Quinta Essentia

I've been getting dizzy lately. Not for long and not all the time, but just every so often; suddenly; for, oh, 30 seconds or so. I figured it was that whole "stood up too fast" thing, but then I realized it happens even when I'm not standing up. I'll be doing the most mundane activity and suddenly notice that I feel like I've had several adult beverages: can't concentrate, the room spins, blah blah blah. That sort of thing. And it's been happening more frequently lately.

And this last week or so, I've been feeling really tired, too.

That cinches it: I've got to stop listening to this.

Rock and Roll this Sunday!

DON'T DELAY!!!

Anyone going to be -slash- already are in Houston this Sunday? Want to see Buzzfest XX? I have a spare ticket. The concert's sold out and has a whole list of excellent mainstream bands playing all day on two stages. More than one bank reunited for the concert and won't be around to see later. I'd even be willing to offer up a place to crash if you just need one. I should clarify, since you've read this blog, that the "place to crash" is a separate, private bedroom with a lock on the door. Jus' sayin'.

Just a taste of who will be there:

• Smashing Pumpkins (reunited)
• Chris Cornell (This guy ROCKS! He was founder/driving force behind Temple of the Dog, Soundgarden, and Audioslave).
• Evanescense
• Finger Eleven
• Evans Blue
• Fuel (reunited)
• Sum 41 (reunited - I believe)
• Alter Bridge
• The Bravery
• Earshot
• Fair to Midland
• Sick Puppies
• Starting Line
• And more!

Let me know if you want to be my guest. Well actually "our" guest since it's me and my daughter who're going. The concert's sold out and I hate to have it go to waste! C'mon, who'd pass up a free ticket! Are you insane?!?!!!

The Prophet Mellencamp

I recently found Stacy's blog. I read many blogs on a frequent basis and have to say I rather enjoy popping into her world for a dose of inspiration. Her life is the kind I've always claimed to lead, but have really only tried to actively lead this past handful of years. Yeah, it's tougher to do nowadays as a solo act, but I still find I enjoy the satisfaction of experiencing what life has to offer; even taking pleasure in the smallest of actions. Oh, and I so want to hang out with her, too. It would be like being in an episode of Friends.

Anyway, something I read over there today, coupled with an opportunity that presented itself to me yesterday, reminded me of the chorus to a Mellencamp song (my favorite artist of all time, btw). He sings:

Days turn to minutes
And minutes to memories
Life sweeps away the dreams
That we have planned
You are young and you are the future
So suck it up and tough it out
And be the best you can

I remember the first time I heard those lyrics. It was 1985. Gas was $0.73 a gallon at the 7-11 down the street from my parent's house. No, there weren't dinosaurs roaming the Earth; we'd hunted those to extinction in the 70's. I was just starting my undergraduate program at the university, although at the time I was an engineering major. I had a new girlfriend, Becky; my first real serious girlfriend. Actually, my first real girlfriend, period. The few I'd been lucky enough to "date" previously turned out to be... well, they didn't work out.

I was sitting my truck* at school, listening to the "Scarecrow" tape (yeah yeah, I'm old; CD's were still a few years from mainstream) and reading the lyrics insert while waiting for my chemistry class to begin. Well, I had to go inside for the class, of course; it's not like the prof held class outside and we just sat in our cars while he lectured. Not that that would have been bad, now that I think about it, because that would mean I could have attended class in my underwear if I wanted to - well, if I wore any back then, but let's not stray off subject here.

When I read those lyrics in time with John's singing, something should have struck a chord in me. I had no way of knowing then just how prophetic John was being. Life does indeed sweep away the dreams we have planned, but the key is in how you strive to achieve even in the face of changing, or unrealized, dreams.

And I had a lot of plans then. I was going to be rich. I was going to be successful. I was going to someday marry Becky and we were going to have a dozen kids. I'd planned to take them all to Disneyland on vacations and teach them to ski and pole vault, just like their old man. Life was an open expanse of virgin territory and I was going to conquer it all.

At the time I had a poster on my wall at home that depicted everything I wanted in life. On it's glossy finish was the image of a huge mansion perched near the edge of an oceanside clifftop. In the foreground was a multi-car garage and parked within was one each of a Ferrari, Porche, Jaguar, and Corvette. In the background beyond the house was a helo pad, on which rested the sleek black form of a jet-powered helicopter. Finally, standing between the Ferrari and Porche in a skimpy bikini, was the final trophy in my collection, holding a frosty brew in her hand and a smile on her lips that said the beer was not the only head I was about to receive. Funny how so many of my "dreams" centered around the material. Huh. Well, I was 18 and it was the Reagan era.

But Life, while standing next to me looking at that poster, turned to gaze down at me as a kindly father looks upon his naive son. He mussed my hair with a rogue laugh, placed his hand on my shoulders and squeezed gently, then said "keep dreaming, bitch."

The timelessness of Mellencamp's words escaped me back then. As I sat there tapping my foot to the sound of his strumming guit-tar, the words wafting into my ears were just that: words. Words set to a catchy musical hook. They held no more real meaning to me than the Social Security debate or New Kids On The Block music. It's not that they were irrelevant, per se, I just didn't think about them. The same way I don't think about Bananarama.

Today, however, I pause and reflect over the sweeping curve that has been my life this last 22 years since and I realize the importance the chorus to that song has played in my life. In all our lives, really. Days do indeed turn to minutes. We go to sleep one night feeling young; vibrant; secure that the world will mold itself to conform to our desires.

In my home right now there's a picture on our living room wall. It was taken many years ago when BW and I were still dating. I believe we were engaged at that point, though. We had gone skiing with my brother and his wife at Boreal Ridge in northern California. During a rest break at the lodge my brother snapped a picture of BW and me, pressed cheek to cheek with our arms around each other's neck. We were smiling, as if the world was turning to suit us.

Then we wake the next day to discover we're 15 years older. The kids are no longer small enough to hang onto your ankles as you drag them laughing around the living room carpet. Your eyes show a little more wisdom; your body a lot more age. The woman from that picture on your wall no longer looks at you as her future and there's nothing you can do about it. You can no longer eat a Double Whopper without feeling like you've swallowed a 200-pound anchor. And you realize with a rueful nod that it's not the years, but the mileage that counts.

But looking back across the years to that person with all those dreams the thing is, you never did earn enough to afford that Ferrari or that mansion. The closest you've come to owning that helicopter was buying the AirHog RC chopper for your kid from a 3am infomercial (let's not kid ourselves: it's also for you). And when you see a girl like the one in the poster, with the perfect D's and trim waist and the smile that says she just can't wait for you to get her naked, your first thought is "heeeey, I wonder what her mom looks like."

20 years ago I knew I was going to be successful. 15 years ago I knew I was going to be married forever to BW. Five year ago I knew I was going to travel the world and live each day like it was created just to accommodate my desires. And last year I knew I was a good husband and father.
Instead, Life has served to prove the chorus right by often times handing me a sobering serving of shit burger, then standing there tapping it's foot as his co-conspirator, Reality, forces me to eat it. Minutes do turn to memories. Life does sweep away the dreams we make for ourselves. Today I'm financially sound, but I won't have a Ferrari any time soon. And that's ok with me. My marriage has apparently run its course and is ending, no matter what I want; no matter what I... well, just no matter I guess. And I wonder if time will prove me an ineffective father, as it often feels I was as a husband.

Suck it up and tough it out; and be the best you can. Well in that I certainly am trying.

Yesterday I received a phone call from a head-hunter I used to work with when I lived in Los Angeles. Ken the head Hunter knows I now do contract work because being with my kids is the single most important thing to me -even moreso lately- and we still like to see the world. Besides, I've been to the summit of Mt. Career and let me tell you it's cold, it's dark, it's fucking lonely, and there's always some 24 year-old MBA punk trying to push you off. I'd much rather be remembered for my contribution to parenthood and husbandry than how far up the corporate ladder I was able to climb. I make a pretty damned good living doing freelance finance work, although I admit get a kick out of telling people I'm a "temp." Yeah, ladies, I'm quite a catch.

Turns out Ken the Head Hunter has an opportunity for me to nearly double what I'm currently making AND pay me a $100 per diem for living expenses. The net effect would be to place my wages weeeell into the six figures. That bodes very well for the new dreams the kids and I have planned. Plus, it's paid on an hourly contract rate (and a double overtime rate), so the company is far less willing to insist I work beyond 40 hours a week. But it would mean temporarily relocating to Birmingham, Alabama.

We still want to travel, but FlyBoy has a problem with the size of our RV. It's just too small for him. While he agreed that one with more space would make him far happier about being on the road, the price to acquire one of them means it might as well be made of gold and come with personal valet service. The contract job would certainly solve that problem.

We've also expressed an interest in eventually settling in Colorado Springs, where my youngest brother and his family are moving this year. Buying a house there isn't impossible, but they, too, aren't nearly so cheap as Houston and I'm now facing having to do so on my own, while still being able to afford one large enough for myself and the kids. Given the state of the housing market now, I'm not sure I'd get enough from my house here in Houston to afford a decent one in Colorado. The contract job would solve that issue too.

The dilemma for me is what to do about the kids' mom. She's said she'll move wherever the kids go and while my 25% evil side tells me I should be more mean to her, go, and let her worry about what to do with herself, I simply can't do it. I'm not going to take the kids from her and I refuse to just "up and leave" if it means she won't get to see them. She's a good mother, so I can't bring myself to do something that would hurt her, even if it's better for me and the kids financially. So... what to do?

Of course it's still in the very early stages and verily I say unto you that it is unlikely to result in my getting it, but the job fits perfectly into what the kids and I want to do over the next few years. And it aids significantly in my desire to provide them a college education if they want one. With our life's-to-do list growing all the time, it would be a huge boost to make that kind of coin.
So I find myself dreaming again; making "what if" contingency plans. But in light of the meaning behind those lyrics, what do you suppose I'll know tomorrow?

----

*I never should have let me father sell that truck. It so freaking rocked. And I especially shouldn't nave used the money to buy my next car. Yeah, the people are all laughing because they can't believe that dude actually thinks it's sexy.

Everyone Loves Dyck

Yes, tis true Virginia, there is a Santa Clause; and he looks like a freaky monkey in a clown suit. I've been a little maudlin on this site lately, and I'd like to give a shout out to the guy who gave me a chuckle recently. A man who gives the term "spanking the monkey" a whole new meaning. At least I think he's a guy; there's really no proof honesly. In my last post, Dyck requested that I post about celebrity boobies. And since I'm kinda tired and also a little drunk, I'm going to throw this out for his satisfaction, then go drive 90mph through a few school zones.

Without further preamble, celebrity boobies for the men:

Mmmmmm... nothing says "stab me in the eyes with an icepick" like those. Can I get an "AMEN!"

But I'm not about to leave the ladies hanging:

Yeah, that's a sexy bitch, right ladies? I hear he can also give you makeup tips and he's also seen often with his sexy counterpart:

Redheads not your particular cup of tea? Like them tall, dark, and intellectual? Ok. Never let it be said I'm not the pleasing type. I got your tall, dark, and intellectual right here:

And don't forget to pick up his latest book:

I hope this serves as satisfying Dyck's desire for celebrity boobies. If not, I ask you to consider this:

Not that this applies to him, necessarily; I'm just sayin'.

Two Words: Bore, Ring

So I was perusing my "blog file" for something to write about this morning. Something that would take my mind off the overwhelming blaaaah I'm feeling this last couple days. Something's just not right. Well, that's not a surprise and I'm sure it has to do with my current set of circumstances, which I won't bore anyone with. I seem to make it worse when I attempt to articulate it anyway. Still, I feel myself regressing a little because I just don't know what to "do" and I've never been one to go through life without a plan. Oh well; it's not your problem. And I don't think you come here to read about mine.

Have you ever had one of those moments when you wish you could just get away? I suppose we all have. And mine's lasted for a few days now. Right this moment I'd love to be hitch-hiking down a long and lonesome road (ten points if you can guess from which song that comes). I'd like to be able to stop and stare at the sunrise over the open desert; to be alone with the ghosts of my past and dreams for the future. My, don't I sound like a bad songwriter. Well, perhaps it's an itch to get back on the road. Speaking of itch, I heard a great name for a punk band today: "Itchy Pickle." Heh. Made me chuckle.

Maybe the doldrums are because my life here in Houston has taken a major turn for the worse this year. Or maybe I'm just craving a clean slate. A nouveau départ, if you will. New town; new job; new chance at extroverted anonymity (where I get to have a lot of friends, but none that knows me very well); new chance to see new places. I've found that I really enjoy being out on the road. Something about it just seems to clear my head and put things into perspective again. I could write more about it, buuuut the sense of blaaah has overtaken me again so I'm not feeling much like sharing. Besides, there's that whole youdon'tcomehereforthat thing.

Anyway, as I scoured my folder of blog ideas, I found something that would allow me to write something that's not only a challenge for me (since I tend toward the verbose), but also allows my ass to be totally lazy. I think you know where I'm going with this, don't you? Yes, it's the ubiquitous meme! That becon of mostly random, often sophomoric information that makes readers the world over stand up and shout "how about a little less laziness and a little more shut the hell up!"

But, as this used to be the land of free speech (quick people, which Amendment is that?), I'm gonna do it anyway. Ok ok, I owe you guys at least something that'll make you come back again. Well, I don't owe you anything, but I want you to come back. So, how about if I drop a real bombshell? Something that's going to be a serious stretch of faith for me to even mention? Something that smacks of the kind of lurid details everyone wants to know about others but doesn't think will ever happen to them? An item from my past that has revealed a great deal about who my friends are and how fucking judgemental people can be; something that, for the only time in my life, had me living "for" others but not giving a shit if I lived otherwise. Something that, today, has me questioning what I "deserve." You wanna know what that is? Then tune in next time.

For today, however, I give you the insipid:

Two words. No explanations.

1. Yourself: Usually funny

2. Your spouse: painfully distant

3. Your hair: short, graying

4. Your mother: California horticulturist

5. Your father: staunchly conservative

6. Your favorite item: my tunes

7. Your dream last night: Disjointed, hazy

8. Your favorite drink: Dr. Pepper

9. Your dream car: Blue GTO

10. The room you are in: Open office

11. Your ex: in Washington

12. Your fear: losing kids

13. What you want to be in 10 years: happily married

14. Who you hung out with last night: my kids

15. What you're not: gay, boring

16. Muffins: fattening goodness

17. One of your wish list items: Eva Mendez

18. Time: passing quickly

19. The last thing you did: Talk smack

20. What you are wearing: office attire

21. Your favorite weather: rain, snow

22. Your favorite book: Don't have one (ok, so that's three words; sue me)

23. The last thing you ate: cold cereal

24. Your life: fractured, hopeful

25. Your mood: melancholy, pensive

26. Your best friend: left me

27. What you're thinking about right now: moving away

28. Your car: boring, reliable

29. What you are doing at the moment: blogging, thinking

30. Your summer: hot, rainy

31. Your relationship status: no comment

32. What is on your TV: son's helicopter

33. What is the weather like: muggy, warm

34. When was the last time you laughed: forever ago

35. Your mood: Kinda blaaah