tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-282308263862324332024-03-13T20:39:44.657-07:00Eradicating SanityI'm just trying to get the voices out of my headwompsetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06771300874491994352noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28230826386232433.post-30006277467802705632010-01-05T12:57:00.000-08:002010-01-05T12:57:26.347-08:00Moving On UpOver the holiday break I came to the realization that, I really don't like the Blogger format that much. At least not as much as I like the Wordpress format. So I went out and bought myself a domain and moved my blog to wordpress. it's over <a href="http://eradicatingsanity.com/">here</a> now. Thanks to those of you have decided I was worthy of following, I hope you still come read my ramblings at the new site. Aside from a new address everything else will be the same. <br />
<br />
Adieu blogger!wompsetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06771300874491994352noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28230826386232433.post-39832316171731890232009-12-29T13:16:00.000-08:002009-12-29T13:16:06.906-08:00At First I Was AfraidI was petrified,<br />
It was Baby's first Christmas and ,<br />
I thought for sure I was going to die,<br />
The anticipation of the craze just grabbed me by the balls,<br />
I wanted to run,<br />
Right out my front door,<br />
But no not I.......<br />
<br />
Alright, enough with that. But seriously I was afraid of <em>the</em> Christmas. The first one that has held any special meaning in a long time. Not to say that the last fifteen or so haven't been great. But lets face it, a five month old is going to bring all sorts of new found holiday <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">insanity</span> cheer to the table. And rightly so. In order to ensure <em>sleepless eve's</em> and <em>tip-toeing morning's of</em> for the next 12 years you have to bring the insanity. I mean, why would I want to sleep in on Christmas morning for the next decade? Why would I want to avoid the constant "Is it here yet? Is it here yet? Is it here yet? IS IT HERE YET?" that I put my parents through? I certainly <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">can</span> cannot think of 20 reasons why.<br />
<br />
But now it has passed. And in case you haven't noticed, I get the post holiday blues <em>before </em>the holiday's. And now the blues have turned to greens (wait is green a happy color? Oh fuck who cares, it's my favorite color)And I figure it's my last year to hold onto my bah-ass-humbug attitude. Next year and forever after I will have to put on my happy face. <br />
<br />
It wasn't really as crazy as I had anticipated. Luckily I was blessed with a pretty easy going kid. He is happy to kick back and chill (literally. He just started throwing his arms behind his head and kicking back lounge style. Super cute.), and so we did. For the most part. We kicked off the festivities with a nice <em>eve of</em> dinner at my folk's house. Last year we started a tradition with them (at least I hope it becomes a tradition), of having a collective effort in the kitchen to produce a nice 5-7 course elegant dinner. This year my Bro rocked a bomb ass prime rib for the main course and it hit the freaking spot. It was preceded by great soup and followed by awesome dessert. Then on the <em>morning of</em> the in-laws came over to our house (by eight o'clock, the earliest I've been up on Christmas in a looong time) and we did our thing with them. Then to my folks by eleven for brunch. Kickball with the friends around two, and then out to my Grandma's for supper (and a bowl full of crazy) by six-ish. We were supposed to hit my wife's extended family in there as well but, we just ran out of time. Next year they get priority. <br />
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It was sort of funny because, until my Grandma's house the day was kid free (with the exception of my own). But come Grandma's there is a small handful of young children, all belonging to my uncle. Being an adult looking in on the insanity that I was once a part of is an interesting (and sobering) spectacle. I have a newfound respect for my parents. There were four children in my family and I can only imagine how crazy we must have been by the end of the best day of the year. Presents and sugar and carbs and sugar and more presents and more sugar and a nap on the way to Grandma's and then........insanity in its purest form. You're kind of asking for it by late in the afternoon following a plethora of childish stimuli. So this year I just enjoyed the show. Mostly. By the end I was dog tired. As was the boy. And probably most of the adults. So getting home, cracking a beer and chilling out with a little Wii action was a great way to end the day. Of course the passing out later in bed was even better. <br />
<br />
The one thought that kept running through my head all day long was "holy fuck I can't believe another year has come and gone". And now here we are, two and a half days away from the start of O-ten (is that how we'll say it "O-Ten"? 'Cause I think just "Ten" sounds pretty lame. Plus there is technically still an "O" in front of the ten). A year that is bound to be even sanity-less than the rest. So happy 2010 everybody. I hope it treats you all beautifully!wompsetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06771300874491994352noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28230826386232433.post-15061785284793500902009-12-23T22:52:00.000-08:002009-12-23T22:52:34.952-08:00Bath Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3tGNz-OCcyo/SzMPnz2-r1I/AAAAAAAADnE/FwuSXaBPC-A/s1600-h/DSC_0053.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3tGNz-OCcyo/SzMPnz2-r1I/AAAAAAAADnE/FwuSXaBPC-A/s640/DSC_0053.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>wompsetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06771300874491994352noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28230826386232433.post-55786225136430375792009-12-23T18:16:00.000-08:002009-12-28T09:42:25.641-08:00The Last Eight Thousand Three Hundred And Twenty Eight HoursThis was a big year for me. Probably as big as they come. All that other shit people tell you about <em>milestones </em>in your life<i> </i>can kiss this year's ass. Sweet sixteen, fuck you, I was probably grounded for that one. The big One Eight, ooh I can go buy porn and tobacco. Whoopidy-frikin-doo, I was getting high and looking at porn long before that one. Tipsy twenty one, eff you too, my girlfriend (now my wife) was older than me and buying booze a year and half before you came along. Twenty five, well that one was just a complete fucking let down. So what, I can get a better car insurance rate and go rent a damn car (anyone that looks forward to that one should really take a closer look at their life) yee-haw. And due some of the afore mentioned activities I didn't have a high school graduation (by the way, <em>high</em> school was a perfect term for my years at that institution) or college graduation to deal with. Maybe those would've been biggies, but not for this guy.<br />
<br />
So yeah, this year was HUGE. The year that your first child is born ranks among the top fucking <em>milestones </em>of all time. Unless you don't have a child then you can pick from one of the above lesser milestones. Or go have a kid. Or just not give a shit. It's really up to you.<br />
<br />
Really the only other exciting thing that took place in my life this year was returning to my position in the food chain. Right at the fucking top. I had been a vegetarian for ten years and it all came to a crashing halt this year. I wish I knew why. I really didn't have any <em>aha </em>kind of moment that turned me back into a carni. I really enjoyed being a vegetarian. It got me out of my shell, culinarily speaking. I still love to cook vegetarian, and I still respect the animals and try my best to buy only free range, grass fed, organic animals. But there is still a part of me that feels guilty as hell when I put that meat in my mouth and put those molars to work. I actually blame the skills my father posses', when it come to cooking, for turning me. He makes all sorts of incredible edible meals (actually both my parents are ridiculously talented in the kitchen, my mom is one hell of a baker), but it was his boeuf bourguignon that was the last straw. I had been having some thoughts about the animal kingdom, and then my folks threw a party and served that scrumptious freaking dish. And it only took one smell for me to be transported back to my childhood, coming home from school with a big old pot of the stuff on the stove, that he made the day before, lifting the lid and sneaking out pieces of beef, with it barely making it into my mouth still in tact. Damn that's one good dish. Now I'm hungry, what the fuck was I typing about? Oh right, food. Sorry. So yeah, I started eating meat again. Luckily I have been able to keep to my vow of never returning to a fast food restaurant. If I show up in a McDonald's ever again please just put me in the burner and go sprinkle my ashes somewhere cool.<br />
<br />
The rest of the year, up until one particular sixth day of the month, was spent procrastinating on getting stuff ready for the arrival of our baby. Sex still unknown at that point. Unknown in fact until his little testes popped out. The waiting really was the hardest part. Watching my wife grow that little baby was an amazing thing but, not knowing what was coming our way was tough. Great, but tough.<br />
<br />
I still have a hard time believing how incredible the human body is (and every other species for that matter). Growing a child inside you must be among the craziest feeling out there. I can't think of any other feeling that would compare with it. Granted my knowledge on the subject is limited, I still think it's damn freaking crazy that you women folk grow other humans inside of you. I can't help but think of the final scene in Spaceballs every time I see a really pregnant lady. I know that's weird, but it's true.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3tGNz-OCcyo/SzLH9Akl9LI/AAAAAAAADm8/VcdlJjtv0yw/s1600-h/DSC_0016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3tGNz-OCcyo/SzLH9Akl9LI/AAAAAAAADm8/VcdlJjtv0yw/s320/DSC_0016.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>And then it was practically here. The day we hadn't been preparing for. The fastest nine months of my life. Then came the heavy breathing, the waddling, the pain (my wife felt some of that stuff too), the baby starting to push it way out of a space entirely too small for it to fit through. Hello labor. Kind of. It was a slow start. But then a quick finish. And then --><br />
(and If I learned anything at all from Zoolander, it's that this kid may very well grow up to be a male model. He made that face within minutes of being born). And then my life changed fooo-revvv-errrrr! In the most incredible way possible.<br />
<br />
From that point until this point it has been kind of a blur. The first couple months were just an incredible rush. One of the highest highs I've ever had. I honestly can't put it into words. At least not words worthy of describing something as raw as becoming a new parent. Once those first months passed though I hit my groove. And now I'm just riding the wave of euphoria wherever it takes me.<br />
<br />
I honestly can't believe this year is already coming to end. I still think of years in terms of an eight year old. Where one of them seems like ten. And you don't think the end will ever come (not that you care about the end of the year, just the days off from school associated with it). Twenty ten is gonna be a crazy one. I already know it. And I'm excited as hell for it.<br />
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And now I have to go because the little monkey is getting mad at me for sitting here typing while he's blowing chunks all over the place.wompsetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06771300874491994352noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28230826386232433.post-1023864817124591622009-12-21T21:22:00.000-08:002009-12-21T21:22:32.074-08:00Deception Of Perception<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3tGNz-OCcyo/SzBL6hyOfNI/AAAAAAAADm0/yKjEvpk5vWA/s1600-h/escher_monkeymen_mirror.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3tGNz-OCcyo/SzBL6hyOfNI/AAAAAAAADm0/yKjEvpk5vWA/s640/escher_monkeymen_mirror.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><br />
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Sometimes I have a hard time being labeled as an "adult". Even if it is through the eyes of a stranger. I don't feel like an adult. Most of the time. I still see myself as that tripped out, stumbling through life seventeen year old that was ten years ago. A (slightly) more mature version of that kid, but that same kid just the same. When I go to buy alcohol I'm always afraid the clerk will think my ID is a fake (even though I've had people tell me I look far older than I am, thank you a-holes!). Whenever a telemarketer calls I still think I will be getting the same "Well hello little girl, is your mommy home?" that I became accustomed to. (to which I always wanted to respond "Why hello stupid fucker, I'm actually a seventeen year old DUDE and no my fucking mommy is not home!"). I still laugh at work when I hear words like (and I work in the plumbing industry, so these words are commonplace); plumber's caulk, galvanized nipple, ball cock, pipe dope and so on.<br />
<br />
So I kind of just assume I'm a still youngster. And it's not like I'm actually <i>old </i>or anything, I'm only 27 for shit's sake. And I used to be active. Climbing, cycling, hiking, swimming and snow related sports. And I really don't do much. I mean, I still hike once a week (if I'm lucky) in the sun deprived months. Certainly not the level of activity that my body was once accustomed to.<br />
<br />
And this is where the whole <i>feeling like a fucking testosterone driven kid</i> really comes to bite me in the ass. Why? Because I get all nostalgic over the thought of my seventeen year old body (and it wasn't anything special. Just the floor model. But it wasn't round in the middle) and decide that doing something like say, going for a run, is a good idea. And I think it is actually a good idea. An <i>idea. </i>Because I swear to jeebus that two fucking miles of running (jogging) makes me feel like I'm going kiel over in the middle of the last fifty feet of road and, my dog will have to drag ass my ass through the stank funk gutter (laughing all the way) to the front door. And then after my dog figured out how to oppose her thumby-claw thing on her ankle, and open the door, drag me in, and put me into a cold shower, she brings in two of my son's number floor pad things, an eight and a seven. "that's how old you acted out there" she communicates cleverly to me, and then turns and takes herself for another run. Avoiding the stares of the neighbors that just witnessed her dragging her Benjamin Button looking owner home.<br />
<br />
The point is that I actually <i>am </i>getting fucking older. Shits changing (not literally shit. You literal people freak me out). And it kind of sucks. To realize that you can't just take off and play a game of kickball with friends without a physical fitness hangover. So I am making my first ever resolution. It so happens I have made this <i>first </i>resolution over and over again in the past three years, but it's still my first one. And that is to get my ass back in shape. I feel like calling my old swim coach so he can force my ass into the steaming cold pool at five in the morning (seriously, that shit used to steam and you'd be all excited cause it looks hella warm. Yeah, because it's five fucking o'clock and anything thing looks warm. Especially the bed you just left). Or I need to dig out my old climbing gear and find my way to something climbable. But for now I'm going to stick with my running. Because it's the laziest way for me to exercise (if that ain't one hell of an oxymoron). And with any luck I'll bring my Wii age down to a reasonable number.wompsetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06771300874491994352noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28230826386232433.post-91111728686314499512009-12-18T19:56:00.000-08:002009-12-18T19:56:48.116-08:00The Disappearing Act<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3tGNz-OCcyo/SyxLons5gCI/AAAAAAAADl8/8Cav10yqRxs/s1600-h/P5300079.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3tGNz-OCcyo/SyxLons5gCI/AAAAAAAADl8/8Cav10yqRxs/s640/P5300079.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><span style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The tree's along the california coast line are fucking gorgeous. Like nothing I've ever seen before. Majestic, gargantuan, and sometimes ominous. I fucking love those tree's. I'm not there right now, but I sure wish I was. </span></span></span></span><br />
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Sometimes I just want to get up and get away. From the rat race. It can drag you down into a ditch and, as it's driving away throw it's damn McDonald's bag O trash out the window and right on top of your stumbling out of the ditch ass.<br />
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I think I get this feeling about once every four to six months. To just grab the essentials, the Family (Wife, Son, Dog, Other Dog), and drive. Into the wilderness. Whichever direction/destination it may be. Lake. Mountain. Forrest. Beach. Desert. Any one (or all) will do the trick. Just get the holy hell out of the city, suburb, or town you're currently occupying and find some solitude. I don't know why it hits me, but it does.<br />
<br />
I have actually had this particular urge for a while now. Since before RQ was introduced to the world. I think I went out on my last trip this past June. And since before the monkey was even close to being born I was thinking about <i>his</i> first camping trip. It was probably one of the earliest thoughts pertaining to fatherhood that I had. Maybe that's weird, or fucked up or something. Maybe I should have been thinking about actually being a father and what what that meant. Or maybe I should have been thinking about how to better provide for the kid, so he can lead a comfortable life. Or maybe I should have been signing him up for preschool even though he was still the size of a grapefruit. I don't effing know. I spent more time thinking about how fucking awesome it was going to be to have a little kid in tow. Someone that can always remind you to lighten your shit up and relax. Have fun. Be a fucking kid for christ's sake.<br />
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I read a statistic not too long ago about the ratio of times a child laughs in a day compared to an adult and, while I don't recall exactly what that percentage was, for the sake of this point lets say it was eight hundred and seventy four thousand to one (I'm pretty sure that's in the right ballpark), clearly being a little kid is where it's at. Not a worry in the world (at least not a valid one). I mean maybe they are worried about whether Tammy or Timmy are going to beat them at some sort of something at school. Or be mean to them. I don't really know, what do kids do to each other these days? But you get the point, Kids are living a far more raucous and fun life than a lot of adults can even recall. And it's (in my not so humble opinion) the <i>rat</i> that is bread into us. At least in America. And 20 other countries. That is causing this lack of childlike behavior.<br />
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So now comes the point in time where I <i>actually </i>need to figure out something to do. Outside. With beautiful tree's around. And dirt or sand to sleep on. And my Family to enjoy it with. Before I go crazy. I'm thinking the beach. Somewhere around <a href="http://c0278592.cdn.cloudfiles.rackspacecloud.com/medium/197867.jpg">here</a>, on the lost coast. I think that ought to satisfy my craving.wompsetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06771300874491994352noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28230826386232433.post-65812736029048392902009-12-14T18:37:00.000-08:002009-12-14T18:37:58.118-08:00When Everything You Need Is Nothing At AllBefore I get into this post I just want to say this. I have written far too many holiday inspired posts this year (I think with this one it makes three. So yeah, too many for me) and I vow this will be the last one of the season.<br />
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<br />
<br />
This has been one of the toughest holiday seasons my family (it's seems so out of place still to say <i>my Family,</i> I got so used to <i>my Wife and I</i>), financially speaking. And I know damn well that;<br />
<br />
A) We're not the only family telling this tale right now<br />
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and<br />
<br />
B) I'm damn lucky for what I have<br />
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In light of this (or maybe in spite of), My wife and I (ahh, there it is. Familiarity) decided to do away with gifts for ourselves. Again, I doubt we are the only ones making this sacrifice. In fact I have a sneaking suspicion that for the next few years, complete with massive growth spurts, trips to the doctor, and whatever else (everything) that will carry a cost for RQ, that this may even become the norm. And I have absolutely nothing wrong with that. In fact it's kind of nice.<br />
<br />
You see, not having to buy any presents, or at least not many, means that we don't have to spend any time inside concrete boxes of fluorescent light with the aisle blockers, and the slow as humanly possibles, and the grab things off the rack and then just throw it on the grounds, and the I grabbed ninety nine things and they're all missing tags when it's time to check outs, and the......well I think you get the point. I'm not the biggest fan of the mass crowd shopping experience. Sometimes I'll go to another store if the one I planned on going to is out of control. And without those <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: line-through;">hair pulling, head banging on the wall, eye gouging out with hanger</span> joyous trips to whatever store it is you decide to go to that day, it brings a little bit of life back to the holidays. At least for me.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3tGNz-OCcyo/Sybs8svdRDI/AAAAAAAADls/7hQEMT1V6Ac/s1600-h/DSC_0041.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3tGNz-OCcyo/Sybs8svdRDI/AAAAAAAADls/7hQEMT1V6Ac/s320/DSC_0041.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>Today was the day that it actually became Christmas in our house. The lights went up outside, a tree is standing in the living room. Nutcrackers are sure to be stirring in their boxes waiting for their departure from the prison that is January through the first half of December. The Duck Tales Christmas cutout and <a href="http://smartcanuck.ca/Christmas/The%20Muppets/A%20Green%20And%20Red%20Christmas/The%20Muppets-A%20Green%20And%20Red%20Christmas_Front.jpg">The Muppets Christmas poster</a> will soon be hanging. And like that, with barely a blink of an eye, Christmas has arrived (and I'm a little nauseous).<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3tGNz-OCcyo/SybzJYkd4MI/AAAAAAAADl0/jn24LAS7QD4/s1600-h/DSC_0007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3tGNz-OCcyo/SybzJYkd4MI/AAAAAAAADl0/jn24LAS7QD4/s320/DSC_0007.jpg" /></a>As I took the dog out for a run this afternoon (only one will run with me), I realized that the holiday spirit had managed to bite me in the ass this year. Something that doesn't normally happen until the day of. And I realized, that though this is the year we have the least (materially) it is also the year that we have the most (spiritually, mentally, or whatever you want to call it). This is our wealthiest Christmas. This is also the first year for my family. Traditions that had been our own are now being handed down. From here on out everything that <i>we </i>(my Wife and I) used to call ours will become his as well. Next year RQ will be helping put the lights on the tree, and showing his Mama (the vixen to the right there) where to put her nutcrackers, and where the stocking should go, and which tree he likes best. And then the transition will be complete. The traditions will become family heirlooms locked upstairs for eternity. Until he starts his own with his future family.wompsetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06771300874491994352noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28230826386232433.post-20886574446230676622009-12-14T12:28:00.000-08:002009-12-14T12:30:43.495-08:00A Badge Of Honor<div style="text-align: center;">So last Friday I was slapped with this badge by <a href="http://worldaccording2lisa.blogspot.com/">Her</a>,<br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3tGNz-OCcyo/SyaAbI1krdI/AAAAAAAADlU/lIfSOfl_MFc/s1600-h/kreativ-blog1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3tGNz-OCcyo/SyaAbI1krdI/AAAAAAAADlU/lIfSOfl_MFc/s200/kreativ-blog1.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Apparently as bloggers we are subjected to random solicitations in the form of badges and tags. I am pretty new to blogging, and even more new to the idea that people other than my immediate family take interest in my blog. So when I learned of this "badge" that I was given, I was excited (because someone thought I was deserving enough) and a little freaked out as well (because now I have to find other blogs I can launch this badge toward).<br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">So from what I've learned this is how the whole thing works. I tell all of you seven things you don't know about me and in exchange you all send me seven dollars (so lets see, seven dollars each times 6 readers equals? Crap, I still have to go to work tomorrow.) OK, so the seven dollar thing is bull but, a guy can try right? And then I list seven other folks that I feel deserve this very same badge (wait, does that mean I have to relinquish mine?).<br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">So without further ado,<br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Seven things about me that will most likely bore you to tears:<br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">1. When I was a kid and had to write stories for school I would almost always pencil the same boring tale of me riding my bike down a steep ass hill, hitting a hole, flipping over the handle bars and ending up those same handle bars (or at least one side of them) stuck in my thigh. It made for a great scar.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3tGNz-OCcyo/SyaGVom_riI/AAAAAAAADlc/bDQGx5R-yZ0/s1600-h/Events-39.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3tGNz-OCcyo/SyaGVom_riI/AAAAAAAADlc/bDQGx5R-yZ0/s200/Events-39.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">2. I once grew my hair out until it was this long so that I could donate it to <a href="http://www.locksoflove.org/">Locks Of Love</a>. It is still one of the most rewarding things I have done in my life.<br />
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3. I will eat anything once (well, pretty much anything. I might have to pass on some of the nasty shit you all are thinking up right now)<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">4. I was within a signature or two at least three times to sign up for culinary school. And each time when they showed me how much money I would pay over the course of the loan period I turned and ran like I've never run before.<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">5. I only have one fully functioning wrist (the left). Righty has had 3 bones completely removed and part of another removed. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kienbock's_disease">This</a> disease/disorder was the culprit. And the healing process looked something like this.<br />
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6. Prior to the above mentioned wrist injury I was one hell of a rock climber. Now I specialize in beer drinking (and I must say, I am close to going pro in that)!<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">And last but (maybe) not least<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">7. It took having a kid for me to realize that I liked to write. He awoke something inside that drove me to the keyboard. And I am extremely grateful for that because it is one hell of a form of expression.<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Now I suppose comes part deux of the honor of the badge. The part where I am supposed to pass the badge. To seven other deserving bloggers. I don't even know if I have seven blogs that I read (I know that's terrible, but I'm a late bloomer in the world of blogs).<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">(There is no rhyme or reason to my selections. These are just the seven that come to mind.)<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Nicole (aka "Kiterztoo") her site is over <a href="http://kiterztoo.com/">here</a>. She speaks (types) what's real and true. And I respect the hell out of that.<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Allconsoffun, who you can find <a href="http://allconsoffun.blogspot.com/">right here</a>, because she is about as new to this whole blogging thing as I am.<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">My one true love, Monica (aka "MonicaHeartsRQ") <a href="http://monicaheartsrq.wordpress.com/">This</a> is her site. Not only does she put up with me on a day to day basis (which deserves like 8 badges all on its own), she is also a great writer with an incredibly sweet outlook on life. Something we all need more of.<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Green As Wee Grow, found <a href="http://www.greenasweegrow.com/blog/">here</a>, because not only does she have have some great green tips and tricks but, also a whole store full of really cute baby goodies.<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Yuki over at <a href="http://yukmystar.blogspot.com/">Yukmystar</a> because the boy gots skillz with a camera.<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Kris at <a href="http://www.bravenewdad.com/">Brave New Dad</a>, a fun and funny guy I just discovered through the wonderful world of twitter<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">And lastly<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Aaron at <a href="http://culturalsavage.com/">culturalsavage</a>, another one just recently discovered on twitter.<br />
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</div>wompsetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06771300874491994352noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28230826386232433.post-54867322837446984472009-12-12T23:15:00.000-08:002009-12-12T23:15:35.362-08:00A Day At The Old HomesteadRandomness from around my folks house<br />
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</div>wompsetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06771300874491994352noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28230826386232433.post-4388196404644165252009-12-11T09:51:00.000-08:002009-12-11T20:12:36.334-08:00ImmersedIt's been one hundred and twenty seven days since my immersion into fatherhood. And I can honestly say that it has been nothing like what I expected. Kind of. I really was not sure what to expect. I know now that it is one of the most, if not <i>the</i> most, life altering experiences. To become a parent. To care for an infant. A tiny, helpless, cute, wrinkly human. I hadn't cried in a long time prior to my son being born, but I cried that day. I'm not ashamed of it, I probably cried more than he did that day. Now as I reflect, I realize for the first time that he <i>is</i> actually growing up. He is outgrowing his clothes. He has developed a personality that will follow him for years to come. He's making noises and movements that he never used to be able to. He's developing a sense of rebellion (he gets that from me) toward sleep. And with all these new traits come curiosities. My curiosities.<br />
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Part of me wishes I had one of <a href="http://ivo.co.za/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/fluxcapacitor2.jpg">these</a> (it's a flux capitor for those that don't know, and yes I know I'm lame. So lame), so I could jump ahead in time and see what life has in store for the little guy. It's crazy to me, to think that one day this tiny human will be out running wild with the rest of us. A functioning part of society. Feeding himself. Washing himself. Wiping his own ass. I just can't picture it.<br />
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Of course I say I can't imagine it now, but I'm sure within a blink or two it'll be here. And I'll be looking back trying to figure out where the hell my life went. I'll most likely be balder, fatter, and asleep on the couch.<br />
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I think these first few months are the easy ones. As much as my wife and I are responsible for easing little RQ into the world I think he is equally responsible for easing us into parenthood. It's only fair that way. And it has been easy. Or at least easier than the images conveyed by most other parents. And I would guess that in a few years, when RQ has had a chance to really push us to our wits end, I might have a different answer if the question of "so how is parenthood?" is asked of me. I doubt I will ever hit the <i>"holyshitwhydidIhavekidsanyway"</i> stage. Or at least I hope I don't. But I assume the nostalgia of it all wears off at some point. And given what I put my folks through, I have a feeling that karma has some surprises in store for me. So I'm going to raise my glass to parenthood now, while I still can, because down the road a beer hat may be the only way to get my drink in the air.wompsetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06771300874491994352noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28230826386232433.post-86383085634921040522009-12-09T18:28:00.000-08:002009-12-09T18:28:12.673-08:00A Peek Into My Closet!<span style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><span style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><span style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I first smoked pot when I was in eighth grade. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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I had my first drink before I was in high school (somehow pot came before alcohol for me).<br />
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I did not finish high school.<br />
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I never went to college.<br />
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I fell in love early (17 for those of you that are curious what <i>early</i> is)<br />
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I went down a lot of roads that people in my life probably thought I would never return from. Yet (somehow) I managed to end up not living on the street. Not living my life one fix to the next, which is probably how it looked to all the people close to me when I was a kid.<br />
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I don't know what it was about junior high that got me going all backwards. Well maybe backwards isn't the right way to put it. Maybe <i>off track</i> is a better way. And maybe not even off <i>my</i> track, just off the track that was laid out in front of me. But anyway, for the sake of the story, let's say off track. Something in that two story rectangle of classrooms got to me. And it brought out in me, defiance. Defiance to the man. Not that I had any idea who the <i>man</i> was. Shit for all I knew the <i>man</i> was a lady. But I did know that I would go to all sorts of extents to make sure that the he/she man monster wasn't running my life. Junior high was the beginning of my end (as it applies to establishment). Maybe it was my friends. Maybe it was just who I was. I don't know. But there was something about that school.<br />
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I think back and try and figure out what it was that set me off and, I honestly have No. Fucking. Clue.<br />
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So I made it through junior high just fine. I was still fairly un-corrupted at that point, not completely, but somewhat. I wasn't some sort of out of control maniac freak of a kid. I just experimented a time or few with defiance and substance, and that was enough for me. Until high school. High school was the peak of my "shitheadedness." It all came to a culmination sometime in my sophomore year. And the weird thing about me was, I did not appear to be the little fuck I was. Most shit heads can be spotted from miles away. Not me. I was in student leadership (fuck, I even dressed up as our school mascot from time to time for football games). A lot of my teachers liked me. The administrators liked me (even if it was just because the 3 siblings before me to come through their doors were all angels compared to me). I honestly think my teenage years took most people by surprise. And as I wrote briefly in my last post (and above. Damn I'm redundant), I dropped out of high school. Well a better way to put it is that I was kicked out for no longer attending any classes.<br />
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It was brutal few years. I didn't get a long with my parents. I was in a constant state of "fuck the world, you're all out to get me so just eat shit and die." I moved out of my house when I was 17 and into one of the biggest shit holes to ever be inhabited by human beings. We literally had an empty keg in our kitchen for 2-1/2 months, and when we finally moved it we found a colony of sick fucking maggots underneath it. Thriving on the drippings from the tap and the rotting vinyl floor. We were kicked out of that house. I had nowhere to go. Luckily I had met an incredibly nice girl while living there (who happened to be nuts about me) and she invited me into to her home to live with her folks (let me tell you, living with your in-laws before they are your in-laws, before you are even dating their daughter is a weird fucking thing). And from there the coaster starting rolling back up the ramp. That saying "The roller coaster's gotta roll to the bottom, before it can climb to the top again," couldn't be any more full of truth.<br />
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So as I said, from that point on my life starting turning around. It took me while to realize that my life <i>actually</i> needed to be turned around. And without the people in my life I wouldn't have been able to manage it. Actually prior to moving in with my (future) wife I was planning on moving to San Diego to couch surf (and I knew all of 5 people down there and they all lived in the same house), somehow I don't think that would've have worked out as well for me. Luckily for me it did not happen. And the rest is just a boring story of everyday life that no one really wants to hear or read. <br />
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(I don't mean to bore any of you reading this with the story of my life. But seeing as how most of you reading this don't know me, I thought a little background might be good.)wompsetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06771300874491994352noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28230826386232433.post-38490128101586049062009-12-07T17:04:00.000-08:002009-12-07T17:05:44.758-08:00Gotta Get Down<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3tGNz-OCcyo/Sx1XN-Pcc0I/AAAAAAAADio/Iu4-bwGZrU4/s1600-h/Events-403.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3tGNz-OCcyo/Sx1XN-Pcc0I/AAAAAAAADio/Iu4-bwGZrU4/s640/Events-403.jpg" /></a><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Every year during the holiday season I have a whirlwind of thoughts circling the crevices of my brain. Including (but not limited to); money, time, space, work, family, and the lack thereof of all the former items. And then there is the one thought that gets me through it all every year (well every year since I've been out of my adolescence). The PARTYING. Big. Small. House. Warehouse. Field. Train tracks. Back of a liquor store. I don't care where, but come the holiday's I am ready to get down.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">For a lot of years it was always a run of concerts that would be the commencement to the end of yet another too quickly passed year. I would allow myself to be engulfed in the beauty that is live music, and with the help of some form or another of sedation, I would let go and enjoy the full fledged phreak out that was going on around and inside of me. It is a great way to both end one and start the next year. Belligerent beyond belief. Because belligerence is bliss (as long as you don't take it too far, then it's just throwing up in your hands and running to the nearest garbage can)! There is just something so liberating about dressing up in the most outrageous pieces of fabric you can find, donning some glitter and beads, and boogieing down for 3 or 4 straight days. It takes you away from it all. And isn't that what we all look for toward the end of year? A way to step out of our mundane every day, and forget who and what we are for a while. (Maybe you don't, but I do!)<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This year will be no different. Hopefully. I do have a 4 month old son now, and with him comes the responsibility of taking care of him. While it would be fun to leave him at home with one of the grand folks and go out raging, I would feel too guilty about leaving the little tike at home during all the having of the fun. So it's going to be a season of balance and moderation during the biggest blowouts, but really there is nothing all that wrong with keeping it mellow(er). I've started to become accustomed to the new, more tame scene that is parenthood. And while part of me <i>did </i>dread losing that piece of the puzzle that is my life, after being without it (or maybe a better way of putting it is, <i>having that piece replaced with</i><i> a piece that doesn't fit just right, but still completes the puzzle</i>) I realize it isn't so bad.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So no big show this year, no stumbling through cities late at night too drunk to remember which way the BART station is. No cramming into a full ass train car on new years eve, so tightly packed that you long to be a sardine in a tin can, rather than pushed up against the girl that is about to spew all over everybody. No waking up and not having the slightest idea how you got wherever the hell it is that you are. But there will be damn good times with damn good people, coming together to achieve that moment of euphoric amnesia to the world around you and, even if just for a second, forget about anything and everything. And live in the here and the now! <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Cheers to your holiday partying!!<br />
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</div>wompsetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06771300874491994352noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28230826386232433.post-30163003703176314512009-12-07T15:47:00.000-08:002009-12-07T15:47:20.637-08:00The Elusive Snow Squirrel Search<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Alright, we didn't find any snow squirrels. But we did find snow in the east bay.<br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Which is pretty much unheard of. So we were stoked!!<br />
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</div>wompsetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06771300874491994352noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28230826386232433.post-19946832577059171402009-12-03T17:51:00.000-08:002009-12-03T17:54:46.526-08:00Fall colors from the 'hood<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3tGNz-OCcyo/SxhqpN2-ppI/AAAAAAAADhg/jszouDDZByU/s1600-h/DSC_0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3tGNz-OCcyo/SxhqpN2-ppI/AAAAAAAADhg/jszouDDZByU/s640/DSC_0001.jpg" /></a><br />
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</div>wompsetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06771300874491994352noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28230826386232433.post-85152545841898635802009-12-02T18:32:00.000-08:002009-12-03T09:56:28.757-08:00Tunnel Vision<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3tGNz-OCcyo/SxcS9ire-aI/AAAAAAAADhY/Gj0Kk7IMmdM/s1600-h/metro03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3tGNz-OCcyo/SxcS9ire-aI/AAAAAAAADhY/Gj0Kk7IMmdM/s640/metro03.jpg" /></a><br />
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Perspective is a funny thing. It can change from day to day, hour to hour or minute to minute. It's not the same for any two people, and it can be influenced by so many outside, and inside sources. It can cause raucous arguments, or bring two people closer together. It'll build you up and knock your ass right back down. Sometimes you may feel like you've got the whole perspective thing dialed in and then suddenly it hits you. Your totally oblivious to what is really going on around you. And more importantly, you're blind to the cause and effect of it all. Perspective is a funny and sometimes devastating thing.<br />
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We live in a society where it is almost encouraged to turn a blind eye to what is going on around you. We're taught in school to work hard, study hard, and become an active part of society. And within that curriculum we're taught to <i>not sweat the small stuff</i>. Only the definition of <i>small stuff</i> in our society is not a true definition of the words. At least in my opinion. My interpretation of that oh so famous saying is this: The <i>small stuff</i> in life is money, property, hierarchy, job security, bling, clothes, cars, etc. I think you get the point. And I think that "Society", at least ours (ours being the US of A) would completely disagree with me. I'm pretty sure that we were taught in school the exact opposite. That what we need to do to be an active member of society is to grow up and get a good job, buy a nice house, start a family, provide our families with all the "necessities" needed to be comfortable as we wander the wrinkles of our brains trying to figure out what it is we <i>really </i>want out of life. As society holds its breath hoping we give up and fall into line. The education system (which is designed by the people with most who don't give a fuck about <i>real </i>people) created this system knowing full well that most of us will just succumb to the pain that is <i>real </i>life and join the society they have spent almost three hundred years building for us. And we are, and have been their ginny pigs for their little lab tests. (And one other note on education systems. It blows real freakin hard that there are damn good people out there, trying to provide our children with the skills necessary to navigate the maze of life and come out with a <i>true </i>or at least <i>truer</i> take on the world, but they too are being suppressed by the system.) Welcome to the machine!<br />
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I was lucky enough to learn early on (early on being high school) that I didn't want to be a part of <i>normal </i>society. At least <i>I </i>think it was luck (it may have been aided by substance). It was somewhere in my sophomore year of H.S. that I started to just sit back and observe. And I was honestly disgusted by most of what I saw. Friends begging their parents for their first <a href="http://www.cronanmcnamara.com/images/back-to-future-car1.jpg">car</a>, or for that sick pair of <a href="http://nicekicks.com/images/reebok-omin-pump-lite-dee-brown-2.jpg">kicks</a>, or an SNES, or.....well I could go on an on with the list of material goods, but I won't. And I'm not saying I didn't still have these very same desires. I certainly didn't get a grip on my perspective right away. It was just the start of my tunnel vision clearing up. And it still hits me from time to time, I mean it's easy to get sucked into it all and lose sight of what's really important. And sometimes it takes a shitty situation to put it all back into place, or sometimes you are lucky enough to move the clouds around with no help at all. But the important thing, at least for me, is that the pieces do fall back where they belong.<br />
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When I was still <i>in </i>high school I was unfortunately a little clouded over though, and <i>thought </i>I had figured it all out. That's part of the reason I stopped going to high school and ultimately dropped out. I thought the system was going to brainwash me if I stayed in school and so I did the only thing I could do. Stopped going. There are times when I think back and part of me wishes I would have finished out my sentence, but most of the time I stand behind my decision. I may not have had the proper outlook just yet, but my dropping out helped me achieve it. Plus without that move I would not have met the love of my life, marry her and have a really kick ass kid with her. Not to mention some of the most outrageous adventures of my life, but that's a story for another post.<br />
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I don't know what it is about the holidays that get me thinking about this so much. Maybe it's the impending spree of shopping that is associated with the month of December (no matter which religion all the big days are in December, how'd that happen?) (well OK, not <i>ALL </i>religions/ethnicities, but a lot of them are). Maybe it's that I have just hit my breaking point with it all over the course of the last eleven months and my psyche knows that these last 45 days of the year include a hell of a lot of <i>get it all out</i> <i>of your system </i>partying. I don't know, but every year around this time it all hits me. The <i>"what the fuck have you been doing for the last few months"</i> thoughts. Like I said, Society is an easy thing to get caught up in. And I fall into that trap as easy as the next guy or gal. I have the moments of <i>"oh fuck I need that stupid damn thing so freaking bad" </i>and the <i>"I am going to work so hard, so that one day I can run this damn company". </i>When really what matters to me are the simple things. My family (furry and human alike), my friends, the fact that I am breathing and healthy. Simplicity is waaaaay to underrated in our society and I think we could all benefit from taking a step back and simplifying the fractions that make up our lives. Because sweating the small stuff is a waste of fucking time. Don't sweat over it, just drop it and move on. Enjoy life. Tear down the walls (I know, I used two lines/titles from Floyd songs. So kill me) that are obstructing your view.wompsetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06771300874491994352noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28230826386232433.post-85309235323997848012009-11-30T19:00:00.000-08:002009-11-30T19:00:52.784-08:00Working The System<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3tGNz-OCcyo/SxSGzUrBB5I/AAAAAAAADhQ/kskMvSyTdjM/s1600/bursting+bubble4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3tGNz-OCcyo/SxSGzUrBB5I/AAAAAAAADhQ/kskMvSyTdjM/s640/bursting+bubble4.jpg" /></a><br />
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So for the last six weeks I have been living in a bubble of <i>anything-goes-edness</i> with my boss out of town and his number two out for a few of those weeks as well. Luckily number two is not a senileistic ( I'm pretty sure that's not actually a word) old man who should have retired before I was legally old enough to work without my parents signature. And then the bubble burst. The boss came back today and I'm still dripping with the shiny bubbly funk that is <i>actual </i>work. And now it's back to the reality that is (quite literally) the<i> Crapper.</i><br />
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It's not so much that I dislike <i>work</i> in general. I mean I do, but I can deal if it's at least something that peaks my interest a bit. But selling, shitters and pissers and sprayers and anything else plumbing related, from augers to nipples (seriously, some plumber came up with the idea to call short pieces of threaded pipe <i>nipples.</i> and if you think that's awkward the black nipples are really going to get to you. especially when you have to sell a lady a pair of three quarter by four inch black nipples. I've almost been socked a few times for that). So if I at least had a job that interested me a little bit more it wouldn't be such a big deal for my boss to come back from a looong business trip. Because I would've been working just as hard with him gone as I do when he's there. But that was not the case this time. This time around the world (for him), I took advantage of the new baby and the plethora of excuses that accompanied him out of the womb.<br />
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I don't really think it's wrong to take advantage of the wonderful opportunities that arise from having a newborn.<br />
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"Sorry so and so, I'll be into the office in an hour so. The kid kept us up all night." (1 hour turns into 2-3 hours quite easily with this one)<br />
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"I'll be in by lunch time, my Wife's not feeling great and I'm on Papa duty."<br />
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"I forgot that little RQ had a doctors appointment today. I'll see you tomorrow."<br />
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(I've used all of these and more at least once.)<br />
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And then he's gotta come back and ruin everything. There is just something about the boss man coming back from a long trip, with a stack full of work that he is expecting to be done 3 weeks ago, that kind of takes you out of neutral and throws you into first as you start up the hill that is eight hours of your Monday through Friday. And you feel like all your good energy is gone by the time you stumble in the door. The only saving grace in this instance is the fact that it's the holiday season. And while I'm not necessarily the <i>it's the most wonderful tiiime of the yeeeeaaar </i>kind of a guy, I do enjoy the holidays. Assuming of course that we are celebrating the holiday on the actual <i>HOLIDAY</i> and not as a season. And I especially enjoy them because the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: line-through;">scum</span> guys that handle all the warehouseish duties at work are part of the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: line-through;">corrupt, prickish, assholeistic</span> prestigous <i>Brotherhood of Teamsters</i>. Why on hell I am thankful for that? well because they bring with them one awesome fucking <i>holiday/paid time off</i> schedule.<br />
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So yea, I have to start working hard again. And it'll totally blow. But at least I can look forward to the three, four day weekends in less than two months, that are headed my way. The only people who get a better deal are teachers, stay at home mom's, europeans.....Wait, am I getting screwed here? I thought this was legit.<br />
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So in another couple months. Well pretty much after the new year, I'll really be fucked. Then I'll have to <i>really</i> start working for real. Though I think there is already another trip scheduled for march. I need to get me one of those <i>circularpaperlinkscountingthedaysuntilchristmas </i>things that we all used to make in school before we went all religiously correct on the education system, to track when I can tune out for a few weeks. And then I can start getting all the inane shit I don't want to deal with at home, done at the office.<br />
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And I really shouldn't be bitching about my job in an economy where so many people are trying to just scrape by until business' start hiring again, but I like to bitch about work. So my apologies if this post just pissed you off. (And hell no I won't tell you the name of the company I work for so you can come gunning for my measly position.)wompsetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06771300874491994352noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28230826386232433.post-47170192728653029242009-11-28T23:45:00.000-08:002009-11-28T23:45:27.892-08:00Change Is (hopefully) GoodSo yeah, I changed the way this here blog looks. I don't know whether I'm done with it or not, but I really did not like the one that I originally set up. I had just previously been to lazy to put out the effort to do anything about. Until tonight. And maybe tomorrow. So I hope you like it at least as much (but hopefully more) than the old one.wompsetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06771300874491994352noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28230826386232433.post-80188218687107111702009-11-28T18:59:00.000-08:002009-11-28T22:50:30.415-08:00A Good Ol' Fashioned Ball BashFor the last three or four years a group of friends has been getting together to play a game of kickball on Christmas day. And let me tell you that heading out after the morning <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">craziness</span> festivities surrounding <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">corporate bonus earning day</span> the oh so joyful day, is a great way to forget that you have only been to half of the houses you are supposed to go to, and it's already 3:00, and you're already a bit drunk, and don't really want to go anywhere else other than home. Somehow heading out with a group of friends and kicking some serious fucking ball just makes it's more manageable.<br />
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So when this year we decided to add a date after the feasts of all feasts I was rather exited. We decided to do the game a couple days after Thanksgiving to give everyone enough time to digest, and recover from the hangovers (food and alcohol related). it meant that there were no parents/grandparents/aunts/uncles/brothers/sisters/children waiting on us, and we could enjoy the game without any time limits to abide by. No agendas to consider. So we went out and rocked it like we were in fifth grade all over again. <br />
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Uniforms were donned. Drinks were poured. Teams were picked. Chants were shouted. Team names were assigned (Boutonnieres vs. Black Spanish Boots). More drinks were poured. And then the balls started rolling. And boy did they roll. And fly, and get smashed, and deflate, then pumped up and fly some more. And there were up and downs all throughout. Psychological warfare was used. Brothers were pitted against brothers, husbands against wives (which is a bit awkward since the husbands team won). And then the trophy was awarded. Or maybe accepted is a better adjective since the other team was in no mood to <i>award</i> us for anything.<br />
<br />
Yes we have a trophy. It makes it all the more competitive. And it's not the first trophy we've thrown into the mix of competitiveness among this particular group of friend's. We've also had a couple extreme croquet trophies circulated as well. The kickball trophy is of course the largest and most ornate of them all. It only seemed appropriate to make the trophy for the cup o nuts the best of the bunch. And as I typed a few lines back, the team with the husbands came out on top, which means that for the second consecutive trophy match (we just injected this trophy into the mix last Christmas), I have been on the winning end. Last year the trophy went home with me to spend the off season. This year it goes to a new home. I figured it was unfair for me to keep it for two years in a row, so our team captain is taking it. It was a good game. Because my team won. And it was fun. But my team won. <br />
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So now the balls are returned their sack until Christmas when once again that sack will be ripped open and the balls will roll!<br />
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</div>wompsetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06771300874491994352noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28230826386232433.post-21410250577740099502009-11-25T19:21:00.000-08:002009-11-25T19:41:17.391-08:00Much Ass Grassy Ass<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3tGNz-OCcyo/Sw33j6UPV7I/AAAAAAAADeM/MzWgk3ux9Ko/s1600/Thanksgiving+turkey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3tGNz-OCcyo/Sw33j6UPV7I/AAAAAAAADeM/MzWgk3ux9Ko/s640/Thanksgiving+turkey.jpg" /></a><br />
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So it's here. The time for us all to sit around and tell each other why we're thankful for something. This is a completely foreign tradition to me. We never did this in my family. I don't know why, we just didn't. We did it at school (wow, take that sentence out of context and I may be in some trouble). But at the homestead, not my family's cup of tea. And I thank them for that. I have never been the warm and fuzzy kind of family guy. We were more like a G rated, less offensive version of the <i>Family Guy's </i>Griffin Family<i> </i>(My mom is cursing my name right now for writing that. I'm sure of it). But we certainly were no Keaton Family. Not that we were dysfunctional, we just didn't get all cozy with each other. There was of course the constant fighting, bickering, hair pulling, ball kicking, knife chasing fun that any family of four (3 boys) experiences.<br />
<br />
We did try the warm and fuzzy go around in a circle thing once, when I was maybe 8 or 10 or something. This was at christmas time though and it was somehow related to a school project for my sister M. It went like this (if I remember correctly. which I often don't); we had to go around in a circle and say something we liked about every other family member. All was going fine as the complements spun around the circle until the dart landed on me. (Now let me just preface this with telling you that I was a bit of a drama king as a child.) So the time came for M to say something nice about me, her littlest bro. "I like how Nate can always get whatever he wants just by crying for it". Me "Waaaaaaaa, Waaaaaaaaa" as I ran down the hall and buried my face in my pillow for the rest of the night.<br />
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I think that may have something to do with why we never did the whole <i>and I am thankful for_____</i>bit. I have a feeling it would have ended with me crying. Or kicking one of my brothers in the balls. Or crying. Probably crying, I only kicked when my parents weren't around.<br />
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Surprisingly I have great relationships with all my siblings now (at least I think so). With some of the havoc I wreaked on them as a kid it surprises me some days that they even still consider me their brother. And for that I'm thankful. Very thankful.<br />
<br />
Other things in life I am thankful for include but are not limited to: The rest of my Family. I have a beautiful wife who tolerates living with a prepubescent teen stuck in a young adults body. I have a kick ass freaking son who is like the absolute coolest most rad little dude that ever didn't walk or crawl yet. I have a set of wonderful (and still married) parents that have come to accept me for the crazy ass weird kid that I am. I already mentioned the siblings. I have two dope ass dogs that are cooler than most humans, two cats, one that's a total prick and one that's the prissiest little pussy you ever met, but I love them anyway. And great friends, a roof over my head, my health, my ability to grow a beard to hide my acne and probably some other stuff I'm forgetting to mention and will get shit for later.<br />
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And then there are these things for which I am also thankful:<br />
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∞ Getting up and out of the house on the weekends in less than two hours<br />
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∞ Not stepping in or seeing cat puke early in the morning<br />
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∞ Strong ass black coffee from a reputable roaster<br />
<br />
∞ Ale<br />
<br />
∞ Above mentioned ale being stocked in my fridge<br />
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∞ Apple products<br />
<br />
∞ My music collection<br />
<br />
∞ Not having to haul around CD's anymore (thank you above mentioned Apple products)<br />
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∞ Alarms that forget to go off<br />
<br />
∞ White out<br />
<br />
∞ A 3G network at work where my internet is restricted by Barracuda<br />
<br />
∞ Days when there is no laundry to do/fold (which is almost never)<br />
<br />
∞ Sunglasses<br />
<br />
∞ Fully intact wrists (which I only have one of)<br />
<br />
∞ Daylight savings<br />
<br />
∞ Fresh caught fish<br />
<br />
∞ My camera<br />
<br />
∞ Dark jeans (thank you for only needing to be washed every two weeks)<br />
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∞ Deodorant that works<br />
<br />
∞ Fresh eggs<br />
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∞ California wines<br />
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∞ Seat warmers<br />
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&<br />
<br />
∞ A sock drawer with no plain white socks<br />
<br />
Happy Turkey Day!wompsetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06771300874491994352noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28230826386232433.post-51620127566347626442009-11-23T22:35:00.000-08:002009-11-23T22:35:11.141-08:00There's A Re-First Time For Everything (Well Not EVERYTHING!)This year will mark the first time in 10 years that I have eaten turkey at Thanksgiving. Nineteen-motherfreaking-nine little birds. That's the last time I devoured your tasty ass'. By T-day the next year I had given up all meat sources and was on my way to the healthiest ten years of my life. Well I guess the healthiest ten years of my life since I decided to choose what was being thrown down that esophageal passageway. It all started (or ended) with one fateful trip (and I stress the word <i>trip </i>here) to Burger King.<br />
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So here's how it all went down........<br />
<br />
The event: The String Cheese Incident's <i>Dancing Around The Wheel Of Time</i>.<br />
<br />
The Place: The Portland Convention Center<br />
<br />
It was THE fucking show to be at. If the world was going to succumb to the Y2K madness this is where you wanted to witness it. In a sea of freakiness. And freakiness it was. I won't bore you with all the drug and alcohol induced insanity that took place over the course of the three (or was it four) days up there. I am pretty sure though that if you happen to lick the sidewalk in front of the Convention Center (hey, people do weird shit) that you will be higher than you've been in a looong time. That's just the kind of weekend it was.<br />
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So after a long ass weekend of non-stop partying, when finally the morning of January one double-o rolled around we all needed some freaking food. Good, solid, healthy, electrolyte replenishing food. So where else, but to BK of course. I mean where else can you find a nice whole breast (grown in an effing laboratory) chicken breast sandwich for like .42¢? Cooked your fucking way man. So we ventured on down to local BK and ordered up some grub, sat down and started to eat, and then I whistled for a cab and when it came... er, wrong story, sorry. So we sat at our comfy little booth unwrapped our sandwiches and got down on those bad boys. For like a second and a half until the whole roof of my mouth started screaming at me in pain because some how between passing out at 5 in the morning and waking up at 10 in the morning, someone decided to open my mouth and slice length wise with a freaking scalpel. Not cool dude, so not cool. I don't know what the scientific term, for what this is, is. But this is not the only time I have experienced it, so there has to be one. I think it must be some like <i>partiedtomuchanddidn'tdrinkanounceofwaterforthreedays-itis. </i>I'm pretty sure that's it.<br />
<br />
So down went the what should have been the best damn chicken sandwich EVER and instead I had to settle for packets of ketchup and honey mustard. Lovely. Just. Fucking. Lovely!<br />
<br />
So that was the beginning of the end. It was the last time (and I am DAMN proud to say this) that I have eaten fast food. And from there it all spiraled into a meatless, no-real-need-for-molars-anymore life. And though it was pretty rough at first, after a short while I came to really love not eating meat. I never had even the slightest craving for anything once living and breathing.<br />
<br />
We certainly had to work at it to make the pieces fit. I can remember our first year of vegetarianism and fixing meals like <i>organic</i> mac 'n' cheese with tater tots <i>or </i>Morningstar veggie burgers with tater tots <i>or </i>tater tots with tater tots. But once we hit our stride it was all uphill. I came to (in my mind) master the home made veggie burger. I sometimes still make them just because their so damn good. And we saw our Thanksgiving dinners go from nasty ass Tofurky to wild mushroom Wellington's (yes with home made puff pastry).<br />
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I don't know what it was that turned me/us back to omnivorous life. I think it all started with seafood and spiraled down to bacon stuffed cheeseburgers. And now with the turkey day approaching I am having my first second thoughts on the whole thing. It hit me all of a sudden that not only was I far more adventurous in my cooking while leading a meatless lifestyle I also felt a hell of lot healthier (and about 15 pounds lighter, but I blame that on fatherhood). Plus, to add some impeccable timing to the whole mix of it <i>Food Inc.</i> found its way into our DVD player last night and now I don't know if I ever even want to eat again (I'm just glad they didn't bash beer in that flick). While I don't think I'm going to completely give up meat again, at least not right now, I am certainly putting a bit more thought into the how much of it. They just make it so freaking easy to eat meat 7 days a week. It really is a terrible industry. But that industry has killed my culinary imagination, and I want it back. Along with my six pack that I hardly had to work for, and not the alcoholic type.wompsetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06771300874491994352noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28230826386232433.post-70745072117738801122009-11-21T13:32:00.000-08:002009-11-21T13:35:15.634-08:00An Iconic MourningI grew up in a fairly small town in the bay area. A town that is most well known for things like; an oil refinery (thank you shell), a guy named Joltin' Joe, the birth of the martini (fuck off Frisco, the martini is ours), the only McDonald's in the country that is closed on the weekend, and Hobo's. And some great Hobo's at that.<br />
<br />
We had the guy that would ride his bike against on coming traffic swerving back and forth, an Abe Lincoln lookalike, a guy some of us called 007 (some I think called him McGuiver) because he could make anything out of anything (not really, it was mostly piles of trash, but he was convinced), a guy with more bum names than any other bum anywhere (Bread Man, Mr. Martinez, Johnny Woods & Creeper just to name a few) that used to do things like wrap himself in chains and walk back forth on the main drag through town or sit on busy street corners with his shirt off praying with more enthusiasm than most priests have. (Subsequently Creeper, that was the one I always went with, was actually a really nice guy. Yes, I have held a real conversation with him and he is extremely nice and far more normal than you would imagine). And then there was Ula. Ula was maybe the most well known of the Hobo community, probably due to her extreme eccentricities. She would do stuff like offer unsolicited sex advice, rip the hair from her head, pull down her pants in public, fight with sign posts, and so on and so on. Ula was a classic. An Icon of the town. No one knew her actual story. There were rumors galore about her pre-hobo life, but no one actually knows the truth that I know of. And no one ever will. Ula was found dead this past Friday morning in a lot next to a liquor store and and a Harley shop.<br />
<br />
In most towns across the country the homeless folks are just a huge nuisance to the white and blue collars. Not in our little town. I honestly think the homeless in Martinez have it better than most others across the nation. We were pretty kind to them. Sure there were the raging hormonal days of high school when we would ridicule them, but there was never any bum bashing, or killing, or anything really all that devastating to their livelihood. That's probably why most of them have been in the town for longer than I have been alive. It's like the Malibu beach club of the bum community. And it's too bad that bums get such a bad rap. Sure they can be annoying as all hell, they stink, they look like shit, and they really serve no purpose other than our own fucked up enjoyment. But they aren't all that bad to live around. At least not in 'Tinez. They never solicit, they don't harass, they don't rob. They may snort the occasional line of crank, but hey, we are (or at least used to be) the crank capitol of the country. Would you expect anything less. We all have our vices.<br />
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I don't really have a point to this little story, other than that Ula will be missed. By a lot of the town. I wasn't there yesterday, but apparently all of downtown Martinez was in mourning over her loss. I mean where else will you find a town that mourns the loss of one of the local Bums? Nowhere, thats where. Maybe it's all the refinery fumes we breathe (and as a side note the site that Shell occupies was once being considered by Stanford as the site for their campus. I guess BIG oil trumped education in the bidding war), or maybe we are just a community of really nice caring people. Or Maybe it's the entertainment the bums provide. Who knows. But the town will never be the same without Ula roaming the streets. So Ula, I hope the streets in whatever afterlife you went onto are nice and warm and made out of marshmallows with hot chocolate flowing through the gutters (I don't know, that just sounds nice).<br />
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Now it's time for the town to elect a new Bum King or Bum Queen. Personally I'm hoping that Creeper comes out of retirement.wompsetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06771300874491994352noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28230826386232433.post-6405820512466593042009-11-19T13:19:00.000-08:002009-11-19T19:13:45.756-08:00Going To TrialIf you happened to take a look at my profile you would have noticed that I am from (and live) in the SF bay area. A wonderfully liberal area for the most part. However, I work in the wholesale plumbing industry. An industry that I have come to realize is terribly conservative. An industry that I have no idea how I ended up in. Everyday I sit at my desk banging my head into the window wishing I would have remembered the fucking earplugs I keep telling myself I need to wear when within these walls. How the plumbing industry managed to recruit every right winger in the area is beyond me. Even the most liberal of the bunch is far too conservative for my level of tolerance. There is even a 70 year old gay guy that would be a better fit in a town like Lubbock, Texas than San Francisco (he's actually from Texas so I guess that makes sense). I mean I thought to be gay you had to be liberal. No? Anyway, the vast majority of the folks I work with are tight ass conservatives (with the exception of the gay guy, probably not a tight ass) (By the way I LOVE gay people. Some of the most genuine and hilarious people I have met have been gay, just sayin') that scare the shit of me.<br />
<br />
Today the topic of the conversation in the office circulated around the whole trial of the 09/11 mastermind in NY. And how appauled they all are that we give this guy the decency of a civilian trial in our <i>oh so un-corrupt </i>judicial system. And how it would be far better to just take the guy out of his cage and put a bullet in his head or throw him off a tall building to spare us the embarrassment of letting him walk on our <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">stolen</span> soil.<br />
<br />
To this my internal voice was screaming out for me to jump into their conversation and lay down some liberalesness. This is a perfect example of the problem I have with the mainstream. I am guessing that folks like me who think "who the FUCK cares if this guy is given a <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">fair</span> civilian trial on our soil" are in the low percentile group of the census on the issue. Wouldn't it be more punishment for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Khalid_Sheikh_Mohammed">KSM</a> anyway if he had to live out his days sharing a cell with <a href="http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:IYsaA2uG2GyJYM:http://slog.thestranger.com/files/2007/06/1103061allgier1.jpg">this guy</a>. I sure think so. I mean doesn't he want to die? so by issuing a death sentence rule won't we just be accomadating him?<br />
<br />
I don't really feel that strongly one way or another about the fate of KSM. I highly doubt that seeing him incarcerated or killed is truly going to make a family member of someone who lost in the attack feel any better. Maybe for a minute, but that's about it.<br />
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This is a perfect example of why I am scared as hell of the <i>sane</i> folks running wild in our nation. Because to hold a conversation about shooting someone in the back of the head, or dropping him off a building as a means of retribution is perceived by the masses as perfectly normal. I mean even our Prez issued a statement that he is pretty sure this guy will get the death penalty. Isn't that breaking some sort of unspoken rule. I remember hearing something once about being innocent until proven guilty. If our own president can't abide by these rules then why fuck do they exist. Why even have a judicial system. Maybe we should just live by renegade law (and I'm talking about the kind of law that Larenzo Lamas AKA Reno Raines laid down). Sometimes it seems that's where this nation is heading. Just look at Maricopa county for Christ's fucking sake.<br />
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I stick by my view that <i>sanity</i> is some scary ass shit. Go crazy, you'll be better off for doing so.wompsetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06771300874491994352noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28230826386232433.post-85254262081669502002009-11-18T22:11:00.000-08:002009-11-18T22:11:52.724-08:00Getting the ball rollingWell, this is the second time I've decided to dedicate my free time to writing about completely random bullshit. I was inspired to start blogging a couple months ago after the birth of my son. My first kid. After he came along I realized that I needed an outlet for everything running through my head. I had no idea how therapeutic it would end up being. So now I look forward to writing. I have come to realize though that a lot of the weird shit that my mind creates is now necessarily appropriate for a blog based around being a dad. I am far too out there to post some of the random thoughts that run through my mind on a daily basis. If I did someone would probably report me to CPS.<br />
<br />
So here we go with an all new, say what you want without the fear of offending a grandma or great grandma. Write about whatever the fuck my entirely insane pea sized brain can think up.<br />
<br />
And as the title says, I hope to rid <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: line-through;">the world</span> my world of folks that think that sanity is something to be proud of. If you consider yourself to be sane then you deserve to be locked up somewhere.<i> </i>Sanity is the root of all evil in this country/world. The fanatics that are trying to be so freaking pure that they are oblivious the truths that surround us in the day to day. They're the ones who are afraid to jump in a puddle or lay down in a pile of leaves. That wear their tie so tight that it obstructs their vision.<br />
<br />
So this is my outlet. My vice. My sanctuary of bitching. It's where I come to express to myself in ways that most of society would turn and run from. If you like it, great. If not, I'm perfectly fine with that as well. We'll see how it turns out.wompsetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06771300874491994352noreply@blogger.com0