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a little late, but still resolute...
It’s 2012 jokers. I know you know this, but I’m going to say it anyway. It’s 2012. Wake up!
Not like there’s a disaster coming or anything, but you never know. Blam!
I’m going to start working out like I mean it. Not like some pansy-ass 40-something who just got a trainer and calculated his BMI [which, let’s face it, is probably 80% accurate for me], but stripped down bark-eating shit. Like Ali in his day when he was up against Foreman, that mean old son of a bitch.
"I done tussled with a whale. I done handcuffed lighting, thrown thunder in jail."
Amen. Where’s Foreman now? Selling grills on infomercials, that’s where.
I’m going to start writing every day. Not journal inputs and outputs or recording the time and place or lame-ass Facebook/Twitter comments, but what matters and how. There’s nobody to say it like me. Nobody. Not now.
I’m going to keep on grabbing my wife and kissing her and telling her how much I love her. I’m going to take her dancing. Every kind of dancing. You think of a dance and you’ll think of us. I bought her a dozen roses before Valentine’s Day, just to count off the days until. Goddamn, she’s a beautiful site. Do you ever feel that? That your wife is a goddamn miracle? Sorry God, I’m not damning you. I’m saying my wife is amazing. I think God can take it. I bet he says it, too, sometimes.
"Goddamn, I did right by her." - God
I’m going to praise my boys. My two boys. They’re probably embarrassed me just saying that. Praise us? Jesus, Dad. But seriously, my boys are also superstars. They could rope the moon, the two of them. Thomas just ran a half-marathon. A [I have to expletive delete here] half-marathon! Thirten.whatever miles and he made it in one hour and fifty minutes. Yes, you read that right. He ran 13.x miles in 1:50:00. Top that. He’s fourteen. And he plays guitar like Yngve Malmsteen if Yngve Malmsteen were cool and had shorter hair. I don’t even care if I spelled Yngve Malmsteen right. I probably did though. And William is playing trumpet (on and off 1st chair!) and guitar and growing into his own charming self. Sweet Lord, watch out girls. I mean it. Watch. Out. This kid is going to plow through like an International Harvester. And you’ll thank him. You absolutely will.
I’m going to take it all in. I’m going to be patient. I’m going to stay positive in the face of a crap ton of down-and-outers. I’m going to be kind. I’m going to take my time. Stop rush rush rushing. This rushed out rushed up rushed on world is spinning fast enough for me to sit back and watch sometimes. Or not even watch. More like spin my own.
It’s 2012 mother-[man, I can’t cuss like that anymore, but you know what I mean].
Wake up!
- 2/1/2012 9:04:14 PM |
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lines
Here’s possibly the worst thing he could think to say about her: He could see what she would look like when she was old.
- 1/16/2012 6:16:57 PM |
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blather on
Boy, time flies. It’s been 2 years, 3 months, and 6 days since my last confess...err, post. I don’t know what happened. I think I got sick of it. And Facebook. Yeah, let’s blame Facebook. Or Twitter. Our tolerance for >140 character ponderings on the nature of the universe has taken a turn for the worse. And, let’s be honest, most people do blather on when unlimited.
So what’s different now? I honestly don’t know. I think it’s that I just had to come back to it. Had to have a forum for whatever nonsense comes to mind. Had to have a place to stash these lame, half-hearted ideas so that they might grow, might turn into something else.
So what’s different now? I’m remarried to a beautiful, amazing, kind, generous woman. Something about the everydayness of life gets immediately more bearable when you’re every day is so damn good and you look forward to coming home. Of course, things still reak in the outside world, but I’ve got a fortress or a reef or a barrier through which not as much slips through.
P.S.
I disabled the comments. Not b/c I didn’t like the comments, but b/c I don’t really have a good way to stop the spam. I’m sure I could come up with one, but I honestly don’t care enough to do that. So, your comments were always welcome and it wasn’t anything you said. Really. I have a few more gasps in me. We’ll see, right?
So what’s different?
Nothing.
Everything.
- 11/6/2011 5:21:12 PM |
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If it's worth it, we'll tax the hell out of it...
P.J. O’Rourke on bailouts, easy women, and the ruination of the American automobile industry.
Money quote:
“Politics is the attempt to achieve power and prestige without merit.”
- 7/11/2009 8:29:50 AM |
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Happy Fathering Day
Just back from a transformative and less debauched gathering of men at Hidden Falls. The focus was fatherhood; biological, emotional, spiritual. We shot guns, roasted whole hogs, and acted like wild-haired buffoons...except when we didn’t. We talked about what we desired in our own fathers and how we could use that desire as a sort of compass in our own lives. Simple, I know. But powerful. And so understated in our own lives as we live them. Many of us sons are fatherless, either estranged, abandoned, or simply distant from the men who raised us. Many fathers feel diminished, useless, lost, confused. Our own President is fatherless, raised by his mother and grandparents.
As my Father’s Day kicks off, I wanted to offer up a prayer for all us fathers and sons and also harken back to a recently-recovered biograph entry that highlights all my jumbled emotions.
Even as a divorced dad, I still have the opportunity to influence my children for good, to seek out the opportunities to be with them, to hold them, to guide them, to be the father I had only too briefly. The central tenets of life still hold true. It’s never too late. You can break the cycle and reconnect the distant chords. You can make a difference.
Addendum:
Thomas posted his own blog entry on Father’s Day (or Children’s Enslaved Day as he calls it). Like he said, he and William made me breakfast (all by themselves) and they got me a brand new Weber BBQ grill (fancy). I really could not be happier.
- 6/21/2009 7:17:16 AM |
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You forget what you want to remember...
...and you remember what you want to forget.
Dimension Films has released the first trailer for The Road.
"Once there were brook trout in the streams in the mountains. You could see them standing in the amber current where the white edges of their fins wimpled softly in the flow. They smelled of moss in your hand. Polished and muscular and torsional. On their backs were vermiculate patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes. Of a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again. In the deep glens where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery."
Esquire, known for its understatement in all things entertainment, has declared it the most important movie of the year.
- 5/16/2009 2:49:16 PM |
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I'm sorry, the page is out of order
In other news...
Bud Shrake passed away earlier in the week. After Poodie and Stephen Bruton, this comes as hard news for Willie I’m sure. Too many damn good Texans are dying up in here.
And...
Some good advice from a new book for parents, The Idle Parent:
Drink as much beer as you can and lie in bed.
Children actually have an inbuilt self-protective sense that we destroy by over-cosseting. They become independent not so much by careful training but in part simply as a result of parental laziness. Last Sunday morning, Victoria and I lay in bed till half past 10 with hangovers. What a result! And the more often you do this, the better, because the children’s resourcefulness will improve, resulting in less nagging, less of that awful "Mum-eeeeeeeh" noise they make. They can play and they will play.
So lying in bed for as long as possible is not the act of an irresponsible parent. It is precisely the opposite: It is good to look after yourself, and it is good to teach the children to fend for themselves. Our offspring will be strong, bold, fearless, much in demand wherever they go! Capable, cheerful, happy. It is also the task of the idle parent to ensure as far as possible that all members of the family are enjoying themselves here and now, in the present moment. There is far too much emphasis on that imprisoning capitalist abstraction "the future." There is no point in sacrificing pleasurable todays for the promise of more prosperous tomorrows. So stay in that bed as much as you can.
- 5/15/2009 8:19:38 AM |
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You're Fine, Don't Look
Why Twitter is evil.
To quote the over-quoted Shawshank Redemption...
"Get busy living or get busy dying."
BTW, and apropos of nothing other than laying out my life for people who take the time to come here:
I’m getting married to a beautiful woman who is everything I ever wanted and needed and loved.
I know it may be hard to accept for those who know me nominally, but love does find you in the oddest of places and in the oddest of times. Trust me on this. I’ve been busy living the fulfillment of that notion.
I’ll write more. I promise. After Costa Rica and after I’m settled back into this grand and wonderful life.
- 4/23/2009 10:33:14 PM |
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edgar allan piamp
"Poe was also a player of hoaxes, a plagiarist, had a substance abuse problem, and couldn’t keep a roof over his head. Poe was a proponent of slavery, the worst sort of would-be social climber, and married a 13-year-old girl in his cousin Virginia Clemm. None of this information is new, of course — these fun facts are probably the answers to a fill-in-the-blank quiz given each year in some sixth-grade classroom in Ohio. The problem is that Poe has been so completely taught that he is very rarely read with the eyes of a reader."
Poe at 200.
Another writer that the American classroom killed.
- 2/1/2009 8:54:01 AM |
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rabbit at rest
“Hemingway described literary New York as a bottle full of tapeworms trying to feed on each other. When I write, I aim in my mind not toward New York but toward a vague spot a little to the east of Kansas. I think of the books on library shelves, without their jackets, years old, and a countryish teenaged boy finding them, have them speak to him. The reviews, the stacks in Brentano’s, are just hurdles to get over, to place the books on that shelf.”
John Updike is dead at 76.
- 1/31/2009 8:41:49 AM |
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