I had the unfortunate luck of talking to a teenager not too long ago. Scary creatures, they are. She just graduated and we were talking about her plans for college. "I'm going to ($27,000 a year) University!" I was happy for her, and asked what she was majoring in. "French with a minor in Music." I just stared at her silently. It was a silence so loud that you could hear me blinking. I was thinking about the economy and how much student loan debt she was going to have."What?" she asked. I drew a deep breath, which allowed me to go into a deep meditative state as I carefully decided what to say next. It was in this state that I came up with the following analogy.
Life is like football. You are, and forever will be, the offense. Life will always be the defense. Your dreams are the ball. Unfortunately, the odds are stacked against you. You will achieve success when you make it to your goal. That's how you win. Life's goal isn't just to stop you. That makes for a boring game. Life's goal is to strip you of the ball. Life's goal is to take your dreams away. This can happen in two ways: Fumble or Interception.
Fumble
When you lose your confidence, you lose your strength to hold on to the ball. No matter how bad things are going. No matter how many of the previous attempts have failed, the worst thing you can do is to let go of your dreams.
Interception
Unfortunately, you are every player on your team. Running back, quarterback, wide receiver. They're all you. You play every single position simultaneously, so you'll always be the one holding the ball. There will be times when life will come rushing at you, and you'll be under immense pressure to make a move. Don't make the common mistake of handing someone else your dream. I don't care if it's family, friend or significant other. They are not on your team.
It was after that long analogy that I told her that in this particular situation, I don't know if I'm just a coach on the sidelines or Life coming in one of it's many forms to strip the ball. The only advice I could provide is to pick up a dual major or a minor to fall back on.
Think of it as shoulder pads and a helmet just in case Life knocks you on your ass. It'll be easier to get back up and keep going if you have on those.
She asked, "So what happens if I score?"
You keep playing til your clock runs out.
Friday, July 12, 2013
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Herschel
I wasn't going to post anything today, but then I witnessed something on the way to my daughter's daycare that demanded to be shared. I'm driving down the street during rush hour, which is a feat all by itself in DC, but somehow I managed to catch most of the lights. I know that all good things must come to an end, so as I neared the intersection of Connecticut and K Street I prepared myself to sit there for a while. For those unfamiliar with the area, that intersection might as well be a brick wall because there is always gridlock.
To my surprise, not only was there no idiots blocking the intersection, I also saw that the far right lane was empty. In DC's rush hour traffic being first in a lane is like winning the lottery. There's no worry of what the idiot in front of you will do:
Bus-- Maybe it'll stop to pick up people and hold up traffic.
Cyclist--Maybe they'll take that moment to pedal as slow as humanly possible (with no hands on the handlebars) while texting.
Car--Out of state tags signals tourist, which means they'll be taking pictures or pointing at stuff. Local tags is anybody's guess.
Cab--Wild Card. Anything is possible. Maybe they'll jump over four lanes to pick up a fare or maybe they'll just reverse backwards down the street because it amuses them. Who knows?
Suffice to say, I was happy. I made my way to the intersection at the ripe old speed of 19 miles an hour (which is warp speed during rush hour), when what to my wandering eyes should appear but a black dude in a suit. I shall call him Herschel Walker.
At some point in the 5 seconds before my light turned green, Herschel decided to run the 40. I don't know why. Maybe he was trying to see if he still had it. He does. The fact that I'm telling this story on a blog and not to police signifies that not even wingtips can stop a man with something to prove. I can only imagine what was going through his mind at the time.
"Here's my big chance. Scouts are watching. As soon as this light turns red I'm charging across eight lanes of traffic like the bull that I am. Here it is! Torro! Torro!"
Hell, everyone's jaywalked at some point in their lives. The whole idea is that even if you can't make it all the way across before your light turns red, you can at least get to the other curb before the cars have a chance to take off. It's not like you're challenging a bunch of Lamborghinis or something. A Ford Escort isn't going from 0-60 anytime soon. But young Herschel's eyes widened just enough for me to see exactly what he was thinking as he made it to my lane.
"I never considered that there would be a car coming down the street in the far lane who would already be going at a considerable speed. He appears to be going roughly 19 miles an hour. Mass * Acceleration=Force. I am going to die."
I am not making this up. For whatever reason, Herschel's mind told him to make the Heisman Trophy pose with his briefcase clutched to his chest in his far hand, and the other arm extended as if he were going to stiff arm the hood of my car. I slammed on the brakes, which gave him just enough time to juke and hurdle over onto the curb. The funny thing is that he didn't even stop then. He just kept running. In this job market, I don't blame him. I wouldn't let death stop me from getting to work either.
To my surprise, not only was there no idiots blocking the intersection, I also saw that the far right lane was empty. In DC's rush hour traffic being first in a lane is like winning the lottery. There's no worry of what the idiot in front of you will do:
Bus-- Maybe it'll stop to pick up people and hold up traffic.
Cyclist--Maybe they'll take that moment to pedal as slow as humanly possible (with no hands on the handlebars) while texting.
Car--Out of state tags signals tourist, which means they'll be taking pictures or pointing at stuff. Local tags is anybody's guess.
Cab--Wild Card. Anything is possible. Maybe they'll jump over four lanes to pick up a fare or maybe they'll just reverse backwards down the street because it amuses them. Who knows?
Suffice to say, I was happy. I made my way to the intersection at the ripe old speed of 19 miles an hour (which is warp speed during rush hour), when what to my wandering eyes should appear but a black dude in a suit. I shall call him Herschel Walker.
At some point in the 5 seconds before my light turned green, Herschel decided to run the 40. I don't know why. Maybe he was trying to see if he still had it. He does. The fact that I'm telling this story on a blog and not to police signifies that not even wingtips can stop a man with something to prove. I can only imagine what was going through his mind at the time.
"Here's my big chance. Scouts are watching. As soon as this light turns red I'm charging across eight lanes of traffic like the bull that I am. Here it is! Torro! Torro!"
Hell, everyone's jaywalked at some point in their lives. The whole idea is that even if you can't make it all the way across before your light turns red, you can at least get to the other curb before the cars have a chance to take off. It's not like you're challenging a bunch of Lamborghinis or something. A Ford Escort isn't going from 0-60 anytime soon. But young Herschel's eyes widened just enough for me to see exactly what he was thinking as he made it to my lane.
"I never considered that there would be a car coming down the street in the far lane who would already be going at a considerable speed. He appears to be going roughly 19 miles an hour. Mass * Acceleration=Force. I am going to die."
I am not making this up. For whatever reason, Herschel's mind told him to make the Heisman Trophy pose with his briefcase clutched to his chest in his far hand, and the other arm extended as if he were going to stiff arm the hood of my car. I slammed on the brakes, which gave him just enough time to juke and hurdle over onto the curb. The funny thing is that he didn't even stop then. He just kept running. In this job market, I don't blame him. I wouldn't let death stop me from getting to work either.
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Sugary High
And the award for Worst Father of the Year (presented by Joe Jackson) goes to ME!
(Thunderous boos)
I'm sitting at the dining table at this very moment trying to talk myself out of going back into the kitchen. I bought my daughter a box of Nilla Wafers last week. As of right now there are about ten left in the box and she hasn't had a single one.
[Update]It's been three minutes since I typed that last sentence. There is now an empty Nilla Wafers box in the trashcan underneath some paper towels so that my daughter doesn't see it when she wakes up tomorrow. "I'd like to thank the Devil for helping me achieve this award..."
I forgot that I liked Nilla Wafers. Before this week, I hadn't had any since I was about seven. The year was 1989. I went over my aunt's house and she gave me some. I liked them. The next day in the grocery store I asked my grandmother for some and when she saw how much they cost, she said no. Later that day we stopped by the liquor store to play a number and they had the ghetto convenience store version..."Wafers!" They had the traditional diabetes motivation sticker on the package like every other liquor store/convenience store snack back in the day: 2/$1.00! I bought two packs and almost broke my damned jaw trying to chew those rock hard, stale, tasteless knock offs. But of course that didn't stop me from eating both packs.
That memory came rushing back as I took a bite of one of the cookies. I braced myself for my teeth to hurt and was surprised that it was actually buttery. I've been missing out. I wonder how different my life would have been if I'd been one of the kids who didn't shop exclusively in the liquor store. I had a semi-well-to-do girlfriend in high school who had never tried Kool-Aid before. I snuck her some like it was crack and she tried it, liked it, and immediately poured the rest down the drain and made me take the empty packet back home with me for fear of her mom...stabbing her? I don't know what the fear was, but they weren't allowed to drink Kool-Aid or sodas.
I'm pretty certain I wouldn't have had as many sugar headaches, neon urine and general overall confusion growing up, but that was the FUN stuff! The best summer memories are from those days when my mother just wanted me to get out of her face and go outside so she'd give me $3 to go to the store. That was like a winning Powerball ticket to a 7 year old. I'd run my chunky behind all the way to the store and buy the same thing:
The crazy thing is that all of us were eating that crap. With that much sugar in our systems, playing tag was the shit! It was like a bunch of mini-crackheads chasing one another. We were jumping down stairwells and doing backflips down hills. Long before parkour became a thing, there was always a kid in the neighborhood who could scale a fence or a side of a building like it was nothing. Nine times out of ten his story probably ended with him being shot by the police.
Nobody ever got caught playing tag with that much sugar flowing through our veins, so we came up with team tag, freeze tag, rock tag (throw a rock at somebody and they're "it"). We made up stupid games like "high-low." That's where two people stretched out a rope and everybody tried to jump over it and then they'd keep raising it. Then there were just dumb "cokehead" games like "How many steps can you jump down?"
It was fun! Until the sugar wore off. Then you were dehydrated as hell, your head and stomach started to hurt, and you just wanted to lie down...but you weren't going to. You kept playing until someone made you come in the house. Then you went in the house, complained that you were thirsty, turned your nose up at water because "it tastes funny" and probably drank some Kool-Aid (Flavor-Aid if you were THAT poor) before watching TV until you fell asleep.
Fun times.
Today's blog post brought to you by Insulin!
(Thunderous boos)
I'm sitting at the dining table at this very moment trying to talk myself out of going back into the kitchen. I bought my daughter a box of Nilla Wafers last week. As of right now there are about ten left in the box and she hasn't had a single one.
[Update]It's been three minutes since I typed that last sentence. There is now an empty Nilla Wafers box in the trashcan underneath some paper towels so that my daughter doesn't see it when she wakes up tomorrow. "I'd like to thank the Devil for helping me achieve this award..."
I forgot that I liked Nilla Wafers. Before this week, I hadn't had any since I was about seven. The year was 1989. I went over my aunt's house and she gave me some. I liked them. The next day in the grocery store I asked my grandmother for some and when she saw how much they cost, she said no. Later that day we stopped by the liquor store to play a number and they had the ghetto convenience store version..."Wafers!" They had the traditional diabetes motivation sticker on the package like every other liquor store/convenience store snack back in the day: 2/$1.00! I bought two packs and almost broke my damned jaw trying to chew those rock hard, stale, tasteless knock offs. But of course that didn't stop me from eating both packs.
That memory came rushing back as I took a bite of one of the cookies. I braced myself for my teeth to hurt and was surprised that it was actually buttery. I've been missing out. I wonder how different my life would have been if I'd been one of the kids who didn't shop exclusively in the liquor store. I had a semi-well-to-do girlfriend in high school who had never tried Kool-Aid before. I snuck her some like it was crack and she tried it, liked it, and immediately poured the rest down the drain and made me take the empty packet back home with me for fear of her mom...stabbing her? I don't know what the fear was, but they weren't allowed to drink Kool-Aid or sodas.
I'm pretty certain I wouldn't have had as many sugar headaches, neon urine and general overall confusion growing up, but that was the FUN stuff! The best summer memories are from those days when my mother just wanted me to get out of her face and go outside so she'd give me $3 to go to the store. That was like a winning Powerball ticket to a 7 year old. I'd run my chunky behind all the way to the store and buy the same thing:
- 25 cent pack of Cheetos Paws
- 25 cent pack of Sour Cream & Onion Utz
- 25 cent pack of Lemon Heads
- 10 cent AirHeads (X 2)
- 25 cent "Red" Little Hug
- 50 cent "red" Giant Freeze Pop (Couldn't get blue because everyone thought they caused cancer)
- 25 cent pack of the red, white and blue Now and Laters (mambas if they didn't have any now and latas)
- 50 cent pack of those hard ass oatmeal cookies that came in a roll (or the "ring" cookies with the hole in the middle, or a Susie Q, or a High Five, or a Moonpie, or the cupcakes with the little swirl icing)
- 25 cent worth of candy for the "greedies" (friends who bummed candy): chic-o-sticks, mary janes, blowpops, sugar straws, etc
- And then I'd run back home with a paper bag full of childhood obesity.
The crazy thing is that all of us were eating that crap. With that much sugar in our systems, playing tag was the shit! It was like a bunch of mini-crackheads chasing one another. We were jumping down stairwells and doing backflips down hills. Long before parkour became a thing, there was always a kid in the neighborhood who could scale a fence or a side of a building like it was nothing. Nine times out of ten his story probably ended with him being shot by the police.
Nobody ever got caught playing tag with that much sugar flowing through our veins, so we came up with team tag, freeze tag, rock tag (throw a rock at somebody and they're "it"). We made up stupid games like "high-low." That's where two people stretched out a rope and everybody tried to jump over it and then they'd keep raising it. Then there were just dumb "cokehead" games like "How many steps can you jump down?"
It was fun! Until the sugar wore off. Then you were dehydrated as hell, your head and stomach started to hurt, and you just wanted to lie down...but you weren't going to. You kept playing until someone made you come in the house. Then you went in the house, complained that you were thirsty, turned your nose up at water because "it tastes funny" and probably drank some Kool-Aid (Flavor-Aid if you were THAT poor) before watching TV until you fell asleep.
Fun times.
Today's blog post brought to you by Insulin!
Saturday, July 6, 2013
My Half of the Birthday
And to conclude my birthday, I received the gift of guilt. I say that semi-jokingly.
I had a really good start to my birthday. The first half was great. I woke up the kid, called up the co-parent, and we all went to McDonald's so that she could have a sausage biscuit. I avoid fast food like the plague, but ever so often (maybe once every two months) we let her have a sausage biscuit. Then we brought her back to my house where I set up Birthday Central: Balloons, presents and a banner.
One of her presents was a pair of skates, so naturally we took her skating up and down the street. Then we went to see Monster's University, and then finally off to her favorite restaurant, Red Lobster. She enjoyed the biscuits, alfredo, and a brownie a la mode. Finally, we sang happy birthday and blew out her candle before Operation: My Turn could commence. The details of this mission have been declassified and are below:
OPERATION: MY TURN
Sit in the house
Try to think of something to do
Spend an hour looking up restaurants on Yelp
Lose time playing spades on iPhone
Go down to Georgetown Harbor
Stare at Potomac River in attempt to come up with something to do
Lie in grass and stare at sky in attempt to come up with something to do
Take picture of two random people at their request
Go home
Eat peanut butter and jelly sandwich, BBQ Utz Chips, and a slice of birthday cake
Listen to podcast
Write blog post
Yeah, apparently I wasn't joking when I said that I was more concerned about it being my daughter's birthday. I tried to come up with stuff to do, but nothing came to mind. A few friends invited me to tag along with them to a bar, but I don't drink. "Come anyway!" A part of me wanted to, but the other part felt like I was just stowing away on someone else's fun. It's my birthday. I wanted to do something I enjoyed...I just couldn't figure out what the hell that was.
I sat there for a while debating whether or not I was just being antisocial. The committee in my head decided that I had a legitimate argument. On your birthday I think you're entitled to be comfortable in your surroundings. Bars, lounges, and clubs...that's their thing. Sitting by the water and watching scantily clad women walk by...that's mine.
I then moved on to figuring out why my birthday was taking a turn towards boring. I couldn't even figure out what I wanted for dinner. I didn't have a taste for anything. It's my birthday. I'm supposed to treat myself, but all I really wanted was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and some barbecue chips. I didn't want to go to the movies, and I didn't want to stay out past 9. I was tired after getting up at 6 this morning with just 4 hours of sleep.
Then it finally hit me. When I was little my birthday was the day that I finally had a chance (and only a chance) of getting some of the stuff I'd wanted all year long. I didn't get an allowance, and getting straight A's on my report card was what I was "supposed to do." There was no payoff for never getting suspended, being a good student, or staying out of trouble. I had to milk Christmas and my birthday for all that I could get. And that mentality continued up to adulthood.
Money was tight in college and after I dropped out, so I always looked forward to my birthday. But around the time that I turned 25 something happened. My income started to be larger than the sum of my expenses and desires. When there's nothing stopping you from getting what you want year-long, then you no longer save everything for your birthday. I'm not exactly swimming in a money bin right now, but I have a lot of free time and I budget what little money I do have so that I don't have to wait for one or two days of the year to do the things I want.
Dinner-wise, I celebrated my birthday for the past week when Giant had steaks on sale. Experience-wise, I was in Niagara Falls last weekend, and NYC a month before that...and Philly a month before that. My birthday (at least, my half of it) really was just a day for me to chill and reflect on my life. So I lie back on the grass, stared at the sky and watched the sunset.
Then my friends called again and invited me to come over and puff cigars. "You don't drink, so you can at least get down with this." That's where the guilt that I mentioned earlier came in. I most certainly came across as antisocial that time. A few posts ago I wrote about NOT having cancer (or an abundance of white blood cells). After sitting terrified in the cancer research center waiting on my results, I can't go out and puff cigars or sit there and inhale second hand smoke.
I told my friend, "I really, really want to hang out with you guys. I don't mean to sound antisocial, but I'm a fish apparently trying to hang out with birds. We gotta find an environment that we're all comfortable in."
I had a really good start to my birthday. The first half was great. I woke up the kid, called up the co-parent, and we all went to McDonald's so that she could have a sausage biscuit. I avoid fast food like the plague, but ever so often (maybe once every two months) we let her have a sausage biscuit. Then we brought her back to my house where I set up Birthday Central: Balloons, presents and a banner.
One of her presents was a pair of skates, so naturally we took her skating up and down the street. Then we went to see Monster's University, and then finally off to her favorite restaurant, Red Lobster. She enjoyed the biscuits, alfredo, and a brownie a la mode. Finally, we sang happy birthday and blew out her candle before Operation: My Turn could commence. The details of this mission have been declassified and are below:
OPERATION: MY TURN
Sit in the house
Try to think of something to do
Spend an hour looking up restaurants on Yelp
Lose time playing spades on iPhone
Go down to Georgetown Harbor
Stare at Potomac River in attempt to come up with something to do
Lie in grass and stare at sky in attempt to come up with something to do
Take picture of two random people at their request
Go home
Eat peanut butter and jelly sandwich, BBQ Utz Chips, and a slice of birthday cake
Listen to podcast
Write blog post
Yeah, apparently I wasn't joking when I said that I was more concerned about it being my daughter's birthday. I tried to come up with stuff to do, but nothing came to mind. A few friends invited me to tag along with them to a bar, but I don't drink. "Come anyway!" A part of me wanted to, but the other part felt like I was just stowing away on someone else's fun. It's my birthday. I wanted to do something I enjoyed...I just couldn't figure out what the hell that was.
I sat there for a while debating whether or not I was just being antisocial. The committee in my head decided that I had a legitimate argument. On your birthday I think you're entitled to be comfortable in your surroundings. Bars, lounges, and clubs...that's their thing. Sitting by the water and watching scantily clad women walk by...that's mine.
I then moved on to figuring out why my birthday was taking a turn towards boring. I couldn't even figure out what I wanted for dinner. I didn't have a taste for anything. It's my birthday. I'm supposed to treat myself, but all I really wanted was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and some barbecue chips. I didn't want to go to the movies, and I didn't want to stay out past 9. I was tired after getting up at 6 this morning with just 4 hours of sleep.
Then it finally hit me. When I was little my birthday was the day that I finally had a chance (and only a chance) of getting some of the stuff I'd wanted all year long. I didn't get an allowance, and getting straight A's on my report card was what I was "supposed to do." There was no payoff for never getting suspended, being a good student, or staying out of trouble. I had to milk Christmas and my birthday for all that I could get. And that mentality continued up to adulthood.
Money was tight in college and after I dropped out, so I always looked forward to my birthday. But around the time that I turned 25 something happened. My income started to be larger than the sum of my expenses and desires. When there's nothing stopping you from getting what you want year-long, then you no longer save everything for your birthday. I'm not exactly swimming in a money bin right now, but I have a lot of free time and I budget what little money I do have so that I don't have to wait for one or two days of the year to do the things I want.
Dinner-wise, I celebrated my birthday for the past week when Giant had steaks on sale. Experience-wise, I was in Niagara Falls last weekend, and NYC a month before that...and Philly a month before that. My birthday (at least, my half of it) really was just a day for me to chill and reflect on my life. So I lie back on the grass, stared at the sky and watched the sunset.
Then my friends called again and invited me to come over and puff cigars. "You don't drink, so you can at least get down with this." That's where the guilt that I mentioned earlier came in. I most certainly came across as antisocial that time. A few posts ago I wrote about NOT having cancer (or an abundance of white blood cells). After sitting terrified in the cancer research center waiting on my results, I can't go out and puff cigars or sit there and inhale second hand smoke.
I told my friend, "I really, really want to hang out with you guys. I don't mean to sound antisocial, but I'm a fish apparently trying to hang out with birds. We gotta find an environment that we're all comfortable in."
Friday, July 5, 2013
Happy Birthday to Us!
Happy Birthday to Me!
Now that I've gotten that selfishness out of my system, my daughter has requested that I remember why I'm really here:
Happy Birthday to HER!
Debbie Downer informed me a while ago that sharing a birthday sucks. "You'll never get to have the day to yourself or go somewhere without looking selfish." I disagree.
If I had to summarize the 500 posts that I've written into one theme, it'd be this: I've had a very interesting life so far. It hasn't been short on drama, I can tell you that. Considering that my third grade teacher started making sense when she repeatedly told me that I was an unwanted pregnancy, it's completely understandable that, by 14, I'd cut most of my emotions off. There was a time when I felt absolutely nothing and looked forward to absolutely nothing.
Well, that last part isn't true. I daydreamed a lot. It was the only thing that kept me going at times. It probably wasn't healthy, but I used to imagine having a wife and tons of kids. I used to say that I wanted 15 but would settle for 5. Some people make the mistake of having kids so that they'll have a guaranteed person to love them. I was the opposite. I wasn't looking for someone to love me, but for someone to love.
The years went on and I got married but we couldn't seem to have a kid. By 25, I'd been married four years and was supposed to be on my kid number three or four. It hurt when more and more people started having kids, ESPECIALLY the ones who didn't even want them. I never really made peace with the reality that we couldn't have kids, but I learned to deal with it. Then one day it happened.
The fact that it happened on my birthday made it all the more special. Same day of the week, same day of the year, same hospital...as me. As corny as it sounds, my daughter really is a dream come true. No I didn't end up having 15, but I rolled all that love into one and I show it to her every single day. Whereas I once learned to cut off my emotions, I can't control all of the emotion that surges through me everyday.
I've never loved anything or anyone as much as I love this little girl, and I've tried my best to write about it, but words just fall short. She is the sunrise after a very long night. I am so thankful for her, and I wouldn't change a single thing about my life because it all led up to her.
I love you baby and Happy Birthday!
[caption id="attachment_3433" align="alignnone" width="604"]
Happy Birthday to us![/caption]
Now that I've gotten that selfishness out of my system, my daughter has requested that I remember why I'm really here:
Happy Birthday to HER!
Debbie Downer informed me a while ago that sharing a birthday sucks. "You'll never get to have the day to yourself or go somewhere without looking selfish." I disagree.
If I had to summarize the 500 posts that I've written into one theme, it'd be this: I've had a very interesting life so far. It hasn't been short on drama, I can tell you that. Considering that my third grade teacher started making sense when she repeatedly told me that I was an unwanted pregnancy, it's completely understandable that, by 14, I'd cut most of my emotions off. There was a time when I felt absolutely nothing and looked forward to absolutely nothing.
Well, that last part isn't true. I daydreamed a lot. It was the only thing that kept me going at times. It probably wasn't healthy, but I used to imagine having a wife and tons of kids. I used to say that I wanted 15 but would settle for 5. Some people make the mistake of having kids so that they'll have a guaranteed person to love them. I was the opposite. I wasn't looking for someone to love me, but for someone to love.
The years went on and I got married but we couldn't seem to have a kid. By 25, I'd been married four years and was supposed to be on my kid number three or four. It hurt when more and more people started having kids, ESPECIALLY the ones who didn't even want them. I never really made peace with the reality that we couldn't have kids, but I learned to deal with it. Then one day it happened.
The fact that it happened on my birthday made it all the more special. Same day of the week, same day of the year, same hospital...as me. As corny as it sounds, my daughter really is a dream come true. No I didn't end up having 15, but I rolled all that love into one and I show it to her every single day. Whereas I once learned to cut off my emotions, I can't control all of the emotion that surges through me everyday.
I've never loved anything or anyone as much as I love this little girl, and I've tried my best to write about it, but words just fall short. She is the sunrise after a very long night. I am so thankful for her, and I wouldn't change a single thing about my life because it all led up to her.
I love you baby and Happy Birthday!
[caption id="attachment_3433" align="alignnone" width="604"]
Happy Birthday to us![/caption]
HAVE YOU SEEN ME!???
[caption id="attachment_3430" align="alignnone" width="604"]
Please call CRIMESTOPPERS if you've seen him[/caption]
I've been there 110% since my daughter was born. Vaccinations, ear piercing, picking out clothes, touring schools...none of it means jack if I can't replace this toy. If you've seen it, call me. If you know someone who has one, steal it and give to me. There is no time to waste. We lost this thing down on The Mall yesterday, and, after retracing my steps to no avail, I spent about 30 minutes walking up on people like a bomb-sniffing dog trying to figure out if they had it in their possession.
Where are my manners? Happy Belated Independence Day! Do you know the reason for the season? That's right, my birthday is tomorrow (oh, and so is my daughter's). I like to tell myself that all of these fireworks and cookouts for me. I know they're not, but considering I had to pick between fireworks and a birthday present plenty of times as a kid...I feel a certain connection with the holiday.
So anyway...I decided to make yesterday special for my daughter. We began our afternoon with me picking her up from her mom's and going to Horace and Dickie's. For those not in the know...it's my favorite fish spot. It's about the size of a thought, and service doesn't always come with a smile, but if they know you (and they know me well) they hook you up with some good fish. The two of us split a plate of fish in the car while jamming to Michael Jackson. Then we went to visit some relatives before going to Forestville Mall for some Snickerdoodles.
Once again, for those not in the know, Forestville Mall... In most sci-fi movies there is always this plan where the good guys want to blow up a base that powers the opposition/robots/evil. Forestville Mall is that for the ghetto coalition. It's actually one of three: Forestville, Iverson Mall and PG Plaza. If someone could somehow destroy all three of those at one time, ghetto people in DC would cease to exist immediately. It would be like iRobot or Attack of the Clones where they'd all just shut down and go to sleep. Anyway, now you know what Forestville Mall is. Snickerdoodles is the power pellet that keeps them all going.
I'm not only a critic, I'm a client. I make the trip out to ghetto Mecca every few weeks to get my fix. It's a cookie made out of lard, sugar and diabetes. It comes in a paper bag that you can eventually see through by the time you get back to your car. We went to get those and then headed down to the mall. We took pictures, ran around, and just had a ball...
It was all good just a week ago
Then we realized we'd lost a man. When that alien went missing, something changed in my daughter. All I can say is that I have until she gets out of school tomorrow evening to get another one. After she turned back into Bruce Banner we watched the fireworks from the steps of the Capitol. My daughter, being the unique creature that she is, sang Thriller the ENTIRE time (all 15 minutes of the show) while sitting on my shoulders.
We then did what any logical person does on the 4th. After having an amazing view of a multimillion dollar fireworks display in the nation's capital...we went to my mother's house and lit our pathetic $20 box of fireworks. My daughter proved that she's got the juice now by walking towards the fountains when the average child would run away. To justify her thug, she tried to put a sparkler out with her hand (I stopped her).
It was a great day, minus the man down.
Please call CRIMESTOPPERS if you've seen him[/caption]I've been there 110% since my daughter was born. Vaccinations, ear piercing, picking out clothes, touring schools...none of it means jack if I can't replace this toy. If you've seen it, call me. If you know someone who has one, steal it and give to me. There is no time to waste. We lost this thing down on The Mall yesterday, and, after retracing my steps to no avail, I spent about 30 minutes walking up on people like a bomb-sniffing dog trying to figure out if they had it in their possession.
Where are my manners? Happy Belated Independence Day! Do you know the reason for the season? That's right, my birthday is tomorrow (oh, and so is my daughter's). I like to tell myself that all of these fireworks and cookouts for me. I know they're not, but considering I had to pick between fireworks and a birthday present plenty of times as a kid...I feel a certain connection with the holiday.
So anyway...I decided to make yesterday special for my daughter. We began our afternoon with me picking her up from her mom's and going to Horace and Dickie's. For those not in the know...it's my favorite fish spot. It's about the size of a thought, and service doesn't always come with a smile, but if they know you (and they know me well) they hook you up with some good fish. The two of us split a plate of fish in the car while jamming to Michael Jackson. Then we went to visit some relatives before going to Forestville Mall for some Snickerdoodles.
Once again, for those not in the know, Forestville Mall... In most sci-fi movies there is always this plan where the good guys want to blow up a base that powers the opposition/robots/evil. Forestville Mall is that for the ghetto coalition. It's actually one of three: Forestville, Iverson Mall and PG Plaza. If someone could somehow destroy all three of those at one time, ghetto people in DC would cease to exist immediately. It would be like iRobot or Attack of the Clones where they'd all just shut down and go to sleep. Anyway, now you know what Forestville Mall is. Snickerdoodles is the power pellet that keeps them all going.
I'm not only a critic, I'm a client. I make the trip out to ghetto Mecca every few weeks to get my fix. It's a cookie made out of lard, sugar and diabetes. It comes in a paper bag that you can eventually see through by the time you get back to your car. We went to get those and then headed down to the mall. We took pictures, ran around, and just had a ball...
It was all good just a week ago
Then we realized we'd lost a man. When that alien went missing, something changed in my daughter. All I can say is that I have until she gets out of school tomorrow evening to get another one. After she turned back into Bruce Banner we watched the fireworks from the steps of the Capitol. My daughter, being the unique creature that she is, sang Thriller the ENTIRE time (all 15 minutes of the show) while sitting on my shoulders.
We then did what any logical person does on the 4th. After having an amazing view of a multimillion dollar fireworks display in the nation's capital...we went to my mother's house and lit our pathetic $20 box of fireworks. My daughter proved that she's got the juice now by walking towards the fountains when the average child would run away. To justify her thug, she tried to put a sparkler out with her hand (I stopped her).
It was a great day, minus the man down.
Monday, July 1, 2013
Oh Canada
Last week's stress load was bad enough all by itself, but you know I need a challenge. I didn't get a doctoral fellowship at The School of Hard Knocks by slacking off. I don't just walk tightropes, I do it blindfolded. With that in mind, I made it through last week on just twelve hours of sleep spread across seven days. It's cool though. One night I dreamed that I was asleep, so that's gotta count for double sleep. So what does a severely sleep deprived person do on the weekend?
Drive 16 hours to and from Niagara Falls.
Yep. My best friend got married and while I wanted nothing more than to find out what delightful coma would befall me if I mixed ZzzQuil, NyQuil and a bottle of wine, I went to the wedding. My brokeness would not allow me to buy a plane ticket, so I had to drive. Insomnia allowed me to sleep two full hours before getting up and driving 8 hours through not-95.
I really need to work on my geography. I just knew that my GPS would send me up I95. Nope. I ended up in the mountains somewhere. It was really peaceful. I saw the sun rise over the mountains. I saw wind turbines in person for the first time. It was like being in a screensaver.
As for Niagara Falls...I have no idea how that place has managed to avoid the long arm of commercialism. There was absolutely nothing to do (i.e., places to spend money) besides a casino and some odd shops. You would expect a barrage of fast food, chain restaurants and gift shops. But it was just...meh. There was a TGIFridays, but that was it.
The falls themselves looked nice--smaller than I expected, but nice. I rode the Maid of the Mist and enjoyed seeing them up close, but most of the ride was spent with me balancing my desire to take pictures against my fear of my iPhone getting wet and voiding my AppleCare warranty.
The Canadian side of the falls looked a lot more interesting. If I could illustrate the difference with an analogy:
Their side is Boardwalk and Park Place, the falls are 'Go' and the American side is Baltic and Mediterranean Avenue. They had a Ferris Wheel, a huge observation tower/space needle, casinos, and all kinds of fun looking stuff. We have a TGIFridays...inside a hotel.
I think the border patrol is more to keep us in than to keep them out.
Drive 16 hours to and from Niagara Falls.
Yep. My best friend got married and while I wanted nothing more than to find out what delightful coma would befall me if I mixed ZzzQuil, NyQuil and a bottle of wine, I went to the wedding. My brokeness would not allow me to buy a plane ticket, so I had to drive. Insomnia allowed me to sleep two full hours before getting up and driving 8 hours through not-95.
I really need to work on my geography. I just knew that my GPS would send me up I95. Nope. I ended up in the mountains somewhere. It was really peaceful. I saw the sun rise over the mountains. I saw wind turbines in person for the first time. It was like being in a screensaver.
As for Niagara Falls...I have no idea how that place has managed to avoid the long arm of commercialism. There was absolutely nothing to do (i.e., places to spend money) besides a casino and some odd shops. You would expect a barrage of fast food, chain restaurants and gift shops. But it was just...meh. There was a TGIFridays, but that was it.
The falls themselves looked nice--smaller than I expected, but nice. I rode the Maid of the Mist and enjoyed seeing them up close, but most of the ride was spent with me balancing my desire to take pictures against my fear of my iPhone getting wet and voiding my AppleCare warranty.
The Canadian side of the falls looked a lot more interesting. If I could illustrate the difference with an analogy:
Their side is Boardwalk and Park Place, the falls are 'Go' and the American side is Baltic and Mediterranean Avenue. They had a Ferris Wheel, a huge observation tower/space needle, casinos, and all kinds of fun looking stuff. We have a TGIFridays...inside a hotel.
I think the border patrol is more to keep us in than to keep them out.
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