SONG FOR THE DAY

MEMORIES: BLUE CAMARO

No, I never owned a blue camaro, or any camaro for that matter. Nor would I ever own a camaro. But I was talking (chatting on FB, nobody talks anymore, talking is so five minutes ago), talking with an old friend lastnight, she was a high school girlfriend. And no, this is nothing sinister or anything. We got caught up a few years ago on some group email and we've stayed in touch, vaguely. That is to say that i talked to her on the phone about 3 years ago, just the one time, and we've exchanged some emails every couple of months. She's happily married for a long time now, and she actually helped me rent my old house, since that's the sort of world she works in...rental property. Anyhow, i was on FB snooping at someone's pictures. SIDEBAR-- Ok, I criticize Facebook all the time. I do. But I look at it every night. It's fascinating to see names and then pictures of people i haven't seen nor heard about in 20 years or more. I've never typed a word into FB, just put pics of my girls and looked at other people's pics. It's like an addiction. Some people play games or poker, and hey thats cool. And Kelli, thats her name, Kelli says its relaxing after a long day at the office to come home and "grease some mobsters" on Mafia Wars. Hey man, i dig it. Not going to criticize that. But I find it interesting that some people need to write the stupidest, most mundane details about their life, or their day and push it out to all the people that are their "Friends". Who cares if you're having a good day, or your going shopping? Not me...shut the hell up. But anyhoo, i digress.

So in chatting with Kelli, we remembered a time when i got beat up by some assholes in a blue camaro, in my own front yard. Here's the breakdown... Kelli was driving us because she had a corvette, and all corvette people must drive wherever they go, it's a rule or something in the "Corvette People Handbook". It actually is a rule, I've read it. So there we were, she driving me home, and I couldn't remember where we had been, she thinks it was a party, but who knows, and more importantly..irrelevent. So this group of guys in the blue camaro are like driving up on her side and ogling her, she's oblivioius as all hot chicks should be, which i find refreshing. So then, they pull up on my side and they're giving me the badass "what the hell are you doing with her" looks. and I don't know what to do, our windows are up, so I just sort of gesture, like I'm with her, you're not. I raised my hands up and and kind of presented her, as if to say "Look, she's here with me". And the light turned green and we went straight and they turned right. But then they circled around and caught up to us. We said our goodnights in my parents driveway, kissed and I hopped out of the car. The driver of the blue camaro stopped in the street. He rolled down his window and asked why i flipped them off. I started walking toward the street saying "I didn't flip you off" at the same time putting my pack of cigarettes into my back pocket. I heard a voice from the back seat say "he's got a knife" and I quickly held up my smokes to show them, but it was too late. All four jumped out of the car in a flash and at first I thought I could out run them, but I was a little drunk I guess and they were close, and they'd had the jump on me, I was more shocked than anything. One had an aluminum baseball bat, one had brass knuckles and the other two I never saw if they had anything. I made it to my neighbors yard before the bat hit me in the ribs, and down I went. I immediatley curled into a ball and tried to protect my head from getting bashed in. Kelli stayed in the car blowing her horn. They kicked me a little, punched me a little and hit me with the bat one more time. And then they started to go away. It was all over in about a minute.

As they were walking away, I heard one of them say "that's how you jump somebody!" and I immediately said "There's fucking FOUR of you!" and they just drove away. Kelli got out and we went into my parents house and called the cops. The cops came and filled out a report and we never heard another thing about it. Assholes.

And so that's the story of me getting jumped in my driveway. But in our chat last night, Kelli said the strangest thing. She said that she still has nightmares about that night. I was kind of surprised that she said that. I even asked her "still?" and she said yes. It's kind of sweet in a way, no? I don't have nightmares about it, and I don't think I ever really did. But maybe it was more scarring for her watching it than it was for me actually going through it. When it was over, it was over. I survived but maybe she had that feeling of helplessness, of not being able to stop something that was happening in front of her eyes. I agree that that is a terrible feeling.

I don't know how Kelli really "is" these days. She seems to have a good life, and I hope she does. Her kids seem well, and her marriage seems strong. But I realize that each of us has our own struggles, our own demons, our own things that wake us up in the middle of the night. I cared for her a million years ago, and I still do actually, but not in the way that I did back then. I care for her soul, for her well being, for her peace. There's been alot of shit that we've had to deal with in the the twenty years or so since we were boyfriend and girlfriend. The world is a funny place. The world is a strange place. Life is hard, no matter how things appear on the outside. We all have those demons and we all have our own ways of dealing with them. And what I've realized through our chat, and through this memory of the guys in the blue camaro is that memories are who we are, not just who we were or what we did. They are the things that make us, that create us, that bind our physical and mental worlds so that we can build upon those things. And in the end, that's who we are. We are the sum total of all of our parts. And even though there've been plenty of terrible things in my life, in Kelli's life, in you dear reader's life, we should always try to remember the things that stand out, to make them worth the pain and the suffering. Me getting jumped in my front yard was not that big a deal to me, but seems as though it was a bigger deal to Kelli. It's funny how the same incident between two people manifests itself so differently in each of our minds.

Today, I like the story of me getting jumped by those assholes in the blue camaro. I like that I survived, I like that I feel stronger knowing that I survived. I like that it is a part of me. And knowing that it's part of my past, realizing that it has affected me in life, which means that it's a part of my future too. I hope Kelli never has another nightmare on account of me. But if she does, if you do Kelli, know I'm just fine. I survived that night, we survived. They could've killed me, and you too. But they didn't and we're stronger because of it.

Have I mentioned that I'd never own a camaro? Those guys were cheesy, trashy, camaro driving hoods. They're probably dead or in jail. I hope that that night affected them too. But since I feel superior to them, I actually can't believe it did much for them. Anyhow, I don't wish them ill, I'm just glad they didn't finish the job on me or Kelli that night. Assholes.

SONG FOR THE DAY

IRON MAN 2

I loved Iron Man, and I swear I love Iron Man 2 sight unseen. It looks really cool. If you want a sneak peak, here you go.

CHARLIE THE WEEPING WILLOW

I remember as a kid, we lived in a pink house. It was the first house I ever lived in. In the 70's, pink houses were not that uncommon. I suppose it wasn't called pink, but maybe it was called Salmon. But either way, it was my first house. It had 3 bedrooms, I shared a bedroom with my brother, we had a trundle bed. Amy had her own room and Mom and Dad had the other. It was a small house, but to this day, I think it was a cool house. The back windows had those louvered windows that you cranked open and the deck over looking the back yard was actually positioned over the patio because downstairs was a walkout. I hardly remember the kitchen but I remember the basement. The basement was one of those that probably only kids can appreciate to it's maximum potential. It was a finished basement, probably though, you'd call it mostly finished. The laundry room was down there, and the storage area was down there, and there was one room that was finished, I think we used it as storage, and then there was sort of an all purpose room. I remember wood paneling and 70's type decor. The walkout to the patio was so cool as a kid. My Pop had setup a small above ground swimming pool on the patio. In those days, they weren't blowup pools, they had aluminum sides and liners and a ladder to climb into it. I used to stand on the deck above it and dream about jumping into the pool below. I think my brother actually did it a few times, but he was 4 years older, and definitely was crazy. But I never did it. The backyard was all hill. I remember it as long, and steep and being great for sledding. It was a terrific hill. And my dog Duffy loved to run the hill by the fence. His doghouse was on the side of the hill on a flat spot, and I can remember my Pop using actual roofing shingles to redo his roof on that doghouse. I also remember it getting painted every year. Nowadays, you go to Wal-Mart and buy a doghouse I guess. But that was Duffy's home, and my home. I remember one time we came home from church and an opossum had gotten into our garage. I thought it was a baby elephant and thought we should keep it. My Pop ran it off with a spade. That house was the first place I ever called home. I really loved that house. But when my little sister Abby came along, it proved itself to be just too damn small for a family of six, so we moved a few miles away to a bigger, better house.

And that next house was the house that I lived in through high school My parents added on to the back of the new house a few years later, and it became a terrific place to live too. But I'll always remember my first home.

Today, I had a little time to spare on my way to my Mom's condo, and I decided that since I was already in Hamilton, I would go check out the old neighborhood, the one I moved away from in Kindergarten. So the old house was there, it was a little more run down than I would have liked to have seen it, as was the neighborhood itself. But time takes it's toll on everything. The house,which I hadn't seen in years, looked old. There was a FOR SALE sign in the front yard, and too many cars and trucks in the driveway. The trees were overgrown and the roof needs to be replaced. But hey, it's still standing. I drove around the circular street and saw that behind our friends house about eight or ten houses away, they had developed that area and built new houses there. Me and my Pop had buried my cat Billy Bong back there when I was five years old. Ol' Billy Bong had surely been bull dozed years ago. And I started remembering the names of some of the neighbors there, from way back when. And I decided to drive one street over, behind the old house to see the view from there. And I saw it. They'd replaced those old louvered windows with typical storm type windows, and the backyard was much smaller than I remembered it. There was still a swing set at the bottom of the hill where ours had been thirty some years ago. But as I sat there, thinking about the times we'd sledded down that hill, and swam in our goofy little pool on our patio, I realized that something wasn't the way it should be. And then it hit me. Our neighbor, on the swing set side, had had a tree...a Weeping Willow, that hung onto our property, over the fence and we used to dance and play under it. We called the tree Charlie. Not sure who named it or why we named it or why we named it Charlie. But Charlie was the Weeping Willow that lived in our neighbor, Stanley Dezarn's yard. That tree, as I remember it, was huge. And it's branches spanned from the sky to the ground below. It was an amazing tree. I remember my Pop remembering that tree, and that we'd named it Charlie, decades later. Poor Charlie is no more. I guess that's the way things go. Charlie lived a good life I'm sure. What Weeping Willow doesn't have a good life?

And so I've been thinking about the old house and Charlie all day now. But what's really sticking in my head is this: Why would we name a tree? Why do kids do things like that? Why to I remember that some thirty five years later? I love that we did that. I love that we named it. That's part of being a kid isn't it. Charlie was part of the kid-universe that was my backyard. Charlie had a role in my life. Charlie was a tree. Charlie was a huge, magnificent tree. And I remember that tree, thirty five years later. How many trees do we name? How often in life do we take an inanimate object and make it a part of our personal history? When my sister Amy reads this, she'll smile and think I'm crazy, but she'll remember Charlie too. I told you earlier that I don't really remember the kitchen in that house, but I do remember the tree in our neighbors yard. How interesting. I think maybe we all need pieces of our life to resonate like Charlie does for me. Charlie was there for years prior to my existence and he was there for years after. He may have outlived ol' Stanley Dezarn but he didn't outlive me. That's a good thing because now i'm here telling you, my faithful reader about him. Charlie was a good tree. I miss him now that I'm thinking about him. He's kind of like Mr Snuffleupaguss on Sesame Street, no? So one of my best friends till I moved out of Southern Hills was a tree. A huge, beautiful, mature tree. And his name was Charlie the Weeping Willow.

SONG FOR THE DAY

SONG FOR THE DAY

STRAWBERRY FIELDS

On Tuesday, it will mark the 29^th anniversary of John Lennon’s murder. Twenty nine years man. That’s a long time in life, but I guess in death that’s really just a drop in the bucket. But murder is murder, and two of the other three Beatles that didn’t get shot that December day in 1980, are still alive. So it’s not really a stretch to think that Lennon would still be alive and still be vital in the world today, had he not been killed that night. I grew up listening to the Beatles and to Lennon and McCartney solo music. My sister Amy had gotten into their music before I did and she turned me and my younger sister Abby on to it. And I so loved it and continue to love it today. The Beatles were such a simple plan…they had great words and perfect harmonies. They had mass appeal and everyone loved them in their time. And people love them to this day. It’s not surprising that the Beatles broke up, I mean, people change, people grow, bands breakup. But the most surprising thing about the Beatles is how all their music seems timeless and relevant to any era. Who would’ve thought that something as simple as I Wanna Hold Your Hand would be known to teenagers of 2009? It’s really remarkable the longevity. And even more remarkable is the idea that the Beatle’s music has made yet another comeback with the Beatles Guitar Hero stuff. Personally, I don’t get those games at all, but I do get that kids love that stuff. I loved Frogger and Ms Pac Man. So I believe that the Beatle’s will be relevant for a long time to come, possibly forever.

The past few times I’ve been to New York City, I made sure to go past the Dakota where Lennon lived with Yoko Ono. Lennon was shot outside that building on that December night in 1980. The building is right next to Central Park, right off of Central Park West where W 72^nd Street collides with it. Great neighborhood, excellent surroundings, great building. Just across the street from the Dakota, is the part of Central Park called Strawberry Fields, where you’ll find a stone and tile mosaic laid into the ground with the word IMAGINE set into the middle of it. This is where New York memorialized Lennon forever. The first time I can remember coming upon it, I was walking up through the park, and I was actually surprised when we got there. And so we stuck around for a little while, not sure why. It’s sort of like being in a cemetery, where you know lot’s of emotions have poured through the air over the years. There’ve been countless tears cried there, and songs sung and hummed and millions of strangers left that little area of the park thinking about the Beatles and about Lennon, trying to remember all the things that they can about Lennon’s assassination. After a few minutes standing there, it got to me too. I remember my breathe feeling heavy and my eyelids feeling like they were having a tough time holding in what they were supposed to be holding in. And I started to think about the assassination itself. And I kept thinking of those Newsreels that we saw where everyone was congregating outside the building, holding candles, singing and crying for John Lennon. People held signs that night and the next night, and burned more candles and held up pictures of John. Standing there, maybe ten years later, in Strawberry Fields, looking down at one of my favorite words in the world, IMAGINE became etched in my brain forever. I mean, I really don’t remember my wedding or my wedding reception, but I remember Strawberry Fields.

John Lennon was a singer, songwriter, visual artist, peace activist, a father and a son. On that dark day in December of 1980, he was shot in the back, four times, by some crazy dude for whatever reason. Lennon was known to be a darkly funny man, with and imagination that is rivaled by only the great poets and philosophers. He was a true Renaissance Man with an insight into his own life that was as original and refreshing as can be imagined, far more than most men of his time. He was part of one of the greatest Rock & Roll groups of all time and was a trailblazer for musicians and artists everywhere across the globe for decades and decades and decades. His words have been memorized and immortalized by children and adults on every continent of this world and will continue to be important to pop culture and to humanity forever. This was a man who stood for peace, love and original thought. He was a man that believed that his words, his thoughts, his actions were important, and that those things could be the catalyst for imagination and serenity for all those that listened to his music, read his words, experienced his art. His children are gifted artists, who will never have the chance to grow old with their father because that dumbass shot him as he was walking into his home.

I never met John Lennon, hell I was ten when he died. I’ve watched countless movies and interviews and back stage type videos of him with or without the Beatles, and I’ve decided that if ever I were to have met him, I probably wouldn’t have liked him, as a guy. He kind of grates on me. But as an artist, as a musician, as a free-thinker, I love the guy. I will always love his music, always love his art, always love his world citizenry. He lived the life that he wanted and I’d bet that if he been given the chance, he wouldn’t change too many things about his shortened life.

Strawberry Fields recognizes and memorializes his life’s work and accomplishments. He was a peaceful man, who in a time of great change and shifting morality saw his way through life, and followed his inner compass to a level of achievement that most of us cannot even begin to conceptualize. He was a star of unequaled greatness and now, twenty-nine years after his death, he is still missed greatly by millions upon millions across the world. Standing at the Imagine mosaic, in the midst of Strawberry Fields, in sight of where Lennon lived and also where he died violently, the emotions that you have about him, the Beatles and about the songs that have been part of your life, come to the surface, and it’s a very powerful moment. Music does that to me in general, but that day, there in the park, was a very powerful, moving, spiritual moment. A moment, that at the time, I didn’t fully comprehend and couldn’t really express in words. I’ve been there three times at least, I think a few more times than that. I’m going back the next time I’m in New York for sure. It’s really a must see, and an experience that should be had by all. We lost John Lennon 29 years ago, but he’ll never be forgotten. Live Big and Imagine.

SONG FOR THE DAY

SONG FOR THE DAY

SONG FOR THE DAY

ONE OF THOSE MOMENTS

You ever have one of those moments where, by the Grace of God, you found yourself very lucky? Or maybe something just worked out for you because of some tiny slight of hands by luck, or by the gods, or by fate? Here's an example: Yesterday I had gotten back from the store, and had some bags in my hand, coming in through the garage, and I stopped at the fridge in the garage to put a few things in there before coming inside with the rest of my things. I was bent over at the knees and waist and in my right hand I still had a few Kroger bags. I was using my left hand to put the bottles on the shelves. And just as I stood up, my new Blackberry slipped out of my jacket pocket and right into one of the bags still in my hand. If the bags hadn't caught the phone, it would've hit the garage floor and shattered into a million tiny pieces. But I lucked out, and it landed in a soft, cozy bag containing shrimp and butter. So by the Grace of God, my phone survived. Seems sort of insignificant huh? We'll see. Now then. Since fate, and luck and predestination and matters of the like are some of my favorite topics, I'll say right here that I do believe in luck, both good and bad. Some things happen for a reason and some don't have any reason at all. I'm not here to explain luck. I take my luck any way I can get it, and I never bite the hand that feeds me. And when bad luck happens to me, I try not to ask why, because when good luck happens, I never ask why and to question only the bad and not the good seems a bit self centered and narcissitic. I have been known to say "I believe we create our own luck" in some overly confident scenarios, but that's not really luck, rather just a cute saying. Wikipedia defines LUCK as this:

Luck or fortuity is a belief in good or bad fortune in life caused by accident or chance which happens beyond a person's control.^[1][2][3] Luck is significant in everyday life,^[4][5] as well as Morality,^[6] Epistemology,^[7][8] Business^[9][10] and other endeavors.

Luck is pervasive in common speech.^[11] Typical use includes "Good Luck!" to wish a blessing on someone, or describing a misfortune, as in "it was just bad luck." There are many expressions and quotes about Luck.^[12][13]

Cultural views of Luck vary from faith to superstition. For example, the Romans believed in the embodiment of Luck as the Goddess Fortuna,^[14] while the atheist Daniel Dennett believes that "luck is mere luck" rather than a property of a person or thing.^[15]

So, I'll take the luck, both good and bad. Good fortune, bad luck, it's all the same. Maybe they're all just accidents that either happened or didn't happen.

A month or two ago, I had just dropped off Sarah at the sitter, when I came to a stop sign, and i was fiddling with my GPS and I just went ahead and pulled through the intersection, slowly. But my mind was on the GPS and not on the road, and just as I got through the intersection, a pickup truck flew past me, waaaay too close. If I had been paying attention at all, I would never have pulled out into that intersection. My spidey senses were not working and it almost cost me dearly. I guess thats good luck.

One time when I was coming home from a party in Oxford, I was riding with my buddy Mark Smith. Smitty was known for his big black Trans Am, and he loved to drive fast. We were on a country road and we were going about 130 mph. It was on a long stretch of highway and it was about 1:30 in the morning. We had Guns N Roses blaring at full blast when some guy decided to pull out of his driveway about a quarter mile ahead of us. I felt the car slow rapidly, but i saw it wasn't going to be in time. Just as I noticed this, we the car started turning to the left, but was still sliding forward. When the speed came down a little, and Mark eased up on the brake, we shot off the road at about a hundred miles an hour, down an embankment about 6 feet, and slid sideways for a hundred feet before coming to a full rest in the middle of a cornfield. the car had spun around once or twice but never flipped, never rolled, never impacted any stationary objects. We were completely unharmed, the car had some busted fenders, but it made it alive too. So, what was that? Good luck? Bad luck? Good fortune resulted from bad luck? or from bad timing?

When I as around ten, my brother had shown me that if you turn a circlular saw upside down, and locked it in the table vice on the work table in the basement, you could use it as a table saw, and slide wood across it. He was much more mechanical than I ever was or ever will be. So I tried to set up the saw when he wasn't around, and somehow I did something wrong, and cut a big gash in my thumb, right through the thumb nail, and the wood shot out of my hands at a million miles per hour and i cut my forearm on the saw. This all happened in about a milisecond. I could've killed myself. I could've died right there. But I didn't.

So, here's where I "think maybe". Maybe life is more about good fortune and bad fortune, more than anyone gives it credit to be so. Maybe life isn't as calculating as we thought it could be. Maybe my life is unlike yours in this capacity. Maybe I have no control, never have. Maybe my existience has just been a continuous bounce from one thing to the next, where things could have gone either way, and for no real rhyme or reason, they outcomes just came as that might. And so twisting through time was I, with no real good luck or bad luck. I picture my life as sort of that cartoon where the guy slips from one cloud, falls to the next cloud, bounces to the next cloud, then lands in a haystack on the ground, then steps in a puddle, and then on a rake which smacks him in the face, and as he stubles, he walks through a stone quarry and gets covered in dust, and while walking out of the dust cloud rubbing his eyes, he misses being hit by a speeding truck my only inches and then takes one more step and slips down through the open manhole cover. That's my life. I think maybe I like it that way. I think at least i keep moving ya know? I think maybe it's better than the guy who doesn't land on a cloud. or maybe more exciting than the guys life that never gets to explore a manhole. maybe more interesting than the guy who never almost gets hit by a truck. I mean, what do those guys have to write about on their blogs? And I also think maybe thats not it at all, but that's ok. It's ok because at least i thought about these things. At best i wrote about these thoughts. And I think maybe I've cause you to think a little after having read all this nonsense. And if I'm the one bumbling through life, time and space, and you're reading about it, what does that make you? Lucky? Unlucky? hmmm. I've always believed that a man makes his own luck....

Good night now.

WINTER IS HERE

Winter is here. Those are three words that really make my stomach turn. But, the reality is that it is cold out there, Christmas is in about a month, and the days of shorts and t-shirts are gone for about five months. Officially winter begins right before Christmas, but for all intents and purposes, winter is here. So we don't go anywhere without putting on a coat, and we don't play basketball out back much, and we don't lay on the couch without a blanket and we don't walk around even inside, without socks on. College basketball is revving up, and college football is getting down to the wire. The NFL is past it's midseason point and the baseball hot stove activity really hasn't started to heat up yet.

Every year, I try and stay positive, and say that I don't mind winter, that I don't mind the snow. But to be honest, I mind it all. Snow is fun for a day or two. Cold isn't fun at all. Frozen, slippery pavement and treacherous driving is awful. Warming up your car every time you leave totally sucks. And sitting in your car while it warms up sucks even worse.

Leaving work at five o'clock, with an overcoat and gloves and scarf and earmuffs, and getting into your frozen car, and driving home in the cold, dark, exhaust ridden night, that has to be one of the most depressing feelings.

So I shall bundle up lest I freeze. I shall trudge through the muck and step over the puddles, and take the kids to play in the snow when it finally arrives. This is what we do. This is life in Ohio. Why didn't I move to Florida when I was young like I said I was going to? I wouldn't be having these thoughts right now. Such is life.

THANKSGIVING SONG

SONG FOR THE DAY

INDIAN STYLE

I can't sit Indian Style. That's the one thing that I physically can't do. Ever since the hip replacement, I don't dare even try it. That's one position I don't think I'll ever try to make my leg go into. It's weird to think of things I'll never ever do again, but that's one of them. It's not a bad trade-off I guess. I get my leg back to how it's supposed to feel (for the most part) as a 39 year old human, but I won't sit Indian Style, probably ever again. Last summer I ran into Holly, my last girlfriend before I got married, and she said she'd run into my Mom, who told her about my hip replacement. She told me that her Dad had his hips replaced, and that he'd popped them out of the socket at some point. I don't want to do that. That could mess up my whole weekend.

But this has gotten me thinking about things i'll never do again. I remember when my Dad was so sick, his physician came to the hospital and told us his body was shutting down. He said he had eaten his last meal, and that he wouldn't get up again. And he didn't do either of those things ever again. I heard him say, "he's eaten his last meal" and the feeling inside me was the worst feeling I've ever felt. Of course when I heard it, I immediately thought that we needed a second opinion, and that Dad would be fine in a few days. Surely this Doc was a quack. But in the end, he was right, and Dad never got another chance to do anything for the last time. I remember that when Dad first got to the assisted living facility, I had lunch at Applebee's and got some chicken noodle soup to go, to bring to him. And when I presented it to him in his room, I said "i brought you some chicken noodle soup, because I thought you could use something other than hospital food". And his response was simply, "you're kidding". And i thought it was a weird response, and I've kept that with me these last five years since he's been gone. I remember wheeling him out of his room, into the big hallway to a kitchen style table, and him sitting there trying to eat the soup. I'm sure he only had a few bites. I'm sure they were good for him. I'm sure he took one or two more bites than he probably could handle, just because I was there with him, watching him, because he wanted to show his gratitude. And when he said he was finished, he fell asleep in the wheelchair at the table, and we wheeled him back to his bed. The orderlees got him back to his bed. That was the last time he ever had chicken noodle soup. The very last time. I feed my girls chicken noodle soup all the time, and every time I get out a Progresso Soup can, I think about my Dad and the last time he ever had Chicken Noodle Soup. I'm glad I served it to him, and I'm glad he ate some, and I'm glad he was coherent enought to enjoy a few bites of it.

But do you ever think about the last time you'll ever do something? My guess is that none of us think of things like that, unless it's due to a hangover or something alcohol related. "Lord, I'll never drink Jagermeister again" or "Lord, I'll never try to beer bong six beers again". I know I'll never sit indian style again. i know I'll never go a full day without thinking about my hip at least a hundred times. i know I'll never get to start a double play from third base, I know I'll never be the starting pitcher in any kind of baseball related game. I know I'll never do any kind of drugs again. But the world is wide open for everything else.

Wide open. Man, dig it. I have a billion and one opportunities to do something for the last time, and I'm not writing any of them off. I can do all of them for the first and last time. I can try, taste, experience, feel anything I want to for the first or last time for as many days as I have left on this green planet. i know i'll hate some things just as I know I'll love some things. But at least i know that I have the opportunity to do most of those things still. And when the i hear the footsteps of the grim reaper, and I know my time has come to leave this earth, I hope there's not too many things that I wish I hadn't done. I know there will be chicken noodle soup for me and for you and for everyone, to taste finally and forever. But I know my Dad was thankful for the soup I brought him that day. And I'm sure that neither he, nor I ever expected that to be his last. So i guess that knowing that i'll never sit Indian Style is just a cautionay tale, one that reminds me that life is about what we make of it, and not what we wish it could've been, or should've been. Because there's all kinds of things that I haven't tried for the first time, and I don't have any of my valuable time left on God's Green Earth to worry about what I've done for the last time. And by the way, knowing that you've done something for the last time doesn't mean that you're short for this world, it's just something that you can cross off your list, in order to get to the next thing in life. It doesn't have to be a bucket list, but rather, maybe just a to do list. So long Indian Style, hello sitting like a grown up.

A FEW THINGS

• The new Bon Jovi album debuted at #1, which makes me smile. I downloaded the album off of Amazon the day it came out for $3.99. It's not bad either. It's better than the last album. I told my sister this and she said something like "well, maybe that says that it's not a very good album". Of course, Abby is wrong here. If you figure you pay anywhere from $1 to $1.39 per song, if you have 3 songs you like on this album, it pays for itself.
  

• Had a funny conversation with Amy today about Facebook. Her ten year old is on Facebook. We were talking about how a ten year old doesn't really have that much interesting stuff to post on Facebook, or anywhere else. And i got to thinking, most of the people that post on FB don't have much to say either. Theres some categories of people on there. There's the "i'll document the most mundane shit in my life" poster. This chick can't bake cookies or go to her kid's swim meet without mentioning it on FB. Then there's "lonely guy from high school trolling peoples pics" hoping to score with anyone. You know him, he pops up wanting to chat with whoever is online. Be careful ladies, he could be a stalker. Then there's "someone told me to get on here and I have no clue what i'm doing" guy. He has one picture of himself in the photos, maybe one of his kid at the beach on vacation. And every day he's typing questions to everyone like "why do all these game scores keep showing up on my wall?" or "Does anyone know how to get a hold of...." or "This facebook stuff is as addictive as crack". That guy eventually goes away. Then there's "Here's all my information because I think everyone needs to know" girl. She has too many pics, too many "at the game with..." entries and too much information. She probably also has too many pictures, too many albums and too much time on her hands. Careful men, she may be a stalker too. My opinion is that FB should just be for pictures and information. Posting how many miles you drove that day or that you wish it was friday is freaking ridiculous. Pick up the phone and call someone, go to the gym or get a dog. Blah blah blah.

• Then there's Abby's birthday yesterday, same day as Sarah's. I haven't gotten her a present yet and I really wish i'd had something for her last night. Although, i did cook her dinner on Saturday and she did drink all my wine. I want to pick her up something cool this weekend in Sedona. Hell, just her knowing that I'm thinking about her should be all the gift she needs. I'm generous. To a fault. I am.
  

• I am so ADHD tonight, i kept walking around my house, from room to room, moving piles of clothes around, trying to put stuff away, trying to pack. It's now 10:30 and the only thing in my suitcase is a book. Man, adult ADHD is a bitch. Maybe I need a beer. MMMMMMMMMMM beer! Good idea.
  

• I already miss baseball. It's gonna be a long winter.

• Mens basketball starts now. I'm rooting for Xavier a lot, Kentucky some and always for Miami U. I love Charlie Coles. This is a clip from his press conference from last night when they lost by two to UK on a buzzer beater. Love this guy!
  

FOURTH BIRTHDAY

Today Sarah, my four year old, celebrated her birthday. Yesterday she was three, today she is four. She's beautiful of course. She's smarter than hell. And she's pretty tolerant. But she has a taste for the hard stuff...Twix, Kit Kat's, M&M's. She only eats when she wants to and mostly is a happy kid. Her older sister could take a few cues from her. But that's another story for another time. Tonight I'm thinking about Birthdays. Sarah had her birthday party tonight, it was only family. And I watched and helped as she tore through her presents. She loved opening the gifts. She loved blowing out her candles. She never once complained or acted like it wasn't enough or like it was too much. And I'd spent the day running around, picking up gifts and spongebob plates and napkins, and generally hoping that she'd have a great birthday. And I tried to remember any of my birthdays as a kid. I don't remember one of them. Not one. This isn't a sad story but I do have some thoughts.

I remember going to birthday parties as a kid. I remember going to my friend Bobby Zellner's birthday party, we must have been around ten. My Dad dropped me off at Bobby's house, I had a great big present in my arms. He honked the horn and drove home. Bobby lived in the same neighborhood as me, so Dad was just driving a couple streets home. And I remember not wearing a coat because we were going roller skating and I didn'tn think I needed the extra baggage of a coat. So I rang the doorbell, and rang it again. And after ringing it about five or six times, I realized that the party wasn't meeting here, we were supposed to go directly to the skating rink. But Dad had already left. And the walk home was in the cold, in the flurries, with me carrying this big present, and with no coat. I remember crying the whole way, cold and getting colder, with my little hands wrapped around this big ol present. I got home and my folks were truly surprised and I stood over one of the registers letting my hands get warmed up after my painful little walk. And eventually my Dad took me over to the skate rink and came in with me to be sure that that's where everyone was. At home I was more than a little pissed and humiliated, but when I got to the rink, and saw all my friends, I was relieved and happy. I'm sure that I worked up a sweat and had a great time. But what a bummer it was to start the party the way I had.

So i guess that the main thing is that everything worked out for me and that party for Bobby. I'm sure that I had a blast and that my parents felt kind of stupid for misreading the invitation. But all's well that ends well.

And so today, when I reflect back on Sarah's fourth birthday party, I know it was a good one. And she'll most likely not remember it. She got some good gifts but nothing bad happened. I expect that she'll have her Nintendo DS for years to come. Why is it that the only things I remember are because something bad happened? Am I the only one that remembers things this way? I mean, I know that I had a party or get-together with family every year. I know that I always got good gifts. I know that I always had good birthdays. But I can't remember a single one of them. I know that this year the day came and went and nobody, not my kids, my estranged wife, or anyone at work even acknowledged it. I didn't get one present and I didn't even get a cake. I hope that I don't remember that next year. This birthday sucked, actually.

But I was glad that Sarah had a smile on her face tonight. I'm glad that she got to hang out with her cousins and grandparents. I'm glad that she had chocolate smeared on her face when i went to kiss her goodnight. I'm glad that we got to play with her new toys tonight. I'm glad that she got to go to sleep smiling, feeling satisfied with her birthday and all the loot that came with it. Most of all, I'm just glad that she's here, happy, warm, safe and healthy. Maybe that's what I got for my birthday, two months ago. Maybe that's all I wanted for me, for her. Next stop...Christmas.

WHO DEY

I listened to the Bengals v Steelers game today while I stained my deck. Wow. What a win. My neighbor (Steeler fan) asked afterwards if I was worried during the game. I said no, i never really thought the Bengals were losing control. And they impressed everyone with that win. And look, I would have watched or listened to every game this year no matter what. But how freaking nice has it been to experience this season? We deserve this. We've earned this. Make us proud Bengal fans. Act like you've been there. Show the love, don't get cocky. Between UC, OSU, and the Bengals, we are in the football capital of the world. Love it. Go Bengals!!!!

I'M BACK

So, I took some time off. I didn't really mean to, but just did. I write this blog mostly for me and a select few, and it's my blog, so if I want to take some time off, i'm gonna do it. But I think about this site all the time. And i always am thinking about writing. I've started and stopped all kinds of things in the past few weeks. But nothing seemed blog-worthy. And i've had a lot on my mind lately. I am officially unemployed, although i still get a check for a little while longer. I have money in the bank so it's not really a sad story. If you know me, you know I absolutely hated my job. So it's a blessing in disguise. I'm going to take some time to figure out my next move. I want to start back to school, and I really should, so that I can receive traing in something that i really want to do. But the only think about school is that I can't work full time, have two kids and go to school. I know I can't. So should I be poor for a few years, and literally start over? Or should I take my time and try to figure out something that really inspires me vocationally? My life is at a crossroads right now. And i'm trying to figure it out. And I will figure it out. So I'm working on that. And I'm working on lot's of things. And I will be here, talking about Nothing In Particular every day that I can. I can't make any promises during vaction, but I am working my way back to being a daily blogger. And now for a peak behind the curtain...it's hard to write every day. It's very hard. And I do have two kids, and being unemployed makes me a full time stay at home dad, and that is a VERY exhausting job. So, if you dear reader, promise to be patient with me, i promise to try and write something for you daily. Live Big. See you tomorrow!

SONG FOR THE DAY

DESERT TRIP

Thursday will be my 8 year old's first plane ride. In fact, she'll get to take two planes on Thursday, because that's the day that she and I go to Phoenix Arizona for a long weekend to see Aunt Amy and all her family. Hannah and I take off for our getaway at about 4:30 and we'll get into Phoenix around 10:30 Arizona time. That's a pretty long day, especially for Hannah because she has to do a half day at school that morning. But it's going to be a blast. I know we're going on a horseback ride through some trails, I know we're going to Sedona to see the Red Rock Christmas Celebration, and I know we're taking a 4 x 4 Jeep ride through the desert. We're staying at a Resort in Sedona where we'll enjoy some good food, good times and get caught up with the Western part of my family. I hope to go to a Phoenix Suns game if Uncle Nick can score some good tickets and I can't wait to see Katie play soccer. We'll get back late Monday night, and so it'll be a whirlwind mini-vacation. But it'll be worth every minute of travel to create some very special memories. I can't wait to see the desert, I can't wait to see my family. I am looking forward to this trip. I might even get to play golf. Maybe I'll even post some pics.

THE SPILLED MILK CONNUNDRUM

Today is Halloween. All Hallows Eve. The night for tricks and treats. The night of trick or treating. The night when all the people in my neighborhood dutifully give to my children, all the crap that I say no to them, on a regular basis. The kids love it, I actually do too, and the amount of sugar crap candies in my cupboard is alarming on this night. But I guess that's part of life. My girls can process sugar pretty well, Hannah doesn't get any sugar high, and Sarah is mostly the same way, but she does get a little amped up from the sugar. But Halloween is a superlative kid's holiday and that's the way it should be.

Hannah dressed as a baseball player and Sarah as a witch. We headed out with our friends from up the street and their girls, and both families had their wagons in tow. My wagon had a blanket, a flashlight, a couple of little girl jackets, and an 18 pack of Bud Select. I was like a traveling bar. My other neighbors saw the beer in the wagon and I provided several adult beverages to those in need. And we went out for about 90 minutes. We started to head home when Sarah had broken open a scab on her forearm and was bleeding through her shirt. But I give the little witch credit, she protested the whole way home, in spite of her need of a new shirt, and in spite of her need for a bandage and a half pint of blood.

So we got home and we bandaged the arm as Hannah brought all the candy in from the wagon. You see, the wagon becomes the "dump site" when the candy bags get a little heavy. And so after the bandaging was done, we poured all of the candy on the kitchen table. We categorized the candy into piles or stacks...kit kats, m&m's, snickers, skittles, etc. And most of the table was covered. It was a very successful night, and we seemed to have twice as much candy as we did last year. At this point, I thought it was important to get some "real" food into those little bodies. So I put a pizza in the oven and some chicken nuggets too, and made a can of spaghettios. The girls ate and ate some more. They asked for milk and I obliged, and they started watching some show on the Food Network, where there was a cake making contest, and all the cakes were Halloween inspired. The cakes were actually very cool. And about the time that the girls started getting full, Sarah made a little spill with her milk. And I wiped it up and told her not to do it again or she'd get in big trouble. So five minutes later, she dumped the whole glass and it went all over two chairs, through the crease in the tabel and all over the floor. And yes, I was pissed, but look, the candy was all over the table, there was a cool show on the tv, and it's freakin' Halloween. Plus, she's THREE. So I gave her the heavy voice, but couldn't get too mad at her with her candy eyes and her candy face. So I cleaned up the mess, and she got out of her remaining clothes, and she finished eating and I got her into her PJ's.

Cleaning the floor is not good for my hip, my back or my knees. It's something I really don't do, I leave that to others. So that kind of mess tends to piss me off more than a little. But i held back. Tonight was Halloween. The table was filled with candy, a fun show was on the TV. What could i do? Punish her? No. But seriously, who could I be mad at besides myself? And when I gave her the milk I thought "why are you giving it to her without a lid?" And I gave it to her anyways. And while I was cleaning up this mess, I thought about the saying "don't cry over spilled milk". And I didn't cry, and I didn't make sarah cry about it. But why would I? Why should she? It's freaking MILK! She's freaking THREE! And so I got to thinking...why would anyone cry over spilled milk? Why would milk being spilled make anyone cry? Why would there be an accepted axiom about crying over spilled milk? What makes this euphamism exist? And I don't have an answer because of the wagon earlier (remember the 18 pack of Bud Select?). The wagon has made me so lazy tonight that I don't feel like googling and learning about the entymology of the phrase. But i cannot imagine why there would be a saying about not crying over spilled milk. Why would anyone cry over a spill? Unless they worked at at a gold factory, or an oil refinery. But then why wouldn't the saying be about spilled gold? Or spilled oil?

So the point is, that today is Halloween. The kids loved their night. I enjoyed myself. The milk was a non issue. But the topic of Spilled Milk has me puzzeled still. If you care to indulge yourself in some useless trivial pursuit, you can look into it. If you would rather just go about your lives as if nothing about this blog post is relevant, then I say go for it. In the mean time, happy Halloween. I hope you see everything.

WHAT'S THE MEANING OF LIFE?

I've always wondered what the meaning of life is. And I guess that's sort of a loaded question. But if you know me, you know that the answers to all of our questions are much less important to me than the questions themselves. But this question, in this day and age, might need some investigation.

Let's do a simple breakdown of the question, or more of a breakdown of the key words in the sentence. First off, there's the word "meaning". "Meaning", as a noun is the message that was intended, or the idea that is intended. As a verb, it's defined as have in mind a purpose or to have as a logical consequence. Let that sink in for a few minutes, we'll get back to it shortly.

The next key word is "Life". The definition that I like is: the experience of being alive; the course of human events and activities. The course of human events and activities...hmmm. I like that.

So, the idea of life meaning something is the idea that the course of human events should have a purpose. That's what I'm getting at. What's our purpose? What's man's purpose? What's your purpose? What's my purpose? I can't speak for your purpose. I can guess on mankind's purpose, and then maybe that will lead me to my purpose. I promise I'm going somewhere with this. Swear to God.

My daughter Sarah will be four in a few weeks. Cute as a button and smart as hell. She loves music, art and Spongebob. She also loves candy, bologna and gravy (though not all at the same time). I wish I knew what makes her tick. I wish I knew what her purpose in life was supposed to be. I'm guessing here mind you, but I think part of her purpose is to give my life purpose. She and her older sister are mostly the only things I care about these days. But I'm a little more focused on this kid than I was on the first. You see, the first kid, to an idiot like me, is generally just one suprise after another. You're always guessing, never knowing what to do, to how the kid will react, what to think about her reactions when they don't go the way you'd thought they were going to go, over thinking, over analyzing, over reacting to most situations. But with the second kid, you know what to expect, you know what to listen for and what to wait for and how to do things better on the first try. I guess on the second kid you just feel like you have more control over the whole situation. So guessing through the first kid makes it easier to understand the next one. And so I think that I can do more for Sarah's development than I did for Hannah's at that age.

So the meaning of life is to help make our kids better than we were? That's a start but it's not the full picture. Maybe the meaning of life is complex. Maybe it's more than what we think it is. Maybe it's searching for ways to leave our mark on the world. Maybe at the end of our lives, if the meaning wasn't completely clear through the journey, then what resonates after our lives is what it should have been. If I don't do one spectacular thing, and if I don't have one thing that becomes my life's work, my life's purpose, then maybe that was the purpose. Maybe it's not just one or two or three things. Maybe when I'm dead at 62, and someone I knew in life takes a look at the life I lived, maybe then they'll see why I was here. My collection of thoughts, my efforts with my kids, the social indentations I made on those I came into contact with over the years, maybe all those things add up to a body of work that when it was going on seemed to be unconnected. But when viewed as a big picture body of work, maybe then my purpose for living will become clear.

The first twenty years of my life can really only be labeled as fun. The next 19 years could be labeled as work. I want the next twenty years to be labeled as interesting. I want to do and say and write things that resonate, that leave an impression. My goal is to be more interesting, to do the things that need to be done, to say the things that might go unsaid, to think the thoughts that no one else will, to ask the questions that need to be asked. I need to philosophize more and question more and act more.

The next twenty years will take me to my late fifties. I intend for those years to be interesting. I intend to take more adventures, and I intend to cut a deeper groove into the soil that I walk upon. If I'm lucky enough to make it to the twenty years after these next twenty, I want them to be more interesting, more wild, more caveman than all of my years prior to those. I want to retire in flames, to age with fierce intensity, to do things and go places no one ever expected of me.

And in the end, when I'm laying there on the slab, and the preacher talks about who I was and what I did, and how I lived, he'll have more to talk about than the fact that I was funny or charming or loved my kids. I may not change the world like Jonas Sark did when he found the cure for Polio, and I may not write a best selling novel like Stephen King did (so many times). But the stories they tell about me when I'm gone should be interesting, and poignant and funny and sad and filled with irony and twists and adventure. I intend to do things that I haven't done. I intend to fulfill my destiny as one who won't soon be forgotten. My life's purpose will be clear. My legacy will be interesting, my rememberances will be storied. And my children will tell stories that begin with "my dad always said" and "i remember when dad took me to..." and "dad loved to do....". And those around them will smile and say "I remember that, your dad was always saying or doing....". I will be remembered. And the meaning of my life will be revealed in the third act. Please stay tuned.

SONG FOR THE DAY

TWO YEAR ANNIVERSARY - BIONIC LEG

So last week, I quietly celebrated the two year anniversary of my hip replacement surgery. If you'd like to see a video of the proceedure, (not my proceedure) you can click here. I have to warn you though, the surgery is tough to look at. Yes, those were hammers they were using. It's not a really delicate surgery. My physical therapist told me that if plastic surgery was like artwork, hip replacement surgery is like wood working, or more like nailing two two by fours together. Nothing really delicate at all. But for the surgery itself, I was unconscious, and they might as well have hit me in the head, because it doesn't matter. Recovery was sort of rushed along. I learned to balance on my good leg. I took a shower at the hospital on day three. It was awkward because the nurse was with me for that. Her specialty was occupational therapy, but it was also to stand next to the shower and make sure i didn't fall out. Weird having some young good looking girl standing outside of the shower like that. She saw me in my boxers, and I'm kinda proud. But I didn't fall and she didn't have to help me up off the floor.

For those of you that knew me at the time, I moved slowly. I didn't do stairs for a while. There was pain, but there was a lot of pain before the surgery. I did a walker for a week or two, then a cane, then i just held onto things a little tightly as i walked. It was rough for a bit, but it seemed to get better quickly. But for two months I was like a baby learning to walk. Normal activities took great concentration. Going to the bathroom was like a well choreographed ballerina. (my hip is aching just thinking about all of this). But, I eventually learned to walk again, and eventually got rid of the cane. The physical therapy was cool because insurance paid for the trainers to come to my house, and the other cool thing was that my nurse made house calls, every day or two. And she looked like Heather Locklear, no kidding. She was gorgeous, like an angel. I looked forward to her visits. She took my 24 stitches out one day, and just because it was her, my beautiful health care angel, i kept from weeping like a baby.

The pain killers were a bit of habit. but when my prescriptions ran out, I never asked for, or had another pill. I can totally see how pain pills become addictive. You start to pre-empt the pain, and before you know it, you're taking a dozen a day, on a regular schedule. Can be scary.

So after year one, I decided to try and get into shape. I'd lost a lot of weight leading up to the surgery but it was time to get my cardio levels where they should be. And i walked and i walked and i walked. Now, two years later, i run some, i walk some. Four miles of walking and running happen at least 3 times per week (most weeks, although for some reason I did take about 2 or 3 weeks off recently). And when i'm on the trails or at the Y on the treadmill, i don't go 60 seconds without thinking about my bionic hip. And yes, I feel it, but it's not like pain. Not like the pain I had before the surgery. I need to be careful, but even if I over do it, it's like a dull ache, not so much pain involved anymore. And if ever I feel like it's not feeling right, I just stop and walk home, or stop and get off the treadmill.

Advil is all I'll take these days. I've had the opportunity to have some of those pain pills since my prescription ran out. But i haven't taken any. So, I'm proud of myself for that. And I'm proud of myself that i can play basketball and do layups. I can't jump nearly as high as I used to be able to, and i can't land on that leg when I do jump. But it's ok, because i couldn't jump at all before the surgery, and I wouldn't consider walking or jogging at that point. So my bionic leg is happy. I'm happy with it. I'd prefer not to have to do it again on the other hip, and there's no indications that i'll need to do that. But if I do have to, I just say bring it on. I've handled one, I can handle another.

Yesterday, at Junle Jim's, I saw an old guy, maybe 75 or so, going through the checkout lane with his wife. And I noticed that just below the hem of his shorts, where his legs should be, he had two prostechtic legs. That's two. TWO. He had no legs from somewhere just above his knees. he walked on them, he lifted grocery bags, he walked out to the car, with no cane, no help, no nothing. I thought of two words...tecnnology, and willpower. good for that old dude. he lost two legs and just said, "well, just give me some replacements doc, I still gotta walk." And walk he did. And walk I did. And walk I do. And I walk and I walk and I walk.

INDIAN SUMMER

Tonight I played basketball with my neighbor, Riley, who's in the 7th grade. And the kid is GOOD. My girls and a couple of the neighborhood girls bounced on the trampoline for an hour while we hooped. And the weather was perfect and we were able to work up a sweat in no time. Girls and I went for a walk and fed the geese at one of our lakes. I just threw hunks of bagel at the geese, tried to hit them. And aren't geese the dumbest animals alive? They are. Dumb. Anyhow, I'm loving my Indian Summer days this week, hope it lasts. I read that the Farmer's Almanac said that we were in for a cold, snowy winter, but the weather people don't believe it's going to be a bad winter at all. I hope they're right, I don't want a harsh winter. I want a quick, moderate winter. I'll take two good snow storms, some rain, and then nothing else. That's what I want. C'mon springtime... I'm rooting for ya.

POST SEASON BASEBALL

So I've been watching the MLB playoffs nightly, or as often as they're on. And baseball is absolutely awesome this year. The Yankees are storming their way through and the Phillies look like they're trying to repeat for the World Series champs again this year. And so many games are coming down to the last at-bats. Good pitching, good offense, marquee matchups. This is baseball, and baseball is America. I'm digging the post season and I can't believe more people aren't watching baseball right now. Good times. Yeah, good times.

SONG FOR THE DAY

FORTRESS OF SOLITUDE

I'm still in my fortress. Still thinking, still writing. Nothing is finished. Nothing will finish itself. That's why it's called Nothing In Particular. It's ok though, it'll all come through at some point. Thanks for checking on me.

UNINSPIRED

Writers block isn't fun. Especially when i've started so many things and can't finish them. Starting and stopping a story, a thought, a piece of original writing is, to me, like my experience with sleeping is. If I wake up early or if someone wakes me up, I generally can't go back to sleep. So I usually just get up. And if I can't finish something after I've started writing it, I generally generally don't go back and finish it. I don't know why, I guess the moment has passed. Maybe the energy of the story has passed me by and it just doesn't come back. So bare with me while I go through this. I promise to get something good posted soon. And hey, we all deal with stuff in our life. I am dealing with some pretty big stuff right now. Maybe i'll post some about the MLB Playoffs, maybe about the Bengals. Maybe I'll just go dark for another day or two. Either way, I'll have something for you all soon. Use your time wisely.