I may not always act maturely in every given situation. This will come as a shock to my wife, I'm sure, but sometimes I even get slightly carried away. A bit.
In my defense, the things I get worked up about are no brainers; motorcycles, redheads, etc. When I like something, I really like it. I can be a bit self-centered in my pursuits, and perhaps maybe even a tad excessive. Maybe.
I kinda like being an all or nothing guy. You're either super pumped on something, or you couldn't give a shit and two nickels. Makes life easier.
Seriously, who the frig wants to be sensible all the time anyway? We don't start out that way.
When we're young, anything is possible. The problem is, at that age, you feel like you have all the time in the world; so a little goofing off couldn't hurt. Your entire life is literally ahead of you, so why rush in to some web of obligation right away? There will be plenty of time for being an adult. So, you play. You gain some confidence, and you play a little harder and, God willing, you play so hard that at some point, you scare yourself into adulthood. And that's where the fun dies. Right there, in your arms, as you helplessly watch and scream skyward as the camera pans away.
Welp, I'm just not havin' it. I don't wanna scream skyward. I don't want the fact that I am an adult to mean the death of fun. I think that might be what kills us.
You ever know anybody that worked their whole life at something they loved, and then died right after they stopped? We should all be so lucky. The trick is not to stop. Those people were having fun, and they refused to stop, so they just did what made them happy until they were done. Now they're done.
I don't want to slave away at some soul sucking task, hurry up and retire, and then just linger around like a bad smell until I rot. Not even with tapioca and Game Show Network. Yes I love tapioca and Game Show Network, I think we all do, but that's not the point. The point is, it's the journey, man. The journey. I don't mean to get all Hempfest about it, but it's true. Everybody's in such a God damn hurry; and for what?
"Race you to the grave!" Geezus, slow down, look around. See those people that are trying to talk to you? No, not the ones on Facebook. The ones in your house, at your work, in your school. Those are your friends. Talk to them. Face to face, not face to Facebook.
Trust me guys, this is all going to be over in a minute, and if you don't pay attention, you could miss it. Don't take yourself too seriously, nobody else does. All those people you're worried about what they might think? They're too busy worrying about themselves to notice anything about you. And even if they did notice, they don't care, they just care about what you think about them.
Do what you want to do. Be juvenile. Not in a Penn State kind of way of course, don't hurt anyone. But within reason, do what you like. Do what you like and live a long life. Love who you love and love them just right.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Sunday, December 11, 2011
"Let Go"
"Let Go"
Fighting hard against the tides,
I struggle in the deep.
But in the end let slip the bond,
And drift off into sleep.
"Victorious"
Changes happen,
Past that, nothing.
Seize the moment,
Elsewhere wait.
Take a chance and laugh the loudest,
Look delicious,
Never break.
coupla pomes
Fighting hard against the tides,
I struggle in the deep.
But in the end let slip the bond,
And drift off into sleep.
"Victorious"
Changes happen,
Past that, nothing.
Seize the moment,
Elsewhere wait.
Take a chance and laugh the loudest,
Look delicious,
Never break.
coupla pomes
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
"Hi, Who Am I ?"
Most people spend a lifetime trying to figure out who they are. If you're lucky, before you die, you might find a little peace in who you've become. So much of our lives are spent 'becoming' that we actually spend very little, being. And while it's definitely about the journey and not about the destination, you've gotta know who you are, before you can start being yourself.
In childhood our parents try and tell us who we are, but they are so far off the mark that all we know is we don't want to be them. We watch the dynamics of whatever environment we are raised in, and mimic anything useful; but for the most part, I remember just seeing the stuff that didn't work and making mental notes to be sure and avoid these situations myself. Oddly enough, those are exactly the kind of things you are most likely to do as an adult; your inner child watching helplessly as you repeat the sins of the father. Genetic embarrassments, cauterized into the core of your DNA.
In school we do a lot of chameleon behavior, trying literally anything to fit in. People may go through a number of painful incarnations of themselves before finally finding an archetype that works. Bad hairdos and questionable clothing aside, the act of finding one's own true self, can be a daunting task. Deciding in high school whether you're a jock or a preppie, stoner or hipster, punk or a nerd, isn't the half of it. Those are mainly decisions about fashion. What I'm talking about is the search of a lifetime. The climb up the mountain to ask the guru,
"Hi, who am I?"
But I think that might be the problem. We are always asking someone else, who we are. When you are formulating your persona, you aren't doing it in an introspective way. You're distilling all the personalities you've witnessed up until that time, and trying to form some kind of composite person, using only the most successful parts of those you've known before. And let me assure you, no matter who you are, you are not made up of wholly successful parts of anything. And thank God that you're not. What kind of robotic, unsympathetic alien would you have to be, to be perfect? All the people I love the most are not even close to being perfect, and sometimes their imperfections are what I love most about them.
This doesn't mean to be true to yourself is to have license to phone life in. Being yourself doesn't mean trying less, it means trying harder. Don't say what they want you to say, say what you feel is right. Don't look in the mirror and ask what others are going to see, ask what you see, and does it fit with how you feel.
Ultimately, being your true self is going to disappoint some people. Alright it's going to disappoint a lot of people, but it will make a few important people really happy; and you will be one of them.
In childhood our parents try and tell us who we are, but they are so far off the mark that all we know is we don't want to be them. We watch the dynamics of whatever environment we are raised in, and mimic anything useful; but for the most part, I remember just seeing the stuff that didn't work and making mental notes to be sure and avoid these situations myself. Oddly enough, those are exactly the kind of things you are most likely to do as an adult; your inner child watching helplessly as you repeat the sins of the father. Genetic embarrassments, cauterized into the core of your DNA.
In school we do a lot of chameleon behavior, trying literally anything to fit in. People may go through a number of painful incarnations of themselves before finally finding an archetype that works. Bad hairdos and questionable clothing aside, the act of finding one's own true self, can be a daunting task. Deciding in high school whether you're a jock or a preppie, stoner or hipster, punk or a nerd, isn't the half of it. Those are mainly decisions about fashion. What I'm talking about is the search of a lifetime. The climb up the mountain to ask the guru,
"Hi, who am I?"
But I think that might be the problem. We are always asking someone else, who we are. When you are formulating your persona, you aren't doing it in an introspective way. You're distilling all the personalities you've witnessed up until that time, and trying to form some kind of composite person, using only the most successful parts of those you've known before. And let me assure you, no matter who you are, you are not made up of wholly successful parts of anything. And thank God that you're not. What kind of robotic, unsympathetic alien would you have to be, to be perfect? All the people I love the most are not even close to being perfect, and sometimes their imperfections are what I love most about them.
This doesn't mean to be true to yourself is to have license to phone life in. Being yourself doesn't mean trying less, it means trying harder. Don't say what they want you to say, say what you feel is right. Don't look in the mirror and ask what others are going to see, ask what you see, and does it fit with how you feel.
Ultimately, being your true self is going to disappoint some people. Alright it's going to disappoint a lot of people, but it will make a few important people really happy; and you will be one of them.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
"Herman's Shame and the Rise of a Newt Star"
As I watch in amazement at the agility of Herman Cain to lie in a coffin of his own making, whilst nailing himself inside; I realize that this man is successful. The definition of success being subjective, he is still by any one's measure, a success.
He received a Bachelor of Science in mathematics at Morehouse College and a Master's in computer science from Purdue. He worked as a civilian contractor to the United States Navy working on ballistic mathematics. He rose through the ranks at top companies like Coca Cola and Pillsbury, and in true white collar form, gained control of Godfather's Pizza in a leveraged buyout from the latter. This, is a successful guy.
So how is it that he is so irretrievably stupid? Let's forget the gaffs for a minute. Let's forget that this man alluded to the fact that he thought foreign policy was superfluous. That nobody knew who the President of Uzbekibekibekistan was. Or cared. (It's Islam Karimov btw.) He took his domestic policy from a computer game and said that life began at conception but ultimately, was a woman's choice. His lack of knowledge on world affairs is scary, and he gets a bit Romney on where he stands on the issues.
But aside from all of that, this guy couldn't figure out that all the womanizing and philandering would come back to haunt him?!? That's just dumb, and I'm sorry, but if you can't see that coming down the pike, then I don't want you at the helm of the free world.
And all this assumes he was ever a legitimate candidate! Was anyone else waiting for the punchline when he was ascending in the polls? I guess I've always dreamed of somebody hijacking the Republican Party and running it into the ground; I just never dreamed it would be them.
I know some Republicans. Some of my best friends are Republicans. Not really, but I assume they can't all be morons, and so this kind of stuff must drive them berserk. Just imagine you're some nice unassuming rich guy, trying to enjoy this great country that has been handcrafted for you, and here comes Herman Cain; puttin' on your team's jersey and talking all loud and stupid at the bar. You know he's going to get into a fight, and you're gonna end up havin' to fight too. Damnit! It gets you so frustrated that you end up going home with someone like Newt Gingrich. Or, 'My Little Newtsie' as his third wife likes to call him.
And so, the dance goes on, just you and Newt twirling around in Herman's head, with Mitt, endlessly trying to cut in, and poor little Jonny Huntsman pouting in the corner, ever the wallflower. It's sad really, I almost feel bad for them. I'll try not to laugh maniacally when whomever they pick, is slaughtered in the general debates by the Harvard trained Barack Hussein Obama.
He received a Bachelor of Science in mathematics at Morehouse College and a Master's in computer science from Purdue. He worked as a civilian contractor to the United States Navy working on ballistic mathematics. He rose through the ranks at top companies like Coca Cola and Pillsbury, and in true white collar form, gained control of Godfather's Pizza in a leveraged buyout from the latter. This, is a successful guy.
So how is it that he is so irretrievably stupid? Let's forget the gaffs for a minute. Let's forget that this man alluded to the fact that he thought foreign policy was superfluous. That nobody knew who the President of Uzbekibekibekistan was. Or cared. (It's Islam Karimov btw.) He took his domestic policy from a computer game and said that life began at conception but ultimately, was a woman's choice. His lack of knowledge on world affairs is scary, and he gets a bit Romney on where he stands on the issues.
But aside from all of that, this guy couldn't figure out that all the womanizing and philandering would come back to haunt him?!? That's just dumb, and I'm sorry, but if you can't see that coming down the pike, then I don't want you at the helm of the free world.
And all this assumes he was ever a legitimate candidate! Was anyone else waiting for the punchline when he was ascending in the polls? I guess I've always dreamed of somebody hijacking the Republican Party and running it into the ground; I just never dreamed it would be them.
I know some Republicans. Some of my best friends are Republicans. Not really, but I assume they can't all be morons, and so this kind of stuff must drive them berserk. Just imagine you're some nice unassuming rich guy, trying to enjoy this great country that has been handcrafted for you, and here comes Herman Cain; puttin' on your team's jersey and talking all loud and stupid at the bar. You know he's going to get into a fight, and you're gonna end up havin' to fight too. Damnit! It gets you so frustrated that you end up going home with someone like Newt Gingrich. Or, 'My Little Newtsie' as his third wife likes to call him.
And so, the dance goes on, just you and Newt twirling around in Herman's head, with Mitt, endlessly trying to cut in, and poor little Jonny Huntsman pouting in the corner, ever the wallflower. It's sad really, I almost feel bad for them. I'll try not to laugh maniacally when whomever they pick, is slaughtered in the general debates by the Harvard trained Barack Hussein Obama.
Friday, November 11, 2011
"Bird Eating Day"
Pumpkins with their faces, falling in from rot. I know that feeling. The day of the bird is quick on the approach.
I like Thanksgiving. It has all the things a holiday should have, and almost nothing it shouldn't.
Food is awesome and this holiday is all about it. Nothing but gorging one's self, and lolling about. Perfect. Let's talk turkey. Seriously, turkey is fucken amazing. Personally, I enjoy the entire bird, from the giblets, to the dark meat, all the way to boiling the carcass into soup, there's no part of that bird that doesn't make me happy.
I watched my grandfather, as a boy, painstakingly craft holiday birds into art. The neck, heart, liver and gizzards would be removed and boiled in salt water with a little seasoning, celery and onion. Just the broth from this giblet soup was so tasty, it hurt Mr. Campbell's feelings. Next, the bird was cleaned and patted dry, rubbed with olive oil, and seasoned inside and out. He would tuck and tie the legs, and place it breast side down, so the juices flowed to the white meat.( If ya know what I mean.) Sorry. He didn't use bags back in those days, he would just 'tent' the bird with foil, removing it just prior, so as to let the skin brown. I remember everyone trying to get at the newly golden skin to taste it, and my grandmother shooing us away to let him carve, only to steal a piece herself. Grandpa would cut and serve the breast in the beginning of the meal. I say beginning because this one meal would drag on throughout the day, adding turkey sandwiches to football games and beer. The family would pick at the remains for a day or two, squeezing out as many lunches as the bird would provide, until giving it's life once more, through the creation of turkey noodle soup.
This is to say nothing of the myriad side dishes and desserts that surrounded the house during these times. One of which, a certain green jello mold thing, with cottage cheese and walnuts, that my mother still makes to this day and swears we all loved, although I have no memory of anyone ever eating it.
I love you Thanksgiving. I miss you Grandpa.
I like Thanksgiving. It has all the things a holiday should have, and almost nothing it shouldn't.
Food is awesome and this holiday is all about it. Nothing but gorging one's self, and lolling about. Perfect. Let's talk turkey. Seriously, turkey is fucken amazing. Personally, I enjoy the entire bird, from the giblets, to the dark meat, all the way to boiling the carcass into soup, there's no part of that bird that doesn't make me happy.
I watched my grandfather, as a boy, painstakingly craft holiday birds into art. The neck, heart, liver and gizzards would be removed and boiled in salt water with a little seasoning, celery and onion. Just the broth from this giblet soup was so tasty, it hurt Mr. Campbell's feelings. Next, the bird was cleaned and patted dry, rubbed with olive oil, and seasoned inside and out. He would tuck and tie the legs, and place it breast side down, so the juices flowed to the white meat.( If ya know what I mean.) Sorry. He didn't use bags back in those days, he would just 'tent' the bird with foil, removing it just prior, so as to let the skin brown. I remember everyone trying to get at the newly golden skin to taste it, and my grandmother shooing us away to let him carve, only to steal a piece herself. Grandpa would cut and serve the breast in the beginning of the meal. I say beginning because this one meal would drag on throughout the day, adding turkey sandwiches to football games and beer. The family would pick at the remains for a day or two, squeezing out as many lunches as the bird would provide, until giving it's life once more, through the creation of turkey noodle soup.
This is to say nothing of the myriad side dishes and desserts that surrounded the house during these times. One of which, a certain green jello mold thing, with cottage cheese and walnuts, that my mother still makes to this day and swears we all loved, although I have no memory of anyone ever eating it.
I love you Thanksgiving. I miss you Grandpa.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Thursday, November 3, 2011
"People Watching"
This is from Firmley Shakewell's blog, 'Man on the Clapham Omnibus' firmleyshakewell.blogspot.com
Wow, what an incredible week. I don't usually let the rigors of everyday life get to me, but this week has been an exception. My only solace has been watching the dregs of society on the bus, and thanking the good Lord that there are always those worse off than you. What follows is a short compendium of my last three or four travels via the King County Metro System.
1. 'Mentally Challenged Asian Grocery Worker'
I can only assume from the way he was dressed, and the fact that grocery stores often do employ the handicapped, that this is where he worked. To be fair, he may not have been truly mentally handicapped, but if not, he was damn close. What he absolutely was, was socially challenged, although this did not stop his gregarious nature in the slightest.
He entered the bus and sat down in the sideways facing handicapped seats - this is not what made me think he was different, plenty of regular folks sit in those seats - but it was rather his immediate turn and launch into conversation with the couple (in costume) that were sitting in the first seats next to him. The man was dressed in white face make-up, a gray wig, and a cowboy hat.
"Oh, Beetlejuice! I haven't seen anyone dressed as Beetlejuice for years, mostly now all you see are slutty nurses, or maybe witches, but all the girls like to dress sexy at Halloween, I don't know why they all want to dress sexy, I'm in my work clothes right now because my company is so busy at Halloween and they need me to work a lot, but I can't get my work clothes dirty because then I would have to clean them and dry cleaning is so expensive and you have to go and pick it up and that can be hard when you take the bus, I see a lot of zombies too, not really sexy zombies, but a lot of different kinds of zombies, bloody zombies, scary zombies, boy zombies, girl zombies, funny zombies, coconut zombies, barbecue shrimp, shrimp stew..."
The couple was in obvious shock at their good fortune of seating choice, but was absolutely polite throughout, with the gentleman throwing out a few, 'yeahs' and 'uh-huhs' while the steady stream of conscience poured from without this chatty bag-boy.
"I'm going to have a really great costume this year and it's going to be really awesome, but I can't party real hard 'cause I have to be the designated driver for all my friends so I can drive them around to all the really awesome parties that we are going to go to and..."
'Ding' Stop requested. Couple exits bus, for all I know, miles before their street. I can't blame them.
2. 'Birthday Girl'
Entering the bus, to the driver:
"It's my birthday today!"
"That's great, can you step behind the line please?"
"Oh, yeah." She sits down and turns to the gentleman seated next to her.
"It's my birthday." Smiles.
"Can you give me twenty five cents?"
"Sure, here."
"Oh, thank you, now I have just enough for my groceries." A woman enters with two young girls in tow and sits across from Birthday Girl.
"It's my birthday today, I'm thirty nine."
"Oh," she said, a little startled, "that's nice."
"Can you give me two dollars?"
"Uh...I don't have two dollars." At this point, I've put two and two together and figured out that it probably isn't her birthday. Not to be deterred.
"I just got back from my aunt's house. She took me to Sizzler's and bought me dinner. Tomorrow my mom is coming over and she is going to buy me lunch and give me a present too."
'Ding' Stop requested. Mother and daughters exit bus.
A few stops later, a young twenty something guy and his friend get up to leave and as they're walking by the Birthday Girl, he says,
"Hey, you dropped a dollar." She didn't, but this prompts her to call after him.
"What? Did he say I dropped a dollar? Where? Do you see a dollar? Is it on the floor? Excuse me, sir, is there a dollar somewhere on the floor underneath my seat?" After an extensive search, she concludes that he was just teasing her and wonders aloud why on Earth he would do such a mean spirited thing on, of all days, her birthday.
3. 'Eskihobos'
I wish I could properly paint a picture of these two bleary-eyed transients, that would explain them in all their disheveled glory, but I fear that I am nowhere near the wordsmith necessary to convey the alcohol soaked, concert T-shirted, backpacked awesomeness that was, 'Eskihobos'.
As they entered the bus they were already deep in conversation about two of their cohorts that they had apparently just left.
"Yeah, when I knocked on the door I could hear some rustling and one of them shushed the other one, but after that, they were quiet."
"They had probably just taken their hit."
"Yeah, when they came out their eyes were so big they looked like two owls in the dark." After some discussion about their friends' crack cocaine usage and whether another acquaintance, 'Benny' had scored some heroin that morning, they began to wonder at the amount of money their friends might have left over from their assistance check, after said drug purchases.
"They prolly still have a twenty left."
"Man, that's two fifths of vodka right there!" Obvious connoisseurs of fine spirits.
'Ding' stop requested.
Wow, what an incredible week. I don't usually let the rigors of everyday life get to me, but this week has been an exception. My only solace has been watching the dregs of society on the bus, and thanking the good Lord that there are always those worse off than you. What follows is a short compendium of my last three or four travels via the King County Metro System.
1. 'Mentally Challenged Asian Grocery Worker'
I can only assume from the way he was dressed, and the fact that grocery stores often do employ the handicapped, that this is where he worked. To be fair, he may not have been truly mentally handicapped, but if not, he was damn close. What he absolutely was, was socially challenged, although this did not stop his gregarious nature in the slightest.
He entered the bus and sat down in the sideways facing handicapped seats - this is not what made me think he was different, plenty of regular folks sit in those seats - but it was rather his immediate turn and launch into conversation with the couple (in costume) that were sitting in the first seats next to him. The man was dressed in white face make-up, a gray wig, and a cowboy hat.
"Oh, Beetlejuice! I haven't seen anyone dressed as Beetlejuice for years, mostly now all you see are slutty nurses, or maybe witches, but all the girls like to dress sexy at Halloween, I don't know why they all want to dress sexy, I'm in my work clothes right now because my company is so busy at Halloween and they need me to work a lot, but I can't get my work clothes dirty because then I would have to clean them and dry cleaning is so expensive and you have to go and pick it up and that can be hard when you take the bus, I see a lot of zombies too, not really sexy zombies, but a lot of different kinds of zombies, bloody zombies, scary zombies, boy zombies, girl zombies, funny zombies, coconut zombies, barbecue shrimp, shrimp stew..."
The couple was in obvious shock at their good fortune of seating choice, but was absolutely polite throughout, with the gentleman throwing out a few, 'yeahs' and 'uh-huhs' while the steady stream of conscience poured from without this chatty bag-boy.
"I'm going to have a really great costume this year and it's going to be really awesome, but I can't party real hard 'cause I have to be the designated driver for all my friends so I can drive them around to all the really awesome parties that we are going to go to and..."
'Ding' Stop requested. Couple exits bus, for all I know, miles before their street. I can't blame them.
2. 'Birthday Girl'
Entering the bus, to the driver:
"It's my birthday today!"
"That's great, can you step behind the line please?"
"Oh, yeah." She sits down and turns to the gentleman seated next to her.
"It's my birthday." Smiles.
"Can you give me twenty five cents?"
"Sure, here."
"Oh, thank you, now I have just enough for my groceries." A woman enters with two young girls in tow and sits across from Birthday Girl.
"It's my birthday today, I'm thirty nine."
"Oh," she said, a little startled, "that's nice."
"Can you give me two dollars?"
"Uh...I don't have two dollars." At this point, I've put two and two together and figured out that it probably isn't her birthday. Not to be deterred.
"I just got back from my aunt's house. She took me to Sizzler's and bought me dinner. Tomorrow my mom is coming over and she is going to buy me lunch and give me a present too."
'Ding' Stop requested. Mother and daughters exit bus.
A few stops later, a young twenty something guy and his friend get up to leave and as they're walking by the Birthday Girl, he says,
"Hey, you dropped a dollar." She didn't, but this prompts her to call after him.
"What? Did he say I dropped a dollar? Where? Do you see a dollar? Is it on the floor? Excuse me, sir, is there a dollar somewhere on the floor underneath my seat?" After an extensive search, she concludes that he was just teasing her and wonders aloud why on Earth he would do such a mean spirited thing on, of all days, her birthday.
3. 'Eskihobos'
I wish I could properly paint a picture of these two bleary-eyed transients, that would explain them in all their disheveled glory, but I fear that I am nowhere near the wordsmith necessary to convey the alcohol soaked, concert T-shirted, backpacked awesomeness that was, 'Eskihobos'.
As they entered the bus they were already deep in conversation about two of their cohorts that they had apparently just left.
"Yeah, when I knocked on the door I could hear some rustling and one of them shushed the other one, but after that, they were quiet."
"They had probably just taken their hit."
"Yeah, when they came out their eyes were so big they looked like two owls in the dark." After some discussion about their friends' crack cocaine usage and whether another acquaintance, 'Benny' had scored some heroin that morning, they began to wonder at the amount of money their friends might have left over from their assistance check, after said drug purchases.
"They prolly still have a twenty left."
"Man, that's two fifths of vodka right there!" Obvious connoisseurs of fine spirits.
'Ding' stop requested.
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