InvertedMind is looking to get a new car.  As much as a love (read: lovelovelovelovelove) my Mazda6's Zoom-Zoom,that second Zoom costs too much money in the gasoline department.  So I'm getting myself a new vehicle.  I'm quite fond of the styling of the 2008 Focus (although I'd love to have the luxury of waiting for the 2011 model when they finally — finally — bring the European version across the pond), so I'll be picking one of those up as soon as the right incentives come along.

That being said, my heart just skipped a beat when I saw the pre-release shots of the 2010 Mazda3.  We're talking BMW-quality styling at fully-loaded Focus prices.  I just wish these were about $3,000 cheaper, and also here now.  I give you exhibit A:

P.S. - About the Focus for a minute, in case anyone is looking at buying a smaller, more fuel-efficient vehicle: about $13,500 gets you a base model (manual windows, single CD in-dash with an auxiliary input jack, nothing fancy).  That's with no incentives.  Do your homework and wait for the right time, and you could be as lucky as the one guy who got $3,500 off between dealer and factory incentives.  Why is it worth it?  Does advertised 25 city/35 highway miles per gallon speak to you?  How about the actual achieved mileage results people have managed: most people seem to be getting between 38 and 43 miles per gallon.  For me, that makes it seem like I'm paying $2.50 per gallon again.  Sounds like a good deal to me.

There are few things in this world that I know of that are more adorable than what I just witnessed: a two-year-old talking in her sleep.

Ahh, the little pleasures in life.

I took a break last week.

SuperDad I ain't.  I do what any good parent would do: I take care of my daughter, I love her endlessly, I ensure she is happy and healthy and I — GASP! — discipline her.  But even Delta Force takes a break to recharge from time to time.

But I've come to realize that, as an adult, "taking a break" really means "taking time to do what you didn't already have time for."  Rarely does that include "party like a rock star" or "go bungee-jumping."  So I spent the weekend…cleaning.  Top to bottom.  Front to back.  I am no longer embarrassed by the thick layer of dust that had managed to settle on the unused surfaces in the room.  Of course, I was appalled to see that, 24 hours later, the dust layer was regrouping for a counter-offensive.  I'm reminded of a bit of Simpsons humor:

Homer: "All work and no play make Homer…something-something…"

Marge: "Go crazy?"

Homer: "Don't mind if I do!"

Being a parent is a great thrill, but it can be maddening at times.  Even more so when you're doing it alone.  Sometimes God is the only friend you have to talk to about it, too (of course, that's never a bad thing).  But I had friends helping me enjoy my time off, from Wednesday evening through Saturday night, when I went out for a beer and a plate of hot wings with a neighbor from down the street.

I do have one question for the universe, though: why does it always rain when I am picking Her Cuteness up from her mother?  I kid you not, every single time — every one — it has rained at some point during the drive.  And Monday was nearly a monsoon.  It was one of those rains where you wish you had yet another speed for your wipers: intermittent, slow, fast and my-windshield-will-explode-if-it-comes-in-contact-with-water.  Granted, it saved me from having to perform one of the tasks I ran out of time for over the weekend, in that I no longer need to wash my car.  I may need to repaint it after the pressure-washing it took, but at least it's clean.

Other Ramblings…

Note: These are a little old; I didn't get around to posting this last Friday, so the links are a little more stale than I would prefer.

• There's grand theft, theft and petty theft.  Then, there's just plain stupid: from the What-Is-This-World-Coming-To department, we have a case of a crook knocking off a 12-year-old girl's lemonade stand. It's hard to imagine there being a happy ending here, but there is: the girl proceeded to chase the robber into a nearby house, where he hid for an hour before giving it up.  Had he gotten away with it?  He would have walked off with a whopping $17.50.  Instead, he gets the grand prize in the stupidity contest: a felony robbery charge and $50,000 bond.  Now, if he could just find a way to steal another $49,986…
• Democrats responded to President Bush's call to lift a 27-year-old ban on offshore drilling by offering up an idea (if it can be called that) of their own: the government should take ownership of all refineries so they can better control the output.  I'm thinking of a word for this…let's see…Hugo Chavez recently did this exact thing; Fidel Castro has done it; Stalin and Lenin did similar things in other industries…ahh, yes, it's called Communism!  You know, that thing we spent 30-plus years fighting with a cold war?  That concept that the government should run your life completely?  That thing that is just one step further left than Barrack Obama has already gone?
• The housing market is still pretty ugly, but at least the Department of Justice is looking into the causes.  They've recent;y rounded up and formally charged over 400 people with varying degrees of mortgage fraud.  Of course, when the chairmen of both the Senate Budget Committee (Democrat Kent Conrad) and the Senate Banking Committee (Democrat Christopher Dodd) received "special treatment" from the former CEO of the worst-offending lending institution in the entire country that included ridiculously favorable terms (not to mention the fact that Countrywide as a corporate institution has contributed more than $20,000 to Dodd's campaigns which, if I'm not mistaken, is against campaign finance laws), it's hard to have much faith in the government to do anything of merit to fix the problem.
• And, finally…may God bless each and every one of you.

There's a certain sense of vulnerability late at night that you can't help but feel when you are the lone adult in the house.  Unless you are asleep, you are infinitely more aware of yourself and everything around you.  The silence augments the slightest bump in the darkness, and lightning can wake you — abruptly — from the deepest slumber.

About 25 minutes ago, a ridiculously severe thunderstorm passed directly over Raleigh, specifically targeting the eastern side of the suburbs outside the beltline.  In other words, the very heart of the storm passed directly over my house.  I was just about completely out cold when the first flash woke me.  The storm was probably still a good five miles northwest, and I thought little of it.  I closed my eyes…

Flash.                      Rumble.

Flash.                 Rumble.

Flash.        Ruuuuuuuuumble.

FLASH-BOOM.

A booming crack of thunder roared up so quickly after the flash that the two were impossible to separate.  While far from the worst thunder I've ever heard (that title is reserved for the mid-summer thunderstorms over the plains of Texas that literally can shake the concrete slab most of the houses there rest upon), it was enough to make me instinctively reach my hands to my ears.  There was no rumble, just a sharp crack, the very sound of which seemed to actually be visible for just that fleeting moment in the flash on which it was borne.

It's not the thunder itself that scared me.  I've grown up fascinated, nearly obsessed, with severe weather.  Tornadoes intrigue me like nothing else in the universe.   No, it wasn't the thunder, or the lightning, or the storm as a whole.  It was, in that instant, being suddenly and minutely aware of the world just outside my house: tall trees, wide-open skies, and the hill upon which my home resides, making it the tallest structure on the street.  Every possible threat of nature to me, my home and — above all else — my daughter was revealed to me in stark contrast as the thunder roared outside.

As adults, these are the monsters in our closets.  It's the fear of a home invasion, or a fire, or a flood, or any other disaster beyond our control that can strike without warning and do devastating damage.  It's our role as protectors that often leaves us feeling entirely and utterly defenseless in the knowledge that we can only control our own bodies, and nothing more.  All the promises we make to ourselves and our families — that we'll never let anything happen to them, that they are safe with us, that there's nothing to be afraid of — are entirely fantastical.  While saying those things may be comforting not just to those at whom we direct them, but also to ourselves, there's a moment each time you stare into the face of danger that you realize one of two things: either God is in control of your life, or no one is.  No matter how much we try to buy into the illusion of control, the complete lack of it becomes obvious to each of us in the presence of a mortal threat.

For me, God is in control.  No matter how reluctant I am most of the time to admit that fact, it is infinitely more satisfying to know that I don't have to cover my eyes with the fantasy that I have to be the grand protector of all.

What this is driving toward is simple: the same crack of thunder than made my heart skip one beat before pounding out a hundred more than it should have also woke Kaylee, scaring her to death.  As frightening as the known threats can be as an adult, it is undoubtedly the fear of the unknown threat as a child that is the worst thrill known to man.  In a span of time equal to the instant I became aware of the dangers outside my door, I forgot them, at least momentarily.  I was down the stairs and had her in my arms in a period of time that seemed so tightly compressed that it was almost as if I was transported instantly from beneath my own covers to her bedside. 

I am not my daughter's protector; God is.  But, to her, I am the physical manifestation of His loving hands.  I am the one she looks for at every moment of uneasiness, and it is my grasp that calms her again.  As the one she perceives as her protector, the urgency of "being there" brings what feels to me like an out-of-body experience.  When her fever spiked in November to over 105 degrees, I wrote here the next day that I stepped out of myself, out of "dad mode," and instantly separated myself from the emotion of the situation.  It was purely instinctive, knowing that I was going to be of best use to her if I was able to think as the rational protector rather than the emotional parent.  Again, tonight, I stepped outside myself momentarily and snatched her from the grasp of her own fears.

But then, as we sank into the couch, I became dad again.  I became a frightened, vulnerable man holding a frightened, vulnerable child.  In that moment, I felt for the first time in more than half my life the frightened longing for my own parents, who long ago calmed my fears just as I calmed those of my child.  And I came to the realization that my mother and father undoubtedly must have felt the same longings, the same fears, and the same incomprehensible feeling of being so infinitesimally small in a world filled with so many enormous dangers.  In that moment, I finally and truly felt like I had grown into an adult, but at the same time I became a child again.

Because, as I sat there comforting my daughter as she drifted back to sleep, my daughter laid there comforting me. 

When I went to bed Wednesday night, there were scattered thundershowers in the area.  It was humid as all get-out, too, and temperatures have been well above normal for the last week or so.  Added up, it came as no surprise when I woke up Thursday morning to what appeared to be a moderately dense fog hanging over the neighborhood.

I live on a golf course, which means a lot of wide-open grassy areas.  Plants transpire a lot at night, so it adds moisture to the air.  When there's a layer of warm air trapped close to that moisture by a blanket of cold air above, you get fog.  Conditions were absolutely perfect for it.

What did shock me was the smell when I walked outside: the unmistakable smell of burning wood.  My first reaction, of course, was to turn immediately and look to see if my house was on fire.  No?  Good.  There had been a fire in the neighborhood last fall, and conditions are even more conducive to flame-ups right now than they were then, so it then dawned on me that we may have another unfortunate family elsewhere in the 'hood.  Fortunately, no — as I looked around, I saw no columns of smoke rising into the sky.  But it had me puzzled.  What was burning?

I got my answer a little after I arrived in the office.  It turns out, there's a wild fire burning out on the coast to the southeast of Raleigh.  Wednesday night, as I watched the radar to see if we were going to get some rain, I noticed it was all moving in from the southeast.  Two plus two?  Holy crap, it equals four.

So, Raleigh spent Thursday and, to a lesser extent, Friday blanketed in a layer of smoke that cut visibility down under two miles in some places.  And it really ticks me off, because my subconscious mind is confused: it smelled like mid-winter, but it's a week away from the beginning of summer.  And it made its way into the office, too.  Shorts and the smell of a wood fire.  I'm quite conflicted.

In other news, an impromptu street show broke out Thursday as I returned to the office from Subway (in the aforementioned smoke screen).  Apparently, the movie Diary of a Mad Black Woman has a live, off-Broadway version, and it came to the corner of Fayetteville and Davie streets at 11:45 a.m.  At first, we thought she was yelling at someone in particular.  A quick glance behind us proved that she was, in fact, yelling at a lot of people.  None of whom, by the way, were visible to anyone else.  It's things like the smoke and an apparently schizophrenic woman that can really throw you off-kilter for the remainder of a day.

Other Ramblings

• I don't know much about Camille Paglia, but what little I've seen up to this point shows that she leans almost as far to the left as Hugo Chavez — which is the likely reason for her apparent belief that Barrack Obama is a very centered candidate (in reality, some of his ideas are so far out in left field that, if he was playing for the Chicago Cubs, he'd be playing his home games in Comiskey Park while the rest of the team was at Wrigley Field).  However, she had what may go down in history as the best Clinton-related quote ever:

  "Hillary for veep? Are you mad? What party nominee worth his salt would chain himself to a traveling circus like the Bill and Hillary Show? If the sulky bearded lady wasn't biting the new president’s leg, the oafish carnival barker would be sending in the clowns to lure all the young ladies into back-of-the-tent sword-swallowing. It would be a seamy orgy of scheming and screwing."

  I am infinitely proud of the fact that I've finally been able to use the phrase "seamy orgy" on this site without it reflecting on me.  That's been a life-long goal of mine.

• California is finally responsible for something good besides Happy Cows.  Administrators at a Cali high school had police inform students that some of their classmates had been killed in accidents involving alcohol over the weekend.  It was all a ruse, though; the goal of the exercise was to scare the kids away from driving while intoxicated.  It worked — some kids wound up in hysterics.  After finding out the truth, many students protested the apparent cruelty of the act.  I, for one, applaud that school.  Kids today believe they are invincible, and have an utter disregard for others.  Maybe this sort of thing needs to be widespread.  I say it should be expanded: make the kids watch autopsies of victims of drunk driving.  Make them realize how fragile life really is before it's too late.  Kudos, El Camino High School of Oceanside, Cal.
• And, finally…tomorrow is Father's Day. Being a dad is the thing in my life I am most proud of; the fact that I am managing to do it on my own is just gravy on the 'taters.  There is no job in life more draining, but none so rewarding, either.  And I'm not going to candy-coat this: it's nice to have the world revolve around me for a day, too.

  
  

It doesn't take an historian to do the date math necessary to come to the conclusion that InvertedMind's 27th birthday was so miserable that it violated the laws of physics (i.e., it both sucked and blew at the same time).  If you don't know why, just go read the posts between July 31st and September 30th of 2007 — it will become quite obvious.

Keeping that in mind, and not being one to pass up a chance to Party Again Before I'm 30™, I'm getting together with some neighbors with whom I share August, and we're having a barbecue.  While I can't invite all of you (I may not have a very large readership, but it's big enough to render my back yard and wallet both useless if I was to attempt to house all of you), I selfishly encourage you to either send me well-wishes on August 14th, or — better yet, for me at least — send me gifts.  I like gifts.  A lot.

To that end, I have a recommendation: I would greatly appreciate it if someone would send me 1,400 hours of entertainment in MP3 format on 21 CDs — the entire series of CBS Radio Mystery Theater, purchasable for a mere $49.99.  I found a number of these episodes (fewer than two percent, I would wager) via LimeWire before I knew the collection was for sale.  Seeing as how I've downloaded enough music in my life to keep me in jail until I've returned to dust I don't encourage breaking the law, I'd like to eliminate a small section of my eventual incarceration make good on my downloads.

Your cooperation on this matter is greatly appreciated. 

Note: I think I'm going to go back to the one-big-post-per-week format for Mindless Ramblings.  My schedule is too hectic, but I also know there are, indeed, a faithful few who visit the site regularly and hope for updates.  There is also a major site update in the works.  More on that to follow.

Time for a little catching up.

Yeah, I've been largely absent lately.  It's more a result of just being too busy.  Unfortunately, this blog takes a back seat to my work at MVN.com, if only because that one actually has imposed minimums for posting.  So, what has InvertedMind been up to?

First of all, let me just say that driving long distances alone with a two-year-old does one thing well: it sucks.   It's not that she's bad; it's that she's two.  She's needy.  And her whining could strip paint off concrete sometimes.  Late last year I bit the bullet and bought a portable DVD player, and that's become my best friend on long drives. 

In fact, it's not the actual driving that makes my brain want to beat its way out of my skull; it's the bathroom stops.  When you have two responsible adults in the car, you can quite easily take turns watching the youngster while you alternately evacuate.  But when it's just you, all you can do is strap them in a stroller, hope to God the handicap stall is free, squeeze in tightly, and wonder if you can actually pee with an overly curious toddler sitting next to you.  The phrase "performance anxiety" comes to mind.

And let's not even get into a deep discussion of the mess.  After a trip north, my car resembles the business end of a garbage truck.  Dry cereal, crackers, gummies…it doesn't matter.  I could give her two pretzels and — somehow — the back seat would look like an explosion in an Italian restaurant by the end of the trip.

Oh, speaking of MVN.com (second paragraph): my co-writer, James, was in a car accident a few weeks ago that left him with severe injuries.  He is expected to make a full recovery, and no injuries are life-threatening, but among his wounds are two broken arms.  I'd like to take this time to call for prayers for Jimbo's recovery — and for his wife, who is probably forced to wait on him hand and foot.

In other news, I was in Delaware this past weekend for one of my two annual trips to Dover International Speedway for the NASCAR race.  Let's just say it's a good thing the part of the trip that is most enjoyable is actually the tailgating.  Otherwise, it would have been a long, boring day.  For a better idea of what the day consisted of, check out my blog over at FoxSports.com.

This summer is looking like it may be a first in more ways than one.  For one thing, there are currently at least four movies I want to see that are in theaters right now: The Happening, Get Smart, The Black Knight and The Love Guru.  And the other first?  Of those movies, half of them are not comedies.  Shocking.

Other Ramblings…

• Why does the state of Kentucky get labeled as a place for nothing but the reddest of necks?  Well, all accusations of rampant inbreeding aside, it's possible it could be a result of their naming a town Rabbit Hash.  Or, just maybe, it's because that town's mayor  was a Black Labrador Retriever.  Ol' Junior Cochran just died, though; I hear the race for his replacement will be a fight between a gerbil and a bent paper clip.
• The Pittsburgh Penguins' run to the Stanley Cup Finals was a sight to behold, losing just two games in the first three rounds.  It looked, though, like they were going to get blown out in the finals after Detroit won the first two games.  The Penguins fought back, though, bringing the series back to 3-2 after putting up two games for the ages — including a triple-overtime defeat in which Petr Sykora actually called his game-winning goal.  Not since Babe Ruth's rumored calling of a game-winning home run has such a ballsy call been made and answered.  I'm reminded of Seattle's Matt Hasselbeck's overtime call of, "we want the ball, and we're gonna win!"; Green Bay proceeded to score on their first drive of overtime, forever making the Seahawks' quarterback look like a complete idiot.  Yet another reason we salute you, Brett Favre.
• Shania Twain's husband, Robert 'Mutt' Lange, left the drop-dead gorgeous — and, from what I hear, incredibly gracious and personable — country music star recently, providing irrefutable evidence that "Mutt" is not an endearing nickname, but rather a reference to his cognitive abilities (as if his sense of style wasn't indicative enough).  Single, desperate, delusional men the world over salute you, Mr. Lange!
• Sunday's forecasted high temperature is 102 here in Raleigh.  Relief is on the way, however; by Tuesday it should be back down to a refreshing 97.