When a person goes crazy, it's...well, it's certainly an interesting trip. One may even call it insanity. There are things that people in that mindset experience that normal people don't. They think things that aren't normal, acceptable, or even humanly possible. Things go through their heads that cannot be explained by even the most qualified trained professionals. It starts out slow...once in a blue moon they have a fleeting thought of something that just isn't quite right. Soon afterwards the thoughts are more and more frequent. They hear things in the midst of silence, they see things that aren't there, and they imagine things that just plain ol' aren't true. It's not like they wake up one morning and think to themselves "Maybe I'll lose my mind today." It doesn't work like that. It takes time...like watching paint dry only a LOT longer. Or something like that. You get the idea.
People who are sick...whether it's bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, paranoia, or what have you...people who are suffering from those and other afflictions are oftentimes difficult to deal with and are just plain pains in the ass sometimes. It's not that they TRY to do the things they do...often they can't help it and no matter how hard they try they cannot function as "normal" human beings without therapy and/or medication. There are scientific forces at work in their brains that simply will NOT allow them to lead normal lives. Sure, they might get by for a little while...couple months, maybe a year or two at best. But it catches up quick...and when it comes on it hits them in the face like a ton of bricks and knocks them flat on their ass. By then it's usually too late...the bridges have been burned, the damage has been done beyond repair, and it's all over but the cryin'.
Those in the early stages of some afflictions sense the onset...they try to warn others to run...they intentionally (and sometimes subconsciously) sabotage their interactions with other people so it won't hurt as bad when others actually take their advice. They know they're difficult to approach, converse and interact with, and they're ok with that...sometimes they prefer it that way to save themselves the pain of failure. Occasionally they drive people away on purpose...many times the emotional price they pay while doing so can never be justified.
However...once in a blue moon, they discover the one person who actually gets through to them and breaks down the walls they have so meticulously set in place, brick by brick...the elaborate construction sometimes taking years to complete. The ONE person who understands them...possibly the one person who has been in their shoes and walked down their path. Most of the time that person won't know what they've done. Most of the time they won't think twice about the relief they've given to someone else because they don't know how important it is. For the afflicted, it's like finding a four-leaf clover in the Sahara Desert. It just isn't supposed to happen. Ever. But it does. And when it does they just want to do the happy dance over and over again...
<("<) (>")> <("<) (>")>
so they do their little happy dance. And all is right in the world again. They see things clearly...they start to think clearly more often than normal. Things seem...right. Things they had never found pleasure in before. Normal things that seemed so ridiculous in the past. Normal things that are now normal. And it FEELS normal. Life is good...until...
panic sets in.
o.O
turns into
O.O
and then into
"WHY THE BLUE FUCK AM I SO HAPPY?!?!??!?" Well...this can't go on. Happiness? Not their gig. Can't have any of THAT, now can we? STFU, stop the press, slam on the brakes, and it goes back to square one. The happiness is gone. The normalcy we cherished...it disappeared like a fart in the wind. And the cycle starts all over again. Vicious cycle it is, indeed. Nothing anyone should have to go through. But it happens...all too often. Happy...sad...happy...sad...happy...sad. It's a never-ending internal battle of good versus evil. One does not simply walk into sanity. One must embrace it...nurture it...care for it...and love it. Sanity seems to come freely for some and is taken for granted more often than not. But INsanity...many pay a much higher price than they can afford...for some it costs them their lives.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Monday, December 26, 2011
More Coffee, Please...
I've had a bit of writers' block lately...nothing I think of seems to strike me as worthy enough to share with the world, when in all actuality, my life would make one hell of a movie. It would be an epic Peter Jackson eight-part mini-series filled with drama, intrigue, suspense, drunken debauchery and it wouldn't be complete without plenty of despair and self-loathing. I had originally decided to start documenting some of the experiences I've had that others may find interesting (thanks, Patrick, for pushing me to do that) so that my life and the things that happen in it may bring humor to others. If I had to actually document all of them...the interwebs would collapse into a big black hole like I just divided by zero or something like that. It's evolved into so much more than that for me...it's now an outlet for me to document some of the innermost feelings I have and allows me to share them with other people without actually 'sharing' them with anyone at all.
For those just joining us, I hate feelings. I hate talking about them, I hate thinking about them, I hate thinking about talking about them, and I abso-FUCKING-lutely hate that they get the best of me sometimes and the quality of my life is worse because of it. Well, most of the time. But...I deal with it. And lately, I've actually been pretty good at sharing some of those feelings with those close to me. I've told people things that never in a million years would I think I would have the strength or courage to tell anyone...and lo and behold, it felt good. It actually DOES feel good to share deeply personal things with people you care about; people you know will understand exactly where you're coming from and have quite possibly had or are having those same feelings themselves. There is a sense of...how shall I put this...self accomplishment in letting something out, whether it's good or bad, and knowing that it no longer has the same power over you as it used to. Yeah, sometimes it sucks that you have to think about it first before you talk about it, and honestly, that's the hardest part of all, but once it's done...it's done. You can begin to breathe a sigh of relief and smile a little. You can begin to live just a liiiiiitle bit better and move on.
There are also sometimes when it's better that we (I say 'we' but I really mean 'I') just keep our goddamn mouth shut and bottle those feelings up because to not do so at that particular time and place would shoot ourselves in the foot and probably do more harm than good. There is a time and a place for us to say anything and everything, but we have to practice discretion in choosing JUST the right time and place for some of those things to come out into plain view. When it's the right time, we know. It may be weeks, months, or even years or decades before that time comes, but when it does, we just know. It's part of being human. Part of what sets us aside from every other species on the planet. That and opposable thumbs. But anyways, I digress. Knowing the *exact* time and place to say something to someone and not end up in a bigger hole than you started in takes a LOT of thought and a hint of luck. After all, it's not just you...there is another person involved in this as well. If I'm talking to one of my kitchen chairs, then hey...who gives a flying fuck WHAT I'm talking about, right? But when I'm talking to another person...I have to tread lightly. No exceptions. Others have feelings as well, and those need to be taken into consideration. No exceptions there either.
Along with feelings that we are able to express in words and actually share with other people, there are emotions attached. Emotions that can be expressed without saying a single word. Emotions that can be expressed in an infinite amount of ways. Whether it's tone of voice, body language (both of which can be shown and heard in SO many ways), or whatever...most of the time you can say EXACTLY what you want to anyone without saying a single word. For example...when I get a text message from someone that simply says ":-*", I know exactly what that means and it just makes me melt inside thinking about the meaning behind it. It's not a word, it's not an action, nor anything in between. It's 1s and 0s put together in a certain way to convey an emotion that someone wishes to express to me. It's just...yeah. It's just awesome =).
MY emotions...ha. I've been an emotional train wreck lately as anyone in my general vicinity will tell you. Many reasons...some good, some bad. I've learned a lot about myself lately and because of the things I've learned I feel it's made me a better person in some ways. It's a never-ending battle...a lifelong process that will allow me to grow just a little bit more every day. When it's over...then I'll rest. Until then...game on.
For those just joining us, I hate feelings. I hate talking about them, I hate thinking about them, I hate thinking about talking about them, and I abso-FUCKING-lutely hate that they get the best of me sometimes and the quality of my life is worse because of it. Well, most of the time. But...I deal with it. And lately, I've actually been pretty good at sharing some of those feelings with those close to me. I've told people things that never in a million years would I think I would have the strength or courage to tell anyone...and lo and behold, it felt good. It actually DOES feel good to share deeply personal things with people you care about; people you know will understand exactly where you're coming from and have quite possibly had or are having those same feelings themselves. There is a sense of...how shall I put this...self accomplishment in letting something out, whether it's good or bad, and knowing that it no longer has the same power over you as it used to. Yeah, sometimes it sucks that you have to think about it first before you talk about it, and honestly, that's the hardest part of all, but once it's done...it's done. You can begin to breathe a sigh of relief and smile a little. You can begin to live just a liiiiiitle bit better and move on.
There are also sometimes when it's better that we (I say 'we' but I really mean 'I') just keep our goddamn mouth shut and bottle those feelings up because to not do so at that particular time and place would shoot ourselves in the foot and probably do more harm than good. There is a time and a place for us to say anything and everything, but we have to practice discretion in choosing JUST the right time and place for some of those things to come out into plain view. When it's the right time, we know. It may be weeks, months, or even years or decades before that time comes, but when it does, we just know. It's part of being human. Part of what sets us aside from every other species on the planet. That and opposable thumbs. But anyways, I digress. Knowing the *exact* time and place to say something to someone and not end up in a bigger hole than you started in takes a LOT of thought and a hint of luck. After all, it's not just you...there is another person involved in this as well. If I'm talking to one of my kitchen chairs, then hey...who gives a flying fuck WHAT I'm talking about, right? But when I'm talking to another person...I have to tread lightly. No exceptions. Others have feelings as well, and those need to be taken into consideration. No exceptions there either.
Along with feelings that we are able to express in words and actually share with other people, there are emotions attached. Emotions that can be expressed without saying a single word. Emotions that can be expressed in an infinite amount of ways. Whether it's tone of voice, body language (both of which can be shown and heard in SO many ways), or whatever...most of the time you can say EXACTLY what you want to anyone without saying a single word. For example...when I get a text message from someone that simply says ":-*", I know exactly what that means and it just makes me melt inside thinking about the meaning behind it. It's not a word, it's not an action, nor anything in between. It's 1s and 0s put together in a certain way to convey an emotion that someone wishes to express to me. It's just...yeah. It's just awesome =).
MY emotions...ha. I've been an emotional train wreck lately as anyone in my general vicinity will tell you. Many reasons...some good, some bad. I've learned a lot about myself lately and because of the things I've learned I feel it's made me a better person in some ways. It's a never-ending battle...a lifelong process that will allow me to grow just a little bit more every day. When it's over...then I'll rest. Until then...game on.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Remember it...write it down, take a picture, I don't give a...
Before I sat down to type, I had ALL kinds of things I wanted to say about everything under the sun. Now that I'm here...I got nothin'. Not a GOD-damn thing. All I can think of is how crappy that TV dinner was last night and how warm it must be in Fiji right now. Neither of which mean a thing to me at this moment, really. I think that if I just sa...nope. Nothing. My emotions are a shitstorm of astronomical proportions right now and I'm not sure I know how to effectively cope with them. I know how...I just don't know if I neither can nor want to. Things are in motion that have the capacity to change my entire life...and I'm ok with that. Yeah, I'm gonna fuck things up along the way...I already have pretty bad. Not much I can do to rectify things, really. When I mess up, I don't go at it half-assed...it's balls to the wall for me. This will most likely be my shortest blog entry ever. Out.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
The Bread Basket
Don't jump to any conclusions here. The 'bread basket' in question is exactly that. A bread basket. No more, no less. No innuendos of any kind...yet. It was a basket that held bread. Don't judge me for what you're about to read.
At an impromptu dinner for three at a local restaurant with my friends Ed and Erin, we got to experience the bread basket. Well, I did anyways. My alternative for the night was a bag of microwave popcorn, my couch, and a selection from the Lord of the Rings trilogy; most likely The Two Towers because of the epic battle scene at Helm's Deep. That part rocks. So, you can understand why I jumped at a last-minute dinner invitation out to a real restaurant where they serve real food. And bread baskets. It was very much needed tonight...thanks, guys.
So, we ordered our food, and we were enjoying rather calmly. My friend Erin got a basket of fries, which came in another basket, but since it had fries and not bread, it could not technically be designated a 'bread' basket. Along with the fries came a side order of ranch dressing. Hell with the ketchup...bring on the ranch! We all shared a laugh when my friend Ed and I dipped our fries in the same little cup of ranch dressing at the same time, and I beat him to the punch with with the totally disgusting but appropriately expected comment from myself. Kind of a 'two guys, one cup of ranch dressing' thing if you will. However...what happened next was probably one of the funniest things I have most likely ever...EVER, I say...ever done in my adult life. Funnier than the time my friend Jen got the nickname "Butters" in that very same restaurant. Even funnier than the time I lost a bet and drove naked from the grocery store to my apartment...in February. Way more funnier than the time I had those latex pants...we'll leave it at that. That was just disgusting and I think my children read this.
You all know how tasty ranch dressing is...you can pretty much put it on anything and it's just yummy. Steak, cereal, strawberries...it doesn't really matter. I had dipped my french fry in the ranch dressing and on its way back to me, a drop of dressing landed on the bread basket. Just one lone drop. No blob, splotch, or dribble...just one single solitary drop of ranch dressing. Well, that stuff's pretty tasty, you know. Can't be wasteful in this economy. I said, "You know, I really wanna lick that drop of ranch dressing off the bread basket...". I mulled it over for a few moments, and I thought "What the hell...I'm gonna do it. I'm really gonna do it!".
As I was licking the drop of ranch dressing off the bread basket, our waitress chose that precise moment to stop at our table, stand behind my two friends, face me, and ask if we wanted more bread. The look on her face was priceless. I think I had done one of the strangest things she had ever see a patron do in her career at that restaurant. I froze like a deer in headlights, and put the bread basket down on the table, and said "No, we're good...thanks."
Our table was now in hysterics. I couldn't see straight from the tears in my eyes, my stomach was starting to hurt and the infamous V-shaped vein on my forehead was in full effect. Laughter ensued for quite some time...I think at one point my friend Erin told me she was never going anywhere in public with me again, but I know deep down in her heart she was laughing on the inside just as much as I was on the outside.
It wasn't until we left and went outside for a smoke that all the 'lickin' the bread basket' innuendos started. I'm not saying any of them here. My children read this.
At an impromptu dinner for three at a local restaurant with my friends Ed and Erin, we got to experience the bread basket. Well, I did anyways. My alternative for the night was a bag of microwave popcorn, my couch, and a selection from the Lord of the Rings trilogy; most likely The Two Towers because of the epic battle scene at Helm's Deep. That part rocks. So, you can understand why I jumped at a last-minute dinner invitation out to a real restaurant where they serve real food. And bread baskets. It was very much needed tonight...thanks, guys.
So, we ordered our food, and we were enjoying rather calmly. My friend Erin got a basket of fries, which came in another basket, but since it had fries and not bread, it could not technically be designated a 'bread' basket. Along with the fries came a side order of ranch dressing. Hell with the ketchup...bring on the ranch! We all shared a laugh when my friend Ed and I dipped our fries in the same little cup of ranch dressing at the same time, and I beat him to the punch with with the totally disgusting but appropriately expected comment from myself. Kind of a 'two guys, one cup of ranch dressing' thing if you will. However...what happened next was probably one of the funniest things I have most likely ever...EVER, I say...ever done in my adult life. Funnier than the time my friend Jen got the nickname "Butters" in that very same restaurant. Even funnier than the time I lost a bet and drove naked from the grocery store to my apartment...in February. Way more funnier than the time I had those latex pants...we'll leave it at that. That was just disgusting and I think my children read this.
You all know how tasty ranch dressing is...you can pretty much put it on anything and it's just yummy. Steak, cereal, strawberries...it doesn't really matter. I had dipped my french fry in the ranch dressing and on its way back to me, a drop of dressing landed on the bread basket. Just one lone drop. No blob, splotch, or dribble...just one single solitary drop of ranch dressing. Well, that stuff's pretty tasty, you know. Can't be wasteful in this economy. I said, "You know, I really wanna lick that drop of ranch dressing off the bread basket...". I mulled it over for a few moments, and I thought "What the hell...I'm gonna do it. I'm really gonna do it!".
As I was licking the drop of ranch dressing off the bread basket, our waitress chose that precise moment to stop at our table, stand behind my two friends, face me, and ask if we wanted more bread. The look on her face was priceless. I think I had done one of the strangest things she had ever see a patron do in her career at that restaurant. I froze like a deer in headlights, and put the bread basket down on the table, and said "No, we're good...thanks."
Our table was now in hysterics. I couldn't see straight from the tears in my eyes, my stomach was starting to hurt and the infamous V-shaped vein on my forehead was in full effect. Laughter ensued for quite some time...I think at one point my friend Erin told me she was never going anywhere in public with me again, but I know deep down in her heart she was laughing on the inside just as much as I was on the outside.
It wasn't until we left and went outside for a smoke that all the 'lickin' the bread basket' innuendos started. I'm not saying any of them here. My children read this.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Title in Progress...Just Like the Rest of the Book.
Pain is a fickle beast. It makes us act irrationally. It makes us do things that are unnatural, things that are unhealthy for ourselves and those around us, and also things that may be just plain dangerous. It damages us, inside and out...beyond repair in some cases, and it makes us re-evaluate how we conduct our lives and how we interact with other people. People who are in pain are difficult to deal with at times; they don't quite see things from your point of view, and even if they do it just doesn't quite fully sink in. These individuals know that they are in pain and there seems to be no way to escape it, but there always is. It might not be the easy way out, nor is it the path you want to choose because of the fear that's instilled in you, but there is ALWAYS a way out, and sometimes you have to be willing enough to open up and let someone in to help you get out of the abyss you seem to be stuck in.
To put it bluntly, pain is a motherfucker...it hurts like hell, we hate it, and that's the plain truth. I know it as well as anybody else. We let it control us and tower over us and we let it dictate our words and actions. We let it shield us from those who love us and care for us so dearly and want nothing but the best for us. We allow it into our lives and we give it free reign over our emotions. Pain does not discriminate...it digs its claws deep into the strongest and most resilient people and reduces them to nothing but an empty shell of what they used to be. People who are beautiful, caring, intelligent, strong, compassionate, determined, successful...even people like that stand no chance when the demon that we call pain plants its roots inside us. To steal a word or three from Ozzy Osbourne, pain at its best is a 'killer of giants'. Nobody is immune. Even the mighty fall.
We get so used to what that pain feels like that feeling anything else becomes foreign; it becomes almost unwanted. Moments of levity, moments of happiness, moments of joy...we sometimes become uncomfortable at those times because those are emotions that have been absent so long we are no longer equipped with the knowledge that we need to effectively handle them. We get confused and think to ourselves...
"Am I supposed to be happy right now? Why do I feel joy at this particular moment? Why do I not feel pain? Jesus Harold Christ, what the fuck is wrong with me? Where's my pain??"
...but for some reason, it feels good! At that precise moment that our pain is temporarily lifted, the wall comes down a bit and we see things clearly...we see that there is no more need for pain because there are other emotions we find happiness and joy in that we are finally able to appreciate and let flow through our being. It becomes crystal clear to us that there is no more need for pain in our lives...that we have a better way. Let that newly-found clarity drive you...let it show you that there IS something else out there besides the pain you so despise with every fiber of your being. Let it help you allow yourself to be loved and cherished and held and told what you so desperately need to hear. After all...there aren't any fairy tales and happy endings in hell.
To put it bluntly, pain is a motherfucker...it hurts like hell, we hate it, and that's the plain truth. I know it as well as anybody else. We let it control us and tower over us and we let it dictate our words and actions. We let it shield us from those who love us and care for us so dearly and want nothing but the best for us. We allow it into our lives and we give it free reign over our emotions. Pain does not discriminate...it digs its claws deep into the strongest and most resilient people and reduces them to nothing but an empty shell of what they used to be. People who are beautiful, caring, intelligent, strong, compassionate, determined, successful...even people like that stand no chance when the demon that we call pain plants its roots inside us. To steal a word or three from Ozzy Osbourne, pain at its best is a 'killer of giants'. Nobody is immune. Even the mighty fall.
We get so used to what that pain feels like that feeling anything else becomes foreign; it becomes almost unwanted. Moments of levity, moments of happiness, moments of joy...we sometimes become uncomfortable at those times because those are emotions that have been absent so long we are no longer equipped with the knowledge that we need to effectively handle them. We get confused and think to ourselves...
"Am I supposed to be happy right now? Why do I feel joy at this particular moment? Why do I not feel pain? Jesus Harold Christ, what the fuck is wrong with me? Where's my pain??"
...but for some reason, it feels good! At that precise moment that our pain is temporarily lifted, the wall comes down a bit and we see things clearly...we see that there is no more need for pain because there are other emotions we find happiness and joy in that we are finally able to appreciate and let flow through our being. It becomes crystal clear to us that there is no more need for pain in our lives...that we have a better way. Let that newly-found clarity drive you...let it show you that there IS something else out there besides the pain you so despise with every fiber of your being. Let it help you allow yourself to be loved and cherished and held and told what you so desperately need to hear. After all...there aren't any fairy tales and happy endings in hell.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
The Long Lost Blog about the Second Coolest Guy Alive
Some people are wondering why I've been kind of a different person lately...why I've seemingly lost a fair amount of weight, why I've been seeking the company of friends more than normal, why I don't seem myself. The last few months of my life have been trying...more so than normal. I've had to face some hard truths about myself and how I've lived my life. Some good, some not so good. But that's ok...I've learned things about myself that will hopefully help to make me a better person for those who encounter me in the future.
I won't lie. I won't sugarcoat things. I've been an asshole. I've done things that not only affected myself but many people around me, and looking back at my actions, I feel horrible for that. I do have a few morals left, after all these years. I was conceited, arrogant, crass, ignorant, and selfish. I hurt people around me who loved me so dearly with little or no regard for anyone's feelings but my own. I could say SO much more but I'd prefer to keep this simple...as simple as I can, anyways. To those of you in my wake...I sincerely apologize. But, there are times in my life that I must admit complete and utter defeat...this is one of those times, as hard as that is for me to admit.
There are some who know the specifics of the previous month or two of my life, but there are many, many more who do not. Some very close friends of mine have offered me their love and support as I've dealt with something rather painful and difficult...for that I thank you immensely. One of my dearest friends recently kept me from doing something very...unpleasant. That short-lived phase of my life is over and I don't want to revisit it.
And now I draw a blank...as is my usual MO.
Anyways...as I was saying. Or wasn't saying...like the sentence above states. I will bounce back stronger than ever...I will emerge victorious. I will adapt and overcome. I have no option. Falling apart for me right now at this point in my life is NOT feasible in any way, shape or form. Now, more than ever, I MUST win. No exceptions.
I won't lie. I won't sugarcoat things. I've been an asshole. I've done things that not only affected myself but many people around me, and looking back at my actions, I feel horrible for that. I do have a few morals left, after all these years. I was conceited, arrogant, crass, ignorant, and selfish. I hurt people around me who loved me so dearly with little or no regard for anyone's feelings but my own. I could say SO much more but I'd prefer to keep this simple...as simple as I can, anyways. To those of you in my wake...I sincerely apologize. But, there are times in my life that I must admit complete and utter defeat...this is one of those times, as hard as that is for me to admit.
There are some who know the specifics of the previous month or two of my life, but there are many, many more who do not. Some very close friends of mine have offered me their love and support as I've dealt with something rather painful and difficult...for that I thank you immensely. One of my dearest friends recently kept me from doing something very...unpleasant. That short-lived phase of my life is over and I don't want to revisit it.
And now I draw a blank...as is my usual MO.
Anyways...as I was saying. Or wasn't saying...like the sentence above states. I will bounce back stronger than ever...I will emerge victorious. I will adapt and overcome. I have no option. Falling apart for me right now at this point in my life is NOT feasible in any way, shape or form. Now, more than ever, I MUST win. No exceptions.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
I Fought The Law...
When I was younger, I was quite a hell raiser. I know, I know...hard to believe, isn't it? Well, it's true. If there was trouble to be found, I found it. Sometimes it found me. If there was no trouble, I *made* the trouble. My teen years were spent mostly in a drunken haze, treating my body like an amusement park. Some kids did drugs, some kids were into breaking into houses, some kids fought all the time...not me.
Not to say I didn't do those things as well, but they weren't my forte, so to speak.
Booze was my thing. No matter what you called it...if it was an alcoholic beverage, I drank it. Beer was my favorite, hands down. There just wasn't enough beer in the world for me. Cans, bottles, glasses...it didn't matter to me. Beer was my thing.
By the time I hit 18, I was a seasoned alcoholic. I make no bones about it...I was. I'm not ashamed of it, but I am ashamed of some of the things I did while I was under the influence of it. Most of my high school career was under the influence...there are very few days I remember from start to finish. I would sell my soul to the devil himself to go back and change that today...I really would.
People who like to drink have an uncanny knack for finding other people who like to drink...it's what we do. Drinking is the one thing that brought people together in my school...I partied with people who otherwise wouldn't give me the time of day. After time, I even drank with people in other cities...and other states altogether. It was like my own personal national pastime.
One such night, I was out with a buddy of mine and an uncle of his who was our designated buyer. I was 18 and so was my buddy, so we needed someone to buy us beer as the drinking age had been raised to 21. We were driving around in my first car, my beloved 1978 Chevy Nova...a two-door model. Man, the stories that car could tell...anyways. That night was cold as hell...it was the middle of December and the heater in my car didn't work all too well, so we kept bundled up so as not to freeze to death. Out cruising around, a couple cases of beer in the backseat, a buncha empties all over the place, tunes crankin' on the AM radio and we felt like we had the world in the palm of our hands.We were invincible. Life was good...damn good.
Until...
We got hungry, so we decided to stop at a convenience store to get some snacks and of course, some more beer and cigarettes. We weren't out of either one, but it might have been a while before we stopped again. I stayed in the car, and my buddy and his uncle went inside the store to get our supplies. I kept the car running so the heat would stay on, which wasn't really doing that good of a job in the first place, but I did it anyways. My buddy and his uncle came out, walked back to the car and got in, and I raised my beer to finish it off.
And then...
ALLLLLLL hell broke loose.
My buddy starts saying "Cops! Cops! Cops!" and I panicked and started to put my empty beer can under my seat, which I know now was really stupid. I saw myself hiding a beer can (like they weren't going to see the other two empty cases floating around the front and back seats), but the officer at my window saw me reaching for a weapon of some kind. The next thing we heard was "PUT YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM AND DO NOT MOVE!!!!!"
There was an officer at my window, one at the passenger window, and one at both ends of the car, all four with guns drawn on me. I was mortified. I couldn't even open the door when the officer asked me to. I think I might have even peed a little. They had to search the car, of course, and we could have built a small fortress out of all the empties they took out of the car and put on the trunk.
See, when we pulled into the parking lot, we were all too drunk to notice the police car at the other end of the parking lot AND the police car in the parking lot at the fast food restaurant next door (it was dark...that's my only defense). And of course, I pulled into the closest spot to the driveway, which happened to be one of the two spots the clerk couldn't see very well from inside the store. Two guys run in, one waits in the car...yeah. They thought they were going to be robbed, so the second clerk tipped off one of the officers in the store (my buddy and his uncle were totally oblivious to the two officers in the store, for some reason...they must have been more drunk than I was). Then the second car rolled in nice and ninja-like with its lights off after the other two got in the car, and we were stone cold busted. The nights' adventure got me my second underage drinking citation, and I don't remember what the other two got and frankly I don't care.
It didn't scare me enough to make me quit, but it DID make me more a cautious drunk for the future.
Not to say I didn't do those things as well, but they weren't my forte, so to speak.
Booze was my thing. No matter what you called it...if it was an alcoholic beverage, I drank it. Beer was my favorite, hands down. There just wasn't enough beer in the world for me. Cans, bottles, glasses...it didn't matter to me. Beer was my thing.
By the time I hit 18, I was a seasoned alcoholic. I make no bones about it...I was. I'm not ashamed of it, but I am ashamed of some of the things I did while I was under the influence of it. Most of my high school career was under the influence...there are very few days I remember from start to finish. I would sell my soul to the devil himself to go back and change that today...I really would.
People who like to drink have an uncanny knack for finding other people who like to drink...it's what we do. Drinking is the one thing that brought people together in my school...I partied with people who otherwise wouldn't give me the time of day. After time, I even drank with people in other cities...and other states altogether. It was like my own personal national pastime.
One such night, I was out with a buddy of mine and an uncle of his who was our designated buyer. I was 18 and so was my buddy, so we needed someone to buy us beer as the drinking age had been raised to 21. We were driving around in my first car, my beloved 1978 Chevy Nova...a two-door model. Man, the stories that car could tell...anyways. That night was cold as hell...it was the middle of December and the heater in my car didn't work all too well, so we kept bundled up so as not to freeze to death. Out cruising around, a couple cases of beer in the backseat, a buncha empties all over the place, tunes crankin' on the AM radio and we felt like we had the world in the palm of our hands.We were invincible. Life was good...damn good.
Until...
We got hungry, so we decided to stop at a convenience store to get some snacks and of course, some more beer and cigarettes. We weren't out of either one, but it might have been a while before we stopped again. I stayed in the car, and my buddy and his uncle went inside the store to get our supplies. I kept the car running so the heat would stay on, which wasn't really doing that good of a job in the first place, but I did it anyways. My buddy and his uncle came out, walked back to the car and got in, and I raised my beer to finish it off.
And then...
ALLLLLLL hell broke loose.
My buddy starts saying "Cops! Cops! Cops!" and I panicked and started to put my empty beer can under my seat, which I know now was really stupid. I saw myself hiding a beer can (like they weren't going to see the other two empty cases floating around the front and back seats), but the officer at my window saw me reaching for a weapon of some kind. The next thing we heard was "PUT YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM AND DO NOT MOVE!!!!!"
There was an officer at my window, one at the passenger window, and one at both ends of the car, all four with guns drawn on me. I was mortified. I couldn't even open the door when the officer asked me to. I think I might have even peed a little. They had to search the car, of course, and we could have built a small fortress out of all the empties they took out of the car and put on the trunk.
See, when we pulled into the parking lot, we were all too drunk to notice the police car at the other end of the parking lot AND the police car in the parking lot at the fast food restaurant next door (it was dark...that's my only defense). And of course, I pulled into the closest spot to the driveway, which happened to be one of the two spots the clerk couldn't see very well from inside the store. Two guys run in, one waits in the car...yeah. They thought they were going to be robbed, so the second clerk tipped off one of the officers in the store (my buddy and his uncle were totally oblivious to the two officers in the store, for some reason...they must have been more drunk than I was). Then the second car rolled in nice and ninja-like with its lights off after the other two got in the car, and we were stone cold busted. The nights' adventure got me my second underage drinking citation, and I don't remember what the other two got and frankly I don't care.
It didn't scare me enough to make me quit, but it DID make me more a cautious drunk for the future.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
LOL, WTF, and BBL...The Way of the Interwebs.
I am an internet junkie. It started way back when in the late 1990s when I discovered chat rooms. The very first time I ever logged into a chat room, I had a hard time believing that there were real people there. There were. The first dialogue I ever had in a chat room:
I said "Hello?"
Someone responded "hi".
(Oooooo...this is COOL!!!!)
I was hooked. Real people!! They had cool names and used colorful fonts and letters and I could talk to them and they talked to me back. Well, type to them, anyways. I spent countless hours in various chat rooms...made a few friends here and there that I chatted with on and off while I was there, but most of the people in there were not regulars. I became a regular after a while. Some people I chatted with outside of the chat rooms; Yahoo Messenger was a popular medium of conversation, and I utilized it often. Hours and hours were spent chatting about anything and everything amidst various emoticons of smiley faces and sad faces, lols and brbs. I met one of my closest and dearest friends in a chat room over ten years ago, to be honest. Little did I know that it was those early days that would suck me into the internet for good.
Then I discovered IRC, short for internet relay chat. It was like chat rooms on steroids. It was there I learned how to exploit websites and gain access to their content for free. The people who taught me how to do this were ex-programmers and system admins, and they were among the best on the planet. They had cracked more websites than I could count and were responsible for general mayhem and chaos. They were the elite hackers of the planet, and I was under their wing. I was soon an @ there, which is the abbreviation for operator. I could kick people out of our channel, add people to our ranks, ban the newbies who didn't follow the rules, and various other benefits.
It didn't last long...I got bored and left the channel I belonged to, and have all but forgotten how to use the tools I was given. The tools are still out there...somewhere. I just choose not to use them anymore. Too risky nowadays with Big Brother breathing down our necks.
Then came the advent of social networking. I enjoy it because it allows me to talk to family and friends I normally wouldn't see or hear from for years at a time, both foreign and domestic. Facebook, Twitter, and countless others encompass billions of people across the world, and it seems that nobody is immune to their grasp.
And then...MMORPGs. Or, massive multi-player online role playing games. Yowza...I couldn't possibly know where to begin here. World of Warcraft was my poison...people have nicknamed it 'Warcrack'. I spent hundreds of hours in front of my computer. I won't go into detail because I could go on and on for days about Warcraft, so I'll spare you all this time. I still play here and there, but not nearly as much as I used to.
Now, I subscribe to many different news readers and groups and am constantly reading about the latest in gadgets and electronics, business, politics, games, humor, and many other things. I'm hooked but I don't want to quit...I don't think I could if I tried =). I'm still a junkie, I guess.
Where will computing go next? What else is out there that we could possibly discover? How much more is there to invent? We may never know. Not in our lifetime, anyways.
I said "Hello?"
Someone responded "hi".
(Oooooo...this is COOL!!!!)
I was hooked. Real people!! They had cool names and used colorful fonts and letters and I could talk to them and they talked to me back. Well, type to them, anyways. I spent countless hours in various chat rooms...made a few friends here and there that I chatted with on and off while I was there, but most of the people in there were not regulars. I became a regular after a while. Some people I chatted with outside of the chat rooms; Yahoo Messenger was a popular medium of conversation, and I utilized it often. Hours and hours were spent chatting about anything and everything amidst various emoticons of smiley faces and sad faces, lols and brbs. I met one of my closest and dearest friends in a chat room over ten years ago, to be honest. Little did I know that it was those early days that would suck me into the internet for good.
Then I discovered IRC, short for internet relay chat. It was like chat rooms on steroids. It was there I learned how to exploit websites and gain access to their content for free. The people who taught me how to do this were ex-programmers and system admins, and they were among the best on the planet. They had cracked more websites than I could count and were responsible for general mayhem and chaos. They were the elite hackers of the planet, and I was under their wing. I was soon an @ there, which is the abbreviation for operator. I could kick people out of our channel, add people to our ranks, ban the newbies who didn't follow the rules, and various other benefits.
It didn't last long...I got bored and left the channel I belonged to, and have all but forgotten how to use the tools I was given. The tools are still out there...somewhere. I just choose not to use them anymore. Too risky nowadays with Big Brother breathing down our necks.
Then came the advent of social networking. I enjoy it because it allows me to talk to family and friends I normally wouldn't see or hear from for years at a time, both foreign and domestic. Facebook, Twitter, and countless others encompass billions of people across the world, and it seems that nobody is immune to their grasp.
And then...MMORPGs. Or, massive multi-player online role playing games. Yowza...I couldn't possibly know where to begin here. World of Warcraft was my poison...people have nicknamed it 'Warcrack'. I spent hundreds of hours in front of my computer. I won't go into detail because I could go on and on for days about Warcraft, so I'll spare you all this time. I still play here and there, but not nearly as much as I used to.
Now, I subscribe to many different news readers and groups and am constantly reading about the latest in gadgets and electronics, business, politics, games, humor, and many other things. I'm hooked but I don't want to quit...I don't think I could if I tried =). I'm still a junkie, I guess.
Where will computing go next? What else is out there that we could possibly discover? How much more is there to invent? We may never know. Not in our lifetime, anyways.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Know When to Fold 'Em...
Many, many years ago, I used to enjoy gambling. Blackjack, to be specific. At first, it was the mystique of the casino; the buttons and neon-colored lights on all the machines, the sounds of jackpots and semi-jackpots calling to you to empty the loose change from your pockets before you even get your wallet out and hit the cashier, even the smells of the casino.
Yes, there are smells....honest. Some are good...some not so good.
The good...the all-you-can-eat buffet, the occasional pipe aroma wafting through the air, and if you're lucky, the smell of a stack of bills as you walk out the front door with the house's money. The bad...the smell of mini-buckets of dirty nickels and quarters being hauled around under watchful eyes by little old ladies taking their weekly (sometimes daily) bus trip, the various odors of the regular degenerate gamblers who threw bathing out the window because 'they were on a roll and couldn't quit now', and the over-perfumed women (it's always Vanilla Fields...blech) who try to mask the scent of gin and Virginia Slims they constantly exude.
The very first time I ever went to a casino, I sat down in front of the first machine I saw, put in one quarter, and won $75. I was hooked. I was gonna be richer than Bruce Springsteen...I had it all planned out. Come up here a few times a week, bring a roll of quarters, and walk out on rose petals drinking a bottle of Dom Perignon with an escort on each arm like Ice-T or Hugh Hefner. My dreams were soon dashed. I realized very quickly that the house, not I, had the overall advantage. Then the scheming started...that didn't last long either. I figured out that if I was going to be a successful gambler, a real high roller, I was just going to have to learn how to play the games by the rules and win by strategy, not cheating. Face it...you can't cheat a casino. You might do it once, maybe even three or four times, but you WILL get caught and if you did, you might never be seen again. I didn't have the balls to try.
Soon enough, I found the blackjack tables. I started small, only playing at the three dollar tables. After a while, I learned how to play the game; when to hit, when to stand, when to hold, when to double...all that good stuff. I got pretty good, and I knew the game fairly well. I graduated up to the nickel tables, and once in a while I ventured into the quarter table territory, but not very often.
One night, I decided to try my luck at the quarter tables hoping to win some real money. After I sat down and started playing, I was having the night of my life. I walked in with around $200, and was up over $1,000. I couldn't lose no matter how hard I tried. I felt like Tony Montana...the world was mine and there was nobody who could stop me. Or so I thought.
After a while, a well-dressed man in a very nice suit came over and asked me if I'd like to join this table over in a little corner off of the rest of the tables, the one in a blue haze of expensive cigar smoke and smelling of Old Spice and whiskey. It was a hundred dollar table...somewhere I had only dreamed of playing. My eyebrows went up almost as quick as my heartbeat. I took my stacks and followed the nice man over to the new table and sat at the open spot. I was the youngest player there by a long shot...the next oldest guy there was at least twice my age, and they just got older from there. My luck seemed to follow me there also...soon enough, I was up over $6,000, and I was ON FIRE. Unstoppable. Unbeatable.
Until...it happened.
I caught some bad cards, and I started to sweat a little. My vast fortune was dropping by as much as $500 a hand, and all of a sudden it was like someone turned on a switch and the shoes turned to complete shit. I started to bet bigger and play more erratic to make up for my losses, and I could feel my luck slipping away. I'm sure the free drinks the waitresses kept bringing didn't help any, either. Those broads knew what they were doing. By this time I knew I had already had quite a bit to drink, but I was losing my ass in a big hurry, which took my mind off the booze. The only thing going through my mind at that time was despair and sorrow.
My last hand there was a $250 bet...a little more than I had in my pocket when I walked in the door quite a few hours and almost as many drinks ago. My 19 lost to the dealer's 20 and I was flat busted. Broke as a sonofabitch and I was devastated. I thanked the dealer and didn't say another word to anyone. I walked out with my head to the ground in shame and I couldn't forgive myself for not getting up and walking out when I had over SIX THOUSAND DOLLARS of the house's money sitting in front of me.
I learned an expensive lesson that day...and I haven't played a single hand of blackjack since.
Yes, there are smells....honest. Some are good...some not so good.
The good...the all-you-can-eat buffet, the occasional pipe aroma wafting through the air, and if you're lucky, the smell of a stack of bills as you walk out the front door with the house's money. The bad...the smell of mini-buckets of dirty nickels and quarters being hauled around under watchful eyes by little old ladies taking their weekly (sometimes daily) bus trip, the various odors of the regular degenerate gamblers who threw bathing out the window because 'they were on a roll and couldn't quit now', and the over-perfumed women (it's always Vanilla Fields...blech) who try to mask the scent of gin and Virginia Slims they constantly exude.
The very first time I ever went to a casino, I sat down in front of the first machine I saw, put in one quarter, and won $75. I was hooked. I was gonna be richer than Bruce Springsteen...I had it all planned out. Come up here a few times a week, bring a roll of quarters, and walk out on rose petals drinking a bottle of Dom Perignon with an escort on each arm like Ice-T or Hugh Hefner. My dreams were soon dashed. I realized very quickly that the house, not I, had the overall advantage. Then the scheming started...that didn't last long either. I figured out that if I was going to be a successful gambler, a real high roller, I was just going to have to learn how to play the games by the rules and win by strategy, not cheating. Face it...you can't cheat a casino. You might do it once, maybe even three or four times, but you WILL get caught and if you did, you might never be seen again. I didn't have the balls to try.
Soon enough, I found the blackjack tables. I started small, only playing at the three dollar tables. After a while, I learned how to play the game; when to hit, when to stand, when to hold, when to double...all that good stuff. I got pretty good, and I knew the game fairly well. I graduated up to the nickel tables, and once in a while I ventured into the quarter table territory, but not very often.
One night, I decided to try my luck at the quarter tables hoping to win some real money. After I sat down and started playing, I was having the night of my life. I walked in with around $200, and was up over $1,000. I couldn't lose no matter how hard I tried. I felt like Tony Montana...the world was mine and there was nobody who could stop me. Or so I thought.
After a while, a well-dressed man in a very nice suit came over and asked me if I'd like to join this table over in a little corner off of the rest of the tables, the one in a blue haze of expensive cigar smoke and smelling of Old Spice and whiskey. It was a hundred dollar table...somewhere I had only dreamed of playing. My eyebrows went up almost as quick as my heartbeat. I took my stacks and followed the nice man over to the new table and sat at the open spot. I was the youngest player there by a long shot...the next oldest guy there was at least twice my age, and they just got older from there. My luck seemed to follow me there also...soon enough, I was up over $6,000, and I was ON FIRE. Unstoppable. Unbeatable.
Until...it happened.
I caught some bad cards, and I started to sweat a little. My vast fortune was dropping by as much as $500 a hand, and all of a sudden it was like someone turned on a switch and the shoes turned to complete shit. I started to bet bigger and play more erratic to make up for my losses, and I could feel my luck slipping away. I'm sure the free drinks the waitresses kept bringing didn't help any, either. Those broads knew what they were doing. By this time I knew I had already had quite a bit to drink, but I was losing my ass in a big hurry, which took my mind off the booze. The only thing going through my mind at that time was despair and sorrow.
My last hand there was a $250 bet...a little more than I had in my pocket when I walked in the door quite a few hours and almost as many drinks ago. My 19 lost to the dealer's 20 and I was flat busted. Broke as a sonofabitch and I was devastated. I thanked the dealer and didn't say another word to anyone. I walked out with my head to the ground in shame and I couldn't forgive myself for not getting up and walking out when I had over SIX THOUSAND DOLLARS of the house's money sitting in front of me.
I learned an expensive lesson that day...and I haven't played a single hand of blackjack since.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
If It's Too Loud, You're Too Old.
June 28th I had the pleasure of attending a concert here in town. Normally, I wouldn't attend such foolishness, as it's just not in my things-to-do list anymore, but my good friend Jim Heiderscheit suggested I check it out as it would be a pretty kickass show. If you know me at all, you'll know I was skeptical, as usual. I was wrong, also as usual. He was right.
I had my concert-going days back in the 1980s, and they were good. Damn good. My first concert...Twisted Sister. That was 1986. This is 2011. Most of the bands I listen to are either retired, broken up beyond repair, or dead. It's a fact of life. Bands come and bands go. Sad, but true. Sure, there are still a few of them around, but most of them have changed so much over the years that I just don't get what I used to out of them (don't EVEN get me started about Metallica).
Tuesday night was different. It wasn't thousands of people screaming their heads off, getting drunk and passing the doobies around in the stands, stopping just short of a drunken riot. This was a smaller venue, and it fit the bands that played there very well, in my opinion.
Yeah, it was loud. Really loud and my ears paid for it, I'm sure. It was hot and there was no air conditioning. But that was ok. It was rock music the way rock music is supposed to be played. Loud, gritty, sweaty, and IN YOUR FACE. I was right up on the stage with the rest of the guys there who probably weren't much older than my own children. They were jumping around, dancing, banging their head, and after a while, by God, so was I.
The three guys with guitars kicked ass...seriously. The vocals, the keyboard player, my buddy Jim on drums (he was tight, man...lemme tell you what)...these guys have their shit together. They covered "Just What I Needed" by The Cars. Ho. Lee. SHIT. I was blown away. Srsly blown away. You have NO idea.
I felt like I was 16 again...it was awesome. Just plain awesome.
You'll see a couple videos I shot of them playing below; the footage isn't theater quality, but who cares? It's rock and roll music...it's not supposed to be pretty. It's all what you make it.
Thanks for reading (and listening), all.
I had my concert-going days back in the 1980s, and they were good. Damn good. My first concert...Twisted Sister. That was 1986. This is 2011. Most of the bands I listen to are either retired, broken up beyond repair, or dead. It's a fact of life. Bands come and bands go. Sad, but true. Sure, there are still a few of them around, but most of them have changed so much over the years that I just don't get what I used to out of them (don't EVEN get me started about Metallica).
Tuesday night was different. It wasn't thousands of people screaming their heads off, getting drunk and passing the doobies around in the stands, stopping just short of a drunken riot. This was a smaller venue, and it fit the bands that played there very well, in my opinion.
Yeah, it was loud. Really loud and my ears paid for it, I'm sure. It was hot and there was no air conditioning. But that was ok. It was rock music the way rock music is supposed to be played. Loud, gritty, sweaty, and IN YOUR FACE. I was right up on the stage with the rest of the guys there who probably weren't much older than my own children. They were jumping around, dancing, banging their head, and after a while, by God, so was I.
The three guys with guitars kicked ass...seriously. The vocals, the keyboard player, my buddy Jim on drums (he was tight, man...lemme tell you what)...these guys have their shit together. They covered "Just What I Needed" by The Cars. Ho. Lee. SHIT. I was blown away. Srsly blown away. You have NO idea.
I felt like I was 16 again...it was awesome. Just plain awesome.
You'll see a couple videos I shot of them playing below; the footage isn't theater quality, but who cares? It's rock and roll music...it's not supposed to be pretty. It's all what you make it.
Thanks for reading (and listening), all.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Brats, Beers, and Keys
Over the years I have had many different 'careers'. I've been a paperboy, a bouncer for an 'adult entertainment' service, a burger flipper, part of a pit crew, a boot maker, and many, many others; some I won't mention here because I don't want to taint my well-polished image. I'm all about the people, you know.
One of the most interesting and just plain cool jobs I had was a promoter and organizer of autograph shows with professional athletes. This was something my business partner and I did on the side as we also had a retail store to run at the same time. We would bring in athletes to our city to sign autographs at a venue, and we had an awesome time doing it. Because the majority of the athletes we brought in were either current or retired Green Bay Packers (some Hall of Famers as well), we spent the majority of our time 'planning' at a local sports bar that was devoted to sports memorabilia, primarily...you guessed it...Green Bay Packer ephemera. My partner was also a legacy, in Animal House terms, because his grandfather was on a championship team back in the 1940s, so football was in his blood.
Our days were pretty simple for the most part...meet at the 'office' for lunch, which was 99 times out of a hundred a bowl of beer cheese soup, a couple brats, and a few beers (a few...yeah, right), followed by a few rounds of Golden Tee golf (which my golfing partner and I took first place in the first year there was a league in my city...we were pretty happy about that). Generally, it was a given that we would spend several hours 'planning' our work in the 'office', and we were usually happier when we were done than we were when we began.
My partner had this old beat-up Ford F-something with a 3-speed on the column; it wasn't pretty but it got us where we needed to go, and it actually ran pretty well given its condition. Still had the old aluminum keys before they started making them out of brass or whatever it is they make them out of nowadays. One day when we were ready to leave, my buddy went to the drivers' side of the truck which was nearest the curb, and I to the passenger side, which was on the street. Not just any old street, mind you. A two-lane, northbound street which is one of the top five busiest streets in town. There are speed limits posted, but people usually drive at least ten over, traffic permitting. My buddy opened his door with the key, and for reasons unknown to me and every other person on the planet except him, instead of reaching over and opening my door from the inside like anyone else would have done, he decides to toss the keys to me without telling me first (because apparently I was just supposed to know that was the plan), sliding them across the top of the cab, hoping I'll see them in time and catch them.
I didn't.
The keys went over my head, and landed about three feet away from me, in the lane of traffic. I started to step and bend over to pick them up, and something told me to look before I got to where I was going. I turned my head to the right, and HOLY CRAP there was a vehicle coming right at me, not even bothering to slow down any. Naturally, I jumped back against my buddy's truck, and I heard
<clink>
And then I did
O.O
It all happened so fast that I can barely remember what kind of vehicle it was. But what I DO remember...very vividly...is the sound car keys make when they're stuck in someone's front tire hitting the pavement repeatedly at 30 mph. All I could do was stand and stare with my mouth open and my eyes as big as quarters. Our keys were going down the road in someone's front tire and there wasn't a goddamn thing I could do about it. I stood and stared some more, and my buddy gets out and comes around to see what's going on. I pointed...and pointed some more. Then I picked my jaw up off the ground and started to tell him what happened. He told me to quit fuckin' around and give him the keys. I said "DUDE...someone ran them over. They're going north right now. I'm serious as a heart attack."
His jaw was then on the ground as well. We stood and stared at each other, mouths wide open, as if we were watching the Titanic sink to her watery grave. A few minutes later, we composed ourselves to walk down the street, he on one side and I on the other, to see if the keys had worked themselves out and were waiting to be found. They didn't, and they weren't. A half mile later we walked back to call a locksmith to come make us a new key.
Fast forward three days later.
We're in the 'office' doing some 'planning', enjoying our lunch (both solid and liquid) and this guy walks in and sits down about four stools away from us next to a friend of his. We didn't think anything of it, he was just another guy in 'planning' mode. A few minutes later, I hear the man's voice elevate, and he says, "You'll NEVER guess what happened to me three days ago. I got home from work and had a goddamn flat tire. Some asshole jammed a car key in my front tire...and those tires are only two months old!!"
I turn to my buddy with almost a crazed look on my face and and in a loud, semi-drunken whisper I said "DUDE!!!! LISTEN TO THAT GUY!!!" My buddy goes over and asks the man if he still had the key that was in his tire. The man says, "Yeah, I saved 'em just in case." My buddy starts telling the guy what had happened, offered to pay for the tire, and pretty soon the whole place was in bottle-induced hysterics and we called off 'work' early that day to celebrate the reunion of my buddy and his keys.
One of the most interesting and just plain cool jobs I had was a promoter and organizer of autograph shows with professional athletes. This was something my business partner and I did on the side as we also had a retail store to run at the same time. We would bring in athletes to our city to sign autographs at a venue, and we had an awesome time doing it. Because the majority of the athletes we brought in were either current or retired Green Bay Packers (some Hall of Famers as well), we spent the majority of our time 'planning' at a local sports bar that was devoted to sports memorabilia, primarily...you guessed it...Green Bay Packer ephemera. My partner was also a legacy, in Animal House terms, because his grandfather was on a championship team back in the 1940s, so football was in his blood.
Our days were pretty simple for the most part...meet at the 'office' for lunch, which was 99 times out of a hundred a bowl of beer cheese soup, a couple brats, and a few beers (a few...yeah, right), followed by a few rounds of Golden Tee golf (which my golfing partner and I took first place in the first year there was a league in my city...we were pretty happy about that). Generally, it was a given that we would spend several hours 'planning' our work in the 'office', and we were usually happier when we were done than we were when we began.
My partner had this old beat-up Ford F-something with a 3-speed on the column; it wasn't pretty but it got us where we needed to go, and it actually ran pretty well given its condition. Still had the old aluminum keys before they started making them out of brass or whatever it is they make them out of nowadays. One day when we were ready to leave, my buddy went to the drivers' side of the truck which was nearest the curb, and I to the passenger side, which was on the street. Not just any old street, mind you. A two-lane, northbound street which is one of the top five busiest streets in town. There are speed limits posted, but people usually drive at least ten over, traffic permitting. My buddy opened his door with the key, and for reasons unknown to me and every other person on the planet except him, instead of reaching over and opening my door from the inside like anyone else would have done, he decides to toss the keys to me without telling me first (because apparently I was just supposed to know that was the plan), sliding them across the top of the cab, hoping I'll see them in time and catch them.
I didn't.
The keys went over my head, and landed about three feet away from me, in the lane of traffic. I started to step and bend over to pick them up, and something told me to look before I got to where I was going. I turned my head to the right, and HOLY CRAP there was a vehicle coming right at me, not even bothering to slow down any. Naturally, I jumped back against my buddy's truck, and I heard
<clink>
And then I did
O.O
It all happened so fast that I can barely remember what kind of vehicle it was. But what I DO remember...very vividly...is the sound car keys make when they're stuck in someone's front tire hitting the pavement repeatedly at 30 mph. All I could do was stand and stare with my mouth open and my eyes as big as quarters. Our keys were going down the road in someone's front tire and there wasn't a goddamn thing I could do about it. I stood and stared some more, and my buddy gets out and comes around to see what's going on. I pointed...and pointed some more. Then I picked my jaw up off the ground and started to tell him what happened. He told me to quit fuckin' around and give him the keys. I said "DUDE...someone ran them over. They're going north right now. I'm serious as a heart attack."
His jaw was then on the ground as well. We stood and stared at each other, mouths wide open, as if we were watching the Titanic sink to her watery grave. A few minutes later, we composed ourselves to walk down the street, he on one side and I on the other, to see if the keys had worked themselves out and were waiting to be found. They didn't, and they weren't. A half mile later we walked back to call a locksmith to come make us a new key.
Fast forward three days later.
We're in the 'office' doing some 'planning', enjoying our lunch (both solid and liquid) and this guy walks in and sits down about four stools away from us next to a friend of his. We didn't think anything of it, he was just another guy in 'planning' mode. A few minutes later, I hear the man's voice elevate, and he says, "You'll NEVER guess what happened to me three days ago. I got home from work and had a goddamn flat tire. Some asshole jammed a car key in my front tire...and those tires are only two months old!!"
I turn to my buddy with almost a crazed look on my face and and in a loud, semi-drunken whisper I said "DUDE!!!! LISTEN TO THAT GUY!!!" My buddy goes over and asks the man if he still had the key that was in his tire. The man says, "Yeah, I saved 'em just in case." My buddy starts telling the guy what had happened, offered to pay for the tire, and pretty soon the whole place was in bottle-induced hysterics and we called off 'work' early that day to celebrate the reunion of my buddy and his keys.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
The Bear
It's been brought to my attention more than once that I have had experiences in my life that others may want to read about. It's also been suggested that I write an actual book, but that's too much like work. The time has come to document some of these experiences. Hence, the blog begins.
I was thinking about what my first post would be whilst doing some dishes, and in light of the recent holiday, Fathers' Day, I decided to share an experience I had with my dad when I was young. My dad, SFC Gene Stetter (ret), was the greatest man alive. He hunted, he fished, and he knew everything about everything. When he passed away he left me two things...his hairline and his potty mouth. He taught me how to shoot a gun, use a fish pole, build things out of stained glass (that will be a future story) and the Lord only knows how many other things.
When I was about eight years old, we were on a family vacation up in northern Wisconsin, somewhere near Hayward. There's a lot to do up there if you take the time to find it. Some of the best fishing in the world is in that area, and I've had the chance to experience it many times. Northern pike, muskellunge, and many other fish fell to our fishing expertise over the years.
Something else that there were plenty of up north are bears. Bears, in my opinion, are the coolest animals alive. They are my favorite animal to watch and I can spend hours upon hours on YouTube watching videos of bears doing anything from dancing to fishing to fighting other bears. They're just cool. But anyways...back to the story. One of the local attractions up north was this dump where the bears would go to scavenge for food after dark. People would come from all over to watch the bears, bringing loaves of bread and fish they'd caught to toss out for the bears to eat. There were never any grizzlies or kodiaks or any of the bigger bear species there, just your basic black bears that were just as cool. When you're eight years old and sitting in the truck with your old man tossing hot dogs to a bear, you're on cloud nine.
After we had thrown out a few hot dogs and pieces of bread to the one bear that was there after the rest had left, my old man looks at me and says, "I bet if you take a hot dog and walk up to that bear real nice and slow and don't scare him, he'll take it right out of our hand."
o.O (internet WTF eyes)
I looked at my old man like he had lobsters crawling out of his ears or something, and it felt like he was asking me to take the One Ring into the fiery depths of Mordor or some epic task of that nature. My eyes got as big as quarters, and I pretty much told him he was nuts, however an eight-year-old would say that back in 1981. He assured me that nothing would happen, and not wanting to act like a sissy in front of my old man, I reluctantly took the hot dog (I think it was an Oscar Meyer) and opened the passenger door on his F-150 verrrrrry slowly. I stepped out onto the ground with one foot, and I felt fear setting in. My old man did too, because he said to me "He's more afraid of you than you are of him, so don't let him know you're afraid." Yeah...thanks, Dad. I'll remember that when he's eating my face and laughing about it later with the other bears.
I started of walking towards the bear, which was only about 20 yards from me but felt like an endless mile. I readied the hot dog...arm straight out, one eye closed, head cocked to one side not wanting to look, and my tongue was hanging out like that infamous Michael Jordan picture. I stepped slowly but steadily closer to the bear, and then...he saw me. His big head turned to me, and he started sniffing the air, sensing that there was something edible heading his way. To him, it was the hot dog, but to me it could have been...well, me, for all I knew. Then he turned his body to me and strolled over to me nice and easy. I froze like a deer in headlights...I couldn't have moved even if I had wanted to. The bear was within six feet from me and I looked right at him...and he looked at me.
I was certain this was it...I had mentally prepared myself to be eaten momentarily, and as my hand was shaking uncontrollably, the bear walked up and ate the hot dog right from my hand like I would eat a corn dog. Just grabbed it and walked away...that was it.
I was still frozen...totally unable to move. I then heard my old man tell me to back up slowly and come back to the truck. I did exactly that and to my surprise, I wasn't eaten. I wasn't made into bear food before my very eyes. I still had all my limbs and I hadn't wet my pants. Success =).
I got into the truck and looked at my old man...he just looked at me with the face that says "I told you so, silly...". That was by far the highlight of my summer...not many things I've done to date have been anywhere near as cool.
Thanks for reading...there will be much more in the future.
I was thinking about what my first post would be whilst doing some dishes, and in light of the recent holiday, Fathers' Day, I decided to share an experience I had with my dad when I was young. My dad, SFC Gene Stetter (ret), was the greatest man alive. He hunted, he fished, and he knew everything about everything. When he passed away he left me two things...his hairline and his potty mouth. He taught me how to shoot a gun, use a fish pole, build things out of stained glass (that will be a future story) and the Lord only knows how many other things.
When I was about eight years old, we were on a family vacation up in northern Wisconsin, somewhere near Hayward. There's a lot to do up there if you take the time to find it. Some of the best fishing in the world is in that area, and I've had the chance to experience it many times. Northern pike, muskellunge, and many other fish fell to our fishing expertise over the years.
Something else that there were plenty of up north are bears. Bears, in my opinion, are the coolest animals alive. They are my favorite animal to watch and I can spend hours upon hours on YouTube watching videos of bears doing anything from dancing to fishing to fighting other bears. They're just cool. But anyways...back to the story. One of the local attractions up north was this dump where the bears would go to scavenge for food after dark. People would come from all over to watch the bears, bringing loaves of bread and fish they'd caught to toss out for the bears to eat. There were never any grizzlies or kodiaks or any of the bigger bear species there, just your basic black bears that were just as cool. When you're eight years old and sitting in the truck with your old man tossing hot dogs to a bear, you're on cloud nine.
After we had thrown out a few hot dogs and pieces of bread to the one bear that was there after the rest had left, my old man looks at me and says, "I bet if you take a hot dog and walk up to that bear real nice and slow and don't scare him, he'll take it right out of our hand."
o.O (internet WTF eyes)
I looked at my old man like he had lobsters crawling out of his ears or something, and it felt like he was asking me to take the One Ring into the fiery depths of Mordor or some epic task of that nature. My eyes got as big as quarters, and I pretty much told him he was nuts, however an eight-year-old would say that back in 1981. He assured me that nothing would happen, and not wanting to act like a sissy in front of my old man, I reluctantly took the hot dog (I think it was an Oscar Meyer) and opened the passenger door on his F-150 verrrrrry slowly. I stepped out onto the ground with one foot, and I felt fear setting in. My old man did too, because he said to me "He's more afraid of you than you are of him, so don't let him know you're afraid." Yeah...thanks, Dad. I'll remember that when he's eating my face and laughing about it later with the other bears.
I started of walking towards the bear, which was only about 20 yards from me but felt like an endless mile. I readied the hot dog...arm straight out, one eye closed, head cocked to one side not wanting to look, and my tongue was hanging out like that infamous Michael Jordan picture. I stepped slowly but steadily closer to the bear, and then...he saw me. His big head turned to me, and he started sniffing the air, sensing that there was something edible heading his way. To him, it was the hot dog, but to me it could have been...well, me, for all I knew. Then he turned his body to me and strolled over to me nice and easy. I froze like a deer in headlights...I couldn't have moved even if I had wanted to. The bear was within six feet from me and I looked right at him...and he looked at me.
I was certain this was it...I had mentally prepared myself to be eaten momentarily, and as my hand was shaking uncontrollably, the bear walked up and ate the hot dog right from my hand like I would eat a corn dog. Just grabbed it and walked away...that was it.
I was still frozen...totally unable to move. I then heard my old man tell me to back up slowly and come back to the truck. I did exactly that and to my surprise, I wasn't eaten. I wasn't made into bear food before my very eyes. I still had all my limbs and I hadn't wet my pants. Success =).
I got into the truck and looked at my old man...he just looked at me with the face that says "I told you so, silly...". That was by far the highlight of my summer...not many things I've done to date have been anywhere near as cool.
Thanks for reading...there will be much more in the future.
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