I know they say size doesn’t matter, but just look at those glasses. Oh yeah. You know what I’m talking about. Homeslice could see the whole computer screen without moving his head. (Coincidentally, the computer screen at that point was that aforementioned black and white TV. Uh hu, we kicked it old school.)

How did I happen upon this glorious bit of the 80s you might ask? Well, that’s what happens when your Mom starts a blog. So far there are no bathtub photos over there, but it’s probably just a matter of time.

Anyone that knows me personally or professionally knows that in January our house burned down. Many of you know that we’ve had problems getting our house replaced as well. Oddly, while it would seem obvious to blame the insurance company, in this case Auto Owners (our home owners insurance company, I know, funny name for homeowners) has been amazing. Our problems have been with Chase Manhattan. Let me tell you a story about why there isn’t a house in this photo…

How Insurance Claims On House Fires Work

This process wasn’t something I ever considered before, but it turns out it’s a bit complicated if there is a mortgage on the house that burned. It is a 4 step process:

1. The insurance company gets an appraisal of the structure, based on its value just before it actually burned. This is for the dwelling only, not the property, etc.
2. The insurance company cuts a check for that amount to the homeowner AND the mortgage company.
3. The homeowner endorses the check, and sends it to the mortgage company for them to cash and send back to the homeowner to pay the contractor. In our case, thanks to the crappy housing market, our dwelling appraised for a whopping $65,500.
4. Once the house is set, the insurance company cuts another check to the homeowner and mortgage company for the difference in the original check and the actual cost of the house. This is what “replacement insurance” on the dwelling means. I endorse that check, send it to the mortgage company, and they cash and send it back made out to me and the contractor doing the work.

Yes, it’s complicated, but legally that’s what needs to happen. The problem is that Chase won’t release all of the first check to me. Since our house is a modular house, it’s complete when delivered. In fact, my house has been completed for weeks now, and is sitting in a warehouse in Indiana. It can’t be delivered until the contractor has the cash to pay for it.

This might seem hinky. The manufacturer needing COD for a house? But as it turns out, this is the norm. Once the house they built is on private property, they have no legal right to it. So, they insist on getting paid, especially since their job IS done. The problem is that Chase is keeping back half of the first check. This means the contractor (the middleman between me and the housing manufacturer) is expected to pay over $100,000 for a house while only being given roughly $44,000. (See, there was a $12,000 deposit the insurance company paid, plus that first half of the check already sent to the mortgage company).

If people were actually buying houses, the contractor might have enough capital to fund the house while Chase Manhattan dragged their heels. Sadly, no one is buying. No one is building. In fact, here in Michigan, people are moving away because there are no jobs. So that’s what puts us in the current pickle.

• Without the second half of the first check, which Chase Manhattan is holding (and collecting interest on, I’m sure), we are unable to get a house placed on the foundation.
• Without an inspection of the house ON THE FOUDATION, Chase will not release the second check.

See the problem?

Why Chase Manhattan Sucks Like The Tootsie Roll Center of the Galaxy

That was weeks ago. No, really. I’ve been dealing with Chase Manhattan since mid-June trying to figure out a solution to the problem. After hours of phone calls, and supervisors of supervisors, I finally got them to agree to investigate a deviation for us. Mind you, for the past month I’ve been faxing information they requested, getting paperwork notarized (and re-notarized, don’t ask), having my insurance company send explanation letters on company letterhead, etc, etc, etc. Every step takes 48-72 hours. Send a fax? It’s not official for 48-72 hours. Want a call back? 48-72 hours. Waiting for a decision? 48-72 hours.

So now, I’ve reached what seems like the end of my ability. I’ve been the patient customer, holding for literally hours. I’ve been the irate customer, immediately demanding to speak to supervisors by name. I’ve been the annoying customer, and when given a direct line, left multiple messages.

It never does any good. At all. Here is what I’m hoping: That you might help. Lord knows you’ve all helped my family before. I’m only asking here for publicity. If you know someone at Chase, please send them to my blog. If you are on Twitter, please tweet a link if you’re OK with that sort of thing. If you work at Chase, by all means, PLEASE email me. If you are Jamie Dimon, dude, you should know how poorly your company treats its customers.

Here is a list of email addresses. I’m sure they’re not all valid, I just came up with them based on the standard structure for Chase email addresses. They are the names of the company board members, CEO, and some of the managers I’ve spoken with inside Chase. I’m not asking you to email bomb these folks, but feel free to add any addresses in the comments so I can email them as well:

List deleted, since they’ve finally done the right thing!

My house is done. It’s been done for weeks. It would be really nice if the next 48-72 hours actually accomplished something. You have my thanks.

See, while the house you so lovingly destroyed is just about replaced — the little catch 22 you threw into the mix is quite a beauty. The manufacturer won’t release the house until they get paid, and the escrow company won’t release the money until they inspect the house. I’m sure you see the problem, and I suspect you planned it this way. Anyway, I just wanted to write and let you know I’ve adopted a supermassive black hole. Oh, it will take some time, but ol’ Blackey will eventually suck all your belongings into nothingness.

If you’d like to work things out, I’ll be in my basement. Don’t worry, you’ll be able to see me — there’s no house covering it. I’ll be down there burning ants. Feel free to put on your ant costume and come for a visit.

Sincerely,
Your buddy and pal,
Shawn Powers

Sadly, before the double moon set on the harvest celebration, Lagoria and Lizzanthia were on a photo hunt with their new fairies and fell upon a fierce dragon. Excited to get sketches of the dragon, both girls sent their trembling fairies after the dragon as it retreated into its cave. The girls stayed safely outside the cave, but knew that since fairies can’t be burned by dragon flame, the sketches they would get would be lovely.

And they were.

The sketches were magnificent. Everyone from miles around was shocked and amazed at how detailed the sketches were. Why, even the corners of the canvases were scorched, and the sulfur-laced smoke could still be smelled as if the viewer was deep within the dragon’s cave. In fact, it was so full of realism, the girls were forced to keep the sketches outside so the family wouldn’t choke from the smoke!

The problem came when the girls took their fairies out on another photo hunt. While fairies can’t be harmed by dragon fire, they aren’t immune to dragon magic. So while the fairies continued to sketch for the girls, every sketch smelled like fire and brimstone, and every sketch contained the likeness of the dragon himself. See for yourself!

So now, the girls borrow their mother’s Sketch Fairy from time to time, but apart from that have no way to record the beauty of the realm. They hope someday to be gifted with the Pink Camera of Sweetness and Light so they can once again capture their world without the taint of dragon. Until that day, the Sketch Fairies will live in agony, knowing they can not make Lagoria and Lizzanthia smile.

The End. (Or is it?)

So, whether I’m talking about my latest escapades with weight loss and exercise, explaining why charcoal grilling is the only real grilling (Hank Hill can disagree all he wants), or speaking geek over at Linux Journal (I’m horribly behind on blogging and videos over there) — I expect in the near future you will hear more from me.

And stuff has been happening. It’s just that you don’t know about it. If you follow me on Twitter you know more than some people — but really I’ve been pretty silent for half a year or so.

Can you believe it’s been that long since our house burned down? Dang.

Anyway this post serves 2 purposes:

1. To prepare the world for the tomfoolery I’ll likely spew upon it, and
2. To commit to actually returning to life as I used to know it. Saying it publicly kinda makes me a jerk if I don’t follow through.

So, how have you been?

And it’s a free market. So that’s OK.

The thing that fascinates me is just how much obsession and fanaticism Apple gets from their fans. It’s creepy. One look at the coverage of the iPhone 4 release day will show you just how loyal/crazy/creepy people are about Apple products. I don’t get it, and for that I’m rather thankful.

Ick factor aside, however, imagine if Apple wielded its forces for something that would benefit humanity. Imagine if all opening day iPhone purchasers had to donate $20 to fight cancer. (C’mon, they have disposable income to work with…) Or better yet, what if Apple donated $20 for every iPhone they sold on opening day. We KNOW they have some excess profits that day.

Whether you love Apple or hate them, you have to admit they do something right when it comes to keeping loyal fans. Until they go bonkers that is…

I didn’t want a dog. Really. I didn’t want to housebreak a puppy, I didn’t want to worry about feeding and caring for a dog every day. I didn’t want to find a dog sitter every time we left town. Dogs were messy, stinky, hairy, and stressful. That day so many years ago when the girls were staring over the fence next to the church, and gawking at puppies, it was very clear to everyone we were NOT getting one. Still, puppies are cute, so I walked over to the pen myself in order to gather my girls and look at the clumsy little pups as all the kids from church reached through the fence to pet their noses.

When I got to the fence, I saw just what I expected. Sure enough, there were puppies gathered at the fence, stepping on each other to get closer to the children that were giving them affection (and possibly crumbs of cookie still stuck on their fingers from Sunday School.) What I didn’t expect to see was a puppy halfway to the fence laying spread eagle and wagging his stub of a tail, but not coming over to get scritched. I thought perhaps he was shy, or scared, or that he had just eaten so much food that he ran out of gas on the way over to the kids. Moments later, however, I saw the problem.

All the pups had slight neurological problems, and walked a bit more awkward than a normal clumsy puppy. I hadn’t noticed before, but realized it after looking for a while. This pup, however, was much much worse. He had spent the 15 minutes or so since church got out trying to get over to the fence, but had only made it halfway before collapsing from exhaustion. His back legs couldn’t quite support his weight, and try as he might, he never made it over to the giddy children. It was in that heartbreaking moment of realization that Tigger became my dog. Honestly, I didn’t even know it yet, but looking back — it was that moment.

I jumped the fence, decked out in my Sunday best, and walked over to the squirmy puppy. Since he was unable to walk, he was covered in mud (and probably other things), but I picked him up anyway. I wish I could describe the joy that little puppy showed when I picked him up. There are some amazing joyful times in life for people: The birth of a child, scoring the winning point in a game, marrying your spouse — but in the life of a dog, I don’t think it’s possible to be more happy than Tigger was at that moment.

I carried him out of the gate, over to our van, and into our lives.

Looking back, it seems like a rather bold move for me to make, introducing a dog, especially a crippled dog, into our house without talking to Donna about it. I don’t recall her ever questioning me though. We took him home, cleaned him up, and let him play in the front yard with the girls. It was that day he got his name. See, Tigger wasn’t strong enough to walk, but when he tried, his back legs would bounce his butt up and down. He didn’t walk, but he sure could bounce! Thus, Tigger was his name.

That summer proved to be quite challenging for Tigger. The vet told us he would probably never walk right. He had about a 3/4″ overbite, bad legs, he shook constantly, and had possible brain damage — but his brain didn’t appear to be swollen, and he wasn’t in any pain. The best we could do would be to walk him often and strengthen his back legs so he could get around.

Yes, house training a dog that can’t walk is a challenge. Thankfully, since he constantly shook, Tigger liked to sleep wedged between the couch and the wall to help hold still. We knew when to take him outside, because as he came out from behind the couch, he would bang against the wall as he tried to get up. “THUMP THUMP THUMP!” It was time to carry Tigger outside to do his business.

Every day we would walk and walk with Tigger. At first he would only make it to the end of the driveway before collapsing, but as days turned into weeks he was able to go for short walks. We’d generally walk him as far as we could get him to go, and then I’d carry him on the way back home. The bigger and stronger (and heavier and harder to carry!) he got, the further he was able to go. We started tying his leash to the stroller, and he would pull the girls along on our walk. It was good for him, and the girls though it was awesome. Summertime sled dog!

While he had a taste for garbage (not so much in his older years), and he liked tangling with skunks (actually more often the older he got), Tigger was the best dog I could ever imagine having. He spent almost a year sequestered from the family due to an undiagnosed thyroid problem, which caused a constant nasty skin infection. But his last days were spent with the freedom to roam around the house again. He lived longer than the vets ever expected, and almost fully overcame his leg problems. Tigger had a funny little limp when he ran, but he was able to run and play throughout most of his life.

Sadly, Tigger was in the house when it burned in January. When I opened the front door to search for the animals, I found him, already gone right by the front door. With all the grown up responsibilities, duties to perform, children to care for, home to provide — I’ve never really taken the time to think about Tigger. My dog. My friend. My loyal companion.

So Tigger, it breaks my heart that you’re gone. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you. And while your passing rips out my heart, I can honestly say that even though I’m typing this through the blur of tears — that look on your face when I picked you up after church all those years ago makes my pain bearable. Thanks for being there for me, when I didn’t even know I needed you.

If you think an awesome grill would have propane fire, quite frankly you don’t know the awesomeness that is charcoal. Here you can see me with my ninja cooking utensils and my chimney starter full of burning briquettes. (If you don’t have a chimney starter, go buy one. You’ll be thankful you did.)

Just out of frame is a bowl of soaking hickory chips. I debated whether to use hickory or mesquite, but since it’s the beginning of summer, I figure I can alternate all year. Because really there’s no wrong answer. Mmmmmm…

I hope your weekend is half as good as mine. I’d wish it to be as awesome, but I fear you might explode.

Then the day got better. I sent an email to the staff at school, and even on a holiday weekend — I got a couple replies with good fishing spots in the area!

And THEN it got even BETTER! My family went to a graduation open house (Hi Kari!) and afterward our kids didn’t want to leave. We found them rides, and Donna and I went out for ice cream and a walk around town. It was the closest thing to a date we’ve had in months, and it was extremely awesome.

AND THEN Donna agreed to go two tracking with me to try finding the remote fishing spot, which Google is showing off in the photo above. The road was deep, loose sand — and we almost got stuck! Thankfully we didn’t, but it was just scary enough to be exciting.

Granted, I didn’t get any work done today. Granted I’m way behind. But it’s also a holiday weekend, and the first day off I’ve taken since before I can remember.

I hope YOUR day was as awesome as mine, but honestly, it doesn’t seem possible.

Pretend.

Yep, that’s right, just pretend. Pretend you’re having a great day. Pretend it’s fun. Pretend Monday’s insidious thorns are cute, but nothing to ruin a day. Smile at everyone. Be silly. Walk with a limp for no reason. Talk like a pirate. Tape M&M’s to your face. Whatever you do, pretend you’re having fun. Because here’s the secret: You will.

And remember, tomorrow is Tuesday.

Don’t worry, I’m not getting suicidal or anything — I’m just swinging precariously at the end of my sanity rope. (Yes yes, there’s an argument to made as to whether I ever had that rope to begin with…) See the problem isn’t so much with the pain, it’s with the consequences. Spending 60 hours a week with a headache so bad you can’t function (or at least not well) takes its toll on other aspects of a person’s life.

It wouldn’t be so bad if I kept up with my early-adulthood trend of doing jobs that were manual labor type. But I went and started using my brain. So all those things I need to get done can’t be done by a temp. That sucks. I’m not brilliant or anything, but I have unique and specialized skills. Ah, notoriety, thou art a heartless wench.

Friggen migraine. Ok, I’m off to go take another prescription assault on my liver. If you know any zombies, send them my way. I think my brain might be a bitter, bitter snack, but I’m fed up with it myself.

Why am I confident our girls will turn out OK? Quite honestly there are many reasons. One, we really won the lottery when it comes to progeny, and the 3 girls are fine examples of human beings. That means they are good little lumps of clay. That also means they need to be molded. While I don’t claim to be a great parent, I think we’ve done pretty good so far. The next decade will really tell the story, but I wanted to share some insight at this point. Perhaps I’ll look back at this and bitterly laugh at myself, but even if that’s the case, I doubt I’d change anything in the past.

Discipline and Punishment are Not the Same Thing

Donna and I are strict disciplinarians. We were even more strict when the kids were younger (seriously). Being strict when your kids are young means that you earn credibility early on. You earn respect. You earn trust. If there is one thing I wish I could convince young parents it is that discipline is not mean. Children crave discipline, whether they know it or not. Ask any decent sports coach. A team with discipline is a more effective, and happier team.

But here’s the rub: Discipline is hard. I’m no Dr. Spock, but if you think discipline is just punishing a child when they misbehave, Ur doin it rong. Discipline is an elaborate dance involving consistency, firmness, fairness, and most of all, communication. No, life isn’t fair — but as parents, you certainly ought to be!

Kids are Smart. They’re Immature Sometimes, but Smart.

There is a drastic difference between a child that is angry at you for punishing them, and a child that thinks you are incorrect for punishing them. No, you can’t always convince a child they need to be punished, but if you’re open with them, they’re more likely to respect your reasoning.

The funny thing about discipline and consistency is that if you explain to your child why you’re punishing them — even if they vehemently disagree, they’ll understand why you’re doing what you’re doing. Very often, if you don’t punish them, you lose all credibility. Again, even if they don’t admit or realize it, kids like discipline.

Put Away the Shotgun.

The strong father figure cleaning his shotgun is fine. Really. I have no problem with putting the fear of God into a young man as he’s given the responsibility of caring for the father’s daughter. For me, however, I’d look absurd cleaning a shotgun. Guns aren’t my thing. Oh, I’m intimidating, and any boy will tremble before he takes out my daughters — but my weapon of choice is psychology. Your mileage may differ.

Here’s the thing though, you can be as scary as you want, your daughter is the one that will ultimately make choices on how the evening goes. There is nothing more formidable than a confident young lady that trusts and respects her parents, knowing they trust and respect her in return. Let me repeat that, as it’s so vital, there is nothing more formidable than a confident young lady that trusts and respects her parents, knowing they trust and respect her in return. Sure, I can be the muscle, but it’s her life, she has to be the brains.

And with that, I’m going to go talk to my kids. You should do the same. (Not my kids, but you know what I mean…)

I’m doing my TMI-ing on Twitter. Feel free to join me. I’m using the #TMI hashtag. It should be fun, like that time I peed on an anthill, and while I wasn’t looking, urine-covered ants crawled up my leg leaving little damp trails. #TMI