bjciii: My twisted thoughts

Expectations start the second our parents discover the sex of their unborn (or just-born) child. All of a sudden, lives are planned in rough ways, and we are then pushed into a path. A boy will hope to fulfill his father’s hopes and dreams of sports stardom where a girl is expected to break that glass ceiling and achieve dreams that prior generations of women couldn’t. We are expected to conform to the societal norms so we don’t stand out and cause undue embarrassment or shame to either ourselves or our family name. The worst part of this forced march into adulthood is the fact that we accept it as life and do very little to change it in most cases. Those who do start to challenge the norms are looked at as “freaks” or “trouble-makers”, and they are summarily dismissed and ridiculed.

Don’t start thinking this is some grand revelation or some vitriolic diatribe against my parents; it’s neither. I think my parents did a fantastic job and I think everyone knows who I am, so there’s no surprise announcements forthcoming. I was just thinking about this over the past 24, so I needed to type it up this morning.

See, I was invited to an old friend’s house for a barbecue last night with other friends, and I was asked to bring dessert. No problem, says I! I actually enjoy baking and/or cooking, so I was happy. Once I asked for advice on what to make, I started getting funny comments back. Again, this isn’t a slam against anyone who made those comments… I’m very comfortable with myself! I wasn’t offended, but I did think and laugh about them. Anyway, I ended up making this recipe I found online for “Warm S’More Bars” which, to my dismay, didn’t turn out exactly as I wanted, but still garnered rave reviews. My friends all said “Why didn’t you stop by Acme or Pathmark and just pick up packaged cookies?” Well, no. If I am going somewhere where everyone is making something, I’m making something damnit.

My question is, why do people automatically choose to poke fun at the guy who ends up in the kitchen? I actually enjoy cooking! I got into Food Network and shows like that a few years ago, and I’m always dying to try a new, great recipe. Does that make me gay? Does it make me a woman? No. What happens when you’re a woman and CAN’T cook? Does that make you a lesbian or less of a woman? No. We all have our talents in different places.

So, let’s think about it for a second: why are we so locked into certain mindsets? We are locked there because we have been taught that way since birth. Our parents were taught that way since birth. Their parents, and so-forth and so-on… It’s a cycle that no one challenges because we, in any society need to have hunters & gatherers, nurturers and homemakers. When we are slotted into one of those places, we take our places (normally) and continue along with our pre-ordained path.

I pause here to confirm that sneaking suspicion: Yes. We have a pre-ordained path. Sorry. It’s not a religious thing, but it’s a societal thing. We have been on that path since we could walk, talk, run, and shout. The first time our mom gave us a spatula instead of a baseball bat or that time where dad handed us a hammer instead of a guitar… our paths get clearer and clearer. Yes, we may have different sojourns here and there, but we are exactly who we are due to the choices made FOR us and BY us in our formative years.

So, since this is my BLOG, let’s talk about me for a second. As I was baking yesterday, I had the movie Stepmom on in the background: a decidedly chick-flick if there ever was one. Why did I have it on? Easy… it’s not a bad movie. I like the actor and the 2 main actresses in the movie. It’s a good story, and it’s got some great conflict. I could have it on and do what I had to do, float into the room, catch a part, and walk out; there was no muss and no fuss. I’m a heterosexual man with no desire to be a transgender, so I’m breaking your preconceived notions in two ways: Baking and chick-flicks. I love sports and I believe I do fall into the “Fanatic” definition, so that’s definitely a guy thing, right? I shower before and after a hard day’s work, but I also like the occasional bath (which my father finds inexplicable because he’s frequently commented that baths are where people go to “stew in their own filth”). I happen to think certain songs by Ace of Base and several 80s songs by androgynous artists are actually decent to listen to; however, they are balanced by Motorhead and Megadeth. There was a period where I watched “Trading Spaces” religiously (that’s your fault, Sue), but I also can’t stop watching shows like “The Unit” or “Dark Blue”.

I don’t want to come across as someone who says “I defy you to categorize me!” because I’m not. You want to know what my category is?

“Normal.”

I think the only difference between me and other people who may have varied tastes is that I am a little more open about them and a little more comfortable taking the shit I get for it.  I haven’t always made the best decisions in life, but I am who I am because of them. Despite popular consensus about self-reflection, I actually do like myself; not to an insane degree (for example, I don’t look in the mirror and say My God, you are perfect), but I have a healthy sense of self.

So, today, I do laundry and I clean the kitchen. I may rearrange my bedroom and dust. After I’m done, I may soak in a blisteringly-hot bathtub -or- take a blisteringly-hot shower. I may turn on my iTunes, set it to random, and hear a song by Hanson immediately followed by “Seek and Destroy” by Metallica. I may try to make my first risotto coupled with a hearty filet on the side. I may do all of that because I can. I may do all of that because I want to and I don’t give a shit about expectations. Maybe that’s because, according to all those doctors my parents took me to when I was a baby, I wasn’t supposed to live. Maybe I’m looking at my life as all “extra time” and I want to make the most of it.

One thing’s for sure: Life is not fun if you constantly live your life according to the box you’ve been placed in. Break free and do something different, even if it’s something as simple as a bath or a recipe. Being bold doesn’t mean expensive and life-threatening! Bold is merely you telling the world “Fuck it. I want to do this right now.”

Heh… and that was all before my morning shower. Wow…

When the Michael Vick story hit like a ton of bricks in July, 2007, I wrote a post (somewhat) about it (scroll to the bottom). The deal was that Vick was indicted for hosting dog fighting matches on his property in Virginia, making money off the events without giving a cut to the federal government (you may call it “taxes”), and, oh yeah, inhumane treatment of animals. He was tried, convicted, and imprisoned, meanwhile The Atlanta Falcons moved on without him, and Vick lost his football career in the process.

Good on him, I said. The thing was, in my life, when Vick’s side-business came to light, my family had just put our wonderful dog to sleep due to insane complications with his health. Needless to say, I was at an emotional raw point for anything to do with dogs for quite a while, but for something to happen within 24 hours of it? Not a shot in hell I was going to be objective.

So I bring this up because, last night, as myself and 2 friends were sitting at The Eagles – Patriots pre-season game, the place started chirping and buzzing and whispering in the middle of the 2nd quarter: Michael Vick’s an Eagle for 2 years!

Sure, I made a ton of jokes and laughed, but, inside, I was a roiling bucket of turmoil. See, I had a discussion a few weeks ago with Dan, one of the friends I was with last night, about the double-standard when it came to Vick. He pointed out that, in the NFL, there were unrepentant hunters, wife-beaters, drunk-drivers, murderers, drug dealers/addicts, and all sorts of other people that do things which don’t “mesh” with the NFL’s public image… and those people are A) allowed to stay and play; B) slapped on the wrist; or, C) welcomed back with the saying “they’ve served their time” and there’s nothing really said about it again. My point was “but Vick did what he did to helpless animals for sport.” Dan retorted with the fact that Vick grew up in an area where this was commonplace and he didn’t know any better. We continued to talk about it and, eventually, I did think that if Vick came back and showed the proper remorse, I wouldn’t loathe the ground he walked on. Dan had a point: He did do his time in prison for this. He was released by the federal government based upon that fact. If the government meted out his sentence and it was carried out, that’s it, right? Fine. Let him rejoin the league after that; he’s earned that shot, right?

That’s all well and good, folks, but it’s my team we’re talking about now. I never, in a million years, thought that Michael Vick would be signed to The Eagles because we have Donovan, a jealous and oversensitive quarterback who HATES competition, Kevin Kolb, a decent backup who’s chomping at the bit to take over when Donovan leaves, and AJ Feeley, a pretty boy who can run a series or two before imploding. We don’t have an amazing QB trio, but good enough that we never should have gotten Vick. Then… we get Vick. I don’t doubt that Andy Reid’s son’s troubles with the law over the past few years had him playing advocate here: If Vick can get better, so can Reid’s kid, right? Also, Michael Vick has a mentor and an advocate in Tony Dungy, a highly respected ex-coach who, I believe, has never had a bad word said against him. These facts make sense that he went to The Eagles, but I still don’t know how I feel.

Like many people, I still hold the dog-fighting against him (and anyone who does that, regardless of location, socio-economic standing, race, religion, or sex). As a dog-person, I know that dogs will love their owner and follow them into the deepest pits of hell if asked. Dogs are unconditional love and, for someone to purposely destroy that, is just reprehensible. On the other hand, there are dog-owners who only look at their dogs as “animals” and treat them as such. Maybe they don’t mistreat them, but they don’t treat them like members of a family. Maybe Michael Vick was brought up to look at dogs as tools instead of creatures. Granted, at some point during our rearing, our own minds and rationalizing has to take over from our parents’, but it’s a tough thing to overlook in some cases!  I don’t know.

What I do know is that this is going to be a public relations minefield for a while. I can see boycotts, pickets, chants, jokes, and the whole gamut. Seriously, folks… why do you think they announced the signing AFTER the public training camp closed up? That wasn’t just coincidence! Apparently THE PRESS CONFERENCE will be in a little over an hour… that’s gonna be fun.

The only solidly good thing out of this mess is that Howard Eskin, douchebag extraordinaire, is frothing at the mouth and going into convulsions trying to balance his hatred of Vick with his overwhelming crush on Andy Reid. Anything that causes Eskin to break down is good for everyone!

There was an episode of Seinfeld where Jerry walks up to a rental car counter to get a car he had reserved, only to be told that they didn’t have the car. A nice exchange took place afterwards where Jerry attempts to explain what a reservation was for, but the woman behind the counter (an actress, so not the REAL person this was based on) was clueless about real-world applications of said reservation.

I bring this up because I don’t think people in today’s world understand what windows of time are. I understand that I am fairly tyrannical about my time, but when I say “I’ll be there at 1pm,” I am usually there by 1pm.  When I tell someone that it will take 30 minutes to do something, it’s done in 30 minutes or less. I understand that this is something I need to work on and let go of sometimes, but I also think that it’s a good “problem” to have. It could be worse: I could smoke or do drugs, right?

Anyway, this all is being written in today because I have been sitting at my parents’ house for the last 4 and a half hours waiting for Terminex to get here for a routine spritzing. The incredibly helpful e-mail (don’t drown in the sarcasm) said that I should expect them on “08/12/09 Morning.”

Ooookay.

So, to the normal world, morning is defined as the hours between 12:00:01am and 11:59:59am. Being the magnanimous asshole I am, I’ll even throw in the extra 2 seconds and stretch “morning” from midnight until noon. That’s 12 hours for “morning,” folks! Granted, the majority of businesses do not operate from midnight until, say, 7am, so that shrinks “morning” to 7am until 12pm. That’s a 5 hour window in which these people were supposed to show up. I got here at 8:15 (my father was here prior to that), so in the last 4.5 hours, nothing. I called the corporate office and was told, with no shame, that the appointment was between 10am and 12pm. Great… but I called at 12:30!

The regional manager called the technician who promptly called me and informed me that his paperwork said that the appointment was between 10am and 12pm. He told me this at 12:40pm. There was no shame in his voice and there was no apology forthcoming. If it were my house and not my parents, I would have told him to shove the sprayer up his ass. When an appointment is made, there better be an AMAZING reason to cancel or postpone that appointment. Doctors, dentists, hair-dressers, bug sprayers, or whatever… appointments are made – appointments are kept.

Oh, and add in a few other things which have come to fruition today and it’s been such a great start to the day! This is the time where I wish I were still taking Taekwondo… it’s so nice to be able to beat on somebody…

First, hi

Next, we’ve all heard that we, as humans, use approximately 10% of our brains. That’s bullshit. Much like the crap that “bumblebees are aerodynamically incapable of flying,” the 10% “fact” is merely myth. We use all of our brain for several different things (and, bumblebees, despite the assertions of many backwards engineers, still fly), and, if we didn’t, chances are that we’d be drooling in a chair somewhere.

My point is, I was just laying in bed watching VH-1 Storytellers with David Bowie, and I thought Man… this guy has been around for a long, long time. He has had quite the distinguished career with several different personas AND albums. It’s amazing he remembers every single lyric to every single song he’s sung over his lifetime! Then, it sort of began dawning on me: While I am not a musician (I have some musical leanings, but, unfortunately, I do not have the drive to enhance and/or expand those leanings into talent), I can easily turn on any number of radio stations and sing for the majority of the day with only missing part of a lyric here or there.

Let’s not limit myself, however! Anyone who knows me, knows that I am a sick, sick man when it comes to movie quotes and plot points (for example, sure… many of you out there can tell me minute details about The Blues Brothers, for example; but, can any of you tell me the name of the musak song playing in the elevator as Jake & Elwood ride to the 11th floor at the end of the movie? Yeah… I can. Sad, no?), so if you take into account the hundreds of movies I’ve seen with the (easily) thousands of quotable lines AND the songs that I can sing, well… that’s a hell of a chunk of space!

Wait… what about poetry? Shakespeare? Stephen King? J.K. Rowling? Books and poems, magazines and newspapers… that’s all in there as well. Oh, let’s not forget snippets of time-honored video games as well. Shit… let’s not leave out the hours upon hours of painstaking work I undertook to get certain jokes stuck in my head!

Oh, and of course, there’s the normal, everyday things we need to remember: Names, faces, job duties, phone numbers, addresses, directions, and the like.

All of this adds up to the question: Just how much CAN we find room for in our minds? Ponder that. All of your “favorite” things (movies, songs, recipes, television shows, books, people, places, photographs, et cetera) take up a certain amount of space. At what point do we “overwrite” ourselves? That is to say, at what point do our new memories need to erase old memories to exist?

In your computer (yes, the one you’re reading this on right at this very moment), there’s a hard-drive. For most of you, it’s probably in the gigabyte (GB) range; for some geeks (and I use that term lovingly), you’re looking at the teraybte (TB) range (and, for those of you who have a hard drive measured in the megabyte (MB) range, please… for the love of God, just go back to bed). All the programs you run, the e-mails you’ve got, the pictures you’ve taken (yes… even those pictures… pervert), the music you’ve downloaded (shame, shame), and the movies you’ve encoded… it’s all stored in the hard-drive. Once you’ve reached a point where the computer says “No space left on disk,” you are now stuck with deleting unneeded things in order to keep the important things… well, the things you deem MORE important, at least.

Our minds tend to do that a little more readily than picking and choosing. Think about it. Tell me the first 5 people you talk to in the morning after you get to work (regularly). Pretty easy, no? Now… tell me the first 5 people you talked to on the school bus during that first year of school. Gone! I remember 1 kid from my bus-stop back in kindergarten, and that’s only because he lived across the street from me (what up, Jamie). Sure, I remember my cousins and other relatives, but I can’t even remember the first girl I had a crush on.

It’s amazing what we tend to prioritize when we have to overwrite our memories. Here’s another question: When you overwrite on a hard-disk, there’s a possibility that the data isn’t really erased, but is still sort of hanging on in the background, like a ghost. Are our memories like that? If we really concentrate, can we think back as far as we can to come up with those names?

Yes… this is what I think about when I’m laying in bed alone. Because my Aunt Nancy told my mom that she missed my BLOG entries, I decided to toddle (I love that word… SO underrused) downstairs and type this up, leaving David Bowie on PAUSE. I can’t promise I’ll do this with more regularity, but I do miss the explosive mental vomiting that BLOGging brings.

Mmm… words.