Category: Blogroll

Present Self to Future Self

I just wanted to capture this moment and preserve it in a blog so I can look back from the future and say, “wow, that was worth it”. It’s inconceivable at my current state to believe so, but given time, I thing it will happen. Almost as if I am shouting to my future-self saying, “FUTURE-SELF! YOU’RE FUCKING WELCOME!” I can feel him reading this now. That smug bastard.

Or wait, what if I am to be future-failure-self and all this is for not? What if I am burning present-self to oblivion and future-self is reading this shouting, “STOP! STOP! I’M A DAIRY FARMER IN SACRAMENTO! YOU DON’T NEED ANY OF THIS!”  To that I say…I need to get back to present-self. Fuck off future-self.

I am sure that future-self hates me right now and I get that. I look at past-self with a semi-satisfactory opinion and I don’t believe that is too out of the ordinary. I mean who doesn’t strive to better each day so there is no way that future-self can be reading this without an eye roll or two. Some of past-self’s actions deserve ball punches with extreme prejudice and I am hoping future-self is not as critical from this point forward. And now I am done writing on this.

I was watching Caddy Shack for the 400th time yesterday and I thought I had just about every line committed to memory until I caught the a subtle interaction between the Judge and his grandson, Spalding. It’s very quick but it is now my new favorite quote.

Spalding (teeing off but doing poorly): “TURDS!”

Judge: “Spalding watch your language!”

Spalding: “Sorry Grandpa.”

(Tries again) “DOUBLE FARTS!”

Well, I managed to cross the 100 mile per week running goal and I think this will be maintained for the foreseeable future. I am really surprised how good I feel, though. There is little soreness, the feet are fine, no knee and back issues and the runs are at a quick pace. The military side of me believes I am not pushing myself hard enough because without pain there is no gain but the 32 year old side of me is knocking on wood while doing the Bartakomous’s, “dance of joy”.  This may culminate catastrophically but really, do I do it any other way?

NEW FAVORITE SHOW!

I was watching Bert the Conqueror last week and I am a huge fan. He reminds me of someone and it is bugging the hell out of me that I can’t think of who. Regardless, this show is great and I highly recommend it. So watch it. That’s an order.

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To Get It

God. Life. Getting it.

It’s a wonder how we can stand up right when the winds of discontent and turmoil blow so hard. I’m not sure where to begin when I’m not even sure where it ends? That only makes sense to me but that’s okay; you’ll get it in the end too.

“There is a choice you have to make, in everything you do. So keep in mind that in the end, the choice you make, makes you.” – Anonymous

A person I know was very close to me and infrequently visited this blog. I don’t know why but I can only assume it was to check to see what I write and see if she was material. Regardless the reason, she would state that sometimes it was less than accurate from what she experienced at the same event. Writing is a medium to translate how my brain works and what I think. In every situation I look for the humor. If I didn’t, what’s the point of this? It would just be an account of where I have been and what I am doing and even I don’t care about that. She doesn’t get it. And unfortunately never will. That’s a heavy-hearted subject.

“Uncle Bill”

Hello?

Come again?

Come again?

Stay?


Stay awhile,

Stick around awhile,

Stick around

For as long as you can.


Heaven help you,

God help you,

Jesus help you,

Everybody else help you.


Everybody,

Everybody make happy,

Make everybody happy,

Be a comedian.

-Bill Borchardt

I saw American Movie the other day and the elderly Uncle Bill let out a stream of consciousness that moved me so profoundly, I was actually in tears. It relayed hopelessness and hope, life, loneliness and companionship, sadness, humanity, and the conclusion to life, ending up the same we began: alone. Nothing in recent memory made more sense than this and it scared me. I see it all the time in the faces of the institute. People who are put away for a disease they can not control. I see it in the elderly who are left in “homes” and forgotten. I see it in myself when I ask the universal question of “why?”. Kind of funny how things like this mean so much to me, while to others, they basically glaze over. To get it.

I’m not what I ought to be,

Not what I want to be,

Not what I’m going to be,

But I am thankful that I’m better than I used to be.

-John Wooden

Can this be any greater of a poetic statement? It’s a motto and no matter where we end up, if we hold this close to the heart only better will we be. (What kind of Yoda speak is that?)

Well, I think I have made my annual “what’s this all about” post so on to bigger and better with a touch of the insane. Trust me, after this summer, I have a pretty good base of comparison. Someone recently told me they aren’t crazy just mentally hilarious. That is something I can respect. So I will now leave you with the greatest picture I found from an old online news article.

My address is so boring!

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2.0

“I want to be forgotten,
and I don’t want to be reminded.
You say “please don’t make this harder.”
No, I won’t yet.“-  The Strokes

So I just got back from a wonderful trip to Seattle which I will post about later. Promise. But this post is about something different. It is about a change in direction. 2.0

Anyway, here is my favorite song of the week. Just rocked an 8 mile run with this on repeat. Very spiritual, especially the end. Enjoy!

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Curmudgeon Me

I am getting old and while my body is fully aware of this, my brain is still 18. A baby’s brain and an old man’s heart, took 32 years just to get this far. For some reason I just refuse to put it down and act my age and the signs are starting to show. For example:

A couple of months ago I went to see Megadeth and had a great time at the show. The one thing about me and a metal show is I try to experience it all and by all I mean stage diving, crowd surfing and of course moshing. Most people shy away from an invite to such a show and I now understand that. Especially since I came home with a broken rib and no clue how it happened.

Another lovely incident happened recently when walking home from the pub late at night. I was minding my one business when I heard someone sprinting my way and when I turned to look….

That was all I remember. The next thing I know I have two girls helping me sit up with blood everywhere. Some pussy guy ran up, slugged me and took off, leaving me knocked out and bleeding. Can you believe that?

So this is a week later. It looks so much better than it did over the weekend and I am starting to not scare as many people. In fact, I was at the gym and a guy asked me about it. I told him, “first rule of fight club…” and he smiled and told me it looks bad-ass. I didn’t know get knocked out could make someone look tougher. I need to make up a better story.

Well, like I said, I need to act 32 and not 23. Walking home from a pub alone at 2:30 in the morning isn’t wise and jumping off a stage into a mosh pit is even less wise. Who knows, tomorrow I might take up base jumping with a questionable parachute? But for now, I think I am going to stick to my new hobby; shitty origami.

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The Worst Renaissance Fair Ever

Okay, I can’t actually claim that this is the worst Renaissance Fair ever, but I am hard pressed to believe there is one as bad as this without  involving a hosting elementary school for the deaf and blind. This was no more medieval than the post-eighties transformation of the princess/girlfriends of Bill and Ted. (Wild Stallions!) No, this was a huge suck. Excalibur dinner theatre would be sad for this. Enter the Idaho’s Renaissance Fair of Shit.

What you see above is a real Renaissance Fair in all of it’s glory. There should be knights, mead, giant turkey legs, whore-ish wenches and horse poop! I should enter the gates a normal guy and leave a loser and proud owner of a sword. There should be everyday people who have grown a perfect Spinal Tap mullet just for this occasion and sing ballads of while juggling. Damn it, this is the time when we can all reference Monty Python’s Quest for the Holy Grail for the first time since high school! But not in Idaho.

I really don’t know what I was expecting. Sure I live in a small college town where the elevation out numbers the population but come on. If you are going to fuck around and say there is a Renaissance Fair in town, don’t forget the Renaissance. For awhile I thought that I was at the wrong park and was pretty giddy to think not only is there a Renaissance fair in town but there is a hippy art fair too!

Then I saw the Ye Ol’ Hot Dog Stand supporting the local Church of Later Day Saints. That is when I knew that there was not the Renaissance Fair that I have grown to love but a dirty, hippy craft fair in disguise with castle hot dog stands and a few nods to the days of knights and dragons.

Nods like custom-made shoes which is a stretch, but back then, they did have shoe smiths. The guy selling them had huge dread-locks and I over heard a woman asking him a question. Perhaps it was my untimely eavesdropping but when she asked him how he cleans them he told her with herbal dread soap. She said, “not your hair, the shoes”. For some reason that caught me so off guard I just couldn’t contain myself.

Also, right after I took this picture I met eyes with an old dude who nodded in approval. He thought I was taking pictures of these girls’ asses.

I am all about going green and not wasting what can be reused but I thought it was a little ridiculous to have guards in front of the three separate containers, ensuring no one throws a paper cup in the aluminum bin. I had just bought apple cider and was too intimidated to throw out my gum in fear I would have a high school girl scream at me for a wrong toss. It really didn’t matter anyway. Oh and the apple cider? It was hot apple juice. Fuck! Ass!

There were a few people who came “dressed to impressed” but like me, they were fooled by the title. It seemed like they were invited to a costume party by some dicks and when they showed up, it was just a normal party.

Damn, this is kind of a fucked up picture, eh? For the life of me I can’t remember how or why I took it. To the unassuming eye, it appears that the kid is trying to stab a dismounted child cyclist. You know what? Let’s keep it at that.

And this is what where I leave you. A great symbol of the Renaissance Fair I experienced this weekend. There are no words. Wait, yeah there is. Total shit. Hmmm, guess that’s two.

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