Just for shits, I went on Indiebound and was elated to see that the little book store in my town will be selling my book. I reached out to several local libraries but haven't heard back yet. Wow, that is truly amazing to me. My story is going to exist in the little book store in my town? That just feels...SO huge. Its vindicating in more ways than anyone could ever understand. I don't really feel like explaining why. My hometown was never very accepting of me. In fact, most of the people in my hometown made me so jaded about it that I promised myself I would never come back. Cue the irony, when I started dating my ex-girlfriend/now wife....she had to live here.
The greatest irony of my life? It was the town that inspired me to write the book...and it was the love of my life who would make me make peace with the town. I'm sure I will bring nothing but shame (much like my family) when this book comes out as it is hugely inspired by the town but hey....what's a better fuck you than to be sold in the town that you took to task in the book on the shelf of your favorite independent bookstore?
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I am not very good at living in present moments. Hell, one of the biggest reasons I called my book "Nothing to Get Nostalgic About" was to hold myself accountable. If I ever achieved a reality where my writing was readily accessible to total strangers and people who knew me personally or knew me casually, they might think the name has a much more profound significance. Therefore, I can't walk around this life thinking of it as being an innocuous thing. I wanted to stop living in the past, its not a refuge and it shouldn't be a perpetual source of bitterness...its gone. There's nothing left to get from it so please move on now. It still doesn't feel real to me, that a very personal story (while fictional) about my childhood and my relationship with my dad is going to be easily accessible in ten days. I post this song because its a compelling moment I had in the writing of it and thought if a soundtrack could capture the process of re-living it and trying to forget about it? You weren't going to resonate more than correlating childhood with this song.
I like to tell myself this isn't a major accomplishment. If anything, I should only expect more ridicule and public humiliation. The scrutiny I felt under because of things people heard, read, or even made up about me or my family...it took such a significant toll that for many years I was a glorified hermit. I hated leaving my house, going to school, going to friends' parties, I just hated existing because I never felt like anyone liked me either from what they heard, they assumed, or just my face. I have a very intense and repugnant face...I know what I look like. Once upon a time, I used to be a cherub. I see what could have been reflected at me through my two boys. They are gorgeous. I feel like I could have been them then something just wrest it from me.
I think it started with my resentment of THIS child. This little boy who did nothing wrong but grew up thinking he was responsible for all the ugliness of the world and didn't deserve a modicum of human decency. I catered to apathy, and I adhered to it for comfort because when you feel like you deserve nothing you accept love even when its toxic and detrimental. Today I celebrated five years of being married to my wife, and I felt undeserving of that. I wasn't someone entitled to love as a child why should i have it now? Look this isn't me trying to have a pity party for myself, its me simply telling my side of the truth which is....I want to feel that way, I am beginning to, but man can you imagine hearing your whole life what a complete and total piece of shit you are and how you have ruined so many god damn things for someone and then be able to walk outside and say...I deserve what the world is willing to give me today. As a thirty-three year old father and husband, I have no choice be to make myself learn how to cope, manage, and live to accept that. However, lost in the annals of history is a kid who loved science fiction and horror, video games, the few friends he was lucky to have, he respected people even when they molested and lied to him. He aspired to be better, more beautiful, and hopefully nicer so the pretty people would accept him, let him in, be his friend, reciprocate the admiration he held for them, or god forbid even try to love him back. I am learning that while I can try my hardest to sully the importance of September 1st...at some point, I am going to have to accept that I did it for him. I hope if he could be with me on September 1st...he'll embrace me as tightly as I want to embrace him and tell him...I love you, and I'm here now. You don't have to be afraid anymore...I'm here for you.
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If anyone out there buys or reads this book...man, I would love to talk to you.
It seems so silly to think wow! I had such a great time being able to not give a fuck that I really enjoyed shooting hoops today. Of course, I say this while the $400 basketball hoop I bought back in June is still sitting in a box collecting spider webs and probably slowly rotting away but I find an opportunity today just having Ryder to go to a schoolyard and do some free throws. This was something I LOVED doing when I was 16. I was so worried that by having a love for a sport or wanting to participate in one would somehow be a conflict of interest being that I was largely known for being a music guy, or this weird artsy poetic malcontent. I'd sneak out of my house in a pair of basketball shorts and ball I hid in my closet and would go to the same school after the sun went down and just do free throws for hours was listening to my walk man. That might explain why my copy of Pearl Jam's "Ten" looked like someone put it through a paper shredder.
A lot of the reasons I didn't want people to know also came from my complete lack of athleticism. My little guy sat in his stroller watching me poorly shoot hoops but he was having ALL OF IT. At one point I made a basket and he lost his shit and making the most adorable sounds all bright eyed as I grunted and jumped up with glee. God, its so bad out of the god knows how many shots I only sunk three baskets. That's okay, I'm not expecting to be drafted to the Celtics any time in the conceivable future. Its great therapy for me. Mostly because I am someone who has denied himself fun for most of his life. I have no idea why. I think its because I bought into the fallacy that someone who writes poems, plays music, or authors books isn't allowed to enjoy wearing team jerseys, doing free throws because its fucking fun and probably beneficial for my 33 year old ass, and well...I just love shutting my brain off and watching Celtics games or watching hockey and seeing these amazing athletes do things that often defy gravity. I was a proud dada that my son didn't care how bad I was, I think we both realized. I am actually having fun. Admittedly, I did get kinda sad. I wish I had allowed myself to suck but still want to shoot hoops with friends. I think that's the most important aspect to dealing with mental illness but also in wanting promote a healthier outlook as a parent. Just because you are into the arts doesn't mean you can't also enjoy sports. I'm really disappointed in myself that I got sucked into that idea that you have to be addicted, sad, drunk, or deny simple pleasures in order to write great poems or stories. Its not fucking true and if I was a teacher? The first thing I'd say to a class of writers is...this whole idea that you can't be totally well rounded, healthy, and not an addict to write amazing things? Absolutely distance yourself from that at all costs..its fucking toxic and I know it because I was that person. I was also cranking Mike Watt's "Ball-Hog or Tugboat?" while Ryder and I stopped so I could get a slurpee and just rock out together. Being someone who adores Paula Abdul and New Kids on the Block the same way I do Guns N' Roses or Nirvana...I didn't think I was ever allowed to listen to the Minutemen, Jawbreaker, or Gil-Scott Heron. The fuck do I know about any of that?
I can't wait for my kids to get to an age where their friends are forcing them to take one side or another and I can shoot hoops in our backyard and play whatever the fuck we feel like listening to and say...you know why that logic is dangerous? When you get older? You're blue or red. You're pro-gun or a socialist. You're a former soldier threatening to start a civil war over the lock down or you're a soldier looking at him thinking....are the FBI hearing this? Will you please remove his fucking weapons and make sure his militia doesn't come to fruition.
My little man got to see how hilariously bad I am at sports but still had a smile on my face and acted like I landed the game winning shot any time the damn ball went in the hoop. That's important for both of us. I remember when my dad tried to teach me how to ride a bike (I was the only one my age in my neighborhood who didn't) every time I fell down or crashed he'd scream, curse, at one point he even threw my own bike AT ME. My son watched me fall on my laugh, be out of breath trying to catch up to my ball (damn smoking), and treat a ball in the net like I was ready to play horse with Larry Bird. That's what I want my sons to see. I am grouchy Irish but I love kisses. I'm bi-polar but I love treating my symptoms with basketball or hockey games and slurpees. I am a writer but I love free throws. I am a father and I am not afraid to be wrong, fall on my ass, and promote the same out of my kids.
]I am officially twelve days away from the release of my debut novel. Have you pre-ordered yours yet? All I can focus on is how weird that day is going to be for me. I mean realistically, nothing is going to happen. Its going to come and go just like any other day. I will hopefully hear back from one of the many jobs I've applied to..most likely a rejection but hopefully for an interview. My wife is going to be working her new job. I am going to be somewhat indignant about holding two degrees with little to no career potential and at the same time this thing is going to exist in the world. When I started writing it I stopped wondering what scared people and focused on what scared me. Being a parent is the scariest thing that has ever happened to me. The stakes are SO much higher than they have ever been in my life. Prior to my boys, if the traumas of my childhood, specifically with my relationship with my father killed me? Well, that would make sense. However, if the traumas of my childhood because of my dad killed my kids? That is unforgivable.
Over the course of 33 years only two things have profoundly scared me. 1.) My father. 2.) Not being an exceptional and amazing dad. I started writing this book without really considering a plot. I just started cherry picking the most profoundly horrifying and difficult moments of my childhood and when my childhood caught up to me as a parent in my 30s. I don't know if anyone is going to read this, that is scary to me but at the same time I made peace with the fact that I am not destined to be anything more than a mediocre wage slave who invested two years on a project to help him work through his trauma and it was pure luck that someone enjoyed it enough to ask if I'd be interested in investing some money into it getting published. The reality is my wife was more invested than I was. Namely because I know how I operate. I knew that I would be sitting on my couch days away from its release and trying to coach myself into tempering my expectations. I don't want to get excited or harbor a lot of hope for it because I don't want to be disappointed when it doesn't reach my unfathomable expectations. The other aspect is...I wrote this thing to heal, and if anyone actually reads it and it helps them heal? Then what does it matter if it sells millions of copies or just a dozen. The point is I just want to be read and at the same time? I am terrified to be read. I fear that people won't get it, they'll think its a fucking woeful and pathetic piece of self-pity or that it was a detrimental wrench in the progress of people working through trauma and finally feeling courageous enough to confront the people who stole something from them. The title is so myopic and so cynical. I have since grown found of it but I hated the title so much. The original title was "Turtle Rock" which is a million times worse but at least it was innocuous. "Nothing to Get Nostalgic About" was a rip my fucking heart out of my chest and lay it out in the court of popular opinion for the jury to justify whether or not that's a nihilistic way I deserve to feel. This book is so profoundly important to me because it addresses pain but it also acknowledges a period of time through the influence of MANY people I've known my whole life who in a weird way helped me cultivate the tools I needed to cope with that pain to make me a better father. I will just say it. Deep down? I want this book to become SO big. SO enormous. That it gets enough readers or the right kind of attention that I never ever have to do anything but keep writing for the rest of my life. I am addressing that because I have been accused of being too humble. At the same time? I am not fucking stupid. This thing will barely be a microcosm and for those who buy or read it, I will be eternally grateful but its not going to be the game changer. It will be the cool little side note I tell potential employers in interviews but it isn't going to be the opportunity to have a comfortable living as a paid writer nor is it going to mean when I'm waiting in line at Kohl's someone is going to stop me and know I wrote that fucking book. I mean, that's all cute and cool to make believe but its just not the reality of it. I am lucky the damn thing even exists. What do I REALLY want from it? The peace of mind that I finally (in the context of fiction) told the story of where I came from, why I loved horror so much, and why boys need to become men and then become fathers. I don't want to dare say...oh fuck its totally relevant to THIS VERY MOMENT. Honestly? It fucking is but I don't want to be an asshole. The book make certain subtle demands from people. Be a better parent. Be a better person. Never forget those who supported you in times of trauma and indecency. More specifically? Do not succumb to the fear that you are going to be defined by your past or that you will become your abusers. My dad has been dead for six years. I don't miss him. My sons don't even know who he is. Don't be my father. Be better than that. I am realizing now that maybe my ambition for this book to be so special isn't a bad thing? I just need to be better than who he was and what he did to me. At the same time I also need to not lose myself in sadness if its not the "Nevermind" of modern literature. If I get a job tomorrow or if I find a small group of readers in a few weeks? That is the best I can hope for. The whole point of this book was to be read, to be heard, to tell people....I shouldn't be here right now. There is no reason why I should be here...and I made it and have a fucking book that no one will read. There is a silver lining, I promise you that. There is a way out of it.
This is the song I listened to when I finished writing the book. This is the song I will listen to when it comes out. I promised a friend...once its out, I will let go of it forever. I plan to keep my promise.
The year was 1992. The song? Was Charles & Eddie "Would I Lie to You?" I can remember the first time I ever heard it. My mother was cleaning the kitchen some morning while listening to the radio (either Magic or Mix, i'm not actually sure) and I was sitting at the table eating a bowl of Captain Crunch with the modest Crunch Berries floating in a pool of milk. In between bites of cereal I was trying to make the sound of Robocop taking heavy steps and flicking my tongue against the roof of my mouth as I moved my we're getting a divorce, I'm sorry Robocop toy along the table while being inundated with the Disney promotional juggernaut bludgeoning me with reminders of Aladdin's theatrical release all over the box of cereal in front of me. I don't know why this song resonated so much with me...but in that particularly innocuous moment of eating breakfast and playing with my proverbial gold watch of parental retirement in the form of an action figure...I got lost thinking about my kindergarten crush.
Rather, the deathblow of rejection I got weeks before at a birthday/halloween costume party. I will cover that in another blog with hopefully the subsequent photo evidence of that night...suffice to say, it didn't work out in my favor. I just remember THIS song and thinking (way ahead of my time and age) this would've been a really good song to dance with her to (I think I was 5?) My first crush ended in the fashion it would for a kid with buck teeth and leg braces to put it modestly. This song just stuck...and I don't know why. Many many years later...I went to a Wegman's with Dylan and my wife. He had just turned one in March and it was the summertime. My wife was in an aisle trying to find stuff we could feed him...specifically kale and quinoa cakes that I can assure sure you smell just as bad coming out of the child as they did going into him. He was fussing and wanted out of the carriage and my wife needed time to browse so I was kind of just tossing him in the air and making funny faces and then....THIS song came on. I don't know why...but I went right back to that 5 year old version of me in 1992 sad over divorce, a broken heart, and the crunch berry to yellow flake ratio in my cereal bowl for sure...and I just started dancing with Dylan the way I hoped I could have danced with my crush. When the song ended I remember a clerk who had been stocking inventory staring at us and literally playing with his phone and said "I wish I knew how to use this damn thing, that should have been recorded and put on the internet...that was the sweetest thing I have ever seen in my life." I was in the car earlier today after dropping Dylan off to Mimi and this song came on pandora (I tend to listen to specific years, today was 1992) and immediately I could hear lips smacking from the backseat. There was Ryder in his car seat trying to blow me kisses the whole time the song was on. When I pulled into the driveway I sat for a few minutes so the song could end. I got out (song still playing) and went to get Ryder out of his car seat and he just had the dumbest/cutest little bulldog look on his face (flashing his bottom row of teeth at me) still blowing me kisses and then he planted one. Whenever I get kind of sad about the idea that you can never go back home, I think about Wegman's and now today. The song hasn't changed...but the loneliness is gone. I initially fell in love with this song because I was a lonely kid. I have since slow danced with my oldest and had my first REAL kiss from my youngest to it. I don't know...that just felt like a cool story that maybe in these dark days could offer some fleeting relief. I hope you're all hanging in there. 13 days away from the book release. I am nervous as hell but I am getting really guarded with my excitement. I hope you guys buy it, read it, and I'd love to hear from every single one of you...even if you hated it.
My wife had a 6 a.m. start to the work day today, so she and the boys wrestled me out of my might as well be a cadaver because that's how heavy of a sleeper I am sleep, and I removed myself from the burrito of comfort that I rarely get to enjoy and had a cup of coffee while wrangling two children for breakfast like they were cattle...when I heard the song playing from our bathroom. My wife was showering listening to Lonestar's cover of "Walking in Memphis" and I immediately went back to the first time the two of us heard the song in the car together and had a debate over which version is the superior. For me? Marc Cohn's original is the one I am absolutely married to. No infidelities here...look I grew up in a time (the 90s) where scary old ladies had felt paintings of Elvis (Vegas Elvis) hanging below a framed portrait of Jesus (I expound upon this in the book a little) I am a true blue suede shoe Elvis boy (despite how much of a fucking douche bag he was according to Elvis: What Happened? as I grew up with my mom constantly making me watch Aloha! From Hawaii) and that song to this day makes me cry as a die hard Elvis fan.
I don't know why it made me feel like "Today is going to be a GOOD day. If she is listening to THAT song? It is going to be a GREAT day!" There was something genuinely cute about it. More so when she felt the need to debate the same thing again. Cover or original? Now mind you, it isn't my overall feeling that the original is ALWAYS better. In this case? I felt every fucking word of it having grown up in such a heavily Elvis friendly home and also knowing parents of friends who owned felt fucking paintings of him under portraits of white Jesus. It was a good day though, I got my absentee ballot in today and proudly dropped it off to the town clerk's office (FUCK YEAH! DEMOCRACY!) Walking in Memphis kept lingering in my head...why was that such a big deal to me today? Was it the song? Was it the integrity of the song? Was it the fleeting memory of my wife and I falling in love with each other over our shared love of the song? I guess it brought me back to a genuine love of sharing myself with people and how fucking awesome it feels when someone accepts it and randomly at various periods of time....you hear someone listening to something that reminds them of you.
On the subject of my wife....
I am a TERRIBLY insecure person. She is not. I walk into the room and know that the furniture is more favorable than i am. She walked into a room? And if you haven't noticed her? You're an idiot. Yet, she has on several occasions asked me if I still love her, or wondered out loud if I will still love her. Not only did she without question or doubt tell me we were investing the money to publish this book. She was the person I had look at all the cover mock-ups and pick the one she thought was the best (mind you, she hasn't even read and probably won't read the book, reading isn't her favorite thing) and the cover you see when it arrives? That's the one my wife picked. She doesn't have to tell me she loves me, she gave me the chance to be a published author. She picked out my cover. I still say I love you, but I don't feel the need to be so dramatically emphatic about it. I love her enough that I wanted her to pick the cover. I think so highly of my wife, that anything she chooses? That's the definitive without fucking question...this is what it should look like.
Then I think about the book...look its fucking fiction the really weird thing about my brand of fiction? You can fucking touch it, but only if I tell you how and where. I had sent the first draft to my childhood best friend Allison, she read it in two days...fucking loved it and asked if I would meet her where we grew up but I had to bring my oldest son Dylan. So much of the book takes place at G.G. Rock. The woods behind where the Harris family lived....
This is me and my first born....standing at the bottom of G.G. Rock. It doesn't look the same. They gentrified it. However, my first real best friend read a word document I called a book and immediately wanted to get this picture so I would never forget it. The same way I never forgot our friendship. I asked if she wanted it to be a selfie so we could all be in it and she told me "No. This isn't about us. This is about you and him and I want him to see that his dada did it and still came home to G.G. Rock"
I wrote a book. Its about a lot of things and a lot of people and a lot of places that actually existed and don't exist. A lot of the things that inspired the book? They don't exist anymore. However, they now are immortal in the printed word. When Allison took me to G.G. Rock...I realized that no matter how old we get she realized how much that place still means to me at 33. It is a symbol of my love for her. For our friendship. Its in a book. A LOT of this book...I can physically take you to. Why? Because great stories require the effort of profound experiences from all walks of life. The last dream I ever had about G.G. Rock? An explosion occurred where my family died. I woke up to this song and me telling my surviving family members...this is a gift, we need to make more of it as we gathered wood for a fire. This was in 5th grade and that dream still lingers...
I put that dream into context now at 33 and repeat 10 year old me saying these things not to my imaginary family but to myself. Hey...this is a gift. And you need to make the most of it.
Celts beat the 76ers 109-101. Solid fucking game. My little one Ryder slept through a lot of the action. I didn't have him for four hours today. He went to Mimi's house (my wife's grandma, and single greatest living angel on planet earth) so I could spend time with my Dylan. Typically, Dylan goes to Mimi's Wednesdays and Fridays. She requested the baby today, I thought Dylan would protest. Nope. He was excited to have me to himself. Now keep in mind. My oldest is a mama's boy (like myself) and he was undaunted by the idea of Ryder going to Mimi's house today. His favorite part? When at the park he got to play restaurant man and pull my mask down and make me make believe eat park mulch as his world famous steak tips. I pick up Ryder later? All tears. I suspected....(he had a great day with his mimi, and cousins) it was all a show. My wife pointed out...I don't think he realized you were gone until you came to get him.
Ryder typically sleeps with my wife at night. He cried and cried and cried, so I took him out into the living room to watch the Celtics with me and he just snuggled into me like I was gone for too long. When I told my oldest don't worry and don't be jealous you go to Mimi's wednesday, he immediately told me...NO! SEND RYDER! I WANT MY DADDY! Wow. You know what's awesome about being a published author? I keep forgetting because when my mama's boy tells me...god damn it I want you all to myself. The kid who fights with me constantly and causes so much trouble...fucking placid all day with me. Then my daddy's boy raises hell in bed with mom because he just needs to make up the lost time with me?
The year was 1992 and I was sharing a bed with my sister Heather on 5 Short Street. My parents were divorced, my father was leaving ominous messages on the answering machine about burning the house down with all of us in it...and this song played on her clock radio. That was the moment I decided that I wanted to be a dad so that when my kids slept...they didn't have to sleep wondering if they were going to die in a burning house.
If I burned in that house?
This is the family I always dreamed of having...and here we are. September 1st I get to be an author too?!? I can't fucking fathom that.
Admittedly, one of my least favorite things to do is go grocery shopping. I detest that the moment people set foot into a supermarket social decorum and basic physics seemingly go right out the window. I also find this already daunting but necessary errand to make even more tedious when you add in two children (believe it or not having a 22 pound baby strapped to your chest while also trying to calmly ask your 3 year old to stop block your vision with a minions balloon does make one’s patience run relatively thin after about fifteen minutes) into the equation. Now take all these components and throw in a pandemic and it is the mental equivalent of putting Mentos into a bottle of Coca-Cola.
The moment I enter the grocery store with very strict (but needed) COVID protocols I swear I feel like fucking Raoul Duke when he enters the lobby of his hotel (while on acid) and attempts to check into his suite. I don’t know if it’s a bi-polar thing, a social anxiety thing, but I immediately find myself turning into a sweaty, paranoid, and frustrated trying to decipher my wife’s grocery list. I know that may confuse you…try to decipher a grocery list? I grew up living off Kraft Macoroni & Cheese, Kid Cuisines, and microwavable chicken pot pies. As a single man in his twenties? I ate cereal for all three meals.
Growing up with a mother who had a sincere passion for cooking and then developing one herself, my wife has no fucking idea what its like to grow up where food is the enemy and when a home cooked meal is made its really nothing fancy. So when you scallions on the list my mind immediately shuts down because I have no fucking idea what those other except that you can sometimes get them in pancake form? So before I finally got frustrated enough to text my wife I thought scallions…what if that’s a sea food? Yes, my dumb ass went searching for scallions in the tank they keep the lobsters in. Then I thought, near the pancake mix? She finally texts me back and informs me that its in with the vegetables.
Scallions are a vegetable? Okay. What are they near? They are near the parsley. Okay, I text. Where is the parsley? (Yes, I do agree with you. I’m amazed she hasn’t divorced me too). Mind you, I have already been circling this vegetable aisle for 20 of the 60 minutes I spent in this store trying to successfully get everything off this list because my wife treats me going to the grocery store like the end segment of guy’s grocery games. Red onions? Onions come in different colors? Cutup Broccoli? So, here’s the cute part (really not, but to my wife it was) I am a very literal person I was looking for “Cutup Broccoli” on the fucking package. You know what its actually called? BROCCOLI. FLORETS. I must have walked by the bag of BROCCOLI. FLORETS easily ten times trying to find “Cutup Broccoli”
Oh, OH! And you know what scallions are called? FROZEN. GREEN. ONIONS. You know how I know this? Because I finally broke down and did what I never do and asked a grocer for help and when asked about scallions answered Frozen Green Onions they’re just behind you as if I was the dumbest person he had encountered all day (and that’s impressive because he’s a grocer in a pandemic where toilet paper was being sold on EBay for thousands of dollars in the first four months of lock down).
But alas, I managed to successfully procure everything on my wife’s expert level grocery list mind you with substantial mental exhaustion, but never the less….. So yes, when Eddie isn’t ranting about the government or annoying the crap out of you about his novel coming out September 1st this is how he pandemics (does that sound slang or just stupid?)
I never thought in a million years I would ever make the following statement: "God Bless Taylor Swift." Seriously, what a bold and fucking boss move. Now let me address the following, I do not buy into the whole deification of celebrities and that their ideologies should somehow inform our own. HOWEVER...big however, when someone of her fucking global influence doubles down on a position that could potentially jeopardize her career (let's face it, she doesn't have to say shit) by using her platform to hopefully inspire her millions of followers to take a good hard look at what's happening and really ask themselves if this is right? As opposed to, you know...fuck it, let's stay out of politics and lets just exude this image of the gregarious girl next door for the sake of record sales. I don't know man. Personally? I don't love her music, that's subjective though. I don't doubt her talent and her ability to entertain the shit out of sold out stadiums...and while I don't know her personally, her image doesn't exactly appeal to me. I do think this was a really boss move and one that I absolutely commend her for.
Again, when you are in a position where you have a platform with a reach to an ungodly amount of people who revere you, sustain your livelihood, and have an adamant investment in what you are putting out into the world? I think its cool that she used her platform to address a big fucking injustice happening with the man who is supposed to be our leader. He's a crook, he's a glorified scum bag, and for her to put this out there? Good for her. Get it girl! I don't have Taylor Swift's influence, I certainly don't have her wealth, and I will surely never have her score of faithful supporters but I really do feel that anyone with a platform who has an iota of decency in them? You should stand up for the people this man is hurting. How am I attempting to reconcile this scorched earth bullshit and subsequent anxiety and depression that follows?
Every time I think about how bad this world is getting, I keep trying to think about things I wished that someone did with me as a kid in my own insulated hell. I went to Target and bought myself and my oldest son catching mitts. I am a south paw, as is my wife. According to her, two left-handed parents can't create right-handed children (no definitive evidence on this) so I got us both saw paw mitts because all I really wanted to do the other night when I was depressed beyond words given all the shit going on in the world? I have always wanted to play catch with someone. As a kid, I can remember always feeling disappointed that my dad never wanted to or ever asked. Who better to play catch with than my own kid? It may not seem like much, but I think it would be a blast taking my boys to a baseball field and have my youngest being our cheerleader while we just pass the ball back and fourth.
My wife asked me today how I'd feel if our sons ever wanted to attend a technical school as opposed to a public one (she will start her new job at one as the school nurse) and I was a little offended she didn't already know my answer. Of course I'd support them and endorse that. One of the reasons I chose writing? I don't have an athletic bone in my body, I hate getting dirty, blood makes me pass out, and I am terrible with my hands. The job market is VERY limited for me. My kids? Hell, my father in law and a co-worker were replacing our toilet today and where was my oldest? With his plastic drill and pliers waiting to be called over to help install it. He even helped his papa with a car the other day. I would be absolutely delighted if my boys wanted to pursue a trade rather than college. I'd be happy if they wanted to be get a college degree. I'd be elated if they wanted to enlist and serve their country (my wife immediately tried to veto this until I reminded her, its our job to support anything that want to do. Well, save from committing crimes or murdering anyone. If that isn't what we represent then why did we have them? She eventually agreed with this notion). Point is, I would love anything my boys want to do. I also want to encourage things, like playing catch. Picking up a basketball and shooting hoops. I want them to have every opportunity to try new things that I never had as a kid. At a certain age my parents decided that either I didn't have the potential or frankly they didn't want to make the investment. God, I am such the opposite. I can't wait to be that obnoxious asshole running on the sidelines screaming at my boys to GO! GO! if they are playing football or screaming "KICK THEIR ASS!" at a karate tournament. Anything they want to do? Dance, cook, nurse, fix cars, fix toilets, build bird houses, I don't care...I just want them to be happy and feel involved. My oldest is having issues with being social with other kids due to the pandemic. He is afraid of other kids...that breaks my heart. I think because of his fears of COVID-19 he needs me to encourage him to try new things more than ever. I have this song for my oldest son. Add this to the existential mix-tape. I suppose I can just refer to them as Dylan and Ryder. I mean, they are the first page of the book. Hell, Dylan is a character in the book.
My wife finally noticed today.."Wow, the kid that looks just like you really DOES act just like me. The kid that looks just like me? He is absolutely obsessed with his dada." It also speaks volumes about my relationship with Dylan. He's stubborn. He's impatient. He's volatile. He can be entitled. And more often than not all we do is fight. It mirrors my wife and our relationship...because he can also be so fucking considerate, vulnerable, sweet, brilliant, and when he is his most impulsive and frankly most annoyingly stubborn? Its because you can't tell him he can't do something. Which is just like my wife. My wife does this annoying thing where she underestimates how challenging the things she takes on can be. Even more annoying? She does that because she knows I'll be there to make sure she doesn't fail, give up, or completely overwhelm herself. That's Dylan. He drives me fucking nuts ALL THE TIME. Then I realize why.
Because he knows I won't let him down. Sure, I may yell, I may lose my mind, and I may think god damn it why is he being so crazy and selfish right now? Then I see the look on his face when he accomplishes something or when I show up to give him the help he needs to accomplish it. "You belong among the wildflowers You belong somewhere close to me Far away from trouble and worry You belong somewhere you feel free" I may not be Taylor Swift, but I do have an audience of three and now I have a platform. It may not change the world, but hopefully it shows the people I love that even though I may be crazy depressed or so angry at the world, myself, or think they're asking too much of me. I will never ever forget where I want them to belong and how much I believe in them and love them. Anyone else could be so lucky to be me.
This coming November, be on the right side of history. Let's put this monster back into the vulgar abstraction where it belongs. Let us not become possessed by his particular brand of poisoning. Come November, let's send his ass back to the cesspool he crawled out of. Right now Washington D.C. looks like a giant jell-o mold.
Lets hijack lady liberty and literally smash the patriarchy. He is stealing our votes, he is robbing our chances, lets be ghostbusters this November. #letsbeghostbusters #smashthejello #VOTE #bealouis #iloveitwhenweroughhouse
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AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
September 2021
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