Really it's THIS Century Club!

So last Wednesday a posted a "short story" about Golden Fury on this blog.  It was really precious and if you haven't read it, you should go ahead an do so.  DO IT NOW!!!

I had intro'd this one on my blogs Facebook page stating:

"And this one is the one that started it all.  I'll explain later!"

And so, today's posting is to explain what I meant.

But first, for those of you who haven't, if you have the time, please "Like" my Facebook page for this blog.  It certainly isn't necessary as this blog and the page are pretty much open to the public.  However, when you like my page a.) I have a better idea of whom I am talking to when I write and 2,222,222.) I see a BIG number of likes that makes me feel all warm deep down inside.  Granted, the number is somewhat meaningless unless I am trying to make a career out of this.  With the way the economy and my career field is going, I honestly may have to try to make a career out of this at some point and I don't know if that's quite possible.

I actually did opt to allow ads on my page because supposedly I could get a check for like 50 Cents a month!  WHOO HOO!!! However, I got an e-mail from google ads saying something along the lines of "Ummmm, so yeah, we'll get back to you if and when we can find anyone who is interested, errrr, we mean, relatable to what you are writing about...."  I never should have crossed the Keebler people all those months ago.

So, I am moving on (more like back) to my original point!

So, on June 21, 2012 the tale of Golden Fury was my status on my personal Facebook page.  A few months before that post, I noticed that Facebook had started allowing status updates larger than 412 characters (or whatever the hell their old limit was) and I ran with it.

If you haven't figured out by now, God Help You, I can be long winded.  Many of my Facebook friends did in fact figure this out a while ago and quite a few of them egged me on to start a blog.  Sure they tried to sound all nice and sweet about it by saying things like "You know what you should do?  Instead of posting these long status updates on here, you should TOTALLY start a blog!  You'd be GREAT AT THAT!!!"

I ignored them.  It sounded like work.  In fact, it IS work.  I wanted nothing to do with that.

More friends tried to convince me that this would be my outlet.  "START A BLOG!!!" they would say.  "NUH UH!" I would say back.

So, on June 21st, I woke up upset with my dog for chasing a squirrel in her sleep, on my back.  I decided to status this experience!  Golden Fury was born!  Then another Golden Fury came after my post when a person near and dear to me (with golden locks and a sh*tload of fury) pretty much said "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?!?!?  THIS IS TOO LONG FOR FACE BOOK!!!" Then she calmed down and said, "You know what, go to this blog website and start a blog!"  So I did... mostly out of fear for my life.

That day I posted this.  I look back at it now and I chuckle.  Especially where I decide by the 3rd sentence that this may not really be work! 

And thus it began!  I posted every day for the first 30 days I believe and then I started to slow down.  In fact, actually, no.  I didn't slow down.  I'm pretty certain that I posted daily for the first 60 days.  This was mentally exhausting for me.  It really was. 

You know, if I did do this for a living in a nationally syndicated things, well, I'd be thrilled, but mostly, I'd probably only have to knock out one of these a week!  Instead, I was pumping them out daily.  Most of them I like to think are pretty good, but some of them really sucked.  I was just putting something out to get it out. 

It was hard for me, but I finally realized that I needed to slow down.  So I opted to start posting every other day.  I still write a lot, but I try to post in a pattern now.  Monday, Wednesday, Friday of one week followed by Tuesday and Thursday of the next.  This has made me feel more relaxed about writing.

Writing is the key for me.  I have NEVER liked writing but I have always been way to elaborate in most things I say.  Now I find this therapeutic for me.  Nothing may come of it but I feel better getting these words out of me.  I feel even better being able to go back and read these words and see where my head was at any particular time.

Now, I have said in the past that I wish to not write about controversial thoughts or depressing scenarios, but sometimes, it has proven unavoidable.  Life is hard for all of us and so many people are just too angry about most everything.  I don't want to feed any of those fires, but the feelings are there within me as well from time to time.  This takes me back to going back and reading what I have written.  I know how I feel about the election.  I know how I feel about extremist religious wackos (and now you probably do too) but in a year, I don't want to look back and see that I was mad about them and re-ignite that anger.  It's pointless for me to spend anytime focusing on anger towards those issues now, it will make less sense for me to get mad about it again when I look back.

So, as I have so clearly pointed out, I am focused on the inane and often pointless ramblings that go on within my head and in the world around me.  I'm good with this.  This is pretty much my diary and although I do not consider myself an extrovert, I am happy to share it with you.  In fact, I thank you very much for reading.

Those of you who do read these things often enough are more than aware that I can so easily get off point.  It works for me.  It works very much well!

So, what's my point today?  When am I going to explain my Facebook comment about Golden Fury?

Well, the Golden Fury blog entry was my 100th post in this blog (100 things achieved = Century Club).  I'm very excited about this!  I didn't know that I could write 100 different entries in a year let alone 5 months, but I did!  On Friday of last week I tried to publish my 101st blog highlighting this achievement, but instead, I simply commented on drinking games and bike rides.  Yes, I got distracted and I got WAYYYY off point.  Sorry.

So there you have it.  If you had planned this out in advance, through experience gained by following my blog, you would have probably thought to just scroll on down to the last few paragraphs and find out my point. 

It's how I write. 

It's how I roll. 

It's kind of like an episode of Cosby where everything wraps up neatly in the end.

As always, thank you for reading!

I'm in the "Century Club!"

No, not the thing we did in our early twenties. 

You know, where a group of us would sit down with a bunch of beer and shot glasses with the SUPER COOL (aka ridiculously stupid) goal of doing a shot of beer a minute for 100 minutes.

We would keep up for quite sometime and stay relatively focused on the important task at hand.   Sixty minutes into it we would celebrate the "POWER HOUR!"  Which was aptly named as is it was when you drank a shot a minute for 60 minutes. Essentially, we had powered through 5 beers in an hour.  That's not too unheard of, but it is still remarkably foolish.

However, after the first sixty, and knowing you were over the hump, the next forty shots were damn near impossible.  By this time, you're really getting silly and your focus is a bit fuzzy mentally and visually.  You and your group will always lose count, even if you're using a clock.  You will remember a shot and you will think you've done too many.  Then there are also the bathroom breaks that take longer than a minute. 

This is where we all learned "breaking the seal is bad."  This essentially meant that if you peed once, the beer would start going straight through you.  I am not certain if there is any logic to this but it sure seems to work that way.

We would try to get one friend to be the designated timer which was the same as the designated driver as this person was not allowed to drink.  NOBODY wanted to be that guy and eventually they would cave and join in.  They would start to be the "substitute drinker" for those who had to pee for ten minutes or so.

And once you completed the 100 minutes, you were useless, but felt ultimately cooler knowing (not really) that you had just had about 8.3 beers in less than two hours. 

STUPID!!!!  Yet, we tried.

I tried this once playing "Scarface" with 40 ounce containers of the oh so sexy malt liquor variety.  This is when you watch the movie Scarface and you drink a shot every time Tony Montana drops an "F-bomb".  This is another foolish game.  The 90's "love of my life" girlfriend called me to "talk" that night, as we were having troubles.  The problem is that she called during that brilliant round of beer play. 

She and I didn't speak again for almost ten years.  Yup, Good times!

But, no actually.  The mindless health risking drinking games of my early twenties are not the Century Club of which I speak.

Neither am I speaking of the polar opposite Century Club which was the attempt to ride 100 miles on your bicycle (in one ride).  You wouldn't know it to look at me now, and you wouldn't have known it by looking at me then either, but I once considered myself to be an avid cyclist.  I never did a Century ride mainly due to time.  But on the weekends, I would often do a "half century plus 3" which was a much cooler way of saying a 53 mile ride.

Naked Bob and I would ride for about 3+ hours and really enjoy ourselves.  Naked Bob was a cycling fanatic and rode off road daily.  He wasn't a competitor and he was about 15 to 20 years older than me, but he was impressive.  I got him into road cycling.  Luckily, he didn't ride naked so that's not where I came up with his nickname.  No, he wore cycling clothes.  He wore them all the time. In fact, when I would pick him up to go for a ride he would get into my truck dressed in cycling clothes.  As soon as we got to our starting point he would strip down buck naked right in front of my truck (and me) and change into other cycling clothes.

Voila, "NAKED BOB!"

As it turned out, Naked Bob had done a lot of drugs in the late sixties, early seventies, mid and late seventies, most likely throughout the eighties and probably right on through to today.  I haven't seen him in 5 or 6 years at least, but if you saw him, the long grey pony tail and cycling clothes are a dead giveaway.

He probably did a lot of Century Clubs of the beer variety as well.

So here's the thing...

I have gotten SOOOOOO way off point explaining to you what Century Club I am not a part of that I do not wish to make you read anymore. 

With that, I will make this a two-parter and get back to you with it on Tuesday or so!

I hope the suspense doesn't get to you.

Golden Fury

The Sun hung low in the sky as night began to fall over the Serengeti. The animals dared not move in the squelching heat and dry dusty air; all except the lioness were still.

She was not your typical lioness. As all lionesses do, she supported her pride and was very good on the hunt, but she was too good. She had become obsessed with the hunt to a point of being greedy. She was in it for the sport and that would be her undoing on this night.

She spied a tired and overheated wildebeest standing near a dried out puddle, desperately awaiting the banks to replenish themselves with water; any amount would do. The wildebeest was exhausted and every breath of the desert air burned. There was very little fight in this creature.

The lioness saw her chance and charged the wildebeest. In it's peripheral the beast saw only a yellowish form moving aggressively in it's direction. With what little energy it had, the beast kicked it's hind legs out just as the lioness bit into it's haunches.

A lucky shot caught the lioness off guard and hit her in her breast knocking her several feet back. Dazed, the lioness got back up and shook off the pain as she saw the wildebeest trotting away. She knew the beast would soon be her third conquest for the day. She didn't even need the meat, just the victory.

The lioness charged the wildebeest with all of her strength. The wildebeest knew it's moment was drawing near and soon it would not need to worry about the water anymore. It could not go on. It's calves would have to grow up alone.

Just as the lioness was about to tackle the beast and celebrate the kill, a blur of Golden Fury came from nowhere, leaving a trail of dust as far as the eye could see, and tackled the lioness. The wildebeest stopped and stared in awe as the bodies of the lioness and this Golden savior contorted into a ball rolling together across the desert sand.

With one clenching grasp of it's mighty jaw, Golden Fury snapped the lionesses front left leg leaving her unable to hunt EVER AGAIN!!!! Golden Fury left the lioness lying on the desert floor and simply gave the wildebeest a reassuring nod before disappearing into the sunset. The wildebeest rushed home to hug it's children!!!

THIS, is what I like to think my dog was dreaming about when she woke me up at 3 AM clawing at my back and yelping.

She better NOT have been dreaming about a damned squirrel!!!!

WHOO HOO!!!! I WON THE LOTTERY!

Well, actually, that's not entirely true.  In fact, there is practically no measure of truth in the title of this one.

Nope.  It didn't happen.

In fact, the truth is more like "whoo hoo.... I didn't LOSE the lottery!" 

Now THAT is absolutely 100% Grade A Prime TRUTH BABY, becasue, I didn't play.

I want to play the lottery.  I really do.  And, I want to win.  Yes, I'd like that very much please.  But, I don't want to be rich.

"Come Again?"  You might say.
"Not now, I'm typing."  Is all I've got for you.

I want to be stable.  If I had a big lottery winnin' my family would be cared for, a chunk of the money would go to the Church (just in case they're right), My daughter would NEVER have to worry about finances again as long as she doesn't become some sort of money obsessed spender, some would go to charities (I hear The Human Fund is a good one) and then I'd want to be financially stable. 

I just don't want to worry about making ends meet or paying bills.  I want to work.  Maybe I'd go work for a charitable organization in town.  Who knows.

But, I don't need extravagance or big things.   I think the extremely wealthy simply lose touch with reality in having too much.  I believe that the more I have, the more I have to lose.  Maybe I'm simple?  I don't want too much, is just don't want to have to worry about losing what I do have.

So, like many people I know, I fall asleep at night dreaming about winning the lottery.  And that's what I plan.  All that stuff I just said about how I'd spend it.  That's my dream.  It's not much but that's what I'm all about.

Of course, I rarely ever play the lottery. 

"Why" you ask?
"Be patient!" I say.  Seriously, do you ever find that if you just wait one more second before asking a question when someone is talking or whenever you're watching a movie, that the answer to your question is happening as you speak?  Sheesh... what is it with you?

I rarely play the lottery because every time that I do not win, which has literally been every time I've EVER played, I get sad and upset.  I know, it's pathetic.

I really don't know how people survive having bought a lottery ticket at the same gas station where the lottery winner bought their ticket!  That would drive me nuts!!! 

A few years back some guy in my current city won and I was miserable.  "HOW COULD THAT NOT BE ME!!!!  I LIVE LIKE ONLY TEN MILES FROM THAT GAS STATION, IN FACT, I'M NOT EVEN SURE WHERE THAT IS AND I'VE NEVER BEEN THERE, BUT... THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN MEEEEEE!!!" 

That's pretty much exactly how I felt.  Imagine how I'd feel if I actually had bought a ticket from that gas station that particular time.  Yes, I would have been lost.  So, on top of all of my feelings of frustration and misery I would also need to pile on the feeling of being lost.

So, I hardly ever play the lottery.  But that way, I do not have to deal with the pain of losing.

No, I'm not like this about relationships, or sports, or job interviews, or games or... or in pretty much anything where I have to take any sort of risk of failing in order to  participate.

But, the lottery...

                        SO HIGH
Your hopes get                  when you play even though your chances of winning are
                                                                                                                           SO LOW!

Didja see what I did there?  Did it confuse you?  I'm sorry about that.  I've been reading a lot of books with my daughter lately that do that sort of play on words, so I thought I'd try.... SCREW WHAT YOU THINK!!!  IT WAS FUN!!!

Anyway, back on point...

If I don't play the lottery, I don't lose.  If I don't lose, I don't get mad.  If I'm not mad, I have happy dreams and in my happy dreams I WIN THE FREAKIN' LOTTERY!!!!

I voted.

It's Election Day.

I had a completely different blog all ready to publish today, but I can hold on to it. Perhaps I need to type about my experience voting and my opinion on the significance of today.

I woke up very early, somewhat due to my mind racing and somewhat due to the change in time.  I did a workout for about 45 minutes to clear my head.  I was really working out most of that time too. Anyone can say "I did a 45 minute work out" and they could really just mean that they took 45 minutes to do one rep.  I got all sweaty.

I took a shower, got dressed, drank my coffee and waited for a family member to come over and watch my child.  I left her sleeping.  I'd so much rather be with her, but I need to go and cast my vote.  I feel that It is my obligation to do so.

This has been a tough one.  I feel very little for either presidential candidate.  I have lost touch with the two large parties, or perhaps they have lost touch with me.  What happened to Presidents representing a moral and progressive ground for our nation?  Have they ever filled that role?

I guess only the history books can tell us how they do as President.

I stood in line for an hour and twenty minutes.  The line was very long. 

When I walked into the school to vote, the auditorium where the voting took place was only 100 feet in front of me to the right.  However, the two lines (organized by last names) to that auditorium started 200 feet down a hall right in front of me to my right.  As I turned the corner to get in line, my heart broke seeing how far I would have to go.  I almost turned and walked away.  Many did.

As I stood in line, I saw the same heartbreak on the face of every person who had to turn that first corner to get in line.  Deep inside I felt their pain and I laughed at them as I had laughed at myself when I first got in line.

Many of us in line chatted and formed deep lasting relationships that you typically only find on a long elevator ride.  We all bonded.  By the end we were great friends who may never see each other again, have no idea who the other is voting for and don't even know each other's names.  All I know for certain about most of the people around me is that half of their last names started with A through K and the other half started with L through Z.

When I finally reached the auditorium it was as though I had run a marathon or received an academy award.  I felt I had accomplished something great!  I swear the air was cleaner in the auditorium.  By the time we reached the auditorium, it was as though we were an elite group of VIPs.  Only about 20 voters were in there at any given time with 5 pollsters.  One pollster was already at the breaking point scolding people for taking too long, "We'll be here 'til midnight if everyone keeps working at this pace" he spouted at the people in line; it was only 7:45am by that time.  The polls had only been open for 45 minutes.  I fear he will not make it to midnight.

I got to my booth and cast my ballot.  I was done within three minutes.  I got my "I Voted" sticker and I left.  As I exited the auditorium I had to walk between the two lines all the way down the hall.  I wanted to do so dearly, but I resisted the urge to run down the hall high fiving everyone as if I were Michael Jordan being introduced over the PA as starting for the Bulls tonight!!!  I felt like a STAR!!! 

I saw the look on the other voters faces.  I had that face earlier.  You know the pathetic face that looks deeply into someone else's eyes and says "you lucky bastard... I wish I was you!"  Everyone in line wanted to be me; or they wanted be to done, but I like to think they want to be me!

 I was asked to do an exit poll.  I declined.  I drove to work praying that I've made the right decision.

Only time will tell.

My greatest relief is the lack of political bs on all the television stations and social networking outlets.  I'm looking forward to being able to have pointless conversations with friends again.  I'm looking forward to focusing on other issues and working on accepting what ever changes in policy affect me.

I cast my vote.  I hope it counts.  I hope our politicians get better at representing our nation and not their parties.

But here is what I am certain of;  I believe in our system.  I believe in my nation and I firmly believe that no matter who wins, whether I voted for him or not, THAT person is MY President!

I hope you vote today.

The Myth of the Penn.

I woke up this morning with a decades old song stuck in my head.  It came out in '89 when I was in college and it really is a great song.  I love this song, but it doesn't play very often.  It just reminds me of a pretty much care free life.

I must admit, that was the hardest part of college; that I had a "carefree" attitude about it.  The only thing that made college harder than high school was that I was carefree and didn't have teachers holding homework over my head or parents holding a schedule over my head.  Growing up and becoming a responsible adult (sorta) was the greatest education I got out of those years on campus.  Of course, I feel whenever anybody leaves the "nest" and is suddenly on their own without their parents standing over them, whether they join the work force, or the military, or get married, the hardest part has got to be the whole "becoming a responsible person!"

Kind of deep huh?  Well, that's all you get for this particular post.  I'm focused on the song from '89.

All I knew was that it was a catchy little tune by Crowded House.  I can just see the Brother's Finn strumming the acoustic guitar standing outside somewhere. I'm sure I'd seen exactly that in the video for the song, but, honestly, I didn't really know. 

In High School a dear friend of mine introduced me to a little known band from New Zealand known as Split Enz.  I loved their stuff and even have their Greatest Hits album; "Six Months on a Leaky Boat" and "One Step Ahead" and "Hard Act to Follow...." it goes on.  Their music was great!  The Finn's were a part of this group and I loved it!  Split Enz eventually broke up and one of the Finn brothers went off and started Crowded House.

I loved their music and it followed what seemed to me to be the logical evolution of Split Enz.  However, I own not one (in fact none) Crowded House Album.  They've had quite a few.  All of their stuff has been great and often is too catchy to the point that if someone even says the words "!revO s'tI maerD t'noD" (not backwards), that song will be stuck in your head all day.  HEY NOW!!!

So, for me personally, Crowded House's greatest flaw was that their hits were just too darn catchy!  And this particular mystery song was my favorite of theirs!

Which brings me to this particular morning in 2012 when I have a song of theirs from 1989 stuck in my head.  It's driving me nuts.  I have called friends and sung what I think the words are and they say (politely) "ummmm yeah... that might sound familiar..."  Then I fear they hung up with me and deleted me from their contact lists.

Of course in typing it, I may sound crazier, especially if I type the guitar part to you and then the only words I think I know, but it goes a little something like this (hit it):

Guitar- "brummmmBOP bedop b'dop bop
              brummmmBOP bedop b'dop bop..."
Lyrics-  "What if I had Romeo in Cashmere?
              Something something something something cold beer
              something something something else
              someone to laugh with?"
Guitar- "brummmmBOP bedop b'dop bop
              brummmmBOP bedop b'dop bop..."

Anything?  Know what it is?

HAH!!! Well guess what!  I WAS WAY OFF!

I caved and I went to Google and I searched for "what if I had Romeo in Cashmere."  I even went to search YouTube for "Crowded House Romeo in Cashmere."  I even tried spelling it "Kashmir!"

I GOT BUTKUS(the first one)!!

Then, I saw a teeny tiny eency weency reference to "Romeo in Black Jeans!" 

"What the hell?"  I thought, have I been singing this Crowded House song incorrectly for the past 23 years?  I could believe I would do such a thing.  After further investigation I discovered that I had in fact NOT been singing a Crowded House song incorrectly.

I had been singing a Michael Penn song incorrectly?  Who the HELL is Michael Penn?  Did he quit Crowded House and start his own career or something? 

Well, NO, no he didn't.  As best as I can tell, he might've heard one of their songs once and decided to base his first (and only) greatest hit on their sound!  There, I said it!  This guy, who is a successful and talented musician has taunted me for 23 years by writing an excellent song that sounds like Crowded House. 

What really sucks, is that THIS WAS MY FAVORITE CROWDED HOUSE SONG!!!

No Myth (aka, Romeo in Black Jeans)



So, there you go.  Now you have endured the torment I have suffered all day.  I am greatly humbled by the revelation that the last 23 years of my life have been a lie thanks to Michael Penn. 

On a really cool note, he's Sean Penn's brother and also the brother of that other famous Penn brother. 

Sorry if this is stuck in your head now.

PART II: But, what am I?

"I know you are, but what am I?" 

I practice these words each night before I go to bed in preparation for a battle that may never come!  My preparation is my nuclear deterrent as it were.  My nemesis knows that I practice and knows that the next time, I will be better prepared.  So, we stay in a stagnate state between each other always knowing what each other is but always waiting for the answer as to what we ourselves are.

This is no way to live.

I recently described to you how handily I was defeated by a sixth grader in a classic match-up of IKYABWAI ("I know you are, but what am I?" ... I don't know why I even take the time to think up these Acronyms if I'm going to have to keep explaining them to you) but only barely touched the tip of the iceberg on how this defeat effected me emotionally.

To re-cap, I got confused and essentially shot myself in the foot by saying "I know I am, but what am I" which assured a quick defeat for me.  It was awful.

But, me being me, this is where I went off on a tangent of thought.

"I know I am" and I do know that I AM.  I exist!  I have roots.  I have offspring.  I AM!  "But, what (exactly) am I?"  What constitutes what I may be?

Here's what I know... I am male.... and that about sums it up for me. 

Is that all that defines me? Sure there are events in my life and roles I have fulfilled that have defined who I may be, but they change. 

For example, I have been and always will be my parents child. First I was just their child and then I was their child in elementary school, and then middle school and then the school play and on the baseball team and then their child in high school and then I became their child in college... you see this one goes on  and on...

So, that helps me think this through... I am a male and my parent's child!  I'm getting somewhere with this.

Then I met someone and got married.  So this added two new identifiers to me in that I am male, heterosexual, my parent's child and the guy that woman met in a bar! 

WHOO HOO!!! As Navin R. Johnson and I both screamed out the first time we appeared in the phone book... "I'm SOMEBODY!!!"

The "guy in the bar" part was kind of a demotion for me but at least the hetero part answered some questions...

My existence stayed at pretty much "male-hetero-married-employed at- parent's kid" for quite some time.  But I am not certain that where I work contributes to my self being as much as what I do.  This is like friends... they make me a better person as a whole, but unless they play a daily role in my life, I do not see them as defining who I am... granted, yeah, if I had a bunch of friends who were ax-murders, I guess that would play a role in defining who I am. 

In fact, I was only quite recently discussing this very thing with my Scandinavian friend Björn Axmurderersfriend.

So yeah, perhaps work and friends don't truly define who I am although they do impact who I am in some way.  They are probably more of a reflection of who I am.

So, I am back to being hetero male married child of parents.  But alas, life changes.

I became a parent.

Even In my parents eyes, I was downgraded.  I became hetero male who was present at the creation of an angel! And the only part that truly mattered was the angel part!

But yes, at my basic core and my greatest belief I was a husband and father.  Everything else was secondary. Granted, I just can't seem to shake the whole stigma that comes along with being a "hetero male" which seems so socially unacceptable these days! And I will always be my parents child so I'm stuck with that too I guess.

But again, things change and I was downgraded yet again (or upgraded given the circumstances and/ or how you look at it) and I was no longer a husband. 

I was just a hetero-male of my parents creation what has created offspring!

In fact, (in contradiction to what I just typed) minus any medical assistance and/or uses of technology, being a Father, in my case, nullifies the need for me to specify "hetero-male."  So there I am.  I am a Father!  That is all I am sure of other than the fact that I am my parent's child.

Everything else changes accept for those two points. 

I AM my parent's child (and my sibling's sibling). 
I AM my daughter's Father!

I can live with this.  I am pleased with this.

As I've grown up, I've come to realize that I had a GREAT family and GREAT parents.  And as much as I can I want to give my daughter what I had.

I am what my parents raised me to be.

I am a Father!  This is where you hum Pomp and Circumstance (you'll hear it at the 1:50 mark) or even the Imperial March (which is much cooler).

So take that sixth grade kid!!! Sticks and stones may break my bones but I am that kid's DAD (and so much more)!!! 

Yeah yeah yeah... that kid... the one that was on your side... and wanted. you. to... to beat me... just like you did.

Regardless...

Nyah nyah ny-nyah nyah!!!

PART I: I know you are!

I got into an "I know you are but what am I" fight with an eleven year old this weekend.  Sure, it was all in jest and it was supposed to be funny, but yeah, I was wayyyyyyy out of her league and she totally kicked my ass.

Essentially, my daughter and her friend wanted me to help them carve a pumpkin.  I was soooo happy that they only wanted my "help!"  This means that I am supposed to do the part that involves the knives, and nothing else; nothing messy!

So, I cut the top of the pumpkin open while they completed their design.  Then they both put on a shirt of mine as to not get their clothes filthy.  They both put their arm in the pumpkin to pull out it's "guts."  They both belted out a resounding "EWWWWWWWW" as if they had never done this exact same thing before. 

Without any words they both pulled their arms out, wiped off with paper towels and started making a fort in the back of my truck with ropes and blankets.  I was left to take care of the uncapped gourd spread out on newspaper in my front yard. 

So I foolishly accused them both of being "cut-open-pumpkin-cleaner-outer-quitters!!" and THAT'S when the "I know you are...." fight was on.  My daughter being the younger of the two opted to let the older child lead in the debate in which each of us knew about the other but had concerns as to what we ourselves are (a.k.a. "I know you are but what am I!"  keep up with me).

This was a wise choice for my kid to make.  I might've stood a chance against her.  I'm still able to successfully pull the Bugs Bunny/ Daffy Duck Wabbit Season/ Duck Seasons Switcheroo on her!  You know, where your kid says "nuh-uh" and then you say "uh-huh" and then they say "nuh-uh" and you say "uh-huh" and then they say "nuh-uh" and you say "nuh-uh"and then they say "uh-huh" giving you the go ahead win!!!! 

Of course, being out of practice for "I know you are" combat, I slipped up and threw in a poorly worded and not well thought out variation by saying "I know you are but what are you?"  The pressure of my error proved to be a great distraction.  At my next volley of words I was able to get it right, but on my final assault, I blew it!  I actually inadvertently threw in the previously mentioned BB/DD WS/DS Switcheroo (shortened version of "Bugs Bunny/ Daffy Duck Wabbit Season/ Duck Seasons Switcheroo" so I don't have to type it out again and oh damn look what I just did anyway....) in and used it against myself! 

I heard the words coming out of my mouth "I know I am...." and started to panic.  I tried to real it back in and correct, but any correction was a trivial compensation for already admitting that I knew I was and there for I had already lost... "I know I am ... but what am I" is what I got out.

The older child's eyes turned to steely eyed slits.  She knew she had won.  I hung my head in shame and walked away to carve the pumpkin, in defeat.  I'm almost certain my standing fell a few notches in my daughter's eyes.  But nonetheless, she was on the winning side.

Of course, this sent me into a deep philosophical self examination whilst I carved the pumpkin in a defeated silence, but that is too much to get into right now.  Yeah this may have to be a two-parter...

Essentially, I do know what I AM in that I exist, but in turn, as a person, as a cognitive being I really do not know if I can properly answer the question "but what am I..."

Oh yeah, to add insult to injury, both girls intermittently hit me with the un-provoked attack of "nuh uh YOU" as they played in their fort.

I'll have the Stress Espresso

Here's how your day starts.

You get to sleep in (on a workday) and you're not going to work.  It's a rare "day off" and you opt to take advantage of it and do absolutely nothing!  You even convince yourself that that is your goal, to do absolutely NOTHING!

This is a good plan for you!  You need this.  It is healthy to simply let your body and mind rest and relax.  As a people we have gotten so far away from relaxing. 

"Way back when, people relaxed all the time" you tell yourself.  "They didn't have all the stresses and stimulation that we have.  They knew how to relax!"

And that's true.  People didn't have to work a 9 to 5, 5 days a week way back when.  They didn't have to worry about school REALLY REALLY way back when when there was not so much to the world.  It was a simpler time.  They didn't have the stresses of their neighbors having better stuff than them or their kids having a better education.  They didn't have to worry about paying bills....  They had it easy back then.

So there you go, you're going to relax from your day to day job that anyone else, with the right education and / or experience, can do.  But you have more experience and you just don't feel appreciated, so dammit!  DAY OFF!

You wake up from your night of peaceful slumber ready to tackle your much deserved day of nothing. 

You turn on the television.

You scroll through the guide because that's the only way you know hot to find something on TV what with all the overwhelming stress inducing channels we have today, that we have to pay for (I might add).

You see the movie The Right Stuff is on and you think to yourself "Awesome!  I love this movie!"  So you watch.  "Wow, these guys are ten years younger than me" you think to yourself.  "Wow, they're really risking everything" you keep thinking.  "Wow, I got that paper cut at work the other day..." you change the channel.

Saving Private Ryan is on.  "Wow.... I had an altercation with a co-worker the other day.... that was a bad day" you think to yourself trying to find a conflict comparable to the Normandy Invasion.  "Huh, these guys are like 15 years younger than me..."  you consider pouring yourself some bourbon at 9 am.  "Man, what an awful way to die" you think about how many paper cuts it would take to feel that bad.

"Okay, but these are people from the modern age... they have the stresses of modern problems..."  You turn on the History Channel.

The narrator reads "the black plague killed millions" you change to the other History channel.  "These people lived off the land" he reads and you think to yourself how simple and how nice and "RELAXING" that would be.  "They risked death at every turn, scrounging for food all day and all night every day, just to survive.  And those who were not nomadic formed an agricultural society farming and raising livestock" the bastard narrator reads on....

"Huh.... well this sucks" you can't help but think to yourself.

Yup, the world has become like stress espresso when you think about it.  What used to be stretched out each day, over the course of a week, every week, every month of every year we now cram into Monday through Friday if we can.  We get more time to relax than anyone before us and more than some of us even now.

There are people out there who work every day of the week non-stop to make our world better.  Offhand I can think of a few careers that guarantee no rest.  You  know like farmers, the military (mostly those deployed) and cruise ship workers just to name a few!  It's non-stop for them all.

So, you think about all of this and almost feel very guilty about your day.  I say "almost" because, you really do need this time and people throughout time always have needed this time.  Why don't you just wipe away that guilt by doing some laundry, walking the dog and going to the grocery store, you know, to "scrounge for food!"  Besides, you need milk.

Ironically, I'd kill to make the espresso a little bit stronger and only have to work four days a week!

I just can't seem to commit.

As I am growing older and re-acquainting myself with living as an individual I am starting to realize that, as already mentioned in the title of this particular post, I just can't seem to commit.  I am having issues with commitment that I never really noticed within myself before.

Let's face it, I just can't seem to stay involved with seeing the same face, or even faces, on even just a weekly, let alone daily, basis.  There are just endless stories and they flow together and drag on day after day, week after week.  And sometimes, they don't flow at all.  From one day to the next, I just don't know what to expect. 

And the Drama!  I don't even know what to do about it.  It just seems like the same thing over and over and over and over again.  I have enough of that at work.  I don't need to come home to more drama day in and day out. 

I just want to laugh! 
I want to smile! 
I want to be carefree and spontaneous. 
I don't want a routine!  And I certainly don't want to be a slave to certain things having to happen at certain times.

Until recently, I've had these pressures in my life for a long and I am simply no longer up for the challenge!

But I do realize that this is my problem.  I am, in some essence within myself, going against what has become the norm.  I am the living embodiment of "It's not you it's me" syndrome when it comes to this.

Of course, I'm talking about following and watching TV shows.  I just can't do it! 

Every network has all of these shows on and they tend to be the same thing over and over again told a different way but the same story.  For the most part, most television programming is brilliant and it's not the shows fault.  It really is me.

I have found that I do not have the patience to watch a TV show on Tuesday at 9 and be left hanging at the end of the episode waiting to find out what happens next Tuesday.  This angers me.  Not only do I spend the next week in anticipation of some astounding revelation but now I know, a week in advance, that I am going to have to be set and ready by exactly 9 PM the following Tuesday to find out what happened.  This is Ludicrous to me!

"Why don't you just DVR it?"  You might ask me?

"WHY DON'T YOU JUST KEEP YOUR THOUGHTS TO YOURSELF!!! THIS IS MY BLOG!!!" I might reply!

But, instead of replying with such an angry tone which would really be my way of saying "you know what, I hadn't thought of that.. what a great suggestion... ain't modern technology grand?"  I will reply in a much more thought out manner as I have thought about doing so and I have lived in an environment where that was done.  It doesn't actually help.

See, the DVR is wonderful.  Yes, you can instantly defeat all commitment issues by just DVR-ing your show and then watching it on your time whenever you want.  But, life is busy and "your time" never really comes.  In fact, should you wish to watch the show, you still have to make time for it.  You still have to commit some portion of your life to watching this show, which, as I have mentioned before is just the filler between commercials.  So really, you're just eking out what little "you time" you have in your day, to watch other people who really want to sell you stuff to keep you occupied during some other part of your day.

So with that, I had a few people in my life (and I know that there are many many others) who would actually get themselves into tears because of all of the shows they had recorded on their DVR that they needed to watch to be "caught up" before the season finale.  Seriously, the season finale might be in two nights, so for the next two nights, they would be all stressed out having to watch their shows as if they were cramming for an exam. 

These are intelligent educated people who are so angry with everything around them because that "everything" is causing them to not be able to watch their show when it originally aired so now they have to watch 8 episodes in two nights.  And they do this with multiple shows!!! 

THAT'S INSANE TO ME!!!  But I still watch TV.

There is one show on television right now that I actually know when it airs and I do DVR it.  However, I only know because another friend is gracious enough to text me each week to remind me.  She knows my deep dark fear of commitment.  And as it is this very day, I have four episodes of this particular show (maybe 6) stored on my DVR for this season alone and I've only seen two of them.  It's a GREAT show... laugh out loud funny!  But I am just too wishy washy to promise myself that I will be seated in front of my television on the night it airs.

So, I watch sports when I see them on.  Or, I'll peruse my movie channels and see what's on but if all else fails, I'll watch the History Channel.  At the very least, in the mornings I may watch the news just to see what the weather is like.  That's about as dedicated as I get when it comes to watching particular shows. 

Of course, I DVR the HELL out of Phineas and Ferb and I like to think I do that for my daughter, although, on occasion, when no one else is looking, I watch it without her.  Honestly, that's the only series I'm truly caught up with.

So, I DVR two shows, but I still can't commit.

I am sad and I am going against my own rule and writing about it.

As I begin typing, I am not entirely certain that I will even publish this one.

I am fine, but others around me are hurting, so I hurt for them and am therefore lost in thought.  Life is like that.

A dear friend of mine passed away this morning.  She fought a very brave fight against cancer.  I am proud of her.  From what I gather, she won the first few rounds but when it came to the final bout, she accepted it.  Of course, she could have continued fighting but that would have meant more suffering for her and her family.  She faced the inevitable and I am of the belief that she left with grace and dignity.

She was once a neighbor of mine but only for a few years.  From what I gathered back then, she was recovering from what I perceive as a terrible end to a marriage.  In the years we were closest, I saw her struggle, I saw her recover and I saw her find peace with a new marriage.   I also got to know her kids, who were closer to my own age than her.  Even with distance, I am certain I will maintain a relationship with them even if it is only to check in every so often.

She was a good person.  Knowing that she would soon be gone, I've recently spent  a lot of time thinking about how much she influenced me in just a few years.  In focusing on just her kindness and comforting nature I realized that she actually impacted my own child, whom I do not believe she ever met, in two ways.

First, and probably most significantly, when my marriage hit a "bump" and looked as though it was over, she talked to me in a very calm nature about not giving up on what you believe in and working through the pain even though you have every right to walk away.  Even with what she had endured, she still believed in marriage and so did I.

Eight years later the end result of my marriage proved to be unavoidable, but at least I knew that I had tried and was always willing to save it, but mostly, four years after we had our "talk(s)" my child was born.  Had I not stayed or tried to save it all, well.....

She also introduced me to something I still share with my daughter today.  She gave me Wallace and Grommit.  Sure it's a children's program and she didn't actually "give" them to me, but more than four years before I became a parent, I fell in love with a show that my child now loves to watch with me.

I had not seen her in years, but I feel a great loss in her passing. 

At the same time, I have an Aunt lying in hospice care expected to die any day.  She is a lovely woman whom I never heard complain or say a disparaging word unless, of course, her dinner was taking too long to be served in a restaurant.  Granted, if she ever did say anything in anger in my presence I would most likely have not understood her. 

She is 80 and was born in Japan in either '31 or '32.  Imagine being a child in that era on the Japanese mainland.  Imagine the hardships she must have endured.  Imagine being a teenager watching a neighboring town go up in an atomic explosion.  How do you find peace?  How do you accept the world?  How do you go on?  Well, you just do.  She just did.

Some time in the 70's she met my Uncle, in Japan, on leave from the Vietnam War.  They fell in love and she came home with him.  Shortly after she became a US citizen in the late 80's, he died.  She stayed in the states. 

I didn't really get to know her too well until the 90's although I had met her and spent some time with her as a child but I was probably more focused on Lego's.  I did go through a phase in the early 80's where I didn't really trust her.  I was sitting in a History class one day when I learned that her people had attacked Pearl Harbor!!!  THEY DID WHAT?  Oooooooooo.....  I was a very offended by this.   Before I was born, my parents and siblings lived in Hawaii!!!  Granted, that was some 28 years after the initial attack, BUT STILL!!!!

Yeah, it was a short lived lack of trust and the panic I felt passed because, you have to let go.  But at least I got to have my moment of drama before I got my world of understanding.

I found her a very enlightening person.  She had her faults but I had a hard time seeing them through the kindness she always showed me.  We had interesting conversations about religion that, although they weren't long, have really given me a better understanding on a grand scale.  She wasn't a Christian (spoken in a whisper) but a lot of her religion was remarkably similar to mine.  From this I took away "truth is truth and peace is peace."  I think that helps me out a lot when I hear people using their religions incorrectly (even my own) to hurt others and pass judgement.

I think as a teen I once asked her to teach me how to fight.  She looked at me and said something like "saw karate kid?"  She taught me nothing.  I asked her to teach me some Japanese. She didn't really teach me much, but I did learn the Japanese words for boyfriend and girlfriend... Boyafrienda and Girlafrienda....  Fabulous!

We laughed a good bit on occasion, mostly due to language barriers.  I was lost in a conversation with her once when I assumed her senility had gotten the best of her and she actually believed she owned two high priced American cars when she was complaining about her problems with her "Cadirax."  She didn't drive.  As it tuns out, when a confused twenty-something in the Southeastern USA hears a Japanese person talk about their Cataracts they assume she is saying Cadillacs.  It turned out that she was quite coherent and I was the fool.  She got better with surgery.

I am touched by and grateful to both my Aunt and my neighbor for their presence in my life as brief as their presence has been.  I know for a fact I have spent less time with my Aunt than I had with my neighbor, but overall I have taken away from them both the example they have set in accepting life's pain and hardships and moving on and living.  I have not been as good at that as I would like to be.

I think that is what life is about.  We try to learn from others.  We share experiences and cherish those memories.  We can live forever in each other and through those whom we pass our experiences on to. 

Others who have spent more time with these people may not have seen in them what I saw.  However, I feel I have been blessed by what limited time I shared with them.

I am of course lost deep in thought about all of this and I am sad.  There are so many others living and thriving who have impacted my life.  Most of them passed through my life in what now seems like a blink of an eye.  It's like the movie "It's a Wonderful Life."  We don't see how we impact others.  We typically don't have the chance to ever know.

I just have to say that there are many people out there, some who have hurt me terribly but most have not, whom I am grateful to for how you have affected my life and molded the person I am still becoming.

Thank you.

I am a Block-head...

I have writer's block.

It's a neat thing to have when your life doesn't rely on being able to write and you only choose to write for no reason.  No seriously!  Granted, any sort of mental block is bad, but I would assume that some sort of arterial block or colonic block or driveway block would be much worse.  But again, only if you aren't relying on your writing to keep you alive.

Okay, I guess it's not "neat" like "oh cool, I have writer's block... ain't it grand?"  But more like "oh bother I have writer's block.  I think I will go to Starbucks and waste away for hours as I try to explain to all whom I might meet my concerns about a dystopin future society that is already presenting itself within the media."  In that sense, writers block makes you feel like an important arteest (real slick type of artist), who is able to make misery trendy!

And when I say it's bad for people who are relying on their writing to keep them alive, It's not like I'm talking about someone who is about to die due to a lack of verbiage.  No no no, I am referring to someone who has "writer" or "author" in their career title.  If you are a writer and you cannot write, you cannot generate income for your livelihood and then Queen Latifah* will come and harass you into writing and killing off Will Ferrell and nobody wants that! 

*That was a reference to one of my most favorite movies.  And honestly, I would TOTALLY want that to happen to me.

Although I guess it would be bad to have writer's block if there was someone holding a gun to your head speaking something at you in a fake yet Hollywood-esque German accent saying "vee hahv vays auf maykeeng you write dee verds on dee papers or vee shoot you unt zee head!  YA!!!"  I've known German's and they almost never talk like that.

But yes, that would be an unpleasant time to have writer's block.  You'd probably have the previously mentioned colonic blockage as well.... or maybe the exact opposite.  I don't know.  I'm sure I never will.

It's not like anything I write is going to compete for a Pulitzer.  And sadly, it doesn't bring in any sort of income.  I just put out this stuff when it comes to mind.  But lately nothing is coming to mind and so I feel like I have nothing to write about.

Oh sure, I could write about any old thing at any old time, but where is the challenge in that.  Not that I got into this for the challenge.  I got into this whole blog writing thing to get stuff out of my head that was taking up space.  However, I feel my theory has backfired.

It turns out my brain works like some folks front yards.  If you burn it down it just comes back thicker and fuller.  So, the more I write, the more I seem to have on my mind.  The harder it is to focus.  The more stuff that wants to escape from my brain hole (no idea what the scientific term for this is) so the more chance it'll all block up on the way out.

And voila... I have NOTHING I can focus on to write about, ergo... Writer's Block!

A Letter to Don and Swampy

They are going to make a movie of Phineas and Ferb!   This excites me more than many of you may know.... errrr... I mean, this excites my daughter more than any of you may ever know!  I'll just have to tell her first before I fully comprehend the level of her excitement!  I just hope that I (she) can wait a year or so before the movie is released in theaters.

As a parent I love the creativity of this show.  This is an ingenious program that really touches a child's imagination.  Also each episode has an entirely new soundtrack which consists of really catchy music.  The creative team on this show is, well, extremely creative!  And, as an adult who is comfortable watching children's programming, it's a really good show for all the same reasons.

It's almost, too good!

Whereas in my childhood my parents were concerned that I might lure someone out into the desert with bird feed and then try to push a boulder off of a cliff in an effort to "take them out," I am curious as to what deviousness the makers of Phineas and Ferb are trying to create within my child.

I wrote a letter to them a few months back to address just that:

Dear Don and "Swampy," (a.k.a. the creators of Phineas and Ferb),

Please stop putting ideas into my daughters head.

In the past few weeks, she has become more and more obsessed with the idea of turning some simple canned meat into "rampagey meatlings" that will do her bidding, destroy her enemies and help her achieve world domination.

I mean seriously, how would that even be possible? Could I simply go down to the Publix, buy some canned meat, introduce it to some sort of inator and voila, MEATLING?

It sounds like too much power for my little girl to control. Yet, it sounds so simple. I mean, I'm sure I could control it! And it would be very beneficial to me to have a rampagey meatling to, you know, do my bidding and destroy my enemies. But, well.... hmmmmmmm......

Dear Don and "Swampy," (a.k.a. the creators of Phineas and Ferb),

Please stop putting your brilliant ideas into my head!

Thank you,

Signed, "Cautiously Interested!"

For those of you who have read this far, should you have no idea what I am talking about, you may wish to count your blessings.... or you may not... I dunno.

What I have learned from the wisdom of They.

They say that if you are standing on a ladder and you fall, don't grab for anything on your way down.  Let yourself fall to the ground as grabbing at everything around you is less likely to stop you and more likely to cause you more bodily harm.

Of course, I've only heard them say this about being on a ladder on the side of a house anywhere from one to three stories tall.  I have never heard if this is the same thought process for being on one of those fire truck ladders 10 stories up or a ladder on top of a television tower or something else very very very tall, but I understand what they are trying to say.

I can't exactly tell you who "they" are other than that they are several different people I have met in my life, including one relative.  So, I guess I lied in that I can tell you who one of the "they" in question is, but, honestly, is it really necessary? 

C'mon, by now, if you keep up with me at all on here, we need to have reached a level of trust where, if I use "They" as a reference, then you must accept that They are experts in their field.  Who They are is moot, just know that I trust them and I accept their advice.

But that, is exactly the point that they were trying to make; "that" being to Accept!  Well, honestly, I think that their point was "if you're falling, let yourself fall and don't grab at stuff that will hurt you or rip off fingers or even arms and stuff." 

Which I, of course, heard as "if you're falling, Accept that you are falling and let yourself go.  It may not be very pleasant when you hit, but you're just going to make things harder for yourself if you fight it all the way down!"

They are pretty wise!

And this is one of the cores of my personal philosophy.  It isn't always easy, but, I have learned that quite often, I have to accept what happens to me and the world around me.  Fighting it just doesn't help me.

It's very peaceful when I can let it happen.

Someone cuts me off in traffic...  I can certainly vow a vengeance upon them and pray for them to suffer some horrible turmoil in their life like, a flat tire, or, death by papercuts, or something like that.... but that does me no good other than getting my blood pressure up.  I can return the favor and speed around and cut them off, but that just makes me as much of an ass as they are...  So, I must accept that it happened and just let it go.  Their foolishness affected 5 seconds of my life and I'm fine.

My daughter is growing up...  I can fight it all I want, but it IS going to happen and she IS going to grow up and become her own person.  So, I can offer her guidance and I can pick her up when she falls, but I have to accept that she is going to grow up and make mistakes.  If I fight it, I'll just push her away.

My dog feels she needs to put a paw on my face at 5:10 am because she thinks I like that (and she is sorely wrong)...  Well I can either react to it, which is all she wants, and get mad at her and get up, or I can accept it and roll over and ignore what she has done.  She may only do it 10 or thirty more times, but eventually she'll stop.  Sure, I could get rid of her but that takes me back to pushing my daughter away. 

Really, getting a pet and then getting rid of a pet can upset a child a whole damn bunch!

So I accept things.  I accept that I have to go to work.  I accept that some people feel the music in their car needs to be heard in every car around them.  I accept that delicious foods tend to be rather quite bad for me.  I accept that I am going to have to walk for at least thirty minutes tomorrow because I ate some delicious food today.  I accept so much.

And those are little things.  In the past few years I have had to accept major traumatic events like the deaths of family and friends and divorces, only one of which was my own but most of them have been for the wrong reasons and they are all sad to witness and live, and THE CUBS which also is often traumatic for the wrong reasons and is always hard to witness and live.... I could go on.

In fact, I think being a Cubs fan is a great thing to be if you wish to grow up with a mindset of acceptance.  Sure, I could pull for another team or I could just bitch about the Cubs, but I find that if I just accept what happens to them every year, this will humble me and encourage me to simply accept what I enjoy as well as what I cannot have.  And if one day they do win the series, I will be thrilled and I will accept that no more goats will need to be sacrificed!

Anyway, I seriously do believe that a path to peace within ones self (aka "inner peace" which is much shorter to type but used way too often) lies within being able to accept the world around you and the things that happen without your influence.  I say influence becuase I am not entirely convinced "control" really exists.

It may sound depressing but we all have our ladders to climb, and we all fall.  Quite often, we are pushed!  How we handle ourselves during the fall may not lessen the blow,  but it will aid in how soon we are able to get back on our feet and start working our way back up that ladder.

I accept what They have to say to me.  I learn so much from the people around me.

But, just for the record, I may accept that that guy cut me off, but that doesn't mean I like it; perhaps, just a few paper cuts?

Let's have a Schrödinger Christmas!

Okay, who thinks just by reading the title that I'm talking about the strong silent piano player that the psychologist from Peanuts was in love with?  Of course he's a great artist and he brings any party or holiday alive when he tickles those ivory keys.  However, No.  You're wrong, that guy is named Schroeder.  I'm not talking about him.

I wish I was talking about him, because his name doesn't have an umlaut.  Although the two dot thingy over the "O" has an amazing history (if you're into that sort of thing) I don't like having to type it.  I'm NOT into that sort of thing.

So, I am talking about Schrödinger. He was an Austrian Physicist (aren't they all) who devised a "Thought Experiment" to point out a problem he had discovered with some other Physicists theory in Quantum Mechanics (obviously NOT Austrians).

All technical mumbo jumbo aside, the thought experiment known as "Schrödinger's Cat" (they weren't overly creative in nicknames for experiments back in 1935) breaks down to putting a cat in a box with stuff that can kill it.  Having no idea when the cat will die and every understanding that the cat will die, we are left to assume that the cat is entangled in a state of being dead an alive at the same time.

This is a depressing concept.  I feel It is a way to annoy people at parties (not fun parties) and try to impress someone at some point.  Knowing this serves no great purpose to me other than to point out how little love there is for cats out there and that dog's are cuter.

And this is why Pavlov was a lot more fun to have at parties!

So, right now you're probably thinking to yourself, "okay, but what does this Schrödinger guy have to do with Christmas other than the joys of just being able to pronounce his name, umlaut and all, may bring?"

To that I might reply something like "good question, but umlauts bring NO JOY!"

So I ask you, what happens to us as we grow up?  Why must we have what we want and not be able to accept just the thought behind what we have received?

Have you ever given a kid a cardboard box with a gift in it?  Half the time these kids are all about that box!  They are excited to see the present and they'll get around to it in a bit, but, "Hot Damn!!! A BOX!!!!"  Eventually, I got the point with my own child that I would just bring home boxes from time to time.  She was THRILLED!!!

It's like being that guy at the party talking about Schrödinger's Cat (in the box).  Whether the cat is alive or not is a moot point.  The whole point of excitement is what might be in the box.  Again, this is the thrill we all feel when we are given a gift.. any gift!  We need to appreciate that more.  The thought is wonderful.  But to a kid, what's more exciting than a box?

Really, these days there's little left to the imagination with many toys.  They are made for one purpose and they are played with for that one thing.  But, A BOX!!!!  A box can be a boat, a fort, a house, a basket, a car, a train, an oven, a television, a box.... it goes on and on and on.  Amazingly enough, you can get a refrigerator box, open up both ends and roll down a hill or across your yard.  YOU'RE A HUMAN TANK!!!!

Oddly enough, I find I save cardboard boxes all the time.  I'm no hoarder, but whenever I get something in the mail, maybe from Amazon or some online vendor, I always save the box until they pile up and I have to throw them out.  I think this is some sort of attachment issue from my childhood.

Anyway, as kids start to grow up, they start to forget the box.  They want the loot.  And many of us maintain that sort of thinking well into adulthood.  Why? 

Is it the whole "I want what I want when I want it" mentality that we seem to be developing as a society?  An instant gratification type thing?

What if we try to start getting away from that and return to our basic need to be appreciated.  I really do believe that the gift is not as important as the thought.  Getting the box is more important than what is inside the box!  Does that make sense? 

As hokey as it sounds, I look at the child like appreciation I see when a kid gets "presents!!!" before they even open them.  It is an exciting concept and thrill to see their minds running wild with "look at all this stuff, what could it be!"  Until they open their gift, the thrill is in not knowing.  The younger they are, the more they appreciate the whatever... as they get older, the content becomes too important.

Right now it's the time of year where I'm hitting what I call "the birthday season" during which, for the next three months the majority of the people I know and love (including me) have their birthdays right before and around Christmas.  There's a lot of gift giving going on.  I want people to know I'm thinking of them and I truly wish I could give more, but I simply cannot.

I hope they appreciate me as much as I appreciate them. 

You know what though, I do have all of those spare boxes.. and, there are a lot of stray cats in my neighborhood.... hmmmm...

I think my Brain is full.

I like to write about the simple moments that make me laugh. I prefer to reminisce about happier unexpected moments in my life.

Recently one of those moments happened and came in the form of the lady I saw who obviously was an obsessive weight lifter with big man arms.  It's not that a woman with muscular and cut arms is not feminine and attractive, but her arms we're right up there with Clubber Lang meat hooks!  And they were attached to a small blond woman's frame.

Anyway, she was walking two dogs; in her right hand she held the leash for the dachshund.  In her left she was holding the leash for a St. Bernard.

I looked at her and laughed.  Only then did I notice that she could easily squash me with her big Clubber Lang arms.  But she was overall petite and she looked at me curiously and did not kill me.

"Do you have to switch hands with them every block or so as to keep one arm from getting bigger than the other?"  I heard myself say in a humorous manner.

She chuckled and said "Oh yes.  Yes, yes I do.  They keep me busy!"

We both chuckled and she kept walking on as I carried groceries into the house.

Even though I stood about a foot or so taller than her, she could have just hammered me into the ground like a spike if she had wanted to.  What the hell was I thinking?

Well, I was thinking that she was a dog person, like me, and that she would see the humor in my comment.  Luckily for me, she did and I am not a little pile of squishy pieces on the sidewalk.

And that's the kind of stuff I want to write about.

Lately I have found it more difficult to stay focused and write about these every day moments I share with friends, family, strangers and people who most likely bought some Clubber Lang bits off of e-bay.  I think that once the school years started I became more focused on my child's homework and became too distracted to write.

It is really tough having to relearn every thing I forgot I learned that I had originally learned so that I could learn the stuff I needed to learn.  Still with me?  Well, neither am I, but that's the kind of thing that's been going through my head lately.

Maybe now you understand why I've been posting less often?  If you do understand, can you please explain it to me?

How Marty, Marvin, Chuck & Johnny brought out the Johnny within me!

I think it's safe to say that we all have a love for music.  Many people find comfort in diverse forms of the art.

I find comfort in what is often referred to as "Classical" music which is somewhat inaccurate as I prefer the Romantic era more than Baroque, but whaddya gonna do; you know what I mean when I say "Classical" even if it was written just yesterday.

In a similar vein (not really in any way) I like Jazz a lot as well.  What with the ad-libbing and free form of the style and the expression.  Mmmmmmmm hmmmmmm.... Add some Blues to that too!

So, I like Classical, Jazz, Blues and I also really like Rock, and Classic Rock, and Pop Rock, and Punk Rock, and Alternative Rock....  "Here a rock there a rock everywhere a rock rock Old MacDonald had a band, rock on Rock and Roll (I just wrote that)!"  It's as if there is an avalanche of rock music (do ya like that?) and I'm open to almost all forms of the genre. 

And hey, Nay sayers may say "nay" now (say that 10 times fast), but I also really like Rap.  Spoken word is one of the most relateable forms of music out there and rap covers so much territory.  I can't say that I relate to all forms of rap, but a lot of it is really impressive to me.

Country.... well, I've really tried to like country and some of it is catchy, but David Allen Coe was my introduction to country music and  for the most part he was right... trucks, mama, being drunk, death and heartbreak... It's mostly sad music to me and makes me feel worse when I am sad.  My God, if Robert Smith (the Cure) and Morissey had started a country band I'm almost certain there would have been enough murder and suicide caused by their collective musical efforts that Pol Pot would have been impressed.

Overall life is good.  Anybody reading this blog or anything on the Internet probably has a better life than the majority of people on the planet.  I'm no statistician or facts checker, but I'm sure that the majority of the planet doesn't have Internet access.  Whereas having access to the Internet does not imply that you are happy or are successful but it does imply that you can afford to have what are called "First World Problems."

Now that is such a big issues to tackle and it isn't what I'm gearing towards in this blog, I'll probably try to get around to that some other time.  The point I'm trying to make is that if you have the daily opportunity to listen to music and check the Internet, you're doing A LOT better than many of the people on the planet who are worried about where they're going to get their next meal.

Sooo, the point I am getting at, is that for the most part, life is good and it can easily be compared to a cheery or heartfelt/ touching piece of music.

This dawned on me on my way in to work this morning as a very simple, yet cheerful, catchy and surprisingly ahead of it's time piece of music came on the radio. 

It is a rock song from the late 50's with a driving blues guitar riff and a repetitive rhythm section.  The lyrics are straight forward and not very deep about a man who goes from rags to riches through the power of music. It still stands the test of time as you can play it for children today and they love it.  It was ahead of it's time because, as simple as it may sound now, it was aggressive and a new use of the blues.

Of course, there is some question as to how the song came about as there is a paradoxical conspiracy about the songs origin.  I can only say for certain that I am personally grateful that Marvin called his cousin Chuck to tell him what Marty McFly was playing and the Enchantment Under the Sea Ball that particular night!

Seen Here, Historical PROOF!!!

Johnny B. Goode is one of the GREATEST rock songs of all time!!!  There, I said it!  And we all have Marty McFly to thank for it!

So, yes, I find it quite inspiring and cheerful to say that my life sometimes is good enough to be compared to the song Johnny B. Goode!  Chuck Berry should be praised and has been many times over for his contribution to Rock Music.  He was ahead of his time and stands the test of time.

So, I think comparing your life to something like that song may be presumptuous of your future greatness.  However, it's not bad to think of that song as a song that fits you and your life.  Johnny B. Goode covers everything as far as feel good music, feel good story, being a trend setter and being ahead of it's time.  This is a great song to hear on the radio and feel it resembles your inner self!

Unfortunately for me, the version on the radio this morning was the Sex Pistols version of Johnny B. Goode.  As much as I like the Sex Pistols, having Johnny Rotten singing his version of Johnny B. Goode as your life's anthem is NOT a good indicator of where you are in life.

I'm just sayin'.



How my childhood beliefs have corrupted with age. A.K.A.- No Santa, Nooooooo!

There were a lot of cute mystical beings that I believed in as a child.  I think these were the adults way to keep me relatively well behaved and just add excitement to relatively humdrum things.

Of course, Santa is the best!   Here's a guy who knows all of my dirty little secrets and he passes judgement on me.  Around the end of the year he brings me presents to reward me for my good behavior.  This is a great tool for parents for the most part.  However, as we all got older, we stopped believing in this character.  I think the first step in it all falling apart is that we suddenly realise that we've been really crappy kids all year long and yet, we're still getting loot!!!

But where we, as new found grown ups who no longer believe in Santa, pay for our crimes against the world is when Santa is replaced by another mystical character.  There is another being who, as adults we understand is the physical representation of the organization that now knows all of our dirty secrets and passes judgement on all of us whether we've been bad or good, but it mostly seems like he passes judgement on those who are good and struggling.  Of course I mean The Taxman.

He keeps a list, and I think I he probably checks it more than twice.  He doesn't need to find out, as he already knows and simply doesn't care who's naughty or nice.  He just comes to town and nails us all whenever he can.  I picture him in a suit similar to Santa's, but it is grey pinstripes and it's made of baby seal fur.  And he has a monocle. 

Well, we also had The Easter Bunny.  As a kid this is a rabbit who brings kids chocolate and small gifts and quite often nice clothes for children to wear to church on a Christian Holiday.  I'm sorry?  Were there a lot of rabbits at the crucifixion?  They seem to be missing from all of the pictures that were taken that day.  Not to be blasphemous, but I'm almost certain that had there been a bunch of cute bunnies bouncing all over the place, they really would have lightened the mood and the judging mass probably would have not been in such haste to pass judgement as they would've been happily playing with all the cute bunnies!

But no, as we grow up we learn that the rabbit is a pagan representation of procreation along with chocolate eggs and that these were just thrown in to combine a pagan festival with a Christian holiday or mourning and celebration.

Now, I am absolutely no biblical scholar by any means, but growing up and learning about the bunnies and how they have nothing to do with Easter yet have become the most commercially celebrated part, much like Santa vs. The Birth, is kind of a painful part of growing up. 

So really, again, whereas Santa pretty much becomes just the opposite as the tax man for grown ups, I'm going to have to say that the Easter Bunny pretty much became the fairy for any and all marketing campaigns out there.  The Cadburry Bunny is what has the Easter Bunny has become.  As I grew up to know that there is no Easter Bunny, the Bunny simply evolved to become a marketing whiz. 

I can just see him in between takes for those chocolate egg commercials.  He probably hops out of a limo fueled by the tears of babies, walks into the studio and removes his three piece bunny suit (made from more seal pup fur) and says in a thick scratchy Brooklyn Accent as he hands his stogy to his assistant :

"C'man, less dooo this.  I don'd gad all day yeah.  I do a few clucks I make a few bucks. 

Whaddya gonna do eh..."

Heartless marketing bunny.

So I also believed in the tooth fairy.  Here is a loving fairy with an enamel fetish that collects your dead teeth for cash.  HOW AWESOME IS THAT we all thought as kids!  We endure a gross by product of growing up and make a buck without having to cluck for the camera!  SWEET!!!

Then we grow up and there become a lot more fairies for dealing with aspects of growing up, but these fairies don't pay us a damn dime for our suffering:

• The Zit Fairy who turns our faces in a general plague area
• The Low Metabolism Fairy who helps us start to fatten up some time after 27
• The Presbyopia Fairy who makes your vision poor and if you are truly cursed she'll leave under your pillow a life altering secret written out in a note, that only you can read,that is written so small you'll NEVER be able to focus on it.
• The Hairclub Fairy who takes the hair from your head and relocates it to your ears as well as in a path traveling down your back

THESE FAIRIES SUCK!!!

Now much like the Easter Bunny really did exist but turned out to be a marketing rouse, I do believe that one fairy truly does exist but his message becomes hurtful with age. 

Cupid is magical.  The way he sneaks up on you and shoots you with an arrow.  Most people would get life for such a thing, but nope, not cupid!  As a kid just by standing next to someone you might be in love with them for a whole day or so.  It happens all the time.  Sometimes is happens 6 or 7 times an hour.  Cupid's great!  And Valentines Day has really become a celebration of his goodness... or at least it had...

As you grow up, cupid is still there, but his affects wear off on some people and not so much on others.  Some of us still fall in love six or seven times an hour and others can't seem to accept love.  And then Valentine's day simply becomes a reminder of either something you have to do or a grim reminder of what you do not have.

Cupid, you're aim may just might be getting bad with age; our age, not yours.

So, there, I'm being all negative and grumpy about how cruel the fairies are for either not existing or for transforming along with us in age. 

Sometimes reality is just unfair.

At least I'll always have The Great Pumpkin!!!

My MANLY Secret

I was in the fifth grade the last time I switched schools mid-year.  This happened to me a lot growing up.  Apparently the US Navy felt that transferring sailors during the school year helped their kids build character.  I'm CHOCK FULL of character.

Anyway, I remember walking into my new class for the first time and hearing those unforgettable words that I had heard so many times before:

"okay everybody, we have a new student in the class today, his name is....."  MUD

They all stared at me as if I had a target on my head; the new classmates always did.  Except that this time, something was different.  There was one guy who stuck out.  Even now as I try to remember the moment, every one's face is blurry except for this one guy.

He wasn't a huge guy and as I recall, he wasn't even looking at me.  His eyes were Clint Eastwood squinty, but it wasn't an ethnic thing; He might've been somewhat Latino.  He was a bit tan and had on a red t-shirt.  He had short jet black hair and pretty much looked like any other fifth grader, that is, other than the mustache and soul patch.  I kid you not!  This guy had facial hair... IN THE FIFTH GRADE!!!!

Now there is a chance that I may be exaggerating a bit.  It's not intentional, it's just how I remember him.  We were in school together for many years and that is just how he always looked.  He lived right down the road from me and he was the first kid from my age group to grow facial hair.  He had beaten all of us by years!  That is NO exaggeration.

As I recall, he was one of the nicest guys I went to school with.  I do not remember him ever getting in a fight and I don't recall him ever being in trouble.  He was very quiet in my experience.  We weren't friends as in we never socialized, but we were far from enemies. 

But everyone was afraid of him.

He had a reputation as being "dangerous" and "tough."  As best as I can tell, this was based solely on the fact that he had facial hair, I'm assuming, since birth.

I sooooo wanted to grow facial hair as fast as possible.  I could not.  I'm pretty sure I blamed my parents for this.  I had heard that if I started shaving, I would start growing hair uncontrollably.  Of course, in that line of thinking I then though I would grow enough facial hair to be "dangerous" and "tough" like that guy.

Years went by.... nothing.  No scruff... no fir... No fuzz...

I think I was in the 9th grade on the "day of wonderness and awe."  Dad collected me from the dining room table after dinner and I'm almost certain he said something like:

"Son, come with me.  You're a man now and now you must do manly things!!!" 

Then he took me to the bathroom and taught me how to shave my face!!!  A choir of angels sung out in praise.  They were either singing praise or they were just standing by to collect me due to all the blood loss.  Seriously, I cut myself up pretty bad.

Dad also took this opportunity to show me how to use deodorant.  I assumed that this wasn't because I smelled bad, but because he wanted me to smell good so that I could attract a mate!!!  I was wrong.  It was totally because I smelled bad.

BUT I DIDN'T CARE!!!!  I was a MAN now!  The only way it could have gone batter was if afterwards Dad had taken me out back and said something like:

"Now I'm going to teach you how to grill a t-bone

and tomorrow I'm going to teach you how to grill a t-bone using only dynamite!!!"

He did not say that.  In fact, he pretty much taught me how to shave in one direction and give myself serious razor burns and nicks (no offense to guys names "nick").  It wasn't until my first senior year in college (yes I said first) that I had a girlfriend encourage me to shave closer because my scruffiness was irritating her skin.

About 4 years after that I kind of got lazy and started growing a Van Dyke which is the goatee and mustache combo that people often just call a goatee.  They are incorrect as the goatee is just the hairs on your chinny chin chin.  So I have now had a quite stylish Van Dyke on my face for 17 years.  Okay, it was stylish back then. Now I have it mainly because I fear my chin and upper lip will seize up from hypothermia if I remove their blanket of masculinity!  Granted, I also worry that with my boyish face, I'll look like a twelve year old if I shave it all off.

So, bacl to that magical day, all those years ago: I walked out of the bathroom, with my Dad, feeling all regal and proud and manly!  My face was covered in tissue chunks, my face was shiny with razor burn and my armpits reeked of secksie!

I looked at my Mom as my smile beamed from ear to ear.  She smiled at me and said Wow!"

Dad then said "now don't go rushing off to school and tell all of your friends about this.  This is a personal thing."  What made him think I would tell?

So, Ladies and Gentlemen, today, at this very moment, in this very blog, I am going to tell you, the reader, the deep secret that I held in and so wanted to share that very next day roughly 24 years ago:

"DUDES!  CHECK ME OUT!!! I SHAVED!!! AND HERE, SMELL MY PITS... I'M USING DEODORANT NOW TOO!!!!"