I Got Hit By A Car Today... How Badass Is That?

True story.

It happened as I was riding my bike to go to my favorite musical establishment in the Shores, Car City Records.

It was a hot day out and people where driving like maniacs. I even mentally told myself I hope no one hits me. And that moment I am sure some ominous music started playing at that moment. That, or something shouted out, "That white boy is about to get mowed down".

Nevertheless, I continued my trek and I had just passed the Arby's, Ramblin' Rose by the MC5 came on my iPod, I said, "Wait... what... that is a car!" and I was side-swiped by a nice old man in a Lincoln. My face was greeted by his rear passenger side window. And my pelvis and hip was greeted by the door, while the handlebar of my bike got acquainted with my wedding gifts (if you know what I mean).

Right after I got hit, two guys riding their bikes passed me and said and I am paraphrasing, "That mother funky moose did not even stop. French fry him."

But the fact of the matter was this guy was like eighty-five years old. And I could not find it in my heart to yell at him. He asked if I was okay and my reply was (and I am not kidding), "Are you serious? I am so pumped right now!"

So he continued on and so did I. It was soon after that I realized I probably just took part in the most polite hit and run ever.

To make things worse or better, to be honest with you I had no clue what was going on. On account of the whole being hit by a movie vehicle thing. My friend Joe texted me saying, "Just saw riding the old two wheeler.. Looking good big guy." I sarcastically asked if he saw me get hit, to which he replied, "lol yes."

You may think I was furious by getting hit.

Oh, to the contrary.

It was probably one of my top three life experiences...

Right next to getting a cavity put in and watching Batman and Robin.

But in a weird way, I can cross off "Get hit by a motorized vehicle going more than 20 mph" off of my bucket list.

Suck on that Jack Nicholson. Skydiving? Pfft. Get run over by an old guy in a Lincoln, then we can talk shop about Bucket Lists.

Day 15. Song that makes you want to chill out

I have not done one of these in awhile. Instead of starting all over, I am just going to pick up where I left off.

Now, you are probably expecting me to reveal a Jack Johnson song, because is what most people think of when they think "music that chills you out". But I am taking a different route, and picking a song from an artist who was chill ass Jack Johnson before chill ass Jack Johnson was chill ass Jack Johnson.

The man is James Taylor and the song is Sweet Baby James.

This is a beautiful song to close your eyes to and forget life for two minutes and fifty-five seconds.

It is a perfect blend of folk, country-western, pop and a lullaby.

If I ever have a son and name him James, I am singing this song to him every single night of his life. The first seven years should go fine, but after he gets married I suppose that is when it will get awkward.

But in all seriousness, James Taylor is one of the best singer-songwriters ever.

EVER.

He paved the way for artists like Jack Johnson and singer-songwriters alike.

That is why whenever ever I am in the mood to relax and drift off for awhile, I always go to James Taylor and Sweet Baby James is the first song I play of his.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v2EZUw2mvjs

Myspace=Greatest Website Ever.

Think about it.

In a weird way, why are you on Facebook right now? Because of Myspace.

Why do you know exactly what your ex is doing right now? Myspace.

Why do you do surveys to past your time on the internet? Myspace.

Why are you "friends" with hundreds of people, when in reality on a day to day basis you see three of them tops? Myspace.

Why do you shamefully embrace that Fall Out Boy and or Cartel t-shirt in the back of your closet? Myspace.

Myspace has contributed a lot to American Pop-Culture. Sure, it is not the social networking czar that it once was, but it was amazing when we were in 8th grade.

Personally, if it was not for Myspace I would be a little musical turtle with my head in a shell. Myspace was an amazing source for finding bands and new music. And if you found a real grass-roots young band, you could actually message them, and AIM them. Yeah, For Felix I am talking to you.

Myspace is the only reason that we knew people in our grade were dating. If a female (or male) was the number one friend on your BFF's friend list. They were practically married. Or if they commented on your bulletin, or one of your pictures you knew what was up.

Myspace brought us the art of the funny survey. An art that has become sort of lost. You know you miss answering, "What color are your underpants?" and feeling like you were one question away from yelling stranger danger.

Myspace connected long lost friends. Some of which became even stronger than before, while some made you realized that you were long lost friends for a reason. Because they used to insessiantly AIM or call you. But now, they can just insessiantly post bulletins about how much of a B word their mom is.

Haha. AIM.

AIM was the only reason I had a girlfriend in middle school. Because communicating through smiley faces and LMFAO's is much more easier than actually having to smile or laugh in person with your significant other. Besides, it cut down on my awkward social skills.

Actually that is a lie, because you could be plenty socially awkward on AIM. You know, when you were in that conversation that you did not want to be in, yet you started in the first place. So your part of the convo was help up with:

lol
lol
lol
lol
yeah....
yah
yah
yah
lmao

And am I the only person who never understood why the F disappeared in LM(F)AO?. I remember having to ask my friend MJ what LMAO was. She explained it was laughing my ass off, without the you know what. Fricking.

Myspace and AIM were a two-headed beast and cure for the socially awkward teenager of 2006.

Without them, we would not be the Facebook creeps we are today.

So here is to you Tom. The real proverbial Godfather of Social-Networking.

The Obi Wan Kenobi to Zuckerberg's Anikan.

Myspace was one of the greatest-worst things to happen to the world ever. That is why we should bring it back. To its former glory. Comment on people's pages. Look at embarassing pictures of you in 8th grade. Post bulletins about you Friday. Message people playing the secret game. Have a 30 Second To Mars song as your profile song. Go crazy.

At least Myspace had profile songs.

In your Face(book) Zuckerberg.

Ha. I just LMFAO'd.

My Documented All-Nighter (Udpated Every 15 Minutes or So)

11:30 pm- Hot dog with cheese, crushed Lay's potato chips, ketchup, onions and sauerkraut= potentially the greatest worst thing I have ever put in my body.

11:45 pm- I have been playing MLB '11 the Show for the past five hours, doing the Road To The Show mode. My guy's name is Casey Yount. Can't field for the dickens, can't hit for the dickens, thought about renaming him Don Kelly. But he does have the best facial hair on the whole damn field.

12:05 am- Lay's and Orange Juice= probably what they inject into criminal's veins to kill them. Honestly, surprised I have yet to unleash a burp, actually I am scared to.

12:06 am- Spoke to soon. I think I died for two seconds during that burp.

Macho Madness

When you are a boy, you get dealt your first guilty pleasure. Professional Wrestling.

As a kid it is cool but the older you get it, being a wrestling fan just gets creepy. But when I was a kid Professional Wrestling was cool across the board, no matter what age you were. Everyone threw up the Wolfpac sign, everyone knew Stold Cold, and everyone chanted E-C-Dub.

But now I am nineteen-years-old, and fondly reflect on the Attitude Era, WCW and the Extreme Revolution. But I am also seeing a lot of the wrestlers that grew up watching die at an alarming rate and very young.

The latest was "Macho Man" Randy Savage.

I am sure you have heard the story by now, and it is incredibly heart-breaking, especially if you watched wrestling or knew about him.

He had an amazing amount of charisma, and even though he was not my favorite wrestler as kid, I always noticed him and realized that he was passionate about what he did.

I pride myself in my Macho Man impersonation that I have perfected over the years after watching all of his outrageous promos from back in the day on youtube. I still do not like Hogan because of Savage.

Here is one of my favorite videos of the Macho Man:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OQxyD0Q7GtU

How could you not like that guy after watching that?

Savage was the spokesperson for Slim Jim for quite awhile too. And in fact after I saw a Slim Jim box in a party store I wanted to write this, as it took me back to being a kid. Staying up till 9 at night watching Nitro and RAW, watching WWF Livewire Saturdays at my Grandma's with my cousin Lindsay and Joey, Nick and I doing our best Too Cool impersonations.

Though I am not the fan I used to be, I would be lying to you if I said I did not check up on it every now and then.

It just does not have that same magic that it did when I was a kid though.

Because guys like the Macho Man are not there anymore.

My Favorite Songs At The Moment

I have been in a weird music funk for the past week. I have been really all over the board.

1. Tiny Dancer- Elton John: Now, this little ditty is possibly the best driving song ever. Especially while driving. I have no qualms about making people uncomfortable once that chorus hits. And I also have no qualms about death-staring the S out of the person who tries to be funny and play the Tony Danza car.
2. Anything Fleetwood Mac Ever: After seeing Lindsey Buckingham last week on SNL, I immediately listened to Rumours... Three times. Then I listened to The Dance. Then their self-titled album. So much good music.
3. Yourself Or Someone Like You- Matchbox Twenty: People say the '90s sucked music wise. I completely disagree. I feel the '90s were packed with great pop and alternative bands and songs. And one of the best examples of that is this album. Regardless of what you feel about Rob Thomas or this band, give it a listen. It is a phenomenal debut album.
4. Alexander- Alex Ebert: This is the debut solo album of the lead singer of Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes, as well as the singer for Ima Robot. It definitely sounds a lot like Edward Sharpe. Maybe a smidge more poppy, but it a great album to listen to on a sunny day.
5. Endless Summer- Beach Boys: If there was ever an album, where the title fits it perfectly, it would be this record. You could just play this record on an endless loop all summer and it would fit right in.
6. Hurricane- Bob Dylan: My favorite Dylan song. I feel like I am discrediting it by calling it a song. It is really a story. A really, really good story about Ruben Carter aka: The Hurricane. Look him up on Google then listen to this song and then watch the movie Hurricane staring Denzel. Such an amazing story.
7. Crash- Dave Matthews Band: In my opinion this is their most beautiful album. Does that make sense? I mean every song on this record is just great and well crafted.
8. Apollo (Atmospheres & Soundtracks)- Brian Eno: This album is great to nap to. Not sleep to, but nap to. Because when you nap you are semi-lucid and coherent still. That combined with this album can provide for some utterly fantastic day-dreams.
9. Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory Soundtrack: One of the best movie soundtracks ever. Pure Imagination is the soundtrack to any young persons life. 
10. Far- Regina Spektor: I am going to marry this woman. That is if my marriage with Adele falls through. Or I make both of them fall madly and deeply in love with this Polish stud-muffin, and pose the question that any woman would want to hear... "So, Utah?"... I felt like I took that joke too far. 
11. Their Satanic Majesties Request- The Rolling Stones: I am not a huge Stones fan. (GASP) But I respect what they have done for music. And this is the only album of theirs that I can say I truly l-o-v-e. I want to learn the piano just to play She's A Rainbow all day and everyday.
12. World Cafe EP- The Old Crow Medicine Show: I have learned about/found about quite a lot of bands and artists this year. This band is no different, I heard them for the first time ironically through a band I learned about in August (Mumford & Sons) and I was absolute in awe. I sat and listened to this whole album on my bed, silent. The album was so good I could not move.
13. Sweet Baby James- James Taylor: I listened to this before I played pick-up soccer with my friends. Before physical activities/sports I like to listen to mellow music. This shocks people, because usually before sports people listen to in your face/pump-up music. I feel that only works for football. Because listening to Metallica's Kill 'Em All before a baseball game is just a dangerous combo. I would rather go into a sports game calm and at peace rather than ready to judo someone. And this album does that for me.
14. Don't Believe The Truth- Oasis: Two days ago I listened to this album for the first time in three years. It was like I was listening to it for the first time. I remembered not liking it way back when, but when I listened to it again, I absolutely loved it. Me three years ago must have been stupid.
15. Pieces Of You- Jewel: Not ashamed, nope not one bit. A good album is a good album.
16. Sandinista!- The Clash: Listened to this album for the first time ever a week ago. Full on religious experience.
17. With The Beatles- The Beatles: After much pondering, I have established that pre-LSD Beatles are much, much better than post-LSD Beatles. Everyone will disagree with that statement. So I will clarify, the song-writing was obviously far superior post-LSD, but they were a better meat and potatoes rock 'n roll band pre-LSD. Just listen to this album all the way through. Then you will pick up what I am putting down.
18. Night Light- Au Revoir Simone: I totally got this album because of the cover, I got this '80s electronica vibe from it. And I was right. This is way out of my musical comfort zone, yet I still enjoyed it, for its sheer awesomeness. I definitely recommend it.

And for the '80s video: Billy Joel- It's Still Rock And Roll To Me: Nothing too incredibly cheesy here. But you know how Jeff Foxworthy has his whole "You Might Be A Redneck Thing" Well I am going to establish my own "You Might Be A 1980's Music Video" joke type thing. So as my first joke of this genre:

If you have a saxophone player on set and his name is Rico, you might be a 1980's music video.

I feel like this genre of joke has potential.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5eAQa4MOGkE

Lean On Me

I would like to dedicate this post to my grandpa. I wish he was with Andrew and I right now. I hope you are proud of us Poppa.

I have been on the fence about writing a post on this subject ever since I started this blog. Because I know that about two paragraphs in, I will begin to cry because of how important this subject is to me.

Okay, I lied. I made it two lines.

Okay, I lied again. I did not even make it past the dedication.

If you really know me, you know the story about my brother Andrew. Not just my brother Andrew, but my best friend, role model, etc. And you know how much he means to me. And you also know that he needs a kidney transplant, and if Yaweh allows, I will be donating my kidney for him.

But before I go any further, I have to say one thing. I am not doing a "good" thing, and I am not being a "hero". Doing a good thing is holding a door for a stranger and heroes are soldiers, police officers, fire fighters and your parents. The only thing I am doing or being in this process is a brother.

That is the simplest way to put it.

In marriage you take the vow saying you will be there for your spouse in sickness and in health, when you become a sibling you take that same vow. It may not be in front of a congregation of your family and friends, but once you are born or they are born, you take that vow.

And I like to think I have been there for my brother in his good health, and he has been there for me in mine. So now it is time for me to step up and be there for him while he is in sickness.

He has fought longer and harder than any other boxer, gladiator or Vin Disel-esque person I can think of.

And he deserves a break.

If I have to step in and take a few punches, then so be it.

But for the first time in this whole process, I can actually say that I am scared. These next five days will be incredibly nerve wracking, as we what for our cross-matching results.

Those results will decide how far this journey will go.

And if there is one certainty in this whole process, it is that if this journey is for my brother and with my brother, then it is a journey worth taking.

Three Things I Wrote On My Phone Before I Fell Asleep Last Night.

I really feel like these could the beginnings of three songs.

- If you could see heaven every day. Then there would be no other place anyone would want to go.

- Today is the day I grew up. Now I just want to die. Found out I don't have any wings. And I ain't ever gonna fly.

- What tangled webs that were never woven. What truer words were said, but never spoken. How can you hold me in your arms when you too are as broken.

Yeah. Now if only ambition happened I could be on to something here...

My Final (Depending On Laziness) Draft Of My Short Story..

I turned this a few weeks ago and figured why not post this to my estranged blog. And he it is...

Light My Fire

The sun was sinking into the ocean in front of him. He gazed out onto the sea, absorbing its beauty and its simplicity. He began to notice things he never had before. He saw how the seagulls scoured the grainy sand, searching for the smallest particles of food left behind by beach-goers, like a bum rummages through trash searching for a remotely edible object to sooth their hungry stomach’s. He noticed how the waves chased after each other, like little school children during recess. He then thought to himself, “What’s the point, they are all just going to crash and die when they hit the beach shore.”

He continued to fall deeper into hypnosis as he stared out onto the cascading white caps. Noticing and judging the most insignificant things that his eyes wandered over to. He subconsciously knew what he was doing though. He knew that he was only doing this so he did not have to look down at the disappointment in front of him on his computer screen.

Then he began forcing it, he began to fixate his mind on anything he could. He stared at the dirty dishes in the sink, the old greasy pizza boxes that littered the living room floor, the papers and magazines that were stacked on top of each other, doing their best imitation of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Then he looked at the barren shelves that those same magazines where leaning against. He began wondering why he never got around to organizing them. It was at that point he realized the reason why he never got around to filing all those things, was the same reason why his clothes had been stockpiling in his bedroom, and it was the same reason why he never threw away that picture of her, that was taped to the cork board next to his desk.

It was his favorite picture of her, because it was silent. In that black and white Polaroid all he was reminded of was her simplistic beauty, and how she resembled an innocent and naive actress from the 1930’s. He noticed every little crevasse of her beauty. But the more he examined it, the more emotion it got. He began to hear her voice speaking to him, ridiculing him. He heard her vindictive voice calling him unintelligent, and un-talented. He was reminded of all her critiques and “constructive criticism” which was just her excuse of belittling his work.

Then as all his negative memories were rushing in, he looked into her eyes. Those radiant eyes that made him fall in love with her the instant he saw her. And then the picture became silent again. And once again she was beautiful.

Before he let the pain of that night re-enter his mind, he finally decided to look at the computer screen in front of him. He hoped that through some act of divine intervention there would a magnificent story in front of him. He hoped it was the magnum opus he had always searched to create.

He closed his eyes and lowered his head toward the screen. He could not bear the suspense. He found himself slowly opening one eye, like a child does when they are getting a surprise. Then finally he opened both of his eyes as wide as he could.

He glared at the computer screen; he did not see a work of art. He did not see a literary masterpiece that his editor could proclaim as genius. All he saw was a small black vertical line blinking on a white blank page. There it was appearing and vanishing, reminding him that he had yet to write a single word. That blinking line just stood there, solitary and alone just like him.

*****

            As he sat at the bar, he realized that this was the change of scenery he needed. He no longer felt a slave shackled to his desk chair. He was no longer toppled by stress. He was finally able to breathe, something he felt he had not been able to do for hours.

           

He was no longer alone; he was surrounded by drunken baboons, and recluses just like him. They were all there to share each others misery. But the men used the ball game and the women used the hope of finding Mr. Right as excuses to cover up their insecurities and reasons why they were truly there.

           

A handful of women approached him throughout the night. But he dispelled and rejected their attempts of compassion. He judged them and he scanned them up and down with his eyes. None of them looked like her, none them could even hold a candle in comparison. He thought as he looked them over.

So he just sat there on a torn up pleather bar stool, entrenched in a conversation with his closest friend. Someone who took away his pain someone who helped him forget someone who made things better. In his mind his glass of Jack Daniels could do those things better than anyone at that bar. Hell, better than anyone in the world.

As he started filling his body with liquid courage, he glanced over to the far side of the bar. There sat a beautiful brunette, with skin smoother than marble counter tops, and eyes as piercing as the dagger that killed Juliet.

He was fascinated by her and he could not get enough of her. Her perfume seemed to travel through the bar and politely find its destination right under his nose. And in those moments that scent was more intoxicating than whatever concoction he had put in his body that night.

She reminded him of her.

He knew that scent was all too familiar, and that those eyes had inter-locked with his before. At that moment the heartbreak had reappeared in him. He felt the helplessness as she left him. He felt like a million broken pieces of a man he once knew. A man who people once called brilliant, a man a woman once loved.

He was no longer any of these in his mind. He felt as if he was the living personification of the main character in The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. He was not suitable for such a woman. The distance between them in bar stools might as well have been eternities. He knew there was no chance that he would approach that woman at the bar, for he already knew how that tragedy would end, in his inadequate heart breaking once again.

So he just sat there now in a nervous sweat. Playing devils advocate with his emotions.

“Do I send her a drink?” He thought.

“Or do I approach her?” He contemplated further.

He had no mirror to look into to practice his faint attempt of a formal introduction. He only had a small notebook and pen, in the breast pocket of his sports coat. He fumbled for it, and pulled it out. He flipped through the already occupied pages. Some of which were poems, others ideas for his work that either he or his editor deemed “rubbish.” Finally, he found a blank page on which to write.

He scribbled down everything that came to mind, all the cliché pick-up lines, all the faint attempts at humor, all of the elaborate back stories he could think of to make her want him. After the brainstorming process subsided, he looked over his notes like a student cramming for a test. He noticed he had not written down anything helpful. All he managed to compose was a short poem that he felt captured him in that exact moment.

The anxiety builds when I see your face,

My heart races at the most uncontrollable pace.

My mind goes blank and my vision goes white,

Why must this happen when you are in my sight?

Is it the fear of rejection, or the inevitable hurt?

Either way, I just stay in the background kicking the dirt.

And when I finally find the most perfect words to say,

I choke and write it down and hope I have the courage for another day.

            He looked it over and thought, “What good is this? This will not impress her.” He did not think that those words were good enough for her. He felt he needed something that would make her fall in love with him instantly, something to fill her eyes with passion and her heart with lust. He needed a series of words that would by-pass all of the useless banter between them, and place them intertwined with each other as they made love. To him those words would do no such thing.

           

But, those were the only words he had come up with, they were the only words he had. It was either send them over to her in hopes she might look them over and shoot him a glance from across the bar.  Or even walk over and say that the poem was “cute”. But he did not want cute, he wanted a woman suitable enough to finally make him forget about her.

           

So after a couple more glasses of Jack, he signaled over the bartender.

He brought him in close, and he exuded the copious amounts of whiskey he consumed throughout the night in every pore of his skin. 

“I want you to give this to the lovely brunette at the end of the bar.” He said soberly to the bartender. The bartender seemed confused. He looked around quizzically as he was cleaning a tall beer glass.

“What woman?” the bartender asked.

“That woman over there!” He violently pointed with each word.

He could not understand why the bartender could not comprehend such a simple request or also be struck by her beauty.

The bartender then studied him over.

“What time do you think it is?” The bartender asked.

He was taken back by the bartender’s question. Not because of its profound nature, but because of its sheer stupidity.

“I’d say no later than one in the morning.” He replied.

Then the bartender braced both his arms on the bar and hung his head down. He had dealt with these types of people before. The ones who think a night of debauchery can solve all of life’s problems. And that knocking down hard whiskey was the best method of soothing ones soul.

“Six, it is six in the morning.” The bartender said pointing at the clock after every word.

That made no sense to him. He could not grasp how he had been there for so long. Then after that finally sunk in, he realized there was no such girl at the end of the bar. He became ill at the thought of his mind tricking him into believing there was even the slightest chance of someone actually being able to replace her.

So he pushed himself away from the bar and on to his feet. He staggered for a few steps as he slowly regained his composure.

He swung the bar door open and convinced himself that he could make the mile walk from the bar to his house.

As he was walking sluggishly on the side-walk, he reached back in his sports coat to grab his notebook again. This type he did not want to write a haphazard poem, he wanted to tear out ever single poem that he had written about her.

He soon realized that everything in it was about her. The love songs, poems, and letters, were all about her. All of which he never intended to give her. Though he always told himself he would.

Then he got to the last page where the poem he had written a few hours before was. He read it out loud to any passerby that could hear.

Then he realized that poem was not about just some women who caught his eye at the bar. It was about what he had been feeling for the past few months about her.

He then ripped out that last poem and crumpled it up and tossed it in the street.

And for the first time in three months he knew exactly what he wanted to do.

*****

As he walked up the steps of his front porch, the sun was rising. The same sun that he had seen step-by-step fade into the night hours before. He felt himself sobering up and capable of anything.

This was a far cry from the man he was just a day before.

He finally had the courage to do what had been on his mind for what seemed like months since she had left him.

He went through the house grabbing anything that reminded him of her, making sure that he snatched down that Polaroid on his cork board. But even as he ripped that photo down he got second thoughts. He saw those eyes, those perfect blue eyes that could even give a black and white photo color.

It was at that moment he realized she would never come back.

He ripped the photo down and put it in a garbage can only with all the other empty mementos he now had of her. He then lit a match dropped in the trash can and set fire to it all.

He then walked up to their bedroom. He could still never quite think of it as anything less. Even though there had been no one next to him on that bed for months. There was no one to wake up to, to kiss, or to admire.

He rummaged through his disorganized record collection and grabbed Days of Future Passed. He immediately put the needle right where Nights in White Satin started. Tears then began to stream down his face as he pulled up a chair. He then draped the rope over his neck and as the chorus began, he kicked out the chair and hung himself.

“…'Cos I love you, yes I love you, oh how I love you…”

His body faced the window by his desk that had helped him drift off before.

On that desk sat his computer with the document from the night before open, and the cursor flickering from white to black.

And as the flames overtook his body he had finally burned the last thing that reminded him of her.

Have Fun Kid

Riding my bike at a frantic pace

While I balanced a bat on my handlebars

I passed an old man on the sidewalk

He saw in me the youth he once possessed

And the countless hours he spent on a sandlot field

He acknowledges me

With a smile and by saying,

“Have fun kid”.

I then tipped my Tigers cap at him

And looked in his reminiscent eyes

Then I conjured a polite

 “I will, Sir”.

At that moment he is not 70

At that moment I am not 19

In our hearts and minds

We are just two 10-year-olds

On a baseball diamond

Arguing balls and strikes

Like it was game 7 of the World Series

We are not looking back on

How good we once were

We instead remember the subtle joys

Of running down a fly ball

Stretching a single into a double

And the beauty of playing baseball

On a hot summer night

As I was standing bare foot

Letting the cool outfield grass

Nestle under me like Shoeless Joe did

I looked towards home plate and smiled

Because all I could think about

Was what that old man said

“Have fun kid".

More

I know I have not posted in a very long time. That is because school was winding down, I had exams, I came home, I wanted to spend time with the family and I wanted to just mentally deflate and reflect for awhile. And now I am ready to start this hunk o' junk up again.

I really thought about putting an end to this blog, because I really did not know what to write anymore. But I looked over two Facebook notes that I posted right after my Aunt Marilyn passed away and I was preparing to go off to college.

I was freaking out (naturally) because for the first time in my life, I had absolutely no clue what was in store for me. Long story short, I got over that whole "panic" stage and move on the "optismistic" stage. Where I have been for the past ten or so months.

That is until I heard an interview with one of my favorite actors of all-time, Gene Wilder. It was an interview that was apart of the 92nd Street Y Series. And it blew me away.

The interviewer's last question involved re-hashing one of Gene Wilder's most iconic lines. It came from the film The Producers, and the line was: "I want everything I've ever seen in the movies." The interviewer then asked Gene Wilder if he had gotten everything he wanted.

His reply, "More".

And that is exactly how I feel after my first year of college. I have gotten so much more that I could have ever imagined.

I got a job writing, I became a host of radio show, I became the Music Director of that station, I challenged myself, I never quit, I got my drive back and I am not going to stop anytime soon.

I do not know where that drive is going to take me. But I do know that my family will be with me.

After I typed that, I remembered one of the last conversations I had with my friend Will before we moved out. It was a sporadic talk, covering random subjects. But it started with the topic of becoming famous, and what we would do if we ever got large amounts of money.

Will gave his respone and I gave mine. And surprisingly they were similar.

But I only had two things on my list.

I told him that I wanted to buy a house for my parents and brother.

If I can do those two things in my lifetime, then I "made it".

And then I can say that I personally had Everything I've Ever Seen In The Movies...

And more.