Happy New Year!
New beginnings, or one year closer to death? I suppose it's all a matter of perspective.
I don't traditionally make New Year's resolutions, but my understanding is that approximately 40% of Americans do. Unfortunately, of those people who make resolutions, about 88% fail. So for those of you who made your resolutions last night, I hope for are part of the 12%.
New Year's resolutions have quite the historical precedent. The Babylonians would make promises to their gods at the beginning of each year to return borrowed objects and repay old debts. The Romans would make promises to the god Janus, for whom "January" is named.
These ancient rites have apparently evolved into Americans making promises to the ghost of Dick Clark for self-improvement.
In the spirit of the holiday, I hearby publish my 2013 New Year's Resolutions:
1) Take a trip with Sherry that requires an airplane. I haven't been on a "real vacation" in about four years. Mostly this lapse was due to financial and time constraints related to the divorce, but my extensive work related travel between 2004 and 2008 soured me on all airport related matters. I hate driving to the airport, paying a fortune to park, submitting to completely unnecessary invasive searches, jamming myself into a tiny coach seat and paying extra for having the audacity to check my luggage. That's all before take off. Add in missed connections, mechanical difficulties, weather, cruddy hotel rooms and rental cars and you might begin to understand my position.
Sherry deserves a vacation and I've been putting it off. I don't care where we go or when we go there, but I'm definitely going to support it. That said, I will not be part of the selection or booking process beyond confirming that my passport is valid and up to date. A man has to have standards.
2) Maintain my weight. No New Year's resolution list is complete without a weight related promise which is rarely (if ever) achieved. In my case, I simply want to maintain my current weight, mostly for health reasons since I'm now a year older. Since turning 40, I've become a little more aware of my mortality. The aches and pains seem to linger a little longer. Since I want to be present for my kids, I need to keep off the extra weight.
3) Volunteer my time to the Shelby Township Little League. This one will be really easy to follow through on. Last year the boy asked me NOT to coach his Little League team (at his mother's prodding). Since he asked, and to keep the peace, I reluctantly agreed. Unfortunately, it didn't work out the way he (or I) had hoped. There was no peace and his coach was abrasive, loud and "not good" at baseball.
Look, I think that anybody that contributes their time to Little League is a hero. That said, there are good coaches and bad coaches. As a coach, my objectives have always been pretty straightforward. First, the kids should have fun. Second, everyone should learn and get better at the game of baseball. That's about it. As a coach, it's my job to teach the kids how to pitch, field and hit; to identify their individual strengths and weaknesses and put them in positions to succeed.
Last season my son's coach's most overused quotation was "you can't do that!" Well, yes, the boys can and did "do that". Whether it was throwing to the wrong base, dropping the ball, holding the ball too long, swinging at strike one as it sails over your head, walking the leadoff batter on four pitches or not advancing to second on a wild pitch, they did in fact "do that". It wasn't from lack of effort. They simply weren't properly prepared or put in positions to succeed. Constant failure isn't fun - I'm from Cleveland, I know this first hand. Competitive games are fun. Success is fun. Being part of and contributing to a team is fun. Being criticized during a game by your coach for mistakes that weren't discussed or covered in your practices is "not fun".
This year, if the kids don't have fun and don't learn anything, it'll be my fault.
That said, my son and I are both fully aware that we should never be in a coach / player relationship. If I am selected to manage, we both understand that I will only be managing 12 of the 13 kids. That's what assistant coaches are for. The very best baseball coach The Boy ever had was Steve Nadolski. I would pay good money for Steve to coach The Boy every year. But even Steve was rendered absolutely incompetent where his two boys were concerned. Unfortunately, I believe this is true for almost all fathers and sons.
4) Get and keep our financial house in order. Financially, things are pretty good. I can afford my current lifestyle and I'm comfortable with it. I have a craft beer wallet to match my craft beer taste. What I'd like is to develop a little more financial discipline. Believe it or not, I'm less than 11 years away from being eligible for full retirement. Granted, with an eight year old in the house it won't be feasible for me to retire to the caribbean in 2024. But I would like the financial flexibility to move on to a new stage of my life, perhaps going back to college to teach.
To give myself that kind of flexibility, I need to start preparing for the future. Being debt free is nice, but it's not really sufficient when you're pushing 45 years of age. It's time to start saving like a grown up and not spending like a teenager on spring break.
With Sherry's help, we will make a plan and stick to it.
That's about it.
***
On the occasion of this joyous New Year, I'm about to perform a much needed musical public service. I'm going to explain "Auld Lang Syne". See, I've heard that damn song at least 90 times between New Year's celebrations, funerals and Cub Scout functions but to this day I didn't know what the heck "Auld Lang Syne" meant.
Thanks to the good people of Wikipedia, we now have the resources to answer such pressing questions. Literally, Auld Lang Syne translates from old Scottish to "Old Long Since". "For Auld Lang Syne" might be loosely translated to "for the sake of old times". Here is the original text from Robert Burns' 1788 poem:
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind ?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne ?
CHORUS:
For auld lang syne, my jo, (jo is "darling")
for auld lang syne,
we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
And surely ye’ll be your pint-stowp ! (be is "buy", stowp is "glass")
and surely I’ll be mine !
And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
CHORUS
We twa hae run about the braes, (twa is "two", hae is "have", braes are "hills")
and pu’d the gowans fine ; (pu'd is "picked", gowans are "flowers")
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit, (mony is "many", fit is "foot")
sin auld lang syne. (sin is "since")
CHORUS
We twa hae paidl’d i' the burn, (paidl'd is "paddled", burn is "stream")
frae morning sun till dine ; (dine is "dinner time")
But seas between us braid hae roar’d (braid hae roar'd is "broad have roared")
sin auld lang syne.
CHORUS
And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere ! (fiere is "friend")
and gie's a hand o’ thine ! (gie's is "give us")
And we’ll tak a right gude-willy waught, (gued-willy waught is roughly "good will draught" or "good will drink")
for auld lang syne.
CHORUS
So, Auld Lang Syne is essentially a drinking song between old friends that have lost touch over time.
At this time of year it's certainly appropriate to think back on old times and old friends. So to all of my family and friends who I certainly don't call or write as often as I should,
Prost!
For auld lang syne!
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Ten Breakup Songs - The Appendix
Okay, here a few more suggested by my loyal readers:
"Thank God and Greyhound (You're Gone)" Roy Clark
This song does nothing for me. It might be the fact that it's a country tune, but I think that for me the lyrics don't really ring true. It doesn't feel like it was written by someone who was emotionally invested. There's about as much feeling as someone saying "I'll call you" after a one night stand. I think it's more likely someone imagining what a breakup might have felt like.
"Somebody That I Used To Know" Gotye
This is a good one. I feel find of silly for leaving it off the list. In fact, this one would probably be in the top five if I had to force rank them right now. I love the imagery in this song. The sadness in his voice feels real, palpable and raw. What an interesting artistic choice to have the ex's response, and to have the author come off as the jerk. It makes the feeling all the more real. The video is pretty good too.
"Gives You Hell" The All-American Rejects
It's a catchy tune with a cute video, but it doesn't really connect with me. The author seems to have made his happiness dependent on his ex's unhappiness or regret. If you are waiting for an ex to "wake the fuck up" and regret leaving you, you'd better pack a lunch, cause it ain't happening. That's a recipe for a long unhappy life.
More to come...
"Thank God and Greyhound (You're Gone)" Roy Clark
This song does nothing for me. It might be the fact that it's a country tune, but I think that for me the lyrics don't really ring true. It doesn't feel like it was written by someone who was emotionally invested. There's about as much feeling as someone saying "I'll call you" after a one night stand. I think it's more likely someone imagining what a breakup might have felt like.
"Somebody That I Used To Know" Gotye
This is a good one. I feel find of silly for leaving it off the list. In fact, this one would probably be in the top five if I had to force rank them right now. I love the imagery in this song. The sadness in his voice feels real, palpable and raw. What an interesting artistic choice to have the ex's response, and to have the author come off as the jerk. It makes the feeling all the more real. The video is pretty good too.
"Gives You Hell" The All-American Rejects
It's a catchy tune with a cute video, but it doesn't really connect with me. The author seems to have made his happiness dependent on his ex's unhappiness or regret. If you are waiting for an ex to "wake the fuck up" and regret leaving you, you'd better pack a lunch, cause it ain't happening. That's a recipe for a long unhappy life.
More to come...
Ten Breakup Songs
When is the best time to write? Pretty much anytime you want to procrastinate from the "real work".
How about those Indians?
Growing up in Parma, I've got no expectation of a Cleveland World Championship in anything other than economic contraction or population flight. One thing I've learned in my 42 years is "Cleveland sports teams will always break my heart".
But this season for the Tribe is just pure torture. Obviously at some point I stopped watching as they continue to play out the string. But now I'm having trouble even getting through the box scores. The games are boring and the quality of the baseball being played is terrible. Bad pitching, average defense and a lineup that is about three players deep. How did the wheels fall off so quickly? And how do I generate any hope for next year? They need (at a minimum) two starting pitchers and three position players to be five-hundred. Even Mike Ilitch doesn't have pockets that deep. And that's assuming Masterson, McAllister and Kluber are viable Major League starting pitchers, which may be a stretch. Maybe they get Carrasco back from Tommy John, but then what? Sign Greinke?
As for the position players, at a minimum they need a left fielder, first baseman and a designated hitter. If I'm the GM for the Tribe, I trade Asdrubal Cabrera this off season. His value will never be higher and they have ample shortstop prospects behind him in the minors. Customers are paying full price for their tickets. Why shouldn't they get to see Francisco Lindor right now? Or Ronnie Rodriguez?
At least I've got the Browns.
Time to change the subject.
...
I'm in the middle of painting the trim on the house.
And putting it off while I write this.
My home is mostly brick and vinyl, but as is the custom this decade, the trim and soffits are wood. And that wood needs to be painted every eight to ten years. Or it rots.
I've lived here eight years (hard to believe) and it's overdue. The existing builder grade paint was probably shot two years ago, but with the divorce and associated personal and financial upheaval I put it off. This summer I couldn't put it off any more. One small section on the front porch rotted and I knew if I didn't do it now, I'd be replacing a lot more of it next year.
So I called by good friend BLT (who owes me a few favors) and we got to work Labor Day weekend. What I didn't realize until after that fact was BLT was afraid of heights. From his Facebook page:
"I started on the low part of the garage 2/3 up a 6ft (?) Ladder, working over my head. A little scary, but ok. Took a little break while Bob set up the big one to get the first 3rd done. Paint in one hand, kung-fu grip with the other I made it to the top and concentrated on the work, took my mind off the rest for a bit. Once down, I helped Bob extend the ladder all the way. I did my best to casually ask if everything was safe, he said yes, I know he would never put me at risk, so I believed him. I felt myself, and the ladder shaking as I went up, but focused on the roof as I went. By the time I got there I was genuinely scared, but decided to keep my mouth shut and do the job I came to do and not focus on what was flashing through my mind every step of the way, though I did jokingly say my insurance card was in my wallet. By this point Bob had walked away to get back to work and I was perched maybe 25ft (Bob?) up in the air working over my head. I made sure to get every last spot done perfectly, I was not getting back up there to fix anything. Getting down is the worst part, since I have to look down, I was in full panic, but just went one step at a time. Once down, I took a break, and tried to cover my tracks by fiddling with my phone, some sun screen, took some pics. When Bob helped me move the ladder back down he told me what a great job I was doing, which gave me the strength to brave the last few trips up and down. He said thanks, everything looked good, I kept my mouth shut and everybody moved on. I was proud of both the work I did, and dealing with my bullshit, but the unknowing support and confidence of my best friend made it all possible."
I didn't realize it at the time, but that's some impressive shit. He was about 25 feet up and finished the entire front of the garage. And it looks great. Thank you.
And now I feel really guilty for procrastinating.
...
I've been working on a list of my ten favorite breakup songs for the better part of the last two years. Not because I'm indecisive or that the task is particularly hard.
Pretty much all I have to do is organize my iTunes account by "Plays" and exclude the kid's songs.
But mostly because I'm easily distracted.
I wanted to call this these the "Ten Greatest Breakup Songs" but I'm not much of a critic, it's not like I've listened to every song ever recorded and a lot of these songs objectively aren't really all that good. This list is almost guaranteed to change in six months when the next great breakup song hits my iPhone. I will say that these ten songs all mean something to me. They all have a personal connection to something in my life either through the lyrics or a time in my life I (for some reason) associate with the song. I listen to them to remind me of better times, to pick the scabs of my failures, to find perspective or to remind me that there is always hope.
But the Johnny Cash version is even better. It's an incredibly depressing song to open a playlist. The message is that everything in life ends. It's from the point of view of a junkie, but is really about mortality. Every birth is a future death. Every marriage ends in sadness - divorce or death - pick one.
This one is just for fun. My favorite band singing about a cheating spouse. "She used to be pretty, but now she's just pretty fucked up". So true. After any breakup it should be required listening.
I'm not sure that this is even a breakup song, except for the lyric "of the things I miss". But it reminds me of days spent in college on the world's ugliest couch with the Princess of Darkness. So I guess for me personally it's a little bit about loss.
Is there any better song about a cheating spouse? It's about as deep as Kim Kardashian, but infectiously fun. I suppose it's been a little overplayed since last summer, but I still like it.
This is the most personal song on the list. "If someone said three years from now you'd be long gone, I'd stand up and punch them in the mouth." That's pretty much exactly how I felt when I got my divorce papers. Shock, surprise and disappointment. I still can't listen to this song without tearing up. It takes me right back to that day.
This song rocks, but I'm not sure even Bob Mould is 100% sure about the lyrics. To me, it's about the anger and resentment associated with a breakup. "How could you do this to me?" It's cathartic for me to listen to this song.
Cheesiest song on the list, but I like it for the message of empowerment. Just because someone else doesn't want what you're selling doesn't make it worthless.
I don't think anybody does "breakup" better than Alanis Morissette. If you're a single guy and a friend tries to set you up with Ms. Morissette, run away. You don't want your breakup to be immortalized in coffee shops across the world. This particular song is about the regret associated with a breakup. It reminds me that not only did I lose my money and my stuff in my divorce, I also lost my best friend.
This is my current favorite breakup song. "All of our bridges burned down." True. "All those fairy tales are full of shit." Check. "You turned your back on tomorrow because you forgot yesterday." Oh yeah. "It's hard to remember the people we used to be." The funny thing is that my kids love this song and it tears my guts out every time I hear it. Sometimes I wonder if they even understand the lyrics. I'm pretty sure they only like it for the melody, but I could be wrong.
Another favorite song of my kids. The lyrics are extremely obtuse, but to me this song is about mortality. The allusion to a king being deposed and the loss of authority or power. Castles built on sand. Numerous Christian references. And that beautiful string section.
That's ten. Subject to change of course.
Special bonus song:
Best revenge song ever!
Sunday, August 26, 2012
The Role I Was Born To Play
Talk about coincidence. I finally got the comment filter on Blogger fixed and look what popped in last night from the Professor:
"If you want to work on your bucket list, I'm set to get my first IMDB recognition for directing for a short film. The main role is cast but the three remaining characters are listed as Jerk 1, Jerk 2, and Jerk 3. Maybe it's karma. It's probably going to be filmed around Hamilton if you're interested."
Look, if you had one shot, one opportunity
To seize everything you ever wanted in one moment
Would you capture it or just let it slip?
I've been training my whole life for this chance. All the Italian jokes I took beatings for between 1976 and 1987. Captain Kirk's virginity. Doli Madison's minor weight problem. Gay baiting Stace for the better part of 20 years. Too many insults to even record or remember.
The whole crowd goes so loud
I'm minor league compared to that jerk hall of fame. I left off at least 50 Cincinnati jerks because I got tired of typing.
He won't have it , he knows his whole back's to these ropes
It don't matter, he's dope
He knows that, but he's broke
He's so stagnant, he knows
When he goes back to his mobile home, that's when it's
Back to the lab again, yo
This whole rhapsody
He better go capture this moment and hope it don't pass him
Assuming the timing works out, which role should I apply for? Jerk 1 is too obvious. Jerk 2 is redundant. Jerk 3 has questionable motivations. Should I play all three roles like Adam Sandler or Eddie Murphy would? I'm willing to go drag, for purely artistic purposes of course.
You better lose yourself in the music, the moment
You own it, you better never let it go
You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow
This opportunity comes once in a lifetime yo
(You better)
Face it, at this point this is just a flimsy excuse to steal Eminem's lyrics.
(Yeah, he stopped trying three paragraphs ago.)
The soul's escaping, through this hole that is gaping
This world is mine for the taking
Make me king, as we move toward a new world order
A normal life is boring, but superstardom's close to post mortem
It only grows harder, only grows hotter
He blows us all over these hoes is all on him
Coast to coast shows, he's known as the globetrotter
Lonely roads, God only knows
I wonder what the casting couch is like when you're auditioning to be a jerk? Do I have to make the producer feel bad about himself? Cause for that I should just have sex with him.
He's grown farther from home, he's no father
He goes home and barely knows his own daughter
But hold your nose 'cause here goes the cold water
His hoes don't want him no more, he's cold product
They moved on to the next schmoe who flows
He nose dove and sold nada
So the soap opera is told and unfolds
I suppose it's old partner but the beat goes on
Da da dum da dum da da
If the timing works out, I'll be reporting from the set of the next blockbuster straight to download short film. I hope this happens, cause it sounds like a hell of a lot of fun.
You can do anything you set your mind to, man
I sure hope so Marshall.
"If you want to work on your bucket list, I'm set to get my first IMDB recognition for directing for a short film. The main role is cast but the three remaining characters are listed as Jerk 1, Jerk 2, and Jerk 3. Maybe it's karma. It's probably going to be filmed around Hamilton if you're interested."
Look, if you had one shot, one opportunity
To seize everything you ever wanted in one moment
Would you capture it or just let it slip?
This is the role I was born to play.
His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy
There's vomit on his sweater already, mom's spaghetti
He's nervous, but on the surface he looks calm and ready to drop bombs,
But he keeps on forgetting what he wrote down,
I've been training my whole life for this chance. All the Italian jokes I took beatings for between 1976 and 1987. Captain Kirk's virginity. Doli Madison's minor weight problem. Gay baiting Stace for the better part of 20 years. Too many insults to even record or remember.
The whole crowd goes so loud
He opens his mouth, but the words won't come out
He's choking how, everybody's joking now
The clock's run out, time's up over, bloah!
Snap back to reality, Oh there goes gravity
Oh, there goes Rabbit, he choked
He's so mad, but he won't give up that
Easy, no
He's choking how, everybody's joking now
The clock's run out, time's up over, bloah!
Snap back to reality, Oh there goes gravity
Oh, there goes Rabbit, he choked
He's so mad, but he won't give up that
Easy, no
But what if I'm not up to it? What if there are even bigger and better jerks in Cincinnati? What kind of jerks come from Cincinnati?
Jerry Springer, inventor of white trash TV and noted prostitute check writer
Carmen Electra, media whore
John Boehner, Speaker of the House and noted obstructionist
Chad Ochocinco, football whore
Sam Wyche, former coach of the Bengals who told a rioting crowd "they weren't in Cleveland"
Nick Lachey, wife of Jessica Simpson
Simon Leis, famous cock block who prosecuted Larry Flint
Pete Rose, liar and gambler
Sarah Jessica Parker, horse-faced creator of worst TV show in history
Charles Keating, creator of the original savings and loan scandal
Marge Schott, colorful owner of the Reds who rubbed dog hair on her players for luck
Ted Turner, ex-husband of Jane Fonda and founder of CNN and TNT
I'm minor league compared to that jerk hall of fame. I left off at least 50 Cincinnati jerks because I got tired of typing.
He won't have it , he knows his whole back's to these ropes
It don't matter, he's dope
He knows that, but he's broke
He's so stagnant, he knows
When he goes back to his mobile home, that's when it's
Back to the lab again, yo
This whole rhapsody
He better go capture this moment and hope it don't pass him
Assuming the timing works out, which role should I apply for? Jerk 1 is too obvious. Jerk 2 is redundant. Jerk 3 has questionable motivations. Should I play all three roles like Adam Sandler or Eddie Murphy would? I'm willing to go drag, for purely artistic purposes of course.
You better lose yourself in the music, the moment
You own it, you better never let it go
You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow
This opportunity comes once in a lifetime yo
(You better)
Face it, at this point this is just a flimsy excuse to steal Eminem's lyrics.
(Yeah, he stopped trying three paragraphs ago.)
The soul's escaping, through this hole that is gaping
This world is mine for the taking
Make me king, as we move toward a new world order
A normal life is boring, but superstardom's close to post mortem
It only grows harder, only grows hotter
He blows us all over these hoes is all on him
Coast to coast shows, he's known as the globetrotter
Lonely roads, God only knows
I wonder what the casting couch is like when you're auditioning to be a jerk? Do I have to make the producer feel bad about himself? Cause for that I should just have sex with him.
He's grown farther from home, he's no father
He goes home and barely knows his own daughter
But hold your nose 'cause here goes the cold water
His hoes don't want him no more, he's cold product
They moved on to the next schmoe who flows
He nose dove and sold nada
So the soap opera is told and unfolds
I suppose it's old partner but the beat goes on
Da da dum da dum da da
If the timing works out, I'll be reporting from the set of the next blockbuster straight to download short film. I hope this happens, cause it sounds like a hell of a lot of fun.
You can do anything you set your mind to, man
I sure hope so Marshall.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
It's Been a Long Time
It's been almost a year since I wrote anything, but it seems like the blink of an eye. So what's changed?
Well, I appear to have developed balistophobia, the debilitating fear of missile silos. Yet somehow I still make it through the day. Think I can get a medical marijuana certificate for it?
Other than that, not much and everything.
"Not much" in the sense that I still have the same house, the same job and haven't crossed a damn thing off my bucket list. I'm beginning to wonder whether I was full of shit when I wrote it, or if I'm just a big pussy.
"Everything" in the sense that I've sort of moved on and found someone new.
The phase "sort of" deserves an entire blog post. I've moved on to the degree that I think I am capable. It would be akin to a drummer losing an arm. Life isn't over, he just needs to find a different career. Or not...
What I'm trying to say is that I've lost my naive innocence regarding relationships. The last time it was inconceivable to me that any "real" marriage could fail. Hardly anyone I knew had ever been divorced, and for "those people" there were obvious explanations - infidelity, alcohol, a lack of commitment from the beginning. That wasn't me. Or any of my friends. They were different. I was different. We jumped in headfirst - damn the depth of the river.
The second time around there's a vague awareness in the back of your mind that you're not special. You know exactly how bad it can end and how quickly it can turn. And because of that, you're extremely reticent to go "all in". It's not like you've got one foot out the door, but you always know where the nearest fire extinguisher is.
Based on what I've read, this is pretty typical. It's the baggage that everyone who goes through a divorce carries with them. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice and I'm ready to sue.
In fact, "moving on" was the one major reason I stopped posting. When I started this blog I had nothing to lose. I was so embarrassed and shamed by my divorce that there wasn't anything that I wasn't willing to write about and share with total strangers. It was "public therapy", a semi-safe place to work out all of the pain, anger, shame and rage that was eating me alive. I was at my lowest point, so the thought of people pointing and laughing at my failures didn't really bother me. Or the fact they would be preserved for eternity where prospective employers and my kid's friends could review and comment.
Granted, I wasn't really taking the "long view" at the time.
Last year I got to a place where I no longer felt it was appropriate to share every random embarrassing thought that popped into my head. I felt it would be a terrible invasion of privacy to blog or write about anyone I was dating, even though the stories would have been great. The potential of being seen with me in public can be embarrassing enough. Having it posted where her parents, kids, friends or husband could see it is just wrong.
Once that filter went up my writing became banal bullshit and I stopped posting any of it. I have 14 semi-finished posts that will never see the light of Google. They all started with a spark of clever inspiration. They all ended with bullshit generalities, platitudes and a lack of any true "feeling."
Granted, it's not like I set the literary bar very high, but if I couldn't control my gag reflex for three paragraphs I doubt any of you would give a shit.
So what's new? Well, my girlfriend is moving in next month.
I'll let that one settle in for a minute.
Yes, I am scared out of my mind. I'm not sure I should be writing about any of this, and if / when she sees this the move may be cancelled. But I've got to work this stuff out, and I don't have time for therapy.
I'm better as part of a team. BLT says that I always wanted to be married. I think he's right. I like being part of a team. I like the support. I like the feeling I get when I can help someone else. Even when I was going through the divorce, I was absolutely certain I would eventually get married again, even if intellectually I was telling myself "Oh hell no".
The woman I have been seeing is wonderful. She's kind, supportive, thoughtful, smart, attractive, progressive, exciting, active, funny, great with my kids and more than willing to put up with me.
You're probably thinking she's perfect, well I'm here to tell you "far from it". She can't make a decision, thinks sleeping to 10:00 AM is acceptable behavior, says Corgi's aren't real dogs and doesn't hate Jhonny Peralta anywhere near enough for my taste. Basically, she's a basket case.
So why am I scared shitless? Because I'm afraid that I didn't learn enough from my divorce. I'm pretty sure I'm a jerk. I try not to be, but it comes so naturally. It's a gift. Or a curse. Now sure, a few of you will feign disbelief and say "Oh no, you're just being a drama king Bob." Thank you for trying to soften the blow. I'm sure a few of you even said that with a straight face, but we all know it's true. I'm a jerk.
Do any of you have a Facebook page dedicated to how big of a jerk you are? I do. For real. And it wasn't even started by The Ex. If you count the Ex's Facebook page, it's actually two pages dedicated to how much of an asshole I am.
I know it's not unusual for children to have contentious relationships with their parents. But I've managed to become estranged from not one, but two mothers. Yes, the people who are hormonally evolved and socially conditioned to nurture and protect their young both think I am a jerk. Granted, one of them is mentally ill and the other is biologically related to me (which is a reasonable excuse I suppose), but still. You couple that with my sociopathic Ex and you can see that I may have problems with women.
Once is bad luck. Twice is a coincidence. Three times and it's probably your fault.
What happens when my girlfriend realizes that she's living with a jerk? Hopefully she's less sociopathic than my ex, but then again what if I'm just a horrible judge of character? It's not as if rapists and serial killers introduce themselves with their chosen avocation while announcing their intention to gut and skin you for sport.
"You got a pretty mouth boy."
"Um, thanks... I gotta go. Bye."
If only it was that easy.
So what do our friends think? Most of them say it's "too early". But when asked "How long would be long enough?" they shrug.
Twelve months? Eighteen months? Six years? I don't know either. People in arranged marriages may only meet one or two times prior to their wedding and yet statistically they are very successful. According to multiple sites, the global divorce rate for arranged marriages is only 6%! Now granted, there are numerous caveats to that statistic since it is heavily culturally biased. It doesn't consider the impact of familial shame, the poor economic prospects for women in countries that favor arranged marriage or local laws prohibiting divorce.
But believe it or not, November will mark two years that my girlfriend and I have known each other. That's a significant amount of time. It's longer than I knew my ex-wife before we moved in together. In fact, by the two year mark we were engaged and well into planning our wedding.
I know full well this could turn out to be a flipping disaster to rival the last one. But it could also be a wonderful start to a new life together. In life there are no guarantees and no one knows how this is going to end. But I know that I'm a lot happier when I'm with her. So nothing ventured, nothing gained.
I'm going to jump in that river again, even if this time I'm keeping one eye on the life preserver. Wish me luck.
Well, I appear to have developed balistophobia, the debilitating fear of missile silos. Yet somehow I still make it through the day. Think I can get a medical marijuana certificate for it?
Other than that, not much and everything.
"Not much" in the sense that I still have the same house, the same job and haven't crossed a damn thing off my bucket list. I'm beginning to wonder whether I was full of shit when I wrote it, or if I'm just a big pussy.
"Everything" in the sense that I've sort of moved on and found someone new.
The phase "sort of" deserves an entire blog post. I've moved on to the degree that I think I am capable. It would be akin to a drummer losing an arm. Life isn't over, he just needs to find a different career. Or not...
What I'm trying to say is that I've lost my naive innocence regarding relationships. The last time it was inconceivable to me that any "real" marriage could fail. Hardly anyone I knew had ever been divorced, and for "those people" there were obvious explanations - infidelity, alcohol, a lack of commitment from the beginning. That wasn't me. Or any of my friends. They were different. I was different. We jumped in headfirst - damn the depth of the river.
The second time around there's a vague awareness in the back of your mind that you're not special. You know exactly how bad it can end and how quickly it can turn. And because of that, you're extremely reticent to go "all in". It's not like you've got one foot out the door, but you always know where the nearest fire extinguisher is.
Based on what I've read, this is pretty typical. It's the baggage that everyone who goes through a divorce carries with them. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice and I'm ready to sue.
In fact, "moving on" was the one major reason I stopped posting. When I started this blog I had nothing to lose. I was so embarrassed and shamed by my divorce that there wasn't anything that I wasn't willing to write about and share with total strangers. It was "public therapy", a semi-safe place to work out all of the pain, anger, shame and rage that was eating me alive. I was at my lowest point, so the thought of people pointing and laughing at my failures didn't really bother me. Or the fact they would be preserved for eternity where prospective employers and my kid's friends could review and comment.
Granted, I wasn't really taking the "long view" at the time.
Last year I got to a place where I no longer felt it was appropriate to share every random embarrassing thought that popped into my head. I felt it would be a terrible invasion of privacy to blog or write about anyone I was dating, even though the stories would have been great. The potential of being seen with me in public can be embarrassing enough. Having it posted where her parents, kids, friends or husband could see it is just wrong.
Once that filter went up my writing became banal bullshit and I stopped posting any of it. I have 14 semi-finished posts that will never see the light of Google. They all started with a spark of clever inspiration. They all ended with bullshit generalities, platitudes and a lack of any true "feeling."
Granted, it's not like I set the literary bar very high, but if I couldn't control my gag reflex for three paragraphs I doubt any of you would give a shit.
So what's new? Well, my girlfriend is moving in next month.
I'll let that one settle in for a minute.
Yes, I am scared out of my mind. I'm not sure I should be writing about any of this, and if / when she sees this the move may be cancelled. But I've got to work this stuff out, and I don't have time for therapy.
I'm better as part of a team. BLT says that I always wanted to be married. I think he's right. I like being part of a team. I like the support. I like the feeling I get when I can help someone else. Even when I was going through the divorce, I was absolutely certain I would eventually get married again, even if intellectually I was telling myself "Oh hell no".
The woman I have been seeing is wonderful. She's kind, supportive, thoughtful, smart, attractive, progressive, exciting, active, funny, great with my kids and more than willing to put up with me.
You're probably thinking she's perfect, well I'm here to tell you "far from it". She can't make a decision, thinks sleeping to 10:00 AM is acceptable behavior, says Corgi's aren't real dogs and doesn't hate Jhonny Peralta anywhere near enough for my taste. Basically, she's a basket case.
So why am I scared shitless? Because I'm afraid that I didn't learn enough from my divorce. I'm pretty sure I'm a jerk. I try not to be, but it comes so naturally. It's a gift. Or a curse. Now sure, a few of you will feign disbelief and say "Oh no, you're just being a drama king Bob." Thank you for trying to soften the blow. I'm sure a few of you even said that with a straight face, but we all know it's true. I'm a jerk.
Do any of you have a Facebook page dedicated to how big of a jerk you are? I do. For real. And it wasn't even started by The Ex. If you count the Ex's Facebook page, it's actually two pages dedicated to how much of an asshole I am.
I know it's not unusual for children to have contentious relationships with their parents. But I've managed to become estranged from not one, but two mothers. Yes, the people who are hormonally evolved and socially conditioned to nurture and protect their young both think I am a jerk. Granted, one of them is mentally ill and the other is biologically related to me (which is a reasonable excuse I suppose), but still. You couple that with my sociopathic Ex and you can see that I may have problems with women.
Once is bad luck. Twice is a coincidence. Three times and it's probably your fault.
What happens when my girlfriend realizes that she's living with a jerk? Hopefully she's less sociopathic than my ex, but then again what if I'm just a horrible judge of character? It's not as if rapists and serial killers introduce themselves with their chosen avocation while announcing their intention to gut and skin you for sport.
"You got a pretty mouth boy."
"Um, thanks... I gotta go. Bye."
If only it was that easy.
So what do our friends think? Most of them say it's "too early". But when asked "How long would be long enough?" they shrug.
Twelve months? Eighteen months? Six years? I don't know either. People in arranged marriages may only meet one or two times prior to their wedding and yet statistically they are very successful. According to multiple sites, the global divorce rate for arranged marriages is only 6%! Now granted, there are numerous caveats to that statistic since it is heavily culturally biased. It doesn't consider the impact of familial shame, the poor economic prospects for women in countries that favor arranged marriage or local laws prohibiting divorce.
But believe it or not, November will mark two years that my girlfriend and I have known each other. That's a significant amount of time. It's longer than I knew my ex-wife before we moved in together. In fact, by the two year mark we were engaged and well into planning our wedding.
I know full well this could turn out to be a flipping disaster to rival the last one. But it could also be a wonderful start to a new life together. In life there are no guarantees and no one knows how this is going to end. But I know that I'm a lot happier when I'm with her. So nothing ventured, nothing gained.
I'm going to jump in that river again, even if this time I'm keeping one eye on the life preserver. Wish me luck.
Thanksgiving - Oldie
I wrote this last November. Not sure why I never got around to posting it. I've definitely posted way worse.
I'm on a train headed west to Chicago to spend the Thanksgiving holiday with one of my very best friends. BLT says we're closer than brothers. While I didn't grow up with any 'actual' brothers, I'm inclined to agree. I'm really thankful to have him in my life.
So here I sit musing on the concept of Thanksgiving while I try to ignore the young couple in front of me making out like a couple of sailors on shore leave.
They remind me of the Vogelchecks from Saturday Night Live. It's quite the show if you're into sloppy saliva soaked kisses. Fred Armisen plays the patriarch of the family. Check it out here.
I swear he just licked her face.
Back to being thankful. I'd really be thankful for a sleep mask and noise canceling headphones right now.
The Ex threw a graduation party for me when I finished graduate school back in 2004. The party was great fun and my family and friends took the opportunity to roast me. Since I had spent the better part of the previous 25 years being an asshole, I probably deserved it. Fun was had by most and after they finished putting me in my place I was allowed to speak. My ex didn't tell me that the party was a roast until about an hour before the start. Nor did she bother to warn me that I was required to speak and I'd best be witty and charming since everyone came here to see me.
I remember how grateful I was for all the wonderful people in my life and the fact that almost all of them took time from their busy schedules to come out and eat my food. I seem to remember Doli Madison coming all the way from Florida to get his shots in.
I had an hour to organize and draft a speech intended to entertain and enlighten a room full of people who had already heard everything I've ever had to say. What could I possibly add? I'm not an essayist, nor a gifted public speaker. But I am good at one thing, and that's spinning bullshit at the last minute. There's nothing like a deadline to focus the mind. I sat down in the hotel lounge and crafted my personal Sermon on the Mount. It was probably the best thing I've ever written. I'm pretty sure the Ex video taped the entire party. I sort of wish I still had those tapes.
Maybe it's better that the speech wasn't recorded. I'm sure it plays better in my memory than it ever did in real life. I spoke of friendship and love. About how no man is an island and we are all in this life together. I explained how every one of my accomplishments in life was directly related to the support and encouragement of my family and friends. I talked about my Dad and how much I missed him and how proud he would have been. In my mind it was (and is) beautiful.
Sunday was the ten year anniversary of my Dad's passing. This is the first year I missed it. One one hand I can't believe it's been that long. On the other I can barely remember the sound of his voice any more. Time flies and life is what happens to our best laid plans.
My advice is to take the time this Thanksgiving to be thankful for the people in your life that make life worth living.
Peace.
I'm on a train headed west to Chicago to spend the Thanksgiving holiday with one of my very best friends. BLT says we're closer than brothers. While I didn't grow up with any 'actual' brothers, I'm inclined to agree. I'm really thankful to have him in my life.
So here I sit musing on the concept of Thanksgiving while I try to ignore the young couple in front of me making out like a couple of sailors on shore leave.
They remind me of the Vogelchecks from Saturday Night Live. It's quite the show if you're into sloppy saliva soaked kisses. Fred Armisen plays the patriarch of the family. Check it out here.
I swear he just licked her face.
Back to being thankful. I'd really be thankful for a sleep mask and noise canceling headphones right now.
The Ex threw a graduation party for me when I finished graduate school back in 2004. The party was great fun and my family and friends took the opportunity to roast me. Since I had spent the better part of the previous 25 years being an asshole, I probably deserved it. Fun was had by most and after they finished putting me in my place I was allowed to speak. My ex didn't tell me that the party was a roast until about an hour before the start. Nor did she bother to warn me that I was required to speak and I'd best be witty and charming since everyone came here to see me.
I remember how grateful I was for all the wonderful people in my life and the fact that almost all of them took time from their busy schedules to come out and eat my food. I seem to remember Doli Madison coming all the way from Florida to get his shots in.
I had an hour to organize and draft a speech intended to entertain and enlighten a room full of people who had already heard everything I've ever had to say. What could I possibly add? I'm not an essayist, nor a gifted public speaker. But I am good at one thing, and that's spinning bullshit at the last minute. There's nothing like a deadline to focus the mind. I sat down in the hotel lounge and crafted my personal Sermon on the Mount. It was probably the best thing I've ever written. I'm pretty sure the Ex video taped the entire party. I sort of wish I still had those tapes.
Maybe it's better that the speech wasn't recorded. I'm sure it plays better in my memory than it ever did in real life. I spoke of friendship and love. About how no man is an island and we are all in this life together. I explained how every one of my accomplishments in life was directly related to the support and encouragement of my family and friends. I talked about my Dad and how much I missed him and how proud he would have been. In my mind it was (and is) beautiful.
Sunday was the ten year anniversary of my Dad's passing. This is the first year I missed it. One one hand I can't believe it's been that long. On the other I can barely remember the sound of his voice any more. Time flies and life is what happens to our best laid plans.
My advice is to take the time this Thanksgiving to be thankful for the people in your life that make life worth living.
Peace.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Karma-nitas
Hello loyal audience. I know it's been a while since I last posted. Yes, I have a calendar and I do know how to read it.
***
I've been busy. I'm sorry. Geez, you want your money back?
***
As most of you probably know by now, I am not a religious man. I don't believe in ghosts, spirits, heaven or hell. I'm more like Crash Davis. I like to believe in "the soul, the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman's back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch and that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days."
That about sums it up. I believe this life is what matters. There are no 72 virgins. There is no paradise. The only paradise is the one we create every day with and for the people we love.
But, if I was going to believe in any metaphysical mumbo jumbo, it'd probably be Karma. The concept of Karma can be found in Hindu, Jain, Buddhist and Sikh philosophies. According to Wikipedia, Karma is a concept of "action" or "deed" that drives the entire cycle of cause and effect. Karma applies to the totality of our actions and reactions in this and previous lives, all of which determines one's future. If one sows goodness in this life (or previous lives) one will reap goodness. And vice versa.
Granted, since it requires reincarnation it kind of violates my first two paragraphs.
Basically, if you're a Hindu and you're getting shit on all the time it's not bad luck. It's because you were a bastard in a previous life. And if you don't want to be shit on in your next life, you should suck it up and focus on doing good deeds now.
It's a lot like Catholic guilt in the sense that everything bad that happens is your fault. Or if you're Jewish, you deserve it.
It's often summarized by "Life is a field, and Karma is the seed. You reap what you sow. Exactly what you sow - no more, no less." This concept of reaping what you sow was adopted by Christianity in Galatians 6:7-8:
7 Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows. 8 Whoever sows to please their flesh, from the flesh will reap destruction; whoever sows to please the Spirit, from the Spirit will reap eternal life.
Consequently, the concept of Karma is quite readily accepted in the West. You'll never get an Evangelical to admit it, but it's definitely of eastern origin.
But the rub is that you can be as good or evil as you want in this life, but it won't affect you until you die and get reincarnated. It wasn't until the '60's that John Lennon popularized the concept of "Instant Karma". In Instant Karma retribution is immediate - no waiting. Lennon believed that good or evil action would be rewarded / punished in this lifetime. He believed that good actions were the key to happiness and fulfillment.
He summed it up pretty clearly:
Instant Karma's gonna get you,
Gonna knock you right on the head,
You better get yourself together,
Pretty soon you're gonna be dead,
What in the world you thinking of,
Laughing in the face of love,
What on earth you tryin' to do,
It's up to you, yeah you.
Instant Karma's gonna get you,
Gonna look you right in the face,
Better get yourself together darlin',
Join the human race,
How in the world you gonna see,
Laughin' at fools like me,
Who on earth d'you think you are,
A super star,
Well, right you are.
It's a comforting thought. Real or not, it plays to our innate sense of fairness and justice. We want to see the bastards get what they deserve. We want to see OJ in jail. We want to see Osama bin Laden with a bullet in his melon. We want to see the Yankees lose in the playoffs.
Not the Shelby Township Yankees! They kick ass.
We need to believe right action is rewarded and bad action is punished. Otherwise we're just suckers, right? Why spend your life being good when you could have spent your days being a selfish prick who took advantage of his friends and neighbors.
On the downside, I don't think avoiding cosmic retribution is the best reason to 'not be an asshole'.
I always had a problem with the concept of doing good purely to get into heaven as a kid. It seemed to cheapen the concept of our eternal reward. If you're only doing good things to go to heaven, wouldn't God know that? And doesn't intent count? If you accidentally tripped and dropped a piano on a pre-school field trip, God wouldn't hold it against you, would he? You didn't intend to kill ten toddlers. Sure, they're still dead, but it was an accident.
Same for doing good deeds. If you're only doing them to get into heaven, isn't it a purely selfish act that should damn you to hell?
And while we're on the topic of dead pre-schoolers, why didn't God step in to stop it? He's supposed to be the omniscient / omnipotent one, not me.
I'm working hard to not be an asshole. Not to get into some imaginary heaven. Not to avoid cosmic vengeance. But because I want my Dad to be proud of me.
It's a good enough reason for me.
***
Those of you that follow me on Facebook probably know that the Ex has been working hard to build up her bad Karma this month. I won't recount the gory details, but she's still pretty pissed off at me and sees no problem leveraging the kids.
Yesterday was the one year anniversary of her leaving me to run away to Mississippi. Today would have been our 16th wedding anniversary. Last Sunday was Father's Day. Is it any wonder I've been having a bad week?
I don't know if Karma is paying me back for all the stupid shit I've done in my life. I don't know that I deserve it, but I can't say for sure that I don't. I do know that the Ex has dug herself one Deep Karma Canyon with her actions in the last year. Mountains all around and no happy ending in sight.
So what's my point?
I'm not really sure. Normally this is the point in the post where I tie everything together and we all feel better. But I'm not feeling it today.
What does Karma have to do with spitting in my food?
Hell if I know.
I do know I've got to wrap this thing up and get on to my weekend.
In summary, I'm not overly concerned about spit in my food cause it's pretty unlikely the Ex contracted TB in the last twelve months and I must have been a real bastard at some point to deserve the shit sandwich I was served 366 days ago.
But if Karma is real, I shouldn't be worried about spit in my food any more. That bitch owes me big.
Oh, and I've still got my pride, but I had to give up the damn Carnitas to keep it.
Peace.
***
I've been busy. I'm sorry. Geez, you want your money back?
***
My Ex works at a local restaurant. At least, I'm pretty sure she still does. I love this restaurant, but I won't ever go there again. I am absolutely paranoid that she's going to spit in my food.
Is it really paranoia if they are out to get you?
Today it suddenly dawned on my that I spent the better part of sixteen years letting her stick her tongue down my throat. And I generally liked it. So why should I care if she spits in my food?
Spitting is a pretty much universal sign of hatred or contempt. It's typically directed at the face, but some cultures direct it at the feet - we've all seen it in the movies. Obviously there are physical risks to spitting, such as TB or the flu, but it's primarily a social taboo.
In the middle ages spitting was perfectly acceptable behavior and it was actually considered ill-mannered to suck back saliva to avoid spitting. It wasn't until the 1700's that spitting was seen as something that should be concealed and in the mid 1800's it became gauche to spit on the floor or on the street in mixed company. Spitting in general went out of favor after the 1918 influenza pandemic and with it the collapse of the cuspidor manufacturing base.
Not coincidentally, the mid 1800's saw the development and adoption of Semmelweis's germ theory of disease. By the 1870's Joseph Lister was applying the germ theory of disease to surgical procedures and hocking Listerine. I imagine that it quickly became obvious that spitting wasn't sanitary and eventually became socially unacceptable and vulgar.
Outside of a baseball diamond of course.
So why does it bother me that the Ex might spit in my food? It's not embarrassment, because nobody other than her co-workers would ever know there was spit in my food. It's not hygiene, because I spent the better part of sixteen years swapping bodily fluids with her.
It's control. I don't want to give her the satisfaction of degrading me. And that's why I'll never be able to taste those damn Carnitas again.
***
As most of you probably know by now, I am not a religious man. I don't believe in ghosts, spirits, heaven or hell. I'm more like Crash Davis. I like to believe in "the soul, the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman's back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch and that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days."
That about sums it up. I believe this life is what matters. There are no 72 virgins. There is no paradise. The only paradise is the one we create every day with and for the people we love.
But, if I was going to believe in any metaphysical mumbo jumbo, it'd probably be Karma. The concept of Karma can be found in Hindu, Jain, Buddhist and Sikh philosophies. According to Wikipedia, Karma is a concept of "action" or "deed" that drives the entire cycle of cause and effect. Karma applies to the totality of our actions and reactions in this and previous lives, all of which determines one's future. If one sows goodness in this life (or previous lives) one will reap goodness. And vice versa.
Granted, since it requires reincarnation it kind of violates my first two paragraphs.
Basically, if you're a Hindu and you're getting shit on all the time it's not bad luck. It's because you were a bastard in a previous life. And if you don't want to be shit on in your next life, you should suck it up and focus on doing good deeds now.
It's a lot like Catholic guilt in the sense that everything bad that happens is your fault. Or if you're Jewish, you deserve it.
It's often summarized by "Life is a field, and Karma is the seed. You reap what you sow. Exactly what you sow - no more, no less." This concept of reaping what you sow was adopted by Christianity in Galatians 6:7-8:
7 Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows. 8 Whoever sows to please their flesh, from the flesh will reap destruction; whoever sows to please the Spirit, from the Spirit will reap eternal life.
Consequently, the concept of Karma is quite readily accepted in the West. You'll never get an Evangelical to admit it, but it's definitely of eastern origin.
But the rub is that you can be as good or evil as you want in this life, but it won't affect you until you die and get reincarnated. It wasn't until the '60's that John Lennon popularized the concept of "Instant Karma". In Instant Karma retribution is immediate - no waiting. Lennon believed that good or evil action would be rewarded / punished in this lifetime. He believed that good actions were the key to happiness and fulfillment.
He summed it up pretty clearly:
Instant Karma's gonna get you,
Gonna knock you right on the head,
You better get yourself together,
Pretty soon you're gonna be dead,
What in the world you thinking of,
Laughing in the face of love,
What on earth you tryin' to do,
It's up to you, yeah you.
Instant Karma's gonna get you,
Gonna look you right in the face,
Better get yourself together darlin',
Join the human race,
How in the world you gonna see,
Laughin' at fools like me,
Who on earth d'you think you are,
A super star,
Well, right you are.
It's a comforting thought. Real or not, it plays to our innate sense of fairness and justice. We want to see the bastards get what they deserve. We want to see OJ in jail. We want to see Osama bin Laden with a bullet in his melon. We want to see the Yankees lose in the playoffs.
Not the Shelby Township Yankees! They kick ass.
We need to believe right action is rewarded and bad action is punished. Otherwise we're just suckers, right? Why spend your life being good when you could have spent your days being a selfish prick who took advantage of his friends and neighbors.
On the downside, I don't think avoiding cosmic retribution is the best reason to 'not be an asshole'.
I always had a problem with the concept of doing good purely to get into heaven as a kid. It seemed to cheapen the concept of our eternal reward. If you're only doing good things to go to heaven, wouldn't God know that? And doesn't intent count? If you accidentally tripped and dropped a piano on a pre-school field trip, God wouldn't hold it against you, would he? You didn't intend to kill ten toddlers. Sure, they're still dead, but it was an accident.
Same for doing good deeds. If you're only doing them to get into heaven, isn't it a purely selfish act that should damn you to hell?
And while we're on the topic of dead pre-schoolers, why didn't God step in to stop it? He's supposed to be the omniscient / omnipotent one, not me.
I'm working hard to not be an asshole. Not to get into some imaginary heaven. Not to avoid cosmic vengeance. But because I want my Dad to be proud of me.
It's a good enough reason for me.
***
Those of you that follow me on Facebook probably know that the Ex has been working hard to build up her bad Karma this month. I won't recount the gory details, but she's still pretty pissed off at me and sees no problem leveraging the kids.
Yesterday was the one year anniversary of her leaving me to run away to Mississippi. Today would have been our 16th wedding anniversary. Last Sunday was Father's Day. Is it any wonder I've been having a bad week?
I don't know if Karma is paying me back for all the stupid shit I've done in my life. I don't know that I deserve it, but I can't say for sure that I don't. I do know that the Ex has dug herself one Deep Karma Canyon with her actions in the last year. Mountains all around and no happy ending in sight.
So what's my point?
I'm not really sure. Normally this is the point in the post where I tie everything together and we all feel better. But I'm not feeling it today.
What does Karma have to do with spitting in my food?
Hell if I know.
I do know I've got to wrap this thing up and get on to my weekend.
In summary, I'm not overly concerned about spit in my food cause it's pretty unlikely the Ex contracted TB in the last twelve months and I must have been a real bastard at some point to deserve the shit sandwich I was served 366 days ago.
But if Karma is real, I shouldn't be worried about spit in my food any more. That bitch owes me big.
Oh, and I've still got my pride, but I had to give up the damn Carnitas to keep it.
Peace.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
The New Normal
Life is good. The Indians are in first place. Spring in Michigan is only four or five more weeks away. And my divorce is finally over.
At approximately 11:00 AM on April 7th 2011 my marriage was legally dissolved. In the eyes of the State of Michigan I am single. No more invitations addressed to Mr. & Mrs. Kraus, no more joint tax returns, no more walking on eggshells. My house is officially MY house. It's me and Waffles against the world.
The sun came out as I exited the courthouse. That's not a metaphor - it literally came out. For one split second I was almost certain it was shining just for me.
Me and dog are slowly adjusting to our new "normal". He's upped his napping to 14 hours a day. I rarely sleep. We take two to three long walks a day. He barks at trucks that pass by, I ogle the neighborhood moms. It's not a bad life. The strange thing is that after everything I've been through I have an overwhelming urge to just be alone. Which makes me lonely.
Odd.
For those of you that care, I get 174 overnights a year with the kids (that's a lot). I got the house and the dog. She got anything else she felt like taking. The kids aren't going anywhere. It's a great deal for me.
I'm still not completely sure how I felt when the papers were finally signed. I was relieved. I was sad. I was elated. I felt a profound sense of disappointment. I was excited for my future. I felt like a failure. I was confused. I'm still confused and I'm still adjusting. But now that the ugliness is over I can finally relax and let my guard down. Right?
Right?
Tuesday I got a call from the police.
Does anyone like to get a phone call from the police? Best case, this is cause for confusion. Tuesday was no exception. The officer identified himself and asked "Are you okay?"
What? Am I okay? I could probably give you a list of five people that would argue that point.
On the plus side, at least someone still cares if I'm alive. Granted, he's paid by my tax dollars to care, but it counts.
"Um. Yeah. Why?"
"Well Mr. Kraus, we got a call from someone in Ohio who told us your ex-wife posted some pictures of you hanging from a tree on her Facebook account. And some pictures of her with guns. The caption on the lynching pictures read 'It's cheaper than therapy.'"
"What?"
"Yeah. We're sorry to bother you Mr. Kraus, but procedure is to follow up on these items. Do you know where your ex-wife works?"
"Actually, no. I used to, but I have no idea if she still works there."
"Do you have an address for her?"
"Um. No. She never told me where she moved to."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Really. That sounds bad, doesn't it? I think I can get it off the divorce papers."
"Okay..."
At this point the officer realized he was dealing with a dipshit who didn't have the common sense to protect himself.
And I don't even know where to start analyzing this.
The Ex and I have no Facebook friends in common. She purged everyone who had any contact or communication with me. Everyone. I don't know a single person that she and I are both still in communication with, much less that I would call a friend.
This means that someone who doesn't even know me found the pictures disturbing enough to call the cops on my behalf!
Wow. I really want to see those pictures now.
The cops did say that the report came from out of state.
The officer didn't provide any advice on what I should do to protect myself. Captain Kirk thinks I should keep my head on a swivel and vary my routes and patterns. Apparently he's been watching too many episodes of Burn Notice.
She's an angry ex, not a burned spy. I hope.
I'm going to write this off as wish fulfillment on her part. These last eight months couldn't have been any easier for her, and she's still got an enormous attorney bill to pay off. If she wants to envision me hanging from a tree, more power to her. She's not my problem any more. I'd rather she moved on, but I'm not going to overreact.
But if I don't answer my phone for more than 24 hours, call the cops.
I'll leave you with a really crappy video embed from "Parks and Recreation". This is Ron Swanson talking about the proper way to burn an ex-wife effigy. Make sure you stand a SAFE DISTANCE away when you throw the isopropyl alcohol.
Funny stuff.
"Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die." - Carrie Fisher
At approximately 11:00 AM on April 7th 2011 my marriage was legally dissolved. In the eyes of the State of Michigan I am single. No more invitations addressed to Mr. & Mrs. Kraus, no more joint tax returns, no more walking on eggshells. My house is officially MY house. It's me and Waffles against the world.
The sun came out as I exited the courthouse. That's not a metaphor - it literally came out. For one split second I was almost certain it was shining just for me.
Me and dog are slowly adjusting to our new "normal". He's upped his napping to 14 hours a day. I rarely sleep. We take two to three long walks a day. He barks at trucks that pass by, I ogle the neighborhood moms. It's not a bad life. The strange thing is that after everything I've been through I have an overwhelming urge to just be alone. Which makes me lonely.
Odd.
For those of you that care, I get 174 overnights a year with the kids (that's a lot). I got the house and the dog. She got anything else she felt like taking. The kids aren't going anywhere. It's a great deal for me.
I'm still not completely sure how I felt when the papers were finally signed. I was relieved. I was sad. I was elated. I felt a profound sense of disappointment. I was excited for my future. I felt like a failure. I was confused. I'm still confused and I'm still adjusting. But now that the ugliness is over I can finally relax and let my guard down. Right?
Right?
Tuesday I got a call from the police.
Does anyone like to get a phone call from the police? Best case, this is cause for confusion. Tuesday was no exception. The officer identified himself and asked "Are you okay?"
What? Am I okay? I could probably give you a list of five people that would argue that point.
On the plus side, at least someone still cares if I'm alive. Granted, he's paid by my tax dollars to care, but it counts.
"Um. Yeah. Why?"
"Well Mr. Kraus, we got a call from someone in Ohio who told us your ex-wife posted some pictures of you hanging from a tree on her Facebook account. And some pictures of her with guns. The caption on the lynching pictures read 'It's cheaper than therapy.'"
"What?"
"Yeah. We're sorry to bother you Mr. Kraus, but procedure is to follow up on these items. Do you know where your ex-wife works?"
"Actually, no. I used to, but I have no idea if she still works there."
"Do you have an address for her?"
"Um. No. She never told me where she moved to."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Really. That sounds bad, doesn't it? I think I can get it off the divorce papers."
"Okay..."
At this point the officer realized he was dealing with a dipshit who didn't have the common sense to protect himself.
And I don't even know where to start analyzing this.
The Ex and I have no Facebook friends in common. She purged everyone who had any contact or communication with me. Everyone. I don't know a single person that she and I are both still in communication with, much less that I would call a friend.
This means that someone who doesn't even know me found the pictures disturbing enough to call the cops on my behalf!
Wow. I really want to see those pictures now.
The cops did say that the report came from out of state.
The officer didn't provide any advice on what I should do to protect myself. Captain Kirk thinks I should keep my head on a swivel and vary my routes and patterns. Apparently he's been watching too many episodes of Burn Notice.
She's an angry ex, not a burned spy. I hope.
I'm going to write this off as wish fulfillment on her part. These last eight months couldn't have been any easier for her, and she's still got an enormous attorney bill to pay off. If she wants to envision me hanging from a tree, more power to her. She's not my problem any more. I'd rather she moved on, but I'm not going to overreact.
But if I don't answer my phone for more than 24 hours, call the cops.
I'll leave you with a really crappy video embed from "Parks and Recreation". This is Ron Swanson talking about the proper way to burn an ex-wife effigy. Make sure you stand a SAFE DISTANCE away when you throw the isopropyl alcohol.
Funny stuff.
"Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die." - Carrie Fisher
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