12.11.10

How do you balance confidence with arrogance? It is incredibly hard to define the minute differences between the two, because there are men who carry themselves with such confidence that it is impossible to not respect them, yet someone of almost identical carry and presence will come across as the latter. The streams of both run rampant where I am...and I dont think either are intentional, for most times, a person seems to be able to exist within a constant flux of the two. We blend back and forth between being men of extreme confidence in our abilities...and dudes who dont know when to say when, and just calm down and remember that we're in the real world, not in our land of hairy chests and mustaches.

That last bit of that last sentence won't make sense to everyone.

But it's still an issue that I personally take quite seriously. I will openly admit that in most cases, especially from an outsider's perspective...I'm quite arrogant. And tonight, as we stood in a loud circle of conversations battling to rise to the top of the noise level, I made a point that...every single one of us here is entire full of ourselves. If we werent...we wouldn't be here. And I was immediately echoed...dude, anyone who thinks they can do what they can do is either a fucking idiot...or thinks he is the hardest dude of all time...I sure as hell did...well, at least before all this...now I just think I'm stupid. And that's both a point of pride for me, and at the same time, I recognize it as a fault.
Were the Spartans arrogant? I bring it up because I find myself so often relating to them...seeking answers to my deepest fears or doubts of myself in what they stood for. I believe that from an outsider's perspective, they absolutely were...but I think that if you were to ask the average hoplite, he would reply..."I am not arrogant, I just know I am going to win." Confidence. Or is that arrogance? Confidence says I believe I can win arrogance says You should't even try me. Yet that is what we say...and we are, at the end of the day, however you want to spin it, outwardly...humble.
We are humble. We are quiet, and we are silent. I prefer it that way, as hypocritical as it may seem writing about it now. But at the same time, I'll still readily tell my friends...I'm pretty sure I am the least accomplished person in my family. Joel has never found a situation in which he did not immediately rise to the top, and I'm pretty sure Laura hasn't ever had a problem in all her years of school. Dad continues to have a Midas touch with business, my mom recently recieved a district award for teacher of the year...it goes on...my extended family is full of people who push beyond the flock and become a person of either high identity within their field, or are the person in charge and making the decisions.
Where I am...that's my job...it's what I'm apparently, hopefully...good at. In eighteen years, if I'm still in this community, well then, yeah, I guess you could say I've finally lived up to the family potential.
But goddamnit, am I arrogant...dispite all my intentions. What makes it hard, is that, were I to seek guidance from someone with more experience than me...I believe I'd only run into the same catch 22 that I find myself in already. Some would say...Look where you are, look you are going to be...fuck yeah...put your chin up, chest out, and let people know that you're the alpha male...whereas, others would say...it doesnt matter what they know, because they never will...all that matters is that YOU know. Or maybe I'm just wrong...and I have no fucking idea...that's highly likely.
But when striving for an identity, as I feel that we all are in my group of friends here...god, you need to know. Am I being arrogant, or am I just realizing my potential...or more importantly, my role in society?
The fact is, we are the minority. I am a part of a select few. A modern Spartan. A fledgling Spartan, for sure...but I intend to come back with my shield, or on it nonetheless. We here right now...haha, well, at the present, we have been left in the best and worst case scenario to be seen. No supervision...30 of us...probably 20 of those among my closer friends, and thus, what I would describe as no less than pipe hitting mother fuckers who dont know how to hold back, how to stop, how to control themselves...unless someone has already given them a playing field in which to say in bounds. And while we may all know, deep down, that we know our boundaries...it's still akin to putting a room full of pyros together, then setting a box of matches in the middle of it all...and telling them...seriously, try and be careful. God help us all.
And I suppose, that's sort of a hint towards the answer that I've been pushing for. Alone, we tend to be subtle...I know that I, and in hearing opinions and experiences of my buddies, we dont like to talk about ourselves. We do, in all actuallity, strive to be humble...because in all reality, when we step away from where we are...it really is hard to feel all that significant when compared to our friends and families. In comparison, we dont make nearly as much money...we dont get vacations...and very few of us have a feeling of general security when it comes to our lives. We are always anxious. That's a tough thing to deal with every day...whether or not any of my buddys would ever admit it.
But man, throw us together...send us out...and see what happens. Put TWO of us together...and we simultaneously build eachother up to the point where I'm fairly certain I'd take one buddy at random and say, "Drop me into Hell...we're goood." And that transfers to the bars, it transfers to life. Four of us walk into a bar, and the testosterone level rises 400%. It's what makes us who we are...and it's something which we are constantly, constantly monitering. Whether I think that is a good thing or not...isn't necessarily my place to say. But I will not hesitate to say, I don't believe any Spartan warrior ever walked into a bar and felt like he should control himself if provoked.
So here we are...smoking hand rolled cigarettes, pumping through our own individual bottles of whiskey, smoothing out our mustaches, and getting ready for a night on the town...a town entirely unsuited to house us. God help us all. But I tell ya what...I couldn't pick a tougher group of dudes to go out with.

11.30.10

Chances are, when said done
Who'll be the lucky ones?
We'll make it all the way
Though you say I could be your answer
Nothing lasts forever
No matter how it feels today

Chances are...we'll find a new equation
Chances rolled away from me
Chances are...all they hope to be

Don't get me wrong, I never say never
Cause though love can't change the weather
No act of god could pull me away from you
I'm just a realistic man,
A bottle filled will shells and sand
Afraid to look beyond what I could lose
When it comes to you

Though I'd see us through
Chances are, we'll find two destination
Chances rolled away from me
Still, chances are, more than expections
But possiblities

Eight to five, or two to one
lay your money on the sun
Until you crash, what havce you done
is there a better bet than love?
What you are is what you bring
You've gotta cry before you sing

Chances are...our hope's torn up pages
Maybe this time...
Chances are, we'll be the combination
Chances come in clarity
Chances are waiting to be taken

And i can see...

Chances are the fascination
Chances won't escape from me
Chances are only what we make them

And all I need.


-Courtesy of Five for Fighting

11.24.10

We all have our calling. Sometimes it manifests itself through a profession or a career, othertimes it is merely a hobby only enjoyed by ourselves and the select few people with whom we share it. Nonetheless, many spend most of their lives in the pursuit of finding exactly what it is that makes them tick.
I myself, in my short time of navigating what is the broad field of adult life, have changed roads many times. I've pictured myself in so many different uniforms and workplaces, even I can hardly keep track of it all. I've pushed the limits of what is acceptable for a person to do before people finally say, "What the fuck are you doing with your life?", and I've pursued things that in most poeple's minds were probably a bad bet. In fact, I've made so many poor wagers with my life that I can honestly say I'm fairly comfortable being in a situation that has very little hope of ever coming through. But that's who I am, and I am mostly positive that I'll spend the rest of my life chasing ideas that most poeple would push the side as idle fantasies.
The fact is, our lives change as we chase them. For people who find it odd for me to view life as something to 'chase', I in turn question their motivations. Who wouldn't want to wake up with something to do? And by something to do, I dont mean your laundry list, I mean a real solid pursuit that day in, day out, requires your constant attention to what you are doing to better your situation and ability to achieve it. It can be as large as how you're going to make sure the business you are building from scratch can find the air to breathe and succeed, to staying up til 3 in the morning grading papers and lesson plannin, as my mom is prone to do.
I look back at my past pursuits and lament that I never gave them the time that they deserved, for in all actuallity, all of my "callings" have most times been little more than whimsical plans that required ideal, to perfect situations and circumstances. But when I look at my daily "laundry lists" now, I think back to what I could have accomplished if I had the same drive before as I do now. Although, I think in many ways, back then, those ideas were what they were: fantasies...and where I am now, is a reality...and a realization of myself.
I'm where I want to be. I know that now. The past few months have been somewhat of a struggle for me. Away from work, when talking to a friend or family, in between my periods of gushing to them about how rewarding my job was, how hopeful I was for what was to come...I was greatly disturbed by a lack of intrinsic motivation. A year is a long time to spend in flux. Constantly assaulted, constantly challenged (at times in a completely unsalvagable situation, but in retrospect, they were geared to be so), and constantly asked, "Are you really meant to be here?"
That's a hard question to ask yourself, and I belive, that when someone is to truly take on their motivations and goals...when we trulyIn short...I was fed up, and fucking tired of constantly wondering what the hell my purpose in life was. I needed a challenge...I needed something to do. Well, needless to say, I found it. It's been a road of extreme highs, and even lower lows. Regardless, for every great milestone I passed, in the end, after it sank in and dissapeared to what was to come next, I would inevitably end up struggling for motivation. Waking up became a chore, doing the little things felt nearly backbreaking in getting them done. I came to see this pursuit as little more than a job...and while it beat the hell out of any job I'd ever had before...it was still a job. And guess what...jobs suck.
Then things progressed to the land of "Shit's not gonna hit the fan anymore, so relax and learn"...and still I struggled. My days were easier than they'd been in almost two years, and all I did was complain. It wasn't mindless bitching, but it was sure as hell not the kind of talk I needed to be putting out. What made it worse, was that I was waking up every day telling myself...you're going to do better today, you're going to leave this pussy ass attitude behind. But I just couldnt shake it. If it involved my own personal pursuits, my small couple hours of alone time to work out and get after it the way I wanted to, I welcomed it with open arms. The second I felt that someone was infringing on my freetime, I'd lose my temper. To the point where things as little as Gena checking up on me, making sure I was taking care of the things we drastically needed to do...I'd lose it again, and try to fall away.
I fell into old habits, albeit, with a little up to date tempering. I'd get home, do everything that I needed to do for immediate future, and set about to getting myself drunk. It's easier being drunk, at least for me. Not in a alchoholic mindset, just in a...let the world slip away, and I'll worry about myself for a while. In short, I was starting to question myself. Was I really where I had wanted to be? I thought it would be different...and it just wasn't. I've been miles away from all of the stable things in my life....Gena...my dog...my family...my close friends. I climbed the mountain, only to find that on the other side...there was no true release, no sense of accomplishment...no nothing. Just a pat on the back that was expected, but I never got a chance to stop and take it all in.
Well, I've done it. Whether it was the plane ride, being surrounded by white capped mountains, being back in cold weather that feels like home (and Christmas), my ability to finally look at the guys next to me as future teammates, brothers in arms, guys I'd give my life for, and without thought, trust them to guard it in turn...it's come down to the broader perspective of things to fall down on me. I'm finally seeing the purpose of it all.
I can say that twenty four hours ago, I was sitting in 30 degree water, up to my neck, waiting for my buddy to give me the OK. Watching the shoreline, looking for movement, trying to be as small as possible...and then ascending up the beach, searching for the closest patch of shrubbery or cover. Then, with my buddy watching my back, weaving in and out of trees, working my way around buildings, and once satisfied, returning to the surf....meeting the guy in charge and having him ask me, "We good?"
"Oh, we're golden." I replied with a smile.
I've found a purpose. A calling? Maybe. I still secretly hope my 'calling' may be writing books that blow peoples minds wide open. But, when I look back at my life, at the ideals I've held since childhood, I have to admit...that if this isn't my calling...it's at the very least, a huge realization of what I was made to do.
I love being here...and I love my job. I love the constant pursuit of perfection, and I love that I'm allowed to bitch now and again about it, and still get the job done. This job drives me and fuels me, even when I'm at my lowest motivation level. It's intoxicating, and to make it worse, the guys who are in charge of transfering one generation's knowledge down to mine...they're the coolest sons of bitches on the planet...and they make it impossible not to get obsessive over it.
It's opened my eyes, and changed my perspectives on alot of things. I used to think that people who didn't pursue the most 'out there' goals and professions were just lazy, or uncreative. Now, I've come to realize that everything, no matter what you do...if you're getting paid for it, eventually, it's just gonna be a job. But no matter what your job is...be good at it. That's what I've decided. Find your calling...find what makes you tick...and pursue it. Settling is never an option. That's what people do when they don't have the imagination that is required to be great.
You can spend your life bitching about what the poeple above you make you do...or you can constantly push to become one of those people, and change the system. Everything can be improved, everything can be sharpened to near perfection. Find what you are passionate about...and put every ounce of effort you have into it. From my own experience, when you do that, even if you don't achieve the level you were going for, you're going to find what you're looking for.

11.13.10

God, I've missed country music. Where did it go? Growing up it was mostly Garth Brooks...whose lyrics to "Friends in Low Places" went far over my ten-year-old head, and I to this day, remember what I thought he was trying to say...but hey, when the cows have been seen, they've been seen. Throw in a little Jimmy Buffet, John Michael Montgomery, and a select few others...and that was my childhood. As I grew into my teens, it wasnt so "cool" to like country anymore, which to this day, fucking blows my mind...and reminds me how much of an upper class, white bread, money laden school I went to. Nonetheless, we found eachother again...in my freshman year of college. Thus began Doug and I's yearly effort of putting together the "perfect" summer country mix.
Try and deny it if you want, but if you give it a chance, a great country mix will make ANY summer day instantly better. Hell, it makes any SUNNY day better. I will admit, while I may listen to it year round, I dont go crazy with country during the fall or winter. Those are months more suited to somewhat more somber artists.
But during the summer...who can deny the songs of drinking, friendship, youth, lost youth, family, friends, and humanity? It's the sounds of our average joe lives.
Now, I feel that I fairly openly tend to live my life through songs...or more, relate it to them. Anyone who knows me well has probably spent an uncomfortable five minutes in the car as "Texas", by the Damnwells came on, as i lapsed into silence...and if you're up on my current trends, you've experienced my channeling of girl power and headbanging to "King of Anything"...because, hell, music is what sparks my imagination, and I am more than happy living through every great song I come across.
But man...how great is Tim McGraw? When I was ten, "Indian Outlaw" got me all kinds of pumped up, and "Dont Take the Girl" inspired me to daydream of falling in love with some weekly crush and growing up into whatever type of man I thought I'd be, living the life and love I pictured I'd be living. And having written that sentence, I'm happy to say, I think I'm somewhere in the vicinity of being my boyhood hero...finally, took long enough.
Tim McGraw brought me up when it comes to my realistic versions of life and love, which is I think both unique and important...because, admittedly, many of my favorite love/lost love songs are somewhat unrealistic, or at the very least, incredibly melodramatic...and far from what the average person is going to be thinking and feeling in a love affair. The guy keeps it simple without being plain, and he is able to take small emotions and give them weight. I dont listen to Tim McGraw because I want something deep and artistic...I listen to him because I want to immediately relate.
So as I grew up, and as I said earlier, took a brief sojourn away from the land of McGraw (and listened to, admittedly, music that I am still too embarassed to admit to), he was always there in the background, just waiting for me to mature a bit...right around the time that the man would put out some of the most soul defining that I doubt many artists could ever come close to.
In college, Doug and I listened to "Set This Circus Down" on near repeat. It was more or less and unspoken rule that if you were to make a summer cd...you better goddamn well have at least five Tim McGraw songs on it. "That's Why God Made Mexico" appealed to our vagabond spirit, and we've tapped shots of whiskey making silent promises to follow the rules of that song should our lives ever take a dive for the deep end. "Cowboy in Me" took over the radio for at least a week in our cars, and to this day, I'm gonna throw that song out as a defense for any of my less desirable actions...and I'm pretty sure any man that's worth his weight would do the same.
Tim McGraw sings for the guys...and that's why chicks love him. He's been behind some of the greatest love songs, meant quite openly for wives, or at least, someone especially special...and hell, I'll openly admit to crafting a bit of what kind of love affair I want to be a part of based off of his music. What part of "I need you" can be denied...by a guy or girl? If the line..."I wanna drink that shot of whiskey, I wanna smoke that cigarette...you know, some cowboys like me go out like that...so I need you." doesnt make you immediately think (if you're a guy) YES...god, I hope I'm that tough one day, or (if your'e a girl) GOD YES...I hope my man is that tough one day...and that I'm that important to him...then, jesus, you're not human.
He brought the heavy with "Drugs or Jesus" and it worked. "Live Like You Were Dying"...well, shit, if that doesnt make you want to do something with your life, then there's no hope for you. "My Next Thirty Years" has become my unofficial anthem of the next five years of my life. I've grown up with the guy, I respect the guy, and I love the hell out of his music.
Which brings me to the all time favorite: "Teluride" There are very few favorite songs of mine which bring the heat quite so effectively as this one. It is at once a song you can sing to with the windows down, and listen to quietly alone. Once, it was the picture perfect ideal of what I wanted to do with myself. I was twenty one, about as aimless as a person could be, and the prospect of packing up my truck with a couple bags of clothes and taking off out west to find love sounded like a hell of a good idea. Not good enough, say, to actually DO it...but good enough to sit around drunk and spout off drunken fantasy ideals of how I was going to live my life...which if you ask me, is pretty awesome cowboy chitchat talk. "Teluride" did it for me...and still does. Hands down, one of my favorite songs.
So, to end this and get back to my drinking and youtube music video watching, I'm gonna go ahead and tell you: if you dont like Tim McGraw, then I dont like you (unless you're my wife, in which case, you're just dead damn wrong). And while I may think that San Deigo generally looks like a shanty town...did they film "City of God" here? I have to admit...I was driving in my new POS truck the other day, listening to some country radio with the windows down, arm hanging out, radio up, my sunglasses on...and I realized...holy shit, I'm in the land of endless summer.
So yeah, it's time to make a new country CD. And guess what...it's gonna be awesome. Stand by for the whole lineup...but I'd recommend pulling out a notebook and pen when I put this one out...cause you're gonna want to be a part of this one.

By the way...I'm more or less losing my mind over Sugarland's song and video for "Stuck like Glue." Check it out. If you're tough, that is.


"My next thirty years will be the best years of my life
Raise a little family and hang out with my wife
Spend precious moments with the ones that I hold dear
Make up for lost time here...in my next thirty years."

10.31.10

Maybe next Christmas, she used to say
We'll find a new life and we'll both run away
Maybe next Christmas, I wont be with him
Maybe next Christmas, we can start fresh again

Maybe next Christmas, we'll have reaped what we've sewn
And maybe next christmas we'll have paid what we owe
Maybe next Christmas, we won't be afraid
And maybe next Christmas, we'll both be okay

But you can't pull the truth out of thin air
You can't manufacture what aint there
And maybe next Christmas, we'll be by a fire
Well, maybe next Christmas, you won't be a liar

Maybe next Christmas, I'll be in your arms
With the scent of the evergreens pushing us strong
Maybe next Christmas I'll finally get to see
You wearing that dress that you bought just for me

Maybe next Christmas, you'll be by my side
Relentlessly prove to me that I'm worth the fight
And maybe next Christmas, I'll have more to say
Than I gave you everything, and you gave me away

But you can't pull the truth out of thin air
You can't manufacture what aint there
And maybe next christmas you wont be thinking
That I'm just a criminal and you're still a queen


-Courtesy of Matthew Mayfield

10.24.10

Goddamnit. Did I spell that right? Nonetheless, goddamnit. Here's the deal...I'm gonna lose a few man points for this one...but I gave Glee a chance. Yes, I gave into what is quite possibly the most "gay" show on television these days...and I use "gay" in the most liberal sense possible. (I feel like I've just entered an area that can really be miscontrued and convoluted *did I spell either one of those right?* So let's get it straight. I have no problem with gay people. In fact, I enjoy the theatre, I love the concept of Broadway, and frankly, while I may not go out of my way to hang out with them, some of the more interesting people I've worked with have been some of the most flamboyantly queer people in the world...and god help me, I thought it was pretty fuckin awesome. And you know, for anybody out there who wants to judge someone based on what happens in the bedroom...If I were ever to be judged by what has ever gone on in my wife and I's bed...well, you had better damn well hope you're not a puritan. (and to anyone out there who just covered your mouth and thought 'Oh my god, he just said that!'....lets be real...your bedroom trysts probably dont belong in the Bible either, so let's not be judgemental, okay?)
SO...after all that rambling and trying to set up what I was going to write and argue about...let me continue on with this fabulously long and tiring lead-in to what will most likely be, in the end, not much more than a single paragraphs worth of actual I'd like to think of myself as a fairly well rounded guy. There arent many subjects I cant hold a conversation on, there arent many political or social viewpoints for which I dont hold an understanding or at least a basis for which to argue against, and when it comes to 'pop culture', I'd like to think that I'm not only current, but I hold a fairly open (but restrictive, if that's possible) mind when it comes to what I'll enjoy, listen to, or respect. For example...I dont necessarily listen to...let's say, Outcast, but I will say, I can admit that they're talented....(they're still together, right?). Either way, I'll keep pretending to believe that I'm 'up' on things.
So...apparently the show Glee has had more songs on the top 100 than the Beatles. I honestly didnt know that that was possible...or that the Beatles were so amazingly popular. Whatever, kill me. Either way, if someone is that popular in my time...I'm gonna check it out. That is, unless I'm more than aware that the source of this prestigious honor rides on the back of a TV show that is about highschoolers (ugh) who are in a 'glee club' (double ugh...cause I was once invited to be a part of one...thankfully, the inner girl in me was quiet that day and I kept playing football) , and they sing a bunch of famous people's songs.
Do I have a problem with that? No, not at all. In fact, if you ever wish to experience true 'glee club' joy, then go ahead and youtube the predatory wasp of the pallisades is out to get us! by the Penny Loafers, and I hope you enjoy yourself as much as I do every time I listen to it. No, it is not as grandiose or as stimulating as Sufjan Stevens (the original artist/writer), but it is an excellent example of what incredibly tallented singers can do without an instrument. They take a song that is complex and layered in multitudes of variations, and they make it work. I can respect that...in fact, I can enjoy it. In some ways, it makes the song more powerful in certain aspects.
So, when I came across the latest version of Esquire, and saw that the two main chicks of Glee were not only in it, in their underwear....but that they were in fact, quite unarguably hot....I was faily sold on the whole idea. (You can imagine my surprise, when I got to watch the show that the brunette was actually only 'kinda' hot in the show...after being so convincing in the magazine spread...I'm not gonna lie, it actually made me like her more cause I realized they ugged her up for the show...and she's actually a hot, crazy, expressionist just dying to show her inner freak.....which not so coincidentally, is quite like my wife...) Yeah, we're apart alot, I miss her....so I tend to project her personality, however little she may have in common with fictional characters, on the girls I see on TV. But if she's reading this, and you are too...in my defense, if you watch How I Met Your Mother...and you know Gena...try and tell me she isnt Lilly almost to the fuckin tee...
Sorry, I'm rambling. But I'm also drunk....so now, re-read all this and admire the spelling and grammer skills I have at my fingertips even while intoxicated. Either way, as I said before...I have predictably rambled my way through this entire writing exercise and have come to the point where I will say no more or less than 3 to 5 sentences that actuall support or present an argument.
'GLEE' IS CHEAP.
That's right, it's cheap. If you think that what they sing on that show is in any way an original, creative, or talented take on any of the songs that they cover...you are not a music lover or enthusiast....you are simply a moron. The girls in the show are pitchy....they hide it by changing notes whenever they're supposed to hold a solid high note. Listen to the "Bohemian Rhapsody" they did, and tell me that they came even close to repricating his voice, and I'll call you a goddamn liar. Or how 'bout Imagine? I dont even like that song, and I was insulted by their execution of it. Singing like you're on American Idol doesn't make you suddenly a great perfoming artist. In fact, if you look at the history of who has been successful as a result of that show...none of those singers have ever been 'pitchy' by definition (by which, I mean, instead of ever having to hold a single note and demonstrate your ability to actually sing, you instead, fluctuate between several different pitches, like you're a goddamn blues singer trying to do Bon Jovi). I absolutely cannot stand this goddamn show...and it bothers the living hell out of me that America is apparently in love with it.
There are truly amazing singers out there. In fact, if you believe it or not, there's amazing SONGWRITERS out there...I'm serious, people actually write their own songs nowadays. Glee needs to widen their perspective. There are some truly amazing and soul touching songs being written right now that are so much more culturally and socially relevant, not to mention, more attainable singing-wise for their lead vocalists.
Alex Dezen wrote:

If your voice was a siren, with nothing left to sing
Oh, down below broken skylines,
I'm still here listening...

And somehow Glee is covering "Toxic" by Britney Spears....and sadly, that's probably their best cover to date. Please, there are so many current, amazingly talented bands and artists out there. Damn, The Killers are just begging to have an entire Broadway production be made for their music alone. There is so much talent out there waiting to be actually exposed. And further...I realize that you need singers who can act...but please, dont substitude poor singing ability for someone who can read the most predictable and basic storylines aloud.

So...that's my issue for the week. I've had much more for past weeks. But hey, I'm a busy guy. Things have been going great for me...I've finally readed a point where I can take a deep breath and appreciate where I am and what I've been through. Thanks for sticking with me, if you're one of those people. Other than that...I'm out! If you're reading this....share it with the world, will ya? If not this, at least Saturday Night...you know it's funny, you know it's good...if you dont think so...why are you reading this?




I said, I'd hang and swap cliches all night...but I'm not in love with you.



and Holy Shit...I made it this far, without putting forth my entire argument which I meant to actually put forth. I want to see Glee cover "Constantine" by Something Corporate. He executes that song perfectly...it's a solid ten minutes of heartbreak and amazing song writing...and goddamnit, I'd like to see a show which I underestimate impress me for once. I think I'm owed it...and I think that people who have not yet fallen in love with this song at some point in their life deserve it. And if you dont know what I'm talking about....go check it out, cause, admittedly, I dont think the writers for gleehave found my blog yet. Maybe they have...but prob not.

06.13.10

It was hard to not feel like a bit of an ass when, after trading phone calls disrupted by the relentless wind that perpetually haunts the coast here, Gena's hair dryer, and our general luck of never seeming to have a clear phone connection to talk through, Gena said off-handedly, "Well, I called my dad today, for you know..."

"For what?" I asked, immediately feeling like there was something I had missed.

"It's Father's Day." She laughed at me, already knowing my answer to her question, "Haven't you called your dad?"

Well shit. "No, I guess I should."

"You think I should get him something? From both of us?"

"Yeah, that'd be good."

"I was thinking of just getting him some beer."

I smiled, "Yeah, that sounds good."

So, calling my dad is on my list of things to do today, and I must say, it's probably the only thing on that list that doesn't feel like an obligation. Not that I worry it's going to hurt his feelings if I dont, we talk regularly enough, in fact, he's probably more up to date on my life and times here than just about anyone.

As I finished the mile and a half hike into town, and well into my exquisitely delicious breakfast at Clayton's, I fell into an on-going contemplation on a topic which I have wanted to write about for some time. Its basis was forged in the reading of David Gemmell's Sword in the Storm, followed by my own writing of a short story I titled Beautiful World, and my own aspirations and thoughts on what makes not only a good man, but a good father, and a good mentor. This idea, I've come to define as The Big Man.

David Gemmell's original Big Man was his character, Ruathain. A hulking celtic warrior who took it upon himself to raise his dead best friend's son, and rear him to unstoppable, uncontrollable, hell-raising manhood. Ruathain was a collossus of tempered fury on the battlefield, a virtual well of wisdom in terms of everything involving the pursuit of manhood, a loving father, and a devoted husband. Everyone, including his own wife, referred to him as The Big Man. It was a moment in both my emotional and literary growth that found root in my subconscious, and has since grown into one of the absolutes in my firm set of beliefs. Everyone needs a Big Man, and all men should strive to be one.

My own iconic image of The Big Man centers, as most of my masculine ideals do, on John Wayne. Growing up, he was my ultimate fictional hero, and still is, only he has some company now. When I think of The Big Man, I picture John Wayne, standing with his back to me on some hill, a campfire before him, silouetting his massive frame, head half turned enough to see his profile, a cigarette dangling from his weathered lips, cowboy hat pulled low, jacket collar pulled up high, his enormous hands buried in his pockets. What he is contemplating, I'm not sure, but I know it to be a myriad of things; the world beyond and what it offers, some lost love waiting for him beyond the horizon, the men out there who need a good ass kicking, and me, standing anxiously behind him. He half turns towards me as if to ask, So...you gonna saddle up with me?

Growing up, I was surrouned by proverbial Big Men, both literally (my dad is the shortest of the men in his family by a few inches, and he's a solid six feet), and figuratively. My grandfather is an enormous man, a college basketball star, a football and basketball powerhouse in the Army, and well into his adult life, lived about as hard as a man could live...starting his days at dawn, working all day in a solid manly job at a brewery, and partied his nights away, all the while being a good enough dad to raise three sons with good, tough heads on their shoulders. His larger than life presence and hulking frame are exceeded only by his ability to weave a good yarn. He's proud of himself, and he's proud of the things he's done, and he'll talk your ear off if you let him. At my sister's graduation, he held all of my friends in near rapture as he recounted the legends and lessons he's gathered in his life. He'll at once tell you a story so near to a tall-tale that you're sure he's pumping himself up for you, and end it with a self depreciating anecdote that lets you know he's a man who both takes himself none too seriously, but has a strong sense of self identity and humility. He's the original Big Man of my family, and conveniently bears a strong resemblance to John Wayne. There's little wonder as to why he was my hero growing up.

My uncles and dad are three guys that simply couldn't be more diverse in terms of interests and directions of life. My uncle Mike is a virtual template of all things manly. He's huge, with shoulders nearly as wide as he is tall, works twelve to fourteen hour days as an independent contracter, where throughout his career, he has worked almost entirely alone. When he's not building houses, he's out on a horse hunting. Growing up, he was almost unapproachable simply because he was so obviously many of the things I was not. I had no knowledge of wood, horses, or guns, and he wore cowboy boots at all times. In my eyes, he was the last living cowboy...and judging by the way he watches Lonesome Dove alone in the dark seemingly once a week, he'd give everything in his life to be just that. My dad has often said Mike was born in the wrong century, and I whole heartedly agree. He'd be much more at home living the life of a Texas Ranger in the Old West, living off what his horse and gun could provide him.

My dad was the direct opposite of Mike growing up. Books and games of strategy were his world, and thank god, because if not for him, I'd be quite a boring person. But despite his bookworm personality, he was a pretty solid athlete. Tough as nails as a wrestler, actually. When I hear his stories of what he would do to make weight, running around the gym in full sweats while everyone else enjoyed lunch, I know that at his age, I would never have had the self discipline to do that. In fact, I know it for a fact. I tried wrestling. It was miserable. Being good at wrestling requires a good deal of self control and self reliance. To face off against another person, one on one, with no teammates to rely on is pretty intense. I was much more comfortable on the football field, where if I made a mistake at defensive end, there was hopefully a hard nosed linebacker coming through to fix it. Nonetheless, there are many laughs and smiles at family gatherings when stories of my dad going fishing with Mike, and spending the time reading a book, most of the time not even bothering to put bait on his line.

My Uncle Dave, the youngest of the brothers, was a late bloomer. He was well under six feet tall up to the point of graduating high school, and then managed to explode up to a solid 6'4. He became a powerhouse of a volleyball player in college, and has continued to work out until his legs were the size of tree trunks. Being the youngest, he seemed to model himself off both his brothers equally. He's a die hard fisherman, nearly out-reads my dad (which I've found to be impossible, no matter how hard I try), taught himself carpentry, and is a school principle. I can only imagine how hulking and intimidating he must be if you are to fuck up in his school. The men in my family share a glare that can make your blood run cold (which they got from my grandmother, who is still one of the more formidable people I've ever met).

I've grown up in a family of Big Men. Big Men who are to a tee, almost entirely ruled by their wives...and I'm proud to say I've mostly followed suit. Whether intentionally or not, all of them have raised kids who are mentally tough, independent, and very aware of themselves and their identities...although, I'm probably a bit of a wild card, as I change identities like a girl changes clothes. Nonetheless, I'd still say that I've got my bearings on who I am better than most people.

Which brings me in the end, to a full appreciation of who my dad is, and the way he's raised me and my siblings. Despite working heavily most of his life, I was never short on "Dad Time". He brought me into his worlds of fantasy games and books, and his appreciation for a good war movie. I met all my fictional heroes and phillosophies through my dad, and learned a healthy respect for war and the men who fight it. Whether he meant to or not, he firmly established my desire and need to be a fighter, and as I managed to butt heads with nearly every person who ever saw things anything but my way through life, he's been a tireless mentor to me, acting as both a sounding board, and as a brick wall when I needed it.

He is, in all actuality, the toughest man I know. It started with something as simple as working two jobs to put both him and my mom through college, to when his at the time, best friend and boss hired someone else for a position my dad would have owned, he said fuck off, and moved us all to Ohio to start his own compnay. With some of the monumental set backs he's had the misfortune to befall him, I've never seen him waver in his beliefs or ability to maintain his place in our family as a fixture of solidarity. He has always provided a feeling of security in our family, and while being a shrewd businessman, has never wavered in taking his own calculated risks which most people would not dare to attempt financially. The times I've heard him raise his voice to a yell are few and far between, yet I've also found myself in his iron grip when I've crossed whatever lines he has placed. As I've grown into adulthood, I find myself appreciating more and more what kind of man he is. He's one of the few good men left, who will offer you sage advice while also never daring to tell you how to live your life. Whether it's in Joel's clear-charted course of financial success and well being, or my own wild escapes into the world of adventure and death-defiance, he's our most trusted mentor, and I know that to my sister, he is her ultimate guardian. Toughness is not something my dad portrays, it's something he silently carries and has demonstrated time and time again, and I feel that through him, I've found my own center of power. I hope that I too can face down all the demons of life as competantly as he has.

So, happy Father's Day, Dad. You're a Big Man.