Monday, June 30, 2008

The Last

by the Replacements


Does it hurt to fall in love so easy?
Does it hurt to fall in love so fast?
Does it hurt you to find out
Thirty-second hand?
Is it such a big task
Such a big task
Are you too proud to ask
Remember last one was your last

It's too early to run to momma
It's too late to run like hell
I guess I would tell ya
Cause it don't work to ask
That this one be your last
And this one child is killing you
This one's your last chance
To make this last one really the last

Oh are you too proud to ask
Is it such a big task
Remember last one was your last

The next one's always
Gonna last for always
The next one's always on me

Would it help to fall in love a little slower
I know it hurts at any speed
So you have another drink
And get down on your knees
You been swearing to God
Now maybe if you'd ask
That this one be your last
Cause this one child is killing you
This one's your last chance
To make this last one really the last

Gonna last for always
It's gotta last for always


That one never ceases to mean a lot to me.


THEGIRL has probably set some sort of record by being the only child north of the Rio Grande to actually be spanked with a package of tortillas in a grocery store.

It happened yesterday. She'd JACKED with Wolfboy one time too many and WHAP!

One good smack on the backside and the devil left her oh so briefly.


I threatened her with them again later. Do you know how difficult it is to look like a serious parent when you're brandishing a package of Rosarita flour tortillas at your child?


Happy Monday.

Sunday, June 29, 2008

Un Poco de Nada

A really slow Sunday morning.

My back is still a bit sore from sparring the other day. I'm eager to get well enough to work out again, and in fact, am eyeballing a new school.


We're watching an old episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000: "Hercules," starring Steve Reeves.

"Look--there's the constellation Feces right below Taurus the Bull..."


I co-facilitated a stress management workshop for much of yesterday. It went well! My first work of the sort.

Here's where it was held:


Slow. Slow slow slow morning.


I've got a lot of dings on me from the sparring. Bruises, scratches, bite marks. It's fun being a boy.

Wait, bite marks? Hey Whit, you got some 'splainin' to do.


A throw rug I saw in a gas station on the way back from Houston:


Happy Sunday.

Friday, June 27, 2008


Lyrics to a random, sadly-overlooked Elvis Costello song:


If I am frightened then I can hide it
If I am crying, I'll call it laughter
If I am haunted, I'll call it my imaginary friend
If I am bleeding, I'll call it my wine

But if you leave me then I am broken
And if I'm broken then only death remains

If I am drifting, then I can fight it
If I am sinking, no-one will know it
If I am blinded I'll have my voices still to guide me
If they yet fled away I'd bless the silence

But if you leave me then I am broken
And if I'm broken then only death remains


You can click the title of this post to hear the song.


I'll post in greater detail at some point soon...

Had a fine baseball trip to Houston this week. Spent time with buddies, saw the Rangers lose 4-3 (thanks again, Bruiser), sparred with Whit...

Yeah. The sparring.

Here's how THAT went:

2 attempts at single-leg takedowns, which failed.
1 attempt at a Krav Maga takedown, which also failed.
1 attempt at an ogoshi which (say it together now) failed.

However, I'm told that during one of the single-legs I actually picked him up, and that THAT is probably when I threw out my back...

Yeeeeeeeeah. Wednesday night was very painful. I hobbled out to see Get Smart, which was hysterically funny. The long walk back to the car, though, was difficult.

I'm better since then. I can stand upright at least.

Gotta jet. Be good.

Monday, June 23, 2008

RIP George Carlin

This is a big one.

George Carlin died Sunday, as you probably have heard.

He was astonishingly brilliant and funny, and even when I disagreed with him, he made terrific, insightful points with his jokes. Some people see the world with such profound clarity that they seem to be wholly removed from our thought process in some way. Carlin was one of them.

I grew up listening to him. When my parents were away I'd pull out their LP of An Evening with Wally Londo. I still quote jokes from it:

I wanna get a tattoo on my back that says, "Let's never tell this guy all the crap we wrote on his back. He thinks it's a pirate ship."

He talked about how he wanted to get in the background of some TV news shot, but not actually SAY anything for fear of being cut out. No, his plan was just to mouth the phrase "I hope all you stupid @#$% lip readers are watching."

Funny, offensive, creative... I love how he took the steam out of words, how he belittled the idea that some words (or body parts) are inherently BAD.

If I am funny at all, I owe it to George Carlin (and Bill Cosby, a comic from the opposite end of the spectrum).


I'm glad to be getting back in shape. I've started mixing in some good bag workouts with my jogs. Twice over the weekend I did five rounds of three minutes each, interspersed with pushups and ab exercises. I'm coming around.


Yesterday morning was glorious. I felt great, the weather was nice, and THEGIRL was outside, watering plants. I read the paper on the porch.

The squirrels were behaving rather strangely. At one point a male got within about six feet of my daughter, barking at her. I told her to back off. I figured he's got little ones up the tree or something.

Up in the tree there was a lot of movement. I couldn't really see it because I was under the overhang. Suddenly BOOM! A squirrel fell about 25 feet out of the tree. He landed hard on the grass, and with an awful sound.

He got up and zipped right back up the tree.

So I sipped my coffee and read the paper. THEGIRL sat down with me, showing me her dirty feet. From a different tree there was more noise, and again, a squirrel fell from maybe 25 feet up, landing not far from our feet. It narrowly missed hitting a little concrete ledge, which surely would have killed it. Again, it jumped right up and climbed the tree.

I figure that's about the equivalent of me falling at least 75 feet.

So I'd gone nearly 40 years without seeing a squirrel fall out of a tree, only to see two do it in 10 minutes. Odd.


Happy Monday, ya'll.

Friday, June 20, 2008

How BB Plans to Save the Earth

Bear with me. I think I've solved the problem of greenhouse emissions. Just remember that YOU all knew me back before the Nobel Prize I'm sure to win.


I've been thinking about this. What we need to do is get some of the worst offenders, like big 4x4 trucks, off the road. Those are the ones that get single-digit gas mileage.

And why are there so many on the road? Tiny penises, of course. It's a well-established fact that the guys with the smallest willies are actually the ones who buy the biggest trucks. I believe it's an offshoot of the Napoleon complex.

Anyway, my idea is that we give free penis augmentation to those in need. Then, all those fellows with their new, strappin' johnsons will no longer feel compelled to use large vehicles to demonstrate their manliness. Emissions will be cut down, because those men will no longer feel a compulsion to prove their virility by way of knobby tires and POWERSTROKE engines.

Yes, penis extensions will save the earth.


When Wolfboy and I pulled up to his summer camp today, all of the kids were in the parking lot with their teachers and a policeman.

A teacher told me that the back door to the school had been smashed, and that the policeman had just finished checking it out. He was certain that no bad guys were in the school. In fact, it appears that the door was the only thing damaged. Nothing was missing or vandalized inside.

So Wolfboy, doing as kids do, decided to get out of the car through my door. Yes, that 4'3" kid, all gangly elbows and knees, had to crawl over the armrest and duck his head. That wasn't enough to keep him from knocking the mirror out of place, nearly spilling my drink, and digging his elbow into the car horn, much to the chagrin of the policeman who was standing in front of the car.

He turned around.

"It was him!" I said. "Put the handcuffs on him!"

The cop smiled.

Wolfboy asked, "Who honked at me?"


Happy Friday.

Thursday, June 19, 2008

1000 Tiny Fires

Sometimes on the freeway I see cars that don't otherwise grab my attention until the hand comes out of the window to flick the ash off a cigarette.

Sometimes I see kids or baby seats in the back.


"Yessir, this little car is only one year old, with 10,000 miles. Gets great mileage, still has warranty left, and was driven to bingo every Saturday night by a grandmother. She lit 1000 tiny fires in this car while she owned it, though, so it comes with a free air freshener..."


Fire is what made us human, or at least a big part of it. We could cook and provide warmth, and it was good for keeping away the predators who didn't care about the size of our superior brains, because we were mighty tasty and easy to catch.

We could cook, make bricks, and eventually impose our will on metal.

It wasn't all so utilitarian though; we had some fun with fire. Who discovered that tobacco leaves created a smoke that's pleasant--to some--to inhale when burned?

So we lit up. We smoked and smoked. We did it across the globe. It was a commodity in Indian settlements and prisons. We blackened our lungs, but we had fun doing it.


I guess I was seven or eight when I found this pamphlet about the health risks of smoking. It was awful.

I ran inside, crying, to give my chain-smoking mother the news. This is going to kill you! I don't want you to die!

"Not everyone who smokes dies" was her response.

It's long been one of my favorite memories of her.


The blackness is inside and out. The internal combustion engine changed everything, took our use of fire to productive new levels. How many tiny fires did it take in our cars and jets and chemical plants to scorch the sky? Now there's such a level of muck up there that every summer our children struggle to breathe, and the heat our sun gives us gets stuck in this insulatory nightmare.


We make this choice, right? We decide to light up, to take a drive, to put a little particulate-filled air in our lungs or our atmosphere.

I was pondering all of this yesterday, driving home past the apartments at the edge of my neighborhood.

On the first floor, a young pregnant woman stood in an open door, exhaling cigarette smoke.

We're not all given a choice.


Oh, I'm actually not feeling particularly bad or blue today. I just figured it was time to pry that out of my head and put it somewhere else.

Took Wolfboy to see the Hulk movie last night. He took full-blown ear protection by way of those headphone-lookin' things. He loved the movie. There was a little more blood than I'd remembered. I'd cover his eyes and he'd say, "Dad... I can see through your fingers."

He said that the injury to "Mr. Blue" was the grossest thing he's ever seen.

But I knew he was in his element when, after the first Hulk scene in the bottling plant, he turned to me with a wide-eyed smile and gave me a thumbs up.


And now, a clip from "Mr. B Natural," as riffed by the classic cast of Mystery Science Theater 3000.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008


Please enjoy "Country" by Keith Jarrett.


I have this recurring dream.

I fly.

It comes naturally, or at least it feels that way.

I need a good, stiff breeze. I spread my arms, and I've got lift.

When I'm a few feet up, it's exhilarating and terrifying, but the control comes. I'm mostly gliding, eyes forward, wind in my hair.

It's exactly the feeling of freedom you'd imagine. And as the control comes, I go higher, higher.

It's real. I really can fly! I think to myself.


I wake up, and the disappointment is briefly devastating.


I haven't had one of those dreams in a while.


I like the feel of the rain on my face.

I like the fantastic spring colors.

I like to step into the warm sunshine after I've been freezing indoors all day.

I like to close my eyes and listen.

I like to sing, to hum.

I like the rhythm of a run, legs moving, breath working, arms in motion.

I like to watch my kids greet each other with a hug after a day apart.

I like uncommon beauty, the kind without vanity.

And I like innocence, and its wide-eyed acceptance. It comes with a certain susceptibility, but it's worth it.


Every drop of rain sings about the clouds.

Monday, June 16, 2008


Happy Monday.


Yesterday was a decent day, though I went to bed too late and still didn't sleep in. But the kids drew me nice pictures, and we had a good noodle lunch. I got to watch the winning half of the Rangers' split with the Mets, and that was good.

Admittedly, I've not had the sunniest disposition lately.

I guess it was appropriate, then, that I went to see The Incredible Hulk.

I wanted to see it, but I was also screening it to see if it's okay to take Wolfboy.

A few scattered cursewords don't concern me that much. And even the brutal fight at the end with the Abomination wasn't THAT bad. It's not like we saw blood and guts.

Yeah, there's one shot of a man in the hospital that's likely to disturb Wolfboy since he's tangled with the Hulk and he's a bloody mess. Well, he looks more like a giant bruise.

But it's the scene in which the army uses these sonic cannons to try to subdue the Hulk that concerns me the most, believe it or not. The sound was deafening, and it was about to subdue ME. I had my fingers jammed in my ears and my eyes closed (the latter was involuntary, just a reaction to the discomfort). I swear that if we take Wolfboy he might have to take earplugs or something.

But I enjoyed the movie for sure. It was much better than the ponderous Ang Lee version from, what, '03?

And yes, I took these photos. I was texting Wolfboy from the theater. He wanted updates as to what the Hulk was doing, whether he was winning or losing, that sort of thing.


Big day at work. Better jet.

Sunday, June 15, 2008

Survey to kill time on Father's Day

If you opened this, FILL IT OUT! Learn 50 things about your friends, and let them learn 50 things about you!

1) Favorite hobby?
Wasting time online

2) Have you ever smoked heroin?
Good lord, no.

3) Do you own guns?

4) What flavor do you add to your drink at sonic?
I've never done this

5) Do you get nervous before doctor appointments?
Not often

6) What do you think of hot dogs?
I like 'em made with Hebrew National franks.

7) Favorite Christmas song?
"Little Drummer Boy"

8) What do you prefer to drink in the morning?

9) Can you do push ups?

10) Can you do a chin up?

11) What’s your favorite piece of jewelry?
A little green jade ring

12) Do you like blue cheese?
No! Blech! Poison! Is it SUPPOSED to taste like that??

13) Ever been in a car wreck?
Nothing to write home about.

14) Do you have ADD?

15) What’s one trait that you hate about yourself?
Good grief, "hate" is such a strong word. Oh, I wish I had a better handle on this anxiety of mine.

16) Middle name?

17) Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment..
a. If this game ends soon I can take a nap before I see a movie
b. bases loaded and one out... not sure the 5 run lead we have will hold up
c. eddie guardado's a nice guy, but he doesn't look at all like an athlete

18) Name 3 things you bought yesterday
Oh. Uh... iced coffee, a haircut, and... uh... fries at Burger King

19) Name 3 drinks you regularly drink
coffee, water, OJ

20) Current worry?

I need to pick one? While I breathe, I worry.

21) Current hate right now?
hate? none.

23) How did you bring in the New Year?

drinking sparkling juice of some sort with the Baums

24) Where would you like to be right now?

25) Name three people who will complete this?
My sister. Whit maybe. and... and... uh... can i get back to you on this?

26) Do you own slippers?
house shoes, yes. Somewhere.

27) What shirt are you wearing?
An obnoxious hawaiian shirt

28) Do you like sleeping on satin sheets?
i’ve never tried

29) Can you whistle?

31) Would you be a pirate?
I'd really need to see the full job description before I decide.

32) What songs do you sing in the shower?
whatever grabs me. But not "Kokomo"

33) Favorite girl’s name?

34) Favorite boy’s name?

35) What’s in your pocket?
A pocket knife

36) Last thing that made you laugh?
Probably something the kids did

37) Best bed sheets as a child?
People really remember this stuff?

38) Worst injury you’ve ever had?
road burn on my face, shoulder, elbow, and knee, not the mention the lacerated eyebrow I got when I flipped over the handlebars of my bike as a kid

39) Do you love where you live?
i like it

40) How many TVs do you have in your house?

41) Who is your loudest friend?
I don't have loud friends

42) How many dogs do you have?

43) Does someone have a crush on you?
probably not

45) What is your favorite book?
Cannery Row

46) What is your favorite candy?
Reese's Peanut Butter cups

47) Favorite Sports Team?

48) What song do you want played at your funeral?
"Jessica" by the Allman Brothers. At least the piano solo (the song is kinda long)

49) What were you doing 12 AM last night?
Sitting in a restaurant with Rock, talking about everything and nothing.

50) What was the first thing you thought of when you woke up?
I went to bed too late.

Saturday, June 14, 2008

BB versus the Chinese Mafia

THEGIRL has this habit, see, of announcing that she is UP and ready to get OUT of BED by knocking loudly on her own door.

At 8:14 this morning, she did just that. The sound startled me. I jumped out of bed, put on a shirt, and threw open our front door, expecting to see ... something. Someone. CIA? Chinese mafia? The surviving members of Lynyrd Skynyrd?

Alas, no one was there.

Riiiiiiiiiight, I thought. That's my kid, knocking on her door. Yes. Yes..

Have I mentioned that I'm not a morning person?


Took Wolfboy out for a playdate today. We met the other boy and his dad at Chuck E. Cheese.

Yes, I've been off of my brain meds since Monday. (I'm only partially joking).

But honestly, it wasn't bad. We got a lot of entertainment for $20. The games--even the really cool ones--are only a token apiece.


Tried to sleep some this afternoon. Next time I try to nap, I'm turning my cellphone off.


Got my hair cut at 5pm. It was a new guy. I liked him just fine. He's been sober 32 years.


I went running tonight right at sundown. I like the college track, but it can be a bit tricky. It's a one-mile track, so it's a bit more enjoyable than just doing laps at LD Bell. Thing is, they only allow track use during daylight hours. I show up late in the day, and I see the college cops skulking around. It bugs me. They drive sloooowly through the parking lot, and I keep expecting to find one of their little parking tickets on my windshield. Or they'll park under a tree somewhere, facing the jogging track. It's a wee bit unnerving.

But it was a decent run. Not a great one. I'm just getting back into a good exercise routine, so I need to be realistic. I can't yet proclaim the 3 miles I'm running to be a plateau, right?


Paul Westerberg is God, by the way.


Tomorrow is Father's Day. Perhaps I'll sleep in. Maybe I won't rush to the front door in a frenzy, ready to fight off the world's least-secretive ninjas or something.

I could take 'em.

I would like to get noodles, of course. Might see a movie, take a nap... oh, and the rainout in New York today means a Rangers doubleheader tomorrow. If it's broadcast on 27, well, that's proof that we have a good and noble God.


Stan and Carl are big baseball fans, the lifelong variety. They've always wondered, though, if there's baseball in Heaven.

They make a deal: Whoever dies first will try to come back and tell the other.

Sure enough, Carl dies unexpectedly. A few days later, while lying in bed at night, Stan hears this voice.

"Stan... Stan..."

"Carl, is that you?" asks Stan.

"Yes... yes..."

"So you can tell me whether there's baseball in Heaven?" asks Stan.

"Well, I have good news and bad news," says the voice of Carl.

"Okay, what's the good news?" asks Stan.

"There IS baseball in Heaven," says Carl.

"And what's the bad news?" asks Stan.

"You're pitching tomorrow."


Good night.

Friday, June 13, 2008


I am lost in a moment.

It's not always kind, this ticking clock.

Sometimes it zips by, yanking us blindly along. I've seen that with my children already. MOBB has already shed real tears about them attending college. I used to joke about that. Used to.


I'm a slow runner. I get lapped. Young men--why is it always young men?--show up at the track. I'll be a few laps in, and they pull up. Maybe they stretch, maybe they don't. I don't care, don't pay any attention.

I trudge along, eeking out my laps and ZOOM, one will pass me.

Tall, slender, wearing expensive running stuff. These guys are always faster, much faster than I.

I don't know how they can do it. Sometimes they'll bring a girl or two. They look great pulling steadily away from their running partners. I'm sorry, but crawling along at your girly pace is way too inconvenient for the likes of ME. Off they go.

I just plod along.

And before I know it, they're gone. I'm still doing my thing, and they've packed up and left.

Good night, junior. Hope your lady friend was impressed.


This fatigue makes me about half crazy.


Rangers lost to the @#$% Mets.


Sometimes... it's hard.


Good night.


Danny and Kellye had a baby! From the email:

At 3:27 pm on June 12, 2008, Kellye and I welcomed the arrival of our first child, Brenna-Marie Carroll Henley. She weighs 8 lbs 7 ounces and measures 19 inches long, and I'm happy to report that Mom and Brenna-Marie are both happy and healthy. Dad is just plain overjoyed.


I text a lot. Too much maybe. It’s really kind of labor-intensive for what you get, but I’m actually not that big on talking on the phone, believe it or not.

My phone’s got some feature where you type part of a word and it’ll try to finish it for you.

It doesn’t work so well. If I start to type “America,” for example, it completes the word as “Amerijet.”

What the heck is Amerijet?


The road to my happy place is paved with the skulls of my enemies.

Okay, not really. I just like the sound of that.


BB’s current therapy: Decade by Neil Young. I love his acoustic guitar playing, but it’s playing along to his electric stuff (“Like a Hurricane,” “Cinnamon Girl,” “Down By the River”) that forces me to play a bit more lyrically.

I’ve listened to a bunch of my old demos lately, and you know, I had some knack for melody in my playing that I feel is often missing these days. My playing is in such a rut.


I want to go to Heaven. I know they play baseball there. I’m just not sure how they do it with no umpires.


A month after graduation I finally feel like I’m able to stop and take a breath. My gosh what a whirlwind of activity and pressure school was. I still stay in motion a lot. I’ve resumed running. I’m stretching out bit by bit, currently taking nice three-mile runs. Soon enough I’ll bump that up.


Someday I will sleep in.


If you type “jar” on my texter, it suggests “Jared.”

If you type “Mik,” it suggests “Mikhail.” And that stinks considering how many guys I know named “Mike.”

If you type “Zip,” it suggests “ziping.” Is that even a word?

If you type “nug,” it suggests “nugatory.” Again… is that even a word?


We used to have this slow elevator at Belo. I’d hit the down button and be in there so long I half expected that when the doors opened there’d be a guy with horns and a pitchfork. “You went too far… wait, except for Brisc…”


“Sir” becomes “siring.”


Happy Friday.

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

First, Then

First came Dooley, a little Yorkie/Dachsund mix I got when I was three. Her name was supposed to be Doodles, I'm told I pronounced that "Doo Doo." Soon it morphed into "Dooley," and that was good enough.

She was smart and lived many years. I've often said I'd like to have another mix like her again.


Then came Danka, a female Miniature Schnauzer. She was smart and sweet.


Then came Beau, her son. He was stupid and sweet.


Then we had a cat named Scumhead. Man that cat got in some scraps. He'd come home beat to heck. I remember a hole in his shoulder big enough to hold a walnut. The vet shot it full of antibiotic cream. The cat never winced, and he recovered nicely. He'd eat whole shrimp, horn and all.


First came my nice CRKT tactical folder from a couple of Father's Days past. Loved that knife, though it tended to lock up when open.

I lost it in January.


Then came the nice Gerber folder that Ken got me. I left it at the movie theater Saturday. I hate that. No one turned it in.

I'd buy another just like it, except that I want one like Ken's new one


First came Dad. He and Mom made it 10 years before splitting. Irreconcilable differences. "We grew apart," they both said.


Then came Charlie. He had two sons, both older than me. One stayed distant while the other terrorized my sister and me. I'd bloody his nose if I saw him tomorrow.

Charlie tossed my mother around like a rag doll.


Then came Gary. In my mind, he's the standard for alcoholism in my life. He'd drink a fifth of rum and not seem drunk at all. He was quite a brilliant man.

He gave my mother black eyes.


Then came BJ. He drank beer non-stop, and for a while I did it with him. I took his side against her for a while.

He beat my mother. She finally got him out, but he nearly ripped the door off the trailer the night he cut the phone line. Six cop cars showed up.

I showed my displeasure in a very teenaged way. I still look for him in public places. I'd rather not be surprised.


Then came Martin. Or was he before BJ? It's a bit hazy. Martin was a real weinerhead.

He was also a cross-dresser.


Then came... Mike? Nice guy, with two younger sons who came to call my mother "Mom."

It didn't last. More irreconcilable differences.


Then came... Danny. Dan? Jeez, that's already hazy. He got convicted for exposing himself to little girls. I believed Mom when she said he'd gotten a raw deal, that it was all a misunderstanding.

Then he did it to my grandmother.

And that was the end of that. I guess they're still married.

Monday, June 09, 2008

After the Gold Rush

Ever get a melody just STUCK in your head? Me too.

Last week it was "Hello It's Me" by Todd Rundgren.

This week it's "After the Gold Rush" by Neil Young.

This version is apparently played on pump organ.

Young is one genuinely weird performer, but you know, there's no denying he's got tremendous talent.

Sunday, June 08, 2008

It was today

June 8, 2008, during a morning walk around the neighborhood that Wolfboy asked me if Santa Claus is real.

It was time. I told him the truth.

He asked about the tooth fairy too.


He took it well, marveling at all the stuff we had BOUGHT him last Christmas. He feels a little more grown-up now since he gets to be in on the big secret. And he'll still get presents.

My boy.

Saturday, June 07, 2008


I have some ideas for good posts.

Maybe I'll get to them at some point.

Maybe not.


I'd like for things to be easy.


Maybe I took a wrong turn at Albuquerque.


I lost my pocket knife. Really. Again. Damn it.


I ran 3 miles Thursday night in winds the weatherman called "28 to 44mph gusts." Half the lap would be easy, half would be miserable. I'd run into the wind, half crazy, saying aloud, "@#$% you I won't do what you tell me."


And I won't. I won't be controlled.


A guy in a parking garage snuck into a spot that a woman in another car was clearly waiting for. She'd gotten there first, had her signal on... he thought he'd be cute, perhaps, and zip in ahead of her.

She got out, went to his window, said something, and he put it in reverse and left.

Wow. That actually worked.


Frustrated is how Wolfboy felt after the fishing derby today. He caught two decent channel cats, one just over a pound and one just shy of two pounds. Couple hundred kids there today, but he didn't win one of the ten trophies. He cried about it off and on for maybe a half hour.

Frustrated is how I felt too, because I'm completely different from that. He was willing to consider the whole morning a loss because of that. I personally don't work like that. I try to allow him his feelings, of course, but when he overreacts like that, about the best thing I can do is put distance between us. I lost patience with it.


I'm turning in. Good night.

Friday, June 06, 2008


[written by a dear friend of mine]


Lessons learned nights ago
Mistakes made and corrected
Knowledge comes at a price
No detail neglected

Embrace the understanding
That the wings must be clipped
Whilst the body and the mind
Learn to submit

Groomed and shaped like the bonsai
Forced into unnatural cast
Bent and trained and broken
To please and satisfy the master

Intrusion, tolerance, resignation
Acceptance, response, pleasure
To become wholly pleasing
To become every man’s treasure

Integrate every nuance
Merge with each reaction
Hear, feel, taste, see, know
Embody satisfaction

Anticipate his desires
Soothe his frustration
Stroke his fragile ego
Feed his imagination

The finest of the students
Allow you to believe
That the pleasure you are given
Is equally received

It is for this you were created
So the whispers taunt
While memories of humanness
Flicker and tease and haunt

Every detail attended
Knowledge bestowed at a cost
The servant beautifully created
But true beauty itself is lost

Wednesday, June 04, 2008

Nothing says, "Buy this bottle o' hooch" like a dancing monkey.

Okay, some random photos for your viewing pleasure.


Shot of me in my new specs. I can see!


Nothing says, "Buy this bottle o' hooch" like a dancing monkey.


For all your manscaping needs.


Honestly, I don't know what compels me to take goofy photos of myself after I work out. It's probably pathological.


My father and my nephew fishing yesterday.


The fon-kay men's room mirror at J&J's Pizza in Denton.


Deep thoughts at the pool party.


Kind of an eery, blurry shot taken at Magic Time Machine.


After working out Sunday.

Monday, June 02, 2008

Unida and the Running Man

3 years ago it was like I heard the starting gun. MOBB got an iPod. It was so great that I never gave it back.

But the message was clear: You have portable music now. It's time to work out.

I barely gave it any conscious thought. I strapped it on and took off.

Krav Maga soon followed.

And I was good until this last school year. I worked out pretty well until last September.


Toland sent me the Small Stone box set (which, off the top of my head, I seem to recall as being titled ...and back to earth again, though I could be wrong, and I don't feel like getting up to check). It's just loaded with the stuff that initially got me off my duff to exercise: Unida, Lowrider, Solace, Atomic Bitchwax, Dozer, The Hidden Hand... greatness. 45 songs of stoner rock glory.

And I'm off and running again, just like that.


Just two-mile runs at this point, back at the LD Bell track. It's dark, though on the latter half of the track you're running towards the Grubbs Nissan dealership, and the lights are sort of eerily blinding.


Just a lap at a time, sweating, getting into a rhythm, listening to myself, feeling my lungs, trying to see what I've got in me.

And there is nothing, NOTHING like "Wet Pussycat" by Unida to help a guy through his last couple laps.

I will get it back.

Camcorder footage, unfortunately:

Still, it captures one really great song.

If John Garcia does so much as sneeze within 300 miles of here, I want to be there to hear it.

I was inspired tonight. Focused. I didn't kill myself, but that former drive of mine is back. Tunnel vision. Getting better, mile after mile. I will improve. I will make something of myself. I will be worth something. I will.

Good night.


So... just a pinch of random whatever for you.

I'm not up to a big, heavy post right now.

So... just a pinch of random whatever for you.


I dreamed that alien invaders were here, taking over the planet. They were moving by land in massive numbers, and we humans were terrified. We didn't know much, except that they were spreading all over the place.

Bunches of us were hiding out, tracking their movements and planning evasive maneuvers of our own.

We ran. We cut northeast as they came southwest towards us. We could hear them, see their path of destruction. We were separated from our loved ones and on the run.

My luck ran out.

I encountered one. It was about 4 feet tall, and looked like... Mike Wazowsky, from Monsters, Inc.

Granted, he had really menacing fangs, and he made an awful growl as he charged me.

If I'm going down, I'm not going down without a fight, I thought to myself.

I took out my trusty pocket knife, jabbed him in the side, and---


The air leaked out of him and he flattened like a balloon.

I stood there and stared at his carcass.

Jeez, these guys aren't so tough after all.


You read it here first.


Busy, busy weekend. Saturday morning Wolfboy went to the greatest birthday party EVER. That is, it was at the Chisholm Aquatics Center.. It cost $1 to get in for us Hurstites.

(Hurstitians? Hurstahoans? Hurstonians?)

He strapped on his life vest and waded into that pool like he owned the place, paying no attention to the words I was directing at the back of his head.

I looked around, wondering if my boy, who can't yet swim, was safe there.

Let me tell you, that place was LOADED with lifeguards. As he waded it, I counted four within 30 feet of him in any direction. And they were not messing around. They were watching those kids diligently. I eased back to the grownup pavilion, had a Coke, and took it easy. We are going to LIVE at this place over the summer, man.


Scene from earlier that day:

I'd put on one of those combination swimsuit/flotation devices on Wolfboy. It had a Spiderman logo on it, but looked just a little small.

He put it on, and yeeeeeeeeah, it was a little small. It gave the poor guy a wedgie, as well as, uh, "boy" discomfort.

I thought I'd tug the legs down, maybe see if that'd suffice. I tugged one leg, and he tilted his head back and uttered the most relieved "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh" you've ever heard. It just killed me! I was dying with laughter. I tugged the other leg, and he did it again. Okay okay, too small.


THEGIRL had her dance recital in Denton Saturday. We had no idea what to expect. The place was full of tiny dancers in their costumes.

As the show opened, it was clear that the dancers fell into a few different categories:

The gamers, who go through the steps despite the strange place, the fans, all that.
The zone-outs, who just stand there and do nothing.
The hams, who do some of the dance, and also may run around some, or go to the edge of the stage to blow kisses and take bows several times in the middle of the song.
The terrified, who cry, scream, and generally go on like they'll be discussing this in therapy in 30 years (and me with no cards on me...)

We wondered which type THEGIRL would be.

Her number came up, the music started, and... she was a gamer! She did all the steps, enjoyed herself, showed no fear, and took appropriate bows at the END of the song.

She did it the same way in her next two songs too. It was absolutely adorable!

We shot video, of course.


The video was a challenge, as my up-close vision isn't great, so I couldn't ever be certain by looking at the camera that the kid I was taping was actually my own. I mostly taped the right one.


So I got glasses. I can sort of see now. And I feel like my head is in a fishbowl.


I've been working out again. I ran a couple miles the other night, and had a good workout yesterday. I did five 3-minute rounds of bagwork, with 90 pushups and 30 situps thrown in.


And that's the update from Briscoe Central.