was just throwing me a bone because she was tired of my exaggerated gestures and sing-song tone. Because let’s be honest – what I did to make her laugh was not really that funny.

Regarding the reflections photo assignment, thank you to the 9 people who got their photos in on time!! A slightly less vigorous thank you to the 3 people who got their photos in after the deadline. For the more than 6 billion of you who did not submit photos, I’ve got nothing. I should have a gallery posted either tonight or tomorrow morning!

I like to think of myself as germ-conscious. I’m no Howie Mandel, but I will be aware of you picking your nose and then offering to shake my hand (hypothetically speaking, because you’d never do that). I’ll still shake, but I’ll treat my hand like it has the plague until I get some hand gel.

I wasn’t always this way, it didn’t come about until the wife and I had our first child. Of course now, with the new baby around, we’re all about sanitizing things again. And while the most effective way to do this is to boil stuff, sometimes we just don’t have the time for that. So we use these:

Medela Quick Clean Micro-Steam Bags. Throw some stuff in these bags, add a little water, pop it in the microwave, and BAM – sanitization. Or so I thought. One of these bags was sitting on the counter this morning, and I happened to notice this claim (see second bullet point):

One thing I hate more than germs is misleading statistics.* Let’s say “most” means 75%. That means that 25.1% of harmful bacteria and germs are left chillaxin on the breast pump accessories, bottles, nipples, pacifiers, and cups. And if there’s anything I won’t tolerate, it’s germs on nipples!**

If I had noticed this with my first baby, I would have been writing letters to Medela demanding more accurate information. But this is my second kid, so I’ll just shrug it off and agree that killing 74.9% of germs is better than nothing.***

–
* – This isn’t true, but it felt right to say it in the heat of the moment. 99% of the time, I’m fine with most of the misleading statistics I read.
** – Also not true.
** – This doesn’t mean I love my first kid any more than my second. I’m a second-born kid myself, so if anything, I think that second kids are tougher than their older siblings. And funnier.