Road House

When was the last time you wanted to punch someone in the face? And I mean rear back and try to break their face punch. Was it something someone said to you. Was it something that happened to you? Did you get cut off? Sneezed on, called out, thrown under the bus, bumped into, farted on, given an STD, listened to country? What? What was it that made you so mad, you wanted to physically shatter bones in the face of another human being? It doesn’t happen to me often. I’m super passive aggressive and rather cut people at the knees with words or prolonged torment. I don’t have much need for violence. I don’t understand MMA and the appeal, I was punched in the ear at Ericsen’s wedding and didn’t retaliate. Violence is just not part of me. All those things above would probably not get much of a reaction out of me, except the country. But there are two things that make me physically angry. I can explain one of them. Not the other, so much. Bad fake accents. I can’t take it anymore. If you are sitting around with friends doing Goodwill Hunting quotes, that’s one thing. But if you are cast in a blockbuster movie and are doing a fake british accent while being a reporter from New York, it makes me want to hurt anyone that comes near me. I have to take deep breaths, repeat a Frank Costanza mantra and go to my personal picture show. There are few actors who can pull it off. Hugh Laurie and Nicole Kidman. That is about...

Do Real Sheep Dream Electric Dreams?

Sometimes, when I dream, I forget I’m dreaming and interact with the world around me. I reach out and touch the lives of the beings inside of the subconscious subduings of my sedated mind. I hold profound conversations with likenesses of my wife and celebrities that have come to pass. I make love to people I’ve never met and I make love with the wife of my dreams. The wife who sleeps next to my barley battered brain. This is all well and good except when I hold lucid conversations with loved ones or coworkers and a blank stare comes over me. I quickly load up my personal picture show and then try to decipher if the story or conversation I’m conducting is based in reality or all part of my subconscious picture show. I search for the answer, but as I get older, it is becoming harder and harder to gain control of what is reality and what is actuality. My dreams are becoming more and more vivid. Vivid entertainment. The only situations I know aren’t real is when I dismount Sarah Silverman or have a deep conversation with my maternal grandpa. The other vividness, the mundane, ordinary, everyday subconscious picture show is interfering with my personal picture show. I feel I am beginning to lose grip on actuality. This could be fueling my anxieties and compulsions. The need to wash my hands after I touch nearly anything that does not belong to me. The need to get all the grease off of my hands after a meal. I can’t touch wood. I hate wood. Why are things...

A Shot in the Dark

” Lest I should not be able to write again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I’m no more. I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in, the cause in which I’m engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter.” – Sullivan Ballou, THE CIVIL WAR The Civil War. Ken Burns tagged it as “It divided a country. It created a nation.” The acclaimed mini-series debuted in 1990. My accelerated 7th grade social studies class watched it in 1994. Even then I remember being blown away by Morgan Freemen’s voice. How could you not be. Although history is still one of my favorite subjects, I took away a lot more than Lee’s strategery and Grant’s fortunes from Ms. Engebretson’s Laser Disc (I do have to say I was against DVDs at first due to her class, we watched everything on Laser Disc). I sat in the back, left-handed corner of the room. The row closest to the TV and furthest away from Ms. E. I was in the second to last seat. Alex was in the front desk. Tony was in the back. Elizabeth was closer to the door and pencil sharpener. The pencil sharpener was attached to the wall next to the door to the hallway. The trashcan was under the pencil sharpener. Shavings and kleenex filled the can. Now, Ms. Engebretson was not a mean lady, nor was she a nice lady. She had a permanent scowl, but then if I had to teach horny, smart ass, privileged 12 and 13 year olds all day, I would as well. She was a fair teacher who cared about the curriculum. She would let you...

Time After Time we Show our True Colors

There was a time. Perhaps there always was a time and there will always be a time. A time to reflect on the choices that we ourselves and the people before us have made. Choices that, for better or worse, changed the course of humanity. If you are inclined to believe in free will, that is. I made a choice. I made choices. I chose to choose. My parents made a choice 41 years ago. They chose to get married. They were engaged weeks after they started dating. I copied that tradition 30 years after they did that, by the by. My parents were at dinner party weeks after dating. My mom stood up and announced that her and my dad were getting married. Amazingly, my dad didn’t freak the fuck out. So they were married on June 26th, 1971. Far out. A year later they welcome their behemoth of a baby. Seriously, she was huge. 10 pounder. She’s not huge now a days. Just a normal 39 year old woman. Two years later, they had another baby. Another girl. Another choice to procreate. Another change in humanity. Three years later, the third baby. The third girl. The forgotten girl. Literally forgotten a few places. I guess those were choices that my parents and other sisters had made. She’s not forgotten now. In a couple of short months, she’ll have the biggest family in the family. Four years after the three years after the two after the one, my parents made one of the best choices they ever did. My dad started the year by quitting smoking. In a...

Sand in your Virginia

I went to Virginia. We stayed in the valley. Wine country with a knack for racism and diversity. And ticks. Just a couple of ticks, though. At least that is all that we had to pull out of the children. Needless to write, Virginia was an interesting place. It was hot and muggy, just like Indiana, and had almost as little to do. But I had fun. I had a lot of fun. I barely looked at my phones or the internet while I was there. I stayed out of reality for a bit to participate in classic reality. I took up fishing on the trip. Behind the temporary mansion that we were staying at was a river. Not really sure the name of the river, but it was clear and full of blue gill. I stood in the river and cast and cast and cast and cast. This is tremendous progress from my Hughes like tendencies. I even began unhooking my own fish. The trip was bookended in injury. As all good trips are. You may be aware, or may not be, that fingers tend to pop like tomatoes if the correct amount of pressure is applied to them. It’s okay now, as it is mostly healed. There was a circuit trainer in the basement, but it was broken. I was helping my brother-in-law fix it when the weights shifted down onto my hand. I didn’t feel anything but knew something was wrong when I saw blood pouring from my finger. I didn’t look as I knew it had to be somewhat bad, so I asked my sister...