Furniture? Furniture.

"Objects are made by men, and used for many purposes...but we never love objects." - James Franco

KB and I love having people over, especially when sharing a meal.  Even though it sounds slightly pretentious, we really do love to entertain.  It's fun, it builds friendships, and it's always a good excuse for making an over-the-top meal.

When we got married, I did not actually own a table.  As a bachelor, I just chose to hold my plates steady what shoveling food into my mouth with the other hand.  Once KB and I got married, she first introduced me to the concept of "manners", something I had obviously long since forgotten.  Through her diligence and patience, seven and a half years later I can honestly say that my manners are somewhat marginally better.  Kudos, KB!  Hard work pays off!

But I digress.  One thing she brought to the marriage (other than brains, culture, and Clancey) was her awesome table.  She had a great 2-4 person table from Crate & Barrel, and I was in awe.  On one of our first nights in our Houston home, we decorated the table, set out the fine china we got for our wedding, and had grilled cheeses (two youth ministry salaries gets you that level of gourmanderie, if that is in fact a word).  Since then, it has been a workhorse.  And a sawhorse, for that matter.  It's been used for crafting, so it's still got glitter on it.  It's got footprints on it.  It's been used, abused, and has hosted some (frankly) awesome parties.  We always found a way to cram more people around it, and it never let us down.  Now it gets to retire, and will likely be used as a desk, which I think is the equivalent of being put out to stud.  I'm sure at least one food story will be written on it, so you know...circle of life and whatnot.  It's a fantastic, well-loved table. 

Our new table and chairs arrived on Friday, and they are for sure the new hotness...

For God's sake, use a coaster!

Leaves!  Matching chairs!  Appropriate size!  I'm proud of us for making the leap into the early 20th century.  There will be many more happy meals around this table, so stop on by anytime.  We'll eat hot dogs off the fancy china.

Signage.

One thing that my weekly commute affords me is the time to notice signs along the highways I drive.  Most are forgettable enough, but one this morning made me think of two other signs that have stuck in my mind for the better part of a decade. 

This morning, I passed a Ramada Inn outside Giddings, and their sign read "You are in our prayers."  Insofar as I did not see it last week, I know it went up recently.  It is addressed to no one in particular.  I wonder what prompted this outward display of...what?  Faith?  Love?  Concern?  Does the motive even matter?  Of course not.  At 65 mph, its message is simple: Someone, somewhere is praying for you.  It reminds me of two other signs I've seen around Texas freeways.

The first (and second, actually) was a changeable roadwork sign.  It simply said "God bless you."  There's no commentary I can make on this.  Again, it's a simple message, just trying to bring a ray of hope or joy into some passing motorist's life.  The second, however, rattled around in my brainbox for weeks...really, still to this day.  It read "This Is Your Life."

My first thought was that is was a message of empowerment...this is your life.  Take control of it, make it yours, don't allow others to dictate what you think or feel.  Of course, being me, that optimism passed quickly and lead to an overwhelming sense of dread.  I was sitting in my car (at the time, my Altima with a broken turn signal and no AC).  On the freeway.  Stuck in rush hour traffic.  That sign was not empowering my to anything.  It was mocking me. 

"THIS is your life.  This, right here.  Traffic.  Smog.  Not moving forward.  Just look at me!  I sit here for a few days, send out a message that informs people of a construction zone, and then roll on to my next task.  I'm useful!  I'm changeable!  I'm not only solar powered, but look how slender I am!  What is that you're eating?  A doughnut?  Nice.  I'm out in the sunshine, and you're sitting in your car, eating a doughnut in traffic."

Once I finished accusing the sign of plagiarising L.A.Story, I then realized that I was having an argument with a highway sign.  It obviously couldn't hear me.  1) It's a sign, thus no auditory function, and 2) I was in the left lane, too far away to be heard (though with no AC, my windows were down). 

I have often seen both versions of that sign scroll across my mind at various points in my life.  Sometimes the sentence ends in a question mark, sometimes an exclamation point.  Who knows how it will look today, but having passed by the Ramada, it will undoubtedly be a little more hopeful.

You are in my prayers.

Thanks For That, Steph.

So for anyone that is not already aware, my first year of college did not go so well.  One could even say it was...well terrible, frankly.  My GPA didn't matter so much as the fact that the few credits that I could transfer were still not that great.  It was not a banner year for yours truly.  I returned home to Beaumont in a depressed daze, but eventually made it through to greener pastures (namely, Houston).

Flash forward to now-ish, and I live mere blocks from The University.  I'm also considering pursuing my MBA.  Because of sheer proximity, it makes absolute sense to try for enrollment at UT's business school.  Thus, I perused their website to sign up for an information session.  To do this required an electronic ID for their system.  No problem; I sign up for things very well.

Oh wait...problem.  It seems that the University of Texas, in their wisdom, had converted my old UT email account into their new IT system.  This would be fine if I had any idea whatsoever what my old password was.  So I went through their process of calling the helpdesk, only to find that as a "former student" I would have to verify my identity to the supervisor on duty.  Since this all happened before the days of "security questions", I would have to answer questions about my time at UT.

In The Lord of the Rings, when The Fellowship descends into the Mines of Moria, Gimli is eager to see his kin that owns the Mines; upon finding the remains left by orcs he lets out a painful wail of mourning.  When I was told I'd need to answer questions about my academic career, my brain let out a similar wail upon viewing the decayed visage of my pride. 

I wish I could say that I partied an appendage off, or was just up to my eyeballs in pretty ladies, but I can't.  I went to a few awesome concerts, went to exactly one (1) party (and hated it, for the record), and got a lot better at playing the guitar.  I don't really remember anything about that year, because I have tamped those memories down.  The only thing I really choose to remember about my time as a Longhorn is the sole A that I earned, in a class that I would gladly revisit on any given day: The History of Rock Music. 

It followed the same basic structure every Tuesday and Thursday; come in, listen to a weird or unique cover song, listen to our professor lecture about something totally awesome, listen to more music, leave.  It was great, I made an A, and I got exposed to some amazing music.  If only my Chemistry and French classes had been the same!  So I flunked out, went home and licked my wounds.  I also tried very, very hard to forget the entire ordeal.  For the next thirteen years, I did a pretty good job of that.  That is, until Stephanie decided to give me the third degree.

"What was your first and last semester?"

A sigh, and then "Fall '97, Spring '98."

"Were you ever on academic probation?"

"Obviously."

"Did you ever receive a degree from The University?"

"OK, clearly I did not."

"What was your address?"

"Ummm...dorm room in Jester...ground floor...I don't really remember"

"How about your mailbox number?"

"Seriously, are you just screwing with me here?"

And on it went.  Five of the most mortifying minutes of my life.  Not because of anything other than it was something I was not proud of.  I hadn't spoken much of this out loud in the better part of a decade, and now I was considering a graduate degree form the same university that dumped me.

But that's over with now, and maybe I can move on fully.  Maybe trying for a graduate degree from UT will help close that circle.  As long as I can top my first semester GPA, I'll be fine.

For the record, my first semester GPA was 1.466.  I honestly cannot remember how I ended the year.  I challenge anyone to top that!