Despite this, I’m just about fucking fed up with this whole “gluten-free” bullshit.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love my family and friends– but sometimes they’re just bat-shit crazy and suckered into the same stupid pseudo-religious cargo-cult brainwashed mentality as the rest of the crazies in the world. For the most part, when my loved ones spin off into the brainless deepend of the newly born-again zealot, I just think “eh, whatever, they’re still my friend– gotta take the bat-shit with the good” Lately, however, it’s just getting to be too much.

The worst of it comes when I vocalize a seemingly innocuous comment that is immediately met with a half-crazed look of a fundamentalist who’s just newly to the light and a frantic assurance that if I stop eating gluten, all my troubles will be solved and I will surely ascend to heaven with the pure and just!

I can’t play tennis, I have bad knees. You should stop eating gluten!!

Wow, I drank too much last night, I have a headache. You should stop eating gluten!!

I’m tired. You should stop eating gluten!!

I want a vacation. You should stop eating gluten!!

I dropped my computer down three flights of stairs and can’t afford a new one. You should stop eating gluten!!

Despite my incredible patience and love for these people, I sometimes honestly feel like the next time someone tells me I should stop eating gluten I’m probably going to beat them to a bloody pulp with a pipe and then sprinkle breadcrumbs over their wounds.

I am so sick of hearing about your goddamn no-gluten diet people. Shut the fuck up.

April Fool

I have no idea why.

I think it’s probably because when I start getting to the “beat my friends and family to a bloody pulp with a pipe” phase of a relationship, I think it’s probably a good idea to step back and assess things. So there’s that.

It might be because I thought it’d be a good way to shut people up.

My phone’s battery just died.

You should stop eating gluten!!

Yeah, fuckhead, I tried that and, just like everyone with a braincell would realize, it didn’t fix my phone’s battery, so shut the fuck up.

I have no idea why– it was probably some combination of spite and pipe-beating-rage– but I decide to take a the month of April and stop eating wheat.

Not gluten, mind you. I still ate gluten because I drank beer and ate oatmeal and did plenty of other stuff. I just said “no hefeweizen, no bread, and no pasta.”

For the entire month of April I said “Okay chowderheads, I’ll stop eating wheat, and if it fixes my bike’s flat tire, I won’t beat you with a fucking pipe.”

“What was the outcome?” You ask.

Yeah, pretty much what you’d expect.

I am such a fucking asshole.

Intolerance

Sometimes, and in all seriousness, I think about becoming a priest.

You laugh– especially given my profanity placed in the previous sections to highlight the comically ironic nature of the eventual conclusion of this post– but I’m serious. I often think that I don’t live a live that’s spiritual enough, even though I spend a percentage of my mental processing power on spiritual thought that most people, if they knew the truth, would shudder at. Because of this, a life dedicated to that is very appealing to me, and moreso as I get older. Of course, I’m not a Christian,¹ so I’d have to work that out somehow. Becoming a priest who’s not affiliated with Christ these days is a difficult prospect. There actually is a strong Celtic church close to here that I think of affiliating myself with.

Anyway, I digress. The point is that I often think of becoming a priest, and part of the reason is that I’ve made my share of mistakes that I’d hope could guide others to a more positive relationship with their fellow man. I don’t like sermons, because they basically put people to sleep and suck the wind right out of a room, but I, we all, love stories.

And this is a story I could tell. I’m not sure what I’d call it. Something like “The Irony of Intolerance.”

Because the fact is that– despite not actually being the kind of person who’d beat someone with a pipe because of their dietary choice and its affect on their health, whether real or imagined– I was intolerant. I didn’t want to hear about my friend’s issues, their choices, or their suggestions. I wanted them to shut up.

And why? I don’t know. Inconvenience? Boredom? I was intolerant and I don’t even know why.

And therein lies the great irony.

For the past 20+ years, I’ve been dealing with gastrointestinal issues. Long-time readers of this blog will have read some of this already. I’ll skip the gory details and say only that my intestinal tract (from mutt to butt, my entire gut) has, for almost as long as I can remember, been… troublesome.

And then in April, I stop eating only refined wheat, and within half a week I started noticing a slight difference in the… trouble. Two weeks into this experiment, I realized that I hadn’t actually noticed certain parts of my anatomy for over a week.

You have no idea how huge this is unless you are unfortunate enough to live in constant pain. With constant pain, you are always aware. Some part of your mental capacity is always noticing the part of your body that is in pain. Over time, you grow accustomed to this feeling, and you start to shut off that part of your mind– but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. People with constant pain, if they are lucky enough to find adequate treatment, sometimes describe it terms like “I didn’t realize I’d been wearing a black veil, and it was suddenly removed from before my eyes on a sunny day.”

In the second week of April, I realized that I could see the sun.

The first week of May, confident that I had experienced a non-causal relationship between my pain and something I hadn’t anticipated, I began eating wheat again.

It took a single day for the pain to return.

And that is the irony that I would talk about. The fact that I was intolerant about gluten, only to realize that I am gluten intolerant.

Coda

I’ve since had myself tested and found other confirmations about other food sensitivities (Hazelnuts don’t just give me heartburn, they burn going down my throat). Gluten, cow-dairy (except butter, oddly enough), citrus, peppers, coffee, and some nuts. All, quite honestly, things that I can point to as being linked with increased pain. All foods that I absolutely love.

And here I stand, not only saddened by this realization that most of my favorite foods are now excluded from my diet because I am intolerant of gluten, but saddened moreso that I was so intolerant of my friends and family. It is almost as if the gods want me to feel that apology internally and hold onto the lesson deeply.

In many of the old stories, the pre-Christian stories of both Europe and North America, the hero of the story is forced to pay dearly for mistakes that they make. Often that hero rebukes and pays mortally. More often, that hero admits their mistakes and accepts their penitence. In accepting them, they still pay dearly– the early gods let no-one off the hook– but in paying dearly they are rewarded dearly in transcendence.

My apology, my penitence, is not without its reward. Because with this penitence comes resolution of a majority of my life in pain and suffering. With this penitence comes the sunlight as a black veil is removed from my eyes.

Sometimes, I think about becoming a priest, because I’ve been forged in many fires, I’ve paid dearly for many mistakes, and though I have not yet experienced transcendence, I still weep in acceptance of my payment.

1. and have no plans to become so, despite the best efforts of the nice people who come to visit periodically to tell me that it’s perfectly reasonable for me to give up my religion based on a small slip of paper while shuddering at the suggestion that, if that were the case, why would it not be just as reasonable for them to give up their religion. As an aside, it was fun to watch the expressions on their faces as I told them that I would never want to insult their god by suddenly deciding to worship him given that I would then obviously be the type of person who’d worship any incoming idol and I feel that he probably deserves a more dedicated contingent of followers than fickle me. That was fun.

I have a job!

I know that you’ve been worried about my state of employment for the past few years. Well, let me correct that, I know that you’ve been worried about my state of employment for the entire time I’ve been with your daughter. The constant stream of suggestions about my lack of ability to find gainful employment has ever been a source of encouragement for me to strive to better myself.

To this day, a full decade after meeting your fair daughter and falling in love, the encouragement continues. I have faith in the knowledge that I am never far from a helpful suggestion that I “might be able to get a job” at “that airplane company I read about” or with one of the people your daughter works with. It has ever been a faith that gives me strength in the hope that my decade-long string of at least seeming unemployment may eventually cease. Some day, we will not have to suffer under the crushing weight of a single income. Some day, we will be able to live a comfortable life.

As you know, it has been so hard for us these past few years. Our financial situation has been ever spiraling into disaster under my lack of employment to the point that last year, as you remember well, I was forced to take your daughter to Paris for only a short month. It was a bitter pill– forced to give up the possibility of actually buying an appartment in Le Marais in exchange for a mere 30 day visit. It is a disappointment that haunts us to this day. The shame of that peasant’s journey is a weight on our marriage, as I’m sure you understand.

But let us not disturb the happiness of this letter with the sad regrets of earlier mistakes, for today, I have happy news! I finally have a job! A real, honest-to-goodness job! One that pays money in exchange for work performed! It’s full-time and everything! Finally, I will be able to allow your fair daughter to live in the manner to which she has grown accustomed!

The job is wonderful. I get to choose the hours that I work, and can even work at home. I’m incredibly important in the scheme of things, and I work on a variety of projects– all of which keep me learning and motivated to improve myself, and all of which make me even more valuable to the other people in my teams! That’s right, “teams,” with an “s”!

Where is this job, you ask? Well, you’d understand well whom I work for, given that your husband has the same boss as I do! Himself! Just like your husband, who works for himself, and has a company which he manages quite successfully, I too, have a company which, by all accounts, I manage successfully. Just like your husband, whom people pay a comfortable fee for performing services that they cannot perform themselves, I too have people pay me for performing services that they can’t perform themselves.

You’re very smart and understanding, so I know that you will see the similarities. You realize, of course, that it doesn’t matter that he is a dentist and that I am a software developer. We are both successful, self-employed people (actually, you’ll be proud to know that both your husband and your son-in-law are the dominant force behind our nation’s economy!!). We both own our companies, both make plenty of money, are both successful, and both well respected in our fields!

I’m proud to be so like your husband. As a business owner, he is a great deal to look up to, and I truly enjoy thinking that your daughter and I are carrying the torch of the self-employed business owner into the next generation as we prepare our home for your coming grandchildren.

I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write to you. It’s taken much longer than I thought. I’ve had this job now for, what? almost 5 years! Wow, time really flies when you’re managing a business!! I know that over the last 5 years, you’ve maintained your stream of encouragement that eventually I would find a real job, and your suggestions as to where I could find said job have, as I’ve indicated, been a source of hope for me in my struggle to pay for my share of our ramshackle home.

But now I can tell you officially! I. Have. A. Job!

No longer do you have to worry that we need sacrifice ourselves by meager month-long trips to Paris! We should easily be able to afford our apartment there (Or, at least we will soon! How long was it after your husband started his business until you bought your first Paris apartment? I’m so eager for that eventuality!)

Most exciting of all, you no longer have to mention my lack of employment on your wonderfully regular phone calls with your daughter! You no longer have to worry about making helpful suggestions about where, maybe, I might be able to work, or who, maybe, might want to hire me!

In fact– and I hesitate to suggest this as I would not want to seem less than grateful– as encouraging as your suggestions and ideas regarding my lack of employment have been in the past, I’m sure you can understand how continued suggestions might seem somewhat sour. Given that you know now that I make plenty of money and am happy in what I do, continued suggestions about my finding “real” employment might seem to me and your daughter as an insinuation that you don’t respect my choice of employment as valid– an insinuation that I’m sure you couldn’t possibly mean, given that your husband has made the same choice! It would be patently absurd!

No, that wouldn’t do. We wouldn’t want to assume that you still think of me as an unemployed layabout (especially when my income is so much more than your daughter’s). Such unfortunate misunderstandings can lead to resentment, so perhaps it would be best if you refrain from your helpful suggestions for a time, at least until I am again fully unemployed (A state that, luckily, I have not actually seen since well before our happy acquaintance!).

I know that you will be excited to hear this news about my job, and know that your encouragement about seeking employment over these past years has been the source of my strength in finding gainful work. Thank you so much, and know that I am more than a little saddened to find that I may never have to hear that you have spoken another suggestion about who might, if I were lucky, perhaps, deign to hire someone such as me.

Sincerely,
Your son in law

We tried like hell to get a good picture of this beauty, and failed just about every time. I think the main problem is that our small stock lens just didn’t have enough of what it takes.

The whole trip in Paris, I wanted a big telephoto lens. I learned a lot about perspective in camera lenses on this trip, including why so many people use a telephoto lens. It turns out that wide angle lenses make things in the foreground super big, and things in the background super small. Telephoto lenses, however, tend to treat things in the foreground and the background as much closer to the same size. Thus, with a telephoto, you don’t get this image of Notre Dame that looks about the size of a postage stamp.

Sadly, we were spending so much on the trip itself, that talking Jessica into spending an additional $3000 (~4 times the cost of our camera) on a lens was simply out of the question.

Another attempt to bring some small detail into focus while still showing the surroundings to which it relates. This was in le Jardin des Plantes and all of their rows were numbered with nice signs. This is another failed attempt because you can’t really get a sense of what Allée 29 is. Strangely, I still like the shot.

Not exactly. But we got close.

This is the other picture I took at Ma Bourgogne. It’s only about the 17th time I’ve posted it anywhere since I love it so much.

For obvious reasons.

It’s a picture that I’m proud of not because “OMG, that woman is my wife!” but because the image itself looked to me like a professionally done stock photo. Well, maybe not professional, I mean there still light issues, and weirdness in the background, but it’s much closer to professional than I ever thought I’d get.

This is one of my favorite pictures from our trip to Paris. It’s the first time I tried to isolate a part of the image, the name of the restaurant. Of course, I was just playing around, or would’ve put the glass in the middle of the circle of words on the table (and moved the fork!) but I just love this picture for what it taught me.

Nothing special, just a fun trip exploring in Eastern France and Jess thought it’d be funny to take a “Lewis and Clark” picture. Nothing artistic about it really, it just makes me smile.

This statue was just so beautiful.

There was a lot going on at the family crypt of Famille Babé, and I couldn’t capture it all. But I wanted to get a sense of it, and this does a halfway decent job.

The sad maiden, leaning against the tombstone of her lost family member. There were a couple of places in Pére Lachaise that made me cry. This was one of them.