I don't want to say that I could care less who sits in the Presidential Office seat, because I do. I want to see President Obama finish this thing out. I like the man. I've seen him speak; I've shaken his hand, and I even have a recording of him saying hi to my daughter. Me: Sir! Sir, could you please say hi to my daughter? BO (this was pre-POTUS) looks at me; looks at my recorder, then says "Hi, daughter!". Ugh! I couldn't even get Ellek's name out to give him! It was weird for both of us, but he was cool. And more than anything, our leader should be cool. You can still be a tight ass, just be cool. Bill Clinton was cool. Hell, George W. was cool! He may have been clueless, but he was cool, I liked him. No time more so than when he threw the 1st pitch in the MLB game when professional sports commenced after the 9/11 attack. He threw that ball with purpose and accuracy! Then, when he turned the keys over to BO. What a classic moment: W. gives his last speech as Barrack and Michelle fly in on the chopper. Then GW and [what's her name] meet them half way to switch posts. Barrack and W. meet each other with "a pound and a bear hug" (classic RZA lyric) like two cool ass, old friends. Much like the handful of besties I have. It was familiar to me and real to them.
So while both sides battle it out. AM radio kicks and screams at the top of it's lungs (man, do they bitch!), Liberal and Conservative media spin out of control, old dicks at home and at work begin to show there most bitter side. I just sit back and stay cool because cooler heads prevail. Nobody's cooler than BO. Well, the saxophone playin', cigar toking-playboy Billy Clint was real cool. Chris Rock tweeted: If Bill Clinton had mike Bloomberg's money he'd still be president, but he was more rootin' and tootin' like Yosemite Sam. Barrack Obama is Bugs Bunny. Mitt Romney is Elmer Fudd. He's trying to "Kill the wabbit" but he will fail because he's not cool. His disillusionment, un-reality and tight-asstedness seeps through his pours and I pray that this nation will overwhelmingly agree to stay the course of coolness and not let this guy put his square ass in the boss's seat. Politics is not my thing. I can give an opinion, maybe but I can hardly retort. To win an election based on coolness, I know, is so high school. Those were the days, though. Those were the days.
Friday, September 7, 2012
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Happy National Bad Poetry Day!
Woke up this morning to my dog's incontinence
The saddest telling of life in full speed
Alone on the high way this morning, a detour ahead
The saddest telling of life indeed
But my coffee's still hot and the bananas I bought,
were surprisingly tasty and sweet
But now I have gas. I'm pinching my ass,
so I don't wake my co-workers sleep
The saddest telling of life in full speed
Alone on the high way this morning, a detour ahead
The saddest telling of life indeed
But my coffee's still hot and the bananas I bought,
were surprisingly tasty and sweet
But now I have gas. I'm pinching my ass,
so I don't wake my co-workers sleep
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Don't Stop Believing
Okay! It's been a while since I last blogged but I haven't forgotten about it or lost interest. Sometimes life just happens faster than the current I ride on. Speaking of current, let's discuss current events. Well it seems there are a few topics that jump to mind. Oh, let's see?... (key Journey: Don't Stop Believing, classic piano intro..). There's that debate on whether white power music was the leading motivator for one, Wade Michael Page to begin his tirade which left many innocent Sihk parishioners dead or wounded. I would have to assume that hate breeds hate, and if one's main listening pleasure is hate-filled harmony that preaches disgust and supreme being, then yeah, maybe there is a case there (Just a small town girl...). I was back and forth on this issue because I like to think of that reasoning as just an excuse to do something dumb.
Back in the day, a man shot and killed a police officer after he had been pulled over. In his tape deck, officers noted they ejected a 2Pac: 2pacalypse Now recording. This particular LP contained violent and offensive lyrical content (born and raised in south Detroit!..). A big fuss was made of it and it turned into an FCC v. First Amendment battle that eventually required record labels to display a "Parental Advisory" sticker on future records of this nature. Oooh, scary. WARNING, WARNING!! But did Tupac really make this man shoot and kill an officer of the law? No! The man was just crazy; most likely in a dire economic situation, had a criminal history and probably had been subjected to violations of his rights on other occasions, due to profiling. Yes, bad cops mess things up for good cops. So don't blame the music.
However, if a charismatic, motivational speaker can help improve your financial health or leadership abilities in seven steps. If Dr.Martin Luther King Jr. can gather hundreds of people to march, non-violently (and on and on...Strangers waiting...) from Selma to Montgomery. If a loud horn blowing over an intercom system can make you walk out into a hallway, drop down with your head between your knees and cover your head. Then surely, hate music can make a a crazy man like Page do what he did in Oak Creek, Wisconsin. Frankly, the thought of listening to white power music makes me want to do some damage of my own, but I have to decide whether it's in my best interest or not to do so. And it isn't.
In a related story to the power of music...
The Russian punk rock group, Pussyriot was sentenced to two years each (there is three of them, one of which is hotter than the other two. What?) in prison after being found guilty of Hooliganism. I wasn't aware that hooligan was a word that translated into Russian. I thought it was an American word? They were arrested for performing a song critical of President Vladimir Putin in a church. Well, I mean, (everybody wants a thrill...) couldn't they have performed somewhere else besides a church? Like a school campus, or the Kremlin? It's like, I'm all for them, ya know? They've got a kick-ass name, I haven't heard their music but their concert and video pictures look pretty kick-ass. They've an awesome guise. I pretty much love everything about them without having heard a single bit of their actual music. But it seems like they are getting what they asked for. You're in Russia, honies! But that's what punk rock is (and on, and on. Strangers waiting...).
Pussyriot has garnered support from all over the world; fans, artist, maybe some political powers, I don't know, I don't read every headline. But you know when you've Madonna's public support; queue anything, you have the attention of the world. That is also what punk rock is; to shake things up. Take a stand against the oppression of government factors and restrictions. Fuckin rage against the machine (living just to find emotion...). Only, in Russia, you get two years in prison for raging, or hooliganizing. Two years. Two years? I guess they'll have to change their name to Pussyquiet. The trio were actually facing a three year sentence. If that were the case, they'd have to change their name to Pussyrot (and I'll take a bow for that).
Have you seen the youtube videos for "Guy on a Buffalo"? It's like four different versions of this cowboy vigilante riding a buffalo. What?! Hilarious music to what seems to be an even crazier movie called "Buffalo Rider" (Don't stop believin'...). And I do think some animals were hurt during the filming of this movie.
Speaking of animals getting hurt...
How about this years elections, huh? I'm not crazy about politics. I try to make a reasonable assessment of an issue and mix in my beliefs. (Dont' stop believin'...) Throw in a splash of what my wife tells me and chase it all down with one eye closed and my fingers crossed at the voting booth. I mean, if both sides are even partially right, then rest is up to me anyway so... You want to know what I really think? I'll tell you what I really think cause I'm fired up about this.
I think... (Don't Stop!)
Fade to black...and scene.
Back in the day, a man shot and killed a police officer after he had been pulled over. In his tape deck, officers noted they ejected a 2Pac: 2pacalypse Now recording. This particular LP contained violent and offensive lyrical content (born and raised in south Detroit!..). A big fuss was made of it and it turned into an FCC v. First Amendment battle that eventually required record labels to display a "Parental Advisory" sticker on future records of this nature. Oooh, scary. WARNING, WARNING!! But did Tupac really make this man shoot and kill an officer of the law? No! The man was just crazy; most likely in a dire economic situation, had a criminal history and probably had been subjected to violations of his rights on other occasions, due to profiling. Yes, bad cops mess things up for good cops. So don't blame the music.
However, if a charismatic, motivational speaker can help improve your financial health or leadership abilities in seven steps. If Dr.Martin Luther King Jr. can gather hundreds of people to march, non-violently (and on and on...Strangers waiting...) from Selma to Montgomery. If a loud horn blowing over an intercom system can make you walk out into a hallway, drop down with your head between your knees and cover your head. Then surely, hate music can make a a crazy man like Page do what he did in Oak Creek, Wisconsin. Frankly, the thought of listening to white power music makes me want to do some damage of my own, but I have to decide whether it's in my best interest or not to do so. And it isn't.
In a related story to the power of music...
The Russian punk rock group, Pussyriot was sentenced to two years each (there is three of them, one of which is hotter than the other two. What?) in prison after being found guilty of Hooliganism. I wasn't aware that hooligan was a word that translated into Russian. I thought it was an American word? They were arrested for performing a song critical of President Vladimir Putin in a church. Well, I mean, (everybody wants a thrill...) couldn't they have performed somewhere else besides a church? Like a school campus, or the Kremlin? It's like, I'm all for them, ya know? They've got a kick-ass name, I haven't heard their music but their concert and video pictures look pretty kick-ass. They've an awesome guise. I pretty much love everything about them without having heard a single bit of their actual music. But it seems like they are getting what they asked for. You're in Russia, honies! But that's what punk rock is (and on, and on. Strangers waiting...).
Pussyriot has garnered support from all over the world; fans, artist, maybe some political powers, I don't know, I don't read every headline. But you know when you've Madonna's public support; queue anything, you have the attention of the world. That is also what punk rock is; to shake things up. Take a stand against the oppression of government factors and restrictions. Fuckin rage against the machine (living just to find emotion...). Only, in Russia, you get two years in prison for raging, or hooliganizing. Two years. Two years? I guess they'll have to change their name to Pussyquiet. The trio were actually facing a three year sentence. If that were the case, they'd have to change their name to Pussyrot (and I'll take a bow for that).
Have you seen the youtube videos for "Guy on a Buffalo"? It's like four different versions of this cowboy vigilante riding a buffalo. What?! Hilarious music to what seems to be an even crazier movie called "Buffalo Rider" (Don't stop believin'...). And I do think some animals were hurt during the filming of this movie.
Speaking of animals getting hurt...
How about this years elections, huh? I'm not crazy about politics. I try to make a reasonable assessment of an issue and mix in my beliefs. (Dont' stop believin'...) Throw in a splash of what my wife tells me and chase it all down with one eye closed and my fingers crossed at the voting booth. I mean, if both sides are even partially right, then rest is up to me anyway so... You want to know what I really think? I'll tell you what I really think cause I'm fired up about this.
I think... (Don't Stop!)
Fade to black...and scene.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Happy Birthday America!
O, say can you see, by the dawns early light,
That there's smog in the air and the planet is heating.
Who's to say we've come far? Who's to say we've done right?
O'er the schools that close down and the prisons keep building.
And the rocketing costs of gas prices
That there's smog in the air and the planet is heating.
Who's to say we've come far? Who's to say we've done right?
O'er the schools that close down and the prisons keep building.
And the rocketing costs of gas prices
And home equity losses
Is proof enough, right?
Is proof enough, right?
That our flag has been bought.
O, why must we still be categorically identified (and not just; American. I'm "Other" by the way)?
In this land of the free and the home of Nathan's Famous Hot Dog Eating Contest!
GOD Bless America!
O, why must we still be categorically identified (and not just; American. I'm "Other" by the way)?
In this land of the free and the home of Nathan's Famous Hot Dog Eating Contest!
GOD Bless America!
Saturday, June 30, 2012
"There must be some word!"
I'd like to take a moment to recognize what I think is one of the greatest and most important pieces of American theatrical work ever made. This is not some star-studded, well- coerced, eat-at-the-hearts of the audience type movie; No. This is a gritty, rough-edged movie starring the right actors at the right time. And, they're all virtually unknown. This is a movie for guys that like movies, but girls love it, too (I've met a few)!
The Warriors, directed by famed macho-movie maker Walter Hill, is a tale about a New York streetgang from Coney Island. Nine chosen delegates travel all the way to Eastchester, NY by subway to attend a huge meeting of a hundred gangs all with the same number delegates. Put together by the biggest gang in the state, the Gramercy Riffs, the meeting was supposed to be about union and truce with a united takeover of the whole state; a radical attempt by their charismatic leader, Cyrus. Instead, an even more radical, yet sociopathic leader of another gang, the Rogues, shoots Cyrus down to send the meeting into a chaotic free-for-all just as the police, who have been staking the place all along, begin their raid.
Through the melee, the Warriors leader, Cleon, goes to check on the status of Cyrus. There, the vile culprit of the Rogues accuses Cleon and the Warriors of the dastardly deed, in which Cleon is overtaken by the Riffs and beaten to death. Now the Warriors, lead by the assured 2nd in command, Swan is charged with getting the gang back to Coney Island. Knowing the police are after them, but clueless to the manhunt beset upon them by all gangs at the word of the Gramercy Riffs, the Warriors have to battle their way back home.
The movie faced harsh criticism when it premiered in February of 1979. There were numbers of reported incidents involving violence and gang-related activity surrounding area theaters that were showing the movie. After promotion of the movie dwindled to merely nothing and having been pulled in some locations, The Warriors' success went into some box office obscurity which may have been considered a bomb. However it had gained a huge underground and international cult following.
After watching this with my 9 year old nephew, I realize there has to be a cut off point. Some kids just arent disciplined enough to view such a flick. They just don't have that filter. Not to say my nephew is this kind on kid, but there is more to the story than just the violence. Now my daughter, the little angel that she is, memorized Cyrus' opening monologue at about four years old. There is no cursing, nothing absurd; it's a motivational so to speak, can you dig it?
I don't recal the first time I saw this movie, but I know I was probably younger than most parents would prefer their child to watch such a film. It's not really all that bad, to be honest. Besides a few derogatory remarks, some f-bombs, and a bit of rough, male/female content (but no nudity), it is a perfectly dark and violent movie for viewers of all ages!
I say this because The Warriors has something that a lot of other movies lack; realism. Imperfect characters with very little to say. A dire situation with only one way home. No fancy gadets, no elaborate game plan. Just adrenaline and tunnel vision, it's rather desaparate and primal. You don't have to have grown up on the other side of the tracks to empathize with what is going on. It's a beautiful meadley of vision and sound, choreography and creation. It's a transient tale of getting back home. It's the Wizard of Oz. It's Finding Nemo. It's also, kick-ass and in countless viewings of it, it never gets old. It's timeless and that makes it a classic.
The Warriors, directed by famed macho-movie maker Walter Hill, is a tale about a New York streetgang from Coney Island. Nine chosen delegates travel all the way to Eastchester, NY by subway to attend a huge meeting of a hundred gangs all with the same number delegates. Put together by the biggest gang in the state, the Gramercy Riffs, the meeting was supposed to be about union and truce with a united takeover of the whole state; a radical attempt by their charismatic leader, Cyrus. Instead, an even more radical, yet sociopathic leader of another gang, the Rogues, shoots Cyrus down to send the meeting into a chaotic free-for-all just as the police, who have been staking the place all along, begin their raid.
Through the melee, the Warriors leader, Cleon, goes to check on the status of Cyrus. There, the vile culprit of the Rogues accuses Cleon and the Warriors of the dastardly deed, in which Cleon is overtaken by the Riffs and beaten to death. Now the Warriors, lead by the assured 2nd in command, Swan is charged with getting the gang back to Coney Island. Knowing the police are after them, but clueless to the manhunt beset upon them by all gangs at the word of the Gramercy Riffs, the Warriors have to battle their way back home.
The movie faced harsh criticism when it premiered in February of 1979. There were numbers of reported incidents involving violence and gang-related activity surrounding area theaters that were showing the movie. After promotion of the movie dwindled to merely nothing and having been pulled in some locations, The Warriors' success went into some box office obscurity which may have been considered a bomb. However it had gained a huge underground and international cult following.
After watching this with my 9 year old nephew, I realize there has to be a cut off point. Some kids just arent disciplined enough to view such a flick. They just don't have that filter. Not to say my nephew is this kind on kid, but there is more to the story than just the violence. Now my daughter, the little angel that she is, memorized Cyrus' opening monologue at about four years old. There is no cursing, nothing absurd; it's a motivational so to speak, can you dig it?
I don't recal the first time I saw this movie, but I know I was probably younger than most parents would prefer their child to watch such a film. It's not really all that bad, to be honest. Besides a few derogatory remarks, some f-bombs, and a bit of rough, male/female content (but no nudity), it is a perfectly dark and violent movie for viewers of all ages!
I say this because The Warriors has something that a lot of other movies lack; realism. Imperfect characters with very little to say. A dire situation with only one way home. No fancy gadets, no elaborate game plan. Just adrenaline and tunnel vision, it's rather desaparate and primal. You don't have to have grown up on the other side of the tracks to empathize with what is going on. It's a beautiful meadley of vision and sound, choreography and creation. It's a transient tale of getting back home. It's the Wizard of Oz. It's Finding Nemo. It's also, kick-ass and in countless viewings of it, it never gets old. It's timeless and that makes it a classic.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Landmarks
"Are we there yet?". For probably thousands of years that classic phrase that has tormented parents in many languages all around the world. However on this day, it is music to my ears as my trusty sidekick/daughter and first time co-pilot, Ellek rides shotgun in the moving truck we're driving from Michigan to North Carolina. Just one hour in on our almost seven hundred mile trip she begins to warm up the vocal engine for the barrage of third-degree soon to be released. "Is this going to take two days, daddy?".
It's been a rough six months trying to relocate my family. I'm bringing my daughter and most of my house down with me now. My wife is still home in Michigan, working and prepping the house for sale. And she's eight months pregnant! An unconventional approach for most; irrational and insane to others. It's not the easiest transition for us, either. But, my wife and I are Pisces. We ride a wave of emotion and the timing just seemed right. We made a decision and now we're going with the flow, no resistance.
Ellek is a great roadie, too. She's made some serious trips with us over the past six years. But never with just me, in such a huge vehicle, and in the front seat with a great view (yea!). We talked a lot about new rules, school, a new environment all together. Her attention and interaction was quite unexpected. I've missed a lot these past six months. She did not require the DVD player, Leap Frog "Leap Pad", or Kindle "Fire" that are usually there to allay her from becoming too antsy or irritable over a great distance of time. Oh, we brought them! We just didn't need them.
How goofy shouldn't a responsible parent act behind the wheel of a 16 foot box truck? Well, as long as you explain why you can't look at everything your child asks you to look at, you pretty much just need to keep your eyes on the road and your hands upon the wheel (The Doors). I haven't made so many faces or spoken in so many voices in a lonnng time. And, in my whole life, I don't think I've ever counted to one-hundred by 3's, 4's, 6's, 7's, 8's, and 9's. It was a landmark occasion for me and I looked pretty impressive to my baby girl. "Hey look, honey! Look at the beautiful gold dome of West Virginia's state capitol building". "Pssh! I know, daddy. I seen that before when I came down with momma...it is pretty, though".
Just as shocked as I was when I realized that she had a peer group in pre-school, I was just as impressed that she also considered landmarks while traveling great distances. Like, the view of the Roanoke Valley at night time. It looks as if the stars are on the ground. "Yeah, except they're lights. ha!" she says "That means we're almost there, right daddy?". "Almost, honey. Not quite, but almost". You see all you really have to do when they ask the same question is just give a different answer.
Just like the highway, life is full of landmarks: Emotionally, mentally, spiritually, physically (Mayor of Munchkin City). But, the biggest landmark for me is when I am with my wife and daughter because then I know I am, at least, home. But, no landmark is permanent. There is no proverbial mountain top, only greater distances to go. So, as long as "Are we there, yet?" is still a viable question, the answer will always be "no". We'll just have to think of new ways to get there.
It's been a rough six months trying to relocate my family. I'm bringing my daughter and most of my house down with me now. My wife is still home in Michigan, working and prepping the house for sale. And she's eight months pregnant! An unconventional approach for most; irrational and insane to others. It's not the easiest transition for us, either. But, my wife and I are Pisces. We ride a wave of emotion and the timing just seemed right. We made a decision and now we're going with the flow, no resistance.
Ellek is a great roadie, too. She's made some serious trips with us over the past six years. But never with just me, in such a huge vehicle, and in the front seat with a great view (yea!). We talked a lot about new rules, school, a new environment all together. Her attention and interaction was quite unexpected. I've missed a lot these past six months. She did not require the DVD player, Leap Frog "Leap Pad", or Kindle "Fire" that are usually there to allay her from becoming too antsy or irritable over a great distance of time. Oh, we brought them! We just didn't need them.
How goofy shouldn't a responsible parent act behind the wheel of a 16 foot box truck? Well, as long as you explain why you can't look at everything your child asks you to look at, you pretty much just need to keep your eyes on the road and your hands upon the wheel (The Doors). I haven't made so many faces or spoken in so many voices in a lonnng time. And, in my whole life, I don't think I've ever counted to one-hundred by 3's, 4's, 6's, 7's, 8's, and 9's. It was a landmark occasion for me and I looked pretty impressive to my baby girl. "Hey look, honey! Look at the beautiful gold dome of West Virginia's state capitol building". "Pssh! I know, daddy. I seen that before when I came down with momma...it is pretty, though".
Just as shocked as I was when I realized that she had a peer group in pre-school, I was just as impressed that she also considered landmarks while traveling great distances. Like, the view of the Roanoke Valley at night time. It looks as if the stars are on the ground. "Yeah, except they're lights. ha!" she says "That means we're almost there, right daddy?". "Almost, honey. Not quite, but almost". You see all you really have to do when they ask the same question is just give a different answer.
Just like the highway, life is full of landmarks: Emotionally, mentally, spiritually, physically (Mayor of Munchkin City). But, the biggest landmark for me is when I am with my wife and daughter because then I know I am, at least, home. But, no landmark is permanent. There is no proverbial mountain top, only greater distances to go. So, as long as "Are we there, yet?" is still a viable question, the answer will always be "no". We'll just have to think of new ways to get there.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Window Pane
Soft but cold like snowflakes
Accumulative mass might make me break
This burden of love I shoulder
How much more can one man take?
I've seen it before;
A compost heap as one man weeps
I reach for my soul,
But the key that she holds is buried deep...deep
Chorus:
Why would I
Try to hide behind these eyes
If I
Tried to hide, what would I hide behind?
Cause you see right through me like a window pane.
A blissful dream remembered
I'm staring at you lying on a sunset beach
The wind blew cold, you shivered
I go to keep you warm but your out of reach
Where did you go?
Echoes of you mocking me
Then low and behold
I wake up to find your holding me...me
Bridge:
The sun, it don't shine when your away
I think I'm goin' crazy
I want much more than I can take
I'm crazy, crazy, crazy
You know all of my stories
You finish every line before I speak
I bask in all my glory
You let me do my thing then you make me weak...weak
MY APOLOGIES, this post was scheduled for release on 6/13/12 at 7:50. I was "out of the office" this week and figured I would just leave you with lyrics to a song I wrote. Stay tuned for my next post!
Accumulative mass might make me break
This burden of love I shoulder
How much more can one man take?
I've seen it before;
A compost heap as one man weeps
I reach for my soul,
But the key that she holds is buried deep...deep
Chorus:
Why would I
Try to hide behind these eyes
If I
Tried to hide, what would I hide behind?
Cause you see right through me like a window pane.
A blissful dream remembered
I'm staring at you lying on a sunset beach
The wind blew cold, you shivered
I go to keep you warm but your out of reach
Where did you go?
Echoes of you mocking me
Then low and behold
I wake up to find your holding me...me
Bridge:
The sun, it don't shine when your away
I think I'm goin' crazy
I want much more than I can take
I'm crazy, crazy, crazy
You know all of my stories
You finish every line before I speak
I bask in all my glory
You let me do my thing then you make me weak...weak
MY APOLOGIES, this post was scheduled for release on 6/13/12 at 7:50. I was "out of the office" this week and figured I would just leave you with lyrics to a song I wrote. Stay tuned for my next post!
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Howdy Doody Day
It was a beautiful 22nd day of January. A clear, sunny sky and warm enough to get away with just wearing a light jacket or sweater. I was attending church with my in-laws and it seemed as if all the parishioners were arriving at the same time. The foyer and outside of First Baptist Church was swaying with traffic. It's always fun to see people gathered together; smiling, laughing, talking. OK, truth is I'm not sure what day it was, could have been December, but it was beautiful outside.
Did I mention it was beautiful outside? Still fresh off the boat from Michigan, the weather was definite and welcoming. For many nights following, I would have to bite my tongue when talking to my wife on the phone. She was still back home scraping the frost off her car windows every morning. It's amazing how shivering cold it can get in the mid-west. And it becomes normal. Normal to go about every day bundled up in layers of clothing. Trying to ignore the chill of Old-Man Winter. Pretending not to be depressed, stressed. Pressing on through every freezing day, tormented by the fact that he'll be there waiting for you. It's an abusive relationship. So, we decided to get out. We weren't gonna take it anymore. We love Michigan, but we had to get away. Start anew.
To my surprise, I moved on with the quickness. I forgot about Old-Man Winter immediately. The weather here felt like spring. It was a new beginning! I could ride my bike, jog and walk my dog without trying to "make it quick". It was warmth to my Michigan blood.
The weather wasn't the only thing warm here in North Carolina. So were the people. Everybody, it seemed, spoke to me or acknowledged me in some way. I mean, one has to be ready for it. It's like how motor cyclists or Jeep owners do when they pass each other on the roads. Discreet, but real. And that's how warm they were at First Baptist.
I get real comfortable in situations like that and I felt comfortable there. So much so that I begin to get a little cocky with it. Like I was the most interesting man in the world and could share inside jokes with complete strangers. All of a sudden I was speaking to everybody. Doing the "cool kid at school" and finger pistoling people as I passed by.
Then, I spotted the NC State jacket-wearing old man with his back to me. "Hey, Wolf Pack!" I cheered as I patted him on the shoulder. "Hey, Howdy Doody Day!" he replied with a familiar grin. "Howdy Doody Day!?", I retorted with a staggered smile. What is this Howdy Doody Day he speaks of? I thought to myself. Did I miss that page in my North Carolina culture studies? "Yeah, I wasn't able to watch the whole game..." he was saying. "Ohh! How'd they do today?!" I say, recoiled and laughing, embarrassed by my miscommunication. All of a sudden I wasn't THE most interesting man in the world, and he wasn't laughing. In fact, I gather to think he was a bit put out by my silliness.
I apologized and moved on. "What a dumb Yankee!" I cursed to myself. But that was enough to realize I was in a new world. That the weather wasn't the only thing I was going to have to get used to. The language, the culture, there's real history down here! The ugly truth, too. But, I like it and I'm excited to meet it's acquaintance. I'll just keep my inside jokes to a minimum. Still, every now and then when a co-worker greets me with a smile, or once when one complained about the rain, I leave them with a personal message and something to think about. "Howdy Doody Day!", I say as I walk away with a smile. An inside joke from a man, still fresh off the boat.
Did I mention it was beautiful outside? Still fresh off the boat from Michigan, the weather was definite and welcoming. For many nights following, I would have to bite my tongue when talking to my wife on the phone. She was still back home scraping the frost off her car windows every morning. It's amazing how shivering cold it can get in the mid-west. And it becomes normal. Normal to go about every day bundled up in layers of clothing. Trying to ignore the chill of Old-Man Winter. Pretending not to be depressed, stressed. Pressing on through every freezing day, tormented by the fact that he'll be there waiting for you. It's an abusive relationship. So, we decided to get out. We weren't gonna take it anymore. We love Michigan, but we had to get away. Start anew.
To my surprise, I moved on with the quickness. I forgot about Old-Man Winter immediately. The weather here felt like spring. It was a new beginning! I could ride my bike, jog and walk my dog without trying to "make it quick". It was warmth to my Michigan blood.
The weather wasn't the only thing warm here in North Carolina. So were the people. Everybody, it seemed, spoke to me or acknowledged me in some way. I mean, one has to be ready for it. It's like how motor cyclists or Jeep owners do when they pass each other on the roads. Discreet, but real. And that's how warm they were at First Baptist.
I get real comfortable in situations like that and I felt comfortable there. So much so that I begin to get a little cocky with it. Like I was the most interesting man in the world and could share inside jokes with complete strangers. All of a sudden I was speaking to everybody. Doing the "cool kid at school" and finger pistoling people as I passed by.
Then, I spotted the NC State jacket-wearing old man with his back to me. "Hey, Wolf Pack!" I cheered as I patted him on the shoulder. "Hey, Howdy Doody Day!" he replied with a familiar grin. "Howdy Doody Day!?", I retorted with a staggered smile. What is this Howdy Doody Day he speaks of? I thought to myself. Did I miss that page in my North Carolina culture studies? "Yeah, I wasn't able to watch the whole game..." he was saying. "Ohh! How'd they do today?!" I say, recoiled and laughing, embarrassed by my miscommunication. All of a sudden I wasn't THE most interesting man in the world, and he wasn't laughing. In fact, I gather to think he was a bit put out by my silliness.
I apologized and moved on. "What a dumb Yankee!" I cursed to myself. But that was enough to realize I was in a new world. That the weather wasn't the only thing I was going to have to get used to. The language, the culture, there's real history down here! The ugly truth, too. But, I like it and I'm excited to meet it's acquaintance. I'll just keep my inside jokes to a minimum. Still, every now and then when a co-worker greets me with a smile, or once when one complained about the rain, I leave them with a personal message and something to think about. "Howdy Doody Day!", I say as I walk away with a smile. An inside joke from a man, still fresh off the boat.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
1st Blog Ever!
So, I'm going to start blogging. For sometime this has been my desire. To share my collected thoughts with whomever will listen, or read. The thing is, I'm a procrastinator (shh, don't tell any possible future employer). But more than that I've just been afraid; afraid to make mistakes that all will see. I like to disperse my foinx's (my word) so that no one person can completely call me out. I'm not a very organized thinker (again, this is between us), never was a disciplined student. I mean, high school was a complete blur to me. I guess what I learned in kindergarten really was enough to at least get me into college.
I have, however, managed to educate myself enough to know that I am at least average. And as I witness editing mistakes on a daily basis, by professionals that get paid to write, I realize that most of us are average. So I'm in a good place. Average is great! And I'm not going to be afraid anymore. I will make mistakes. I've made such terrific strides in my life by learning from them. So much so that I coined the phrase: Sometimes you have to make mistakes on purpose, it gets the ball rolling. At that moment, during happy hour, it was the greatest philosophical and psychological statement ever made.
So let me begin by saying this: I am a real American. I was raised in the Army, my brother is a career soldier, and I do whatever the hell I want to do. Though I may wear a Che Guevara t-shirt from time to time doesn't mean I am anti-American or communist. Nor am I some fashion sheep. I wear it because I appreciate his bravery, leadership, and relentless effort to stand against what he viewed as an oppressive, capitalists society. And, when some might attack my view by referring to him as a ruthless murderer, my response is; I just point to Old Glory, which I've pledged my allegiance to, and say "How do you think we got here, fair and square?" Right or wrong?
While on the topic of America, there's one question that's been on my mind for some time now. When did it become OK for the leader of our great nation to never have served in the military? I know there is a handful of those that did not serve in the "olden days", but wasn't it a rule that we all somehow learned (those of us older than thirty) as kids, that the president had to have some sort of military training or experience? I mean, Bill Clinton received some heat during his campaign. G.W. Bush served, but really? We took him about as serious as the Sunday comics. President Obama did not serve but there were more pertinent tax paying issues concerning his eligibility. And now Mitt Romney deserves a shot?
It just seems to me that a new ideology of running our nation like a business is more important than maintaining it as a democracy. That the bottom line is more about the rich and powerful. I'm not hinting socialism, don't go there. I'm talking about the USA. Businesses downsize and layoff. Big business devours the smaller market, local businesses. And just what the hell are we fighting for? We, the people, should never be asked to buy American, or be criticized for making smart economic choices. No, we are just trying to make it. That statement should be directed at our politicians. You buy American. You invest more into our country. You start making smart economic choices. Then you could expect more from the people. But, I could be mistaking.
I have, however, managed to educate myself enough to know that I am at least average. And as I witness editing mistakes on a daily basis, by professionals that get paid to write, I realize that most of us are average. So I'm in a good place. Average is great! And I'm not going to be afraid anymore. I will make mistakes. I've made such terrific strides in my life by learning from them. So much so that I coined the phrase: Sometimes you have to make mistakes on purpose, it gets the ball rolling. At that moment, during happy hour, it was the greatest philosophical and psychological statement ever made.
So let me begin by saying this: I am a real American. I was raised in the Army, my brother is a career soldier, and I do whatever the hell I want to do. Though I may wear a Che Guevara t-shirt from time to time doesn't mean I am anti-American or communist. Nor am I some fashion sheep. I wear it because I appreciate his bravery, leadership, and relentless effort to stand against what he viewed as an oppressive, capitalists society. And, when some might attack my view by referring to him as a ruthless murderer, my response is; I just point to Old Glory, which I've pledged my allegiance to, and say "How do you think we got here, fair and square?" Right or wrong?
While on the topic of America, there's one question that's been on my mind for some time now. When did it become OK for the leader of our great nation to never have served in the military? I know there is a handful of those that did not serve in the "olden days", but wasn't it a rule that we all somehow learned (those of us older than thirty) as kids, that the president had to have some sort of military training or experience? I mean, Bill Clinton received some heat during his campaign. G.W. Bush served, but really? We took him about as serious as the Sunday comics. President Obama did not serve but there were more pertinent tax paying issues concerning his eligibility. And now Mitt Romney deserves a shot?
It just seems to me that a new ideology of running our nation like a business is more important than maintaining it as a democracy. That the bottom line is more about the rich and powerful. I'm not hinting socialism, don't go there. I'm talking about the USA. Businesses downsize and layoff. Big business devours the smaller market, local businesses. And just what the hell are we fighting for? We, the people, should never be asked to buy American, or be criticized for making smart economic choices. No, we are just trying to make it. That statement should be directed at our politicians. You buy American. You invest more into our country. You start making smart economic choices. Then you could expect more from the people. But, I could be mistaking.
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