Month: February 2016

Drained. The back is in good enough shape to walk around campus and be productive, but it wears on me. I’m at that point now where I just need a lot of rest. Thoughts and sleep.

 

Some Thoughts:

1. The NBA trade deadline came and went. Nothing of note happened.
2. The makers of Dawn of Justice really need to find a way to explain the Bat’s effectiveness against Supe. Short of actually having kryptonite, there is no way he can battle Supe on Earth.
3. Wrestling’s Vince McMahon is a megalomanic jerkface. He suspended one of the most beloved figures in the industry for 90 days for grabbing his arm. That’s all the dude did. He grabbed his arm in a non threatening manner. I guess you don’t touch the boss.
4. My kid is starting track. That means being at school at 6 AM. That’s a hell of a drive for me to get him to school. I need a plan B.

Having trouble putting thoughts together tonight. I’m listening to Marco Rubio drone on and it is seriously robbing my consciousness. On the upside, this is the most forthcoming I’ve heard Rubio be and, though he is completely full of crap, his brand of poo is of a much better and reasonable quality than the stuff served up by our front runners. I’m legit worried about a Trump presidency, because I don’t think the man is interested in nuance. He wants the world to work his way–even if the world doesn’t entirely agree with American bravado.

Rubio is talking about football now. He’s a coach and at least we have that in common. We also agree that EDM has musical value, but he’s never been to a rave, because the dude seems to feel that raves are inherently negative things. That there is the end of the similarities.

And likely the end of my interest in the Republican candidates. That leaves me thinking about Hillary, Bernie, and Bloomberg (who may still jump in as an independent). I’m not sure where I want to go on the Dem’s side. I think Hillary has a history and a way with international interests that could be super effective for us. On the other hand, I like Bernie Sanders. He has innovative ideas and might be the kind of dude who is willing to take chances for a big payoff.

Some Thoughts:

1. This is absolutely not the blog I set out to write, but Rubio’s voice really did suck out my conscious thought–especially when he (and his ilk) drone on about Reagan as if the dude was the most important president ever.
2. Ted Cruz is described by his friends as an asshole. The people who work for him are the same kind of people. The dude runs an unscrupulous campaign and dances around the law, waving his twenty years of law work as proof that he knows whats up.

There was a time when I would play at least one game of Madden or a shooter like Mass Effect every day. It was on my to do list–when I even had a to do list–as a priority. I enjoyed it. It was nothing like real football, and maybe that was the larger part of the joy. I could disappear down the rabbit hole of this digital world and just be lost for as long as I chose. Not only was I lost, but I was lost and super successful in my alternate world. As I took on more responsibilities as a professional I started to lose those precious Madden hours. I lost even more to fatherhood and more still as my writing career picked up steam. I learned that prioritizing meant giving up things I enjoy in order to take care of things that needed to get done. It was a lesson I took to heart. After a while taking care of myself became less and less of a priority, until one day I wound up in a bed for twenty hours, because my body wouldn’t let me walk.

Here’s what I learned in that time: I’m overweight because I haven’t bothered to do anything physical in a long time–so long that my back snapped out of place from light exertion. I’m stressed because I listen to haters, worry about what people think, do way too much all the time, and harbor guilt over people and situations that really don’t deserve it. I’m timid because I fail to fall into the people I love and be honest and open and forthcoming 24/7. I’m selfish because I spend to much time angry about not having any time of my own anymore. I’m unsettled because I am constantly bombarded by messages and people telling me to grow the hell up.

A famous quote quips that growing up means putting away ‘childish things’. This is inherently stupid. See, the things that make you young and vibrant are those childish things. The stuff that keeps us alive and motivated are the joys in our lives. They may change, but it is ultimately you that ought to be changing them and doing so according to how your tastes evolve. I am not afraid to say I still love video games. I am not afraid to say I still love running around in the park, riding a bike, or playing a pickup game of anything involving a ball with my kids. I am saddened to see that I can hardly do any of that anymore because I’ve put so much stress on my body and soul just trying to live and be successful and fight my way to some form of temporary happiness. I’m convinced the universe talks to each one of us, and the hard-headed ones like me have a hard time listening. Well, I’m listening now. Its high time I got back to loving life and stopped feeling so sorry and stressed out about the responsibilities that come with it.

A lazy monday while I wait for my back to heal. It isn’t healing nearly fast enough and the pain is debilitating. I can handle it, but my range of motion is stupidly small. Surprisingly, stairs are the easiest part of my walking routine. That may be because I’m not expecting to walk fast or move my legs and hips too much in that process.

The best thing about this is that I’m healthy enough today to settle into work mode and get some writing done. Right after…

 

Some Thoughts:

1. Now that the warm glow of Deadpool has faded, I can see one very clear crack in the storyline. So, the love interest is the mutant Copycat. Her history and name are the same, but she seems to possess no powers whatsoever. What’s up with that? Also, Angel Dust is actually Arclight. Just saying.. Finally, if you go then you MUST stay for the after credits scene. Worth it.
2. My back is still in bad enough shape that I am going to move my classes around on tuesday to limit the amount of walking I need to do. At least I’m trying to hold classes. That is a goal this semester: no absences. NONE.
3. Another goal is to get myself on track both physically (because reasons) and fiscally.
4. The Michael Brown shooting was found to be a just shooting, which many are touting now as proof that bias doesn’t exist in the police. Now that is just ignorant or easy. The thing is, if this were an isolated incident, it wouldn’t be a big deal. See, the straw that broke the camel’s back isn’t important on its own–even if it wasn’t a straw at all. The straw only matters because of the others that got the camel so weighed down in the first place.
5. I’m watching my son’s cat stalk every shadow, paperclip, and ball in her sightline. She bored.

I love movies. I especially dig comic book movies. The problem I always encounter is that once the origin story happens the movies tend to fall apart. They can’t hold the story together because the characters are all the same and lack any deep appeal. There are two basic character archtypes–Supermen and Batmen. The supers have these powers and want to be moral upstanding people. The bats want to get stuff done. Now as a comic book reader I am well aware of the nuance and the multitude of micro shifts along the scale between those two opposing forces.

Deadpool exists on an entirely different scale.

Wade Wilson, obvious play on Deathstroke’s Slade Wilson, is a merc with a mouth; a sharpshooting, wisecracking, a-hole who has a score to settle. The film digs into his backstory, telling a tale of a Deadpool we wanted while simultaneously erasing the one everyone hated. Both things happened, and without giving away anything I can say that both marvel universes were finally joined. There are obvious element from the Avengers world and as for the X-men world, two of them are in the cast. All of this adds up to a movie that had a lot to deliver and not a lot of minutes to make that a reality.

The film was everything I expected. I cannot find a lot of negative words to share about it. There were so many references to both marvel movie chains that I had to stop counting. To be honest, I had to stop counting because it was distracting me from loving the dialogue. His quips were so perfectly timed and so telling that he could’ve spent the movie rowing across the Bering strait and I would’ve loved that journey.

Deadpool is worth the admission price. In fact, buy popcorn. You’ll want it.

I heard the pop a moment before I felt it. A sound like cracking your neck or popping a knuckle. But this time the sound came from my back where my spine and hips met. I froze them hunched over trying to hoist a pile of orange traffic cones. That’s when the pain hit and I dropped the cones to the ground.

It is hard to predict how people will react to pain. I’ve faced pain all my life and am generally numb to it. This was different. When my back went the pain was fire and the emotional surprise of the moment was far worse. At once I was immobilized, unable to be the kind of parent I love being, unable to be a good partner, a good coach. I was unable to do the most basic thing in my life: walk.

For twenty hours I lay in bed succeeding in no more movement than two crawls to the bathroom. I couldn’t even stand to pee. I’m a proud man and seeing myself so completely broken humbled me and served to remind me that, yeah I’m old and human and I don’t take care of my body at all. Instead I burn the candle at both ends, promising to tend to the health needs once the other problems are dealt with. Only the other problems never end. There is always something to distract from taking care of yourself–if you let it.

There are things I can do better and ways I can be more diligent and effective with my time, but this policy of compartmentalization has led to poor health and even worse management of the soul. I guess the body finally said enough is enough.

I’m listening now. I guess when you’re laid up in bed all you can do is listen.

I’ve decided to be more like Marshawn Lynch. Hear me out here. Lynch famously appeared at the Super Bowl pressers and said, “I’m just here so I don’t get fined.” He spoke it as an answer and a mantra. It wound up on a tee shirt.

Before the vultures got a hold of it, the statement resonated in my heart as something that suited my current point of view in terms of workplace politics and the larger shift occurring on campus. In truth, I’m more interested in honing my skills as an instructor at this point. I spent the last five years patching holes and pouring my heart and soul into the roles given to me at the college. All of that blood, sweat, and soul drained away from the classroom and, frankly speaking, I started to really suck. So, I decided to switch gears, pulling back from the political noise and the work and roles and problems I could not solve and moved towards the ones I was capable of handling.

It makes all the sense in the world. See, when you pour your energy into everything, nothing gets done. When you pour your energy into just what you can handle then you get to finish things and have the energy to feel good about flowing into the next task. That would be new for me.

New and Good.

The deal I need to get behind is not getting involved–emotionally. That is where Lynch comes in. “I’m just here so I don’t get fined,” becomes my mantra for action and inaction. If I stick to my guns I ought to be okay.

When I was a kid, my dad used to take me fishing two or three times a month. We’d climb into is giant brown car and drive out of the city so early that it still felt like night. We headed towards the water, reaching the pier as the sun took to the sky. The smell was sour and salty–worms, dried blood, and ocean. His boat was a beautiful thing. I don’t know that it was huge, but as a kid it felt like we could hold a thousand people. We only ever brought along three or four. The lot of us would climb in. The older men circled around me and Henry (it was always Henry) would stay back a little to push us off from the dock. Then he jumped in, flashing that narrow smile.

When I was a kid I could spend all day on the water with the guys, catching fish, listening to their conversations, imagining what it might be like to be a grown man. My idea of adult male friendships was formed in cracked seats of my father’s fishing boat. Sometimes they talked about politics, or girls. They didn’t ask me about grades. They didn’t cover my ears when the language became harsh. Once, they let me have a beer.

Now I have my own kids. They are growing up in front of a console. They are growing up on dead grass fields in the high socks of soccer or clad in the plastic armor of football. They are growing up around other kids in a desert far removed from the water and from the conversations of my youth.

I know I am the man I am today because of the time I had learning how to become one. I know that learning was entirely incomplete. My dad died when I was just twelve years old. Still, it was twelve years of conversations and situations and learning the society of men. This year my eldest will be twelve and I wonder what he has learned from me. Our waters are digital. Our boats are keyboards and joysticks, coaches meetings and sideline chats with the referees. The world has moved on from the time I grew up in. Still, I can’t help but think I can do more and be more to teach them what to do and be as men.

It takes a lot to get me really riled up. Lately the ‘fake’ is what really gets my blood pumping. Maybe fake is too harsh a term. Instead I think its more like this: Often people find themselves by finding other people and modeling themselves–their ‘true’ identity after what they see in those other people. In sociology we call it dramaturgy, but what I’m talking about is even a step removed from that. I’m talking about assuming ones identity and skill set and parading around like it was yours to begin with.

Yep, i’m ranting again. I thought It would take a longer time before I got so worked up that I was at this point–disjointed and straight up irritated. I pride myself on being a zen individual. However, I have to have somewhere that I can express the annoyance that has suddenly overcome my better judgement.

I recognize this post doesn’t make a whole bunch of sense. I’ll give you a hypothetical to help narrow it down:

Imagine you bake cookies. Your cookies are special to you, because of how well received they are. You enjoy baking cookies and even start to think that it might be cool to bake cookies with someone else. Well, you start baking cookies with this new partner and he loves the way you bake–thinks everyone would benefit from seeing it. So, he hangs out with you and gets your recipe.

Next thing you know, he is baking cookies and selling them. He is going around the town telling everyone that this is how cookies ought to be made. He ends up with a lot of money and popularity. However, all of this time he’s baking with your recipe, he neglects to mention that it is yours. Instead they’re his cookies now and always have been.

Kind of pisses you off, right?

I waited until the clock flipped over to 11pm to ensure a clean ten minutes–nothing over or under. It felt right, the way that sometimes buying one thing vs. another feels right, or driving down a certain road, or holding someones hand feels right. Moving through life I’ve come to learn that a feeling goes a very long way. Things that used to seem mythical–intuition, gut instinct–feel rather genuine. Perhaps I’m learning to believe in the things I can’t explain.

Fact: I have no way of knowing if there is a heaven, afterlife, reincarnation, or any of that stuff. On the other hand my life is full of things that have no rational explanation but conform to the idea that something beyond standard mortality exists. For example, the other day I clearly heard a door squeak closed in my house. However, there wasn’t anyone around who could have closed a door. There are a million scientific explanations but each is as circumstantial and unprovable as heaven.

I know what I heard, just like I know what I feel from time to time. None of these things can be proven to be real, or false. All I can go on is something else that can’t be proven: instinct.