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.