The Book of Life

I always have this idea in my head that I’m going to someday write an all inclusive, easy to read and easy understand handbook for life. I envision me passing this handbook down to Ashton and saying this is a navigational tool from me, based on what I have seen in my life. I always think about his little arms trying to hold this monster of a book, and his big eyes being overwhelmed by the hundreds of thousands of words that lie within. When I think about how vast it will be, it makes me think of how hard to follow it must be as well. The only way I can be sure that he can read it, and be able to take it all in is to condense. The only way I can be certain that he wants to read it is to make sure it is as interesting as it is informative. How do I compact all of life’s valuable lessons in to a fun and enjoyable read, while keeping it simple enough for my little man to comprehend at the earliest age possible?

 

I don’t know. 

 

Here’s what I’m thinking… these revolutionary ideas don’t come to me all at once. The thoughts that should provoke world change are not fully put together on the tips of my fingers at any given moment. However, when they come, usually one at a time, they come like a ton of bricks. The thought, the idea hits me hard. So, when that thought hits me, I’m going to put it in to words. I’m going to be as explicit, detailed, and painstakingly thorough as possible. I will repeat this process until I feel like my list is complete. When the list is complete, I will condense each of the items in to their main points, and most interesting features. I will re-compile these ideas in a different format and present them when the time is right.

 

Tonight I will begin with a post called 20,000 hours. Or, it could very well be called 20,000 words because the shit is about to get REAL!!

 

The sight of your child’s blood- worse than any pain you’ve ever felt!

Tonight started just like any other night. I dropped Ashton off at the child care area of California Family Fitness. I clumsily dribbled my way to the basketball court where little did I know, my amateur basketball career was about to take flight. After shooting around for a few minutes, it came time to pick teams. There were ten guys on the court, and tonight, I was the #3 pick. 3^rd overall pick in the draft!! My self- esteem was geared up and ready for 10^th and final pick, and much to mine, the other draft choices, and the spectator’s surprise, the number three pick was Pasty Whitey from Greenhaven!!

Just as our game began one of the attendants from the child care area hurried on to the court and walked straight up to me. Once again, I was prepared for bad news. I thought she was going to tell me that Ashton was hitting another kid or pulling his pants down in the ball pit again. Once again I was shocked by what she had actually come to tell me.

“Ashton was playing in the playscape (a jungle gym type area with slides, and balls and all the other necessary kid’s attention occupiers), he hit his head pretty hard and he’s bleeding.”

I tilted my head to my extremely disappointed teammates, and headed in to the child area. Walking through the door was the worst sight I had ever seen leading up until that moment. I saw my son sitting in a chair covered in his own blood surrounded by nervous personnel, being intently watched by twenty other terrified kids. The room was almost completely silent as my son sat in his blood soaked shirt, with his blood soaked hands and blood steadily flowing from the back of his head. Terror set in immediately! The only sounds throughout the kid’s area were Ashton’s faint, sad, scared little cries.

I ran up to his seat, picked him up and sat him on my lap. I held him tight in my arms as the friendly staff changed cloths and gauze on his wound. They did all of the work as I sat there terrified and completely helpless. I have no training, no experience, and absolutely no knowledge of what to do in this situation. I have spent quite a few years working in professional kitchens, and I have seen my share of professional grade bloodshed. I’ve seen fingertips whacked off, I’ve watched my own skin melt off of my arm, but nothing could ever prepare me for this. As a chef, you just man-up. Wrap it up, and get back to work! He has no idea what to do. He’s never seen blood like this before, let alone his own. He’s never felt pain like this. He has never been this scared.

Comprehending his helplessness and simultaneously realizing my own was a hard blow that I will never forget. Little did I know, it would only get worse from there. As he sat scared to death on my lap I pulled a piece of his hair back to catch a glimpse of the wound, it was unlike anything I had ever seen. It was swollen and bulging from his head. The bump was nearly the size of a ping pong ball with an open gushing gash about the size of an almond. It was worse than I thought, and so much worse than I had hoped.

I continued to sit with him on my lap; completely paralyzed! Meanwhile, the staff had his head gauzed and wrapped up. It was time to make a move. I had one of the guys grab my gear from the basketball court, and grab Ashton’s coat. I helped him with his coat and then carried him to the car through the coldest night of the year. He rested his head on my shoulder and I could feel his chin quivering from fear and from the bitter cold.

I sat him in his seat and hurried to get the car started and the heat blasting. As I sped down Laguna Boulevard I remembered an internal debate I had on the way to the gym. I opted not to get gas because I wanted to get to the gym sooner. Here I was, my 4 year old son scared to death still bleeding in the back of the car, crying, in so much pain, calmly telling me how unhappy he was, and me nearly at wits end, more scared than I had ever been, trying to drive like an ambulance up I-5 and then like a ton of bricks it hit me; I HAD to stop for gas. That was the moment I lost it. On top of every other thought, every other fear, every other emotion flowing through my head and soul, on top of all of the feelings of inadequacy and helplessness, I now had to stop in the middle of my emergency trip to the hospital to put two gallons of gas in my car!

Ashton cried, and I cried. Damn I cried! I cried from my diaphragm, I cried convulsing, deep rooted, choking from the gut tears! Every moment that I promised that I would always take care of him; Every time I told him I would never let anything happen to him; Every time I vowed to never let him down, flashed before my eyes. I could feel the warmth of his tiny fingers in my hands, the shaking of his little chin on my shoulder; I heard his little helpless cries; I heard his scared tears dropping from his cheeks to his shoulder. I-5 has never seen a wrath like my basket case ass weaving in-and-out cars trying to get there sooner.

I whipped in to the gas station cussing at the people in front of me that were blocking the pump, I cussed at the pump for asking me if I was a preferred shopper, I cussed at the card reader for asking me for my zip code, I cussed at the pump handle for clicking like the tank was full when it was clearly empty!

Back on the road I cussed at the blocked traffic in front of me, with tears running down my face I cussed the red lights, and cussed at the car in front of me when the light turned green. Ashton was still crying, I was still crying, both of us were still scared, both of us were now trembling. Just then we pulled up to a rail road crossing. The sniffling and crying subsided for just a moment, when Ashton said “Daddy, look! It’s a ning-ning!”

At that moment, there was clarity. Ashton was calm. I was calm. I told him that I did see the ning-ning. I calmly told him that it’s a damn good thing there wasn’t a train coming through that ning-ning. We sat silent for a few moments, and then I said “Ashton? Are you scared?”

“Yes” he responded in the most solemn tone imaginable.

“Ashton, buddy, I know that you’re scared. What happened was scary. But, Ashton, people fall and hurt themselves all the time. Daddy falls, mommy falls, everybody falls, and sometimes we fall harder than other times. One time, when I was just a few years older than you I fell on the ice. I fell and started bleeding, just like you are. I was scared. I saw a lot of blood, just like you saw tonight. But you know what Ashton?”

“Yes?”

“I turned out OK didn’t I? I’m OK, aren’t I?”

“Uh-huh”

“You’re going to be just fine Ashton. I know you’re scared, but you’re going to be just fine, I promise!”

“OK daddy” he whimpered melting what remained of my broken heart.

As I stated, it was just a moment of clarity. I believe I pulled it together just long enough to calm him down, and more importantly calm myself down. That  moment of serenity  passed when I pulled in to the ER of the hospital. There was not an open parking spot for blocks.

“How in the hell do you define emergency assholes?!?! I have to carry my bleeding son four city blocks in to the hospital?!?!”

No worries, I regained my cool and found a cozy up-front spot reserved for someone special, an expectant mother, or a spot for the School of the Deaf and Blind bus or something completely inappropriate like that.

We hurried in and we were seen right away. Kayla arrived moments after we did, and she managed to help me pull myself together.

The doctor did not seem too alarmed at his condition. I believe his exact words were “We’ll just throw some quick staples in there and send him on his way.”

Ashton sat calmly while they ran all the diagnostic checks. He was a super tough guy as they probed around his open wound. He was given a few stickers and didn’t seem to have a care in the world. He was a little hesitant to lay on his belly. He knew he would not be able to see what they were doing back there, and I don’t blame him for his apprehension. I’ve never particularly cared much for things that go on behind me, especially if I have a huge open wound on the back of my head and the doctor is holding a Swingline!

The stapling was not the easiest thing to watch, and hearing the words “should I get the remover?” did not ease my pain at all. I held his hand as tight as I could without causing any unnecessary pain. I had a brief flash back to Kayla in labor, and me holding her hand expecting to have to be admitted in a separate room for some broken phalanges. Neither of them squeezed my hand as hard as I had expected.

Tough guy Ashton sat up straight on my lap, three staples later, and said he was hungry and wanted a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

At that moment, I was calm. I had found peace. I was still scared, still scared for him. I was still worried about how to take care of the wound, how to keep him from touching it, how to keep it from busting open again. I was definitely still scared and barely felt like the situation had been resolved. It was then I realized that it wasn’t my fear, my sadness, my anger, my emotion that had caused the flood of tears, it was his. The thought of him being scared, sad, angry, feeling helpless, his pain, his hysteria is what caused my breakdown.

You see, I’d sum it up like this:

I have watched my own skin melt off of my arm, but I have NEVER felt agonizing pain like I felt tonight seeing Ashton in the pain that he was in! I’d melt the whole damn thing off to never have him experience another night like tonight!

Mommy and Daddy’s broken heart 😦

I sure wish ifs and buts were candy and big stacks of cash!!

Today I was thinking about the handful of times in your life that you have to make a difficult decision. I wasn’t necessarily thinking about the times when you know you made the right call, my thoughts mostly revolved around the wrong call.

Perhaps a short story or two to illustrate my point?

There was a time that I used to be a manager of a few food and beverage related departments of a small Marriott hotel. The job drained the life out of me. I would commonly work from 6AM until 11PM. It wasn’t uncommon for me to help the bartender until 2AM and then crash in my office so I would be on-site for the following busy breakfast shift. I was there ALL OF THE TIME!

This Marriott employed front desk associates that worked from 11PM to 7AM. One of these associates went by the name of Mark. Mark would stroll in at about 11 as I was hopefully on my way out the door. He would almost always try to spark up a conversation with me as I was dropping the cash of for accounting in the morning. Mark was a really nice guy, and I liked him a lot. He was always full of interesting and funny stories, but he always caught me at the wrong time. No one is interesting or funny enough to truly keep my attention after a sixteen hour shift on my feet.

Mark was a talker, and Mark was persistent. One night on my way out we were small talking about money, or the economy, or something that led to investing. Of the hours of conversation that he offered me over my short time at the hotel, this is the only story I remember the details of (and as you’ll see, even these details are hazy).

Years ago (these years are prior to 2006) Mark was approached by a friend of a friend. His friend was involved in an emerging business, and more importantly an emerging market that’s future was questionable at best. Mark was given the opportunity to invest $10,000 in this upcoming endeavor. His investment would have bought him a small share of this risky venture. Mark had the money at the time, but was unwilling to take the risk. He had the money saved to put toward another purchase, and couldn’t take the chance of not seeing the return.

In 2006, just a few years after this proposition his $10,000 would have been worth millions (He gave me a ballpark amount that night, but I’m nowhere close to remembering what it was), millions! As it turns out, the world was ready for… RED BULL!!! End of story #1.

Story #2.

I know another guy (back story not needed), who was offered a VERY similar opportunity for another investment. It was another invention that the world could not possibly have been ready for. Similar cash request, similar pay-out just a few years later. Unfortunately, story #2 does not have a happy ending either. As it turns out the world was ready and eager to put holy shoes made of a foam resin on their feet, he turned down Crocs! End of story #2.

So, what is this edition about? I suppose missed opportunities would be a good description.

I’m not asking for millions of dollars, I certainly wouldn’t turn it away if it just appeared, but I just want to live comfortably. I don’t know what decisions I’ve made, or not made, in my own life that would have me closer to that million dollar mark.

I know one decision that sticks out is one I chose not to make when I was twenty-one years old. I had been working in the restaurant business for over three years, and I had been working side-by-side with my best friend Joe Rubino. We had worked at the Cracker Barrel together, and we had taken the leap in to the private restaurant business at The Red Horse together. Behind my back, Joe had been talking to the bartender about her son getting him a job at First Data, a credit card processing company. The day came that Joe told me he was going to leave our restaurant legacy, our partnership that was certain to gain us fame and fortune in the years to come. He was going to leave me all alone, to collect the fortune all by my lonesome.

Joe tried like hell to convince me to change careers with him. We were both college drop-outs, and the restaurant business was the only sure way that I was going to be a millionaire by the time I was thirty. As hard as he tried to convince me to leave, I tried harder to get him to stay. I reminded him of the adrenaline rush, and the pressure, the fun, and the easy money of waiting tables. I told him about our future, how I was going to be the owner of The Red Horse, and he was going to be the manager, and we were going to be huge!! I was George and he was Lenny of Of Mice and Men.

Six years later I convinced Joe Rubino that it would be a good idea to move to Colorado with me. He packed up and left his six year tenure at First Data to try his hand at unemployment in the beautiful city of Colorado Springs. It wasn’t until we were roommates once again that I realized that I was not George, I was Lenny all along. During a candid conversation we were having about how broke we were he told me how much money he had left at First Data. He was making nearly three times the most I had EVER made at any of my restaurant jobs. Three times what I have EVER made at any of my restaurant jobs to-date. What if I would have said “yes”?

The easy answer would be: I wouldn’t be married to my amazing wife, and wouldn’t have our perfect little son. I wouldn’t be a certified Sommolier, better than most certified chefs that I know, or have a list of restaurant recommendations from D.C to L.A. I’m sure I’d have a considerably larger income, but I’m pretty happy with the way things turned out J

Life is tricky in these situations, when it has you looking back on things that you would have done so much differently if you were just a little smarter, a little older, had a little more money, had a little more time. It’s a good feeling to think that you made the right decisions, even though you know that if you had them to do over knowing what you know now; you probably would have defaulted to a different path.

I want writing in my free time to be one of those decisions that I’m happy I made, and it really turned out. I enjoy it. I enjoy it immensely. But, I want to let you in on a little secret right now- I REALLY REALLY want to get paid to do it. I don’t need to write a trilogy that is going to turn in to blockbuster hit and net me millions. I just want a little supplement. I want my words to pay for the cost of my website ($18/yr) and maybe a little extra so I can get some better features on my page. Maybe a little more than that so I can buy myself a new laptop that the backlit keys stay lit without me having to restart it? Maybe a little more than that so I can buy myself a new car to get to the store to buy my new laptop? Maybe a little more than that so that I can buy a store that sells laptops so that I can get them cheaper as the inevitably break down? Perhaps I should be thinking about the trilogy!

So, in closing, my words of wisdom: Invest your life savings in things that seem crazy. Drop your career for something that you have no interest in doing. If you don’t do either or both of these things don’t worry, you still made the right choice and you’ll be just fine!

A new seldom used category: Reviews. RE: Select Wine and Spirits

First things first, I hope everyone had a happy Thanksgiving, and has survived this 2013 Black Friday. As I drove past a few Targets, a mall, and a Toys r’ Us on my way home from my outstanding Thanksgiving dinner last night, I realized that my blog had not reached as many people as I had hoped. Every parking lot of every shopping center we drove past was completely full with dozens of cars circling around hoping that one poor bastard would cut their shopping short and open up a spot for them.

Perhaps I did sway the decisions of as many as 40 readers on my sacred family day blog, but that didn’t put a dent in those corporate American CEO’s wallets. Fortunately, my focus on the family post came before my hardcore government reform manifesto. I learned via Facebook comment, shortly after my political rantings that I had lost half of audience because of my Rachel Maddow like rhetoric. So, to the 1l2 still remaining, THANK YOU for your unfaltering support!

Years ago I had a MySpace account. I actually believe I still do. I don’t actually think it’s possible to delete a MySpace account. I know that I clicked “delete” thirty or forty times, but somehow those incredibly embarrassing pictures of me in my alcoholic early twenties are still readily available for any potential employers or government agencies that are looking. I think the MySpace database is still in fully functioning order because of donations from the NSA, FBI, CIA, and a private fund that is paid by all public and private corporations from insignificant unlabeled deductions from each of our paychecks.

Anyway, anyone that does a little searching could find that I started a second MySpace account for myself that was going to be dedicated to writing reviews of restaurants. I never actually wrote any reviews, but I set up the page so that when the time was right, I could start cranking them out in the hippest fashion of the time. Yelp had been created, but at that time was simpl  just a platform for talking about hair and fingernails that turned up in food. I was ready to revolutionize the food critiquing business, just as soon as I had the money to go out and eat, and the discipline to not drink so much wine that I forgot about the whole experience.

So, fast-forward nearly ten years and here is my first official review, on a totally different platform, to a totally different audience, and here’s the kicker- it’s completely gratuitous!

“Select Wine and Spirits” is a tiny liquor store in the Promenade Shopping Center in the pocket area of Southern Sacramento. The neighborhood, and the shopping center are pretty well-to-do, and the shop is well situated to have some serious sales of some serious juice! The biggest set-back for the little Asian family owned shop is that they are situated steps from a CVS, and a Bel Air grocery store. In California sale of booze is totally fair game for gas stations, drug stores, grocery stores and the like. There really isn’t much of a market for the specialty mom-and-pop shops around here. Realizing this, and the implications of this, broke my little wine loving heart when I first moved here in 2011.

The market is completely flooded with mediocre mainstream wines! When I happened to stumble upon Select Wine and Spirits, I thought it was going to be my new second home! Nowhere else, aside from the 90 minute drive to Napa, would provide names like August Briggs, Kistler, BV “Latour”, Cain Five, Priorat’s, Bordeaux’s, and Amarone’s . This store was a little gem, and I couldn’t wait to start checking these big names off of my “been there, drank that” list.

I could stop there, not get in to scientific factors, and go on living happily ever after with my new outstanding fermented grape supply, but how often are things both good and true?

Here is a little known fact about wine: Oxygen and wine are great friends for a very short period of time. Here is a better known fact about wine: Temperature is a key component to successfully storing and aging wine. The average reader may or may not have known either or both of those facts, and for nearly every reader that will ever stumble across this blog, neither of those things matter one little bit.

Those are two things that may be of some importance to someone who owns a wine shop. This store has an incredible selection of wine from hard to find regions, and world class vintages. But, because of the ownerships lack of knowledge in the field of storage- it’s all basically aged, oxidized, red wine vinegar. None of the bottles that range from $18-$500 per bottle are stored in a temperature controlled environment, and none of the bottles are stored in the proper position.  Despite noticing this, and knowing the proper procedures, I have let my lack of discipline get the best of me a few times on some $20-$40 bottles. I’ve gotten burned more than once by these expensive bottles of vinegar, but I still am awestruck by the labels on their shelves, and have to talk myself out of foolish purchases.

Tonight I was walking through the aisles and passed a bottle of 1990 August Briggs, 1994 Dom Perignon, 1997 Cardinale, 2000 Cain Five and many other bottles that I would normally jump all over. I don’t enter the store often, but when I do I have to remind myself that these bottles have been sitting there through hot summers in an upright position for as many years as have passed since the vintage depicted on the label.

I’m no expert, and I don’t know what a $250 bottle of vinegar taste like, but I know what $40 bottles of vinegar taste like, and it’s not good, and for some reason I felt compelled to tell the world about this false diamond in the rough. I say it’s gratuitous because I don’t foresee anyone reading this ever having to step foot in to this store, but I guess the more you know the more you know!

And for the record, I am a tiny bit of an expert.

For more information on wine and why it’s cool visit JCwineblog.wordpress.com (or don’t, I’m going to repost these wine blogs on here eventually when I have some bad writer’s block).

For more information on proper wine storage please visit this little known site that I use for all of my research and my Rachel Maddow rhetoric: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Storage_of_wine

Nothing is the same; Part 2: Government

While I’m on a roll with my thoughts on the “Times they are a changin’”, I think now would be as good a time as any to throw in a few rants about government, freedom, and politics.

I’ll start with a disclaimer. I enjoyed studying government in high school. I also thoroughly enjoyed my Political Science class in college. You will soon see that I am no expert, and certainly don’t claim to be. I simply want to state some things that seem pretty obvious to me, but are seemingly overlooked by extremists nationwide.

Continuing with the disclaimer I will say that for my purposes here today, and every day I do not wish to give my opinion of President Obama or what sort of job I think he’s doing in office. But leaving disclaimer land sometimes I think about this:

How many tax payers’ dollars have gone toward researching President Obama’s birth certificate, his upbringing, and his place of birth? I don’t know the answer, but I think it’s a lot. It’s had a lot of media time, and quite a bit of talk over the last five years. Here is a thought: We live in the most culturally diverse country in the world. That is new. When our Constitution was written there were basically three races: 1. White, born on US soil. 2. White, not born on US soil. 3. American Indian (they didn’t matter much, we were still planning on killing them off). It would only make sense in that time that we would make a rule that says that the President of this great nation MUST be born on the soil of this great nation. There were no other options. As time went on that still seemed like a pretty logical idea.

Today, being President or the United States is not a gift you’re handed for passing a few tests and being popular. It’s not a gift at all, and hardly even an honor. Ask Obama, Clinton, either of the Bush’s if being elected President was a gift! It would be the gift of being the most hated person in the free world.  As loved, respected and adored as you may be to 50% of the population, the other 50% thinks you’re worse than Hitler and isn’t afraid to publicize their opinion. The desire to be the President of the United States of America comes after years of schooling, years of service, and tens of thousands of hours committing one self to learning, understanding, abiding by, relating to the needs and wants and expectations of over 300 million people. In addition to that, they have to find the bridge between what all of those people are asking for, and what they’re already legally compelled to adhere to in the Constitution and every other amendment, and law passed since its inception.

So here’s a thought, maybe if someone is willing to put in the work, and we collectively agree that they could make a change for the better, and solve some of the bigger problems in this nation of ours- why not give them the chance, or at least put it up for a vote?

I don’t care who steps in and says they can do it- Black, Brown, White, Male, Female, Gay, Straight, Muslim, Catholic, adult or child, if someone stands in front of the American people and proposes a plan to get us out of debt, a plan to better serve the people of this country, I’m willing to listen. If the plan is good, and makes since, if it’s bulletproof, they will have my vote! Why waste the time fighting over whether or not the person is constitutionally correct for the job? I would guess that if we debriefed the signers of our constitution on the condition of our nation right now, they might make an exception as to the stipulations they set forth in their guidelines for the survival of this nation.

Speaking of exceptions, let’s move on to the Bill of Rights. Here’s a quick thought on Amendment Number 2. When this amendment was written, the population of the United States was less than 4,000,000 people. The population of the United States could be squeezed in to the city limits of Los Angeles, CA. To say that times were different back then would be the understatement of the century, or almost 2.25 centuries. I sincerely think that if we went back and time and told James Madison stories about a country with 315 million inhabitants, stories about a dozen people getting shot in a movie theater, elementary school students being shot at school, college campuses (plural) being barraged in hails of automatic gunfire, and snipers posting up and blasting innocent gas pumpers from long ranges, it may be safe to say that he would have second thoughts about the untouchable freedoms he proposed. I don’t think that stricter gun laws are the solutions to these problems, but I can say with some certainty things the way we live now is absolutely no comparison to the world our forefathers referenced in the documents we hold so sacred.

This is obvious, right? I’m not rewriting history or reinventing the wheel, this is all just common sense right?

Moving backwards, how about the first amendment? Just a small piece of it for now. How about the right to freedom of press? Great idea! I love it. I think we have the right to know. But, is it possible to incorporate the same idea of common sense when thinking about this? Do we really think it’s a good idea to have 24 hour coverage of war? Is it really necessary to have total coverage of air strikes in the middle of the night? How about 24 hour coverage of every terrorist event? Do we need to have a constant link to every camera on location at the Boston Marathon bombing? The Sandy Hook shootings? The Aurora, CO movie theater killings? By the middle of the day on these events, the event is so sensationalized that every American feels like they are a part of it. Every American has deemed themselves a detective. And from this point, dare I say, the challenge is on! The next terrorist, the next killer is watching, and waiting for his opportunity to one-up the last atrocity. From a psychological perspective, it only makes sense.

This seems to make sense to everyone, yet we can’t turn our heads from it, and the media can’t stop exploiting it, making it worse and worse the next time around. It’s never about finding a killer, it’s about ratings. It’s no longer about freedom of press; it’s about ratings, and the almighty dollar.

Theirs is plenty more that can be said on this topic, and even an appropriate conclusion- but then what would I write about tomorrow?

Nothing is the same; Part 1 the holiday edition.

Last night I spent about an hour rambling on about the indecency of stores being open on the holidays. When I reread the post for the third time, I found it acceptable, and shipped it off to the world. I really liked my message, and I’m pleased with the tone in which it was delivered. Today, as I read it again, I’m still pleased, but I want to offer more.

With the 2013 holidays being in full swing, I believe the topic of holidays is a good place to start. Please see the table below that illustrates my perception of holidays and their original meanings compared to what they mean today via simple word association.

Holiday	What it should mean	What it means now
New Years Day	A fresh start, new beginning, an annual opportunity to refocus on capturing goals	Day off; Hangover
Martin Luther King Day	A day to remember one of the greatest leaders in the civil rights movement in the history of our country	Some have a day off, the rest wonder why they don’t have the day off
Groundhog Day	Nothing	To the 6000 residents of Punxsutawney, PA it’s their one annual opportunity to have a chance of being seen on regional cable television; the rest of the nation- nothing
Valentine’s Day	A romantic evening spent with someone special	Billions of dollars of revenue for jewelers, greeting card companies and chocolate companies
Presidents Day	A day to remember the commitments, dedication, heroisms, and awe inspiring acts of forward movements and thinkings of our nation’s leaders	Some have a day off, the rest wonder why they don’t have the day off
Purim (worth mentioning)	Unsure	For non-Jewish population- nothing; Meanwhile, millions of Jewish folk are getting wasted on kosher wine! Sounds like a holiday our society could really stand behind, if only they knew about it!
St. Patricks Day	I don’t even feel like doing the research to discover what has become so incredibly obsolete in the meaning of this day	Wear green, get completely obliterated, preferably on booze that originated in Ireland
Easter Sunday	The resurrection of our lord and savior Jesus Christ	Candy, Rabbits, oh and a much needed day off of work, after all it’s been nearly 4 months since most people’s last day off!
Tax day	No more procrastinating	Drink!! Even if you’re getting a huge refund and you filed your taxes in February, drink anyway!
Cinco de Mayo	Nothing, for every race except for Mexicans and Mexican Americans	Get completely obliterated, preferably on booze that originated in Mexico
Mother’s Day	A day that’s all about mom- thanking her for carrying you in her womb for 9 months, squeezing you out and then caring for you, protecting you, and providing for you	Restaurant sales skyrocket for the 1st time since New Years; mimosas and Bloody Mary’s; big time jewelry store and greeting card sales
Memorial Day	A day to remember and give thanks for all of those who have died fighting for our country and our freedom	Day off; BBQ; Drinking, primarily beer
Fathers Day	A day that’s all about dad- Typically includes leaving him alone and having steak for dinner	Tie sales are up 40%
Independence Day	A day to celebrate the birth of our country and remember the battles that were fought, and those who died so that we could enjoy the freedoms we have today	Day off; Drinking; Fireworks
Labor Day	Nothing. It used to be a holiday to commemorate those who worked so hard at their occupations to keep the wheels of our country turning, but now everyone works and we thank ourselves by getting paid and taking every other meaningless holiday off and getting drunk	Day off; Drinking; BBQ; Vacation
Columbus Day	Nothing. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/eric-kasum/columbus-day-a-bad-idea_b_742708.html	Day off for some; Others wonder why the banks are closed
Halloween	Somewhat of an Anti-Christian holiday. Those who are religious don’t care much for this holiday because it “Celebrates the devil”, those who are non-religious don’t really have much business celebrating either as it was originally a day to dress up as the devil and mock him creating an embarrassment that kept him in his fiery little cave	Dressing in slutty clothing and getting completely wasted around guys you don’t recognize because this is the day the can hide their true creepy identity and get away with whatever their costume will allow them to do. OR for the under-agers: Costumes and Candy
Veteran’s Day	A day to remember and give thanks for all of those who have fought for our country and our freedom	Day off work for some, another day the bank is closed and you’re still working for others
Thanksgiving	Originally a celebration of the first rain at the end of a drought. Somehow transformed in to a huge feast like the ones the pilgrims had near the founding of our country.	A day for giving thanks and gratitude for what we have; food; football; parades; family time; and the first 4 day weekend of the year!
Christmas	Celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ	Presents
New Years Eve	The day for celebrating all of your achievements through-out the year, forgetting all your short-comings and preparing to start fresh	Wishing for the day off, for most; Getting completely wasted; Super revenue day for restaurants and bars

 

And there you have it, my somewhat cynical calendar of annual US Holidays.

So, what are the common threads amongst the vast majority of widely celebrated US Holidays?

1. If you didn’t get the day off of work, it’s not really a holiday anyway
2. Nearly every holiday is an excuse to get drunk
3. Not even one holiday truly stands for the reason it was created

Some things used to be sacred.

 

Sometimes I take a step back and look at the evolution of life during my short 32 years and it amazes me. It is truly astounding to notice how different the world is today compared to when I was just a child. I think it would be exponentially more surreal to see the changes in the eyes of a 42 year old, or a 52 year old. I cannot imagine being 90 years old today and what my opinion of the world would be. Can you imagine growing up in the 1920’s? Your mother, grandmother and aunt can finally vote! Your earliest memories would be the headlines about The Great Depression, Prohibition, Al Capone. You would really remember the rise of Hitler and Nazi Germany. The news of your high school graduation was probably overshadowed by breaking news about World War 2. Eventually grass is the fad, Kennedy’s been shot, Timothy Leary is a hero, Blacks aren’t allowed to eat pie in white restaurants, we may have even put a man on the moon!! Imagine living through the Beatles! Elvis! Going to a Led Zeppelin concert!

Can you imagine living through that?!?! Now can you imagine living through all that and seeing that the number one news story in the nation for months is whether or not the president cheated on his wife? How about losing friends and family in World War 2, and Vietnam? How about being in Vietnam and now seeing the countless lives that are lost overseas for what seems like no reason at all? What about growing up in the 60’s when there wasn’t a sober person within earshot at any given moment, and knowing that now billions of tax payer’s dollars go toward imprisoning non-violent drug offenders? I’m digressing, a lot! OK, one more. How about if your first concert was the Beatles? And your last concert was with your great-granddaughter to see Miley Cyrus? Ouch. What is the world coming to?

I really just wanted to tell a quick story and then tell the point of the story, then I got pulled in a way different direction. So here’s the story, directly followed by the moral.

Every year on Christmas Eve my Aunt Sonie would host a Christmas celebration for her family and her husband’s family. My mother and I attended this event annually and it was always something epic to look forward to. My earliest memories of this event were just being an annoying little kid running around with my cousins, making noise, making messes, and just being bratty. As the years went on we aged and matured and eventually my oldest cousin Tyler was old enough to drive. Tyler was my idol. He was a few years older than me and just the coolest kid alive! He liked guns, and bows, and arrows, he was the strongest guy I knew, and had the answers to everything. The year that he inherited his red pick-up truck changed the dynamic totally of the Christmas Eve festivities. Rather than running around the house and getting on everyone else’s nerves, I remember playing outside on the bitter West Virginia mountain winter night. We ran around his truck while he showed off for his older cousins. He talked about all of the cool things he was going to do to his truck, and how awesome it was going to be. As of that year, that was the standard for me. Hanging out with the boys by their trucks talking about how cool they were.

A few years later I turned 16. I inherited my stepdad’s red Honda Civic hatchback in October, and when Christmas Eve rolled around it was pretty clear what I was going to be doing. I was just one of the guys, I was going to tell Tyler, and all the guys my big plans for this little red beast! When the day finally came I explained my plans of driving separately to Aunt Sonie’s house for the party to my mom. She immediately put the axe on that plan. It was a white Christmas that year. It had been snowing all day, and was forecasted to snow well in to Christmas Day. Mom was not even entertaining the idea of me driving. I had only had my license for two and a half months, and there was no way in hell I was driving 40 minutes through the mountain back roads of West Virginia, especially not at night! I was crushed! I had been thinking about, dreaming about this night for years! It would be just me and the boys, just hanging out talking about cars, and all of our big plans. I had finally made it to the maturity of that conversation, and it wasn’t going to happen. I begged and begged and pleaded. After most of the day had passed and I had not left her side, and not given her a moments rest, she caved! She was going to let me drive!

The party came and went, and the conversation was nowhere near as cool as I thought it would be. Apparently it’s not a license to drive that I needed for the cool guy bonding time, it was a truck. My Civic did not pass the test! That’s neither here nor there. What is important is that when it was time to leave, midnight had passed and we were well in to Christmas morning. As mom, Scott, Heather, Tori and I walked and were carried to our cars I said to mom “I have to stop and get gas on the way home.” Based on her reaction, you would have thought I just told her I drove my car in to the creek!

“You begged, and cried, and pleaded, and whined, and screamed until you got to drive your car here, and you don’t even have gas to get home?!?! It’s Christmas morning Brandon! How do you think you’re going to get home? Where in the hell do you think you’re going to get gas on Christmas morning??!”

I hadn’t really thought of that. I was so excited about driving, and somewhat scared of driving in the snow, that I had not even thought about gas stations being closed on our way home.

Terrified that I was going to run out of gas I slowly and carefully navigated towards home from the middle of nowhere, USA. We were very fortunate to have come across a truck stop that was open until 2 AM that morning. We made it by about 30 minutes! Had she yelled at me for another thirty minutes about my carelessness, I would have been stranded somewhere on Interstate 81 that night.

The Moral?

We passed dozens of gas stations that night, they were all closed. The one that was open was closing shortly after we left. The next day, my mom cooked Christmas dinner. She had every ingredient that she needed to prepare the feast. She knew she had every ingredient, she checked her list four times in the days leading up to the holiday. Why? Because every grocery store was closed on Christmas day, just like every gas station was closed on Christmas day.

Thanksgiving was the same; you had better have everything that you needed, because you weren’t buying shit on either of those holidays! Easter was another one- everything closed! Even on non- Easter Sundays, most stores were closed. What the hell happened? Now everything is open! Gas, cigarettes, a turkey, a movie, a wardrobe, a big screen TV, you can buy whatever you want from just about anywhere on any holiday.

Not only are all of the store open, they’re promoting the shit out of it! Walmart is having the sale of a lifetime starting at 6 PM on Thanksgiving. Really? It’s already multi-national news how unhappy and poorly treated your employees are, now you’re pulling them away from their families to cater to the desires of the masses of people that are too greedy to close out the holiday with their own families? I read somewhere that they are providing a Thanksgiving dinner for the employees that night. Newsflash- No one gives a shit about the Turkey! Thanksgiving is about having a day off, sitting around the house with the family, helping with the meal, helping with the clean-up, and watching football! Thanksgiving is about eating until you fall asleep because the Lions are consistently one of the most boring teams in football to watch. Who wants to eat a turkey at work? And then go service a thousand greedy, grumpy, penny pinching assholes? On top of that, who is making these turkeys? Who is cooking this meal? If you’re cooking Thanksgiving dinner for an entire Walmart full of employees, you’re cooking for probably close to 500 employees. What poor schmuck business did they con in to that deal? It would take 30 or so people to cook Thanksgiving dinner for 500 people! So, take your 500 disgruntled employees and raise that number by a cool 6%, that’s how many people you’ve pulled away from their family time on the recliner or at the table.

Don’t get me wrong, I see the bigger picture. Black Friday sales numbers are equivalent to weeks’ worth of revenues from other random weeks of the year. And we all know it’s hard to say “no” to that almighty dollar. But when does 6 PM turn in to 5? And then 4? And then “The Thanksgiving  Week MEGA SALE”?

I wouldn’t have believed it sixteen years ago if someone told me that the time would come someday that I could buy gas at 1:30 AM on Christmas morning. But I’d believe it now if you told me I could buy a TV at noon on Thanksgiving!

There was a time when people had enough respect for their fellow man that they would not cater to the idea of wanting something so badly that it would be necessary to pull someone else away from their own sacred family time to have to provide it for them. I’m sad that that day has passed, but I am happy that I will always remember it.

For mom.

“That’s life, George. Sometimes your flush and sometimes your bust, and when you’re up, it’s never as good as it seems, and when you’re down, you never think you’ll be up again, but life goes on.” – Ray Liotta (Fred Jung, Blow)

This is a great quote from a father to his son. I think this is an equally great quote from a son to his mother.

When we were flush I got new school clothes, stationary, and everything I asked for on my birthday and Christmas. When we were bust we used the extra sixty cents we had after we bought our groceries to buy a can of Vienna Sausages. We would open the can in the car and finish it before we left the parking lot.

Keep your head up mom!! Don’t give up! You’re too strong! And your good karma is right around the corner!

I love you! We all love you and will do anything and everything we can to help!

Love,

Bubba, Brandon, Joe, JB, Jake, Kayla, Ashton, Heather, Tori, Connie, Jon-ai, and Katrina

Finally a use for all of the useless! My Four Year Old.

I’d like to think in my ocean of altruistic optimism that it is every parent’s foremost priority and desire to provide their child with anything and everything they could ever need or want. Certainly Kayla and I have done everything that is within our power to assure that Ashton has the best of everything that he needs, the vast majority of everything that he wants. To our fault, he has just about everything that he has ever wanted. On a material, physical, and emotional level I think we have done a fantastic job of meeting this priority and desire that has squeezed in to the forefront of our lives.  Now after over four years of meeting these demands I’m noticing that none of those categories of requirements are getting any smaller, but he’s now very fluent in his English language and has added a cognitive element to the list of needs as well. I love this!

I love to read. I love to watch movies. I love non-fiction. I love documentaries. I love to watch videos on Youtube that teach me about science facts that I will never in my life dream of applying. I love the website Listverse.com.  I take about 40 IQ tests a year. I LOVE GOOGLE! “How old is he?” “How tall is she?” “How does this work?” “Why does this work?” “Why doesn’t this work?” “How do I make this?” “How many of these are there in the world?” “What’s the world record for ____.”  I love to learn, and retain as much as possible. I am that guy that knows the most random information imaginable, and I love it. I have never in my life had a productive, logical, relatable reason for attempting to learn EVERYTHING, until now!

A few months ago Ashton asked me as he pointed to the bathroom light “How does that work?” He had no idea what he was getting himself in to. “Well Ashton,” I replied “it works like this: We pay money to have electricity available in our house. That electricity is transferred through each of the switches and outlets in every room.” I showed him what I meant by the switches and the outlets. “Right now, before I even touch this switch there is electricity running through wires behind the walls that lead up to the switch. As soon as I flip that switch electricity will go through wires at a speed that will carry it around the earth seven and a half times in a second, and it will run straight in to that light bulb and create heat on a little tiny wire inside the light bulb called a filament. The filament gets so hot with the electricity that it starts to glow, and it creates the light that you see.” I finished with “the short answer Ashton, electricity, that’s how it works.”

I enjoyed the conversation. As a three year old, he was naturally bored out of his mind, but I found it extremely entertaining and couldn’t wait for his next question. I imagine he immediately correlated the “How does this work?” question with “long boring answer” and didn’t have anything else for me for a while after that. I assumed he had forgotten all about the conversation, and so had I, until about three weeks later. Kayla, Ashton, and I were standing in a different bathroom getting ready for school and Ashton says “Mommy, you know how that works?” He pointed to the light bulb and before she had a chance to respond he shouts “ELECK-TIS-ITY!!” It was amazing! It was one of the most prideful moments I have ever had in my entire life!

Since then his vocabulary has tripled, and his inquisitive mind is all over the place. He asks about the sun, the moon, the stars. He wants to know about cars, and trucks. He wants to know the difference between gasoline and diesel fuel (Thank you Thomas). He asks about foods with sugar, and I explain to him the difference between processed sugar and natural sugars. When he asks where the sun goes I explain the revolutions of the earth. I tell him it’s windy because of the moons gravitational pull, and it’s raining because of high and low pressure systems in the atmosphere.

Nothing makes me feel better than having the answer to every one of his questions, and I invite them one after another. Pretty soon he’ll be asking about dinosaurs, and aliens, other planets, other galaxies, money, freedom, presidents, God, Gods, Goddesses, Life, Death, and I CANNOT WAIT!

Reason #436 Being a parent is the most amazing thing imaginable: A use for all of the useless information!

Looks like he know it all 🙂

Cardio and Competition

Cardio & Competition

I was nearly finished my 3^rd cup of coffee today when I started to think of the effects it was going have on my abilities at the gym tonight. Then I thought about the real reason I was drinking the coffee, and decided that the pros vastly outweighed the cons. The real reason for me having this 3^rd cup of lukewarm, stale, break room coffee was to aid in the digestion of the four pound burrito I had for lunch this afternoon. I then began to think about the combination of the two swishing around in my stomach. Nothing hinders my workout thoughts more than the idea of the acids, the cream, the sour cream, and the little bean kernels all motor boating around inside of me as I run up and down the court. The only thing worse is the thought of tasting the coffee tainted, spicy carne asada over and over again as I continue to burp it up throughout each of the games I play.

In this moment of total disgust I realized why I play basketball every evening at the gym. I pictured myself getting on to the treadmill in the situation that I will most certainly be in tonight. I would start a warm up at about four miles per hour, and I would struggle through a half of a mile. This would normally be the time that I would kick the speed up to about 7 mph and try to maintain that rate for about 25 minutes, then drop it back down to 3.5 and be mad at myself for not beating my personal 5k record time. Tonight, however, what would inevitably happen would be much more disappointing. I would kick it up to about 7 mph, I would struggle for about one minute. As that minute came to a close I would think about the (1) perception of the person running next to me if I dropped back down so soon. I would fight so hard the urge to drop back down to a walk, and I would nearly kill myself trying to eke out another minute at this break neck speed. Finally the swishing and the burping, and the loss of balance because my equilibrium is swaying with the ½ pound of nachos still lingering in my organs would get the best of me and I would drop it down to a cool breezy, sand in my toes in the sunset walk. A steady 1.5 mph is how I would finish out my “workout.” BUT, just as a formality I would spend another 15-20 minutes cruising along on the exercise bike moving at a cool, boardwalk coasting 4 mph. When it is all said and done I would have burned nearly 100 calories!! (Nearly half of what I consumed in half of the nachos that were eaten before my burrito even arrived)

So, why you ask? Why do I play basketball? Do you remember that weird number (1) in the paragraph above? That seemed so out of place and seemed to reference nothing? That whole sentence fails to exist as soon as I elect to participate in a basketball game. At the very moment that I agree to play in a full court game it doesn’t matter what I ate! It doesn’t matter what I drank! How my stomach feels, or what my burps or hiccups taste like. I’ve got 4 team mates that are counting on me to give it my all for the next 20 minutes. For the next 20 minutes I will be sprinting up and down the court, swatting, jumping, ducking, falling, crashing, and sweating my face off! If I take an extra moment to catch my breath, I miss a big play. If I stop to make a disgusted face because my burp stinks, someone will run over me. When the game is over, I may not have contributed a whole lot but I’m 5 minutes away from craving another 20-25 minutes of sweaty, painful hell!! After my second and usually final game of the night I walk out of the gym knowing that I burned that burrito! I burned those nachos! I even burned pieces of the pizza the night before!

It was easy because I put myself in a position that I didn’t have a choice. So, after this thought process was complete, naturally I wondered: Why doesn’t my gym have more competitive sports? Team sports in particular? Treadmill relay races? Spin Classes with a map of covered ground that you’re racing against the class? I thrive on competition! I wouldn’t go to the gym at all if there wasn’t a way to compete with myself or with anyone else! When I step on to the treadmill, I have a time that I’m trying to beat, same with the bike. I play basketball because I want to be winning while I’m working out! Even if I’m losing, I want to try to be winning while I’m working out! Fitness tests were awesome as a kid because I wanted to do more push-ups, more sit-ups and more pull-ups than the next guy! I wanted to break the school records! Push-ups suck now because I don’t have a cheering squad telling me I can do 10 more!! I don’t know how to make this fantasy a reality but I’m anxious to spread the word!

As bad as I feel right now, I can’t wait to go and be part of a team tonight! I can’t get enough of that combination! Cardio and Competition!!