Current Events

Politics: Ranger Bob For President 2016

I’m going to say the same thing that I said seven years ago: I refuse to vote for Hillary Clinton. Even if Senator Barack Obama hadn’t been the most electrifying man in political entertainment, I would still have chosen him over Mrs. Clinton because I just cannot bring myself to help put us on that path. I’m not talking about how she embodies the sell-out, bought and paid for representation of the multinational corporations and special interests, or the fact that she’s a woman; almost everybody else in national politics is just as bad, and I couldn’t care less about the ramifications of her reproductive system. The fact is that since 1989, two families have held the highest office. Right now, that’s twenty of twenty-six years. Should Hillary be elected president, that will mean that those same families will have been running the executive office for (at least) twenty-four of thirty years, or 80% of the past three decades. To be fair, through 2008, the Bushes and Clintons had controlled the office 100% of the time, but a run of possibly twenty-eight years between two budding dynasties was just too much for me to stomach. Just so no one accuses me of playing favorites, I’m also proud to declare that I won’t be voting for Jeb Bush either.

It’s bad enough that we’ve been reduced to a two-party system, I cannot accept that we’re freefalling toward a two-family system. And from there, all it takes is some social mingling, and we’ve got the beginnings of an empire. Sure, it seems unlikely that people today would accept the totalitarian rule of a single family whose power passes down through heredity, dispensing with the antiquated notion of democratic participation, a system which is widely regarded with disdain and apathy. I mean, we’ve got a couple of brothers who seem intent on using their vast wealth to control the country, but they’re so well shrouded in the shadows which only unlimited wealth and power can buy, that people do their best to simply ignore what little evidence has come to light. But we prefer to think that our officials are elected, and a straight-up power grab reminiscent of the republic which we’ve tried to emulate is still a little far off from being socially acceptable. But I can see how it might be done.

First, you limit public options down to two. Then, you field candidates from two families, alternating them every couple of election cycles. Each of these presidents will be popular with their voter base, at least until the end. From there it’s only a matter of time until those two families begin consolidating power. In the outside world, the War on Terror seems to drag on without end. We continue to give up liberties in our attempt to hold those who might seek to do us harm at bay. Politics have become more of a distraction than ever before, with scandal after scandal shoving actual news deep into the disappearing newspapers, and mentioned almost never in the twenty-four news channels’ broadcasts. Meanwhile, we’re running out of resources, and because of the myth of the job creator, those in economic power continue to run roughshod over both environment and ex-employees. We’re soon out of water, the weather patterns having made the United States a nation of climatological extremes, and the party of deniers has finally accepted that there is some sort of problem, but there is nothing to be done, as we are past the point of no return. On the bright side, Florida finally sinks into the sea, and we are no longer bound to its insanity. The union of two families finally comes to pass, and the product of that union ascends to sit upon his golden throne, ruling over the American Empire as it falls from major player status to a dimming third-world power.

Okay, I’m willing to admit that I may be overreacting. It could just be that I have spent my entire life watching the country which I love embark upon a quest to make itself irrelevant. If I was the type who believed that the End of Days was not only inevitable, but just around the corner, I probably wouldn’t be as worried as I am. I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? The apocalypse comes a little early. I cannot bear the dumbing-down of everything, nor the flailing of religious fantasy as it seeks to drive us back toward the last time it was relevant. I hear constant cries for a return to a more theocratic rule, never mind that the last time it was thrust upon us, it took the courage of band of heretics to drag us out of those dark ages and push us toward the light. In a time when we could feed the world, drive up the standard of living and the quality of life, we fall back upon the superstitions of millennia long gone, and incite the world to war.

It’s time to put a stop to this. It’s time to look toward hard-earned knowledge to guide us into wisdom instead of flipping through antiquities to find something to justify our prejudices. Or maybe we should go the other way, and embrace something more ridiculous. Let’s put an actual cartoon up for an election. I hereby announce the candidacy of Ranger Bob for President in the 2016 election. He ran in 2000, but we wound up with a different deranged type of cowboy instead. I think that the time has finally come for us to formally usher in the Age of Insanity. Let’s cast aside enlightenment for edicts from the past. Let’s toss out reason in favor of fervent faith. Corporations will always do the right thing because otherwise they’d soon be out of business. The rich create the jobs, and not the workers who spend their hard-earned cash. The poor are just lazy, and hard work will always result in unbridled success. We’re not responsible for climate change. Voter fraud! And corporations are people, despite the fact that Texas hasn’t ever executed one.

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.–That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, –That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.–Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.
He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.
He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.
He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.
He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.
He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected; whereby the Legislative powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.
He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.
He has obstructed the Administration of Justice, by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary powers.
He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone, for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.
He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harrass our people, and eat out their substance.
He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies without the Consent of our legislatures.
He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil power.
He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended Legislation:
For Quartering large bodies of armed troops among us:
For protecting them, by a mock Trial, from punishment for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these States:
For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world:
For imposing Taxes on us without our Consent:
For depriving us in many cases, of the benefits of Trial by Jury:
For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences
For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighbouring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies:
For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws, and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments:
For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.
He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of his Protection and waging War against us.
He has plundered our seas, ravaged our Coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.
He is at this time transporting large Armies of foreign Mercenaries to compleat the works of death, desolation and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.
He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands.
He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages, whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.

In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.

Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our Brittish brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which, would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.

We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States; that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1zqOYBabXmA

 

Politics as usual
Seriously. This guy!

 

 

Family

Spring Break Has Finally Broken

I wasn’t sure that I would make it this time; another nine days with my son always at my side is quite a stretch of time. It’s not that I don’t love him, just that we need a little break from one another before things go too far. His sense of humor is a little twisted, and his idea of comic timing involves repeating himself over and over until I make a token acknowledgment of what he’s said, never pausing to take even a single breath. It’s not so bad in the afternoon, when I’ve had a chance to raise my shields, but as a wake-up call at seven in the morning, it’s something I can live without. During his time off, I never seem to manage to get myself to sleep before two o’clock in the morning, and, as long as he doesn’t have to go to school, he’s up in time to greet the dawn. At least we’ll be getting back to something of a more normalized arrangement this evening. And tomorrow, I have no doubt that I’ll be up with a cold shiver of dread at being late, and he will slumber like the dead. Maybe I should give him a taste of his own comedy, just to see how funny he thinks it is when it’s aimed at him. The problem is that I would most likely punch myself, as I just don’t have that kind of nonsense in me anymore, despite what he says about my jokes.

Today, he had the nerve to tell me that my jokes were “lame”, and that I, myself, was a “Lame-o”. I have no idea what he’s talking about; I gave him comedy gold. For all of you who are wondering about just how lame my jokes are, here’s exactly how it all went down:

Me: Why did the veterinarian give a lozenge to the pony?

David: I don’t know. What’s a lozenge?

Me: It’s like a cough drop.

David: Oh, okay. What’s a cough drop?

Me: Something you take when you have a sore throat… and a cough.

David: Okay. I don’t know.

Me: Fine. He gave the pony a lozenge because he was a little horse.

David: (erupts in laughter) What’s a veterinarian?

Me: (facepalm) Okay… A horse walks into a bar. The bartender asks, “Why the long face?”

David: Why are you telling me jokes about horses?

Me: Get it? (mimes extension of face) A long face…

David: Are you done?

Me: One more. Ready?

David: (groans) Whatever, Dad.

Me: Okay. Three men walk into a bar. The fourth man ducks.

David: I don’t get it.

Me: You know, three men walk into something, and then the next guys doesn’t.

David: What’s a bar?

Me: Well, in this case, it seems like I’m talking about a tavern, but the joke is that it’s really like a pipe, or tube.

David: I still don’t get it. Your jokes are lame, Dad. You’re a Lame-o.

Me: Okay, tell me one then.

David: Knock knock.

Me: Who’s there?

David: Orange.

Me: Orange who?

David: Orange you glad I didn’t- Wait! Wait! Knock knock.

Me: (groans) Who’s there?

David: Doctor.

Me: Doctor Who?

David: (erupts in laughter)

Progress and Equality in the 21st Century? Ha!
He’s been laughing at his own jokes for years.

While I appreciate his ability to recover, and approve of his nerdy references, I am not a Lame-o. I mean, whose go-to joke for comedic superiority is of the knock-knock variety? Although, to be fair, at least he can nail those. Most of the time. I will give him credit for trying. I just wish he was a little funnier. I don’t know. Once in a while he manages to make me chuckle, usually when he’s in trouble with his mother. And then we both manage to get in trouble for his shenanigans. And I know that he’s just trying to make me laugh as a way to win my approval. I just wish that he didn’t try so hard. I find him funniest when he’s not overdoing it. Then again, I myself have been known to beat a punchline to its death. It’s probably just something that he’ll eventually grow out of. And hey- maybe he will be able to pick up on social clues someday, and know when to bail out on a joke when it’s obviously bombing. Then again, he is my son, so probably not. I guess I’ll just have to give him a master class in sarcasm and dry, British wit when he comes of age.

I don’t know what I’ll do with all the time that I’ll be left with when I’ve dropped him off at school. Probably laundry, come to think of it. And then a rousing game of “make the apartment presentable for company.” Our nephew is flying in from Mexico this Thursday, and my wife wants to make sure that he doesn’t see what two full families living in a two-bedroom apartment actually looks like. And it is Spring, so I guess it’s time for a good cleaning. I just hope he doesn’t wonder why the throw rug is so lumpy. And at eye level. It shouldn’t be too bad, though. I’m going to meet him out at SFO, and then take him on a tour of the city. That means that between now and then, I actually have to look up where the Irish Bank is located, and build up the courage to face Pier 39 again. At least lunch is not issue. One of the benefits of knowing people who work in restaurants is that I can usually get a decent deal on food.

And this weekend, I think that the whole merry lot of us are going to be super touristy and hit up Alcatraz. I’ve already been, but Wildflower and David have not. We’ll have to see how it all goes, but I think we’re going to have a fair amount of fun this week. I just hope that David doesn’t try telling any jokes.

Yes. Quite amusing...
Yes. Quite amusing…

-Tex

Family

Water Wings

“Sometimes I just like to express myself in tears.”

-David William, 4/10/15

And, other times, he is... less profound.
And, other times, he is… less profound.

There are times when I am amazed by just how mature my son can be, on the rare occasions when it doesn’t interfere with his childishness. He has such a way with words sometimes that I find myself wondering just how he’s managed it in such a short amount of time. He’s almost eight years old, and yet he casually tosses out profundity without a second thought. I suppose it could be something in his genes, as I tend to do the same, or it could be that I’ve never spoken to him as though he were anything less than an adult. There are times when that hasn’t worked out so well, and I have to be reminded that he’s still a little boy, but his vocabulary is fantastic and he’s capable of reasoning which I’ve been told is significantly above his age group. Most of the time, he’s just this little kid, obsessed with playing Xbox, and vegging out in front of his cartoons. And yet… Like I said, there are times when he just lays some truth down on me, and I cannot help but think that maybe I am doing something right, and that I might be pretty lucky to have been able to be part of his life.

I’m just hoping that I manage not to screw him up too badly by the time I’m done with him. I’ve got just one decade left to try to help him to discover who he is, and what it means to be that man. And really, considering how close his teen years are, I’ve probably got less than that. I don’t want to turn him into a carbon copy of myself, as I’ve learned the hard way, living with my daughter, but I’d like to pass along some of the lessons which I’ve managed to learn over these past three and a half decades. It’s too early to get into comparative philosophies, but I’ve been focusing for the past couple of years on teaching him how to think. I figure that he’ll be flipping through beliefs like the pages of a Victoria’s Secret catalogue soon enough, and at that point, the only influence which I’ll have on upon him will be to present a target to which he can focus his rebellion. Knowing that those days are coming make me preemptively weepy, but I’m hoping that by laying some groundwork now, I can minimize the damage in the years to come.

I’m glad he’s not reading over my shoulder right now, as I don’t want him to know just how impressed I am with him. I know that sounds a little weird, but please, hear me out. I tell him every day just how much I love him, and every time he knocks it out of the park, I make sure to let him know just how good of job he’s doing. But I don’t want him to get too full of himself, and think that can do no wrong. The best lessons I ever had were those which I managed to salvage from the burning wreckage of my failures. I never learned anything by getting it right the first time. That’s not to say that I’m not capable of doing it right the first time, just that it’s not really a learning experience. And now, whenever I learn something new, I’m more interested in the Whys than Hows.  The only downside to that is that no one really wants to teach me anymore, on account of the unending stream of questions pouring out from between my beard. I guess that I just want David to have to always think that he could do a little better, because that will always be the truth.

Now, I’m not saying that I want to be the type of dad who never gives his son approval. I just don’t want him to get so hung up doing a victory dance that loses sight of the bigger picture. There is always more to learn, more to see, more experiences under the sun (and moon) than can be checked off of any list in a single afternoon. Of course, if I’m not careful, I’ll drive him to try to touch the sun, and water wings are even less effective than those crafted lovingly from wax.

Pictured: without either
Pictured: without either

Not that he’s ever used water wings, however. No, he’s not a natural swimmer, we just can’t get him anywhere near a pool. He’s terrified of water, except for little puddles that splash safely around in. Hell, when we give him a bath, we have to debate just how important it actually is to get the shampoo out of his hair. I don’t know why he’s so worried all the time about the smallest things. That’s probably genetic, too. I don’t suppose that I’m really in all that great of a position to be mocking someone for their anxieties. I mean, despite my intelligence and unbearable awesomeness, it is still a major battle to pick up a phone and call someone I don’t know. To be completely honest, even phone calls to people with whom I share D.N.A. or, at the very least, a deep friendship, aren’t all that much easier. I mean, I only really call the man who I once considered my best friend if I happen to be in the same area code, on the way to meet up with him- and we live hundreds of miles apart. Even our text messages are few and far between, as I’m even nervous about simply wasting his time.

I hope that David William won’t ever have to deal with that. It’s one thing to be afraid of dogs, and cats, and water deeper than a couple of inches, but it’s another monster entirely to be afraid of other people. So far, he’s just like his mother, in that regard. He has no problem walking up to someone and demanding that they be his friend, although his rate of success is nothing to write home about. I guess what I like it is that it never occurs to him that he might fail. Now, when he does homework, or tries something new, I’ve seen him paralyzed by all of the What If’s regarding failure, but when it comes to other people, there’s no thought in his mind other than wanting to share a moment with another human being. Maybe I’ll wind up learning something from him, after all. I mean, the odds are that at least one of us has got to be a decent teacher.

-Tex

Family

Back To Normal (Once Again)

It was nice to have a little day off yesterday, even if I didn’t really get much of a chance to relax. I got to host a compulsory playdate for my son and his friend while all the other grownups were at work. Mostly they just hit each other, and then tattled on one another. This happened off and on for a few hours until I had had enough, and then I decided that what everyone needed was some sunlight and fresh air. If we were living on the Island, I would have just sent them off to play down on The Walk, but we live near Richmond, California, and there are times when even I don’t feel comfortable going out alone. Poverty and poor decisions (from a limited set to begin with) have a tendency to fold back upon themselves and hone a violent sort of survival instinct, and while I do not blame the victim, I’m also aware of my surroundings. And when it comes to kids under ten years of age, attention is not a quality they possess in any quantity, except for when commercials are blaring and they see a toy that they absolutely have to have.

I decided that it seemed slow enough of a Thursday that I might be able to drop off my son’s prescription without having to wait half an hour in a frighteningly static line, so we all got ready, and walked the half mile to Walgreen’s. And when I say that we all got ready, I mean that my son threw a temper tantrum for the better part of an hour, declaring through rage, streaming boogers, and tears that he didn’t want to go, and that we should just leave him here all alone. Surprisingly, it was his sister who wound up saving the day, finding a way to get him settled down and out the door. It was surprising, not because she lacks maternal instinct (which she does not), but because, in any given moment, the two of them are usually locked into some sort of screaming match. There is a certain jealousy, I think, which exists between siblings separated by over a decade and a half, although that animosity is usually felt most strongly by the older sibling. The younger one will usually shoot back with, “You’re not the boss of me!” or “You’re not my Mom (or Dad)!”, while the older sibling spends the quiet hours wondering what they might have done, and why they weren’t enough. It’s hard to go from the center of attention to taken for granted, and this dynamic can frustrating for everyone involved. It is nice to have some help, though.

See? They're so adorable!
See? They’re so adorable!

I don’t really talk a lot about my daughter. Usually, we spend our time sniping at one another, and jockeying for control of every little situation. Biologically, I am not her real dad, but in every conceivable way, she is my little girl. It is actually because of her that I am convinced that I will someday unlock the secrets of time travel, if only so that I can go back and date her mother in the fading light of the 1980’s, thereby tying up loose ends, and explaining why she’s so much like me. We’ll argue for weeks on end, passive aggressively engaging in a type of warfare reminiscent of Sherman’s March. I almost feel bad for my wife and son-in-law, as they are, for the most part, fairly normal people who don’t deserve this type of well-oiled insanity. But we are the lights which burn so brightly that we cannot help but singe the soaring wings of moths drawn to our flames. Also, and I have this on good authority, it turns out that crazy people are just fantastic lovers. Unfortunately, we also tend to be utter crap when it comes to the simple stuff that all you normals never give a second thought. But that tends to be the way of things.

I don’t think that I could make it through the nonsense of any given day without the grounded support of my wife, and I know for a fact that, despite their occasional squabbling, my son-in-law and daughter are good for one another. Life isn’t easy, and it’s important to find someone with whom you can just be yourself. My wife is my rock, my solid foundation upon which I may set down the burden of my crazy, if only for a little while, and I am the spice which adds extra depth to her days. But, like most spicy things, I tend to inspire gastrointestinal distress and I’m not nearly as much fun the next morning. I think that if I hadn’t found a way to draw out laughter from amidst the tears, we would have finished years ago. As it is, there are times that I can see something stirring just behind my wife’s Market Spice eyes that gives me pause, and makes me wonder if today is the day that the world will fall down around me. And then she’ll blink, and that shadow upon her soul will disappear, and life will return back to the baseline normal we’ve established over these past nine years.

In case you guys were wondering, we didn’t wind up making it to Walgreen’s. Their phone lines and registers were down, and their manager posted outside to turn everyone away. The worst part, however, was that I had a code for a free rental at Redbox, and the next closest kiosk was farther than I really cared to walk. There’s a limit to how much something free is worth, and honestly, $1.64 is not an amount for which I would do a whole hell of a lot. So we wound up meeting my wife at the Grocery Outlet on the other side of town (about half the distance to the nearest Redbox), and picking up some snacks to make a little picnic in the new park they just put in. It gave us grownups the chance to plant our butts on benches, and let the kids run wild in a moderately contained area. On the way over, of course, David and his friend practically jumped out in front of a car in the parking lot of a Mexican supermarket, and I don’t know who more freaked out: the driver or myself. I really wish that kids would pay even the slightest bit of attention, as is seems that they have no instinct for self-preservation whatsoever. They do seem to have a seemingly unlimited supply of dumb luck, however.

We managed to make it through the rest of the afternoon without incident, either traffic or temper related. Our friend picked her son up, and my wife, daughter, and grandson took off for Berkeley to check out some Dollar Store deals. I was left hanging out with David, so I cooked us up some burgers, and we hung together and watched Who Framed Roger Rabbit? until it was time for bed. At this point, I’m just going to lie, and say that everything went smoothly on the slumber front, as I really don’t want to get into it (and my son is reading this over my shoulder). I guess I’ll just say goodbye for now, and that I’ll see you all tomorrow.

-Tex

After Dark

Apocalyptica (Post-Show)

Once again, these guys did not disappoint. I had been a little worried that they might not be as good as I remembered, and this time it took a fair amount of arm-twisting to get Wildflower out the door. For a little while, I was also a bit concerned that tonight might be a repeat of the Metallica show in… I think it was ’99. I managed to make sure that everyone I knew had tickets (I used my house-sitting check to pick up around eight, I think), and was really excited to get a chance to see them and Soundgarden at The Gorge. Most of my friends wound up going the day before and setting up in the campsites near the venue, but my girlfriend waited until the last possible minute to get us started, scrounging around wherever she could for a two-day supply of her drug of choice. By the time we finally started out, we would have been lucky to catch the tail end of the show, and, as luck would have it, we didn’t even get that far. Still some distance from the show, as we were speeding along at nearly 90 miles per hour, the front passenger tire blew, and that pretty much excluded us from any of the festivities. By the time we got a tire at a service station in the middle of nowhere, the concert would have just gotten out, and we wound up spending the night on the shoulder of a deserted road somewhere in the backcountry. I was a little bit upset, to say the least, as I’d dropped over $400 for a show that I never got to see. Tonight was better, though. Despite a rocky start, we got to Regency Ballroom with time to spare, and even wound up killing time buying a concert tee and going to the bathroom.

I did get a t-shirt from that show in ’99, but it’s almost fully disintegrated now. The armpits are completely exposed to the elements, and I’m too much of a Comic Book Guy to pull that kind of look off.

Unlike the last time when we went to see Apocalyptica, the band opening for them (VAMP on this occasion, Dir En Grey last time) didn’t cause me to feel a murderous compulsion toward their sound guy. I don’t know that I’d want to see them again, but they were alright, and had a couple of tunes that weren’t completely awful. Dir En Grey, on the other hand, is a band which I hope never to encounter for the rest of my natural life. There was so much shrieking that Wildflower almost collapsed, and it was touch and go for a while on whether we would have to miss the band that we were there to see. And despite having a far smaller fan base in this area (making the lead singer’s attempts to draw in the crowd a little sad), VAMP managed to offer up a decent set, and didn’t injure anybody.

After roughly half an hour, they made their way off of the stage, and our ears began to try to readjust to normal levels of conversation. I didn’t remember it taking so long to get the stage set up for Apocalyptica the last time that we saw them, but then again, I was busy nursing my wife back to health. There was roughly thirty minutes between VAMP’s departure and Apocalyptica’s arrival, and we took the time to make another pit stop, and then try to find somewhere on the floor where we wouldn’t be trapped behind a sea of bobbing heads that stood much higher than our own. We found a spot, and pretty soon the room erupted in cheers when the banner raised behind the drum kit with APOCALYPTICA in letters spanning tens of feet and at least a meter high.

Sorry for the abysmal quality. My phone isn't aware that it is also supposed to be a camera.
Sorry for the abysmal quality. My phone isn’t aware that it is also supposed to be a camera.

From there, it was only just a couple of minutes until the Finns took the stage (our tip-off was the fog machine). Sadly, it seemed that the majority of the people there were waiting for the headliner, as the cheers were somewhat more muted than they were four and a half years ago. But when they launched into their set, those of us who are true fans managed to drag the Nikki Sixxers along with us. They opened with a new song, which was more quietly received, as most of us had only heard it for the first time recently, and the people there for SIXX:A.M., not at all. But where they really won the crowd was when they brought out the chairs, and laid into “Nothing Else Matters.” This being Metallica country, almost everyone knew the song by heart, and everyone was singing along, backing the trio of metal cellists on the stage.

I had hoped for a couple more old-school Metalli-tunes, but they were on a slightly tighter schedule than they had been when they were headlining. I have to say, it was a lot of fun last time, when all the Dir En Grey fanboys and girls had left the Ballroom to us metalheads, and to close out the evening, Apocalyptica ran through a classic live version of “Seek & Destroy”. Still, I don’t know why I am complaining. They played a hell of a show, and were definitely worth the price of admission (which is good, because we bailed out before the headliners). I will say that I had forgotten about the audience participation and the clapping, and managed to screw my right pinky up pretty badly from banging in rhythm against my wedding ring. I’m glad that my wife and I could go for our sixth anniversary, and as far as anniversaries are concerned, this one ranks a close second to the Whiskies of the World Expo which we attended for our third.

Flor managed to get a little video, but it’s very low-quality sound, so I’m just going to put up all the pictures which she took (from her far superior camera-equipped cellular telephone).

"We's plays the metals
“We’s plays the metals
On ours brutal metals cellos"
On ours brutal metals cellos”
It's hard to tell from this shot, but they really own the whole stage
It’s hard to tell from this shot, but they really own the whole stage
So many horns were thrown... (During "Nothing Else Matters")
So many horns were thrown…
Eicca, hamming it up...
Eicca, hamming it up… and looking METAL AS F@*K!
Hugs onstage to massive applause.
Paavo, Franky, Perttu, and Mikko, soaking in the applause
Final bow and curtain call
Final bow and curtain call. Eicca, Paavo, Mikko, Perttu,and Franky.

 

As they left the stage, killing all hope that they might be convinced to do a thirty minute encore, my wife and I decided to leave. We really didn’t care about the next band up, and by leaving when we did, we managed to get home by midnight. Perhaps it’s just because I’m getting older, but I have to say that I’m glad we didn’t have to stick around until the very end. Bedtime is important to us. And again, maybe it’s due to my advancing age, but I also felt that VAMP didn’t need to be quite so loud. Also, they were totally on my lawn, so…

Anyway, it’s just past 1:30 in the morning, and I have to be up in roughly five hours, because my wife’s friend is dropping off her son to Tex Batmart’s Daycare Emporium and House of Frivolity around seven in the morning, and that will require that I am conscious enough to put on pants and turn the television in the living room on for him. Good night, everyone! I’ll be back tonight for a regularly scheduled ramble!

And if you haven’t already, make sure to follow me on Twitter: @texbatmart, and “Like” me on Facebook: Tex Batmart.

Okay, that’s it! Good night, folks!

-Tex

After Dark

Apocalyptica (Pre-Show)

I am more excited than I probably should be, but this is the first show that I’ve gone to in years, and the first date night that Wildflower and I have had for almost as long. I’ve been nerding out to their entire discography all day (including the three songs off their new disc which I got because I pre-ordered. We’ve got a little over half an hour until we’ll be taking off, and I just wanted to get a little of this excess of exuberance out of my system before I get on BART. Chugging a 12 oz. Cranberry Red Bull probably isn’t helping, but I am who I am, and nothing’s gonna stop me. In addition to trying to write something about all of this, I’m also trying to get more music on my iPod for the ride over, but my computer is apparently having a seizure because it knows I’m in a hurry. It looks like that’s not going to happen, so I guess I’m out of luck for anything after 7th Symphony. I would also like to mention that I am a little put out with Amazon right now. I used to love getting MP3’s from them because I could download them easily and listen to them on my iPod, or on Zune, or wherever, and not be slaved to just one player. But their Music Player is cumbersome and unresponsive, and now it’s just as bad as dealing with iTunes, which I only do out of necessity. I just want to download my songs easily and listen to them. That’s it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qxDcWvZCSRg

I mean, what’s wrong with a little functionality? So it looks like my laptop heard me… the files have miraculously appeared in on my computer. No to face the unending wrath of iTunes so I can transfer them over to my iPod.

Okay, I am officially out of time. I’ll be back after the show with details and an afterglow! Off to see Apocalyptica!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2JzFgvdo4Pk

Uncategorized

Time Is Running Out

Well, this is it. My leisurely stroll through the sunny fields of contented unemployment have officially been numbered. Starting next month, I need to be able to scrounge up at least a couple of thousand dollars on a regular sort of basis. The day has finally come when the kids have found a place and are moving out. I can’t even begin to count the number of times when I was working that I asked them to move out, but now that they are finally going, the moment has turned bittersweet. At least I know that I can jump right in and do my manager thing. I have a particular set of skills, you know. I wouldn’t mind transferring them to a slightly different field, but work is work, apparently, and my experience has transformed a high school dropout into an affordable commodity. And now that I know that I can keep up with my writing, for at least a thousand words per day, I’m not as scared of the daily grind and falling out of rhythm. It just might be the time to put my will back to the test, and make a little money in order that I might finally be able to finance my own dreams.

Strangely enough, this doesn’t really come as a surprise. Not the money thing. I mean, I know I cut out one year early from my compulsory education, but even I can still do basic feats of arithmetic. Recently, my wife has been informing me that she might have to go back to working closing shifts to be able to make forty hours. With her switching back to nights, that leaves me open to run for something during the day, assuming that I would be able to get back home before she had to go to work. I know restaurants in general tend to abhor a nine-to-five, but I am good at what I do, and I think that I could make it worth their while. Part of me wants nothing more than to go back to the man I used to work for and offer to take back over at the store I left (a possibility, since my son-in-law is going to be taking paternity leave as soon as my granddaughter has been born). I know his staffing issues, and I’ve also been made aware of the limitations which he faces in his current management roster. After spending nearly six years in that organization, I know that once I got back, the months I’ve spent away would slide off down my shoulders, and I’d be right back where I started (or ended, depending on just how you want to frame the tale).

Luckily, I’ve still got some contacts in the industry, and my reputation there was always fairly solid. Honestly, if I didn’t really need the cash, I’d probably just settle for some random cashier gig, but my credit cards and rent aren’t going to pay themselves, so it looks like I’m stuck with management again. It could be worse, I suppose. I might never have acquired any skills whatsoever, and be forced to consider the dwindling options which labor can provide. And I’ve worked my way up from the very bottom at almost every job I’ve had over the last ten years, so I know how to grind it out, and I understand how not to be the type of manager who runs the store from somewhere deep within the office. I’ve earned the respect of my employees many times before, and I can do it again if I have to. To be honest, I think that I’d prefer to put a Paypal button for donations in the corner of my site, but all my friends who read this are at least as poor as me, and don’t really have the resources to subsidize my adventures on the run from an honest day’s toil.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that once I left my last job, it would be like pulling teeth to get me into another, as I tend to not want to put myself in a position to have to meet new people when there’s any chance I might avoid it. But the fact is that after a half-dozen years in the crucible of the pizza game, I needed to take a breather and find my bearings again. And, despite the financial shortcomings of writing for a blog which pays me not a single dime, it’s hard to say that it has been anything other than a complete success. I’m writing more than at any other time in my life, and though it’s not all diamond crusted flecks of platinum and gold, on the whole, it’s of a higher quality than the nonsense I was churning out before. Sure, there are fewer moments of inspired genius, but then again, I’m also not penning epic droning poetry that just kept going on for page after page, long after I’d run out of anything to say. With a new job comes a chance for new experiences, and that means sprinkles of inspiration that I seem to be going without due to my isolation and unwillingness to step foot outside my house, cigarettes and escort missions aside.

I guess this means that tomorrow will be my last hurrah before responsibility sets in. I’m glad my wife and I get to have a night out on the town. It’s been too long since we’ve done anything outside of domestic squabbling, and I’d like a chance to try for some redemption from the last time that we went out. It turns out that when you all but give up drinking, you can’t just jump right back into it and pound ’em down like in your twenties. If I could remember anything outside of snippets of our journey home, I’d probably feel as embarrassed as my wife did as she babysat her husband while he wandered around and made a proper ass of himself. Somewhere there’s a cabby who will most likely never be able to forgive me. But this time we’re going to go and do it right, with water and an early evening. I’ve said it before, but I’m kind of glad Apocalyptica is not headlining, and that I have no interest in seeing Sixx:A.M. We can duck out early from the show, and make it home in time for bed.

I didn’t choose the elder life, the elder life chose me.

I promise that someday, when I find the cable for my Nikon charger, I will get a better picture for you all. Right now, however, this will have to do.
I promise that someday, when I find the cable for my Nikon charger, I will get a better picture for you all. Right now, however, this will have to do.
Uncategorized

Storm: A Brewing Torment

Storm's a brewin'.
Storm’s a brewin’.

There’s just something about a storm that brings out the spark of life in me. When the wind picks up, and the clouds race in to mass just above me, and the tiny drops of rain come flying in on a slant, followed by a rolling thrum of thunder and cascading shower of lightning bolts illuminating the darkened, purple night about me, I cannot help but feel so amazingly alive, like an abrasion of consciousness wrapped around my mortal frame of flesh and bone. I’ve always loved a good storm. They’re not so terribly impressive, here in the Bay Area, at least not anymore. I remember a few years ago when we could count on a couple of baby monsoons or so, but since then, the weather has been painfully uncomfortable for an Emerald City boy like myself. What rain we do get is primarily for show, and on the off-chance that it’s anything substantial, it just floods the streets and drains back out into the Bay. I have to say that I miss the weather on the Island where I used to live, and that growing up on a little rock in the Puget Sound raised the bar on miserable squalls.

I remember a ferry ride during a particularly brutal tempest, out on the Seattle-Bainbridge run. The boat was rocking side to side, just out of rhythm with blasts of lightning and kettle drums. And of course, this was shortly after Titanic had splashed into the cinemas, and the local papers had been making note of our ferry service’s similar deficiency in life-saving apparatus. I myself enjoyed the ride, and almost fell asleep. This was before the nanny-state surveillance which followed in the wake of 9/11, when the worst thing that would happen to you was winding up back where you started. And then there were the summer storms, when the drops dripping downward had been gently warmed by the rising waves of heat, and fell upon you like a silken shower to wash all of your worries down the dipping hills to drain into the rocky beach. It seemed that every August, I would find a way to re-enact that scene from Shawshank, albeit without the obligatory crawl through five football fields of shit smelling foulness I also could not imagine. The best that I can get in California is the occasional wafting fragrance of all those crawls that I managed to avoid.

I’ve been reading for years about how California is running out of water, and seen myself that we’ve managed to completely fail to make up years of falling reservoirs due to obnoxiously clement weather all year round. I’ve joked around with some of my friends still living in the Great Northwest about the possibility that I might return, but the Evergreen State itself isn’t in the best of shape. It terrifies me to think about a world in which my son and grandchildren will have to go to war over something as basic as H20. Once-prime real estate will be deserted as no one can live without access to water. Well, almost deserted. I can easily imagine gangs in stillsuits roaming the ostentatious paradise we once called San Diego. The Magic Kingdom will begin to crumble, and the animatronic army will secretly start its fortifications of the theme park empire of the West Coast. They will have some success, but by the time that they are able to communicate with Orlando, that capitalistically sacred land will have sunk beneath the sea. And we will observe a moment of silence for America’s wang.

What would be so hard about ensuring a world which future generations might enjoy? I know that it seems un-American to suggest something other than the Almighty Dollar has any intrinsic value, but I am now a father, and I’d like my offspring to have a chance at some sort of life that they actually might enjoy. I know that luxury is not a basic right of life, as any of the animals who died so that I might have something upon which to nibble could attest, but I believe that they possess the chance to find unhappiness as cogs within a giant, uncaring machine, as long as it allows them to buy all the newest, coolest gadgets. All joking aside, every time we go back up north, I make sure to walk around with David William, down the beaches, and up the wooded hills, through the forests and the fields. He’s been a city boy for his entire life, and I like to see him take in nature, cherish it, and fall in love with the sheer beauty of it all. He’s seen the urban jungle, and the clouds of smog between us and the view, so I know that when he gets the chance to breathe in air that doesn’t taste of car exhaust and the bitterness of broken dreams, he can appreciate just how wonderfully special those moments truly are.

The storm has finally come now, with gusting bursts of wind and rain drizzling down without conviction, rather like an afterthought. It rained last night as well, moistening the asphalt in the wee hours before the dawn, but once the sun had risen, all traces of the rains had fled, as the clouds flew toward the corners of the heavens, to reveal a pale blue elegy of sky. Sitting by the window, as I type these very words, I can hear the dripping on the roofs and cars throughout the neighborhood, like a hundred sinks with leaky faucets displayed just feet from where I’m sitting. Maybe I’m just getting all sentimental because I’m not used to being conscious at 2:30 in the morning, or maybe it’s because I simply miss the beauty of the land where I grew up. I came down here because of palm trees, and because I missed my best friend terribly. Of course, he’s back living in Seattle, and I’m stuck here with the palm trees and the loneliness.

All the years that I’ve been here in California, I haven’t really made the time to make new friends to replenish all the people whom I’ve lost. I know a couple of people who’ve been kind of close throughout the years, but like all family, I only see them once or twice a year. I could count Nerdenn Events, but he’s now my son-in-law, and my roommate, to boot. I don’t have anyone like Fed and Bad Leon, and they are both hundreds of miles away. The problem is that I was always working, and only had time to hang out with people on my way home from work, but once I got promoted, and ran the whole damn show, I’d found I’d lost the time I had allotted to get to know the revolving door of tolerable acquaintances. There are a couple of folks whom I still chat with, who know me well enough that I hope I never piss them off, but I don’t know that I would feel too comfortable calling them in the dead of night to whinge on regarding my recurring bouts of melancholy.

When I moved down here, I was young and full of hope. It’s been a dozen years now, and let’s just say that things haven’t quite turned out like I had been expecting. Restaurants were never my idea for a lifelong career choice, and I’d figured that by now I would have become a world-famous author. I have a wife and son, a daughter and a grandson, and a son-in-law who isn’t all that bad; for someone who always wanted a family of his own, that’s like hitting a home run. But with the lot of us squeezed into a two-bedroom apartment, bouncing off one another and always getting in the way, that sense of closeness feels, at times, like a pillow gently laid upon the mouth of a quadruple amputee. And despite being so smothered by attention that I feel sure that I’ve expired, there is a creeping sense of isolation which has overtaken me and made me miss my friends. It could just be that I’d like to have a conversation in my native tongue that didn’t involve children’s shows or bedtime. Or maybe it’s just that I am completely exhausted, and I tend toward thoughts of sorrow when I’m up so late and all alone. I’d say that I’ll feel better in the morning, but I have a sinking feeling that my son will want to wake me up and make me play with him.

And speaking of my one and only, I know that I am hard on him, and that I spend column yards on pointing out his foibles. But I love him so much that there are times that I am certain he has trampled through my heart. What a mind, that kid of mine does have, and the irritating qualities so prominently on display are due, in no small part, to a combination of genetics and my training him in rhetoric and the joy of The Debate. His confrontational attitude is a constant source of muscle spasms (mostly centered in my neck), but I would rather teach him how to think rather than just forcing him to parrot what I think. Years ago, I told him that if he could lay out a case before me, using logic and what reason he could muster, I would hear him out, and if he did his job right, there was a chance that I would change my mind. I also warned him that there would be times when he would perform magnificently and yet still fall just short of swaying me. But do you know, in the almost eight years that he’s been alive, he’s managed to argue me into overturning two of my prior edicts. That may not seem like all that much, but when I consider that we still use rubber sheets when he sleeps with us in bed, I’m even more impressed. Yessir, that child of mine is something else.

I think that I have rambled long enough. Thank you for indulging me as I shifted between weather and disappointment, nostalgia and parental pride. I’ll be back again this evening with another report from Spring Break ’15.

-Tex

Family

Spring Break!

Somehow my son gets yet another week away from school, which for him is the ultimate adventure, but for me is more akin to a contest of endurance. Today has been everything which I had imagined that it would be, from the temper tantrums to the unreasonable demands and a lack of desire to put anything in one’s mouth that wasn’t primarily sugar. And that’s just me. David managed to top my insolence, and transform it from the flailings of a well-practiced amateur to the finely-honed craftsmanship of a true master. My only hope is that some day my curse will fall upon his shoulders, and he will sire a son who tests his patience with a dedication that feels not entirely unlike “enhanced interrogation.” I realize that I have brought this upon myself, in so many ways, but it just seems so… unfair that I am forced to relive the highlights of my youth, but in the third person. I guess the main difference between David and myself is that, while we both wholeheartedly believe that we are always right, reality has shown that it is I who holds mastery over the never-ending bag of I told you so‘s.

I get another week of this, which means that I will probably need some sort of therapy by nightfall this coming Sunday. When dealing with almost anybody else with whom I don’t agree, I can simply cut them out completely from the fabric of my life. This has even worked on several occasions when dealing with my mother. But I cannot do this with my son, no matter how tempting it may seem at times. Even if I didn’t know exactly how it felt to grow up without a father, I would feel obligated to remain. It is my job to teach him how to harness his tendencies toward assholery, that he might at least superficially function somewhere deep within society. And if I am not here to face the whirlwind of his madness and help it to dissipate, then there is the chance that it never will, and he will be a hurricane of madness sweeping through all the lives thereafter which he touches, never really knowing why it is that no one has ever invited him to stay. I would say that there is a chance for self-containment upon his realization that girls (or boys, for I judge not) exist, but then I think back to how calmly I was able to navigate the streams of life whilst hopped up on a steady stream of hormones, and I suddenly feel pity for that spinning ball of energy: all alone and horny, with nary a couch to rest upon.

Of course, it’s my job to see the worst, while constantly keeping watch for signs of commendable behavior. I may call him out on bullshit with a whiplash’d frequency, but I also make sure to point out all the times he gets it right, so that he has third-party verification of his success. Inside that head of his, adorned by ketchup and so thick I wonder why his neck has not yet broken, is a mind that constantly amazes me, both in its agility and camouflaged ability. Fed has said of him that he is either “a genius or completely retarded.” My wife, and most people who don’t think we should go around referring to children as “retards” are offended by the comment. But I can see the truth of it. Like his father, David is in negative possession of an overwhelming quantity of common sense. He can grasp the most complicated concepts, far beyond his age, but cannot remember to flush the toilet or turn off the bathroom light once he has finished. Like me, he cannot seem to understand the most basic human concepts. The stupid things he does are not a product of any deficiency other than their own: if something is too simple, he will discount the obvious answer, and wind up overthinking everything until he breaks down in tears. Or I do.

"Well, you NEVER share with me SOMETIMES!" -David, right now.
“Well, you NEVER share with me SOMETIMES!” -David, right now.

Bad Leon is slightly more understanding, but I’m pretty sure that’s just because he’s trying to instigate a full-scale revolution with The Minkey at the head. Bad Leon is a great uncle for David to have around, as everyone should know someone who can easily add context to their parents’ delusions of control, and help a younger generation come to understand that grownups are full of shit. It’s a shame that Mr. Suave had to go and get himself stuck in the middle of Montana, as I think that it would be nice to have him around on various occasions. I would totally be willing to forgive a certain level of subversion if it meant that I could actually embark upon an uninterrupted date night with my wife slightly more often than every other anniversary (and a half). Well that, and I could finally unearth the Rock Band paraphernalia. Sadly, I am referring to the plastic guitars that wirelessly connect to my Xbox 360, and not anything slightly more befitting of a washed-up poet and the bass player from… I don’t know… some band or something in the middle of Montana.

What I’d like to know is when, exactly, do I get my Spring Break? I mean, besides the small vacation which I take between 8:30 a.m. and 2 p.m. every Monday through Friday when school is in session. And the time I’ve taken off since Thanksgiving so that I could knock off all the dust and rust and try my hand at wordsmithing. But apart from all of that, when do I get mine? I need a vacation from my “vacation.”

Oh, what to do! At least my son-in-law, Nerdenn Events, is off tomorrow. Maybe he can take The Minkey and Cream Soda on a little expedition, and I can sleep in for a little, and then work on a couple of things. And if that fails, at least I have a show to go to on Wednesday night. I think that I’ve exhausted all my complaining for the day. I’m sure that I will have a whole new set of irritations to share with everyone tomorrow. Have a good night, everyone!

-Tex

Family

Rising From The Dead

I suppose that it’s not so terrible a thing to take a couple of days off from time to time. I’ve had a lot going on recently, and it was nice to be able to catch up on a little sleep. I just wish that I didn’t keep waking up in the Twilight Zone. It used to happen with more frequency about a decade and a half ago, but from time to time it appears that I am still vulnerable to a shift between dimensions. Before I fall asleep, everything is normal. but upon opening my eyes, I find that I’ve been transported to a realm which appears in almost every way identical to the one with which I have been living, aside from one minor detail: In this new reality, my wife and I apparently do not get along. It probably has something to with the fact that I’m a massive pain in the ass, but what really kills me is that tonal shift never occurs until after I have fallen asleep. At least I’m fairly well-rested when we get into the thick of it, although I would much rather wake to find that I have been transported to a universe where everyone agrees with me and defers to my authority. Of course, I would then face the problem of never truly believing that I’d woken up.

It could be that I’ve just gotten used to a certain baseline of misery, but I seem to always be able to find just the thing to say or do to make everybody angry. It could also be that, after having ridden atop a wave of brightly burning mania, I am now crashing back to earth, wings melted and streaking down my back. I just hate it when I argue with my wife. I love her more than I ever thought possible, and have come to rely upon her in those moments when mere apathy and anger are simply not enough to get me through the day. I just wish that I could convince her that I actually know what I’m doing, instead of having to wait half a year for everybody to catch up to me. For me, it’s enough to know that she is there, standing by my side, a pillar of perfection in the jumbled chaos of my life. But I can see how sometimes it can be hard to keep your head held high when you’re just trying to keep it above water.

I’ve always landed on my feet. That doesn’t mean that I haven’t seen some dark days, just that I’ve always managed to escape them more or less intact. But it has been a little harder to navigate the streams of uncertainty with a wife and child. It’s not like the three of us (and all our stuff) can fit comfortably on someone’s couch until we get our feet beneath us once again. I’ve learned to keep it at a distance, all this uncertainty and self-doubt. I know just how fragile everything can be, but I also know that all that worry will only tie me into knots. That’s not to say that I don’t know how to really sink myself into a pit of things I cannot change, just that I also keep in mind that things have a tendency to work out for the best. My wife, however, is not familiar with this crippling level of worry. She is an amazingly capable human being who consistently puts me to shame on any number of issues, but when it comes to surviving stress-wound muscles, erupting heartburn, and the sinking feeling that the world is falling down around you, I totally have her beat.

Money doesn’t fix everything, but it sure helps to mitigate the worries. I understand why she is worried, as I’m bound to fall on my face one of these days. Most people would love to see me on that day, as the deflating of an ego so large is something of a spectacle. But should it ever come to pass that my luck actually runs out, my wife will wind up being punished for the crime of having believed in me. I know that everything is going to be okay, and apparently the universe is on my side (although, who knows how it will work in this parallel reality?). I don’t want to get into a lot of details, but every time I think that time has just run out, I’m granted an extension at the perfect time, like a second chance unfolding through infinity until I’m ready to get it all just right. Yeah, okay, I can see how that could look a little crazy. I suppose that if someone else unloaded all of that on me, at the very least, I’d be a little skeptical. It’s a good thing to be in the driver’s seat of your own insanity.

I just wish that she would relax. She runs around, putting out the fires, all the while getting singed around the edges. At the end of the day, the fire’s still burning strong, but it helps her to feel that something’s been accomplished. Meanwhile,my focus has been on how my jeans have been shrinking. We don’t have a scale in the apartment, but I’m certain that I haven’t packed away enough to outgrown all of my pants. I know that I could handle losing a couple dozen of them (pounds, not pants), but to have grown so… large… that I cannot even wear the jeans that I don’t care for… What is this world coming to?

That right there is a perfect comparison of the two of us: She’s focused on the all the things we need to do to keep from going under, and I’m shedding internet tears regarding my descent into flabbery. I just wish that she would accept my assurances that everything is going to work out fine, but she’s too much of a perfectionist to take me at my word, and I’m too tired to argue anymore with her. I feel like something dead, barely registering above room temperature.

A shadow of my former self, from deep within the Twilight Zone.
A shadow of my former self, from deep within the Twilight Zone.

Exploring the Universe through Snark

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