Mike Lee.org

10 Things Girls Shouldn’t Say On a First Date

Mike Lee — Sun, 15 Aug 2010 20:34:35 +0000

Hey, hey, it ain’t just us guys who are apt to say the wrong thing. Foot-in-Mouth has no gender bias. You ladies are just as guilty of saying the wrong thing on a first date as we are. Such as:

“Have I told you about my cats?”
“Hello, my biological clock is ticking…”
“So I was thinking, after dinner, why don’t we stop by Tiffany’s?”
“What kind of car do you drive?”
“Did you just look at that girl over there? I saw you looking. Don’t lie, I know you were looking.”
“Do I look fat in this dress?”
“I have a boyfriend.”
“My ex is a crazy psycho stalker.”
“Sorry, I’m into Edward. You’re more of a Jacob.”
“I think I love you.”

What else should a girl not say on a first date?

10 Things Not To Say During an Interview

Mike Lee — Sun, 08 Aug 2010 20:34:07 +0000

Foot-in-Mouth disease doesn’t just strike dates. For some, it strikes during interviews too. Here is a list of what hopefully never comes out of your mouth during an interview.

“What I want to know is, how do I get your job?”
“Honestly, if you must know, I really hate people.”
“Can you give me an alphabetized list of everyone in this office, including their home addresses and social security numbers? I like to do a background check on all of my coworkers before joining a new company.”
“Ohmigod I’m so drunk right now I think I’m gonna puke…”
“The receptionist is totally hot. I can’t wait to get hired so I can bang her.”
“I’m prone to violent and homicidal fits of rage whenever I’m disappointed. So, I have the job, right?”
“No, I don’t think this company really has any potential or will go anywhere. I just want a paycheck.”
“Hold on, I hear my phone ringing.”
“My hobbies? I love FarmVille! I can’t stop playing it all day long, sometimes for hours on end!”
“So how the fuck are ya?”

What else should a candidate not say on an interview?

10 Things Guys Shouldn’t Say On a First Date

Mike Lee — Sun, 01 Aug 2010 20:34:21 +0000

We’ve all suffered from bouts of Foot-in-Mouth disease. Some more than others. So it’s always good to review Do and Not-Do lists to minimize such relapses. Here is one such list for guys.

“Oh my God you’re so hot. You look just like my mother.”
“How many languages can you speak? I can speak English, Spanish, Elvish, Klingon, Vampirese, Huttese, and Qwghlmian.”
“So. Do you like anal?”
“Are you really going to wear that for the entire date?”
“I think the woman’s place is in the kitchen, don’t you?”
“Hi, have you met my friend Bert? You don’t see him? He’s sitting right here, next to me. Say ‘Hi’ Bert.”
“Wow, you could sure stand to lose a few pounds.”
“Before we go any further, you must answer this question correctly: The probability of a car passing a certain intersection in a 20-minute windows is 0.9. What is the probability of a car passing the intersection in a 5-minute window, assuming a constant probability throughout?”
“Damn, I forgot my gonorrhea cream back home. Do you have any?”
“So how the fuck are ya?”

What else should a guy not say on a first date?

Things To Do While Waiting in Line

Mike Lee — Sun, 11 Jul 2010 20:34:27 +0000

In this age of microwave dining, online chatting & instant gratification, what’s an impatient person to do while waiting on a long line?

It sucks, doesn’t it? Who waits for anything anymore? It’s insane. But still, it happens. Whether it’s bank tellers, McDonald’s cashiers, or Friday night bar bathrooms, it seems impossible to avoid waiting on lines.

So what can you do? Plenty!

Make loud farting noises with your iPhone’s farting app, then look accusingly at the person in front of you.
Watch the clock and go “Ding!” every time the second hand reaches the twelve.
Practice making various animal noises, because you never know when you might get called to do voice-overs for Farmville.
Pull up your shirt and contemplate your belly button.
Give names to each of your fingers and toes. Extra points for making the names rhyme with the type of appendage, such as “Slinky the Pinky” and “Strum the Thumb.”
Call up a friend and yell your entire conversation as loud as you can. Strangers love to be included in on random conversations like this.
Each time the line moves, face the people behind you and moonwalk up the line.
Punch your neighbors every time you see a dog or bird. Tell them you’re trying to start a new trend to tell people that there’s more to the world than Volkswagons.
Eavesdrop on a neighbor’s conversation and repeat everything that person says.
Pretend to call someone up and have a make-believe conversation using the words: grin, teabag, claustrophobia, herpes, butterflies, tractor, proclivities, and roast beef.
Practice various yoga poses. Practice makes perfect, right?
If you feel the urge to tweet, instead of typing it out on your mobile device, shout your tweet out loud. (with apologies to College Humor, since they had this idea first, those clever devils.)
Preach the gospel of the Flying Spaghetti Monster.
Bring a collapsible chair and table with you. Set it up. Then lay out a table cover, silverware, plates, and a full meal. Extra points for a candle. Every time the line moves, back everything up, move up in line, then lay everything out again.
Whisper to a neighbor that the secret activation word is, “Hammertime.” If for some reason the neighbor says, “Hammertime?” start getting funky. Hammertime!
Hum the Jeopardy theme song the entire time you’re on line.
Cross your legs and hop up and down, chanting, “I gotta go gotta go gotta go…” When you finally reach the end of the line, pause for a second, then smile and go, “Ahhh…”

My Dream Digital Home

Mike Lee — Sun, 04 Jul 2010 20:34:52 +0000

Call me a geek, but I can’t wait to get married so I can set up a digital home.

Some people have a dream home. I have a dream digital home.

Most of these technologies are available today, though it will take some installation effort. Thankfully, lots of electronics manufacturers are racing to secure the digital home. I just hope they’ll be ready in a year or so, when we’re ready to buy a house.

If any of them need any more ideas, or are reading this, let me tell you what my dream digital home would look like, ignoring cost & feasibility factors for now:

It would start with a secure wifi network in every room. The family’s electronic devices would be able to communicate with each other. I know wifi security isn’t the greatest, but in this ideal scenario, it would be air tight, or at least damn good. A fallback wired network could also be set up for critical devices.

The obvious electronics would be connected, such as televisions, laptops, and mobile devices (smart phones, digital tablets, ebook readers, etc). Also, their data would be shared across all of the devices. An ebook I download could be read on any phone or tablet. A movie I purchase could be streamed & played on any television or laptop.

In the sound-proofed and sound-controlled basement would be the main family entertainment system. Full surround sound, a large flat-panel digital television, and comfortable couches with cup holders. (And perhaps a fully-stocked bar and pool table in the back.) Whatever is playing on this television could also be viewed on any other television in the house, regardless of its source: DVD, broadcast, cable, satellite, online, whatever.

Obviously, this means there would be a centralized media center. This hub is where music and movies would be funneled in from a variety of sources. Attached to the hub would be an array of hard drives, and perhaps a CD/DVD player. Additionally, this system could go online to stream a movie (Netflix, Hulu, etc) or song (Pandora, Last.fm, etc). It’s conceivable we wouldn’t need all of that hardware anymore too, when storing our media in the Internet cloud is good enough for HD displays.

Just as videos could be played on any device with a video player, music could be played on any device with speakers. This includes the embedded speaker system throughout the house. For outdoor BBQs, just the outdoor speakers would play. For dinner parties, select indoor speakers would play.

All of this would be controlled through a central control interface. This system could be accessed on any device: smart phone, laptop, or even one of the various embedded touch-screen control panels throughout the house. By tapping a few buttons, anyone in the house could control which media types are being played where.

We could also control the lights and security systems. There would be a “vacation mode” where certain lights are activated at certain times and alarms are engaged at an appropriate sensitivity. If any alarm were triggered, the law enforcement, the security company, and I would all be alerted. And perhaps even nearby friends and family.

In select rooms, there would also be flat-panel touch-screen displays that serve as control interfaces, as well as displays of our family information management software. Our entire family’s schedule could be pulled up on a shared family calendar. Events could be added, modified, or removed. If scheduling conflicts arise, those with a schedule impact will be alerted on their mobile devices.

If a family member needed to contact a relative, this software could also display a shared family address book. With a touch of a button, your phone would automatically activate and call the selected relative. If your hands are chopping vegetables, the phone call could be routed through the speaker system as a hands-free alternative. This would require either microphones around the house, or the use of your mobile phone as the microphone.

Shared family photos could also be displayed, turning the touch-screen displays into digital picture frames. This could be configured to appear when these displays are not in use. All of the displays could be synced up to display the same photos, or specific albums per display. Baby pictures in the parents’ bedroom, family photos in the kitchen, personal pictures in the children’s rooms, for instance.

All of this obviously requires greater security than just an alarm system. In this ideal world, each of the touch-screens could only be activated using biometric security as some laptops currently feature. This would require all devices that can access sensitive family information to have this security. Smart phones and tablet devices aren’t quite there yet, but in this scenario, let’s say they are.

Backup power would be paramount for such an integrated system. An array of rechargeable batteries would be stored somewhere, perhaps in the basement, to give the house a few hours of juice should the power grid go down.

And, of course, most, if not all of the power energizing the entire house would come from an array of solar panels. The house would be as efficient and environmentally-friendly as possible. If excess energy is created, we could even resupply the power grid. This is how the rechargeable batteries would get recharged as well.

One last thing. Portable video cameras could be placed throughout the house. I’m not thinking of anything kinky (though if my fiancée wants to, hey now…); I’m thinking about baby monitors for when we have children. These video cameras would display a live video feed on any device. We could even record the video if we wanted to. I imagine our children, when they grow up, may want to take family videos too. Or heck, as a proud father, I think I would. These need not be specialized video cameras either; an iPhone, Flip Video, or similar device would all be synced with the centralized media center too.

Some people take this concept a step further and say their appliances should be connected. For example, a refrigerator could alert the family when the milk is getting low or going bad. A washing machine could alert the family when a red sock is mixed with white clothes. I personally don’t need this just yet, but hey, I wouldn’t complain if I had it. And after seeing a few once-white-now-pink shirts, perhaps my fiancée wouldn’t mind it either.

Go ahead. You can say it. “Mike, you’re a geek.” But it’s a damn awesome vision, isn’t it? Oh boy I can’t wait!

This Blog Sucks

Mike Lee — Sun, 27 Jun 2010 20:34:38 +0000

It’s true. This blog sucks. And I’m okay with that.

It sucks because it’s not a true blog, in the strict definition of a blog. Wikipedia describes a blog as a website with reverse-chronological entries that “provide commentary or news on a particular subject,” or “function as… personal online diaries.”

This site is neither. It’s more a random series of essays. Some are true, some are fiction, some are the result of a writing exercise, some are mere rants and theories. There’s no time continuity to any of these entries, except for their publication date.

I don’t even write them in chronological order. Sometimes I’ll write multiple essays at once, then schedule them to appear in the coming weeks based on my fancies. The result is quite random. Some months, I’ve got lots of entries in the queue. Other times, I’m too busy and miss a week or two.

Also, there’s no predictability in topics. I’m not necessarily writing about what’s on my mind at that time. It might have been on my mind last month, but not necessarily this week.

There’s an exception though. I sometimes try to match holidays with essays about that holiday. Christmas posts during December, Valentine’s posts during February, that sort of thing.

That’s not enough though. At least, not according to professional blogs like ProBlogger or CopyBlogger. They’ve amassed audiences in the hundreds of thousands, or more. According to them, a good blog is one with a single topic.

A single topic means the audience knows roughly what to expect. Predictability allows new users to decide whether they should bookmark the blog, or forget about it. Eventually, niche audiences can form around topical blogs, turning them into repeat readers and, eventually, a virtual community.

That’s another thing this blog is not.

Instead, I take another route. I write for myself. For exercising my creative muscle, for disciplining myself in the craft of writing, for the therapeutic release, and, well, for fun.

I cringe when I read some of my old essays though. “My God, I wrote THAT?!” But hey, you can’t make a Writer’s Omelet without breaking a few Bad Essay Eggs, right?

Ahem. See? That last line is exactly why I need more practice. That is the real reason why this blog sucks. Not because it doesn’t fit someone’s definition or follow some someone’s guidelines.

It sucks because I still think it does. My writing skill isn’t where I want it to be. (I can’t believe I just ended a sentence with a proposition! Gasp.) I’m a perfectionist, I admit. I hold myself to high standards. Great writers can weave beautiful panoramas with clarity.

Me, I’m a hack. I pilfer, I assimilate, I adopt. I practice, practice, stumble, fall, and practice some more. Nothing good comes easy, right? (Yuck, a cliché.)

And I’m okay with that. All I’m aiming for is, in a few more decades, this blog will suck less.

Domestication

Mike Lee — Sun, 20 Jun 2010 20:34:59 +0000

“Dude, you are so domesticated.”

I smiled with a nod. “Thanks.”

“I didn’t mean that as a compliment.”

I regarded my friend with a quizzical arch of the brow. “Your jealousy is so transparent.”

“I’m not jealous. What’s to be jealous of? Pssh. I’m not jealous.”

I grinned. “Okay, whatever you say man.”

He scooted his chair to the left, pushing his coffee mug with him. “Okay, let me tell you how lame being domesticated is.”

I waved him on. “Please, tell me.”

He cleared his throat. “First, it means your girl’s got you by the balls. You gotta do whatever she says now. Be at home by a certain time. No drinking late with your friends. No more parties and hangovers. No more—”

“Hold on man, I’m going to stop you right there. Do you honestly, seriously, in all sincerity, think I still want to be doing any of those things of my own volition?”

“Yea. Well… no? You don’t, I’m guessing?”

“Damn right I don’t. I’m too old for that crap. Hangovers? Dude. C’mon. Hangovers?”

“Well, I don’t mean hangovers are the goal, they’re just the end result of a good night…”

“A hangover for me is not the sign of a good night. Maybe when I was in college, but even then, I never aimed for a hangover. Who in their right mind aims for a hangover? I never did. And as an adult, definitely not.”

He rubbed his chin. “Okay…”

“And ‘got me by the balls?’ Really? Did you really just say that?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Oh, sure,” I nodded slowly. “I know what you mean. Because I don’t go out and party all night long means my girl has me by the balls. That’s what you mean, right?”

“Yea…”

“And that presupposes that she ordered me to stay home. Hence the ‘by the balls’ comment, right?”

“Um…”

“So if I tell you I do not want to party all night long anymore, because I am a tired old man who needs his sleep, otherwise I’m a cranky bastard in the morning, does that constitute following an order by someone else?”

“Well, no…”

I sat back in my chair. “So what else you got, Sherlock? Tell me what else is lame about being domesticated.”

He shifted in his seat. Coughed. Cleared his throat again. “Fine. Point B, it means your ass no longer has freedom. You can’t just take off on a road trip, or hit Vegas for a weekend, or—”

“No more freedom. By that, I assume you mean I can’t travel on my own anymore, right?”

“Right, exactly. She either has to come along, or you can’t go at all.”

I studied the swirls of whipped cream on my mocha. “That’s not exactly true. Maybe for your past relationships, you’ve had that kind of restriction. For me, my fiancée doesn’t mind if I take off on a trip alone. She’s taken trips just with her friends, and so have I.”

He slumped forward. “Really?”

“Yea. To me, that’s a mark of a healthy relationship. Or, at least, what I want out of a relationship. Some people prefer tighter interaction. Others, looser. She and I both feel it’s important to have our own lives, as well as a life together.”

“Well, okay…”

“Then there are times when I genuinely want her along. I have fun with her. That’s why I’m marrying her! So why would I want to do all of those things alone, when I can have this wonderful, funny, beautiful person with me too?”

“Dude, you’re going to make me sick.”

I took a gulp of frothy mocha and wiped my lip. “Okay, okay. So moving right along. Are these your reasons against domestication? Seriously? You know, you’re just talking about relationships in general. Neither of these points has anything to do with being domesticated.”

He snorted. “That’s where you’re wrong! Domestication is the process of taming. You’re getting tamed, dude. That’s what I’m talking about.”

“Tamed?”

“Yea. Like, you once could do all this wild stuff. Now, you gotta be—excuse me, want to be home by a certain time, and stuff like that.”

“Oh, so you’re lambasting the process of getting older, as opposed to being in a relationship?”

He scratched his head. “What? No. Don’t confuse me. No, I ain’t talking about… no, not about getting older. I mean, you’re getting domesticated, like, you got a girl now, you’re settling down, you can’t do the same stuff you once did…”

“As we get older, none of us can do the same things we once did. You can’t sit in a high chair anymore and be spoon-fed by your Mom, for instance. Well, maybe you do, but not the average adult.”

“Funny. What I mean is, and this is reason number three: You’re not having any more fun.”

“Okay, now you’re lamenting the process of getting older, not domestication. Though perhaps you’re drawing parallels between the two.”

“Yea, um, exactly.”

“Well, I for one, relish the idea of growing older. I actually like to have more responsibilities, deal with new challenges, and adjust my life accordingly. For me, this is all very fun and exciting. I realize my sentiments are uncommon, but hey, that’s me.”

“I dunno man, that sounds crazy to me…”

“Sure. And that’s fine. You don’t have to like the process of getting older, or being in a relationship. Me, I love them. I love being in a relationship, I love being engaged, I look forward to a house and kids and in-laws and grandkids and all that. It’s not for everyone. There are a lot of people out there who don’t want this, and shouldn’t aim for this either. But I do. Each to his own, right? Each to his own.”

“I told you, man…”

I quizzically arched of the brow. “What?”

He shook his head. “You are so domesticated.”

Unfashionably Conscious

Mike Lee — Sun, 13 Jun 2010 20:34:14 +0000

It’s true. I’m unfashionable. I’m fashion ignorant.

I’m not the kind of guy who knows much about fashion. You won’t find me buying fancy shoes on my own. Nor a fancy shirt. Nor even know what all the latest brands are.

If you did find me buying something fancy, it was because a significant other was taking me shopping. Because they were sick and tired of my old, ragged shoes. Or faded t-shirts. Or worn-out pants.

Those magazines and television shows espousing fashion tips never register with me. I glance at the pretty pictures, think they looked too hoity-toity, then return to whatever I was doing.

I’ll even be the first to admit: you know that star from Sex and The City, Sarah Jessica Parker? Her character is supposed to be stylish and chic and all that, right? How come I want to claw out my eyes with hot hibachi sticks whenever I see her then? If you slapped white paint on her face and a red ball on her nose, I wouldn’t know the difference.

Or perhaps I just don’t know fashion. I am Jack’s complete lack of fashion sense.

I don’t mind though. I find it amusing that my wardrobe receives an upgrade every time I enter into a new relationship. And now that I’m engaged, it’s like I have a permanent personal shopper. Ahem. (Love you, honey!)

I don’t strive to look like a slob, mind you. I have enough common sense not to wear clothes that have large stains or holes in them. I strive for comfort. For utility. Does it shelter me from the elements? Does it hide my nubbin? Does it feel comfortable to wear? Then put it on!

See, that’s all I want. While I might not be abreast of all the latest fashion trends, I know what feels good to wear.

Some ex’s may disagree. Some may say I wear clothes so long that they go out of fashion, then back into fashion.

Or they would, were it not for wardrobe makeovers subjected to me by those same ex’s. Which, really, I didn’t mind in the least. They were just trying to do what they felt was best for me.

For better or worse, ours is a superficial society. People make judgments based on appearances, however slight they may be. It’s okay. I do it. You do it. We all do it.

If you saw a teenage male dressed in baggy pants that were practically on the ground, with gold in his mouth, hat turned sideways, what would you do? Other than try to get on American Idol?

Now say you saw the same teenage male dressed in a nicely pressed suit and tie and gold cufflinks. You would have a decidedly different first impression of the youth, wouldn’t you? Admit it, you would.

That’s no reason to become a slave to appearances, of course. As any sensible human being, you would probably wait until you heard this young man speak and share his thoughts before making any solid judgments.

Fashion can make a subtle impression. I understand that. You may not agree, or like believing that, but your boss or your in-laws are ever-so-gently swayed by what you are wearing when you first meet them.

I will also readily admit that it feels good to look good. When I’m at a formal event wearing a tailored suit, it feels good. Damn good. I’m no James Bond or Chow Yun Fat, but slip on a pair of shades, put a toothpick in my mouth, and I’m ready to pull out a pair of handguns from my pockets.

This is reason #238 for why I love my fiancée so much. No, not because of handguns. Because she has a knack for finding clothes that are fashionable enough without looking metrosexual (something I definitely am not), yet comfortable to wear. I don’t know how she does it, but she does it. And she’s teaching me little by little how do fish for myself.

The result is everyday wear that fits my base needs of comfort and utility. They aren’t ragged and worn-out, nor hoity-toity.

And, damn, it feels good to wear them.

Hint: she tells me one of the secrets of comfortable fashion is that a guy should feel good wearing a particular article of clothing. If not, no matter how fashionable the piece, it’s not going to look good on the guy. Apparently, when you feel good about it, you have more self-confidence wearing it. And as any woman will tell you, it’s all about self-confidence.

It may be true that I’m unfashionably conscious, but thanks to my personal shopper (love you, honey!), I can remain blissfully fashion-ignorant of the latest trends, yet find comfortable clothes that feel good. And that will never go out of fashion.

The Unoriginal Face-Down Beach Pillow Idea

Mike Lee — Mon, 31 May 2010 20:34:32 +0000

“Mmmrph mmmrph mmmrph,” I muttered.

“What?”

“This is kind of uncomfortable,” I muttered again. My mouth was mashed against my face. It’s true, lying face-down on a beach chair is uncomfortable.

Mia giggled. “Why don’t you turn your head?” Smart girl, she is. But—

“I tried that already. My neck was straining, so I needed to straighten it.”

“And that’s why you’re pushing your face through the back of that chair?”

“And that’s why I’m pushing my face through the back of this chair.” See, told you she was smart.

She laughed and flipped onto her stomach. I watched her nuzzle into the beach chair, tossing her head around to find a comfortable position.

“See? Uncomfortable, huh?”

“Yea, I see what you mean.” She settled with her head turned to the side. “But at least I can breath when my head is this way.”

I took a breath, pushed my nose into the chair, and held my breath as long as I could. Then I snapped my neck and eeeexhaled.

She giggled again. I flipped over and rubbed my aching neck. “You know what there should be? A hole in the back of this chair, like they have on massage tables.”

“Oooo yea… good idea.”

“Damn Skippy it’s a good idea. Or, even better, a portable pillow you can bring around with you that’s shaped like that.”

“Like a donut?”

“I was thinking like a toilet bowl seat.”

Mia winced. “Gross. Figures you’d think of that.”

I chuckled. “But basically, a ring, yea. Then you could bring it to the beach. Or in bed, for massages. It would be so awesome.”

“Good idea. You should build it.”

I sat up and picked up my phone. “I should…”

A moment passed. Mia peeked up at me. “Are you tweeting?”

“That sounds dirty.”

“It does.”

I nodded. “But yes, I am tweeting it. You know me so well.”

“You should look it up to see if it exists already.”

I scratched my chin. “You’re right.” See how smart she is? “If I doesn’t, I’m going to build this and pitch it on Shark Tank.”

“Go for it, honey.”

I launched a web browser and searched for “face down beach pillow.”

“Holy crap,” I gasped. “It exists!”

“Awww, too bad. It was a good idea anyways.”

Another moment passed. “Is it worth buying?” Mia asked.

“I dunno. It seems kinda neat. And… whoa… get this. Someone else created a similar product… and already pitched it on Shark Tank.”

Mia peeked up again. “They’re stealing all of your ideas.”

“They are!”

“Or, you’re stealing all of theirs.”

I grumbled and continued working on my phone. “How funny. They pitched it on Shark Tank… and it didn’t win any funding. Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t try to do that too.”

“Yea, you would have walked away with nothing.”

“Except a bunch of television exposure. This company’s website has a big ole ‘As Seen on Shark Tank’ banner posted on it.”

“Good marketing.”

“Damn Skippy that’s good marketing.”

Mia arched an eyebrow at me. “Damn Skippy?”

“Damn Skippy.”

“You should leave the colorful phrases behind and stick to business ideas.”

I mock-laughed. “Funny.”

“But then again, your business ideas are already taken. So you should stick to… lying face-down on the chair.”

I play-swiped her, then flipped onto my stomach. “Mmmrph mmmrph mmmrph,” I muttered.

“What?”

“There, I’m on my face again. Happy?”

“Damn Skippy.”

A Son’s Proud Achievement

Mike Lee — Sun, 16 May 2010 20:34:27 +0000

This is a true story. You may not believe it. I didn’t when I first heard it. Too absurd to be a true story, I thought. But sometimes the most absurd stories are the true ones.

Some details have been obfuscated for the privacy of those involved.

It starts with a mother and her young, developmentally-delayed grade-school son. The son is entirely enamored of all things mystical and medieval. Dungeons and dragons, wizards and warriors, swords and spells. He spends endless hours at his computer, conquering quests, earning treasures, and leveling up.

Every time he reaches some kind of monumental achievement, he enthusiastically shares the victory with his mother.

“Mom, mom, I just freed the city of Mithrendain!”

“Mom, mom, I just found the Dragonbone Staff!”

“Mom, mom, I just defeated Ser Cauthrien and his guards!”

To these exclamations, Mom always replies with a positive, “That’s great, that’s great. I’m so proud of you, honey.”

“Mom, mom, I just reached level 43!”

“That’s great, that’s great. I’m so proud of you, honey.”

Sometimes he’ll even call Mom during work, so strong is his excitement. She accepts them as any Mom would, with a calm cheer. It’s during one of these calls that our story begins.

“Mom, mom,” his little voice hollers. “I just captured a dwarf!”

Mom nods at the receiver. “That’s great, that’s great. I’m so proud of you, honey.” Then she hangs up and continues her work. It is a busy day and she wants to get through her tasks quickly.

Thirty minutes pass. Another call. “Mom, mom, I just captured a dwarf!”

She mumbles her quick reply, “That’s great, that’s great. I’m so proud of you, honey.” Then she hangs up, a little flustered at the break, but happy to be a constant part of her son’s life.

Thirty minutes pass. Another call. “Mom, mom, I just captured a dwarf!”

“That’s great, that’s great. I’m so proud of you, honey.” When she hangs up, she shrugs at a coworker. “He must really be excited about his game. This is the third time he’s called me today.”

“Third time?” asks the coworker. “That’s an awful lot for him. Maybe you should go home and check on him, just in case.”

She ponders the suggestion. “I don’t know, I have so much work to do here…”

“I can cover for you here. Go on, get out of here. You’ll be back in no time.”

Mom smiles and gives the thoughtful coworker a hug. “Oh, thank you so much.” Then she scoots down the hallway and over to her car.

When she arrives home and opens the front door, her son greets her energetically. “Mom, mom, I captured a dwarf! I captured a dwarf!”

“Okay honey, I’m so proud of you,” she answers and pats his head.

“Do you want to see him?”

“Sure honey, show me the…” She looks up. Her jaw drops.

Various pieces of furniture are stacked against the door to the hallway closet. Tables, chairs, even some shoes. Some are wedged into place, others are piled on top of each other.

“Wha…?”

“Mom, mom, come take a look! I captured a dwarf!” He takes her hand and pulls her to the closet. There is a sound coming from the closet. Something scratching or banging or moving around.

Mom grabs the furniture and digs her way to the closet door. Tables, chairs, shoes are all tossed aside. Her son is standing besides her with a great big beaming smile. Proud.

All of the furniture is pushed aside. Mom swings open the door.

And out runs a very short man. A midget. He is dressed in a suit. He darts across the hallway, out the front door, and down the block with nary a word.

The son is jumping up and down, clapping his hands and shouting, “The dwarf! The dwarf!”

Mom stands there, motionless, speechless. Clueless. She isn’t sure if she should ask her son what happened, or tell him she’s so proud of him for capturing a… well, you know.