I have spent most of the day day dreaming with my favourite dreamer. And it was good.
We bandied about theories on what makes appropriate semi formal dinner ware, and we dicussed beach front property. It was good.
We bargained for decor, and divied up imaginary rooms. It was good.
We even discusseed what it would take to live the dream. It was bad.
As with so many things in life, this dream involved chasing tiny pieces of green paper around until we caught enough of them. I sometimes wonder what life would be like if we didn't have to do this, didn't have to whore ourselves out.
I also wonder why it is some people have so damn much of it when the rest of us have so damn little.
It annoys me that society deems what Alex Rodriguez does is more valuable than what I do. And not even by a small margin. Think of it this way, A-Fraud makes approximately 1103 times what I did at my highest paying job. It angers me a bit that this dude has millions of dollars while people starve. I think until we manage to reconcile that every life has value, and that paying stupid money to people to do stupid things is not progress.
Think of it this way. Charlie Sheen has so much FU money that he can melt down and never have to worry about it. He can piss off and alienate every one on the planet, but who cares, the guys great greta great grandchildren never have to work a day in their lives.
This is all just sour grapes because I see how far away my dream is, how tiny of a speck on the horizon it is. I am seperated from it by an ocean and a desert, and I have no boat and no camel.
I think though I might as well work towards it. Work harder than I have ever worked in my life, because if something is worthwhile, and if it is truly great, then it must be worth fighting for, and worth working my ass off for.
So I guess this is me tossing my hat over the wall, dropping the gauntlet, pissing on the electric fence. This is me saying come hell or high water, by December 2012 I am going to be in Florida. I am going to have the dream, and if my favourite dreamer wants to meet me there, so be it.
Is this a good thing?
Monday, March 7, 2011
Friday, March 4, 2011
humanity lost pt 1
Breana is crawling on her belly, she does that a lot for some reasson. She is inside the house now and she keys her mic twice to let her team know she is in positions.
She is in the kitchen. Breanna can tell from all of the stainless steal and dirty dishes in the sink.
In front of her, on the other side of the kitchen island stands a tall dishevelled man. He is ranting and raving; yelling at the top of his lungs about how he was going to kill all his enemies, and other lunatic rantings.
The man is tall, well over six feet. He is also strong, with a stocky build. His hair is long and matted, clinging to his face through the natural adhesiveness of sweat. The man has clearly not shaved in days, and from the smell, showered either.
Patiently Breanna lays there on the cold linoleum tiling of the kitchen floor awaiting the go signal from her Sergeant. It will come she tells herself as she levels the tridium site of her P-90 at the crazy man's head.
She has to wait for the breach team to enter. Her job was forward recon. She is the first one in to ever dangerous situation in Freedom City, and she is porepared to take action.
To this point she has never had to unload her weapon, but that will not be a state she will be in for long.
Softly over her earpiece receiver unit she hears her sergeants gruff voice anounce the go signal. Moments later she hears loud voices screaming at the front of the house. Her breach team has busted down the door, and the shotgunners are busting through.
Breana's brain began to move at lightening speed. She has almost zero time to make a decision about what to do about her psycho target. He is turning towards the front door. Still not a threat. He is raising his weapon, a very very large pistol. Still not a threat. He is pointing towards her teamates.
Breana exhales and slowly depresses the trigger. Three rounds burst forth from her assualt rifle. All three find a home inside the skull of her target. With a loud crash, he plummets to the earth, slack and without life.
In a loud voice Breana reports the situation to her team. "Clear!"
The next few minutes of her life are lived in almost a bodiless haze. She safes her ewapon and stands to her full 5'6" height. Between her and the sack of dead organs and unflowing blood rests the island of safety and detachment. It provides her no real clear view of the consequences of her decision.
She can hear the shouts of her teammates as they clear the rest of the house. She also hears the shocking call from another room. This one is a call for support and witnesses.
Breana is still in a sort of shock as she rounds the island to see her handy work. There on his back lies a former man. Before she can comprehend what it is she has done here, her boss Sergeant Porcetti is at her side, turning her away.
"You need to see what he did." Always knowing what his team needs, Porcetti realises that this youngster must learn what she did in terms of justice, not in terms of manliness.
Porcetti takes her arm gently but firmly, and guides her down the hall to a small bedroom.
The scene there is chaotic to say the least. The room was most likely originally painted in a soft blue, but that is hard to discern at this moment due to all the red smears and splashes all of everything.
In the center of the room there are three bodies. Two very small and a the thirdstretched out acroos the others in a fruitless attempt at motherly protection.
Once he sees understanding croos Breana's face, the sergeant returns her to the kitchen. He begins placating any guilt she might have with tough guy platitudes. She is a hero. The saviour of her team.
From the front door they both hear O'day. "Shit, SID is here. How the hell did thye get here so damn fast."
SID is the special Investigations arm of the Freedom City Police force, they are the ones who investigate police shootings.
She is in the kitchen. Breanna can tell from all of the stainless steal and dirty dishes in the sink.
In front of her, on the other side of the kitchen island stands a tall dishevelled man. He is ranting and raving; yelling at the top of his lungs about how he was going to kill all his enemies, and other lunatic rantings.
The man is tall, well over six feet. He is also strong, with a stocky build. His hair is long and matted, clinging to his face through the natural adhesiveness of sweat. The man has clearly not shaved in days, and from the smell, showered either.
Patiently Breanna lays there on the cold linoleum tiling of the kitchen floor awaiting the go signal from her Sergeant. It will come she tells herself as she levels the tridium site of her P-90 at the crazy man's head.
She has to wait for the breach team to enter. Her job was forward recon. She is the first one in to ever dangerous situation in Freedom City, and she is porepared to take action.
To this point she has never had to unload her weapon, but that will not be a state she will be in for long.
Softly over her earpiece receiver unit she hears her sergeants gruff voice anounce the go signal. Moments later she hears loud voices screaming at the front of the house. Her breach team has busted down the door, and the shotgunners are busting through.
Breana's brain began to move at lightening speed. She has almost zero time to make a decision about what to do about her psycho target. He is turning towards the front door. Still not a threat. He is raising his weapon, a very very large pistol. Still not a threat. He is pointing towards her teamates.
Breana exhales and slowly depresses the trigger. Three rounds burst forth from her assualt rifle. All three find a home inside the skull of her target. With a loud crash, he plummets to the earth, slack and without life.
In a loud voice Breana reports the situation to her team. "Clear!"
The next few minutes of her life are lived in almost a bodiless haze. She safes her ewapon and stands to her full 5'6" height. Between her and the sack of dead organs and unflowing blood rests the island of safety and detachment. It provides her no real clear view of the consequences of her decision.
She can hear the shouts of her teammates as they clear the rest of the house. She also hears the shocking call from another room. This one is a call for support and witnesses.
Breana is still in a sort of shock as she rounds the island to see her handy work. There on his back lies a former man. Before she can comprehend what it is she has done here, her boss Sergeant Porcetti is at her side, turning her away.
"You need to see what he did." Always knowing what his team needs, Porcetti realises that this youngster must learn what she did in terms of justice, not in terms of manliness.
Porcetti takes her arm gently but firmly, and guides her down the hall to a small bedroom.
The scene there is chaotic to say the least. The room was most likely originally painted in a soft blue, but that is hard to discern at this moment due to all the red smears and splashes all of everything.
In the center of the room there are three bodies. Two very small and a the thirdstretched out acroos the others in a fruitless attempt at motherly protection.
Once he sees understanding croos Breana's face, the sergeant returns her to the kitchen. He begins placating any guilt she might have with tough guy platitudes. She is a hero. The saviour of her team.
From the front door they both hear O'day. "Shit, SID is here. How the hell did thye get here so damn fast."
SID is the special Investigations arm of the Freedom City Police force, they are the ones who investigate police shootings.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Boom Goes the Dynamite
I have to admit that I almost want to watch to and a half men. I say this because ChaSheen appears to be having the most epic donward spiral in the history of meltdowns.
The guy is like a god to me...and him.
On a certain level I wish I could melt down like him. Just completely obliterate my world, say the most insane things and still have millions of dollars and pornstars to bring me iced tea.
My hope would be that the show is as entertaining as what is going on with the man. I am told that generall speaking this new character he is playing in real life is a lot like the television character... just to a higher degree.
I find it comforting that he, like me, is living louder than he is playing on tv. I wish I could be even louder.
Not in a crazy way so much as in just a living large way. I don''t ant this to be another I have a dream post, those are annoying even to me; but, I do want to get something off my chest.
Over the last 24 hours I have been thinking about what I want out of this whole blog/internet presence thing.
I have always had that feeling like I do not belong, like my life is somehow not what it could have or should have been. I have felt like there was something more.
Like thousands of douchenozzles on the internet, I am always saying I could make better shos than they are churning out of hollyood. I am alays impuning the skills and intellect of others, but I am still sitting here typing away on a cheep laptop with no real ambition.
I thought I was going to start this blog thing and get some bullshit local fame, maybe publish a book, get a few people interested.
It never occured to me that no one ould be interested in what I had to say. It has been almost a year or so since I started this project and I am no further a head.
I know some of it has to do with my side trip down pathetic lane and a meander over to manic depressive boulevard.
That being said, I thought I could accomplish more.
I got off track somewhere and stopped posting fiction... you kno, the stuff I was supposed to be doing all along. This was supposed to be a place to showcase my talents. Instead it became an open journal to hich I poured my lack luster ramblings. This has to change.
It is one thing to feel like there is more to this life than just merely marking time, it is another to stand up and shout from the rooftops that I am here world, take me serious.
I ant more than I have. I ant more than I deserve sometimes, and we all know I want what I can't have, but alas there must be someway for me to get a little piece of my pie.
I need to take this more seriously.
To that end, I am going to write.
I am going to write something every day, no matter what it is, or how much effort it takes. It may be crap, or it may be genius, but frankly it seems hypocritical for me to criticize while not actually doing anything.
So here we go again. A serious attempt.
I am going to write, and I am going to submit. I am going to attempt to get my stuff out there. I am getting to old to wait, so I think it is time to get off the pot and get this party started.
Hang on folks, because we just got to the crazy part of the ride.
I am either going to flame out like Charlie or I am going to Rise Above it like a Pheonix.
Wish me luck and tell all your friends!
The guy is like a god to me...and him.
On a certain level I wish I could melt down like him. Just completely obliterate my world, say the most insane things and still have millions of dollars and pornstars to bring me iced tea.
My hope would be that the show is as entertaining as what is going on with the man. I am told that generall speaking this new character he is playing in real life is a lot like the television character... just to a higher degree.
I find it comforting that he, like me, is living louder than he is playing on tv. I wish I could be even louder.
Not in a crazy way so much as in just a living large way. I don''t ant this to be another I have a dream post, those are annoying even to me; but, I do want to get something off my chest.
Over the last 24 hours I have been thinking about what I want out of this whole blog/internet presence thing.
I have always had that feeling like I do not belong, like my life is somehow not what it could have or should have been. I have felt like there was something more.
Like thousands of douchenozzles on the internet, I am always saying I could make better shos than they are churning out of hollyood. I am alays impuning the skills and intellect of others, but I am still sitting here typing away on a cheep laptop with no real ambition.
I thought I was going to start this blog thing and get some bullshit local fame, maybe publish a book, get a few people interested.
It never occured to me that no one ould be interested in what I had to say. It has been almost a year or so since I started this project and I am no further a head.
I know some of it has to do with my side trip down pathetic lane and a meander over to manic depressive boulevard.
That being said, I thought I could accomplish more.
I got off track somewhere and stopped posting fiction... you kno, the stuff I was supposed to be doing all along. This was supposed to be a place to showcase my talents. Instead it became an open journal to hich I poured my lack luster ramblings. This has to change.
It is one thing to feel like there is more to this life than just merely marking time, it is another to stand up and shout from the rooftops that I am here world, take me serious.
I ant more than I have. I ant more than I deserve sometimes, and we all know I want what I can't have, but alas there must be someway for me to get a little piece of my pie.
I need to take this more seriously.
To that end, I am going to write.
I am going to write something every day, no matter what it is, or how much effort it takes. It may be crap, or it may be genius, but frankly it seems hypocritical for me to criticize while not actually doing anything.
So here we go again. A serious attempt.
I am going to write, and I am going to submit. I am going to attempt to get my stuff out there. I am getting to old to wait, so I think it is time to get off the pot and get this party started.
Hang on folks, because we just got to the crazy part of the ride.
I am either going to flame out like Charlie or I am going to Rise Above it like a Pheonix.
Wish me luck and tell all your friends!
Monday, February 28, 2011
Cheater Cheater Pumpkin Eater
As I said before, it would be unseemly for me to leave my baseball love affair un documented. It is a classic love affair really.
Boy meats girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl back, girl cheats on boy, boy takes girl back, girl takes steroids, so boy leaves girl, boy comes crawling back or some such nonsense.
I want to begin this story by saying, at some point, in all great loves, one strays. One can't get all of their needs met by just one person. It is unfair and unrealistic for a person to expect that, even from something as great as baseball.
I remember when I first decided to play the sweet game. I had been interested in baseball for a long time. It was with me for about two years, the love I mean. I had known baseball for a long time. I had been interested in it at first in the way a young man first catches the sight of a profile, or that first wiff on an intoxicating womanly scent.
I was intrigued, but my mind was elsewhere.
Then, I just couldn't ignore it any longer. The thought pervaded my mind, and I became intoxicated with the thrills of the diamond. I think it started when my parents got me the baseball encyclopedia. It was like the bible. It had the same tissue paper pages, but it was considerably larger. It had a record of every player, box scores from every playoff game. It had managers, it had records. It had everything about baseball all in one place. This of course was well before a wide eyed young senator from the carolinas would invent the internet, so you needed a large tome. I think it helped me a lot. It was so heavy, getting it out was the best work out for a young man.
This book is what truly transformed me from a boy to a man. I began doing mathematical equations in the margins, trying to figure out who was the best player. Who had the biggest averages over 162 games. I began exploring baseball's curves in detail.
The true change came when I looked over at my G.I. Joe and Star wars figures. At this point I was still playing with toys and shooting things up;but, there was a change. I created a makeshift baseball diamond on my bedroom floor, and suddenly Duke was a slugger, Tunnel Rat was a lead off amn, and Hawk became a five tooler who was getting some from Leia.
Then I realised, I could play the game myself. It would take about two years for this to actually come around. The figures had been replaced by airplane and spaceship models. My heroes became magazine cutouts of ballplayers on my wall. Posters of Bo Jackson, and playboys under my bed.
It occur ed to me that my school had a softball team. It was important for me to make the team. I tried to get my step father to help me make the team, but he only played catch with me once. After that he realised he was too drunk to do it. I had to seak out a better instructor.
I looked all around this town and all I found was Earl. Earl is not his real name. I don't remember his real name, maybe I have blocked it from my memory, either way, I wouldn't use his real name, cause this about to get nuts y'all.
So there was this guy Earl. Earl was a baseball card collector, so I was introduced to him through that. We went to a trade show together I recall, and took down a good shop as well. Anyway, I figured since the dude was in to the ball, he would help me get all shined up for try outs. He was in, since he was trying out too and thought maybe we should combine.
Seemed like a plan to me. So we started hanging out. It was maybe two months before ball tryouts and we started spring training. It worked out at first. Bating practice, fielding, throwing, strategy sessions. Dinner at his parent's place. It was smooth. Dude had a nintendo and a bunch of games. I borrowed some Zelda action, and would play Mike Tyson all the time.
One day I went over to his place. We were chillin by the nintendo and he pulled out a national geographic book while I went about the work of mashing some one's face in to pulp.
Well the round ended, and I look back and buddy's got his back to me. He's on the couch, lying there with his back to me, reading his book about African Boobies, and I see his arm gyrating. Earl was beating meat right there.
Needless to say, we started making out and it was a glorious time in my life.
Ok truth is, I yelled at Earl, his mom made us some shitty hamburger helper type lasagna and the next day I beat the shit out of him and stole about 200 bucks worth of baseball cards out of his locker.
I had to go alone for the tryouts.
I made the team....as third base coach. A slap in the face to be sure. Coach admired my heart, just not my ability.
This angered and disappointed me to no end. I was shamed and humiliated, in more ways than one by the experience, so I needed to cleanse myself.
It was much like my best girl had been spotted in the bar sucking face with a dudebro!
I had to find a ball club to play for. And I did. 200 bucks later I was a member of the North Toronto Athletics. Yessir, I bought a spot on a ball team. One problem though. The team wasn't a softball team folks. It was a fastball team. Real baseball. It was overhand pitching. Curve balls, fast balls, no crying baseball.
There was another problem for me. The team colours. You see, at the time, the Athletics of Oakland were the evil empire. They were the hated nemesis of Toronto. They were the ones who always dashed the hopes of my Blue Jays. Here I was wearing the green and yellow of the enemy.
Sure, there was some swagger behind it. After all, the Athletics hat was huge in the apparel world.
All the best dressed bangers, hoppers, corner boys, players, and pimps were wearing the gear. It was a time in fashion where Oakland was the height of fashion.
It was a time when a Raiders jacket was prime. A time when the green and yellow could get you some play with a slim shorty.
It was a time when a poser or weekend warrior would get his ass lit up and rolled if he dared to sport the colours without representing hard.
So, despite the fact that I was all hard core, it hurt me to wear the colours of the enemy, but it was still going to be awesome, I was going to play me some ball for a real team...or at least a bunch of kids pretending to be a real team.
So there I am, no depth perception boy insisting that the hot corner is the best place for me.
This was a huge mistake, and I will tell you why.
When your girl is sucking face with a dudebro, it isn't all she is doing. She is looking to step out while the stepping is good. See, first she sucks a little face, then she trips and falls and lands on a dude's package.
This is exactly what happened to me.
I would like to tell you that this is a hero piece; that, like the movies, I managed to get the game winning hit, or made that big out. This is realife and not the movies.
I foul tipped 4 balls that season. Walked several times, and struck out several more. I never got wood on the ball, not really. I stole a base or two, which was exciting for me, but I never managed to do anything worthwhile.
My arents never managed to make it to a game either. I prefer to think they didn't go because they were drunk, or because they were working, or because they didn't give a shit, but the reality is, I don't think they came because they didn't want to be embarrassed by their inept son.
Somehow, despite my poor performance, we made the playoffs that year, and because I paid my duckets, they had to let me play.
I walked the first time up, took one right in the middle of the back. I scored a run on that one at least.
I was playing third and the other team's best hitter lined one about an inch from my head. It was so fast I didn't even have a chance to react. I didn't move a muscle.
Coach put me in the outfield after that. I warned him not to. I told him it was a mistake, that I couldn't really see out there, but he felt it would be best. Here's the thing. Instead of putting me in right field, where you stick all the deadwood on your team, he put me in left field. The outfield spot that sees all the balls.
Anyway, in my final at bat I swung and missed at three straight fastballs. I just sucked, and some nice mother in the stands thought it best to inform me of just how bad I sucked.
She ripped in to me on my way back to the dugout. She hurled some nice insults at me, and suggested the coach bench me.
Had there not been a chain link fence between us, I am pretty sure the bat I tossed would have hit her in the head.
You know what she had the unmitigated gall to say at that point.
"Jesus christ, what an attitude problem on that kid. You should be locked up kid."
I wanted to say, the attitude on me? You are the one yelling at some poor 13 year old half blind kid who just wants to play the game he loves because your son is losing the game. You are the one insulting that kid and making fun of him from the stands. You are the one with the attitude issue lady, because you can't seem to figure out that your abuse is not helpful, and serves only to uset a 13 year old who has already been humiliated and shamed, and already feels like he let his team down. This is house league baseball lady, not the pros. Some kid tries hios best, and you make fun of him? Hoiw classy you cheap dime bag whore.
Instead I just said fuck you bitch.
She got off light. A year later I would be on the streets hussling. I would have done mean nasty things to her.
Anyway, the team took a vote and threatened to beat me u if I came to the end of season dinner.
I never got my pizza party. I never got my trophy for trying. I never got to finish what I started because baseball cheated on me.
I gave her everything I had, all my love and devotion, and she laughed at me like a hottie at a club who thinks she's too good for you.
I took her back though. In the end, I just love her too much.
Boy meats girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl back, girl cheats on boy, boy takes girl back, girl takes steroids, so boy leaves girl, boy comes crawling back or some such nonsense.
I want to begin this story by saying, at some point, in all great loves, one strays. One can't get all of their needs met by just one person. It is unfair and unrealistic for a person to expect that, even from something as great as baseball.
I remember when I first decided to play the sweet game. I had been interested in baseball for a long time. It was with me for about two years, the love I mean. I had known baseball for a long time. I had been interested in it at first in the way a young man first catches the sight of a profile, or that first wiff on an intoxicating womanly scent.
I was intrigued, but my mind was elsewhere.
Then, I just couldn't ignore it any longer. The thought pervaded my mind, and I became intoxicated with the thrills of the diamond. I think it started when my parents got me the baseball encyclopedia. It was like the bible. It had the same tissue paper pages, but it was considerably larger. It had a record of every player, box scores from every playoff game. It had managers, it had records. It had everything about baseball all in one place. This of course was well before a wide eyed young senator from the carolinas would invent the internet, so you needed a large tome. I think it helped me a lot. It was so heavy, getting it out was the best work out for a young man.
This book is what truly transformed me from a boy to a man. I began doing mathematical equations in the margins, trying to figure out who was the best player. Who had the biggest averages over 162 games. I began exploring baseball's curves in detail.
The true change came when I looked over at my G.I. Joe and Star wars figures. At this point I was still playing with toys and shooting things up;but, there was a change. I created a makeshift baseball diamond on my bedroom floor, and suddenly Duke was a slugger, Tunnel Rat was a lead off amn, and Hawk became a five tooler who was getting some from Leia.
Then I realised, I could play the game myself. It would take about two years for this to actually come around. The figures had been replaced by airplane and spaceship models. My heroes became magazine cutouts of ballplayers on my wall. Posters of Bo Jackson, and playboys under my bed.
It occur ed to me that my school had a softball team. It was important for me to make the team. I tried to get my step father to help me make the team, but he only played catch with me once. After that he realised he was too drunk to do it. I had to seak out a better instructor.
I looked all around this town and all I found was Earl. Earl is not his real name. I don't remember his real name, maybe I have blocked it from my memory, either way, I wouldn't use his real name, cause this about to get nuts y'all.
So there was this guy Earl. Earl was a baseball card collector, so I was introduced to him through that. We went to a trade show together I recall, and took down a good shop as well. Anyway, I figured since the dude was in to the ball, he would help me get all shined up for try outs. He was in, since he was trying out too and thought maybe we should combine.
Seemed like a plan to me. So we started hanging out. It was maybe two months before ball tryouts and we started spring training. It worked out at first. Bating practice, fielding, throwing, strategy sessions. Dinner at his parent's place. It was smooth. Dude had a nintendo and a bunch of games. I borrowed some Zelda action, and would play Mike Tyson all the time.
One day I went over to his place. We were chillin by the nintendo and he pulled out a national geographic book while I went about the work of mashing some one's face in to pulp.
Well the round ended, and I look back and buddy's got his back to me. He's on the couch, lying there with his back to me, reading his book about African Boobies, and I see his arm gyrating. Earl was beating meat right there.
Needless to say, we started making out and it was a glorious time in my life.
Ok truth is, I yelled at Earl, his mom made us some shitty hamburger helper type lasagna and the next day I beat the shit out of him and stole about 200 bucks worth of baseball cards out of his locker.
I had to go alone for the tryouts.
I made the team....as third base coach. A slap in the face to be sure. Coach admired my heart, just not my ability.
This angered and disappointed me to no end. I was shamed and humiliated, in more ways than one by the experience, so I needed to cleanse myself.
It was much like my best girl had been spotted in the bar sucking face with a dudebro!
I had to find a ball club to play for. And I did. 200 bucks later I was a member of the North Toronto Athletics. Yessir, I bought a spot on a ball team. One problem though. The team wasn't a softball team folks. It was a fastball team. Real baseball. It was overhand pitching. Curve balls, fast balls, no crying baseball.
There was another problem for me. The team colours. You see, at the time, the Athletics of Oakland were the evil empire. They were the hated nemesis of Toronto. They were the ones who always dashed the hopes of my Blue Jays. Here I was wearing the green and yellow of the enemy.
Sure, there was some swagger behind it. After all, the Athletics hat was huge in the apparel world.
All the best dressed bangers, hoppers, corner boys, players, and pimps were wearing the gear. It was a time in fashion where Oakland was the height of fashion.
It was a time when a Raiders jacket was prime. A time when the green and yellow could get you some play with a slim shorty.
It was a time when a poser or weekend warrior would get his ass lit up and rolled if he dared to sport the colours without representing hard.
So, despite the fact that I was all hard core, it hurt me to wear the colours of the enemy, but it was still going to be awesome, I was going to play me some ball for a real team...or at least a bunch of kids pretending to be a real team.
So there I am, no depth perception boy insisting that the hot corner is the best place for me.
This was a huge mistake, and I will tell you why.
When your girl is sucking face with a dudebro, it isn't all she is doing. She is looking to step out while the stepping is good. See, first she sucks a little face, then she trips and falls and lands on a dude's package.
This is exactly what happened to me.
I would like to tell you that this is a hero piece; that, like the movies, I managed to get the game winning hit, or made that big out. This is realife and not the movies.
I foul tipped 4 balls that season. Walked several times, and struck out several more. I never got wood on the ball, not really. I stole a base or two, which was exciting for me, but I never managed to do anything worthwhile.
My arents never managed to make it to a game either. I prefer to think they didn't go because they were drunk, or because they were working, or because they didn't give a shit, but the reality is, I don't think they came because they didn't want to be embarrassed by their inept son.
Somehow, despite my poor performance, we made the playoffs that year, and because I paid my duckets, they had to let me play.
I walked the first time up, took one right in the middle of the back. I scored a run on that one at least.
I was playing third and the other team's best hitter lined one about an inch from my head. It was so fast I didn't even have a chance to react. I didn't move a muscle.
Coach put me in the outfield after that. I warned him not to. I told him it was a mistake, that I couldn't really see out there, but he felt it would be best. Here's the thing. Instead of putting me in right field, where you stick all the deadwood on your team, he put me in left field. The outfield spot that sees all the balls.
Anyway, in my final at bat I swung and missed at three straight fastballs. I just sucked, and some nice mother in the stands thought it best to inform me of just how bad I sucked.
She ripped in to me on my way back to the dugout. She hurled some nice insults at me, and suggested the coach bench me.
Had there not been a chain link fence between us, I am pretty sure the bat I tossed would have hit her in the head.
You know what she had the unmitigated gall to say at that point.
"Jesus christ, what an attitude problem on that kid. You should be locked up kid."
I wanted to say, the attitude on me? You are the one yelling at some poor 13 year old half blind kid who just wants to play the game he loves because your son is losing the game. You are the one insulting that kid and making fun of him from the stands. You are the one with the attitude issue lady, because you can't seem to figure out that your abuse is not helpful, and serves only to uset a 13 year old who has already been humiliated and shamed, and already feels like he let his team down. This is house league baseball lady, not the pros. Some kid tries hios best, and you make fun of him? Hoiw classy you cheap dime bag whore.
Instead I just said fuck you bitch.
She got off light. A year later I would be on the streets hussling. I would have done mean nasty things to her.
Anyway, the team took a vote and threatened to beat me u if I came to the end of season dinner.
I never got my pizza party. I never got my trophy for trying. I never got to finish what I started because baseball cheated on me.
I gave her everything I had, all my love and devotion, and she laughed at me like a hottie at a club who thinks she's too good for you.
I took her back though. In the end, I just love her too much.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Ther Boys are Back In Town
We all have these things in our lives that remind us of better times, of better places. Sights, sounds, tastes, smells, textures that transport us body and mind to a place we would rather be, to a time we would rather relive. Scientists call it sense memory, and it is the thing of poetry, of long winded prose from the 19th century, and of gaseous bloviators of the television era.
To me, it is a thing of beauty. A gift from God, or the great tree spirit or the aliens or the luckiest of lucky cellular division. It is one of the things that transcends culture race and species.
In animals we can see them remember smells and tie them to strong emotions; fear, lust, hunger (whatever, hunger is an emotion dammit), and it is what drives them.
We are not so far removed from these animals that the same cannot be said for us. The difference being; with us, we tend to drag these deeper emotions, these more complicated memories and reactions out of them.
For me, there is nothing as powerful as Baseball. Some might find this strange, since to them baseball is a boring sport which takes forever, and you are never fully sure of the rules. These people do not understand. It's ok, they don't have to. They can live their lives in an unknowing haze, but for me, baseball is sense memory. Baseball is pure and it is clean.
I can remember the smells. Fresh cut grass. It brings me to a tranquil place; a place of promise and excitement. The smell of the grass and of pine tar and of sweet spring air is all that you need to incessant about baseball. You see baseball is an edge of your seat thing where anything can, and routinely does happen.
Many people see it as this long, slow march towards the finish line, but that is football. I won't compare the two; that has already been done by someone greater than I. What I will do though is mention the great anticipation. The waiting with baited breath for something to happen, and just when you think all is lost, crack, the sound of ball and bat colliding.
That brings me to sounds. The cacophony of crowd met by the utter silence as there is a split second, when pitcher stares down batter. The pitcher is full of self determination, the batter, such assurance that something great is about to happen stares back, Then a rush of noise, as either bat meets ball or ball meets leather. The roar of the crowd either way, is either heightened byt the result or stunned back in to silence. The undulating noises as the epic struggle repeats itself is at once maddening and indescribably exhilarating.
You hear all sorts of words coming out of people. Pep talks, shouts of encouragement, and derisive snorts of "he ain't so tough."
It is all so loud and quiet that a person can go mad if they aren't strong.
The sights are amazing. The green pastoral roll of grass. The perfect manicured dirt on the infield. The crisp white lines, destined to become obscured as they are trod on.
The hulking brute of a slugger saunters up to the plate. The fat pitchers spits some chew on the ground. The infielder slaps his glove. The outfield circles, impatient and daring that ball to come his way.
The perfect slide. The dive for a ball in the outfield. The leap over a guy with razor sharp blades on his feet to turn 2.
The blue sky overhead tells a tranquil story of a pastoral game being played by overgrown boys.
The physical sensations can match this. The warm sun bakes your skin as it heats the ground and creates an up swirl. The wind blows just enough to cool you off... not to mention enough to ruin the day of a pitcher as it sweeps the ball out of the stadium; or, the batter as it pushes a ball back and down, turning a mammoth shot in to a lazy flyball. The feel of your palm against the leather of your glove as you anticipate making a difference, even if it is saving the pretty lacdy next to you from an errant foul.
Speaking of the stands, what can one say about the tastes of the game. The ballpark dogs, the sodas, the popcorn. Ih the peanuts, and shells, the crackerjacks and the beer.
A wonderful day at the park, win or lose. Just not rain or shine, cause these boys only play when it's nice out, they ain't crazy!
This was the first in no doubt what will be a long line of posts on baseball. You see, baseball was my first and only true love. She never left me. She never treated me wrong, even when she was playing hard to get.
I will never forget the role baseball has played in my life, and baby, I am back, and I promise to never treat ya wrong again.
To me, it is a thing of beauty. A gift from God, or the great tree spirit or the aliens or the luckiest of lucky cellular division. It is one of the things that transcends culture race and species.
In animals we can see them remember smells and tie them to strong emotions; fear, lust, hunger (whatever, hunger is an emotion dammit), and it is what drives them.
We are not so far removed from these animals that the same cannot be said for us. The difference being; with us, we tend to drag these deeper emotions, these more complicated memories and reactions out of them.
For me, there is nothing as powerful as Baseball. Some might find this strange, since to them baseball is a boring sport which takes forever, and you are never fully sure of the rules. These people do not understand. It's ok, they don't have to. They can live their lives in an unknowing haze, but for me, baseball is sense memory. Baseball is pure and it is clean.
I can remember the smells. Fresh cut grass. It brings me to a tranquil place; a place of promise and excitement. The smell of the grass and of pine tar and of sweet spring air is all that you need to incessant about baseball. You see baseball is an edge of your seat thing where anything can, and routinely does happen.
Many people see it as this long, slow march towards the finish line, but that is football. I won't compare the two; that has already been done by someone greater than I. What I will do though is mention the great anticipation. The waiting with baited breath for something to happen, and just when you think all is lost, crack, the sound of ball and bat colliding.
That brings me to sounds. The cacophony of crowd met by the utter silence as there is a split second, when pitcher stares down batter. The pitcher is full of self determination, the batter, such assurance that something great is about to happen stares back, Then a rush of noise, as either bat meets ball or ball meets leather. The roar of the crowd either way, is either heightened byt the result or stunned back in to silence. The undulating noises as the epic struggle repeats itself is at once maddening and indescribably exhilarating.
You hear all sorts of words coming out of people. Pep talks, shouts of encouragement, and derisive snorts of "he ain't so tough."
It is all so loud and quiet that a person can go mad if they aren't strong.
The sights are amazing. The green pastoral roll of grass. The perfect manicured dirt on the infield. The crisp white lines, destined to become obscured as they are trod on.
The hulking brute of a slugger saunters up to the plate. The fat pitchers spits some chew on the ground. The infielder slaps his glove. The outfield circles, impatient and daring that ball to come his way.
The perfect slide. The dive for a ball in the outfield. The leap over a guy with razor sharp blades on his feet to turn 2.
The blue sky overhead tells a tranquil story of a pastoral game being played by overgrown boys.
The physical sensations can match this. The warm sun bakes your skin as it heats the ground and creates an up swirl. The wind blows just enough to cool you off... not to mention enough to ruin the day of a pitcher as it sweeps the ball out of the stadium; or, the batter as it pushes a ball back and down, turning a mammoth shot in to a lazy flyball. The feel of your palm against the leather of your glove as you anticipate making a difference, even if it is saving the pretty lacdy next to you from an errant foul.
Speaking of the stands, what can one say about the tastes of the game. The ballpark dogs, the sodas, the popcorn. Ih the peanuts, and shells, the crackerjacks and the beer.
A wonderful day at the park, win or lose. Just not rain or shine, cause these boys only play when it's nice out, they ain't crazy!
This was the first in no doubt what will be a long line of posts on baseball. You see, baseball was my first and only true love. She never left me. She never treated me wrong, even when she was playing hard to get.
I will never forget the role baseball has played in my life, and baby, I am back, and I promise to never treat ya wrong again.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Big Time Hapy Fun Hour Jump Sing Watch
Anyone who has watched Japanese tv will get a kick out of that title.
Anyway, so someone suggested I should go ahead and discuss happy music.
It is clear from my extensive research, and according to something my music appreciation teacher (yes that is an actual college course people) said, that music is key to most people's lives. In many ways, we all live a life underscored by a soundtrack.
There is one thing George Lucas continues to get right and that is, music makes everything else better. It defines the emotion of a scene, and it certainly does the same for us in our lives.
I think there is a certain theory that states we react to music viscerally based on what we were doing when we first heard it. There are many songs in the world that remind me of many things, but here is a brief examination of some good thoughts and feelings.
Keep in mind, I just opened my itunes and went down the list of 5000 songs, so not only will it be alphabetical, it will also be somewhat longish. The links, if I do them right, should open a new tab or window and play the song while you read my blurb.
ACDC - Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap This song always reminds me of F Jay. He was a mentor of mine, and it really makes me laugh to think of him. He taught me how to drink Jack Daniels. He taught me about wrestling, getting knifed, and he gave me my first porno. He also had the coolest tattoo. It was Yosemite Sam with two guns firing and in his mouth a joint. Very cool. If you would like to see him you can, he was in several of the Police Academy movies. Believe me when I tell you, those are real bikers in that gay bar.
The Barenaked Ladies - If I had A Million Dollars This song is great for so many reasons. It makes me smile whenever I hear it because it is so much fine. You can white boy dance to it. It also reminds me of the time I went in to the planned parenthood place in Toronto and emptied their entire condom bin into a trash bag and asked them to refill it....then dumped the whole thing in to the bag again. Then me and this hot chick I was trying to bang walked out went to school and started throwing them at whores. It was awesome.
Beastie Boys = Rhmin and Stealin This song always reminds me of my best friend growing up, Chris Alison. Dude was a lot of fun and he was way in to the urban musics. He and I used to mess around with all his cool recording equipment. We even tried to make a movie that was star wars related on one of those camcorders that recorded on the audio cassettes, and then you played it back on the tiny 7 inch black and white tv. It never worked out, but damn did we have a great time. I had a casio, you know with the four little sound effect buttons; but, he had a CASIO! Thing had like 75 different fart noises. Chris was also my comedy partner. He and I explored the frantics and Monty Python together. We shared a love of the funny. Last heard he was a leading seaman in the US Navy.
Belinda Carlisle - Heaven is a Place on Earth Let me begin by stating, I can still kick your ass, so perhaps you might wanna not say anything about this song, k? I am sure I have told this story but, I ram reminded of collecting comics and hanging out with a cool nerd dude when I was around 10-11. It was pretty cool because up until that point I had never had real friends, they had always been older and picked on me, but now I had a real friend. Anyway, we used to collect comics together and stuff. He made fun of me for liking G.I.Joe, but I don't care. Snake Eyes is still one of the best comic book characters of all time, despite the shit Hollywood did to him.
Bowling For Soup - 1985 This song is just fun. I am not really nostalgic for the 80's, but it is kinda of fun to remember them from time to time, and realise it's all over.... and that is a good thing.
Cypress Hill - Insane in the Brain Really all of Cypress Hill reminds me of all the good things about my time on the streets. It reminds me of big bill trying to get laid. It reminds me of teaching Taxman to forge high school id's so we could crash dances. It reminds me of me and josh swaggering through the streets of toronto with our flannel shirts open and just daring people to take us on. It reminds me of summer days, sitting around the backyard sippin on gin and juice smokin a fatty and hitting on shorties. God I miss the Fishman.
Dierks Bentley - What was I Thinking This is a great fun song about young love, and the stupid things we do. It also has a great line about hood slidin like Bo Duke! I think I like it so much because I secertly wish I had had a teenage romance like this.
Fatboy Slim - Praise You This always reminds me of my favourite time in radio. I was working at a sports radio station. I had been doing colour commentary for sports, was producing Senators games and making all-stars cry. I used this song in the first ever piece I did that made it on commercial radio. It was awesome.
Incubus - Drive This song just always lifts my spirits when I hear it. It is very empowering.
Jonathan Coulton - Re: Your Brains The day I found out there was a dude making music for geeks was glorious Choosing just one of his songs was hard, they all make me gloriously happy.
Nirvana - Dumb Hey, he says happy in the chorus. Truth be told, Nirvana is just a happy maker for me. I like the music, and it reminds me of E. He and I had some great times listening to Nirvana.
Smashing Pumpkins - Bullett With Butterfly Wings This song always reminds me of Jay and Kim. It occurs to me that I never talk about them. These two people saved my life and nursed me back to health...and then tried to kill me, and yet I doubt anyone I know has any idea who they are. I lived with them on and off for two years, but it was in a time I never talk about. Interesting thought. I loved those two people with all my heart. This song reminds me of talking music all baked.
Anyway, there is a good cross section of some of the music and thoughts I have when I am happy and whatnot.
Music is really important in my life, and it serves as a touchstone, a series of memory triggers and emotional re animators.
Never let the tunes stop.
Anyway, so someone suggested I should go ahead and discuss happy music.
It is clear from my extensive research, and according to something my music appreciation teacher (yes that is an actual college course people) said, that music is key to most people's lives. In many ways, we all live a life underscored by a soundtrack.
There is one thing George Lucas continues to get right and that is, music makes everything else better. It defines the emotion of a scene, and it certainly does the same for us in our lives.
I think there is a certain theory that states we react to music viscerally based on what we were doing when we first heard it. There are many songs in the world that remind me of many things, but here is a brief examination of some good thoughts and feelings.
Keep in mind, I just opened my itunes and went down the list of 5000 songs, so not only will it be alphabetical, it will also be somewhat longish. The links, if I do them right, should open a new tab or window and play the song while you read my blurb.
ACDC - Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap This song always reminds me of F Jay. He was a mentor of mine, and it really makes me laugh to think of him. He taught me how to drink Jack Daniels. He taught me about wrestling, getting knifed, and he gave me my first porno. He also had the coolest tattoo. It was Yosemite Sam with two guns firing and in his mouth a joint. Very cool. If you would like to see him you can, he was in several of the Police Academy movies. Believe me when I tell you, those are real bikers in that gay bar.
The Barenaked Ladies - If I had A Million Dollars This song is great for so many reasons. It makes me smile whenever I hear it because it is so much fine. You can white boy dance to it. It also reminds me of the time I went in to the planned parenthood place in Toronto and emptied their entire condom bin into a trash bag and asked them to refill it....then dumped the whole thing in to the bag again. Then me and this hot chick I was trying to bang walked out went to school and started throwing them at whores. It was awesome.
Beastie Boys = Rhmin and Stealin This song always reminds me of my best friend growing up, Chris Alison. Dude was a lot of fun and he was way in to the urban musics. He and I used to mess around with all his cool recording equipment. We even tried to make a movie that was star wars related on one of those camcorders that recorded on the audio cassettes, and then you played it back on the tiny 7 inch black and white tv. It never worked out, but damn did we have a great time. I had a casio, you know with the four little sound effect buttons; but, he had a CASIO! Thing had like 75 different fart noises. Chris was also my comedy partner. He and I explored the frantics and Monty Python together. We shared a love of the funny. Last heard he was a leading seaman in the US Navy.
Belinda Carlisle - Heaven is a Place on Earth Let me begin by stating, I can still kick your ass, so perhaps you might wanna not say anything about this song, k? I am sure I have told this story but, I ram reminded of collecting comics and hanging out with a cool nerd dude when I was around 10-11. It was pretty cool because up until that point I had never had real friends, they had always been older and picked on me, but now I had a real friend. Anyway, we used to collect comics together and stuff. He made fun of me for liking G.I.Joe, but I don't care. Snake Eyes is still one of the best comic book characters of all time, despite the shit Hollywood did to him.
Bowling For Soup - 1985 This song is just fun. I am not really nostalgic for the 80's, but it is kinda of fun to remember them from time to time, and realise it's all over.... and that is a good thing.
Cypress Hill - Insane in the Brain Really all of Cypress Hill reminds me of all the good things about my time on the streets. It reminds me of big bill trying to get laid. It reminds me of teaching Taxman to forge high school id's so we could crash dances. It reminds me of me and josh swaggering through the streets of toronto with our flannel shirts open and just daring people to take us on. It reminds me of summer days, sitting around the backyard sippin on gin and juice smokin a fatty and hitting on shorties. God I miss the Fishman.
Dierks Bentley - What was I Thinking This is a great fun song about young love, and the stupid things we do. It also has a great line about hood slidin like Bo Duke! I think I like it so much because I secertly wish I had had a teenage romance like this.
Fatboy Slim - Praise You This always reminds me of my favourite time in radio. I was working at a sports radio station. I had been doing colour commentary for sports, was producing Senators games and making all-stars cry. I used this song in the first ever piece I did that made it on commercial radio. It was awesome.
Incubus - Drive This song just always lifts my spirits when I hear it. It is very empowering.
Jonathan Coulton - Re: Your Brains The day I found out there was a dude making music for geeks was glorious Choosing just one of his songs was hard, they all make me gloriously happy.
Nirvana - Dumb Hey, he says happy in the chorus. Truth be told, Nirvana is just a happy maker for me. I like the music, and it reminds me of E. He and I had some great times listening to Nirvana.
Smashing Pumpkins - Bullett With Butterfly Wings This song always reminds me of Jay and Kim. It occurs to me that I never talk about them. These two people saved my life and nursed me back to health...and then tried to kill me, and yet I doubt anyone I know has any idea who they are. I lived with them on and off for two years, but it was in a time I never talk about. Interesting thought. I loved those two people with all my heart. This song reminds me of talking music all baked.
Anyway, there is a good cross section of some of the music and thoughts I have when I am happy and whatnot.
Music is really important in my life, and it serves as a touchstone, a series of memory triggers and emotional re animators.
Never let the tunes stop.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Sober Second Thought.
Sit right back and I will tell you a tale, a tale of three little bottles and a BIG.....BAD....IDIOT!
Ok, that tale sucks so I am gonna say this about that... Sometimes you just need to get a good drunk on.
I want to strive and make this blog what it was, rather than what it became, which was a desperate cry for attention. I want to strive to make my thoughts more generalized.
I do believe I can talk about myself and my struggles in a way that can entertain, but also not scare or make you feel I am pathetic, cause the truth is, I am not pathetic... despite what my drunken stupor may have led you to believe.
In this life, I believe we no longer have to pick one thing and be it. We can constantly reinvent ourselves until we are truly happy with who and what we are.
As much shit as I have been through, I have always risen above it. I have always found a way to improve myself and my place in the world.
This too shall pass.
I am unhapy with my current lot in life, and while I may have been a teensy bit ridiculous in my approach to making a change, I am proud that I had the strength to do so, and I hope anyone reading this can develop that strength too.
Change can be scary. Uprooting your life and make a complete redirection can be overwheling, but it can be done. I know because I have done it several times.
The one thing I realised this weekend is that I am much stronger than I think I am.
I have said that in the past, we all have. Sometimes we forget and we need a person to remind us of that.
It is the one thing I regret not having in my life is a person who can remind me of my strength when I am feeling weak, and remind me of my weakness when I am feeling strong.
We all need these people in ourlives. Special people who are close enough to call us on our shit, and caring enough to lift us when we are down.
I am searching for this person in my life, but until then, well, I guess I am going to have to do it all on my own.
I am not sure any longer what I am going to do from this point forward, but I can asure you it will be awesome, and I will put everything I have in to it.
I know that I have slipped away from my interests and from my strengths, but I am refocusing and coming back in line with what makes me me, rather than what makes me annoying as shit. That being said, I have to get up off my ass and do it, no fear, no delay, no anxiety, just true grit and determination.
Let the good times roll.
Ok, that tale sucks so I am gonna say this about that... Sometimes you just need to get a good drunk on.
I want to strive and make this blog what it was, rather than what it became, which was a desperate cry for attention. I want to strive to make my thoughts more generalized.
I do believe I can talk about myself and my struggles in a way that can entertain, but also not scare or make you feel I am pathetic, cause the truth is, I am not pathetic... despite what my drunken stupor may have led you to believe.
In this life, I believe we no longer have to pick one thing and be it. We can constantly reinvent ourselves until we are truly happy with who and what we are.
As much shit as I have been through, I have always risen above it. I have always found a way to improve myself and my place in the world.
This too shall pass.
I am unhapy with my current lot in life, and while I may have been a teensy bit ridiculous in my approach to making a change, I am proud that I had the strength to do so, and I hope anyone reading this can develop that strength too.
Change can be scary. Uprooting your life and make a complete redirection can be overwheling, but it can be done. I know because I have done it several times.
The one thing I realised this weekend is that I am much stronger than I think I am.
I have said that in the past, we all have. Sometimes we forget and we need a person to remind us of that.
It is the one thing I regret not having in my life is a person who can remind me of my strength when I am feeling weak, and remind me of my weakness when I am feeling strong.
We all need these people in ourlives. Special people who are close enough to call us on our shit, and caring enough to lift us when we are down.
I am searching for this person in my life, but until then, well, I guess I am going to have to do it all on my own.
I am not sure any longer what I am going to do from this point forward, but I can asure you it will be awesome, and I will put everything I have in to it.
I know that I have slipped away from my interests and from my strengths, but I am refocusing and coming back in line with what makes me me, rather than what makes me annoying as shit. That being said, I have to get up off my ass and do it, no fear, no delay, no anxiety, just true grit and determination.
Let the good times roll.
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