The Robison Christmas Card 2015

Alright, Christmas letter. It’s like after 4 ½ years of marriage we’re

finally, officially a family. We have a condo, steady jobs and even produced offspring. However all of that is superfluous nonsense to a family that has an annual Christmas letter. So here we are, The Robison clan (Washington chapter) is finally throwing our collective hats into the holly-decked ring.

I (Daniel) started a new job at Lynden Door. I am now now the primary customer service representative for the mid-west. This is a truly interesting development as I frequently forget that Nebraska is a state. Shannon and I also dealt with the coming reality that our worlds were going to change due to the fact that Shannon’s weight gain was attributed not to her unusual craving for broccoli and red meat, but because she had a bun in the oven. While she diligently fought off morning sickness she continued to nail her job at the bank. When she got back from maternity leave they offered her a promotion. I’m half tempted to quit my job and let her support me while I pursue my rap career.

We knew that the child would most likely be born via C-section, what we didn’t bank on was it happening 6 weeks early. So our little guy, Bruce Wayne Robison, was born May 20th 2015. Everything after that date has been a soft focused blend of time and events. We have decided it’s just easier to be recluses. So if you feel like we’ve been ignoring you please understand that isn’t the case, we simply dedicated our entire being to our new infantile dictator. He’s very particular about his soy and dairy free preferences.

In all seriousness we are beyond blessed at the bountiful, undeserved blessings that the God has given us. For the first time in a few years I was able to see my entire side of the family at the wedding of my sister. Then a second time, a month later at the wedding of my brother. The Dutch Visser side of our family continues to be an enormous source of blessings and encouragement. Little Bruce has lit up our world (in a good way, not like an arsonist). He is determined to walk, which is difficult because he has yet to master sitting.

It’s at this time we remember what Christmas is about. The God of the universe loved humanity to the point of sending his only son to offer a message of hope to the world. That baby went on to be the only one that was capable of paying the cost of our sin so that we have the opportunity to spend eternity with him. Shannon and I separately made the decision to follow the one whose birth we celebrate this time of year. Since then we have never been short on hope. Our prayer is that you, if you have not already, would be able to experience that same hope.

Merry Christmas!

The Robison Family

Penpal

Penpal, the novel by Dathan Auerbach was originally written in a series of posts to reddit ( you can read the stories here but I would suggest you purchase a copy of the book. It became increasingly popular due to it's realism and eery, yet familiar imagery that was all too relate-able to almost anyone. It began as a series of posts that detailed creepy events from the "authors childhood". As the stories progress you learn that these spooky incidents are not at all unrelated. After reading the first three stories in one night I found something happen that hadn't happened to me in years: I couldn't sleep. It was too scary. As someone that relishes fear through literature and movies, this was a blast.

     Though not as scary the second time through (partially because I read the entire series only at nights the first time through) the novel is one of the finest examples of horror I've ever read. It isn't supernatural, it isn't overly gory or explicitly violent, however it is too familiar. The story centers around a boy as he grows up. The descriptions, the locations and the events are very familiar to anyone that grew up in North America. The author relates things that we've taken for granted such as hearing the pulse in our ears or the noises one might hear when exploring the woods. He takes these things and gives them a completely rational explanation that is more horrifying than you might expect.
   
     After encouragement from the online community, Auerback posted a proposal on Kickstarter to turn his series of terrifying short stories into a novel. His goal was met and surpassed almost immediately. The stories change very little, mostly in formatting from the web to the novel version. However there are some juicy alterations and extra tidbits in the book that were later additions. Self publishing has come a long way, and this book is a prime example of how someone's hard work can certainly pay off. This is a story that people love and voiced their desire to see it turn into something that they could support. If this sounds like something that interests you I highly recommend reading the original reddit thread (linked at the top of the post) and then buying it off amazon by clicking here. It is available as both a paperback and a kindle version.

Popcorn and Peril

Just wanted to give a quick announcement about a new blog I started. This will probably come off as redundant, considering my readership base is about seven people and I'm sure of those seven maybe one is unaware of this second blog I've started. However, I would like to formerly introduce Popcorn and Peril where I talk about movies. I would love for you guys to take a look and maybe leave a comment. I hope it can become a place where some of us can discuss movies. If you get a chance, take a look.

My Training To Be A Kirby Vacuum Salesman

This post is about the time I was, briefly, hired by the Kirby Vacuum company.

I'm fairly certain that in previous posts I have mentioned the fact that upon migrating to Washington in the fall of 2010, I spent a few months unemployed and living in a trailer on the driveway of my future in laws home. During this time, I followed any job lead I could find. This consisted of turning in countless applications, souring job posting websites, newspaper listings, and shopping centers for the possibility of finding work. I even bought 15 dollar paper to print my short, but impressively formatted, resume on.

I was desperate. While browsing the job listing section of craigslist I would write down numbers and addresses, then head out with a book full of references, and a folder full of resumes and apply to any place that was hiring. While in the parking lot of the local Ross, I called up one of the listings I had seen on craigslist that was labelled as a “sales position” A few rings later a man answered the phone, I informed him that I was interested in the position. He, without hesitation, informed me that he would see me in an hour for an interview. As I said, I was parked in front of Ross, so I hopped out, bought a white shirt and red tie, and proceeded to drive to the per-determined location.

I struggled to locate the building that seemed to accessible only through narrow back alleys. As I parked my black 86 Audi I was borrowing from my future father in law, I was certain that this had to be the wrong place. The building was two stories and looked very rundown. Very few cars adorned the lot and the inside looked fairly dark. But I was determined to get this job. I verified the address with the one I had written down. With all the confidence I could muster, I strolled through the door, my new shirt with the standard fold lines that come with a garment worn fresh out of it's packaging.

The inside was grungy and not well lit. I asked if this was where the job interview was, to which the answer was an old clipboard with an application attached to it thrust into my chest. I filled out the application and sat waited. After some time, I small man entered the room, he held a very bloody paper towel around his left thumb. He greeted me and shrugged off the, what appeared to be mortal, injury as a paper cut.

He was the interviewer, and he filled me in with how great a company this was, and how, in dollar amounts, the man who owned the company was just bellow Bill Gates in worth. An interesting fact, considering the current state of this building. He went on to inform me that I could become fabulously wealthy. The interview commenced and he inquired about my scholastic and professional background, taking notes on my resumes that appeared to be squiggly doodles to my untrained eye, the whole time he applied pressure to his oozing thumb.

After ten minutes, I realized I had been given the job, a job that I still knew very little about. I was to report for training in a few days.

What passed the next couple of days was little less than elation. I had found a job, and I was going to be trained that same week as a member of the elite sales force of the Kirby Vacuum cleaner company. However that joy turned to cautious skepticism. After reading online testimonials about the same position I was applying for, I found it was not going to be as easy as the little man (seriously, he had to have been about 100 pounds) had let on. Namely the reports were of having been left in strange neighborhoods, not being paid until spending at least two hours demonstrating the product to a house, various things like that. But I was not in despair yet.

The day of training arrived, and I had no idea what to expect. I put on a nice shirt and some slacks and headed to the shabby building. I was in store for an eight hour training session (without pay, I later found out) that consisted of two points 1. This vacuum cleaner is the best thing in any of the infinite number of parallel universes, and 2. The company we were going to be working for was awesome and would make you extremely rich, and give you lots of free vacations, and cure cancer and stuff (paraphrasing).

Upon entering the building I was told to go into the next room. On the other side of the door sat five other individuals, all eager for work. The room itself was small and the carpet dirty and dank, a foreboding sign for this line of work. A raised area about 10x6 feet and 4 inches off the ground was directly in front of the six seats that had been set up in an awkward square in the center of the room. Blaring directly in front of us on the wall was a DVD that looped Michael Jackson music videos while we waited. To my right were a series of vacuum cleaners, all worn and old, except for the one immaculate Kirby that sat at the head of the line.

Before I could even comprehend what was going on, the man that had interviewed me was on the small, raised platform and dancing along to “Beat It” He introduced himself and basically spent the entire introduction telling us not to make fun of his size. He failed to acknowledge his laugh, which throughout the course of 8 hours became far more noticeable and irritating than his stature. He rambled on about the awesomeness of the company and how other vacuum cleaners sucked (or didn't suck, I guess). I think what struck me most was how unprofessional the entire presentation was. The perks of the job mostly consisted of being invited to parties where everyone got drunk on the companies dime.

Everything else aside, forget unprofessionalism, dingy building, and the nail-on-chalkboard laugh, the product itself was solid. The Kirby vacuum was designed to last, it did a variety of jobs and it did them all well. The best part of the demonstration was when the other man running the presentation (it was a tag team ordeal) put two pieces of gun in between two filters, vacuumed up some dirt, and then pulled that gum out of the machine and chew on it, then he made one of the guys in the front chew the other one.

Then came the price. This thing cost over $1,300. It sucked up a lot of dust, but at the end of the day, that's all it did, and they expected me to go hawk these things door to door, every day with that price tag on. On top of that, at the end of the session they wanted me to write down eight appointments to demonstrate, and try to sell the product to, friends and family.

In the end, I came to the realization that I was not cut out for this type of work. I called that night and informed them and never looked back.

Teacup Candles

For Christmas I made my mother and aunts candles made of thrift store teacups. I bought microwavable soy wax, Pomegranate scent and wicks. Using Shannon's good Tupperware, I proceeded to melt the wax in the microwave. I poured the wax into my teacups and let it sit overnight. Here is the result.

Pumpkin Prop

As Halloween approached this past year, I spent quite a bit of time developing characters for and writing a mystery party. Themed in the 1920s, and was heavily based on the works of H.P. Lovecraft. Among the various errands I had to attend to, perhaps the most difficult was "prop maker" I spent much time attempting to create an object that could reconcile both my imagination and my real world "crafting" ability (which, in comparison to my overambitious imagination was severely lacking.)

The prop in question was to be an alien beacon that would serve as the focal point of the evening. Should evil prevail, the beacon would be completed by inserting the necessary gems. I settled on a design consisting of paint, a hot glue gun, a decorative jar lid, and a foam pumpkin.

Shannon made me plan everything out before I started

A Brief Personal History of Organized Sports Part 1: Karate

For the first time in years, I have entered a sports league. It isn't that I have anything against organized sports, per se, it's simply that, in a long and sordid history with them, I've never been any good. Don't get me wrong, I love playing games. Street hockey and backyard baseball were awesome growing up, and if you challenged me to a game of croquette or beach volleyball, I'd be all over that. Once something gets organized, it generally went down hill for me. They say that what's most important about sports is having fun. This statement was probably made by someone like Babe Ruth or Harry Potter, or someone else that never lost at their selected sport. Winning is fun, no one can argue against that. Over the span of my life, I've rarely won at organized sports. I think it might be easiest if I break this post up into the different sport's I've attempted.

I distinctly remember my first attempt at “organized” karate. Having grown up with an Okinawan grandmother, I figured I was a shoe-in for karate. At 5 ½ My mother enrolled 3 older siblings and myself in a karate studio (dojo?) It was awesome. Despite the teacher (master?) yelling incomprehensible things to an inattentive 5 year old, I was having a blast. I was determined to kick the hardest and to run the fastest. My dreams were quickly shattered. The downward spiral probably began with my attempt to become a yellow belt. I loved my karate uniform (Gi?) But I noticed that the only people that had a white belt were people that had enrolled after me.

Decidedly, I needed some color in my awesome ninja attire. The problem was, this required me to memorize a routine that was decidedly more difficult than actions like “kick” or “yell High YA!” There was a loophole, one that I had every intention to exploit. You did your routine, side by side with two other students. I strategically took my place in between the two others and used what I assumed to be my peripheral vision, but turned out to just be full head turns instead, to watch and follow their every move to the T. After a grueling 2 ½ minutes the routine was over. I was singled out by our master(?). Like I said before, I didn't comprehend much of what he said (not because he had a heavy asian accent or anything, he was about as white as they got.) I was hopeful, but I did not receive my yellow belt.

Shortly after this incident came the one that ended my career in karate. In the midst of doing exercises that had nothing to do with breaking bricks with our fists or walking on glass, my body had decided that enough was enough. As I stared into the confused face of my training partner, I unloaded the contents of my guts right there on the floor. I left that building crying in the arms of my mother, never to return again.

This was one of my first, but certainly not last attempts at succeeding in organized sports. The longest bought came in the form of baseball, a sport loved by my entire family, of which I had little skill in, even after roughly 6 years of playing.

Labor Day Weekend Musicals

                This weekend I have the privileged opportunity to attempt to survive a weekend among the elements. For labor day weekend (and my birthday) I will be camping with my wife and her family. I probably will not survive. I've considered the possibility that this is some type of life insurance scheme concocted by Shannon, but the jokes on her. I have no life insurance! I will spend two nights in what will be the psychological equivalent of a haunted mental asylum, except instead if a padded cell with thick walls to protects me, I'll have to fend off the bears behind a paper thin piece of fabric that die-hards will insist is a shelter. If I'm not eaten by the bears, I'll almost certainly contract typhoid fever from the mosquitoes, as I can't afford enough DEET to physically bathe in. (as opposed to the non-physical bathing, I guess)

               I may be overreacting a tad. We'll technically be at an RV park, Shannon and I will be in a tent across the way from her families fifth wheel. Also, the campsite has wifi, so that's a plus. I've never really been “real” camping. It's not that I wouldn't love to test my skill roughing it in the woods, but have you seen “Grizzly Man”? Look, all that to say: Just because I can't have a musical movie marathon this labor day weekend, doesn't mean you can't. Seriously, you have three days to kill, allow me to suggest a few of my favorite musicals to watch this labor day weekend.

Saturday: The Pirates of Penzance

                This Gilbert and Sullivan classic follows Frederick, a man who was mistakenly apprenticed to a band of pirates until his 21st birthday. The performances in the 1983 movie version are excellent, with Kevin Kline perfectly exaggerating the image of masculinity as the pirate king. It is a story of mistaken identity, duty, and lots of misunderstandings.





Sunday:Little Shop of Horrors

                       Made in the 80s and set to the backdrop of 1960s New York, “Little Shop of Horrors is a cautionary tale about the difficulty of stopping malicious actions, once they're put into motion, even if they're for good causes. Seymour Krelborn (played by Rick Moranis) Works in a plant shop on skid row. His compromises start small but grow to monstrously huge levels. This movie directed by Frank Oz, and sports a Jim Henson Creation as the villain. It expertly weaves 80s camp with fun 60s style music. The movie has a number of cameos including: Bill Murray, John Candy and James Belushi. Steve Martin has a small but great role.




Monday: Fiddler on the Roof

                      Giving a glimpse into Jewish life and tradition, “Fiddler on the Roof” is a classic. If you haven't seen this movie yet, you should make it a priority. It follows the life of a Jewish family in pre-revolution Russia. A father tried to protect his family while staying true to his heritage.




               This isn't an exhaustive list, but it's a pretty good way to spend a small portion of your labor day weekend. Have fun!

No holds barred birthday list.

It never fails. Every time I have to come up with some list, or ideas of what I want for my birthday, I always feel like I have to compress it into a reasonable spectrum. Not this year. Here it is, this is what I want for my 23rd birthday.

1. A Capuchin monkey

2. A jet pack (like the one in “The Rocketeer” with the helmet and jacket too)

3. A Scarpar. (please ignore the music in the video)

4. A pirate themed home theater.

5. An Air-Swimmer shark.


6. A Delorean

Reusable Shopping Bags

Starting next year Bellingham will no longer provide free bags for groceries. This, along with the fact that we acquire massive amounts of plastic bags from shopping trips, mixed with boredom, I decided to paint my very own reusable shopping bags.
After seeing a tutorial on Craftster, I decided to duplicate a similar product. I bought a bulk order of some shopping bags. I attempted to iron the wrinkles out of them, which is when I found out they were made of recycled plastic and NOT cotton. Anywho, I found some stencils online, and these are the three I've made so far. On the top left we have the TARDIS, top right is Tobias Funke, and on the bottom, Cookie Monster.

Idea for these came from here thanks to Craftster user jennieingram