I mentioned on my Facebook page that Calfgrit11 and I went up flying in a small plane with a couple of friends a few weeks ago. I took several photos of the plane’s shadow as we were coming in for a landing, and made an animated .gif out of them:

Bullgrit

I was working late one night last week at my “real job” office. I was the only one on my floor of offices, (I had walked around the floor a little while before, and no one was anywhere to be seen), and all was very, very quiet. It was the kind of quiet you only find in an empty office building; long halls of dark offices and closed doors. An almost eery quiet.

Well, I was calling it a night and locked my computer. When I turned in my chair to reach down and collect my backpack, (read: “briefcase”), someone right over my shoulder said, “Psst,” in my ear. It startled the hell out of me, and I shouted.

I whirled around in my chair to see no one in my office. My door was even still closed to a crack. Sheesh, I thought, as my heartbeat slowed back down. That was weird.

I swear, it really sounded like a person’s voice right next to me. Obviously it must have been my chair squeaking, or my shoe on the carpet, or some other mundane sound. How loud did I shout? I thought. Good thing I’m the only one here right now.

So I picked up my backpack, stood up and opened my office door. I stepped out, locked and closed the door, and then saw someone round the corner about 30 feet down the hall. It was a coworker, and he had a concerned look on his face.

He said, “Did you just hear someone shout?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It was me.”

The absurdity and embarrassment of it all made me start laughing. Through my chuckling, I explained how I had just heard a disembodied voice whisper in my ear, and it startled me to shout. He started laughing, too. By the end of my explanation, we were both nearly doubled over with laughter.

“But you’re okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” I assured. I could feel the heat of my red face from the laughter and embarrassment.

We said goodnight to each other, and he went on back to his office, and I went on to the elevators.

Once I was all calm and collected, I thought about the ghostly incident some more. I swear that really sounded like the voice of someone standing right next to me. It didn’t sound like a chair squeak or a shoe scrape, or any other non-voice sound. I have a pretty strong imagination, but I long ago came to accept that ghosts and such don’t really exist. I don’t know if my lack of belief in the paranormal is really an intellectual calculation or if it is just hopeful thinking because I don’t like the idea of invisible beings watching me when I’m alone. I mean, if there is a ghost in my office, it wouldn’t just see me when I’m picking up my backpack, but it would be there to see me blow my nose and scratch my butt, too.

Ghost stories never mention apparitions appearing to people sitting on the toilet. Disembodied voices never recite back your Facebook password. I guess some scares are just too much for many people to contemplate.

Bullgrit

Calfgrit7 is in his fourth season of playing soccer. His age group doesn’t have tournaments or championships, or anything like that. They don’t even officially keep score during the games. (Although everyone knows the score — especially the kids.)

At the end of each season the kids get a little trophy. This is not a bad thing — a simple, little plastic trophy to congratulate for practicing and playing on a team for the first time. But really, such things shouldn’t be big and fancy. Save the big and fancy for real achievements, like winning a tournament or championship.

These are the first two trophies Calfgrit7 got for his first two seasons:

Nice, basic. Calfgrit7 was quite proud to receive them, and I think it gave him a tangible reward for going to all the practices and participating in all his team’s games.

But then, last season, he got this:

Really? This is a bit much. A lot much. Too much for just basic participation. This is not for any kind of competition or victory.

I can understand the coach’s thought and desire to give the kids something special, but this is just unnecessary. Compare them together:

These awards sit on Calfgrit7’s bookcase, and the scene is just hilarious. You’d think he was a master soccer player seeing that thing towering above everything else in the room. At least it’s still just a plastic thing, and not metal and heavy.

If he continues his interest in playing soccer, what will he think when he actually wins a league tournament or something, and that trophy isn’t as big or as impressive as the basic participation trophy he got at six years old? Or worse, what if he doesn’t win anything and doesn’t get a trophy at all? This is just setting the kids up for disappointment.

Come on coaches and parents. A little plastic thing for first participation is not a bad thing, but going over the top with a grand trophy for no real accomplishment is just not right.

Bullgrit

In case anyone else is wondering but just hasn’t asked, the Captain America shirt I’m wearing in the previous post is not something available in my t-shirt store. I created that shirt several years ago for a Halloween costume, seen in this post, and though it is totally cool, it’s not really my design to sell. The design is classic Jack Kirby of Marvel comics.

The shirt is actually two shirts, (a blue short sleeve one and a white long sleeve one), sewn together and hand painted with fabric paint. My mother-in-law sewed the shirts together for me, and I stenciled and painted the star and stripes. I’m really proud of that whole costume because it was “homemade” gear. The shield sits against the wall next to my desk, as seen in this post, and the shirt hangs on the closet door across the room.

So, sorry to disappoint anyone else who thought you could just buy such an awesome shirt. But it’s really not that difficult to reconstruct on your own. Go for it. It’s totally worth the effort.

Bullgrit