When I sat down today to record my weekly offering for YouTube, nothing seemed to click. I even tried a couple of different songs, but I just wasn't feeling my mojo.
But then it came to me.
This week, Friday, is our 5th anniversary. So, tonight I decided to record the first song I ever wrote for Andrea, when I was 16 years old. I love her today more than ever.
Back story: In eighth grade my orthodontist informed me that no amount of headgear would correct my overbite. It couldn't be fixed without surgery. So my mom and I drove down to Salt Lake City for an evaluation by her cousin, Dr. Greg Egbert, who is an oral surgeon. Dr. Egbert took molds, X-rays and bite indentations and sent all this information to my parents' medical insurance company for review.
The entire procedure was rejected because it was "cosmetic."
Unfortunately, that's not the real story. I haven't bought gum since I was 13 because it hurts to chew it. I can't eat Skittles without later regretting it. In addition to occasional pain and discomfort, I recently found out from my current orthodontist that the teeth on the right side of my mouth are worn down considerably more than those on the left side because my bite is incorrect. And, to top it all off, I've had a cavity (or three) almost every time I've gone to the dentist since I turned 21 because I sleep with my mouth wide open due to the overbite. Apparently that leads to gum tissue problems and cavities.
Jumping ahead to earlier this year: Seth and I decided that we ought to pursue oral surgery again because my jaw situation isn't getting any better. I began making phone calls near the beginning of the year, and back in April we went back to SLC to see Dr. Egbert once again. We did the same stuff: X-rays, pictures, etc. and submitted them to our insurance company.
And then we waited. And waited. And when I finally called the insurance company to see what was up, we found out that our pre-authorization had gotten lost in the shuffle. So we had to wait some more for the medical review board to look it over. And then some more.
Finally we received a letter from the insurance; they needed more information to make a decision. Instead of going to Salt Lake for molds and impressions, I made an appointment with my orthodontist and had them send the necessary information in.
I didn't expect to hear a final answer until sometime in September. So today when I found a letter from our insurance addressed to me, I nearly fell to the ground in surprise.
Shakily, I ripped open the envelope and scanned over the contents. As you can probably determine from the title of the post, it was good. For the most part. All of my reconstructive surgery will, in fact, be covered by the insurance. However, my chin implant will not. Ha! Kinda makes me laugh.
The next step will be to get braces (hence me seeing an orthodontist as of late). And then sometime next year I will go down to Salt Lake once more and come back looking (and feeling) drastically different.
Sorry about the hiatus. We went out of town for the weekend, and although I took plenty of fun pictures, none of them were of me. I didn't even pack the tripod.
So, for all of you who were suffering from Andrea-self-portrait withdrawal (Mercy!), here is the next one. Woohoo!
If you've ever spent any time on YouTube, you'll find that a large percentage of the videos out there are average Joes and Janes, sitting in front of their webcam, singing along with their guitars or their toy electronic keyboards. Some are original songs. Most are covers. Many are terrible.
I've spent some time watching these offerings, and mocking them. "Why would you post this?" I think. "This is terrible! How could you possibly think this would somehow benefit anybody, anywhere?" I watch them, and I despise them.
Yet I am drawn to them. Secretly, inwardly, I want to be one of them.
I can't figure it out. I've tried to come up with a million rationalizations behind it, some more believable than others: "I could do better than this!" Well, maybe better than some. Probably worse than others. "I don't play guitar or write songs as much as I used to, this would give me a reason to do so." Okay, I guess I buy that one, but I could (and should) play more without having to put it on YouTube. "My friends could see me 'perform.'" I suppose, but do they really want to? I can't imagine the lot of you have been sitting out there wishing, "Dang, I wish I could go to, like, a Seth Grover concert right now. That would be rad."
Those of you who really, really know me, though, can guess the real reason behind this: I like attention. I've always liked to perform for people. Whether it be a high school talent show, Guitars Unplugged up at Ricks/BYU-I, jamming with my brother's Jazz combo in the mall for Dillards at Christmas (for free, I might add), or just making my wife listen at home, I like it. It's a thrill for me.
So we're going to try this experiment. At least once a week I'm going to record a video of myself and post it to YouTube. Some of the songs will be originals, some will be covers. Some will probably suck. Some might not be too bad. I'm not going to make a big production out of preparing for it; I'm going to just decide on a song, play it once or twice beforehand to make sure I know the words, then hit "record." Let me know if you like it, hate it, or couldn't care less.
So, for our first act, "Walking" by Seth Grover.
Click here if you've just got to have a recording of this for your iPod.
Rebekah: "Mommy, why are some people's bums different?" Mommy: "Um... what do you mean?" Rebekah: "Mac's bum is different." (Mac is Daddy's 3-year-old cousin. He is Rebekah's friend.) Mommy: "Because boys and girls are different." Rebekah: "Why?" Mommy: "Because Heavenly Father made us that way." Rebekah: "Why?" Mommy: [[mumblemumblemumble]]
Of course, since we don't have any boys yet, so far all of this sort of education rests solely on Andrea's shoulders.
Andrea loves these semi-related images in blog posts SO much I just had to find a good one for her.
The one and only Nick Wheeler (former Scrollie, current artist) challenged all frequenters of his blog to create 10 self-portraits in 10 days. I must admit that it took me several days of mulling over the idea to jump on the bandwagon, but here I am.
So without further ado, here is the result of Day One.
The weapon A package of Cadbury Animals, sent from Britain.
The suspects Aunt Jessica (right), who said the Grover girls could each have a package of said Cadbury Animals, and Richard (left), Jessica's British fiance, who sent the Animals from overseas.
The victim
Analee Grover, age 14 1/2 months.
The details Chocolately hand and thigh, left.
Chocolately hand and thigh, right..
Chocolately face, neck and carseat straps.
The reaction She remains blissfully ignorant. I guess we won't be pressing charges.
Jade tagged us. I've never done one of these before. To me, they've always sort of smacked of chain letters. But I suppose since people have to come here to read it instead of me force-feeding it to others, it's okay. Plus, I still sort of have this feeling that Jade is my editor, so I'd better do what she says.
The Rules:
Link the person(s) who tagged you.
Mention the rules on your blog.
Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours.
Tag 6 fellow bloggers by linking them.
Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged.
Since Andrea and I were tagged jointly, and since we're both rather boring, we're each just going to do three.
Seth's quirks
In order to protect my wife and children, I have to sleep with some sort of a weapon near my bedside. Also, I always have to sleep on the side of the bed closest to the door. At various points this weapon has been a lava lamp, a hatchet, a hunting knife, and, most recently, a hefty MagLite. There is also a revolver hidden in the room, responsibly not loaded and out of the reach of children, of course, along with 500 rounds of ammunition. I'm not sure exactly sure who will be attacking, but I'm determined he/she/it won't get through me without a fight.
Occasionally I'll get on a kick where I will become obsessed with a particular song or album, and I will listen to it over and over and over, sometimes for weeks. The first time I can remember this happening was with Thick as a Brick, in its full forty-three minute glory. It has also happened with Maná, Led Zeppelin, and Neil Young. I once listened to Neil Young's Sixty To Zero/Crime In The City, on repeat, every day at work, all day, for a month. Each time I get stuck on something, I pick something different out. "Is that a harpsichord?" "Listen to that four-part harmony." "I love the way the guitars are layered on this track." I can also listen to myself and not get tired of it. Is that narcissistic?
If I am eating Jello in a meal which also contains some sort of hot food, the Jello must be served on a separate plate, bowl, or cup. Otherwise, the hot foot will heat up the plate and melt the Jello, and that's just not cool.
Handing the keyboard over to Andrea now ...
Andrea's quirks
Corn on the cob is MEANT to be eaten in a certain way. A very specific, certain way. Left to right, rotating the cob upwards after the completion of each set of rows. Each set must consist of three to four rows of kernels, so the eater must count out the number of rows remaining before commencing to eat the penultimate set of rows. Seriously. (interjection: yes, she actually does this - Seth)
Grammar, punctuation, etc. But here's the thing: I'm an English teacher (on a 30-year sabbatical). AND I'm a journalism teacher (see above). Sorry, MLA style. AP style kicks your heiney. I absolutely cannot include that needless comma before "and" in a series. It's a crime against nature. And that ellipses above? I just added a space before the first dot. Because Seth did it wrong.
When it's glaringly bright outside, I squint. Sounds normal enough, right? But I have a special take on the "run-of-the-mill squint" ... I have the "Popeye squint." It's always the right eye completely closed and the left eye partially open. There's been more than one occasion in which I've sent the pool boy mixed signals. Talk about awkward. We don't even OWN a pool.
Last Saturday (July 19), Seth and I managed to get all the usual weekend housework done by 9 a.m., so I proposed that as soon as Analee woke up from her morning nap, we ought to go do something fun as a family.
We chose to go to Cress Creek, a fun little trail less than a half-hour away from home. It's not what I'd consider a serious hike; there are picnic tables scattered all along the trail, and from the trailhead to the creek is entirely paved. Not exactly Mt. Borah or Tablerock, but perfect for a two- or three-hour excursion with the kids.
Trip highlights:
Eating a picnic lunch of egg salad sandwiches and grapes
Seeing a lizard that scurried home when Bekah got too close
Bekah approaching the lizard with caution.
Dipping Analee's toes into the creek
After this experience, Ana kept trying to walk back into the creek ... even though she still had her shoes on.
Seth and Rebekah attempting to play Pooh Sticks
Their sticks never made it through; there were too many bigger sticks to get stuck on.
Managing to get the stroller up three unpaved switchbacks before turning back]
To view more awesome images from our little adventure, click here.
This morning, as I was leaving for work, Andrea told me, "You've been home from your mission five years today." That's right... FIVE years. I've been HOME for FIVE years. That blows my mind.
In commemoration of that, I'm re-posting the links to my mission galleries. Because, like, I know you all totally want to see pictures of my mission.
The Grover family's 2007 Hyundai Entourage.
A package of Cadbury Animals, sent from Britain.
Aunt Jessica (right), who said the Grover girls could each have a package of said Cadbury Animals, and Richard (left), Jessica's British fiance, who sent the Animals from overseas.
Analee Grover, age 14 1/2 months.
Chocolately hand and thigh, left.
Chocolately hand and thigh, right..
Chocolately face, neck and carseat straps.
She remains blissfully ignorant. I guess we won't be pressing charges.
Bekah approaching the lizard with caution.
After this experience, Ana kept trying to walk back into the creek ... even though she still had her shoes on.
Their sticks never made it through; there were too many bigger sticks to get stuck on.
