Big Papa Koontz

I'm still working on reading every book ever published by Dean Koontz. As a writer he is an inspiration. I wasn't crazy about his last book, "Your Heart Belongs To Me". It wasn't bad, but it seemed like he'd been intrigued enough by an idea to write the book, but not enough to get truly invested into it.

But the book I'm reading now, "Breathless", is amazing. I love how he sprinkles these gem-like paragraphs into his books. Anyone who still wants to wrongfully classify him as a horror writer should read the following and tell me he doesn't have profound wisdom to offer:

"Each man or woman was a mansion in a condition between grandness and disrepair, and even in a grand palace, sometimes a room existed in which no one but the resident would ever be welcome. Cammy's heart contained more than one forbidden room, contained an entire wing of doors locked with bolts of guilt or grief, or both. Grady sensed that she denied ever herself the power to open them, to let in the light."

The Inner Mountain Man

I've always had a small, deep-seated insecurity that my wife might like me better as a clean-cut, suit-wearing kind of guy. You know, someone who exudes power, success and confidence. A guy who drives a dark, luxury car and only does so while wearing leather gloves. Someone with an interest in fashion and art. Someone who owns a scarf. Someone who would never be caught dead eating with his fingers like some kind of animal. I have no genuine interest in power or monetary success so I knew an image like that would be a stretch for me. Plus, I really hate to iron.

During the last week, you may or may not have read about the steak and eggs incident. Actually those were two isolated incidents, but I don't think you can write about steak and eggs separately when both are on the figurative plate - they're just too irresistible.

The other day we were walking through Wal-Mart past the little heating island of rotisserie chickens and Jenny said, "You should just take a whole chicken to work for lunch and eat it with your fingers!"

I can't even describe how happy that advice made me.

To give you a little background, I used to be into hunting and guns. I think most young boys go through a phase of shooting birds and indulging in their morbid curiosity by pouring salt on snails. I think I was about 13 or 14 when I started to grow out of the phase. The appeal of hunting has left me almost entirely. A crucial transition was reached, and I was suddenly much more fascinated with the beauty of living birds in flight -- I no longer pictured them as moving targets.

That trend has continued, and as the years pass I find that my trigger finger becomes more somber by the day. On Friday, I realized how far I've come from that relatively bloodthirsty 9-year-old. I got out of the elevator on the 4th floor of our office and was surprised to find a large black spider crossing the elevator lobby. I almost felt like I was "supposed" to smash it, but I was so intrigued by its journey that I just watched it for a minute. It finished the long trek across the tile and disappeared into a crack.

I haven't gone vegan nor do I feel the urge to embrace a tree. I do, however, have a newfound respect for life and no longer want to do harm.

Then again...

There does seem to be something primal lurking within me. For example, when I went on the weekend "Man-venture" with Todd, Josh and Spencer, I crossed my fingers that someone would hit a rabbit while driving. I know it's horrible to wish for the death of a cute little bunny, but honestly I did. I wanted to skin it and roast it on the fire. I wanted to tear meat from the bones. I wanted to eat with my hands. I wanted blood to trickle down my chin. I wanted to be covered in dirt and soot. I wanted to blacken the underside of my fingernails. I wanted to push down trees and shoot the moon suspicious glares.

I could practically feel my beard growing.

That tiny mountain man within has gotten a lot quieter throughout the years... but he's still there. Last week Jenny again gave me the wonderful gift of acceptance when she told me that she is well aware of that side of me. In fact, she told me that the Grizzly Adams gene does NOT turn her off.

She actually kind of likes it.

... in a cubicle-shaped corporate nutshell

(This picture has little to do with my post, but it makes me smile and gives me hope.)

I was asked to write an article about myself for the department newsletter. Like most editors, they hacked it to pieces. Here it is, in its virgin form:

Dan Workman is not coordinated. Most of his athletic ventures were awkward at best, until Jr. High when Dan discovered contact sports. Being bigger than most of the kids, Dan fit right in as an offensive lineman and defensive linebacker. In High School, Dan made the shift into rugby and hockey. A broken ankle took him out of rugby mid-season. At the end of hockey season, Dan was given the “Team Assassin” award and also held the season record for the most time in the penalty box. Not being the strongest skater or puck handler, the coaches instead gave Dan a list of jersey numbers at the beginning of each game and, like a 9-year-old in an unattended junk yard with a hammer, set him loose.

His juvenile affinity for hitting now subsided, Dan spends his free time painting tiny toenails and having tea parties. He has been married for 5 years to a gorgeous woman and they have two young daughters, Emma (4) and Abbi (2). They are currently working with Abbi, trying to teach her not to hit.

Dan has been with Fidelity since March, 2008, except for a month-long exodus to Wyoming to take a job writing for a newspaper. The scenery was almost as beautiful as the pay was poor. Dan returned to Fidelity and his family has moved to warmer climates by transferring from Salt Lake to Westlake in October. Now Dan’s only big life dilemma is deciding whether to side with the Aggies or the Longhorns.

"Protein, go for it" (John Cusack, The Sure Thing - 1985)

I’ve been getting a lot of shit today about what/how I eat. I’ve dropped some weight lately, but I’m still in the 230 range, so the apple I grabbed on the way to work was not enough breakfast for me.

When I don’t have the time and/or foresight to make myself breakfast I usually go down the cafeteria at work. There are two employees working the grill; a guy and a girl. I’ve run into the girl a few times. The first time I ordered six scrambled eggs she said, “Six?” to make sure she heard me right, but went ahead and filled my order without another word.

This morning, I ordered my six eggs and the guy practically shouted, “You want six eggs?!”

“Yes. Yes I do. I want six eggs.”

He shook his head and mumbled, “six eggs” as he wrote it on the Styrofoam container. The girl walked past him and said, “It’s not the first time.” They both chuckled and shot each other a little glance.

“I’m standing right here!” I want to shout at them. Is that really weird? Does eating half-a-dozen eggs in one sitting really merit this type of reaction? Seriously, I want to know. I mean, I can understand a backward glance or two if I’d walked into Krispy Kreme and demanded two dozen donuts for myself.

At this point in my mental tirade, I’m standing on counter and screaming, “It’s the most important meal of the day!!”

And then, as I turn to the crowd I say, “Don’t you judge me.” (For some reason, in my mind that line always comes out with a southern accent.) After a short pause another slightly overweight man begins the slow clap which is followed by a musical montage.

Anyway, I’m working 13-hour shifts lately, so I have to grab three meals on my way out the door. Along with the apple I found half of a leftover steak and a Tupperware container of mashed potatoes. The steak was Todd’s or Becky’s, but they know my stance on old leftovers. If I am fairly certain that not eating something means it will get thrown away, I consider it fair game. In fact, the other day I stopped Jenny from tossing something in the garbage and Becky said, “You know you can’t clean out the fridge while Dan is around!”

I feel like a damned scavenger raccoon.

The new setting is my desk, Westlake Texas, around 4 PM… Central time.

I am cursing under my breath as the tines break off of my plastic fork, one at a time. As I saw away at the old, tough steak I feel like I might as well be trying to cut my way out of jail with the blade from a pencil sharpener.

Exasperated, muttering something along the lines of “Screw it” I grab the steak from the container and just rip off a chunk before throwing it back in.

I haven’t chewed twice before a voice behind me says, “What the…?”

“Did you just eat that steak with your fingers? What, are you camping?!”

Another voice says, "What's going on?"

I can hear the word and laughter beginning to spread that Dan is eating steak with his fingers so I just put my headphones back on, turn up my music and keep going till every scrap of that thing was gone.

I wish I was camping.

Snow

One of the nice things about getting bigger is that this XXXL fleece jacket that Jenny bought me a few years ago now fits perfectly. It is thick, cozy, and probably the only jacket I have with a surplus of sleeve - the rest of them land about 3 inches shy of my wrist. It worked out well today because we got SNOW in Texas this morning!!!

Granted, it was only about half an inch and was gone by 10 AM, but still, snow.

(Later that day)

I'm sprawled on the floor of one of the conference rooms in our building with a beige telephone receiver to my ear. (I remembered my jacket today but forgot my cell phone again.) With my free hand I'm swinging the cord and imagining nun chucks. I feel like a teenager, lying on the floor and talking to a girl on a corded phone. Not sure what the opposite would be of cordless - cordful? cordy? corder?

The girl on the other end of the phone happens to be my 2-year-old daughter, Abbi. She is telling me about playing Play-Doh and, honestly, it makes me a little hungry. My grandma used to make edible Play-Doh out of peanut butter and flour.

I can hear Emma in the background saying that she doesn't really feel like talking to me right now, but she changes her mind before I hang up with Jenny.

"Are you mad at me?" I ask her when she gets on the phone.

"No," she says.

"Oh, I thought maybe you were upset with me and that's why you didn't feel like talking to me."

"Well, I am a little upset with you because you're at work."

And then, after a slight pause she says, "But sometimes I do like it when you go to work because you bring me treats."

So, here I am, close to the end of my shift wrapping fun-size bags of Teddy Grahams in the Foreign Bonds section of my free copy of The Wall Street Journal. Being a Stock Broker is really starting to pay off.

It's Not You, It's Me

A few weeks ago I wrote a blog in the form of a letter -- a semi-serious apology, alluding to my history with Utah as a rocky, complicated relationship. During the last year I have learned so much about myself, most importantly - how to feel whole and okay with who I really am; finding the line between complacency and dissatisfaction; trying to trust my intuition while at the same time constantly reminding myself how much I have left to learn and how little I really know.

I'd hoped that coming to terms with my own ignorance would make me a more accepting and open individual. I have tried to embrace the occasions when someone else can teach me something new and admit when I'm wrong - though I'm not sure how well I've accomplished that task.

In many aspects of my life, this has worked very well. I do feel that I have learned to be more accepting and gregarious than ever. I've tried to stand my ground when I feel strongly about something while at the same time keeping both sides of an argument in mind.

But, during the last year I have also been called "opinionated, manipulative," and (sarcastically) "always right." That last one was actually written in marker on my back during a party... another story.

I'm sure there was some truth to those statements, as much as I hate the idea of being that guy. I've enjoyed some very engaging discussions with friends and family during the last year. I really want to thank them for that. Probably because of more fault of mine than anyone else’s, many of those have turned into debates or even heated arguments.

Much of the pain of our separation from Mormonism has subsided. The book I wrote about the process has collected dust for months and I haven't thought much about it. It has actually felt very good to move on.

However, today I've been going through my blog and reading many of the posts from the last year. Last night my wonderful cousin Melissa told me that I was "Irreverently and inappropriately funny." I considered it a compliment because I think she meant it that way, but at the same time it carried a small sting because it made me wonder if I've been offending other people. I figure the chances are pretty high.

While reading my blogs in chronological order I can see that my writing has become noticeably more jaded and outspoken. I'm worried that I've gone too far and lost any sliver of respect my Mormon family and friends may have still had for me. If that is the case, I want to sincerely apologize.

Getting out the "bubble" has been a journey. I've loved learning so much about the way other people live, love and worship. I've tried so hard to understand the cultures, lifestyles and religions outside of the Utah I grew up in. The world out there really is so different; it's easy to notice with even just a glimpse.

Throughout this process I have worked hard to give more respect to other belief systems. I've made an effort to extend a tolerance I didn't allow myself before. In doing so, however, I feel that I've become MORE intolerant of Mormonism within Utah. That isn't right or fair.

I don't know if I will ever again be able to experience certainty in spiritual matters. In the movie "Doubt" I heard a line from Phillip Seymour Hoffman that hit me like Catholic bible to the head, "Even if you feel certainty, it is an emotion, not a fact."

That is something that rings true to me but you might not feel the same, and I respect that. I applaud your obedience and faithfulness, even if I've decided to try adopting a more Buddhist or Secular Humanist approach to morality. I could be wrong.

So, even though I will strive to be honest in my writing and speak my mind regardless of the audience, I may still need help from loved ones - keeping me in check to help minimize the number of them that I offend. I think everyone needs to find that line, right? I sure could learn a lesson or two about erring on the side of caution.

I love you guys. I'm sorry if I've said or written anything that has left you feeling personally attacked. I promise that wasn't my intention.