Verbal Vomit

021607
2108 Hours

It’s there for the taking. I can feel it, man. Moments away from getting to where I want/need to be. One problem though: I have no idea what it looks like. Ooooh, beer!

Thoughts like that are a dime a dozen on this reservation, especially on a mother f****’ Friday night. But not me though. I’m done with that. I’m too old. I’ve learned my lessons the hard way. Yeah, the hanging out with people is cool, but after about an hour, peoples eyes start to slant, their breath gets even worse and the same topics keep coming up over and over and over. Then the frequent bro handshakes and the expressions of drunk love can be heard until the last light goes out in their head. Good times? I beg to differ… now. But back in the day… man, I was a party animal. After school/work, during school/work, until school/work… you name it, I could and would get drunk any time of the day. In my later drunk years, I could get up from a dead sleep with work or school only a few hours away and start up and go until I was choked out from the beer or whatever the hell was going around about 36 hours later. It actually got to a point where I would stay up for about 30 hours without knowing it. Hey man, that’s what Red Lakers do. We put life aside for a bit if it gets too tough and continue it at a later time after a few cold ones. I would like to share stories of nights out, but I can’t remember much. That’s just how drunk I was all the time. The pride my parents must have felt.

Like I said, those days are long gone. My body couldn’t take anymore. My mind sure as hell couldn’t take it anymore. The panic attacks made sure of that. Have you ever experienced a panic attack? It feels like life is swiftly moving you along to get you out of the way of others. Everything starts moving faster, your heart pounds at such a rapid rate that you can hear and feel it pounding, your mind tells you to hold on because something major is about to happen and you have no choice but to expect the worst. “Maybe it’s a heart attack,” your first thought is. “F*** that! I think I’m going crazy!” Yeah, you think you’re going crazy. I was afraid I was going to get lost in my mind and there’s nobody else in there to help you cope with all that’s going to happen. Being alone has always been one of my biggest fears and I sure didn’t want to be all alone in my head. There are a lot of memories in there that I don’t want to relive. Maybe it’s different for others. They’re biggest fears could consume them when they think time is not on their side.

But what the hell do I know?

I think it’s time to share something that I have been ashamed to admit for a while; recently, I set out to accomplish a feat that was over 5 months in the making. I feel so violated after it was all said and done. I no longer felt like a man. The effort was there, the result I anticipated wasn’t. I was figuratively beaten into the ground again and again until time no longer allowed. Yes, the Colts beat me in the Super Bowl in Madden ’07 58-28. Why?!?!?! 27 hours of my life I’ll never get back has left me feeling so shallow.

I had to lighten up the mood after my sad rant of my former drunken life. I hope it worked. (No, really… I was pissed that I got beat that bad.)

Be cool, brah!

Go Play Intramural, Brother!

021407
1745 Hours

It’s official! The world has run out of song ideas. After hundreds of years of human dialogue, 2007 will be remembered as when EVERY SINGLE TOPIC IN THE HISTORY CIVILIZATION HAS BEEN USED IN SONG. I mean, come on! With Bon Jovi sitting around their million dollar studio saying, “F*ck it, we need some money… how about ‘Have a Nice Day?’” to Fergie showing off her spelling bee prowess by spelling her name and lifestyle as of late. Even a few years ago there were songs about the alphabet, numbers and days of the week. So now what do we do now? In this society of class clowns who hope for seconds of fame by viral videos online (like yours truly), I think we’re going in the right direction for a replacement of coming up with songs lyrics. But now that I think about some of the videos on MySpace, they are… how do I put this nicely; stupid... D-U-M. And no, that’s not an acronym for something cool. I think “The Illusionators” and “Unemployed Skeletor” are going to do to viral videos what Bon Jovi and Fergie have done to music. Even the always reliable David Spade is throwing bricks. Though I haven’t watched the hairy-back guy with the skin heart, I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that it’s no “Dancing Midget.” Being that I’m one of those that share my lame videos online, I’m going to give the Dirk Diggler speech when he kicked-ass at the Adult Film Awards… “I’ll keep trying if you guys keep trying… We can do better… Let’s just keep rocking and rolling.” Then I do my karate kick and bow.

And no, you will not be reimbursed for the time spent on reading this.

Dr. Hoops Does

021107
2128 Hours

This is how blogs are written!

Hours away from turning 31, I figure everyone who has passed this milestone has had to reflect on their life they have lived to that point. So without further ‘ado:

1976 seems so long ago. Synkyrd was blasted in the background everywhere you went… actually it was Fleetwood Mac in “The Proj.” A year later, Elvis went back to his home planet, the “Son of Sam” terrorized NYC and I was working on getting out of my diaper. From then on, I was a fat kid (Yeah, I know it’s hard to believe I was a little fat kid… I swear to God was!) who moved to RL at four, learned the ways of the Sav at five, played Little League at eight and embarrassed my Uncle Joe who happened to be my coach (Though he awarded me the team MVP in my rookie year of 1984 which I took as being a perfect attendance award and was subsequently disappointed for the remainder of my baseball career because I never missed a day of practice… you would think that I would’ve been a decent player… afraid not,) rocked the “Game Room” at thirteen, struggled through adolescence unscathed, managed to graduate high school (hence the name “94 Warriors”), dealt blackjack for 5 years, became a hardcore drunk, became a father at 19, husband at 24, ass kicker, idiot, extreme harder core drunk, survivor/death dodger, stupid extreme hardcore drunk, college student at twenty-six, panic attack survivor at twenty-eight, ass kickee, recovering alcoholic at twenty-nine, and college grad, new and improved husband/father and businessman at thirty. Maybe 31 isn’t so old after all. Who am I kidding?

Nowadays it’s easy to reflect on what I’ve seen and done. I’ve admitted my past mistakes and moved on, though it hasn’t been easy. My life now consists of me sitting at home and relaxing, occasionally entertaining the wife and kids with my random bursts of lameness and idiocy like doing the “Twist” like nobody’s business out of nowhere. Apparently, I have the baddest-ass “Twist” known to mankind. Chubby Checker owes me for perfecting it. Stay down Vincent Vega and Mia Wallace! Stay down!

Having been able to kick the alcohol habit (591 days without a sip so far) is ONE of my achievements. It does not define me. Though lately I’ve been considered a “Church Person” by someone who apparently didn’t know my story from a few years ago, I don’t push what I’ve been able to do on anyone. It’s hard to stay sober in Red Lake. Like Chuck Barkley said years ago, “I am not a role model.” I’m not. What I do is for my kids, not you and yours. I’m selfish that way.

Aging does crazy things to a man.

You've Been Warned

Trailer - Battle River

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Vink, Vink

020806
2153 Hours

Zero.

The amount of time and energy I’ve been able to put towards video production equals zero. Well, that’s a lie… I have a pant-load of ideas in my rotten brain which counts towards effort I suppose. One idea in the works is doing “SitDowns” with locals who are impacting the lives of those around them. The scheduling conflict/communication is the reason the first in the series has been held up but is in the process of being rescheduled. Though I have others in mind, it’s just up to them if they trust me to make them not look bad (if that made sense… it did in my head.) Another idea thrown to me by Mr. King was to follow him around, check out the sights and hilarity will ensue. But as of right now, the job is taking up so much time I don’t want to take away time from the family. You know. So I shall keep the world posted on the “Happs” of the world renowned 94 Warriors Studios (I can say “world renowned” because there was a profile visit from Australia, mate! It was on the map and maps don’t lie.)

Other stuff that has passed through the rotten hell known as my mind:

You would think Sara Silverman would be an ideal star for a TV show. Guess not.

Am I the only one who is sick of Ivory Latta?

The sweat pants that I wore during the softball season have been quite comfy during these cool winter days and I was considering converting my usual jeans look for sweats everyday. Though Jerry once said to George that is was like “giving up,” I am seriously considering it. But is it possible to be taken seriously when you wear sweats to work everyday? Do I dare find out? Maybe I should be satisfied that I can still fit in to my “Husky” jeans.

Two years later, though my ban on NBA watching was lifted last season, I’m still not watching for some reason. (On a side note regarding the NBA; when I see Allen Iverson, Carmelo Anthony or any other player with cornrows, my head starts to itch… anyone else? If I were David Stern, I would require haircuts so my players wouldn’t be confused with WNBA players with thin-chick moustaches.)

With the big “3-1” coming up, and being that the RLPD cancelled their/our dinner on Monday (I was going to use it as my own B-Day bash to make it look like I had hundreds of niijiis) I’m going to have to do my "Gerhard"http://youtube.com/watch?v=3VWe-tVrZ7g elsewhere. Bonanza perhaps? Vink, vink. (And Tina Fey is going to hell.)

By the way, I’m still taking ideas for video productions. Bring it on!