Thursday, May 26, 2005

Vincent of Jersey... was wearing a red and white t-shirt.

Birth Control

My sister has three beautiful, amazing children. The oldest, my goddaughter, Lucy, is 3 1/2. The middle child, Katie, is just shy of 2. Little Joey is three months old.

My wife and I have decided not to have children of our own, and we lavish all the love we can on these children, as well as our friends' children. They are smart, cute, funny, and do all the adorable things that little kids do.

But every once in a while, these little angels will do or say something that isn't so adorable.

I received this message from my sister via email:

Katie just waddled up to me, excitedly saying, "Here, Mommy! Here, Mommy!"

She stuck out her little arm, and extended her clenched fist.

"Here, Mommy!"

Then, she opened her fist to reveal a child-sized handful of shit.

She had stuck her hand down her diaper. I got her cleaned up and into her bathing suit, so they could run through the sprinkler.

At that point, I noticed she had also had an earful of shit. I need to go inspect the house to see where else she may have smeared her feces.

Those are the kind of times when it's better to enjoy children vicariously.

I laid a divorcee in New York City... I had to put up some kind of a fight.

That there is Glacier National Park.

Stay classy, San Diego.

Big fish eat the little ones.

Swimming East
He dives unseen,
knifing neatly
into the murky depths
of the vast, silent lake.

Earlier the water was
a rich aquamarine,
now it is
reflecting the starless sky.

As the shore lights fade behind,
and the icy chill
sinks bone deep,
the swimmer slices silently
through the waves.

The steady rhythm
of his strokes provide
immeasurable solace.

In this solitary pursuit,
there is
pure serenity
absolute forgetfulness.

he is swimming east.

I shot a man in Reno

Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, I've only got 3 days of work left.

The stress of this was too much, so I decided to drink coffee, watch sportcenter, go to the gym for a while, and start my work day at the crack of 10:45.

Being a short-timer is a wonderful thing.

It's a beautiful, sunny day here in Wisconsin. One of those days where the breeze blows through the lush green trees, and the warm temperatures bring you back memories of school days... when you cross days off the calendar until summer vacation.

Summer vacation. Was there anything better?

There was a stretch of time, from maybe 1st through 6th grade, where it was endless and seemed to last forever. It was the ultimate freedom. Just you, your bike, the open road, and the click-click-click-click of the card in your spokes. Perhaps today, we will stack some cinder block and make a ramp to jump our bikes off for hours. Maybe some swimming.

No distractions from pure fun. Hormones had yet to take control of your body, so there were no worries or thoughts about the opposite sex, except whether or not they could play kickball. "Work" was a concept that had yet to enter the mind, and "responsibility" was getting home for dinner to avoid getting your ass whipped. "Money" was something you might need to buy an ice cream cone.

It was all about living in the moment. Experiencing the now, rather than thinking about the past, or worrying about the future.

Some people spend their whole lives trying to get that feeling back.

Sometimes we can seize it for a few moments at a time: maybe rocking out to a good song in your car on the way to work, forgetting for a moment where you were going; maybe while out on a long run, you reach the point where your mind empties and you just focus on breathing; while you're knockin' boots, you BETTER be in the moment.

Sometimes, we can seize it for a little longer: getting lost in a book for a couple hours; watching a movie (isn't that the whole point of movies?); playing a sport- volleyball, softball, basketball- where, for an hour or so, you think only of the game.

If we're lucky, we can shut off that nagging portion of the brain for days at a time on vacation... but it never shuts off completely, does it?