Yes, they bounce...

In the ongoing saga of the Sikh neighbors, as I've mentioned, they have acquired a trampoline. Until several days ago, we never saw it being used. I chalked this up to fear of bouncing. But, much to my and Jackson's pleasure, we now have Sikhs on trampolines right here in the neighborhood. I know that at first it may not sound like anything special. But if you could see the little Sikh kid in his head-wrap bouncing on the trampoline, you too would be entertained. I think it would be less entertaining if he had his hair down, because then he would look like an extremely hairy and hideous little girl bouncing on a trampoline. But with his hair all wrapped up and covered up in the towel-looking thing, he resembles a Q-tip. And if he is a Q-tip, he is timid one because he doesn't do any tricks. Not one flip. He just bounces straight up and down, vertically. The real excitement comes when his older brother or cousin or whatever the older kid is to him starts wrestling with him. The Q-tip is in 6th grade, the older kid is maybe in 8th grade but outweighs the younger by about 100 lbs. It's hilarious. He crushes the Q-tip and smothers the Q-tip and all you hear is high pitched gibberish muffled by the weight of the larger boy. Jackson and I run outside to watch whenever we hear the muffled cries for what I can only imagine is help.

If that's not good enough, the Sikh matron hates squirrels. I think that I may share this hatred with her, but she's serious about it, which is better for me at the moment. Because as much as I may hate squirrels, I am not going to chase them into a tree, climb the tree, and then try to beat them out of the tree with a large stick. I am also not stupid enough to think that I could catch a squirrel on foot. But she is, the Sikh matron. The other day she chased a squirrel into the adjoining yard yelling curses at it in whatever language it is that they speak (which sounds like the language that all Indians speak). When she realized that she couldn't catch the squirrel, she started throwing empty milk jugs at it. The plastic kind not the glass ones. I am not sure the result she was expecting by throwing an empty plastic milk jug. No harm would come to the squirrel. I think she should probably invest in a bow and arrow. But for now I am content to watch her run around the yard in her turquoise Sikh outfit yelling at squirrels and throwing milk jugs at them. I will also continue to wait patiently in the backyard feigning to play catch with Jackson in the hopes that I will witness her falling out of the tree in a vain attempt to catch a squirrel. I hope that this squirrel thing is actually due to hatred of the species and not out of hunger. Right now I'm not putting anything past these people. And hopefully, for the Sikh lady's sake, she will fall out of the tree and onto trampoline, bouncing and cursing in gibberish, because seriously Sikhs do bounce, but they are not all that skilled at it.

The Smell of Victory

Sunday night, 9:40pm, approximately. I have too much to write about, for once. So, I'm trying to pare it down in my head while I'm typing. I'm trying to pick one topic to focus on. It's been a busy past couple of days... There's the actual sighting of Sikhs on trampolines which is actually as amusing as it sounds. There's the re-discovery of the greatness of grapes. There's the 14-year old Chinese gymnasts who won gold and are being accused of cheating. And there's the fact that I haven't showered today and smell like a French rugby player.

You would notice, if you could read my mind that I left out the cicada killer wasps (this is actually what they're called) that have infested Allie's backyard. These insects are frightening. They resemble giant bees which look as if they could kill a horse. Apparently they are harmless and rarely sting. But I saw one carry a cicada into a hole in the ground. If you have ever seen a cicada, which is like the Mack truck of insects, you will undestand the fear that the cicada killer might bring someone who has a severe phobia of bee-type bugs.

To make matters worse, I just heard a song by N.E.R.D that I actually like. You have to understand that I was likely the original wigger of the Midwest. I was wearing Adidas tracksuits with coordinating hat and shelltoes in like 1986. The first concert I ever went to was Beastie Boys on the "License to Ill" tour. I saw them in Saginaw, MI at the Civic Center. I got drunk and got sprayed in beer which the Beasties were shotgunning off the stage. I was in 7th grade. The second concert I went to was the "Tougher than Leather" tour with the Beastie Boys and Run-DMC at Pine Knob. My dad took me. It was cool. But the Beastie Boys were so drunk they couldn't perform and got booed off the stage. Anyways, my point is, I was a wigger when being a wigger was abnormal. This was before rap music hit the mainstream. People thought I was strange. Seriously, people made fun of me. I was also described by some as a good dancer, but I lived in a really small town filled with white people, so that's not really a compliment. But, when I moved to Charlotte, NC in 1988 I did win a beat box competition in which I was the only white kid. With my prize money I bought the ID bracelet that I still wear to this day which has "BOX" engraved on it, althought it's so old that you can barely read it now. I like to tell people that it's an answer to a riddle: "What is the origin and destination of every human being?" Yeah, clever, ey? But really, BOX refers to the fact that I used to beat box back when I was a wigger and thought rap was cool. Now I mostly think it sucks donkey balls. I mean I still like some of the stuff I used to like, I like Eminem, D-12, Paul Wall, Atmosphere, and some stuff here and there. But most of it sounds like garbage. Good beats? Maybe. Good production? For sure. But the actual creativity of the lyricists is crap. However, once in a great while I'll hear something that I like, and I like this N.E.R.D. song I heard tonight. I also heard this group called the Flobots which I thought was pretty Flippin straight. If I had any money right now, I might go buy some CD's.

So, there you have it. Last week was a good week. Right now I smell like a French rugby player and I know what that smells like because one I was stuck on a twin prop plane with the French rugby team on a flight from London to Dublin. So, I'm going to go take a shower because I don't like the French all that much and I really don't understand rugby. Peace out.

The Small Things

I believe that in our culture we are so programmed to obsess about the things in life that are spectacular that we often overlook or ignore the moments that are truly beautiful. In order for something to be truly memorable, it seems it has to be seen by millions on TV or on the internet. Everyone's filming their events and posting them on YouTube hoping that millions of others will think that their horse and pony show is the next "most watched video" of the day. "In order for my life to be important, everyone else must think so too," seems to be the mantra of our culture. If something is worth anything, it is probably broadcast somewhere, right?

Right now, I'm going to say that it's not so. For some reason tonight, I've been thinking about those countless number of times in my life where life has felt beautiful. The knowledge that there have been countless numbers of times is in and of itself beautiful and brings a smile to my face. I can honestly not tell you how many times I've had moments of sheer pleasure in my relatively short life. In fact, I'm sure I can't even recall all of them. I know that none of them have been televised or broadcast on the internet. Some of them have been shared with others, but many have been in complete solitude.

I remember one summer night I was driving home from a long night of washing dishes at Cracker Barrel in maybe 1992. It was summer and it was probably about 12:30 or 1:00 in the morning. Anyone who has washed dishes will know what you smell you like after you get out of work. You smell like cooked food that's been put through a dishwasher- disgusting. And so I was driving home in the Michigan summer night air in my 1986 Chevrolet Caprice Station Wagon and I had the radio blaring some '70's rock 'n' roll and the windows rolled down and suddenly a thunder storm rolled in about half-way home. And it was pouring. And I remember just leaving the window rolled down and feeling that cool rain pour in through the window as I was traveling 70mph down I-94 towards Parma singing as loud as I could and feeling totally alive. I don't think that the rain that came through the window of that big ass car actually washed any of the stankiness off of me, but I felt as though it somehow cleansed me in some way that at that time I could not describe. I know that by the time I got home I was sad that the drive was over, it was that great.

In 1992 YouTube didn't even exist. In fact if the Internet existed at all, I'd never heard of it, let alone seen it. And there was no one to share that moment with and no one who witnessed it, but it was just as satisfying as if everyone had. Maybe what I'm trying to say is that there are moments in life that are beautiful and should be enjoyed for the sheer simplicity of them. And they don't need to be validated by the masses to have true meaning. So, take the moments as they come, and try to remember them for what they are. Even if no one else ever knows about them.

A New Beginning

Today is August 19th, 2008 and yours truly is officially divorced. Thank baby Jesus, that chapter has concluded. It feels good on several levels. One of these levels is because I actually did the lion's share of the work myself. I prepared every single legal document myself, including my ex's (except for the Judgment which an attorney prepared, who I had enter an appearance only because Jackson County apparently has been giving pro se filers a hard time). Regardless, it's done. And with that, the next chapter can begin. I would add here, preferably in a footnote, although I don't know how to footnote a blog, that the next chapter has already begun and that more than likely if my life was an ongoing novel it would probably be some weird post-modernist story where the narrative travels through time in circular, overlapping layers as opposed to in some sort of linear fashion. But whatever. I'm too tired to think too hard about post-modernism AND my divorce. Although I have to say that the divorce itself isn't really on my mind it's what the divorce means for the future. I am now free to move forward. And that is liberating. Hence the use of the term "free". Although, now that I think about it, one complaint that my marriage and post-modern literature have in common is lack of dialogue. But, who's counting?

From this point forward, I can safely and publicly declare that I'm going to be a father again and that my ex is one crazy F#$Ked up B!&*H and I am so happy to be done with that S#!T. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, the flippin drama that I went through with that woman probably aged me ten years. (I was with her for six and some change for those who are keeping score.) But a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders, and I mean that figuratively.

So, forgive me if I'm a little giddy. Forgive a brother if he's going to allow himself to curl up in the sunshine and enjoy the feeling of it on his dog-like ass for one evening. It's been a bit of rough patch here of late, and the past few days have been pretty outstanding. Today was the cherry.

Stay strong, and F#$K the Cheese Factory. A-Holes.

Descent Into Dorkdom

So, after a long hard day of doing some work for an attorney, and then having a nice meal with Allie at a Thai place in Mission, I come home and for some reason decide that I simply have to figure out the noun declension of "lux" and "lumen", both of which are Latin for "light". Why I had to do this is now completely lost after taking the time to figure it out. And the fact that I just spent an unknown amount of time doing so, and that after the passing of which I totally forgot why I was even doing it in the first place, has confirmed that my life has become truly exciting, and has confirmed that I may be getting old. All I can remember is that it started with trying to figure out the plural form of "lux". So, I was trying to figure out how something with "lights" would translate into Latin... But I've lost it. What makes it difficult is that "lux", and "lumen" are 3rd declension nouns and so are not your basic 1st and 2nd declension nouns that are pretty easy to remember. Now you are beginning to understand the level of dorkness that I am prone to.

It's quarter after eight on a Tuesday night and I am sitting at home while Allie's taking a nap trying to figure out Latin noun declensions for no apparent or useful reason. I will not argue with the yawns from the peanut gallery or the insults being hurtled at my head. But in case you're wondering, Luces is the plural of Lux, while Lumina is the plural of Lumen. And don't worry, I have not forgotten about Sikhs on Trampolines. It's too good to forget.

Where's my funnel cake?

It's Monday night and it's actually rather nice here in the KC Metro. We returned yesterday from a weekend in Iowa. I know it's not exactly the vacation one might see in Conde Nast, but it was fun nevetheless. We went to Iowa to attend the Iowa State Fair, which apparently is either the first or second largest state fair in the country. Minnesota's is the other fair in the running. I ate a lot of food that is not on the list of foods you should eat if you want to be healthy. But I did not get any funnel cake. This is a problem. It was the only item of food that I really felt that I had to have. And I got none. So, I may be slightly disappointed. But only slightly. Otherwise, it was a good time. I saw animals with testicles as large as a human head. And I'm not kidding.

I had never been to a state fair before, at least not that I remember. There's a chance that I may have gone to the MI state fair when I was a boy, but if I did the memory of it has faded. And if I don't remember it, it didn't happen. How many times have I used that line in my life? Never in respect to a fair, possibly in respect to an affair... I digress...

Bottom line: the Iowa State Fair was cool. The weather was really nice, the company was awesome, and the food was deep fried goodness. I saw some things that I've never seen before and some that I had. There's a lot of weird people at a fair, it doesn't matter what size or where it's at. I am still unemployed but I feel as though I'm a part of a national trend for the first time in my life, so that's something new. Please enjoy the cooler weather, I don't know how long it's going to last. I do know that next weekend I will be watching soccer. And that soon I will be writing about Sikhs on trampolines because it's dying to be written about. Adieu.

Math?

Alright, it's Saturday. It's freaking hot in KC. This is really the hottest it's been, so I can't complain too much. But Jesus, it's hot. And it's only going to get hotter over the next couple of days. And unfortunately, the only thing that makes it tolerable is sex.

Anyways, so Jackson starts school again soon and apparently needs one of those crazy calculators that does things that no one ever has to do after they pass the one math class that they have to take in college (unless of course you're a science or math major). I thought to myself, I used to have one of those fancy calculators, but I have no clue what happened to it. The last time I remember using it was in 1993 in College Algebra at Michigan State University. I only passed that class because there were like 30 sections which were all graded on one curve. So, I got a 57 and ended up with the 2.0 I needed to never have to take math again. I can hazard a guess and say that I probably traded my calculator for either pot or LSD. That whole first year at MSU is a little fuzzy and made abosolutely no sense. I know that I did not do well in school and that I lost about 25lbs. There are strange memories of gay people covered in birthday cake and playing bowling with pumpkins down the hallway.

But seriously, no one needs one of those damn fancy calculators anyway. And to be perfectly honest, I don't think that most people need to take math past the 8th grade. I mean seriously, how often have you ever used letters in your mathematic equations when figuring out your checkbook?

Ok, I'm going to watch a movie that does not requird math or understanding imaginary numbers.

Peace.

My Calling?

Maybe I misread the palm reading I got from the weird Chinese kid in Bonn, Germany. Yeah, I know, I may have been a little tipsy at the time, but I swear he said nothing about being a good housewife. How I got to Bonn, and got my palm read by a Chinese kid is not important. At the time it sort of freaked me out because he told me things about myself that no one that didn't know me would me know. I know, you hear these stories all along, and it's why there's any sort of industry for palmistry and that weird Jamaican chick that used to be on tv but got busted for fraud in Detroit. But, honestly, at the time, it freaked me out. He was right on with his personality profile. Obviously, I can't really speak for his predictions, because they were very vague and set far in the future, and did I mention that I was a little tipsy? Yeah, I was.

But after this week, it's been confirmed, I am a pretty good soccer mom. I need to cook more often, but other than that I've got it down. So screw all you women who say that you can do whatever I can do because I can do what you do too. And that ain't no voodoo. It's just the facts. Now there are some things that you do that I don't want to know about. I don't care to know anything about your cycles and your woman parts. That just freaks me out. I am a man and I don't have cycles and I don't shed layers of anything, except for maybe some skin when I get sunburned. Sometimes, a man is led to believe that women are so beautiful and soft and precious. Then they start telling you about their cycles and all the crap that goes on, and seriously, it's like you're talking to a complicated machine that is actually sort of gross. And I mean that in the most complimentary way possible. I mean seriously, I wouldn't trade you places for the world. I have no desire to experience what a period feels like and I have no need to carry another growing creature inside for one day, let alone nine months.

Nope, you guys (or girls) can have it. I have no jealousy whatsoever. But, I do know that I can stay home and clean and do laundry and drive the kids around just fine. And I won't shed one layer of my non-existent uterus while doing any of it.

I am a soccer mom...that's my mantra....