A Glimpse of Greatness

Timing is everything. I think he was too young. And we were excited - ooo how excited we were. It began as merely a crush. We admired from afar his physique, his strength, his passion. We were guarded as past relationships had taught us the painful consequences of misplaced hope. Over time, it became apparent our union would be a reality, and our cautious optimism quickly transformed into reckless enthusiasm. Certainly, he had the power to heal our wounds, and this would not end in disappointment. I believe initially he was as captivated by the prospect as we.

The honeymoon period was pure bliss, a veritable slam dunk in the game of romance. There was an undeniable connection. He was all we expected him to be, knowing when to assist or take charge and always willing to revisit the drawing boards to perfect our relationship. We linked arms proudly and defended him when others attacked his character and will. Perhaps we were blissfully naive, but we believed this would blossom and flourish.

For awhile, it did. I will not be so blind as to say there were never problems. He did not always approve of those we brought into his life, though we did all within our power to satisfy his needs. He failed us from time to time, but this was merely the ebb and flow of maturing that would ultimately lead to that for which we had both been longing.

Then it happened. Perhaps he was tired as expectations were too high. Perhaps the pressure of lifting us from a state of mediocrity was too heavy a load to bear. We did have a tendency to be quite cold, and we certainly could never be the glamorous partner he desired. Regardless his reasons, he shut down. The ball was in his court, and rather than risking failure, he stood with callous indifference at the key's apex.

His manner of rejection was smug, juvenile and harsh. It was not satisfactory to merely leave us; he made a spectacle, broadcasting to the world he was moving on while we remained, hopes shattered yet again.

Our time together is now a bittersweet memory, fading with each passing season. We have opened ourselves to others, recognizing we are in no state to sacrifice unbridled support in the same manner. He has moved on and now shares with another what we so desperately coveted. It is difficult to merely observe his successes, as the vengeful side of one's soul seeks vindication after such a cruel display of disrespect.

The sting of an additional scar may never completely subside. The resounding what ifs may forever haunt our thoughts: what if we had met later in his life; what if those random cards often dictating unanticipated outcomes had fallen differently; what if he had stayed? Or what if he came back?

One cannot dwell on those thoughts but must live in the present. Presently, he has silenced his critics, and while we were not able to share in the bounty, we were a pivotal stepping stone. I believe we all experience a small sense of pride witnessing the champion he has become and like to think his experience and failure with us molded him into the man he is. Arguably the greatest to have ever played the game.

The Boylan Burger: Culinary Empowerment

First, I would like you to pronounce culinary as such: q-linary. My first night of training at Commonwealth, the waitress introduced herself as the "guide to this evening's q-linary adventure." I think it adds a funky terminological twist.

Second, thank you for bearing with me through my latest introspective post. I discovered a contributing factor to the emotions spawning that post this morning. It was the same reason I spent most of last week glaring at co-workers during the day and relegated to my couch in the evening, craving all things edible. Today, I am going to remind you and myself I am able to write about casual experiences by relaying thoughts of a particular step in last week's quest for palette satiation.

Saturday evening, a friend and I ventured to the Corner to indulge in burgers, beer, and basketball. Boylan Heights is by far the best place to do so, as there are plenty of televisions, affordable yet tasty draft selections and waitresses donning Catholic school girl outfits complimented by glasses that may or may not be necessary. The most attractive aspect of the establishment, however, is this: the build your own burger menu.

Boylan Heights is certainly not the first to incorporate interaction beyond the standard, "May I take your order?". Buffets have been a staple in casinos for years. Omelet, nacho and salad bars have become popular in hotels, wedding receptions and Ruby Tuesday's. Fondue restaurants invite the guest to cook their own meats and control the chocolate ratio of a dipped strawberry. While these options are tasty and somewhat liberating for the diner, the build your own burger menu has three characteristics that I believe make it the preferred model for self-driven dining experiences.

1) The process involves little movement or effort. In the above scenarios, the guest is required to actively participate, walking from station to station and weighing the benefits of various courses. In the case of a buffet, the variety of cuisine can be overwhelming. One is always at risk of reaching the desired station only to find the food is near the bottom but not to the point of replenishment. Further, one cannot choose the ingredients of the cuisine. One is able to do so in the case of an omelet/salad/nacho bar but still must leave the comfort of the table, bumping elbows to attain the proper accoutrements.

While remaining seated throughout the fondue experience, one must cook meat to the proper temperature. As you know, I have been expanding my expertise in the kitchen, but I know my limitations. I do not take the texture of red meat lightly and prefer to leave the responsibility of cooking that meat in the deft hands of a professional.

What little work the build your own burger requires arguably enhances the experience. All I must do to indicate the desired ingredients is fill in bubbles. Each time I do so, I remember the simple days of college exams for which the extent of my preparation was twenty minutes. The beauty of this particular process is there is no wrong answer and I can drink a beer while doing so.

2) The guest has control of the ingredients, offering the ultimate culinary empowerment. Outside the limitations inherent to any kitchen, I am able to create whatever burger I would like. In a world where much is out of my control, it is lovely to sit at a table and know that if I do not want a tomato on my burger, the waitress will not look at me as though I am insulting the chef who so meticulously decided a tomato belongs on all burgers. I do not like tomatoes, no matter the spices incorporated. I just don't.

Each chef is able to expand the creative palette, choosing complimentary flavors, and each has a different strategy to do so. My friend and I both knew this would take a bit of time, so we put our conversation aside and began with basics. Red meat was an easy choice, and since this meal was decidedly indulgent, I chose the wheat bun as opposed to a burger bowl.

I believe the sauce sets the ultimate theme as cheese chosen to nestle between the bun will certainly differ if the sauce is pesto as opposed to buffalo. Of course, certain cheeses are so potent they may not require a sauce - goat cheese being one of them. I could fore go the sauce in efforts to cut superfluous calories but as previously stated - "decidedly indulgent."

I opted for sriracha mayo - hot. This theme may develop as the burger evolves, but it is best to begin simple. Spicy jack is an obvious cheese as it adds spice to the heat. I then venture to the right half of the page for additional vegetation. Grilled onions are a must. I cannot tolerate raw onions, but throw a little oil on them and they add the perfect crunch without an overpowering flavor. Jalapenos are an option, and once I have committed to the bubble, I realize my burger is becoming quite fiery. I continually vacillate regarding the value of lettuce, but in this case, it adds texture and a bit of relief for my tongue. A calculated decision, indeed.

It is then I look to the fancier fare section. Though avocado is $1.00 extra, it completes a perfectly balanced "Hawaiian flare*" burger; I am unopposed to the charge. At the end of the twenty minutes spent contemplating the perfect burger, I am ready to send my veritable masterpiece to the kitchen. I sip my Scrimshaw in satisfaction.

3) This is the most important aspect: after all the mental energy expended, the CHEF will view MY creation. I often imagine the reaction when the sheet is passed through the threshold. It parallels Ralphie's expectation of his teacher's response to the Red Ryder BB Gun essay. The chef will look at the masterful combination of flavors and textures and see it as truly inspired. There will be moans among staff as they imagine the burger melting in their mouths. Perhaps it will even be a special in coming months.

In reality, the cooks prepare my burger the same monotonous way every other custom burger is prepared, but I prefer the romanticized version - surprising, I know. Regardless of their reaction, the burger is placed before me. My mouth waters at every bite, and at the close of the meal, I leave with a full tummy and sense of accomplishment. O Boylan, you have satiated me on so many levels.

*Because it is hot with a cool breeze

As a side note, I began to calculate the number of burger combinations one could create. The starting point is approximately this:

4 burger options
4 bun options
10 cheeses
10 sauces
15 additions (up to three on a burger)
5 fancier fare

Unfortunately, I have been thrown off by the up to three option. There would be 15 ways to choose one, I believe 105 way to choose two, but I get hung up on the three. I want to say there are 475 ways. If so, then there are 595 for the additions to be combined. If one assumes you need to pick from each section, the math is easy. 8000*595. But then... what if someone does not want fancier far. Then we multiply 595*1600. No sauce - 595*800. No cheese - 595*800. No sauce or fancier fare - 595*160. No cheese or fancier fare - 595*160. No cheese or sauce - 595*80. No cheese, sauce, fancier fare - 595*16. No additions - 8000. No additions or cheese - 800. No additions or sauce - 800. No additions or fancier fare - 1600. No additions, cheese, sauce - 80. No additions, cheese, fancier fare - 160. No additions, sauce, fancier fare - 160. So our final calculation is something like...

8000*595 + 595*1600 + 2(595*800) + 2(595*160) + 595*80 + 595*16 + 8000 + 2(800) + 1600 + 2(160) + 80

6,923,120

Of course, it is only an approximation because I do not have the exact number in each section. Admittedly I probably spent too much time on that. And I probably missed something. But I had today half off and needed a mental challenge.

On Moving Forward

I have a confession. I have been avoiding you. Many times in the past six months I have thought about you. I consider telling you of Friday night exploits, new goals of becoming a master chef or random considerations - such as commentary on NFL announcers or the male sport with the finest comprehensive physique.

I visit posts and remember days of old when I felt comfortable sharing my thoughts, both intimate and shallow. A time or two I even began writing. Each time, I stopped, not because I do not care about you, but because I want to be open, even vulnerable with you and the five people who shuffle through my posts. While said topics would elicit a chuckle, they are not truly on my heart. I come to you, hoping by the end of my rambling, I will have articulated that which I have been been scared to write for some time.

As we have discussed ad nauseum, this chapter removed from lifetime comforts and those I hold dear has at times been lonely, frustrating and stressful, which I definitely expected. I did not expect that after two and a half years, it would remain hard. More than that, I realize evermore the difficulty of maintaining one's integrity and priorities when others are questioning not only you, but also themselves.

If I am utterly honest with myself - which is always difficult - I have suppressed my values and ignored my priorities because settling is easy. Steps toward improvement are followed by steps (sometimes leaps) backward. But if one does not move forward, there will not be the disappointment of digression.

I am not speaking of my illustrious career, social life or even my fitness, because those have been thriving - relatively speaking. I started a new job where I am able to make an impact on the company in ways not possible at my past job. I stroll the downtown mall, engaging in casual (but always entertaining) conversations with fellow restaurant employees, my adopted grandparents, Ken and Sherry, or the random friend whose name I cannot remember. As the father of a middle school classmate once observed: "She's a hoot." It was true at age ten, and it still accurately depicts my personality. I joined a gym in August and due to exorbitant fees, I frequent the establishment at least four times a week.

Yes, these are tangible improvements and offer a positive sense of stability, but I have never desired definition from them - other than in my biceps and calves. From where then, do I acquire my identity?

Last year, my grandma celebrated her 85th birthday. Although she was disappointed to enter a surprise party rather than the silent auction promised her, she humored the family. Many spoke of her caring spirit, sacrificial heart and sarcastic wit; she in turn relayed a silly anecdote. When I expressed my gratitude and admiration, her story was a bit different, and for that I am flattered and grateful.

I was two, and Grandma was babysitting my mentally retarded brother, Stephen, and me. He was a year older than I but his bodily functions had barely developed. Apparently I had a bowl of Fruit Loops and while Grandma was in the kitchen, began feeding them to Stephen. Grandma returned to a coughing grandson and a granddaughter who merely wanted another to experience what she was so blessed to have.

The love one shares with others may be brutally rebuffed; they may not have the capacity to return in kind. It may also be accepted in fullness and joy. Regardless the reception, all shallow encounters will fade, but what I have invested in others will remain - even if it is a mere seed planted in a genuine conversation.

My decision to move to Charlottesville and that to quit my job were based on a belief that God called me to do so. Both forced me out of my comfort zone; admittedly, I have bemoaned that fact and questioned its purpose. Had I stayed in Chardon, I would have been comfortable. Had my first job gone as I foresaw, I would have been comfortable. Heck, if some guy had decided I was the greatest thing since any treat wrapped in bacon and I had returned the compliment, I would have been comfortable. God has used this experience to continually remind me He is the only source of true comfort and fulfillment. Apart from Him, there is a void that cannot be filled through any amount of extracurricular activity.

I was in a similar place last year - and the year before, and the year before. Funny how our flaws seem to be cyclical. Each time, I stepped forward. These steps were followed by backward bounds and a time when I did not move for fear of failure. I am going to step forward again in the love of One who has been waiting for me to come to a place of complete surrender - a place where I am willing to admit that I cannot do this of my own power, no matter my resolution.

Per usual, I am not entirely sure what I am trying to say, but I believe it is something like this: I do not know God's ultimate purpose in bringing me to Charlottesville or how long I will remain; I suppose I may never fully understand. I do know that wherever I am, if I am not sharing the love so graciously given me and cultivating my relationship with Him, I am wasted.

And I promise... the next post will be dedicated to the outfits on Sunday NFL countdown. Or Lebron James. Or cheese. I do really like cheese.