On a good day, it's surprising that I don't have more callouses on my feet from dragging them so much. Took me forever to get my black belt, I'm still working on finishing my college degree, I was 40 when I finally decided to get married. So of course I waited until I'm approaching my mid-40's to have our first kid. And I want to tell you about it. Interested?
Editor's note: At the bottom of the article is the final tally of my personal 30-day fitness/activity challenge. I know I said I'd work-out every day, but to clarify for any folks who cry foul on the three days that I *missed* prior to my birthday on 12/25 was due to a respiratory infection/cold where I couldn't get a full breath and needed to call in sick to work. I was bedridden. And it suuuuucked. Otherwise, I managed to get in a least one hour of physical exercise daily, as promised. Even if it was Truffle Shuffling in front of the TV.
What did I learn/What changed? From the minute clinic visit, I learned that I still have high blood pressure. (And the doc was WILDLY excited to prescribe me meds for it.) I probably only lost 5 lbs. My clothes aren't looser. I still have a jowl-covering beard. I'm really quick to want to skip a walk when the weather gets cold. (Like last year, for the 55 full days it was below zero) I'm really tired (a lot. You try walking, running, then karate-ing all in one day. It's exhausting to commit to something like this without a rest day.), and the worst- I learned what my weight was after not having set foot on a scale in 2 years. Ugh.
Still?
I learned that I eat too much. If you're working out, a lot, and your weight doesn't go down then you need to observe other possible problem areas. Mine, in a word, was food. I love the shit out of food. And until I stood on the scale at the gym, I had no idea that the fuel I was taking in miiiight've been too much to process usefully. So, I learned portion control. (AJ is right- cutting a veggie burger in half and boxing it right away is dead useful versus scarfing the thing because it's in front of your face and you wanna stay a good member of the CPC.) Indian foods? The two close-by buffet that let you load up a Styrofoam box to bring back to work (and then eat the whole f#cking thing.) Going back for 2nds and (ok) 3rds? Not ok.
Also? Being goal-centric isn't too wildly difficult if you put it in a public context and create stakes. Basically I gave myself a doctor's "come to Jesus" moment versus getting that from a doctor after a diagnosis. One hour a day to move. Getting up from my desk to go for a scheduled walk instead of slouching in my chair over Facebook? I don't look forward to bundling up, but even I noticed that I'm a grand justifier/excuse-maker...so I started bringing extra layers. 2.5 to 3 miles walked every day. Boom.
And walking? Even briskly? Is a great way to mumble out my thoughts and get some simple exercise in during the day. A good way to have some QT with my girl. And it keeps me going outside and keeping my legs "road ready" during the Winter. I can tell you that I didn't run outdoors last year for almost 3 months. Now we're nearing January and I'm hoping to still be hoofing outside.
Lastly? The changes may be imperceptible, but I notice some of them more than others. My pants aren't really "loose", but at least I don't have the mild muffin-top I did before. I'm not as tired *during* my work day or needing to power through with a carafe of coffee. I learned that I could barely do half the pull-ups I used to be able to do (unassisted) and have started being able to get my carcass off the ground. More over? Getting ready to finish up some curriculum over the next 3 months as I head toward my black belt.
Portions. Keeping at it (daily) into the new year. Get enough sleep. I'm starting the Fast Diet twice a week in January. I promised my girl I wanted 3 months to see if I could get my weight down, which (I believe) will help take the stress off my heart. I have 2 months before I'm due in LV and CA for a vacation where I'll be schlepping in salt water topless. After that, it's just keeping at it. I think that's doable. I think that I'd like to have my insides be as healthy as my brain wants my outside to look. ("Hey! I bet he looks pretty good naked AND has lower blood pressure")
I think this is worth giving my new, 40-year-old body a high five.
(Not pictured: November 24th through 30th. Also, "Indoor" means "Karate" in Mapmyrun speak.)
It's less easy than I anticipated, but easier when I just tell myself to go for a walk instead of flopping down for a nap or internetting or Netflixing. Less easier still is dropping my portion sizes to something more "normal" and less "Jabba no portion". Also, there've been plenty of opportunities- being the holidays and all- to snarf wine...(sigh)
Still, I've managed to avoid most meat except a Christmas Party (which I regretted, deeply) and some seafood at a double date. That, and lunches have been a boring affair the last week or so- but I've stayed away from fast food/Chindian buffets and increased my strength training workout durations considerably. Dorajar gave me a tip on the "Fast Diet" which Ranch and I will be starting...more than likely after the New Year.
The biggest set back, so far, is that I deigned to weigh myself in my exercising hubris last week. It was...alarming. And I'll maintain my open and honest stance here and say it was one of those things that ratcheted my self-esteem down plenty. I'm just saying, if you're coming to my birthday party- a kind word or two goes a long way with me.
(Editor's note: Today's blog is going to be a little more introspective than most with some sensitive and honest material. If any of my five readers make it past the editor's note, I'd be surprised. If anyone takes something away from this, just remember that time is pretty precious and to love like you're emptying a pitcher into a shotglass. For the rest of you, enjoy the gifs.)
Guess what, true believers?
It's my BLOG-A-VERSARY!!!
That's right, kids. Just about TEN YEARS and a month ago, I started this little blaug as a way of following the trials and tribulations of home ownership. From there, it evolved to cover all sorts of rando material- memes, vacations, workouts, dinners (including a forgotten food blog), current events, and has been basically a brain dump for whatever casual observances I actually had the wherewithal to write down. That and what I could get away with while I was at the office during the day.
I should also mention that this also marks a very special upcoming birthday for yours truly- Lordy Lordy, on the 25th of December this frassy X-Mas baby turns 40.
I'm also grateful that I made it this far...a virgin. You're welcome, Mom.
Welp...I'm still in the house, 10 years later. There are still trials and tribulations, naturally. And rather than freak out about them, I take them in stride. (Or at the very least ignoring them until the last minute.) I've been re-financing, scheduled a bathroom remodel, and hosted 2 families for Thanksgiving. My newest roommate is also my partner of 2 years, and she and I are heading in the direction that most loving couples who co-habit venture...finding paint colors and duvet covers to agree on...ring shopping...yeah, you heard me. I'm gonna be forty. It's time to put away the baggy hand-me-down jeans and cartoon t-shirts that have been my jam for the last 40 years, stop being a flirty-scoundrel-petunia, fart jokes, and making off-color comments about swinging threesomes with open minded girlfriends to become mature and bonafide.
'Well, um, actually a pretty nice little Saturday, we're going to Home Depot... Maybe Bed, Bath, & Beyond, I don't know, I don't know if we'll have enough time”.
And here you'll all say collectively "Riggggggggght. You'll be out combing the high school's for dates well into your 70's you old perv."
I have yet to find that terrible book my dad got in his 40's that was a cartoon guide to being a guy in your forties, with one of the caveats being that you may find yourself ogling teenage female cashiers when at the grocer...which is fuuuuuucked up. The only attention I really want at Cub is when a cashier finds coupons for stuff I'm buying. All right all right all riiiiight for discounts!
Ten years...man. There are other tribulations are what's been weighing heavy on my mind, of late. (Not just the fuckery in Ferguson or a "wrestling" choke hold being a justifiable way to incapacitate an unarmed man who is asphyxiating in NYC. I keep that kind of vitriol to my LJ, thanks.) I'm talking about shit like.. 10 years has seen my fair share of financial despair. I've lost a long term job, underwent the pathos of job searching, the death of my father- which still stirs occasional heartache FYI... the end of relationships, end of friendships, the death of two uncles, and the MOST recent- my mom's last cancer diagnosis and the RECENT diagnosis which has sent our remaining family into a difficult-to-right tailspin. (I won't elaborate about it here. To paraphrase Moloch from "The Watchmen" talking to Rorschach: "You know the kind of cancer that gets better? That ain't the kind of cancer she has". In the interest of sharing, we did end up getting some great news recently on the chemo treatment front, so I'd prefer to keep things on the upbeat. Also? If I despair? Back to kvetching and ugly-cry-writing on LiveJournal.)
Yeeeeeeah. Look, I don't put stock in 40 being a malignant signpost of aging. The stipulation people have put on aging has been dynamic and malleable over the last...uh...40 years or so. So that's not what I'm here to talk about. See...in the last ten years there's been some personal health frass. Let me explain-
So you know...I frass about health and wellness and exercise and chubs and moobs and blah blah blah...starting this off, and for a long spell my life has had that as an identifier. Dysmorphia and all that. I ran, lifted, watched what I ate, crunched, planked, and karate-d my way through my day to day. For the most part, and without actually being a personal trainer, I was pretty good at it. Back when, I was good enough to help folks focus on fitness. I would say I was mostly-to-partly disciplined. Later on, it was brought to my attention that my frassin' about working out, my fat ass, etc was a little obnoxious. And really, nobody likes to listen to the guy who's doing all the working out bitch about their own body and figuring that the dysmorphia was mine to own, I cut it out.
Seriously. Sure there were a few outbursts, but just like when I would post my runs on Facebook I was oblivious to it until it was pointed out to me. I figured I was getting a little more self-aware as I "matured" (snerk), and could afford to self-censor. Like people that run the Tough Mudder, people who are in Crossfit, eat Paleo, or any other health fad- the more you hear about it, the more you just don't want to hear about it.
Sorry friends. It was what I knew, ...y'know? Just...frequently unsolicited.
Coincidentally, when I stopped frassin' about it all the time (About 6 years ago) I had to retire my normal jean size that I'd been wearing...like, forever. I started foraging thrift stores for my current size and just shrugged. Sure, I'd still work out and stuff. I still believed that it was just that I wasn't working hard enough or eating right. I skipped getting massages because I didn't want to lay down on the bed like a beached whale, whatever that meant. So I'm a little soft. I can run a couple more days and be fine. And then I had to see the doctor. And shit sort of got real. At age 34.
I had an abscess. In a very tender place. That doctor visit gave birth to a physical which told me some not great news. I was 25 lbs heavier than I was in 2004. I had high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and I had to go back for repeated blood draws for elevated triglycerides. (They told me it could be cancer, diabetes, etc. They just didn't know. I'd find out later what it was.)
I started unbuttoning my top pants button at work (I'm being honest, here.) Eventually I lost my job (NOT due to my weight, thank you) and instead being poor of getting lean in the Dickensensian sense, I got larger. And I noticed. A few friends who lacked filters commented on my growth and out of shapedness. My family and loved ones were always supportive and didn't really care. Then my dad died. I started getting mega stressed. I'd start sweating with any little piece of effort. My breathing was occasionally labored. And I still had my brain convinced that I was in high school and just needed to jog a little more. Fuck yeah.
I'm going to further confess that when my girlfriend started training to run her first half-marathon, I had sugarplum dreams of getting lean again, and maybe some definition. After all, I still ate low-fat and fat-free foods! Most of my diet was vegetarian! I was running! A lot! Many Miles! My brain said that I was an athlete and fuck...YEAH! FITNESS!
I posted this before, but it bears repeating: There is no runners high. This is a man who is out of touch with what it means to run a race and is dangerously close to vomiting on his New Balance. And having bloody nipples. Check out the tummy overhang.
Oh. I figured it out eventually. The missing component. The piece that said "You are hamstringing your own efforts!" I probably should have figured it out sooner, or at least stopped ignoring it. I mean, it was only a couple of times co-workers smelled my boozy previous night's happy hour emanating from my body. Or suffering insomnia and doing a couple of shots to knock myself back out at 3am. Or shotgunning a beer before running a 10K. Or not being able to hold down food and throwing it up over lunch. Or going up on lines during shows, not passing licensing tests because I was nursing my 3rd vodka tonic while I studied, or having a cocktail or 2 before going to meet friends for happy hour or a party or seeing a play. ("You drank BEFORE you went to happy hour?" Well duh. You're drinkin' anyway.)
Or the time- and this is funny- my mom saw it in my glassy, piggy, bloodshot eyes. Yeah. The boozin' was starting to steamroll. And I was a creature of habit. And if it wasn't for my body starting to rebel (see aforementioned vomiting and runny stool), I'd probably be a little on the dead side. Or cirrhotic. Or drinking sterno.
Anyway. Point is, I found the trigger and changed it. (Hooray for me, guys. 4 years and I've been avoiding hard liquor like it's a speed trap. The shitty thing is that even beer and bubbles upset the old tum-tum, but whatever.) And hey! Within the last year or so I've made a conscious decision to make getting my black belt a priority. When mom's first cancer diag came about, I cut out soda with aspartame. Then- worrying about seeing friends fighting their own battles with cancer decided that fat-free/diet anything was probably a bad call with all the chemicals in shit. However-Two bad winters in, and my own level of activity petered out but good. Netflix and Roku and binge watching TV became my new friends. I resumed eating more meat (I NEED IT TO REPLENISH MY BODY!) and forgetting to portion. And then I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror during my uncle's funeral and I was like "Fuuuuuck..." as only the be-jowl-d says when they see love handles. Over their "fat pants".
And then another doctor visit had the same shit. High blood pressure, high cholesterol, and the one note that I hated: "Try and lose weight". What happened to me? What the natural fuck happened to me. It was like, my manic energy at hating myself fueled my discipline? I have to be mentally unhealthy to stay healthy healthy? I started re-finding excuses to "not" do things. An injury during sparring meant I was out of karate for 2-3 months and negated my original momentum. So did getting theater gigs ("No time, no time!") and, to my shame? So did mom's last diagnosis. She needed me to cook for her. To help clean. Who has time to run when you've people counting on you?
And then...after 10 years of ups, downs, drunk episodes, diets etc. a couple of things happened in short order. 1st, I started reading a book* that was both motivating and eye-opening in a way that "Born to Run" had been when I needed a boost to start running "right" a few years prior. Then, I noticed that my vintage scary mortician tuxedo I wear during my scary Halloween tours? With the adjustable waist? I couldn't fasten them. On top of *all* that?
A few friends and acquaintances of mine passed away in fairly short order. Due to bad habits...from a heart attack after an accident...and from battle with cancer. Fucking cancer. Guys who were all around my age. A local woman's blog about her love story (with inoperable brain cancer) to her husband came to an end with his recent passing.
Suddenly I had started to notice that my breathing was also getting labored after a big meal. I had a tingling in my fingers. I couldn't stretch or run distances. I had returned to the land of the great out of shape. Moreover, I needed to acknowledge that I am/can be/could be a candidate. For heart disease. (Dad/Uncle) MS. (Uncle) Cancer (Uncle/Mother/Grandparents). Dad was 46 when he first went in for his angioplasty. My brother had a couple of pre-cancerous spots removed. Leave it to mom to remind me that tingling fingers could be indicative of MS. Suddenly my brain went and short circuited. Cancer's unpredictable fuckery notwithstanding, I spent part of my 20's fake baking. I didn't use sunblock all the time. What if that one last strong cocktail made me cirrhotic? What if I have arterial blockage? The cyst in my arm or chest is cancerous? Have I pooped too much and is that dark brown? Does that mean blood or just that I had a beet salad? Those moles look weird. Fuck fuck FUCK!
For the record, no. I don't check WebMD. Ain't nobody got time for that.
Ok. Still reading? Here's where the accountability comes into play. I've been playing this game with myself now for the last 10 years. It's not yo-yo dieting, it's a yo-yo, convoluted, delusional mindset. A greater sense of healthy well-being than I actually can cop to if put on the stand. A better martial artist than I am because my form is better than a few people at my school. Better shape because I'm not concave-chested or pot-bellied. Because I ran that one time. (C'mon. I haven't run a race since April.) I've been coasting by saying "I don't eat sweets/desserts" and I eat a plant-based diet without giving a thought to portion sizes/restraint. To snacking on cheese a lot. To snarfing a couple of glasses of wine nightly. I'm fessing up here. And it doesn't feel good. It feels like I've been cheating myself. Because the only singularity entering my 4th decade that I can bank on is that I can control my environmental factors only in relation to my own health and wellness. After that, I'm pretty much fucked. But until then, I know I can control how good I feel about myself. Dig? I'm not beating myself up here, so just listen another sec-
So here's what I'm gonna do, and just so you think I'm not this voice in the ether making it up I can promise you that...I started 8 days ago...(Get it? I just monologue and my evil plan is ALREADY IN MOTION!)
30 days before my fortieth birthday, I promise that I will:
1) Abstain from alcohol up to, and possibly beyond my 40th year.
2) I will not beat myself up if I cheat on number 1 now and then. (Quitting for 60 days earlier this year? Felt pretty good, but it didn't result in the magic weight loss I thought it would. Go figure, you need to exercise more- even if it's 20 below every day)
3) I will commit to an hour of exercise every single day up to and possibly beyond my fortieth year. Even if it means I'm only walking for an hour. (My girl and I have already found our zen in bundling up on Sunday and going for a brisk stroll around the neighborhood.)
4) I will not miss a day. There will be no "Skip today and do two hours tomorrow".
5) I will find ways to be active at work. (About 2 months ago, I started going for 3 walks a day over my breaks and lunches. When the weather was nice, I even got up to 3 miles mapped out. With snow piles and ice, I'm down to 1.5 miles walking per day- but it beats sitting on my ass for 8.5 hours. I have become a work power walker. If you read that book? You'll see why you can't just stand and stretch once an hour. You gotta MOVE.)
6) I will get my black belt by 2015.
7) I will maintain a plant based diet to the best of my abilities up to and beyond my 40th year. (Exceptions being Thanksgiving, duh and other special occasions)
8) I will control my portions and enjoy my food. When I'm done eating, I'm done. Even if my plate is still full.
9) I will remain cognizant of my breathing and continue to breathe fully.
10)I will find a way to see my close female friends topless by the end of Summer 2015.
11) If you made it this far, you know that number ten is a joke. Mom.
12) I'll make good on seeing my doctor, being proactive about my health, and making sure I get the most out of their service.
13) I'll not make unrealistic expectations about my body, shape, and continue doing all of this for my heart and my brain.
14) I'll try and keep a good attitude about all of this, not mire people with my bullshit list, and do my best to ingrain this into my daily life. Daily.
The best thing I think I can brag about is that I do drink a lot of water on the daily. I think that helps keep things flushed. The next most important thing is that as long as I'm ambulatory under my own power, I need to keep my body moving. Moving means blood flow, increased capacity to oxygenate, and that- that in my weird framing means that my blood won't sludge and my body won't atrophy. I think this is a good thing. I want to enter my 40's strong, and there's a strong case these days that our bodies are hitting their stride by the time we get to them. I have a niece and nephew who I want to see graduate and have front row seats to their wedding. I have a girlfriend who wants to be a wife and have me around for a long time. I want to live long enough to see the Eiffel Tower and have a doofy photo taken next to that Tower in Pisa. I have a libido that'd like to keep doing the hunka-chunka without the need for a pill. (And a heart, and blood pressure, etc etc.)
I think this is going to be a good thing. It's been kind of hard so far, I won't lie. I really like napping, drinking merlot, and watching my stories with the cat. But I hope I can make good on it for the rest of my life. And not worry about looking like this unpopular douchebag.
I know I've used him before...but: "Pictured- a man who has nothing better to do with his days off outside of trying to add extra vascularity to his body"
*It's a seriously good read. I thought "Living Biblically" was fun and recommended. In "Drop Dead Healthy" I started to re-learn all sorts of crap that set the fire under my ass to get outside and move as often as I can. Sedentary living, if I may lecture a second, is one of the biggest health issues facing Americans today.
(Editor's note: This will contain your annually scheduled Minnesota Cold Weather/Winter kvetching that you may have come to know and love from myself and any other able bodied and vocal MN resident. I will do my best to reduce the number of "Game of Thrones" references, because originality...)
A few Sunday (Sundaes?) back, November 9th in fact, I was desperately raking the immense annual backyard dump-z-palooza of leaves from my oversized box elder tree into the evening dark. This, of course, was due to the weather reports threatening snowfall beginning the next morning. I had ran out of recyclable bags, so I was doing the terrible Minnesotan thing of pushing the massive pile behind the garage on the mulch with the rest piled over the garden bed. I actually had the wherewithal to cover the wood stack in the fire pit with a tarp, just in case a nice fire would ease the chill of Winter...in other news, I felt more or less ready.
Then, in 10 short hours I was up at the crack of dawn shoveling my walk. 8 hours after that? More shoveling. The next morning? More shoveling and a little salt. And then? The temperatures starting hitting unseasonable lows in the single digits. So far I've invested in 160 lbs of sidewalk salt and needed to ice/heat a neck/shoulders/lower-back that have yet to forgive me for this shitty onslaught of weighted push-pull manual labor.
...Huh. I seem to remember all of this happening much...much...later. Except for last year. And the year before that...and, and, and...
A couple of things started swirling and jumbling in my noggin and have jockeyed for a position in my brain space simultaneously so that I've been trying to calm myself with deep breathing and try and recognize them all individually, BUT...ADHD is making it hard to articulate.
So...here are: The facts
-The 2 brutal, back-to-back Winter's are stimulating a cringing "flight" response in my body this year due to the fact that we just finished a "below-average temperature" November. A physical flinch. Both coming off the heels of the unseasonable (and lovely) 2011-2012 Winter, (Which, to be fair, wasn't *so* bad after the Snowpocolypse in December 2010 into 2011.) The first- snowy to the point we thought it'd never end and last year's record-breaking sub-zero cold temps that meant we were below zero for nearly two straight months. Even though my blogging is, shall we say "thin"...I managed to blog about it at least twice here and here.
-2013-2014 has seen an unusually high exodus in my friend-base toward the West Coast, with 2015 seeing a few more buddies making the trek.* As we're all in film/theater/comedy etc it may seem like a no-brainer that folks head to LA-LA land to invest themselves in the business where it's hottest. I'm starting to wonder if self-preservation wasn't a large part of their decision either.
-My PERSONAL druthers when asked about a United States region that represents my spirit tends to lean toward my beloved Southwest (est. 1992), I will also confess a spiritual menage' a trois with my love of crashing surf, salt air, and the dream-inducing quality the Southern California coastline inspires within me. (est. 1992 as well.)
-I used to say that I hit my "wall" with Winter on approximately February 18th. I thought I had the date down to a science, as the heart-swelling feeling of goodwill and cheer the holiday/birthday season can carry me through the new year and Valentine's day, and my resolve screeches to a stop when the manic and dark month of February typically exposes us to our first *real* taste of consistent sub-zero temperatures. The kind of deep freezing temps in Minnesota that only snowmobile enthusiasts and ice-fisherpeople seem to enjoy with any real zeal.
-I say typically...as last year the angry, bitter cold held the kind of grip on my body and soul like a rogue shark pulling you hopelessly from side to side before dragging you down.
-We (here in the Cities) just experienced our first "pure" (non-wind chill) below zero evening last night...December 1st.
-I've been giving serious pause to asking my boss about the logistics of moving to Las Vegas in order to be closer to our corporate office and renting my recently re-financed house out.***
These are the words I ponder...listen to my voice.
My ladyfriend has moved in with me. Not having to brave two cities for canoodling this Winter could make it better. I've a land mark birthday coming up. As I'm not one to linger on the number, I'm hoping it results in a wealth of buddy-time on Christmas to fill my heart up until it slops over like an overflowing barrel on a ship deck during a storm. And most importantly- a majority of the weather people, Weather.gov, (certain) Farmer's Almanac reports, and friends who have an interest in meteorology agree- it's not gonna "Polar Vortex" our asses again.**** That's why it's called a "30-Year-Storm". That's why it hasn't been that bad since 1983, 1991, or 1995, 2010 respectively*****.
I'm hoping I can break down the wall. I am. I hate eating my own words, and I hate the idea of despair this early in the season. Hiiiiyahhhh!
*At least I'll have a place to crash, right? And buddies to visit? Buddies who seem to miss their Midwest frassers? That's my hope anyway.
**When visiting a friend in Las Vegas who was also performing 8 x's a week in one of the Strip's popular musicals, I remember asking if he missed all of the diverse theatrical opportunities in the Twin Cities to work on a pretty vanilla (albeit popular) piece of theater fluff. As these kind of responses are wont to do, it stuck with me: "What I miss is having independent coffee shops every few blocks and not just Starbucks and Caribou. What I don't miss is waking up to my knees and hips aching and having to periodically shovel my walk 6 months out of the year." #thisisforty
***I'm not. No. Even if I wasn't invested, I've a sick mother and a partner and home I love. Since this article would indicate I'm accustomed to eating my own words from time to time, don't be surprised if I do something shocking and uncharacteristic for this friendly neighborhood frasser.
****I recently learned that there is always a looming "Polar Vortex" in the Arctic Regions, and last year's stabbing into North America was just a one-off. They usually hang around Greenland. And as always, the good folks at Cracked say it better than I ever could.
*****These were the last couple of really, really shitty Winters that took place in my lifetime. And if it's one thing Minnesotan's love to do is recall shitty Winters like they were from Westeros. (1982-83 was one of 2 snow days I ever had from Kindergarten through college due to cold. And mom and dad still didn't get the memo and had me walk to school only to see that the doors were locked. 1991 was the "Halloween Blizzard" that nobody can shut up about, 1995-96 had another spate of sub-zero temps which- to this day -causes me to feel the need to start my car in the middle of the night if the weather report says it's going to get into double-digits below zero...and 2010-11 was the mighty snowpocolypse which caused your hero to wade through waist-deep snow in the middle of the street to make it to the LQ for wiiiiine.)
(Editor's note. In the merry month of October, my casual reader's probably are aware that I fill my queue with horror films in the spirit of the season. My own way of being Halloween's version of KOOL 108 playing X-mas music ad nauseum starting after Thanksgiving. Time constraints are keeping me from enjoying the lion share of new horror that I like to watch- in addition to my girlfriend *not* being so into the macabre aspects versus the more "pumpkins and smiling scarecrow and Fall leaves" version of the season. So I try to be respectful. That said... In trying to make a list of social media recommendations in order to find some new scares on the tube, I started with Hammer Horror's "The Vampire Lover's"- one that only employed Peter Cushing (Christopher Lee was probably busy recording his metal album) and a bevvy of the staple of curvy, nubile women that Hammer studios was known for using in their movies. (See Miss Pitt below.) Anyway, it's terrible. And when Rach logged in to watch her umpteenth re-run of "Queer Eye for the Straight guy", she yells "Oh my GOD! You ARE watching vampire lesbian p0rn!!!" This, in turn, was what prompted me to try and explain Hammer Horror movies- the entire Gothic cannon of horror- in a nutshell as she looked at me half amusingly and half accusatorily. It wasn't so much of a Cliff Notes version, as it was more like a auctioneer since my explanations can be rambly and I know that I'd lose her attention after the 1st sentence. It's about love, really.
So it's Gothic horror, right? And there are dark castle's, and burning wall torches, and (clipped terrible Peter Cushing voice) "The air is filled with MENACE...yes yes yes MENACE" and then a woman says "General? Can my comely daughter stay vith you? Ze way home iz long, and ve need to travel qvickly. Ve know she will be safe here." And then you see Ingrid Pitt who you KNOW is bad news because she's all...(sucks in cheeks and stares) you know? And wearing a red cape and choker and the general's daughter SCREAMS at night after seeing SOMETHING and Ingrid Pitt comes in and is all like "I vill tek care uff you. You haff nuzzing to fear" and the general's daughter is all like "Yes yes. You are wonderful and my very best friend. Please keep me company" and Ingrid Pitt is all taking off her robe and still wearing her red choker and bare-ass and some guy is outside on a horse who is totally a vampire because he's staring up and laughing with pointy teeth and like naked Ingrid Pitt lies with her head on the other girls heaving bosom and she, you know, chomp chomp...
And the next day she's sick and stuff and they're all "give her some steak, she'll be fine" and the daughter suddenly dies and the doctor's all like "bring me my stethoscope" and they undo the DAUGHTER's top and it's like (BRAAAAAM BRAAAMMM VIOLIN MUSIC AND HORNS) PUNCTURE WOUNDS ON HER TA-TA'S!!! and they're all confused "What could have done this? Harrumph? We must investigate the MENACE! MENACE KILLED HER!! WE'RE GOING TO FIND THE SOURCE OF THE (BRAAAAAM BRAAAAMM VIOLIN) MENACE YES YES HARRUMPH QUITE QUITE GET SOME TEA!"
And so...yeah. There are a few neck and titty bites, but it's mostly bloodless and they were trying to set themselves apart from the Universal horror 30 some years prior so they did it with some hotties and (usually) tall handsome Christopher Lee or Oliver Reed (notices her confusion) and you saw the one with Daniel Radcliffe? Harry Potter's Horror movie?* Yeah. That was Hammer making a comeback and...
Why are you laughing? So you don't want to fold laundry and watch the rest of it?
*"The Woman In Black"
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
The weirdest coincidences always happen to me. I get on weird, quote-y kicks like some people get songs stuck in their heads. (That happens too.) This last week or so I've been paraphrasing the fuck out of "The Birdcage".
"Men smear"
"YEAH, Smeeeeear".
Not the more famous "I pierced the toast". Naturally.
Now, *my* friends can do the call and response where I say the first bit and they follow with the "Smeeeear". It's what nerdy kids do. I've had to explain it to my girlfriend a couple of times before sending her the link to the scene, which was finally the "Aha" moment as to what the hell I was talking about when I'd be buttering an English Muffin and muttering under my breath: "Yeaaaah, smeeear." This has been my weirdness the last two weeks.
And then I read that Robin Williams is dead.
This is one of those weird times when I'm really, really upset about a celebrity passing. For me (personally) it was about my identity as a kid. Because even though I watched a lot of movies and TV, and "Mork" was part of that line-up...I had a part of my brain that knew cartoons about flying Spider-Men, lightsabers weren't real, perfect nuclear families in the 50's all were make-believe? There was something like kinship for the fake-alien who ran around and stood on his head and made weird noises. Who did impressions to make his friend smile. Who went to a dark room to talk to "Orson", when (in my kidbrain) I thought he was probably just having make-believe conversations with himself to figure things out.
I mean, I did that sometimes. As...a kid. Yeah.
I ran around and drove my family crazy. Parents and teachers would make comments (some good some bad) about my "energy". How I had fun doing "voices". (Seriously. It was on an early pre-school report card) My friends all thought I was "weird". But during that half hour, I'd play with an old L'Eggs pantyhose egg and a "Starbuck" action figure that my mom let me paint to look like Mork and I'd watch the show and feel like there was someone kind of like me. Before I knew what that even meant.
So as I got older and you start watching his movies and stand-up (and quoting both), you appreciate how their comedy comes across and (for me) how I identified with his patter. And I laughed a lot. Eventually you learn more about their personal life- their struggle with addiction. You get interested in theater which is your weirdness outlet and how THEY started in theater and you start to learn about their "process", and there was more and more I could identify with: "Throwing hundreds of jokes out there and only a couple stick, but you have to keep throwing them out there and trying". "I tend to be more serious during comedies and during serious dramas ('One Hour Photo' and 'The Fisher King') I'm usually riffing to the crew in between takes."
And the guy went to Julliard?
And he was bff's with Superman?
And (when interviewed about taking an extremely small role in "Dead Again"- at a time when ostensibly he was one of the HUGEST marquee stars in America) about the time he said it's important to find interesting characters and not limit yourself.
Where was I? Riffing? Rambling? Typical.
When *I* get the opportunity to film/commercial work, I like having the crew as my audience. I talk with the guys between takes. Not flying off to ignore them because I'm more important. If there's supposed to be a scene where I need to riff/wax tangential it feels cathartic...like a dam bursting. And if the crew is laughing you're probably doing something right. At the very least, maybe they want you back.
I just wish I was better at writing all that stuff down.
I didn't have posters of Mork or Aladdin up on my wall like some kids idolize favorite player/sportsball team. I just had a handful of comedians and actors who I'd try and copy when I was a little kid. (To my parents/coaches occasional chagrin. There's only so many ways you can try and tell a 12-year-old Mikey that the very "blue" Buddy Hackett "wax job" routine isn't one you should repeat to Gramma Rose.) And later on when you start doing it seriously, you remember pieces here and there that you pick up from guys like Mr. Williams. In spite of not being what a lot of people might consider a hero (his charity work with Comic Relief and post 9/11 volunteering as two examples notwithstanding.), at the very least the light and laughter he provided will be deeply, deeply missed.
And I'm very upset. Because when you feel this weird sense of isolation because people look at you like you're weird and talk too much and say things that don't make sense to them. Because you have so much rambling through your brain that you would spin in circles until you fell over hoping the words would come out. Or you'd stand on your head. Or jump up and down. Or do impressions. Or write your feelings. Or fall in love because there's nothing better than hearing your partner laugh at something you've said, or having them love you in spite of all the weirdness.
I think if you've read this, or know me, then you probably get where I'm coming from. For my part, I'm going to keep riffing. And try and keep some of that light spread out in the world.
Editor's Note for the uninitiated: Since my actual birthday is on Christmas when everyone is usually celebrating with their families, when I was a kid my mom and dad enacted the half-birthday party which took place in June when school was out. (Giving me the opportunity to have a party with my friends.) Next to the family road-trip or visiting Gramma and Grampa in Iowa, this was the highlight of my Summer. While I had a McDonald's birthday, frequent trips to Elm Creek Park Beach (THE ZIPLINE OF DOOM!), there was one particular birthday that showcased my mom/family's particular brand of creativity. Here at the half-way point to the big 4-0, my embarrassment for your amusement. Enjoy:
During the Summer of 1980, we were enjoying our new home in a quiet cul-de-sac in good ol' BP. We hadn't really made a lot of neighborhood friends yet, so when my half-birthday rolled around on June 25th we imported a few buddies from our old stomping ground to come over and celebrate. (This was conveniently only 3-4 blocks away and across 69th, in case you were feeling sympathetic.)
Mom had this great birthday party game she was able to pull from one of those "Do-It-Yourself" kids party guides she acquired at the Library. And to tell you the truth, it was pretty cool: The idea was that it was a tactile scavenger hunt/adventure you could host throughout your house. The adult/parent would have all the kids be blindfolded, then they would all hold hands and walk on a pre-determined route while the adult provided "spooky" commentary. Kids walk across a sheet in the basement that's been covered in Corn Flakes? "We're in a cave! Watch out for the bat eggs!" Hang a bunch of wet yarn from the ceiling? "Be careful of the spider webs!" Have the kids dig around for prizes in a bowl full of peeled grapes? "Can you find it in the bowl of EYEBALLS?!?!?"
Right. A little hinky. But fun. And creative if you're on a budget. You're welcome, parents.
MY favorite bit was when we meandered into the back yard and were made to tromp through the little kiddie wading pool ("We're in the jungle and need to cross the river! Watch out for pirahna!"), so when the charade was all said and done, I really really wanted to go swimming. (My mom reminds me that I had significant issues with water, which is to say there wasn't a body of water that I didn't want to go swimming in. While kiddie pools aren't a big deal, she still spent a great deal of time chasing me down so I didn't go running into the Gulf of Mexico fully clothed, or leaping off into a drop-off area. You get the point.)
I whined (probably) and my mom finally relented, although she told me that we'd be having cake soon and if I was going to come back in the house "you need to take off your wet clothes so you don't go tracking the water in." With those instructions in mind, I went back out to the little pool and splooshed. A little while later, she yelled out the window that she was cutting the cake so I high-tailed it back inside, careful to remember the instructions she gave me. No. Wet. Clothes. In. The. House. Annnnnnnd scene:
This would explain my naked cake-eating kink in my later years.
So...in my youth I collected funny books. I've probably written about it before. I was small-change, of course. We had a drawer of comics at the cabin to keep us occupied, and there were a few compilations we had at home (mostly Spider-Man) but my thing was always cartoons. Because we had some fucking stellar Saturday Morning cartoons in the 70's and 80's. I digress.
Having some new (meaning- recently transferred in the 5th grade) friends who were in to comics put me on the path to nerd glory. It would have been around when my "Doctor Who" jones was waning, there weren't any super-hero properties in the theater or television like we have now, and while I was bitten by the comic bug- I wasn't as fanatical as those two kids were. (I stuck primarily with what I could afford, namely "X" titles.) What it did do, was give me an education on funny books- the different publishers, artists. Like my brother's analogy about martial arts: "Enough to make me dangerous, but not enough to go pro".
Anyway...I'm off to Bemidji for theater Summer camp again. And I thought it'd be funny (because: Me.) if I had some "college-y" posters to put up in my dorm room. I found some in the basement and while I was rooting around in the rubbage I decided to pop open my sealed Box-O-Comics
It's at this point that I should mention that I feel no shame in still having them instead of unloading them at a comic shop for $5. I never really saw them as an investment, in spite of having some cherry 1st appearance issues in there. And what I want on internet record is that it's REALLY AWESOME TO BE IN THEATER AND KNOW PEOPLE WHO LOVE COMICS. It's like a sub-sub group of nerdy solidarity. And it's great.
So in there, I have a particularly "non" cherry issue of the famous comic story line "Days of Future Past" (pictured above in a VERY spoiler-y cover). The non-cherry part comes from the fact that I found it at a garage sale and- knowing how "famous" the story was? Bought it. Innnnnnnn spite of the fact that the cover was splattered in blue tempura paint and torn at the top.
So. In an act unbecoming a 12-year-old, I began my brief career in art forgery. I carefully and lovingly cleaned off the cover with a damp sponge and allowed it to dry. I then purchased a new issue of "Uncanny X-Men" (that I already had. This was probably around #214 or so. Post "Mutant Massacre") and used an X-Acto knife (IRONY!) to remove the "X" and glue it on the ruined issue.
Go on. Look at the craftmanship. I'll wait.
Yeah. Shoddy job. I just wanted a clean cover so I could bag it and hang it on my walls with the rest. (My design ethic circa 1986 was "Comic Store Chic") My only "real" claim to fame in my collection was that for some weird reason I felt the need to start collecting back issues starting with "Uncanny" #170 and then go forward. Funny enough, after enough years had passed and I'd moved away from collecting- only to become friends with adult collectors that I learned it wasn't weird at all. (Before the movies, a co-worker of mine at Target was collecting *every* appearance of Iron Man starting with his 1st appearance in "Tales of Suspense". And he did it. And looooook how far his love of a total "B" character has come in 12 years.)
Anyway, it took all of my willpower to *not* sit down and start re-reading and organizing. In fact, I only pulled some of these choice titles to show my friend Sam, who (along with Carl, Eric, Glen, Michael, etc etc etc etc) would appreciate them.
On an unrelated note? I just lent my S.O. the 1st three graphic novels of "Sandman". It's important because I only recently completed collecting all ten of the series and you could kiiiiind of say my friend Glen lending me the series back in 1998 or so is what put me back on the path to loving/appreciating comics.
Enjoy.
The pull bin. At the top left, you'll see a one-shot of the Mignola inked "Wolverine". Now, kids, there was a time when every super-hero team roster didn't have Wolverine in it. In fact, I coveted anything that had his name on it even if it was a crossover with Alpha Flight PROMISING a 'partial' origin story.
If...for some reason...this title doesn't make you want to scream for a Huge Ackman/Captain 'Merica throwdown? Nothing will. Also? There's a LOT of humanity in this. As well as Cap "chopping" his shield into Wolvie's hands in order to help him cut the head off a marauding robot. Don't act like it's not awesome.
You'd never think...when you pick these up...that a "first appearance" would spawn a character so iconic. And I didn't even like the issue that much, because even when I was in my early teens Liefeld was a joke. (True story- while I stuck mainly with Marvel and some DC, I had a friend bring in a -in my words- "crappy" black and white one-shot that he thought was awesome. He was into manga, big time, and appreciated the ninja story line- however he said it was a 3rd reprint so it wasn't too valuable. I ended up digging it after a while, but who'd have thought "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" would have been a thing? Not in 1986 they weren't.
So...I guess - and this is mildly spoilery- the X movies are heading toward an Apocalypse storyline. That's fine. I just remember *deeply* that he and Mr. Sinister started a marked trend toward the dreaded crossover...and you couldn't follow the stories for shit unless you bought 8 alternate titles. And there was no fucking way I was buying "Fantastic Four" or "Power Pack'. You know I'm right.
I pulled this monstrosity b/c I started...to have feelings...very specific feelings...about werewolves. I hit a "horror movie" phase when comics started to lose their luster in my eyes. As such, I'd grab crossover goodies like this one even though I could care less about the title. In other words, it's like you love professional baseball so much that you don't care that you're watching the little league world series on ESPN even though that's fucking stupid as hell. What's wrong with you?
Ok. This'll probably get earnest collectors and enthusiasts in a tizzy. At the cabin, we had "ZERO" cares whether a comic had a non-acid cardboard backing and was bagged. These were all in a drawer to be carelessly pulled out and read and re-read on rainy days we couldn't be out playing Jarts or Trac-Ball. Also, "cool" titles like Bats up there where shuffled in with Archie, Little Lulu, and Casper. Also? There was this weird habit of writing the name of the owner on the front page out of...proprietorship? So what you're seeing above is a great example of a 46 year old Batman reprint, sans cover and covered in pen ink. Sorry world.
Why I loved this comic? Because of shit like this. Nobody cared what Batman had in his utility belt, only that it contained utilities...except me. For me, it was like a "How-To" guide to being a superhero, something a desperately wanted to be my entire life. My entire...life. My...entire...life...Oh gods...I'm sorry. I need to drink now.
Or the Batcave! Look at all the SHIT he has! We just had forts, and tents, and lean-to's, and Huffy's. The basement of his HOUSE had all this shit! I tried bringing my bike into the basement in order to ride it up a make-shift ramp, into the garage, then out the front door. My mom asked me what I was doing, and I was promptly made to return my bike to the shed. Kids...don't let your mother's kill your dreams. You bring your goddamn bike in the house. Do it.
My roommate is going to be leaving for NZ to visit family. For two weeks. I will have the house to myself for two weeks. To give you a sense of perspective, we have lived together for about 8 years now. In that time, besides the occasional few days here and there as well as a few weeks in Bemidji- he is the longest individual I've co-habited in my adult life.
I'd like to point out that I love the Jellybean. But it'll be really great to have the time at home to myself. I've got some projects I'd like to do that I've been putting off and aren't so easy when you're navigating around the sensitivities of another person. I'll have the S.O. over and her cat, so we can "play house" for a while even though she'll be gone a lot at the theater. Hell, I might even paint. Coupled with the long awaited Spring/Good Weather, the ability to start running out of doors again, my Spring seedlings starting to flourish, and my recent weight loss has got me feeling consistently optimistic for the first time in months.
Seriously. Who am I f#cking kidding? Mail carrier and the neighbor's are gettin' a show, y'all.
On Tuesday, April Fools Day naturally, I left my girlfriend's apartment early in the morning after what (the news report) stated was going to be another unnaturally cold evening during a Winter (now Spring) that has seemingly decide to flip us both middle fingers- one finger of snow and one finger of soul-numbing cold. As opposed to last year which was just ONE middle finger of lingering snow-into-May. (Source. We're "officially" in the record books, but not for a cool record like hugest wangs per-capita or having the best facial hair.)
As a hearty Minnesotan, I'm accustomed to having to bust out the old ice-scraper to provide me some visibility*. Going to bed that evening, I was greeted with thunderstorms and lightening. I breathed in the fresh air that had that damp, rotting vegetation smell heralding "true" Spring. What greeted me, was a car encased in an ever-lasting Gobstopper of gelled ice.
Pictured: Not Jack Burton. My hands were too cold to operate a camera and let's face it, anyone who parked outside Monday into Tuesday woke up to this...
I should point out that today's blog was going to be another list-y of reasons why Winter really, really sucks this year but I figure that after 9 years of lackadaisical writing I've probably covered it all before. However what was wonderful about this ice, was that it was impenetrable.
The "Fargo" ice scraper freak-out is a dance we ALL know.
I had already busted my "good" ice scraper- a nice lil' jobby with telescoping handle, flex brush, padded grips...yeah, that f#cker snapped in two back in December prompting me to acquire a "B" squad scraper. And I stood there...on April 1st...Spring...with my car running to warm it up because I spent several minutes and I was unable to actually get any purchase. The scraper bent slightly, my wrists started straining, I actually "whacked" at it with the corner of the scraper just to try and make an area the chisel could actually get into so that I could...you know? Scrape? And it didn't budge. And I'm kind of strong-ish. And I had a very, very real image in my mind that I'd be putting my entire body weight into it-before my windshield caves in- and there I go ass-over-teakettle in a pile of shattered glass over my steering wheel and in the front seat.
That's about right...
I'm saying this, for lack of anything better to mention, that we're bracing ourselves for another 6-10"s of snow this weekend.
Six to ten gawdamn inches. I've reached my limit. Mentally and emotionally. (Along with everybody else, right? Way to be original, Mikey.) I suppose I should be grateful that we've had a few days to thaw back and finally be outside in the sunshine. But truthfully, everything about the last...12 months? Meteorologically speaking? Strikes me as a really sick fucking prank. Long snowy winter, truncated Spring, truncated Summer, ghastly hot (but short) Autumn, steamrolling into another bastard of a Winter? With record-setting cold and snow? Then we get a few days above 30-40 degrees (STILL "unseasonably cold") before YOINK...bye comfort...here's your snowy prison rape to welcome you to the weekend.
I'm going back to hard liquor. If you need me, I'll be huddled in my TV room with a frozen pizza and bottle of Captain Morgan private stock. You do me a solid and wake me after the freeze is over and I'll come out of hibernation like Captain America or some shit.
In theater's this weekend, and yes I'll be in nerd-raiment.
*People are still doing the one-swipe across the windshield before driving in this shit. So imagine, if you will, not only hating the weather but other drivers wandering lanes...speeding...nearly hitting you on icy roads...who can barely see.
Another year has come and gone (doi), and with it I engage in an annual rite of passage that ranks up there with Spring Cleaning, Professional Sportsball Home Opener(s), and the International Cat Video Festival: The replacement planner...
As you can see, I have a few of them. And ICYC, I already bloody well know that there are various apps and diabolical futuristic machinations in place to act as a planner. (i.e. Google Calendar, MS Outlook and it's lesser twin "LotusNotes".)
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Call me old fashioned, but I like it. (And call me forgetful, but I have a large calendar collection. I have this guy I carry with me, my desk AND wall calendar at work. The calendar above my computer desk at home, and the one on the fridge that serves as a recycling/garbage reminder.)
I received my first "At-A-Glance" planner in 1997 from the Target Corp. (Every year, a planner and desk calendar. Score, for corporate swag!) I didn't really think about using it as a journal for a while. In fact, shocker, I used it for it's intended purpose- schedule/planning/college assignments due, etc. No, originally? I actually did keep a journal. An angsty, angsty journal. A true "Grail Diary". And as it just so happens, I was at THE perfect age to have one.
You can feel the power of both the velvet AND silver inlaid unicorn. MOTHERFUCKING UNICORN!!!
See, I vaguely remember wanting a journal when I got into the 9th grade. I enjoyed the hell out of writing short stories, and my 9th (previously also my 8th grade) teachers encouraged journals as a way of brain-dumping/generating ideas. When I first got this...this manly piece of work, I immediately pitched a hormonal fit at my mom- assuming she MUST have picked this girlie thing up at the Dollar store. After cracking the cover (A cover sans LOCK, btw.) I saw she actually grabbed it from B Daltons at Brookdale as a clearance purchase.
So while it wasn't a grand leather-bound/padlocked book of mystery from my fantasy? I made due.
Yeah...I was taking beginner German in the 9th grade so there's smattering every so often. Note how I point out mom and big brother, as if my dad would've stayed out. Still, by way of "1st page warnings" it's not bad. I mean, it isn't "You shall PASS!" or "Only a penitent man will enter!"...but it's okay.
I reference that this is my 2nd attempt at journaling, even though that 1st edition has been lost to the elements. I'm guessing that one is about how frustrated I was at the crossover technique Marvel was using to get me to buy more comics- and how turning the TV to channel "2" when it was on a certain cable channel meant you got squiggly p0rno movies on the Spice channel.
In short, pretty boring. No, 15-year-old me is much more interesting.
And so, in early 1990 I began chronicalling what life was like for me in the 9th grade. In between frassin' about hockey tournaments, auditioning for plays, and the various love pangs I felt for my classmates, I (on occasion) would comment on current events. (Gorbachev visiting Minneapolis, the Berlin Wall coming down, etc. But let's face it, it's the spastic descriptions of open-mouth kissing at the Sadie Hawkins dance you fiends reallllly want to hear about.)
That's right. You get it all: Dirty stories about the 1st time I (fooled around, lost my virginity etc.), the animosity I felt toward class mates who were being (in my mind) abusive toward girls *I* liked, family frustrations, the time I tried getting my DL- failed- and re-took the test. Lot's and lot's of ego-centric hubris abounds. And I kept it up for (at the time) a whopping 2 years...until I turned 18. And then it appeared my scribbling days were at an end.
"We cannot get out...drums in the deep...we cannot get out...- 12/25/1992" No, seriously. I talk about how awesome adulthood is gonna be. And...it's been awesome?
A few years ago, I learned that reading these out loud to company is pure comedy. (If you and your spouse/partner/lover are comfortable, it's pretty funny pillow-talk, IMO.) I might even try my hand at turning this into a spoken word/storytelling type of stage show with some of the greatest hits. It's that dirty and ridiculous- two things that sell tickets.
Now, in the stack of planners, I can see that I did attempt at one point to keep a planner- again, for it's intended purpose since I was still writing in fluffy horny up there in the early 90's. As a companion piece, you can clearly see below that there were the foundations of remembering HUMONGOUS and MONUMENTOUS events from my childhood...such as:
Ironic this was provided to me from the same hospital where I was birfed.
Mono...the kissing disease...that a guy who hadn't really kissed anyone procured from drinking out of the community water jug at Football games. Reynolds gave it to half the team, AND it made it so I couldn't play hockey that year. So? I auditioned for the musical. Bad idea ,that.
"This fourth of July? Get ready to DIE HARDER!!!" Seriously, seeing the Die Hard sequel was important enough to note in my planner.
And if this whole thing has a point, it's this: As a memory stimulator, I find that the planner's and the gernal have proven pretty instrumental with going back and being able to specifically remember what was going on at those moments of my life. This is important, because it also helps me diminish the possibility of my own revisionist history. Like I said, when I was first given the planner for 1997-
It was fantastic. I had to keep track of karate, the 24 hours a week I worked at the Bullseye, my class load, rehearsal schedules.
Booooooorrrrring. Where's the SMUT?!?!?!
And it was around the time I went through a tough Fall break-up at the start of my 2nd year at the "U" where I began adding more specific details, events, feels, and yeah- what I might've done the night before. Warts and all.
A classic example was when I met a girl for drinks at Mayslacks in NE Mpls. When she went to go schmooze with her girlies, I got the worst case of the hiccups and nothing could hold them off. I even tried locking myself in a toilet stall and holding my breath, all while making farting noises so people thought I was doing my business. I ended up walking out on my date and vomiting next to my big-ass Crown Victoria. Which subsequently was the only thing that stopped the hiccups.
Occasionally, I found notes to myself that I scribbled while on the phone.
Yeah. This was the year I was called to understudy the 5 primary male leads at a big frassy Twin Cities theater about a week before they opened- all while being involved in another production. I was terrified.
Even as recently as 2014, I made a point to record not only important events, but general feelings on topics such as- say- the weather...
Writing this on one of our 1st 40+ degree days we've had since Fall 2013 feels so goooooood. FYI- I noted that it was "impossibly" cold out. Yeah?
I think I'll keep doing this until I retire. I like being able to cross-reference life-events with the matter-of-fact things that pop up on the day-to-day. In fact, there might be a pretty good chance that YOU were mentioned in these here tomes.
