Shooting the...

That's not my beautiful...

2011-08-07T14:53:00.000-07:00

Ever look in the mirror and one of those WTF moments?

Umm… well, yeah. Me, either…

Let’s throw out the literal mirror here and think about your life. I wonder how I got to be “that guy.” I don’t have a problem being that guy, and he isn’t even that bad a guy to be. But how did I get here? I don’t remember getting here. I remember things that happened between then and now, but not how that got me here.

Does that make sense?

I guess life just tends to happen and occasionally you have to reassess and accept where you are. Or is it who you are? But I don’t for the life of me know the how or why.

It's happened to you

2011-06-18T14:27:00.000-07:00

Here’s a situation that every guy has had to deal with.

Your lady friend hangs out with "that guy," you know the one, the one that’s after your lady friend. And what do they say every time?

That’s right: “We’re just friends.”

Bullshit. We know it’s bullshit. How? Because we’ve all been "that guy" at some point. Maybe we acted on it, maybe we manned up and waited our turn, whatever. The point is, we know that when two people click, it’s not a “just a friend” scenario.

Of course, then she gets upset because “jealousy is so unattractive.” You know what honey? You’d be more upset if we weren’t jealous.

Then it becomes a trust issue. “Why don’t you trust me?” And what have we all said?

Right again: “It’s not you I don’t trust.”

It’s that fucker we don’t trust! Am I right? We say the same thing every single time. And perhaps just this once, we’re actually right just about every time.

Not that we ever win the argument. You’re lady friend is going to do what she’s going to do. If you’re lucky, when “that guy” makes his move your lady resists and comes crying to you. “How could he do that? We’re just friends!”

And if you aren’t lucky? Well… you’re going to have to find a new lady friend.

Blame

2011-06-17T19:46:00.000-07:00

I can take the blame
It was never a game
To make it cleaner
Please see the way clearer

I can’t leave you now
You won’t even know how
Keep your mind stiller
Hearts seek to find filler

If you let me go
I’ll let you know
How it feels alone
To take the blame, and feel the same
If you let me go
I’ll let you know
How it feels to be alone

I can take the shame
More my share of the pain
You’re still all alone
With thoughts easily known

Put your hate on me
If it can set you free
To share the bitter
If you can feel better

You’re out on your own
Nothing ties you to home
The world will not change
You can still feel the same

If you let me go
I’ll let you know
How it feels alone
To take the blame, and feel the same
If you let me go
I’ll let you know
How it feels to be alone

I’m willing to go
You have to let me know
We can find a way
There’s only that one day

If you hold me down
I know I can still drown
I can’t be the sign
Reminder of what died

If you let me go
I’ll let you know
How it feels alone
To take the blame, and feel the same
If you let me go
I’ll let you know
How it feels to be alone

The malice you find
It’s not easy to hide
Something yours to keep
Nothing to do with me

If you reach a day
Where you find your way
I can find you then
For forgiveness to bend

If you let me go
I’ll let you know
How it feels alone
To take the blame, and feel the same
If you let me go
I’ll let you know
How it feels to be alone

Clear the air

2011-06-16T22:22:00.001-07:00

Occasionally I like to have a cigarette. Regularly I enjoy a good cigar. Routinely I partake in a cocktail.

Stop judging me.

I'll make you a deal, I won't smoke in your house, if you stop being a vegetarian in mine.

Fair?

Just to clarify.

2011-05-30T15:38:00.001-07:00

I guess I must be confusing, because it seems like many of the people around me have really off the wall impressions. I’m a relatively uncomplicated guy as far as things go, but apparently that doesn’t always get across. I take full responsibility here.

People seem to want to fix me, which is intriguing because I never knew that I was broken. It’s always something to get at the “real” me, as opposed to this petty impersonation I’ve been doing all my life. It really runs the gamut: quit drinking, get married, go gluten free, yadda, yadda, yadda.

On a side note, and I believe I speak for everyone here. Vegans? Fuck off. Seriously.

Back to the topic at hand, some people have solutions to the problems that I’ve never noticed. Let’s just settle this here, because apparently I’ve been unclear. Here’s my schtick:

I’m kind of an asshole, but sometimes I’m funny.

That’s it! Simple, right? Told you so. So now we can all leave my “inner teddy bear” or any other bullshit you think I’m hiding alone.

Thanks!

Would you date someone with children?

2011-05-27T11:26:00.001-07:00

I suppose that depends on whether this is a hypothetical question or if you really have someone in mind...

5 Things I've thought about...

2011-05-16T18:12:00.000-07:00

...that you probably haven't...

1) Polytheistic religions are more tolerant than monotheistic faiths.

When you’ve got a bunch of gods (and even some favorites,) it’s not a huge leap to accept someone else’s gods. There will always be the inevitable “my gods are better than your gods” argument. But it’s not as extreme as saying yours is the only true God and all unbelievers must die!

2) Men and women are equally stupid; we’re just stupid about different things.

People sometimes complain that men only think with their penises. That may be true, but at least our penises never overthink the situation.

3) I overuse ellipses.

Because I like to let it linger…

4) Boxing is not about beating people up.

But roller derby is.

5) Squash is gross because of the rotten texture.

Squash has a soft/mushy and sometimes stringy texture. Think of all the other things you eat, what else has that consistency? That’s right, rotten things. If you have an apple that gets overly soft, you throw it away. If your steak is mushy and stringy before you’re about to put it on the grill, you toss it out. Squash has the consistency of other things that are past due. And that’s what you want to eat? Really?

Between a rock and a cold hard slap

2011-05-14T09:33:00.000-07:00

We’ve all heard women say it: “Just don’t lie to me.” She’d much rather hear something hurtful that’s true than be deceived. She can forgive almost anything, as long as you are honest.

Bullshit.

Nobody wants to hear the truth all the time. Man, woman, child, your dog, nobody. The truth quite often sucks, that’s why we made up lying in the first place! Lying is great when used properly. Women know this, but sometimes they are in a bad mood and need to blame it on their man. Here are three of the conversation starters to get us on the defensive.

Does this _______ make me look fat?

Umm… no? There’s no right answer here. If you say no you are lying and not even paying attention. Saying yes is even worse. We’ll call this the sitcom classic.

Do you think she’s pretty?

Who?

You know who.

Well of course I know who, the pretty one. That’s what pretty people are for!

I know you were looking.

Dammit…

Do you think I should get breast implants?

Yes, no, whatever. I know there is a big media push about beauty, but ya’ll are over-thinking this stuff. We’re guys, generally naked is all it takes to make us happy. But no, you need us to take a position. And you get mad at us even if we say no! As far as I’m concerned if you want a bigger bust by all means go for it. But you can always just do it the old fashioned way and get pregnant.

Guys, you can't win here. Forget about watching the game, it's over.

Rum Cake

2011-05-14T09:03:00.001-07:00

So I've been looking around to find a rum cake recipe. Why? I dunno, because I'm an alcoholic with a bundt pan I guess. Get off it.

Anyway, I've been looking around and every recipe I'm finding has an ingredient list that includes...ahem... "yellow cake mix." Really? You're the type of person who makes Hamburger Helper from scratch, aren't you? Boxed pre-mix items are not, let me be clear, ARE NOT a recipe! It's the absence of a recipe, that's the entire point. You add water or milk and viola! It's magic!

I want to be fair here, there's nothing wrong with yellow cake mix. It creates a light and fluffy pile of mediocrity fit for all occasions. But if you are going to be audacious enough to post a recipe, you cannot include "yellow fricking cake damn mix" as an ingredient.

End of public service announcement.

Just saying

2011-04-25T20:13:00.001-07:00

So this girl starts drilling me on what my “type” is. Don’t worry, she’s a friend and presumably (hopefully) off the market and just curious. Why is she curious? Because she figures if she knows my type, she can go out and find me one. Oddly enough, if it was that easy I’d just go fucking get one.

But as it stands, I really have no idea how to answer that question. It’s a little known fact that all men have the exact same type. It’s called “out of our league.” We don’t ever get it, or eternally regret it if we do. So our actual type is known as “opportunity” or “what’s available.” It sounds so crude to say it out loud, so we just feint ignorance.

I know it seems simple, but I’ve had enough people try to set me up to know that it’s not. I’d be amazed beyond all expectation of a blind date did not involve a bat shit insane woman. But realistically, who in their right mind goes on a blind date?

Old Dog, no new tricks...

2011-04-06T19:22:00.000-07:00

Getting older is rough, let me tell ya. Your metabolism slows down, your physical recovery isn't what it used to be. Energy is a problem, so you rely on coffee and start to resent children. Eyesight, waist/hip ratio, hairline... you name it, it goes to shit.

And I've had to do some terrible, terrible things lately because of it. I mean truly awful and despicable. Heartbreaking. I've had to deny myself the cold beer my body so richly deserves after a hard days work.

It's absurd, I know.

Q&A

2011-03-26T13:01:00.000-07:00

I realize that many people are completely enamored with me and have many questions that they would love to ask if only I granted them an audience. Since I’m quite obviously never going to be able to bestow that honor on many people, I’ve decided to tackle some of the more common questions for all to share. You’re Welcome!

Q: Why do you resent pedestrians?

A: I don’t resent them, I just believe that the laws of physics supersede the laws of men.

Q: Is it true that you’re in love with yourself?

A: Great question, it’s a common misconception, but it’s actually everybody else who is in love with me. I think I’m pretty okay.

Q: What makes you think you’re so badass?

A: A lifetime of experience in badassery.

Q: You seem very judgmental, do you really believe that it’s your job to tell everybody else what to do?

A: Let me just start off by saying that I really do enjoy doing charity work, so it never feels like a job at all. I like to help people reach their potential, and it’s important to me personally to give back to the community.

Q: Are there any people you look up to, or are you so self-centered that you think you’re above everybody?

A: I look up to many of people; I’m not particularly tall.

Q: I think you’re incredibly arrogant to think that all women are completely in love with you. What gives you the right to treat people that way? Prick!

A: I’m simply playing the percentages here; it’s truly nothing personal. It’s a little known FACT that 87% of all women have a deep-seated desire to see me naked. It is so little known that a large portion of these women aren’t even aware of it. I don’t argue with the science, I just live it.

Q: Do you have any ambition in your pathetic little life?

A: I do have a few goals left to achieve. One thing I’d like is to give the Pope an opportunity to meet me. I think that would be a gratifying experience for him.

Q: Have you ever heard of a “God Complex?”

A: As I recall, it’s one of the prerequisites for running for president.

Q: If you’re so great, why are you going to die alone?

A: Mostly luck, but I appreciate alone time when I can get it. Don’t worry, in the future I’ll discuss how you can be more like me.

Q: Are you willing to take anybody else’s advice?

A: I work really hard not to. I don’t want people to get the wrong impression and think they are doing things well. Self-esteem is important, but sometimes tough love is just as crucial.

I hope that this has been as enlightening and helpful for you as I intended it to be. Please keep sending in your questions and I will try to waste my time on you at my next opportunity.

I read good

2011-03-21T18:53:00.001-07:00

Why is it that I feel guilty wasting an evening watching television or a movie, but I don’t feel nearly as bad spending those same four hours reading a book? The only thing I can think of is some false ideology ingrained from my youth. When I was a kid we were always told that reading was good, while watching TV was bad. Aren’t they really the same thing? If I spend several hours reading a book, I get exactly as much accomplished as if I was watching a movie. Less really, if you consider how far along I get in the storyline.

And don’t give me any of the “but you use your imagination” while reading nonsense. The suspension of disbelief to accept that the fat awkward looking guy is married to the unfairly gorgeous gal in EVERY GODDAMN SITCOM is stretching my imagination about as far as it can go. A story is a story, and whether you’re following actors playing a scene or reading the play, it all ends the same.

I’m not saying that television is better than reading a novel. My point is that in the end you accomplish the exact same thing. Unproductive time dedicated to entertainment. Fair enough. But I still feel better at the end of the day if I wasted time reading than other things. It don’t make no sense, ya’ll.

Here's the thing...

2011-03-16T21:03:00.000-07:00

I know that I've espoused my hilariousness, and it's absolutely true. However...

You either get my humor or you don't. And it's not "I don't know why he thinks that's funny." It's "what the hell is wrong with that guy?"

I recognize this, and I don't care.

Don't care much, never did.

2011-03-02T07:19:00.001-08:00

I’m oddly comfortable hurting people’s feelings.

Please don’t misunderstand me, I’m not some sadistic schmuck who gets his kicks making children cry. Truth be told I don’t like to hurt people’s feelings at all, it just doesn’t bother me when I do. If circumstances arise in which, for whatever reason, some gets hurt… I’m okay with that. It would be fair to call me insensitive.

There are three basic reasons for my comfort:

1) I am completely unwilling to walk on eggshells for other people and I have a sense of humor. Everything seems to be a sensitive topic these days, as I’ve mentioned time and again. I don’t understand why people like to blow things out of proportion based on some subjective “political correctness.” Something has to be specifically, intentionally, and maliciously offensive for me to even notice.

On the same vein, I try to keep my sense of humor about things. Life is far too long and absurd not to elicit an occasional chuckle. Everything can be funny in the right context; you just have to be willing to accept it. Cancer can be downright hilarious, particularly in conversations with cancer patients. I understand that there is certainly a time and place for everything, but in that right time and place nothing is off limits.

2) People need to calm. The fuck. Down.

This is probably the root cause of my insensitivity, and at the heart of my humor. Seriously folks, if you happen to randomly hear someone tell a retard joke and you just happen to have a retarded kid back at home, rest assured they were not talking about you. Mental retardation is pretty damn tragic… and hilarious. Again: context. Take a moment to laugh, your kid’s too dumb to be offended.

Try to remember that most conversations are about general life situations. It seems that many people are so self-centered that they think everything relates to them. And if these people want to be offended, and rest assured there is a large and loud section of the population constantly on the prowl to do just that, they’ll find a reason to get upset. And if you’re one of those people, I’ll be happy to oblige because I don’t give a shit.

3) I’m a bad person.

You’ve probably been thinking of this the entire time. “He doesn’t care about other people? What an asshole!”

Yep.

Just so ya know

2011-02-25T18:38:00.001-08:00

It's too bad I'm not a happier guy. I'm pretty effing hilarious when I'm in a good mood.

Ah, the memories

2011-02-13T19:33:00.000-08:00

Remember back when you were a kid and all you wanted was to grow up? You'd get to stay up as late as you want, eat dessert before dinner, and decide what you're doing on the weekend for yourself. And you were absolutely right, when you grow up you do have the freedom to do all those things. And though we may not have known it, that's all we really wanted. Control and freedom, freedom and control.

Of course, now that we're (presumably) adults it's not anything like we thought. I tend to wish I could go to be earlier, try to avoid eating dessert because it catches up with me to fast, and spend my weekends dealing with laundry and cleaning the house. We do have the freedom, but nobody mentioned all the other shit that comes with growing up.

Unnecessary commentary, but isn't it all?

2011-02-05T10:24:00.000-08:00

Have you ever noticed how male dogs always seem more confidant pissing than female dogs? They just lift their leg up as if to say, "eff you fire hydrant, you're my bitch now." But female dogs? It's the awkward squat that makes you wonder if their knees are backwards, and they look apologetic about the whole endeavor.

This are the things that pop into my head from time to time. So yes, I drink to keep the demons at bay.

Culinary Expertise

2011-01-31T21:24:00.001-08:00

You may have noticed that I routinely post pictures of food on this blog. And yes, I’m the one who does the cooking. Egads! A man who can cook? What is the world coming to!?!

Actually, only women are surprised that I can cook, most men accept it indifferently like we accept everything else. We really only overreact over sports and women. Women over 45 are surprised because they don’t know any men who can cook. Women under 30 are surprised because they have no idea how to cook. The decade and a half in-between are pretty hit or miss.

However, since apparently two separate generations are somewhat confused by the fact that I cook, I thought I’d lay out some basics here. Don’t worry, I’m not going to go all Julia Child on you, she was far more of a man than I could ever be.

First thing, if you are not a complete idiot, i.e. you can read; then you can cook. This is not rocket science here. If you’ve ever looked at a recipe you may have noticed the chronologically challenging nature of a cookbook. First there is step one (often with a picture,) and then you move to gasp step two! Congratulations moron, you now know how to follow directions. Feel free to hook up your own damn tv next time you move, I’m busy.

One thing that I do that some people can’t/won’t is throw things together without a recipe. This is slightly more complex since it isn’t actually written down for you. However, you mostly just mimic things that you’ve done in the past and enjoyed. I’m going to lay out my three primary rules, simply because I don’t want to think of more:

1. Butter is good
2. Olive oil is good
3. Garlic is good

Yep, that’s the extent of my thought process. Home style cooking is easy because it isn’t supposed to be pretty. Presentation is for blowhards in white hats, food ought to be ugly. My culinary experiments are very basic and simple, because I enjoy simple food. My real trick is to use fresh ingredients whenever possible, because fresh is always better. Pretty basic.

I hate to burst your bubble here if you were impressed, because it really is very simple. I can read, therefore I can cook. When I don’t feel like reading I use butter, olive oil, and garlic and hope for the best. Done deal.

People sometimes ask me why I’m still single, and I always say because I know how to cook. Look fellas, if you’re wondering if that girl is worth it, just ask yourself if she’s a better cook than you. If she isn’t, than she isn’t worth it and you need to move on, fucking immediately. What’s wrong with you?

C’mon ladies, ya’ll know it’s true! It’s not like the knife doesn’t cut both ways. If you’re wondering if that guy in your life is truly the special someone, just ask yourself if he makes more money than you do. If he doesn’t, he isn’t. Don’t even try to deny that this isn’t part of the process. Remember, “all you need is love” was written by a man with a full bank account.

Grizzly

2011-01-08T22:16:00.000-08:00

Growing a beard is always an interesting experience, simply because people take notice. Some men who can’t grow a beard are jealous, and others are nostalgic for the days before their wives made them shave daily. Women almost universally dislike facial hair; generally for an idiotic reason.

First off, people really need to stop saying, “are you trying to grow a beard?” No, and I never have. It takes effort to refrain from growing a beard, none to let one happen. There’s no trying involved, it's just a consequence of puberty.

Secondly, and this one is personal, don’t act surprised as if you’ve never seen me with a full beard. If you’ve seen me in the last decade, there’s a 50/50 chance you’ve seen me with one. If you don’t see me regularly perhaps it’s 40/60, but still, pretty good odds. It’s winter! I let my beard grow in. It’s summer! I better cut it down. This ain’t new.

Next is the general opinion of women on facial hair. The complaint that we’ve all gotten is that it’s “scratchy.” Untrue, and I have some pretty convincing evidence. Take your hand, put it on top of your head and feel your hair. Is it scratchy? Of course not, unless you’ve got a buzz cut. Stubble is abrasive, anything longer than ¼ inch or so is just hair. And like all hair it can be thick or thin, but it’s not going to be all that scratchy. Seriously ladies, have some patience and you’ll be fine.

I’m not going to argue to sing the praises of growing a beard, though I know that many men do. I don’t do it for aesthetic reasons, and if I did I’d probably being doing it wrong. It’s pure laziness. If you have an opinion on the look feel free to share, just don’t ask if “I’m trying…”

Nope

2011-01-05T19:51:00.001-08:00

Interesting fact: I’m not fun.

No, really. This isn’t one of those self-centered “woe is me, I’m not enjoying my life” kind of speeches either. It’s not an issue of me not having fun, though in general that’s true. My point is that I, as a person, am not any fun.

I don’t cut loose and have a good time; I’m not fun to be around. I’m not a ball and chain of suicidal depression either, it’s not like I bring down the party whenever I’m around. I’m not good at starting or finishing conversations, but I can talk in the middle. I’m amiable enough, it’s a work requirement. But I’m not any fun.

Look, we all know people who are fun. They’re the ones who suggest you go to the park at midnight and run around. They get goofy when you’re down to try and make you laugh. The people who’ll make an ass of themselves on the dance floor and not give a damn. They’ll get everybody to take a shot at a bar and make them thankful for it. Ask a stranger a random question just to make conversation. Some people are just a damn good time, and they make sure everybody has a good time with them.

Almost all kids are fun, albeit in their own way. Children laugh hundreds of times a day, primarily at inane bullshit. They skip, just for the hell of it. But the average adult smiles what, a half dozen, maybe dozen times a day? And most of mine are the polite “thanks for holding the door” variety. You have to wonder how fun people keep that attitude into adulthood.

Dude, I’m frickin boring. I go to bed early to read a book. If I find a tv show I like I’ll watch an entire season over a weekend. When I go out it’s for dinner or maybe a movie. My most interesting daily decision is whether I should shave or not. It’s my sasquatchian dilemma. None of this is fun. I’m an old man. Already.

Which works, since I’ve always been old. I’ll just have my kind of fun. Scotch.

Charles' Soliloquy

2011-01-03T20:13:00.000-08:00

I remember being scared, wondering if I was going to act “appropriately.” Stupid. My son dies and my biggest worry is what other people are going to think about my reaction, how I behave. As if it matters. I kept telling myself that nobody’s going to care, nobody’s going to judge me. But that didn’t really help. People do care, I could feel them watching me, watching us. Wondering. “Are they going to be okay?” It's a raw time to be questioned.

I didn’t cry at first, and was mortified that I wouldn’t be able to. That’s what I’ve heard anyway, that sometimes people can’t cry when they lose a child, they just hold it all in. I didn’t want to do that, be that guy. But I didn’t want to be too weepy either, you know? I mean, there was Melinda to think about, and I figured she’d cry for both of us. And she did, we both did. We cried plenty.

But I didn’t have to cry too much or too long, I think. So yeah, that’s what I was worried about, not being able to cry or only being able to cry or… I think I was expecting at least one of those things to happen. It might be worse though, processing loss the way you’re supposed to, the guilt of outliving your son. Grief. I can still laugh; did you know that? It scared me the first time, the sound of it. My own voice seemed jarring in my own head, like I shouldn’t be allowed.

Yeah, actually a buddy of mine told me one the other day. What do you call it when you film pedestrians? Footage! Right? Get it? Eh, it’s pretty awful, maybe you had to be there. It was kind of funny. I can’t tell jokes, never could. Ask Mel, she’ll tell you. But Michael liked my jokes. Maybe I’m only good at little kid jokes.

What I don’t understand, continue to not understand is how I’m okay. I’m dealing with everything just the way I’m supposed to. Taking whatever steps they tell me to take. It’s not even really that hard. It’s not good, I don’t like it. It’s not like I’m happy, or anything like that. But I know the situation, that what happened wasn’t anybody’s fault, that I won’t ever be the same. Don’t want to be the same. Can’t be the same. But I’ll be okay. You don’t get better, I don’t think. You do move on and it get’s a little more bearable. I guess. But there’s not a fix.

I just don’t like that I’m okay. I don’t think I should be. It’s what everybody is telling me is good, I’m doing good. It doesn’t feel good to do good, not like this. Not without Mike. So I wake up sometimes at night and I have my milk, go back to bed, and have another day tomorrow.

Atheists

2011-01-03T09:09:00.001-08:00

I don’t understand passionate atheists. Don’t get me wrong, I certainly understand atheism in a very general sense. What I don’t understand is how some people are ardent and motivated about their atheism.

I understand Christians, Muslims, Buddhists, et al wanting to spread their beliefs. You believe in God, you have a passion for your faith, you’ll want to share that. But atheism is the rejection of deities. How can you be passionate about not believing in something?

“I don’t believe in God.” Good deal, whatever. But that’s it, isn’t it? How does that conversation go further? Why do you have to justify it? Being emotional driven by a belief makes sense, I just don’t understand the drive for a disbelief.

The only way I can make sense of it is that the ardent atheists are more anti-God than disbelievers in God (though they certainly are both.) You can have a passion against deities and those who believe in them. That makes sense to me. Passion ought to be proactive in some way.

I may just be missing something and atheists have a point. They certainly have every right to believe or disbelieve in what they like, and share that with others. I guess it’s like any religion (non-religion;) I’d rather you mostly keep it to yourself. Don’t hide it or be ashamed, feel free to be open and honest. But if you preach about anything, it’s very likely you have little of consequence to say.

Why it sucks to be me

2011-01-01T09:27:00.000-08:00

I need about $5,000. Okay, that’s not even remotely true, but I’d like around that amount of play money. If I had five grand I could pretty much buy all of the little things that have been popping up on my wishlist. These would be the more modest items, it’s not like I’d get the new house or car or anything like that.

Just at a ramble I’d get a beer brewing kit, a smoker accessory for my weber, maybe a rotisserie attachment, fly fishing gear, and a bunch of kitchen stuff. You know you’re in for a life of bachelorhood when you learn how to cook. Because let’s be honest, if you know how to cook why would you ever not be single? (zing!)

But here’s the problem, if I had $5,000 of play money, I’d use it for something responsible like paying down student debt. Damn me and my practibility…

Movies vs. Television

2010-12-31T12:06:00.000-08:00

Can someone please explain to me why actors want to graduate from television to movies? I’ve really never understood the appeal. Working on a television is steady work, hopefully over a number of years. The hours are incredibly long and surely can be exhausting, but you do get several months off every year.

If the issue is creativity, you have the hiatus to work on other pet projects. But really, if you want to tell a story you should need more than 2 hours to accomplish the goal. Movies have the big budgets and big names, but television consistently has the best stories. If you want your character to be more than a caricature, you’ll need to devote some years to the process.

Think about romantic comedies, the incessant bread and butter of the movie industry. You have to describe an entire love story in 90 minutes while including some sort of back story for the other characters. This is obviously pretty difficult, based on the number of failed attempts. If you have two characters on television who are ultimately supposed to fall for each other, you can tell your story more organically.

What’s even better is that you can have a television series about absolutely anything, and have the love arc be part of the series. You ever see a movie with much nuance? Movies are one dimensional by definition, but a long running series can tell all the stories within the story. You get to create an entire world. Movies rarely achieve that goal.

And the love story example is just a simple angle, science fiction necessitates a suspension of disbelief that can have a far grander scope on television than in a movie. Star Trek is an excellent example because the movie franchise necessitated the short running series to create context. The movies are successful because they built off of television, not the other way around.

It just makes me wonder why George Clooney graduating up from ER is a good thing. It’s certainly more profitable, but is his acting and story telling better or worse for making the jump? Now that premium television like HBO and Showtime et al are putting together great original content (avoiding much of the “networks” butchery) it seems like television is the way to go.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy movies and always will. There are certain things that can only be done well in movies. But let’s dispel with the rumor that they are a better medium.

Life Changes

2010-12-30T08:14:00.000-08:00

I’ve had a vague feeling of discontent my entire life. The degree varies over the years, but the underlining feeling has always been there. It’s a little bit of sadness, a touch of dread, and a heaping scoop of malcontent. It’s probably a problem that I need to change before it eats me alive.

Fortunately, I think I’ve decided what can cure my ailment. Lust! I need a little bit of lust in my life. I need someone (or several someones) to become completely and illogically enamored with the C. What do you think? It sounds awesome, I know.

I know people like to talk about love and la de da de da. All you need is love and all that jazz. Friends, family, lovers, blah, blah, etc. bullshit, bullshit. Love is great until someone rips your still beating heart from your chest to be trampled by a herd of hopes and dreams. Which apparently happens all the time. I watch a lot of tv, and it’s pretty thematic of every goddamn show.

Look folks, I’ve been bummed about things and all, but all of my drinking binges have been purely recreational. People take their relationships way too seriously. Hell, people take life way too seriously. And that’s why I think I need to reduce my existence to pure innate attraction.

Now all I need to do is find a way for people to lust after me without adjusting my lethargic lifestyle…

Aussies

2010-12-29T17:15:00.000-08:00

They have a great accent, don’t they? You hear someone with an Australian accent and you just assume that they are badass. It could be some fat bastard, but when you hear him talk you figure he’s wrestled crocodiles and swam with sharks. You see a fat American and you assume he shops at Wal-Mart. It’s not quite fair, is it?

And what’s with the language? You hear an Aussie guy say “G’day mate!” with such enthusiasm that you smile politely. But hey man, it’s not a "good" "day" and we ain’t gonna mate. But when the chick (who is obviously badass) says “g’day mate!” it’s all “Hey-ho-helllooo!” And mating is required, obviously.

Weird stuff: “put shrimp on the bahbie” What the hell? I ain’t putting any shrimp on Barbie, that’s just a sick fetish thing. What’s wrong with that country? Although I hear that those crazy Northern Asians also have some sort of sushi version.

You can’t trust these people, they all come to the U.S. and sound like us, take our “badass dude” and “hot badass chick” acting gigs away from hard working Americans’. Then you hear them in the interview and it’s all “g’days” and “bahbies.” We’re being invaded, and it’s obviously a conspiracy.

It’s almost as bad as the Canadians, but you already know what they’re aboot.

Thanksgiving

2010-11-24T17:36:00.000-08:00

You know you're drinking too much when you run somewhere in the house with your hands full carrying one of your sharpest knives. Up the stairs. Wearing socks. On carpet.

And you people think I'm joking about dying young?

Did I mention they are the slippery kind of dress socks?

Happy Holidays!

Decision Making

2010-11-17T18:18:00.001-08:00

You will be wrong.

And you better come to terms with it in a hurry.

It won’t be every decision, and hopefully it won’t be most of your decisions. But it’s going to happen from time to time, so the real question is how you make the next decision after a mistake. Your mistakes don’t define you, but how you react to them certainly will. Take responsibility, try to learn something, and move on with confidence.

Food for thought.

Placental

2010-11-15T10:54:00.000-08:00

Here’s a question for the female gender:

Ya’ll know how to nitpick and nag (don’t be sensitive, it’s not always a bad thing.) I don’t know if this is an evolutionary trait or something handed down from mother to daughter. But it’s a reality beyond question. But why is it only mothers’ who are able to instill guilt with such precision?

Mothers are able to make other people feel guilty about absolutely anything. And it really doesn’t matter what it is, you could make me feel bad for chewing a toothpick for no good reason.

Does it have something to do with liquor amnii poisoning? Or do mothers’ only teach this skill to daughters after they have their first child? Is there some kind of conspiracy here?

It’s kind of creepy, this formidable power that ya’ll possess. Remember Spider Man here, with great power comes great responsibility.

Throwing it out there...

2010-11-12T07:58:00.001-08:00

I think people underestimate my hilariousness.

Describing my weekend

2010-10-25T09:04:00.000-07:00

Threw my back out, so yesterday went something like this:

Expletive, expletive, ow, expletive, ow, expletive, expletive, ow, ow, expletive.

And so on and so forth.

Sometimes

2010-09-26T11:38:00.001-07:00

I think that sex should be harder to do.

I saw guy jaywalk with a stroller across an active 4 lane street. This would be fine if there wasn't several cars right in his vicinity. It would make some semblance of sense if the crosswalk was more than 50 feet away. (He was jogging, it was one of those active strollers so presumably he was going for exercise.)

It makes you wonder if this guy should be allowed to use his penis. Maybe you should have to pass a "not a complete dumbass" test or something before being allowed to procreate.

I'm that guy

2010-09-24T17:08:00.000-07:00

Look, I know that I make fun of modern “music” quite a bit. And it is a little unfair, since I never listen to it. I’ll hear a song here or there, and think about how hell can’t be that bad, if this is what we have to go through now. But since I don’t watch MTV or listen to the radio, I really am in the dark about these things.

Well, today I expanded my horizons by listening to the radio on my drive to work. I had an audiobook to listen to for awhile, but when it ended I didn’t feel like fumbling through cd’s on the freeway. So I switched to FM and scanned through the stations. Maybe one in five stations wasn’t playing a commercial at any given time, and one in five of those was worth listening to. That’s one in 25 stations people, and I’m pretty sure there are only 20 or so stations that you can get at a time anyway.

It’s really appalling the crap people listen to nowadays. Seriously? This is hip hop? It ain’t hip and I ain’t hopping. Pop music? Who made this stuff popular?

Needless to say that after I confirmed that my ears were not actually bleeding, I put in some cd’s for the ride home.

Two Reasons

2010-09-22T18:25:00.001-07:00

... I should start home brewing beer. It combines two of my main hobbies.

1) Drinking

2) Buying shit I don't really need.

Word of the Day

2010-09-18T09:05:00.001-07:00

Rotund

Sometimes after an evening of overindulging in food and drink, I feel like a Buddha. And not in a spiritual way.

Rotund.

She's Out of Your League

2010-09-16T17:52:00.000-07:00

Has anybody read any of these scientific reports that prove definitively that beautiful women are unhealthy? In a way, they literally break your heart. Attractive women are shown to increase the cortisol levels in men, which has been linked to heart disease along with many other unfortunate maladies.

The men reading this are not surprised that women are linked to a stress hormone.

Oops

2010-09-13T11:56:00.001-07:00

It's come to my attention that lately my blog has not been very friendly to vegetarians. If you're offended please pretend that recent pictures were of molded soy products that were photoshopped to look authentic.

In other news I plan on eating some juicy, tasty, dead cow later this evening.

Cheers,

Management

Note to the kids...

2010-09-12T16:08:00.000-07:00

...who think that life is some long and epic journey. They sure do like to sound wise, don't they?

It isn't, life is short and full of whatever you fill it with. There's good times, bad times, and the mundane times. I'm always tempted to be honest with kids when they say things like that, but tend not to follow through. I mean, it would be unkind to take away their disillusionment with the obvious facts surrounding us all, wouldn't it?

I'm not saying that life is a pile of shit either. But stop thinking that it's some merry-go-round and then get disappointed. Just face the days you have and start living. Reality has plenty of perks to play with.

Swine

2010-09-12T07:44:00.000-07:00

For crying out loud...

2010-09-08T20:39:00.000-07:00

Let’s talk about why having a child to save a failing relationship is a bad idea:

· Yeah, kids are a miracle and spawn mysterious feelings of love and blah, blah, blah. They are also a giant pain in the ass.

· If your relationship is tense, the lack of sleep is probably not going to calm things down.

· Do you think your girl is crazy? Let’s see what she looks like on hormones.

· Think your man is afraid of commitment? See how he acts when you drop a $100,000 dollar responsibility in his lap.

· Distractions are never solutions. Though an infant is a hell of a distraction. Points for going all out.

· You’re still going to worry about your kid when he’s 30.

· Parents who fight have kids who fight. Then the kids have kids with people they fight with, spawning another generation of people who piss me off.

· Birth is gross. Watch some Discovery if you don’t believe me. Afterbirth is more gross, however.

· Caesarean is the new midwife. Scar much?

· If you don’t have the stones to deal with relationship problems, you aren’t ready to have a conversation with a 4 year old. They ask the hard questions.

· Pissed off parents are bad parents. And I already don’t like kids, so cut me some slack.

This little piggy...

2010-09-08T07:55:00.001-07:00

Getting Old

2010-09-06T17:00:00.000-07:00

People get mad at me for talking about getting old. But since I'm falling apart to a degree where I'm unlikely to see my mid-thirties, back off. If I were a horse they'd have put me down already.

One example I've noticed recently is that I've changed how I put shorts on. I used to hold my shorts with both hands, then lean down to step one leg in at a time. This should be a pretty natural maneuver for most of you. Putting on pants isn't all that complex.

However, I've moved beyond that simple procedure and have added a lazy balance element. Instead of holding my clothing and stepping into them, I now dangle the shorts by one side and try to put my first leg in on the swing. This saves me from bending over the 4 inches to reach down to stepping distance.

Why do I go through this, you ask? Because I'm getting old...

100th Post

2010-08-14T19:44:00.000-07:00

This is my 100^th blog post. That’s right, number one-oh-hundred. So I thought about writing about something important, or to help bring perspective on some of the better posts. Instead I just decided to write about things that piss me off, because the best way to sum up me is to listen to me pissed off. It’s my best face. So, in no particular order:

· People who make their religion all fuzzy and friendly. Look, if you’re trying to convert people by talking about love and forgiveness, but neglect to mention the jealousy and wrath… that’s just dishonest salesmanship. Be fair, lay it all out.

· When people consider their online interactions as a social life. If you’re socially inept, just live your life in a bottle like a man.

· When people who have been to therapy think they are therapists. Look, therapy is about introspection, so if you think that your treatment means that you understand everybody else better, you’re doing it wrong.

· The California Highway Patrol douchenozzles. If you want to help people, become a cop or sheriff or fire fighter or join animal control or whatever. But the only reason to dedicate your life to traffic enforcement is because you are an asshole and want a gun.

· The phrase “illegal war.” Wars aren’t “legal” or “illegal.” They fall outside of a legal framework, so they would be extra-legal. International law doesn’t exist, because it’s completely unenforceable. The least you can do is make your bitching logical.

· People who speak as authorities in topics they know nothing about. You can’t talk about how dangerous guns are if you’ve never seen one in person. You can’t judge me for smoking if you’ve never tried it. You can have an opinion, but don’t pretend to know anything. We can tell, really.

· Tighty-whities. Eh, personal preference; shouldn’t need an explanation.

· Spam emails. Who the hell is “EJ”? Because I’m getting all of his work from home and cheap prescription medication emails.

· Boston Red Sox fans. Shut up already.

· Yankees Fans. Ditto.

· The celebrity media machine. I don’t like knowing that Lindsay Lohan is in rehab, because I really don’t care. I don’t even know how I know, that’s how inundated I am with this information.

· Entertainment oriented political television. As much fun as it is to argue politics with idiots, it’s never interesting to listen to three people argue without ever having one of them complete a full sentence without being interrupted.

· Squash. The vegetable, not the game. You can get past the terrible taste and still have to deal with the texture. I’d rather have escargot.

· Whining. See: Red Sox, Boston

· Treehuggers. You love the environment? Fine. You feel like constantly lecturing me on the environment? Sure, but you should know that I believe in mercy killing. And it’ll be a mercy if it shuts you up.

· Sobriety. Seriously, life is boring.

· Anytime parents talk to you about their kids as if everything they do is miraculous. Babies aren’t cute, they’re awkwardly goofy. Children are stupid. Just hope they grow out of it.

· Little boys and girls who are adults. The inner child is supposed to be on the inside, stay away from Forever 21.

· Cougars. Just kidding, now buy me a drink.

· People who talk in text speech. Writing “lol” is bad enough, saying it is damn near unforgivable.

· Politicians. They aren’t even good liars anymore. I miss being disillusioned.

· Reality television. Is there anything less real than reality television? Everybody loses with reality television, everybody.

· Vampires that glisten. You can throw werewolves that fall in love with infants. The hell is wrong with you people?

· Tall women. Yes, I’m shallow and easily intimidated.

· Tall men. Screw you.

· Diet anything. Soda, crackers, bread, water, whatever… Here’s how a diet works, you just eat less. But no, you’d rather eat the entire bag of “diet” cookies. Triple the portions, should work fine. Good job.

· Madonna. Two reasons. One, bitch got creepy looking. Two, the term Madonna represents the faux singer, instead of what it’s supposed to mean.

· Child bikinis. I’ve been over this before. Let’s avoid tempting the pedophiles, shall we?

· Tourists. If you live in a tourist town, you hate tourists. And parades.

· Metrosexuals. Stop giving women the wrong expectations. Is that eyeliner?

· Cyclists who think that mankind’s laws supercede the laws of physics. Get. Out. Of. My. Way.

· The Dow Jones Industrial Average. How many of the people who watch the Dow daily actually know what’s in it? If you don’t, feel free not to complain about it to me.

· People who think they have me all figured out. It’s not a self-righteous “nobody can understand me” sentiment either. If you think you know me that well, you don’t know me at all.

· Handwriting. I haven’t used cursive since elementary school, what an incredible waste of my squandered youth.

· The designated hitter. I’m trying to avoid the sports references, but this is important. If the guy can throw the ball, he can swing the bat.

· Yacht Clubs. Do you have to check off “willing to be a dick” on the application?

· People with high self-esteem. You’re just too hard to take advantage of.

· People who think being comfortable with your body is an excuse for letting yourself go. A good personality doesn’t make you pretty, sorry.

· Homosexuals who are convinced that everybody else is in the closet. Go be gay, whatever Most of us don’t swing that way, but we’ll take care of the preservation of the species for you. Were you the kids who tried to hammer the square peg in the triangle hole?

· People who look for ways to be offended. Seriously? Not enough normal shitty in your life, just have to look for more?

Look, I’m not an angry bitter person consumed by the things I hate. But don’t do any of these things around me. I mean it.

Vodka

2010-08-01T17:56:00.000-07:00

On this list of things that should never be, flavored vodka is on the first page. It’s pretty ridiculous. I mean, the whole point to vodka is that you can put it into anything and have a “vodka X” that’s delicious. That and your boss/wife/slave owner can’t smell it on your breath.

What’s the most common one, orange flavored vodka? You could do that, or put your regular vodka into orange juice. Sure could, it’s a brand new drink called a “screwdriver.” I wonder what kind of genius came up with that. And that goes for all the fruit flavors. If you can find a juice for the flavor, you can just add vodka and viola! It’s a miracle! No need to buy an extra bottle of weakened vodka! Raspberry! Strawberry! Myrtle Berry! Peach! Regret! (tastes like copper)

The only one that almost makes sense is vanilla, since most people don’t have vanilla beans lying around. Vanilla extract isn’t so bad, but you have to be really careful with that stuff. But you don’t really need a vanilla vodka, do you? You don’t want to drink an ice cream flavored alcohol, it’s pedophilic.

Look, vodka is the equalizer of liquors, so vaginafying it with flavors is morally repugnant. Whiskey is a male drink. Rum is a female drink. And don’t think I’m being sexist either, it’s more of a language thing. Think of how “table” is feminine in Spanish, it’s not a testament to any kind of real sexuality. But vodka (and to a lesser degree gin) are androgynous liquors, so removing them from our repertoire is unfair. We need our unifying spirits. I mean really, it’s not like us drunks ask for all that much.

I understand that people want weak drinks. It’s like the people who add coffee to their milk and sugar. It’s idiotic, but hey, at least you almost look like an adult. But there’s no reason to take my vodka away from me, we can already make sissy drinks out of it! This is an unnecessary and wasteful product, and I’m taking a moral stand against the whole “flavored liquor*” movement.

* I’m giving a pass to liqueurs, since that’s what they were made for.

Omnivores

2010-07-31T17:44:00.001-07:00

I don’t like vegetarianism, or for the most part vegetarians. And I’m morally opposed to vegans. Let’s be serious here, there is nothing you can eat that doesn’t involve death. It’s the reprocessing of organic material. Nothing survives your gastric juices. Not carrots or dogs or hopes and dreams. Hell, if you swallow a penny it ain’t coming out pretty.

The way I figure, there are only a couple reasons not to eat meat. First is the idea that you don’t want to kill any animals because of some idiotic moral notion. The continuous breeding and slaughter of corn notwithstanding, shut the hell up. You may not hear your carrots screaming as your rip through their bodies, but everytime they get pulled from the earth they start to wither and die. What about sunflower seeds? You’re eating babies people! Babies! Think about that next time you judge my gratuitous cut of delicious cow.

And vegans, goddamn you. No animal products? Here’s what you get when you refuse to use dairy products: cows with sore udders. Congratulations for the extra suffering of an entire species! Generations of heifers are being turned into belts so you can feel better about your sad sickly body. On top of that you look like cancer patients and smell like cadavers. Great trade, I’m proud of you.

The only other reason I hear is that people don’t like to eat meat for “health reasons.” Health reasons! So you go on a ridiculous search for the proper mix of beans and weeds to poorly mimic complex proteins. Apparently it also damages your olfactory senses you methane producing herbivores. You go through all that wasted effort and I’ll go eat some bacon. Greasy, fatty, delicious swine. And I’m going to pretend that my bacon came from some prized family pet with puppy dog eyes and a name. Why? Because that way precious porky’s life ended with a purpose. If only we could all be so lucky.

This whole vegetarian/vegan lifestyle is an insult to the evolution of our species. Next time you go to the dentist ask them which of your teeth are designed for the tearing of flesh. Nice, juicy, bloody flesh of the innocent. Then go and find a stupid goat or something and have a nice game of compare and contrast. Have some self-respect people. “Omnivore” is a scientific definition, not a lifestyle choice.

Now some people may find my position a wee bit offensive, maybe a bit over the top. People get to make their own life decisions, and who am I to judge them? I’m not retarded, that’s who I am. I’m not going to lobby for the government to require sirloin quotas or anything. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t an idiot.

Chemistry

2010-07-25T19:39:00.001-07:00

I recently watched a television show with the commentary of two lead actors and the producer/writer. I’m sure you’ve seen this option in special features for shows and movies. It’s where they show the film and the filmmakers talk about the story or tell anecdotes about production. It’s the classic special feature that studios throw in for viewers to ignore. And I rarely have the patience for them, but for some reason popped one in. I had just viewed the episode, and thought I’d listen to the commentary while doing some cleaning, just for background.

Something odd struck me. Odd, because it’s something I’ve heard a thousand times but never really considered. It’s the idea of chemistry. The actors were talking about how they had just clicked, even during the audition period and how important that was to the success of the show. We most often hear the term “chemistry” when dealing with romantic leads, but it really is much broader. The hero must have chemistry with the villain, supporting characters with each other, the production and editors, etc. Every relationship in some ways relies on chemistry, since it helps the flow of communication.

What struck me about people having “chemistry” is how rarely I experience it. There are certain people I have an easier air with, because we simply understand each other. But for the most part my relationships require a more conscious effort. I’m far from inept, but I’m not exactly a social butterfly either. I can communicate with just about anybody; it’s how I make my living. However, it is an effort on my part to make it happen.

I wonder what it would be like to be on a team with chemistry, such as those actors on the stage. A group of musicians jamming on stage or a team of athletes in motion may feel the same way. Or even a single personal relationship, where talking is almost unnecessary because you already know…

It’s hard to say what would happen, or if I could even pull off that kind of thing. Relationships work when you work at them. Actors at rehearsal, musicians and athletes when the practice, there is always work to be done. So whether that chemistry is natural or earned (my bet is both,) I’ll be it can be spectacular. I’m just not sure if it’s something for me.

I love pasta

2010-07-19T20:06:00.000-07:00

1) It's really quick, just boil some water and drop it in.

2) If you're thinking that the topping is the hard part, stop thinking so much and just pour on some olive oil. If you want to get real fancy use garlic olive oil. Then find out what heaven would taste like.

3) If you have a date coming over for dinner and you're running late, and guys are always running late, just don't cook it all the way and say it's al dente. Y'know, just like the Italians do it. If she's letting you cook she's obviously dumb enough to believe you.

4) It's overly filling. I'm an American, I like to over-indulge, it's what we do best.

bon appetit

Can I hold your hand?

2010-07-10T21:20:00.001-07:00

Do you ever think about touching? Physical contact is really an important part of human interaction. There are social, physical, and emotional aspects to contact. I wonder how often people actually consider the nature of touching, and how it affects their lives.

One of the reasons babies tend to be closer to their mothers, and adults as well I suppose, is because of the physical connection made during breastfeeding. Men in Arab nations often hold hands as a sign of friendship, with absolutely no sexual reference. Yet here in the States, holding hands has a much different connotation. Though even that’s not so simple, because spouses holding hands has a completely different meaning than a child holding their parent’s hand.

I suppose much of our physical contact is so ingrained in us from childhood that it’s hardly worth noting, though I believe you can learn a lot from people’s physical contact. You can get a sense of how close a couple is by how close they stand next to each other. Brushing someone’s hair over their ears is a pretty clear sign of comfort. When I’m talking about touching I’m really not referring to sexual contact, though that is obviously an important aspect. I don’t really want to delve into that issue because the ramifications are fairly obvious. I’m really more interested in the mental aspects of contact, and the connections we make.

I want you to try something with me. Take your thumb on your right hand and touch each of your fingertips in turn. One, two, three, four… one, two, three, four… one, two, three, four. What do you feel? The tips touching, right? Obvious. Thank you blogger for stating the obvious.

Now I want you to watch the top of your hand as you lower and raise each of your fingers in turn about ¾ of an inch. One, two, three, four… one, two, three, four… one, two, three, four. As you watch your fingers move, see the bones and ligaments moving under the skin. Can you feel as your veins move around the structure of your bones? I’ll bet you didn’t feel any of that motion in our first test, because you weren’t watching or thinking about it. And this is despite the fact that the actual motion is much smaller.

Our senses involve so much more than our conscious mind considers, and this is really by necessity. It’s like the email we’ve all received where a paragraph is written with no vowels, yet you can read the lines easily. We process and filter information at a much more complex level than we actively notice. Physical contact is very much the same; we process only what seems necessary. But that doesn’t mean that the things you aren’t focusing on aren’t happening, or that they don’t matter.

You should think about the contact you make with other people. Men in my culture don’t touch. Life long friends may shake hands, or at best hug each other with as little of their bodies touching as physically possible. The man hug is a hilariously awkward motion if you think about it. Yet two women will hold hands, or when sitting next to each other actually touch at the hips without any qualms. This type of touching is important in how we relate to each other, both in our natural development and emotional connection.

I’m not saying that I want to start holding people’s hands, because that’s far from what I mean. In fact, I’m not a big fan of touching other people. I’d rather have my personal space, because this is the social and personal sphere I’m comfortable with. If we’re sitting in a booth at a restaurant, do not move closer to me because of this conversation. But I do think the amount of touching people do is important. You can tell someone who was never held as a child, they interact with the world in a more distant way. These signs tell you a lot about a person.

There are lots of little things you can tell by physical signs. A person sitting with their legs crossed at the ankles is probably nervous. Don’t believe me? Pay attention to people sitting in a dentist’s chair next time you have an appointment. And they aren’t even touching anybody else.

If you’re a bolder man than I am, next time you are meeting a new girl go through the two tests we did earlier. And then take their hands by the fingertips to front knuckle (preferably with permission,) and look into their eyes while talking about how this is a far more intimate form of touching than a handshake. And this is despite having less than half of the actual physical contact. See how they react, ask if they agree, see if they hold your gaze (don’t stare creepily if you can.) Before you let go of their hands give their fingers a light squeeze, and see if they squeeze back. If they do, you’ve made a connection.

What does it mean? As likely as not nothing, but if they don’t respond it is a definite sign. Ever notice how a couple will hold hands and occasionally give a light squeeze, and the other person responds back. It’s almost a clutching, though momentary. An acceptance or ownership, if you will. It’s not something people do unless they have a more intimate connection. Don’t read too much into it, reading the physical signs is only part of an interaction. Cadence and tone are more important than words, but that doesn’t mean you can ignore what people are saying because you’re too involved with how they say it.

There are psychological studies about these things, as well as the whole pheromone levels and all that other nonsense. You’ll notice that I haven’t cited any of that info, nor will I clam to have actually researched any of this. Why not? Because it’s a frickin blog people, I don’t need to justify anything.

Regardless of my lack of evidence, I still find it to be an interesting thing to consider. What do you think?

Children

2010-07-09T09:27:00.000-07:00

A questions has come up lately, Lord knows why, about how bad a parent I would be. I suppose I'm in that age group, and many people around me are contemplating that particular mistake. The reason doesn't really matter, but there appears to be a wide variety of opinions about me.

The first notion, which is my favorite, is that I should under no circumstances ever procreate and pollute the earth. I'm not sure if this is a gene issue, or the simple fact that I'll make a terrifically bad father. I'm really hoping for the latter, but perhaps it's a combination. Someone once told me that I should never have kids because I'd "kill them." Which seemed hyperbolic at the time, but was a valid opinion all the same. I'm not a particularly patient man, and I find all things "cute" annoying. I hate words like "potty," "binky," "barney," "dora," etc.. I talk to children in the same manner as I do adults (which may say more about adults than children.) And finally, kids are scared of me.

There is another contingent that wonder why I don't have children now, because I'd make a fantabulous parent. There really is very little logic to this point of view. I'm not scared of babies or lost on the geometry of a diaper. I'm not a fan of rug rats, but when push comes to shove I can certainly deal with them. But these people think I'd be wonderful, which is complete bull. Children in small doses are fine, you can have fun, but you don't want to wake up in the morning with them. I think most of the people who think I'd be a great parent believe that I'm who they want me to be, rather than who I am. Or make the mistake all women make when thinking about men, focus on potential.

The third group is probably the most accurate, because they don't think I'd make a great parent by any means, but with all the shite parents out there I'd be fine. This is a reasonable point of view, because at least I'd hold to some kind of discipline (read: yelling and beating without bruising.) I see kids carrying they parents by the collar, and it's pretty disgusting. I also never kicked my dog, so that's good training. So should I have kids? Probably not. But would it be the worst thing that can happen to mankind? Unlikely.

I like the first viewpoint, dislike the second, and agree with the third. Conclusion? Better not but whatever happens happens. I suppose my fear would be that of every parent, you'd try so hard not to make the mistakes your parents' did that you'd make plenty of your own.

This has to stop

2010-06-28T18:46:00.000-07:00

The whole Twilight phenomena has got to calm down. The whole irrational fan thing was bad enough with Titanic, but this is a whole series of poorly written drivel. Tattoos, broken marriages, stalking...

Look, I'm fine with romance stories. I'll even go for vampires and werewolves, because while overdone they can be interesting. And heck, I'll even give you the pouty, whining, pathetic teenage heroine. I've met that girl, I've met several, though none of them looked like Kristen Stewart.

But I draw the line at glistening.

On the other hand...

2010-06-05T10:20:00.001-07:00

On a somewhat related point, being unnecessarily hungover is not the best option either.

Floyd Reference.

2010-06-02T20:40:00.000-07:00

Do you ever have the urge to drink yourself into a mild stupor, but hesitate because you have to work the next day? And then, against your better judgement and contrary to all feelings of right and wrong you give in, against your own will really, and don't have that extra drink? It's a crime against humanity!

And you sober people think there's something wrong with me? Seriously people, pay attention to the "comfortably" part of "comfortably numb."

Oh yesh

2010-05-26T19:27:00.000-07:00

When you're sitting around with your feet on your desk reading a book after an uninspiring yet filling dinner, you have to examine your situation. You suck on your teeth, again thinking about the uninspiring dinner and mutter to yourself, "oh yes, that would be quite nice." That's when you grab a glass and some whiskey stones and pour a nice golden scotch to start your next chapter.

In the end, you have to think about your evening, and only one possible word should float in your head.

"Wunderbar"

I don't have my shit together

2010-05-19T19:24:00.000-07:00

Well, no, that’s not an entirely true statement. To be fair, you need a basis of comparison to make that kind of call. Do I have my shit together better than you do? More than likely. For better or worse I am one of the more stable people I know. Can’t say if that’s a good thing about me or a poor commentary on the rest of ya’ll.

I’ve recently been told that more people should be like me, because I have my shit together. It got me thinking, because I’ve never really thought of myself as having it all together. Look, I’m never in a state of panic, or feel like my entire world is falling apart either. I just take life day by day and do what I do. I’m rarely overextended and can deliver on most of my promises. It’s certainly not because I’m some sort of amazing person either. More than anything it’s a testament to the fact that I rarely try all that hard to do anything. Lack of effort equals lack of disappointment.

After some ponderance I came to the conclusion that it makes more sense to say that I know how to handle my shit rather than that I have it together. But that may be semantics; I’m not exactly sure how other people define their “shit.” Nor do I understand why the slang for fecal matter represents someone’s “business” or “life.”

In the end I think the sentiment has little to do with how well my life is going or how I handle things, but everything to do with how I talk about my life. Or more accurately, how little I talk about my life. My problems are my problems, my successes are my successes, and my faults are not your fault. That’s a big one right there. The incessant whiny rabble that occupies the bulk of my listening day stems from the blame game.

People seem to want to share their problems with everyone they meet. I suppose they want us to understand what’s happened to them and realize that it really isn’t their fault. It’s a fairly logical way to go, and very occasionally it’s even correct. But the problem is that I just don’t care, and I mean at all. It goes both ways too, I don’t care what caused your problems, but I also don’t really care what causes mine. The reasons behind a problem have almost nothing to do with the solution. It may be person X’s fault, but I’m still the guy that has to fix it.

So maybe I have my fecal matter together, and maybe I don’t. Either way you’ll never really know, because it’s none of your business. And feel free to think your feces are none of mine business either.

Ball Busting Explained

2010-05-06T22:01:00.001-07:00

I’m going to get into the ball busting part in a second here, because as we all know it’s a vitally important subject. But let’s set ourselves up with a couple ground rules, shall we? I’m talking about when men talk to other men. Not boys. Not males. Men. The teasing of children is a whole different type of communication that helps prepare them for the future and teaches them how to deal with the other asshole kids. I know you hate to hear it, but kids are mean little buggers. Also, while men will sometimes pick on women in jest, this can never be considered ball busting because of the presence of a vagina. Them’s the rules by category. Men = ball busting. Pre-pubescent = ball busting in training. Vagina = I don’t know the vaginal rules, give me a break.

There is a lot of confusion on ball busting, and there seems to be more now that non-manly men (poof or otherwise) are getting so much social support. Listen ladies, the way ya’ll communicate is vastly different from men, and frankly often completely incomprehensible. But before you give me a hard time about the ball busting phenomena let me just mention that the most brutally vindictive and vilest statements I have ever heard have all come from women. And generally about their own best friends. Explain that one.

Let’s dive in class. In male interaction teasing is a sign of friendship or companionability. It’s a shared game of give and take that keeps everyone on a reasonably level playing field. Swear words can become terms of endearment or even nicknames. When I called a friend a “poor bastard” at his wedding nobody felt insulted in any way. I was simply joining in the group mourning cycle that was to become the rest of his life.

Let me give you an example of a conversation starter. If I preface a verbal interaction by calling someone an ignorant-obese-oedipaling-child born out of wedlock, what kind of conversation are we likely to have? If you guessed an upbeat and companionable one, you win nothing. Because being right generally brings nothing but frustration. What you have to try and understand here is that an insult among friends is proof of said friendship. I couldn’t start a conversation with some random person or an enemy in this fashion; that would be completely inappropriate. But if we have a positive relationship we can talk to each other in this way with no consequences. It’s something that friends share with each other but not with other people. If you’re one of those poor saps that are obsessed with idiotic labels, you could refer to it as bonding.

That’s the general conversational context of ball busting. You may wonder about more specific comments that seem more precise and mean spirited. Let’s have a PG list:

· Fat

· Bald

· Stupid

· Ugly

· Poor

· Short

· Tall

· Weak

You may not like this list because it targets people’s insecurities. Well screw you insecure people. But don’t worry; I can also make fun of people for being:

· Smart

· Pretty

· Successful

· Lucky

· Spoiled

· Athletic

· Rich

It really doesn’t matter what the topic is, or whether you’re confident or not. A real man can embarrass you in any situation, and for any reason (or without a reason.) Hell, it doesn’t even have to be anything real. I was nicknamed crybaby (in Spanish) for a year because I bitched somebody out as a joke. Everyone knew it was a joke and that I wasn’t complaining, but the name stuck. Why? Because it pissed me off, that’s why. And touché, that’s what a good comeback is all about.

So if you do something stupid, your boys will make sure to make light of the situation. If you do something that you are really proud of, we’ll cut you back down to size. It balances out, strengths and weaknesses, all fair game. Arrogance is met by jeering. So is meekness. Wealth? Poverty? Jeers. Guys are consistent if nothing else. Expect jeering.

Admittedly there are a variety of consequences to this practice that you should keep in mind. When two men are overly polite to each other you can assume they don’t like each other. There are obvious exceptions when it is a father-in-law or a work superior. Though if booze is involved we all settle down to a level playing field. Also, this can occasionally get out of hand, and feelings will get hurt. Some people are better at ball busting than others, so the inequities can cause problems. It’s usually not a big deal, though those with mangina’s tend to complain about it. But you’re going to have to just get over it, because it will only make it worse to cry about it. You can add whining to the above list if you’d like.

Ball busting is a game, and as any guy can tell you we get competitive. And I mean about everything. This is a competitive sport like any other, maybe even more so than most. When a group of guys get together it’s a free for all, and we team up on one another. When a woman is involved we try to one up each other. And don’t even get started, we know that you aren’t impressed, that’s not the point. It’s far more important for me to tear the other guy down than it is to impress the gal. Seem silly and juvenile? So be it. As I said earlier, them’s the rules. I don’t make them, just live by them. And it’s entertaining. What else do you expect us to talk about? Us weekly and People magazine?

There are certainly rules of decorum and limitations on how far it is prudent to take the ball busting. I’m not going to get into specifics because it’s like urinal rules, if you aren’t born with them you can never understand.

I do hope that this sheds a little light on a highly misunderstood necessity of manly existence. I’m not trying to justify or convince, just telling you how it works. And ladies, if you think that the man in your life is nice and mild mannered because he’s matured beyond the juvenile games, think again. Age and maturity have nothing to do with it. They probably never fit in with the guys and never will. More often than not it’s their own damn fault. Enjoy watching Dancing with the Stars together.

For Crying Outloud.

2010-05-04T19:47:00.000-07:00

You know what? I think that you should dress your age.

That's right, I'm sorry grandma, you may be foxy at the rest home but out in public the miniskirt is not helping your cause. I'm sure Patsy Cline had nothing on you in your day, but once upon a time and happily ever after it's not. Let me put it this way, kids who are 21 are too old to be shopping at forever 21. The hell you think you're doing?

These are not the types of things I want to see when I walk down the street anymore. So let's just stop. I'm just going to assume you're all in agreement.

For Pity's Sake...

2010-04-05T22:07:00.000-07:00

Men don’t really listen to pop music, or at least they shouldn’t. Males certainly do, but not men. Let me stall your devil’s advocate game and clarify that I mean relatively modern pop music, let’s say the last twenty odd years. If you want to say that the Beatles were pop music because they are not easily confined to a genre I won’t argue the point (though I could.) But since we’re in a new decade let’s focus on the 90’s and 00’s. So again, let me restate: men don’t listen to pop music.

The whole idea of a pop music as a genre is pretty absurd, since all it ought to mean is that a certain song is “popular.” But that’s not really the case anymore, is it? Pop music is formulaic and popular, and has become it’s own classification. But why do women enjoy pop music and men don’t?

It could be because pop music appeals to the lowest common denominator, and men won’t sink to that level. But that really can’t be it, since men obviously enjoy the lowest common denominator. Think action movies or posters of scantily clad women posing on sports cars or absurd nude scenes in movies that are irrelevant to the plot. We love all that shit; bread and butter, mother’s milk, whatever you want to call it. For further evidence see the career success of Bay, Michael.

Well, maybe it’s because pop music is built around male icons that don’t appeal to us. You have the boy bands of the 90’s, and there were a ton of them. You took a step too far into a back alley and you were bound to find some crap “band” without any semblance of rhythm or harmony practicing their Bye Bye Bye repertoire. But that can’t be right either, can it? The Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera’s of the world had plenty of sex appeal. Their music must be centered on appealing to men, why else would they imitate strippers with low self-esteem? Right? Of course not, that would make far too much sense. We got to live through a whole “girl power” movement of hot pants and Pokémon haircuts. There is no way that would appeal to men. My generation watched MTV on mute.

It has to be the theme of the music then, it’s the only thing left. Pop music talks about love and relationships, the kind of issues that only affect people of the female persuasion. And as we all know, men hate all issues that relate to any semblence of emotion… Wait, I think Bob Dylan had a few hits that touched on emotional issues. So did Lynyrd Skynyrd, The Who, Pink Floyd…hell, Guns N Roses could be downright softies from time to time. Real men know how to listen to the Blues. Point being all genres touch on the same types of themes, so that really can’t be it either. Can we really say the song “I kissed a girl” alienates men thematically?

I really am at a loss here on the whole pop music thing. Who listens to this crap and why? Get a teenage girl who can sweat a libido on a music video, a songwriter who specializes in catchy tripe, and a digital voice coach and you have a hit single. As a society we make millionaires out of these people, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why. It’s even expanded over the years where we have pop rap (Eminem,) pop rock (Daughtry) pop crap (Black Eyed Peas, sorry, didn’t know where else to put them,) pop blues/jazz (Alicia Keyes,) pop country (Dixie Chicks,) pop punk (Green Day,) and so on through the genres.

I have no doubt that many if not most of these people are talented. But I’m still not sure how they make careers out of jingles fit for little more than a radio ad campaign. And men don’t listen to this stuff, so it must be the rest of ya’ll who are. Which brings me to a simple conclusion. The race of men is failing, and is being replaced by metrosexuals who can tell you who is winning Dancing with the Stars.

And people wonder why I drink myself to sleep…

Back to the Beginning

2010-03-30T11:46:00.001-07:00

There are a few storylines that I have abandoned over the years, one most recently that went on for quite some time. I’d like to say that there is a bunch of reader interest for me to finish, but that wouldn’t be true. I have had one person say that I should finish the story just to get to an ending. He’s talking about completing the story based on principle; to finish what you start.

I tend to agree with this sentiment, both in writing and other aspects of life. You finish for the sake of finishing, and you really don’t need any other reason. I’m held back here because I don’t like the story, where it’s gone or where it’s going. You don’t really control all the turns in a story, as they help develop themselves. And I’ve really gone too long to salvage what I started; so finishing would be an academic exercise. Perhaps I shouldn’t have shared it at all until I knew how it would end.

The truth is that this story has held me back from doing any writing at all. I don’t really want to start something new and admit to failure on the last one. Then again, I don’t have much interest in working on my current project either. If there was justice in a short and simple conclusion I’d definitely take it, but there are too many significant developments that need to be fleshed out. I doubt there is more shame in simple abandonment than in giving up while writing.

This situation has gotten me to think about the writing process, or at least how I tend to write. There are a myriad of methods that people use, feel free to check your local library if you’re curious. And people like to share their methods, some talented and others more like me. I can’t claim to have studied them all, because I really only understand four different ways to write. The first is the easiest, some people are inspired and the stories flow through them and all they try to do is get out of the way. Then there is a puzzle method, where you have the pieces and just need to find out how to put them together. Writing a mystery novel is probably just as mysterious as reading one. Some people treat their stories as sculptures, where the whole world of the story is set and you just have to chip away at the right pieces until the only thing left is what you want to say. And finally there are people who write with academic structure, putting together a story based on a formula.

I imagine most people use all of these variations to a degree, along with others that I don’t understand well enough to speak of here. Inspiration without structure can be anachronistic and incomprehensible. Academic structure without inspiration is a textbook. I’m probably mostly a mixture of the second two, I write by putting together a puzzle and chipping away until I have what I want. I don’t always have all the pieces (and I don’t try to,) and never know exactly where and why to chip away.

The problem I come across is that sometimes (usually) I chip away at the wrong parts, or I take away too much. Once that happens something is broken, whether a character, scene, or entire plotline. When it’s gone it’s gone, there’s not anything I can really do about it. I don’t mind losing a story when I simply can’t find all the pieces or figure out where they go because you can leave it alone and hope to figure it out later. But when you chip away and break something, then the story is ruined. I often wonder whether writing is worth it at all because no matter how well you do much is lost in the process of putting it down on paper.

I’m obviously not telling anybody how they should write, or what kind of method they should employ. I am at best sporadic and unsuccessful, because things come in waves and never turn out how they are supposed to. I really do wish that I was full of inspiration and just had to put the pen to paper. Some of those writers feel guilty because they can’t take credit for their stories, as they are simply the messengers. But I’m not one of those people, nor will I ever be. Gifts of that sort are not broadly given, and I think they come at a great cost.

In the end I’m still not sure if I’ll go back to past stories or not, or whether I should. Maybe I’ll finish for the sake of finishing, or I may just let them sit and simmer. There is time enough for idle hobbles. I just wish that I had a different way to approach writing, because I’d like to be good. But this is the way that I can write, and sometimes it means that I can’t. But you just have to go your own way and hope for the best, there’s not much else to do.

Pittur Sho

2010-03-22T20:41:00.000-07:00

How many of ya’ll have kids? How many of ya’ll like children? How many of ya’ll think that you are good with the chilins? And how many of ya’ll think that I really care about your answers?

That’s right, introductory questions are used as hooks to draw you into a topic. When asked a question people feel compelled to answer, so they suddenly have a stake in an article. I may not always agree with journalistic manipulation, but I’m more than willing to use their trade tools to my advantage. But let’s move on.

There are varying opinions on my ability to deal with children. I’ve actually got both extremes pretty well covered. I’ve had the “you should be a father” as an almost moral accusation. I’ve also been told, “you can’t ever have kids because you’d kill them.” I personally prefer the latter group because they never bug me about babysitting. You have to admit, that’s a pretty wide margin of opinions.

Well the other day I was dealing with a friends’ two-year old daughter. She was running around a store we were in, just horsing around as children are wont to do. Some people would say that she’s as cute as a button. I’d say she’s small, loud, repetitive, and still shits in her pants.

Regardless, I was wearing short pants, sandals, and a wrinkled buttoned up shirt, because that’s how I roll. For those in the know it’s never all that surprising when toddlers grab at you, bagging clothing making me a reachable target. For women it’s the necklaces and earrings, guys generally deal with facial hair pulls and shirt collars. And good Lord man, take off your tie!

There’s nothing all that interesting about the kids groping around your shins, if you haven’t noticed, they aren’t exactly nimble on their footsies. Once you stop worrying about stepping on them, you don’t really notice the pocket tugs and face plants. That is, until they stop running around and making noise. Children are at their most dangerous when they are still and silent. It’s the eye of the storm, or the mischief zone; a frightening time where your wits prick up and you start to pay attention to the potential sound of breaking bones.

I look back and this kid is pulling up the back of my right shorts pant leg. Don’t get too excited ladies; she’s two feet high so “up” is about knee level. She looks at me then back at my leg, back and forth, up and down. Flabbergasted is the only word that comes to mind to describe her face. She was remarkably confused.

She eventually asks in a near palateless voice, “what’s that?” I happen to have a very tasteful tattoo on that calf, so I told her it was a picture, which while an understatement is certainly true.

She pulls up the leg again for another inspection and asks, still surprised, “pitture!?!” Yup, it’s a picture. “Pitture?” Almost pleading for validation. Uh-huh, it’s a pretty picture, huh? “Pitture!” Excited at discovering a whole new world of pigmentation. You may be getting a glimpse at my repetitive comment from earlier. Never, ever, under any circumstances, fucking ever… say “mommy.” If you do, you’ll have a ten minute one word conversation in octave just shy of canine.

After a few more moments of incredulity she lost interest in my physiological adornments and started licking her reflection in a nearby mirror. It just goes to show that I’ll say anything to get a kid off my leg.

Shades of Grey

2010-03-19T15:43:00.000-07:00

Many of us have people we go to for advice, and some of us are the people who others come to for advice. Likely more of the former than latter, but one never can tell. However, I am willing to wager that we all know at least a couple of people who are more than willing to give out advice freely. In fact, probably a few that demand you listen to what they have to say.

To be fair, I’m pretty free with my own opinions and have little problem sharing my point of view. This probably relates to the fact that I’m indifferent to other people’s opinions, so I have no reason to be shy. I’m not looking for your approval or am vindicated by your acquiescence. This outlook can be extremely frustrating because it’s seemingly arrogant and fundamentally dismissive of other people. Let’s say that you and I have a difference of opinion. You are going to want to make your argument, then defend it, and then probably defend it some more. You will want to convince me, because it’s important I understand where you’re coming from. If I’m amused by the conversation I may even let you go through the motions, but if I’m bored I’ll cut you off. Chances are that I’m more secure with my convictions than you are, so I have no need to defend them. In other words, I don’t need you to believe or agree, I’m indifferent to your stance. Apathy makes the world go round.

Keeping all this in mind, I don’t tend to give much advice. I don’t offer it freely and when asked I flip-flop around an answer. Really, I just don’t like to and therefore mostly refuse. I’ll expand on my reasons in a bit.

Before we get to that, let me characterize the majority of these “advice givers.” It’s really all about worldview, because advice comes from our personal experiences. But an advice giver has a single worldview with minimal peripheral distraction. Their perspectives can certainly change whenever a life-altering event occurs, but they’ll still only be able to see the world one perspective at a time. Marriage, divorce, employment, unemployment, death of a loved one, birth of a child, illness, health, near death experience… you name it. Sometimes these things can completely change their perspective, and I’m talking a complete 180. And they will freely admit the change and explain how it’s expanded their understanding of the world, but we know it really hasn’t. They still only see things on a single plane, it just happens to be a new one.

So it’s simple, right? Black and white opinions are easy to share because they are definitive. If you know what to do because you see the right answer, then you are almost morally obligated to let people know about it. It’s one of the hardest parts of dealing with these types of people. If you ignore them it’s hurtful, because they are only trying to help. Hell, sometimes they may even be right! A broken clock is right at least twice a day, sometimes moreª.

Let’s get back to why I’m not a fan of giving advice. I could take the easy road and say that because I don’t see the world in black and white terms, I don’t have all the answers. I can’t help because I don’t know what to do; it’s a denial of culpability. But that’s not true. I do have an answer for everything. Not only do I have an answer for every possible scenario, I have multiple answers for most of them! There are times in my life where I might not know what I should do, but I always know things that I can do. There has never been a situation in the history of the world where there was no choice. And I know ya’ll hate that, because we want to be able to say that we had no options. But it isn’t true, there are often no good choices and only negative options, but that’s another issue entirely. A shitty group of cards is still a hand to play. If you’re curious about surface levels of looking at this philosophically, you may want to check out BATNA’s and WATNA’s. They are applicable to many situations.

You have to understand that I don’t see the world as a “this or that” situation. It’s far more complicated than that, and the very idea of right vs. wrong is touchy. There are certain extremes of grey that are nearly definitive, but it’s still not black and white. So if you want to go through your options and weigh the pros and cons, you may get me to listen. But if you want someone to tell you what you should so, go find some schmuck who is more than willing to share.

From not on all ya’ll who like to give advice should realize that I’m not going to be trusting. In fact, the more convinced you are about knowing what to do, the more skeptical I’ll be. Just so you know, when you try to steer a conversation hoping that I’ll ask you for advice, I know exactly what you are doing. So feel free to stop.

ª Time changes

Top O' the Morn

2010-03-17T07:22:00.000-07:00

Winnie the Pooh, didn't know what to do,

When Christopher Robin was gone.

So he pulled down the hive, and got stung in the eye,

then cried and cried and cried.

Let's Talk Body Image

2010-03-15T20:14:00.000-07:00

It’s a topic that comes up a lot, though admittedly probably in women’s magazines. There’s pressure to look this way or that way, there’s physique and fashion. There are regional, ethnic, and cultural expectations. We talk about Roman conceptions of beauty, or compare Marilyn Monroe vs. Audrey Hepburn[1]. It’s also been in the news, since Howard Stern has commented that Gabourey Sidibe is fat. I should probably provide a link here, but you have google, figure it out. You may think it’s my job, being the blogger and all, but I’m only here for two things, to kick ass and chew bubble gum, and I’m all out of bubble gum[2].

Now, I’m not going to defend Stern because he is a prick of epic proportions, so I’m guessing he was unnecessarily asshole-ish. But then again, I can’t defend that kid either because she is unhealthily obese. You are either scared by her or for her, depending on your point of view.

But let’s generalize a bit here. Body image is important because of self-esteem blah, blah, blah, social pressure to fit in blah, blah, blah, popularity contests, bs, bs, bs, so on and so forth. There’s a myth that it only affects women because of the pressures to look like Hollywood actresses’ airbrushed images. Because men obviously expect everyone to look like Jennifer Aniston, et al. Here’s a tip gals, no we don’t. Do you expect us all to look like Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt? Of course not. But you do expect us to do the ridiculous romantic comedy charade, what’s up with that?

Here’s my question, if this pressure is so crushing that millions of little girls are yakking in the privy, why is obesity such a huge problem in the U.S.? Shouldn’t this pressure have some kind of measurable result? No, that’s right, because we eat when we’re sad about being fat. I forgot. If I had any feelings I’m sure that I’d react to social pressure, but I’m pretty sure I’d come up with something more enjoyable like self-flagellation or drinking. But I’m lactose intolerant, so that drum of Dryer’s is never appealing.

Here’s an idea, let’s shoot for a healthier lifestyle rather than trying to match a particular body style. And I’m not a health Nazi, I drink too much and smoke regularly. My salads tend to have bacon and blue cheese in them, because that makes them taste good. But I do occasionally cut back on the sweets and sodas and whatnot, particular when I can’t afford a new wardrobe.

Also, don’t get particularly attached to “experts,” particularly if they are on tv. I’m bordering obese on any BMI[3] scale. And while I’ll freely admit I’ve got some extra chunk (I did read the previous paragraph,) I don’t think I’m obese, morbid or otherwise. I don’t wheeze when I walk up a flight of stairs and am willing to walk all the way across a parking lot. I can do both a pull up and a push up, just not at the same time. Yay me.

I recognize that I’ve gotten off point, but since this is a blog that doesn’t remotely matter. If you’re bothered consider your subscription refunded. I’m tired of fat people complaining about skinny people; nobody actually expects you to look like a movie star all the time. Have you seen movie stars when they aren’t in a movie? They look like people. Better looking that you and me, but hell, they have to be famous for some reason.

So here’s what you need to do, live your life with the body you have (but take care of it.) Don’t go run a goddamn marathon, that kind of masochism is idiotic. Don’t throw up after every meal because, well, kids with flies in their eyes in Africa are hungry or something. That and the dental can get pretty expensive, that’s shit’s hard on your enamel. And if you are unhealthily overweight get off this “big is beautiful” schtick. If you are a bigger person you are big all around, it’s a body type. We call them proportions, and if you use portion control you can probably keep yours reasonable.

All I’m saying is be reasonable. If you aren’t athletic don’t be an athlete. If you don’t look like a bleached Ethiopian don’t take up acting. And if your knees are threatening to give out try a 20 minute fast from time to time. Let’s embrace the middle ground.

[1] By the way, the most impossible question I have ever been asked is who is more beautiful, Marilyn Monroe or Audrey Hepburn. Completely different looks, impossible to quantify.

[2] Obscure Pop reference 1

[3] Jesus, if you want to know google it already.

Bugger Off

2010-03-14T17:02:00.001-07:00

It’s come up recently that I am on the upper echelon of the “world’s most stubborn” list. And of course, you know how I feel about these things… proud. It’s an interesting topic because many people who know me wouldn’t imagine that I’d have that reputation. It’s unusual for me to be particularly willful, because I’m pretty agreeable about most things.

That should really be one of the determining factors on these official lists. When push comes to shove I’m a force to be reckoned with. And the more willful someone gets with me, the more unmovable I become. It almost becomes a competition, and one that I never have to lose. And since I hate losing far more than I enjoy winning, I rarely lose.

Should that qualify me as stubborn? If I make a decision I stand by it there ain’t a whole lot you can do about it. If I don’t want to do something, there’s a strong probability I won’t. These all seem pretty logical steps for the human condition. But as I’ve said, I’m also mostly agreeable, so the whole “stubborn” thing doesn’t come up that often. I don’t need to have my way all the time, and it’s extremely rare for me to try to influence other people. I simply don’t care what you’re doing enough to bother. Is standing by a decision stubbornness or honesty? We could call it conviction.

We all know stubborn people, but I think we should separate the “I won’t do what I don’t want to” and the “you better do what I want you to” crowds. They can both be obnoxious, but the people who try to force everyone to bend to their will seem far more stubborn to me. And are assholes.

The way I figure, the people who think I’m stubborn have stood against me, and are mostly from the “do what I want” variety of stubborn people. They find me particularly difficult because they are used to getting their way. So I’m on their most stubborn list (usually the top.) Other agreeable people don’t find me to be stubborn, because it’s never an issue.

Basically, if you think that I’m stubborn, it’s your own fault. So there.

I'm baack!

2010-03-10T20:27:00.000-08:00

And I’ve got nothing to say, really, nothing of even remote importance. In fact, I’m not sure why I’m wasting my time to type this at all. But it is remarkably annoying when someone refuses to update their blog. And by an “annoying someone” I mean me. Hello.

So let’s ramble a bit.

…

Well, in the not too distant past I took a personality test. And no, it wasn’t one of those bored at your computer things, it was more of a work aptitude type of test. You know, the ones you don’t enjoy taking and can actually fail. It went through a series of personality traits/flaws, whatever. One of the interesting ones that came up is that I am apparently antisocial.

Remember now, this was for a work gig. I don’t know if you know what I do for a living, and if you don’t it’s none of your damn business anyway. But I will let you in on the secret that it is a public and social position. I deal with people all the goddamn day long. Everyday. Seriously. And I got the job, even with the antisocial manifesto working against me.

I’ve put some thought into it, though obviously not particularly seriously. I mean, if I came up with something life changing and important do you think I’d post it online for free? So what I came up with in the last 30 seconds is that it depends on your definition of antisocial.

adjective

1. unwilling or unable to associate in a normal or friendly way with other people: He's not antisocial, just shy.

2. antagonistic, hostile, or unfriendly toward others; menacing; threatening: an antisocial act.

3. opposed or detrimental to social order or the principles on which society is constituted: antisocial behavior.

4. Psychiatry. of or pertaining to a pattern of behavior in which social norms and the rights of others are persistently violated.

–noun

5. a person exhibiting antisocial traits.

I don’t know that I really fit any one of those definitions all that well, but I suppose you could take one word from each and come up with an approximation of my personality. I’m pretty “unwilling” to do things that I don’t want to do and can also be “antagonistic” at times. I’m “opposed” to “persistent” people, because that just gets obnoxious. And if we’re using loose definitions I’m also a “person.”

So there you have it, I’m an antisocial person, or a person exhibiting an antisocial personality disorder. But only if you spread the adjectives around to the point of complete meaningless. Which, as you can see, is something that I’m willing to do. So I’m going to blame my parents, society, the war in Iraq, Converse All Stars, Keds, the color purple (the actual color, not the book,) and Gandhi.

I’d call up some friends and get together, but all this blame takes up a ton of time. And I can’t feel better until I get it all out.

Aging Laziness

2010-02-01T10:43:00.001-08:00

One of the things that doesn’t particularly bother me about reality is the fact that things wear out. Stuff, it get’s old and wears out. I know how we all like to talk about the good ol’ days when everything was made out of cast iron and lasted forever. But you may have had a rotary telephone that weighed 20lbs, and I have a cell phone that could probably arm a nuclear device if someone put some thought into it that fits in my pocket. No, it’s not going to last 50 years and become an antique, but I don’t need it to. Hell, I’m beginning to wear out in the edges, and I’m not all that old. It’s all about maintenance.

As such, it bothers me that products are now priced at a premium to be “pre-aged.” Some things make sense, if you want antique looking furniture and don’t want to pay the premium for actual antiques, you try to make them look older. But for a piece of furniture to age, it takes decades if not centuries. So I’ll give people some license there, but not a whole lot. If you really want to get old furniture you can wait for your relatives to die like everybody else.

However, I really just can’t abide buying aged clothes. You can get t-shirts that look well worn, or jeans with the faded color and tears built in. It’s only a small extra fee for such services. Look, if you want your shirt to look used, wear it and throw it in the wash from time to time. If that cotton is too thick and supple for you, throw it in the wash with your jeans until it becomes rag-like. But for crying out loud, just wear the comfort into it. How lazy can you possibly be? Let’s take instant gratification in stride.

And pre-ripped jeans? Oddly, this seems to be more of a fashion for women than men anymore (gotta find a way to show off that upper thigh.) Where is the utility in spending more for damaged goods? If you aren’t going to earn your ripped jeans the old fashioned way (by damaging your knees,) then get a pair of scissors or a razor blade. Look at that, I just came up with a 15 second solution to your $15 problem. That’s $3,600 an hour; it’s amazing!

Look, it takes me between 5-10 years to break in a wallet, and that’s at minimum. But it only fits me, and I’ve earned it. I have a leather hat with a brim that has slight scuffs on it, because I’ve worn it over the years. I’ve had the same pair of work boots for 15 years, and they aren’t completely ready yet.

If you aren’t willing to wait for your clothes to look comfortable (and that’s the key isn’t it? Whether they “look” comfy or not,) don’t spend your money getting designer aged jeans. Go to the thrift store and find someone else’s dirty laundry. It’s all you deserve you lazy bahstahd.

Resolutions

2010-01-04T15:12:00.000-08:00

I like to set small goals for myself, and whenever I pass them start new ones right away. It's a great kind of motivation. Let me give you an example:

I never want to be the guy who is too embarrassed to take his shirt off in public.
I never want to be the guy who is embarrassed when he wears a shirt in public.
I never want to be the guy who gets embarrassed taking his shirt off in private.
I never want my love handles to be wider than my shoulders.

See how that's a nice natural progression? And it's just baby steps every time; so that I don't get discouraged.

Communication

2010-01-01T23:13:00.001-08:00

Let’s talk communication, since it’s such an important part of our lives. Also, it’s one of the things that I hold most dear. It’s pretty well known that I’m a big fan of language, particularly English since it’s all I know. I like the ways it can be used, and am fascinated by how it can be manipulated. I almost went to law school because of how interested I was in that manipulation. It can be powerful, but it too often is not.

However, I do think in our day and age communication is changing at a prodigious rate. We’ve got twitter and Facebook, blogs and email, and heck we still have phones and face-to-face conversations. Honest, you are allowed to take that Bluetooth out of your ear and say hello, I swear. I’m discounting written letters a bit, since I can’t remember the last time I wrote or received an honest to goodness snail mail piece of paper. Christmas cards are about as in depth as the U.S. Postal service has to offer anymore.

Here’s a thought, how many long distance relationships would have been saved with cell phones? I want you to think about relationships that survived the inconsistent mailings during WWII. People kept in touch as best they could, in the most erratic way possible, and some of them made it. We hear those stories, but I’m willing to bet a pretty penny that more often than not those relationships died. John and Abigail Adams had some pretty significant communication in their day; do you know a couple with that kind of fortitude? I can’t think of one that comes close, and I mean in all my acquaintances.

Living on the other side of the country from your girlfriend or boyfriend in college? Skype. Instant Messaging. Email. Everyone has a cell phone. Guess the percentage of long distance relationships that survive that first college year? It’s a low number I guarantee. And that’s without a war or having to wait for an actual letter to hopefully arrive. I grant you that the ability of a 17 or 18 year old to sustain any kind of relationship is low, but I think my point still stands.

But now that we have these relatively easy means to communicate, I think that we often lose the significance of communication by taking it for granted. I can send you a photo from my cell phone in 5 seconds. Do you think keeping someone’s picture in your wallet is as significant as it once was? How fast can you type? I could send you a 2,000 word email in 35 minutes if I was so inclined. Thank God for spell check. And I’m slow.

We do have to be careful with any written correspondence, and to a lesser extant vocal. You do lose the ability to judge tone and intention. I’m a firm believer that significantly emotional communication through writing should only be undertaken by lovers. If you are in love you can write with the inherent understanding that the other person is reading with a shared perspective. And even that is dangerous. Regular communication (and it can be significant and heart felt, just not emotional) and business correspondence work great with email, but you still have to be careful.

Even a phone call is a dangerous way to communicate if you treat it like a face-to-face encounter. The old saying that they eyes are the windows to the soul is instructive, though overly dramatic. I’m sure most of us have heard of studies about how the tone of a sentence is more important than the word choice. But if I get to hear you and look in your eye I’m more likely to know your meaning. Nothing is ever going to be like getting to know somebody up close and personal.

Now I do like some of these tools, and I use them quite often. It’s easy to send an email, and when used properly can be a great way to keep in touch or get to know someone better. I try to be careful with them, because it’s also easy to use technological communication as a means of avoiding real communication. If you’re emailing me because it’s convenient (ex. Different time zones, different schedules, just a quick note) I’m all for it. But if you’re emailing me because you can’t be bothered to call or come see me? Don’t bother. Because if you really don’t want to talk to me it’s just fine, buck up and own it. I think my comfort level with Facebook has been documented before, so I’ll leave that one alone.

Don’t get me wrong, I like to communicate and rely on all the forms out there. I am actually better able to express myself typing here than I would be to talk to someone off the cuff. But I’m probably only better writing what I mean when I’m the one reading it. A lot can be lost in translation. So let’s use the tools we have, but understand that they don’t replace a good old fashioned get together for coffee.

P.S.

Let me give you an example of how these tools change language. Notice in this post and others how often I start a sentence with the word “but.” Now think back to your elementary teachers and what they would have said about it. The new prevalence of written communication (email, blogs, Facebook, Myspace, etc.) has turned much of our writing into simple conversation. 25 years ago writing was more formal, because it almost always was more formal. I get away with stuff now that I never would have, and you probably didn’t even think about my poor grammar skills. Times they are a changing.

Things I find Irksome

2009-12-16T20:44:00.000-08:00

Children Wearing Bikinis

As much as I enjoy the sexualization of America, I’m still not a huge fan of pedophilic tendencies. And no, it’s never cute when your ten year old does a Madonna pose in her bathing suit. I promise not to change my mind when I have a kid either. What is wrong with you people?

Let’s just make a rule that no one is allowed to wear a bikini until they are at the very least halfway through puberty. I mean seriously, what’s the point otherwise? A bikini is designed to accentuate certain curves, and if you aren’t old enough to develop those curves it’s a waste of time. My time. And if you happen to have any kind of curves at all at 8, they probably aren’t the kind you want to share.

Cyclists

Lance Armstrong is a beacon of hope for people struggling with cancer. His story is a testament to the power of the human spirit. His yellow wristbands have raised money and awareness for the plague of the 21^st century. And the French absolutely hate him. My kind of hero, no?

No. Our dear Mr. Armstrong has also encouraged legions of men to wear spandex and hike their rears into the air trying to ride their bicycles. If I had to add all his good works with this crap? Hmm… It’s at best a toss up. I’ll be generous and say .02 percent of the population is meant to wear spandex. And none of them are men.

On top of that these people cram into the streets in packs of neon obesity, convinced that they have more rights on the road then I do. They ride in the middle of the street and whine whenever a car merges to the right to make a right turn. Y’know, the way they are friggin supposed to. I hate to break it to you, but the real rules of the road are the laws of physics. Mass and velocity my friends, mass and velocity.

Militant Recycling

Oh…My…God… I threw a plastic bottle into the garbage can. The garbage can! Because that’s where one would think it should go. I must be going to hell for that, because the little children of the recycling movement want me to horde all the bottles of the world until my apartment looks like a pack rat’s den. Hopefully it will get moldy and develop some new kind of organic disease that can decrease the surplus population.

Look, the trash company sorts through my refuse looking for recyclables for me. They probably get some absurd tax rebate, and it contributes to job growth to boot. That and I don’t have to deal with it. Because I don’t have to go through my garbage, it’s one of the perks of not being homeless. So my trash company gets to add to the stockpiles of recyclable material sitting around in dumps across the country because we don’t have the processing capacity to keep up with supply for me. I swear, this recycling business is really important. It’s just working gangbusters.

So keep shaking your head at me whenever you see me throw my empty bottle of water in the trash. I’m half a step away from going back to straight littering.

Year End Evaluations

If you’ve ever had a year end evaluation, you probably realize how utterly useless they tend to be. You go through a list of questions and try to remember what you may have done in January to help the company. Then you get to rate yourself on a scale of 1 to 5, wondering whether humility or arrogance is more likely to get you a raise.

Your boss gets to review your answers for half a minute or so and approves with just enough remarks to make sure it looks like they were thorough. Since they have a two-week window at best to go through every employee’s eval they can’t really focus too much on you, kinda like the rest of the year.

This is mindless masturbation because if your boss hasn’t been paying attention the whole year round then the five minutes of giving you a 3.15 approval rating is pointless. You know it. They know it. But apparently their boss never got the reality memo. Wetahded.

Unrated Movies

There’s this trend to release movies in an “Unrated” version. That way you can get more of the fun obscene language and hosts of extra nudist exploits, right? Wrong. That would be truth in advertising, and I could obviously get on board the honesty train for that. But these movies aren’t really all that different; they just re-insert some of the crap scenes that weren’t good enough for the theater release. That’s foking brilliant.

All “unrated” really means is that this particular version wasn’t screened by the MPAA, which is a group of corrupt fuddy-duddies controlling the movie rating system. It can be a special no-nudity version of Showgirls, and if it didn’t get through the MPAA it’s still “unrated.” Awesome. We used to call them “Director’s Cut” and pay $10 extra to see the crap that would have made the movie and hour too long. I’m so glad we’ve progressed past that inanity.

So go on buster boy, go get that unrated version of American Pie. It was a crap movie the first time around; I hope your new version of the exact same thing is just as satisfying.

Pixie Dust

2009-12-13T08:46:00.000-08:00

I think we’re living in a pixie dust world in a lot of ways, and I don’t mean in the: my little princess let’s ruin our daughters’ kind of way. I’m talking about grown men and women, though not necessarily grown up men and women. And the pixie dust isn’t a magic powder that can make us fly, but a special naïveté pill that we use when convenient. And it’s always convenient.

I’m going to go out on a limb and say that most people will not appreciate my accusation. Which is fine, because as you know other people’s opinion of me is pretty low on my list of concerns. However, I do understand some of the hatred here, simply because the pixie dust is easy to believe in, and in many circumstances is something we must hold on to. Because the lies we tell ourselves are always the most convincing.

What kind of lies do we tell? There’s a mumble jumble of little things, and a smattering of larger things. Let’s say you’re dating someone and things aren’t quite working out. Well we’ll just push along and get through this rough patch, that’s the adult thing to do. Maybe if we got married it’d take some of the stress away, that’s what we should do! And everything is copacetic, right? Well no, not generally. But you’re going to act that way, and maybe even believe it. This is normal, it’s not ideal but it’s the right thing to do. Right? When things get too hard again? Let’s have a kid. Sprinkle, sprinkle.

Ever try talking sense to someone who is/thinks they are in love? Talk about pissing into the wind. Does anybody think “When a Man Loves a Woman” is a happy song? If you do I have a bag of pixie dust to sell you. It’s cheap.

What happens when someone’s life isn’t going quite as planned? Y’know, the way it never quite does. Life doesn’t work on a plan or schedule, and fighting that is always a losing battle. Step one in Neverland is to find someone to blame. Blaming your parents was certainly in vogue in the 90’s. I think we now tend to blame society as a whole, which is ridiculous because the 60’s already played that card. I’m more supportive of creative delusions.

My job sucks. It’s because nobody appreciates me. My home sucks. It’s because everyone around me is making my life miserable, probably intentionally. It’s not fair. I’ve got nothing here, if you’re looking for fair I recommend trying to walk on water and turn it to wine. Chances are things are unfair in your favor and you just don’t know it. I think you need to sweep under the carpet, there’s dust everywhere.

I don’t really know what to make of it, and I know that I’m guilty of some of these delusions as well. It’s nice to make the world resemble what we want it to be, even if it’s just by a little. It’s probably part of how we deal with the world; human nature so to speak. And I don’t mind that you lie to yourself, and I promise to try not to burst your bubble. Just stop lying to me.

Musica

2009-12-04T19:09:00.000-08:00

I was watching television recently and caught a bit of a Simon and Garfunkel performance. This is more recent footage, with Paul Simon looking like Austin Pendleton after a binge and Art’s fro looking less ridiculous because you don’t want to pick on the old guy. They played The Sound of Silence and a couple of their other main hits. It got me thinking about the music that is passing us by. It’s the end of that generation, and with it that style of music. I don’t mean the singer/songwriter generation, or the sixties per se. Just when music wasn’t predominantly noise.

So I’m watching these old guys, and they are beginning to look old. I’m not trying to knock them either, they are old but at least they still matter. Do you think we’ll look at much of my generation’s musical contributions this way? Music just doesn’t age as well as it used to, or maybe I’m just getting too cynical to see the long-term view. I can’t imagine Sir-Mix-A-Lot performing Baby got Back when he’s approaching his seventies. Maybe his anaconda is big enough that’s he’ll still have the balls to do it. But I’m pretty sure people will find him ridiculous. I didn’t think Paul and Art were ridiculous, I just thought that time passes by to fast.

I don’t know that it matters, but it seems that music is no longer transcending a time period. For the most part it’s focused on something specific. Pop charts, success, money, pissing of someone’s parents, becoming a strip club anthem, etc. I wonder if my kids will give a shit about the music I listened to in my youth. I’m kinda hopeful they don’t.

Santa Barbara

2009-11-15T11:12:00.000-08:00

Say what you want about the high rent I pay to live in squalor, or the lack of a metropolitan nightlife. Talk about how nice a house or how much better a car I could drive somewhere else. Say whatever you can think of saying. But I'm willing to wager that I wouldn't trade what I saw this outside this morning for what you did.

I'll never understand how anyone can find religion inside a building.

Talking Heads

2009-10-21T06:58:00.000-07:00

Why do people insist on talking about things they have no idea about? Don't get me wrong, nobody knows everything about everything, so in no way am I judgmental of circumstances when someone is uninformed. That's fine, it's a normal everyday part of life. And I get trying to hang in quietly when a conversation turns to a topic you aren't overly familiar with. I do it all the time, just waiting for the next tangent that I may be able to add to. But to bring up topics that you don't know a damn thing about and try to speak with authority? Just silliness.

Part 13

2009-10-18T15:51:00.001-07:00

The next morning Ella was up making coffee before I woke up. It was unusual for her to get up before me, as she always liked lounging in bed a bit. But we’d been having a rough patch after the whole blow up about Mike. I suppose it was bound to happen every now and again, those two would never mix well and I’d always be in the middle.

“Mornin,” I said.

“Coffee?”

“Hmm.” She brought me a mug. It was a little cold, so it must have been waiting for me awhile. “Thanks.”

“Welcome.” It was these odd awkward silences that bothered me. The key to our relationship had always been that we never had awkward silences. I don’t mean we talked all the time, but it was never awkward when we didn’t.

“I’ve been thinking.” She said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, about Mike.”

I groaned. “Look, I know that you don’t really like him and all but…”

“No, nothing like that. I want him to come home for dinner sometime, like we used to.”

“He doesn’t want to go out with us El, we already tried.”

“Not out, and not a setup or anything. I want him to come here, just for dinner. I have a friend I want to have over and it’d be easier if you had a friend too. And she’s just off a bad breakup and they wouldn’t be a good couple or anything. I know he’s not looking and neither is she. Just a dinner party, just to have him over.”

“Not a setup, eh?”

“I wouldn’t set up Mike for a rebound, you know that.” It was true; when Ella tried to get people together she swung for the fences.

“I’ll ask him.” I said.

“No, that’s not good enough. You tell him Will, he’ll do what you say, always has. You’ve been right, I’ve probably been hard on him, maybe a little insensitive.”

“You’ve never been insensitive to anyone in your life.”

“You were right about him needing to move on at his own pace. I still don’t think he will unless someone pushes him, but that’s not really up to me, is it?”

“Neither of us.”

“But he’s a big part of your life, and he used to be part of mine too. I miss Margot and Sarah, and Mike’s all we have left of them. He’s family Will, yours and mine. He should still come over. We should make a habit of it.”

“Okay, we’ll set it up sometime.”

“This weekend, Sylvia’s coming Saturday.”

“Whose Sylvia?”

“Just a new girl at work, she’s nice but new to town. Left some guy back East somewhere, so I’m really not trying to set him up, Will.”

“Okay, Saturday. I’ll tell him. He should be free.”

“Well, he doesn’t work, what could he possibly be doing?”

“He’s got his own life El, I don’t know. But I’ll tell him it’s important.”

“I don’t want him to hate me.” She said.

“He doesn’t hate you, never has never could. You two just… don’t mix I guess. You’re very different from each other.”

“But we have you in common.”

“Well, there’s that.” And I had to smile. This is the first conversation that felt easy in awhile. “I’ll call him later from the office, I doubt he’s up yet.”

“You’ll talk to him today?”

“Promise.”

“Thanks.”

“Any time babe,” I said. “Big plans today?”

“I have to interview with the department head about that maternity position today, but it should be fine. We’ve known each other a long time.”

“That’s great, right?”

“I think so. I better get ready, you need the shower?”

“Go first, I don’t have any early clients today.”

“Okay, thanks hon.”

“Yep.”

And she walked back to the bedroom, leaving me alone with my cold cup of coffee. I didn’t really know whether I should be happy or worried about her wanting to take a more active role with Mike. He’d rather just be left alone, but it’d be easier on me if they had a more cordial relationship.

As soon as I got to work I called Mike.

“Hey Mike, it’s Will.”

“Kinda early, isn’t it?”

“Sorry, but I have to ask you a question. You busy Saturday?”

“Depends, why?”

“You’re coming over for dinner.” I tried to say casually.

“C’mon Will, we’ve been over this.”

“Look, Ella’s been busting my balls about you lately so I need you to come over. She’s having a friend over but it’s not a matchmaker thing. Apparently it’s just some new girl in the hospital, so she doesn’t want her to feel like a third wheel or something.”

“Sure, that doesn’t sound like a setup at all,” Mike said.

“She’s always upfront about that stuff, you know that.”

“I do?”

“Look, you’re coming over on Saturday for dinner, no big deal. Just help me out man, it’s not like we’re going out on the town or anything. Just at the house.”

“Fine, whatever. Can I go back to sleep now?”

“Sure bud, I’ll see you Saturday.”

He grunted and hung up. Can’t say I knew what to expect on Saturday, but it was going to be interesting.

Interesting People

2009-10-17T17:33:00.001-07:00

I generally feel prepared to deal with people, like I have a read on them. Most likely you won’t be able to catch me overly off guard, because I keep my defenses up. It’s not that I’m psychic and know what you’ll say before you do, but I’m ready for the kinds of things that you might say. I guess I just feel like I have a pretty good understanding of people and the types of interaction that I have with them.

I suppose this is how people are able to relate to each other, by having a common social connection. There are forms and habits that we share, which create our comfort zones. I don’t see this as a bad thing. As far as I can tell that’s what makes a society work.

However, I always enjoy dealing with someone who I can’t read, where I have no idea what to expect. It’s one of the things I notice first about people, particularly women. Because, well, why would you have it any other way? It’s angular, someone who approaches me in angles I’m not accustomed to.

I don’t know why I like to talk to women who keep me off kilter, but I think it has something to do with how rarely it happens to me. In fact, I do not know a single person right now who makes me feel that way. It’s most likely my own fault, because I very rarely leave my comfort zone. It’s hard to get an in with me for some reason, because I don’t really need other people in a traditional way. Or at least in the popular way.

It’s hard to explain, because being kept off guard and being uncomfortable are different things. There are plenty of people who I don’t understand and can annoy the shit out of me, but I generally have an idea what I’m dealing with. I hate awkwardness to the degree that there is probably a pill I should take. But I do crave some sort of off balance interaction that I haven’t felt for many years.

Maybe people can’t make me feel that way anymore; maybe I have enough life experience to absorb any kind of idiosyncrasy. But I don’t think so, I’ll bet I just haven’t met the right kind of person in a long time. It ain’t tragic, but it isn’t a happy thought either.

The problem with sports...

2009-10-15T21:17:00.001-07:00

is that sometimes you lose.

That shit was painful.

Part 12

2009-10-04T15:53:00.000-07:00

This is getting close to being the longest continuing story I've ever written, and I don't feel like I've really gotten anywhere yet. Don't know what to make of that notion.

A couple days later I stopped by Mike’s place on the way home, hoping to get an update on how things were going with Sheryl. We weren’t keeping in touch as well as we usually did, which made me nervous. Though I was also probably just anxious about the whole thing, and was hoping things were moving along.

When I got there I found Mike in the garage as usual, but he was obviously drunker than normal. He was sitting in his easy chair staring into space. He didn’t even notice me walk in. I saw and empty bottle of whiskey next to him, and another one that was almost full. I wonder how full the empty one was when he started.

“Hey Mike.” I said.

He looked up at me leisurely, as if he was half dreaming. “Will?”

“Yep.”

“Well I can see that! Come on in bud, have a seat. Have a drink with me.”

“Sure, you still have beer in the fridge?”

“You thirsty?” he said, looking confused.

I chuckled, “Yeah Mike, I’m thirsty.”

“Go ahead then, you have your beer and then you can have a drink with me.”

“We’ll see.” I walked over to the fridge and overheard him muttering, “he ain’t having a real drink with me, nope, I’m gonna a drink alone tonight.” I grabbed a glass on my way back from the kitchen, figuring I’d have to have at least one real drink with him.

“So what’s the word on our target?” I asked.

“Heh, heh, target. I like that, makes it sound all official and shit. Like we’re really doing something.”

“Oh we’re doing something alright.”

“Trying to... Well, Ms. Bowman is keeping her nose clean, clean, clean. She hasn’t done nothing at all, spends all her time going to the store to fix up the old house she lives in. Doesn’t do nothing to help us out.”

“Why isn’t she looking for a job or something, isn’t that part of her probation?”

“Nope, her mom died not long ago, and she inherited a bunch of money so she doesn’t have to work. She’s doing community service stuff, cleaning up garbage on the roadside crew and whatnot. They don’t have her working with kids or anything.”

“Good idea,” I mused.

“Yep, keep the predator from the prey. But I’m the predator now, and it’s also keeping me from my prey. No good. No good at all.”

“Hmm… time will come, always does.”

“Yep,” Mike perked up. “Time always does come, for all of us. You get Ella knocked up yet?”

“Nope, we’re still thinking about it. She’s mad at me, so there isn’t much talk on the subject.”

“Mad at you? No good, no-no good. You always want an open discourse with the wife. It’s key. You do something wrong?”

“I dunno, maybe.”

“Ah, I know that feeling. I’ve always like Ella, but she’s never liked me.”

“Sure she likes you.”

Mike gave a stunted cackle. “Nope, Ella doesn’t like Mike, never did. It’s okay though; we don’t get along because we’re the kind of people who aren’t going to get along. Nothing you can do about it, it’s just one of those things. I like her though; we just can’t ever be friends. She’s a good person.”

“So are you Mike, you’re a good person too.”

“You really like that idea, don’t you? We’re the good guys… fighting evil!”

“And you like the idea that you’re the bad guy.”

“Bad guy? Ha! I’m not a good guy, I’m not a bad guy, I’m just some guy. Ain’t nothing to it really, just a guy. There’s no good or bad, just what is and what isn’t. But you can be the good guy Will, I know you like it.”

“Just want to do a good thing.”

“It’s just a thing. I’m glad though, that you want to help me with it. Even though I think you’re stupid for wanting to do what you want to do.” I was about to protest but he cut me off. “Now I know that you’re going to do it, that you want to get a kill. ‘Get a kill’ sounds so sterile, doesn’t it? Like it’s a bug or a gopher or maybe a pet puppy or something. Put em in a bag and drown em. Her name is Sheryl Bowman, and she is a person.”

“She’s not a person.”

“Sure, just like you and me, see? People are people, and she’s just a bad people. Doesn’t make her inhuman. Inhumane maybe.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

“Hmm… me too. More than enough for me. I’m glad we do this thing we do, it’s what I’ve always wanted to do.”

“No it isn’t, you never would have done this if not for…”

“No, I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t for… Frank.”

“Frank?”

“I never told you? His name was Frank, short for Franklin. But he went by Frank.”

“Who did?”

“Good ol’ Frank took away my Margot and my Sarah. Just some guy, his name was Frank.”

“I thought his name was Steve or Stephen or Steph or something.”

“Yep, but his middle name was Frank. He went by Frank.”

I thought that I knew everything about the man who took Mike’s family, but I never knew that he went by Frank. I also didn’t like Mike being on a first name basis with the man who killed his family.

“You know what Will? I’ve always wondered why you weren’t a religious man. You’ve always had faith in people, I’d have thought it would appeal to your sensibilities.” Mike said.

“Me? Nah, it was never me who had faith in people. You were the one who thought the best of everyone.”

“I did?”

“Once upon a time.”

“Hmm… suppose I did, a lifetime ago. I wish that I had a religion, I think it’d be nice.”

“I’m sure we can get you one. I hear most of them recruit.”

“Hmm… I’d like to believe in God so I could hate Him, do you think they’d let me in for that?”

“Probably wouldn’t want to tell them that part.”

“I could blame God, make it all His fault. I could let go of hating my buddy Frank, and could hate God instead. That’d be a comfort, feel like my prayers would hurt His feelings or something.”

“I don’t think you can hurt God’s feelings Mike.”

“No? But I could try, couldn’t I?”

“You could.”

“Yep, maybe I should get a religion. You think it would help?”

“Not really.”

“No? Maybe not then.”

“Probably not.”

“No religion for Mike,” he said. “I don’t think there really is comfort, just a numbing. But at least now I’m the person I’ve always wanted to be… thought I would be.”

I didn’t know what to say to that statement, not really understanding what Mike thought he was. I know that he was something else with Margot, and something more than that with Sarah. While I was thinking of an answer Mike fell asleep, and I could hear his soft snoring. I guess a real update on Sheryl would have to wait till morning.

Part 11

2009-09-29T19:52:00.001-07:00

I know, I'm kinda sick of this storyline too. But after 10,000 words you need some kind of conclusion. So I'm plugging along.

“Hey honey, back so soon?” Ella called out from the kitchen when I got home.

“Left a bit early today, nothing much going on. Whatcha doin?”

“Just started dinner, figured you’d be later. Didn’t you have a long lunch with Mike?”

“We had lunch,” I said. “Don’t know that it was overly long.”

“I thought you worked later if you went out to lunch.”

“Yeah, sometimes. But I wasn’t gone that long, we went to the diner just down the street from the office. What’s for dinner?” I asked as I made my way into the kitchen.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Looks like we need to go on a grocery run, all we have is pasta. But we have lots of sauces, unless you want to make one up.”

“Nah, something premade should be fine. Have a good day?”

“Yeah, I think so. Talked to Carol about the maternity ward, and she’s going to look into it for me.”

“Thought you already did that.”

“Well,” she said. “We’ve talked about it but now we’re really talking about it. Now that I’ve been thinking about it I really want to get it.”

“Don’t get too maternal on me now.”

“Sorry, it’s in the genes. How’s Mike?”

“Mike’s Mike.” That’s really the only thing you can ever say about him.

“It’s been a couple days, I thought it’d be a big deal kind of lunch, y’know, with whatever problems you had.” She said.

“Nah,” I said. “No biggie, we moved on.”

“I don’t know how you do that, just get over things.”

“It’s a guy thing Ella, no need to linger. But it was good to talk to him, I wanted to get his advice on the whole kid thing.”

“You did not!”

“Course I did.”

“Why would you do that?” She asked.

“Why what?”

“I don’t want you talking to Mike about that kind of stuff.”

“What do you mean,” and I started laughing. “What kind of stuff?”

“Our stuff, I mean, Mike’s in a bad way and I don’t want that rubbing off on us. He’s not the kind of person you’d go to for that.”

“Mike’s my best friend, he had a family, why wouldn’t I ask him for advice? Who else would I talk to?”

“He had a family Will, he doesn’t have one now. He’s just beat down and angry, that’s not where you go. I can’t believe you’d do that!” She said.

“You’re not making any sense, I told my friend what’s going on with us. That’s what friends do. You keeping this all a secret?”

“Of course not, but I’m not talking to anybody like Mike.”

“Like Mike?”

“Yeah, like Mike. Let me guess, he thinks it’s a terrible idea and now you’re having second thoughts.”

“You know what? Never mind. I’ve got some stuff to finish in the garage.” And I stormed out of the room, didn’t even bother to change out of my work clothes. I haven’t been that furious at Ella in a long time, and never was I so sure that I was in the right about it. But I still felt like a petulant child walking out like that. I went to the garage and started clearing off the worktable, putting all the tools back up on the pegboard. I didn’t really have any pending projects, but had to keep my hands occupied.

I guess I understood where she was coming from, it’s not like I expected Mike to have a positive outlook on anything either. I was expecting him to say something about how it’s a shit world and it’s irresponsible to bring kids into it or something. That or just gloss over the topic because he was obviously unsupportive. I dunno; guess I expected anything other than him being supportive. That’s just not the Mike we’ve known the past couple of years.

If I was worried about his opinion, how could Ella not be? But still, is it okay for her to discount my friend like he’s nothing? And not trust me enough to know that I know better? Hell, it was like she was forbidding me from talking to him. That didn’t seem right no matter how you looked at it. Even if she had been right, and 9 times out of 10 she would have been with Mike. Maybe 99 out of 100. It’s still didn’t seem fair.

I don’t know how long I was in the garage sulking, but I definitely missed dinner. Ella was mad enough not to come get me, so at least we were even. When I got back inside she was sitting on the couch watching some cooking show. I was going to just walk behind the couch to the bathroom and take a shower without saying anything, but I couldn’t resist.

“He said that he thought it was a great idea to start a family. No…what he actually said is that if you say we’re ready that means we’re ready, and that I should do whatever you say.” I started walking again, but when I got to the hallway I stopped. “He also said you’ll make a great mother.”

Old man and the CD

2009-09-28T07:44:00.000-07:00

One of the ways I can tell that I'm getting older is because is because I am completely out of touch with the pop music scene. I don't mean that it no longer speaks to me and my generation like it used to or anything like that. To be honest, I'm amazed that anybody identifies with most of the drivel out there. I'm out of touch in that I don't know who anybody is anymore.

I was watching part of the rerun of MTV's Music Video Awards, which I assume were from this past year. I had know idea who to hate, which is an odd feeling. For those of you who know me, you know that being an asshole about these kinds of things is my schtick. Unfortunately, I'm so out of touch that I had know idea who anybody was and consequently don't know who to make fun of or what to make fun of them for. The joy is gone.

It was bound to happen someday, but I just never thought it would be so soon. Maybe I need to start watching more TV...

Philanthropy

2009-09-22T07:14:00.000-07:00

I'm going to give the world a free piece of advice, just because I'm a stand up cat.

If you are in traffic, and the car in front of you is right behind the car in front of them... there is no point in tailgating. I know this is difficult to comprehend. But if camp your bumper on my bumper, but there is absolutely nowhere for me to go because I'm surrounded by other cars, there's no way that I'm going to go any faster. Get it? I HAVE NOWHERE ELSE TO GO!

And that's my public service announcement, ya'll have a good day.

Part 10

2009-09-13T22:27:00.000-07:00

Once upon I time I actually did proofreading before I posted these things...

Eventually I got ahold of Mike to set up a lunch meeting, but I did wait a couple of days before I called him. He must have known I needed it, because he didn’t call me either. It felt like the whole world rolled over and I was just starting from scratch. Ella knew that it was only a matter of time before I warmed up to the whole baby idea. As soon as I said I’d think about it we both knew what would happen, but I still wanted to wait her out a bit. It was nice to be overwhelmed about a good thing for a change.

I had been sitting in a booth at the restaurant nursing an iced tea for almost ten minutes before Mike showed up. It was one of those places that had a fifties theme, complete with Elvis posters and the fake leather booths. It even had an old style jukebox, or at least one that looked old. I think it was one of those fakes that download songs directly from the internet. I sometimes miss the scratches of old records, it just makes things sound authentic.

“Been waiting long?” Mike asked as he walked over to me.

“Not really, “ I said. Mike isn’t much for greetings and small talk, at least, not anymore. “How’s things?”

“Eh,” he growled. “She hasn’t done much of anything. I’m not tailing her all the time or anything, but everything I’ve seen is way too clean. Mostly just working on the house. No visits to the parks or schools or anything.”

“That’s a good thing.”

“No. This bitch is sick, and I don’t like waiting. But you were right about that the other night; we have to do this the right way. I don’t have to like it.”

“She’ll slip soon enough, they all do.”

“Yeah,” Mike said.

“You think about the other stuff?”

“You think about what I said?”

“More than you know.” I responded.

“Then you’ve talked to Ella.”

“Not exactly, we’ve had other things to talk about.”

“Sure you did, everything alright?”

“Yeah,” I said. “She might be getting off of shift work pretty soon, get a normal schedule.”

“That’s going to be inconvenient for us.”

“But good for her.”

“Both of you, I suppose.” Mike said.

“It’d be nice. She also thinks that I should start going freelance.”

“Can you?” he asked.

“It’s a possibility,” I answered. “It might be a good change for me, don’t know if I can pull it off.”

“You can. It could open up your days a bit too, help me out in daylight sometime.”

“Yeah, maybe. It’ll be good to have a more flexible schedule, especially if we have a kid.”

“Ella’s pregnant?” Mike asked incredulously.

“Wants to be, she’s been putting a little pressure on me the last couple of days… we’re thinking about it.”

“Seriously?”

“It’s a thought.”

“Do it.”

“What?”

“Absolutely, best thing that ever happened to us, having Sarah. I was nervous about it, Margot never was, but I was. I’m telling you, it’s the best feeling in the world. If Ella’s ready then you’re ready.”

“Jesus.”

“What?” he asked.

“Just thought you’d react differently.”

“Why? It’ll be great for you. I don’t know about the whole new job thing and a kid at the same time bit, but that’s your business.”

“She’s excited at the idea.”

“I’ll bet, she’ll be a good mother.”

“I know.” I really had no idea how to continue the conversation. I figured that Mike would be totally against the idea of me having a kid, just like he’s against every other idea I’ve ever had. With the family he lost and how it’s affected him, I was sure he was against the idea of family.

Mike didn’t seem in a hurry to keep the conversation going either, and got engrossed in the menu. It felt a little like old times. Like back when we had lunch to catch up and there was no pressure. Every once in awhile the old Mike came along when you least expected it. Too few and far between, but it was a good feeling all the same.

The waitress came by and we both ordered a burger. I got the mushroom with Swiss, cooked medium rare. Mike got the chili bacon burger, well done. I don’t understand why people continue to ruin a good piece of beef by cooking it to death.

After we ordered I figured that we might as well get into the issues at hand and said, “we’re still going to have to plan out what to do with Sheryl, when she does slip.”

“We’ll do the same thing we did last time. Why would we change anything?”

“Because I’m taking this one, remember?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea buddy,” Mike said. “Especially if you are serious about this having a kid thing. I’m telling you, that changes things.”

“I don’t see what it changes. We still are going to deal with Sheryl, and I’m still going to be the one dealing with her. I was pretty clear about that.”

“That was then, you’re starting a family now.”

“Maybe.”

“Bullshit Will, if Ella wants a kid you’ll give it to her, and you should. You need to get your head straight and start thinking about protecting your family. I’ll deal with this, same as always.”

“Like hell, nothing’s changed. If I’m going to protect my family, killing Sheryl Bowman seems like a great place to start. The world needs to be protected from the Sheryl Bowmans of the world.” I said.

“First step in protecting your family is to protect you; that’s how you’ll protect your family. If something goes wrong now you can walk away from all this. You’re safe. You do this and you’re in too deep, and it’ll change you.”

“Safe? I’ve been there since step one Mike, there’s no turning back from this.”

“What? So now you want to take one step forward? You’re as deep as you need to go. I’ll take care of Sheryl, which will keep you and your family safe. I’ve got nothing to lose, and you’re getting more and more. Let this one lie.”

“I was serious about this.” I said.

“I know, and I was going to give in. Who am I to tell you what to do with your life, right? I mean, you’ve been there for me all this time. But I’m telling you Will, this is the wrong move for you now, especially now. You have to trust me on this one.”

“I won’t back down, you know I won’t.”

Mike just sat quietly and stared at me as our food arrived. We started eating in silence, which I guess would look normal to the other customers. It didn’t feel quite right though, and I could tell Mike didn’t know what else to say. I’m guessing he was right about trying to talk me out of it. Maybe I’m too stubborn, but I really felt that it was the right thing to do. I mean, I couldn’t let Mike take all the risks and carry the heaviest burden on these things. He was helping everybody by doing the things he was doing. At some point the rest of us have to make sacrifices too.

“Alright,” he said. “But I have one condition, nonnegotiable.”

“No conditions,” I said.
“One.” He said calmly.
“What?”

“You have to swear to me that when it comes down to it, even when it seems like we’re too far it, that you’ll be able to back down. When push comes to shove and you realize that I’m right you let me deal with it. If you never feel that way? Fine. But you can’t have any regrets and do this right. You have to be willing to walk away, you have to be capable of it. You understand?”

“Fine.” I had no idea whether I’d step up or step down when it came to it, but I needed to find out. “You don’t think I can go through with it, do you?”

“Sure Will,” Mike said. “Doing it ain’t hard. It’s the after that I’m worried about.”

Oddities

2009-09-07T18:54:00.000-07:00

It’s an odd thing for me to keep writing like this, with these obscure short stories. I don’t mean odd in the “look at that silly little man” kind of way. It’s just a supreme waste of time.

For those of you who’ve known me for a while you’re undoubtedly aware that I have not shown appreciable improvement over the last ten years. It feels better to say “ten years” instead of “decade.” I’ve never really kept up my output to the point where you’d expect improvement, so I’m not complaining. I’ve also never taken advantage of the absurd amount of options available for writers. Never a clinic or a group class. I just write my silly little stories.

I have gotten older in the last ten years, so conceivably I should have more to say than I did when I was younger. The truth is that I actually have much less to say now. In particular I have less to say about myself because I am no longer enamored with my own opinions. You could say that I’ve had the opposite emotional maturation to your typical politician.

I’d like to think that I have a more developed perspective of the world than I once did. I do think that I understand the world better, or better understand what I don’t really know. But I could just as easily have simply become more set in my old ways and no longer know the difference.

I don’t really know why I haven’t shown many signs of improvement. I don’t know why that doesn’t bother me. Odd.

Part of the problem is that I lack the inherent drive and talent necessary to become a successful writer. I’m at least a third of the way through my life (given my lifestyle,) and I’ve gone from the beginning to nowhere in my writing career. Let’s just say it hasn’t been an auspicious beginning. One of my favorite authors wrote his first novel at the tender age of 29. So that’s something.

I’m different from him and you cannot seriously consider the writing I do an art form. I’m not particularly creative. I’m not out to express myself. At best I’m working to express somebody else. If I needed to share my innermost thoughts or feelings I’d just say, “I think…” and be done with it. It’s not what I do or why I do it.

The stories I tell, and I do deeply love stories, are things you’ve heard before. I’m not quite so simple as to tell the boy meets girl, boy gets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl again and they live happily ever after kind of stories. It’s too bad really, since those are the stories most of us like to hear. I don’t generally go for traditional storyline, but I’d probably be better off if I worked in that direction. I seem to be drawn to writing stories where people are pushed into a corner and I’m not sure how to bring them out of it.

It shouldn’t really matter as far as the writing goes. A story is a story and has a beginning, middle, and end. The content shouldn’t overly affect the writing. Granted, I’ve struggled with the end part of the equation. But endings are the most important part to me, which makes them the hardest part. I’m drawn to the darker themes, and unfortunately I’m just not as good at them.

I’m at my best when I’m being observant about life and the events that shape our lives. I’m even better when I’m not trying too hard to be witty, which tends to be a flaw I often indulge. Trying too hard to do anything usually has unfortunate consequences. But I see the world a little differently from most people, and there’s a good chance that I’m making fun of those differences. That’s what makes me me, which is a little bit different from you. If I’m going to ever be truly creative, that’s where it would have to be. It’s the lighter side of life where I excel, when there is some kind of dialogue with a lighthearted repartee.

But there’s nothing funny about the things I’ve been writing about lately. So from the very beginning I abandon my only real strength. It wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t know any better. At least then I could claim ignorance.

So it’s all odd, for these reasons and many others. But I keep plugging away and hope to continue strolling along. I don’t know why. Odd, isn’t it?

Part 9

2009-09-06T15:24:00.001-07:00

After a couple of minutes quietly drinking our coffee I ended up picking up the paper. It seemed like our little conversation was over so I browsed through the sports section. My head wasn’t really in it, but it gave me something to do. I didn’t want to piss of Ella because of something as stupid as an unsmoked pack of cigarettes.

Eventually Ella spoke up, “I kinda wanted to talk about something today, but I guess it’s probably not the right time.”

“What did you want to talk about?” I asked.

“I don’t want to get into it if you’re in a bad mood already, with the whole Mike thing yesterday.”

“That was last night, it’d be good to get my mind onto something else anyway. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I was just thinking about some stuff.”

“Kay, what kind of stuff?” I asked.

“Not here,” she said. “Let’s go out for breakfast.”

So we did. We went to a little locally owned diner that was our usual breakfast destination. Going out twice in one week was a bit much for us, but it was a nice change of pace. I ordered the same omelette that I always get, with sundried tomatoes, bacon, and three kinds of cheese topped with avocado slices. I’d be regretting it all day, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t worth it. Ella got a stack of their wheat germ pancakes and a bowl of fresh fruit. Needless to say I’m the one carrying a life insurance policy.

After we had our orders in and got our coffee I couldn’t wait any longer. “So, what’s up?”

“I’ve just been thinking about things. Thought maybe we could talk about some stuff, it just seems like its time.”

At that she went silent and just stared at her coffee. I never know what to do when she gets like this. Sometimes I think I should just give her time to settle down, let her speak at her own pace. Other times I want to talk and try to help her carry the conversation along, so she doesn’t feel like she has to it alone. But the truth is I still can’t figure out what she wants me to do. I know you want to keep some mystery alive in a relationship, but I don’t think this is what they mean.

“I was just thinking that we’re getting older now, and like you said the other day things just seem to be going the right direction,” she said. “And since we seem to have things pretty well under control, y’know, settled pretty good at work. For both of us.”

“We’re finally pretty stable, I guess.”

“Exactly, and things are going well and all. I mean, I’m moving up at work and should have enough seniority to start picking better shifts soon.”

“You gonna get off nights?”

“I might have to change departments, but hopefully. It might be worth it.”

“That sounds great honey. You’ve been wanted a more normal schedule for awhile.”

“Yeah, it could be good. But, well, how’s work been going for you?”

“Same old. Fine. We’ve been keeping busy but it isn’t overwhelming or anything. I could probably go out and drum up some more business, probably should. It’s a living.”

“You were talking about buying out that branch.”

“Sure, but it may not really be worth it. I’d have to separate from all of Ron’s other stuff, and it’d be a whole lot more work. It would probably be more money, but not too much. Plus I’d have to get my own tax guy and insurance and stuff.”

“Would Ron let you go?” Ella asked.

“Doubt he’d really care. He’s been semi-retired for a couple years now, probably walk away completely pretty soon. He’s been thinking about selling out the whole thing.”

“He could have you take over.”

“Could, but I doubt it. He’s got that nephew I told you about working one of the other branches. I’m guessing he’d end up running it if Ron decides to go that route.”

“Would he stop you from leaving?”

“Don’t see how he could. You mean Ron not sell the branch to me because of his nephew?” She nodded. “I s’pose it’s possible, but I’m on pretty could terms with the kid and I don’t think he’d care. It’s not enough of the business to affect their bottom line too much. I dunno, I’ve also been toying with the idea of freelancing.”

“I didn’t know you were thinking about that.”

“Sure, it’s crossed my mind. More lately, but it isn’t like I’ve got any plans laid out or anything. I think I could probably make it work.”

“Could we afford it?” she asked.

“I’d have some clients follow me, but it would probably be tight for awhile. I’d have to work from home, which would be different but should be doable. I mean, I haven’t done the numbers and really looked at it or anything. But I’ve got some ideas that I think could work.”

“That sounds really good, you should run the numbers and see if we could do it.”

“You think? I’ve been playing around with the idea but never mentioned it because it was just an idea, y’know. You really think I should? Is that what you wanted to talk about, work?”

“No,” she said. “Well, kinda I guess. It’s part of it.”

Just then the food arrived. My meal looked a whole lot better than hers, but she’d be feeling better all day long. Pick your demon.

“Well, what did you want to talk about?” I asked as I started attacking my eggs.

While she was pouring syrup on her pancakes she said, “I was thinking about transferring to the maternity ward.”

“Is that where you’ll get the better shifts?”

“Probably not right away, but pretty soon I think.”

“Sounds like it could be good.”

“Yeah, and it’d be nice to have some change. Less death during the day, get to focus on happier things.”

“I’ll bet.”

“And I was also thinking that they treat you really well over there if you’re pregnant. I think it sets some of the patients at ease, they kind of like it if the nurses look like that know what their going through.”

“Makes sense, sure.” I could guess where this was leading.

“And like I said, we’re getting older, so maybe it’s time to start talking about starting a family.”

“I see.” I said.

“You’re not happy.”

“It’s not that, just sorta caught me off guard a little bit.”
“We’ve talked about it before.” She said.

“I know…”

“And you said that you wanted to have kids someday.”

“I know I did, and I do…”

“We’ve been putting it off for awhile now.”

“I know, but…”

“And I don’t know how we can be any more ready if you think about it. Especially if you end up working from home, that could be perfect.”

I smiled, Ella was in full on defensive mode and there was no way I was going to get her off point. I know this tone all too well.

Truth is I wasn’t sure that I wanted to talk her down, it just was so far from my mind with all the other stuff going on. I didn’t feel ready to start having kids, I mean, how could I be a father? But I don’t think I’ll ever really feel ready, or any more ready. So I asked.

“Do you really think we’re ready?”

“I’m ready.” She said.

“And you’re sure? It’s a big step, it’s a goddamn leap.”

“I’m positive,” and she sounded it.

“But how can you know?”

“I just do, it feels right. I don’t know how to describe it, I just feel maternal, and ready. I just know it’s the right time.”

I mulled that around a bit and kept eating.

“What are you thinking?” she asked. My silence was making her nervous.

“Do you think I’m ready?” I asked.

“You’ll make a great daddy.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“I do.”

“I just keep thinking I’d spend the whole time trying not to be my parents.”

“I wonder about that too, cause I don’t want to be like my mom. I think that I can do better, like learn from her mistakes. And hopefully I can do the things she did well just as good, and do the things she didn’t do right the right way. I don’t know, but I still know it’s time to try.”

“I don’t know that I’m really ready, but I don’t know that you can ever be really ready.”

“We can be prepared, and I think we are. As well as you can be, at least. We can do this.” And her eyes looked almost pleading.

“I know you can, and I’ll just have to try not to fuck it all up.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I just might.”

“So you think, y’know, maybe…” and she started smiling.

“I think that we need to think about it. But not like in theory, but really think about it for now. I just need to get my head around it. Honestly, you got me flat-footed here. You’ve been thinking about this for awhile now, haven’t you?”

“It’s been on my mind.”

“Y’know, you could have eased me into it a bit.”

“I am easing you in. It’s just sort of hit me real hard recently, I really want a baby, Will.”

“Just give me a couple of days to figure it out, it’s a big deal. I’m not stalling, I just need to think.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

“You’ll make a great mother.”

She smiled. “You’ll be a great daddy, just wait and see.”

Part 8

2009-09-06T15:23:00.001-07:00

I went to bed fairly early that night. I don’t really know how I was able to fall asleep like I did, with my mind running in circles. Usually that keeps me awake, but maybe this time it was just too much and my mind went into overload and it knocked me out. I don’t know if that ends up being any better, it wasn’t like I got a restful kind of sleep. The word fitful comes to mind.

I had noticed when Ella got home, but I was in half a daze when she did so I didn’t bother to get up. In the morning when I was making coffee I noticed the pack of cigarettes still sitting on the table and figured I was in for a lecture. Leaving those out was a bit of an asshole move on my part. But getting a lecture was just demeaning. I don’t care if I deserved it.

When I heard Ella start coming down the stairs I knew I was in for it. If there is one thing I’ve learned from marrying somebody in the medical professions it’s that they really don’t like tobacco companies.

“Mornin,” she said.

“Good morning,” I said back.

“Sleep well?”

“Not really.”

“Didn’t think so.”

“No?” I asked.

“You were tossing all night, kept me up.”

“Shit, I’m sorry hon. It was a rough night.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Nothing to talk about. Got into it a bit with Mike, and, y’know, got a little worked up I guess. No biggie.”

“Hmm… no biggie,” she mused. “What was it about?”

“Couldn’t tell you what started it.”

“You don’t remember?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It was one of those conversations that kind of snowballed.”

“Snowballed.”

“Yep.”

“I see.” Ella warmed her hands on the coffee mug she just filled. “What started the snowball?”

“Eh,” I shrugged. “Like I said, I don’t really remember. I probably hit a cord or something, the man can be a bit high strung.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that. And I’m guessing that’s your excuse for...” and she nodded at the pack of cigarettes.

I winced. “Pretty much. Felt like having a smoke for some reason, didn’t end up ever having any though.”

“Hmm, strange. Looks like you had at least one.”

“Nope, did throw one away though.” I said.

“Throw… one… away.” I hate when she enunciates like that.

“Yeah, call it a gift to the smoking gods. I had a buddy back in college who always did that. He always said he was quitting, though it didn’t seem to slow him down much. But as a punishment for every pack he bought he’d throw two away. He wouldn’t give them to anybody else; they had to be thrown away. It was the weirdest thing. I mean, buying the cigarettes in the first place was a waste of money, and we didn’t have much extra back in those days.”

“It is a waste of money.”

“Especially since I’ll end up throwing them all away.”

“Are you?”

“Unless you want them.”

“I think I’ll pas, thanks.”

“Then that’s the plan.”

“Hmm…” she muttered. “You know I hate those things. You don’t have to see what it does to people, the things I see. That’s not a kind of suffering you want to go through, and it’s not something I’m willing to go through with you.”

“You won’t, it was just a compulsion.”

“I want to be able to trust you on this. I don’t like the idea that this could become a regular… compulsion.”

“Well, I never even smoked one, so I don’t know what to tell you.” And I didn’t. It’s not like I could apologize for not smoking cigarettes.

“But you wanted to.”

“Not really.”

“You wanted to enough to go buy them.”

“Thought I wanted them.”

“And next time?” I shrugged. “What if you really want them next time?"

“Bridge I doubt I’ll need to cross.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I know you don’t hon, but it’s not going to happen again.”

“Hmm… is Mike okay?”

“He’ll be fine. I’m sorry hon, it’s just that Mike and I have history and with all that happened to his family. Y’know, it kinda bubbles up sometimes.“

“It’s been three years Will, he needs to move on.”

“Seems like yesterday and forever ago.”

“I miss Margot and Sarah too, but you need to get him help.”

“Ain’t gonna happen.”

“You need to make it happen.”

“What do you expect me to do? Tie him up and drag him to a shrink? Force him to talk about his feelings?”

“He needs help.”

“He needs to want help, there’s nothing I can do to get him there. It’s on his timetable, not mine.”

“You’re right, I know. I’m just worried he’s gonna drag you down with him. With the cigarettes and all.”

“Mike had nothing to do with that, I didn’t get them until I was on the way home. He was never a smoker anyway. It was just a dumb idea I had.”

“I know sweetie,” she said. “Life can be overwhelming sometimes. I just want you to be okay.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Part 7

2009-09-05T21:38:00.001-07:00

I didn’t stay long after that, I guess that we really didn’t have all that much else to say to each other about the subject. Well, maybe we had plenty to say; we just didn’t know how to say it yet. I think it was mostly me needing to leave, Mike has always been better at controlling himself.

I think talking about Sheryl out loud was the biggest issue. We’d never really talked about what happens after I drop Mike off at one of these things. I mean, I knew exactly what was going on, but knowing about it and saying it out loud are too different things. It was just and idea, a thought that could float away. Nothing was real about it.

This made it real.

Here’s the thing, once I said that I was going to be the one… taking care of Sheryl. Well, that’s when it became a promise. I had thought about it, sure. I had thought about the other three people too because they deserved to die too. Mike was pretty careful about picking these people out. I’m still surprised how many people out there are just pure monstrosities. But Mike was the one who needed to do this, almost as a therapy. It helped him stay normal, if that makes any sense.

But I am normal, so I shouldn’t need to do any of this. And if I feel this way about this person just by reading a file, you’d think that someone else closer to the whole thing would have taken care of it by now. Sometimes people need to step up and nobody is around willing to take the plunge. But they don’t, and then there are those like Mike who’ve been pushed so far that all they can do is push back. I don’t know how I became one of those people, or if I really am one of those people. I don’t know if I can do this.

So I stopped by the liquor store to pick up a pack of cigarettes, I hadn’t smoked much in years and it had been even longer since I’d actually bought a whole pack of cigarettes. But I felt justified. Sometimes you just feel like you want to die, just a little bit. Having a smoke is a great way to indulge that feeling. I figured Ella was going to kill me when she found out, so I’ll have to come up with a good story. Fuck it, I needed them.

Mike was right about Ella though; at least now that I think about it I think he’s right. She’s a nurse for chrissakes; her job is to help save lives. My new hobby involves taking them away. I wonder if she’ll believe it was all for the right reasons when she finds out. Does that make a difference? I don’t know how long I can keep this all a secret, or how long before Mike and I get caught. But I’m pretty damn sure that it’s not going to be forever. I wonder if I’ll be more mortified or embarrassed?

These aren’t good thoughts, and they’re going to make me as sloppy as Mike’s hate makes him. I get the hate, hell it’s my motivating factor as much as anything else is. But I wish that he believed that we were doing all this for a good reason, that we were on the right side of something. Making it all hate and vengeance is too dirty. There should be some justice and honor in there. It doesn’t have to be true.

I packed the cigarettes slowly, forgetting why I felt the compulsion to engage in this silly ritual. I don’t know that it’s ever actually made a difference in the quality of the smoke. Oh well, old habits die hard, and stupid ones last forever. I took off the cellophane and pulled off the foil end liner. I threw the trash away as I walked to the car, pulling out a cigarette and putting it in my mouth as I went. Then I realized that I didn’t have a lighter, I thought they used to be standard in cars?

I didn’t want to go back inside and feel like an idiot getting a box of matches, so I decided to just drive home and get matches there. Ella wouldn’t be home for a couple hours anyway, and if I took a shower and scrubbed my gums with steel wool she might not even notice.

As I drove home I thought about the night before with Ella, how she acted almost childish. She seemed really happy about something, but I don’t know what. I guess that sometimes we just need to be happy, and it’s especially important to try when you have no good reason. She did have those strawberries and that champagne ready though, and I should probably figure out why. In my experience, women don’t always have a good reason to celebrate but they always come up with some kind of reason. Was it an anniversary of something I forgot? Wouldn’t she have told me if it was? Wouldn’t she have been decidedly not happy?

I decided to stop thinking about anything for the rest of the drive, and concentrated firmly on that concept. It didn’t really work; I couldn’t stop fixating on something. The song playing on the radio, why the digital clock’s numbers were white when it would make more sense for them to be red. All the instruments in a car should glow red so it doesn’t hurt your night vision. How can I, the frickin accountant, know this but the engineers in multi-billion dollar companies can’t? It just doesn’t make any sense. Get your shit together boys.

When I got home I discovered that the cigarette was still hanging stupidly from my mouth. The paper had gotten stuck to my lips, and when I pulled took it out of my mouth it tore around the filter. I peeled the rest of the paper off the filter until it fell off the tobacco end. I smelled the tobacco and all it really smelled like was paper, which just seemed ridiculous. I rolled it firmly between my fingers until the tobacco shards floated softly to the patio.

This is stupid, I don’t want to kill myself one smoke at a time. I want to kill Sheryl Bowman for what she’s done and I want to know that I’m going to be able to do it. Mike would.

Part 6, That's right, doubling them up today

2009-08-30T14:39:00.000-07:00

Alright, so this one is a little bit graphic in content, and to an extent that you may want to consider skipping over it. So if you are a good person who wants to avoid bad images in your life, please just let it go. I'm not apologizing, but I am giving fair warning. If you want an update on what happens without having to read the badness, just let me know and I'll keep you up on the important stuff.

The next day after work I went over to Mike’s house. He was pretty riled up about this whole Sheryl Bowman thing, and while I couldn’t blame him, it’s always dangerous to get too emotional. Mike really isn’t all that good with emotions anymore. It’s too bad; he used to be the calm one between us.

When I got there I let myself in per normal and found Mike in the garage, also per normal.

“Alright, I’m here. What’s the big deal?” I asked.

“What’s the big deal? Did you read any of this shit?”

“Wrong phrasing. What do you need?”

“I think we need to talk about this one, it’s not like the others.”

“That’s for sure.” I said.

“Look Will, I’m going to need you to back out of this one. I’m going to go solo from here on out.” Mike said.

“Solo?” The idea that Mike was freezing me out hit me pretty hard and got my head spinning. He’d never wanted to go alone on one of these things, and it just felt bad to me. I sat down on the couch and looked around a bit. I never really inserted myself into the, ahem, conclusion of our fishing expeditions. But I was always involved in the process, and got the feeling Mike wanted me to get in deeper, not less. Him changing his method did not feel like a good thing.

Then I saw one of the crime scene pictures pinned to the wall. “What the hell is that?” I asked.

“Motivation.” He responded calmly.

“Picture like that will make you hate her.”
“I don’t want to like her, Will.”

“Yeah, and hatred makes you sloppy you stupid prick. Take it down.” I tried to sound calm, but could hear that I wasn’t.

“What do you care? You’ve seen all the pictures already; nobody else comes back here. It’s safe.”

“I don’t care about it being safe. What I care about is you keeping your shit together, Mike. I can’t have you get all self-righteous and start making mistakes. That’s when bad stuff happens.”

“That’s why I need you to back off. I’m not going to just kill her, I’m going to hurt her.” He said.

“What do you mean ‘hurt her’?”

“She’s going to feel what they felt.”

“That’s not what we do.”

“It’s what I’m going to do.”

“Like hell you are! What do you think we’re doing here? You can’t go torturing the woman.”

“Why not? She gave out her fair share of torture. It feels like justice to me.”

“That’s not who we are, it’s not what we do.”

“It’s what I’m going to do. C’mon Will, your not part of the final stages of these things, you’re not the one killing anybody anyway.”

“I am this time. Sheryl is mine.” I said.

“The fuck you talking about? You’re not killing anybody.”

“Why not? You think you’re the only one who can pull a trigger?”

“You can’t do it Will, you don’t want to.”

“But I should let you torture her to death?”

“Look, you can’t understand this. I mean, you just can’t really understand it.”

“Here’s what I understand,” I said. “I understand that this woman needs to die for what she’s done. I understand that you are taking this one too personal, and that you aren’t going to be able to control yourself. I understand that it’s my turn to share the load. Now you understand that there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Is that some kind of threat? I’m not letting you kill anybody.”

“Like hell you are!”

“You can’t, you have too much to lose.”

“Oh bullshit, what makes me so different from you?”

“Ella.” Mike said. “You have Ella and a life to live, maybe even a family to start. You can’t take on this kind of guilt, it’ll ruin your life.”

“But I can let you…” I said.

“Don’t you fucking get it?” Mike said. “It’s all gone, everything is gone. I have nothing to lose anymore, my entire life is gone. I’m already dead. I can do this because I don’t matter anymore. What do you think, this is some kind of romantic notion of justice? I’m a murderer, Will. I kill people. I’m the bad guy in this story.”

“We’re not the bad guys here.”

“Oh no?” Mike said. “I kill people in cold blood, how is that the good guy?”

“Sheryl Bowman kidnapped two 8 year old boys and made them sodomize each other with a plunger. She hog tied them and threw them down her basement stairs when she was done playing with them. She consistently raped and beat them for three months, and then she strung them upside down, cut their wrists, and bathed in their blood. Killing her may not be righteous, but it sure as hell ain’t wrong either.” I said. “I don’t need to be the good guy here, but killing her doesn’t make us the bad guy either. She’s out free from all that, I can’t let it go.”

“You just get the information Will, I’m the killer.”

“You’ve killed three people.” I said dismissively.

“The FBI requires three kills to classify someone as a serial killer.”

“You aren’t a serial killer, Mike.”

“Really?” Mike said. “I track people down and kill them. Is there something I’m missing here?”

“We’re not doing this for some kind of lust or murderous rage. We’re fixing some wrongs. Doing what needs to be done.”

“I have a murderous rage, you know that. Normal people don’t do this.”

He was right, he’d been tracking and killing people since his family died. I’d never really thought it as a serial killing; I guess I figured that I didn’t really want to know. I was only helping him because he was killing the right people, though I guess that shouldn’t matter. But it did. Mike was becoming a monster of sorts, and I guess I was helping.

“But you can’t torture her.”

“She deserves it.”

“Doesn’t matter, it’s crossing a line.”

“What line?” he asked.

“Torture is a sickness, and if you go that far you’ve gone too far. I mean, if she hid some kid and we needed to find out where, that’s one thing. If that was the case I’d help you do it. But we’re not doing it for kicks Mike, that’s just fucking wrong.”

“She deserves to suffer.” He said.

“She does, but that’s not our job.”

“Our job.” He said thoughtfully. “Some fucking profession.”

“Yeah. But I’m still going to be the one to kill her Mike, and I’m not letting you stop me. It’s my turn to start helping, you’ve got enough of a burden as is. It’s time I helped carry the load.”

“It’s mine to carry.”

“Not anymore. You can only handle so much at a time Mike.” I said. I don’t know if I really wanted to help him or not, or I just wanted to be the one to kill the most disgusting human being I’d ever encountered. She was like a nightmare, and I felt that killing her wasn’t killing a person, it was something else. Maybe I did have some sort of romantic idea about us, like we’re vigilante justice seekers. Batman and shit.

“Go home and look at your wife, then you think about what you’re saying. It’s not worth it.”

“She’d understand.” I said.

“You think so?”

No, I don’t think she would.