As a young boy, I don't recall ever learning any real life lessons. I kind of came to most conclusions on my own.
I wasn't an impoverished child, didn't want for anything. I wasn't abused, nor did I ever want for attention. I just never really was ingrained with any of the life lessons that kids get.
Not even the "If you touch a hot stove, you WILL burn yourself" chestnut.
I never went to church or anything back then (and this was years before my religious epiphany), so I never knew the Ten Commandments. Not murdering someone just seemed like common sense.
But coveting thy neighbor's wife? Hell, what if she's a hottie?
I never got the "birds and the bees" talk from my parents. In fact, they never said anything at all about sex.
Actually, that's not true. When my dad and I were at the park flying a kite when I was nine, and I came across a used condom, my father simply said, "Oh that's where the spermies go."
As if I knew were "spermies" were then. I'm still not entirely sure what the hell they are now.
But all in all, I think I turned out all right. I haven't burned myself badly on anything.
I haven't killed anyone, so as Bill Murray would say, "I've got that going for me."
As for those latex sheaths and their vaunted catching skills? Well I'll remain mum on that.
Problems with that?
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
On Alcoholism
I had my first beer around age three. There's pictures marking the occasion. Today, that would probably be grounds for an urgent call to ACS. In the 80's though, it seemed to be funny.
I should have known at that point that I was destined to be an alcoholic. The look on my face as I drank the sweet nectar from that Budweiser bottle (which is probably the only time ever that that swill has ever been referred to in such a reverent manner) can only be described as giddy. I look happy. Accomplished. Content.
I then went through what I now term "a thirteen year attempt at sobriety." Age sixteen marks my next foray into the wonders of booze, which promptly ended around two hours after it started with a guy around my age taking a drunken dive off of the top of a swing set, breaking his arm in two places.
I found this fact out later, as he got up and dusted himself off with his arm hanging by a thread. To this day, it's one of the most gruesome things I've ever seen.
Recreationally, I had run-ins with alcohol over the next few years, all the way into my early twenties. Then the real abuse began.
I was drinking or smoking weed nightly. I gained about thirty pounds, and looked like I was ten years older than I really was. I also entered into a roughly three year long relationship that proved to be even more toxic than the poisons that I was ingesting in the first place.
That trend ended in July. And I don't miss it at all.
I should have known at that point that I was destined to be an alcoholic. The look on my face as I drank the sweet nectar from that Budweiser bottle (which is probably the only time ever that that swill has ever been referred to in such a reverent manner) can only be described as giddy. I look happy. Accomplished. Content.
I then went through what I now term "a thirteen year attempt at sobriety." Age sixteen marks my next foray into the wonders of booze, which promptly ended around two hours after it started with a guy around my age taking a drunken dive off of the top of a swing set, breaking his arm in two places.
I found this fact out later, as he got up and dusted himself off with his arm hanging by a thread. To this day, it's one of the most gruesome things I've ever seen.
Recreationally, I had run-ins with alcohol over the next few years, all the way into my early twenties. Then the real abuse began.
I was drinking or smoking weed nightly. I gained about thirty pounds, and looked like I was ten years older than I really was. I also entered into a roughly three year long relationship that proved to be even more toxic than the poisons that I was ingesting in the first place.
That trend ended in July. And I don't miss it at all.
On My Active Mind
I can't turn my brain off. It's always been my problem. Whether it's over-analyzing trivial details or letting my imagination wander to far-off places when I should be focusing on a specific task, it's always been my issue. I'm a dreamer in the purest sense of the word. I've been thinking lately that I had undiagnosed ADD as a kid. I often wonder how life would have been if that type of thing were prevalent when I was a kid.
I'm full of useless information, and I'm willing to share it with you.
I have a poetic soul (or so I'm told) and I'll share my thoughts with you. You may not want to listen, but you'll get nothing but complete candor and truth from me.
I'm constantly thinking. I can't shut it off.
Where will I find my head in a hour? A minute? Even a second? It could be anywhere, thinking about anything.
I'm full of useless information, and I'm willing to share it with you.
I have a poetic soul (or so I'm told) and I'll share my thoughts with you. You may not want to listen, but you'll get nothing but complete candor and truth from me.
I'm constantly thinking. I can't shut it off.
Where will I find my head in a hour? A minute? Even a second? It could be anywhere, thinking about anything.
On Soccer
I just finished watching my boys Die Mannschaft (Team Germany) advance the second round of the 2010 World Cup. I have a serious case of soccer fever and the only cure is more of that sweet sport.
The following is an article that I wrote about a year ago for Bleacher Report. The original article can be viewed here.
I'm currently watching The Green Street Hooligans on DVD (God Bless Netflix!), and rowdy soccer fans aside, it made me very nostalgic.
From an early age, the game of soccer was pounded into my head. Coming from a German family, you would think that my family would have seen the source of my love for the game, but that could not be farther from the truth.
No one in my family, save my grandfather, was or is a sports fan. My love for all things athletic has always been the source of a lot of speculation at family functions. Rumors of my mother sleeping with that proverbial milkman, in my case, one that loved sports, have always floated around.
That aside, I think my first love has always been soccer.
Sure, I’ve strayed and loved other sports briefly, but you never forget your first love. Just thinking about it now makes me want to lace up the old cleats and run out onto a field and defend my net against anyone who dares to test me.
I was a goalie for six seasons of Police Athletic League soccer. And not to brag, but I was very good at it. I routinely recorded shutouts, and have the newspaper clippings to prove it. But the game offered more than that.
One, I always earned the praise of those around me. Coaches, players, parents, it didn’t matter, I was vain and just loved to be recognized as having a true talent.
Second, as a goalie, I would stand in net, ready to defend, but during the off-moments, I would bite my nails like they were the greatest source of nutrition on Earth. My aunt agreed to pay me one dollar for every game that I did not partake in that dirty habit.
She still owes me three dollars.
But as life goes on, frustrations mount and people change.
At age 12, I hung up my cleats and walked away from the game.
Why? My genius coach (whose name I remember so vividly that I want to scream it…but I won’t) decided to replace me in goal with his son. Now granted, his son was a talented net-minder, but he had nothing on me.
After playing four games as an offensive player (career goal total; two), I told my parents that I no longer wanted to play the game.
They didn’t fight me.
I have regretted the decision many times over the years. But there’s nothing that can be done now except to look back fondly at my time on the field, my accomplishments, and all the kudos I had received.
I’m smiling right now.
The following is an article that I wrote about a year ago for Bleacher Report. The original article can be viewed here.
I'm currently watching The Green Street Hooligans on DVD (God Bless Netflix!), and rowdy soccer fans aside, it made me very nostalgic.
From an early age, the game of soccer was pounded into my head. Coming from a German family, you would think that my family would have seen the source of my love for the game, but that could not be farther from the truth.
No one in my family, save my grandfather, was or is a sports fan. My love for all things athletic has always been the source of a lot of speculation at family functions. Rumors of my mother sleeping with that proverbial milkman, in my case, one that loved sports, have always floated around.
That aside, I think my first love has always been soccer.
Sure, I’ve strayed and loved other sports briefly, but you never forget your first love. Just thinking about it now makes me want to lace up the old cleats and run out onto a field and defend my net against anyone who dares to test me.
I was a goalie for six seasons of Police Athletic League soccer. And not to brag, but I was very good at it. I routinely recorded shutouts, and have the newspaper clippings to prove it. But the game offered more than that.
One, I always earned the praise of those around me. Coaches, players, parents, it didn’t matter, I was vain and just loved to be recognized as having a true talent.
Second, as a goalie, I would stand in net, ready to defend, but during the off-moments, I would bite my nails like they were the greatest source of nutrition on Earth. My aunt agreed to pay me one dollar for every game that I did not partake in that dirty habit.
She still owes me three dollars.
But as life goes on, frustrations mount and people change.
At age 12, I hung up my cleats and walked away from the game.
Why? My genius coach (whose name I remember so vividly that I want to scream it…but I won’t) decided to replace me in goal with his son. Now granted, his son was a talented net-minder, but he had nothing on me.
After playing four games as an offensive player (career goal total; two), I told my parents that I no longer wanted to play the game.
They didn’t fight me.
I have regretted the decision many times over the years. But there’s nothing that can be done now except to look back fondly at my time on the field, my accomplishments, and all the kudos I had received.
I’m smiling right now.
Monday, June 21, 2010
On An Age Old Question
What would you do if you won the lottery?
It's a question that everybody can answer, whether they give you an actual response or not.
Obviously the answer to the question ca be altered depending on the amount of money that is won.
My usual answer is "a solid gold (insert random item here)."
My real answer is a house, a car, and a bunch of DVD's. That's an honest answer. I figure that I could do all of those things for less than $750,000.
And still have some money leftover of shiny and impressive jewelry.
On another note, I'm still trying to reclaim my past literary magic.
It's on the horizon, and it's rapidly coming.
It's a question that everybody can answer, whether they give you an actual response or not.
Obviously the answer to the question ca be altered depending on the amount of money that is won.
My usual answer is "a solid gold (insert random item here)."
My real answer is a house, a car, and a bunch of DVD's. That's an honest answer. I figure that I could do all of those things for less than $750,000.
And still have some money leftover of shiny and impressive jewelry.
On another note, I'm still trying to reclaim my past literary magic.
It's on the horizon, and it's rapidly coming.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
On Father's Day
As this Father's Day comes to close, it made me think about a few things.
Number one, this is a completely ridiculous holiday. If you really love your father and/or everything he means to you, you shouldn't need an assigned Hallmark Holiday to tell him. It should just be a free dialogue.
Number two, my father (and probably yours as well) despite all of his faults, is probably one hell of a guy. He might not be a millionaire, or have a high profile, jet-setting lifestyle, but he's still your dad.
I think at times it's easy to forget that fact. A lot of people see their fathers as ATMS, or simply the older guy doing their mom. But you should really look harder into that.
He's the man who's been trying to put food on the table for your family for years.
He's the man who is hopefully setting the stage for you to be great parent yourself.
And yes, he probably is the guy who's nailing your mom.
And good for them too.
Number one, this is a completely ridiculous holiday. If you really love your father and/or everything he means to you, you shouldn't need an assigned Hallmark Holiday to tell him. It should just be a free dialogue.
Number two, my father (and probably yours as well) despite all of his faults, is probably one hell of a guy. He might not be a millionaire, or have a high profile, jet-setting lifestyle, but he's still your dad.
I think at times it's easy to forget that fact. A lot of people see their fathers as ATMS, or simply the older guy doing their mom. But you should really look harder into that.
He's the man who's been trying to put food on the table for your family for years.
He's the man who is hopefully setting the stage for you to be great parent yourself.
And yes, he probably is the guy who's nailing your mom.
And good for them too.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
On Exhaustion
Mentally I'm so burnt out. Physically it's even worse.
I need to start sleeping more, because four-ish hours per night just ain't working anymore. I used to be able to stay up until the wee hours of the morning and not have an issue. I used to stay up until the middle of the night texting my now-girlfriend.
I can't even imagine those days now.
And it's not like I'm one of those people that doesn't like sleeping. In fact, it's one of my favorite activities. Oh well, let's see where tonight takes me.
Let's hope for good dreams, because good dreams equal good ideas. And I could use one of those right about now.
I need to start sleeping more, because four-ish hours per night just ain't working anymore. I used to be able to stay up until the wee hours of the morning and not have an issue. I used to stay up until the middle of the night texting my now-girlfriend.
I can't even imagine those days now.
And it's not like I'm one of those people that doesn't like sleeping. In fact, it's one of my favorite activities. Oh well, let's see where tonight takes me.
Let's hope for good dreams, because good dreams equal good ideas. And I could use one of those right about now.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
On Lulls
It's been awhile since I've gotten around to casually tossing around my musings in print form, so here's a few things that have been dominating my thoughts recently.
My job requires me to spend long hours in a moving vehicle. And other than the nagging back pain that it causes, I actually enjoy it. There's nothing like a deserted interstate at 4 a.m. to get my mind a-flowing. It's not so much that I've had creative ideas, but I've never felt more in control of my sometimes raging thoughts as when I"m traveling seventy miles per hour in a brand new car.
And driving a Camaro just makes me feel like such a badass. It also makes me a huge target for bored law enforcement officers. But so far, so good.
Overall, I've decided that there's a few things that I need to change. First and foremost, I have to stop caring about the little things, and focus more on the big picture. Be it love, life or the pursuit of happiness, seeing things on a grand scale has suddenly allowed me some clarity. Some things seem so easy given that perspective.
Second, I need to get my ass back to the gym. I used to be cute. Now I'm getting doughy. I'm changing that ASAP.
Third, I need to keep on top of my writing. With every passing day, I felt like I was losing a step. Even now I feel kind of hokey and cliched. I'm coming back stronger tomorrow, and by weeks end, I should be unstoppable.
Friday night will be a night of debauchery, so look for a fantastic entry then. But check in before then and watch me regain my strength.
Later kids.
My job requires me to spend long hours in a moving vehicle. And other than the nagging back pain that it causes, I actually enjoy it. There's nothing like a deserted interstate at 4 a.m. to get my mind a-flowing. It's not so much that I've had creative ideas, but I've never felt more in control of my sometimes raging thoughts as when I"m traveling seventy miles per hour in a brand new car.
And driving a Camaro just makes me feel like such a badass. It also makes me a huge target for bored law enforcement officers. But so far, so good.
Overall, I've decided that there's a few things that I need to change. First and foremost, I have to stop caring about the little things, and focus more on the big picture. Be it love, life or the pursuit of happiness, seeing things on a grand scale has suddenly allowed me some clarity. Some things seem so easy given that perspective.
Second, I need to get my ass back to the gym. I used to be cute. Now I'm getting doughy. I'm changing that ASAP.
Third, I need to keep on top of my writing. With every passing day, I felt like I was losing a step. Even now I feel kind of hokey and cliched. I'm coming back stronger tomorrow, and by weeks end, I should be unstoppable.
Friday night will be a night of debauchery, so look for a fantastic entry then. But check in before then and watch me regain my strength.
Later kids.
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