The Year of the Ox

It is upon us. The Year of the Ox. I was born three Oxen ago. I was hoping that the raspberry would also be an Ox, but she came early, and officially is a Rat (as is Jackson). But she is here, finally. And she is beautiful (just like her mother). She has a tendency to projectile poop. But that's ok, we still love her. At the end of the day I am happy and feel incredibly lucky at the life I have somehow managed to obtain.

It's been awhile since I posted and I've been meaning to post a new year's blog for about 30 days now. I have been busy though and the time is simply not there. So, let me take a moment to say Happy New Year and to reflect on the past year.

I completely misjudged how effectual the media is on the American psyche. They turned the Presidential campaign into American Idol. The people phoned in their votes and it turns out that an old white man cannot be the new American Idol afterall. McCain didn't have a chance despite his choosing of Palin, who was just attractive enough that they made a porno spoof of her. When was the last time a porno was made about a VP candidate? That alone made it a great election year.

I have also learned that the Cheese Factory is controlled remotely by a Jewish she-devil who claims to be a Christian. This proves that you cannot truly convert a Jew and no matter how much she says she loves Jeezy Creezy, she's still just a greasy two-faced sleezy be-atch, who I shall dub Judas Easy.

Speaking of Jews, once again the Israeli's and Palestinians decided to go at it just before the end of the year. There is no hope for those people. They are like two old men who are still pissed at each other for something that happened so long ago that they can't even remember who killed who's dog. I think the real problem is that they are unattractive people. I don't mean that they are ugly per se, they just aren't hot. I can't think of one truly hot Jew (above, case in point) or Palestinian. And we all know that the value of any person or race depends upon how hot they are. (At least this is what I learned on ET last night). Why does everyone get so upset when they kill each other? Why don't we just stay out of it and let them duke it out? Please someone win once and for all so we can move on to the next news story on NPR. (This will likely be about how Obama has been concealing his super powers and that his father was not only African but also descended from the a super race of black Jews who ruled their kingdom peacefully until an evil army of rabid white Southern Baptists drove them from their homes, enslaved them and made them listen to country music.)

Then there is the real news story out of Illinois, Governor Hair Folicle. Seriously, what's up with Blagoyavich (sp?)'s hair? Talk about alien species. That guy has too much hair for any one human being. I think he alone holds the secret to curing male pattern baldness. (The cure is by the way shaving your GD head and not worrying about it anymore.)

Once again Florida won the national title which annoys the hell out of me. I vote for Utah, not because I think they're the best team, but because I hate Florida. The Detroit Lions officially are the worst NFL team ever. Kansas City is a close second. And the Steelers are going to the Super Bowl!

The Economy- good lord- if there's something to be worried about I guess that's it. Unless you live in Wichita and then you also have to worry about a syphilis outbreak too.

So, we're excited about the new year here in the Williams household and are fortunate in that we have a little Rat to distract us from how bad things are in the great big white world. Stay strong people, put your head between your knees and hold on tight because a big wind of change is coming and there's probably some projectile poo flying in its wake.

Sometimes...

Tonight, as I was putting Jackson to bed, which has now become an almost nightly occurrence, he asked me a question which totally caught me off guard. "How do you know when you meet the person you want to spend the rest of your life with?" In those nanoseconds after he asked me, I'm sitting there on his bed trying to figure out how to explain to a 12-year old how I'm going to explain how I knew that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with his mother. My immediate response was, "Well, it's hard to explain, but you just know. It's a feeling that you get." I was hoping that would confuse him enough to stop the conversation. And then he really threw me for a loop, because he immediately followed it up by asking, "Is it when you picture yourself as an old man sitting next to her in rocking chairs on a porch in the country with rings on your fingers?" I can't speak for everyone on the planet, but for me that's about the best way I could put it, and I can't lie and say that I haven't had nearly that exact same thought about his mother. And as I'm sitting here writing, I'm completely amazed at the line of questioning and the similarity that this 12-year old's picture of what true love must look like to mine. Is it that basic of a human instinct? To want to spend the rest of your life with someone that you truly love and grow old with them and sit on a porch in peace rocking the day away with a symbol of your love displayed on your wrinkled fingers?

The longer I sat there with him, listening to him tell me about his burgeoning middle school romance, I was trying to figure out a way to explain to him that he's got a long time to worry about such things as "true love" and the "rest of your life" in a way that wouldn't scare the crap out of him. I mean let's face it, how many people find that ever? How many bad relationships have I endured before I finally met his mother? How long did that take? How do you explain to a 12-year old, that before you find the person you truly want to be with, you truly need to know yourself? And in order to get to know yourself, sometimes you have to go through some incredibly hard and painful periods of growth? How do you explain to someone who cannot understand that you can spend years just trying to find out who you are and that for a good number of those years you're really just not that intelligent? That your self-perception evolves over those years and that hopefully you never stop evolving, and the real key is to find that person who will evolve with you? And honestly, I cannot stress this enough, how do you tell him that it wasn't easy, that it didn't magically happen, that it wasn't wanted or planned, and that it wasn't instantaeous like it is in the movies? You can't tell him any of those things. All you can tell him is that "you'll just know."

Because it just happened. It wasn't all at once. It came in phases and instances. But when I knew, I knew. And once I knew, there was no turning back. And that realization was more powerful than any I have ever had. And once the knowledge hit me that this 12-year old's mother was the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, I did imagine that we would someday be sitting on a porch, surrounded by our grandchildren, and telling them stories about each other and how we met. I always imagined a porch swing, but that's close to a rocking chair. I've always imagined myself in the country when I'm old.

Of course, by the time I realized that I couldn't tell him all of the difficulty it took me to get to this point, and that it took me over 33 years before I met the "one for me," he had finally moved on to less serious topics of discussion like how great he is at baseball and how he can't wait to go fishing with his friend and his dream about trying to kill terrorists but accidentally killing the president. So, hopefully, as far as he's concerned, I've confirmed his porch-vision, and informed him that "you just know." The rest he will figure out on his own. Just like I had to do.

Enough Already!

I am tired of hearing about the g-d election already. I am also tired of hearing about the polls and how Obama's blowing out McCain with a five point lead. Isn't there a margin of difference of five points? Here's what I think: the media wanted Obama to win the Democratic nomination so they flooded the airwaves with Obama crap; now they want him to win the election, so they're doing the same. If the media says he's going to win, he's going to win (at least that's the strategy). I guess we'll see what happens in a couple of weeks.

Another thing I'm tired of hearing about is the stock market. I think by this point we know how bad the economy is. I don't need to hear about some guy in Ireland's theory on economic philosophy to understand that the entire world is totally f'd right now. I get it. Someone please fix it, now. There is also something else I'm learning from all of this: regardless of how bad the economy gets, nothing beats cash (unless of course it really goes south and then nothing beats weaponry). Seriously, if you have cash on hand you can buy what you need. It's tangible. It's not floating around in cyberspace to be lost on some weird futures market that sounds like a mix between gambling and fortune telling. If you need a corn dog you can buy it with cash. Just because some a-hole in Jakarta just tanked his online and offshore brokerage house that was somehow connected to your pension plan can in no way effect the cash you already have in your pocket, and you can still go buy your damn corn dog. Now obviously if you put your cash in a jar instead of in the stock market it's not going to increase in value. But you'll still have it as long as you don't touch it. This whole thing is stupid. Everyone is trying to blame everyone and no one's really getting blamed because it's everyone's fault. Yes, it's all of our faults. The entire world bought into the idea of credit for everyone regardless of whether or not you're worth it. In fact we think we deserve credit. Well credit where credit is due, I say (and other smart people too). (I should note here that I for one am glad I bought my car before this crap storm started.)

Ok... enough for this evening. My idea is this: kill NAFTA bring the jobs back to America so that Americans can afford to buy American cars again; F*^K free trade, tariff the crap out of foreign cars- nothing else, just cars; drill for oil here, but please invent a car that doesn't use gas; stop these BS wars, if you're going to kill people, kill everyone in the country so there are NO insurgents; shut down the border, we have too many bad Mexican restaurants already; make reality television stop; legalize marijuana and tax the crap out of it; and prostitution; and gambling; and televangelists; recognize gay marriage because divorce attorneys don't make enough money as it is; give us some form of free basic health care; shut up about abortion, whichever side you're on- if you're for it, great, abort away- if you're against it, I'll let you meet some people that live under a bridge, you'll change your mind; eugenics is not a bad thing, it's just gotten a bad wrap and with the newfound genetic sciences we could quite possibly become a better species; do away with the IRS and institute a nationwide VAT.... I've got more, but I'm tired.

Married

It's now been eight days since I got married. And I am pretty much as happy as anyone could possibly hope to be in this condition. You might say that I didn't exactly take to marriage the first time around. But that could be due to a less than ideal relationship. I've come to realize that it is not a personality flaw. I seriously questioned this at one point. I thought maybe that I was eternally flawed an incapable of actually loving anyone. Turns out I hadn't met the right person.

And now, here we are. I can honestly say that I have met someone who has left absolutely nothing to want. I can also say that considering the fact that we are awaiting the raspberry, it feels a lot better being married and expecting, then just expecting. There is something very comforting in the legality of ones relationship with the participating parent. Didn't have that the first time I became a father either.

So, aside from the sheer joy I'm feeling at the moment, there's a lot of comfort in the feeling that this time, things are being done properly (although maybe not in a typical chronological order) and that things feel like they're supposed to feel, whatever that means. And I'm not concerned with social norms and expectations so much as I am with the way things feel to me and Mrs. Williams. And they feel right. Often they border on feeling perfect, but this is when things get overwhelming and so good that it's scary. And that's when I start feeling nervous. This happens a lot.

It's after 10pm on a Monday night. That means I should be asleep, in bed, with my wife.

Who I'm Not Voting For

I have a completely different post in mind which is more personal. However, with the upcoming Presidential election and the depressing realization that I can stand behind neither big party candidate, I'd like to take a moment to talk about someone else I'm not voting for. That person is Chuck Baldwin. Now, I have no idea who ol' Chuck is. But I do know his running mate, Darrel Castle. In fact I've had the guy over to my house for dinner. And based on my knowledge of Mr. Castle, I can definitely say that I will not be voting for his ticket. Not even if all the Republicans and Democrats folded and we were left with the Constitutionalists (Castle's paty) and the Communists. Like many people out there in the RW who only know the basics about the two major parties, you're probably wondering what the hell a Constitutionalist is. Well, from what I can gather, a Constitutionalist is a lot like a Libertarian. But Libertarian sounds too much like liberal, and that's just not acceptable for people even further to the right than Republicans. I think that as the name implies, Castle's party has some affinity for the sanctity of the Constitution. I know this because he told me at a cocktail lounge in KC after we'd imbibed one too many martinis. Like any American, I too like the Constitution. And like many, I feel attached to some of the inalienable rights. Maybe not all of them, but some are pretty cool. I especially like the Freedom of Speech part. Now, like any legal document, the Constitution is to be interpreted as changing societal issues and mores require. I mean we're not living in the 18th century (when it was written dumb-asses) any longer, so a document written for 18th-century revolutionaries may not apply to 21st-century fat soccer moms. (The Jews have this same problem with the Torah which is why there are Rabbis.) And just like there are different sorts of Jews (Conservative, Orthodox, Hasidic), there are different types of Americans. One sort is Constitutionalists like Mr. Castle.

Apparently his view of the Constitution says that we all have the right to have man-servants and live in a large house paid for by the misfortune of really dumb, misled poor people. It is true that he is a successful business man (and lawyer). In fact I had the (mis)fortune of working for his firm here in KC. One thing I learned is that bankruptcy law is there for not only to aid people in their dire financial circumstances and to help them get out from the burden of debt, it's also there to make lawyers a lot of money. I also learned that it's not about actually helping people, but it's about making money off of their misery. It's about signing people up who have no right or reason to actually file bankruptcy, but since they are there, you might as well take their money and agree with them that they do indeed need to file bankruptcy. And once they have filed they will then become one of about 3000 active bankruptcy customers who are actively represented by 2-3 attorneys depending on the day and whether or not someone has either quit or been fired. This is what you call quality legal representation. And this is how Constitutionalists and Christians apparently practice bankruptcy law. And it is your Constitutional right to get less than adequate legal representation and be treated like a customer at Wal-Mart. But most people expect to get treated that way in today's America, especially poor black people, which is who the bulk of the advertising paid for by Mr. Castle targets. It's really actually pretty smart, business-wise. I mean seriously, poor black people are really only looking for another way to postpone losing everything and have absolutely no faith in the legal system anyways, so they're an easy target for predatory advertising and no real professional commitment. In choosing to represent them, you know they're not going to carry through with their case and follow instructions, because they're dumb, which is why they're poor. So, you get easy money up front which is non-refundable and don't actually have to do much in the way of actual legal work. It's genius. It's the American way. It's the Constitutionalist way. It's the Castle way.

So, join Mr. Castle in his fight for your Constitutional rights (as he interprets them) and you too can take advantage of poor black (and white, he's not racist) people while earning enough money to have servants and still have time in your busy day to go to church and run an orphanage in Romania.

As I said, I'm not supporting anyone this time. I know it's not a popular thing to say with all of the Obama supporters around me. But seriously, it's my Constitutional right to not like the man, I think Mr. Castle would agree with me on that point.

For the love of Pink

Quickly, and for the record, the raspberry is a girl! I'm so excited... we're so excited!! I'm a little nervous too. It's been over 15 years since I became a dad for the first time, and that was a completely different scenario. I didn't really get to experience the joys and frustrations of fatherhood as I could have. So, I know that there's going to be a lot of learning going on in all of this. Fortunately, I have a very high opinion of myself and feel very confident that I will perform at a high level in various skills such as diaper changing and pacifying. I am sure that I will also learn the value of mowing the lawn and spending time in the garage. My monk-like patience will come in handy in this new life as will my ability to selectively hear various sounds emitting from various feminine orificies. Yes, I am quite certain that I will be wonderful at this dad thing. Just as I am quite certain that I will love my daughter as she should be loved and that if I love her even half as much, although in an obviously different way, as I love her mother, she will be loved more than most people will ever have the fortune to experience. It's true, I am quite lucky, and if the above is not reason enough, I also have a new young man in my life who has made me feel like a father again even before I am biologically a repeating offender. I know, I should play the Powerball. I have been, but I haven't won. If I do, I promise that I will not spoil any of the children I am responsible for too badly. But I will buy myself a really sick car. Peace.

19

I realize it's been two weeks since my last post. I wish I could say it's been because I've been on vacation. But I can't say that. No, I've just been incredibly busy, surprisingly, and fighting a 12-year-old for the use of the laptop. Jackson's discovered the beauty of IM'ing. And apparently all of the little lasses in Natoma are into the IM thing. So, he's got like six GF's now. Oh to be young again...

We are patiently awaiting the 19th. And it seems as if at the moment the number 19 has some significance. Only because it as on the 19th of May that we found out we were expecting. And now on September 19th we find out the sex of the baby. Exciting, no? Yes. Very.

Last weekend we were supposed to be in Arkansas for a soccer tournament. Due to Hurricane Ike, the tournament was cancelled. I thought that the sun was never going to come out again after last week. But, yesterday it did. And the past two days have been pretty much perfect. This weekend we have a soccer tournament in Olathe and Allie's parents are coming for a visit. No signs of Hurricanes thank god.

So, I wonder what else the number 19 will bring us... In case you were wondering, it was on the 19th of August in which I appeared in court to finalize my divorce, and thus also on the 19th I will be officially divorced.

On a different note, F#$K the Cheese Factory and F$%K Onions and Shrek and those f#$ing A#$hole "christians" from Tennessee who have no problem running an unethical business that takes advantage of the misfortune of the lowest denominator. And while I'm at it, F$#K my brother-in-law who still hasn't had the decency or the GD cajones to talk to me like a man. And I'm not even mad. I'm happier right now than I've ever been in my life. But I hope they all get butt raped by Shaq (except for Onions and Mrs. Cheese 'cause I bet they'd like it, I hope they get eternal poison ivy in their hoo-has and go insane from the itching).

I am boycotting the elections by the way. I can't vote for Obama and I think if I vote for McCain I might as well start shopping at Wal-Mart and get rid of all my morals (as weird and nonsensical as they may be.)

Alright, peace out. And I promise I'm not mad, I just hate those freaking A#$HOLES.

Labour Day

Howdy. Well, after a long weekend in Natoma, it's safe to say that I am hooked on that small town. You cannot ask for anything more American than the weekend I just witnessed. It's funny to think that I'd be thinking about what the perfect environment to raise a child in. But I have been, and I can't think of a better place to do so than in Natoma. I'm not saying it's perfect. Nothing is. But after experiencing the Labor Day festivities, and seeing the epitome of what a community truly is, I am sure that one could not ask for much more (if less actually means more). There's nothing fancy about it and nothing contrived. It's basic, old-school, simple, and straight forward. What you see is what you get. And I saw a lot of food and a lot of families and a lot of effort put forth by a lot of committed people to make sure that families had a lot of fun and as much food as they could eat.

On a different note, we got a Republican running-mate who may or may not be the best choice. And as much as I hate the Republicans, they know how to spin a tale and make things appear as they are not. (See Iraq). And I suspect that they will do a number with this VP pick. Then there is Gustav, the Hurricane that wasn't. My friend Mike passed along a funny thought about it: And it was if the Earth was a restroom, and New Orleans was a particularly nasty bowel movement before Katrina, he tried to flush it down the drain. And even though he got most of it, there was still some lingering crap in the toilet. So, he flushed again. We'll see how many more times he has to flush before he gest rid of all of the waste. Of course overshadowed by Gustav is what could be an even worse situation in India as monsoon season has hit over there. Obviously the reason it's overshadowed is because India is a giant toilet and one that is apparently broken because God's been trying for years to flush that S#!T.

One good thing about this whole Sarah Palin mess is that it's taken the spotlight off Obama-nation (which was my idea that someone else also came up with and published a book by that title- let me tell you about how p'd off I was about that!). Regardless, it's nice not hear about that butthole for a couple of days. Not that I was really paying attention, since I don't have television and haven't been paying too close of attention to the news lately.

Just as a reminder, college football has started. My pick for the national title game: Ohio State vs. Oklahoma. It's going to be dubbed the O-game, and everyone's going be giving us their O-face. It's going to be awesome. Everyone's picking a rematch between the SEC champion and someone else. But I'm saying that this year the SEC teams beat each other up too much to put anyone in the title game. Now I know USC is another popular pick, but the problem is that they play OSU in a couple weeks and I think that OSU's going to come and show people on a national stage that they're tired of people dogging on them and prove once and for all that despite all that Blue Chip talent out there in LA, there's something to say about heart. And we all know that California may have beautiful people and rich people and all sorts of race problems and over-priced housing and a severe immigration problem and is run by a former steroid monster. But what it doesn't have is heart. And despite the fact that I hate Ohio and that OSU is my least favorite Big Ten school, I'm a Big Ten fan at heart, and am dying for someone from the Big Ten to step up and make the media suck a big fat midwestern D#$K.

In summary: Natoma rocks; Obama still sucks; God hates the hard to flush crap in the toiletbowl that is New Orleans; God hates Indians even more; and Ohio State will finally win a national title game. And by the way, this time next year I will likely be driving a full-size truck and own a real cowboy hat at least one pair of Wranglers. That is my future.

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....

Finally...Some Justice

Thankfully, Nature has finally carried out some well-deserved justice. Yes, people, Ryan Seacrest has been bitten by a shark. I don't know the details, I only know that he was bitten and that he's so GD annoying that I'd like to have seen that happen firsthand.

Now, if Nature could continue her streak and dish out some more justice, I vote for the next person to get bit to be Modern Major General Onions. I don't care what sort of animal you choose to bite her. But you should probably choose one who does not have an aversion to the smell of three-day-old onion sandwiches. More than likely this should be some sort of scavenger. It's true that sharks are scavengers, but there are not too many sharks available in KC. So, that leaves dogs and carrion birds, like crows or vultures. As much as I'd love to see a dog go at Onions, the idea of her getting attacked by crows seems poetic. I can only imagine her running to her car being chased through the parking garage by rabid black birds. One would probably become entangled in her hair and she would be screaming and trying to get the demon crow out of her hair in a voice that sounds eerily like Joan's. I imagine that one of her eyes might get pecked out before one of those downtown cleaning people in their black and yellow uniforms comes to her rescue. Maybe she'd fall in love with him and fawn at the way she saw him with her one good eye shoo away the rabid crows with his broom which was paid for by that city tax that comes out of your paycheck if you work in KC. He would likely kneel down beside her, catching his breath as her oniony pheromones finally got past his adrenaline. It may stir some hunger inside him as he's been pushing around a garbage can all day in the heat, not smelling too pleasant himself. He would think to himself, "she smells like a philly steak that's been sitting on a table in a smoke-filled bar for several hours." But after sweeping up cigarette butts and trash all day in the KC heat, even that could stir a certain type of man's appetite. She would say, "Sir, you saved me. What can I do to repay you? I am the Office Manager of the Cheese Factory. Do you like Cheddar?" And he would say, "Ma'am, you have a dead crow in your hair that looks like you have not washed in a few days. I'm just a simple man who loves simple things in life, like a good philly steak smothered in onions even if it's been sitting on a table in a smoky bar for several hours." "Well, good knight," she continued, "if you like smelling food and working, I have just the job for you. In the Cheese Factory we pride ourselves in hiring smelly people who are unaccustomed to working in a professional environment and if you think that you could work in such a place, a place that is less concerned with ethics and customer service, but wholly concerned with making the cheese, I would love to give you a job. I hardly work myself, but I will expect you to work for far less than the average wage for the job that I will hire you for. I will treat you like dirt and stab you in the back when you least expect it, but if you can get past my rank onion odor and obsession with small meaningless projects I will let you get to know me- in the Biblical sense- because that guy that was fixing the phones didn't seem at all interested, even though I was doing the sexy leg pose for hours, and I'm desperate....

To answer your question.... I have taken no drugs.

Sunday

Well, it's Sunday evening folks. I'd like to say that I went to church today and sung hymns, but I did not. Nope, instead I went to Babies R Us and looked at cribs. And then I went to Leawood and saw how the other half lives. But it was nice, they gave me some Coronas. This evening, Allie and I watched 3:10 to Yuma which was a pretty good movie. I haven't watched a cowboy movie in a long time, and I have to say that it was definitely worth the time and money spent on it.

Overall, it's been a pretty fantastic weekend. It's been a weekend full of those epiphanies I tend to have, which is not a word associated with manliness, although it should be. I believe that if men allowed themselves to have ephiphanies more often, they'd spend less time having to have attorneys. Too often men ignore that small, quiet voice and write it off as indigestion or possibly the Jim Beam talking.

A riding lawn mower cannot drive out the sound of reason. Or maybe it can. But one should not allow it to. And no man lives by sawdust and grass clippings alone. I don't care how nice of a shed you have.

I raise my glass to all who can endure an afternoon of crib shopping. Some of those cribs can make a man feel inadequate about his own bed. Seriously, my baby will have a convertible bed, and I cannot even allow myself to dream about the word covertible...

Ich bin ein Obama

Yeah, an Obama-nation! That's what you call a play on words.

I'm so tired of hearing about Obama running around Europe acting all presidential and appearing to be presidential and then saying things like, "I'm not the President." It reeks of Jesus asking his disciples, "Who do they say I am?" If it looks like s#%t and smells like s#%t, it's s#%t. And Obama's pulling some dog s#%t. Look at me, the French love me, the Germans love me, the Spanish love me. Anyone who isn't G.W. the Europeans will love. I mean how great must it be to speak to someone who can actually converse in their native tongue? G.W. can't even tell you what he's thinking in English, let alone trying to convey a thought to someone who then has to translate your pigeon-Texan ramblings into numerous foreign languages. And then think of the poor European leader who is getting a translation of broken Texan which no good linguist even recognizes as a proper English dialect. No offense to the English.

Obama must seem like a genius. And to make matters even better, it's not like he's Jessie Jackson or Louis Farrakhan. I mean with Jessie you have the same linguistic problems you do with Bush, and with Farrakhan, if you're European you know he hates you too. And you don't have to worry about him coming to your country and having his entourage f#$K up your police like Snoop Dogg. So, I guess, things could be worse.

On a positive note, today I heard the raspberry's heartbeat. And though it was brief, it was awesome. I have never been more excited about anything in my entire life. So, on that, I'll end for today.

It is Friday. And I'm home writing a blog entry at 9pm drinking a PBR and flashing a big middle finger to the haters. (That's something I think Tucker might say.)

Surrogate

In my newfound free time I have been scouring the KC Metro for jobs. I have applied to several in the past two days, all of them office jobs. In the current stage of life, I am qualified to do office work, primarily in the legal and clerical fields. Funny because according to my Federal Student Loan debt, I should be qualified to do a lot of things. Problem is that there are not too many jobs out there which look for experience translating 13th-century Latin documents. The fact that I received several grants to study in the Archivio Generale Dei Carmelitani in Rome makes not one bit of difference in the RW. Sometimes that life seems as if it didn't exist. There are times when the Kansas City phase seems like I embarked on a weird foray into the Witness Protection Program. I pretty much just stopped my life as it was and picked up and moved here and started life completely over. Of course I carried some weight with me, but that too has now been shed. The only thing holding me to the academic world is now a huge student loan debt and some very subdued longings for the academy. To be perfectly honest, I don't miss academia. I miss the lifestyle and the intellectual atmosphere in which one is necessarily immersed. But academics are the whiniest, most pretentious, and self-involved bitches on the planet. That's not to say they're not nice people... but not very many people in this world actually care whether you're a social, economic, or intellectual historian; or whether you attribute the rise in the power of the Franciscans to the Papacy or the masses and whether or not this can be directly correlated to the popularity of the Cathars. (If you know what I'm talking about, you'll know the correct answer to that query.) The minutia in which Historians involve themselves borders on insanity, each of them looking to be that one footnote in that one great book, usually that someone else will eventually write.

So, what now comes? I don't know. I know that one cannot look backwards for too long, or one will get a crimp in one's neck. Much better to glance back and make sure the traffic's clear and fix your eyes back on the road ahead. And if you're skills are decent, you won't press the brake once while passing the minivan full of Mexicans who for some reason are driving 35mph on the Interstate.

I know that up until very recently I would be handling this whole thing very differently. And I know that there is someone in my life who has made it possible to do so with some sense of dignity and hope. So....we carry on.