Many of you out there who are going to read this know my religious stance (or rather, a lack thereof) and you may question me about my motivation to celebrate this holiday. In fact, due to my open stance against religion, you may view me as a hypocrite for celebrating this holiday and accepting my paid vacation. And some of you just really don't give a shit either way. Regardless, I'm going to write about this.
I'll say this just as I've always said it: No matter what religion (or lack of religion) you are, you'd be kind of a heartless bastard if you thought Jesus wasn't a cool dude. The guy preached about peace and equality, charity and kindness. His views were unwavering, even in the face of pain and death. And regardless of whether there is a higher power or not, the guy died TRULY believing that he was helping everyone out- even the guys killing him. So really, he got a pretty raw deal. But the things he taught and the charity of his life are all pretty cool if you ask me. I mean, the guy stood up to the roman empire; Talk about some brass balls. And on top of that, he had long rockstar hair and wore sandals pretty much constantly. Sounds like my kind of guy, especially since he had a healthy appreciation of wine. Now, I may think he was a bit delusional and a lot of the stories about him were probably fabricated by men with personal agendas hundreds of years after his death, It doesn't negate the fact that he was a solid dude.
That brings me to my next point: Dear Modern-Day Christians, quit being such assholes. Seriously, the rest of us are truly fed up with it. Do you remember those WWJD (what would Jesus do) bracelets everyone wore in the 90's? You guys need to start wearing those again, but actually ask yourselves that question on a regular basis.
Would Jesus be hateful towards homosexual people trying to marry?
Would Jesus be hateful towards people for sex outside of wedlock?
Would Jesus live in a huge house in a private community and look down on poor people?
Would Jesus shame people for not worshipping in a Church every Sunday?
Would Jesus scoff people for not looking like he wants them to?
Basically, do you think Jesus would be as condescending as so many present day Christians really are? Do you think he would be fine with how you run your life now? With how you value money over anything else? With your resentment towards people who don't hold the same beliefs as you?
All I'm saying is why don't you start leading by example? If you truly believe in this shit (and you're not just treating your 'faith' as an insurance policy for your soul when you die) then start living out the things you talk about. Practice what you preach. You know, kindness and equality for EVERYONE. Then practice true forgiveness on top of that. Somehow I think that if Jesus was around today, he'd be pretty damn sad about what Christianity has turned into. Because I know that most of my atheist/agnostic friends and family live a hell of a lot more "Christ-Like" than my Christian friends do, and that's saying something.
So in closing, Merry Christmas to all of my friends, and to those of you who are not yet my friends. I plan on celebrating the season of giving, and celebrating this cool dude named Jesus who was a really nice guy, even if he was a bit off his rocker. And to all you BAD Christians out there being assholes, (excluding those being GOOD Christians) -just quit being such shitheads already. You suck.
(Post Script- I know some of my Christian friends out here will probably see this as some sort of attack, when it isn't. If you're actually living your life "Christ-Like" than you can see that none of this is aimed at you. That said, if you still feel that it's an attack on you, then maybe you should check yourself to see whether this agnostic free-thinking guy is living a more Christ-Like life than you are.)
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Upside Down; Holden Caufield?
This one's going to be a touch on the serious side, but I swear I'll redeem myself by having a really good shithead reason.
I don't really know why I'm like this, but I tend to be quite cynical. Of everything. I'm still trying to decide if this is a good thing or a bad thing, but I'm seriously leaning towards this quality being a positive one. It's like I have to label something as good or bad before I can pass on.
Recently (well, this is probably more of a lifelong thing) my main problem has been with fake people. Whether it's in looking fake, talking fake, acting fake... it all makes me want to puke. I feel a bit like Holden Caufield; If something isn't fully real and honest, it becomes insufferable to me.
The thing I realized that sparked all this was how people try and block out the bad or ugly things in life. For some odd reason, it seems that a few people don't want to let any ugly thing into their lives... and they ACTIVELY ignore this stuff. "Something might hurt my feelings? Well I'm going to act like it doesn't exist. Something is ugly? I want it gone, I don't want to see it. I want everything to be happy happy happy! Smiles all around!" Now, I can't blame them for that. We all want things to be perfect, that's our nature. But blocking out the bad parts of life is in NO way healthy. These people walk around like lobotomy patients, minus the drool. But you can't really have the good stuff, the happy stuff... without all the sad stuff. Think about it.
Love is the most desired when you have the least.
A warm day feels so nice after a long winter.
You appreciate life more after almost dying.
Food tastes the best when you've been hungry. (well, also if you're drunk or high)
The point is... Happy can't exist without sad. If you're one of the people who try to block out all the bad shit in life... you're numbing yourself to the happiness. If you keep this up, happy won't feel happy anymore. And then it's all downhill from there. True optimism lies in embracing sadness, pain, despair... and realizing that it's going to make the good things in life just that much sweeter.
Anyway all of that is something I feel pretty strongly about, and when I feel strongly about something I sometimes turn it into a poem or song. In this case I wrote some lyrics, and I present to you "Upside Down" (or should I name it "Holden Caufield?")
Upside Down
Your Cheshire grin might do them in,
But I can see right through;
The mask you wear, the stylish hair,
The clothes disguising you.
Your bathroom smells like lilacs
And your living room like pie;
When something isn't pretty
You'll just turn a blinded eye.
Anyone can see how hard you try,
And everything about you is a lie.
You're like a clown with a painted frown,
That's upside down, it's upside down.
You're like a clown with a painted frown,
That's upside down, you're upside down.
And now it's time to level, friend;
To make you see the truth.
We'll chalk up all your ignorance
to blinding, awkward youth.
You can't be happy without sad,
And pleasure comes from pain.
You'll never feel so warm and dry
Until you stand in rain.
So how can you feel healthy
If you've never once been sick?
And flowers smell so good because
They're fertilized with shit.
Anyone can see how hard you try,
And everything about you is a lie.
You're like a clown with a painted frown,
That's upside down, it's upside down.
You're like a clown with a painted frown,
That's upside down, you're upside down.
REASONS YOU'RE A SHITHEAD
You're a Shithead if you brag about being a vegan/vegetarian. That is a fact that needs to be stated ONE TIME, and then drop it... shithead. Oooooh, you're so nice because you watched too many Disney movies and it made you realize that animals have feelings and are generally nice and break out into song and dance... so now you can't bear the thought of Bessie the Singing Cow bleeding out from a quick nip to the jugular.
Have you ever watched the discovery channel? Nature shows? If you have, you know that pretty much every animal in nature is a total dick. Espescially when it comes to eating other animals. Remember Simba, the lion cub from "The Lion King?" He likes to murder those cute bouncy little gazelles with his fangs and claws, then feast on the tasty meat and blood. (mmm mmm good!) Now, this leads me to believe that if a cow has to exit this mortal coil for the purpose of being eaten, he'd much rather do so with the quick blast of a shotgun than to be slashed and eaten alive by cute little singing Simba. Hakuna Matata, Shithead!
That amazing artist I talked about a post or two ago has a pretty cool way of dealing with vegetarians/vegans. I'm told he invited a vegan friend of his over for dinner and this person insisted on being cooked an "animal friendly" meal. The artist obliged. In time, the vegan invited the artist over for dinner to return the favor... and was met with the artist's insistence on being cooked an "all meat" meal. It's only fair right?
So vegans/vegetarians, come down from your moral soapbox. We have canine and incisor teeth for a reason, people. And that reason is cute, furry, and awfully damn tasty.
In conclusion, I'm going to cite some sources here, both coming from Maddox. This guy is HILARIOUS and also one of my biggest influences on the style in which I write. The first one is about how many animals are killed harvesting the sources of grain and food to support a vegetarians diet:"
http://www.thebestpageintheuniverse.net/c.cgi?u=grill
And this one is about "Sponsoring a Vegetarian." Hilarious.
http://www.thebestpageintheuniverse.net/c.cgi?u=sponsor
Oh, and if you somehow make the (incorrect) assumption that I'm condoning animal cruelty in this post.... guess what... YOU'RE A SHITHEAD!!!
I don't really know why I'm like this, but I tend to be quite cynical. Of everything. I'm still trying to decide if this is a good thing or a bad thing, but I'm seriously leaning towards this quality being a positive one. It's like I have to label something as good or bad before I can pass on.
Recently (well, this is probably more of a lifelong thing) my main problem has been with fake people. Whether it's in looking fake, talking fake, acting fake... it all makes me want to puke. I feel a bit like Holden Caufield; If something isn't fully real and honest, it becomes insufferable to me.
The thing I realized that sparked all this was how people try and block out the bad or ugly things in life. For some odd reason, it seems that a few people don't want to let any ugly thing into their lives... and they ACTIVELY ignore this stuff. "Something might hurt my feelings? Well I'm going to act like it doesn't exist. Something is ugly? I want it gone, I don't want to see it. I want everything to be happy happy happy! Smiles all around!" Now, I can't blame them for that. We all want things to be perfect, that's our nature. But blocking out the bad parts of life is in NO way healthy. These people walk around like lobotomy patients, minus the drool. But you can't really have the good stuff, the happy stuff... without all the sad stuff. Think about it.
Love is the most desired when you have the least.
A warm day feels so nice after a long winter.
You appreciate life more after almost dying.
Food tastes the best when you've been hungry. (well, also if you're drunk or high)
The point is... Happy can't exist without sad. If you're one of the people who try to block out all the bad shit in life... you're numbing yourself to the happiness. If you keep this up, happy won't feel happy anymore. And then it's all downhill from there. True optimism lies in embracing sadness, pain, despair... and realizing that it's going to make the good things in life just that much sweeter.
Anyway all of that is something I feel pretty strongly about, and when I feel strongly about something I sometimes turn it into a poem or song. In this case I wrote some lyrics, and I present to you "Upside Down" (or should I name it "Holden Caufield?")
Upside Down
Your Cheshire grin might do them in,
But I can see right through;
The mask you wear, the stylish hair,
The clothes disguising you.
Your bathroom smells like lilacs
And your living room like pie;
When something isn't pretty
You'll just turn a blinded eye.
Anyone can see how hard you try,
And everything about you is a lie.
You're like a clown with a painted frown,
That's upside down, it's upside down.
You're like a clown with a painted frown,
That's upside down, you're upside down.
And now it's time to level, friend;
To make you see the truth.
We'll chalk up all your ignorance
to blinding, awkward youth.
You can't be happy without sad,
And pleasure comes from pain.
You'll never feel so warm and dry
Until you stand in rain.
So how can you feel healthy
If you've never once been sick?
And flowers smell so good because
They're fertilized with shit.
Anyone can see how hard you try,
And everything about you is a lie.
You're like a clown with a painted frown,
That's upside down, it's upside down.
You're like a clown with a painted frown,
That's upside down, you're upside down.
REASONS YOU'RE A SHITHEAD
You're a Shithead if you brag about being a vegan/vegetarian. That is a fact that needs to be stated ONE TIME, and then drop it... shithead. Oooooh, you're so nice because you watched too many Disney movies and it made you realize that animals have feelings and are generally nice and break out into song and dance... so now you can't bear the thought of Bessie the Singing Cow bleeding out from a quick nip to the jugular.
Have you ever watched the discovery channel? Nature shows? If you have, you know that pretty much every animal in nature is a total dick. Espescially when it comes to eating other animals. Remember Simba, the lion cub from "The Lion King?" He likes to murder those cute bouncy little gazelles with his fangs and claws, then feast on the tasty meat and blood. (mmm mmm good!) Now, this leads me to believe that if a cow has to exit this mortal coil for the purpose of being eaten, he'd much rather do so with the quick blast of a shotgun than to be slashed and eaten alive by cute little singing Simba. Hakuna Matata, Shithead!
That amazing artist I talked about a post or two ago has a pretty cool way of dealing with vegetarians/vegans. I'm told he invited a vegan friend of his over for dinner and this person insisted on being cooked an "animal friendly" meal. The artist obliged. In time, the vegan invited the artist over for dinner to return the favor... and was met with the artist's insistence on being cooked an "all meat" meal. It's only fair right?
So vegans/vegetarians, come down from your moral soapbox. We have canine and incisor teeth for a reason, people. And that reason is cute, furry, and awfully damn tasty.
In conclusion, I'm going to cite some sources here, both coming from Maddox. This guy is HILARIOUS and also one of my biggest influences on the style in which I write. The first one is about how many animals are killed harvesting the sources of grain and food to support a vegetarians diet:"
http://www.thebestpageintheuniverse.net/c.cgi?u=grill
And this one is about "Sponsoring a Vegetarian." Hilarious.
http://www.thebestpageintheuniverse.net/c.cgi?u=sponsor
Oh, and if you somehow make the (incorrect) assumption that I'm condoning animal cruelty in this post.... guess what... YOU'RE A SHITHEAD!!!
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Concerning Pole Vault, 10-21-09
First of all, it's my sister Kelly's birthday today, so wish her a happy one.
On to business; as some of you may recall, I posted a blog not too long ago about my shoulder injury. I'm happy to say that I feel my shoulder is basically back to 100%. Lately I've been hitting the weightroom pretty heavily to strengthen the entire muscle group, along with the rest of my body. I got a pretty awesome 3 month general workout schedule from the old ChasingKaz forums, and it seems to be pretty effective. Along with the general free-weight routine, I do quite a bit of abdominal work and hit some other muscle groups as I see fit. My workout starts with a warmup run of anywhere from .5 - 2 miles (I've been replacing the run with an excercise bike warmup at times.) I try to make my warm-ups more intense and to get my heart rate up over 150 for a period of time, the purpose is to make sure that I'm burning off fat and that weight I'm gaining is only muscle. After that, I'll do static stretches for 10 minutes or so, then go through my weight routine. My workouts target different groups every day, alternating from legs and back to chest and arms. Every day though, I make sure I work on my abs too.
Another big thing I've been concentrating on is nutrition. If you see me out in public, and you don't know me, you might think I'm a bit malnourished. I'm right at 5'11" and most definitely underweight. However, I've been putting on muscle weight recently, and that's a good thing. My workout rotates in three week cycles; the first two weeks concentrates on intensity and high repetitions, while the third is a strengthening week for the muscles you built during the first two. I have scheduled this to last through 4 rotations, 12 weeks total. Directly after my workouts I get protein into my system through either those health bars and shakes, or boiled eggs. Last May, my vaulting weight (shoes and uniform) was averaging around 133lbs-134lbs. Already, I've put on over ten pounds in muscle (Yesterday my vaulting weight was 147.7lbs., and the day before it was right at 149.0lbs.) My goal is to stay right around 150lbs. for the season. Being a little heavier now is a great thing, because it puts a lot more vaulting poles in my range for me to use. The fact that the weight i'm gaining is all muscle is even better.
As of right now I'm keeping myself from actually vaulting; I want to have a good base built and a powerful core before I dive right into it. The indoor facility I use will be opening in the beginning of December, and I plan to be jumping again around that time. I'm urging my top female vaulter to do this same workout plan as well, and to hold off on jumping. I have some high hopes for this season, since last season a big problem was finding good vaulting poles for my weight range. This year I'll have access to almost any pole I need. I'm already quite a bit stronger, and hopefully have more balanced muscle groups. The big "X-factor" for this upcoming season will be just keeping myself from getting injured. As of now my goal is 16ft, and I believe that if things go well I'll have to raise that goal soon. The mechanical aspects of my vault are sound, overall. There are a few aspects I'll need to work on though, when I start jumping again. The first one being my pole drop (How efficiently I move the pole tip from high above my head during the carry to the moment the pole tip is planted in the box.) Ideally, you want to be able to time your pole drop so that the pole actually freefalls during the last few strides of the approach run. As it is now, during my approach I gradually lower the pole over the entire run. This causes me to lean back a bit to support the pole's weight over the last few strides, which leaves me in a less than ideal body position at takeoff. One of my early goals will be to work on my timing and to create more of a freefall of the pole during my approach.
That's about all there is to write about vaulting right now, sorry to bore you with the technicalities. Now, on to...
Reasons You're A Shithead
You're a shithead if you go to a concert and you JUST STAND THERE. Nothing is worse than being on stage and really rocking out an original song, while the crowd stands motionless and expressionless like lobotomy patients. It makes me want to light your head on fire. Just shake your ass, it's simple. I can see these people searching each others faces, asking "do you know this song?" No, you don't know it, does it matter? Just dance. Now, some of you out there reading might be saying to yourself "I bet they're just a shitty band, that's why they have that problem." If you found yourself thinking that, then you too are undoubtedly a shithead. We rock, and you suck.
You're a shithead if you buy into any of these TV fitness gimmicks. Want to lose weight? You don't just take a pill and watch it magically happen. It takes hard work and sweat, it hurts and you have to push yourself and be consistent. IT'S SUPPOSED TO SUCK. I'm planning to buy a commercial slot on television and have the dialogue go something like this: "Do you want to know the secret to the fastest, easiest way to lose weight and keep it off? Well then listen up! My new fitness program is guaranteed to get you on your way to being more healthy and slim. Its called the "turn the TV off and quit being so goddamned lazy" program!!! Guaranteed to work! Just get off the couch, and go do something active! That's right, fatty... Put down that remote control and bag of chips and go run or something. Quit being so damn lazy, get out there, and get that heart rate up! Guaranteed to work or you just fail at being a human. And remember, get active... or get Heart Disease, you lazy shithead!!!"
On to business; as some of you may recall, I posted a blog not too long ago about my shoulder injury. I'm happy to say that I feel my shoulder is basically back to 100%. Lately I've been hitting the weightroom pretty heavily to strengthen the entire muscle group, along with the rest of my body. I got a pretty awesome 3 month general workout schedule from the old ChasingKaz forums, and it seems to be pretty effective. Along with the general free-weight routine, I do quite a bit of abdominal work and hit some other muscle groups as I see fit. My workout starts with a warmup run of anywhere from .5 - 2 miles (I've been replacing the run with an excercise bike warmup at times.) I try to make my warm-ups more intense and to get my heart rate up over 150 for a period of time, the purpose is to make sure that I'm burning off fat and that weight I'm gaining is only muscle. After that, I'll do static stretches for 10 minutes or so, then go through my weight routine. My workouts target different groups every day, alternating from legs and back to chest and arms. Every day though, I make sure I work on my abs too.
Another big thing I've been concentrating on is nutrition. If you see me out in public, and you don't know me, you might think I'm a bit malnourished. I'm right at 5'11" and most definitely underweight. However, I've been putting on muscle weight recently, and that's a good thing. My workout rotates in three week cycles; the first two weeks concentrates on intensity and high repetitions, while the third is a strengthening week for the muscles you built during the first two. I have scheduled this to last through 4 rotations, 12 weeks total. Directly after my workouts I get protein into my system through either those health bars and shakes, or boiled eggs. Last May, my vaulting weight (shoes and uniform) was averaging around 133lbs-134lbs. Already, I've put on over ten pounds in muscle (Yesterday my vaulting weight was 147.7lbs., and the day before it was right at 149.0lbs.) My goal is to stay right around 150lbs. for the season. Being a little heavier now is a great thing, because it puts a lot more vaulting poles in my range for me to use. The fact that the weight i'm gaining is all muscle is even better.
As of right now I'm keeping myself from actually vaulting; I want to have a good base built and a powerful core before I dive right into it. The indoor facility I use will be opening in the beginning of December, and I plan to be jumping again around that time. I'm urging my top female vaulter to do this same workout plan as well, and to hold off on jumping. I have some high hopes for this season, since last season a big problem was finding good vaulting poles for my weight range. This year I'll have access to almost any pole I need. I'm already quite a bit stronger, and hopefully have more balanced muscle groups. The big "X-factor" for this upcoming season will be just keeping myself from getting injured. As of now my goal is 16ft, and I believe that if things go well I'll have to raise that goal soon. The mechanical aspects of my vault are sound, overall. There are a few aspects I'll need to work on though, when I start jumping again. The first one being my pole drop (How efficiently I move the pole tip from high above my head during the carry to the moment the pole tip is planted in the box.) Ideally, you want to be able to time your pole drop so that the pole actually freefalls during the last few strides of the approach run. As it is now, during my approach I gradually lower the pole over the entire run. This causes me to lean back a bit to support the pole's weight over the last few strides, which leaves me in a less than ideal body position at takeoff. One of my early goals will be to work on my timing and to create more of a freefall of the pole during my approach.
That's about all there is to write about vaulting right now, sorry to bore you with the technicalities. Now, on to...
Reasons You're A Shithead
You're a shithead if you go to a concert and you JUST STAND THERE. Nothing is worse than being on stage and really rocking out an original song, while the crowd stands motionless and expressionless like lobotomy patients. It makes me want to light your head on fire. Just shake your ass, it's simple. I can see these people searching each others faces, asking "do you know this song?" No, you don't know it, does it matter? Just dance. Now, some of you out there reading might be saying to yourself "I bet they're just a shitty band, that's why they have that problem." If you found yourself thinking that, then you too are undoubtedly a shithead. We rock, and you suck.
You're a shithead if you buy into any of these TV fitness gimmicks. Want to lose weight? You don't just take a pill and watch it magically happen. It takes hard work and sweat, it hurts and you have to push yourself and be consistent. IT'S SUPPOSED TO SUCK. I'm planning to buy a commercial slot on television and have the dialogue go something like this: "Do you want to know the secret to the fastest, easiest way to lose weight and keep it off? Well then listen up! My new fitness program is guaranteed to get you on your way to being more healthy and slim. Its called the "turn the TV off and quit being so goddamned lazy" program!!! Guaranteed to work! Just get off the couch, and go do something active! That's right, fatty... Put down that remote control and bag of chips and go run or something. Quit being so damn lazy, get out there, and get that heart rate up! Guaranteed to work or you just fail at being a human. And remember, get active... or get Heart Disease, you lazy shithead!!!"
Monday, October 5, 2009
CousinDaryl is NOT a Shithead.
I have a cousin named Daryl and chances are he's a far better person than you. There are many reasons for this. First off, he's a mutant ninja who can run on less than 4 hours of sleep per week. Second, if you drink with Daryl, you're going to end the night having a good story to tell. Imagine yourself drinking with a leprechaun who knows judo... Yes, it's THAT cool.
But the main reason Daryl is a better person than you is that he is a guy who knows how to get shit done. If you ask him to do something, he gets it done. There's no questioning or worrying over minor details, shit just gets done. How many times do you ask a friend to do something for you, and they reply with uncertainty? They say things like "Well I don't know if I can get that done, what if ______ happens? Will I have time? How do I go about doing ______? What happens if something goes wrong?" But with Daryl, there is none of that. Daryl is self aware, he knows what he can get done and he knows he can deal with shit. He also knows his limits, and is straight with you if something can't be accomplished. This is a brand of self-confidence I don't think even he is fully aware of, and he has a ton of it. He's the kind of person that you never have to worry about them canceling plans and flaking out on you.
An amazing artist once asked me when I became such a control freak, and I realized that he was fully right- I am a control freak in some senses. I like to call it self-discipline. I don't trust anyone to do anything for me because I know if I do it myself I'll get it done right, and it gets done the way I want it to get done. Everything in life to me is a big math problem, and the fewer variables I put into the equation, the simpler it gets and the more I get it right. People are variables, "unknowns" if you will- because you can only be certain about yourself. But Daryl is a variable in my life that has a value that doesn't change; he is a constant. I know if he gets put into any equation, I can rely on the outcome being correct (or at least close enough for funk, baby.)
So this is why I classify CousinDaryl into an elite group of friends/family I like to call "solid." A solid person is always there for you. A solid person is dependable and trustworthy. If you surround yourself with solid people, you yourself will become a better person.
HOWEVER, for every action there must be an equal and opposite reaction. Therefore, since there are solid people, there must be "un-solid" people. I like to call them shitheads. You may be asking yourself "But Samuel, how do I know if someone is solid or a shithead?" Funny you should ask that, because over the next few blog posts I'll be posting simple rules to help you identify solid from shithead. Its kind of like "you might be a redneck," except way cooler because it's me and not some hick with an awful mustache. I like to call this portion:
Reasons You're A Shithead
You're a shithead if you're practically impossible to contact. If I call you and you do not answer, this puts you in a deeply gray area. I do not pick up my phone and actually call you unless I deem it actually important (ie making plans, asking you an important question, telling you about the hot lava-esque shit I just took.) You have a limited amount of time to pick up your phone and be in contact with me before I write you off completely as a person. I see you shitheads out there constantly checking your phones like you're going to find free oral sex somewhere in your cell's menu, and in my mind I see you noticing my call and choosing to ignore it. When I picture you doing that in my head, it is immediately followed by using my imagination to figure out where to dispose of your body parts after I dismember you. Shithead. (Sidenote, almost EVERYONE I know from California is damn near impossible to get on the phone. Coincidence?)
You're a shithead if you interrupt me while speaking. First of all, anything I'm talking about is normally more important than what you are trying to butt in with. You're basically saying to me "Wait Samuel, I have something infinitely more important than whatever you're spewing out of your mouth-hole. You are inconsequential." You know when someone makes you insanely mad to where your face flushes, and your chest gets hot? Thats how it is for me. If we're in a conversation and you interrupt me, you'll notice me getting very silent. No, I'm not listening intently; I'm searching for something to impale you with. Armageddon is imminent. Flap flap flap. Do you hear that flapping? Its death approaching you on swift wings.
You're a shithead if you chew with your mouth open. Honestly? I can't believe I even have to go over this. How does this sick habit get past age 5? Your parents must have failed on you. If this was Sparta, we'd have thrown you off a cliff already. I know dogs with better manners than you, And they lick their crotches/asses in public. Go drown yourself.
Thats it for today, more to follow in future posts.
But the main reason Daryl is a better person than you is that he is a guy who knows how to get shit done. If you ask him to do something, he gets it done. There's no questioning or worrying over minor details, shit just gets done. How many times do you ask a friend to do something for you, and they reply with uncertainty? They say things like "Well I don't know if I can get that done, what if ______ happens? Will I have time? How do I go about doing ______? What happens if something goes wrong?" But with Daryl, there is none of that. Daryl is self aware, he knows what he can get done and he knows he can deal with shit. He also knows his limits, and is straight with you if something can't be accomplished. This is a brand of self-confidence I don't think even he is fully aware of, and he has a ton of it. He's the kind of person that you never have to worry about them canceling plans and flaking out on you.
An amazing artist once asked me when I became such a control freak, and I realized that he was fully right- I am a control freak in some senses. I like to call it self-discipline. I don't trust anyone to do anything for me because I know if I do it myself I'll get it done right, and it gets done the way I want it to get done. Everything in life to me is a big math problem, and the fewer variables I put into the equation, the simpler it gets and the more I get it right. People are variables, "unknowns" if you will- because you can only be certain about yourself. But Daryl is a variable in my life that has a value that doesn't change; he is a constant. I know if he gets put into any equation, I can rely on the outcome being correct (or at least close enough for funk, baby.)
So this is why I classify CousinDaryl into an elite group of friends/family I like to call "solid." A solid person is always there for you. A solid person is dependable and trustworthy. If you surround yourself with solid people, you yourself will become a better person.
HOWEVER, for every action there must be an equal and opposite reaction. Therefore, since there are solid people, there must be "un-solid" people. I like to call them shitheads. You may be asking yourself "But Samuel, how do I know if someone is solid or a shithead?" Funny you should ask that, because over the next few blog posts I'll be posting simple rules to help you identify solid from shithead. Its kind of like "you might be a redneck," except way cooler because it's me and not some hick with an awful mustache. I like to call this portion:
Reasons You're A Shithead
You're a shithead if you're practically impossible to contact. If I call you and you do not answer, this puts you in a deeply gray area. I do not pick up my phone and actually call you unless I deem it actually important (ie making plans, asking you an important question, telling you about the hot lava-esque shit I just took.) You have a limited amount of time to pick up your phone and be in contact with me before I write you off completely as a person. I see you shitheads out there constantly checking your phones like you're going to find free oral sex somewhere in your cell's menu, and in my mind I see you noticing my call and choosing to ignore it. When I picture you doing that in my head, it is immediately followed by using my imagination to figure out where to dispose of your body parts after I dismember you. Shithead. (Sidenote, almost EVERYONE I know from California is damn near impossible to get on the phone. Coincidence?)
You're a shithead if you interrupt me while speaking. First of all, anything I'm talking about is normally more important than what you are trying to butt in with. You're basically saying to me "Wait Samuel, I have something infinitely more important than whatever you're spewing out of your mouth-hole. You are inconsequential." You know when someone makes you insanely mad to where your face flushes, and your chest gets hot? Thats how it is for me. If we're in a conversation and you interrupt me, you'll notice me getting very silent. No, I'm not listening intently; I'm searching for something to impale you with. Armageddon is imminent. Flap flap flap. Do you hear that flapping? Its death approaching you on swift wings.
You're a shithead if you chew with your mouth open. Honestly? I can't believe I even have to go over this. How does this sick habit get past age 5? Your parents must have failed on you. If this was Sparta, we'd have thrown you off a cliff already. I know dogs with better manners than you, And they lick their crotches/asses in public. Go drown yourself.
Thats it for today, more to follow in future posts.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Alive at 25= Totally Not Awesome
Let me tell you about how awesome I am.
Last December, I ran a stop sign and almost struck a police car. He wasn't aware of my awesomeness and the privilege of me being so awesome is that I always have the right of way. ALWAYS. I thought about cluing him in on my awesome traffic rule, but I'm way too awesome for that and accepted my citation.
I had to go to traffic court, which was decidedly not very awesome. The funny thing about Evansville is that you're aware of how dumb and intolerable a lot of it's inhabitants are, but then sometimes it still makes you gasp in awe. Traffic court was like a gathering of the degenerates, a parade of stupid if you will. Except for me, because I am awesome. And the judge was awesome too, almost as awesome as me. He started the hearing out by telling people not to be stupid and argue with him over bullcrap. And what do you know, at least half of the idiots there tried telling him their sob stories and were trying to plead with him. These people were booed. One woman (who reeked of self entitlement; princess complex galore) tried to get her charge of driving without insurance dropped by telling the judge that it was just super inconvenient for her, and she thought it was just totally ridiculous. I wanted to tell her that she was making my brains leak out of my ear, but I'm too awesome to be in contempt of court. She ended up deciding to go to court over it instead of taking the judges gracious offer of just faxing proof of insurance in to the prosecutor and only having to pay court fees. I wanted to beat her over her head with her own weave.
Finally my turn came and everything went super smooth. The judge told me to go take a driving course called "Alive at 25" and my ticket would be voided. I said thank you and went about my awesome way. The judge was probably so gracious because he could tell I was super awesome and I had an awesome purple shirt on that day.
The day came for me to take my class, which was held at the community college I dropped out of because I'm way too awesome for that school. So I showed up and found out that they told me the wrong time for the class to start, and I was an hour early. I said to myself "This is the anti-awesome" and did what anyone as awesome as me should do; I drove to a Hacienda and had chips and a tall Dos Equis. If you don't like Dos Equis, we aren't friends, and you are NOT awesome. Some people might tell me that drinking before your defensive driving class is a bad idea, but these people don't understand the burdens of being as awesome as me; I HAD to do it.
So I drove back to the college I'm too awesome for and found the classroom. It was full of stereotypical high school kids, me, this awesome guy who sat in front of me, and the instructor guy who looked like Steve Martin if Steve Martin was about 147 years old and not funny. I blurted out "How cool was it when the wheel was invented?" but the instructor's ears were too old to hear it. Awesome guy in front of me laughed though, and thus cemented his awesomeness. When people understand my jokes and realize how awesome I am, it makes them awesome. Plus he was funny too, and had decent tattoos. We had a great time making fun of people.
Now comes the awesome part. AARP member Steve Martin has us go around and tell people why we are in there, and what our tickets were for. Nobody was in there for anything awesome. Not even awesome guy. There were a lot of speeding, running stop lights, blah blah blah. So my turn came and I wanted to spice things up a bit. I answered "My name is Samuel, and I'm here because this hooker tried to short change me so I threw her out of my car and a cop saw it. Reckless endangerment." The girls in the room gasped in horror, and the guys cracked up. I kept a straight face as Steve Martin Sr. looked at me like I just pooped out a Hitler. A girl in the room piped up and said "Nuh-uh, there's no way you're here for that. You're full of shit." I wanted to tell her she owed me a rib, but even I sometimes have my limits. So I leveled with the class; "Yeah, you caught me... I was bullshitting you. I NEVER actually pay hookers."
Man, I'm so awesome.
(disclaimer... driving drunk is NOT awesome. I only had one beer and was well under the legal limit.)
Last December, I ran a stop sign and almost struck a police car. He wasn't aware of my awesomeness and the privilege of me being so awesome is that I always have the right of way. ALWAYS. I thought about cluing him in on my awesome traffic rule, but I'm way too awesome for that and accepted my citation.
I had to go to traffic court, which was decidedly not very awesome. The funny thing about Evansville is that you're aware of how dumb and intolerable a lot of it's inhabitants are, but then sometimes it still makes you gasp in awe. Traffic court was like a gathering of the degenerates, a parade of stupid if you will. Except for me, because I am awesome. And the judge was awesome too, almost as awesome as me. He started the hearing out by telling people not to be stupid and argue with him over bullcrap. And what do you know, at least half of the idiots there tried telling him their sob stories and were trying to plead with him. These people were booed. One woman (who reeked of self entitlement; princess complex galore) tried to get her charge of driving without insurance dropped by telling the judge that it was just super inconvenient for her, and she thought it was just totally ridiculous. I wanted to tell her that she was making my brains leak out of my ear, but I'm too awesome to be in contempt of court. She ended up deciding to go to court over it instead of taking the judges gracious offer of just faxing proof of insurance in to the prosecutor and only having to pay court fees. I wanted to beat her over her head with her own weave.
Finally my turn came and everything went super smooth. The judge told me to go take a driving course called "Alive at 25" and my ticket would be voided. I said thank you and went about my awesome way. The judge was probably so gracious because he could tell I was super awesome and I had an awesome purple shirt on that day.
The day came for me to take my class, which was held at the community college I dropped out of because I'm way too awesome for that school. So I showed up and found out that they told me the wrong time for the class to start, and I was an hour early. I said to myself "This is the anti-awesome" and did what anyone as awesome as me should do; I drove to a Hacienda and had chips and a tall Dos Equis. If you don't like Dos Equis, we aren't friends, and you are NOT awesome. Some people might tell me that drinking before your defensive driving class is a bad idea, but these people don't understand the burdens of being as awesome as me; I HAD to do it.
So I drove back to the college I'm too awesome for and found the classroom. It was full of stereotypical high school kids, me, this awesome guy who sat in front of me, and the instructor guy who looked like Steve Martin if Steve Martin was about 147 years old and not funny. I blurted out "How cool was it when the wheel was invented?" but the instructor's ears were too old to hear it. Awesome guy in front of me laughed though, and thus cemented his awesomeness. When people understand my jokes and realize how awesome I am, it makes them awesome. Plus he was funny too, and had decent tattoos. We had a great time making fun of people.
Now comes the awesome part. AARP member Steve Martin has us go around and tell people why we are in there, and what our tickets were for. Nobody was in there for anything awesome. Not even awesome guy. There were a lot of speeding, running stop lights, blah blah blah. So my turn came and I wanted to spice things up a bit. I answered "My name is Samuel, and I'm here because this hooker tried to short change me so I threw her out of my car and a cop saw it. Reckless endangerment." The girls in the room gasped in horror, and the guys cracked up. I kept a straight face as Steve Martin Sr. looked at me like I just pooped out a Hitler. A girl in the room piped up and said "Nuh-uh, there's no way you're here for that. You're full of shit." I wanted to tell her she owed me a rib, but even I sometimes have my limits. So I leveled with the class; "Yeah, you caught me... I was bullshitting you. I NEVER actually pay hookers."
Man, I'm so awesome.
(disclaimer... driving drunk is NOT awesome. I only had one beer and was well under the legal limit.)
Thursday, September 17, 2009
The Splinter
In the course of my life I've had some grisly injuries. I've had part of a finger mauled by a jigsaw. I've had a blowgun dart shot through my hand. I've severed an ACL and watched as 3-4 feet of surgical tubing was pulled from around and through my knee joint. I've had shrapnel dug out of my skin from a homemade explosive. But that all pales in comparison to what you're about to read. Consider that your warning.
I got a splinter. In my ballsack.
Take a while to let that sink in.
Guys, this story is going to make you cringe.
My senior year of high school I was an avid distance runner. The cross country season was in full blast and we were putting in anywhere from 6-14 miles every day. The runs can be monotonous, and being the industrious little shitheads we were, we'd come up with games to play on the run to keep our mind off how bad running that far sucked. One game we played was called "rocket-stick" where one guy would grab a fallen limb out in the forest on a run, swinging it at a nearby stick. When the stick made contact, pieces would break off and shoot out like little wooden rockets. I know guys to this day who still have scars from rocket-stick.
But the main game we played on these runs was called tree-tipping. The basic idea is to shimmy up a young tree as high as you could, then swing out and bend it all the way to the ground (picture a reverse pole vault.) The goal is to tip the biggest tree, all you win is bragging rights. The game had been around a while at that time, and there was one tree out in the woods called the "Untippable." Many young men had tried to tip it, and many had failed. I was determined to conquer this tree though, and when we approached the tree I proclaimed my intentions to my teammates.
"Today is the day, gentleman, that I tip the untippable."
"Sam, there is no way you can tip that tree. And we don't feel like taking you to the hospital today. Quit being gay."
"Hey, fuck you. I'm going to do it."
"I'm going to do your mom."
"...Die in a fire, asshole."
I started shimmying up the tree, quickly. All I was wearing at the time were my tiny little running shorts and running shoes, so I probably resembled Gollum a bit as I clambered on. Twenty-five feet... Thirty feet... Forty feet up the tree. The higher I got, the more my teammates cheered. Finally, I got to a height where I felt the tree would tip to the ground under my weight. I swung out and slowly the tree started bending towards the earth. My teammates were going wild, they thought such a feat was impossible. The closer it bent towards the ground, the more feverish their cheers became.
And then the tree stopped, caught in mid-air by the branches of another tree. Terror shook at my very foundation. The woods became silent as we all realized how high I still was in the air. As I contemplated ways to get back to that sweet, sweet ground... I could hear my teammates discussing how to dispose of my lifeless body after I fell from that height. I fiercely swung my legs up, finally hooking them back around the now horizontal tree trunk. Inch by inch I started shimmying my way back down the trunk. It looked like I might escape this disaster after all.
Physics lesson: Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. When you climb a tree and try to tip it, you have to achieve a certain height before your weight can take it all the way to the ground. Climbing back down that bent tree, when you reach that point where your weight stops being enough to bend the tree guess what happens. The tree sprung back to upright like a pole vault pole unbending. My teammates screamed out in horror. I went from being 20 feet off the ground to being back up to around 35 in a timeframe of about half a second. The force of the tree unbending caused my grip to falter. As I slipped, I wrapped my arms and legs around the tree in a desperate attempt to keep myself from falling. I then proceeded to slide down a tree trunk like a firepole from 30+ feet.
I hit the ground with a thud and rolled off to the side. My teammates rushed in to help me up, but I brushed them off; I knew something went terribly wrong. As they formed a circle around me I yanked my shorts down faster than an alter boy in the priest chamber. There was a moment of confusion as they tried to figure out why I had stripped myself naked in the middle of a group of guys. Then we all seemed to see it at the same time.
Protruding from the right side of my scrotum was a 2-inch splinter. A little bit of blood trickled down the side of my leg.
The entire group screamed in unison and turned away from the horrid sight. Jeremy gagged. Matt dry heaved off in a bush. I screamed in terror. The pain was exactly how you think it would be guys; that dull, sickening, stomach-turning pain that you would associate with a bad kick to the balls. I dropped to my knees, afraid to touch it. "What do I do?" I desperately asked my friends, but no one could even stand to look at it. The splinter had pierced the skin, but hadn't actually impaled a testicle. I tugged at it but it seemed to be attached by a barb and wouldn't budge. I pulled harder and was met by more gagging from onlookers. The splinter would not budge. The only option now was to break the excess off and try to get myself somewhere I could perform minor surgery.
I'm kind of proud of this next part. After breaking the splinter off and putting my shorts back on, I ran the three miles back to my high school unaided. Each step felt like someone was flicking me on the right side of my ballsack. If Prefontaine can set an american record in the 5k with 10 busted stitches in his foot, I'll be damned if I'm going to let a scrotal splinter stop me.
When I finally made it back to the high school, I had to find a pair of tweezers. I feared the rest of the splinter would just dig in further and further. Luckily, Jeremy's mom was there. Jeremy's mom was kind of a cross country groupie, she was at every practice and every meet and always had food and drinks for the runners. It almost made up for the fact that she was annoying and fat, because that was pretty cool. We talked her into driving to the dollar general to buy us a pair of tweezers. When she returned, she tried insisting on helping me get the splinter out. Lucky for Jeremy, he talked her out of fondling my testicles.
I performed the minor surgery with my teammates watching intently and barely holding back their lunches. Cheers finally erupted as I pulled the remainder of the splinter from my bruised and bloody scrotum. I'm happy to say that everything today is in fine working order. There is still a small scar to always remind me of that horrific day.
That was hard to share, I think I need a hug.
I got a splinter. In my ballsack.
Take a while to let that sink in.
Guys, this story is going to make you cringe.
My senior year of high school I was an avid distance runner. The cross country season was in full blast and we were putting in anywhere from 6-14 miles every day. The runs can be monotonous, and being the industrious little shitheads we were, we'd come up with games to play on the run to keep our mind off how bad running that far sucked. One game we played was called "rocket-stick" where one guy would grab a fallen limb out in the forest on a run, swinging it at a nearby stick. When the stick made contact, pieces would break off and shoot out like little wooden rockets. I know guys to this day who still have scars from rocket-stick.
But the main game we played on these runs was called tree-tipping. The basic idea is to shimmy up a young tree as high as you could, then swing out and bend it all the way to the ground (picture a reverse pole vault.) The goal is to tip the biggest tree, all you win is bragging rights. The game had been around a while at that time, and there was one tree out in the woods called the "Untippable." Many young men had tried to tip it, and many had failed. I was determined to conquer this tree though, and when we approached the tree I proclaimed my intentions to my teammates.
"Today is the day, gentleman, that I tip the untippable."
"Sam, there is no way you can tip that tree. And we don't feel like taking you to the hospital today. Quit being gay."
"Hey, fuck you. I'm going to do it."
"I'm going to do your mom."
"...Die in a fire, asshole."
I started shimmying up the tree, quickly. All I was wearing at the time were my tiny little running shorts and running shoes, so I probably resembled Gollum a bit as I clambered on. Twenty-five feet... Thirty feet... Forty feet up the tree. The higher I got, the more my teammates cheered. Finally, I got to a height where I felt the tree would tip to the ground under my weight. I swung out and slowly the tree started bending towards the earth. My teammates were going wild, they thought such a feat was impossible. The closer it bent towards the ground, the more feverish their cheers became.
And then the tree stopped, caught in mid-air by the branches of another tree. Terror shook at my very foundation. The woods became silent as we all realized how high I still was in the air. As I contemplated ways to get back to that sweet, sweet ground... I could hear my teammates discussing how to dispose of my lifeless body after I fell from that height. I fiercely swung my legs up, finally hooking them back around the now horizontal tree trunk. Inch by inch I started shimmying my way back down the trunk. It looked like I might escape this disaster after all.
Physics lesson: Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. When you climb a tree and try to tip it, you have to achieve a certain height before your weight can take it all the way to the ground. Climbing back down that bent tree, when you reach that point where your weight stops being enough to bend the tree guess what happens. The tree sprung back to upright like a pole vault pole unbending. My teammates screamed out in horror. I went from being 20 feet off the ground to being back up to around 35 in a timeframe of about half a second. The force of the tree unbending caused my grip to falter. As I slipped, I wrapped my arms and legs around the tree in a desperate attempt to keep myself from falling. I then proceeded to slide down a tree trunk like a firepole from 30+ feet.
I hit the ground with a thud and rolled off to the side. My teammates rushed in to help me up, but I brushed them off; I knew something went terribly wrong. As they formed a circle around me I yanked my shorts down faster than an alter boy in the priest chamber. There was a moment of confusion as they tried to figure out why I had stripped myself naked in the middle of a group of guys. Then we all seemed to see it at the same time.
Protruding from the right side of my scrotum was a 2-inch splinter. A little bit of blood trickled down the side of my leg.
The entire group screamed in unison and turned away from the horrid sight. Jeremy gagged. Matt dry heaved off in a bush. I screamed in terror. The pain was exactly how you think it would be guys; that dull, sickening, stomach-turning pain that you would associate with a bad kick to the balls. I dropped to my knees, afraid to touch it. "What do I do?" I desperately asked my friends, but no one could even stand to look at it. The splinter had pierced the skin, but hadn't actually impaled a testicle. I tugged at it but it seemed to be attached by a barb and wouldn't budge. I pulled harder and was met by more gagging from onlookers. The splinter would not budge. The only option now was to break the excess off and try to get myself somewhere I could perform minor surgery.
I'm kind of proud of this next part. After breaking the splinter off and putting my shorts back on, I ran the three miles back to my high school unaided. Each step felt like someone was flicking me on the right side of my ballsack. If Prefontaine can set an american record in the 5k with 10 busted stitches in his foot, I'll be damned if I'm going to let a scrotal splinter stop me.
When I finally made it back to the high school, I had to find a pair of tweezers. I feared the rest of the splinter would just dig in further and further. Luckily, Jeremy's mom was there. Jeremy's mom was kind of a cross country groupie, she was at every practice and every meet and always had food and drinks for the runners. It almost made up for the fact that she was annoying and fat, because that was pretty cool. We talked her into driving to the dollar general to buy us a pair of tweezers. When she returned, she tried insisting on helping me get the splinter out. Lucky for Jeremy, he talked her out of fondling my testicles.
I performed the minor surgery with my teammates watching intently and barely holding back their lunches. Cheers finally erupted as I pulled the remainder of the splinter from my bruised and bloody scrotum. I'm happy to say that everything today is in fine working order. There is still a small scar to always remind me of that horrific day.
That was hard to share, I think I need a hug.
Engagement Rings = Sexist.
Did he really just say engagement rings are sexist?
Are guys even allowed to say something is sexist at all?
Yes and yes.
Now before you get all huffy and puffy hear me out on this one, and more importantly CALL ME OUT on this one if anything I say doesn't make sense or it's false. I want you to think about this whole engagement ring tradition for a second, and I'd like to address both genders on it.
Ladies~
Gender equality. Very important to you, correct? You've made huge strides in women's rights, like the 19th Amendment, equality in the workplace, etc. I think all that is great, truly I do. But this is a two way road. Equality means equality. So when a guy drops a few grand to proclaim his desire to love you all his life... what do you plan to do to make this worth his investment? I've heard a lot of things from girls about this. Some have said "Why should I have to do anything? Isn't getting me as his wife enough?" Well if that's the case, isn't him just asking you (without getting a ring) enough? We're going for equality here, and that is definitely not equal. If its good enough to get you as his wife, shouldn't it be good enough for you to get him as a husband? I think it should. But if you INSIST on getting an engagement ring... what are YOU going to do to make it worth the money? Do that special thing for him in bed that you won't ever do even though he begs for it daily?
And... that statement brings me to address the men.
Guys~
When the hell did all of your collective balls fall off? What are you idiots doing? WHY ARE YOU SETTLING FOR LESS THAN YOU DESERVE? How is it that not every man has had a moment where he sits and reflects on asking a woman to marry him... buying that expensive damn ring... and realizing that he is getting the short end of the stick on this? You buy the ring and ask the girl - she says yes - you both end up happy, you both have a big commitment from each other... but she ends up with a shiny gizmo on her finger and you end up a few grand in debt. HOW DOES THIS MAKE ANY SENSE TO YOU?
I want you all to stop and think about this. If this girl won't marry you without a ridiculously expensive little doo-dad... why the hell are you going to marry someone so shallow? Why aren't you demanding more?
(On a sidenote, to the fellas) If you're comprimising anything in your life in hopes of more or better sex, you deserve the emasculation that's coming to you. You probably haven't figured out that women in fact DO enjoy having sex and often crave sex more than us... I'm sorry to say that this means its not just an act of charity on her part. (Actually it might be, if you're this naive about it at this point you're probably bad at it anyway.) Also... I want you to try something. If your girl pulls that "I'm cutting you off" crap... just roll with it until she decides she wants to have sex again... then tell her that since she cut you off for 2 months, now you're cutting her off for two months. Yes, this will take willpower but I'm sure you can make do by yourself. But see if that doesn't change a couple things for you. Worst case scenario is you guys keep cutting each other off and eventually end the relationship- Be happy about that, because it sounds like she was a bitch anyway and you're now free. Sex is great, but it isn't this invaluable commodity you're making it out to be.
But, back to the point in hand... Ladies- if you're truly seeking gender equality you're going to have to sacrifice some things like this. You might have to give up luxuries like engagement rings and having doors opened and free drinks at bars because you're showing cleavage. You might have to figure out how to work on your own car. You may have to kill that big monstrous mouse or bug that scared the hell out of you. You may have to deal with men having less interest in you because a majority of us aren't looking for a mate who out earns us. I know not all of this applies to everyone, but it should really make you think. Sexism is a two-way street sweetheart.
Are guys even allowed to say something is sexist at all?
Yes and yes.
Now before you get all huffy and puffy hear me out on this one, and more importantly CALL ME OUT on this one if anything I say doesn't make sense or it's false. I want you to think about this whole engagement ring tradition for a second, and I'd like to address both genders on it.
Ladies~
Gender equality. Very important to you, correct? You've made huge strides in women's rights, like the 19th Amendment, equality in the workplace, etc. I think all that is great, truly I do. But this is a two way road. Equality means equality. So when a guy drops a few grand to proclaim his desire to love you all his life... what do you plan to do to make this worth his investment? I've heard a lot of things from girls about this. Some have said "Why should I have to do anything? Isn't getting me as his wife enough?" Well if that's the case, isn't him just asking you (without getting a ring) enough? We're going for equality here, and that is definitely not equal. If its good enough to get you as his wife, shouldn't it be good enough for you to get him as a husband? I think it should. But if you INSIST on getting an engagement ring... what are YOU going to do to make it worth the money? Do that special thing for him in bed that you won't ever do even though he begs for it daily?
And... that statement brings me to address the men.
Guys~
When the hell did all of your collective balls fall off? What are you idiots doing? WHY ARE YOU SETTLING FOR LESS THAN YOU DESERVE? How is it that not every man has had a moment where he sits and reflects on asking a woman to marry him... buying that expensive damn ring... and realizing that he is getting the short end of the stick on this? You buy the ring and ask the girl - she says yes - you both end up happy, you both have a big commitment from each other... but she ends up with a shiny gizmo on her finger and you end up a few grand in debt. HOW DOES THIS MAKE ANY SENSE TO YOU?
I want you all to stop and think about this. If this girl won't marry you without a ridiculously expensive little doo-dad... why the hell are you going to marry someone so shallow? Why aren't you demanding more?
(On a sidenote, to the fellas) If you're comprimising anything in your life in hopes of more or better sex, you deserve the emasculation that's coming to you. You probably haven't figured out that women in fact DO enjoy having sex and often crave sex more than us... I'm sorry to say that this means its not just an act of charity on her part. (Actually it might be, if you're this naive about it at this point you're probably bad at it anyway.) Also... I want you to try something. If your girl pulls that "I'm cutting you off" crap... just roll with it until she decides she wants to have sex again... then tell her that since she cut you off for 2 months, now you're cutting her off for two months. Yes, this will take willpower but I'm sure you can make do by yourself. But see if that doesn't change a couple things for you. Worst case scenario is you guys keep cutting each other off and eventually end the relationship- Be happy about that, because it sounds like she was a bitch anyway and you're now free. Sex is great, but it isn't this invaluable commodity you're making it out to be.
But, back to the point in hand... Ladies- if you're truly seeking gender equality you're going to have to sacrifice some things like this. You might have to give up luxuries like engagement rings and having doors opened and free drinks at bars because you're showing cleavage. You might have to figure out how to work on your own car. You may have to kill that big monstrous mouse or bug that scared the hell out of you. You may have to deal with men having less interest in you because a majority of us aren't looking for a mate who out earns us. I know not all of this applies to everyone, but it should really make you think. Sexism is a two-way street sweetheart.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Silly Politics.
I'm going to make this one fairly short. A friend of mine recently posted a status on his facebook account that read "Is there an option where the Government doesn't get involved... that would be great!!! Thanks!" I see a lot of this kind of talk lately. And every time I do all I can think is that not only do these people want to have their cake and eat it too, they want to take the bakery as well. I mean, forget about the fact that this democratic government gives you FAR more rights than any other country. Forget about how they pay to keep you safe from attacks, and let you have a free market style economy, and provide roads and national parks and so many other luxuries that we take for granted on a daily basis. And on top of that, the first amendment gives you the right to bitch about it.
Don't get me wrong here, I'm not for socialism or anything of that sort. But when you sit back and really think about it, where else in the world would you have it better than here in America? And if you can think of somewhere, then why the hell aren't you there? Just leave already and quit the incessant bitching. To say that people take our freedoms for granted is a gross understatement.
The health care issue nowadays is where a lot of this is stemming from, and the way I can best describe it is with the words paranoia and selfishness. Any reasonable and rational person knows that the government will not step in and fully take over health care, ever. If they try (which they won't,) that's why the second amendment is around. There will always be privatized health care and insurance around for those who can afford it (as long as this country is intact.) So what about those who can't? There are people dying because they can't afford proper health care if any at all. And the people who CAN afford health care have a problem with being taxed to pay for those who can't. Now, no one likes a worthless freeloader, which is really a thorn in the side to those of us who work hard for what we have. Yet the ugly truth is that there will ALWAYS be worthless freeloaders out there, mooching away off of us hard working people. And as pathetic as they may be, do you really wish death on them if they don't have the money for a necessary medical treatment? Would you be able to sleep at night after telling a fellow human being "sorry you have to suffer and die, guess you should have worked harder in your life?" And what about people who lost their insurance benefits after being laid off due to the economy? Would you tell them that if they had chosen a better career path that maybe they could afford to take their sick children to the doctor? And what's really sick is that these conservatives and others who oppose changing our health care system at all probably consider themselves Christians. What would Jesus do? Well he probably wouldn't be so damn selfish to his fellow man in need.
So thats my story on this. I know some of you will get this in an email and you will disagree with me, and thats your right. Send me an email if you want to discuss it. Or if you can't take someone else's opinion, I'll promptly remove you from the mailing list if you so wish.
In closing: what happened to common sense and compassion?
Don't get me wrong here, I'm not for socialism or anything of that sort. But when you sit back and really think about it, where else in the world would you have it better than here in America? And if you can think of somewhere, then why the hell aren't you there? Just leave already and quit the incessant bitching. To say that people take our freedoms for granted is a gross understatement.
The health care issue nowadays is where a lot of this is stemming from, and the way I can best describe it is with the words paranoia and selfishness. Any reasonable and rational person knows that the government will not step in and fully take over health care, ever. If they try (which they won't,) that's why the second amendment is around. There will always be privatized health care and insurance around for those who can afford it (as long as this country is intact.) So what about those who can't? There are people dying because they can't afford proper health care if any at all. And the people who CAN afford health care have a problem with being taxed to pay for those who can't. Now, no one likes a worthless freeloader, which is really a thorn in the side to those of us who work hard for what we have. Yet the ugly truth is that there will ALWAYS be worthless freeloaders out there, mooching away off of us hard working people. And as pathetic as they may be, do you really wish death on them if they don't have the money for a necessary medical treatment? Would you be able to sleep at night after telling a fellow human being "sorry you have to suffer and die, guess you should have worked harder in your life?" And what about people who lost their insurance benefits after being laid off due to the economy? Would you tell them that if they had chosen a better career path that maybe they could afford to take their sick children to the doctor? And what's really sick is that these conservatives and others who oppose changing our health care system at all probably consider themselves Christians. What would Jesus do? Well he probably wouldn't be so damn selfish to his fellow man in need.
So thats my story on this. I know some of you will get this in an email and you will disagree with me, and thats your right. Send me an email if you want to discuss it. Or if you can't take someone else's opinion, I'll promptly remove you from the mailing list if you so wish.
In closing: what happened to common sense and compassion?
Monday, August 3, 2009
Honesty vs. Sensitivity
Lets say I have a huge booger on my face. Its green and disgusting and distracting as you're talking to me. Do you tell me about it, or just let it slide (literally and figuratively) in fear of offending me?
Maybe a friend of yours constantly sings to any song they hear, horribly off pitch- but they think they're the next American Idol. Do you tell them you like hearing their voice, or do you tell them you'd rather stick ice picks in your ears rather than listen to them howl one more song?
Lets say your friend is having relationship issues that are their own cause... They come complaining to you about them, expecting your validation but you disagree with them... What do you say?
What I want to talk about is the ultra-sensitive nature of society today. We're so afraid of confrontations, of looking bad, of offending someone that we hold back the truth. We tell all our youth that they're special and amazing, and they'll all be successful and rich when we know it's a lie. But why do we do this? What are we afraid of? The ugly truth? Yes the truth sucks quite often, but its the TRUTH and there's no changing it. Chances are your son isn't going to be an NFL player or a rock star. Your daughter is probably not going to be treated like a princess by anyone but you. So quit lying to them. It gives someone a false sense of entitlement, that they're somehow special as they are and they don't need to work hard to achieve their goals. It might make your child feel good now, but how does that set them up for their adult lives? It leads our young men to be anything BUT men, and it causes our young women to be spoiled and self-entitled. No one was born "special." Talent is a lie. Tell them the truth, that you have to work hard to be successful. When someone fails at something, don't say "Its okay because you tried your best." Tell them the truth: that if they want it bad enough, they'll work hard and do what it takes to succeed next time.
Lets say you have a female friend who's guy is treating her like shit. She comes to you to complain... but does she ever do anything about it? Tell her the truth; if she wants to be treated better, it's all up to her to demand it and/or earn it. Tell her that if she can't stand up for herself than it's her own damn fault she isn't being treated better. It sucks to have to break the truth to a friend like that, but a true friend will do it because they realize it's the only way to help improve your situation. Either that, or you can be sensitive instead and tell her that she deserves better because she is special, and that he's going to come around and see how special she is someday and all that bullshit. When you say that, you stop being a friend and you become an enabler. You enable her self pity and she won't get any better.
One of the best examples of the point I'm trying to make is how I coach my kids at pole vault. There are two younger guys on the team who were vaulting around the same height the first year I started. We'll call them "Jon" and "Tim." Tim was way more athletic than Jon and had a lot of physical advantages over him. I coached both of them the same way. When they did something right, I rewarded them. When they did something wrong, I let them know and wouldn't let them move on with training until they could get it right. Jon would work hard to correct his mistakes and move on. Tim would quickly become discouraged and take my critiquing personally. Before too long Tim started missing practices and Jon started improving at an exponential rate. By the end of the season, Jon had jumped more than 2 feet higher than the previous season and Tim had quit the event. So even though Tim was at a serious physical advantage, he failed because of his sensitivity and his inability to take criticism even when it was constructive. Jon took my criticism and my advice to heart and made something of himself. He didn't make excuses, he didn't take things personally. Now which of these two do you think is going to make something of themselves later on in life?
I guess what I'm getting at here is a need for a little more honesty. People's feelings are going to get hurt in their lives, many many times. Trying to avoid that is like trying to stop the world from turning. And it's creating levels of dysfunction in this society that are mind boggling to me. So lets just be honest. Who wants to give it a try?
Maybe a friend of yours constantly sings to any song they hear, horribly off pitch- but they think they're the next American Idol. Do you tell them you like hearing their voice, or do you tell them you'd rather stick ice picks in your ears rather than listen to them howl one more song?
Lets say your friend is having relationship issues that are their own cause... They come complaining to you about them, expecting your validation but you disagree with them... What do you say?
What I want to talk about is the ultra-sensitive nature of society today. We're so afraid of confrontations, of looking bad, of offending someone that we hold back the truth. We tell all our youth that they're special and amazing, and they'll all be successful and rich when we know it's a lie. But why do we do this? What are we afraid of? The ugly truth? Yes the truth sucks quite often, but its the TRUTH and there's no changing it. Chances are your son isn't going to be an NFL player or a rock star. Your daughter is probably not going to be treated like a princess by anyone but you. So quit lying to them. It gives someone a false sense of entitlement, that they're somehow special as they are and they don't need to work hard to achieve their goals. It might make your child feel good now, but how does that set them up for their adult lives? It leads our young men to be anything BUT men, and it causes our young women to be spoiled and self-entitled. No one was born "special." Talent is a lie. Tell them the truth, that you have to work hard to be successful. When someone fails at something, don't say "Its okay because you tried your best." Tell them the truth: that if they want it bad enough, they'll work hard and do what it takes to succeed next time.
Lets say you have a female friend who's guy is treating her like shit. She comes to you to complain... but does she ever do anything about it? Tell her the truth; if she wants to be treated better, it's all up to her to demand it and/or earn it. Tell her that if she can't stand up for herself than it's her own damn fault she isn't being treated better. It sucks to have to break the truth to a friend like that, but a true friend will do it because they realize it's the only way to help improve your situation. Either that, or you can be sensitive instead and tell her that she deserves better because she is special, and that he's going to come around and see how special she is someday and all that bullshit. When you say that, you stop being a friend and you become an enabler. You enable her self pity and she won't get any better.
One of the best examples of the point I'm trying to make is how I coach my kids at pole vault. There are two younger guys on the team who were vaulting around the same height the first year I started. We'll call them "Jon" and "Tim." Tim was way more athletic than Jon and had a lot of physical advantages over him. I coached both of them the same way. When they did something right, I rewarded them. When they did something wrong, I let them know and wouldn't let them move on with training until they could get it right. Jon would work hard to correct his mistakes and move on. Tim would quickly become discouraged and take my critiquing personally. Before too long Tim started missing practices and Jon started improving at an exponential rate. By the end of the season, Jon had jumped more than 2 feet higher than the previous season and Tim had quit the event. So even though Tim was at a serious physical advantage, he failed because of his sensitivity and his inability to take criticism even when it was constructive. Jon took my criticism and my advice to heart and made something of himself. He didn't make excuses, he didn't take things personally. Now which of these two do you think is going to make something of themselves later on in life?
I guess what I'm getting at here is a need for a little more honesty. People's feelings are going to get hurt in their lives, many many times. Trying to avoid that is like trying to stop the world from turning. And it's creating levels of dysfunction in this society that are mind boggling to me. So lets just be honest. Who wants to give it a try?
Monday, June 22, 2009
Just Let Go
You spend your whole life trying to control things. I mean, think about it. Your car, house, loved ones, career, schooling; you want to feel like you have some control over most things, it's only natural. But the older you get, the more responsibilities you have, the less control you have over anything. And when you really stop and think about it, you really don't have control over ANYTHING in your life. Sure you have a house, but a natural disaster can wipe that away. Same with most any possession. Anything and everything is temporary at best. But, why do we still try and control things? Is it just human nature to want to feel in control? Or is it just the easier route to take mentally?
I remember a few years ago, when I first started getting real responsibilities. I got my first car and job, started having real relationships with others, then moving out and living on my own. At first, it was almost too much. I didn't feel like I was in control of much at all, and it was overwhelming. I was constantly worried about every aspect of my life not going as I had planned. Every deviation from my original course felt disastrous. But over the last couple of years, things have changed quite a bit. It started with me sitting down one day and thinking about the person I was at that time the previous year. Then I started thinking about the year before that. So much had changed, so many things had been altered. I was almost a completely different person. And it was then I started to just let go and accept it. I realized the more I planned things, the more things deviated from their course. It was true, the harder I gripped these things, the more they slipped through my fingers. So I started living a bit differently.
I can't fully explain this to you, but the closest I can come to it is giving a reference. If you've ever watched Fight Club you'll remember a scene where the narrator and his other personality (embodied as Tyler) are in a car and having a confrontation. Tyler is driving and the narrator is in the passenger seat. Tyler lets go of the wheel to the car and the narrator starts panicking. Tyler turns to the narrator and says "Stop trying to control everything and just let go." There is more to the scene, but that's exactly what I'm talking about. He's not just talking about the car, he's talking about in life. Nothing is ever certain, there is no rule book, no guidelines, no paths and certainly no control. I don't think a lot of people will come to that realization, but I feel like I have. There is a crossroads you'll come to where you can live according to plan and be constantly frustrated when little things deviate; or you can accept life's uncertainties and realize there's not much you can control.
As humans, we feel like we know so much when we really don't. There isn't certainty in anything but yourself; The only thing you can ever truly know is yourself. You can't control the actions of others, you can't control nature. You can, however, control how you react to things. When you truly realize this, it feels like you can take on anything in life. You know that if the worst thing happens, you can deal with it. That doesn't mean it isn't going to suck really bad, but you can deal with however sucky it may get. And as I like to say, "It takes shit to make bliss." How could you know something is good without going through the bad stuff? This realization will bring you self confidence like you've never experienced before and anyone who knows anything will let you know that this is a great quality. You quit being afraid of things and you start to look forward to a new challenge. I see it as your life being a book. Most people try and title their chapters before they write them. Then they get frustrated when they need to make alterations. Instead, why not take it all page by page? Instead of writing ahead, why not concentrate on writing today's page as brilliantly as you can?
In conclusion, I'm sorry for the preachy tone of this piece but I feel It's true. If you can take yourself from "Things are so bad, I can't handle it" to "This is how it played out, now here's how I'm going to deal with this problem" you can transform your life. You CAN deal with anything, and the first step is to accept whatever comes at you as unchangeable.
"The world's a roller coaster and I am not strapped in;
Maybe I should hold with care but my hands are busy in the air."
I remember a few years ago, when I first started getting real responsibilities. I got my first car and job, started having real relationships with others, then moving out and living on my own. At first, it was almost too much. I didn't feel like I was in control of much at all, and it was overwhelming. I was constantly worried about every aspect of my life not going as I had planned. Every deviation from my original course felt disastrous. But over the last couple of years, things have changed quite a bit. It started with me sitting down one day and thinking about the person I was at that time the previous year. Then I started thinking about the year before that. So much had changed, so many things had been altered. I was almost a completely different person. And it was then I started to just let go and accept it. I realized the more I planned things, the more things deviated from their course. It was true, the harder I gripped these things, the more they slipped through my fingers. So I started living a bit differently.
I can't fully explain this to you, but the closest I can come to it is giving a reference. If you've ever watched Fight Club you'll remember a scene where the narrator and his other personality (embodied as Tyler) are in a car and having a confrontation. Tyler is driving and the narrator is in the passenger seat. Tyler lets go of the wheel to the car and the narrator starts panicking. Tyler turns to the narrator and says "Stop trying to control everything and just let go." There is more to the scene, but that's exactly what I'm talking about. He's not just talking about the car, he's talking about in life. Nothing is ever certain, there is no rule book, no guidelines, no paths and certainly no control. I don't think a lot of people will come to that realization, but I feel like I have. There is a crossroads you'll come to where you can live according to plan and be constantly frustrated when little things deviate; or you can accept life's uncertainties and realize there's not much you can control.
As humans, we feel like we know so much when we really don't. There isn't certainty in anything but yourself; The only thing you can ever truly know is yourself. You can't control the actions of others, you can't control nature. You can, however, control how you react to things. When you truly realize this, it feels like you can take on anything in life. You know that if the worst thing happens, you can deal with it. That doesn't mean it isn't going to suck really bad, but you can deal with however sucky it may get. And as I like to say, "It takes shit to make bliss." How could you know something is good without going through the bad stuff? This realization will bring you self confidence like you've never experienced before and anyone who knows anything will let you know that this is a great quality. You quit being afraid of things and you start to look forward to a new challenge. I see it as your life being a book. Most people try and title their chapters before they write them. Then they get frustrated when they need to make alterations. Instead, why not take it all page by page? Instead of writing ahead, why not concentrate on writing today's page as brilliantly as you can?
In conclusion, I'm sorry for the preachy tone of this piece but I feel It's true. If you can take yourself from "Things are so bad, I can't handle it" to "This is how it played out, now here's how I'm going to deal with this problem" you can transform your life. You CAN deal with anything, and the first step is to accept whatever comes at you as unchangeable.
"The world's a roller coaster and I am not strapped in;
Maybe I should hold with care but my hands are busy in the air."
Monday, June 15, 2009
Rate the Pain, 1-10
"Sir, if you could rate the pain on a scale of one to ten, with ten being the worst, and one being no pain at all, how would you describe it?"
No matter how innocently this question is asked, I always perceive it in a condescending tone. A tone as if to say "Go ahead and say ten, ya little druggie, so the doctor can prescribe you the good stuff... worthless animal" So I answered to the nurse that when put in motion, the pain in my shoulder rated an 8 on this invisible scale. Immediately after answering, I have to scan the nurse's face for any hint of disbelief. I'm an injured man, cornered in my doctors office, and any provocation from her may lead to an untimely demise caused from blunt force trauma. The trauma would undoubtedly be from me ripping the injured appendage from its socket and administering repeated blows to her head and neck.
But I digress, back to the subject in hand:
I am in an Urgent Care doctor's office. The previous day while at a pole vault practice, my right shoulder started getting a little sore. This is nothing new, being that the entire sport is centered around leaving the ground with a large fiberglass pole flexing to propel your body over tremendous heights (assuming you are me) all the while having your arms stretched fully above your head and nearly ripped from their socket. I hear this is the most stressful sport to the shoulder joint. I try to ignore that fact, as a small man of what appears to be Indian descent enters the room and identifies himself as the doctor. The apparent lack of vowels in his name confirms to me that he is of the foreign persuasion. After approximately 20 seconds of twisting and pulling at my right arm, the doctor had his diagnosis. He said it was strained muscles in my rotator cuff. I was hoping he was right, and it wasn't anything more serious. He prescribed me a few things and told me to check back in after 5 days if my shoulder was not improving.
When I left the office and headed to the pharmacy, I took a closer look at my prescriptions. One was a muscle relaxer and one was a pain killer. Both warned gravely against driving while on the medication. Awesome.
I'm going to fast forward a little here, as the next few weeks were somewhat of a haze anyway. I will say that Tramadol (pain killer, in the same class as morphine) has some VERY interesting effects and side effects. In fact, I could probably write a book on just that alone. But, back to the point, 13 days later my shoulder was improving but not much. In this short time span I wouldn't allow myself to pole vault, even if it killed my very soul. Pole vaulting is the one sport I've ever had a knack for, I feel like I get it. The entire event is just one big physics equation that I control all the variables for. When something doesn't go as planned, there is always a mathematical and scientific explanation for it, and if you know me you know how much I like that certainty. What has become uncertain however, is the functionality of my shoulder. I returned to the doctor for a follow-up. He scheduled an appointment for me to get checked out and x-rayed at Tri-State Orthopedic for the next morning. I am now happy because it feels like something is going to get done about this and I can go back to vaulting.
The next morning I get to the Orthopedic Doctor's office and change into a complimentary tank top to await the doctor. The man who walked in to examine me can only be described in the terms of GIGANTIC. I am positive he was well over 6'6" and was built like a brick shithouse. The thing that immediately jumped out at me was his enormous polka-dotted bowtie. At this point, I can only describe this man as a super-sized Groucho Marx (minus the mustache and cigar.) As he introduces himself and starts examining the afflicted joint, it starts to be more and more apparent to me that this man is smart. And I don't mean degrees-on-the-wall smart, I mean whip-your-ass-at-trivial-pursuit smart. Correcting college professors smart. And its a rare thing when I feel that someone is honestly more intelligent than me, so I pay attention with all my mind. Dr. Gargantuan is continuing to twist on my arm and finally stops to sit and pulls out a voice recorder. As he clicks record, the voice coming out of him is so fast, an auctioneer would tell this guy to slow down. He is spitting out medical terms that are beyond me at a mile a minute, and its just awesome.
When he stops his light-speed analysis into his voice recorder, he turns to me and dons his "I'm talking to a mere mortal" voice to let me know that he has a pretty good idea of what is wrong but wants me to get some x-rays to be sure. I am whisked away to the x-ray lab within their facility. My two x-ray nurses are locked into their mind numbing tasks, barely focused on who I am, but more focused on getting me out of their lab. Their collectively dismissive attitudes make me determined to make my presence known. My ego is subconsciously screaming "I am Samuel, and you WILL give me your undivided attention."
The first nurse sits me down on a chair in front of this monstrous machine. She is young, looks like she graduated college recently and is now in her chosen career which she didn't realize was going to suck so bad. I immediately feel pity for the poor guy she may have at home, because she is striking me as the type who can suck the life right out of your best male friend in a matter of months. As she gets me positioned in the chair for the best possible X-ray, she flops one of the protective lead sheets onto my lap and leaves the room. As the machine fires up, I am momentarily puzzled by this action, then realize that the lead sheet is protecting my baby-making parts from radiation. As the machine continues to make ominous noises around me, I wonder if I can remove the lead sheet and use this turn of events to my advantage as a cheap form of birth control. Almost as immediately as the idea came to me it passed; visions of mutant tadpole sized sperm and green radioactive alien babies thwart my ideas of radiation as an effective form of birth control. As the machine kicks off, my mind is still pondering thoughts of testicular cancer. The nurse comes back in and rotates the machine while ordering me to stand and position myself near the wall for the next batch of radiation. I ask her innocently "Should I bring my junk guard along with me?" and am greeted with guffaws of laughter from her and her unseen helper operating the x-ray machine. I can hear the other nurse, a middle aged Hispanic woman, saying "Oh lord, he actually said junk guard!!!" and bursting into fits of laughter. Hey, I call a spade a spade... and now I have an audience. Let the show begin.
The young nurse is giggling and telling me "Yes, Mr. Rice... bring your protective sheet." But my insistence on having her call it by its proper medical term (junk guard) only brings more hysterical laughter from the nurses. As I stand facing the machine, I can hear them in the control room, still cackling. Upon completion, the nurse re-enters, giggling to herself, and asks me to rotate around so that they can get an x-ray from the back side of my shoulder. As i rotate around, my common sense kicks in and I put the junk guard behind my ass. I'd like to avoid radiation from that angle too, but apparently this is just too much for the funny bones of my nurses and I must wait for them to regain composure before completing my final x-ray. As a nurse leads me back to my exam room, I can still hear them laughing from down the hall. Mission accomplished.
Dr. Gargantuan returned to my exam room and looked at x-rays, as did I. They fascinate me, seeing the inner workings of my own body. The doctor looked at all of the prints and pulled out his little voice recorder to continue the analysis. I listened hard, but all I really got out of his mile-a-minute rambling was something about me being normal. After he clicked his voice caddy off, he turned to me and donned back his "let me put this in short, simple words for you" voice. I'd normally get upset if someone takes this tone with me, since I would normally perceive it as condescending. But this time I was okay with it, knowing that he was indeed vastly smarter than me. He explained that because of a muscular imbalance from the front to the back of my shoulder, I was getting irritation caused by my shoulder pinching tendons in my rotator cuff. In more humorous terms, you could say the front part of my shoulder is like Arnold Schwarzenegger and the back of it is more like Macaulay Culkin. The kind doctor was optimistic that this was very fixable and that I was lucky I caught it in early stages. He prescribed me some anti-inflammatory and sent me to the physical therapy department upstairs. As I thanked him and left, I thought about what this man's life must be like. He has a huge natural advantage over most men, in both mind and body. There's no denying that he is what society considers to be "a very successful man." He must have the Alpha-Male gene, as he seemed like a natural born leader. I wondered what it would be like to walk a mile in his very large shoes. I wondered if his socially-conventional "success" made him any happier than the average guy you see on the street. I'll let you, the reader, mull that one over in your head.
I walked up to the physical therapy office upstairs and checked in. After taking my seat, an older woman who had checked in came and sat close to me. She walked with a limp, looked as if she had been sweating the entire day, and smelled like cat piss and body odor. I am now aggravated, because it seems as if this happens to me in every waiting room. Will this be the day I let stinkylady know just how mad I am at her lack of basic personal hygiene? Nope. I will, however, bitch about it via text message to my girlfriend Kaitlyn. Kaitlyn has been over-the-top supportive of me while I've been battling this injury, and I make a mental note of that as I am called in to see the physical therapist. I need to get this girl a card or something, she rocks.
I'm pleasantly surprised to find out that my therapist is a guy I know, Drew. He is a bit older than me and has seen me play acoustic a couple times before. I appreciate his compliments on my music, congratulate him on his upcoming wedding, and we get down to business. He looks at my file quickly, and informs me that what could be a big cause of my muscular imbalance is actually playing guitar on stage. The whole motion of that allows the front part of the shoulder to do most of the work and the back part to relax. Considering how much I've been playing lately, this makes a lot of sense. Plus my poor posture also may be causing the problem. Drew shows me some workouts to strengthen my shoulder, gives me advice on getting rid of the pain, and sends me home in a much better mood.
When I arrived at Tri State Orthopedic that day, I feared the worst; I didn't want to have to get another surgery for an athletic injury. The helpless feeling following the surgery crushes my spirit. You temporarily lose your independence, and being quite an independent person, this causes me a lot of hard times. But after that visit, I had the tools and the knowledge to make myself better. Now its time for me to get to work on getting better. Thanks for reading.
P.S. Here is a picture I grabbed from a computer screen of my X-Ray:
No matter how innocently this question is asked, I always perceive it in a condescending tone. A tone as if to say "Go ahead and say ten, ya little druggie, so the doctor can prescribe you the good stuff... worthless animal" So I answered to the nurse that when put in motion, the pain in my shoulder rated an 8 on this invisible scale. Immediately after answering, I have to scan the nurse's face for any hint of disbelief. I'm an injured man, cornered in my doctors office, and any provocation from her may lead to an untimely demise caused from blunt force trauma. The trauma would undoubtedly be from me ripping the injured appendage from its socket and administering repeated blows to her head and neck.
But I digress, back to the subject in hand:
I am in an Urgent Care doctor's office. The previous day while at a pole vault practice, my right shoulder started getting a little sore. This is nothing new, being that the entire sport is centered around leaving the ground with a large fiberglass pole flexing to propel your body over tremendous heights (assuming you are me) all the while having your arms stretched fully above your head and nearly ripped from their socket. I hear this is the most stressful sport to the shoulder joint. I try to ignore that fact, as a small man of what appears to be Indian descent enters the room and identifies himself as the doctor. The apparent lack of vowels in his name confirms to me that he is of the foreign persuasion. After approximately 20 seconds of twisting and pulling at my right arm, the doctor had his diagnosis. He said it was strained muscles in my rotator cuff. I was hoping he was right, and it wasn't anything more serious. He prescribed me a few things and told me to check back in after 5 days if my shoulder was not improving.
When I left the office and headed to the pharmacy, I took a closer look at my prescriptions. One was a muscle relaxer and one was a pain killer. Both warned gravely against driving while on the medication. Awesome.
I'm going to fast forward a little here, as the next few weeks were somewhat of a haze anyway. I will say that Tramadol (pain killer, in the same class as morphine) has some VERY interesting effects and side effects. In fact, I could probably write a book on just that alone. But, back to the point, 13 days later my shoulder was improving but not much. In this short time span I wouldn't allow myself to pole vault, even if it killed my very soul. Pole vaulting is the one sport I've ever had a knack for, I feel like I get it. The entire event is just one big physics equation that I control all the variables for. When something doesn't go as planned, there is always a mathematical and scientific explanation for it, and if you know me you know how much I like that certainty. What has become uncertain however, is the functionality of my shoulder. I returned to the doctor for a follow-up. He scheduled an appointment for me to get checked out and x-rayed at Tri-State Orthopedic for the next morning. I am now happy because it feels like something is going to get done about this and I can go back to vaulting.
The next morning I get to the Orthopedic Doctor's office and change into a complimentary tank top to await the doctor. The man who walked in to examine me can only be described in the terms of GIGANTIC. I am positive he was well over 6'6" and was built like a brick shithouse. The thing that immediately jumped out at me was his enormous polka-dotted bowtie. At this point, I can only describe this man as a super-sized Groucho Marx (minus the mustache and cigar.) As he introduces himself and starts examining the afflicted joint, it starts to be more and more apparent to me that this man is smart. And I don't mean degrees-on-the-wall smart, I mean whip-your-ass-at-trivial-pursuit smart. Correcting college professors smart. And its a rare thing when I feel that someone is honestly more intelligent than me, so I pay attention with all my mind. Dr. Gargantuan is continuing to twist on my arm and finally stops to sit and pulls out a voice recorder. As he clicks record, the voice coming out of him is so fast, an auctioneer would tell this guy to slow down. He is spitting out medical terms that are beyond me at a mile a minute, and its just awesome.
When he stops his light-speed analysis into his voice recorder, he turns to me and dons his "I'm talking to a mere mortal" voice to let me know that he has a pretty good idea of what is wrong but wants me to get some x-rays to be sure. I am whisked away to the x-ray lab within their facility. My two x-ray nurses are locked into their mind numbing tasks, barely focused on who I am, but more focused on getting me out of their lab. Their collectively dismissive attitudes make me determined to make my presence known. My ego is subconsciously screaming "I am Samuel, and you WILL give me your undivided attention."
The first nurse sits me down on a chair in front of this monstrous machine. She is young, looks like she graduated college recently and is now in her chosen career which she didn't realize was going to suck so bad. I immediately feel pity for the poor guy she may have at home, because she is striking me as the type who can suck the life right out of your best male friend in a matter of months. As she gets me positioned in the chair for the best possible X-ray, she flops one of the protective lead sheets onto my lap and leaves the room. As the machine fires up, I am momentarily puzzled by this action, then realize that the lead sheet is protecting my baby-making parts from radiation. As the machine continues to make ominous noises around me, I wonder if I can remove the lead sheet and use this turn of events to my advantage as a cheap form of birth control. Almost as immediately as the idea came to me it passed; visions of mutant tadpole sized sperm and green radioactive alien babies thwart my ideas of radiation as an effective form of birth control. As the machine kicks off, my mind is still pondering thoughts of testicular cancer. The nurse comes back in and rotates the machine while ordering me to stand and position myself near the wall for the next batch of radiation. I ask her innocently "Should I bring my junk guard along with me?" and am greeted with guffaws of laughter from her and her unseen helper operating the x-ray machine. I can hear the other nurse, a middle aged Hispanic woman, saying "Oh lord, he actually said junk guard!!!" and bursting into fits of laughter. Hey, I call a spade a spade... and now I have an audience. Let the show begin.
The young nurse is giggling and telling me "Yes, Mr. Rice... bring your protective sheet." But my insistence on having her call it by its proper medical term (junk guard) only brings more hysterical laughter from the nurses. As I stand facing the machine, I can hear them in the control room, still cackling. Upon completion, the nurse re-enters, giggling to herself, and asks me to rotate around so that they can get an x-ray from the back side of my shoulder. As i rotate around, my common sense kicks in and I put the junk guard behind my ass. I'd like to avoid radiation from that angle too, but apparently this is just too much for the funny bones of my nurses and I must wait for them to regain composure before completing my final x-ray. As a nurse leads me back to my exam room, I can still hear them laughing from down the hall. Mission accomplished.
Dr. Gargantuan returned to my exam room and looked at x-rays, as did I. They fascinate me, seeing the inner workings of my own body. The doctor looked at all of the prints and pulled out his little voice recorder to continue the analysis. I listened hard, but all I really got out of his mile-a-minute rambling was something about me being normal. After he clicked his voice caddy off, he turned to me and donned back his "let me put this in short, simple words for you" voice. I'd normally get upset if someone takes this tone with me, since I would normally perceive it as condescending. But this time I was okay with it, knowing that he was indeed vastly smarter than me. He explained that because of a muscular imbalance from the front to the back of my shoulder, I was getting irritation caused by my shoulder pinching tendons in my rotator cuff. In more humorous terms, you could say the front part of my shoulder is like Arnold Schwarzenegger and the back of it is more like Macaulay Culkin. The kind doctor was optimistic that this was very fixable and that I was lucky I caught it in early stages. He prescribed me some anti-inflammatory and sent me to the physical therapy department upstairs. As I thanked him and left, I thought about what this man's life must be like. He has a huge natural advantage over most men, in both mind and body. There's no denying that he is what society considers to be "a very successful man." He must have the Alpha-Male gene, as he seemed like a natural born leader. I wondered what it would be like to walk a mile in his very large shoes. I wondered if his socially-conventional "success" made him any happier than the average guy you see on the street. I'll let you, the reader, mull that one over in your head.
I walked up to the physical therapy office upstairs and checked in. After taking my seat, an older woman who had checked in came and sat close to me. She walked with a limp, looked as if she had been sweating the entire day, and smelled like cat piss and body odor. I am now aggravated, because it seems as if this happens to me in every waiting room. Will this be the day I let stinkylady know just how mad I am at her lack of basic personal hygiene? Nope. I will, however, bitch about it via text message to my girlfriend Kaitlyn. Kaitlyn has been over-the-top supportive of me while I've been battling this injury, and I make a mental note of that as I am called in to see the physical therapist. I need to get this girl a card or something, she rocks.
I'm pleasantly surprised to find out that my therapist is a guy I know, Drew. He is a bit older than me and has seen me play acoustic a couple times before. I appreciate his compliments on my music, congratulate him on his upcoming wedding, and we get down to business. He looks at my file quickly, and informs me that what could be a big cause of my muscular imbalance is actually playing guitar on stage. The whole motion of that allows the front part of the shoulder to do most of the work and the back part to relax. Considering how much I've been playing lately, this makes a lot of sense. Plus my poor posture also may be causing the problem. Drew shows me some workouts to strengthen my shoulder, gives me advice on getting rid of the pain, and sends me home in a much better mood.
When I arrived at Tri State Orthopedic that day, I feared the worst; I didn't want to have to get another surgery for an athletic injury. The helpless feeling following the surgery crushes my spirit. You temporarily lose your independence, and being quite an independent person, this causes me a lot of hard times. But after that visit, I had the tools and the knowledge to make myself better. Now its time for me to get to work on getting better. Thanks for reading.
P.S. Here is a picture I grabbed from a computer screen of my X-Ray:
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Inroduction.
My name is Samuel, I'm 22 years old. I'm a working musician, and an avid pole vaulter. I have a girlfriend named Kaitlyn who is awesome. I tend to do some writing in my free time. This blog is going to be my tool to keep those interested in what I'm up to informed and hopefully entertained. I'll be posting updates on music, vaulting, life issues, and writings. So enjoy, and have a good day.
P.S. Here's the ugly mug behind all this:
P.S. Here's the ugly mug behind all this:
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