The Future

Dear Readers,


My wife has been gradually indoctrinating me into the culture of the Blogosphere and such ideas as Tuesday Tidbits, Funny Fridays, Wordless Wednesdays, etc. In the spirit of belonging, I've decided to invent my own feature heretofore known as "Tubby Hubby THursdays." No, I'm not necessarily tubby. Yet. Let's call it future-proofing. And in that spirit I present to you: The Future.

The problem I see with "The Future" as we have long called it, is what I will herein name "the chasm."

No, not a literal chasm by any means. There is an uncrossable technological chasm that stands between us as a race and what we see as The Future. Ironically, this technological chasm is actually human.

Let me explain.

When we use our phones, computers, subways, coffee machines, and what-have-you, they do things for us. Some even do wonderful things. My phone (which by tech standards is not yet a dinosaur, but rather something of an extinct wooly-mammoth) can, at my whim, find me directions to the nearest Vietnamese restaurant, buy me tickets to a movie, bring up the engine-block specifications for a 1972 Chevy Monte Carlo, or amuse me with videos of cats doing decidedly un-catlike things. This, by anyone's standards, is an impressive feat, but it doesn't feel like the future. Why? Because of the expectations injected into my brain by science fiction. I was brought up to think that someday I wouldn't need my phone to give me directions because MY CAR WOULD DRIVE ME THERE AUTOMATICALLY. I was indoctrinated with the thought that someday, some wondrous day, I would be able to speak and my kitchen would cook. That I could make utterance, and my home would illuminate. That I could, with a word, make manifest my smallest whim through some plenipotentiary metallic man-servant. This future is not here.

The nebulous benchmark against which I hold all new technological advancement precludes me from ever considering myself to dwell in this ill-defined future I have concocted. I have set up a standard so high as to necessitate a truly brobdingnagian leap in technology to impress me sufficiently to the point that I could consider myself a denizen of the mythical Future. A phone that can take voice commands is great, and the incremental improvements that trickle out to better these services over time bring us crawling toward our ultimate goal as humans to be able to do many many things while having to ACTUALLY do next to nothing.

Ahh. Progress.

But the unavoidable obstacle standing between us and this Technological Utopia is not necessarily the technology itself, which is always improving and ever-growing. It is in the inherent limitations of man. My phone can give me directions to the nearest Vietnamese restaurant because there was at some point a man or team of mans that, in the machine's native language, instructed it on how to do so. My technology can respond to my desires only insofar as someone, somewhere has anticipated that need (or want, more likely) and set up a range of parameters within which my machine can act to fulfill my wish. My phone can "listen" to me tell it to do something, and if it can do it it will. It's when we step outside of these parameters that the limitations are found. I ask what the weather will be like tomorrow and it tells me. I ask which shirt to wear that day and my phone, desperate to please, shunts me to a Google search of "What shirt should I wear today?" This is not what I wanted.

Now I fully understand the limitations of input from which my phone suffers. It has an internet connection, a camera, and various sensors for motion or orientation, but it is not aware of what is in my closet. At the risk of diluting my original point, I would like to submit that closet-knowingness is not a technology I'm prepared to pay for, but in The Future, every piece of technology would be intertwined creating an ever-present, semi-omniscient being that can readily pick me out a shirt AND THEN IRON IT. You may have noticed I make a small but important distinction between the future and The Future. The one being the inevitable rolling-on of days and years that drags us to a yet-distant Now. The other being this dreamed-of creation of our collective imaginings that includes such ridiculous things as jet-packs, robotic maids, and closets that pick your shirts THEN IRON THEM. I want it known that I do live in the Now, and I love it. But there is a part of me, a small but ever-present part of me, that constantly longs for the technology of The Future. A day when my dinner table will do my dishes for me. A day when my couch will adjust itself to mine and my wife's desired firmness at the same time. A day when I step into and back out of a room that is both in my house and wherever else I want it to be. These leaps made at the same time would force my jaded mind to remit and allow itself the unheard-of indulgence of recognizing itself as residing in "The Future." Until then my phone can get me through the day.

Almost.

It's Raining.... It's Pouring

The Event

Hello, my friends. Jesse here. Today brings you the unique opportunity to catch a glimpse of what it's like inside the brain of me, the husband. The guy. The dude, if you will. I apologize that there are no pictures to illuminate my story. I can only hope that my words are sufficient to paint a picture and portray my feelings.

Enjoy:

My wife, being of the stay-at-home variety recently, has been on a kick of planning and preparing a wide range of what I like to call “real meals.” These meals are differentiated from their less substantive brethren by things like multiple food groups, glass plates, and eating at the table instead of in front of Netflix the way it should be (I’ll leave ambiguity as to the antecedent to the phrase “the way it should be” to allow the reader to interpret whether it should be at a table or in front of Netflix. Close friends will know what I mean, strangers and acquaintances can infer as they like for the moment.). As a side effect of this, my wife's newfound love of housewifery, I’ve been subjected to a greater number of green things on my plate than I have previously found comfortable. Some of them, to my surprised relief, have been quite good. Others have pressed me through an experience that could only be described as herbivoric.

Those of you with whom I am familiar will know that I’m no great lover of salads, but certain combinations of specific varieties of leafy things drenched in the viscous opacity of the right kind of topping have proven themselves at least palatable if not totally desirable. Recently, however, I had one of those herbivoric experiences which, in addition to being utterly repulsive in itself, may have been to the permanent detriment of this movement I’ve been making toward a more “balanced” diet. Danielle had prepared a perfectly lovely “real” meal on glass plates, sitting at the table, featuring a variety of foods which under other circumstances would have been mentioned here, but have been forgotten entirely in the wake of my salad-related trauma. We sit down, eager to dig into this latest culinary creation born of my wife’s recent abundance of free time. We say a quick prayer, and begin simultaneously the meal and the accompanying recounting of our day. “How was your day today? Did you have a good day today or a bad day today? Well what kind of day was it?” (With apologies to the creators of Seinfeld for an assuredly imperfect quotation) After a few minutes of happy noshing and a couple of stories exchanged my fork brings to my mouth the scourge, the bane, the ruin of my day: A single, undrenched leaf of baby spinach.

I have no aversion to baby spinach per se. Danielle and others will tell you that, should salad be unavoidable, baby spinach is actually my preferred delivery system for whatever dressing I’ll be eating at that meal. But one leaf of baby spinach on its own changed things. I was suddenly aware that in my mouth was not a bite of salad, but a leaf. A piece of a plant had found its way from nature to my tongue unimpeded and unflavored. Helped, even, by my own treacherous fork. The bitter grit and pungent fibers of that one terrible leaf began working their dark sorcery from the moment it passed my lips. My mouth, nay, my whole being rejected it immediately, but for the love of propriety and in consideration of my dear wife I continued to chew. My incisors, canines, and molars all worked in unison to destroy forever this vile intruder. With a final gulp I put the beast to rest, but the damage was done. The memory would live on, seared into my subconscious, forever emblazoned on the most prominent part of my brain. A complex in its nascent form, waiting to mature and grow into… what? A fear? A psychosis? An idée fixe?

Alas, dear reader, we may never know the full extent of the damage done. We can only guess what the ramifications will be. But be warned. If you take nothing from my ramblings this day, remember this guiding principle: Salad is not food. Salad is what food eats.

Stay-At-Home Wife

I currently am experiencing the unique pleasure of being a stay-at-home wife.(Jesse here. I'm also enjoying some of the benefits of a wife who stays at home. Husbaughts, as always, in red.) While I am thoroughly enjoying sleeping in, watching TV, and actually doing things around the house, I find myself putting strange things on my to-do list such as:

Fill hubby's (That's me.) water bottle and put it in the fridge

Eat lunch

Make bed

Really, who has to think about those things!? (Well, the Nutty Professor comes to mind. You're in good company cuz he's, like, a professor!) I may or may not be starting to lose my mind! Speaking of losing my mind: Just the other morning I cooked myself oatmeal thinking that would be a good healthy start to my day. It would have been, had I not completely forgotten about it! It was still nearly warm by the time I remembered but it just goes to show that if I don't put "eat breakfast" on my list it very well may not happen!

I happened to notice the lonely oatmeal sitting solitary on the stove (ALLITERATION), but having been trained by my wife to defer to her superior judgement in all things I assumed she was aware. Oh how the mighty have fallen. No longer is absent-mindedness the sole domain of the husband. Things like forgetting to don a tie or belt before going to church, or pouring myself a glass of juice only to find it untouched in the kitchen two days later are now found in the glad company of a few choice yet insignificant and endearing shortcomings of the wife. (RUN-ON SENTENCE) And yes, I appear to be lending grammatical commentary TO MY COMMENTARY. Deal with it.

At work I used to have a "handy, dandy notebook" where I kept track of all my tasks for the day. The guys I worked with would tell me specifically to write things in my magic notebook because somehow those things always got done. I took great pride in knowing I had found a system that helped me accomplish everything I needed to do and also made me appear awesome. I have since discovered that I have to keep a notebook with my daily to-dos at home as well for a few reasons:

1. I need something to keep me focused during the day or I may just lounge about and watch a whole season of Saved by the Bell on Netflix.

2. It helps me remember what I do all day so if Jesse doesn't happen to notice, I can slyly bring it up

3. To keep my spelling and penmanship up.

It's a strange phenomenon going from a working woman and full time student to not having a care in the world. Let's just say words such as "vacuum" quickly become difficult to spell! And forget all those years of trying to write "cute." That has gone right out the window!

It took me a couple of passes, but I think my wife means "trying to write cutely" or "in a hand which might be considered to be cute." Since I'm agnostic to whether or not the word "cute" can be correctly adverbialized, I'll allow this husbaught to clarify the point. Back to the story:

I am trying to adjust as I trade in my high heels, dress slacks, financial knowledge, and office environment for  sweatpants, cooking, sewing, vacuuming, organizing, and decorating. These days I sometimes shower and get all dolled up just to walk the tenth of a mile to get the mail since that is often my big outing for the day! 

I have also traded in a large group of human friends for many inanimate friends.

My vacuum (Hank) which keeps me company at least twice a week.

 My clorox wipes (Judith). Honestly how can you live without them?

My trusty tool kit (Blaze of Glory the First) which helps me assemble bookshelves, hang pictures on the wall, and makes me look tough.

  My sewing machine (Sally) that is trying to make its owner look cool despite the owner having very limited skills.

And of course my hot glue gun (Dirty Harry). 

For when things get serious.

As much as I love living the old lady life of "tinkering" around our apartment, hopefully I can find a job soon!

Obsession

I cleaned out some of my purses the other day and this is what I found.

 I'd be lying if I said I don't have an obsession!

Graduation

{April 27, 2012}

After 6 long years of school I am finally done!

Bachelors of Science in Nursing.

I'm officially an educated women.

(Jesse here. Don't worry. Despite my wife's hifalutin' edumacashun I'll always be her proof-reader and have made her aware of the delicious irony inherent to calling herself "an educated women." AKA Jesse pointed it out laughing hysterically and will never let me live it down. But in my defense, English never was my best subject nor does it say I'm getting a Bachelors in English.

(Husband thoughts [Husbaughts] in red.)

This semester was a beast so I was unbelievably happy when it ended.

Not only did I have many hours of volunteer service to complete, a senior paper to write, a portfolio to compile, many tests to take, presentations to present, and group projects to do.... We also decided it would be a good idea to pack up and clean our apartment, move 1200 miles away, and leave my man there for two months! 

Probably not the best plan but you do what you gotta do! 

Since some have called me long winded (mom), I'm going to stop talking and here is my graduation day in pictures. (With husbaughts interjected)

 The following picture was snapped with split-second timing by the non-photog husband between the milling masses of the recently-liberated graduates filing past me. Imagine threading a needle at warp factor 5. Make it so.

 Privacy, please. This was more for the benefit (or rather long-term psychological detriment) of Danielle's young siblings who were in attendance. Yeah, they hate it when I do that.

 We paid HOW much for this piece of green cardboard?

Danielle has a fascination with jumping pictures. Perhaps stemming from an adolescent desire to make manifest blah blah blah blah. She has great legs.

After the ceremony we went out to dinner where some more of my family was able to join us! It was so fun to see everyone there and feel their love and support.

Thanks to everyone who came!

And of course we'd hate to make it through a full post without some ridiculous picture of Jesse...

I'm just giving the people what they want.

Jesse's Final Thoughts: Looking back on the events of the day amid the hustle and bustle of family, friends, and frivolity, it's easy to lose sight of the great accomplishment we were witness to that afternoon. I mean, seriously. Golden Corral's rolls are amazing, and I live for the opportunity to have pizza, Chinese food, and mashed potatoes on my plate at the same time. It's a wonderful restaurant.

Jesse came back!

As usual I'm behind the times so I'm going to play a little catch-up.

{April 26, 2012}

April 26 had become a much anticipated day. It was my last day of work and the day my sweetheart came back to Utah to celebrate my graduation and take me back to Texas with him. I could hardly wait!

I kept myself plenty occupied at work and left rather late since I had to wrap up any and all loose ends before I left. I then went back to Jesse's parents house to freshen up a bit and find out where on earth the Provo Airport was located. 

I was greeted by two of Jesse's sisters, his parents, and a question of "Do you guys have any big plans tonight because I need help moving a fridge!"

Hahaha! Our only official plans included not leaving one another's sight, and maybe some kisses.... or a lot of kisses. :) But I decided there should be room to include a fridge move. So we all hopped into a couple of cars and headed to the airport. 

When we arrived, I wasn't sure where he'd be so I stood there looking lost until my handsome husband showed up and wrapped me in his arms. A hug had never felt so good. We then kissed until we heard shouts from the car, "ENOUGH!" (But let's be honest, we hadn't seen each other in two full months. We had to make up for lost time!)

 And then our caravan was off to Pleasant Grove to pick up a fridge. 

Good thing I decided to share my husband's muscles for the time being. He was quite instrumental in the move.

After everything was said and done with the fridge we headed back to Jesse's parents house where we met his other sister. We had all sorts of fun sitting around talking, laughing, watching YouTube videos, touching my SIL's pregnant belly, and telling (or in my case, listening to) inside jokes.

As it would turn out, I'm not the only person who missed my cute husband. He really lights up the room with his upbeat personality and sense of humor. I am SO happy to have him back!