The Wes Slater Chronicles

Release Day

2012-02-07T16:11:00.000-08:00

"She was my girlfriend from the moment I saw her. I just spent two years telling myself she wasn't"

It finally hit me. I said the words out loud. I had to, or else the bubble inside me was just going to burst. I didn't expect it at all. I had the wrong girl pegged the whole time. When did I absolutely know it was all about her? Guess that's where the story begins.

"You get a table?"

I was too entranced by the basketball game to hear my brother's question as we stood at the bar. Throw in the Friday night rush hour crowd and my focus wasn't exactly narrow.

"Hey, Dick! You get a table or not."

I replied hurriedly, "Fo Sho."

The slapping on my back of two separate hands signaled the arrival of rest of the crew. We stood by the bar and waited for our table. The other guys drank beers while I stayed watching the game. It was an easy way to avoid the fact that I was cash poor and in no way capable of joining in the alcoholic festivities.

"How ya been, kind sir," asked my friend Trent.

Once again, I was slow to respond to a basic question. My brother noticed and chimed in.

"Oh don't bother with him tonight. He is in one of those dazes."

One of those dazes? I didn't respond to the statement, but it resonated for the moment. I couldn't argue the point either. Something was off, but I couldn't pinpoint it.

"We are a buzzin!"

My brother alerted us to the fact that our table was ready. At that moment, my cellphone vibrated to signal an incoming text. The sender was unusual, but the person who actually wrote the text was not.

"Hey, get dressed sexy and pick me up."

Tara had a way with words. Direct and to the point. She also had a crappy cellphone, which prompted her sending this lovely message via her mother's mobile. This got an immediate response from me.

"At the bar with some guys. Dammit, of course I'm missing sexy you."

That was the end of my interactions with Tara that night. We were in two separate places doing our own thing. And that moment that our crew walked to the table was when I had identified the haze. This thing that was over my eyes and written all over my face. All I was thinking was I'd rather be with Tara than at this bar with my brother and our friends.

"Yo, Dick! What kind of beer ya want?"

Making sure everyone within a hundred foot radius could hear him, my brother snapped me back out of my newly identified haze. I finally broke down and ordered one drink, to ease the new found tension in me. As my drink arrived and I participated in the gathering I couldn't help but get lost. Lost in the chatter. Lost in the haze. I felt isolated at a table of six people. Their conversations sounded like a foreign language to me. I had known these men half my life and I found myself unable to relate to any problem or joy they went through on a weekly basis. Why?

"How's single life treating ya?"

Simple question from my friend Max. Delayed response? Absolutely.

"Same old things. Do whatever I want, when I want."

Max replied, "So, still living the dream then?"

Delay. The haze lifted for a minute to ponder my real state of mind. I could tell Max and the table the truth. That I'm going mad staring at the white walls in my house. That I'm more emotionally bankrupt than I was financially, and that's saying a lot. That my own depression is probably affecting my damn dog at this point. But, with a quick scan of the table and a reading of the tone of the night I went basic.

"Yep."

Max quickly got caught up with another conversation at the table. Me? I was cold with a slight chance of haze for the rest of the evening. It had been years since I was able to recognize what the source of my mental mind state was. It was the gift wrapped up in a full garbage bag. My body was at the bar, but my head was wrapped up in a text and a wish. A wish that I thought to myself till the night was over.

"I wish I was with Tara."

It was a few days after that Friday at the bar that Tara and I contacted each other. That was unusual as we normally begin and end every day talking to each other. She wanted to get together again for a drink or two after she got off from work. As it so happened, I had a prior engagement. I had to decline once again. This prompted an speedy response. Tara called my phone. I picked up.

"Yes, my dear?"

"Don't give me that Dear crap! What are you doing that's so important you that have to pass up on me again?"

"You remember Summer, right?"

"What does a season 8 months ago mean?"

I couldn't help but laugh at the miscommunication with Tara.

"No. Not summer, the season. Summer, the person. You refer to her as jail bait."

Tara seemed unmoved by her error.

"In that case, what's she have to do with it?"

"She is finally being released today. I gotta go pick her up."

"So, that's more important than Happy Hour with your best friend? Whatever! I'll just go find someone else to treat to some tasty beverages. Your loss."

Lodi County jail. Needless to say, the majority of our conversations have taken place with the help of a phone ringer through a glass window. Much the way i thought of myself as a nice guy savior type to Tara, I fulfilled a similar role for Summer. Unfortunately, there was only so much I could do through a protective barrier. In the tail end of her stint in Jail, she closed off from me. She stayed within her darkest thoughts and kept me from trying to help or even listen. I felt shut out and as if I was just fulfilling my promised duties to help her see the rest of this thing out. Release day felt like the end of our story together.

"Yes, I'm here for Summer Austin."

The officer at the main lobby had me fill out a few forms as I waited for them to bring Summer out from her cell. I had imagined this day for a a few months, but it wasn't as I had imagined. I wasn't nervous or anxious. I felt dutiful and calm. Like it was any other day. For me anyways. For Summer, it was a whole different ball game.

"Come here you knucklehead!"

Summer had a way with nicknames. She wrapped her arms around me and hugged me like there was no tomorrow. Considering what she just stepped out of, she was probably right. No time like the present. She didn't let go. I was the only person there for her for months on end. I was her lifeline to many things outside of the Jail. In that moment I was the most important person in the world to her. And something was off.

"Let's get you out of here, like now."

Summer laughed at my statement. Her surprise sat in the passenger side of my car. She would intermittently tell me how much she missed certain foods she couldn't get in Jail. One, in particular, got a lot of mentions.

"You brought me a pizza? O M G!"

Summer enjoyed her surprise immediately. I hadn't even started the car by the time she was ripping out a slice and tearing into it. That moment made my day.

"So, where to now?"

I honestly had to ask because she was very tight lipped about anything she had arranged prior to getting out.

"Well, I gotta go see my family. And my lil girl. Oh, I've missed her soo much. I'm never letting myself get in that kind of situation ever again. I've learned my lesson. This will never happen again. Oh man! I need to find a job. And a place to stay. And some Mexican food. And a burger........"

Summer could not slow herself down in between bites of her pizza pie. I just stayed focused on the road and listened to her monologue. This much certainly hadn't changed on the outside.

"Oh my God! I've been rambling on and on about myself and what I'm doing. How have things been with you?"

I hesitated. It was actually my turn to talk. I was a lil slow on the uptake, and Summer jumped right into the silent void.

" You seem distracted. Like a glaze or a haze over your eyes or something. What's up?"

A haze...? Again? Even now? Even a girl that has been in a Jail for 9 months could see right through me in a matter of minutes. I had to say something. Anything.

"I'm just taking it all in. It's like, the first time I've ever seen you out and about and alive and well. Just trying to enjoy the moment and you."

Summer smiled and slightly blushed. Then proceeded to burp pizza breath right in my face. We bantered back and forth till we arrived at her Aunt's house. I felt it was a lil forward of me to hang out while she was reconnecting with all her happy family members, so I told Summer I'd hit her up later after the frenzy died down. I walked to my car. I got in and turned the ignition and head straight for Tara's house. Within ten minutes or speeding through pedestrians, animals and cars alike I was there. Then, I couldn't bring myself to get out of my car.

"You can do this, sir. It's so simple. tell her how you feel. What's been going on. tell her how you missed her and about the haze everyone noticed. Tell her she is the one you were always looking for, but forgot to keep looking for a lil while. No No No! that's ridiculous."

I continued talking to myself. Trying to figure it all out before I was in front of Tara.

"KNOCK, KNOCK sexy!!!!"

Tara was at my passenger side door knocking on my window. I wondered how long she had seen me talking to myself. Shock and adrenaline took over as I got out of car and ran to be in front of her. To give my speech face to face.

"Guess what? I'm pregnant. Can you believe it?"

Delay. I could feel my will escaping from my body. Tara would see right into me if I didn't react soon.

"That's great! That didn't take long at all. Does donor Dad know yet?"

Tara had decided months ago that she wanted a second baby before she got too old. Having gone through being a single mom with the her son, she felt no real need to have any involvement with a man for support. She just wanted to get some fun times out of the effort and get an end product And she accomplished her mission. To use the word numb to describe my status would do a great disservice to Novocaine and all numbing agents.

"I ain't telling him. It was barely worth the trouble with each 2 minute roll in the hay. But, he was on target this time.

Tara tended to not mince words. I could feel myself smiling and hugging her. I could see the joy in her eyes at the months to come and the anticipation of it all. The haze had been replaced by emptiness.

"I uuuh. I'm kinda speechless at the moment, Tara."

"I know, right? This is going to be great."

My cellphone vibrated. It was a text from Summer. Tara grabbed my phone and read the text aloud.

"Please hurry back here soon. I really need to tell you something."

Tara began to smile and hugged me again.

"Oh my God! This is absolutely perfect. I'm pregnant. Jail bait is about to confess her love for you so you can finally get some. Go Go GO, already!"

Tara was riding high on excitement as she handed my phone back to me and pushed me into my car. She gave me a thumbs up and crossed her fingers as she ran inside her house. I drove off. The emptiness grew inside me as the distance from Tara increased. That drive back to Summers' Aunt's place was pure torture. She was waiting for me on the sidewalk. I pulled up and could see a tear in her eyes. I got out and came around to her.

"What's wrong, Summer?"

I stood her up and she fell into my chest. She hugged me again. Just as she did earlier in the day. She began to speak in muffled tones through the tears and my t shirt. The only person that would have been able to understand her was the person holding her.

"I love you so much. You were there for me in my darkest times with such kind words. Just you being there was enough, but you brought so much more than i could have ever hoped for. I know I just got out and it's been tough when i cut everyone off for those last few months. I just couldn't contain this anymore and had to finally say it. I was so nervous when you picked me up that I couldn't let the words come out. As soon as you dropped me off and left for that short time, all I could do was think about you. I was happy to see my family, but they all kept saying I was distracted. Like I had a glaze or haze in my eyes. But, it's all clear now. And I have you and I can finally confess everything that's been weighing on me for months. I just love you so."

Her head was still buried in my chest. Summer couldn't see the tears forming in my own eyes. As her haze had just been lifted, i could only feel one thing. Emptiness.

5 days

2011-11-26T22:32:00.000-08:00

11,000 words in. That i technically wrote a year or so ago. :) 5 days left. More like 4. I wonder why I continue the same routine of saying something, not doing it and acting like I never said it. I won't waste my words on it for now, cause I should just be typing away at something else. :)

10 days to write a novel

2011-11-21T08:29:00.000-08:00

It was suppose to be a month long project. But, why start something too soon? I have all the time in the world, right? Hahaha Not sure if I will get this done. Hell, I even intended to write this blog 5 days ago and call it " 15 days to a novel." I do have a way of getting caught up in superfluous amounts of resistance that keep me from the job at hand. I am my own worst enemy.

So, what will I write about. Im gonna finish the story I started a couple years ago. "The Last Book Ever written.". For the 4 of you who remember my failed email run at a weekly version of this story, I will finally get to the point of it all. Im not sure how it will all sound. If it's voice will be mine or something I think others will like to read. I have a hard time figuring out my market or what people like to read. Name a recently successful novel that most people have read and I will tell you I have no clue what it's about. The only thing I know about The Hunger Games is that a trailer for the movie version came out and I watched it. Different slant on a common story I take it. Tribute young people in order to placate a corrupt government/leadership.I believe it was called Logan's Run back in the 80's, NO? :) Just cause minor details get changed doesn't make it a brand new story. I'm probably just an uninformed hater who likes to be too smart for the room. Not a redeemable quality. Don't go correcting me, either. It's just a joke. I'm slightly aware or the differences, just commenting on the commonality of the theme or message. By the way, not every book or story has to have a message. Sometimes, it's just a story. Nothing Shakespearean about it.

So, read, write, workout. That's all I got. cause fuck finding a job. I cant even get paid to be a fake chef at a Mongolian bbq place. Cause I'm a complete moron I suppose. On to it. 240 hours. 10 days. c ya round.
Rabble Rock!

Ice Cream

2011-10-15T12:08:00.000-07:00

Friday, October 14th, 2011

I drove by my Block the other day. Most people would take that to mean my original home, the place from whence I grew. But, in my case I mean the Block of businesses that became my employment home for the better part of 6 years during my latter teen/early 20's. This Block happened to be 2 miles away from my home as well. It's changed a lot over the years. Time has not been kind to the Block, as it has morphed into a concrete version of my abstract self. Holding onto the past, while adding onto its layers. Adolescent in its demeanor while still containing the gems of what once made it great. I had to stop by and see the old Block and catch up on old times. First stop, FP Centrinos

Granted, it's not the most fitting name for an ice cream shop that has ever been imagined. We often got mistaken for a Chinese restaurant when customers called us up for directions or a menu. I worked there for a solid year and a half. The store had goofy gimmicks and catch phrases. My favorite was, "We got a flavor for every tongue." It was very easily one of the most mock able things a company has ever splashed out as a slogan. Oh and the uniforms they made us wear. Bright yellow polo’s to match our brown assortment of bottoms. And a yellow and brown striped visor to boot. To say FP Centrinos stood out as an eye sore on the Block would be an understatement. Being one of the few males employees at the time didn’t do much for my anonymity as well. It was only a part time gig to fill in the time between my college courses. Didn’t fill my pockets full of money and I could only eat so much ice cream to make that extra perk seem worthwhile. Truth be told, there was one overriding factor that kept me at that job longer than I should have been. I was an 18 year old male surrounded by several teenage girl co-workers. Ice cream, money and girls. Yeah, I was okay with that.

As I pulled into my old stomping grounds to relive some of my fond moments I was met with a surprise. I walked into the store and there stood Mike McGregor. The only other male co-worker I had back in my time at FP’s. It had been close to 15 years since I had seen him. Same tall, lanky goof from back in the day hadn’t changed much at all. Save for the facial hair and the spectacles around his eyes. With both made immediate recognition as Mike rose from his seat and shook my hand.

“Damn good to see you, Wes. Looks like some things never change, huh?”

I looked around and not much had changed with the exception of a few fancy signs behind the main counter. I managed to completely forget any order I had preplanned and sat right down with Mike.

“So, college treated well I take it?”

Mike adjusted his sport coat and fixed his tie as if to acknowledge his own appearance.

“No complaints. I don’t remember a few months of those 4 years, but they still found a way to hand me a piece of paper by the time I was done.”

“Congrats Mike. I’ve seen plenty oh people talk the same game you use to back in the day and come home empty handed. Good for you. So, married? Kids? You actually local again?”

Mike took a swig of his mint chocolate chip shake and retorted smoothly, “No. Hell no! And just visiting.”

I laughed and kicked back and could feel the rush of memories hitting me as I literally stared into my own past. I could sense Mike was waiting for my reply to his similarly toned unasked question. In an attempt to avoid revealing my day to day to my outwardly successful ex co-worker, I went nostalgic on him.

“Mike, you remember those meetings the owner use to have with us? Always on an early Saturday morning. Had to because most of his workers were High Schoolers and couldn’t make it any other time. Then he would ramble on and on about work ethic and always finding something to do while on the clock. Remember how he use to clown McDonald’s as if it was the Bain of the fast food world?”

“Uuuuuh, now anybody can go flip burgers and fries. We set a higher standard and want to actually show a lil pride.”

“That’s it! That’s it! I can’t believe you remember what the owner use to actually say.”

“How could I forget? It made me not want to even eat at McDonald’s for a good 5 years after I left FP’s.”

“Oh wait! Mike, you remember the first meeting I ever had to attend as a newbie? I brought a box of a dozen donuts to try to impress the store and be a generous dude. Didn’t know the owner always did the same thing. Also, didn’t factor in that I was surrounded by a bunch of teen girls watching their figure. I took that entire box of donuts home to eat by myself after that first meeting.”

“Yeah Wes, you were quite the brownnoser.”

“Oh, hold up! If I recall you were the only other person who went chasing after the “Secret Spot” prize.”

Mike laughed out loud and pointed to the spot in the store where the secret spot was. It was a onetime only chase prize the owner put out to the employees. The first person to find the secret dirty spot in the store that needs to be cleaned will get the boobie prize. Mike and I battled for a solid week trying to score the secret prize. Between, the both of us we managed to make that store spotless. Unfortunately, my choice of standing on the back counter and cleaning off the tops of all the signs in the store was not the big winner. Mike found a window ledge behind the main entrance trash can that was filthy. He took that down and got the secret prize. $20. I got a $5 gift certificate good at any FP Centrino’s. Even at that very moment, Mike and I felt used and dirty.

“Well Wes, I really needed that $20 to be able to impress Sarah.”

Sarah. Sarah Barone. I hadn’t thought about her in years. Light green eyes. Dark red hair. Short and filled out without being plump. High pitched crackly voice that could dominate a room. She always smelled like a flower arrangement was walking by me, but in a good way.

“Wes! Hello? You get hypnotized just at the mentioned of her name? Damn son, didn’t know you still had a thing for her after all these years.”

“Naw, it’s just I hadn’t heard that name in quite a while. Took me back for a second.”

“She was our other Secret Spot battle, wasn’t she?”

Mike and I both had a lil thing for the same girl. Difference was Mike knew he was chasing her at the time. I was very oblivious to my own infatuation.

“Well, Mike I wasn’t the one dating another co-worker while trying to get at Sarah.”

“No doubt. Michelle was cheating on me though, so I felt okay with a lil harmless flirting.”

“Harmless? Come on, Mike. You use to sniff her neck every time she walked into the store.”

“I asked permission.”

“Creep.”

Mike and I laughed at our shared futility.

“You never really had a chance though, Wes. You were a college man. A community college man at that. Sarah was a sophomore in high school. That would have been illegal.”

“I hadn’t even kissed a girl at that point in my life. Let’s not act like I was gonna be getting to any base with Sarah if that chance ever presented itself.”

“Did it?”

I was taken aback by the question Mike had posed to me. I guess I had assumed he knew everything that had gone down between the three of us during our time working in the same store together. But, there was a window. A 6 month window. Mike went off to college. I stayed local and Sarah was a junior in High school at that point. She was also recently broken up with her HS boyfriend.

“Oh right. You went to So Cal for college and I had Sarah all to myself. Up until the point I quit FP’s that is.”

“Why did ya quit this job, Wes? The chance presented itself didn’t it? You dirty dog!”

Mike was spot on. I never really had a chance to catch up with Mike and tell him about any of the goings on that happened during the months after he left. Mike and Sarah kept in touch back in those days, so I suppose I left any storytelling up to her. Now seemed like a good time to share my failed attempt.

“I’ve never really told anyone exactly what happened. It was not my finest moment. Obviously I’m burying the lead on this one, but the lead up to the end result was memorable.”

Mike pushed his shake aside and sat back in his chair as if to give me the floor as my story began.

“I didn’t know she liked me. At the end of the day, that’s what ended my chance before I even took my shot. It only took a week to blow it. Little did I know she had been carrying on about me for months. And I was an unintentional tease the whole way. When she rejected me it was after she had finally given up on any hope with me. I had such horrible timing. No awareness of my environment.”

Mike chimed in, “Give me an example.”

I couldn’t think of just one, so they all came out.

“I’ll replay the week for you. It was a Saturday. I had the day off and Sarah didn’t work till later that night. I got a call from her that morning and she just wanted to go hang out in Old Sac. I thought nothing of it. We just walked around all afternoon. She drove. She paid for everything. She dropped me off back in my house and I didn’t even bat an eye to the whole thing.”

“Wait! Wes. You went on a date with her and you didn’t even know it?”

“I just thought she wanted company as she went out shopping. Funny thing is she didn’t buy anything for herself.”

I could see the wow factor in Mike’s eyes as I told him about my accidental date.

“It gets worse Mike. Sarah’s birthday was that Monday. So, I had all of Sunday to come up with something to get her. I don’t know if it’s because I had seen too many movies or something, but I just had in my mind that I had to be creative. The day before, during our accidental date, she specifically pointed something out to me at a gift shop that she wanted. It would be perfect to hang in her car. So, Sunday comes and I go right back out to that shop and get her that gift. It was a tiny mirrored disco ball she could hang from her rearview mirror. I was working the morning shift on Monday and Sarah had the closing shift. So, my entire shift I spent preparing a scavenger hunt for her in the store. Three of the other female co-workers watched me cover the place in clues that only she could figure out. And the main prize of the hunt was this tiny disco ball that she made passing mention of during our accidental date. The real trick was that our shifts didn’t overrun with each other. So, I had to go back to the store an hour after my shift. I had to walk in with an excuse that I had left something in the back office. All so I could plant the final prize in Sarah’s coat pocket which was always left in the back. Then I had to give her the first clue as I left the store for the night. Guess I should have stuck around, but I didn’t see the possible rewards at the end of the hunt.”

“Wes, you are an idiot savant of flirting. Sans savant.”

“I know, right? I’ve literally never topped that move and I think maybe 5 people know that I did it. It’s not like I celebrate myself and that move, because I didn’t get the girl in the end. Plus, I always figure plenty of guys do things like that. So, my move wasn’t that great.”

Mike disagreed.

“Let me tell ya something, Wes. I’ve heard a lot of moves performed by a lot of guys to get a girl’s attention. I mean this with all sincerity. That was Fucking Yoda!”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Best gift I ever gave anyone, sir. She kept that thing in her car months after I quit and we had parted ways.”

“Soooo, on to Tuesday.”

“Sarah got sick. Day after her birthday and she was sick. I was working that night helping to cover her shift. I decided to brighten her night. After I get off work I drive down the street to her house and drop off her favorite iced mocha coffee drink. She told me once exactly how she liked it and it just stuck in my memory. You should have seen her smile, Mike.”

“Geez, Wes. I think I’d have sex with you after hearing all this.”

“I know you would. I clean up nice, don’t I?”

“Oh WES!”

Knowing I had peaked, it was time to break down the breakdown of the rest of that eventful week.

“So, Wednesday and Thursday went by without much added drama. In my mind anyways. At that point I wasn’t really doing any of the things I had done in acts of getting her to like me. They just seemed like fun things to do for a friend. But, I was just in denial of my fear of rejection. So, I had gone about other ways of standing out without flat asking Sarah to date me or be my girl. We worked together that Wednesday night and she was still fresh off her sickness. It got to closing time and she pulled a move on me that I’ll never forget. It was the ultimate open door for me to walk right in. Sarah was cleaning out the marshmallow topping container. It was going in the garbage, so she decided it was time to dip her whole hand in it and come chasing after me with it. She told me to just shake her hand. So, I did. Our hands covered in marshmallow. I’m standing in front of her and I feel her gripping my hand tight.”

“Kiss her! You were supposed to kiss her, Wes.”

“Where were you when I needed you? I just let go and went to clean my hand. She held my hand for a good 10 seconds. I gave her nothing. Next morning I’m working with one of her close female friends in the store, Sloane. Guess what she asks me?”

“What?”

“Sloane asked me if I knew that Sarah like-liked me.”

“Like-liked?”

“Come on, Mike. Teenage talk. I responded with denials and other unintelligible noises. I honestly didn’t think she dug me like that. And, I of course didn’t know what my real feelings were either. Indifference. It’s unattractive for sure.”

Week was coming to an end in my story. I could see Mike checking his watch as we had been in FP’s for at least an hour reminiscing. Had to close shop and let Mike get on his way.

“Friday rolls by. Sarah and I close the store. She spent a lot of the shift being distant and answering several pages she got on her pager. It was 1998, so pagers ruled still. It didn’t strike me as odd at all. She just seemed preoccupied. I was unaware that my indifferent response to Sloane’s query the day before had been relayed to Sarah. I could only venture a guess that it did not sit well with her after the week we had been through. I spent a lot of that Friday night trying to piece together the entire week and what had happened. Nothing was clicking yet.”

“Oh my gosh. Wes, you were so in love with Sarah.”

I could do nothing but shrug my shoulders at Mike’s statement. It was direct and to the point. A blinding realization. Pure truth.

“Last day. Saturday again. Week is done and I’m just sitting at my house on my day off day dreaming about Sarah. My older brother comes walking by me and sees me off in my own world. I tell him what’s on my mind and he basically set me straight just as you just did. I liked her. That’s why I did all these things. She was a cute, adorable, passionate female who laughed at my jokes and enjoyed my company. I had to talk to her. I knew she wasn’t working. So, I paged her. Then, I paged her again. And a third time. Nothing.”

“Ouch”

Mike had hit the nail on the head again.

“Now, I had never really blown up Sarah’s pager like that before. I stopped after the third page because she finally responded. More accurately, he responded.”

“He?”

I sat up in my chair and accented my voice and recited his exact words to me.

“Sarah doesn’t want to talk to you anymore. She doesn’t appreciate you harassing her like this. Just don’t call her anymore.”

Click.

Mike asked the obvious follow up.

“Who was it?”

“I have no clue. Friend. Future boyfriend. No clue. I knew she was pretty good friends with a neighbor that was in her same graduating class. I could have found out though.”

“How?”

“I was irate after that phone message from that dude. I just kept repeating to myself my amazement that I was now harassing her. What a quick turnaround. I punched a hall way wall. I got in my car and drove off. Pissed. 2 minutes later I’m stopped at a red light right next to FP Centrino’s. I look over to my right at the gas station 200 feet from FP’s. It’s Sarah’s car. It’s Sarah with some other guy. I was one second away from turning in and facing the both of them. I’ve always placed doubt in my head that it was actually them to make myself feel better about the fact that I drove away. I didn’t turn in and face them. I drove away. I didn’t stand and fight. I didn’t do anything. I just ran in anger and confusion. One week, Mike. That’s all it took.”

Mike grabbed his phone to see the text he had received as I finished my last statement. He got up and threw out his empty cup and he came back to the table and placed his hand on my left shoulder to comfort me.

“Who knew all that could go on in a simple Ice Cream shop? But, that’s just life man. Never know when the next story is right around the corner, right Wes?”

Mike threw down a $5 bill and told me to have a shake on him. I smiled. The door jingled open as someone came into FP’s behind us. It smelled like a flower arrangement had walked into the shop. I was holding the $5 bill and wondering what I would get. I turned in my chair to wave as Mike left the shop. He threw his hand up in return as he wrapped his other arm around the back of a female. A red headed female.

The Layover

2011-09-15T00:48:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, September 13th, 2011

I had just met her, but she was more than just a passing image. She captivated me for my two hours of occupying the Longhorn Beer and Steer located within the Dallas-Forth Worth International Airport prior to my current flight. I suppose it felt like no other female interaction that I’ve ever had because of the rush of the freedom I was given by leaving my lifelong home in Stockton, CA. It bordered on flirting and interrogation. A debate and a confession. I wasn’t bound by any ending goal with her and it made me feel like saying anything to her that came to mind. She was like a sounding board for all the odd opinions that I had been carrying around in my head for years. I unleashed it all on her. It was the most honest conversation I’ve ever had.

“Welcome to American Airlines flight 368 leaving Dallas-Forth Worth International Airport and landing in Orlando International Airport.”

Between the 3 glasses of Jack and Coke I downed during my layover and the 2 hours of sleep I had the night before it wasn’t long till I was passed out. I had been on enough flights to be able to remember the safety speech prior to each take off. I wasn’t about to let the Male steward keep me from my fancy alcohol fueled dreams. It was always my favorite way to travel. Like a magical time machine or transporter. One minute in Texas. Next minute in Florida. Technically this was all a part of my connection from my original jump off point of Northern California. Land of the trees and my old life.

“Did you want to place a pre-order for food or drinks before we take off?”

Jimmy the Stew back at it being ultra helpful and logically void. I couldn’t decide which witty retort to respond with. Did it look like I needed another drink? What the fuck is a food pre-order? Isn’t every food order a pre-order since it always comes before the actual food being made and delivered? I simply shook my head in disapproval as I leaned back. With all other interruptions likely avoided it was officially all systems go on the time machine. But, I had one last thought before I drifted away.

“Good luck Trinity.”

2 hours prior, Trinity sat next to me at the bar section of the Longhorn Beer and Steer sometime between drink 2 and 3. She smelled of cigarettes and hope. I could feel her fingernails and hand glide smoothly along my back as she pulled up next to me and addressed me.

“So, what’s it take to get a free drink around here?”

Boy was she barking up the wrong tree with that introduction. I hadn’t bought a drink for a chick in years. Not that I wasn’t ever at a bar or around any bar chicks. It was just a backlash shut down of my pocketbook after spending 4 years of my collegiate life buying girls drinks and going home alone every time. I was obligated to respond though.

“Well, for a whore such as yourself I’m sure you can figure out a way to get a freebie from one of these cowpokes.”

Judging from her immediate scowl I could tell I had said something that she found objectionable.

“What did you just call me,” she responded as she grabbed me by my arm and spin me to face towards her.

“You. I called you YOU. Cause I don’t know your name. Sooooo, I call you YOU.”

My sarcastic denial of her query further enraged her.

“You judgmental cocksucker! What gives you the right to….”

I put my hands up and shushed her. I tipped back the tail end of drink number 2 and smiled as I began to break her down for my own amusement.

“Madam, look at you! A bright red pants suit and matching 3 inch patent leather heels! You do know you are flying, right? And I know they got the sun in Texas, but what tanning bed did you lay in to get that orange hue going for ya? French tips? Of course you got a French manicure. I’m gonna go ahead and assume you followed that up with a Brazilian wax, right? What are you, some kind of international imports level of grooming? Beyond my initial impression of the appearance, you came up on me with a line I’m sure you have used on more than one occasion. I bet it works close to 60% of the time all the time. Why you broke it out at an airport bar, I’ll never know. You know what you need instead of a free drink. You need Jesus mother fucker! Haha”

The appropriate and well deserved response was quickly on its way. First, a slap to my face. The trail of her long, manicured nails left a cat like impression on my left cheek. Second, a verbal response.

“It’s called breaking the ice! I don’t really believe I’m so entitled as to be given a freebie every time I saddle up a barstool. Fucking asshole! And who are you to judge me on how I look? Oh, and don’t even try to invoke religion or Jesus with me.”

She stopped what she was saying, broke out a necklace crucifix from her chest and kissed it while giving herself the sign of the cross.

“My momma named me Trinity for a reason. In the name of the father, the son and the Holy Spirit. I am blessed from the get go.

Trinity. This vision of class and grace was named Trinity. Before I could rein it in, my response was already forthcoming.

“Trinity? Oh I am truly sorry. You are a stripper, not a whore.”

Her button had been pressed once again and on came the physical response. A well placed shove to the chest sent me off my barstool and onto the ground. A nice lil death rattle shook off some of my drunkenness and Trinity now had my full attention. I picked myself up and sat right back at the bar.

“Another Jack and Coke Barkeep,” I shouted.

“Don’t ignore me!”

Trinity was not one for being ignored. I sat forward and, without facing her, began to speak to her again.

“Maybe we got off on the wrong foot. You wanting free shit. Me wanting to be left alone. Now that we both won’t get what we want, let’s start over. Name is Trent. Trent Hays. I’m a 33 year old single man with no kids or exs to speak of, male or female. I just quit my job as a pizza delivery man. I just completely screwed over every single member of my friend and family circle to get a nice chunk of change that is currently residing in my backpack on the floor. I’m on the run, so to speak, to the other coast of the United States to live my life anew in silent contentment. I have this crappy layover to kill off until I can be on my way to finishing my goal. I’m more than happy to keep talking with ya, but I will not be giving you any money, food or drinks. I won’t be sleeping with you and no, you can’t borrow any cigarettes. If you decide to walk away I won’t hold it against ya. But, if you stay and chat and break any of my recently mentioned rules I will be forced to kill you.”

Trinity sat still and stared at me. It felt like an uncomfortably long time before I could feel her move. I continued to sip my drink.

“That’s the silliest pickup speech I’ve ever heard. Trent, is it? I think I preferred the angry lil boy you use to be, not this nut job movie cliché that sits before me. Did someone write that for you?”

Trinity placed her left hand on my shoulder.

“Let me tell ya something, Trent. I got this round. Anyone sad enough to pull off a monologue of nonsense like that deserves to catch a break. Wow! Wait till I tell my sister about you.”

I smirked. Took another sip. Sighed out a breath and caught a glimpse in the mirror behind the bar of Trinity. She was laughing and shaking her head in disbelief. Trinity seemed settled and into her own drinks at this point. The initial fireworks were over and it felt time to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“So, you arriving or leaving or what? Or do you just come to airports to fuck around,” I asked

“Well, Trent, since you asked so nicely I will tell you. I’m off for Hawaii. Drove here from North Carolina to drop off a car for a friend and I’m heading west. Not running, like you, just time to try a different point of view.”

“You really feel like being in a different place is going to change your paradigm?”

I felt compelled to subtly needle Trinity for a while. I still had plenty of time to kill and drinks to kick back.

“Well, I can tell by your snotty tone and presumptuous attitude that you already feel like I’m making a foolish decision. Please, oh great one, enlighten me as to why I am not seeing the obvious flaws in me going out west.”

It didn’t take long to see that I had a tiny puppet under my controls. I knew I was being a jerk, but the moment was at hand and I was already too deep into the game to back out now.

“Let me ask you something then. What do you believe, Trinity?”

“That’s a lil broad for a bar chat, don’t ya think?’

“Come on! Roll with it. How many times you gonna have a guy like me sitting in front of that you can lay some knowledge on. Hey, you are on your way west anyways. What’s a lil existentialism between friends, right?”

“Do you even know what existentialism means?”

“NO, but that’s beside the point.”

I had her laughing and still my eyes had not turn towards her own. It was as if I was having a chat with my conscience. My well-framed, whiny voiced conscience at that.

“I believe in God. Love and its many wonders. That hard work pays off. That O.J. didn’t do it. I believe that the Twilight novels will one day be taught as literary masterpieces in our schools. I believe in the Triangle offense and the Zen Master. That heels are indeed worth the pain and that underwear is overrated. I believe in shots instead of beer. And that the first time you kiss someone you can tell absolutely everything about their intentions from that moment on.”

“Wow! I’m actually sexually aroused my fair lady.”

“It’s a mouthful, isn’t it?”

“How very Bull Durham-esque of you.”

“Uh, Trent? What’s Bull Durham?”

“Never mind.”

I kicked back another sip of my drink and digested her ranting information. She seemed fairly attached to all her beliefs, odd as some of them may have been. I decided to go for the easy target.

“Soooo, God? Your one of those people?”

“Oh here we go.”

“What? Are you really gonna act like I’m the first person to question your faith? And, if it’s your faith then the opinion of one heathen shouldn’t shake you one bit. Right?”

“Tough guy, aren’t ya? You think I’m that easy to manipulate?”

As I paused for a second to ponder that question, the ghost of my Father appeared and provided me with the necessary response.

“If the shoe fits.”

“I see right through you, mister. You get a rise out of getting on your soapbox and poking holes in everyone else’s beliefs. It’s like a sick game to you.”

“Look at yourself! So defensive and I’ve barely said anything about your god and your faith. Even in your defiance you are starting to crack. That’s the eternal flaw in the whole grand scheme of religion and faith. No real base. The whole thing is based on perceptions and interpretations that have led to sooo many different branches from the root idea. Jews, Muslims, Christians. You are all saying the same thing, but in different languages. Guess what happens when you translate all these different languages. Something always gets lost.”

“And you accuse me of having speeches? Sounds like someone wishes they were behind a podium waxing poetic on the downfalls of our society.”

“I’m just giving you one man’s opinion, Honey! The funny thing is I don’t even believe fully that I am right about any of this. I just am going with what seems the most likely to ME! If you interpret that as preachy, that’s your own deal.”

Trinity was quickly onto drink number two as the bar kicked into full afternoon gear. It was a busy airport full of people just trying to get to where they are going. Having been in an airport bar once or twice before, the clientele always seems like a group of the same people. They are all not about the journey, just the destination. With two drunk exceptions.

“So, are you really prepared to ride the party line of the non-believer and tell 90 percent of the world that they are foolish?”

“Listen, I am of the firm belief that any and all beliefs are innately flawed. It just so happens that the most common belief among the millions of people walking the Earth today is that a God is out there doing something. Or whatever you want to call that higher being. I just find that examples of my daily life and who I am to my very core suggest a far less omniscient presence.”

“You think you control everything?”

“I think I control everything about myself. I believe I have limited control on the grand plan of the world wide human commonality. I know once I’m dead and gone I will just be dust in the wind.”

“I wouldn’t go giving yourself that must credit, sir. You aren’t exactly earning kudos with either side of the coin on the afterlife.”

“OH! Soo, you got love for the devil too? Hell is running round under our very feet?”

“If I believe in good, I sorta have to believe in evil. DUH!”

I almost caved and looked at her after she gave me a proper DUHing. I did manage to look around at the rest of the bar and see if anyone else was picking up on our conversation. Too much audio and visual stimulation was going on to allow anyone inside our circle at the time.

“Least you made sense on that one, madam.”

I could feel Trinity patting herself on the back as I conceded a point to her in the discussion. She hadn’t noticed yet, but I had taken to the tact of referring to her in every inane way other than calling her by her name. It tended to undercut someone during a passionate discussion.

“Trent, I fully understand the mentality you are given to. It’s easier to stay on the outside and not go all in. Faith is risk. It’s standing on a ledge and being willing to jump because you believe someone will catch you. It takes balls. And well….”

“Oh for fuck’s sake! I know I know. I ain’t got no balls, right? As if blind faith is soo righteous and honorable? I know soo many dirty mother fuckers that will live the life and go out and just plain disgrace themselves. Then, come Sunday it’s all good cause you went before the crowd and let it all out. Not that the full time, ultra vigilant types are an improvement on the 1 day a week fraudulent dicks either. Same category. Bunch of sheep following a path already written for them to follow.”

“Awwwwe. Is Trent a lonely boy? You are aren’t you? That’s why you were sitting in this bar alone with your tiny lil small backpack and tiny lil drink.”

Trinity reached for my backpack as she made her scathing remark. I snatched it away from her and finally shot her a look for the first time in close to an hour.

“Jumping much,” Trinity quipped.

“You don’t see me touching on your stuff, do ya?”

“Okay, lonely boy. Ease off the creepy throttle for a second.”

I’d lost my cool for just a second and it was enough time to reveal too much.

“Sugar, I’m not trying to change your mind. I am trivializing part of who you are. That does make me an asshole. But, I’m not soo bold as to believe I can bring people to my side of the argument. I’m not as arrogant as you religious types.”

“Have I even once said to give it a try? Awe, lonely boy is a lil shook and lashing out aimlessly. At least I respected what you said earlier. Now a lil touch of your precious has you all a flutter.”

“Doll, you ain’t shook nobody. End of the day, you walk that way and I walk to opposite and this whole thing ends. You won’t be but two blinks of my eyes. Believe that!”

“I’m intrigued. How does one become so unattached from reality?”

The alarm on my cell phone had given me the 5 minute warning before I had to be heading down the road to my connecting flight. Final word time.

“Is that what you believe you are living, sweetie? Reality? You know how long I was surrounded by reality? Reality is the mindfuck. You know both of us don’t matter at all. At all! This conversation won’t change anything about you and I. Don’t get it twisted though. I’m not so lost in the abyss that I can’t still feel emotions and connections. I’m still a human being. But, life has taught me one very valuable lesson. If nothing matters at all then everything is the same. No moment is too big or too small. No deed too tough or easy. No emotion is too high or too low. It’s within this bubble that all is clear. Like a blinding realization. Pure truth.”

Trinity stood up from the bar as she noticed me edging myself towards the exit. She laid down enough money to pay for both our tabs and smiled at me. Then she spoke.

“Finally, something in common. But, with a slight twist. While you believe you and all of us are a big bag of nothing I believe I am everything. I believe every lil fingertip send a tide pool waving onto the shores of far reaching destinations. I believe our conversation will mean much more to each of us very soon. What we say and what we do affects the likes of so many people. To the point that if we realized how far reaching our powers are it would literally blow our minds. I believe the positive energy I give and the negative energy you ooze are all going to the same place. And it counterbalances itself into a living, breathing life form. I may be moving west, but my identity will live on in my former home. You will live in my life forever, even if I don’t remember a word of our conversation. I will pray for you tonight. Cause everyone may not believe, but that won’t make my prayers any less meaningful. God Bless you, Trent. Safe travels too.”

Trinity grabbed my right hand and squeezed it tight. It felt like caring and pity as she let go and turned away. I watched her walk out the bar and down the terminal. I was late for my connecting flight and heard one last boarding call. I shook out my daze and reached into my backpack. I pulled out two crisp hundred dollar bills and added it to the bar tab Trinity and I had rang up. Just as I went to close up my bag, a waitress bumped me from behind and caused me to drop the bag. Out spilled a handful of bank wrapped hundred dollar bills. The waitress apologized and her gaze finally hit my bag and its contents. I scurried over to the money and threw it back in the bag. I scanned the bar and no one had noticed the accident or the revealing of my backpacks contents. I stared back at the waitress and hand her one stack of bills. I whispered in her ear before I walked to my boarding section.

“You didn’t see anything.”

Solid Gold

2011-08-03T03:07:00.000-07:00

I didn't think I would be in this moment. As I stood over him I couldn't pinpoint the exact emotion that was washing over me. I was still feeling ridiculous sporting this white on white 3 piece suit. It was a funeral, after all, and no one would have guessed it from the attire of the guests in attendance. We stood out like a sore thumb all gathered around the future grave of my younger brother. The scattered showers on this February afternoon insured that every last white outfit worn that day was a one-off wearing. It was a quick ceremony. Per my brother's request, we finished the proceedings by all dropping a single dime in his casket to be buried with him. One after another in a single file line. I was last to go. In the midst of this well planned cluster fuck of an event I found a minute to talk. To my younger brother.

"Fuck you. These people don't know the half of what you put me through. You skated while I had to cover for the mess you left behind with everything you did. Somehow, they just pitied me and adored you. I've been scraping the bottom of the barrel for far too long and all for the sake of that damn Medal. I never even got to enjoy the damn thing. Well, now that you are gone all bets are off. Here is your fucking dime."

No one heard my speech because it was just a screaming voice in my own head as I paused to reflect on 41 years of misspent life. My younger brother could have had anything he wanted in life. He just seemed to float along not attaching himself to anything or anyone. It was as if he was paying penance for a crime he never committed. Self-imposed exile. I could never really get a straight answer out of him. Maybe it was what we had done years ago that made this the inevitable ending. Just another unanswered question.

As I began to leave the cemetery, I was approached by an out of breath, tattered female. She was in an all white pant suit that was now slightly brown thanks to the mud tracks kicked up behind her as she ran. She carried some white roses with her as well. She was slightly weathered. Underneath her long light brown hair was the most striking pair of grey eyes I'd ever gazed upon. I gave her a moment to settle.

"Can I help you, Madam," I asked as she gathered herself and the roses.

"Bertrick Funeral," she stammered as she repeated herself, "I'm looking for the Bertrick Funeral."

"You just missed it."

"No, no, no," she screamed as she threw the white roses to the ground.

"Calm down, Miss. It's not the end of the world or anything. It was my brother's funeral and I'm sure we can head right over and you can pay your respects."

On the verge of tears and hysteria, the lady calmed down and walked with me as I took her to my younger brother's grave. Being somewhat estranged from him, I had no idea he had any love interests in his life. Let alone a female one. Not wanting to pry, I didn't bother to ask who she was or how she knew him. We just both walked and stood over the now lowered casket of my younger brother. A misty drizzle began to fall. I was stuck on stupid for a while as she silently took in the moment that was all too real to be fiction. The silence had to be broken.

"So, how did you know...."

I was cut off by her breaking the silence with a question.

"How did it happen?"

I took that question to mean how did he die. I was somewhat taken aback by the query. One, I had assumed she knew him. Two, of all the things to ask at a funeral that's what she comes up with? That said, I had to answer.

"Coronary."

My answer seemed to go right through her. She seemed a lil glassy eyed as she stood over my younger brother's grave. Perhaps this was a first for her. I attempted to console her.

"I'm sure, wherever he is, my brother appreciates that you came through to see him off. I've known plenty of people who couldn't make themselves attend these types of things because it just irked em to be around death. You are being very brave just to be here."

It was half-lie, half-truth. I felt the need to say something. She was practically a complete stranger and was obviously vulnerable in this place. I placed my left hand on her shoulder. She leaned her head towards my touch. I felt her shiver and tense.

"My name is Stephanie."

There was one mystery solved. But, one solved mystery led to another. The name sounded familiar. It was as if I just saw it written out before me.

"Did you say Stephanie," I asked.

"Yes. My name is Stephanie."

I took my hand off her shoulder and reached into my breast pocket. It was my last duty in carrying out my younger brother's last wishes. It was a sealed envelope. There was one name written across the envelope. Stephanie.

"I believe this is for you."

As I handed over the envelope I could feel even more questions coming to mind. But, she beat me to the punch.

"How did you know this was for me? It could have been any girl named Stephanie at this event."

Amidst all the activity of the day and the sudden manner with which Stephanie had arrived, I had forgotten the signals I was to look out for when it came to the delivering of the sealed envelope. She would have a dozen white roses with her. Grey eyes. And, she would likely be the last person to arrive.

"Let's just say you fit the profile."

Stephanie grabbed the envelope and put it away in her purse. I was left to wonder what the whole thing was about. I felt a freedom in our shared messenger/messengee relationship. I took that chance to dig for answers by opening up.

"You ever hear the story of the 1972 USA Olympic Mens basketball team?"

Stephanie shook her head in bewilderment. I continued.

"Well, back in the day the United States was hands down the best Basketball playing nation in the world. If there was a competition held anywhere in the world and the USA had a team representing it was a virtual lock that they were going to win that event. That all said that dominance came to an end in 1972."

"I wasn't born for another 10 years," Stephanie chimed in.

"Yeah, I always sound like an old man when I bring up the good old days. Anyways, the 1972 Summer Olympics came to a close with the headline event of the games. The USA vs. Russia in the Gold Medal Mens Basketball game. It was a closely contested game. Due to some questionable officiating, the US team lost the game and the gold medal."

I could feel Stephanie drifting into a world of "WTF" as I began my tale. I felt the need to edit my setup.

"As a way to protest the outcome of the game, the entire 12 man roster of the USA mens team decided to not accept the silver medals they had earned in defeat. The medals were locked away in a bank somewhere in Germany, which is where those Summer Olympics were held. For years, they went unclaimed. It was a decision that was solely in the hands of the 12 men that were on that US roster. To a man, not a one broke the bonded decision to leave those medals behind."

The rain disappeared and we both settled into a couple of seats still remaining from the burial ceremony. Stephanie seemed in need of a relaxing few moments after her hurried arrival. I was still in full story mode with the end game hope of unraveling the secret behind the envelope and the mystery girl.

"Sooo, 20 years go by from those Olympic Games and those damn medals are still sitting in a bank in Germany waiting to be claimed. My brother and I were both in high school. I befriended this German foreign exchange student named Dressden. I usually just called him D. He came out for a year abroad and he also had an uncle who lived maybe 10 minutes away from the high school. Now, his uncle had been living in the states for a few years. He had come here to retire. He was a high end security agent who dealt with transportation and protection of German government properties."

Maybe it was the release of years of emotional tension towards my brother that had me spilling my guts. I had never shared anything remotely related to D or his uncle since D went back to Köthel, his hometown in Germany, back in 1992. Maybe my brother's death gave me pause to make sure I held onto to nothing that would bind me in the future. Stephanie appeared to be pulled into my narrative at this point. I saw no reason to close the gates now.

"Sooo, a few months into the school year D and I take an extended lunch break and walk to his uncle's house. Being of teenage minds and reckless spirit, we decided to drink any alcohol in sight. This, as we came to find out later, is not the best thing to do prior to a soccer practice later in the evening."

I got my first smile out of Stephanie since her arrival. Much preferred as opposed to the tears she had dropped upon first glance at my brother.

"In our initial search for said alcohol, D and I went into his uncle's office. It felt like I had walked into a museum of what an office was suppose to look like. An artist rendering of the place couldn't have done it justice. Two bookcases that went from the floor to the ceiling back grounded a solid oak desk that appeared to have been built and carved into the very room it occupied. The bookcases were filled and in alphabetical order. There was not a speck of dust to be found as we came upon the sole oddity of the office. A solid black what appeared to be a file drawer. It was built into the wall to the right of the desk. It had a basic keypad in the center of it. We could find no creases or edges that would show anyway of breaking into the container. It was more a shield covering a display case."

"Sooo, of course you had to try to open it, right" asked Stephanie.

"I didn't have to say a word. D walked right over to it, punched in a 5 digit code and up came the shield. D told me his uncle had unwittingly revealed the code to him one drunken evening. This was actually the first time he had taken the chance to use the code. D and I waited as the shield lifted and revealed the single item within its glass case. It was a round silver medal. It was held up by two prongs that spun the medal around slowly. You could clearly see the moldings and inscriptions on the medal."

"What did it say?"

"1972 Summer Olympics. Munich, Germany. It had this design of a partial German flag on it and a bunch of columns that looked like the entrance to a coliseum. The medal was also covered in plastic package and a piece of tape was attached to that plastic bag. The tape had a name on it. Ed Burleson."

"Who is Ed Burleson," asked Stephanie.

"D and I had no idea. D's uncle didn't exactly go into detail on the back story of the medal being in his possession. This was the first we even knew he had something like this. We decided to not disturb the whole display and we closed it back up and left that office. Truth be told, it was a letdown for the both of us. Later that night, I was in the backyard of my house playing basketball with my brother."

"Let me guess."

"I had to tell someone, right?"

Stephanie nodded in approval.

"Sooo, I go into the whole story and I tell my brother the name. He stops in his tracks and asked me to repeat the name. I do and he runs into the house. I chase him down and he is sliding in a VHS tape...."

"I remember those things."

"Yeah, it was 1992. It's what we had. Anyways, my brother starts playing the tape and it's a recording of the recent 1992 Summer Olympics Mens Basketball Gold medal game. Of course, Team USA is in the final and my brother fast forwards to a halftime segment. It details the entire 1972 Basketball final story. The controversy, the medals, the present day update. It cuts to this shot of an old house in a German town called Köthel. A guy who was a security agent at the bank where the 12 Silver medals that Team USA never accepted back in 1972 reveals his secret. He has the medals. Had for close to 10 years at that point. At least, some of the medals."

"Some of the medals are missing? Guess they should have kept it in that bank."

"Unfortunately, that bank shut down and the medals had no real home. The International Olympic Committee was in a transition period during the 80's and its leadership allowed a few things to slip through the cracks. This guy in the featurette explained that he was initially in charge of housing all 12 medals once the bank shut down. Through the years and the extreme lack of high security around the medals, the guy had managed to only hold onto 7 of the medals. At the end of the featurette, the news reporter covering the story displayed the remaining 7 silver medals. The IOC had reclaimed them and was now conducting an investigation on the missing 5. The display clearly showed the name tags attached to each medal. As the new reporter went through the 12 men on the 1972 Team USA basketball roster, I got a closer look at the medals. It was a perfect match to what I had seen earlier that day. Then her last words."

"Ed Burleson," concluded Stephanie.

"And the final missing medal was meant for Ed Burleson. My hands were on my head as my brother and I digested the story that was now in our laps."

Stephanie was all in on the story. I had her waiting on every last word. I was zoned out as to any duties I still had that day. I just felt a rush of freedom hitting me repeatedly as I dug deeper into my memory banks. That wasn't even the half of it. She had questions now.

"What did you and your brother do after piecing the story together?"

"Honestly, we didn't really have much. I knew what I had seen, but I was an untrained eye. It seemed a perfect match. But, how did D's uncle come to be an owner of such a rare item?"

"What did you do the next day?"

"We went to school. We had no real sense of urgency, so what happened caught us off guard. D had a family emergency back in Germany. He flew out that morning and my brother and I had no way of gaining access to his uncle's house. It felt like a daydream after we realized D was not going to be coming back. He stayed in Germany and we were left to wonder about our secret discovery."

"You never even tried to go back to the uncle's house? Like, even just to lie and say you left something there and needed to get it?"

"D's uncle never knew I had been over to his house. D and I only ever went over in the middle of the day when it was empty."

"Did you ever ask D about the medal or his uncle?"

"I kept in touch with him, but anytime I made any mention to the medal or his uncle the subject was quickly changed. We were conversing internationally, so it wasn't exactly easy to have long chats about the whole thing, ya know?"

Stephanie seemed at a loss for words. While the back story of how the medal came to be famous was of little interest to her, the conspiratorial manner as to its whereabouts had her intrigued. The trail seemed to run dry. Until....

"It was the one thing my brother and I never really discussed after it happened. Like I said before, it was as if we daydreamed it. Till the ghost of that day came rolling back around. It was only a few years later. My brother had just finished high school. I was diving into the beginnings of my personal trainer career. He had managed to get a summer gig at a local funeral home. So began the summer of 1996 and the week that changed our lives."

"Are we okay to just sit out here? I mean, don't you have anything else to take care of as far as your brother goes?"

Stephanie made a valid point, but I really didn't care. Anyone could handle the rest of the loose ends.

"Not like it's a matter of life or death, right? I'm sure someone will take care of the rest. Shall I continue?

"Go on."

"It must have been August of '96. My brother was at the tail end of his summer gig before he took off for college. He had one foot out the door and the other in a beach in Hawaii. Then he came rolling in. Literally."

"No!"

"D's uncle. Cancer. He had been fighting it for years. It was partially the reason he had come to live in the States. To recover or die in peace."

"How did you find that out?"

"OH! So, ya the call. D's uncle was solo out here. While his family back in Germany was well aware of his illness, they had no updates other than the ones he gave them himself. Now that he was dead, someone had to let them know. I called back to his nephew in Germany. It was the first time I had talked to D in years."

"How did he take the news?"

"Smoothly. I guess the years of his uncle fighting cancer had prepared him for the inevitable. D and I reminisced a lil and I told him I was sorry his stay in the U.S. was cut short by the family emergency. That's when he laid it all out for me."

"Oh no, here we go again."

"D's uncle found out what we had done that day in his office. He couldn't stand the thought of anyone revealing his secret and he shipped D back home. He sent D home with specific instructions. He was to tell no one of what he saw that day. And, when the time comes, he wanted to be buried with the medal."

I could see the realization flash across the face of Stephanie as I emphasized that last statement. The medal was real. And he wanted the story and its history to go with him.

"But, wait! How did D's uncle even come to own the medal?"

"D could never really pry the story out of him over the last few years leading up to his death. D could only assume it has something to do with his old job and location. You remember the featurette video I mentioned earlier? D's Uncle worked a security detail that helped transport the 12 medals from that bank in Germany to the house in Köthel. Being one of only a few men who knew the location of those 12 silver medals was privileged information. We could only assume he took advantage of that info to get his hands on one of them."

"Okay, so now the funeral and the call?"

"Right. Sooo, D tells me he has to fly out to take care of the final details for his uncle. D was the only one who would know how to locate the medal and be able to fulfill his uncle's last wish. It would be a few days before he could get out there, so my brother and I couldn't help but revisit our daydream the very next day."

I began to describe to Stephanie the scene of my brother and me lifting weights together at the gym I was working for at the time. I tell her how I described to my brother how I got solid confirmation that the silver medal was an authentic from the original 12 made for that 1972 Olympics. Then I shared with her the inception of our plan.

"My brother and I are standing near the front desk when a client of mine comes walking by. He was one of those dorky internet millionaires who had cashed out early and in a big way. He had nothing but time to kill and money to do it with. On that particular day, my client was wearing a replica 1992 USA mens basketball jersey. My brother couldn't help but notice and he asked my client if he was a big basketball fan. My client says yes and begins on a diatribe about his collection of memorabilia that would blow anyone away."

"Where is all this going," Stephanie asked sternly.

"I'm getting there. Sooo, my client reveals to my brother and I his most treasured possession. A team photo of the 1972 USA mens Olympic Basketball team signed by all 12 members. Says it cost him a quarter million dollars just for the photo alone. He takes off for his workout and my brother and I laugh. We both know something that he would really like to add to his collection, but it's not exactly on the market. That's when my brother said what we both were thinking."

"What?"

"I wonder how much he would pay for that silver medal?"

It didn't take Stephanie long to once again put some of the pieces together. I was a broke trainer and my brother had college to pay for. We had motive and opportunity. And, most of all, we had very few eyes on the whole heist. I cornered my rich client and showed him the video of the missing Silver medals and asked him point blank if he would be interested in owning one of those medals. He was reluctant as to its authenticity. My brother and I were worried about exposure if it ever got out in a free market. The client agreed to never sell it if it was the real deal. We wanted a onetime pay day that would insure both our futures. We came to find a middle ground.

That taken care of, we had arrived at our morale crossroads. Not to mention, how do we actually get our hands on the medal. That's when D arrived in the States and handed it to us on a silver platter, so to speak. Per the request of his uncle, D was to acquire the medal and hold on to it till his funeral. Once there, D would place the medal in his uncle's coat pocket. My brother was the final man in charge of closing the casket on its way to being buried. He pulled a simple switch of the real medal and a fake rip off toy medal. Sure, the switch wasn't entirely necessary. It just seemed like a funny "F YOU" if anyone went digging up the past. Stephanie basically finished all my lines for me as I described the rest of the plot.

My brother and I saw D off at the airport as he left for Germany. He was our final loose end before we could make a break to sell our lottery ticket. My brother had the medal in his pocket as he shook D's hand. We were arrogant and ignorant and about to be rich. We drove immediately to my client's house. He had already prepared a display case for the medal. We presented it to him and we once again matched it up against that video as well as several other pictures of the 7 silver medals the IOC owned. He smiled at my brother and me. He pushed a silver briefcase over to me. I opened it and it was full of cash.

"How much," asked Stephanie

"One million dollars. Clean bills. My brother and I split it and agreed to make every attempt to never bring any attention to the fact that we had that amount of money on us. We were both basically teenagers. If we flashed too much, it just would have brought attention to us and could lead to the wrong eyes looking at us. It was so hard at times. My client really kept up his end of the deal cause I never heard him even mention to anyone at the gym of the medal being in his possession. And he loved to brag."

I could sense that this was my moment. To search for the answers to questions I had since Stephanie arrived.

"Sooo, how did you come to know my brother?"

"He was my best friend. He helped me get through a lot of tough times. And he never asked one thing from me. He even made sure my son was taken care of when I had to spend a lil time in prison. I honestly don't know how or why he did it. He lived in that ancient house forever and drove around in beater cars. Yet, whenever I needed an assist he was always there. I guess I was the closest thing to a family he ever had."

It felt vague and detailed. I knew the man she was talking about, but was unaware of the person she described. I knew he kept his half of the money pretty close to the vest. The only exception was the college tuition and the initial set up for where he would live out the majority of his life. I felt unsatisfied. And, there was still the matter of the envelope.

"You gonna open that now, Stephanie?"

"I guess now is as good a time as it gets."

She sliced through the seal with her finger and pulled out the single item within the envelope. It was a check.

"How much is the check for, Stephanie?"

"Four-hundred thousand dollars."

Movie Critic

2011-07-25T13:19:00.000-07:00

In my Dictatorship of Freedom, ALL movie critics shall only be of the ages 20-30 years old. You all have a decade of usefulness to us all. Soooo, make it count. How did ya come to this decision, you ask? It was my own awakening that provided me the insight into what was underneath the surface for me the past couple of years. This quote that kept popping up. I was in denial of what the reality was and I denied it because I didn't want to be that guy just yet. But, it was undeniable.

"This movie is just like ................."

Once this phrase comes out of your mouth, you have forever crossed the line. There is no going back. You will see every future movie in the same vain because you have memorable footnotes of your past. You no longer bring a clean slate into to movie watching experience. You are not completely to blame for this eventuality. Remakes of remakes and reboots and prequels and trilogies all steer us into the commonality of roads previously traveled. Also, my biased belief that ALL stories are Love stories tends to make it all seem one in the same as well. We will know before we know and instantly relate back to the previously mentioned DQ quote. This entire process is now quickened in the modern age of the Internet and social media, where secrets and story lines are revealed long before a finished product is ever brought to the public. Here is an example. Remember a few years ago when you had to get word of mouth from a friend about movies having post movie credit extra scenes? Or even bolder was to not know at all and just sit through the credits based on ones own false hope? No longer do you have to wait. Grab that smart phone and search "Insert movie title after credits scene." I did this recently at the end of watching the movie Thor. I googled searched it on my phone and could have watched the official YouTube clip of the damn scene.

Now for the foundation of my belief. In my close to 33 years on this Earth I have watched A Lot of movies. I could probably estimate my time spent being visually entertained by a flick. Throwing out my extreme years of not watching at all in my youth and being deep in the movie watching game in my 20's I am gonna use this formula. Age 8-30.......I watched a movie once every two weeks on average. Each movie was 2 hours in length. 26 movies a year multiplied by 2 hours each movie. 52 hours of year spent watching movies multiplied by 22 years.

1144 hours.

And before ya jump in with your corrections bout the years, I cut this off at the day you hit age 30. The year spent being 30 is not a factor. 22 years! Fning editorial police on my thoughts suck balls. I'm also very aware of the exceptions to the rule. The so-called movie buffs out there that blow off my formula and set their own pace of movie viewing. You are movie snobs and I do not care about your movie opinion. When you start to relate a movie you are watching to more than one movie you have officially become movie critic useless. As a new bonus I just thought of, if you watch the Oscars in consecutive years between the ages of 20-30 you are also Dq'd. That's disqualified for ya short typed challenged folks. The Oscars are not about the best movie or performance. It's about the best movies and performances we were told were incredible by the Movie media bubble and PR departments. I saw Black Swan. I remember the masturbation scene and the lesbian scene. The rest was a visual daydream. Please tell me how that stood out above ALL else? Natalie Portman in The Professional and V for Vendetta stand out more to me. AND, I will watch those 2 movies again before I see Black Swan again. If you are paying attention, yep I just made reference to 2 other movies while discussing a third. Further cementing my DQ as a movie critic.

Did I come to the age bracket arbitrarily? Perhaps, but I can't exactly speak from any future age perspective and my past perspective is very tainted. We already discussed why age 30+ years of movie watching are truly movie critic useless. I just think that I was personally more able to enjoy all types of movies over my prime movie critic years as opposed to my teenage or childhood years. We all romanticize movies we grew up with and have reasons why they clicked back then for us. We hold onto them as sacred cause they were apart of us as much as learning to walk and talk was. Identity Identifiers. Big trouble in Little China and The Naked Gun. Back in the day, those were just in me cause how they hit me for the first time with things I'd never done before. I believe The Naked Gun is still my record holder for how many times I saw a movie in the theaters. Movie hopping back in the day at the original CinedomesLeBrock? Was Major League really the best baseball movie ever for me? 12 year old me would say yes. 33 year old me would say Bull Durham. But i am dancing around my main focus here.

Age 20-30 you are able to handle and explore all your emotional facets. you can enjoy any type of movie. You can enjoy it in a group, on a date, or even alone. You can afford to pay to see all these movies. You aren't yet tainted by the "Back in the day" syndrome of a movie snob. You can tell the difference between fictionalized truth being retold and accurate portrayals. To that point, you can even get beyond that annoying " That's not how it happened in the book/real life" comment some folks drop. Suspension of disbelief, people. It's just a movie after all. At this point, you have even lived long enough to be able to have gone through a certain time and relate to it as it is portrayed in movies. SUCH as any movie that takes place in the 90's for me. I was there, so it rings more true to me than old school James Bond flicks. Staying in the life example column, I did not fully appreciate the 1994 movie Clerks until I worked at a video store in 1998. I was more qualified as a movie critic later cause of my age.

Now, do not get me wrong. It's not as if every movie I've recently seen makes me wonder where I have seen this before. Exceptions to the rule are the reason rules are flawed. I will still have plenty of originally enjoyable times while continuing to watch movies. i just believe I am no longer able to justify telling anyone a proper critique of any movie. Once again, I am movie critic useless. Unless we are talking about Scott Pilgrim vs the World. If you don't like that movie you suck and you deserve a proper slapping of the face.

Rabble Rock!

P.S. The hours limit is real. You pass 1144 prior to your 20's and you are fucked. You will be bound to a life maintaining the end all be all of action movie was Judge Dredd. You will proclaim that Look Who's Talking is soo freaking adorable and that Home Alone is family comedy gold. You might even be one of those unfortunate folks who believes Jason and Michael Myers are the scariest things on film when clearly you are wrong. Freddy for life baby!

Facebook Irrelevant

2011-07-19T13:20:00.000-07:00

At the moment, I should not be here doing this right now at this very moment in this spot. In this particular computer. It just is not something that should be happening.I should be setting up some other place and worrying bout all the things I do not have that would help me provide for my current lifestyle. And this is why.................. Blah Blah Blah. And the Blah Blah Blah is exactly why I am completely Facebook irrelevant.

I say nothing of importance. My postings and additions and status updates are near nonsense to my 100 followers. It is a blip and then it goes away. This is not a commentary on the people I know and whether or not they care. I post links to videos and send goofy pictures. I usually have some caustic nature to all my replies to my friend's updates. I prefer cryptic to plain open statements. It is a social website where one goes to alert people to current events and I take that time to mock it and send riddles. It is my natural response due to years of training myself to act a certain way to any and all things. I break down occasionally and saying something revealing in hopes to check if anyone hears my mini cry for help. And it gets the same reaction every time. As it should. If I'm completely honest, my knack for having incomplete thoughts is probably the main culprit as to why my postings have the weight of a pigeon feather.

It is because of my status. I am simply outside of the bubble. Now, do not get me wrong here. This is not a judgement on my daily sightings of all the people I see on Facebook. Just because I do not share the same values or hold sacred the things others do does not make them lesser beings. They are, however, alien to me. They are all in the bubble. It's a natural progression that has worked for decades. Years upon years of instinctual behaviors colliding with village taught ideals. It's the reasons that the more things change the more they stay the same. It also just plain works. It's a well oiled machine that has no peer. And guess what? People like me will always come off as ignorant or too cool for the room for any mockery of the bubble. It's pretentious of me to hold who i am or my ways as more logical or better. It just isn't. I'm just seeking to explain why I am truly FB irrelevant.

I'm currently peerless. Yes, it sounds arrogant to make that claim. I stole that line from Jay Mohr, who described himself as such when replaying a story earlier this week on his podcast. It fits. Whatever head space all my friends and family are walking around in is not where I am at. I don't believe some kind of switch went off for everyone and it became time to mature and be someone else. Most things in life just happen. You are confronted with the choice and you say yay or nay. It's simple. But, I will say one has to be open to those choices and allowing them to remain possibilities. Which is why I'm not where anyone else is it. Some parts of my heart and soul are either closed or never open. It's been replaced in other ways and it somewhat fulfills the same need. Till then, I find that being the young male version of the role my Mother usually fills with her friends is a role I can be proud to be in.

I incorrectly use Facebook to advertise my half-assed attempts at being a writer. I'm either all in or not. I'm either an artist or an asshole who calls himself one only to himself. An artist does not hide. An artist stands on a soapbox and grabs the mic and speaks. Cause the tools of the trade are not what will hold you back. You have to accept silence and praise all in the same way and keep it pushing towards the next self expressed diatribe. Reflection is for mirrors, not for artists. I am only a fool if I hide. Cause no one will seek me.

Rabble Rock!

Hmmmmmmmmmmm

2011-06-07T00:09:00.000-07:00

I want to convince someone just about to enter High School to LIE their entire 4 year stay. Cause that's exactly what I would do now. I base this thought on heresay and and conclusions derived from biased polls. Such as, don't you always here these celebrity types and what not lamenting bout being a bit of a nerd back in HS. They go about their lives after it's all done like it was a 4 year prison sentence and they disavow any knowledge of said years. To that point, they never maintain any ties to said HS. The worst that happens is some Rag of a magazine comes out with scoops from former classmates bout that person back in the day, as if that even matters. The entire HS graduating class from Foothill 96' could come out with an expose about my assholiness and it wouldn't really alter the current status of myself. Why would the same do anything to a person on the opposite end of the success spectrum? In a world where news cycles refresh every hour, it would never be more than a sentence on a Wikipedia page. Sooo, here is the plan "present-day 14 year-old kid kinda like ME".

Rule number one. Be as honest as possible for the first 6 months. I'm talking painfully honest. Like only one in the room not afraid to say it honest. It sets such a great tone for credibility. It will be the most important six months of the plan. It is the opposite of every great 80's teen movie. The protagonist always goes in guns a blazing with lies to get into the situation he always dreamed of. Jump to, quick take near the end of the damn flick and it's all about the Truth release that makes the arc of the story complete with it's downward trend. IT's a cliche at this point for a story to have that arc. The lies with sincere intent based on love and caring, so that it all works out in the end. Isn't it time for that door to swing the other way? I'm basically giving you a movie role and asking you to play your damn part. And this will be the easy part. Brutal Honesty is the key.

Rule number two. DO NOT get overzealous with the amount of lies. This is about quality, not quantity. The best lies are woven into the 95% percent of reality we all must live in. There is a reason for that cliched saying. "Truth is stranger than fiction." That's cause most of fiction is based on truthful events that get stretched into an exaggerated storyline. Most fiction writers couldn't make up a bed time story without pulling something truthful out as a baseline. Basing lies on a factual foundation will keep it grounded, so that it can never get away from you. It will make the lie easier to remember because of the very real anchor it has. That is always the weakness of a bad lie. It is often times improvisational strong, yet difficult to remember. This form of lie will always break down once it has any kind of repetition. Remember, that you set the foundation of truth and can use that to maintain any curve ball you send at people.

Rule number three. Tell NO ONE what your actually doing. By this I mean do not let anyone in on the secret that you are a liar. Don't tell anyone that this is a game or a mockery or a grand scheme. There is absolutely nothing to be gained by having anyone else share in the moment of what this 4 year experiment will turn out to be. It always ends badly. It always leaks out and finds a way through a crack and then it's all over before it even got started. The Liar movement comes with some built-in stress releases. It can be one of your lies to confide in anyone you choose. Dump on them all the emotions of the moment in an inventive way to keep your mind right and keep the engine running. This will be a lonely existence and you must be prepared for those consequences before you jump in.

Final Rule. Do not expose the 4 year project for monetary gain. The TELL all book is a reach for cash and has no long term power. It will not make it all seem worth doing if ya journalize this entire 4 year idea into a medium that is struggling to maintain it's own lifeline. You can't even come back 40 years from now and tell those tales. This will only serve you as long as it remains what it truly is. Education in real life.

Don't take that as cynically as it sounds. I'm not really a firm believer in much of anything, with an exception. I believe we are all capable of being as good or bad as we want, no matter our historical indicators. I've seen it happen right in front of me. From people who had no past of being either an asshole or an angel. I've done it before. I'm always one moment away from the next question that makes me multiple choice my life down the next crossroads. This 4 year Liar education will show you exactly how real people act. Given a genuine situation or one manufactured, it all is one in the same. All those natural animal instincts collide with the 10% of brain power most of us have and produce life as a chaos theory. This 4 years will prepare you for the unpredictable and give you insight into the truth. And the truth is, there isn't any. Truth that is. This isn't for everyone. I'm probably just justifying my own existence and excusing my own mental state and behavior. The best lies are the ones we tell ourselves. I guess I just have a question. Do you want to see IT coming, or do you want to be blindsided? Answer that and you will know if this project is for you.

Rabble Rock!

Repeating myself

2011-05-18T09:51:00.000-07:00

I find myself saying the same stories over and over again. I suppose there is a sense of vindication involved when I tell my fairy tales to someone new. They certainly explain away a lot of my behavior and attitude. They teeter on the explanation/excuse line depending on how I tell the stories. It allows me a sense of freedom. To act and say what I want without a true sense of repercussion. It makes me feel like I'm living on the opposite side of those people who are always talking future/positive. I think both are somewhat insane. Living in negative and the past has its pros and cons. Stuck in The Matrix without a real question to drive me. All I sit with is the questions that drive other people.

Soooo, that all said does what I do serve a purpose if all they become is thoughts in my head. If others already have a correction perception of my personality, will it really hurt if/when I just say absolutely everything on my mind. I'm not even egotistical enough to proclaim myself to know the truth. Truth has varying degrees of bias to it, depending on the POV it's coming from. I just now believe it's the only way I can get the poison out. It is my only true healthy release. All the other options have been drained over the past 2 years and I'm left at about zero. Distractions and entertainment and relaxation methods all fail to unclench the ball in my guts. Just a continuous cycle of masking and covering up.

If I am truly just a series of numbers, as we all are, why not make myself an interesting equation? No one likes a storyteller who doesn't tell stories, right?
This doesn't really count for much of a posting, just something about hitting publish and moving on. It should be my motto. :)

PS. Funny I almost lost this post, but did a quick copy/paste cause the damn website messed up. Always have a buck up folks. Rabble Rock!

Uncomfortably comfortable

2011-04-13T02:33:00.000-07:00

After watching an hour long TV show based on the story of the 2000 NFL Draft and the 6 quarterbacks drafted before the now superstar that is Tom Brady, I have reached a conclusion. I now believe that to be truly great at anything in life you have to have this moment. Something must create this Drive. I came to it after a particular 2 minute segment within the show that captured the essence of the singular moment that creates Drive. What I mean by Drive is the passion with which someone attempts to succeed at any given endeavor. A "Fuck You" moment that becomes wrapped around one's heart and squeezes until there is nothing left to give.

This segment was the retelling of the 2000 NFL Draft day that Tom Brady experienced, as told by the man himself. Within the short video clip you can look into the soul of a person who knew something that none of us knew. You can see how raw wearing your heart on your sleeve can really be for any of us. To be able to come from a place of such pain and frustration and find the key to unleash that emotion is key. I can logically reason that the creation of this moment has varied levels of severity. I also know that this moment can be somewhat manufactured cause of the unique human ability of bullshitting our own selves. But, perception is at times reality. The formula is not the same for everyone when it comes to this moment. There is no rhyme or reason or scheduled appointment here. The trick of it all is this one very important component. It has to be real to you. And, you have to constantly remind yourself of that moment.

Keeping with the Tom Brady example, I can clearly see how the Drive was created and how it stays with him to this day. I can't replicate the moment myself, but I can imagine the scene as it happened. To feel all alone within yourself as your surrounded by family/friends. To watch as your career/life passes in front of you and keeps denying you your arrogantly believed rightful place. The disappointment and sadness that must come with that moment. All the while, knowing in your own heart that you are more than worthy. This all rubs off the same tree branches of arrogance and ego being combined with shock and awe. Love and hate all wrapped into one self-contained bubble that surrounds you. Tom Brady is still living in a 2000 NFL Draft day world. That origin story created a monster of a professional athlete and successful human being. Without that day, the Tom Brady we all know wouldn't exist in this form. If he was drafted in the 3rd round to the team he was a lifelong fan of, San Francisco, his Drive may not have become what it is today.

I've seen this scenario play out over and over again for driven people. I have watched a famous video clip featuring a Kevin Garnett interview over and over again. It just feels like raw emotion on a screen that you find yourself wanting to be apart of. To care that much about anything. People care. They love and hate and what not. But, do you care THAT much? I believe that I am aware of this phenomenon based on my own life. 3-26-2008. I know exactly how I felt that day. BUT, did I care enough? Did it take over my world and wrap itself around my heart? Today, the answer is no. But, one minute from now will be a different story. I know what I felt. I know what it did to those around me. I know what it could do again soon. I can't let that happen again.

The Boston Celtics

2011-02-22T20:16:00.000-08:00

"We have a three year window to get this thing done. I can't believe they were able to flip the roster like this. I don't know who else is on board or how it will all work, but they have hope now. Can't wait to see it."

-------------Rich Bauer circa July 2007--------------

I am a lifelong Boston Celtics fan. Trade deadline day 2011 will go down as one of those earmarked days where it all went wrong. All sports fans can relate. For example, Sacramento Kings Fans. 2003 NBA Playoffs when Chris Webber destroyed his knee against the Dallas Mavs. That was to downward turn of the franchise from Championship contender to it's current state. I am still trying to understand why things went the way they did. Here is the basic gist of it all.

A 3 and a half year run of loving my basketball team came to an end. The heart of the roster has been taken from it, and this isn't even directly related to a specific player leaving the team. The business of professional sports took over. I am looking at a roster of players that will now forever be bitter and distrustful. And for good reason. For all the people who instantly judge and hate on the recent player controlled moves going on in the NBA ( ie LeBron, Carmelo ) in the past few years, we should also instantly hate the way management turned their backs on a group of men who believed the company mission statement. It went something like this.

Sacrifice. Family. Trust.

One of the first things you notice when you go to the official website of the Boston Celtics is the mantras displayed at the top of the page. "It's all about team" is one of the first ones I saw. The Boston Celtics were suppose to be there for these players. Kendrick Perkins, Nate Robinson, Semih Erden, Marquis Daniels, Luke Harangody were all traded in one 24 hour period. Having read a few articles on the subject, I can understand some of the logic behind the player movement. I also assume that this is not the end of the roster moves cause otherwise this really makes no sense in the grand scheme of being a Championship contender. I just find it all hard to swallow, especially in the case of Kendrick Perkins.

I won't go into biographical detail about Mr. Perkins. I am just looking at this on a purely spiritual level based on my own subjective opinion of sports as I have come to know them. Besides the talents for the game that he brought to the team that seem hard to replace, he was part of the gang. That is lost now. He was a believer in the cult of basketball and what they all believed it took to accomplish the singular goal the organization had for this season and pending seasons to come. Kendrick Perkins sacrificed for the family cause he trusted them all with his basketball life. AND his reward is to be cut loose. Let go without warning. He didn't want to leave. It was an entire group of guys who all wanted to be there as basketball players. For each other, for the game, for the team, for the city. It mattered to them. If you don't believe me click here and here. How can any of the men in charge of the remaining players and the future members of the roster believe they can reach them? All management has lost credibility now. The coaches, GMs and owners all ignored the speeches they gave since July 2007 and ended the entire process by saying "Trust them." How?

All sane thinking folks out there know this all just a bunch of drama over a silly little game. I'm an adult and I realize that. But, this sorta of scenario plays out in life everywhere. I have a large group of friends that I do silly shit with all the time and it would all fall short on it's face if one of us wasn't on board with the whole scheme. That's what makes doing things fun. Not the event or who thought of it. It's bout who is with you when you go all in and live the moment. That's what makes it all worth going through, no matter the speed bumps along the way. In life, not many people find a way to live a career and life that they love to do on a daily basis. When you find a collection of people who are all doing that at the same time and giving for each other to continue living that lifestyle, it should be held up in awe.

Sports folks often talk in cliches. One of the more famous ones goes something like this. "In College, it's about the name on the front of the jersey. In the Pros, it's about the name on the back of the jersey." In other words, the players on a team care about the Team name in college while the it's the exact opposite in the Pros. I think there is an offshoot of this cliche. IN this particular case, I am foolish enough to believe that the Boston Celtics over the past three years have all been about the players in the jerseys. Not the names on the front or the back, but the faces that made them all a team. All a family. Now, all I see is an empty hole torn apart out of fear and paranoia. All my favorite players will play as professionals and not the family I saw them become. They will play hard, but not with one beating heart. Cause they lost a brother and no one really knows why. They might get better. They might get worse. But, no one on that team will care as much as they use to. Human nature. You betray one, you betray them all. I'm just sorry the business got in the way of the original intent. I will remember 2007-2010 fondly. And I just wish I didn't have to ask why it all happened. And, yes I do care this much about it. Silly, right?

3

2010-07-26T21:55:00.000-07:00

32..... Now what?

It's been 23 days and this all feels the same. The curious portion of the show is that I use to have a handle on some of it cause I could relate to the goings on of everyone else. Now the main reason I get the call is when I drag people back down to my level. My life is a continuous series of "didn't see that coming moments." The lame part is that I did see that coming and didn't prepare for it. Now, the ones I tired of seeing all the time are the only ones I see. They are the only ones who can help me. Although it may be my own twisted version of how I think I was used, I am still tired just the same for feeling like the used up person in the equation. I have the same reaction to a lot of people's happiness and it's a pretty shitty thing to think or feel or express.

I wonder if I did the work and got it all out or did my prep work to get my talent on the board if it would make a difference. Or, would I just find a way to come up with more resistance and distractions? I find it odd that I didn't hear from a few people and gave up months ago. Also, the day after my biggest praise I was out the door. WHAT the Fuck is that about? I feel like I've been on detox trying to get shit outta my system for a year and just distracting myself with anything but the real.

I'm done for now with this thought.

2

2010-07-10T14:20:00.000-07:00

"What does it say about our society when.....Insert trivialized event that gets more attention while subjectively more important event goes unnoticed."

I see this post a lot via twitter, facebook or the Internet in general. It's usually put up by people who love to profoundly point out the flaws in all of us simple folk. It makes them feel better about their own beliefs and how they view the greater good of our collective being. It's also a fun way to trash those who find entertainment when it comes to sports, TV, movies or otherwise. It's the way a person reacts to a guy saying they went and saw one of the Twilight movies. Confusion and disdain. I get that look often. Usually ends in someone calling me Gay, which is probably deserved considering my rather colorful taste. Back to the lecture at hand.

The above quote is pretty elitest and drips of hypocrisy. Folks who go to this quote usually don't have an answer as to how to fix this unbalanced scale within society. They just feel the need to let everyone know that they are aware of it and we all should be. As if they are cracking something new on this already written story. You realize how many people live lives that have already been road mapped? People are far less original than they like to believe. Cycles roll around everyday. Same cycles, different day. The machine just keeps going. The same society commentators are also likely to be the same kinda person who jumps up and down whenever they see something wrong with the government and finds someone to blame for it. Damn Republicans, we better vote Democrats in and give them a shot. 2 years later it's damn Democrats, back to the Republicans. Gee thanks for the constant reminder that you are here to point this stuff out to me and help me out while I'm busy being a silly boy with his fantasy Football games. I know you loved The Hurt Locker and are quite enchanted with the novelistic redux of Abraham Lincoln as a Vampire hunter. Your tastes are refined and topical and certainly do fit quite nicely with your weekend getaways to the Cayman islands. Please do tell me how sad our society is when you are planning another trip to go ski in Tahoe while Congress goes after only a certain monetary class of our fellow people for selective defaulting.

Here is the trick ladies and gentlemen. It ALL matters. And none of it matters. We all behave selfishly and in biased manners. We all want to do what's best for ourselves. And, we all want to hope that we can attain some level of group happiness and a collective fairness. Not ever gonna happen. Not in a Capitalistic democracy. Someone wins and someone loses. And whether you win or not doesn't even matter as well. Constant proper perspective. Someone digs me enough to send me a lovely sextpic message. Same time, someone just thought of me and wondered aloud why I am such a pathetic loser. It is the true application of Ying and Yang. I have friends and family that I love. 500 years from now NO ONE will even know I was here. Even if I find a way to legacy my existence, it's fleeting in the grand scheme. Oh, guess what? There is no grand scheme. This is all just happening. So stop telling me all about the downfall of society. We aren't going to hell in a hand basket. There is no hell or any hand basket. It's not the spoon that bends, rather it's your mind. Once you realize there is no spoon.

Rabble Rock!

LeBron James

2010-07-09T08:25:00.000-07:00

LeBron James. Yep, I'm gonna be a typical blogger today. Everyone is obviously in desperate need of my opinion about the whole situation and I will of course feed my starving public. In case that didn't translate on the screen, the theme of that opening was sarcasm. :) And, yes in the blog world it is perfectly professional to use emoticons in a paragraph. It's right up there with starting sentences with the word "and". It's actually okay people. The English language has guidelines, not rules. In an attempt to keep myself from sounding too ranty I will keep this mostly sports related. All the other stuff around this sports event is fairly silly, as was displayed by a certain owner.

LeBron James changed the game once again. He is doing something unprecedented in my lifetime of watching NBA basketball. He sees the forest through the trees and is staking his claim on legitimate NBA immortality. He was in control of his own destiny and he had all the leverage and power and he made his call. Just that fact alone was enough to get sports writers' panties all in a bunch. You could predict moments happening during the one-hour show and just sit and wait for them to arrive. I said to my Dad as I watched the show after one lengthy portion of James speaking during which he mentioned every team he visited with and didn't mention the NY Knicks. "Oh, I bet someone is already starting the article about James dissing the Knicks by not mentioning them." People have already picked apart the show and tried to read between the lines of everything LeBron James said. You could go all day sifting through the Internet swamps reading journalists give us all a run down of the decision filled with talks of legacy and brand and a bunch of what-ifs. I find it funny that certain paths and roads already taken have some sorta of built in respect to them. I've read too many articles of some experts telling me James should have taken a bite off someone else's blueprint. Yet, in the same vain we all know only one NBA player was behind all the 2010 NBA Free Agency hype. Do we want him to blaze a trail all his own or follow someone else's map?

My one minute aside bout the TV special? LeBron James was on the cover of Sports Illustrated as a Junior in High School. The coverage for his first pro basketball game in the NBA was unheard of for a rookie at the time and even to this day. I know, cause I was at that game. Media hounded him since 2008. Press conferences and MSG every time he came through and dropped 50 on the Kicks. LBJ has always done everything big and on another level of publicity. Why is his making his decision known via a TV special surprising to anyone at this point? Yall asked him for two years and now are mad at him for how he answered the question?

There isn't anyone to blame for how this played out or what it will do to the NBA. If anything at all this is a child born of a basketball nation of fans who needed to see this as opposed to this. We asked the ultra-talented of the NBA to commit to the Country for a few years and are surprised when they actually grow attached to each other? By the way, cause I love the rumor of the "Pact" we should all look forward to Chris Paul in a Miami Heat uniform come 2012. People already talk as if this is the end of the NBA as we know it. I am a big Twitter follower and I already read up on some folks acting as if the league is just about 2-3 teams and a bunch of also-rans now that Team Miami is in full effect. Maybe the NBA shouldn't have expanded to 30 teams cause it was greedy and wanted more money from cities. Maybe that diluted the talent pool and how good all teams could be. As if the NBA has been this fair balanced organization anyways? Ask all 2002 Sacramento Kings fans if they think the NBA is fair and balanced? And if you are gonna make blanket statements that the league is just about a couple of contenders and a bunch of other teams playing feeder system to those teams maybe you should go watch some NBA Classic games and tell me all about how other teams couldn't contend or never had a shot. While the actual winners of the crown have gravitated towards a select few teams over the past 20-30 years, plenty of organizations had fair, legit shots at contending and winning. It just didn't happen for any number of reasons. The Utah Jazz, Portland Trailblazers, Phoenix Suns, Orlando Magic, and even the Cleveland Cavaliers all had legit looks as NBA titles. This whole thing has cycles and karma and luck. For having to suffer through 1993-2007 of Boston Celtics basketball as a fan, I got 2008-2010. For winning the draft lottery in back-to-back years in 1992 and 1993 the Orlando Magic had to suffer watching the LA Lakers reap the rewards of a grown up Shaquille O'Neal. Sports are a pretty fair concept if you take your own biased subjective nature out of the loop.

Final rant time. LeBron James is doing something that will be recounted and challenged for all time in the lore of NBA basketball history. No matter where he did it or how he did it, this decision was going to be scrutinized and twisted in all sorts of angles to make the writer look like the most intelligent person in the room. The stay loyal stay with one team all your career has been done before. Guess what, some of those guys went home without a ring. Reggie Miller, John Stockton, Elgin Baylor, and Brad Daughtery to name a few. The stay loyal for most of your career and jump after your peak and get a ring thing has been done before too. 2008 Boston Celtics (ed. note. July 31st, 2007 is still my favorite sports related birthday in my short 31 years). That said, start going back through the history of the NBA and name me the time this sorta of collective decision by 3 in the prime of their careers age wise players all hit the same team at the same time out of a decision they all made together and separately? This wasn't luck of the draft or a trade made by an owner. These three looked for a spot and a time and made it happen. This could have been anywhere. But, tradition is a very liquid concept. It only has meaning if you make it have meaning to you. If they all went to NY or Chicago they would be building onto a past that has chapters. In Miami, James and his partners are gonna write their own book. I can't wait to read it. Oh, and it is James and then the other two. The 2-time MVP makes this a story. James made an average Cavs squad a title contender. Wade made the Heat a 500 playoff team. This is my blanket statement for this article. Now I feel like a full fledged sports writing fan idiot who says everything in extremes and certainties. That is all.

PS. If Perk comes back healthy and we find a way take advantage of the mismatched that is Rondo versus any PG on the Heat, I still smell title 18 for the 2010-2011 Boston Celtics. :) ahhhhh back on my meds people. :)

Rabble Rock

1

2010-06-17T16:10:00.001-07:00

Ya know the funny thing about quotes? They make you a quotable person. As if the exact moment a bunch of words slung together in continuous sentences makes you worthy of copying? I find the phenomenon of quotes to be simplifying life into it's most generic lessons. I believe there is a difference between a quote about how someone personally approached a moment to be personalized and genuine. It may have generic undertones, but because of the persons perceived nature I can imagine it being genuinely a part of their personality. On the other hand, broadly examining life and it's many adventures with some kind of mantra is the worst kinda dumbing down of life. Perhaps they are one in the same, but I just don't see it that way.

Here is what I mean.

Dalai Lama "Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible."

This is an example of mantra generic quoting. I'm guaranteeing that this gem is being posted somewhere by someone semi-famous in America on their Twitter or Facebook today. And tomorrow. Then the next day. All to show how much depth that person has into how they inspire us all to become better. Really? Gee thanks Mr. Lama, but I'm not following your road or path in life. I am fully aware of life and its many choices. I know about the high road and how to take it. I know how to be kind and that ALL things are inherently possible without you giving me some kind of way to approach society and the people in the world. Being kind is always a choice, but does it make it the right choice? Not every time. So you and the actress who will show us all how effectively she can Google "Famous quotes" can go screw.

Lindsay Lohan "I hate it when people call me a teen queen."

Simple. Pure. Genius. Insight into the mind of a person with one sentence. Nothing to be gained or lost from the quote. Just a sense of the moment and who the person is. This is a true quote. Nothing to interpret from it or read between the lines. It just truly is what it is and that's a complete thought. Love it.

Do inspirational quotes have a place? Of course. They will be put on posters and lil mini calendars till the end of time as long as us pesky humans are around. We are all followers in our own sense of the term. Not a single person is all leader. We ripped some game from someone along the way. But, isn't the truest form of following in the footsteps of these quotes and the meaning behind them to come up with a new way to state it all? Rather than repeat word for word something someone famous said, why not remix the sentiment and make it your own? That's what we all are anyways. A remix of some combo of a whole lot of factors colliding into one space and time. How arrogantly selfish does one have to believe that they are creating something original? You have to be certifiable in all honesty. Sooo much of who we all are as people and humans is based on traditions and lessons passed down by people who are in and of themselves diluted copies of the original. Yet, a mass majority of us walking around believe in a higher power from whence we all came that was the perfect mold. Why do people always only strive to be like that higher power instead of better than him? Maybe that's the real secret to it. Not to be like someone, but better than him or her or that thing. Shouldn't we strive to be better than God?

There is a quote that should be new and original, but will never catch on in a world where I am suppose to bow down to the greatest of the great. That way of thinking would be destroyed by all the followers of world. I am arrogant enough to believe that this a leader type of mentality to take. Not that anyone should follow. Better to not be followed at all. Just lead myself and be cool with that.

"I'm not trying to be like Jesus or God, I'm trying to be better."

Pure. Simple. Genius.

Rabble Rock! (WWPND) What Would Prince Naseem Do! hahahaha

Silence

2010-05-12T14:23:00.001-07:00

A recent development of my few months of being in a house alone all the time. I have started to notice that I go entire days without saying a word. Okay, maybe that's a slight exhaggeration. I have to say a few words to communicate with my pet. But, besides those few command words it really does seem as if I am just always alone with my thoughts. I'm not really the type to talk to myself in an out loud kinda way. I don't sing in the shower that much. I don't even really whistle while I work. I just go around my daily activities in silence. I'm not yet sure how I feel about this realization.

I've been called a quiet man from time to time. Reserved and soft spoken, maybe. Now, when I do speak I am kinda loud and arrogantly sarcastic. That may be a reason why I don't speak out much cause I usually make an ass out of myself. I guess this is what I was always looking for, but it came at a time that left me dangling in the wind. I am not so dumb that I don't realize I could just pick up a phone and call someone. Or just run my ass over to someone's house and chat up my friends or family. It would probably help my mental health if I did that, but it might take away from my new development. This silence is breeding a voice in my head that feels like it's my writing voice. I don't think I have ever had a true writing voice. I have been a writer, but only in an amatuer sense. And this isn't some psychotic breakdown either. It's not an actual voice speaking to me. It's just a sense or theme or tone or outlook or POV. Whatever you want to call it. It makes me want to dig deeper into the silence.

Don't get me wrong, I don't think this will lead to a hallmark card ending. Probably not material for a self-help book. I'm just at an end for so many things that it has to become something. Something has to come out of all of this or I will just spiritually die. I have probably been a broken man for the past 10 months. But, I have just let it all be as I soaked in the break from life. Irony is that my vacation wasn't really much of a vacation in the end. Just led to a worse me, mentally and physically. I have to break the silence by continuing to be silent.

Rabble Rock!

Been awhile

2010-05-05T02:31:00.000-07:00

This one has no subject. I just decided to stop posting these types of things on facebook cause it usually gets no response. I just like the sound of my voice, so to speak.

Are people really upset that the Miss USA pageant website has so-called racy pictures up on the homepage? People take time out of there day to make phone calls or send emails to tell the company how to run their beauty pageant? These same girls are going to be walking around in two-piece bikinis in front of millions of TV viewers. Are we really concerned with 50 gorgeous women posed in half shirts and unbuttoned buttondowns? Non-stories are horrible to be presented as news coverage.

I'm not going to pretend the details behind budgeting for companies and businesses and the such. I only know what I have to do with my income and how to cover my expenditures. I realize the mistakes I made in attempts to cover for a poorly planned past couple of months. Why doesn't this all apply to everyone else? Is that making it way to simplistic? Teachers and Education for example. Sooo the solution to budget deficits is cut the only irreplacable product within the industry? That wouldn't fly in the other industries. Cut teachers and make up the money you lost putting up new buildings and signs around a school. Never made sense to my outsider POV. Locally speaking, I still don't understand the need for Antelope HS. Brand spanking new facility. It looks like a TV version of what a high school is suppose to look like. So, all that money that went towards that new place couldn't have been better spent taking care of the many nearby options surrounding the same area? Silly me, I guess I'd rather have a school that acted like a school rather than looked like one.

I have been fat before and had to trim down or get back into shape, but this is a whole new monster right now. I feel like all my normal methods arent good enough at the moment. I also have defective parts trying to work through the initial breakthrough period. Busted knees and a shady ankle are a real bummer. Less than a year ago I could walk into a basketball court and spend 2 hours shooting jumpers and keep the fat off me. Now, I can't even get through a mile long run. Not to mention the overly helpful pressures of getting the dinner invites to help finish off leftovers. I think I'm going to detox for a month and see if that gets this whole thing going again.

I now know alcohol is a hell of a drug. Cause if my baggy shorted, oversized tshirted, just came from a ball game looking ass could end a Friday night at a bar licking whipped cream off 2 early-20's blondes then it only could be one reason. Lies and shots. Okay 2 reasons. That's a good name for a book or a movie. Lies and Shots. Good luck with your flooded home in Nashville Madam.

Something has altered the way I watch entertaining things now. It's as if I overloaded for so long on so many options that it all seems the same to me. I have just plain stopped watching shows I love to watch. I can't sit through movies the same way I use to. I find myself in love with my old favorites from a decade ago. I also find that at the root of it all is the fact that I think I can tell a story, so all stories seem less interesting to me. I don't knopw. Ramble time soooooo I will just click publish post now. :)

The R-Word

2010-03-16T09:39:00.000-07:00

I direct you click the title of this post and check out the website within... Go ahead..... I'll wait for you to come back.

Got it? Good.

I warn you NOW! Do not click play on the following YouTube video if racial language, comedy, or discussions disturb you in any way.

Here is the point of all this. Go around and ask people if they know what the "R-Word" is. Is this where we are headed folks? Now, I am not proclaiming that we need to protect the word retard. Applied in the wrong fashion towards some people it can be deemed highly offensive and inappropriate. But, in the grand scheme of the English language it is just a word. I would lean toward the belief that in it's lifespan, the word retard has gone from being clinical and descriptive to just down right insulting. What changed? How did it get to the point that websites and campaigns headed up by actors are driving to banish the word all together. What is the main goal of these projects anyways? If the word retard is replaced by the R-word, haven't we just created a disguise for the word to live on anyways? If people walk around saying the R-word as often as they would have said retard, aren't we defeating the purpose? Now "The R-word" has the same exact meaning as "retard". It's how we are masking the capability to say a hot-button word without actually saying it. It's what has been done to the N-word and the F-word. I bet a majority of the people who will read this post know right away which two words I just made reference to. I fully disclose that I am not the most experienced person at using all these words in the proper context, so I don't go around using them as my everyday vocabulary. But, have we somehow weakened the words nigger and faggot cause we transformed them into letters? In my opinion, no. Oh, and didn't the F-word use to be the word Fuck? When and why did this switch happen? I guess we said the word fuck enough times as a daily way of life that it's harshness as a bad word was downgraded over the years.

I am not attempting to dilute the power of racial, ethnic or sexual slurs. They carry with them traditions and precedents that will long outlive me. I just wonder though. Where is the power in these words? Isn't it in our reactions to them and how we teach others how to react to them? The manner in which a word said as matter-of-factly as pointing out someones eye color might lead a young child to believe that the word is harmless. By the same token, that same word treated as if you just set off the nuclear bomb of bad words would tend to skew someone into treating it very dangerously. Now, this is not to say we could relearn the entire population of the United States of America to suddenly act all the same towards all words. I just wonder though. If I had a child and from the very day it stepped foot on this earth I treated the word "desk" as the D-word, wouldn't my child treat that word just the way we all seem to treat these other "Letter" words?

I'm just deriving from the original content that George Carlin so famously provided us in one of his many HBO Comedy Hour stand-up specials. Combine that with 4 years of steadily listening to the Outside-the-box genius that is The Opie and Anthony radio show starring Jim Norton and you have my current mind state. I am simply applying it to the current Hot word of the moment. I'm not screaming out slippery slope here, but why did this trend even start to begin with? Here is a simple Internet search of "Definition of retard."

Main Entry: re·tard·ed
Pronunciation: \ri-ˈtär-dəd\
Function: adjective
Date: 1895
sometimes offensive : slow or limited in intellectual or emotional development or academic progress

re·tard1 (r-tärd) KEY
VERB:
re·tard·ed, re·tard·ing, re·tards
VERB:tr.
To cause to move or proceed slowly; delay or impede.
VERB:intr.
To be delayed.
NOUN A slowing down or hindering of progress; a delay.
Music A slackening of tempo.

Retard : (noun)
1: a person of subnormal intelligence [syn: idiot, imbecile, cretin, moron, changeling, half-wit] (verb)
1: slow the growth or development of; "The brain damage will retard the child's language development" [syn: check, delay]
2: cause to move more slowly or operate at a slower rate; "This drug will retard your heart rate"
3: be delayed
4: lose velocity; move more slowly; "The car decelerated" [syn: decelerate, slow, slow down, slow up] [ant: accelerate]

Isn't this what the word means? Wasn't it intended to describe a certain mental capacity? Or as a way to describe a state of growth in any living creature? Trust me, I know how the word retarded can be used in an insulting manner as well. I'm not that naive. I just think that perhaps we are spending far too much time coming up with ways to prevent each other from offending one another. This just seems to me like we are trying to protect the children and the weak far too much on a fight that isn't really make or break. Maybe we can look at this debate from a different angle and wonder if bad words are really bad or if they are just words? Anybody can call me retarded. Truth be told, they might actually be describing me accurately. I just hope nobody calls me the R-word.

Story Continuation...

2010-03-15T13:10:00.000-07:00

As most of my fellow bloggers know, we are doing a writing project amongst all us bloggers. It started with BHW writing a paragraph, and then she tagged Alien, who followed with a second paragraph, and so on, and so on. This time, I was tagged to write the next paragraph in the story. One paragraph each. So, as it is Monday, here is what I came up with. What follows is the story so far and the final paragraph will be my contribution...

The sun was edging on the horizon, peaking through silver slits of clouds. She sat there watching, waiting for the end of days. On this day she had wished for a fresh new start. Oblivious to what was really happening to her. She couldn’t shake that feeling of being watched. She didn’t know who or why, but she felt it.

She looked over her shoulder, but saw nobody there. The feeling stayed with her as she got up and start to walk back toward the house. A rustling in the bushes caught her attention as she nervously peered in, squinting to see who or what was there. A squirrel ran out and toward the large oak tree. She jumped, but knew that wasn’t what made the noise. She looked in again and said in a low-pitched squeak, ‘Hello?’

There was no reply. She didn’t really think she’d get one, but it was worth a shot. The only way to really know what was back there, was to suck it up and take a second, better look. This time, she carefully separated the branches to be able to see better in the back of the bushes. At first it just looked like a large rock, but then she saw the two thin arms, bent and reaching up to cover his head. It was a young boy, curled up in the fetal position, and trying to make himself disappear.

During such strange times, she expected to wake up and realize she was just dreaming. At this moment, however, she realized this was all too real. Her head started to get tight, her heart hammered threateningly. She couldn’t run away from this scene, not with a child lying helplessly at her feet. She carefully knelt down, took the wool scarf from around her neck and quickly wrapped up the child, sheltering him from the cold, bitter wind that had suddenly whipped through the trees. She cradled and comforted the boy in her arms and stood up. Just inches behind where she stood, a thick branch snapped.

She gasped and instinctively clutched at the child more tightly. She froze, waiting. She could feel the boy trembling in her arms, his eyes still shut tightly against whatever was happening to him. Finally, when no other sounds disturbed the uneasy peace of the morning , she stepped quickly onto her porch and opened her front door awkwardly. She had been raised in a group home and had helped to care for many, many younger children over the years. Thinking back to what had been comforting, she settled herself in the old wooden rocker she'd found set out at someone's curb and began to rock slowly and steadily, humming almost under her breath to the small boy huddled miserably against her.

Humming turned to singing. Because she held him tightly and he seemed like a baby in her arms, instinctively she sang "Rock a bye baby, on the tree top, when the wind blows, the..." She stopped suddenly - common sense prevailed. The poor boy was too old for that song - and he didn't need to hear that "the cradle will fall." Neither did she. She started in again, slowly singing "you are my sunshine, my only sunshine..", falling into a reverie, taken away to arms that once held her. The boy slowly settled down. Even the wind was calmed by the singing of her song.

She allowed her rocking to slow and her song to turn to hum. Keeping in rhythm with the chair, she rose to her feet and carried the sleeping boy to the sofa. Head now cradled on the velveteen pillow, the boy sighed and rolled to his side, face passive in the soft light. She pulled a throw over him, and reached out to pick a twig from his hair. Her touch caused him to move his head back. Even in sleep, the boy was cautious. It was then that she noticed the key strung about his neck on a simple leather lace. Careful not to wake him, her fingers spider light, she lifted the key for a better look. It was small, delicate and possibly made of silver, an odd key with two shafts. She could not help but wonder what such a key would open and why it would be strung around this boy’s neck.

His clothes were tattered and well worn. She thought that he must have been out there all alone struggling to survive for all that time. Still she was curious as to why he was alone. He was one of the few lucky ones. Other's before him had tried in vain to escape. As she turned to the kitchen, she caught out of the corner of her eye this small box laying just under the table. It wasn't there before she thought. Or was it? Maybe the little boy had it in his few belongings? She bent down to retrieve it and as she did, in this strained and yet a quiet voice he says "don't touch it!" She turned back to the boy and he was sitting up. Unsure of his surroundings, he asks "where am I?" She says, "you're in my house". "How long have I been here?" She wasn't sure how to respond because she didn't know. "I think it has been a few days, maybe a week." "I found you just outside curled up in the bushes". "You are very lucky that I found you when I did", she tells him. "I'm not sure if you would've survived out there much longer". She was wanting to ask him about the key. But it was too soon. First, she would get some food and fresh water into him and another night's rest before inquiring about it.

She started to prepare the boy a bowl of her homemade oatmeal recipe, a recipe that had so lovingly been passed down from generation to generation in her family. It was actually the stuff of legends in this small town; a winner of many county fairs. She knew it would just warm the boy up, not just in body, but in spirit as well. She filled the bowl and walked towards the boy, but her smile quickly dissipated into a face of pure terror. She couldn’t quite make out what it was, but the boy was now on the floor, carving something into her floor. She tried to peek at the design, but he turned around swiftly and screamed at the top of his lungs, “You are the one they warned me about! They told me you would try to take my box!” An then her came towards her with his makeshift blade…

He slashed her and cut her left forearm clean. She clutched her wound towards her chest and fell backwards next to the kitchen table. With the boy fast approaching with murder in his eyes and fresh blood on his blade, she did the only thing she could to survive. She grabbed the box. She swung around and faced him. The pure terror drained from his eyes and turned into panic. He dropped his blade and fell to his knees. He held his hands out toward the box as his fears came to a realization. The blood from her arm had dripped onto the box and what was once aged and rotten had become finished and pristine. The state of shock she was in prevented her from noticing the transformation. He could only bow at witnessing the far reaching powers of the LLC, but he could not fail at his mission. Quicker than a hiccup, he lunged at her and knocked the box from her grasp. He shoved her aside and took the box as his own once again. The box took on it's original form and the boy spoke once again.....

I really wanted to go into my dialogue and name these characters, but I will stick to the one paragraph format and let yall do what ya do. Hope this helped. Thanks for letting me contribute kind sir.

I am Part 2

2010-03-13T22:35:00.000-08:00

A year later. 23 posts in and I am back to a familiar tale. :)

I don't even know where to start. I don't even know what emotion to feel or how to express it. I don't even have someone I can really talk to about it. There is just a difference between someone who will listen and someone who will care. I've given no one any good reason to really care about how I act or how I feel. I think I have hit the end of ways to distract myself from reality. I'm just tired of being there for everyone else. I'm tired of being the guy who fills in when others drop the ball. I am jealous and I am hateful and I am alone.

This is exactly what i wanted all along. It's exactly what i worked towards and I am where I should be. Through no other effort of anyone else. The outside influences on my life and how I live it have had little to do with how I got to this very moment. I have no real mission. I have no real goal. I have no main journey I want to go on. I am misery loving company personified. And, when others rise up and move on and leave me behind it is truly for the better. I am happy for those in my life that overcome and arise from down times to become something else. Not that they have arrived and can relax and relax in stability. Something in me makes me feel like everyone else knows something I don't and I can't figure it out for the life of me.

I just reread my first post in this blog and see how the rest of these past 10 months play out as if it's a repeating track on an album. Same story since I was 18. Goes exactly the same. No guidelines. No outline to follow. No faith or belief. Nothing to wake up to and work on. Nothing to fall asleep thinking about. At this very moment, I am a flash in the pan, short attention span, YouTube video that gets no views. Shoot, I think I've taken to a borderline begging by posting this damn thing on other sites. meanwhile, who wants to read this short of garbage from anyone, let alone someone who loathes the way people use social networking to manipulate others.

I am the unplanned accident. I am the backup plan. I am the third wheel. I am the squeaky wheel that complains that no one hears his squeaks. I am the empty nightclub on open mic night. I am the opposite of proper rehab. I am the nice guy who isn't as nice as he thinks he is. I am the man in the pink polo who should have held onto what was in his hand. I am the passenger in a cruising vehicle. I am the returning phone call. I am the ignored text. I am the martyr who hasn't really ever done anything martyr worthy. I am the organizer who asks the wrong people the wrong questions.

I am finally exactly where I need to be to write. :)

Monday. Chapter One. :)

Timing

2010-03-01T19:52:00.000-08:00

Rather than my normal attempts to analyze my day-to-day I will try to come up with a solid thought and develop it and go from there. :)The project was derailed by a sense that I would be creating unnecessary drama for the sake of my writing. I'm just not that guy. Not yet anyways. Or, I don't wanna be that guy anymore.

Have you ever had this thought? The more I know about my friends the more I don't want to be friends with them? Okay, maybe not anything that drastic. I'm well aware that the flaws and admirable traits in our friends are what make them worth knowing in the first place. I suppose it's more to this point. I guess I just didn't want to know certain things about people. I would prefer an "All-In" type deal. Either I know it all or I don't know a damn thing. It makes things more predictable. The more information I have, the more complex I am capable of making things. Like a math equation. 1+1=2. Simple. No variables. Nothing to cloud the predictable conclusion of the equation. One might interject and saying this sorta of concept leads to a dull, lifeless journey. My reply, as of this moment in my life, is I know way too many people leading a fairly common equation of a life. I like to believe that I am the complex variable walking around messing things up for folks. Egotistical? Probably, but it only really comes out in my writing. It's where I drop my phony tough act and reveal my crazy brave. I'm rambling though, so back on point.

I tend to believe that I know too many people who leave a hole to fill-in the blank for me to discover how to solve a puzzle when it comes to interacting with them. While writing this I can, in full disclosure, admit that I'm probably just as guilty of this behavior as anyone I know. Perhaps the reason I dislike this sorta phenomenon is just a sideways version of hating myself. Didn't I say I was gonna drop the self-reflection at the beginning of this blog? Whoops. At the heart of all this is I think I don't really know anyone. Not deep down knowing to the point where they got my complete trust and faith. Getting bits and pieces of filler has made me question whether or not I still like some people. How do I treat folks if I have this pebble stirring up my mind pond?
Am I as honest and open as I proclaim to be? I use to always tell an old phone chat bud of mine that I tend to go through things 5 years after they would have been useful experiences. Is this something everyone else already figured out how to deal with while I ignored that life test?

Maybe this is just an example of over thinking life. Not everything is as clear cut as a resume. I can't treat people like a background check. Variables are the things that make life worth going through. Even if I knew everything about people would that make it that much better? And, if all my friends were simple to figure out they wouldn't exactly be worth knowing. Guess this all just leads back to grey area and perspective on how to approach the next chapter. Just turn the page and fill the blank white sheet with something worth talking about.

As a random aside, does anyone else laugh at the commercials for beenverified.com? Is that how we are really gonna get to know people from now on? Introduction and my paperwork? I know it sound like a bit a comedian would tear into, but can you picture the scenario? Blind date, you meet the girl at a bar and get into a drink or two as you exchange pleasantries and bits of info the girl excuses herself. Takes out her IPhone and with a few keystrokes and a monthly membership, beenverified.com has informed your blind date bout the arrest you had back in 2003. I'm not sure how detailed the reports are, but if you gave even one lie during that initial chat it's over. Can't lie bout my age cause this overly cautious ass just verified my birth date. Maybe this commercial was the real inspiration for this blog. Maybe we shouldn't know everything before the movie actually starts. Just sit back, relax and enjoy the FN movie folks.

My Attitude

2010-02-11T23:45:00.000-08:00

I have a bad attitude. There, I said it. I don't know where it all started or why it has carried on for soo many years. It just has been an underlying theme to my character and it has made me a flawed person. I have evidence dating back to 1993 (that I recently viewed) that shows it and it has carried me to soo many different places in life. It pours right through a TV screen. I always reasoned that it was one of my few personality quirks. It was that line of thinking that made it acceptable to be that way a majority of the time. If enough people told me I was a certain way then I guess I was just that way by default. I never really examined it or thought of the consequences of being that way. I just went with what became familiar. I'm sure this attitude has led to more than one person questioning how I came to be friends with certain people who are undoubtedly not as negative as I am. It strikes me now, as I write this, that I have probably had this aura about me and it has deflected many good possibilities in my life. It doesn't matter how often my actions or words prove I have something decent in me. If my protective shield of attitude is up why would anyone bother to fight through it?

The offset of this attitude leads me to the the next portion of this writeup that shows one and all how to still be a winner while maintaining Loser status. I had to have done something to still have friends and not be the complete hermit I often lean towards being. Something must give people a reason to put up with my sarcasm and overall asshole flair that I throw at people on most occasions. My take is that I am loyal to a fault and stand up for any and all people who have shown me even an ounce of kindness. I'm an emotional conversationalist who listens pretty well and gives out useful advice. I say yes to practically anything if asked. I will take stands and stick by them, even to the point of absurdity. I like to think I live via the "truth" more often than not, even if it's just my own version of the truth. I will even pick up the slack when the load isn't being carried by others responsible for said load.

If the previous paragraph just came off as an ego trip then I do apologize for my miscommunication. I was simply trying to explore the many ways I have learned to camouflage my bad attitude. I have managed to stay socially acceptable in my tiny community of friends and family in spite of my sourpuss. Don't get me wrong, at the end of the day one has outweighed the other and presented me with my current obstacles to hurdle. I would be better off losing the attitude. It's a cloud that always will ruin mine and others day. Sure, 31 years has managed to teach me ways around my furrowed brow. Something tells me that I am going down a lonely path if I don't fix it rather than putting band-aids on the problem.

So, there it is. How to cover a pissy attitude. If I'm being honest with myself I never really covered it or hid it well. As I stated earlier, I can see it through the TV screen and visual documentation is a bitch. I did always know that I couldn't be bitch made and act like one as well. I'd be infinitely punchable if that was the case. Maybe this was my form of adapting to the situation in order to survive while maintaining my initial sense of self. Maybe that's an extravagant way of saying I was a jerk and liked it for no good reason. Well My brain is empty for the moment. Guess I will try waking up and walking outside and enjoying my time, cause it's always running out and I'm tired of wasting it.

The new project

2010-02-01T23:46:00.000-08:00

This is the beginning of a new trend in this blog. I know that i tend to self-destruct anything I do before it even has a chance to take off, so I will refrain from the norm. I just figured if I had a title for this venture it might go in a direction. Not sure if it will be a good or bad thing that it will have a central idea to carry it throughout the next couple months. I just know that my randomness is no longer "slacker cute". Segue into the reason for the new title. I've seen this sort of idea transform into something larger. Notebooks and mission statements and diaries turned into books. This will be my forum for brainstorming and exploring the attic that is my brain. Doing a couple of searches I have found that this POV has a level of originality to it and this excites me. Hell, if you input "A loser's Guide to being a winner" into Google your first hit will be my site. After a few posts hopefully it will gather momentum. Here it goes....

I have this idea that seems pretty logical. It's probably for a small market of male sports fans, but the 18-34 male demographic is a large sampling. I think this would connect with a good enough percentage of them to make it worth while. It's not an invention and I don't have any legal way to sell my wares, but it fits the current entertainment model. It's just not a readily available product. Here's what I mean.

We all own or know people who own DVD box sets of old TV Shows. Plenty of folks use digital media outlets to form their own collection of certain shows as well. Itunes, Netflix and Amazon.com are places that provide access to said shows. These sites make it even easier to own specific episodes of shows as opposed to having to spend money on unwanted media. It seems to make little sense. Why watch a show you already watched before, especially something episodic? I'd argue several reasons exist for this need to freshen a memory of an entertaining moment. People have been reading favorite books over and over again for many years. Others out there watch favorite movies constantly and have owned copies of movies in Beta, VHS, Laser disc, DVD and BluRay all to relive the same hour and a half. It's a fairly common obsessive behavior.

Where is my twist on this? Today, being the Loser that I am, I was finally able to duplicate a piece of film that might never see the light of day on free TV. Back in 2004, I popped in a VHS tape and recorded the marathon replay of games 4-7 of the 2002 NBA Western Conference Finals featuring the Sacramento Kings and the L.A. Lakers. I have had this tape for over 6 years now and in that time I have never seen all 4 games replayed ever on ESPN Classic or NBAtv. Maybe one or two of the games, but not all 4. It's a sports fan's gold nugget of nostalgic happiness. The outcome is always the same and it still pretty much sucks, but those games and that era and time in my life are just happy. It's the type of series and games and events that makes people write books, pen movies or dedicate art. I know it just seems like dumb sports to some folks, but it really does matter that much to a guy like me. To the point that I went out of my way that day back in 2004 to make sure I recorded all those games. Yes, I'm sure folks out there did the same during the original live broadcasts back in 2002 and people are out there who have copies of all 7 games of that series. I wish I had that foresight, but nevertheless I have what I got.

Soooo, what did 8 hours of digitally transferring VHS to Mpeg-4 video onto my hard drive eventually cause me to think of one question. Why can't people buy individual games or series like the one previously mentioned? I understand the legal ramifications of duplication and profiting off the visual media owned by a professional sports league. It's the reason I was never able to copy this VHS tape over to a DVD without buying my own transfer machine. Walgreens or any other store will not touch professional sports events. I am also aware of the few examples of such media being able to be purchased. I own a copy of Super Bowl 43 thanks to Itunes. I own a DVD boxset of the 2008 Boston Celtics championship season that has several games from the 2008 NBA Finals I can watch at any time. But, these are large scale events and are fairly recent as far as when the game took place. What about special, specific games that have meaning to a select few? October 5th, 2000. I have no real reason why it all came together how it did, but the first game I ever attended at Pac Bell Park in San Francisco was to watch Game 2 of the NLDS between the Giants and the NY Mets. Thanks to JT Snow, I was almost throw off the top of the stadium and only 2 other people will know exactly what I am talking about. But, this game will never be replayed on any TV channel cause it ended in a Giants loss. How difficult would it really be for MLB to have some kind of write up link on the main website stores to be able to requests games like this? I'm not purchasing these things to replay the games and charge people money to watch em. I just want to see them.

Is it so unrealistic to believe other are out there like me? As much as it might hurt a vast majority of the local Sacramento Kings fans to relive an inevitable outcome, I'd bet I could sell a few copies of this new DVD I will own. Having had to live through the rotten product that has been the Sacramento Kings basketball team over the past couple years, seeing the golden era of Kings basketball would be a treat. I could sell my bootleg copies outside Arco Arena and I would get a couple of buys. They were great basketball games. It was a fun time. It was great to be a fan. And, much like I will re watch all 6 seasons of Dawson's Creek I am sure there is a market for this idea that I have.

This close to being a success and a winner, but I am restricted by laws and thus lose out yet again. I have gold and I have buyers, but I can't win for losing. Thus, we have episode one complete. I am a winner in soo many ways for having a love for certain things that make me happy and I know what does it for me. And, my loser way to do it keeps me from gaining anything but a slap on the back from a friend or two. Awe shucks. :)

The Plan.

2010-01-20T17:27:00.000-08:00

I figure if I write this down it will have some strange powers over me that will attract me back to the stage and I'll perform my keyboard artistry on a much broader scale.

Side note.........Coming back to the keyboard a couple minutes later and re-reading that first line I feel obligated to apologize. Only in writing do I feel a need to be an egomaniac and a douchey poet. :)...........

A blog contract with myself cause I've always been big on words and not soo much with the action. Perhaps this could be my first step into a new career/life/experience. I stated it earlier, but if I say the details behind it and expose my ideas to all 7 of my fans maybe it will just happen. I always hear about people who are suddenly successful not being able to explain how it all got to that point. It just kinda started with an idea and became larger than life. Not to say I have an invention that will change the world. Far from it, I just like to believe that it's not really coincidence anymore that I hear similar things from people I never would have thought cared or thought about it or me. On with the main event.

I am going to start sending out weekly email episodic chapters to a story I will write fresh the day before I send out said email. I will select a tiny group of those I feel will have some kind of interest in the project. They will get the initial offerings and be posed with a responsibility to the project that will let me know if it's worth extending beyond my limited reach. If the episodes suck, I hope they all tell me and I can refrain from sending anymore emails to those friends about said project. If it needs improvement and they have suggestions I want that to come back to me. If they feel I have a good initial idea and first couple of episodes, I would love for them to forward on these emails to others they know. I want this to become a story worm that grows beyond my contact list. If those outside the group are attracted to the story I can then pull that email and grow my "story fanclub". This will take the burden off my initial group to continuously be forwarding emails once a week for my sake. I will then simply make an offering that if my fanclub is able or properly inspired to go to a link I have on my Blog. It is a PayPal link to the mrvideoguy book club. Donations will never be mandatory, but greatly appreciated. I actually have no idea how on the up-and-up doing something like that will be. Perhaps I'll research that further, but it's not like I'm asking people to donate to a phony charity. I'm outright saying if you like my writing/book help a broke brotha out and pay me. Just not in that harsh a tone and what not. :) I realize items like Kindle and amazon book readers are trending books and literature towards a more modern media and I know mine is not a new idea. I'm just hoping that tweaks to a few borrowed ideas will make mine a new way to read and buy art. That's what most people would consider fictional writing. A form of art. I have not decided which story to go with. Maybe y'all can help. Choice one is "I'll Be Waiting". Not quite romance novel and not really comedic. Somewhere in between. Guess this is what I get for watching Romantic Comedy movies all my life. Choice two would be "The Loser's guide to being a winner...or is it the other way around." That title is pretty self explanatory. I'd just be fictionalizing myself. Feedback is appreciated.

Side note..........wonder if I should post this one on FB? Suppose it reaches more people that way. Doubt everyone check my blog site on the daily. Oh and did I just find a way to burn chicken nuggets? Crackhead..........I'll ponder that one

I also have this first draft I've been twirling in my head for far too long. I've told too many people I would get to it and try it and blah blah blah. By the end of the month this crappy first version will be written. I've done crappy, half-assed first versions of books before and wow did that suck. I just need to see it all out on a screen or paper and see what clicks about it. How it comes together as a story. If it's actually a story worth creating and developing. I need to know if it's interesting to more people than just myself. Nothing new bout the story, just the approach and POV. I just owe someone a package and it has a real deadline. :)

2 items. Real talk and things that will happen. I have to know or else I'll just be living at home with my parents wondering why the rest of the world did me wrong when it was just a matter of effort. :) Good luck to those who are apart of all this and hope you enjoy the Wes Slater experiment. I can't help but do goofy, strange tortured artist writer stuff like I just did cause it comes so easily to me. There ya go.

The day I peaked

2010-01-20T00:51:00.000-08:00

Time for an "Up way too late" entry. These usually produce two responses. People read this and say nothing in an attempt to forget that they read it. OOOOOR, they read it and say "Good one Richie" and virtually pat me on the head via Internet connection. Either way, Yeeeah for me!

I noticed something on my parents table the other day on a trip home for free food and laundry. My 8th grade yearbook, otherwise known as my Junior High yearbook.

Side note...........I didn't know 7th and 8th grade were referred to as Junior High by the rest of the world until I was in College.......I'm dumb.

Any hows, 8th grade yearbook. St. Lawrence Elementary School. 1991-92. I got to see my fun pictures. Anyone who has ever seen my school yearbook picture from 7th grade followed quickly by seeing my 8Th grade picture notices something very obvious. If my memory serves me right, It was the shift from 155 pounds to 135 pounds. I replaced the weight with huge glasses and a wonder Filipino Fro hairdo. It was one of those rare moments in my life where I clearly noticed that girls actually noticed me. Not gonna sit here and say 20 pounds changed me from Kevin James to Brad Pitt, just it clearly gave everyone that "Rich had a good summer" moment. This didn't lead to anything at all. I was still a limited allowance having doofus who was deathly afraid of any semblance of what is commonly referred to as a "Date". It was probably my first steps into "Guy-friend" territory, which has been a common place for me over the years. That said, here is the final outcome of all that rambling from the past paragraph.

Why didn't I call any of the girls that left me yearbook phone numbers?

It was my single hottest moment ever in my life for getting numbers from girls. Granted, I realize it wasn't an invitation to become close friends with people I had been going to school with for a solid 8 years in some cases. As with most things at that age, it was just what everyone else did. I'm sure some of my other friends got plenty more numbers in their yearbooks than I ever thought of getting, but even still. It was a glimmer of hope. My summer of transition might have actually garnered a year's worth of approval from some of my classmates. They could have just wrote that they would miss me and it's been a fun couple years. KIT. (Keep In Touch for the yearbook illiterate). Sure, I was a stammering, silent non-improvising ass on the phone the couple of times it was a female on the other end back in those days. Nevertheless, what wonderful training it would have provided for my venture into High School. An entire summer worth of attempting something out of the box. What's the worst that could have happened? I alienate 4 different girls that i was never going to see again in my life anyways?

Side note............Over the next 6 years after 1992, I would actually run into 3 out of the 4 girls who did leave me numbers..........Oh the possibilities.

I could have spent countless hours trying to come up with ways these calls would play out in my head. 2 out of the 4 girls were pretty according to my 1992 "attractive girl " radar. I wouldn't have been pounded during school weeks for my countless phone call follies. I was out on my own and would have only been exposed from the few degrees of separation i still had with the majority of the class since I was in the "cool" circle. Hard to believe, I know. Go with it for the sake of the story. It would have properly prepared me for the missed moments I would encounter while attending a private all-boys school. STOP IT! I did actually run into girls while going to Jesuit as well, so stop your brains from making the male-love jokes. For example, I was leaving the school late in December. I was no longer on the football team, so I became a after-school janitor to help pay for school. I would be round the facility till 5-6pm. I was at my locker getting my books for the night when 3 girls passed by me. They were heading to the gym for a basketball game I believe. Then it happens.

"Do You think I have a big butt?"

That's what the girl in the middle shouted out to me. All three of them stop a good 10 feet away from me. I, shocked, turn to face the girls and say, "What?" I wasn't that sly folks. I wasn't trying to get her to come over or repeat it even though I had already clearly heard the words. It was my instinctual reaction. Middle girl repeats her question while her butt is prominently turned towards me. It was dark and she was wearing dark clothing, so i really couldn't get a clear look. And if ever an opportunity presented itself to insert myself into the conversation this was it.

"Nope."

That's the best I could come up with. They laughed and walked away and I turned back to my books and closed my locker and left. That's the end of the story. What in the hell 14 year-old RICH!? How many different ways to really answer that question exist? Shut your locker and walk over and get a better look. Ask her if you can get a better look. Take a real risk and grab it if she's feeling frisky at asking a complete stranger bout her butt size, maybe it's all fair game. Tell her that it's quite big, but that you like big butts. ANYTHING. Just not the answer I came with.

Don't give me that oh it's just history and past and we all have stuff like that speech folks. That's one of those "Dawson's Creek" defining High School moments that cause everything else to turn into a different direction. I truly believe those types of moments existed and still exist. I just have never seen them while they occurred. Causing what you see before you today. Hmmmm Maybe I should still call those numbers and attempt to KIT and then I can start all over again. Just another version of my I'm always a couple years late to experience something that would have actually mattered 2 years ago theory. Long title for a theory, but if you read this and know me I am all about 15 words to describe a 3 word moment.

Sooooooooooo, in closing I give a shout out to my Peak moment of getting hookups, numbers, etc etc.

Andrea (Bobo)
Sabrina
Kristi
Lisa

I see y'all and thanks for the smiles and laughs. Good times folks. Maybe I didn't call y'all cause I was more upset that Amber and Shannon didn't leave me a number. Glass half empty had me ignoring glass half full chicks. :)

Drugs are baaaaaaaaad! :)

An unoriginal column about the Baseball Hall of Fame

2010-01-06T23:01:00.000-08:00

"They should start calling it the Hall of very good cause they are letting anyone into that club now." ----Edward Bauer

This is a point that my Father likes to make once a year when the newest entrants into Baseball Hall of Fame are announced. This year, we have one person selected to join a once prestigious collection of people who excelled in our Nation's favorite pastime. Andre Dawson, in his ninth year of eligibility, finally received the 75 percent voting approval needed from the 539 members of the Baseball Writers Association of America to punch his ticket to the Hall of Fame. Two other former players, Roberto Alomar and Bert Blyleven, fell less than 10 votes short of the 75 percent cutoff mark and will have to wait till next year for another opportunity to be admitted. Now, before I go into detail on these three individuals and their Hall of Fame credentials I would like to introduce you to the condensed version of the actual voting procedure and process for said Hall.

The Baseball Writers Association of America are responsible for the general candidacy, election and eventual enshrinement of Hall of Fame players. The electors are active writers and members of the association. This year, 539 electors participated. Within the 539 members is an elected committee of 6 members who run the candidacy board. These 6 members prepare a ballot for the others cause there is no "write-in" votes for this Hall. After that ballot is prepared, the 539 members were all allowed to vote for no more than 10 eligible candidates. No weight is given to any kind of ordering in each member's vote. It's a basic "in or out" vote for all the members. You tally all the ballots of the 539 members and if a name appears on 75 percent of the ballots, that candidate is IN. Simple enough, but we are talking about human error here folks and this is where it veers of the logical path.

Not one single player has ever been an unanimous choice to be inducted into the Hall of Fame. In 1992, Tom Seaver attained the highest percentage for an elected candidate when he was on 98.8 percent of the ballots that year. This clearly shows how subjective the vote is and this goes against the objective nature of how numbers driven the sport of Baseball has always been. Over the past few years we have seen Cal Ripken Jr., Tony Gwynn and Rickey Henderson all get elected and out there walking around writing professionally about Baseball are writers who did not vote for them to get into the Hall of Fame. (Insert Jerry Sienfield voice) Who are these people? (End of Sienfield impersonation) I would love to have a conversation with one of the 8 people who decided to omit Cal Ripken Jr. from there ballot in 2007. Did they somehow find a way to vote for 10 other people before Ripken Jr.? Did they just decide to vote for Tony Gwynn and leave the rest of the ballot empty? There is a documentary or book just waiting to be written about these people. A preliminary title for said book/movie could be "Baseball's Biggest Douche bags." Oh, and one final thought. Tom Seaver may have been a great pitcher, but how exactly did he get a higher percentage of his vote than some of his Hall of Fame contemporaries? Nolan Ryan, Johnny Bench, Babe Ruth, Mickey Mantle, Cy Young to name a few. Cy Young has a freaking award named after him given to the best pitcher in each league every year, but he got 76 percent on his vote?

Another yearly occurrence with the Hall of Fame vote is the increase in voting percentage for eligible candidates that, in some cases, leads to their eventual induction. For example, Andre Dawson has been apart of 9 voting processes since 2002. He has gone from the initial percentage of 45 to 77 in that span of 9 voting periods. WHY? His statistical numbers have been exactly the same. Nothing has changed about the baseball career of Andre Dawson. Did he donate his kidney to someone? Is he running a charitable organization that is providing an extra sock for all the men out there who lost a sock in the dryer? Dawson has always been in the 400 HR- 300 SB club with Willie Mays and Barry Bonds since he retired. It's as if the electors are making these candidates pay their dues to get into the damn club. Further evidence of this is by looking at Bert Blyleven's percentages. Copy Paste on this one people. :)

1998 BBWAA (17.5%)
1999 BBWAA (14.1%)
2000 BBWAA (17.4%)
2001 BBWAA (23.5%)
2002 BBWAA (26.3%)
2003 BBWAA (29.2%)
2004 BBWAA (35.4%)
2005 BBWAA (40.9%)
2006 BBWAA (53.3%)
2007 BBWAA (47.7%)
2008 BBWAA (61.9%)
2009 BBWAA (62.7%)
2010 BBWAA (74.2%)

Bert Blyleven is 5th on the all-time Career Strikeouts list with 3,701. FIFTH! FIF!
2 more years and Bert is just gonna be a footnote in Hall of Fame lore. I know I am an extreme outsider who is simply doing Internet searches for most of this information, but it just doesn't seem to follow any kind of simple logic. Is this some strange voting anomaly that was just not anticipated once the voting process was put into place?

Now, I'd like to address Roberto Alomar and his first year of eligibility fail when it comes to getting into the Hall of Fame. Copy Paste once more. It's just stats people, so it's not really plagiarism.

A 12-time All-Star second baseman, Alomar led Toronto to consecutive World Series titles in 1992-93. He finished with a .300 career batting average, 2,724 hits, 210 homers, 474 steals and 10 Gold Gloves.

As a second baseman, Alomar's career stats are comparable to the likes of current Hall of Fame second baseman like Joe Morgan, Rod Carew, and Ryne Sandberg. What makes Alomar different from these men? Morgan and Carew were first time inductees. Sandberg had a three year wait. How long will Alomar have to wait? Especially with the likes of Rafael Palmeiro, Juan Gonzalez, Larry Walker, Jeff Bagwell, John Franco and Kevin Brown all becoming eligible next year. No doubt some of those future candidates are going to get some of the votes Alomar had this year. We are talking about a guy who was the premier player at his position for a decade. He was the leader of a team that won two World Series in a row. Guess we all have to wait for the "Roberto Alomar foundation for chronic spitting syndrome" to open it's doors in 2010 for him to get that good vibes momentum into next years vote. SOMEONE out there will get that last line.

One final note that this Hall of Fame voting process isn't about the baseball.

Mark McGwire 23.7 percent
583 Career Home runs.

McGwire has been in the low 20 percentile all four years of his eligibility. Is the Baseball Writers Association of America gonna hold a grudge for another 11 years to keep this guy out of the Hall? No matter the angle or opinion of the guy and the steroid era of baseball, McGwire has never been found guilty of any crime. He never tested positive for any banned substances while putting up his Hall of Fame numbers. I'm not naive enough to believe that it's impossible that McGwire did use PEDs (Performance Enhancing Drugs). But, are all these electors really basing a vote on what they think happened and not what they know happened? McGwire is just one example of subjective opinion guiding a voting process that begs for objectivity.

Then again, what do I know. I think Jennifer's Body is one of the best movies I saw in 2009. Time to go watch it again. :)

Feeling left behind

2010-01-04T04:49:00.000-08:00

Soooo, 15 posts is all I could muster after all this time? Rather than research when I decided to begin this solo blog project, I will just roll with it. Ya spend too much time pontificating on the minute details of each step in a journey and you eventually just forget to keep stepping. In my vain attempt at originality while fulfilling my need to entertain, here is how 2010 has to go.

I have to do things. Vague perhaps. True? More than you all will ever know. I am dangerously close to becoming a cliche and a cautionary tale. I won't go as far as to say I have been solely responsible for myself and well-being for the better part of 13 years. I still ask for help every now and again. But, it has limitations. I am about to turn into "help me" guy and it will undoubtedly alter my life if it happens. I find myself telling the same kinda of stories to explain or excuse my status. While it helps people understand, it has to come with a skeptical pondering of how did I respond to that moment. Guess this is that response. Least for January.

Intermission from the blog to make this one point. Ke$sha and her "Tik Tok" song need to pay respects to L'Trimm and "Cars that go boom". 20 years later and all Ke$ha did was throw in some auto-tune and different lyrics and keep it a lil more club dance. Otherwise check your similar rapping style at the door and tell Tigre and Bunny that you are all pop-rap goofs. Oh my gosh I'm quirky, blonde and white and I'm a month long fad. Random hatred for no good reason. :)

As I was saying, I have to do these things in January.

I have to find a job.
I have to start my episodic weekly book in an amateurish attempt to change the literary world.
I have to do my 150,000 word first draft of my basketball book.
I have to write on this blog all the time.

29 days left. Been up all night. Time to drain my OT with the bill and send it back on it's way home. :) Rabble Rock! Oh and catch phrases that make no sense do work cause someone said this end phrase back to me this weekend and that totally made my night. :)

10 minutes

2009-12-11T13:29:00.000-08:00

I just counted. 162 days. As I have wasted yet another minute of my life I look at that number and know without a shadow of a doubt it's the longest recorded period of inactivity in my lifetime. Longer than any summer vacation or year "to find myself". Longer than any semesters spent in private school screwing off. Longer than any trip to the East Coast. It's basically a football season. That's actually measured. The 2009-2010 NFL season has gone on and been witnessed by these eyes every weekend. Countless pizzas. Entire TV Show seasons on DVD. Life and death. Marriages and divorces. Births and the evolution $5 charm.

5 minutes left. I still don't really know what to do or who I am. I'm someone I'm suppose to be most of the time. I'm also someone that just witnesses. Ya know the funny thing about this moment. I hate writers who write for the sake of attention to nonsense. Or the moment that is important to them and somehow plays itself out into a guilt trip to the rest of the world. Not much is pure about a status update cause it just always screams "look at me". This is the case for everyone. People have twisted moments and language around and no one actually acknowledges that it's all just options and choices and privaleges. Laws and Rights are an abstract idea.

9 minutes. I did it again. Same spot I was in back in July. All on me though.

and the clock has stopped. Just a lil experiment in making myself speak the only way I truly know how. Be back in a minute. :)

New Moon

2009-11-20T02:24:00.000-08:00

Probably won't be the first or last person to feel compelled to write about this movie, but what the hell. I admit this won't really be a review as much as it is the feeling it stirs within me. This will be more of a commentary. Also, I do realize that taking about something I haven't written yet in the past tense is highly irregular. So is being awake at 233am to write about a movie cause my Dog kicked me out of my bed.

I preface my thoughts on the second in the series of Twilight movies by admitting I haven't read any of the books. This lack of knowledge is why I considered the first movie to be uninspired. Not that it makes sense financially, but I would have shortened everything from the first movie into 45 minutes and thrown it into the beginning of "New Moon". Twilight always felt like it wasn't really a story as much as it was a setup for everything to come. It is a success in that I felt very prepared to enjoy the complete story that is "New Moon". Is that grammatically proper? Quotes round a movie title? I'm sure I paid someone good money to teach me proper usage, but I find certain aspects of the written English language to be flexible. If you don't believe me then go back and read anything written in ye oldern times. Not too many bloggers or experienced columnists throwing out prose or Shakespearean tendencies. Nevermind all that. On to the meat of the story.

EVERY good story is a LOVE story. It's just wrapped in a different packages and presented in various ways. This is one of my few beliefs. Any good story I have ever written has been a form of a love story. It just always taps into the same space in all of us. We can all relate to the same exact emotions in all the possible Points of View. After seeing "New Moon", I completely understand how soo many people are enamored with the basic story. Especially women. Love, in it's best forms, always feels infinite and unbreakable. Full of absolutes and promises and vows. We ALL want love to be so extreme and that's why the story behind the books of the Twilight series works and why the movies are now going to really hit people.

The first movie assumed too much for the uninformed such as myself. Went from intro to "now you know" mode and then everything was life and death. That's where it lost me. Doesn't stand alone as a solid story. On the other hand, "New Moon" certainly stands on it's own based on the simple premise of the sequel or series movie trend. If you are going to see "New Moon", you more than likely saw the first one. It's justified in assuming certain "knowns" about the characters and the storyline. That all said, it got ME via the LOVE heavy storyline. Ya, werewolves and vampires certainly spice it all up. That's just the packaging. I will go ahead and make a blanket statement.

ONE of the forms of love in "New Moon" will hit you very hard.

This is what I mean. For purposes of this paragraph, I will keep using "You" to describe the reader as if I'm sitting right in front of you telling you this. OKAY? You have had the conversations Jacob, Edward and Bella have with each other. You have made the same promises. You have broken the same promises. You have done something in order to protect someone cause you cared too much. You have sat in that room wondering why the hole in your chest won't go away or fill back up. You have turned to someone else to help pull you out of the empty pit that is losing Love. You have had to make a choice. You have broken someones heart. You have acted impulsively in the name of love. You have had to figuratively pull someone out of the water and save them from themselves.

Somewhere in there is one that hits every single one of us. Maybe it's all of them or a lot of them. All those examples are broad in range. It's kind of the nature of Love in the first place. It's why we all experience it in such similar ways. Cause no one can really explain it as a route to travel or a test to prepare for. It just happens and human instinct takes over and cause of how similarly we all are made it makes us all say the same things.

"I would never hurt you like that. I promise you."
"I had to go to protect you from me. That's how much I love you."
"I can't imagine living in world that is without you."

Bet someone else reading this has actually said something like one of the 3 quotes I just listed. Then again, unless I advertise this puppy only about 5 people will read it, so screw that bet. I can't afford to lose any money right now.

Forget some of the nit picky personal things you can sometimes bring into a movie cause you have seen hundreds of them in your short lives. Try to not critique the acting. No one really know what a love triangle between a human, vampire and a wolf is suppose to look like. There is no reference point, so stop complaining bout Rob, Kristen and Taylor. Just focus and pay attention to what I have said. If I have said anything at all of course. I'm not really sure. I'm just typing here people. I'm not saying you have to cry along with the show or coooo with any dramatic dialogue. Just allow yourself to get lost in searching for the moment in "New Moon" that makes you say.............

"I know exactly how that feels."

To answer the question, yes I did like the movie. I am considering reading the books now. Edward sucks, Bella is cool, Alice is my style and oooooooh that Jacob. I understand the look to a degree, but at least one of the shirtless moments was just unnecessary. Call it being a hater or whatever makes you feel better, but just one less moment like that and I would have been cool with the whole look since it's a tribe/animal thing. Till next time. Hope that actually was a good read. Quick first draft writing and posting is a 50/50 thing for me. :)

The Corner of Van Maren Lane & Calvin Drive

2009-10-22T03:46:00.000-07:00

Episode 1

I didn't know how much I would miss my normal life till it was taken from me. My doctor told me that I would have to have to stay off my feet for close to 3 months with limited activity come the final month. Seemed like a simple request, but I had no idea the physical atrophy would only be surpassed by my mental atrophy. I didn't really know how far I could take this doing nothing agenda till I was told It was good for my health. I realize there are levels to resting and healing up and now I know what level I took it to. The most extreme form of apathy I've ever felt is probably an honest assessment of the situation. I asked myself a basic question recently. How do I shake this feeling off? My answer was to go for a walk.

It had to have been around noon time on a Thursday. I found some dirty, broken-in sneakers and slapped on my fancy knee brace and I ventured outside of my house. It had been awhile since I'd seen the outdoors. Don't get me wrong, I had done certain necessary things once in awhile that required my leaving my home prior to this day. Those always felt like chores though. This walk was my first return to my old life. It may have been a simple life, but it worked for me and it kept me sane. I could proudly say that I was a slightly mediocre adult who carried his weight and moved along quietly. Rock bottom has skewed my point of view now I can only look in the mirror and come up with other words to describe myself. Leech. Bum. Squatter. Heathen.

I was barely 50 feet into my neighborhood walk when I saw her. An old lady sitting on her bricked up sidewalk decorations waving a tiny American flag. I had seen here in the same spot hundreds of times over the past year. I would nod occasionally as I drove by her while she waved her flag proudly. This was the first time I was actually going to walk by her and be within speaking distance. Normally, I would have just kept pushing by as I gave some sorta faint acknowledgement that she existed. This was a different story. What was my hurry? I had no real responsibilities to attend to, so I might as well make something out of this day. I slowly strided towards her and introduced myself.

"Hello. My name is Wesley. How is your day going ma'am?"

The old lady waved her flag a couple of seconds after my initial statement and smiled as if to hide her bewilderment to being approached by me.

"Thank you kindly son. God bless you and God bless America."

I froze in shock. This elderly white haired, wrinkly skinned white woman was giving me a Jamaican accent. I almost burst out laughing on the spot. As soon as my eyebrows had come back down from signalling my initial shock I blurted out the next thing I could think of.

"Nice weather for late October wouldn't ya say?"

The old lady dropped her flag and began clapping her hands. She was applauding my statement. Then she began singing.

"I can seeee clearly now the rain is gone. I can seeee allll obstacles in my way. Gone are the dark clouds that had meeee down. It's gonna be a bright....bright... sun shiny day!"

My eyes once again could not disguise my first impression of this gem of a human being. I felt the urge to be bluntly reactionary with my next quip back at her, but I refrained. Something made me want to play this out in a very polite fashion. Seemed like the best way to go to keep the old lady going.

"Jimmy Cliff, right?"

She responded, "I always think of it at Johnny Nash's song."

The Old lady picked her flag up and waved it towards a couple of cars driving by us and all i could do was smile and nod in response to her musical overture.

"What's with the thing-a-majig attached to your leg, Wesley?"

I bent down and adjusted my right knee brace and attempted to pull the thinnest response possible. Anything to avoid reliving that incident.

"Just my first sign of old age. Lil weekend warrior soccer injury. No big deal."

"It certainly looks like a big deal. It goes from your ass to your ankle."

"Doctor told me I needed this to help speed up the recovery process, so anything he says goes."

The old lady gave me a once over and shrugged her shoulders in faint approval. I darted my eyes around in search of something bland to say in hopes of triggering a new response from my patriotic neighbor.

"Soooo, how long you been coming out on the street corner and waving that flag at passersby?"

As if I triggered a physical tick, the old lady began waving her flag back and forth in my direction.

" Ever since my husband and I moved out here. I'd say 8 years, give or take."

"That's amazing Maam. Why the American flag? Why not a Sacramento kings flag?"

The old lady put her head down in shame and said in whispered tones...

"Had to always remember 9-11. We can't never forget."

Seeing as how it was 2009, I didn't have the heart to try and delve deeper into her methods of madness. Plus, I was still fighting back laughters and screams from listening to her genuine Jamaician dialect. Besides, I knew I was one turn around the block from seeing the old lady again. Plenty of time to think of more bland chatter.

"It was nice meeting you. I do hope to chat more soon now that we know each other. Later Maam.

I could feel the flag going back and forth as I passed by to continue my walk. I couldn't get her voice out of my head. I figured I'd be back around in no time for the sun set. Crazy Old Lady

My nose

2009-10-02T16:06:00.000-07:00

My most powerful memory trigger is my nose. My sense of smell will always relocate my mind back into a place so far gone as to make me feel like an old man. The smells and memories tend to be the same. Probably cause I've lived in the greater Sacramento area for the past 30 years. No doubt a relocation might make some of the senses a lil brighter or duller, depending on my relocation. Anyways, this smell/memory trigger happened to me twice in one day a week back. One morning and one night.

I usually wake up around the same time every morning thanks to my lovely dog, Larry. I gotta respect that he is smart enough to be potty trained and when he signals I gotta let him loose. I am what is commonly referred to as a "bad dog owner." Anything that dog knows is cause he taught himself and is running the pack. Anyhow, We venture into the backyard of my residence and am greeted with that first official Fall morning. Not cold enough to have to cover up. Just wet enough to cover the grass. And just bright enough to see it all. Boom! To borrow some Batman TV series lingo, I flash and I feel exactly how I felt on 2 separate occasions in my life. They were mornings that happened frequently at the time, but are now generalized into singular moments.

Bella Vista and Jesuit High School.

I attended Soccer camps growing up. Specifically, Goalie camps since that was my position of choice. I went to the same camp 3 separate times. It was locally run and was a week long camp. It was a pickup/drop off type camp. I will stay on course with this post and go with the more important of the memories of the camp to further this along. The camp usually ran for early in the morning till mid-afternoon. Those morning when I would be dropped off in the parking lot and make the long walk to the soccer fields I could just feel atmosphere around me. It was just the beginning of a long day ahead. The smell of the wet grass back then gives me the same chill even now. "Time to put in work". I just always knew I was gonna feel worse by the end of that day, but a calming deep breathe in would make it seem possible.

Around the same time frame of my past I would continue to add on to emotional depth of my morning smell trigger. Jesuit High School was the elite campus to set foot on in the Sacramento area in the early 90's. Love it or hate it, if you ever walked around that campus in that era while having the same knowledge of the rest of the high schools in the area you know what I'm talking about. Before public funding in the past ten years helped create the 6-8 schools that are on par or superior to Jesuit's campus, it was the top of the food chain. I spent an entire school year there and it left some pretty strong ideals in me. It's the closest I ever really got to higher education and a sense of going off on my own to live. I was still doing the PU/DO ride thing, so it always began the same way. Another long walk during the early mornings. It was a lil bit of a drive to get from my house to the school, so it had that same going away feel. The parking lot was on the opposite end of the classrooms. In between the lot and the classrooms was grass. Tons of grass. There was this concrete walkway directly in the middle of this grassy entrance. The same smell would hit me. Wet and warm. Like a new start to a new adventure. Another chance to prove I belonged. That all this leading up to that moment mattered. To not let my parents down. To find the next path. Another emotional stamp.

It's honestly been awhile since I thought of those days and those memories. I should think about them more often.

Now for the night smell. It wasn't quite wet or dark. It just felt kinda empty and murky. Like a grey cloud was just making you sparkle just a lil less that night. Use to feel this at 2 places. The off-campus Math/stats class I took in my Junior college years. The years I actually attended class that is. And Mr. Video. One of my classic beginner jobs. Both happened round the years 98-00. It was the glass half-empty portion of new beginnings of my life. "I'm not even suppose to be here today." I should have had that tattooed on me at some point during my "Clerks" style vocational ventures. I use to close that place up and from 9pm till midnight it was quite the show/ghost town. We had a rating policy on what movies we could play throughout the 6 TV screens in the store. Not at those hours. I believe I slipped a couple "Nightmare on Elm Street" flicks in during my closing days. It was a total just getting by with life kinda time. The air just surrounded me with it and I couldn't escape it. The smell set the mood and I just lived in it.

Crazy to have em both hit on the same day. Can't recall that ever happening before. As if I was being given a choice to go from here on out as Day or Night guy. I kinda dig both of em for the memories left unsaid in the past few paragraphs. I believe the fact that I am writing this down is a wonderful sign that maybe I will live in more days and forget more nights. guess that's why I've been trying to grow the grass in the backyard again. Just to smell the grass.

Talk to ya when I talk to ya
See ya when I see ya.,

I wore Pink before it was the Bees Knees.

2009-10-02T13:21:00.000-07:00

10/22/2005. Release date. Only slight pink accents, but enough to stand out when worn on a basketball court by a guy. I did that. Yep, I wore em. I just like having a lil color in my life and I express that through the shoes I wear. Not immediate attention getters mind you, but still my favorite pair of Jordans I ever used to play basketball.

2/2009. Released in limited numbers to the public. I actually found my way to own 2 pairs with the intention of playing in one and keeping the other for potential future use. Ended up hooking up another pink shoe lover, so what you see is my one and only pair. It does have a pink ribbon on the tongue, cause it was produced by Nike to contribute some of the funds raised by it's sale to support Breast Cancer Awareness. Honestly, that was always a secondary reason for my purchase. Trust me, they have been worn on a basketball court. :)

I only exhibit these shoes to make a selfish point prior to this weekend. I've noticed a Twitter trend with some pro athletes and am aware of the current month being Breast Cancer Awareness month. More and more we are seeing causes be represented in sporting events. The best way to model this is via the main billboard for such ads, the athletes. This weekend you will see it. Grown men walking around a professional football field in PINK. Yep. 6'5" 250 lb. men will have pink shoes on and pink gloves and chin straps. Not all of them. Reggie Bush and Chad Ochocinco will be the main players that I know for sure will be sporting and supporting. Great cause. Fun way to do it. This is all good for all the right reasons and I dig it. I just want you to know that I was doing this long before other folks did. When you see Kobe Bryant and LeBron James doing the same thing next year in the NBA (speculation), yall better recognize that I set trends and people follow ME. That is all.

Talk to ya when I talk to ya
See ya when I see ya.

The Memories I'm suppose to have.

2009-09-24T00:25:00.000-07:00

I watched the movie "Twilight" tonight. Heard too much about the books from friends and what not, so I figured I'd catch the 2 hour edited version. I get it and I don't at the same time. Most of them will probably tell me the books are much better. But, rather than getting into the finer points of the flick and it's story I will stick to my moment of inspiration caused by the viewing. Movie is coming to an end and Bella and Edward go to the Prom. Not quoting here, but Edward basically tells Bella it's a memory we all should have. At least that's what I'm remembering from 4 hours ago. I'm not the best with detailed memories.

I come to my own conclusion that lots of things in life are memories that we are just suppose to have gone through. Mostly just because. That's all. Just Cause! If, for nothing else, that it connects us all with these common jumpoffs. This is where this entry takes it's normal "Rich" twist. I don't have enough of them, if any at all. I did most of the growing up versions of MIMS (Memories I'M Suppose). What started my venture towards not doing the MIMS were my two HS Prom no-shows. I've done those stories before, so I'll spare the details. Point is, much like the movie I just saw I had that flash of opportunity to be apart of the collective. To have a common timeline with my peers. I skipped it. I missed it and MIMS tend to have a one-time only offer feel to them. There is absolutely no way to get the same experience if you try to relive them after your time. I was almost put in that position a few years after HS, but thanks to my own doing I created yet another out for myself.

I can keep recalling all of them right now. I have other memories that are replacements for them and have a certain MIMS feel to them, but they don't actually connect to the general wholeness of my people group. Surprise crashing a baby-shower isn't exactly common. I do find that my empty MIMS account seems to have created a whole other sense of individuality I otherwise wouldn't have. For that, I can be proud. But, wouldn't I still be able to have come out the other end of these past few years a similar person while having just had some of these experiences? Would it have really hurt me? If I'm giving off a lost, depressed vibe it's probably much warranted. After the last 2 months, I kinda just should be. In these times I tend to reflect. I even asked myself the other day what exactly am I doing with myself. For tonight, I will examine this perceived flaw and try to grasp from it a lil Sparkle of hope.

MIMS I lack-----
Never lived on my own.
Never went away to college.
Never went to a real college.
Never got so drunk that I don't remember what I did the night before.
Never asked a girl out just for the sake of doing it.Never broke up with anyone.
Never had a physical fight.
Never had a serious injury. (oops, cross that one off the list)
Never rebelled against anything other than myself.
Never bought my own car.

You get the drift. I have certain other things that aren't dead and gone as well, but they certainly do appear less likely as the years go by. I find that I am a lil empty inside for not having done these MIMS. I'm suppose to be able to have that go-to story. I'm suppose to have people tell me about the night I was outta control. I'm suppose to have a story that only 2 people in the world know and it can be simply referred to as "The night we shall never talk about again." I'm not sure if I'm the man I'm suppose to be cause of these missing chunks of my life. I certainly do find myself presented with a window of "things happen for a reason" opportunity. If I may spin this into the "Sparkle zone", perhaps it is this unusual set of circumstances that have created what sits before you today typing this entry. Maybe it's this road untraveled kinda guy that can produce something slightly off kilter cause I don't know what common is after all these years.

AND that, my small crew of readers, is where I saw the fork in the road and picked one. :)

I'll see ya when I see ya.
And talk to ya when I talk to ya.
Rabble Rock!

Thought on something I just saw.

2009-08-04T15:17:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tRVqVwGWocM

Okay, this may be touchy for some folks. Perhaps I'm an inexperienced voice to be speaking on anyone's behalf when it comes to matters of race and hip hop. These are just my thoughts and observations. Do with them what you may.

My daily visit to WWTDD.com brought me to the discovery of a YouTube video. It's a comedy sketch video featuring NAS, Nick Cannon and Affion Crockett. I am assuming this was recently released over the past few days or week cause WWTDD.com is pretty topical with the events in media that they report on. I take into account that I laugh at a lot of things that most people wouldn't. I don't get offended cause I believe if you expose yourself to all types of languages and points of view you don't become overly sensitive to any one thing. But, after watching this video I find myself unable to determine what the main goal of this video was. I will break it down as I write and maybe I will come to some logical conclusion at the end.

It's titled a sketch, so it's trying for humor while also trying to make a valid point. Lots of humor is derived from the extreme exaggeration of a punchline. I have said in conversations about popular hip hop songs released over the past couple years that they are too faddish. Throw a beat at a rhymey hook and give it a specialized dance and you got yourself a hit. I would assume that the main culprits of these types of records are artists from the Colli Park record label and other young, black males who dress as if wearing your clothes like a mid-1980's white teenage movie character is what's good at the moment. I feel any mocking of these artists and their gone in 60 seconds singles is completely funny. Soulja Boy, Hurricane Chris, V.I.C. and and the GS Boyz need to step aside. You may have talent, but you are all just doing fad material the likes of MC Hammer and Vanilla Ice would appreciate.

In watching three successful black men mock this movement in hip hop through the video posted above I just come up with questions rather than just laughing and moving on. Truth be told, I did laugh at the video cause of how they remind these new, younger artists to watch the lines they may or may not step across. I understand the main goal and point, but did they have to go to the ultimate examples of white-man mocking blacks behavior to get the point across? It doesn't take a genius to figure out that while the trio blames these artists for their simplistic song making they also work in that corporations are guiding Hip Hop down this path of buffoonery. Really? Some white, corporate business assholes came together and geniusly came up with a way to trick young, black recording artists to shuck and jive for the year 2009? That seems like an awful leap to make between genius manipulators and actually just feeding into the public demand. Black and white alike dig into these styles of songs. Go ahead. Ask a teenager of any color and I bet you they know a few Soulja Boy songs. And while they got plenty of corporate backing it wasn't the master mental stroke of a corporation telling him to "Superman that Ho."

Maybe the extreme points of the video did exactly what they aimed to while also being a sketch that will be funny to some people. To make people look and watch and think and write bout it and spread it throughout the media underworld. It did it's job on that end. The blame for this current mutation of hip hop is spread to a lot of people. Producers, writers, artists, and businessmen alike all are profiting from the next dance craze track that hits and make for future goofy YouTube videos. Some of my initial reactions on first viewing? Good thing three black guys did this in a sketch humor attempt cause if it had been some fairly famous white guys attempting the same exact video it would be a whole different story for some people. Mind you, the points are still exactly the same and I'm not really sitting here and arguing for the rights of equal ability to do race-based conversations or humor. Also, any portrayal that these young artists are being taken advantage of or slaved out for the sake of entertainment is just wrong. "Masta is coming" isn't exactly spoofing the artists or their struggle to get known and get on with the business of making music and hits and money. I have given plenty of money to non-label connected hip hop artists who produce good records and find a way through the technologically advance world to sell their products. Go look up Atmosphere (two white guys) and Joe Budden (black guy). True hip hop artists who make money without corporate help who don't worry if they can jump on the auto-tune bandwagon or come up with a new simplistic dance hip hop track.

For me, taking this sketch too literally just means you don't know the whole story behind it all. On the other hand, taking it too lightly probably means you are some of the large contingency that celebrates generic, goofy pop songs. The sketch has merits and faults. I know the people involved are legitimate fans of hip hop, so it comes from a place of love while trying to take a stand against what's become of the genre they live for. But, they also should know that they don't make anything for the kind of audience that is buying up this 2009 fad version of hip hop. What this is setting up for is the backlash. The Death of Autotune and the dance track featuring some goofy comedian doing the dance as an entire record label gets on the track ala Wu-Tang Clan. And I apologize profusely to the Wu-Tang Clan for ever having their name anywhere close to this fad hop music. 36 Chambers is still that classic shit. Forever. Hip hop will never need saving from it's current pop version cause it will never get overrun by it. Mixtapes will survive. Jay-Z, NAS, Fabolous, Eminem, Slaughterhouse, Atmosphere and on and on will make sure that no matter how many people love "turn my swag on", it will not annihilator true hip hop. I guess in the end I will laugh at the YouTube video cause it's pretty ridiculous how far they think hip hop may go if left in it's current hands. I'll laugh cause I agree on some level that hip hop doesn't have to be about entertaining anyone with some absurd dance. I'll understand the point of it all and think they probably didn't have to go that far for the sake of a joke or making a PSA, mock not withstanding. It's whatever and now I just pass it on and say give it a look and expose yourself to something that may be outside your comfort level.

See ya when I see ya
Talk to ya when I talk to ya. :)

Yep

2009-07-14T06:06:00.000-07:00

I know what I want, but I don't know how to get paid for it. :) I'm gonna try this for a minute. I'm gonna wake up fresh every morning and sit in front of this magic box and publish my nonsense. I guess you could say I'm an amateur columnist/opinion writer. I can't write articles cause my writing isn't precise and factually sound. I am also not so into myself that I write just about myself. Guess this is all about my POV and theories and philosophies. Mostly this is about putting in 2-3 hours of work in the morning and lolligagging the rest of the day. Mine is not an original dream.

This is the part where I was suppose to go on and on about something of substance. Instead, I am awake too early cause my doggy friend Larry decided it was potty time and that it was his turn to sleep on my bed. Guess I forgot to establish that whole dog/owner relationship. Plus, I had a late night coming back from The City Monday night. OOOOOOH okay wait got one.

This part is just about me, so forget how I prefaced some of this BS. Why am I not scared right now? I got a vehicle that is basically gonna always need to be fixed 2 times a year. I'm sitting round waiting for unemployment and my 401K to help push me through after my final paycheck dwindles down to nothing. I haven't bothered checking out any available jobs in the area since my July 6th termination date. I'm weeks away from zero and all I can do is download some new music and buy me some discounted polos. This moment right here is exactly why I needed to be fired.

I have unreasonable comfort levels in my life. I am elitist in a way, cause I react the same way to certain behaviors. Why do I feel as if I have to be joke guy every time I hear or read about someone else's goofy moment? I've been catching myself lately, which is actually shocking. Rather than hit send on my lil comments I just think them to myself and wonder if I'm actually contributing or just being a douchebag. It's usually the latter. That would be a good idea for the title of my daily columns, but it would limit my readership right away. "Tales from a douchebag."
I think I have a lil bit of the internet virus called "phony brave" in me built from 10+ years solid of being online posting various forms of writings in the pursuit of entertainment. It's dangerous and freeing to unleash, but also exposes you as a keyboard coward. At the same time, if you have had the pleasure of talking to me in person, on the phone and via computer chat I would be willing to bet that I come off a lot better through a computer screen. Not sure why, but somehow I manage to express myself so much better with the help of a spellcheck.

Ummmm okay since this isn't professionally monitored and I am sorely lacking in the free flowing department considering I stared at the last paragraph for the last 5 minutes I am gonna abort the rest of the posting. Got Krispy Kremes, Robert Kelly and Harry Potter on the mind. And that is why I need to find focus. Daydreaming bout donuts, comedians and movies is not very responsible or lucrative. But if it is, ooooooh BOY!

I will see ya when I see ya.
I will talk to ya when I talk to ya.

Sloth

2009-07-06T21:11:00.000-07:00

Wikipedia info-

In the Christian moral tradition, sloth (Latin: acedia, accidia, pigritia) is one of the seven capital sins, often called the seven deadly sins; these sins are called the capital sins because they destroy charity in the person's heart and thus may lead to final impenitence and eternal death.

Sloth is defined as spiritual or actual apathy, putting off what God asks you to do, or not doing it or anything at all. Acedia is a Latin word, from Greek ἁκηδείᾱ, meaning "Carelessness". Acedia is also deemed to lead to God's wrath.

Sloth can also concern wasting due to lack of use or allowing entropy, expanding into almost any person, place, thing, skills, or intangible ideal that would require maintenance, refinement and/or support to continue to exist.

I think I am more than just one of the 7 deadly sins, but at the moment this one seems to fit my current status. Now, rather than expanding on this I will just allow it to be a general statement without all the filler that penetrates my writing from time to time. I only bring up this introduction to explain what is to follow. No single reason brought about my new found freedom. But, the mental state of mind probably led to the mistake-laden road I have been on for 2-3 years.

I will try to keep it basic. Guess in this wonderful world of social networking I finally have a legitimate update to post. I suppose I could just let this news filter out slowly as it did in the good old days of the 90's, but I'm just gonna rip the band-aid off quickly. I always find this an awkward space to be in when I feel free sharing my life, but am not sure if it's just an attempt to garner attention or sympathy. On the other hand, if I was to post something wonderful would that be bragging and grasping for the same attention? Ramble Ramble. Here ya go.

I got fired today. I think this completes my mission to leave a job in all fashions possible. I've quit cordially. I left a note with the bartender to give to the owner. I've just stopped showing up. I've been pulled from a temp job cause it became not-temp anymore. Now the ultimate closer. It was quick. It was easily avoidable. I got to do the "dead man walking" moment in front of a couple co-workers that I'm legitimately gonna miss. I will never get to see a bunch of my clients that will miss having my weekly visits. It is just a shame and a fun lil twist. Kinda bad timing, but I am the perfect man for this to happen to amongst a group of people that i consider "my circle". I have no mouths to feed or major responsibilities. My only current hurddle is my resume. I've been driving for almost 9 years at 3 different jobs. Now, I can't get hired to do that anywhere.

I suppose I could use this to fuel my normal synical take on life in general, but it's difficult to play this out that way. I fell into a pretty good job and took advantage of it for 5 years. Now, I have fallen back out of it. Time to cash out my chips and survive in another capacity. Guess I will just take a moment and remember it all. Going to 2 movies in one 10 hour shift on a Saturday. Lunches in the middle of dowtown San Francisco on a sunny June friday. Niketown. My three car accidents and three tickets. Parking lot basketball with co-workers. Finding the last remaining northern California Krispy Kremes. My boy at the Richmond Mall for the shoe hookup. Annie and Annette and Julie for the free food. Working 25 hours of a possible 40. Taking my work truck to Sunday night rec league games, playing a game and heading back to work. 6 am solo trips to Oakland, Santa Clara and Reno. Sunday football games in the break room. The Iron Mountain sports podcast that should have happened. Whitey's. Gold's Gym. Driving on 3 hours sleep and 4 energy drinks. The creation of the Super AMP.

Guess I have 2 hours left to wallow in it. No philosopies today. No predictable column closers. Sometimes things just end.

Acceptance

2009-06-24T08:55:00.001-07:00

Philosophy #5

"I really am just too old to do this."

I am willing to admit that it didn't end as hoped. I am fully to blame for my premature victory dance two-thirds of the way through my "Only cool to me" evening. This is particularly upsetting when coupled by the knowledge that I can never do it again. That realization came about 30 minutes into the waiting in line process of the evening. What follows is my unoriginal version of a diary of the night. I preempt this by doing what most logical Transformers fans should do, and that is stop the HATE. Too much action and not enough plot? What the F are you talkiing about? Calm down dumbies.

Tuesday, June 23rd 2009

10:05 pm After a quick check of all vital materials I exit the home and head for Folsom, CA. Why Folsom? Less showings of the movie at this movieplex. Didn't want to be surrounded by 8 theatres full of people all watching the same movie at the same time and then exiting same parking lot later in the evening. Plus, location wise it is much closer to Part 2 of this journey.

10:31 pm Arrival. Park close to the parking lot exit for quicker exit. Having Fandango'd my tickets for the evening, I scan in for my official ticket and find out which line is mine. 4 showings tonight rather than the 2 listed on Fandango. Still acceptable. Get to the back of line and pop in my Ipod to pass the waiting period. Good idea, but could not prevent the conversation that I was forced to have with myself.

10:46 pm As I listened to my foul-languaged talk radio broadcast, I couldn't help but feel tremendously awkward. I was surrounded by kids and felt like a creepy old man since I was rolling solo. I couldn't look at anything or anyone cause I just felt like I was being a perve no matter where I looked or how I looked. Everytime I laughed and smiled cause of the "grey pubes" conversation blaring in my earbuds, I couldn't focus on any one thing. Group of 10 year-olds right in front of me with the Mom in tow. "Don't look don't look." 15 year-old girls to my right in the line. "Don't look don't look." It's not like I could just close my eyes. I just felt so out of place. Then it happened.

10:58 pm "I can't go to midnight releases of movies anymore. I am too old to be doing this. I feel like falling asleep as I stand in this line. I can't relate to anyone in this line. I can't look at anything without knowing it will always end in me just being a creep. I'm listening to a cringe inducing adult chat in my earphones as pre-teens run amuck in the line. I'm having "Dad" thoughts instead of my normal childish thoughts. I could have slept in and woke up early to see this flick and saved some money. I'm too old for this shit. never again."

11:15 pm entrance into the theatre. Easy and hard to find a seat. Only searching for one, but still try to help others out by not just screwing up other groupings cause I wanna sit in the middle. Pick a far left joint and begin my 45 minute struggle with the "sleeps". The Endorush did not perform it's duty and I am crashing in my seat.

11:43 pm More glances around the theatre and all i can think is look at some of these clowns. Do they have to follow the trend of every douche they see in a music video. Mohawks use to be rebellious. Now you are just a punchline in a movie you tight shirt wearing ass.

Midnight Hours of previews. I have to look up my G.I. Joe mythology before I set foot in that movie this summer.

2:40 am Greatness ends. A cartoon that i loved as a seven year-old has come to life once again. Critics suck and so do some of these turncoat fans. It's not gonna be just like the mid 80's original and it won't have the "wow" first time I've ever seen it moment of number 1. But, come on! Listening to Soundwave come to life in that same voice from back in the day. Starscream and Megatron bickering. Megan Fox tattooing a bike. Optimus prime and the matrix. The twins.
So worth a second viewing.

2:41 am Speaking of a second viewing. El Dorado Hills IMAX theatre. 3:15 am showing. Pop a AMP+5 hour energy drink combo and I'm off. Being the one car entering a complex full of people leaving it is just weird and cool. Fatal decision of the night. $6.25 for the nachos. Lil known deal is the 2 for 8 bucks thing they have going for the nachos. After my charming/creepy chat with the teen gal behind the counter I make my way inside for the second viewing.

2:59 am Chow through the nachos quick. Starting to realize my quick decision as far as seating choice was way flawed. 5 minutes into the movie and I'm having all sorts of physical problems. I would highly recommend viewing this movie from the top of the IMAX theatre. Looks and sounds wicked. 2 rows back from the front of the screen? NOT SO GOOD. I remember that I took some headache cure pills that have Gremlin-type side effects. No eating after midnight. Marry that with warm nachos and way too much Energy artificial goodness. Problems.

3:33 am Trying to maintain mental focus as I watch the movie and search for a better seat. I make a dash and find a new home. It is already too late. My eyes are a daze. I should be asleep. If I knew how to make myself puke I might have lasted. Instead I find refuge in a bathroom and attempt to wait out the rumble in the jungle in my stomach. One more attempt. Stand in the entrance aisle. Out of the way of all the viewers. An hour and 15 in and I had to abort the mission. I could have made it through if I had prepared for some of the obstacles of an all-night movie binge. But, I had a 30 minute drive ahead to get home and a race with danger as every burp stirred up panic in my dome.

4:40 am Steady winds in my face as the freeways offer no traffic resistance. I find the mental capacity to push myself home to safety. I find my way to my bathroom and wait for the expected evacuation, but am forced to ride it out through the night. Asleep in seconds.

8:15 am a lovely tap on my bedroom door from my doggy alerts me that he needs a bathroom trip NOW. I'm awake and watching a dog poo. Mission failed, but still worth the trouble. It is a night that only a guy in my position could have. Probably could list numerous adjectives as to why it was not the best choice in the world. But, it makes for a decent story and a good memory for the future. I brought with it some lessons and acceptance of things I had denied. It brought this post and the arguement I'm sure to have with all the folks that will attempt to blow out my candle to make theirs' shine brighter. Love Transformers 2 and will no doubt see it again for the second time to complete my original mission. Maybe I should say "I adore it" from now on. Means the same thing. :)

I will see ya when I see ya.
I will talk to ya when I talk to ya.

The Bubble Chamber.

2009-06-17T12:21:00.000-07:00

Philosophy #4

Treat people like you are a Celebrity.

Before I get into the philosophy I will detail the title of this 26-minute masterpiece. I say 26 minutes cause that's how long I have until 3 pm. I am going with time limits for these things. Insures that i don't sit round waxing poetic about simplistic ideas. May cause more errors in my writing, but we all know you don't read this thing for my professional grammar skills.

My full-time job has afforded me the pleasure of going to a few places I never would have had access to otherwise. UC Davis and Cal Berkeley, which are two of the more prestigious Universities in this fine state of California. As I have walked the halls of these schools I have daydreamed about what it would have been like to have attended them in a scholastic sense. Would have been a whole different college experience I believe. Alas, that was not my journey and more to the point I didn't even apply to get into these schools anyways. Nevermind all that. I'm down to 20 minutes.

In a particular building on campus at UC Berkeley, I see these framed pictures. The entire hallway features the many facets of something titled the "Bubble Chamber." I assume this is a science department. Perhaps something specific dealing with molecular education. I will not attempt to derive anything factual from them cause my mind ain't built for that. I will instead impart on you my spinoff of the "Bubble Chamber" and it's application to philosophy number 4.

I believe we all walk around in this chamber from time to time. No matter the daily activities in our lives, we still find a way to contain ourselves. A daydreaming prison that is neither permanent nor enforced. It just happens. I have seen it through the ways people express themselves daily to me. It doesn't have to be a direct expressions to me, but it has made it's way to the ether and I can sense it's lifeform. It is pretty easy to see. Doesn't take much to just open your senses and take it all in. People lost in their own thoughts and drive. You can see it in Facebook status updates and twitpics on twitter.com. You can see it in a texts and an email evite. You can see it in the chores that get done and the requests that go unfinished. Bunch of people lost in the "Bubble Chamber"

This isn't professing that being in the chamber is good or bad. It just kinda IS. Yeah, I am surrounded by a multitude of people who have far more duties in life than myself. This is why i sit and think of this type of nonsense while everyone else is busy. Now that seems like a decent enough explaination of the title. Perhaps I could have done more, but 8 minutes says the clock.

Now for the connection to the philosophy. Not enough folks out there pop their own bubble. They just lock in and go go go. If enough folks just "popped" and let all those thoughts go for a minute we might see more people living less stressful lives. You might be able to recognize that we all have things going on that make us see things in different ways. Pop the bubble and take a look around. If you could live your life in the moment. As if you are being watched and followed, you might see and treat people and moments a lil better. You might think that this is the most important person I am going to talk to today and being as I am a celebrity right now for this moment in time, I can be more than just an on-duty human being. Clock off every now and again people. Pop the bubble and stop stressing. And not every dumb thing said or horrendous act perpatrated isn't somehow built around ruining your day. POP!

Okay, probably failed in this attempt. Felt a lil rushed as the clock sturck 3 pm. Maybe I will come back to the philosophy and the "Bubble Chamber" another time.

I will see ya when I see ya.
I will talk to ya when I talk to ya.

Damn a minute over.

Lebron James

2009-06-03T06:58:00.000-07:00

No philosophies today. Today, I attempt to be a judgmental sports writer. Unlike most people, I will stand on the other end of a much talked about situation. Over the past few days there have been more than a few articles and radio discussions concerning LeBron James and his post game behavior following Game 6 of the NBA Eastern Conference Finals playoff series with the Orlando Magic. In my limited research I have found that most people are reacting the same way to the events. What happened you ask? Best I can tell from my opposite end of the Country seat the scene went down as so...

LeBron James and his Cleveland Cavalier teammates lose Game 6 and the series to the Orlando Magic and are eliminated from the NBA playoffs. LeBron James walks off the court and avoids contact with most people on the floor of the arena. LeBron James readies himself quickly to leave the building, he addresses his team and he walks out. He did not address the media or the other team. That's it.

Over the past couple days all off this non-action LeBron James took part in has brought about criticism. From Internet media like Yahoo.com to sports radio/TV talk shows such as The Dan Patrick Show and Rome is Burning (featuring Jim Rome). They all point to the quick exit as immature or a "childish act" even. They wonder why he couldn't take the time to shake the hands of his opponent. Especially Dwight Howard, cause he was a teammate on the 2008 Olympic Gold-medal winning men's basketball team with LeBron. They wonder why he left his teammates to answer to the media after the playoff exit when it is the assumed job of the team leader to stand before the reporters and answer the same questions they always ask. LeBron James has now been called selfish and a loser and unprofessional. That's their opinion.

Now, here's mine. LeBron James acted like a man who was emotional about a defeat in his profession. He had a bad day at the office and he didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to look into the eyes of the men who jumped over him to get to the same spot he so coveted. LeBron James acted like a guy who was mad about losing and having to start all over again next season. All people, no matter their age, have done this once in their lives. Perhaps, by leaving the situation, LeBron James didn't make his already bad day worse. He could have stayed and shook hands and took in all the post game festivities. But, what if his emotions carried off the court for even a minute as he addressed the media? One slip and LeBron James is quoted on every media outlet after one emotional response to one question. He was in a bad place after a bad event and he wanted out. That's all.

We like to romanticize the past and traditions and how we have all acted throughout our lives. We pretend that we know the rules of sportsmanship and logical behavior. Somehow, we all would be able to stand at the podium and take in all the drama like it's just another day. We rationalize it as it's just one press conference. It's just one question. It's just one hand shake. But, to me it goes beyond the challenges faced by a sports star in his lil bubble of the world. THIS exact moment has happened to all of us and we all have walked away as quickly as possible at least once. The reasons are so varied for all of us as well, so narrowing it down to characterizing actions by adding insulting adverbs seems slightly less than benevolent to me.

I am a 30-year old man and I have walked out of Sunday evening rec league basketball games without shaking hands or facing my teammates. Why? Cause I was so angry at myself for how I performed I just couldn't deal with it and I didn't want to add to the moment. I didn't want to walk by an official and slight them with an angry look. I didn't want a passing comment to take away from the fact that my opponent just whooped my ass. And I didn't want my teammates seeing how self-destructive I can be which would disrupt the fun of the day for most people. All of this was the emotions I let run over me and my perceived view of the situation. I dealt with it how I had to deal with it at the time. Moment done and over. Numerous occasions have come and gone during these same weekly contests and I have been the "ideal" sportsman. Does that make me a selfish child for my one act despite my numerous incidents of being proper? I do not try to judge a man based on an isolated incident, rather his overall legacy. I understand, to a lesser degree, exactly how that moment can feel for a person. In the grand scheme of all this, LeBron James is just as human as I am. I am no longer just a witness to his athletic gifts. I now also see him being just like me. And I am okay with that this one time.

Self-important

2009-05-26T09:36:00.000-07:00

This is the most important thing I will ever write. EVER! It will be filled with intellectually stimulating thoughts and charming wit. It will have a mature subject matter with childish jargon filling in the holes. It will be surprising and predictable. It will contain hard work and instinctual capabilities. After you are done reading this you will look at yourself and life in a whole new POV!

How self-important did that all sound? Did you get the amount of ego that had to go into being "that" guy? I don't believe in much, but I like to think I have certain skills most other folks don't generally have. Doesn't make me better, cause I know they are mostly undeveloped skills that have brought me nothing. Nothing concrete, but it has brought me to this few minutes of life right now. Perhaps these are steps towards a new journey and goal, but for now I simply aim to point and speak.

Philosophy #3

Self-importance isn't that important.

There is a difference between taking care of number one and arrogance. We all have selfish tendencies, cause we all want and need things. It's part of being a human. But, there is a line. An imaginary line that I think a lot of people cross nowadays. I could attempt my usual hypothetical truths that involve others around me, but that's the 2007 ME. Pointing that judgmental stick at my family and friends whilst ignoring my own mirror. Ironically, this is all about me. The 2009 ME. Yes, using a year followed by a reference to yourself is a fine example of self-importance gone wrong.

I do certain things to maintain identity and to fulfill a role that makes me feel better about who I am and how I act. I love accountability and hold it in such high regard that I go about ways to be the morale judge of those closest to me. My reactions to events borders on "hating", but my opinion on the whole "hating" mentality is for another time. The reactions and my speeches will probably continue. They are what makes me a person worth knowing. It's the aftermath that usually turns people off and I understand. I have this firm belief that I know lots of passive people. This passiveness leads to the occasional "being taken advantage of" moment. I am particularly not found of that moment when it is basically friends screwing friends. I see this as an opportunity to speak up and say what I think "needs to said." And yes, quoting too many random words to make them seem importance is a weakness as a writer and blatantly self-important. Back on point. I wonder to myself that if friends aren't willing to hold each other accountable then what's the point of having friends?

Logically and in theory I have some solid ground to stand on with how I think and what I do, but human error is a factor. I take it too far and make it an extremely demonstrative act. My credibility sucks. Not cause of my conclusions or words, but cause of my actions. I've found that I have asked myself, "why isn't this important to anyone else?" Thus, we arrive back at the central thought. Just cause it's important to me doesn't mean it matters to others on that level. Furthermore, actively seeking out ways to make others agree with you is an act of recruiting and alarmingly arrogant. I'm not a cult leader or raising funds for a group. I'm just a dude who needed a friend to tell me to shut the fuck up! Granted, it was probably said to me. Just not in that manner. I would have remembered it.

Feels like I've emptied this part of my brain and can now move on to the next bit of randomness floating in me. Hopefully you got absolutely nothing from reading this short rant. I know I tend to veer off the path when attempting to write bout one subject. Brainstorming and editing is not something I do for a BLOG. No one is paying me to write this and I am not a professional at all. You get first draft writing and that's IT! Capitalizing and using exclamation points are also a sign of a weak writer being self-important. Listen to my words and point and know that I'm screaming cause I'm sooooooo Fn angry. Stop reading now folks. I'm not that important. :)

I will see ya when I see ya.
I will talk to ya when I talk to ya.

Ride the Cart.

2009-05-21T08:16:00.000-07:00

It was just a 10 second moment at an event I attended this weekend, but if it had happened earlier in the night I might have been able to apply it's lesson. Most likely I would have ignored it all in the same, but I digress. Yes this is a very short paragraph cause I was taught writing, in it's purest form, has no set rules. Screw all you teacher friends! Yeah!

For some reason this has been "hook a brotha up" week for me and it's quite inexplicable. Details are not the important chunk of info to be told. It's more the reaction and it's origins. Even detailing those portions of the past few days are becoming old hat. I review several incidents and my standard reaction. Blah blah blah. It's just all complaints and arrogant self-analytical jargon. I'm curious as to why I don't see the other side of the coin in certain events at the time. Sure, any fool can read and react a day later. It's just odd that i can soo believe something to be one way and have absolutely no faith when I flip my POV. I could honestly say, it use to just be all cause of her. Easy to point a finger and blame considering some of the hardships of that whole Thing. But, it's just me now.

Maybe the better reaction to all this should have been to be really flattered that I'm a consideration for these people trying to set me up. That I've done something decent enough to garner nice guy status. Also, maybe I should have been thanking my friends or whomever for trying to spread the love, so to speak. Is it really so awful to want others to share in love and happiness? Maybe I'm not meant to understand the ways of others in my life, but turning that disappointment into fuel for excuses only leads to me sitting here writing this instead of cleaning myself up for later tonight. Embarrassment and fear is all okay so long as it has it's place among other emotions and sensations.

The thinker in me can point out the events that shaped my basic instincts into finely tuned automated weapons. The dreamer in me should have 3-4 new numbers in his cell phone. The boy in me has 2 new music albums and a new video game. The adult, well he isn't there so he doesn't get to chime in on this one. The artist in me says I have a lot more where this came from. The critic says it's been way too many years since you conceptualized so why bother making it actual material.

End of the day for this thought goes like this. One friend had me and it all pegged from jumpstreet. The second philosophy of this blog....

"Sometimes, you just gotta ride the cart."

Ya had to be there. :)

I will see ya when I see ya.
I will talk to ya when I talk to ya.

I am

2009-05-14T12:57:00.000-07:00

I am a poet philosopher. I have but a few qualities that make me worth a damn in the here and now. This entire segment of this show will feature a man who has a tremendous ego about how he thinks and what he writes. I believe we have no one contributing anything new to the abstract ideals of life. We are a soceity of re-hashing, remixing movie quoters. So many people are soo busy with action that they don't have an ultimate end game for all that activity. Sure, a baseline of values and morales exist within the majority. This does not mean there is any actual thought to all the everyday movement. No one gets paid to think anymore. We only pay producers. Too many foot soldiers and not enough Dons. I have become a simple man with soo few means and actual wants. I am a walking brainstorm. I have lost more ideas this week than most people have in a year. This is not to say that all them were good ideas. In fact, most of my random thoughts are the reason I didn't graduate college.

I will not be like most bloggers cause this will not be a constant reflection on my day-to-day life. I'm simply not interesting enough to have to fill people in on what I do with my time. This is in no way a shot at those that do. Thos types of bloggers have something going on that they want to inform people about. They lead lives full of stories that are worth telling. I just don't. Admittedly, that is a conscious decision that i have been in denial about for a majority of the last few years. Perhaps it is this attitude that leads to my self-fulfilling prophecies and the treatment I have welcomed into my life. My end game for this all is to make a guideline for the remainder of my life. To come up with set beliefs and philosophies that will last. To arrive at a destination and know that I'm just beginning.

To that point, I will probably wait to publicize the existence of this blog. I believe that if I write and tell all interested parties that I will only find writing motivation in the response of those readers. While writers write to express themselves and entertain, I have to find the true center of it all for myself before I can unleash. I had too many conversations with too many new readers that go the same exact way for me to not examine my methodology and psyche. I am an incomplete adult. Not that I am surrounded by a bunch of fulfilled people, but I see what they all have and know they are on their own journey. Meanwhile, I have yet to truly set sail. This makes me sad for who I am and what I have been. I am no longer "The Waiter."

So, with an initial step taken, here it goes. A thought. A philosophy. A way of being. For the past couple of years I have struggled with a return to my temper tantrum days of my youth. It usually manifests itself in loud yelling and cursing. It is an emotional reaction to an emotional situation and I chose to let it happen. It is the bitch in me. It's pretty amusing actually. The conclusion of these events just end in making it worse than it actually was and leaving me with an obstacle unhurdled. I must find a better way.

My philosophy. The sun shines every day even if I don't see it.

This isn't an attempt to find the silver lining in all events. If something sad happens it is okay to just be sad. But, the clock still ticks and the next moment is rapidly approaching. My timeline is not linear. It is bracketed. Deja Vu lets me see what might have been, but I can't get there if I still got my head in the clouds. Arguably, I am biting from the past and may be accused of remixing old ways. I like to believe that I have used the same ingredients, but used different directions to make my meal. Yes, I am aware of my nature to make it all sound like a bigger deal than it is. I'm working on it. :)

Round one in the books. In this forum, I will probably stick to first draft publishing. This will probably work better for me if I force the thoughts out and leave them be what they were intended to be. Raw and pure without filtration or editing.

I will borrow a phrase that use to be reserved for something that meant the world to me. It's how I'll end my thoughts from now on.

I will see ya when I see ya.
I will talk to ya when I talk to ya.