The Road Home

     There are times when I don't recognize myself in the mirror.  This happened last week.  I washed my hands at the sink, turned off the water and looked up to find a stranger staring at me.  The stranger startled me.  I spent the next few minutes staring at my reflection, trying to find some spark of recognition, but I didn't.  I felt disconnected.  I felt like a spectator, someone in the audience watching the eerie scene play out.  This feeling stuck throughout the rest of that night and the next day.  It was a sad mid-life-crisis sort of feeling that forced self-reflection and induced a light depression. 
     This happens to me every once in a while.  I think it may partly be due to how I think of myself.  I still feel like that immature twelve-year old who lived for the bright days of summer and the carefree freedom of growing up.  This should hardly be a surprise considering the address of this blog. 
     Despite the occasional episode of feeling lost or disconnected from who the scruffy, sleep-deprived, short-fused, worn down man-boy I have become, I have days like today; days when I feel a little more awake, as if I have been in a coma for years and am starting to near consciousness.  Beautiful days when the sun is shining and the temperature is just right.  Days when I get to spend time with Michelle, sitting under the stars together as a massive yellow moon rises behind us and later as she falls asleep against me as we watch a show.  Days when the boys laugh and play and do the most adorable things.  Days when I am awake enough to be cognizant of all I have and love.  Days when I recognize that person in the mirror because he is both the man and the boy.



"Give me the time to show how I have grown..."
           -Remy Zero

Decisions and Delusions.

It is 1:46 in the a.m. and I can't sleep. I am moderately ill and I can't breathe very easily. I'm waiting for the sudafed and the niquil to kick in and I have no idea how to spell the names of those two medicines.
As of late I have been weighing the pros and cons of two career options I may or may not have in the future; finding it nearly impossible to figure out which is the better choice. And the contenders are: Option A. teaching high school history. This is something I have wanted to do for some years now and is what I am pursuing as a bachelor's degree. This job would allow me to do something I like and am passionate about, while possibly allowing me the summers off to write (which may or may not be a complete waste of time). Unfortunately, teaching will pay very very little and will not allow our family to live a very comfortable lifestyle and will most likely lead to a lot of stressing over finances.
Option 2. (those who know me will realize that the discrepancy between "A." and "2." is intention and how I roll). Taking over my dad's business. This career option would allow us to give our kids many more opportunities in life and allow for a much more comfortable lifestyle, though it is something that I have never really been interested in and I usually find quite boring. Choosing this option would make me feel like I am selling out. I wouldn't stress about money with this option, but I would probably stress over having to do something everyday that I am not fond of, dislike, am bored with, and/or hate.
Option A would make my family experience mostly negative aspects of the path while I would be the only one who would enjoy the benefits of such a career. Option 2 would leave me suffering the negative aspects, but allow my family to enjoy the positive things associated with the career.
I fear I have little choice, but to opt for my family's well-being and prosperous future. Anything else, though morally superior, professionally stimulating and thoroughly satisfying, would make me an extremely selfish person.
I must choose to sell out. I doubt either will be an option in the end.

Winter's Curse

Michael sat barefoot on the white sand, digging his toes into into the fine grainy ground. The cool ocean breeze kept his hair out of his face and filled his nose with that familiar scent of ocean and beach, smelling slightly fishy, yet pleasant. He watched as the dark clouds of grayish blue and purple blanketed the sky which watched over the ocean. He knew the rain was coming and decided it was time to head home, though he didn't mind getting caught in a downpour while riding his bike. He'd always liked getting soaked by rain; it made him feel alive. But it was a long ride and he planned on taking his time, so he grabbed his backpack and set out along the sand towards his bike.
As he walked along the sand he saw the little crabs disappear into their little holes in the sand. When he reached his bike he unlocked the chain and put it into his bag. He then took out his ipod, pulling the earphones up into his ears and selecting his summer mix. For as long as he could remember he had listened to music by season. There were just certain songs and styles of music that fit better with certain seasons, not to mention all the memories from seasons past that went along with each album. He jumped on his bike to Whiskeytown and set out along the bike path along the esplanade.
He cut through a small part of the city, passing the Pancakes in Paradise, which served the best pancakes in the area, and made his way to into the neighborhoods where the scent of jasmine hit him with all its overwhelming sweetness. Memories filled his mind. Memories of visits with the McGregors and even earlier ones of riding home through the back streets of an unfamiliar country he'd just arrived in, his companion having sprinted home on his bike, thus breaking the rules and leaving Michael alone to find his way back to the flat. He'd not remembered the route they'd taken, but only the general direction of the flat. Luckily he'd always been good with directions and finding his way back to places. But that ride back to 3/4 Broad Street alone had been one of the best he'd had in the two years he'd spent there. That was the first time he'd really smelled the jasmine as it filled his nose and senses that night.
But that was years ago...so many years. It took years for him to return to that country he'd loved so much, but he had finally made it. After a long life spent away he had returned and it seemed like little had changed. The ocean still gave him a peaceful feeling. The fruit bats still hung in swarms from lone groves of trees during the day and filled the evening skies. He could still eat all the meat-pies, vanilla slices, mangoes, and fish and chips that he wanted.
And so, he made his way back to a newer flat, through the hills and back roads, with the palms and jasmine lining his way and the Southern Cross to watch over him. It was his return that made him realize that those memories, with all the happiness and comfort they held, were somehow incomplete. His earlier experience here wasn't perfect. It wasn't until his return to Australia that he felt right. It was Marguerite that made the difference.

Holidays are all about undoing all the dieting and excercise you do leading up to them.

Oliver walked for the first time last night. We were visiting Andy, who'd just slipped on ice as he ran to get the present he'd gotten for Oliver, smashing his skull into the side of his house, when Oliver stood up. I moved a away from him and held out my hands. He took three steps, me pulling my hands away with each to keep encouraging him, before he fell. He took two more shortly after, but three remains his current high.

My Professor hates my title.

In no way do I mean to offend anyone who smokes, but I have always hated the smell of cigarettes. To me, smoking is a habit I've never understood. It offers no actual benefits (people claim it gives you a buzz at first, but only a minimal one), instead offering only destruction to senses, appearance, and health. Smoking cigarettes turns fingernails and teeth yellow, deadens the senses of smell and taste, destroys the lungs and throat, and makes the smoker smell terrible.
That having been said, there are certain movies/actors that make smoking look like the coolest freaking thing to ever have been done by humans. Good Night, and Good Luck is the perfect example. Or Rebel Without a Cause, Fight Club, Stay, Rushmore (or any other Wes Anderson Movie)... I think you get the idea. Anyway, just sayin'. Not that I'm going to take it up, but I would be closer to looking cool if I did, right?

Happiness.

There were lyrics running through his head as he walked out of the school and into the bright, sunny spring afternoon. "The sugary smell of springtime," he thought; it seemed so fitting. Thanks, Ben, he thought, walking slowly and calmly down the front steps and onto the sidewalk. It's lyrics like yours that create the soundtrack to life's experiences. The cars in front of the school were parked in a semicircle, creating a sort of blockade between him and the parking lot. The sounds of life had faded and left only the chirping of a couple of robins and, what to anyone else would seem an uncomfortable silence. The lawnmower that had been running when he walked into the school ten minutes earlier lay quiet and abandoned on the nearby baseball field.

The man found the silence comforting, after all, he was the cause of it. He looked up, closing his eyes, and let the warm sunlight wash over his face. It was then that he heard the voice of the bullhorn, muffled at first, then growing in volume. This was quickly accompanied by the voices of what must have been dozens of people. He looked at the cars that separated him from the rest of the parking lot and saw the flashing red and blue lights, and about twenty pistols pointing out from the open car doors. "Drop your weapon and put your hands in the air!!!"
He looked down at the MP5 submachine gun in his hands. The noise of the crowd of people from behind the police cars was building and he felt the pressure again inside his head. "Why can't you be quiet," he said softly, his annoyance growing. "I just want the silence."

He sat down on the grass of the school lawn near the sidewalk, the gun still in his hands. He looked down at the gun, examining the side of it with seeming curiosity. "PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPON OR WE'LL SHOOT," came the booming voice again, the bullhorn making it sound like it was coming through a radio. "There's just too much noise," he whispered to himself. "I had to stop the noise."

He stood up slowly, the gun still in his hands, though pointed at the ground. "I just want some peace and quiet," he said, looking to the cars lined up in front of him. "I JUST WANT SOME QUIET!!," he said, raising the gun toward the bullhorn. Dozens of bullets tore through his flesh before he had time to raise his gun completely, each exploding out the back of his body followed by sprays of blood and pieces of organs, bone, and brain matter. His limp body fell to the ground, blood pooling instantly around it in the grass. The guns had stopped firing. No one spoke. There were no sounds. Just, silence.

A Wish for Oz.

The text came from Michelle this morning when I was in the lab at school attempting to print off the dramaturg I'd stayed up all night writing. I'd left our warm flat no more than twenty minutes before to venture into the cold air of early February. Apparently our son decided to wait until I was gone to roll himself over for the first time. Figures.
He'd come very close to accomplishing this feat a few weeks before, but hadn't quite gotten his weight to shift. It was then that I realized that this is what fatherhood is. You may have seen the saying that, "Motherhood means touching poo." Well, fatherhood means missing out. I was lucky enough to be there for the first time he smiled at us, but I will most likely be at work when he crawls for the first time, or at school when he says his first word, or conducting research on quantum theory when he says his first word.
Anyway, along with a severe lack of sleep, this merely added to an interesting day.

Change and Heaps of Grape Soda

For the details of Michelle's labor and delivery experience, please refer to her blog. My experience was that of sleepiness and boredom, though I was quite happy to be able to get some reading done. It was nothing like they show in the movies. Whenever Michelle wasn't peacefully napping she was laughing and carrying on as if it was any other day.
At this point I'd like to give a shout out to God for blessing us with medicine and technology to make life and all it's experiences more pleasant and pain free. Epidurals are the best. She didn't feel any pain at all, just pressure, even during the pushing part.
I'm putting a couple of photos of the offspring on my photo blog. But here's how Oliver turned out.

AutoCare is evil and is located @ 1240 South State Highway 89 91 Logan, Utah

I was hoping that I would somehow become a successful author who's stories would be read by millions, and that that would be the time to share the following true story and thereby slander the company in question. But, just in case this doesn't happen, or I die before I get the chance, I'm writing about it here so that at least two people will know.
The following is the statement I wrote as soon as I got back to my flat after the incident. Keep in mind that this was written right when I got back and so if it seems incoherent, choppy, or like a bunch of incomplete thoughts it's because I was so shaken up and angry. Plus I was freezing cold from being out in the snow with only a hooded sweatshirt. Oh yeah, and the language may be offensive but I'm not editing it.

"April 24, 2008
Statement


My brother got pulled over while riding my unregistered motorcycle. Turns out there was a “Bench Warrant” out for his arrest because he went to pay his ticket one day late and didn’t have enough money to cover the $100 late fee they imposed for the 20 hour difference. This warrant allowed the officer to search Trae, my brother. Upon this search he found some crumbs of marijuana in his pocket, at least that’s what Trae told me. So he was arrested. He asked the officer if he could just call me, the rightful owner of the bike, who lived not far from the spot, to pick up the bike. The officer said no and the bike was impounded.
After a hectic ordeal with a very rude woman at the motor vehicle department of the courthouse, we finally got it all sorted out. The bike was to be commercially towed. Trae wanted to see if we could just put it in his truck and drive it home.
We met at AutoCare, handed the release form for the bike to the lady at the desk, paid for it, and she handed me a receipt. I was about to ask about towing but she said, “It’s around back.” I said, “Just around this corner?” I wanted to make sure I had heard her correctly. “Yeah, just around the side,” she said, pointing to the north side of the building. I was relieved because, from the sound of it, they were going to let us load it ourselves, saving us about $65.
We drove around back to the corner of the lot where my bike sat, being pelted by hail-type snow. Mat Rowley came out saying that Cody or someone, wanted to talk to Trae. Trae said, “Okay, I’ll be there in a minute.” Mat went inside. Trae told me that he used to work here, until the week before when he found a better job and quit, without contacting anyone or coming in. So he thought Cody wanted to chew him out about that. We put down the tailgate and Cody comes running out, yelling and swearing. He said that we couldn’t take the bike, it had to be commercially towed. Trae yelled, “Oh, don’t do this just because you have a beef with me.” To which Cody yelled, “I have a fucking beef with you because you can’t use a fucking phone!” I tried to explain to the man that the lady at the front desk said, “Okay, it’s just around back,” implying that we could just transport it ourselves. Him and Trae yelled and swore at each other. The man yelled that it has to be commercially towed. I calmly asked him how much they would charge to tow it. He ignored me. Him and Trae continued yelling.
The man said we had to leave. I said, “We just paid to get my bike, can we just get it towed?” Trae said something and the man said to one of his employees, “Call the cops, we’ve got trespassers!” Trae and I were shocked. By this point Trae had calmed down, but the man hadn’t. Trae said they should just talk it out, but the man ran to the fence and locked the gate, locking us in. The fence had barbed wire. I said to him, not believing what I was seeing, “You’re gonna hold us prisoner? I just want to get my bike.”
By this point he had his cell phone out and was calling the police. I tried to explain to him the misunderstanding with the girl at the front desk, that I just wanted to get my bike, and that we can just get it towed, but he wasn’t really paying attention.
The police came. Trae told them the story, accurately, though he forgot to mention the fact that the lady at the front desk made it sound like we could just take the bike. So I filled the officer in on that. He gave us witness forms. We filled them out.
“What now,” Trae asked as he handed the officer the form. He told us that no charges were being filed right now. He said that the forms that we and the stack that an employee handed to the officer, (despite the fact that only 3 or so of their employees were present, it seems they filled out forms) would be read by the county prosecutor or city attorney, and that he would decide if he wants to press charges on either side.
Within less than 2 minutes we were accused of trespassing then held hostage. If we were trespassing, why would he lock the gate? The whole idea of trespassing is that the owner of the property doesn’t want people there, but instead of kicking us out they locked us in. This seems to me to represent the opposite idea of trespassing."

I distinctly remember, and apparently was too anxious to get this written and forgot to include, that, while the man and my brother were yelling back and forth I told him we just paid for the bike to be released. He said it needed to be commercially towed. I said, "Fine, how much do you charge to tow?" He ignored me and proceeded to lock the gate. In the end they made us leave and said we'd have to get the bike the next day. Since they charge something like $20 a day for holding the bike, they added this to the bill. I'd driven separately that day so my brother left and I got in my car. As I started pulling away the guy that locked us in waved me down. He informed me he had no problem with me but that my brother has a really bad temper (he came out of the building yelling and swearing at us). He said that if I wanted to have them tow it the next day he would wave the extra day's fee. Otherwise we could get another company to tow and he'd have to charge us this additional day.
I went back the next day to meet a guy from another towing company to tow the bike. I'd had enough with AutoCare and I didn't want to pay them towing fees. I wanted to sue AutoCare for what their employee had done to us, but I didn't have the money. I thought I should share my story so you know what kind of people you're dealing with when you go to this company.

I feel sick, so I'll write about how I'm excited.

In the late afternoon of yesterday I felt it was time I make my switch from summer music to that of the fall persuasion. As I selected my "Fally Fall Fall" playlist dozens of memories flooded my head with feelings from years past. Autumn, and October in particular, is one of my favorite times in the yearly calendar. I love the dark, eerie, comfortable feeling that belongs to this season of dying and decay. Plus it's one of the best months for Movie Night!

Matchbook Numbers

How do babies think? Obviously they don't think in terms of language. Life must suck for a baby. I've written about this before but I still find it interesting. Infants experience some extreme things and have no way of working it out in their minds and no historical knowledge to base these experiences on. No wonder they cry so much! They have no other options. One of my best friends, who's a bit of a musical genius, addressed this subject when he wrote a song years ago making references to a child teething, implying the confusion and strangeness of the experience from the perspective of the child who has no idea what is happening to their mouth. His band's name is Code Hero, check them out.
Anyway, Michelle suggested the possibility that they just experience pure emotion and don't really have firm cognitive thoughts. Perhaps. I think they probably do think, but I really don't know. I can't possibly go further without making this religious. I believe we were alive before life on Earth and I believe we will live after our physical bodies die. And I believe we were intelligent enough before this life to use and understand language, so maybe babies think in that language but lack the ability, and knowledge of how to use their new muscles and body, to create speech.
When I started writing this I didn't plan on leading it to this area, but here we are. I just don't know what goes on inside the minds of children. I don't remember. But I bloody well wish I could.

No one will read this.

Henry was vegging out at work the other day I he thought to myself, "Maybe it should be: Live everyday as if its your first. Then you'll be in awe of everything and want to experience more and more." To which I told him, "Henry, I think you're onto something! You're the best brain I've ever had."
I would love to say that I'll try to make this my new motto, my new paradigm, that I'll try to live everyday in wonder of its beauties and try to experience new things and appreciate all that I've already experienced, but I think we all know that I won't.

Yeah mom, we've already had dinner.

Dear old people,
I think its about time we go over some basic rules of pronunciation. I'm sick of hearing a lot of you pronouncing things wrong. The letter "h" seems to be your toughest obstacle, so lets settle some things with that. There have been so many times I've heard human said as "u-man". Another thing is the way you kids have been saying what, where, when, why, and other various words starting with w and followed by h. In these words the h is silent, or at least, as is obvious by looking at the word, follows the w. Please stop saying hwat, hwere, hwen, and hwy. Its just plain annoying.
Please correct these problems as soon as possible, thank you.
-The management

A headache, an overpriced b-day present, and a fetus.

Today a doctor did an ultrasound on Michelle. This is our healthy 12 week old parasite.

UpD8

I'm putting up some pictures and whatnot on another blog. And here's the address:
http://picsfromatron.blogspot.com/

A dreary day along the border of some far off country a woman sells eggs and razors to a large Sumo wrestler.

I noticed on a box of spray adhesive today: Addison, Illinois 60101. I wonder what it's like there. Where is it? Is the production of Spray Adhesive the main export from this spot on the map? Is it big enough to have a spot on th map? It's not so interesting to think that i will probably never see Addison, Illinois or millions of other places around the globe. I've trapped myself in my own little world by making attachments with friends, family, my job, school, getting myself caught up in the idea that life has a specific road that must be traveled in order to live a successful and happy life. I just finished reading On the Road by Jack Keroac, and by reading I of course mean that i was listening to it as I've recently discovered the convenience of audiobooks. On the Road gave me an itch for traveling, though I'll never do what Paradise did, and made me realize how much there is to see in this world. I suppose, in a way, I've seen a lot of this world through stories. That's one reason I like books and movies and the like. I mean just in the past 2 months I've visited Paris, watched the running of the bulls in Spain, taken multiple trips across the U.S. then down into Mexico. I've tramped through the middle east and visited worlds that exist only in the minds of readers who care to see Cairhien, Andor, Tar Valon, Illian, and everywhere in between. And this is only from the literature side of things. Were I to include the movies I've seen lately the list would be far longer.
Thus I've concluded that I'm content to visit these places without the complications and discomforts that come with traveling the world, but instead from the comfort of a couch and my mind.

Beautiful scenery and good times

This is revenge.

A cold balcony at the Quality Inn.

I recently realized that there are several things I will never experience in life. For example I will never give birth. I will never know what it feels like to murder someone. I will never know the rush of ecstasy that comes from pushing a syringe into my vein and injecting heroine into it. I will never know what it feels like to sleep in outer space, being completely weightless. I know I won't experience some of these things due to conscious choices I make but the fact remains that I will be deprived (and in some instances: deprive myself) of certain experiences. I just thought it was interesting.

Turn Left at the Painted Indian Face

I'm currently sitting, alone, at a table in a hotel room checking my email and listening to a large group of girls celebrate their friends' last night of virginity and...singleness. In addition to the fact that it's freezing cold in this room, despite the heater that's raging in a hopeless attempt to warm these quarters, I'm typing with cut fingers that refuse to heal. I've hardly slept in the past few days, though I shouldn't complain seeing as Michelle slept for only an hour last night.
I have little reason to write tonight. I suppose I simply feel the need to update anyone who might find their way onto this site.
There's an inevitable longing for summer that comes to those who choose to live in places with extremely harsh and dreary winters. Every winter, without fail, I get sick of the ugly scenery, the frigid temperatures, the unforgiving lack of sunlight, the depression of winter. Luckily I work a job that requires a minimal amount of thought, so I have plenty of time to daydream about warmer weather and all it entails. Only a couple more months of this hell before we've earned another few months of heaven.