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I say all the time that this is my selfish blog, that I’m only here to churn through my own thoughts and if anyone wants to follow along, that’s fine but not the primary motive behind this.

That’s partly true. But the whole truth is that while some of this would end up in my journals if you weren’t reading, the majority would never be written. Depending on how you look at it, that might be a good thing. But as you might have guessed, I don’t think so.

So thank you for keeping me writing. I’m ridiculously grateful for you all.

Moment of silence.

Well, on to the next 365 posts…

1. Daily blogging is sustainable. When I started this, I didn’t know if I could manage it. Now I’m pretty sure I can.

2. Ninety percent of the time, I’m writing to meet a deadline. Like right now, I know I need to get this post up so I can move on to other things I need to do today. Deadlines aren’t bad.

3. I don’t write because I like to write – I write because I like the results. I love jotting down headlines and short thoughts, but I don’t always love developing those thoughts into posts… even 150-word posts. The more I keep the results in focus, the easier it is to write.

4. Different readers like different topics. For example, most of my close friends don’t care at all about my blogging tips, but most of my Twitter followers do. Never try to please everyone.

5. The most important part of any post is its title. A title is a promise. Without a compelling promise, no one reads.

6. People love profiles. As I mentioned when I started creating the profiles, I’ve wanted to write them for my journal since I was 10 years old. I just didn’t know everyone else wanted me to write them too.

7. Compiling an ebook out of all the posts from a year’s worth of daily blogging takes a long time. It might be a better idea to do this once per month instead of waiting until the end of the year.

8. No one, not even my mom, reads every word. So in conversations especially, it’s better to assume no one has read and let someone else point out that I blogged it than to talk like it’s common knowledge.

9. The dynamic of a personal blog is worth the effort. I was skeptical of personal blogging before starting because I don’t enjoy many of them. Since then, though, I realized that’s the point. Personal blogs are for a select, teeny, tiny audience, and the atmosphere that results is missing on blogs that focus on a topic rather than a person.

10. Blogging can wait if the other activity directly involves other people. In other words, face to face trumps the Internet. Keep in touch. Literally.

My grandma calls him “Hal” because that’s how she was introduced to him at the bowling alley. They were later married in that bowling alley, so it seemed appropriate to keep the same name too.

I just call him Grandpa. Or Grandpa D. Although now that I think about it, I’m surprised we didn’t come up with “Grandpa Deck” sooner since he loves playing cards.

How I met Harold Decker

I’m born. I start crying. Grandpa says, “Stop pinching the baby.”

Actually, that’s probably not what happened. But his classic joke has been around ever since… and most likely before even then. Welcome to “Harold World.”

Who Harold Decker is

• Retired carpenter
• Carolyn Decker’s husband
• My mom’s step-father… my grandpa

What Harold Decker likes

• Bowling
• Cards
• Suspenders

One fact about Harold Decker

Grandpa D never wears shorts. If you ask him why, he’ll usually tell you, “Well, we never wore shorts back on the farm.”

Of course, my dad responds, “Hal, how long were you on that farm?”

“Twenty years or so.”

“So what about the other 60 years since then?”

Interesting side fact: Grandpa’s brother, Ervin, grew up on that same farm but he wears shorts.

One reason I like Harold Decker

I’d actually forgotten about this until just now. How could I?

Growing up, I always lived in the city or suburbs, so I was used to trash either going in a dumpster or in a garbage truck. Not so in Boonville, Indiana.

Back then, my grandpa had these rusty, old, oil drums that he’d fill with garbage and then set ablaze. But that was just for the little stuff.

On special days, which often coincided with the days I visited (thanks, Grandpa), he’d heap everything into a huge pile on the ground, including tree branches and yard clippings, and we’d burn the whole thing. I’d throw loads and loads of leaves on and watch as they either burst into flames or billowed with smoke. I loved how different kinds of trash burned differently… or melted or exploded or oozed or didn’t.

Yeah, I liked Grandpa D because he’s the one who burned his trash.

One memory I have of Harold Decker

Last summer, we gave Grandpa a surprise party in California. I’d already attended other 80th birthday parties for him, but this was the grand finale. We gathered in his son’s home with other relatives and friends while he and Grandma D drove over.

Thanks to Grandma, they took a while. She was trying to stall him to make sure we were ready. Uncle Marty’s sitting on the steps about to fall asleep (but that’s a separate story).

Grandpa and Grandma finally arrive, the moment we’ve all been waiting for. Grandma inches the door open. Grandpa steps in.

“SURPRISE!” we all yell.

Then…

Silence.

Grandpa scans the room.

More silence.

Finally, he motions to a man toward the back, “I don’t know that guy.”

Lesson #1: At a surprise party, after everyone yells, “Surprise!” be sure to start singing “Happy Birthday” or blow a whistle or turn on some music. Something. Anything.

Lesson #2: Keep in contact better so the party is a surprise but not the guests.

Harold Decker in one word

Boonville.

Eugenics is about purposely altering human genetics to improve humanity, specifically to improve future generations. At least, that’s the claim. It gets sketchy because we’re not always sure what “improve” means, and even if we were, we’re not always sure how to best alter our genetics to make that happen.

Traditionally, most of the work in eugenics has been based on “breeding” tactics, much like we breed horses or dogs, the best with the best. During World War II, the Nazis took eugenics to the extreme by actively killing off people they thought were bringing down the gene pool. That’s why the term has a bad reputation now.

But it’s coming back, even if it’s not called the same thing.

I’m interested in it for three reasons:

1. The ethics behind it
2. The motivation for it
3. The logistics of actually getting the results we want

Who’s supposed to decide what “improvement” means? Individuals? The government? And are we talking about improvement for individuals or for humanity as a whole? At what point do we allow or even force some individuals to make sacrifices for the “improvement” of the rest of humanity? Is it even possible to artificially create a “better” person? How would we do that? Are we already?

These questions, and how we decide to answer them, have huge implications.

In general, I tend to be against trying to actively direct the course of humanity through genetic modification, but I love to dig into why other people think it’s a good idea. Plus, as science continues to progress, the ethics and motivation can change because the results get more predictable.

Someone once said, “We do the most bad when we think we’re doing good.” That’s part of the reason I’m fascinated by eugenics. Another is the realization that – among other supporters – Plato, H. G. Wells, John Maynard Keynes, Winston Churchill, Alexander Graham Bell, Theodore Roosevelt, and Adolf Hitler all shared similar views on the topic.

Well, I’ve come full circle.

About a year ago, shortly after I started this blog, I posted about working with WordPress files. Between now and then, I’ve worked with code here and there to tweak my blogs, but once again, I’m at it in full force.

I’m not purchasing a design for the new version of this blog, which may or may not be a mistake. Instead, over the past week and half or so, I’ve been experimenting with free themes, trying to see what I like, what works, and how I can customize them (ever so slightly) to improve this blog.

And after all this time, my feelings are pretty much the same as they were a year ago: I’m still not a fan of working with files and code.

I like the creative process. I wanted to be an architect after all and used to love LEGOs. But the tediousness of not knowing what I’m doing is frustrating.

Most things have gotten way, way easier than when I started doodling a few years ago. As a result, though, my expectations have gone up. Now I’m not as satisfied with plain stuff. I want all the cool stuff.

I’m not sure where I’m going with this post… it certainly isn’t adding a ton of value to the ebook I’m compiling from all these posts. This post certainly isn’t “cool stuff.” But it’s what I’m feeling right now. And that’s what this blog is for: documenting me.

Speaking of documenting me, I tried eating a radish again an hour ago. I still don’t like them. Perhaps I should add that to my list of 30-day trials to try out, sort of like how I learned to like carrot juice.

It’ll go pretty far down on the list, though.

As a matter of fact, I have an experiment I’ve wanted to try out for a while. I want to try eating nothing but carrots and drinking nothing but carrot juice for a month. I’ve heard rumors that it will turn my skin orange. You know, like those crazy body builders with their fake tans?

I’m sure someone’s already tried it, but it would still be a fun one to do personally. If it’s legit anyway. I don’t want to eat and drink carrots for a month if it’s not going to change my skin.

I should google it.

Ah, here it is: Carotenosis. <<I’m glad it has a name to match.

I always wondered how long it would take to wear off once I went back to eating normally. I figured the skin cells would take a while to shed completely. My aunt, though, told me she thought it worked the opposite way. She thought I’d have to eat carrots for a long time, but then it would go away in only a few days if I quit the diet.

However, I read somewhere that it could take months to wear off. I guess that’s why I should try it… to find out the truth.

If you check the Wikipedia article I linked to up there, it lists a number of other foods that cause the same symptoms. Cool… I don’t have to just eat carrots for it to work.

Hmm…

Oh, okay… here’s someone who did what I wanted to do. Nice, man.

But now I’m thinking I’ll give it a pass. I still think it’s a cool idea, though. I have a warped sense of “cool.”

Anyway, how did I start that train of thought?

I really don’t remember.

I know I could just reread to find the answer, but that would defeat the purpose of this experiment. See, as I was writing this, somewhere in the back of my head, I decided I’d just write for half an hour. Regardless of what was on my mind or where it led.

And now you’re reading the result of that experiment.

I think I’ve done this before. But at least in that case, I had a topic. This one is just rambling on and on and on and on…

I have some pills sitting right by my computer. I just noticed them as I was typing that “on and on and on” line.

As quickly as that thought came, though, I decided that’s not interesting to think about. I moved on and noticed some logo designs I’ve sketched out. They’re sitting on the other side of my computer.

Are those dialog bubbles, likes the ones in comic books, cliche?

I’m having trouble coming up with a logo. It’s harder than you’d think to create something you love, especially if you’re not a designer but are interested enough to care. At this point, I’m guessing I’ll just throw something up when I launch the new and improved version of this blog. And then I’ll continue to tweak it. Maybe even let you guys tell me which you like.

And hey look! I seriously didn’t do this on purpose, but I’m talking about blog design again. I guess that’s what’s on my mind. I even remember that that’s how I started this post. At least I think that’s how I started… it was somewhere toward the beginning, I’m sure.

Anyway, I’ll leave my thoughts at that.

Even in this post I’ve come full circle.

1. Smoking isn’t cool anymore.
2. Smoking is expensive.
3. Smoking could kill you.

Maybe it’s just me, but it seems pretty obvious that smoking is a bad idea. Didn’t the Surgeon General warn us about that back in the ’60s? Smoking’s only survived this long because it’s part of the culture.

Given that, what if you already smoke? If you already smoke, things change. Suddenly, you have one big, ol’, fat reason to continue: nicotine. Nicotine makes it a lot harder to quit, but rationally it’s still probably the best choice.

The situation changes again and gets much worse, though, when you’re talking to a 90-year-old. Is there any decent reason a 90-year-old should quit smoking?

Think about it…

1. Ninety-year-olds don’t care about cool. If they were trying to be “cooler,” they’d probably start by changing their wardrobe or musical preferences instead of their smoking habits.
2. Ninety-year-olds don’t care about saving money. Sure, smokes aren’t cheap, but what are they going to do with an extra few bucks a day anyway… put it toward retirement? Why not spend it on the pleasures they enjoy?
3. Ninety-year-olds don’t care about it killing them. If it’s going to kill them, it’s going to kill them anyway, whether they stop at that point or not.

The 90-year-old smoker wins.

“Ah,” you say, “What about the example they’re setting for the younger generation?” That might be the best reason I can think of for a 90-year-old to quit. But even that seems weak.

How much do 90-year-olds influence the younger generation anyway? I’d like to think they’re still passing on wisdom, but isn’t it a stretch to assume that any younger person would start smoking just ’cause a 90-year-old smokes?

The more I consider this, the more difficult it seems. And the more I’m convinced that 90-year-olds have no reason to quit smoking.

He was the older kid who lived behind our apartment. I didn’t know where he lived exactly because I wasn’t allowed outside the courtyard in front of our porch. He visited once in a while, though.

This was Kentucky in the ’90s.

Jimmy had a mullet. With lightening bolts shaved into the sides of his head.

One day, when another friend offered me a cookie or something, I turned him down. I said, “No, thanks. I don’t want one.”

Jimmy grabbed me by the shirt collar and pulled me up to his face.

“Around here, we take what we get,” he said.

I didn’t like Jimmy as much after that.

He was in the military for a little while and then worked as a photographer and teacher through his “normal” career. When he retired, he moved to Kentucky and continued his hobby of building houses. He started out doing most of the building himself but later hired out more and more. Eventually, he was developing entire neighborhoods and office plazas.

I’d say he’s a “worthwhile citizen.”

How I met Dean Jones

Based on the number of people around when I was born, you’d think I was some super special occasion. Whew.

Anyway, we met shortly after I was born, and as a result he’s been Grandpa Jones ever since.

Who Dean Jones is

• Housing and office developer/contractor
• GraMelissa’s husband
• My dad’s dad… my grandpa

What Dean Jones likes

• Horses
• Building houses/offices/anything
• His mustache (GraMelissa thinks he was born with it)

One fact about Dean Jones

After years of talking about it, he finally got a tattoo last year. It’s a snake tearing out of the skin under his right arm. The idea, of course, was that he could ride his motorcycle shirtless with his hands up on the handlebars, and everyone could see the tattoo on his side.

Now he just needs to get that motorcycle. The miniature donkey he used to own didn’t have enough horsepower, I guess.

[Note to Grandpa: Sorry for ruining your profile with a "horsepower" pun.]

One reason I like Dean Jones

Boys like building. I liked visiting Grandpa’s construction sites and seeing what he was working on. I liked seeing all the new rooms, exploring all the staircases, and of course walking through walls. Combined with my love for drawing, it’s the reason I wanted to be an architect for a while.

Overall, I like that Grandpa brought me along and showed me what he was doing. He once said, “Everyone is a teacher. Some teach you what to do. Others teach you what not to do.” Grandpa taught me to “tag along and see” and “bring along and show.”

One memory I have of Dean Jones

I’m not sure when it started, but Grandpa decided to give his grand kids free money. We call it “The Claw.”

Grandpa has a bowl where he drops all the loose change he gathers throughout the day. Over time, the bowl fills up. When my brothers and sister and I would visit grandpa’s house, he’d let one of us, usually whoever had the biggest hands (me), grab as many coins as we could in one scoop.

We’d put each handful of coins into a separate cup and draw numbers randomly to see who would get each cup. You’d be surprised how much money you can grab in one hand… but also how equally the cups average out.

If the past is any predictor of the future, my wife is evidently going to love thrift stores when she’s a grandmother, and I’m going to do the Claw.

Dean Jones in one word

Builder.

My left, big toe was stiff for a week but felt fine after that. My toenail, on the other hand [ahem], turned black right as my toe loosened up. And black it’s been since then.

Until today.

Today, I decided to try to rip it off. I grabbed one of those cuticle tools and started prying the toenail up. The toenail had lifted from the cuticle but wasn’t at all loose.

After some digging, including the torture move where you jam that tool straight up the front, I managed to detach the right side. From there, it was merely a matter of twisting it around and around, the way you might twist a tooth off.

The result wasn’t what I had expected. My new toenail had started to grow back. It’s about a third of the way back. But it’s back in black. And it’s mangled. And the skin where there’s no toenail is mangled too.

I thought perhaps a simple washing or scrubbing would shape it up, but I was wrong. For now, I have this ugly mess of a small, big toenail on my left foot. We’ll see how it grows back over the next few months… or not.

I’m glad I’m not a girl.