Listen:

The ramblings of a Scotch/Irish/Welsh/’Merikan

Real man, real

Oh man. 

So here’s the thing about this blog of mine.  I consider it work.  I’m ok with that, I really am.  Some people would love to go on and on about the beauty of the written word and how blogs let people express themselves in new ways and how print is dead and la la la, but none of that is true.  The bottom line is, blogs are as silly as Facebook and anyone who regularly blogs is just as obsessed with the little icon telling you that you have a new follower or someone left you a comment or you’ve gotten “x” amount of views today.  Its all vanity.  Call it what it is.  Embrace it.  Don’t make yourself look silly by saying you are pouring your thoughts out and you aren’t concerned with your views or likes or whatever.  If that were the case, you would be writing your thoughts in a tattered journal like the rest of us.  

I’m not sure why I switched modes and started scolding the fictitious blogger, but it happened and I’m ok with it.  You know why I’m ok with it? Because this is a blog and it’s not real.  

Speaking of things that aren’t real. 

Have you read The Velveteen Rabbit lately? You should.  It’s a doozy. So many layers! Like onions, or ogres. 

As this blog is not real, and as this blog is work, and as the much anticipated (HA) spring semester of school has started and as most of said semester will be spent doing work on this computer then it is only logical that this blog be updated more as a part of things I’m slightly energized by and as a way to distract myself from doing other work that is not real, but this other not real work will eventually earn me a teaching degree. 

Speaking of MORE things that aren’t real.

One of my favorite stories from my time on the road is this:

So I’m in a swanky hotel with a few guys having just played a Radio and Records showcase with an Artist I used to tour with.  For those of you following along at home, a R&R showcase is when a band performs in a rather large conference room for a maybe 50 or 100 people who all think they are much more important than they are.  The band is usually desperate and the suits audience know it.  So there is a full stage and lights and smoke and the whole shebang set up in this hotel conference room.  The band is expected to go on stage, play three or four songs that all have radio potential, and play them with the same gusto as if they were playing Madison Square Garden.  It’s humiliating.  It’s degrading.  It’s the music industry.

So the band is up there rockin, right? The audience consists of 1) radio program directors from across the country 2) record label stooges 3) interns, dear god the interns, as far as the eye can see.  So. Fucking. Hipster. 4) mid-level positions of both radio tools and record company stooges.  Those are the worst.  A little higher than an intern, but with no power or authority, but always seem to need that blue tooth headset.  

I forgot why I started talking about showcases.. 

Oh yea, things that aren’t real.  

So we play the showcase, and we’re back at the hotel and we’re having some drinks and we’re going on a long tour the next day and we’re having a good ole’ time.  One of the guys I’m with stares off, lost in thought. He sits like that for a bit and then says “this is not real.”  “What’s not real?” we ask him.  

“This whole thing.  Sitting in a hotel, having drinks, being on tour, playing showcases for those people, all of it.  It’s not real.  The second you make all of this your reality, you’re ruined.” 

Maybe the most true thing that I’ve ever heard.  Gave me chills again just writing it.  I wonder if it’s weight translates if you’re reading it right now, or if it was just one of those really important moments that life threw at me one time.  Who knows.  Either way. 

 

I was spending too much time thinking of a clever title, so I canned the whole Title

I about to begin to study for a math final.  Even as I type that I feel a mix of embarrassment and annoyance.  I feel embarrassed often when I’m on campus or when I’m talking to people about being in college.  I know the obligatory response from everyone is “no! good for you for going back!” and so on, but either way, it is somewhat embarrassing to be taking a math class with 19 year olds.  

If I’ve learned anything from college thus far, it’s this: If you want to be a teacher/professor, a doctoral degree supersedes people skills, calling, ability, and effectiveness.  I’ve now had two professors who have proven this, both of whom are close to my age, both with doctorates in their field who both have no business teaching anyone anything.  There should be a rule against going from undergrad to masters to doctorate to teaching.  An advanced degree doesn’t necessarily mean that you know how to speak to other humans well. 

So there’s that.  

Tomorrow I will walk out of a math class for the last time in my life.  One of the main reasons I avoided going back to school over the years was because of my disdain for math.  I’ve since had to take 3 math classes.  It’s so much worse than I imagined.  In my mind, tomorrow goes something like this: I finish my test, turn it it, return to my seat, take my pants off, poop everywhere, leave pants in poop seat, walk out of class with both middle fingers in the air and someone hands me a Tank 7 and a cigarette. 

Thats silly of course. You can’t smoke on campus anymore.  

I’ve got a winter break coming up, and son of a bitch, I’m going to read a book that isn’t required reading and has nothing to do with teaching kids.  I’m starting a book club with myself and no one is invited.  At my book club we drink, curse, make fun of people, and skip over boring parts of description.  

For those of you who are appalled that I would skip over long descriptive sections of books, I offer two quick notes.  

1) I overheard some kids at the college last week talking about the new Hobbit movie, and Lord of the Rings and so on.  One of the girls says to the group, “the movies are sooo much better, in the books, Tolkien spends too much time describing things, like he describes The Shire for like 5 pages.”  

To her and others like her, let me respectfully say that you are not smart and here’s why.  If Tolkien didn’t spend so much time describing the Shire, HOW WOULD THE EFFING MOVIE MAKERS KNOW WHAT IT WAS SUPPOSED TO LOOK LIKE?! How would you know what to picture in your mind while you’re reading.  (I just double checked that I correctly used both forms of “your” and “you’re”) 

and 2) The last book I read top to bottom was David Copperfield in all of its 1000 page glory, so that give me a couple free passes to skip pages from Ivan Doig who I know nothing about and have yet to from an opinion on his descriptive paragraphs.  

Yep. I’m a nerd.

Here’s to pooping myself in math tomorrow!

Well its good to know that you’ll be ok..

 

So we can all just agree that Black Friday turns seemingly normal humans into homicidal maniacs, right? Vonnegut says that West Point does the same thing, but thats neither here nor there. 

I went a week or so without internet.  We took the Marching Band to Chicago for the Thanksgiving Day parade, and the hotel had no internet.  Actually it did, but I had to pay for it, and who’s got the energy anymore?  So I went without.  Here’s what I realized:  I don’t actually need the internet.  Facebook is worthless and a bringer of insecurities, HuffPost is usually a huge bummer about the human race, and NFL.com is hard to read the week after a Chiefs loss.  Other than online classes, I actually have no basic need for internet.  Interesting.  

I had a week off of college, and I may have turned back into an adult.  Not to worry, I have to go back today (Yes, on a sunday) for a concert.  I’d say its the worst possible scenario for a nontrad with kids.  1:30 reherasal, 7:30 concert.  There goes the sunday, folks.  

I’ve been thinking lately about how bad of a car accident I would have to find myself in to accomplish the sweet mixture of 1) missing college classes just long enough for a break, but not long enough that I couldn’t recover, 2) keep me in the hospital just long enough to get some sympathy from the professors and only have to make up a fraction of the work, 3) no death, I dont have time, 4) No long term injuries.  A few broken things, and maybe re-learning how to walk? I’m still planning.. 

So, yeah, I’d say I’m not a fan of going to campus today.. 

If I’m in a mild but slightly serious accident on the way up, and the only logical explanation from the Highway Patrol is that the driver of the Volkswagen Golf steered his vehicle into a street light, or bridge embankment, no need to worry, I should be fine in a few weeks.  Ya know, right around Christmas break.

#notacryforhelp #justbeingfunny #dontreadintoit 

 

Cheers!

12 reasons I know I’m 30..

Here’s something:

I’ve been a part the 30’s crowd now for nigh a month, and I’ve noticed a few things that are happening to my person these days. In no particular order, here are my “I’m 30 now” observations..

1) Taking a flight of stairs the other day, right? And I’m midway up and I’m thinking, “dang, I’m sore… sore from what?”  Exactly.  Sore from what? From living?!  I’m not overweight, I have no prior leg or knee issues, but a flight of stairs, for no good reason and without warning felt like Everest.  Strange…

2) When I sit down in any chair, for any reason, I sigh.  Not a big one, just the “taking a load off” sigh.  It could be my car, my desk at work, a chair in a classroom, the dinner table, anything.  Sometimes just to take it up a notch, when I sigh, I say “ok” in the middle of my sigh, again, for no good reason.  Something like this “ahhhh… ok…..ghhhh”

3) I can’t sleep through the night without getting up to pee at least once.  This started around 28 for me as a precursor to 30.  I actually think about how much water, beer, whatever, I’m consuming in the evening because I know that too much and I’m up…

4) I tell my high school kids stories that BLOW THEIR MINDS about when I was in high school.  Most recently I explained to them that when I was their age, if I wanted to call a girl, I had to call the house phone and ask for the girl.  Usually her dad answered.  The other kicker for them was that when we wanted to break up with someone back in the late 90’s early 2000’s, we had to do it in person or over the phone.  Even over the phone was weak.  You had to have some guts back then.  People skills too.  Texting has taken all things that are good away from our society.

5) I ramble about how texting has taken all things that are good away from our society.

6) I have now met a substantial amount of fellow humans who have never heard of the Gin Blossoms.  Thats a G.D. travesty.

7) (This is not necessarily 30, but I’ve just noticed it for me) My hair is leaving me on the top of my head (Lord knows its found other places to live..)  and I now have to think about the elements before I leave the house. As a man who teaches marching band, I have to consider that in the summer rehearsals, my head will burn, and in the winter football games, my head will freeze.  September and March are really the only two months of safety.

8) I really only drink coffee, alcohol, and water these days.  CRAZY amounts of coffee in the morning, every morning.  Recently I’ve noticed that the acid in coffee gives me heartburn, at least I think its heartburn.  I have had no experience with this thing they call “heartburn” before because well, I’ve always been in my 20’s before.

9)  Speaking of coffee and peeing in the middle of the night; If I have coffee after 12 noon, I may not sleep for days.. It’s got a hold of me. I have to look at the clock and really I don’t like to drink it after 11.  It’s just too close to 12, and 12 is the zero hour for me.

10) 2 beer hangovers.

11) I often will look at a 21 year old and honestly believe that there is no way I was that stupid at his age.

12) I appreciate things that I’ve never appreciated before.  I dig the leaves changing on the trees. I notice it everywhere I go.  I also appreciate my parents more. Being 30 and having kids, I can put myself into my folks shoes and understand with slightly more clarity where they’ve been in life.

I’m sure there are more and I’m sure I’ll think of them as soon as I post this… 13) memory slips..

Cheers!

..”I call him… Mini Me.”

a few thoughts on my son

Ewan Oliver McCoy was born on April 30th, 2009, 11:30 am.  It was raining because April showers bring May flowers, so of course it was raining.  Ewan’s original due date was April 4th.  For those of you following along at home, yes, he was almost 4 weeks “late” as the folks say, but he came when he was good and ready which is exactly how the boy lives his life today and will more than likely live his life the rest of his days.  You can’t force him to do anything.  He moves at his own pace, and he will take care of business when he is damn well ready to take care of business, regardless if that business is picking up his toys or being born.  Ewan does his thing.  Good for him. God help me to cultivate that in him.  

If you’ve grown up in church, or if you’ve ever attended a men’s conference, or if you’ve ever watched a Barbara Walters special featuring a dude, like a dude-dude (NASCAR), then you’ve heard the story of when a man sees his first born for the first time and how floored they are at the sight of the newborn and how their heart melted and nothing else mattered, and fill in the blank because we’ve all heard that story.  I am not going to discount their experience, nor should I.  I will say that my experience when I first laid eyes on my boy was a bit different. It went a little something like this:

(brain): “huh. There really was a baby in there. He kind of looks like every other baby.  I shouldn’t think that, this is my firstborn! Ok, wait for that moment that you hear about at all the men’s retreats.  Does he have 10 fingers and 10 toes? Ok.  This is a baby, and now I have to raise it.  Wow, why didn’t anyone tell me we were going to have a baby?! All of those dudes who talk about seeing their baby were full of shit!”

-let me at this point interject a couple of caveats into my brain’s line of thinking. 1) We hadn’t slept in days by the time Ewan came out.  2) I was, honest to God, surprised to see a baby.  Some chemical imbalance in me was convinced that Amanda was going to be pregnant for the rest of our lives. 3) I remember being very concerned about him having all of his fingers and toes.  I asked multiple people for confirmation. 4) I distinctly remember feeling flawed for not feeling the way all of the “real men” had felt about seeing their first child.  

That isn’t to say that I was not totally in love with my son from before I saw his goopy face that day.  I’m just saying that I expected a “burning bush” type of moment when the stars align and I am suddenly wise to the deeper meaning of life on this planet and everything is finally in perspective and yada yada yada.  

From early on, people have said, and I would agree, that he is an old soul, or has an old spirit to him.  He just seems like he knows more than the rest of us about what the hell is happening at any given moment.  It’s incredible. He tends to be solemn which is odd for a boy his age.  He is wild, and will race monster trucks for hours and play and ride his bike and all of the other rambunctious things that 4 year olds do, but he is also very thoughtful, and he will sometimes sit and think for a good chunk of time.  He’ll be lost in thought when I talk to him and he doesn’t respond and when I break his train of concentration I can tell that I’ve interrupted something important and that he’s slightly annoyed with me.  I’m working on that. I need to let him think. Today he was silent in the car, gazing out the window and deep in thought.  I asked how his day at school was and got not response.  I realized what was happening so I just turned on the radio.  He was silent for a little while longer and when he snapped out, he asked me if the radio guys were talking about the same Chiefs that we love. He’s around. 

Ewan will grab his guitar, sit down and begin working on a song.  It is usually an existing song with different lyrics, and a lot of times its either an Autumn in Repair tune, a Wilco tune, or a tune from church.  Sometimes you will hear a mash-up of Via Chicago, You’re love never fails, and Freedom Doxology, which I find humorous. 

In our house, there is a sub-world of imaginary characters that Ewan has created and those characters are now a part of our daily life and conversations.  Let me take a moment to introduce you to them.

Derrick:  Started as Ewan’s cousin.  He is now a neighbor I think.  He just turned 16 because Ewan learned that 16 is the legal driving age and Derrick drives a monster truck.  He also plays for the Royals and Chiefs, and I believe he drives Todd’s speed boat on the weekends.  When I asked Ewan what Derrick’s middle name was, he paused for a while, looked out the window and said “Eric.”

Marsha: Derrick’s older sister.  Little is known about her occupation, but she seems to always be present when Ewan and Derrick do something awesome.  Or they are rescuing her from something.  Or she is driving a competing monster truck.  It varies.

Uncle Neddy:  I can’t quite figure out exactly who’s uncle he is, but he seems to be an older gentlemen, tricky and from what I can deduce, almost surely based on Uncle Steve (Jones).  He’s always wrecking monster trucks and doing something silly that Derrick and Ewan laugh at.  

Cornango:  He’s the dog.  Ewan describes him as “the biggest thing you’ve ever seen with black and white spots.” He’s a good dog.  Ewan takes him out sometimes but he’s often neglected and only makes it in to stories when I ask what Cornango has been up to.  

Ewan has all the makings of an artist which both excites me and bothers me a lot.  I want him to do something that is a bit less exhausting.  I don’t want him to have the make-up of an artist type, but as I re-read this posting, I can see that its happening either way.  He’s a storyteller, a songwriter and a dreamer already.  Mix an old soul in with that and the permission I’ve already granted by having lived that life, and here we go.  

I’ll never be able to prevent him from getting a tattoo or going on the road either.  I’m realizing these things now…. 

 

Cheers!

Clever title.

College observation(s) of the day.  

Everyone is a “me monster.”  No one listens to each other.  It’s hilarious.  I sat and listened to two kids tell stories about how each of their grandmothers were going through stages of dementia.  It was not the conversation that adults would normally be having.  It was comparing stories of silly things each of their grandmothers had done.  One would wait, not listening at all, to the other one tell a story, not laugh when the story was finished, and then jump in with a story of their own while the first person was taking a breath.  It was exhausting to even stand within 20 feet of them.  College. 

Humans do not spend enough time in libraries.  Maybe they do, just not humans that I hear talking.  I have found a Mecca in the library on campus.  It is a disheveled old cubical that resembles a wood-paneled voting booth, except you’re sitting down in it.  It is far, far away from anyone.  The farthest back corner of the top floor of the library.  Every now and again I see another person up here, but not often, and when I do, they are just as annoyed to see me as I am to see them. Its wonderful. Its silent, anti-social, and one of the most peaceful parts of my day these days.  

I bailed on a math class just now because, well, its a math class and I’m 30.  I have no other reason, nor do I need another reason to bail out on a math class.  The teacher of that math class is my age, and pregnant with her first child.  If you think about it in terms of “who knows more about life and things that matter,” (which is the scale on which everything should be based) I should be teaching that class.  I’m going to look in to that.  

A lot of these kids live at home and bring lunches that were made by their mothers.  Say what you want, we all wish that was still happening in our own lives.  I got a look in one of these Mom lunches the other day and it was all things that are awesome about lunch.  A sandwich (with a LOT of meat.  I ration my shit, these moms are passing it out all willy nilly), a bag of Sunchips, some cookies, an apple, a Fruit Roll Up for God’s sakes! I didn’t know they still made those! Remember making the entire roll up into a ball and popping that thing in your mouth? Or fruit by the foot!! Come on.  There is no way they still make those.  I’ll report back if I find any.  One kid had a rice crispy treat.  Oh man.  One time, when Amanda was still making snacks that didn’t include the words “whey, soaked, raw, gluten free, and vegan,” she made Fruity Pebbles treats.  You know, rice crispy treats but Fruity Pebbles instead.  If you have not had that, you have not lived.

Thats all I’ve got.  Dwelling on college life for too long at once will put me in a dark place real quick.  I’ve got to stop while I’m ahead. 

Cheers!

 

I hate to title this “my day at the DMV,” but it is what it is…

What I should be doing right now? Analyzing a piece by Schutz called “Saul was verfolgst du mich.” I’m sure I’ll get to it. I always do.

Today I had to get my tags renewed.  Just typing the line, I feel like its a set up for the best/worst DMV story ever.  The thing about the DMV is this: They’ve gotten a bad rap over the years but really, its our fault.  Think about it.  You show up to the DMV and you have all the stuff you need, you get out of there in no time!  The problem exists when we as normal humans forget to bring personal property tax forms from TWO years ago.  I’d put money on that little 5×8 square of doom being the culprit of most terrible DMV stories.

The DMV has become a punching bag of human society.  I’m ok with it, we need punching bags; a common enemy to unite us as a society.  It’s not so bad. I was in and out today in a matter of minutes.  Sure the lady who helped me was lacking some of what I would consider the most basic of social skills, i.e. speaking to me in a quiet room at full voice for God and everyone to hear, or answering the phone while I’m sitting there and then mouthing words to me.  Sure the place was poorly lit and there is always the couple there and you can’t quite figure out if they’re together or brother and sister but if they’re brother and sister, whose baby is she holding? And is the middle aged woman with that couple one of their moms? Or is that the mother of the baby and we’ve got a nanny situation?  Then there is the impatient guy in the back who forgot to take a ticket when he first entered so now he’s behind droves of people that got to the DMV after he did (including me).  But what is the etiquette in that situation? He didn’t have the wherewithal to grab a ticket when he first walked in even though its damn near Vegas lights and arrows pointing you to the ticket machine.  Either way he was mad, and each time a number got called he would sigh loudly and watch the person walk up to the teller and do their business.  You all know that guy, he’s the same guy who gets up and tries to get off an airplane first, even though he’s sitting in the 10th row.  Yeah, that guy.  He goes to the DMV too. There was the obligatory middle aged lady who was rocking the Farrah Fawcett hair with the tight mom jeans and eye make-up that hadn’t been removed since her senior prom when she danced to “Time after Time” with Rodney (why is his name Rodney?) and he broke her heart the next week when he left her for Shelly.  Poor gal.  She got turned away at the window today.  I’m guessing it was her tax forms from two years ago, but I could be wrong.  I’m probably not. I saw her leaving, tucked in long-sleeved t-shirt and reeboks. She went home to her husband who is way better than Rodney who was a turd, but I’m not convinced that she’s in love with life.  There was the 16 year old girl who was getting her license for the first time.  I saw her walking in from the parking lot with her mom.  She was smiling.  She had no idea what was about to happen to her when she walked through those doors.  I kept an eye on her as she took her number from the pull-tab that everyone but Dude saw, walked over to her seat, still excited and then she sat.  Her mom knew the DMV drill and immediately went in to Zen mode, mentally checking out.  The girl was looking around, looking at the faces and the random Microsoft Word documents that were unevenly stapled to the walls here and there, reminding people of the checklist of thing needed to get a license, and to make checks out to MODOT and that service could be refused to anyone for anything.  The girl’s spirits were high, but I knew she would leave that place like the rest of us, having taken the red pill and her eyes being opened to the true nature of the DMV. Behind the long row of tellers is an equally long wall, filled with notices, warnings, and random vintage license plates from maybe 20 or so states.  Give it to the DMV, they’re trying to make it look good.  Right in the middle of that long wall is what looked like a knitted sign, the kind that is sitting in your grandma’s extra bedroom and suspended from a piece of yarn tacked to the wall and holding on for dear life.  This piece of 1960’s America struck me so that I actually laughed out loud for a second when I saw it (which earned me a stare from airplane/sigh guy).  It summed up the bleak nature of the DMV in almost the same way that I sum up the college experience.  It said “Relax, it doesn’t get better than this.”  I love it.

I did my business and walked out.  As I made my way out, I did a final look around the place.  The couple/family/where the hell did the baby come from people were at the window, about to be turned away for not having the proper paperwork (my money is on 2011 tax receipts), the stray hairs from Ferrah were statically sealed to the chair that she previously occupied and will be stuck there forever.  Airplane dude who managed to miss the sign that punches you in the face, calls you by name and begs you to take a number before you even walk in the door, he was still sitting and waiting.  He looked at me when I looked at him.  I did the head nod.  He… he didn’t respond.  I stopped at the door because I just had to know how my new friend, the first timer, the wide-eyed girl was coming along.  She was still waiting, but her expression of excitement was gone.  She had her phone out, because that’s all they know how to do anymore, and she was staring blankly into the screen that we always hope will give us something in return to be excited about, but it never does.  I hope she got her license and that she looked beautiful in her picture because that’s a big fucking deal when you’re 16.

Cheers!

“What if this is as good as it gets?”

About college.

I just deleted a hefty posting on the subject of college because I did not appreciate my own negativity.  My brain is a bit much for me sometimes. I went on and on about how many things I dislike about college and the people and whatever else I could fit in to a negative rant.  

Instead I’m going to list things that I actually enjoy about the ole’ non trad (is “non trad” one word or two? nontrad, non trad. They both give me the red squiggle underline) experience. 

1) The campus is beautiful in the fall.  I’m not joking.  There are a ton of trees in various colors and its just a pleasant place to look at. 

..this is not good. I’ve been staring at the screen thinking for five minutes, which seems like not very long, but stare at your computer screen and think for five solid minutes and tell me its not a long time.  Anyway.  I’ve not been able to think of another thing. I’m sure it will come to me.  Lets just keep moving, shall we?

My whole idea behind the State of Things in College blog idea is because it is the question I’m most frequently faced with answering, and I always give one of two responses, depending on the person. 

Question: “Hey man, hows college life?” 

Response 1) “As good as it gets.” Which to me is a way of saying that it is shit without saying that it is shit. To the person who is not fully aware of my sense of humor, “as good as it gets” could be interpreted as “i’m not sure how it could be any better! It’s so great,” when in reality, what I mean by that is “there is no way that the worst thing could ever be anything other than the worst thing ever.”  Melvin Udall, the incredible character from the movie “As Good as it Gets” comes to mind. He is my college alter ego I believe. Or split personality, or however I should have used that reference. 

This response is generally given to family members, acquaintances, or to anyone that I’m not in the mood to explain the whole shebang to. 

Response 2) “It’s so much worse than I thought it was going to be.”  This, my babies, is the legit truth. Some of you have received this response from me, and for that, I apologize.  I’m actually trying to get this response out of my lexicon, but if I learned anything from the Disney Corporation, it’s that lying will make your nose grow, and your bad friends will get you drunk and make you smoke cigars, and you may or may not turn in to a donkey for the rest of your life.

Can we take a minute and talk about how NOT OK old Disney movies are? Pinocchio terrified me as a child.  I remember that bad kid (cant think of his name, don’t want to look it up) turned in to an effing donkey because he was bad, and then he just got left on the island! What?!  That is not ok!  Remember how scared he looked when he was getting transformed, then his screams turned to donkey sounds and then the scene ends and we’re not concerned about all those kids who turned in to effing donkeys! Dang. 

Then there is Peter Pan.  “what makes the red man red” is the name of a song. Something tells me that the Native American culture is not fully comfortable with the nature of that tune, or how Disney portrayed “Injuns” in that film.  Not to mention the fact that Wendy Darling and the mermaids are fighting over peter, to which Peter replies “Just like a girl, jealous and fighting.”  Racism, check.  Sexism, check.  

Dumbo!  God help us, Dumbo! Half of the movie is a G.D. hallucination! Dumbo gets tanked on whatever the clowns are drinking, then goes on a crystal meth-ish all night bender, ending with his giant elephant ass up in a tree being mocked by stereotypical “black guy” barbershop quartet singing crows!  What the hell! 

What was I talking about before the Disney stuff? Oh yes, college.  Ummm, I need to get back in that rhythm because all I’m thinking about now are Disney movies and I want to think of more.. 

Ok, college. College… 

either way. I’m not digging it, but it will be over soon.  Actually a year ahead of schedule, so that’s a plus.   I knew I would think of another positive! There it is!

That witch from Snow White used to scare the shit out of me too.  Was it Snow White or sleeping beauty?  The one that has the black cloak and the big nose.  I’d google image it right now just to be sure, but I would lose sleep over it if I saw her.  Disney, man.  

Cheers!

One, Two, Three times a lady…

Ok here’s attempt number 3 at this silly blog.  I’ve deduced that my lack of postings are due to a mindset that I don’t have enough energy to be creative.  I still think that is partially true, but here’s the kicker: I feel better about life when I’m being creative, even if the match that lights my creativity has been doused with water and is placed directly in front of an industrial fan, while I rub two sticks together to create heat.  You get the point.  My metaphors are still coming back.  It’s not like riding a bike, dammit. 

I went back and read some of my old postings and thought, “Hey, I’m not terrible at writing.  I like writing.  I should write more.”  You know that feeling though, when you’re exhausted and all you want to do is veg on the couch. That is my life right now.  I am in school, (God help us. More on that later) and I have two children who, as all children do, require a substantial amount of energy.  I am also working at a job that I love, but is fairly exhausting from time to time.  I know everyone is busy and everyone has a thousand things going on, so I’m not at all saying that I’ve got more than the next guy. 

What I am saying is that when the opportunity comes, after the kids are asleep and the homework is finished, there is this sacred moment of silence and no responsibility.  Two roads diverge in a wood at that time.  I take the road that is NFL.com, or huffpost, or some random marching band score recap.  I go to bed depressed, having done nothing to fill myself up, scratch the creative itch, or give any life to my soul.  In my head, I am too tired to be creative at that time, but I am now aware that if I can push through the tired, I can end the day on a high note, and start the next day in a better spot.  That will make all the difference.

So here I am back at level one. Readers or no readers (although I hope there are still a few of you out there).

I’m firing up the engine again because after all this time, I’m finally realizing (again) that I need to do it for me, so I can feel like I am supposed to feel. 

Whew. That got serious quick. We’ll work on that.  

More coming, I promise this time!!

 

Cheers!

I’m seeing a need for positivity in the ole’ brain box.

Listen:

So at least the whole election season is over. Or as I like to call it “The Romney/Akin Scare of 2012.”  There was (at least in theory) a chance of Todd Effing Akin representing a guy like me on a national level.  Really makes ya think. 

Best election quote ever =  “Well it looks like tonight, in Missouri, Claire McCaskill legitimately raped Todd Akin… electorally speaking, obviously” -Jon Stewart.

Lets see, what else. 

I’m slowly learning what most people my age already know, and it’s this:  College can be quite a silly thing.  I started this semester with a mindset that I needed to read every word that was assigned to me, go to every class, every time, and really dig in and learn the subjects I’m studying. 

Turns out, most of that is untrue. At least for an undergrad. 

I’m also incredibly unimpressed with some of the work assigned to me. It’s busy work. Silly things.  The other day I had to go to a computer lab and print out two opposing opinions regarding the election. I then had the daunting task of printing said opinions out, stapling them together, turning them in, and going about my day.  This is a class that I’m paying roughly $700 to take. It’s a glorified real-life-word-search.

College: the hoop you have to jump through to do something you’d probably be better at with 4 years of “on the job training.”  

I guess there has to be a safe place for ultra-conservatively raised children to get drunk and have sex though, so colleges are doing something. 

Best (mostly relevant) college quote ever = “Here is a lesson in creative writing. First rule: Do not use semicolons. They are transvestite hermaphrodites representing absolutely nothing. All they do is show you’ve been to college.” -Kurt Vonnegut

I’m going to work on being more positive.  Its quite difficult for me. It’s not even that I’m grouchy or angry, its that I just think that discussing negative things is way easier. Next blog is going to be positive. Happy times.  

Speaking of Happy Times. 

(this is a true story)
In Claycomo Missouri-which is the least original name of a city in history. Clay Country Missouri! Hire someone with a background in naming interesting cities or something! An abbreviation is not a name!- There use to be a t-shirt shop called Happy Times. One time when our band (Three Way Stop for those of you following along at home) was getting ready to go on a tour, we ordered a hefty supply of shirts from Happy Times.  The dude that ran the place was quite old, smoked in the shop, less than classy, etc. I showed up the day before we were supposed to hit the road to pick up the shirts and he had not even started our order.  I was 19.  He was either 137 or 138 years old.  I made a scene.  In public. My first (certainly not my last). I yelled. There were people in the store looking at me. He smoked a cigarette and didnt apologize. He blamed me.  I was in a tailspin of profanity.  I stormed out of the store and told him I was suing him for the lost profits for our tour (what does that even mean?!).You get the idea. That was maybe 2003? I’ve had an angry spot in my heart since that day.  The guys in the band still bring up the story of me losing it on the Happy Times guy. 

So back in May Happy Times burned to the ground. First thing that came to my mind when I saw it on the news: The guy messing up my order. I felt a little justified

I’m not proud of that. 

All that to say.  Who’s got two thumbs and needs to focus on the positive?? 

Next blog. Super positive 

Cheers!

 

PS: Let the record indicate that if the Happy Times fire is under investigation, it was not me! I’m just a dissatisfied customer. Surely there are more of us…..Bueller?