Awesomeness Reminders

Valentine's Day is tomorrow and it is the toughest holiday to deliver upon. I know that some female lawmaker stuck it on the calendar for mid-February to remind all men that they still have to be romantic in the New Year if they haven't been already. You're allowed just enough time to recover from Christmas, and if you're going for an expensive gift, a tax return may be in your near future. Apparently Christmas can't be the last winter-season, mandated holiday to give a gift or at least say Thank You with a Hallmark card. It's been challenging for me to be surprising or spontaneous since Amanda and I began commuting together and downsized to one car. Thinking back on my best romantic ideas, they usually involved some independence of time and access to transportation. Without either, I'm limited to whatever's across the street from my office at Bellevue Square, which could be a lot worse, or whatever I can order online, have shipped to work and carry on a bus. While these don't seem like major limitations, everything that corporate America can offer in Bellevue doesn't usually result in a unique gift.

So, I just have to be more resourceful and creative. No big deal. I had a major win just before Christmas by surprising Amanda with a month of Awesomeness Reminders, a service where a real person will call whomever you designate every day to tell that person how awesome he or she is. I can't take complete credit for the idea. My coworker Tara purchased a month of service for our boss, who was both flattered and perplexed about why she was getting calls from strangers every day. It was fun, random and a perfect gift for Amanda because she's awesome. I set the service up and let the operators know that they should mention that she's the best nanny and makes the world's best cheesecake, just to personalize the messages.

Here's one of the Awesomeness Reminders she received:

At first Amanda thought someone at my office was prank calling her for me. I denied it as it wasn't true. Then after a few days she thought it must have been someone at my work because the strangers calling her had mentioned that she makes "the world's best cheesecake" and at some previous social events for work she had promised making a cheesecake for the office but hadn't yet delivered. After a week she was just weirded out that strangers were calling and she almost always let the calls go to voicemail. I gave in after a week and let her know I had set up the service when she was teetering somewhere between flattered and concerned. I just wanted her to enjoy the compliments for the remaining few weeks.

I felt good about my level of game after that, but then the Christmas Chivalry Fail happened.

I think I have a good date lined up for tomorrow. We'll see. I managed to work around my access limitations OK. For those husbands out there struggling to get creative for your own Valentine's Day mojo working, here's some advice: The difference between the excitement of early dating and long-term relationship dating is the preparation. Something about sharing a bathroom when you're getting ready removes the Wow Factor compared to seeing your date done-up when you pick her up. So, leave the house 30 minutes early and well ahead of her being ready. Drive to the grocery, pick up some flowers and then pick her up back at your home, just like you would have for those early dates. That will surely set the romantic tone.

And that's only the first part of tomorrow Valentine's Day date for Amanda. Sorry guys, but I can't give away all the secrets!

Everybody's Skiing For the Weekend

cash net

La Nina hasn't cranked out all the snow we were hoping for by this time in the ski season, but nevertheless I've already been up skiing twice as much as I did last year. I credit this to two factors: work and Scott.

I kicked off the season skiing at Colorado for a work event, and I'll be headed to Jackson Hole, WY, Alta, UT, and Squaw Valley, CA for some marketing events and skiing in the next month. I'm also working on a marketing event on the home turf - Crystal Mountain! - for March. When work doesn't have me traveling, Scott has been the catalyst to get my ass up on the mountain whether for good or terrible conditions. Nothing new there! Amanda has been up a couple times, but we're waiting on some better weather to stretch that nearly $70 lift ticket at Crystal for optimal conditions.

Scott has been chronicling the ski season at his blog Cascade Gravity Research, and put together the video below. I made the cut in a few shots. Check it out!

This King's Speech

Amanda insisted for weeks that we see The King's Speech. I combated her with my need to see the new Harry Potter. Alas, she prevailed, reasoning that she could not see the latest Potter movie before reading the book or seeing the previous movies. I'm still looking for the rock Amanda hid under for the last 10 years to avoid that chunk of culture. We saw the movie with J. Ruckle last weekend. It was delightful. Anyone who has every had a stutter or a paralyzingly reaction to public speaking, like myself, may have an especially warm feeling for the movie.

These past few years, I've gained a good reputation for leading a crowd but that wasn't always the case. In the movie, there's a painful scene when the not-yet king addresses the British Empire Exhibition at Wembley. This was representative of my early high school years.

I blame private school.

I was an over-confident reader through elementary and junior high school. That was because I had the same audience of 40ish peers during those school years. My teachers were the only rotating listeners. When I transferred to public high school, my freshman class was 10x larger, and of the 400+ students I only previously knew two. When I was first asked by my English teacher, Mrs. Thomas, to begin reading a paragraph out of some classic literature book, my voice, and subsequently my confidence, shook.

That episode repeated over and over, book after book, for the next couple years. The curriculum was that each student would take a turn reading a paragraph. When it came to my turn, a good friend like Wesley would be ready to voluntarily takeover reading when my voice shook uncontrollably, usually by the second sentence. I could talk just fine in class discussions, but when there was a book in my hand and only the sound of my voice in the room, ugh.

I don't know what broke my nerves. I didn't have a speech therapist like George VI in the movie. I just got over it eventually. My confidence rose in other aspects of school life, so that helped. I also had the support of Wesley or Mrs. Thomas (who thankfully taught freshman and sophomore English) whenever I fell into a stutter or shake in my voice.

By college, I had other avenues to get comfortable with public speaking. I started DJing at the college radio station - there was no alternative but dead air if I didn't deliver the ad messages between songs. I also took on editor roles for the student publications, providing more opportunities to speak in front of peer groups in person. With each opportunity, my voice shook less. It never quite stopped - it still happens occasionally - but I at least know I can get through it.

The big payoff (George VI's war announcement equivalent) was my ability to speak through a best man's speech at Scott's wedding. It was the first time I felt completely confident about speaking since junior high. That was one of my proudest moments and still is for many reasons. More special occasions have followed, including my own wedding and speaking at Gramps' funeral this past weekend. Of course, grad school and work have provided me good, consistent practice to get in front of people and talk as well.

Public speaking always ranks highly on "most feared" activity lists. I wonder what percentage of people get over that fear. For me, my desire to lead overcame my tendency to cower. In a position of leadership, whether king or mid-career manager, people need to listen. So I needed to learn again how to speak.

The Story of the Drunk Girl At My Doorstep

Amanda and I went to bed last night at 11 p.m. after watching WAY too much of The Bachelor and after the Oregon Ducks lost the BCS game (notice the gender balance here). At 1:30 a.m., I heard something unusual outside. I jumped up, turned on the lamp and walked around the downstairs in hot pursuit of the noise. I didn't see or hear anything, so I grabbed a glass of water and went back to bed. About 20 minutes later, Amanda must have heard something as she shot out of bed to have a look for herself.

Moments later I heard, "Paolo! There's someone at the front door!"

I ran out and turned the corner to see Amanda sitting with her back to the door. I'd never consider my wife much of a sniper and this was a case in point. If there was some real danger, Amanda had trapped herself in the only spot where if she made a move - standing up,  moving left or right - she'd be exposed to the porch windows. She also yelled to me, exposing her position to whoever was outside. Clearly she hadn't played Goldeneye as a child.

"Thou shalt not expose thyself to the enemy or have to start the level over."

Additionally, the whole episode freaked out my Mom's dog, Simon, who we are dogsitting, and he proceeded to poop just in front of Amanda. Awesome. I stepped around Simon's weapon of choice and could see a woman sitting out on our door steps. I opened the door.

She stood up and turned, tipsy on her heels and wearing a blazer jacket over a halter top and a short skirt. Some would say she was dressed like a hooker. Others would mistake her for a waitress. It depends on your dining preference. There was no car or taxi on the street. She appeared on our doorstep like a prom night baby, only bigger and drunker.

In college, it's a fairly common occurrence, a blessing for some, to find a drunk girl at the doorstep of the wrong house. These days, it's just an annoyance.

"I'm looking for Alisha [I forget the actual name]," she said. "She lives here."

"No, she doesn't," I replied, but backtracked. "But let me check if she's here."

Over the course of living with my brother for the past two years, it hasn't been uncommon to meet new people in various rooms of my house at odd hours of the day. I searched the guest bedroom and ran upstairs to ask Sergio if he was expecting a drunk girl at the door or if he knew of her. He didn't know what was going on, so I ran back downstairs to turn away the girl. Thereafter, Sergio periodically counseled me from the top of the stairs for the remainder of the episode.

I returned to the door. "Nope, she's not here," I said.

"Well, then I need to talk to the master or director of this house," she replied, clearly struggling with words.

"That'd be me and I'm telling you you're at the wrong house. Where do you need to be?"

The girl went on to mumble some other friends' names and said that she had actually lived at my house with them. She also mentioned that she thought she was in some other part of Tacoma, miles away. After some more useless banter I offered to make a phone call for her, which she refused. I wished her luck and shut the door.

Amanda and I had just gotten in bed before the girl knocked on our door. We opened and let her know that we'd call the police to give her a ride. At this point, Amanda decided to befriend her and offer a blanket, which the girl refused despite it being 28 degrees outside and her attire not being conducive to the weather conditions.

I called 911, for the first time ever in my life, to let the operator know that there was a stranded drunk at my door. It wasn't my proudest moment, but it was exciting. "Bad boys, bad boys, what cha gonna do?..."

Before the police arrived, the girl fled from our doorway. I didn't catch exactly why, but Amanda said she overheard me calling the police and must have regained enough consciousness to realize that the back of a cop car is a bad way to end the night. When the police arrived I pointed them in her direction. She wasn't dangerous, but she was still a threat to herself.

Amanda and I got little to no sleep for the remainder of the night. Amanda worried about the girl being warm and wondering where her home was. I worried about how far I could get these days if I tried playing Goldeneye again, or if I could still maintain a 90% win ratio against Scott playing head-to-head Halo games.

I hear some people think about buying a gun when their homes are threatened. It must have been the college nostalgia of drunks knocking on the door in the middle of the night, because my mind drifted off to a gentler world where threats are played out in video games and the drunks make it home - just not my home - at the end of the night.

Christmas Chivalry Fail

I like to pride myself on some Casanova qualities, but did I ever fail and flop this Christmas! Amanda and I agreed not to exchange gifts this year. I know, cliche. Every couple says this and then gives gifts anyway.

Well, I thought this year we were taking the truce seriously. I mean, this is my wife, and she and I both knew that we had spent WAY too much money in December between plane tickets to Colorado and Indiana. We weren't low on money, we were out. Given all the time we spend together, which is basically every hour that we're not working, I was quite sure that Amanda hadn't snuck away to get me a gift for Christmas. We also packed together for Indiana, so I was totally sure that we weren't exchanging gifts there. The coast seemed clear.

Wrong. The day before we left, we received a package in the mail and, unlike many of the boxes we received with gifts for giving, this one wasn't from Eddie Bauer. Amanda couldn't last an hour before she admitted that the box contained my Christmas present and she wanted me to open it. Inside was the Gregory Z65 Pack that I had registered for in our wedding gift registry. (Seriously, a good backpacking backpack is a much more practical wedding gift than mixing bowls or egg beaters.)

I was torn. I loved the backpack, and much like women have "inspiration jeans," I needed this backpack to inspire me to save in 2011 for a next Europe trip. I ended up keeping the backpack with some guilt that I didn't have a reciprocal gift, but everything seemed OK. I had, after all, purchased those very romantic plane tickets that printed from our very romantic HP printer.

Fast forward to Christmas in Indiana.

We exchanged gifts with family in the evening and were relaxing on the couch watching our niece and nephew play their new Wii. Amanda leaned over to me and whispered, "I wish I had a little something to open today."

"What?" I replied. "I thought we said we weren't exchanging gifts, and you cheated getting me that backpack."

"Well, just something small to open would have been nice."

Oy vey.

In my younger years, when I had more time and was moreover less jaded by responsibility, I probably would have been thoughtful enough to at least make a card or coupon book and think ahead about avoiding this scenario. But I hadn't. I had screwed up my first married Christmas.  My own frugality had failed me.

Future generations, take note:  "We're not exchanging gifts" means "We're ALWAYS exchanging gifts."

Amanda and I hadn't really discussed the chivalry fail since Christmas, but I knew I had some work to do this week. I confided in my team of women at the office who agreed that it was appropriate to purchase a make-up gift. One of them said her long-distance boyfriend had not gotten her anything for Christmas either. To retaliate, she sent him a card with an IOU enclosed that was addressed back to her. Brutal!

So I picked up Amanda the Victoria Secret Heavenly lotion and perfume that she's always had an eye on as well as some top shelf balsamic vinegar.  That last gift may sound weird, but my wife covets top-shelf balsamic like it's top-shelf liquor. She loved the gifts and we drowned a loaf of French bread in olive oil and that balsamic vinegar last night.

We're not exactly even and we're no richer, but she's happy and I no longer have my tail between my legs. In married life, that's a win.