I never feel like posting on the weekend and am considering going back to the stupid poll thing that I used to do where I asked a YES or NO question and would just leave it up for the weekend. I somehow managed to get more comments from that alone then anything I have ever done here. Amazing. Although almost nobody ever followed the rules, and I suppose that was the charm of it. Tell someone they can only say "yes or no" and watch them squirm. I MUST be heard. I have important opinions and WILL say them.
While most of today has been spent prepping for a new shoot in the morning, I managed to get to a friends house and fired a round of shots off of their new monstrosity of a skate ramp they built in their backyard. Impressive is an understatement. They gave new meaning to the phrase: "If you build it they will come" They built it in 4 days and it's super pro.
Oh and if any of you are wondering. NO. I don't know how to skate. If I tried to get on a skateboard I would die from a heart attack before I had a chance to fall.
The New Shiny Toy
If you were wondering: I shot these on a Nikon D300 mounted with the handy Nikon 10.5 mm - F/2.8 lens and since it was late afternoon and the sun was starting to track down I washed the images down with a warming filter to enhance the feeling of that golden sun, and then applied just a tiny bit of glow to it (like at 15%) for the post.
Some of you who have been reading from the beginning might remember how diligent I was with the Thursday photo shoots with The Littlest Buddy, and just so you don't think I am a total slack ass that gave up on it... I offer an explanation. it's quite simple, and I just never thought to mention it, well because I am a total slack ass.
Thursdays used to be much different for us around here. Two dudes with the house to ourselves, LB and I used to spend just about the entire day together on our own with Cole at the salon. Now that he is doing the school ALL day thing, we barely have enough time in the day just to play and eat snacks when he gets home. So anyway, I figured I would try to find a way to fit it into our routine, which was easier then normal today as LB is on TV restriction from a late night poop touching incident that I refuse to blog about. So today... we did some shooting.
With not much time and LB in the foulest of moods without his "Wow Wow Wubbzy" fix, we settled for a low stress shoot. I have been wanting to practice more with my piece of shit failing flash, so I put it on a chord and slapped a dome on it, and just let LB play with the light. He was occupied and fascinated with it and it gave me time to dial in some good settings. It proved to be a tough exercise as he rarely kept the light in the same place for long. So I guess today was officially LB's first day as a photo assistant. Way to go buddy, you did great.
For anybody that is trying to learn a little lighting 101 with your camera and your friend the flash, I always point people to the same sight (as I think most people do, because it is the freaking best). The STROBIST Treat yourself.
You may have also noticed that I have not been writing as much and I am happy to report that it is because I have been redirecting it into a little something that you will have the chance to read soonish. A ton of work is going into this project by many people. The result should blow your fucking minds :)
I also want to say that the American Apparel thing that went down this week was such an amazing little shot in the arm for Cole and I. Way cooler then even President Obama's speech. It was so cool to get the support and comment love and I hope everyone knows it is appreciated in our house.
As an exercise in compassion I wanted to try and be of some comfort and create a little window of escape for you all trapped in eternal winter this year. I have been reading loads of posts about the never-ending freeze out and it got me feeling guilty down here in Florida typing this with my windows open enjoying a warm 75 degrees with a breeze and the azaleas blooming. Wait! Shit! Compassion not cruelty. Okay so....
I always loved the movies where the character had some little tropical paradise postcard clipped to their dashboard, or stuck in the corner of a mirror, where they would stare and think of living out warm lazy days. So before you all go MAD from winter. Just remember that spring is coming and that Sun is going to be cooking us all soon enough. Until then.
go on, roll down that hill, run thru the fields, it's okay
There you are, jump in that lagoon, play in that waterfall
Here. Have a few dozen drinks while you bake in the sun
No thanks palm tree, I don't need your shade, I want to soak up the sunshine
Do I want to swim in the pool or the ocean? Tough choices
Are you feeling better?
Maybe just lay here in the grass. Remember grass?
OR... just float around a little and relax
How was that? Did you have a nice escape? I hope that was nice for you. You're Welcome :)
Who watched Obama speak tonight? Anyone? It looked like Pelosi was chewing her tongue off and like Biden sat on his testicles a few times during some of those standing O's. Boxer Briefs man, BRIEFS! Well... Obama always shines when he speaks, but he didn't say anything mind blowing. I wish they would televise them going line by line and cutting wasteful spending. That would be television worth watching. AND can I just ask in the future to stop the cutaways to McCain, let that old piece of shit just stew in his shame already. AND did anyone else think Bobby Jindal sounded like the cartoon DNA strand from Jurassic Park? I have no chest pounding thoughts or inspiration from tonight. Its funny all of the talk of "hope" and still I just keep HOPING this guy isn't just another liar.
I said this on twitter but made myself laugh while I was waiting for the applause to die down, I must have still had the Oscars in my ears because all I could imagine was President Obama opening his speech by saying: "And the award goes to Slumdog Millionaire"
A few of you have asked me: "Where the Eff has The Littlest Buddy been? So today I bribed him with Girl Scout Cookies to hold still for a quick photo shoot. He held still for about 15-20 seconds. And refused to keep his tongue in his mouth unless he was belly laughing. Which I love when he does. When I feel like shit that kids laugh will cure anything. He had an awesome day and a ton of fun with Cole, he is soaking in all the solo Mommy time he can. Taking these shots today I realized how much I missed doing shoots with him. So I am going to try and get back on the Thursday shoots. How does that sound?
I said: "Look Serious" He said: "Mama"
Four Year Olds think EVERYTHING is funny, They just want you to read
AND THEN! Tonight Cole and I got all jump and down excited when I got a twitter from Lisa over at American Apparel who put up some of the Photos I've been taking of Cole on the American Apparel blog. Take a look: THE DAILY UPDATE- AMERICAN APPAREL So there she was my beautiful wife on the AA site hanging with Diane Lane and Marc Jacobs. She is so cool :) But seriously it was so freaking awesome for them to link to the blog. I was thrilled. Cole totally texted her buddies at the salon and especially to this lady for loaning her some of the Apparel. The good news was the little ray of sunshine I needed from a solid month of no leads and rejection on the photography job front. AND THEN!!! She wrote back and said they wanted to send us some clothes so we can keep doing the shoots!!! So as soon as this posts Cole and I are going to do a little looking around over at The Online Store and pick out a few things. How awesome is that?! I feel like King Shit of Fuck Mountain right now.
The wonder of stripes. From the front - Not Showing. From the side - Showing
Navy/White Stripe Pocket Frock by: American Apparel
*UPDATE - American Apparel posted a link to my blog today and featured some of this series on their blog!!! Cole is thrilled, and well I feel pretty awesome about it. So needless to say their is a ton of new traffic coming this way so I wanted to throw out a shameless plug since I'm ya know... looking for work :) Here is a link to my portfolio.
Music Video for "Turning my Glance" from Steven Foxbury's album, Slowtape...
This is Steve from the World Famous "Dear Foxbury" series that happens here at the Panic Room. I can say things like World Famous because according to my stat counter people read this from all over the WORLD. I thought you would enjoy the song this weekend and could use a break from my longwinded posts. So here is a breath of fresh air.
I wrote about something when I was drunk in Vegas lonely and away from Cole and was irritated that I had wasted such a great topic. I was thinking about it again today because well… It was seeing Slim Goodbody this morning for a piece I am writing that made me remember some of the "old places." All it took was seeing that freak in his blood and guts bodysuit and it was like a light flickered back on in a part of my head that had been shut off for the last 15 years. It just all came flooding back. A big wash of memories. It took me home. It was awesome. I wanted to write about it sober and so I did.
It was called “Cow Pen Slough” (a Slough is half the man a creek is considered, and with that said nothing more than a running curb puddle after a hard Florida rain) it pushed water thru our neighborhood from a far off Spring, causing the city to plan the road that crossed over it to be raised a little higher and they fixed the concrete hump with cold steel rails to keep a car from slipping into the drop-off. It was the closest thing we had to a bridge in our neighborhood and like all kids we liked to play near water. This was not a pretty babbling brook stocked with fabulous fish and clear cool water, by the time the water had run to our end of the neighborhood it had turned red brown like iodine, and ran so slow that most days it was a stagnant cesspool that was breeding ground to mosquito larva and tadpoles. It was that filthy looking brackish uninviting water lazily pooling by under our feet as we sat on the edge of this little concrete mass fixed with rails. It provided a place to dangle our feet and throw rocks into mud and water. It had just enough charm for it to be considered a calm and soothing sitting spot to chat and dream big. It was enough of a structure that it warranted the nickname “Our Bridge Over Troubled Waters.”
This was the place that we sat and tried to get all the hard times out. It was always the place that brought the serious sadness out. It was the kind of place that made it feel for whatever reason you were hours away from home and it was safe to discuss the fear. And there we sat, and got it all out, and we were there for whoever was having a problem. And it will always be the same for me. It was the place I realized that it was okay to be a man and cry to your friends and not worry about being branded a “faggot.” The little homophobic town we grew up in, was the kind of place that rewarded cruelty to the artistic and brainy, but also ran life with a big chip on its shoulder because the local high school sports empires were only good at coming in around 5th place in just about every instance. Is there a more frustrating place then the middle? We were living there, a town with an inferiority complex because it wasn’t good at sports.
Thinking of the “Bridge” brought back ALL the little places you find as kids that become sanctuary. The little spot under a dock, or that perfect cluster of trees in the meadow, or the perfect perch on the rooftop, we’ve all had these safe-havens as kids. I imagine you are still attached to them. My friends and I growing up in a small-minded retirement town certainly found our places.
That core group of friends sitting on that perfect pile of rocks on that sliver of yellow sand taking slaps from the turquoise wave wash, it was right on the Gulf of Mexico, we always went at sunset, and we were always searching for that flash of green people whisper about. It was named Golden Beach. We sat and built our egos on these rocks and sucked down smoke and learned how to debate and push a point. Just a few hundred feet away sat a perfect teenage girl that could break hearts at will… and here we were watching the sunlight passing torches with the moon. Discussing validity of religion and how we were NEVER going to stay in this town for long. We weren’t your typical brood of boys that’s for sure. Yeah we got into trouble and acted out and lusted after girls but we were never going about it the same way I guess. We were happily dorks in many ways.
We had: Sunset Beach, The Thrown of Rocks, Casperson, Turtle Beach, The Ghost of Center Road, Driving the Key, The Warehouse, Roof Sessions, and “The Bridge Over Troubled Waters” they all served their purpose and produced the same results every time. When you were in the car on your way to one of these points of interest you knew what was going to happen and why you were going. It was comfort. It was our routine. The first of many.
And here I am in a totally different city, a grown ass man, and all of these childhood places have been replaced by Bars, and these drinking holes all have little nooks and crannies where they feel safer for certain topics of conversation, and we have the123 Porch to get the sad and serious out, and a smelly lake that provides a place to chunk rocks and to be solemn, and no matter where I go, I know I will always have these little kinds of places. These backdrops for the conversations I need to have. Is it like this for everyone? When you’re scared or frustrated do you jump in the car and head out to a spot to get the thinking done. Or do we just open up a blank page and start typing and leave out the hard thinking… Just start saying things?
well, it's something for you to think about anyway.
I followed some links around on twitter last night and it led me to this blog. This one right here, the one I am linking to Jane Devin! Talk about a blog crush.
According to Cole I am following the formula of male gripes and hurt feelings at this stage of the pregnancy, because I have started to form the beginnings of deep DEEP bitter resentment for her fortress and impenetrable barrier of pillows her naked legs are all wrapped around at night. For weeks now, just a tiny sliver of her face is left exposed for fresh oxygen and is about as much as I see of my wife in bed. Now this isn't to say that she hasn't been about as horny as a 13 yr old boy after pawing thru a stack of porn. I have to watch my back around this house like a virgin ass in a prison shower. This Pillow Palace is piled up each night and until the morning rolls in I feel like my wife might as well be sleeping in another room. I know, I KNOW, big deal. Some of you readers are like... DUDE, stop being a vagina about it. Well I'm sensitive, so BACK OFF!!! I only mention it because it's one of those things that someone can say to you that first week when you find out your wife is pregnant. They could say: "About 15 or so weeks in, she's going to start sleeping with every pillow you all have in your house, and probably go out and purchase more, and stack them all around her so she is immersed in soft pillowy protection. AND YOU WILL NOT BE ABLE TO TOUCH HER AGAIN WHILE IN BED." and then with that said it never registers. You're just like "Okay, that doesn't sound so bad" and shrug it off as some kind of exaggeration.
Well, okay it isn't THAT bad, I just miss my wife at night. I feel like she's a mile away and I can't make her feel any better. I have lost the ability to provide comfort (besides foot rubs) and I imagine from here it just keeps getting worse. I don't plan on burdening her with more misery of me belly aching that I can't make the discomfort stop, or the guilt of being the one to have "done" this to her. but I do plan on picking up the slack for her as the list of things she can't or shouldn't be doing grows.
The bad sad news to report is that the minor discomfort has really kicked in for her and I was really hoping that this second trimester was just going to be like having my wife back to normal finally from that crazed puking sleep walking zombie that was the evil first trimester. I'm so naive. We are laughing and I am keeping the calm during any crying. The big distraction has been in transitioning The Littlest Buddy to the impending disturbance of his all hands on deck 100% attention bliss that he has been used to. He knows what is coming his way, he has a little brother at his Dad's house and has been getting used to sharing his Dad for the last year and NOW he knows what is about to happen between him and his "Mama" and he is worried about it. It's tough for us because he can't just ask questions or say what he might be worried about. So we just tell him everything he might want to know. Life right now for him is tough and he wants to be babied as much as possible before that baby comes and takes all his snugs away. It is so funny to watch his wheels spin.
I am cutting this here because I need to help get him ready for school. More about this later. If I remember and don't end up writing about how I'm not going to bartend anymore.
I'm starting to feel like a thunder strike on your sunny day.
STOP! Don't worry, this isn't the foul shit.
Don't sneak off to another blog. Give this creaky craft a ride. Don't worry I'm not getting full of myself because people read this. I'm just feeling insecure with my own discoveries, they don't seem to be running concurrent with MUCH of what I'm scrolling thru on my blog roll. I still have to write thru the monsters so I can occupy my own mind minus the small concerns.
I offer up a story. Nobody gets better during this tale. It's just a story.
It was summer. Brutal August heat. I was driving. A van. 15 passenger. full of smelly angry drug and alcohol soaked sleep deprived bodies. We hated one another at this point. Possibly 2 months in of city to city driving. The show was finished. Wrap the gear. Spring to life for a few hours. Suck down food. Drink. Fuck. Laugh. ANYTHING to make you feel human and not lonely amongst the pack. Eat. Sleep. Drive. We have the next place to be. I drove with my hood up. The tell all signal that I didn't want anyone to speak in my direction. I'm almost sure we were running behind schedule. It could have been anyones fault, but I would just weight my shoulders down with any burden these days to not deal with excuses. Rolling hills. Green. Gorgeous. Northern California. So beautiful it never really feels real and the only place that could have possibly inspired our American Anthem. Miles of dust and ugly all behind us, and worth the breath of gold and amber that whizzed by now. We were on an incline. Up the Mountain. A scenic route? I was driving I wanted to see this country. I took the long way. It was worth it.
On the left bend I notice just for a second that a cow had managed to die right on the side of the road. Cows are huge up close in a dead pile. Especially when you're used to seeing armadillos or possums as road kill. Now a dead cow. Strange it was on the outs of the fence and the furry specs in the distance seemed so removed and detached from this death that it seemed rude. Not a single spectator from the herd seemed to notice. How did this thing escape the fence line and die? A car couldn't have delivered the end to this animal... AND THEN another cow. Dead. Same left side. Legs up. I ease the foot off the pedal. The backseats are waking up now and noticing. Letting go of their distractions. Headphones peeling off ears, sunglasses leaving eyes. We are perked up. What the hell is going on thru the winding of this Mountain pass? Another cow. Dead. On the right now. More in the road then dead on the side. Why is it all black and... smoking?! HOLY SHIT! swerve. Dead cow IN the road, and another, and then another, all crumpled in a mangled mess. The van is alive with speculation and "what the fucks?" All these cows are dead,charred, and smoking fresh black smoke. And then...
There it was. Just around a tight corner on the steep climb. A Cattle Truck. Crippled and crooked on the brake fail pass parked and dead on the right side of the road. A man stands. Hands on head far away but obviously involved. A Bronco parked next to him, window down. Sirens flashing. A flare is burning a warning to pass wide. I slowed and we saw this burnt out truck filled with cows that had been trapped in a blaze barreling up the Mountain. These cows, (this herd) were all pressed to the back where the doors had been kicked out, and apparently had squeezed out the few dead and dying on the sides of the road that I first noticed. I imagined them fighting and kicking their way out of the truck only to crush their bodies onto the hard concrete as they lept from this inferno. The trailer of this truck had about 20 cows all stacked and piled at the back exit of this trailer. At the peak stacked 4 cows high. Some half hanging out, legs, and teeth, and burnt flesh, all dead, the miserable last gasps of life frozen on their face. It just sucked the wind out of you to see it. All the double bacon cheeseburgers consumed suddenly there staring back at you screaming bloody torture on the side of that gorgeous Mountain Road.
And someone from the back of the van says: "Holy Cow" and we erupt in a few seconds of awkward laughter.
I kept driving. Everyone knows we just witnessed something terrible. The vegans in the pack are amused that the meat eaters are disturbed as they are sure to remind the carnivores that they eat cows that die far worse then anything we just witnessed and to stop being pussies about it. I have no interest in a debate about what we just saw, or to stop the bickering. I just wanted to slow down , double back, and take pictures. That's all I think about. How I missed the chance at taking shots of this carnage. What's wrong with me. How can I see that and think about how amazing the pictures would be?
That's when I knew... I really wanted to be a photographer. And I wanted to take pictures of suffering. To this day I have never picked up my camera to take a single shot of anything that told the story of chaos and I feel like a big coward for it.
When I close my eyes and dream, I often find myself with a camera in hand, taking pictures of things that most Americans spend their entire lives making sure that they avoid for all of time. I think everyone should get a gut check while driving thru paradise every once in awhile. I want to use my camera to capture brutal hateful unscripted life.
My Mother asked me two years ago what I wanted to do with my life? What was I going to be? What was I driving towards? And I told her that I just wanted to be old and happy and be able to tell my kids amazing stories. She was not satisfied with this answer.
Being the asshole that I am, I'm bummed that I wasn't the one to take the very first picture of the baby. Not a big tale to tell here. We got up early. Cole drank her gallon of water and held her pee. We went in without much delay. And within seconds there it was. The baby. We made sure to tell the tech we weren't interested in finding out the gender and she was sure to remind us that she refers to ALL babies as "HE" and not to read into it when she does... but then proceeds to refer to the baby as "SHE" the entire session. I am calling shenanigans. I never saw anything that would lead me to believe it was one or the other. I would imagine if it was a boy there would have been some brief alarm as they would have suspected a 3rd leg for a second till they figured out that it was just in fact a wiener. HA!
well anyway, it was awesome. Everything was where it was supposed to be, all the organs were in place and doing their duty. It was refreshing and awesome and just a beautiful experience. I could have sat there all day with Cole and watched the screen. The baby is such a wiggle worm. Kept pushing and swatting at the ultrasound wand. An ornery little cuss for sure. It was awesome to watch Cole watch the baby and see that motherly love gushing out of her face. I almost wish there was a moment built into the session where they leave you alone to be with your baby and share in the intimacy of the moment.
Making his/her first appearance at the Panic Room our unnamed baby
Today on this most special of days that we Americans hold so very dear to our hearts, when you're there gathered around your President's Day trees with family and love telling grand stories of past greats and historic days... be sure that you all consider participating in something truly historic and Presidential (besides whatever sale is going on at the mall) PLEASE stop by and contribute some thoughts at Post to the President. The site has received thousands of hits since it has gone up, but the letter writing has been a bit shy. I know you have it in you. We all have something to say, give it some time today. I know it's totally American to check it out and think to yourself "That's a good idea, I should do that!" and then instead end up watching the out of his mind high kid after the dentist for the 50th time and forgetting that you meant to write something to that President thing. I get it. People want to laugh not read about the hard times. Believe me I have noticed. So if you're really dead set against writing in, please consider passing on the link to others that might on this appropriate day it will make you look like you know how to celebrate President's Day better then your neighbors. And there is nothing more American than one upping your neighbors. So thanks in advance.
And of course it goes without saying that helping get this thing started means the world to me. So giant hugs, and high fives, and ass slaps to everyone that helps out.
Today was the first time since I have known Cole that I lost my temper and we got into a "fight" which resulted in nothing more then a few minutes of a temper tantrum thrown on both our parts. It was over quickly... no feelings were hurt. No names were called. It was just some good old fashioned blood boiling anger and foot stomping stubbornness. But the fact that it happened certainly tuned me in tighter to how we are both reacting to the news and the stress of how things are shaping up with money and career. The News is tense and almost hopeless at times. No clear heroes in any of this turmoil. It just feels like whoever your watching is calling whoever is sitting opposite them an idiot. Seeing that 1,100 page document being waved around and knowing that NOBODY had the ability to read it was the last straw. There is no illusion of careful calculated thoughtful decsision making going on. So yeah. It's all piling up.
Sunday rolled around and it was time for the weekly picture. The sky here today is all gloom and no sunshine to help the shoot. Last night was another health scare with the pregnancy as Cole started feeling contractions for over an hour at 5 minutes apart that lasted around 20 seconds. She very matter of fact declined ice cream which I thought was strange and she informed me that she had been feeling contractions for about a half an hour. I was horrified but never let her know. She was a cool cucumber the entire time. I felt like I did okay keeping her calm and getting her body to relax. We did the call The Midwife and jump on Google thing... and by the end of 2 hours, a gallon of water guzzled, a hot bath, and a benedryl, they had stopped. The only positive I can think of was it's good practice for me to not make Cole feel more nervous when her body is acting out of order. We concluded that her day at work was extra stressful on top of the stress of going over our schedule and looking down the road at jobs that I will be doing. I have lived my entire life doing freelance so I am not phased, Cole is not used to the uncertainty of the life and I feel bad for her.
So here we are. Picture day and we were both sour milk and we just took turns being huge assholes. She went first. Then I tried to trump her performance. Something amazing about Cole is that when she starts to get really mad she does hilarious shit to fight back the mood, and so we had these fabulous outtakes at the end of it all. We both decided that they had to be used to ring in the halfway point. Sitting down and looking at them together and letting ourselves laugh about the moment, the day, the week, has been a much needed smile. Treat yourself...
WEEK 20
2x1 Rib Nylon Spandex Leggings by: American Apparel and Unisex Tri-Blend Short Sleeve Track Shirt by: American Apparel
And then Friday hits. The Littlest Buddy heads off to school, Cole heads off to work and I am here. Alone. Almost the entire weekend. I open up the laptop and I'm connected to a community. I look forward to reading new posts and laughing at comments but lately I have been honing in on "The Suck." I keep seeking out the fallen and the downtrodden. I can't get enough of it. If I get halfway thru a post and realize that it's about how great everything is... I stop reading and I move on. I hardly even noticed I was doing it. When I finally made the connection I figured out that it's because I don't believe what I'm reading anymore. Not in the surprised: Oh WOW I can't believe it YAY!!! kind of way. It's more like in the I don't fucking believe you for a second kind of way. Yeah, it's exactly like that actually. Now I'm more then aware that there REALLY are happy families leading a grand life, and I'm sure if any of them read this they might be all bunched up and pissy about my disbelief of their fabulousness. So if you are TRULY happy then settle your ass down I'm not talking about you. I'm talking about the liars. The people that are faking it for their families and for their own self worth and sanity.
Running maintenance on your happiness used to be much simpler. You could do things like avoid the news or anything biting or deep about the world, don't drive near the "bad" parts of town, surround yourself with friends that are like minded and unchallenging, basically build walls to keep in the fantasy that everything is super. But NOW. Holy shit, I'm not sure how anyone can be delluding themselves that shit is peachy. I'm not bashing anyone I am guilty of blinders to some degree. I make it a point to block the "Fear Machine."
Let me tie this all together...
I remember being a teenager sitting in the auditorium and some jackass "Up with People" kind of dweeb is standing there sweaty from song and telling us that AIDS is real and that by the time we are 30 we will have all lost someone we love to the disease. ALL OF US. I start looking around the room trying to figure out which one of my friends is going to die from fucking. Flash forward to right now and I am very happy to report that I have not had to deal with that tragedy, nor has anyone surrounding me. The point is. We all believed this story and the statistics they were spouting. They had graphs and Doctors and sad stories and then MTV put it on a fucking reality show for the young world to see. The news was filled with the tragedy of it, Television shows worked it into story-lines. Movies were made. AIDS truly spread everywhere in a mass campaign to scare the living shit out of ALL OF US.
But guess what? Everyone kept fucking! As much as they could, with just about anybody that wanted to fuck back. And it hasn't stopped. The age for kids becoming sexually active is what? Like 12 now? Isn't that what sparked the name "Tweenager?"
Stay with me now. I'm wrapping it up.
The EXACT SAME shit is happening now. The economy is crumbling and it's in our face, and in the news, and in advertisements, and TV shows, and part of stand-up routines, movies are being made about it, and we are being clubbed over the head with it... and guess what? People are just skipping along going about their day and spending money on shit they don't need, and its the same shit all over again. It is uniquely American to not heed to warning. Are we the assholes drinking cocktails on an unsinkable ship as the ship is going down? I am pretty sure when the siren sounds my family won't be part of the elite that are offered a rescue boat. So you better believe my hands are dirty from making my own.
Just please stop trying to sell me luxury items and glamour. Stop making shows like "My Super Sweet 16" and "Daddy's Girls" you are endangering their lives... because when the shit goes down the angry masses are going to be tearing down your iron gates and frothing at the mouth. You spoiled fucking assholes!
done.
I started writing this because I realized that I'm not capable of posting an adorable picture of LB or telling you all good news I have about my book. I just can't pretend today. I feel like I need to get immersed in this, so that I know it well enough to walk next to it, rather then try and ignore all of it then feel like I'm suddenly drowning as it closes in around us. This isn't an announcement of doom and gloom and dark posts to come. I'm just saying life isn't a fart joke, or a "25 Things About Me" meme right now. I can't fake the good times today.
I am sitting next to my wife and we are healthy and excited and madly in love and that keeps my heart happy and pumping strong, but my head is cloudy with the darkness of this world and I need to walk around in it until my eyes adjust. I don't say it enough around here but thanks to everyone that reads this blog and shows support for things I do. It means the world to me that I am part of this community of writers even the ones writing about happy times :) I will be back to smiles as soon as I finish the overhaul.
I'm not completely insensitive, in case I have soured anyones mood.... here is a sickly happy little tune my buddy wrote entitled UP! It will cure what ails you. And it's only a minute long, unless you loop it and listen to it over and over until you are living the dream.
All the Love in the Universe ~ Me
If you are blog bouncing and want a really great read today stop by here FOR SURE. One of the best posts I have read in a long long time: Portraits
Please move along to the final day of the "He" tryouts over at The Wise Young Mommy. If you haven't been keeping up... I served myself up like a lamb to the slaughter taking part in an old fashioned "write off" with 7 other dudes competing for a temporary spot to write along side Petra for her "He Blogs She Blogs" feature. Today I was partnered with Ron from CK's Lunchbox. I'm pretty sure she picked him just to embarrass me and be sure that I was defeated and had my balls handed back to me. The competition has been bubbling along since Monday. Each day there have been 2 posts of showy strutting around by the contestants all vying to become Cock of the Walk. There is voting involved, so make sure you figure out how to do that, and when to do that, and cast your ballot for the best fit. I'm voting for Heinous to come back...screw these other guys :) Now go on. Get! See you over there, the trash talking has been legendary.
As Emerson said: "Words are alive. Cut them and they bleed."
Fill your head with words till they are bursting back out from your fingers covered in ferocious life and love and energy. You give them their power. Wield them.
There is hope you know. Remember hearing about it? We heard that word HOPE being thrown around for over 2 years as a campaign promise and a plea to seat someone upon the power of our problems. Someone willing to be patient and diligent and true. To guide. To lead. To inspire. It was a constant push for us to care again. To do our part. To BELIEVE in CHANGE. To "Get out and vote." We did. So what now? Sit back and hope everyone does a good job?
No! We sat around and hoped for the best for too long. There IS hope ya know. But it's not coming from crossed fingers and heavy hearts. It's in our words that we are sharing and putting up for stares. WE are the hope. What we say. How WE lead. The window is wide open right now for all of us to do our share of word spreading and turn this ship around. What am I talking about? I'm talking about applying unbelievable amounts of pressure for follow thru and some acknowledgment that we are all being heard. All of us. If this President is truly a peoples President than he will surely want to hear the people.
What got me thinking about all of this has been seeing these meme things flying around the many social networking sites we frequent... and I started wondering. What if we were writing something a little more important? What if we were writing and painting a true picture of where we are, how we are doing. How we are living. What we are thinking. And what if we did this all at the same time.
How many times are we spoken for in speeches? We hear all the time the phrsae: "what the American People want." I don't remember anybody asking me anything. Our National News conducts a phone poll and throws up some numbers and can claim shaky ground for a Stimulus or soaring popularity for the President. But I have never been asked. And I don't think I know a single person that I have personally met that has been polled about anything. We are a network, a community of bloggers that all have stories.
I started a blog. It is sitting on the internet waiting for us. For ALL OF US to write a "Post to the President". We all have twitter. We all know how to hot link and pass along information. We are the best at word spreading. Think of the power we are sitting in front of. The power we have to be loud. I'm talking about a show of force. Some might think this is cheesy or silly or pointless. But try to imagine the thousands of people that sat and wrote out the "25 Things About You" meme and it keeps passing around. Just think if the same amount of people took the time to write a post to the President, and they were all collected in one place to be seen, to be read. How awesome would that be. A TRUE account of what the American people think. Good. Bad. All of it.
I am asking that we ALL, and I mean ALL OF US please take part in this exercise and leave a "Post To The President"
Please FOLLOW THIS LINKand read the guidelines at the site before you write your posts.
I'm pretty sure I've done some kind of boasting around here about how if I dream something up I usually find a way to make that thing realized and true. Well I am blowing thru February like the wolf on a pig house and I keep finding bricks. I'm not discouraged by any of it I'll keep huffing and puffing as they say. Gotta bring home that bacon. I know. I FUCKING KNOW! I'm trying to do impossible things during an improbable time. I get it. Really?! There is a recession on? Yeah, you know I actually picked up on that.
Oh the people that stand in the way of a dreamer.
When will it become criminal to murder human spirit? If it does I would like to officially press charges on the Federal Reserve and countless other public officials and throne sitters of the World Bank (that Palin lady would be going to prison for sure after all of the life she sucked out of me).
When you are reduced to the antics of a heart sick teenager just from watching an hour of the news you know times are truly tough. At the end of an evening of news watching, I feel as heavy as a sopping wet bag of dirty laundry lugging thru life: Rolling out that heavy eye-roll. Pushing that sigh that pierces thru the hum of the house. Plopping down like my body quit. I Lie still with eyes wide at night. Blink so hard Cole can hear it. (When the love is flowing and still connects you they will notice and ask what's wrong.) Fight that urge to sleep my days away, knowing it will garner no sympathy. Sink deep in chairs. Hunch. Let your eyes fill with water during any awkward silence. Clutch walls to walk. Dream out loud. Disappear and ghost a goodtime.
Fight it off.
Thicken muscles. Keep arteries flowing. Lower stress. Build up the brain. Never have a list of unfinished anything. No projects in piles, and no dreams dismissed. When you rest … all of that unfinished business works away at you. too much television news and mayonnaise soaked steak fries are high fiving time, as they slam into my body inching that pesky soul out of the way.
I have work to do, and only need the flow of words to fall from fingers to do it. I have always found ways to work on empty, never on a full tank. In younger angrier times I was convinced I had to hit bottom to write. I suppose it was some jackass Bukowski thing. I would stand just inches above bottom eating thru that last layers of dignity and self worth so that I could find the poetry in manic sadness and despair. I always used to wonder how do happy people write. It was a trap that I fell into and it took a frantic fight to get out of it. I am happy to be standing in shiny times and still tapping away. I am still not used to being happy this much. I guess I should be glad for the constant stupidity of the GOP to keep that little cloud of darkness hovering.
I will trade an over stuffed trophy case any day for a blank page and a task to master. It has NEVER been about what I'm continuously great at. It is what I continuously want to be great at. Why spend time on the things that come easy? Cause your body thinks it's supposed to? Maybe. (I like asking myself little questions and answering them it's so fucking irritating that it cracks a smile.)
This blog post has been for me. And it was just what I needed. If you read it. Thanks, maybe it helps to hear you're not alone when the news of the Economic Bomb exploding over our heads reduces people to rubble. It's fine to get kicked down to the ground, that shit is powerful and frightening, just make sure you aren't that jackass that stays down there in the shit pile they are trying to keep us in. Get your ass up and do your fucking job for your family.
Cranberry Cotton Spandex Jersey Strapless Ruched Bodysuit by: American Apparel
P.S. Apparently some of the girls and a boy at the salon Cole works at all got into the American Apparel thing and offered up clothes as we are quickly running out of them for these weekly shoots. So thanks to them for that, seriously so very sweet of them. I'm glad someone made the American Apparel joke that first post because we really ran with it and are loving the results.
It has been a long ass time since I have stood behind a bar and watched the world shoot itself in the mouth with escape. It has actually been about 10 months since I have dealt with the eloquence of destruction. Dear economy, I know you have been beating the shit out of the world and causing everyone to whisper into wallets hoping for the specter of a few extra bones to slap down on the bar for that Super Premium you are used to ordering, but the thing is, when the people find the empty and pull for the plastic, KNOWING that they shouldn't be adding to that outstanding debt of theirs, they don't skimp on the purchases. NO. They make the sacrifice on the tip line. Really?! Your going to tip 2 dollars on a $45 tab? Fuck you. Don't go to the bar asshole.
enough about that.
This blog isn't going to be the dumping ground for late night complaints of the hard times in the service industry. I did realize an interesting occurrence is occurring and it made for excited fingers to tap it out tonight upon the return home. The hospitality OR service industry... has reverted and ticked back the tock of time and are smack dab in the middle of an aggressive and unapologetic barter and trade system. It's actually quite a smile to see that people are trading hair cuts for food, and food for drinks, and drinks for shows. The refusal to downgrade the lifestyle despite the dwindle of the coin stacks is refreshing. I completely celebrate it and hope it infiltrates other aspects of life beyond the "entertainment" category on the budget breakdown. Imagine trading gas or groceries for a bar tab. Oh life, I wish you were as raw as you were meant to be experienced. I will gladly pick up a stick and fight for life if it means we could be rid of this bickering on the Senate floor over a few hundred billion more. How lazy we all are with the burden of money.
SO...
A few "funny" stories.
A friend wandered off to the corner store downtown to purchase BC powder for a headache. And while waiting in a long line of bums with their prize of pan-handled change purchasing beers and whiskey, gets to the counter and asks about aspirin? Yeah aspirin. "NO!" They are not allowed by law to sell things like that. She says: "like what?" And they say: "We can't sell things like tampons, aspirin or condoms!"
WHAT?!!!
They pointed her in the direction of a smoke shop which was rumored to sell aspirin. Her headache is aching so she goes to this place. They proceed to sell her 5 Excedrin out of the bottle. Like open the bottle and dump 1-2-3-4-5 Excedrin into her hand, hit the register, $2.00 please. WOW! What a ridiculous corner of the country this is.
Also.
At 9:30. We are slow. First wave of customers. I am watching outside hoping for a crowd to wander in waving cash. Across the street a tall blonde bombshell is falling down drunk in heels and throws up on her shoes and proceeds to sit down in her own mess. I say: "WHOA! someone help that girl." Disgraceful. Someone go help her. She is trying to use her phone which she keeps dropping in the street. Passers by on the way to get in her precise predicament scurry past and gooseneck and giggle. She is alone. She is wasted. I feel so bad. I finish with a customer and run out to sit her down and figure out a safer place then downtown Orlando to be a drunk idiot. But before I get there, a cab rolls up around the corner and honks, and she is gone. Seeing that stuff just makes me cringe, and I hate what I do for a few minutes. Shrug it off, and convince myself that it's her fault for not knowing boundaries and keep selling.
THEN
It's close to 1AM and I realize nobody thinks they are more hilarious then drunk people. There is always the one guy in a group that says something funny on accident and it gets the group courtesy laugh. 20 minutes later there is a catch phrase being served up at the end of each sentence. Like the D-bag that thinks screaming "That's what she said" from The Office is hilarious all the sudden... And oh is it being repeated. Louder and louder and louder, and it's about as cute as a herpes sore, and I just want to smash teeth with hammers and shut it all up. "That's what she said" and the worst upon the worst is when the offender screams his punch-line and nobody laughs, and they actually commentate their OWN joke. "Did you hear me when I said... That's What She Said!" Oh my, you're amazing.
AND LAST
The drunk guys at the END of the night that realize the lights are up and they aren't getting any pussy. And then the war stories start spitting out in the form of "I totally should of fucked that girl when..." Like all the sudden the time that they bumped into a girl on the way to the bathroom and she glared at him, becomes: "That bitch by the bathroom was good to go. I could have fucked that girl. I should have talked to her." Get out of the bar asshole. Go home and download porn and eat bagel bites and suck on gatorade until you get back to earth.
Despite this bitch session. I love the end of a bar shift. I really do. My whole life since I can remember I wanted to ALWAYS work in a bar, maybe it was watching Cheers at a young age. Who knows. But I love working at a bar. The laughs, and the idiot parade, and the desperation, and all of it. All of it guzzling by is so amazing to watch. You love the people that know their limits and hold their liquor. The funny brave sides come out and the release of a good let go and wind down witnessed is so nice to take part in. You see people just really enjoy the luxury of managed irresponsibility and it makes you feel good to be around it. You hear good stories about a job well done, or a milestone reached, or the end of an era being celebrated. It's rare. Most people are out trying to fuck, or keep getting fucked, or trying to forget about being fucked. And the empathy rises and falls from person to person. We see really great guys strike out with worthless girls that could be so lucky to end up with someone amazing as they saunter out the bar with some piece of shit that just bragged to his buddy that he was going to fuck her mouth in his car and be back for last call. We (bartenders) see and hear the best and the worst of the night goers and we are in charge of you. We are the ones who talk you in and out of drinks and I'm still not convinced I am the best to be pushing that libation your way. I tend to lean towards you've had enough asshole too often.
AND
That's enough. I could stand to exercise a little brevity once in awhile for people who read here. What I should have done is used the time it took to write this crap and finished my entry for the HBSB's thingy. But I am sticking to my plan of waiting till the last possible second to turn it in. The trash talking has been fun. I just wish these guys were better at it. What can I say we can't all have a 12 inch cock.
Thanks for reading about nothing.
All the Love in the Universe ~ Me
PS- here is a an oldie for you yearners of music. I just can't stop listening to it late at night. It isn't the real video but the real deal has been disabled for embedding. So anyway... just as good.
In the spirit of competition. Here's to stirring the shit storm.
SO apparently I am all tussled up in some kind of Testosterone Test, a hyped up internet "Write-Off", the likes of an old defunct academic decathlon event, or some sort of drunken spelling bee for jerks. I say "apparently" like I didn't hastily throw my hat into the ring and end up getting myself into a scrap with 7 other "dudes" that write shit on the internet for attention like I do. A mistake? Possibly. There's no turning back now. So I have formed my strategy and will write my entry this weekend and give it a go. I wasn't familiar with all the other guys entered in this writers brawl so I creeped around a little bit to see the competition.
AND I have to say... if this was a contest to see who could make someone fall asleep with nonsensical rambling and tacky Jay Leno jokes I would be really nervous.
The contest I'm speaking of is a temp job to fill in for Blogging legend Heinous who is taking some time away from the madness. Jim was the macho half of the growing "He Blogs She Blogs" spectacle. So Petra over at the Wise Young Mommy is looking for a Sub. A Temp. A Fill In. Until he returns to take up his writing duties. The carnage is raging, and now we're dicking each other over to get off the bench and play hero to her blog for a little while. Soon after the announcement went up the shit talking started, and you can be sure that the comments section over at her little corner of the blogiverse is going to be a fun read. So if you're interested in lurking in, or adding to the lash outs on character over at The biggest contest going on the internet right now see you over there for some fun.
I'm not actually this competitive I just don't like to lose at anything. But yeah I am totally ready to fucking fight. Just no hitting in the face. Or groin kicking. Or hitting in the stomach (without a warning, Houdini died like that ya know).
Cole took The Littlest Buddy to the Doctor Monday morning and was delivered the pocket book blow that he is allergic to a laundry list of Gods gifts to earth. They might have well told us he was allergic to oxygen. Basically every single thing he was tested for came back positive. The heavy hitters being Dogs, Cats, Dust, Grass, Trees, Weeds, and COCKROACHES! Specifically dead cockroaches. Perfect. So basically the little guy is allergic to the entire State of Florida.
The “silver lining” as people call it is now we’ve been able to identify specifically why The Littlest Buddy wakes up all hours of the night. He can’t fucking breath. The other shitty blow we were delivered is that they are pretty sure that these allergies have started to work their destructive magic, and are causing the beginnings of asthma in his little lungs.
If it wasn’t for the Littlest buddies devastating cuteness I would imagine he was on the path to becoming one of these two guys…
Hang in there little buddy you have a lot of life to breath in we will get you all fixed up soon.
With that said we are tearing the house down this weekend and looking into a bubble house for the boy. Well, actually we are just kicking the little poop eating pug to the curb on Friday and fitting our house with filters and mattress covers and well.. I will spare you the boredom of the list of crap we have to buy. In the end I hope this works and he can breath easier and get rid of this lifelong cold he has been carrying around. The other tiny ray of hope is that once the allergies clear out of his head, he might be able to hear better, which in turn could possibly nudge along his speech. Of all the little things he is able to say he makes a pretty terrific attempt at saying allergies. It’s a heart melter.
I'm totally allergic to Florida
The little pug is moving into a nice house deeper into the center of FL with a sweet tempered retired couple that want to spoil it rotten. I just hope they don’t freak when they observe the first time the little doggie goes out back and takes a nice healthy crap, and then turns, and dives in for dinner, as they watch in horror as this adorable little pug is devouring its own shit. Poop does seem to linger on the breath, and makes for a terrible companion with this breed of dog which is exclusively a mouth breather. Everyone loves this dog until it licks your face. Fucking YUCK!
On the growing baby front, we had a scare this week as Cole was hit hard with a 24 hour flu bug and was puking and turning white and sweaty from stomach pains. When her tummy was hit with that first wave of sudden pain, it hit so hard that we had a half minute of panic that she was having some kind of early labor. A talk with the midwife and some google searching made us calm, and she quickly was bouncing back and craving and devouring food like it never happened just a day later.
This little baby is a mover, and my eyes light up every time I feel it nudge. I can’t believe she walks around with something wiggling around and living inside of her all day. I could only imagine it would be something like if I was to suck down 6lbs of McRib sandwiches and cheeseburgers and a super sized fry and it formed into a living breathing poop baby that wanted to wiggle and kick at me for 9 months. I can’t imagine that would be very comfortable. I certainly wouldn’t be excited for its exit. What’s with all the poop talk in this post? Stop it!
So I will leave you with this:
As I have mentioned money is tight, and all the expenses keep piling fast and I hate the feeling that I can’t buy the little things that would make this pregnancy more comfortable for Cole. She happened across an adorable little vintage dress on some site she creeps on and we agreed it would be a smart purchase, upon its arrival in the mail the pep it put in her step and the glow that brightened made me even more upset that I can’t buy her clothes all the time so she feels good at work. How adorable is she?! You would think that designers would be throwing their maternity clothes at us for her to parade around in. But I guess you have to be Angelina Jolie pregnant with twins to get the freebies. Oh cruel life.
I thought it would be nice if everyone enjoyed some fall off the bone ribs and some super smooth soul on the side while you eyeball the new digs around here at the Panic Room. Did anyone else start singing along? Still licking your fingers? I can't take any credit for finding this gem of a clip. My buddy Preston dug it up somewhere and I put it to good use. Thanks buddy.
So yeah, I played around with Photoshop today trying to pretty up the place. I only have a couple days left of unemployed gluttony before the bar hours start. No more laying around in my underwear with my fat stomach hanging out, eating ham & cheese sandwiches and clacking away on my lap-top all day. I go back to the bar on Friday night and will be drink slinging and talking people out of their cash again for a living. I make a good fucking drink you better believe that, and I can tough thru the most terrible small talk, so I am sure the tips will pile up high enough to pay some bills around here. Besides LB and cole falling victim to my late hours and my zombie walk thru morning routines... I am sure the blog will take a turn towards the downtown spectacle of the douche bag parade now that I will have the nightlife pushed back in my face and vodka on my tongue when I get home. I will try and not focus in all the bad things I see while working. Could be good for some scandalous tales but stop me if I get carried away.
I have a big day planned tomorrow. I am back in full strength off of the "24 hour throw-up out of your ass bug" that I swallowed while driving thru life with a 4yr old in pre-K. WOW the germs they carry. Oh what? You haven't heard of THAT particular flu bug yet? The one where your asshole can't stop puking watery stool? I tell you what, if our govt. really wanted to save money on the war, they just need to drop some toddlers behind enemy lines and infect entire regions with strains of this flu bug. Of course, that old piece of shit Cheney would still have to be driving the battleship for that to get approved. Did you see that old ghost today trying to spook the cattle from the sidelines talking about WMD? Fucking creep.
So the plans. Tomorrow. Yes. Lime Popsicle. Photographs of LB being amazing and Cole in a super little vintage number she got for being pregnant. Some new developments have rolled into our lives and I need to get square with the blog world and sit down and sink my fingers into the keys about it tomorrow. first I have to take the Littlest Buddy to school in the morning and it is legendarily cold here right now. The fucking news actually ran a story on how to get your kids ready in the morning. A 3 minute story on what to do for your kids when the temperature drops below 30 degrees. Really?! I could do the story for you in 3 seconds: "Put a FUCKING jacket on tomorrow, it's going to be cold!" Local news. It's amazing what people will watch at 6 o'clock to feel informed and safe.
Wow, I really feel negative lately. I need to get back to happy posts about touching sweet pregnant bellies and fun times with LB and the joy of this amazing marriage. it's just so much easier to write about the things we hate isn't it? The things that terrify us and make us all ball up in worry and sweat. The other reason for the sourpuss pushing is I am filled to the brim with projects and have been writing and begging for an audience for this work at some other outlets. I cross my heart every night before I lay down that it will happen for me.
I have to admit I was really expecting to take some shit for that Yo Gabb Gabba bullshit I pulled down there. I guess I got lucky. Oh well, I am still new, I guess people are taking it easy on me. Oh and thanks for listening about how much I truly love Lime Popsicles and how satisfying they are as a treat after some tangy Ribs.
(*this is a very long post about the television show Yo Gabba Gabba I am putting this here to save people with no interest in reading about this little piece of magic a chance to just move along and visit a blog with fewer words, on bigger things. That is all)
It was within the first few months of being a step Dad that I found myself at a Toys R Us searching the aisles for a cool gift for The Littlest Buddy, and I remember being thrilled to have found a handful of Yo Gabba Gabba figures in the store. I had only spotted them once before at a toy boutique that specializes in the uber hip designer toyline Kid Robot. I was thrilled to find some here, and now just had to decide which one to buy.
I was standing back away from the toys, and a Mother with a couple of blonde kids came into the aisle (They were a pack of bad haircuts, all of them. She had that fried overdone bottle-blonde box-color home-job hair. She wore tight high waisted camel toe jeans, ass waddle, frown face, sporting a University of Florida crew shirt all jammed down into her pants and then pulled back up and bloused over, ya know to make it nice, tied all together with brown low cut hiking shoes. If you’re wondering, this is not a flattering look.) the kids were squatting in a cart filled with sports toys, and they had a Grandma in tow trailing far behind looking lost and annoyed. I imagined she was just being pulled around the store so that she could make the final purchases for her grandkids. So they all go wheeling by, they are in my way, loud talking, opinion spraying, and she looked and noticed the Muno toy on display (Muno a tall and slender spiky orange one eyed Monster that minus his arms resembles an entirely different kind of toy that would certainly satisfy her personal play needs if she so desired). She sees the toys and makes the yuck face and pushes past fast, launching into a huff n puff about “How STUPID and WEIRD that CREEPY show was” and actually says: “All they do is jump around and sing & dance on that show, it’s just WEIRD, it’s WRONG”
I immediately disliked this woman (more then just for the camel toe). In fact, such a disdain was brewing that I could feel the naughty words boiling to the top and heating up my tongue… so I bit down, as to prevent any hurt feelings. And that was when I realized, that there was a void, a riff, a giant echoing cavern dividing two schools of thought, no middle ground exists, If you're a parent and you know about Yo Gabba Gabba you either LOVE it, or you FUCKING HATE it. And I loved that God Damn show. So how did they do it? How did I succumb so quickly to this low budget lo-fi silly show made for pre-schoolers? And then I realized it was the music, and the idea of just letting your kids “go crazy” when they are expressing themselves in play. That the people making it and guesting on it are like me, and they are making TV for kids. This show was designed and created by guys exactly the same age as me that have kids of their own now. They play in successful post punk bands touring the states and the world and have lived a youthful and non conventional life. And now they were making television for kids. How perfect.
That woman that strolled by me in the toy store would never recognize or care that members of the Aquabats helped create Yo Gabba Gabba, or that Mark Mothersbaugh contributes to the soundtrack and is a reoccurring character, or that The Shins, or The Roots, or Mates of State, or The Ting Tings are guesting on the Super Music Friends Show, or that was Amy Sedaris or Rhys Darby teaching the days Dancy Dance, or that Biz Markie is teaching kids to beat box …she doesn’t know NOW, and she didn’t know back when she was in her twenties about ANYTHING cool. She was the same asshole listening to Creed back in her twenties because they totally rock! And drinking Amber Bock because she thought it was imported! The Top 40 culture. They are just as irritating to me now, as they were when I was a 25 yr old music snob that booked a music venue that specialized in indie and underground rock and hip-hop.
I know, I KNOW, I’m generalizing and not being totally fair...but I have found that the same people that ignore underground music and literature, are the same people that grow up and only read books that Oprah suggests, and have no individual thoughts about the world or politics. People that repeat whatever the voice box on their side of the fence is saying for them, so pretty much whatever Rush or Keith tell them to say. So they smile, and shop, and fuck, and eat, and hate anything new, and are not early adopters of anything, (AND they never, ever, have a CLUE of what’s going on in Lost). So when I hear a Mom tell her toddlers how a kids show is “weird” or “wrong” or refers to it as “stupid” and “creepy” because it’s centered around dancing and singing!!! It makes me feel bad for her kids. They are going to have a mom that stifles anything that she doesn’t immediately get, or that she can wrap her small-minded head around. And then I get mad and write a blog and now I am sure people here think I am a lousy person for MY opinions. Oh the circle of life :)
I’m not insane. I’m not saying that ALL people that hate this show are ding dongs or completely lame. Just MOST people that hate this show are. Ha! It ranks up there with the parents that don’t let their kids read Harry Potter because it encourages devil worshiping. This would all be easier if Cole and I were the kind of parents that don't allow TV and choose to be the guiding hands of taste and structure all the time. But we aren't. We are young parents that grew up on media being dumped into our eyes. So when we plop the kids down and know they will be influenced by what they are seeing it feels nice that it's by something as insane and hilarious as we are.
I know! All of this over a little kids show right? A kids show. That basically teaches social skills. Like how not to be the asshole on the playground nobody likes because you bite the shit out of people, or knock them down, or cut in line, or never share. Or cry about trying new things and new people that don’t look just like you. This isn’t ABC’s and circle square. This is a show about being a considerate fucking human that has really diverse tastes and is armed with an arsenal of hip dance moves and dope beats to drop on your friends.
I am pretty sure people think the show is “weird” based solely on observations of the shows host, DJ Lance Rock: a skinny flamboyant lanky man that looks like the gay black dude (lamar) from Revenge of the Nerds and dresses like Bootsy Collins donning a bright orange suit firing off high kicks and pelvic thrusts sporting Elvis Costello black rims and encouraging your kids to shake it down and get loose now. He is as harmless as a big Yellow Bird …you just need to give him a chance.
Yo Gabba Gabba is the start of a new generation of young parents that want alternatives to kid entertainment and I am pretty happy about it. Implanting the idea in your kids that dancing and singing is “weird” and “wrong” or “stupid” or ‘creepy” makes you a fucking closed minded idiot… or just a strict southern Baptist (and there's totally nothing wrong with that). Either way, cut the kids some slack they just want to jump around and get crazy so let them dance to whatever they want. You can’t keep the kids at home!
Grey Knee Length Cotton & Spandex Skirt by American Apparel
Unisex Sheer Jersey Short Sleeve Summer T-Shirt by American Apparel
I wanted to include Coleface in my 100th post because she is my biggest blog fan (or else). I was sick all day Sunday but we still managed to get this weeks "belly" shot done. Week 18 was smooth for us. We are coasting. That baby is growing so fast it makes me think it's going to be like the size of the Green Giant baby or something. Today I sat on my fat ass and watched the Super Bowl and worked on Photoshop and made fun of the game on twitter with anyone that would listen. It was a lazy lazy Super Sunday. So for my 100th post I saved this new edition of Dear Foxbury because it is my absolute favorite "bit" I have going around here. So here you are. I hope you enjoy it.
Thanks to the people that keep reading and commenting here it amazes me every time someone likes any of this stuff.
Oh yeah. Happy Ground Hogs Day Punxsutawney Phil... good luck today. I should also note that Steve lives in Pittsburgh so he may or may not be all happy about that Super Bowl victory, ya know the one where the STEELERS almost lost to the CARDINALS?! It was a good game. I think Steve caught some cars on fire last night along with the rest of the Steeler Nation :) ________________________________________________________________________________________________
THIS IS NUMBER 3 IN A LINE OF ADVICE LETTERS I AM WRITING WITH MY FRIEND AND HERO STEVEN FOXBURY. WHO IS ENDLESSLY HILARIOUS AND JUST BURIES ME WITH BELLY LAUGHS WHENEVER I READ ANYTHING HE WRITES. STEVE IS A HUSBAND AND A DAD AND ONE HELLUVA TALENTED SONGWRITER. WE WILL BE TRYING TO MAKE THIS A MONTHLY FEATURE HERE AT THE PANIC ROOM. TREAT YOURSELF.
Dearest Steve,
Did you hear I was recently in Vegas? Oh My God, there are so many hookers there. They even have the ones that will pee on you and gargle diarrhea and do unspeakable things with semen. It made me think… WOW! That is someone’s daughter. How does this happen? Why do girls that hate their fathers turn to this profession? And then it made me think how funny it would be to have a prostitute service that specializes in slang from "Urban Dictionary" like Cleveland Steamers and Donkey Punching and the Tony Danza! (Ya know “Who’s the boss?”) Can you imagine taking those calls?
"Yeah, I'm interested in a tall blonde that is totally down with the Pink Sock treatment, how much is that?"
Speaking of fisting. I am sure you heard about the Obama's. How scandalous.
Do you know when you’re drunk at 4AM on the Casino floor you ACTUALLY think you can turn a thousand bucks into a million if you could just hit a streak. Well I managed to avoid hookers and gambling while I was there, and missed my wife and the Littlest Buddy terribly.
So I get home and her stomach has exploded and BAM she is fully pregnant. She looks so cute. And I can’t leave the damn thing alone. I am pawing at it like Sankara Stones. Did this happen to you? I feel like such a pest. But I know there is a baby in there and it is swimming around, and it can feel my hand, and it blows my mind. I can’t wait to see it moving around under the skin. Like a scene right out of Aliens, just for me. Can you really see it pushing against the skin or was Cole teasing me? What was the movie where the baby spells “help me” from inside the Mommies stomach?
Cole and I decided a couple weeks ago we were going to try for a home birth and have been going down that path. What’s your take on this? I know you have some pals that did this? Success stories? I am not freaked out at all anymore. I was at first, and then the second I realized that I was just taught and force fed that giving birth is supposed to be done a certain way, and it’s a business like any other. SO I just focused on the facts about home birthing and we are being sure to do our homework. I am not sure I would invite that kind of pain on myself if I had an alternative, but Cole is a superhero compared to me. I actually would worry about her more in a hospital, then doing it at home at this point. She just hates how modern medicine treats the baby like a tumor that needs to be removed.
We are getting prepared here at the house. Finally a reason to buy rubber sheets. All of this “nesting” is going on around here. Which I personally love because it is the first time in our marriage where Cole is all about cleaning and getting organized, so hooray baby on the way. We heard the babies heart beat for the first time here at the house. It kept swimming away from the Doppler and the Midwife had to chase it around Cole’s belly. It already reminds me of me. I never sit still.
(I keep having to erase “he” when referring to the baby and replacing “he” with ‘it”)
So I have been putting this question off till the end… but… have any advice on the boob play? I feel like I’m going to squirt colustrum all over the place if I go near them when things get all "Las Vegas" around here. I feel like the boobs aren’t mine anymore. Like I'm messing with the babies territory. That whole pregnant glow thing is amazing by the way. It’s a little gift to make women feel better who can’t take the weight gain.
I am going to wrap this up. I worry about you and your family up there in the cold in your 100-year-old house. Let us know if you want to warm up in Florida soon.
I leave you with this… a friend sent it my way teasing me about the possibility of having a daughter. I think my eyes popped out of my head and my mouth dried out from my jaw permanently dropping. Can you imagine being one of their Dad’s sitting in the other room and listening to that?
It seems that every correspondence I pen these days begins with an apology. So let's just agree that I'm pretty much a pathetic mess who's puzzled by the fact that you tolerate my piss-poor work ethic just so you can post the ramblings that I manage to squeeze out between floats in the human tragedy parade that is the season premiere of Hell's Kitchen.
That said, let's shoot this monkey into space! You know, I've never been to Las Vegas. I'm not a huge fan of toaster oven-like climates and if you're serious about hookers who gargle diarrhea, then I'm in no hurry to visit. Holy shit! We have failed as a species, yet you and I have both willingly decided to launch new innocent souls into this Wal-Mart on fire. Good for us.
It's funny that you referred to midwifery as the second-oldest profession for women because Kim and I - well, Kim, actually, settled on a male midwife named Patrick. His website is something like Mr. Midwife dot com. He talked us down from some of the more panicky moments of the pregnancy and in the end, I liked him about as much as you can like a guy who puts his fingers in your wife's vagina while you're standing in the room. His office was filled with posters listing the warning signs of mental abuse and the merits of breast feeding. I always got the feeling that he would've liked it more if I hadn't been at the visits, but that could've just been his freaky eyebrows.
Home birth, huh? Yeah, we definitely have a few friends who have gone that route without incident and who would probably swear by it. We're simply not clean enough to ever consider something like that. I couldn't stomach the idea of our first-born plopping out onto some surface caked in rodent tinkle and dog hair. We did go through the trouble of writing up a pretty hippy-dippy birth plan that we both now refer to as quaint. In the plan we insisted on as few lights as possible and that the child was to be placed on the mother's chest for 45 minutes before the cord would be cut. There were another 19 or so details that i have since forgotten because as it turned out, Kim went nearly two weeks over term and labor had to be induced. After that, all bets were off. She was in labor for thirty hours, pitocin was balanced out with an epidural and some sedative to help her sleep during the early stages. Once we hit go time, she pushed for over three hours but the little meatball wouldn't budge so the next thing we knew, we were being introduced to 15 doctors - none of whom I remember - and then we were all rushed into the brightest room on earth for a c-section.
From there, things went pretty quickly. I think that the surgery - and it was surgery - lasted a total of 20 minutes. So in essentially the same amount of time it takes to make tacos, they cut a hole in my wife and pulled our son into the world. After confirming the ultrasound's prediction that we were having a boy, they held him up over the curtain just long enough for us to make out the fact that he was covered in goop and had a nice head of hair. They squirreled him away to some corner to run a few tests and told us that he was making grunting noises and needed to be taken to the NICU for further evaluation. After that, things went much more smoothly - the grunting was nothing and after a mere three hours of enduring my unwavering peskiness, the doctors allowed our boy, Whistle Emmet Foxbury, to head upstairs and meet his proud, loving mother - a moment I will never forget as long as I live. So yeah, good luck with the home birth!
Boobs: You gotta let that shit go for a while. Kim breast fed for 22 months and during the entire time, I gave them their space. There's plenty of other stuff on a girl to play with. Look around - see what works for you.
Man that video of the girls coming unglued over the American Idol results confirms every fear that I ever held about having a girl. I'm sure that had things turned out differently, I would be singing the praises of raising a little girl even though there's a pretty big part of me that thinks I'm lying right now. What can I say? I really like being the parent of a boy.
OK. That's it. I'm done. Thanks again for your enduring patience. Go Steelers!
So the point of this post was very simply meant to get the 99th post out of the way, so that readers and stoppers by of the Panic Room all groggy and hung over Monday morning from Church and Super Bowl parties will be greeted with a big 100th post from yours truly. So with that...
let me try and make this time spent matter.
I recently had the pleasure of reading two posts that hit home and got me all introverted and spending time in my head. After reading I was all busted apart and open, and it took a huge amount of reflecting and being stern with my mental metal to hammer it all back into a reasonable place. A mindset that is capable of firing signals to love and smile, and live life with hope. These posts triggered the thoughts I have been battling about my job I'm doing as a parent to The Littlest Buddy, and how I will be to the unnamed baby (that I have just begun to feel tapping and slapping away in Cole's beautiful growing belly). I am pretty sure that all new parents do the rundown of the list in their head that they devised growing up, about ALL the things that they swore they would NEVER do to their own kids when they finally become a parent.
No matter what we are saying and how hard we were rebelling as kids, are parents rub into us. We become them in many ways. And to shed off the parts that are the ickiest, takes a huge amount of work. (did I just say icky?)
These posts each had a hand in waking up memories in me, one was my constant worry, and the other was just a phrase that I had heard my entire life and had not really realized how much it had shaped almost all of my decision making, all from a handful of words.
So I may or may not have discussed how I came to become such a worry wart to the people I love. I can't remember all the shit I have posted here there are 99 fucking posts. So at the risk of being redundant I will say it again. At the risk of being redundant it was the only way that I ever knew my Mother and Father loved me. And yes, as I typed that I do remember discussing it here, but what I didn't realize was that at every single point in my young life in regards to a career, my Mother and Father met me with the same response: "Well that's all well and good... but, when are you going to get a real job?" I'm not trying to jack anyones post here about that very line, and what it means: "Real Job"
...but what I AM writing about is how I didn't really understand the affect it had on me until I read a post about it. Oh the words we wield, and how they will fuck your children up.
If any of you read the 3 part posts called My Life as a Job where I went thru all of my work experience... every single job I mentioned was met with that mantra. In a really shitty intrusive way. That cringing crushing disappointed "why is my son such a fucking loser" voice. And I am realizing as I type this how fucking mad this makes me. I am ending this here, because I refuse to use this space to get all crybaby about parents that just didn't know any better, when there are kids out there that have had to deal with a million things heavier and more insane and they make it in life just fine.
The beauty of these posts was to truly be inside someone else's head, and hear their stories unfold, and find that commonality and connection that binds us to other humans. Their lives are entirely different from mine, and how we got to these places are equally as diverse, but the drive and the want to understand ourselves is so dominant. I just really fell in love with blogging and the sharing of these battles and triumphs, and so now of course I am blogging about it. I was moved.
The two posts I mentioned are fantastic reads and can really get you thinking about what drives us, and how we're wired, and well... in my case it got me all in a fever. The end result was perspective, and I am glad for it. It keeps you careful to be reminded of the dark places and the falls and the victories. So anyway, if you are ducking out of the spectacle of this Super Sunday and are spending time online I highly recommend these posts.
Those two posts were Maslow and Me over at Steam Me up Kid and then over at CK's Lunchbox he wrote a post called I Had A Dream
It's amazing how we can be so tangled about the same things and all have arrived there in such completely different ways.
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