That's a mighty big brain you have there

I call them The Big Brains.
They are the scholars, professors, doctors and some of the high-achieving students I met during a not-long-enough stint in the PR department of a prominent university.
These were some very smart people, hence the nickname.
I never said it directly to them because I was not sure if it might insult them and the only people I like to insult are politicians.
Sure there are a few politicians who do not deserve my barbs and laser beam shots of disgust, but they are definitely in the minority.
I must admit, there is one area politician I do have respect for. Sure he is part of the national gang known as The MPs, but he seems like a genuine guy, with a genuine interest in doing what is right.
I know, that sort of thing is even more rare than a Big Foot sighting, but I can confirm at least one of them exists (the decent politician, not the sasquatch.)
And don't even get me started on the Senate.
For the record, my daggers are meant for provincial and federal politicians. I find most of the local ones quite nice and seem to be in politics so they can actually do some good in their community.
Anyway, I was talking about people with large craniums crammed with all sorts of valuable knowledge.
I must admit, when I first started at the university I was somewhat intimidated by The Big Brains and oft felt akin to a multi-celled organism that just crawled out of the slimy pond of stupidness.
My wife tried to tell me it was not true, but I was too busy swinging from the trees in the courtyard and picking nits out of people's hair to notice.
I was definitely not running with my usual band of co-workers.
Not to say newspaper people are not smart. Some of them are quite bright and some of them are, um, er, my co-workers.
Moving on. For the most part, The Big Brains were pretty decent to work with. A few did think they they were God's gift to the world and needed one office to work in and another office for their ego, but some of the extremely smart ones were basically regular people (with really big brains.)
I guess when you are that good, you don't have to act like it. Those were the Big Brains I liked the most - regular people who just happened to be smarter than 22 of me put together, but they never made a big deal about it.
I did feel conspicuous my name did not have a whole bunch of letters after it like everyone else did.
I thought about adding a few just so I could be one of the gang and contemplated putting GSC at the end of  my moniker. But the letters for the Gold Skating Certificate I earned when I was 15 probably wouldn't impress anyone.
I do have a college education, so I have some functioning grey matter, just not as much as many other people.
I can string a few words together, add a comma when needed and I have a pretty good idea how to form a readable paragraph, but I highly doubt that will change the world like some of the people I met at the university are likely to do.
But we all have our role to play in this life. Could I have been nestled among the brethren of big brains had I tried harder in school?
I doubt it. I think a really big brain is something God gives you, like being tall, or having a sense of humour (hey, two out of three aint bad).
You can study all you want and yes it will help, but at the end of the day unless you have a big brain there is only so much room in there and eventually it will get filled up (some sooner than others).

I would argue my point, but what's the point

Arguing with your wife is like trying to outrun a dog: there is absolutely no point because there is absolutely no way you are going to win.

You are never going to out pace the hound and there is no way you are ever going to best the little woman in a battle of the minds.

Even a little dog can run pretty fast and even if you are a high-calibre athlete, odds are the little mutt will eventually catch you and tear you limb from limb.

I have learned size is not important when it comes to arguing with your wife.

I am 16 inches taller and more than 120 pounds heavier than my wife – big deal. Unless we are playing basketball, football or full-contact martial arts that size difference matters not.

I may be much larger in stature, but her brain, vocabulary and ability to express how she is feeling far outweigh my simple mind in the communications department.

Sure I use words for a living, but that is different. I am used to sitting at a computer and pushing down on these little square keys that makes words magically appear on the screen in front of me.

If I have to stop and think about something before pushing more keys, I can sit back and stare off into space until the next idea forces its way into my somewhat wobbly cranium.

I do not have that luxury when 'discussing' something with The Missus.

When it comes to arguing with my wife, I am like one of those old musket rifles used in the American Civil War. It takes a long time to load one shot and that shot is not very accurate.

On the other hand my wife, and women in general, are more like an mini-gun that can fire 6,000 rounds a minute.

Who do you think will win the war with that kind of fire power imbalance?

We will be having a 'discussion' and I feel I am making a strong case for my views and, on occasion, I even think I might actually be winning. Oh, you silly, silly man.

Gentlemen, if you feel like you are close to winning – beware you are in a very dangerous area.

If you think you can see victory on the horizon, you still have a lot to learn about arguing with women.

You see, while you are marching forward with the largest intellectual argument you can form, she is simply waiting with a force so much greater it is a wonder your ideas even left your brain before they were decimated like so many ants under a size 12 boot.

Is it because women are smarter than men?

In my case, you betcha. My wife is way smarter than I am and I have never denied that point. Her intellectual size over me is comparative to my physical stature over her. There is no way I am able to summon enough of an intelligent argument to come out victorious.

Speaking to many of my man friends, I know I am not alone. Brain discrepencies aside, it is also because women are just so much better at articulating thoughts than their hairy chested counterparts.

Throughout history, men would settle differences with fists, swords or other non-verbal methods of commincation, while the ladies had more of a tendancy to talk things out.

Ghenghis Khan never talked his way to a single victory while, say, Queen Elizabeth was much better at diplomacy.

So to my male brethren out there, do not feel bad when you lose an argument to your significant other. Welcome to the club. The wiring of the man brain versus the lady brain has been against us for millenia.

But I have learned six simple words that will end any verbal engagement with your spouse: Yes Dear, You're right, and the never-failing, go-to response, I'm sorry.

copyright 2014, Darren Handschuh 

If being married wasn't so great, it would be terrible

They fell in love and lived happily ever after.
Yeah, right.
More accurately: They fell in love, got married and discovered there was a wide range of differences, beliefs and ways of thinking that on occasion produced moments of heated discussions. There were times of great happiness, but also moments of great challenges. (Insert mother-in-law comment here)
Deep down, the married couple were still in love and still wanted to spend the rest of their lives together, but on the surface there was turbulence once in a while.
Love is kind of like a submarine: it floats around under the water where things are calm and peaceful, while the surface can occasionally be raging with a hurricane the size of Jupiter.
Anyone who thinks marriage is nothing but a blissful ride of merriment, sunshine and lollipops is someone who is more than likely still single.
Marriage can be terrific, but it can also be hard.
My wife has always said divorce is not an option, but there are times when I know she has looked at me and thought, “With a good lawyer I can be out in 10 years, 15 tops. And if I make it look like an accident...”
I am just kidding of course, at least that is what I keep telling myself.
Marriage is the melding of two minds. Two people must learn to think as one, to become one flesh as the bible says, and that is a task easier said than done because you still want and need to retain your own identity, but you also have to work together. A unified front is vital when children start arriving. It is important to be on the same page when it comes to discipline, religion and instilling a work ethic.
For the most part, our marriage is quite harmonious and generally we do enjoy wedded bliss, but even after 25 years it still has its challenging moments.
But we are both human with our own flaws, wants, needs and hang ups that occasionally produce a bump on the road of matrimonial merriment.
When some couples encounter a bump, and neither is willing to admit they were the one who put it there, that tiny, little bump grows into a volcano that threatens to consume the entire island of marriage.
The more volcanos you build, the more difficult it is to get around the marital island without getting hot lava splashed all over you.
Eventually the land becomes so full of spewing volcanos, the island of marriage is abandoned and both people move away and settle on new islands.
Marriage can be difficult at times, there is no doubt, but like anything worth having, it is worth working for.
During a marriage course the Missus and I took many year ago, the speaker said men wanted to be respected and women wanted to be loved.
My wife and I have tried to put that into practice, and it really does work.
Showing your wife love doesn't have to mean slaying a dragon (which is why there are no dragons left anymore.) It can be something as simple as getting her a bouquet of flowers, of which there are plenty.
The thrill of receiving a bunch of dying plants as an expression of love eludes my man mind, but the ladies dig it so who am I to argue.
They may look frilly, soft and tender, but flowers are powerful enough to quell a raging volcano.
On occasion I do complain about being married (who doesn't) but overall it is a blessing that I could not imagine living without.

Pets are God's way of making sure you can take care of a kid

I have seen it many times.
A young couple gets married, start a new life together but soon have a funny feeling something is missing.
Perhaps a new car will scratch the itch that is nagging in the back of their brain. Maybe a new house, or a move to a different city.
But that odd feeling persists. What they don't know yet is, it is their parental instinct kicking into gear.
They may not even realize it, but it is there – gnawing away at them night and day.
The need to care for some sort of living creature grows and grows.
They do not know it is the swirling waters of parenthood that beckons them to dive in, but they have to do something so they get a pet.
A cat or a dog are the most popular choices.
My wife and I did the same thing. A couple years after we wed, we ended up with two dogs to take care of.
And at the time, we thought the workload of looking after dogs was horrendous. (Yeesh, it is amazing how big of a wimp I was back then.)
Up until that point, we only had to look after ourselves. When we wanted to do something we did it. When we wanted to go out, we went and when we wanted to sleep, we slept.
But now we had these two little black, furry critters to take care of and we had to worry about when they were hungry, or wanted to go out, and good luck if we wanted to sleep and they didn't.
For the first little while, I will admit, it was rather daunting to have two more life forms to take care of. 
But, as time passed, we got into a groove and the loveable mutts were fully integrated into our lives and taking care of them became part of our routine.
We managed to raise them into adult dogs without any serious harm or injury coming to man or beast.
At the time, we did not know we were setting ourselves up for the impending arrival of children.
You get married, start with a house plant (which we forgot to water and it died, oops) then you get an animal (which thrived under our care) and that opens the door for a squeaky little human to make the scene.
It is kind of like a test: if the dogs survive you are ready to move on to bigger things,
So a few years after getting the hounds, Junior was born and suddenly the dogs were just dogs. Until the bundle of joy arrived, the dogs were our kids, but they immediately found themselves relegated to non-human status.
They were still loved members of the family, but our perspective had changed and they simply became dogs.
We quickly learned taking care of dogs was way easier than taking care of a baby. First of all, you can't just put the baby in the backyard and close the door when you want a little break from them.
House training a dog takes a few weeks, potty training a child usually does not even begin for more than a year. And if they doo-doo on the floor, you cannot rub their nose in it.
But like when the dogs invaded our home, it didn't take long for us to make Junior part of the daily routine of life, and after a while we forgot what life was like without him.
In fact, we did it two more times and each time went through an adjustment period as we integrated the latest family member into our lives.
It is a tried and true pattern. Many of our friends started out with a dog, then progressed to children, so when I see a young couple walking a puppy past my house I know what is in store for them, even of they don't.

I just don't have the time to learn to be patient

My wife pointed out the other day I am not the most patient man she has ever met.
I tried to change, but the process took too darn long.
Yes, I admit I am not very patient, a trait I picked up from my dad who is even more impatient than I am.
My dad is a good man and a great example of integrity, honesty and how to be a father, but he did fall a little short in the patience department.
My loving wife kindly noted my own impatience shines like the burning sun mostly when I am driving. For some reason getting behind a slow driver, or some other unforgivable infraction, seems to push my buttons.
Having noticed this more than once over the past 25 years of marital bliss, the Missus suggested I take a tip from one of those self-help books and simply accept the person in front of me is going slower than I would like and there is nothing I can do about it.
I do not expect people to drive like they are qualifying for the Indy 500 or anything.
You don't have to go warp speed down the highway, but I would appreciate it you would at least do the speed limit.
Here is a little bit of free advice: if you are driving down a two-lane bit of blacktop with limited places to pass and there is a line-up of cars behind you as far as the eye can see, you might be going a tad on the slow side.
If you look like you are leading a convoy of mini-vans and compact cars, then perhaps a little more pressure on the gas pedal is in order.
I mean c'mon buddy, just because you have no where to go in a hurry doesn't mean I...It is at this point where I have to think about what I learned in that book, calm myself down and simply accept the fact the bonehead, um, I mean the motorist in front of me is dictating the speed and arriving a couple minutes later than I wanted really is not a big deal.
But if you are driving so slowly children on scooters are passing you, give me a break and hit the...um, I guess I need to keep working on that one.
The Missus encourages me to think 'happy thoughts' and try to look at things in a more positive light.
“Bless you for driving with such care and for giving me the time to look around and enjoy the scenery.” Hmm, just doesn't have the same zing as some of my other thoughts, but I will give it a try.
The Little Woman also noted I have some issues when it comes to driving in heavy traffic and dealing with people who can't seem to figure out the basics of the road like staying in your own lane, or using a turn signal or merging. I mean, c'mon how hard is it to merge? You slow down, look over your shoulder and if it safe to do so, you accelerate into the lane.
Merging does not mean come to a full stop, then look over your shoulder and then attempt to figure out how to merge into moving traffic.
It really isn't that difficult people. I mean, if you can't figure out something so simple what are you doing on the road anyway and...
You know, my wife may have a point. So instead of getting frustrated and impatient, from now on I will try to remain calm and thank the driver for being so cautious in their approach to motoring on our roadways.
It is better to bless the perceived offender than to react in a hostile manner.
So the next time someone is driving too slowly, cuts me off or can not figure out how to merge, I will simply look at them and say “Bless you, pal.”

These criminals are a special kind of stupid

The 'brilliance' of the human mind never ceases to amaze me - especially the human criminal mind.
How some of these people manage to walk and talk at the same time is a true mystery.
In the United States, many bonehead acts of criminality involve firearms of some sort and often the results are ridiculous - from bad guys shooting themselves to gun fights at family barbecues, there is no shortage of stupid human interaction with weaponry.
A trio of bad guy wannabes found this out the hard way when they committed a home invasion.
They kicked in the front door of a house, grabbed the homeowner and locked him in an upstairs closet - the same closest the homeowner kept his rather extensive gun collection in.
A few minutes later the home owner burst out of the closet locked, loaded and ready to defend his home.
Which he did. The unidentified homeowner came out guns a blazing, literally - wounding one of the bad guys in the shoulder and leg. The other two managed to get away, but were arrested a short time later.
Doing a home invasion in the U.S. signifies you are not too bright to begin with because what are the odds of you picking a home that does not have some sort of gun in it?
Anyone who watches American news knows how much trouble their love of firepower can cause. An online news agency said 11 people died last year after being shot...wait for it... by toddlers.
It would seem the young ones got their tiny hands on loaded weapons and accidentally fired them, killing almost a dozen people.
I guess the moral of the story is if you have a gun, secure it. Like in a closet or something.
This next one does not involve gun play, but a distant cousin of Mickey.
A 20-year-old man in Portland was arrested for trying to steal a case of beer from an area grocery store.
The pilfering did not go as planned and police promptly pounced on the perp.
They took the man to the police station and while emptying his pockets they found a live mouse.
The man's father was called to get the mouse, but all hell broke loose when a live cat jumped out of his pants and chased the mouse around the jail house.
I am kidding about the cat part of that tale, but the mouse part is real, proving once again police may have a thankless job, but it is an interesting job.
Speaking of the men and women of law enforcement, it is kind of nice when a criminal makes their job a whole lot easier.
In West Virginia a university football player robbed a local convenience store - while wearing his team jersey with his name across the back.
I don't know what courses he was taking, but I am pretty sure he was not at the top of his class.
This last one is not a crime, but it is so weird I could not let it go. A 55-year-old woman in the Netherlands had to be treated by a doctor because she experienced orgasms emanating form her left foot.
The woman would have up to eight orgasms a day. She said they were exactly the same as a regular orgasm.
Doctors said the nerve going from her left foot that enters the spinal cord at about the same level as the vaginal nerve was to blame. The doctors concluded an injury caused the nerves to cross, triggering the orgasms.
Her 'condition' has been corrected, but since news of the incident came out, area hospitals have been flooded by women with a variety of foot injuries.

Have a happy birthday, no matter what

I celebrated my birthday recently and I realized that when you have a birthday, you are being congratulated for something you had no control over.
You really didn't do anything to be born. You came into this world through no effort on your part. Your mom did all the hard work (the really hard work), all you had to do was show up kicking and screaming - which is how I plan on going out of this world as well by the way.
So you are really taking credit and being congratulated for the hard work of someone else. Sounds a lot like upper management, but that is an entirely different, and much more dangerous topic to write on, so I won't.
But, of course, a birthday is a good day. It means you are not dead yet, and that is always a good thing.
I know when my children were born I was thrilled beyond measure and it was a very good day all three times.
And I would imagine the day I was born there was great rejoicing throughout the land. Well, at least throughout my parent's homestead anyway.
Tradition dictates you congratulate that person year after year for surviving another 365 days.
My birthday was greeted by the customary flood of congratulatory comments, the most common of which was the directive to have a good day.
“Have a great day.”
“Have an awesome day.”
“Have a wonderful day.”
Technically, shouldn't we wish that on our friends and relatives every day? Or do we hope they only have one good day a year?
“Have a great birthday, but the rest of the year I hope you have a case of burning haemorrhoids.”
Christmas is another day we wish people happiness, but that is kind of like a group email where everyone is told to have a merry time.
Birthdays are directed at a specific person, rather than a general announcement to several billion people.
On your birthday, you are singled out as being the one worthy of having a good time.
But what if you are not having a good day? Then what?
What if you go to work and the place is a mad house with far too much to do and not enough time to do it? What if your computer works less efficiently than a member of the Senate, making your day even longer and more frustrating?
What if a variety of circumstances band together to ruin your one special day of the year?
Just because your friends all want you to have a good day doesn't mean it will be a good day. The universe does not care it is your one special day and whether it is a good day or not.
But it is your birthday, so for some reason everyone feels that entitles you have a good day – no matter what.
For that one day every 52 weeks, you are the centre of attention without even trying to be. People give you presents, candy, cards and kudos for not dying in the last 12 months.
The other 364 days you are just some schmuck trudging through the daily routine of life trying to get by as best you can.
So that is it, that is the one day of the year that can be declared Darren Day, or whatever your name happens to be. (But you can call it Darren Day if you want.)
Be it good, bad or anywhere in between, it is still your day so you might as well do your best to enjoy it. And even if the universe conspires against you to make it a less-than-great day, it is still your day and the more of them you get to celebrate, the better.
So happy birthday everyone, hope it is a good one.