Widespread Panic, Sadly Not About the Band

“It really is a love affair, your relationship with your kids. It’s powerful and frustrating because there is no real consummation. No finish line. The closest you get are the moments when you can share in your child’s triumphs – as when watching them in the field of play – though even those successes are tinted with sadness because every accomplishment only pulls them further away from you, toward an adulthood all their own.” Chuck Hogan

Panic. We all occasionally panic. Every single one of us. No exceptions. Well, except those of you who are better than the rest of us. And I hope people like that don’t read my blog, because being judged is about as fun as having a root canal performed on you by a dentist with Parkinson’s. Okay, that was a cruel joke….but it got the point across. If you don’t panic then please immediately stop reading my blog and go back to what you normally do with your time. Like feeding the homeless or carefully removing ducks from discarded Coca Cola 6 pack rings.

Anyways. Recently my wife and I found out we were having a baby boy and panic immediately ensued, at least for me. I was comfortable having our first girl, and I would have been comfortable having another. With a girl I basically just have to love her in a way that lets her understand how God loves her and how she should desire to be loved by another man in the future. Sure, there is the whole teen pregnancy thing that most men freak out about….but I figured I’ve got at least 13 years until that is even possible and if I do a good job with the whole love thing then maybe it won’t be an issue. But with a boy. Well, let’s just say I had a major onset of panic. But, that is a story for another today.

With our baby girl we did eventually panic. We didn’t panic when we found out we were pregnant. We didn’t panic when she found out she would be a girl. I wouldn’t even say we panicked when she came 3 months early. But, eventually we realized that this little baby was going to one day turn into a girl, and that girl would one day turn into a woman. And that girl would behave in a similar manner that my wife and I do. My wife and I are not exactly overly impressed with ourselves so this was a disappointing discovery.

We thought about allowing a family who we were impressed with to raise our children. Families with the last names Harrison and Cash were discussed as possible Godparents….but without the whole us dying part. But, then we remembered that even though we didn’t feel up to the task of parenting that we did in fact love our baby and weren’t overly fond of giving her up. (at this point my wife would like me to remind everyone that my blog is meant to be an exaggeration of real life, obviously we do kind of like ourselves and love the idea of raising our daughter)

We thought about trying to do “community living” with a few close friends so our daughter could glean some useful skills and habits from other adults. But then we realized that that is way too many people having to use the restroom in one house. Oh yeah, and we realized that it would be crazy. Not fun crazy, but insane crazy.

So, with the realization that we were all our daughter had we came to the conclusion that we had to plan and change how we behaved. Hours and hours and hours and hours and hours and hours (probably still not enough hours for my talkative wife, but more than enough hours for me) of conversation took place about who we wanted our daughter to become and what we needed to change about ourselves to help her get to said destination.

One thing we decided was that one of our main goals with our daughter was that we would remain cognizant of the fact that we were raising her to one day be her own adult person. Not just our child but an adult who could and should function outside of us. WHATEVER that meant as long as she was pursuing God we had to be okay with. We did not want to have too many goals for what God had in store for adulthood. Our plan could not get in the way of who God was calling her to be and where God was calling her to. If God called her to pass on college, move to Zaire, be a missionary who helps fend off rabid tigers, and never fly home to let us see our grandkids then we HAVE to be okay with that. Our desires could not get in the way of His desires for her.

And then our daughter became part of the family, she became not just a baby who I loved, but my daughter who I LOVED. She won my heart and continues to win it day after day. I came to know her heart. Yes I know she is only two but I assure you I know her heart and it is unbelievably kind, filled with empathy for others, incredibly sweet natured, and loving.

Sometimes when I look at her my heart breaks from missing her even though she is right in front of me! I realized how simple our goal was to say and how difficult it was going to be to live out. More than anything though I realized that my wife and I need to really focus on putting away more money in savings. I mean, plane tickets to Zaire have got to be pretty pricy!

Forget Superman, I’ll take Tomorrow Man

I recently read Chuck Hogan’s book, “Devils In Exile”.  I am not very good at offering up reviews of books, movies, or albums. My typical description of said items usually can be summed up by either, “Me Like” or “Me No Like”. So, my review of this book is, “Me Like”, but I would like to add that even though this book had a lot to offer in plot and action sequences my favorite part was actually the philosophy aspects. In a few parts of the book the guns take a break to cool down and Hogan’s characters are offered a chance to share their views on life and how it works. The following is offered up near the beginning of the book:

“The Tomorrow Man theory. It’s pretty basic. Today, right here, you are who you are. Tomorrow, you will be who you will be. Each and every night, we lie down to die, and each morning we arise, reborn. Now, those who are in good spirits, with strong mental health, they look out for their Tomorrow Man. They eat right today, they drink right today, they go to sleep early today – all so that Tomorrow Man, when he awakes in his bed reborn as Today Man, thanks Yesterday Man. He looks upon him fondly as a child might a good parent. He knows that someone – himself – was looking out for him. He feels cared for, and respected. Loved, in a word. And now he has a legacy to pass on to subsequent selves.

But those who are in a bad way, with poor mental health, they constantly leave these messes for Tomorrow Man to clean up. They eat whatever they want, drink like the night will never end, and then fall asleep to forget. They don’t respect Tomorrow Man because they don’t think through the fact that Tomorrow Man will be them. So then they wake up, new Today Man, groaning at the disrespect Yesterday Man showed them. Wondering why does that guy – myself – keep punishing me? But they never learn and instead come to settle for that behavior, eventually learning to ask and expect nothing of themselves. They pass along these same bad habits tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, and it becomes psychologically genetic, like a curse.” – Chuck Hogan

Okay. So, when you sit down to read a book about an army vet who joins a group of other veterans to sabotage drug deals and steal the money but ruin the drugs, you aren’t typically looking for words that will catch you off guard to the point that you stay up at night thinking about the words you read.

Since then I have found myself finishing up yard work that I would usually put of until tomorrow,  staying up a few minutes extra to put away the dishes that would normally wait until the next day, making hard decisions that I had been dreading for a long long time, and even occasionally putting down the ice cream scoop a few scoops quicker than usual.

This book was priced at $7.99 and was 70% thanks to Borders going under. So for around $2.50 I received words that in my mind have played a small part in pretty dramatically altering the course of my life.

So, I must say that if you are at the book store anytime soon and notice this book just remember that Brandon HIGHLY, HIGHLY recommends NOT buying it. Think of Tomorrow Man! You could use that $7.99 for something way cooler tomorrow!

JONATHAN KELLER Is Dumb, or Why I Refuse To Ride Motorcycles

I have a friend who shall remain nameless, but let's just say that he is tall, lanky, loves anything fun, has an awesome mom and a just as awesome wife, and is named JONATHAN KELLER. This friend whose name I cannot say shall from herein be referred to as JONATHAN KELLER.

I don't have an astounding amount of friends. If you take a look at my Facebook page it would lead you to believe that I have 637 friends. Most of these 637 friends are actually current acquaintances, former acquaintances, childhood friends, or something even less like a friend. I typically don't make enemies. I would say the few closest things I have to an enemy are a few ex-girlfriends but even they aren't enemies, more just people who are incredibly awkward to be around.

All that to say that I don't have tons of "friends". In the best friend department I have more than the average person though! In my mind I almost have to quantify which level of "best friend" a person falls into because once I really get to know a person, I love that person deeply and they are no longer just an acquaintance or friend but are a "best friend". That is confusing though because I can't just lump some guy I've known for six months in with a friend I've had since I was six.

Anyways, the previous few paragraphs simply provide further proof that I over think really odd parts of life. Back on track.

JONATHAN KELLER is in my top tier of best friends and here are a few reasons:

• Longevity 
• He has been one of my best friends since my freshman year of high school
• This makes him my second longest lasting "best friend", I apparently had a bad habit of running them off earlier in life
• Experiences
• He was there when I learned to drive
• Saw DMB and Widespread Panic for the first time with him
• Actually probably about 80% of my concert experiences are with him
• Numerous beach trips, Helen, Chattanooga, Vegas, so many Subway Christmas parties that the managers thought I was gay, Okefenokee, Bonnaroo, etc.
•  Lazy college days by the pool
• Other
• Made many of the dumbest decisions of my life with him by my side, but he was also right there with me when we realized that said decisions were dumb and it was time to grow up
• Introduced me to my beautiful wife and I can trust him around her at all times because they are cousins
• Was one of the two best men in his wedding even though he wasn't mine. Had to go with my dad. Sorry Hawk and Keller
• Picked a girl to marry who I now share a love/hate relationship with which is actually really really fun. Honestly, she is super sweet and I love that he brought her into our group
• Even if we grow to hate each other we will still be in each other's lives thanks to the annual family Easter Egg Hunt

So, JONATHAN KELLER recently bought a motorcycle. He was very excited to show his new purchase off to the guys and when he finally did we did what any group of guys would do and made as much fun of him as possible. It was rather easy because he is about as lanky as they come and being the frugal man that he is he bought a modestly sized bike. He did not however purchase a modestly sized helmet. He climbs on this bike wearing shorts and Chacos, his knees come up to his chin, his elbows splay out to the sides, and his head wobbles back and forth due to the weight.

Eventually the guys stopped poking fun and began to help him work on the bike and even took turns riding the bike. I however have held steady to my skepticism, mean spirited humor, and aloofness to his purchase. I have even made a habit of informing him every time I see a motorcycle accident and tease him that he could be next.

From the outside looking in it would appear that I am simply a giant jerk and one would wonder why JONATHAN KELLER would choose to maintain a friendship with me. It is because he knows that I actually do not typically make fun of people that often and that the reason I won't let the motorcycle humor drop is because I love him. I'd take a bullet for him, nay, I'd take a nuclear bomb for him, I'd let his wife and him live in our guest bedroom if needed, I'd loan him money no questions asked, I'd raise his kids if he and his wife ever died (which I might need to since he owns a motorcycle), heck I'd even let him kiss my wife! But, only so that I could then refer to both of them as Kissin Cousins for the rest of our lives.

So when I see him get on his motorcycle my heart aches because it is simply an idiotic decision.

My Opinion

• When you sit down in a car, your first action is to strap on your seatbelt. Motorcycles don't have seatbelts. 
• It is no longer legal to ride in the bed of a truck, but it is legal to ride a motorcycle. WHAT?
• Helmets are great, but as humans we also have torsos, arms, legs, and bottoms!
• Deer, rabbits, dogs, cats, possums, zombies, and blind people! 
•  Most operators of cars are dumb and don't pay attention. I used to read a book everyday while driving to school in college. Do you really want to ride by a person doing that?
• We live two minutes from Alabama, so if you think most drivers are bad then you don't know the half of it.

Actual facts

• According to the U.S. National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, in 2006, 13.10 cars of of 100,000 ended up in fatal crashes. The rate for motorcycles is 72.34 per 100,000 registered motorcycles.
• Motorcycles rider deaths were nearly 30 times more than drivers of other vehicles.
• Motorcycle riders aged below 40 (JONATHAN KELLER) are 36 times more likely to be killed than other vehicle operators of the same age.

I HATE motorcycles. Not being funny or humorous. I HATE them. They are incredibly dangerous for the rider and many of the riders create dangerous situations for other vehicles. There are still blood stains in my wife's Xterra from picking up a friend who had a motorcycle accident almost 5 year ago!

Motorcycle enthusiasts love to preach that car drivers need to watch out for motorcycles. And I agree, partially. They really should watch out better, but I only partly agree  because the motorcyclist is the one putting his life in the hands of others. And he isn't even putting his hands in the way of the best and brightest in the world, just any old joe that happens to drive by him. I hope that drivers are always paying attention and that I could in theory go crawling down the road without someone overlooking me and running me over. But, I'm not going to try it!

I hear that most sharks won't bite unless provoked but I'm not going to swim with one!

Motorcyclists arguments are flimsy is all I'm saying. If you are on one and a car cuts you off or hits you then sure you can and should be mad. We as a car driving populace need to be more careful. But really, at least half the blame is on you, right? You got on the motorcycle knowing that most people are careless drivers, knowing that the fatality rate is shockingly higher on a motorcycle than in a car, and since most motorcycle owners own a car in addition to a motorcycle you are riding that motorcycle solely for fun.

In closing. JONATHAN KELLER Is Dumb.

Welcome To My Nightmare

In my last blog I covered how boring it is to listen to another person describe their dreams. So, in a true effort to run off my few listeners I decided to tell you of three dreams that I have that are re-occurring. It would be amazing if one of my readers would be the Daniel to my King Nebuchadnezzar and interpret my dream. And yes, for those who know the story of Daniel, that is a direct threat of your life if you fail to interpret my dreams!
DREAM ONE:
My first dream has been with me since I was a child, but is now the rarest of the three, and I am pretty sure it was spawned on by this Ghostbusters figurine.

“Okay, in retrospect he looks pretty silly but I was five years old and it was scary, okay!”

From an early age I was scared of the fantastical and unafraid of the logical. I never imagined a scary child rapist outside of my window, instead I would imagine that there was a critter from the movie Critters inside of the toilet and due to that I was scared to sit on the toilet.

The dream is always the same and it is always brief….and by brief I mean I end up peeing in my boxer briefs. I am running through an old cemetery and the fog is mega heavy. A real life werewolf is chasing me and he is closing in quickly when I stumble upon a greenhouse. This makes sense because ALL cemeteries have greenhouses, right? So anyways, I run into this completely glass greenhouse and shut the door behind me just in time for the werewolf to slam into the door and then I wake up. I wake up at the exact point every single time without fail and I find myself longing to have this dream again just so that I can find out what happens after that point!

I guess it is obvious that  the dream might mean I am running from something? But what?! I started having this dream when I was five, so what stresses did I have at that age? What could I be figuratively running from? Kindergarten?  Swim lessons?

I fear I may never learn what this dream means, but I my bigger fear is that my wife may leave me if she has to change our wet sheets another time!

DREAM TWO:

This dream I call my Shooting Blanks dream and it started in high school but became more prevalent once I married. In the dream someone or a group of someones break into my home. No worries, I grab my trusty gun from my bed side table and lay into the fool or group of fools. My aim is sure. The gun shots angry blasts of flame from my hand and nothing happens. The someone or someones keep coming at me to do harm to me and my family.

Super.

No recovering from that kind of dream. Katherine now has to change our sheets and hold me as I weep into her arms.

DREAM THREE:

If my other dreams were nightmares then Dream Three is a night terror. I have had it since very early on in my marriage and it is truly frightening. The dream finds me no longer married to Kat but instead leaving her and choosing to marry one of my long term ex girlfriends. You may wonder at this point why I would share this dream because it would clearly anger Kat. But the caveat is that even IN the dream I am terrified of what I am doing. Even in the dream I am crying and losing control of my bladder because I don’t want to be with my ex and I deeply want to be with my wife. Even in the dream I am counting the ways I love my wife.

When I wake from this dream Kat truly has a workload ahead of her. Wet sheets, a sobbing husbands, and vomit covered walls. No good.

But the upside is when I do have this dream I am super nice to Kat for at least 48 hours after because I am in a constant reminder state of what my life could have been and just how awesome Kat is.

So, I may never be able to interpret these dreams but Dream Three just makes me thankful that I have a wife who is willing to love me through my oddness. I can then forget about the jacked up stuff that happens when my eyes shut and focus on the jacked up stuff that happens while my eyes are open.

Follow Your Tamest Dreams

"If you trust in yourself and believe in your dreams and follow your star you'll still get beaten by people who spent their time working hard and learning things and weren't so lazy." ~Terry Pratchett

One of the things Kat and I enjoy most in the world is visiting America’s National Parks. We have had the great fortune to see Grand Canyon, Yellowstone, Glacier, Teton, and of course Smoky Mountain. Later this summer we are going to visit Yosemite. We often take the time on these trips to do a guided rafting trip, kayak, or horseback ride.

Obviously the beauty, the wild, and the sheer bigness that surrounds you on one of those trips inspires whimsical thoughts of what life could have been like if only. Man has always been enthralled with the wild which is exactly why our best President ever, Mr. Teddy “I Killed Bears With My Bare Hands” Roosevelt” created the first National Park. When you get away from “life” it makes you understand how much better the simple life is.

One other thing about these trips that always sends me down “hypothetical alternate life road” other than the wilderness is the people who guide these tours. Sometimes they are 20-something kids taking a break after college, sometimes they are hippies who somehow managed to find the one job in America they have the capacity to keep, and sometimes they are just crazy ladies with awkwardly long hair. But they all have two things in common.

1. They make you feel incredibly bad for being a part of typical American society and not doing what you really enjoy. 2. They are poor. I’m talking communal living in a tent kind of poor.

I’ll admit I always leave these rafting/kayaking/horseback riding trips feeling sad that I didn’t chase my dreams. Now, let me say here that I am not complaining. I actually feel that I did follow one of my dreams. Working with my dad and brother for a company my parents own and getting to make breakfast, lunch, and dinner for our incredible community is an amazing blessing and it was one of my dreams. But, it was my “tame” dream not my “wiId” dream. All of us of our “wild” dreams. Travel the world, take part in the Running of the Bulls, hit a grand slam in the World Series, eat at every single Cheesecake Factory in the entire world. So, if I had felt one of my “wild” dreams was possible would have I chosen my “tame” dream?

Doubtful.

So, why do most of us chose our “tame” dream? Two reasons. First is money. While I would love to raise wolves for a living I also love things like food, water, clothing, shelter, and even love. Often our wildest dreams don’t involve making much scratch and scratch is needed to survive and truthfully it makes being happier a tad bit easier.

People often try and get on their high horse and say that money doesn’t matter, but it does. We can’t all follow our wildest dreams. If so there would be no food, because not many people dream of doing back breaking work all day while farming. There would be no medical care because people become doctors at least partly for the cash or else our trips to the doctor would be a lot less expensive.

We can’t all follow our dreams. Money matters.

But maybe that is just an excuse. Maybe we can’t ALL follow our dreams, but I can. Then there comes the issue of maybe we aren’t all capable of achieving our dreams. Dreams take more than a go get ‘em attitude. All the little boys in America can’t grow up to play basketball in the NBA. Why not? Because the average height in America for men is 5’10”. All the little girls can’t grow up to be actresses or Pop stars. Why not? Around 31% of American kids are obese.

So, even if I decided that money doesn’t matter and I should follow my WILDEST dream I am still in a world of hurt because my wildest dream happens to be to become a famous author. You don’t become a famous author because you want it really bad or because you sit through some creative writing workshops. You become a famous author because you have natural talent, work to to hone that talent, happen to come up with a new and fresh idea for a book, and then get lucky.

Let’s just pretend that I am not a shallow person and money didn’t matter at all to me and I was willing to live a life being a “starving artist” before I finally broke it big with the next American classic. The issue then becomes just because I am willing to do something doesn’t mean I am able. I am going to leave you with an excerpt for the Dennis Lehane novel “Gone Baby Gone” and the from one of my blog posts entitled, “Nutz” and I think this will be better prove than the rest of my article on why some of us should not follow our wildest dreams.

“Nothing smells so clean and cold and promising as quarry water. I’m not sure why this is, because it’s merely decades of rain piled up between walls of granite and fed and freshened by underground springs, but the moment the scent found my nostrils, I was sixteen again and I could feel the plunge in my chest as I jumped over the edge of Heaven’s Peak, a seventy-foot cliff in Swingle’s Quarry saw the light-green water yawn open below me like a waiting hand, felt the weightless and bodiless and pure spirit hanging in the empty, awesome air around me. The I dropped, and the air turned into a tornado shooting straight up from the advancing pool of green, and the graffiti exploded from the shelves and walls and cliffs around me, burst forth in reds and blacks and golds and blues, and I could smell that clean, cold, and suddenly frightening odor of a century’s raindrops just before I hit the water, toes pointed down, wrists tucked tight against my hips, dropped deep below the surface where the cars and the refrigerators and the bodies lay.” Dennis Lehane

VS.

“Movies come out every week that contain a female baring her breasts to anyone willing to go to the local theater and spend a small fortune on a ticket and popcorn. When a movie decides to include a nude man the media acts like they are killing babies in the film. Look up Forgetting Sarah Marshall controversy on google, it's all about the male goods. Borat was known for being a jew hating racist, but most of the controversy for the film came from the male nudity. Eastern Promises was one of the best films to come out in 2007 but was often referred to as "The Weiner Fight movie" Male genitalia is offensive, plain and simple. Nutz serve no purpose, make the driver look like a tool, and offend everyone except other tool bags.” Brandon Jones

The Dreaming Hawk

There are probably 4-5 people in my life that I would consider my “best friend”. Some are related to me and some are not. I won’t mention names because if that one guy I meet once at soccer camp realizes I don’t consider him my best friend it might hurt his feelings.

Recently I had an experience that made me realize* that my affection for one of these best friends goes beyond mere deep affection and in to the “true love” category. This friend is William Hawk. How did I realize that I love him you ask?

Did I hold him in my arms after a horrible car crash? One hand cradling his head and the other holding his intestines inside of his stomach? One single tear sliding down my check and landing on his lips as he breathed his last breath and used it to say MY name?

No.

Did I watch him perform an emergency delivery of his third child on my kitchen floor? With both hands cradling his baby to his chest as he looks me in the eyes and says, “His name is Brandon"?

No.

Did I lean my head on his shoulder as we slow danced to “our” song and he clasped his hands together at the small of my back? Did he slowly lean into me and just before his lips touched mine he breathed my name gently, “Brandon”?

No. Thank God No.

In truth it was nothing that intimate and he probably didn’t even say my name. It was something much more simple. After not seeing each other for over a week he excitedly told me that he recently had a crazy dream and he just had to tell me about it.

Dreams are an odd thing because the experience for the re-teller and the listener are completely opposite experiences. The person who had the dream and is retelling it thinks it is the most amazing thing in the entire world. The person listening to the dream grows to hate the re-teller more and more with each passing second. We all hate to hear other people’s dreams, in fact we don’t even totally pay attention when someone tells us one. Yet we ALL push that memory aside when we have a dream to tell.

So, typically when someone tells me they have a dream to tell me I silently groan and grit my teeth as I endure the most boring 4 minutes of my life.

“So it was you and me, and all of our friends and we were on a steam boat and there a was a party on the boat and we were all in tuxes and bridesmaid dresses. But the steamboat was on land in the middle of a forest and the paddle was just ripping up the land as it propelled us forward. Two monkeys came swooping through the trees, one in a tux and one in a wedding dress. That’s when I realized we were at a wedding for the two monkeys! Instead of kissing they ate one banana until they met in the middle. And then for some reason we were on a football field and the football players were actual footballs but with arms and legs"………

Okay, dreams don’t make sense. That is part of what makes it so fun when you are in dream world. But unless you are going to slip me some acid before hand it is not interesting to hear about!

Back to William. So he begins telling me his dream which I don’t even remember but I’m sure it had something to do with war because all of his dreams deal with war. At this point I should have been ripping my eyes out through my nostrils but instead I listened. I listened not because I had to but because I wanted to.

I can assure you I didn’t listen because his dream was more interesting than yours. I listened because William was excited to tell me his dream. His eyes lit up. His voice rose an octave. He talked with his hands. He generally enjoyed telling me about his dream. He didn’t simply enjoy sharing his dream because he wanted to tell someone. He enjoyed it because he wanted to share it with me. Our dreams are somehow important to us and he found joy in sharing it with me.

I didn’t realize that I love him simply because he found joy in telling me his dream. I realized I love him because I found joy in being part of his joy. I realized I will listen to his dreams for the rest of our lives and that I am fine with that. God willing one day we will both be in our eighties and William will tell me about how he had a dream about fighting the zombies that rose in 2022 (that isn’t part of the dream, the zombies are really coming in 2022) and I’ll be happy to hear it.

* Just to keep this blog honest I realized that I loved Will long, long ago. This was more of a reminder. I don’t even know when I first realized it. Was it when I first met him and he was hanging out with a kid in the neighborhood who ran around in his underwear while wearing a cape? Was it when he got in a fist fight with a kid twice his size during a backyard (actually frontyard) football game? Was it as teenagers when we would lay in a hammock together and talk about God, girls, and super heroes? I don’t know, my love for him is just part of who I am. It’s like a love for your mother. It just IS.

My Doomed Relationship

Some relationships are doomed from the beginning. Everyone can see it except the two people in the relationship. There are many reasons why a relationship would be set on a course for disaster from the very beginning but one main reason is that the two are in it for the wrong reasons.

I once dated a girl simply because she could drive and I couldn't. A girl once tried to date me simply because I had tickets to a concert she wanted. I am pretty sure my wife only agreed to date me because we lived in the same neighborhood and it was convenient. I can think of no other reason, she is hawt and I spell hot, hawt. Clearly she could have done better.

We all have friends who begin dating and we can see it just won't work. I am in a similar situation. I have had an on again off again love relationship with Running. The problem is I abhor running. There are a list of crybaby reasons why I hate running. The ground is too hard and hurts my knees, my entire body chafes, I have asthma, it takes too much time. So, you would think I would realize that running is the bane of my existence and move on to something less trying like table tennis or water aerobics for my exercise.

But, I am a love struck moron. I look past those things I hate about Running and crush on the things that I think I will love about running. I ignore that I am an asthmatic, bad kneed, lazy, cry baby and focus on a few great things about Running.

Sometimes this works in a relationship. I am sure my wife had to push aside the fact that I had similar table manners to a three year old, that my ultimate dream was to see a werewolf fight an armored mass of zombies, and that I had spent enough money on concerts and CD's to buy a pretty legit car. She forced her brain to ignore these things and instead focused on the fact that.........okay, so I'm not real sure what she focused on....once I got second place in a tennis tournament because another team defaulted, maybe that was it.......

Okay, back on course. The point is she was able to ignore my bad traits and love my good traits and it all seems to have worked out for the good. For that to work though, you must focus on actual good qualities. If you consider the fact that a guy is loaded or a girl is built like Scarlett Johansson the good qualities to focus on you are in for failure.

I am in a similar position with Running. I don't focus on things like my weight, my cardiovascular health, or even the runner's high (We all know that the "runner's high" is just when the runner stops to shoot up out of boredom, right?). Instead I focus on 3 things about Running that my brain perceives as good but really do not promote a long lasting relationship.

REASON ONE: THE CLOTHES

I am vein. It is sad, but true. The clothes don’t make the man, but they sure make the man feel more confident. Rock stars may be confident guys regardless, but you never see one of them walk on stage in a pair of sweat pant shorts and a t-shirt with food stains on it. We can argue it all day long, but clothes kind of sorta maybe make the man. Nike and Under Armor are no slouches and they realize that deep down we all know this and they don’t even typically bother advertising about how their clothes make running easier. They used to. I bought my Nike Pumps in 5th grade because I literally thought they would make me jump higher. But, now they have learned that simply showing an artsy video of people running with their clothes on, or showing a video with lots of quick cuts of a guy working out make us want their clothes. Most of us know we will never play basketball like Lebron or football like Reggie Bush, but maybe, just maybe we could look freakin’ awesome while we run 2 miles an hour around the neighborhood.

REASON TWO: GATORADE

I don’t drink Gatorade on a normal basis. It is expensive and really sugary. Our budget can’t afford it and if I have to choose between a sugary drink and Dunkin Donuts donut, the donut will win every time. I don’t really watch my calories, but I do watch them enough to make sure I spend them on the best tasting options. Gatorade is delicious though. Last week I helped a friend move. As always with moving, it kinda sucked. Heavy things are not fun to pick up and stairs are not fun to climb. Towards the end of the move the friend busted out some Gatorade. I downed 32 ounces of that sweet nectar and I was ready to move furniture for another few hours as long as it meant there was more Gatorade at the end of the day. Sadly, while Gatorade is fantastic while being drunk….drank….dranken…….drinkin? Yes, while Gatorade is fantastic while being drinkin it is not much of a motivator on mile 2 of a mile 5 run.

REASON THREE: ICE CREAM

I have heard story after story of people who run long distance and not only can eat whatever they want but NEED to eat fattening foods to replenish their body. As an out of shape lover of fattening food this sounds like paradise. As I sit on the couch reading yet another article about this phenomenon I think to myself, “Dude, I can totally run 5 miles a day if I can eat a bowl of ice cream after!”. This is a lie. The ice cream is enough positive enforcement to keep me excited as I tie up my running shoes, turn my iPod on, and walk out the door, heck even for the first few minutes of running I feel great. But, inevitably I get to the huge, long, slow rising hill in my neighborhood and all of my excitement drains. My 5 mile run turns into a 2 mile run/walk and my bowl of ice cream turns in to 2 bowls of ice cream…..and a few cookies.

Surprisingly clothing, Gatorade, and ice cream are not the best reasons to take up Running and thus my affair with Running is always short lived. We have a few lustful days of bliss followed by months of ignoring each other. I should learn my lesson. Running never treats me right, she lures me in and treats me horribly. I despise her, but whenever I see a thin person dressed in Under Armor eating Gatorade flavored ice cream (happens ALL THE TIME!) I find my self lacing up my shoes one more time.

Sweet, Sweet Vomit

My wife and I recently had a conversation that is had in many homes throughout our nation. This discussion was on Drew Barrymore and whether she has grown up to be a surprisingly beautiful woman or if she has grown up to be a surprisingly beautiful ogre-woman . Okay, that wasn't the real discussion but I challenge you to find a consensus in your group of friends on that topic.

Our actual discussion was the typical discussion of the husband slowly putting on weight each and every year and the wife trying to gently persuade him to change his eating habits. Boring discussion that no one wants to hear about but according to my wife may lead to my eventual, slow, painful death. Apparently if you carry your weight in your belly (like most men) it is really bad and worse than other types of fat, because this kind of fat is the perfect place for a gremlin to grow and eventually the gremlin will grow strong enough to burst out of your side and reign havoc in small towns across America on Christmas. Terrible stuff, that belly fat!

This conversation lead me to an old memory from my childhood. It is a memory from when I was about four or five years old. At the time my mom had a full time job and so we had a lady come to our house once a week to help my mom get caught up on chores. Her name was Ruth and she was an old African American lady who cleaned my parents home, my cousins home, and my grandmothers home. So, as a child she felt like an extension of our family.

What in the world do Ruth and belly fat have to do with each other? Well, while thinking of my belly fat I began to tell Kat how I simply have no self control when it comes to sweets. I wondered why this was and after a few moments of thought a memory of Ruth came to mind. At some point my mother left me with Ruth for a morning and Ruth kept an eye on me.

Growing up my favorite breakfast was Eggo waffles and chocolate milk. I didn't have a passing love of this breakfast, it was an obsession. I had it almost every single morning of my life until I graduated high school. Literally almost every morning. Even today Kat knows that our freezer must be stocked with Eggo waffles and our fridge must have a bottle of Hershey Syrup in it at ALL times.

Well, Ruth must have decided she would be nice or she decided to be incredibly lazy and she allowed me to put the maple syrup on my waffles and the Hershey syrup in my milk. Like I said, I was four or five so this was a very very poor decision on Ruth's part. I went freakin' crazy with both syrups and probably had the soggiest waffle of all time and had to chew the milk.

It was not good. Even at that age I knew it was simply too sugary. The first few bites were like heaven, but eventually it became an endurance match to eat my way through the waffles and milk. I am not 100% on this fact, but I vaguely remember vomiting after I finished. It was a sad day in my life story.

What this memory allowed me realize about myself is that I do have a serious, long standing issue with sweets. The issue is not that I like sweets. Who doesn't?! What five year old would not have done the exact same thing I did when presented with two bottles of syrup? The issue is that even at that age I forced myself to finish.

I have continued that trait for my entire life. If you put a Cheesecake Factory cheesecake in front of me, I will eat until my stomach hurts. If you take me Jason's Deli, I will eat the free ice cream before dinner just in case dinner were to fill me up. If I walk into a Subway I eat a cookie regardless of if I want one or not. My body is apparently in a constant delusion that the world is in short supply of sweets and I better get it while I can.

There really is no easy answer. I can diet all I want, but eventually I will see sweets and be overcome. I can work out all I want, but eventually I will see sweets and be overcome. There truly is only one option now. I need to find 'ol Ruth, sit down in front of a waffle and glass of milk, have Ruth gently whisper in my ear to pour as much as I want, go nuts with the syrup, force myself to eat all the food and drink all the milk, and then vomit myself until I am dry heaving. That should keep me away from sweets for at least a few hours.

You Like Chocolate? Me Too! We Should Get Married!

Everyone, and I mean, everyone knows “The Pina Colada Song” or by it’s actual name “Escape” by Rupert Holmes. 99% of people wouldn’t know who Rupert Holmes was if asked and the same percent would call it “The Pina Colada Song” instead of “Escape”. So no one knows much about the song but everyone can sing the lyrics. Here they are:

I was tired of my lady
We'd been together too long
Like a worn-out recording
Of a favorite song
So while she lay there sleeping
I read the paper in bed
And in the personal columns
There was this letter I read
"If you like Pina Coladas
And getting caught in the rain
If you're not into yoga
If you have half a brain
If you'd like making love at midnight
In the dunes on the Cape
Then I'm the love that you've looked for
Write to me and escape."
I didn't think about my lady
I know that sounds kind of mean
But me and my old lady
Have fallen into the same old dull routine
So I wrote to the paper
Took out a personal ad
And though I'm nobody's poet
I thought it wasn't half bad
"Yes I like Pina Coladas
And getting caught in the rain
I'm not much into health food
I am into champagne
I've got to meet you by tomorrow noon
And cut through all this red-tape
At a bar called O'Malley's
Where we'll plan our escape."
So I waited with high hopes
And she walked in the place
I knew her smile in an instant
I knew the curve of her face
It was my own lovely lady
And she said, "Oh it's you."
Then we laughed for a moment
And I said, "I never knew."
That you like Pina Coladas
Getting caught in the rain
And the feel of the ocean
And the taste of champagne
If you'd like making love at midnight
In the dunes of the Cape
You're the lady I've looked for
Come with me and escape
repeat chorus twice and fade out

Cute song. Catchy lyrics. I recently referenced this song in an email I sent to a friend. After fretting and fretting over if mentioning making love in the dunes of a cape was inappropriate or not another thought finally hit me. Good gracious, those two people should have gotten a divorce. I am not typically an advocate for divorce. I have often told my wife that even if she has an affair I will most likely keep her around. Probably not the wisest thing to tell someone if you don’t want them to do it. “Hey child, if you start smoking crack I’ll be totally cool with it…..but don’t do it!”. But oh well, love is retarded.

So, why would a man who despises divorce advocate it in this situation? Well, they were clearly headed that way anyways at the beginning of the song. I’ve heard people describe their spouses in many ways but “worn out recording” comes across as rather mean spirited and pretty hard to recover from. You know what you do with worn out recordings? You throw them away and buy a new copy. A copy with more curves, less inhibitions, and a love of doing chores or if you are a woman a copy with less curves, more inhibitions, and a love of doing chores.

Okay, so their marriage isn’t exactly grand. Obviously our vows didn’t say “In health and sickness, in grandness and ungrandness” so still you might be wondering why I would advocate divorce. I think these two people should get divorced because their reasoning for staying together was that they both like Pina Coladas, getting caught in the rain, laziness to the point of being unlimber, somewhat smart people, sex, the beach, junk food, champagne, and they both dislike red tape. You know who else like these things? Everyone in the world in the entire history of humankind.

Pina Coladas- This is one of the only alcoholic drinks that people still drink without alcohol in it. O’Douls tries to sell beer without alcohol and you know who drinks it? No one. Okay…maybe midgets….small people…..dwarves…..whatever they are called drink it because they are tiny, but no one else does.

Getting caught in the rain - There is LITERALLY a song called, “Singing in the Rain”.

Laziness to the point of being unlimber – Being unlimber isn’t the goal but lung cancer isn’t the goal of smokers either. People love laziness so much they don’t care if they can no longer tie their own shoes.

Somewhat smart people – This one is tricky because typically we all say that we want a spouse who is smart, but these guys cut through the red tape (they like that, remember?) and say what we really want. We all want someone who is smart enough to cook their own meals but dumb enough to make us feel good about ourselves

Sex – Sex. Yes, the word sex is my entire argument for that one.

The beach – Sharks, hurricanes, pirates, jelly fish, sting rays, men in thongs. There are many perils at the beach, but we all love it so much that almost every American braves all of the dangers to spend a few days at the beach each year.

Junk Food – The KFC Double Down exists for one reason, we love junk food to the point that bread just gets in the way of stuffing more grease in.

Champagne – Even if you don’t like the taste, everyone likes feeling fancy every once in a while!

Hate red tape – I don’t really know why, but everyone seems to hate this stuff. I think red tape works great for holiday gift wrapping.

So these two people that were so bored with each other they wanted to run away decided to get back together because they like things that everyone likes? You do realize that this woman probably returned home after meeting her husband at O’Malley’s and had thousands of responses from men across the city. She said the word “sex” in a personal ad. Her personal ad could have just said, “Woman seeking sex” and she would have gotten response, but then to ad in the promise of alcohol and fast food after?!?! She is most men’s dream woman (yes, men are oddly easy to please). So, even if she was pleased to discover that her hubby had similar interests, don’t you think she may have been lured away by a hotter, richer man right after this song ended?

My last reason for these people needing to find a divorce lawyer as quickly as possible is that their marriage up to now points to bad things. They have been married long enough to feel the other is a “worn out recording” and yet they have never once had a conversation that led them to realize the other one liked the beach, fruity alcohol, fancy alcohol, junk food, sloth, playing in the rain, or sex? I know more about my wife’s high school crushes than these two know about each other. So even if the wife for some reason turns up her nose at the thousands of men who left her messages, these two will most likely never come to find out that the other person likes Strawberry Daiquiris, candy, baseball, or the way the sun feels on your body when you get out of a cold pool.

Eventually these two will eventually realize they are lonely and their spouse has the communication skills of Helen Keller and they will go searching for someone else. But they will both be obese and have a serious drinking problem at this point and divorce will only lead to further loneliness.

So, I just want to close by saying, “That Rupert Holmes is full of crap, man!”.

My Un-cool Guilty Pleasure

I am not cool. I never have been cool. I never will be cool. I once cried at school in the seventh grade. I had an understanding with the Principal in high school that if I left the cafeteria without permission it was because my Gerd was acting up and I needed to go vomit. I got in trouble in college for reading a book during a professor lecture. I am not cool.

Unfortunately, like everyone else on the planet Earth I try and convince others, sometimes even myself, that I am cool. In 5th grade I tried to play the part by getting a leather jacket. As about 75 pounds I sadly looked more like a kid wearing his older brother’s hand-me-downs than like James Dean. In 6th grade I decided I got a sweet pair of Shawn Kemp’s to wear. Somehow in my mind I decided that owning a pair of Shawn Kemp meant that I would be a baller at basketball even though I had never played. So I went down to the local YMCA, joined a team, showed up to practice, and was embarrassed to realize that I had to shoot granny style for free throws because I was so weak. The stories are endless, but they all have one conclusion. Not matter how hard I try I will never be cool.

Some people have “it”. You can’t describe “it” but they have it. They walk cool, they talk cool, they dance cool, they chew cool, they get shot cool, they date other cool people, they probably even poop cool. Obviously a lot of celebrities have this “it” quality, but there are many among us mere mortals that have it also. The rest of us strive for “it” and fail miserably.

And thus comes my guilty pleasure. I LOVE to catch people in the act of trying to be cool and failing miserably. I love it not because I am a mean spirited person. That would not be logical, because like I just told you I am also very un-cool but try hard to be. I love it because I feel like I see a little bit of humanity in them when they do this. I love remembering that we are all someone’s little son or daughter just grown up now and trying really hard to make others like us. I love remembering that no matter how hard, sexy, funny, or cool we act deep down we are trying to hide the fact that we are insecure people that are seeking approval. The Christian in me loves it because it reminds me that no matter how hard we act like we are doing good on our own, we are failing miserably at it.

I have two examples of this that are my favorite. The first is solely for girls. Let me paint you a picture. You are out to dinner with your friends and you notice an attractive, young girl sitting across the restaurant dining with her boyfriend. She clearly spent hours curling her hair so it has that perfect bounce, putting on makeup so it has that look that seems as if it took no effort but actually took tons of effort, she is wearing an outfit that is probably the fourth or fifth one she tried on. She looks great and you are happy for her that she probably is winning that guy over easily. You watch as she dabs at her lips with her napkin and excuses herself to the ladies room. She stands up to walk to the restroom and…….wobbles across the restaurant. Yes, I LOVE it when girls try and wear high heels and fail miserably at pulling it off. Heels serve no purpose other than looking sexy/cool, so when a girl wears them and it has the complete opposite effect that she was going for I just eat it up.

My next example applies to both guys and girls, but most typically to young teenagers around 16 years old. If there is one thing that many, many iconic movie stars have in common whether it is in real life or simply while portraying a character it is that they smoke a cigarette really really cool. You could be walking out of your grandfather’s funeral who died of lung cancer, and happen to see Brad Pitt smoking in Fight Club on a passing TV and I guarantee for at least one split second you will think he looks freakin’ awesome. So, while smoking might be one of the dumbest things on the entire planet to do I understand why a teenager whose brain is basically retarded would think smoking is a great idea. The part that is hilarious is that NO ONE looks cool when learning to smoke. Even after the teenager gets used to the taste of smoke, they still don’t know how to hold it right, don’t know how inhale right, don’t know how to exhale right, don’t know how to pack them right. And, then even if they learn how do all that they still look like a person not finished with puberty trying really hard to look older. My best example of this was from a few months ago. I was driving through town and passed a girl who was smoking a cigarette in her car. But due to the cold she barely had the window cracked. When she went to ash out the window the entire red hot ember decided not to fly out of the car, but instead directly into the seat behind her. Again she was trying REALLY hard to look cool but somehow managed to look extremely uncool in the process.

While I do enjoy my guilty pleasure it has one very serious side effect. Because I enjoy watching others fail at being cool so much, I am constantly paranoid that others are doing the same to me. So, when you see me out on the town wearing my high heels and smoking my menthol cigs just turn the other way and make sure I don’t see you giggling.