We were on our walk tonight, on the way to the playground. hannah on her scooter, me and sarah were jogging and walking sporadically. Hannah asked what kind of pet i'd like to get next. i told her a dragon and a bald eagle. she asked what we'd feed them. i said we could feed sarah and her friend Kory to them. and hannah starts chanting "sacrafice, sac ra fice, sac ra fice." i was laughing hard. then she said she'd get a black lab and 12 guinea pigs. then my turn again.. i said maybe a platypus and a great white shark. so sarah chimes in and asks what we'd feed the shark...hannah starts chanting again...sacrafice, sac ra fice, sac ra fice. and then rode off on her scooter. i was still laughing out loud. and sarah said, "wonder what we'd feed the guinea pigs dada?" i said sacrafice sac ra fice sac ra fice. it was a weird conversation. still funny though right? kids. love it.
I WAS TOLD I ALREADY POSTED THIS, BUT IT DOESN'T MATTER. I HAVE SOME NEW READERS, AND I'D LIKE TO GIVE THEM QUICK ACCESS TO ONE OF MY FAVORITE PIECES. I LOVE THIS ARTICLE, IT'S KIND OF THE CATALYST FOR ALL I DO, AND I WILL RE-POST A FEW OTHERS OVER THE NEXT COUPLE OF DAYS FOR THE NEW READERS.
Pop’s Baseball
I don’t know what it is about baseball.I crave it all winter.I bust with anticipation from the final out of the World Series, to spring training, then can’t wait for the real games to start.Baseball has always been there.I played baseball some as a kid.Whiffle ball and backyard ball were constant activities.The memories I have throwing the ball with my dad will always be with me.Dad threw the ball long past when he should’ve.God bless him.When he couldn’t throw over hand, he threw underhand.He told me it was the same technique the referees use in football games.He could’ve kicked it back at me, I enjoyed every single moment of havin’ a catch with my Pop.Baseball is more than a game. And for me it’s the greatest sport ever.
When the Reds made the World Series in 1990, Pop came home with tickets to the game that night.He’d won the raffle at work and got 2 seats.I was jumping up and down.I was 20.I’d moved back in for a few months to get my life back on track.But my joy was cut short when he announced that he was taking my mom instead of me.I was heartbroken.So I watched the next 4 games on the TV and of course they won all 4.
I would call Pop sometimes just to chat, and a chatter he wasn’t.But then I’d ask if he watched the game last night, and he’d get to talking for a few more minutes.He loved to talk about Sean Casey and Dimitri Young, Danny Graves and Pokey Reece and Jose Rijo.I’d bounce things off him, rumors I’d heard, just to get his reaction.He could talk about baseball.Not stats and geek stuff, mostly just how he enjoyed attitudes and playing the game right.He knew baseball, he knew what he liked.He believed in and loved every hometown player.
I have a picture of me and my Mom and Pop at I believe the last game he ever went to.I was hosting clients at GABP in a luxury suite.He was amazed and told me how different it was watching baseball in such royal digs.I love that picture.
I remember when Mom called and said that Dad had fallen.They were at the hospital and he was ok.I was watching a Red’s game at the time she called.He was ok at the time.I raced there from about 20 miles away and he was up and talking just fine.He wanted to know about the score.The Red’s had won on a homerun if I recall correctly.He was more into that than the bump on his knee.He went home with Mom an hour later.
Then a few weeks later he fell again and they admitted him for tests.His battle started then, but the war was already coming to a close.There would be no more battles as there was no fight left in his body.And when he went to assisted living a few days later, I’d go to him in the middle of the day.We’d watch the Cubs day tilts and Sportscenter.He would drift in and out.But he seemed to be awake and watching when the 7:10 game started each night.We did this for a few weeks.But then the games would start and he would still be sleeping.I’d field some comments from his roommate about the game, he was much more alert than Pop.I’d make the drive home, listen to Marty and Joe, and try to make mental notes for Pop, if he had some questions about the game.He never did.
And when he was moved to hospice, they had no TV’s in the rooms.But I remember telling him about the game from the night before and reading the sports page to him.He rarely reacted but at times, he would give me a slight fist pump or squeeze my hand then drift back off, probably without a memory of the moment.I remember them all to this day.Luckily this only went on for a day or two.I can still picture me reading the sports section to him, the paper folded neatly into quarters so I could hold it in one hand.He’d taught me this technique decades earlier, said it was how you read the paper on the subways in New York.And so I read and read.The baseball season was steaming along and Dad was fading.Aloud I would read from the paper in one hand, and with my other hand, I’d hold his.I told him I loved him and always left the paper by his side when I left the room.“In case you wanna read this before I get back” I’d say to him.
And the night he died, I went to use the phone in the nurse’s station at that wonderful hospice unit.And the game was playing softly on a small radio on the counter.I called everyone close and told them that the time to say goodbye was upon us, maybe a day, no more.My sisters came to take over the vigil and I went home for some much needed rest.I watched the rest of the ballgame from my couch that night, and prayed.I prayed to God that this would be over soon.He wasn’t coming back, so please, let this be over.
Amy called around 11:00.It was over.She said, “He’s gone”.And so I got into my car, listened to the postgame show while I drove.And went to see him for the last time.The whole trip I was comforted by familiar radio voices, discussing a game that me and Pop loved so much.
Today I watch the Reds as much as I can.With a growing family and young girls, I don’t get to see the games as much as I’d like, but I can usually catch the end of the games.And with every game, there is a minute that makes me think about Pop.But for most of those moments, I don’t feel sad.I just wish he were enjoying it at home, in his chair with a brandy.
I used to think that my beard had a little white in it. I was told it was just some blonde, that the facial hairs usually had nothing to do with the rest of the hair on my head. I have some gray over my ears, and I swear theres some in back somewhere, judging by the amount of gray that falls on the black smock i wear when getting a haircut, which i did yesterday. But the beard MAN! it's gone white. I used to say i couldn't wait to be a silver haired fox...bring it on! And I still feel that way, but i was just a little shocked a few minutes ago when i checked myself out in the mirror. I have on a dark brown long sleeved t-shirt right now, and the white (read not gray) has officially taken over. Thats cool with me. My grandfather on my dad's side had gone completely white in his early 30's. No beard mind you, just his head of hair had gone white. He had just gone through the Great Depression though. I guess I have some things on my mind that might parallel that Great Depression. And I guess that's the way it goes for metablolism and the body. You can't fight some things. Your body does what it does. I remember a few years ago i had gotten some very dark rings under my eyes. I bought some "made for men under eye" something er other. It was a cream that lessened the darkness under the eyes. And it worked. But for my beard, I don't think i'm going to be doing anything about it, not going to be dying it or anything that vain. It is what it is at this point. I can't make it go away and refuse to be a slave to the daily mini-brush applications of "Just for Men" beard color tool. So i have the white beard now. All is well i guess.
I've spent the last couple of decades earning a living, trying not to die or to worry too much. And when the worries of the daily job got to be too much, i just moved on. But these days, movning on is very scary. I'd like to work in an industry that i'm more in tune with but I keep reminding myself that "wherever you go, that's where you are". So maybe the pressure in all my vocations has been from internal sources. I can't explain it. it's most likely real though. and if i listen to the voices in the back of my head I hear that I'm not supposed to be where I am right now. I'm not supposed to be doing something as lame as working for Dunder Mifflen. But until i really take the horns of my career and begin to steer it the way I want it to go, i assume that the gray will show up faster and faster. The gray i can take. The non-living the dream I want to though, that becomes a bigger chore every day I put on the suit and go shake hands with people in the field.
So for now the gray stays, and the job remains the same. Maybe if some of you faithful readers would share this website with a few of your friends, and they'd share it with a few more of their freinds, i could start to make a living doing what i love...writing about life and telling the tales of my youth. Any suggestions I'd take, just sent them to joeschaos@gmail.com . I'm happy to read them.
So in the mean time, i'll continue to observe and write when I can. I love doing what I do, I just need the traffic on the website to increas so that I can start to make some money off of it. And if that happens, I don't know what the rate of white beard hair will increase or decrease at, but i bet it makes a difference.
Getting old is fine with me. Can't wait to go see Hannah at college football games, and tailgate with her. Sarah should see her plan of world domination long before I have a chance to get involved with it. So bring it on! I'll take the age, take the gray, take the bad backs. Life has proven that it can't get me down. I have looked the scalpel dead in the eyes several times and said "bring it on". I'm not scared, I'm not afraid, I am an animal and I am prepared to eat you if I have to. So if you see me on the street, and the beard is looking whiter than you remember, it's still just me. Just Joe. Rockin the Joe-tee. Come on 39...i'll see you in 17 days. bring it. i've gone through lots worse things than my last birthday in my 30's. I eat 30's for breakfast around here, i put mustard on it. and anyway, I read that white is the next brown. i'm all about the style.
So I got my computer back yesterday, and of course I have to send the whole thing back one more time because those idiots that fixed it, sent me a battery that doesn't fit. I got it out of the box, the minute I got home last night, and the first thing i did was put the battery into it, and knew right away that it was all wrong. and that wasn't one of the things wrong with it in the first place! So like, if one of these freakin' douchebags that "fixed" it had actually put the battery in before he boxed it up, he'd have known. I figured it out in 20 seconds of receipt. So now i get to send it back for another 2 weeks. i love HP. stupid idiots.
Yes, I saw that my Reds had won 5 games in a row this week. I actually got to hear some of the games this week on the road. I do love a day game on the radio. But I said I wasn't going to write about this year's team again, unless I changed my mind. And a good winning streak is fun. But when a team goes 1 and 7 a couple of times inside of two months, and is winning only about 25% of their games through the middle of the summer, they're going to need more than a modest 5 game win streak to get me to write about them again. I love the Reds, but this team is so flawed, it's been tough to watch. In Baseball, hope springs eternal, and there's always next year. And there's always a chance that "the plan" could actually come together for these Reds in the 2010 season. I hope thats true, because Lord, I just can't take another season of this kind of shit. I still watch, listen and read about them, but I just can't write about them. But, there's always hope for the future. So I hope and I hope and I hope. Until next year, adieu.
Eric Davis is the most exciting Reds player I've ever watched. He was so fast, unbelievably fast. He had power, could hit 20 to 40 homeruns in a season. He was great defensively. He could catch anything and had a terrific arm. You didn't run on Eric The Red. You just didn't. And my Lord, he could steal a base. The dude was a badass. Baseball was his calling, it found him, he found baseball and the two have been married to each other ever since he was a young man. E.D. played for the Reds in the 80's, played for the World Series Champs in 1990, and came back for a short stint in the late 90's. He played for 18 years, nine of those years were with the Reds. And even though he was a West Coast guy, Cincinnati adopted him and still claims him as one of their own. We loved him when he was here, and loved him when he came back with opposing teams. He'll always be a Red, he was called Eric the Red for this reason. He won Gold Glove awards, the Silver Slugger awards, he was an All-Star several times. He was exactly what every kid that loved baseball should have been. He was an extremely talented baseball player. He almost killed himself in that 1990 World Series with that lacerated kidney injury. He battled colon cancer successfully, and made it back to the major leagues afterwards He was never the same player in the secound half of his career as he was in the first half, but who wouldn't have loved to have the first half of THAT career? He was an amazing young player. And he's always been my favorite Red. My Pop loved him too.
In 2005, Eric had been retired from baseball for about 4 years or so. The Reds organization had decided they were going to put him in the Reds Hall of Fame that year. And so Eric was in town all that week for the ceremony and all the talk shows and media stuff. I was working for a radio station downtown, and the sports director was a guy named Wayne "Box" Miller. He was a local sports marketing and radio guy, and just happened to be very good friends with Eric The Red. I had known that Eric was going to be at the station several times that week, and I wanted to meet him, but I had an extremely busy week that week. So I came in the day after his interview was on the air, and "Box" came and found me. He said "Joe, where were you? I brought Eric out to meet you yesterday". Box and I had had many discussions about Davis, he knew I was a huge fan. And he'd brought Eric around to meet me because that's what friends do. Box was my good friend at the time, we'd sit and talk every day about sports, life, women. I loved that dude. So I thanked Box for what he'd tried to do for me. And so he asked me if I was free to go see Eric the next day. I didn't read too much into it at the time, but I agreed to meet back at the station the next day. So the next day came, and it was the day that Eric was to be inducted in the Red's Hall of Fame. He was at his hotel, with his friends, hanging out in the afternoon by the bar (i don't remember Eric drinking at all by the way). Box and I walked over and there they all were. Now, picture this. Eric Davis, my favorite Red, hanging at the bar with his friends from California, greeting me and Box. I leaned against the bar and listened as they cutup and talked and made fun of each other, told stories as I tried not to stare at Eric the whole time. I spent about an hour there with Eric and Box and their friends, not saying much, but trying to drink it all in, remember it all. I had been in radio for a few years, and had met many celebrities, and realized they were all just dudes with a lot of money, but on that day, for that hour, I was star struck. After an hour or so, we told Eric we had to leave, he spent a minute thanking me for coming by, and posed for a few pictures with me. He is good man. I told him I'd be there for his induction at the game that night, that I was hosting clients at our suite at the ball park, and invited him to come by during the game. We said goodbye and Box and I walked back to the station. I remember thanking Box so many times on that short walk back to the station. Box had made my week.
And that night at the game, I was telling friends and clients about my day, me more impressed with the story than anyone else in the room. And most of the people that were there in the suite with us seemed to think I was telling tall tales...sure, I had spent the afternoon in a bar with Eric the Red on the day that he was being enshrined into the Reds Hall of Fame. Sure, Joe's a bigshot, whatever. And then, around the third inning, the best thing that could've happened, happened. Box and Eric the Red walked right into my suite. And there he was. The whole stadium had just given him a huge round of applause, and had shown their love for our 1990 hero. And he was hanging out in my suite, a short hour later. My clients were thrilled, my friends were impressed and I was amazed by the sheer entertainment of the moment. It really couldn't have been a better day.
I haven't ever gotten a chance to meet Eric The Red again, and I'm sure he wouldn't remember me, but I'll always remember that day. I'll remember that he was just a man, hanging out with his friends, and I was just a fly on the wall. But this man was one that had electrocuted a city for years in a true baseball town, and I was priviledged enough to have a personal connection to it, no matter how insignificant I was to the situation. And I'll always have that memory. I had cheered this guy so many times, and then I cheered him again that night on the most special night of his career. Eric the Red was a badass dude. And I got to hangout with him for a couple hours. How cool is that?
I've attached a picture that I hate, I was about 25 pounds heavier then. But Eric is the picture, not me. I look like Elvis just before he died.
So today was the latest Daddy-Daughter Day, the last day of summer vacation, the last day before third grade for Hannah. Sad, sad day. Going back to school generally sucks as I remember. And even though the last three weeks have been more about laying around doing not much of anything than actually doing something fun or productive, summer is over for Hannah. And I agree with her; It sucks. But today I took a holiday and she and I went to King's Island, if you're not from around my tri-state area, and it doesn't sound familiar to you, think Disney World, a little smaller, but a fun day nevertheless. We rode rides, we had Dippin' Dots, we fed the ducks, we threw coins into the fountains. At the end of the day she went through the little water park in kiddie land, and rode home afterward, soaked to the bone, with no towel. Oh well. I was remembering the way it felt to be in the back of my mom's station wagon as a kid, wet, sunburned, and freezing on a 90 degree day, as the air conditioner blew cold air on my skinny shoulders. And we ate junk food in the car on the way home. After changing her clothes and brushing her now almost white-from-the-sun mane, we were off to the Dollar Saver Cinema, to see Aliens in the Attic. Tuesday nights are $1.75 per ticket. I paid $3.50 for the tickets for the two of us, smuggled in a coke for her in my jacket, and bought a six dollar popcorn and some M&M's. You can't beat that. It wasn't that cheap when I was her age at the Court Theater in Hamilton. So between the amusement park and McDonald's, the movie, and the Euro Bungee (five bucks) she did after the movie, I spent $35 today. You can't beat that. And she was telling me it was the best day of her life, and singing "It's the best day everrrr" from Spongebob (if you don't know it, don't worry about it). She's asleep in her bed right now, hair still a little wet from the shower. She's not thinking about school, not thinking about homework, and not thinking about life. Tonight she thought about fun. Thats the way it should be for kids during the summer. It's all about fun.
I totally agree with all this guy says in this article. But I don't think he's quite got the point. You see, there's an agreement that happens between a movie goer and the movie maker, where we don't over think things too much. This agreement is called "suspension of disbelief". And while this guy seems to think he may sound superior and cute, I think he forgot what it was like to be a ten year old sitting in a dark movie theater, chomping on buttery popcorn, while being sucked in by a wonderful fantasy. In fact, this guy has totally missed the point, and I wouldn't mind if he never wrote another thing about my favorite movies. I don't wish him ill, I just wish him to shut up. Oh yeah, and may the Force be with you.
After a weekend of crime fighting and rescuing kittens out of trees, it's back to work today. Lex Luthor will have to wait, just walking up the street to the Daily Planet now. I'll be watching you though...
Today I saw this story about Eric Davis in the Louiville Courrier Journal. It's a good read but this dude's website is kind of messed up, it like showed the story twice for me. Anyhow, I am working on a piece about Eric Davis and the time I got to hang out with him for you N.I.P.sters, so stayed tuned, I should get that one posted in a few days. Know this though while you read this story, Eric Davis was one of the most exciting Reds players to ever play for the Reds. I love the dude.
Apparently there are about 80 bajillion things on youtube that I haven't seen yet. So, since I was all heavy with that Intuition post earlier, I'll go ahead and post up another song for you today. Just stop when it turns into a lesson. Unless you play guitar. Then learn it and post it up and send it to me. Good luck.
Whoa. How have I never seen this video before? I used to love Metallica, I guess I still do. I've seen them twice. I've been to Monsters of Rock three times in this lifetime. I loved every Monsters of Rock show I've been to. I was on the floor for two of them. I've never been part of an audience like this before though. Jesus. How many people were killed this day? It wasn't enough. Enjoy the Mighty Met. And sleep with one eye open.
Intuition is the apparent ability to acquire knowledge without inference or the use of reason.[1] “The word ‘intuition’ comes from the Latin word 'intueri', which is often roughly translated as meaning ‘to look inside’ or ‘to contemplate’."[2] Intuition provides us with beliefs that we cannot necessarily justify. For this reason, it has been the subject of study in psychology, as well as a topic of interest in the supernatural. The "right brain" is popularly associated with intuitive processes such as aesthetic abilities.[3][4][5] Some scientists have contended that intuition is associated with innovation in scientific discovery. -Wikipedia
How do you explain intuition? I guess Wikipedia just explained it. But really, how do you explain it? Certain people have good intuition, certain people have bad intuition, which actually means they have no intuition. Is it guessing? Is it magic? Is it voodoo? Maybe it's being able to sew together the seems of seemingly unrelated entities that most of us can't typically piece together. Maybe it's metaphysical. Maybe it's science. Isn't it possible that intuition could be totally a physical and chemical thing? Science doesn't have answers for everything yet. It could be that intuition is signaled my pheromones that ignite little ideas in our subconscious that make it possible for certain brains to connect non linear points on the maps of our lives. It's just a theory, but I always will believe in things that may be. I refuse to live my life under the belief that there might not be answers we just haven't found yet. And I really don't need proof of anything. There needs not be science for things to be real. Sometimes science doesn't apply. And for intuition, this may be one of those times.
So let's assume that intuition exists. By the same non scientific properties that don't exist to prove it, couldn't that mean that it's not always accurate? Couldn't it be that some sort of chaos lies in wait for all things? Like one event could trigger another, so that what's forseen may not be the actual outcome? But perhaps it's one of several likely outcomes? Maybe people with the "gift" see some of the outcomes but can't figure out which ones will be and which ones won't. It's not an exact science because it's not a science at all. That's possible, right? Definitely.
Or Maybe it's more of a Divine Gift. Maybe God made it so that one in every 10,000 souls is one that can see things in advance. Maybe He needs people on Earth that can do this. Maybe He has a quota. Maybe He needed these people to help regulate the rest of us. Like, He needs each of them to help him with something important at some point. Maybe they'll never get that one important assignment, but they are there, in place for God if He needs them. Or maybe these gifted souls are more like crossing guards we had as kids, only now in life, and they're always around, always making sure we stay between the white lines, crossing from here to there. And maybe these gifted souls are the ones closest to him, like they are messengers. Gifted people don't typically tend to understand it all do they? They might just see what they see and don't know why. This could be why this is all more scary to them than the people around them.
Or maybe being a gifted person is more like having a higher sense of logic. Maybe these people are just smarter than most of us. And I'm not talking about math or science or physics. But these gifted souls are smart enough to pick up on a world full of signs, signs that they may not understand or even be able to point out to the rest of us. And their gift is able to take all the signs they have seen, absorb them, put them into context and gain a certain knowledge or perspective about something that most of us haven't been able to piece together at all. Their logic lets them see the signs.
Maybe it's nothing more than something like a feeling, or an emotion. And those feelings or emotions are driven through their subconscious, pinging off of non-related happenings, bumping and spinning until they actually arrive at something in the consciousness that actually makes sense. They say that intuitiveness is more likely for the creative minds, so this mind can't help but take this one idea and send it through a stream of thought processes, uncontrolled by their efforts or intentions, and a hypothesis about a possible outcome is deposited into the front of the brain, and then they can focus on it. And this is what tells them to rationally believe that it's a sign, or a vision.
So, magic, voodoo, science, Divine Gift, logic...take your pick. But I tend to believe that it's all of the above. I want to believe that it's all of the above. Here's what I believe: God needed agents on earth to send things to...visions, ideas, knowledge. The answers to why He needed them aren't important. But He needed them, and so He created some souls that were intuitive enough to pickup on the signs that were already there for all of us. Those souls knew where to find answers to questions they didn't even know they had. They were smart enough to see the visions in their minds, and smart enough to hear the notes of mystery in their minds and creative enough to piece it all together so that somewhere, somehow, some sense was made of it in in their minds. Soothsayers? No. Gifted people? Yes. Blessed with the gifts to be able to understand what most of us cannot. To be able to see when most of us think its dark. To smell the unripened fruit of an enigma that hasn't even become a mystery yet.
Why wouldn't gifted people exist? Did Albert Einstein exist? Did Alexander Graham Bell exist? Didn't Al Gore invent the internet? Have you ever seen a Picasso? Didn't Michelangelo paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel? Have you ever had a preacher at your church really seem like he or she really "gets it"? Or a teacher that could totally make you learn, in spite of yourself? These people exist. They will all claim that they were "called" to their work. They were drawn to it. They couldn't avoid their life's work. Mickey Mantle was as self destructive as any baseball player in history, yet he couldn't prevent himself from becoming one of the best all around baseball players in history. The point is, why wouldn't gifted people exist? How could they not? How could we expect that there aren't certain people that just excel in these areas? Do I believe in those circus tent people who claim to see the future, or talk to the dead? Not really. I believe they were close to a gifted person at one time, and thought they could capitalize on that feeling of being closer to a Higher Power. Tarot cards? seems like guessing to me, but some people need to use them to help their spirits rise, to help them hope. I'm not asking sooth sayers to go away, some people need them.
From my experience on earth, Gifted People do exist. I don't know how it works. But I enjoy living in world where people like that could exist. I can't accept that this world is one that doesn't have special things or special people. If it was a world without miracles, how many of us would have died at birth or never been born at all? I must believe this world is a world where anything can happen. I don't want to find out that things are always as they seem. I can't accept a world where everything makes sense. I don't need to know "why" on everything but I will always ask. I accept that there are things and ideas and people that are here for a certain purpose. Sometimes the chaos factor may keep certain people or ideas from fulfilling their specific destinies, but they still have purpose don't they? They have to. I believe in Gifted People. Living the life I have lived and having seen the things I've seen and having thought the thoughts I have, I refuse to live in a world where miracles don't happen and where Gifted People don't exist. It's just not possible for me.
Faithful Reader, Call it ADHD, call it having little kids, but today I can't finish anything that I've started. I've made myself a promise to finish something tonight, and to post it. So, come hell or highwater, there should be a new piece of original writing on this blog tonight. Check me out later or tomorrow. In the meantime, here's the Simpson's Evolution, hope you're into science and nature. This is important stuff here...
A burger topped with five slices of bacon, four slices of cheese, two fried eggs, mayo, lettuce, tomato, and onion between two grilled cheese sandwiches. Hat tip to Nick Brunker for the sandwich and photo. Hungry? You betcha.
Welcome to the new look Nothing In Particular. I wasn't really liking the way the old one was looking, was looking a little darker than I wanted, and it wasn't working the way I wanted. So, here is a new look N.I.P. Its just a little crisper, little cleaner looking, no big changes. Thanks for reading.
I'm in a foul mood today, so let's just say that as far as current events go i couldn't give a shit and the headlines all piss me off. There is nothing inspiring today in the headlines. Britney Spears was on Letterman? bitch please. And what, 95 people killed in an attack in Baghdad? No one told you it was like living in Pleasantville did they? Sorry. It's not Pleasantville. I feel badly for them. Not inspiring. The Reds suck? uggh. The Yankees are my #2 favorite team, and they're on top of the world, but still, blah. What then? What is there? Shaq was in something stupid again? Snore. Today is unispiring at the least. At best, it's almost Thursday.
I say this alot. It is what it is. It's meant to sound blase and indifferent. I think I say it too much. What if it wasn't what it is? What then? Would I know any different? What if you said to me "i just got fired" and i said "well, it wasn't what it is". You'd feel good about that right? um, right? Seriously, people always thought I was being clever whenever i said "it is what it is." I think it's my total lack of cleverness that makes me churn out overused euphamisms such as this one. But maybe lacking cleverness is somewhat charming, making it therefore clever. So when people tell me I'm being clever, should I just agree? Or, (and I like this one more) should I tell them they're insane and the banalities of their life couldn't even begin to come close to living in a world where it's remotely possible that they might begin to understand my contempt of their existence, the truth of which is masked daily by what they call me being clever? Maybe I should just reply "it is what it is" and stroll off arrogantly. I don't have a lot of friends. I drink alot.
KISS. Man. They used to be spooky, mysterious and serious rockers. Currently they're a bunch of over ripened celebrity assholes. But I love those old albums. And this has nothing to do with their makeup wearing or their platform shoes, because just like Elvis' white jumpsuits in his time, their clothes and makeup were cutting edge for their time. And like all stars, they didn't know when to quit, when to go away. It happens like this, things end poorly in sports, in movies, and definitely in popular music. I heard Paul Stanley actually dyes his chest hair from gray to black in an effort to look everlasting (he's 57 years old). I say he smells like cheese. And Gene Simmons has that "reality" show on A&E, which in all honesty i think is hilarious, but he's still an arrogant a-hole. Then again, if i had his life, his accomplishments, his money, i'd be an arrogant a-hole too. And Peter Criss and Ace Frehley were just whacked from the jump and probably lived stoned ever since they got together in 1972.
But KISS used to be the defiant ones. They used to scare the shit out of people. They used to be larger than life, blue flame hot. Now they're just a group of old jewish boys from New York, who used to be cool. But I digress.
I'm thinking about how they should've gone out. They should've gotten a mobile home, completely painted it with KISS logos and KISS artwork, set it on fire and drove over the Grand Canyon. Or did the same with a rocket ship and loaded it with TNT and blow it up over the atlantic on a full moon night. I mean, they used to spit fire, spit blood, wear leather and spikes, and do "hard" shit like called themselves Demon and Kings in Satans Service. What the hell kind of lifestyle is it to follow up with living in Malibu, playing house-dude? Lame. And now, since they're all bored, and maybe are just greedy rich bastards, they've decided to partner with Wal-Mart and sell their new record. Well thank you KISS. I'm so glad you've decided to make some original songs for the first time in eleven years. I used to love you guys, i grew up with you guys (you're all 20+ years older than me though) and I used to think you were a bunch of badasses. Now I'm just sad for you all. And Gene talking about Wal-Mart cashiers?? Huh? Like Gene freakin Simmons has ever in his lifetime been to a freaking Wal-Mart. They should have set their hair on fire while in full make up, and started having gasoline fights on stage...not Wal-Mart endorsements. Seriously? Wal-Mart? Greed.
So I guess my boyhood memories are still in good order, they just don't mean as much as they used to when it comes to KISS. I like Gene's show, I really do, but he's the worst part of it. And Paul Stanley was a terrific front man in the 70's and 80's. Peter Criss and Ace were all we needed them to be. They should've kept the makeup on in the first place. They should've stayed hard. Because even though they'll probably have a hit single, and make a bunch of dough on their Wal-Mart tour, it's still Wal-Mart. And now KISS is part of the Wal-Mart family. That's just not right, you know what I mean? It's just not right.
I'm working on something else for later friends. I hope it works out the way I want it to, but if it doesn't you know I'll post it up anyways. I'm a sucka.
Today I got my e-ticket through HP to get my laptop overhauled, and completely without charge. Warranties are the best. So, I'll be posting sporadically over the next couple of weeks. I know your lives will feel emptier. Deal with it.
The 30th anniversary of Elvis' death was "celebrated" over the weekend. I love Elvis, he is the King. He was the coolest dude. But you know the crazies all showed up at Graceland, sporting their "Elvis Lives" tattoos and bad porkchop sideburns. Get a life. He's dead. Listen to your 45's, look at some articles, read Elvis' Wikipedia page. Get over it.
The Cincinnati Reds continue to be one of the worst teams in major league baseball. I won't be writing about them anymore until 2010. Unless I change my mind.
And then there's this. Nice. Proud to be an American.
Mario Puzo wrote the Godfather 40 years ago, and it's one of the best selling books of all time. But guess who's never going to read it because he's seen the movie a gazillion times? Me. Hold your applause till the end.
Alec Baldwin may be a celebrity dickhead, but he also has a good point here. And he's hysterically funny on the best show on TV, 30 ROCK.
The previous entry was just a little off my mark. I was going to take it down but I figured, hey, screw it. I like the story, it just lacked a little of my fire. So sue me. I've been without a computer for a while. And it looks like it may be a little while longer. You see, here at the Fortress of Solitude, I have (had) my laptop. and I have my five year old PC in the basement. So in the interim, i'll be on the PC, which sucks ass. But i'll try and do my best in the interim. And if my best on my computer away from computer means my work suffers a bit, then so be it. I write this blog for me and a select few others. I'm sure they understand. I did think of a new topic, which was "why do Sundays at the pool seem like Fat Person Day? Maybe i'll delve into that a little tomorrow, but for today i have to cut it short. But i leave you with my mantra: I am not scared, I am not afraid. I am an animal and I am prepared to eat you if I have to. So goodnight now! BAM! nailed it!
Tonight I was driving down the highway from my mom's house, it was almost dusk, not dark, not dusk, but just pre dusk. There was still lots of light, but less than there had been 15 minutes earlier. And there was just enough lack of light to make all the cars, even the dirty ones, look shiny. I think it has something to do with the sun being at a longer angle or something, but thats the way it seems at that time of day to me. Even though we haven't had a lot of really hot summer days this year, these are in fact the dog days of summer. And the dog days of summer are usually what make things look all shiny at dusk. People are always washing their cars on Saturdays, so couple that with the idea that things look a little shiny, a little more vibrant at pre dusk, it all makes sense. Perhaps the shiny cars make the dull ones look a little better on the road and in the parking lots.
I can remember when I was going through my muscle car phase, shining up the Malibu, with it's IROC blue paint job practically glowing by night time. I remember shining those corvette ralley wheels till they looked like christmas ornaments, and waxing the hood and the back deck until I could see my reflection in them. And we'd make mix tapes with all our favorite songs on them, and we'd hit the road around pre dusk and blare our stereos, cruise through the restaurants, by the movie theaters, past where we'd heard there might be a party, or where someone' parents were gone for the weekend and they "might" have people over, while the smell of Armor All and Turtle Wax was still in the air. The night belonged to the kids with the cool cars, or so we thought. And invariably my Malibu would remind me that it was all paint job and shiny stuff, covering up what a piece of crap it actually was. Form over substance, a cautionary tale at best. But it was a beautiful car, all blue and shiny, with it's heavy black leather interior. And I was reminded of it tonight, as I drove the highway home from my mom's house, when a beautiful 66 Impala convertible, red no less, pulled up beside me in the Honda. This 66 was imaculate. It was cherry as the day is long, right down to it's original red pinstriped tires. The man driving it was an older man, not a "dude" not a "guy", an old man. He was easily 70, with his ball cap holding down what was left of his whispy white hair. He was one-handing the wheel, while the left arm was hitched over the side of the door. He was digging me checking out his ride. I hope he didn't think I was checking out his woman, who was every bit of 70 too. And I'm too much of a gentleman to go into what I thought about her white thinning hair and sun wrinlked face, but enough of that. There they were...Grandpa and Gramma muscle-car. I could tell that they were enjoying their cruise on the highway, i wouldn't be surprised if they lit out for that same cruise every summer night after supper.
When the old man realized I was staring at his car, he decided it was time to punch it, and let me know how it sounded, how it ran, and what his tail lights looked like. And that 66 Impala made some serious noise, beautiful in tone and strong in the grrrr department. Never did the old man look over at me, he kept his eyes straight ahead, and the old lady never looked either. But I think I saw her give a little smile when she felt the old man punch it. And as I watched the red convertible pass me and head off into the pre dusk night, I smiled big. And I thought of my malibu and cruisin' on saturday nights as a kid. And it got me thinking...
Doesn't everyone want one of those red convertible moments? Don't we all need those? Isn't that what we strive for? And it's not about the car so much as it is about the cruise itself, in a car that we poured over for hours, days weeks, months, to keep it running, to keep it healthy, to keep it beautiful. We want to drive that thing, to show it off, to be seen and to hold hands with the person in the other seat. To enjoy the dusk and the night air, with someone else, is infinitely better than doing it alone. And if you're 70, cruising with your convertible with top down, enjoying some tunes with your significant other, what do you think you poured more love, work and soul into? The car or the girl? Before you answer with a smartass tone, think about it this way. Couldn't you replace the car? Now answer. Live Big Grandpa and Gramma Muscle Car! LIVE BIG.
Another tuesday, another day in Charleston WV, the bustling city in the hills that i call my home away from home. Today is a sad day for me, my laptop died. It needs a new mother board, and it is under warranty, but the damn thing just died. And I'm out of town for the rest of the week, and i can't take it back to where i bought it till this weekend. Damnation!
I am sitting in the business center of my hotel, using the public computer, and the air conditioning is only mildly working, and the keyboard is only mildly sticky, so as i sit here sweating and getting carpel tunel, I am thinking less and less of this damn blog, and more and more of the bar across the street, and about the ice cold beer they serve there, right next to my chicken wings. And I know my friend Mike the War Dog would tell me that when he was in Desert Storm, it was like 130 at night in that awful barren desert, so i don't have too much to complain about. And he'd be right. Be that as it may, I won't take up your time today faithful reader, i just wanted to say aloha.
When I was younger I read a ton of Stephen King books, and I read a ton of John Grisham books too. I will tell you that when I read the Stand by King, I really thought I'd accomplished something, its longer than War and Peace...literally. So I've read some. And then I didn't read much for a long time. But then I'd pick up a book here and there over the past decade, maybe one or two books a year. But last year when my laptop died, I didn't replace it for a couple of months, and I started reading books again. And my good friend Julie recommended that I read Wild Fire by Nelson DeMille. She said I reminded her of the lead character John Cory, who was a terminable smartass, swore too much and was generally a deadpan grump. So, I read it and I agree. Except John Cory was a badass, me...not so much. So then I realized that the John Cory character was part of a trilogy and this was actually the latest book of the three. So over the next three weeks, I read all three of them. And then I read most of his other books. I think I read twelve of them. And I loved them all. So, if you need a good read, and you like cops and spies and bad guys and things like the cold war, and terrorists and CIA and FBI, you should check out Nelson DeMille. Click HERE for his website. I wouldn't steer ya wrong would I?
I don't really understand the "studies" in this article, but anytime anyone condones cussing, i'm reading it, and then i'm posting it. It does make you think, though, right? Shit yeah!
In meter, caesura (alternative spellings are cæsura or cesura) is a term to denote an audible pause that breaks up a line of verse. In most cases, caesura is indicated by punctuation marks which cause a pause in speech: a comma, a semicolon, a full stop, a dash, etc. Punctuation, however, is not necessary for a caesura to occur.
A timely pause. Caesura is when an author wants to punctuate a phrase, for timely affect. When he wants to make a point linger, for just another beat. When an author physically denotes "WAIT! WHAT I JUST SAID NEEDS ANOTHER SECOND TO MARINADE!". I learned this in one of my favorite movies, Eddie and the Cruisers. And even though that movie might be a bit corny and pedestrian, I love it. And I love the idea that there is a functional item in English grammar that tells us to hold on, hold up; pause.
And even though I butcher the English language daily by acting like I can write, it's important to me to know that these types of things exist. A timely pause is used all the time, in writing, in music, in movies, and in life. What makes it so cool is that we use this type of thing all the time, in everything that we do, unless you're like a courtroom reporter or something. How often have we been talking to someone, and we say something important, and we just kind of let the listener sort of hang for a minute? It's important. It's very useful and can be very powerful.
I tend to think that my life may be a Caesura. My entire life. Like my soul did something great, or horrible or evil in a past life, and my existence today, while maybe entertaining or humorous to some, may just be a timely pause for something greater, in the next life. I feel I am worthy of something great, something less ordinary, but what it is just hasn't ever occurred to me. Maybe I know that I've been a part of greatness, and my soul is resting, sitting this one out. That doesn't mean that the potential for greatness isn't here, because I know it is. But maybe I'm not supposed to be anything wonderful, not supposed to be anything memorable. Maybe I'm just supposed to be Nothing In Particular.
Predestination is something I've thought much about. And if my life has been predetermined, in this lifetime, to be one of little or no consequence, then I've pretty much lived up to that potential. But, when I think about predestination, I always think there might be that instance of chaos that may interrupt an otherwise well thought out plan. Isn't it possible that I could just stumble onto something great, something unique, something interesting? As much as I think about life, love, sports, music and whatevah, I have a good chance of just running into something don't I? Didn't Bucky Dent accidentally hit a three run homer for the Yankees against the Red Sox in 1978 in a deciding playoff game? Dent had 40 homeruns in 12 seasons, which ain't alot, yet he is most known for that one single hit. There's no way Dent said to himself "jack this ball out of the park dude" when he went to the plate in that game in 1978. But he did it. And so maybe I'm Bucky Dent of the blogosphere. Maybe i'll put a good swing on one, just one time, and hit one out of the park. At any rate, I keep going to the plate, putting good swings on each pitch, hoping something good will come of it. Sometimes I'm guessing, and other times I'm over thinking the game, but in the end, I'm giving life professional at-bats.
So a timely pause, maybe this life is that. Maybe it was meant to be that. But for the life of me, I can't see one reason to think that the chaos factor couldn't come into play, and send my life on a different course. I am waiting for greatness, always have been. And maybe greatness isn't something that spends, or can be singled out or can be traded for. Maybe I am the human Caesura. Maybe this life is just a pregnant pause. But I've been looking for my chaos moment. Looking, waiting, and hoping. If it doesn't ever happen, then I am not a failure. I am just a man, a father, a son and a disciple of the world. I am who I am, and I hope. And I hope and I look and I think. And then write about it a little. I guess it couldv'e been worse.
Today I spent a pretty hot day at the pool. At long last! Just what i've been wishing for. Finally, the pool and the great outdoors were hotter than the Batcave. Me, Hannah and Sarah all have a little redness on our noses and cheeks. Thank you God for the perfect hot summer day. And it seems that we've got another hot summer day on hand for sunday, so color me a pool boy! Atta boy God, that's the way we roll in SW Ohio! Good Job! Thanks for hearing me in the previous posts. Now, i've heard something about rain and chilly monday and tuesday....we'll have to work on that. But great job on the weather today, man. Loved it! thank you Sir!
It may be kids, it may be other things, but Saturday nights used to be about wine, and waiting for a table and eating something that costs too much. And then drinking too much and having a hangover at the pool all the next day. And before kids, I remember loafing around on a pool chair, hoping someone would suggest a cooler filled with beer. And Sunday nights were for eating something bad for me, and wishing Monday wouldn't ever come. But for a while now, those Saturdays have been anything but. They've been about chasing kids, staying close to little sarah, shouting WALK! many times. Buying snacks at the snack bar, throwing the ball with the kids in the pool, packing and unpacking all the day's necessities. Then having to get all the wet towels into the washer, and making sure the exhausted (exhaulted) ones are fed a decent dinner, and then entertaining them until bedtime. Luckily the pool is one of the great equalizers in the world of kids, and they can't hold up at nighttime after a day at the pool. So usually, usually bedtimes are easy and early. But some day, I hope that there's a dinner prepared for me on Saturday night. One that i'll get to either pay too much for, or one that someone has put some love into preparing, with me in mind. And I hope on that Saturday night, there's wine and drinks and real adult conversation. That would be interesting. That would be refreshing. And by the way, I love taking the girls to the pool. I love teaching Sarah to swim. I love the other parents being both totally afraid that sarah's about to drown yet amazed by her determinedness. And i love that when they realize she's not drowning, they tell their little kids to "watch sarah, she can swim". I love my whole day at the pool, and it's totally satisfying. I just need a few selfish moments to remind myself that I'm a man, and an adult, and adults should have adult fun too. I love kid fun. But I used to love adult fun too. Someday, I'll be Saturday night.
Insomniacs lay awake in their sad beds, staring at the ceiling, thinking about life and death and all the dark details that lie between the two, cursing the night and dreading the morning. And the same insomniacs are prone to anxiety attacks for many of the same reasons they can't sleep. And one of the things that contributes to anxiety and or panic attacks is caffeine. So extrapolate that to me and my situation. Once in the past two weeks i've had caffeine and it caused an immediate panic attack. So I can't sleep at night unassisted, yet can't stay awake during the day. And now without the aid of caffeine, I find myself gliding through a haze of constant awakedness, just shades above the point of actual sleep. And so I roll through the billowy days of the summer of 2009, not quite rested, not quite asleep. So what now? Sugar? Maybe some sort of stronger narcotic, legal or not? Maybe. Although pills aren't exactly my style, and may be a bit too 80's, even for this 80's nut. Who knows. I've been told I need to work on breathing, meditating and concentration. But, if you've met me, you know those three things don't come naturally to me. Uphill i tredge, nirvana will be mine. Rome wasn't built in a day. And if I don't see ya, good morning, good afternoon and goodnight!
Except for Steven Speilberg and George Lucas, John Hughes was the most influential director/writer of my lifetime. It's really amazing to see all the good things that Hughes was either a director, writer or producer of. Click here to see his full page on IMDB. And MSN had this tribute, so I've reposted it for you.
Tyler Durden: Warning: If you are reading this then this warning is for you. Every word you read of this useless fine print is another second off your life. Don't you have other things to do? Is your life so empty that you honestly can't think of a better way to spend these moments? Or are you so impressed with authority that you give respect and credence to all that claim it? Do you read everything you're supposed to read? Do you think every thing you're supposed to think? Buy what you're told to want? Get out of your apartment. Meet a member of the opposite sex. Stop the excessive shopping and masturbation. Quit your job. Start a fight. Prove you're alive. If you don't claim your humanity you will become a statistic. You have been warned- Tyler.
Anything I wanted was a phone call away. Free cars. The keys to a dozen hideout flats all over the city. I bet twenty, thirty grand over a weekend and then I'd either blow the winnings in a week or go to the sharks to pay back the bookies. Didn't matter. It didn't mean anything. When I was broke, I'd go out and rob some more. We ran everything. We paid off cops. We paid off lawyers. We paid off judges. Everybody had their hands out. Everything was for the taking. And now it's all over. And that's the hardest part. Today everything is different; there's no action... have to wait around like everyone else. Can't even get decent food - right after I got here, I ordered some spaghetti with marinara sauce, and I got egg noodles and ketchup. I'm an average nobody... get to live the rest of my life like a schnook.
A few weeks back, I was traveling with another rep through Charleston WV, and we'd stopped for gas and coffees, right by Yeager Airport, kind of in the hills, just outside of the city. And the lady that was working behind the counter commented on my purple tie. But, hold on a sec...outfit check...I was wearing a lovely dark gray suit with a light blue shirt and a deep purple tie with a few black and light blue stripes on the diagonal. Its a good looking set, and it all matches very well, with black shoes and a black belt, pants tailored to fit my skinny legs and non existent ass. So i'm thinking I look sharp. And now back to the counter at Circle K. She says, "Looove that purple tie! I thought POWER TIES went out in the 80's!?". Outfit check #2....she was wearing some faded black stretch pants, a tee shirt with some lame beer affiliation on it, and bad mall hair, and she was old, and had "summer teeth"...some'r here, some'r there. So I look at her and said, "i love this tie with this outfit, and POWER TIES came in in the 80's, then faded in the 90's, remember Gordon Gekko?". So, my associate Dennis chimes in with his two cents worth. Outfit Check #3...Dennis is wearing a pair of bad off the rack black psuedo slack/khakis, with those little reddish brown loafers with tassles and a bad, old faded "white" oxford, and some k-mart tie. Dennis says" i think she's saying she don't like your tie joe". So i look at both of them, furrow my brow, look them both up and down, and I go "shut up D, it's long walk home from West Virginia" then i look at the chick behind the counter, and i say "all I need from you is my change ma'am". And she said "i actually like your tie, just thought it should be skinnier". I said to D, "see dude, she likes the tie, and knows she shouldn't be making fun of your Kmart suit bro." and the episode was over, and i was the victor. And as my close personal friend MC HAMMER said, you can't touch this!
