Stupidly Idealistic

Yesterday was my mom and dad's anniversary. 34 years of marriage! The whole family went to church together (which could be a whole other blog post, but I'll spare everyone the usual ranting) and then drove downtown to this old "tea room", also known as a restaurant. We all packed in the family van on the way there, where my brother and I were in typical form by not getting them a card or anything, whereas my sister and her hubby were right on cue with a card and some restaurant gift cards. My mom always has to read greeting cards aloud, which can be quite annoying or hilarious, depending on your mood. So as she blabbed the words of Hallmark, I decided I would recite to her and my father an original greeting card message from the heart. It went something like this...

"Dear Mom and Dad,
Even with all the bickering, nagging, growling, and grinding of teeth you two have gone through in these many years, you must have done something right in all of it, because I still have this crazy desire to spend my life with someone. So thanks for staying together.
Love,
me"

Sweet card right? My brother followed with something equally clever and witty and probably funnier, but I still like mine the most.

I know love is probably written about more than any other subject in the world, but I think it's a lot simpler than anyone really cares to realize. It's all just a choice. Sure, there's attraction and infatuation and all that other crap that comes with romantic love, or common interests and sense of humor that comes with friendship, but the bottom line is we choose who we love. You don't have to love anyone. Plenty of people don't actually "love" their families. They just say it out of obligation, or in many instances never say it at all. I daresay that I don't actually "love" all my relatives. How could I when I don't even know them? I've chosen not to be a big part of their lives and they've done the same. It's not a big deal. Of course all this choice has to be mutual to really work, which I suppose is "the hard part".

My parents are constant proof that love is a lot simpler than so many people make it out to be. My grandparents the same; They recently celebrated 70 years together (I also forgot to give them a card). All they did was make a choice to be with the other person and one year after another rolled on by. I guess they just never got so caught up on all the other stuff; the "who am I" question, the "how can I forgive them" question, the "what are we" question, the "what do you believe" question, or the other fill-in-the-blank questions.

As the Avett Brothers say... "Decide what to be and go be it."

So I say to my friends, family, and random strangers out there...

Decide who to love and go love them

All Quiet

We've been busier than usual at the apartment; holding parties, movie nights, craft time. It's been a great couple of weeks with great friends, and as I look ahead to the next two weeks away from these people, I am reminded how crucial they are to my day to day life.

All that being said, today was a recharging day. I sat around on the couch fine-tuning my end of the year mix and eating whatever food was left in the fridge. I love these days and usually try to take a couple each week to stay balanced, but lately I haven't wanted to take as many. As I took Chester out on our walk around the block tonight, I was struck by the emptiness of our apartment and the surrounding streets. I'm sure the houses weren't as empty as they seemed, but it sure was quiet. The stillness of it all took me back to memories of living in Illinois and the solitude I experienced in North Georgia my first year teaching. Sometimes these memories can take me to the "dark side" - the sadness, the loneliness, the emptiness - all that crap. As weird as this may sound, I think extended periods of these feelings can lead to nostalgia. In both places (sometimes even in Athens), I used to go days without meaningful contact with people. The only conversations I had were the ones in my head and they weren't always cordial. You wouldn't think anyone would be nostalgic for those experiences, but when you consider the wide array of depressing music I own, you may be fooled.

As I reread some of what I just wrote, I hope it sort of makes sense, but my main point in writing all this is to say that I crave less of that "quiet time/dark side" these days, and I give all the credit to these friends of mine. I used to feel like I needed time away from people to keep from getting burned out on being social, but really, that's just because I've never had a circle of friends quite like this one. That's not to say I wouldn't want to add a few out-of-towners (perhaps from Texas) to the mix, or that newcomers aren't welcome, but I do want to say to TCH, LP, and the R brothers how much I appreciate your friendship and acceptance of everything "jim" this past year....


So please don't move...haha!

Let's Get Physical

Earlier today, I realized what was missing from my life. Sex. I had no idea. I always thought it was love, or intimacy, or something like that, but turns out it's just sex. Unadulterated sex. You think I'm joking, but it's true.

Everything I need is in my possession. I have an amazing circle of friends I can share anything with, I have a job that is fulfilling, I have an amazing family, a dog that's obsessed with me, a decent car, a great movie and music collection, I'm not fat, I'm not stupid, I have a macbook of course, and I have a roof over my head that is in walking distance to every place I want to go. So what's left?

Sex

The end.

How Easy We Forget

No, this is not a 9/11 post, but seriously...

I am struck with grief this morning and rather paralyzed with guilt. How do I get so stuck on myself when so many are far worse off than me? As our world leaders meet at Copenhagen over the next several days, I pray (yes, Jim said "pray") that some kind of meaningful change can take place in lives all over the world. I'll let the nine sets of pictures speak for themselves, but I can't help but quote Casablanca (cheesy I know, but true), "I'm no good at being noble, but it doesn't take much to see that the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world."

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/34114989/ns/news-picture_stories/displaymode/1247/?beginSlide=1

Culture Shock...the Suburban Way

I often tell people about the culture shock I experienced in my first few years teaching in low income schools. Last night, I got to experience another kind that was equally appalling and perhaps more disturbing.

Visiting my parents over the holidays is always nice. We sit around, talk, and drink coffee. If we go out, I try to suggest a local place or something with healthy options on the menu, but most of the time we just stay in. I am quite alright with this; however, this is not the case with visiting old friends who are in town for the holidays. Since it feels too juvenile to hang out at each others' parents' houses, we go out on the town...and by town, I mean shopping centers with corporate chains and terrible food.

Last night, we went to the Town Center Mall area, now known as Kennesaw. As high schoolers, we would go there all the time until the swankier mall opened near Roswell and we decided we were a bit too cool for putt putt. There were endless options for dinner, but we ended up at what was essentially a Scottish Hooters. The name of the establishment actually sounds like a quaint little pub that might have a decent beer selection...not so fast my friend. When the doors opened, we were greeted by a panorama of cleavage and Scottish plaid attire (or lack thereof).

From the moment we stepped in the door, I felt dirty. I didn't want to look anyone in the eye. It reminded me of my friend's bachelor party and for at least 5 minutes, I couldn't stop the awkward giggles. I ordered a few $5 beers that I could have got in Athens for $3 and diverted my eyes from the obvious and pretended to be really interested in the ESPN program on the huge TV. The food was pretty awful, but it was the objectification that was really sad.

From there, we decided to go to this other "pub" by the movie theater. Pool, shuffleboard, and smoking are the real highlights of this fine establishment. We did all but the latter. As it got later, we saw the regulars driving into the massive parking lot, lighting their cigarettes as they got out of the car, probably thinking they may actually have a chance with one of the slutty waitresses. I guess it's not any different than the scene in Athens. It just seems sadder because everyone is meeting up at a strip mall bar.

Now I know I sound all high and mighty now, but I really did have a nice time catching up with friends. At some point, I just have to shrug off my pretentiousness and accept...no, more like tolerate the culture. That's all it is...a different culture. I forget about the bubble I've made for myself in Athens. I can avoid whatever I want to avoid at any time. It's really a beautiful thing, but it can also blur your vision of the rest of American culture. The suburbs are not altogether a bad place and it's not impossible to have fun here (however a lot pricier) or do good things for others. I guess I just expect more from these people (my apologies for being judgmental). So many are "educated" and enjoy very comfortable lifestyles. Do they not know how good they have it?

In the end, I shouldn't be shocked. We're not that different. Neither one of us wants to get out of that cushy bubble we've made for ourselves and admit that we're no better than the other.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Disparity in Schools, Disparity in Life

I have much more to say about this topic (believe it or not) than I will post here, but I wanted to say something about last night before my mind floats away to some other anger/sadness-inducing topic.

Of all places to go on a Friday night, I went to a high school football playoff game in Jefferson, Georgia. Though I have never been one for school spirit during any of my tenures, whether it be my own high school days, college, or teaching days, I could not help but envy the atmosphere of the Buford vs. Jefferson 2nd round playoff game. There I was, standing amongst all these high schoolers and parents, wondering why the kids here get the privilege of such a fine spirited event. Sure, it's only football, but it felt more telling of the communities as whole. It's no secret that the school I work at is outmatched in nearly every athletic contest, but more upsetting is the lack of pride that exists in every facet of school life. Are athletics the only thing that boost student morale? Surely not.

Maybe I have a skewed view on all this. Coming from an over-privileged area, I may not have realistic expectations for what a public school should provide its students. On the other hand, I may know exactly what students all over this state deserve. They are entitled to a school atmosphere that brings them a feeling of self-worth, a curriculum that can offer a variety of options for their future, teachers that actually care about their well-being, and a facility that doesn't reek of sewage each morning when walking down the main hall to the first class of the day. Unfortunately, money is the only thing that can solve a majority of these problems.

I was fortunate that my parents made sacrifices to buy a house in a school district that could offer all these things. Sure they paid more in taxes (blah, blah, blah), but what did I do to deserve any of it? I lucked out. But must it always be luck that decides each person's future? A kid can't help it if his/her parents have nothing and can only afford a broken down trailer in rural Georgia. A kid can't help it if he/she lives with a parent who abuses them. The lives they "luck" into are sad enough. If anything, they deserve more encouragement than these pampered suburban brats who drink up all their milkshakes.

We see this all over the world. I realize it's even worse in other countries. I blog about this because I see it on a daily basis, but it's in all the issues; war, slavery, education, healthcare, world hunger, etc...

Bottom line - we are all human and we are no better than one another. I wish we, myself included, would remember this simple fact more often and treat each other accordingly.

Sadness

There are a lot of loud noises coming from various rooms of my life lately.

First, there is the TV and the talking heads that scream about deathcare and communism. I've gotten into the habit of watching these shows so that I can keep up with the news and when necessary, defend myself against hateful republicans...I mean conservatives...or whatever they are these days. If I'm in a really good mood, I may even watch the FixNews and laugh at how mad they are at everyone just to pat myself on the back for not being "one of them". ENOUGH ALREADY!!!

Last night, all I could do was watch and be sad. I think at some point, that is what's underneath it all. When you stop worrying about winning arguments and being right, you realize that there is just too much sadness in the world to bear. The sadness overtakes you when you least expect it. For me, it was the statistics they were giving on homeless veterans and veterans without adequate healthcare. Most people in my circle know that I am a pacifist (or at least try to be) and would be the last person to go out and wave a flag for the armed forces, but for some reason this issue hit me smack in the gut. I guess it's because I feel so sorry for those in the military. Many are there just to mindlessly follow in the footsteps of their family. For others, their circumstances often land them in the military just to make some money for college or to get out of trouble. Regardless of their reasons, I can't fathom how our government can be all into flag waving and lapel pins when time and time again, they leave the people that serve in their immoral wars on the streets. It's all very maddening, but I'm trying not to grind my teeth (I do enough of that in my sleep). I'm just saddened by it. Overwhelmed.

The second "noisy" room for me is my school, leaving children behind left and right and in so many different ways. I could go on for days about curriculum problems and why AYP stats are ridiculous, but lately it's the apathy and the absence of love that so many children live with at home that makes me sad. It's the student with autism that stares at you blankly. It's the dyslexic kid that looks at words on a page as if they were in a different language. It's the kid that has an IQ of 60 who doesn't know why the things he repeats from his parents are so racist. It's the quiet kid who lives without a mother and doesn't know any better about hygiene, trimming his fingernails, or wearing shirts that aren't dirty undershirts. I don't know what to say sometimes. What can you say? What can you do?

Legislators want all these kids to be the same as the honors kid, to go to college, to be a "valuable" part of society. Many of their parents expect the same thing. Really? Do they not see their limitations? Do they not see the kids' eyes when they don't get trig ratios or when they feel worthless because they can't remember the most famous Byzantine emperor (as if any of it really matters). It's the eyes that tell you. Some are just completely lost. Others are just hurt. The way these kids get treated by other teachers can be really shocking. Where has empathy gone? Why flood a kid that can't read with a load of reading activities? Common sense anyone?

There's also the flipside to some of these kids. There are plenty that can do just as much as the next kid, but don't have the drive. The apathy they have for school isn't the only thing that concerns me. Instead, it's their apathy towards life. We are teaching more and more children that just don't care about anything. Anything! They would rather play childish games on the Internet than do anything of value. The helpless feeling I have around them is what depresses me. I could be the coolest teacher in the world, the most encouraging, the funniest, the most genuinely concerned, but none of that makes a difference. It's a black hole sucking every good intention out of you until you're just...sad.

The third thing that saddens me (as if there needed to be more) is coming home. When friends ask me about work, I don't really want to get into it. I just avoid the topic to avoid the underlying sadness. I suppose it's what we all do one way or another. The kid that plays the childish Internet game probably does so to avoid the sadness he/she feels when they know they can't read the assignment given to them. The apathetic kid may be coming to school just to avoid his sorry home life and secure at least 2 meals a day. The drained teacher turns on the TV to the talking heads just to avoid the real problems underneath.

Sadly, the loud noises probably never go away. We just have to surround ourselves with loved ones that drown them out. I just wish there were more of them close by.

Lists

I haven't blogged in awhile and I'm really bored right now since most of my friends are out of town this weekend. So here's a little something all two of you out there can read...

Things I've been complaining about lately...

• the special education department at my school
• kids on the cross country team that don't train hard or just don't show up
• foxnews
• my coaching supplement
• the teams left in the MLB playoffs
• wet practices
• single-hood

Things I'm grateful for lately...

• Chester
• being employed
• I and Love and You
• Curse Your Branches
• that handful of Athens friends
• Troy coming in town
• oatmeal porters/stouts

What's that Obama?

I usually don't follow every little news story the intellectually disabled media spits out in my direction, but this beer meeting with Obama, Gates, and that racist police officer guy is ridiculous.

First of all, shouldn't the media be talking about the healthcare bill? Or maybe anything remotely important? Wouldn't it be nice if the American news outlets would just give us facts about healthcare reform instead of absurdly informing us of Michael Jackson's dead tiger's will, or bringing up this idiotic story about what beer Obama will be drinking?

But if we ARE just going to read about Obama's beer choice (and remain completely oblivious to the important things going on), why in the world would our president choose Bud Light. This is a man I thought I respected. Is he trying to appeal to Republicans by drinking this piss water, or perhaps trying to seem less of an elitist? Does he too have an advertising deal with Budweiser? Maybe the three of them should sit out on the White House lawn like frogs on lily pads eating flies with their tongues yelping "Bud"..."Weis"..."Errr".

I was wrong about you Obama. I let it slide when you wouldn't stand up for equal rights in the military, but my beer elitism doesn't quite know what to do with this...

Back to Reality

The traveling days are over for now. My brother and I took yet another trip to see ballparks and had some great times along the way. No brother blowups this year either, so that was nice. I'm really not in the mood to go detail by detail. I just wanted to leave this thought...


We were at Cedar Point Amusement Park the other day waiting in line for a rollercoaster. You get to stand there and listen to crappy music playing...and you can eavesdrop and hear ridiculous conversations...and then make fun of the people for their crappy graphic t-shirts or their stupid hats... OR... you could just stand in line and stop being such a critical ass. I find myself doing this far too often - slipping back into an elitist mindset. I'm sure we're all guilty of it at times and there's probably different levels of it as well, but it's a slippery slope. Pretty soon what happens. Do we just forget how to value our fellow human beings? It scares me to think that I can go to an amusement park with a bunch of "trashy" people and be annoyed by them, but yet I don't mind the same type of people that I teach day in and day out. In fact, I genuinely enjoy working with them most of the time. I had a similar dilemma when I thought about doing ministry. Why do we help people? What if there was no money in it?

Babies and Birthdays

I had one of those up-all-night-thinking nights last night. I have them a lot for random reasons, but I suppose this one was from it being the eve of my birthday. So cliché right? It’s been a fantastic birthday weekend up to this point. I share the weekend with such notables as Stallone, Dubya, America, and Ringo Starr. It’s a lot to be proud of…?

We spent the 4th in Boulder going to Avery’s tasting room and eating dinner on the Pearl Street Mall. Yesterday we drove into Denver, hung out at the huge REI, the 16th Street Mall, and knocked a couple brews back at the Breckenridge Brewpub. When we returned, we had some delicious food waiting for us out on the patio and most delightful of all was the DQ ice cream cake! It had been so long. I remember gazing at those glass cases full of unattainable cakes when I was a kid. Take that, childhood dreams. I’m not sure what today will bring, but it’s already been a great weekend to bring in the ol’ 2-7.


To most people, 27 is an age with no significant meaning. It’s one of those in between 25 and 30 that just doesn’t matter. To me, it’s always lingered in the back of my mind as a measure of “progress”. My dad was married by the time he was 27. Compared to others in their generation, they were a bit late to tie the knot. I even had it in my head that I wanted to be married and have kids well before 27 (as if it was a competition). Let me quickly add before anyone starts to think I’m marriage crazy, that it’s not so much the being married part that I’m going for. It’s more about feeling passionately about something or someone. I know plenty of single people who are equally passionate about their job or schooling as those friends of mine who are married. Unfortunately I’m not one of those people who can dive into their work and be satisfied…so I look for the other thing.

For the past several years, I’ve told myself that I don’t want to go through the “ordinary” (middle class) progression of life; get married, have kids, buy a house in the suburbs, but that’s just because it hasn’t happened yet. Let’s cut through the crap of cynical Jim and just admit that I want all those things, but maybe not the house in the suburbs. I’ve been hanging out here in Colorado with a great couple with a great house and a beautiful little girl. How do you not crawl around and play with a smiling little girl? Sure, they poop and cry sometimes, but so does everyone. They are quickly proving to me that marriage and a kid doesn’t have to suck.

So there. I said it. My secret is out. I’m 27 and suddenly I’m a sap who wants a wife and kid. But in all seriousness, I’m just a guy who wants life to feel less stagnant. Hopefully this year will bring some of that direction I’m craving.

I'm baaaaaaack

My brother and I are back for another episode of Colorado. This is my 4th time out here in 3 years. It's getting kind of ridiculous....or awesome! We are staying at our friends' house in Lafayette just outside of Boulder. They now have a baby (more on that later) and she is adorable. I absolutely love staying here. The weather is actually quite wet at the moment, but I loved waking up to the Colorado sunrise this morning. The air pours through our guest room window and I am instantly charmed by the beauty of the landscape. I took a run after breakfast. It didn't go so hot. Pete went with me, but really, we just left at the same time and ran separately. After 10 minutes I was seriously wondering if I had suddenly caught asthma. I managed 20 minutes more, but it was a pace even my 91 year old granddad would have chuckled at.

We are about to go see Wilco at Red Rocks and it may pour on us. I say bring it on. I'm crossing my fingers that this concert will beat the Arcade Fire show I saw a couple years ago. I think rain and tailgating can only enhance the performance. We'll see.


Oh and a note about traveling...

Flying makes me want to do a little waterboarding...Oh wait, no. I'm not an asshole...and I'm not a racist. I just really wanted to say that line. I thought of it on the plane and just couldn't help myself. It's really not that bad. There's inflight trivia that gets quite addictive. We played 11 rounds and for awhile, I had the highest score. Then some dick named "RAMM" beat it followed by a guy named "SAM". I finally was on my way to putting my name back on top of those a-holes when we had to land. Bastards!

Stay classy San Diego!

Belated Father's Day

Colorado has come and gone and there was a lot of talk about my "second family" and the acceptance I feel around them. Father's Day also came and went while I was out there, so I think now it's only fitting to mention my first family, whose activities may not have involved hiking trips, but whose love and acceptance of me has undoubtedly kept my head above water time and time again.

First of all, I must mention that Father's Day in our family is way down on the totem pole compared to Mother's Day. Every year, my mom's birthday either falls on Mother's Day or some day surrounding it. The combination makes it nearly impossible to avoid driving that traffic-filled hour and a half home to suburbia just in time for a nice dinner and of course, that Sunday morning church service where all the mothers parade around their long lost children (who probably have given up going to church mind you) to each other after the preacher tells some sermon about obscure women in the Bible who may or may not have been mothers at some point in their lives yet showed what it meant to love. Oh, how I love Mother's Days!

Father's Day doesn't quite compare. There's not a whole lot of high expectations placed on it. When I was younger, my sister or mother would usually find some piece of clothing or gadget at Macy's that would suffice as the present from the whole family, and then my dad would be forced to run to the store to pick up whatever meat was supposed to be put on the grill for lunch, all the while missing out on the one thing he wanted to do, which of course was to watch golf...and go in and out of sleep while doing so.

As we've grown older, Father's Day has improved only marginally. My brother and I still have years where we fall back into the habit of expecting our sister to do everything for us; the gift, card, eating plans. She's good like that. Sometimes we actually willingly go to church just to say I told you so when the preacher uses that all too familiar line about how "we should be the kind of fathers our Heavenly Father is to us," or even "on this Father's Day, we should really be honoring our Heavenly Father."

I'm still convinced that there's a self-help book preachers use to turn our American holidays into Christian messages with tightly packed allusions and 'can't miss' metaphors. Sorry I digress...

For the most part, my family has never put a whole lot of emphasis on special days or bombarding each other with gifts (with the obvious exception of the millions of toys we got in our cuter years that are now gathering dust in the basement), and even when we did, I always got the feeling that we just did it for the sake of doing it.

This year, I picked up my dad a couple of shirts from his Alma Mater on the drive back from Texas. There was nothing spectacular about the shirts and a year from now I'll probably forget all about them, but I must say how different it felt to actually give my dad a real gift on Father's Day. Maybe next year, I'll give him a wrapped gift.

Now to a lot of people, these Father's and Mother's Days are a big deal and my years of half-hearted gift giving would be scoffed at, but in my family we just don't care. Gifts are just extra. It's amazing really. Whether I'm driving through middle of nowhere towns on the highway or stuck in suburban traffic, I'll sit and think of all the hurting families out there, the broken hearts and broken homes that don't make it, and then I wonder why I get to be one of the lucky ones.

Colorado part 2

I’m back in the South. Boo. Yesterday, I spent much of the 12-hour drive through Texas thinking about how bleak and hopeless the desolate land made me feel. Today, I followed that up by driving 14 hours on I-20 through such lovely towns as Chunky, Mississippi and Moundville, Alabama. What am I doing here?


In Colorado, you can drive a short distance to one of the “14ers” and spend all day huffing and puffing your way up to the peak of a 14,000-foot mountain. Here in Georgia, I can go hike at the Botanical Gardens, or if I’m lucky, go test myself on the grueling climb up Stone Mountain. Please. Driving 2 hours to get to North Georgia is not out of the question, but it seems to deflate my spirits a bit.


I do this every summer. I go off to Colorado and dream of moving there. I tell myself it’s not practical to move just yet. I have loans. I have a good job. I have friends here. Family is close by. Can a new place really change my fortunes? Or is one’s attitude about a place enough to make meaningful change that translates to other areas of life?...


Well, we climbed Mt. Princeton the other day. At 14,197 ft, it’s not the highest mountain in Colorado, but it only needs a couple hundred more feet. I laugh at myself now for having such a “can do” attitude at the beginning of our hike. We were gradually going up on a nicely groomed trail when – POW! It was as if an avalanche had covered the entire trail, and the grade of the hike kept getting steeper and steeper. Obviously, we didn’t witness an avalanche, but there were a few times when our slipping and sliding on the rocks was going to cause a new one. Literally, we climbed over boulder after boulder. There was very little visible trail toward the top, so we just made up our own path through the rocks. I was the last of the three of us to reach. I was sitting on a rock just under the peak while the others were up top, when I saw a giant storm coming our way. I almost used it as an excuse not to finish, but instead it became the motivation to get the hell up there and then make a run for it going down. Earlier I had seen a small memorial near the top of the mountain about a woman who died getting struck by lightning just a few years ago, so that kind of loomed in my mind when little pieces of hail started to fall on us.

Needless to say, we survived. There was lots of foul language on my part on the way up, a little bit of dancing at the top, and lots of shaking in the knees on the way down, but I’m glad I can now say that I made Mt. Princeton my bitch! – ha!

Colorado part 1

It’s Monday night in Salida, Colorado. I’m sitting in a lawn chair by a stand-alone fireplace made of brick probably some thirty years ago. Troy has started a fire and the temperature is steadily dropping. I can hear the flow of the river just a few yards away and the cool breeze is starting to make the hair on my arms stand up.

We’re staying at a place called the Chateau Chapparal. It appears to be somewhat like a trailer park, but instead of sad desolate trailers, it is filled with all varieties of campers and RVs. Some people clearly have put a lot of money into their lot. Several places look like they started as simple campers and have since been renovated into full-fledged houses outfitted with large wood decks and porch swings. A lot of the residents are elderly and come during the summer, but I’ve also heard stories of people who live here all the time and just drive into Salida or Buena Vista for work everyday. One guy next door is the janitor at the local high school.

The lot that the Crain’s own is around thirty years old. Their little trailer is called the Lil’ Burrito and is perhaps one of the smallest campers on site. Troy’s grandpa bought it a while back and in the past few years, his dad has come to own the lot. His brother and sister have also bought their own lots here and are a bit nicer, but I’m loving the quaintness of theirs; having breakfast on the picnic table and sitting by a fire. It just feels more like camping when you actually spend your time outside. We are staying in Troy’s aunt’s camper. We’re on the floor while Matt and Roxie get the bedroom. There’s a bath house just a driveway away to take showers and do other bathroom things. I feel like I’m at summer camp and I love it. I only wish my family would have done things like this when I was younger. I guess there’s still time.

Oh yeah…how’d we get here? Troy had to work his usual 12-hour shift on Saturday, but threw caution to the wind and decided that we could drive all through the night to get here. I’m not really sure how we did it, but both of us stayed up all night and made it here in 12 hours. Our drive was not without incidents. We stopped in the middle of the road several times to look at stars, sit and gawk at the openness of the land, and of course stare at a random buffalo who was standing right at the edge of a fence. Oh and I can’t forget being stared down by a bull who had gotten loose in the street somehow.

When we got here, Troy’s family had pancakes waiting for us. We scarfed them down and immediately made plans for the day. We had no dinner and no sleep for the past 24 hours and decided…let’s go on a hike. We wandered just across the river on the trails back through the San Isabel National Forest searching for an Indian Campground. Troy’s parents had been hyping it up since we saw them in Texas. I’m still not sure what actual landmarks we were looking for to find said Indian Campground, but after 5 hours and a lot of off trail hiking, we decided to quit the search. It was sad not to find our destination, but the hiking was eventful enough. Most of the time we were climbing rocks and wandering aimlessly. Eventually we followed a creek bed into what looked like a bear’s den in hopes of meeting up with the river. On the way, we also saw mutilated animals, lots of bear poop, and then crept up on some rafters as they were relieving themselves, thinking they were off the trails (they were). The hiking was quite possibly some of the most strenuous I’ve done, but of course, that’s bound to happen when you’re not actually on a trail.


Well, there’s more to write, but the wind has gotten downright cold and a night walk to the river is in order.

The days ahead...

We still get to go... I’ll get to that soon

Texas has been great the last couple of days. Unbeknownst to me, Troy’s whole family was coming out here before their jaunt to Colorado. During a 14-hour drive, it was a pleasant surprise to suddenly arrange a stop at the Cracker Barrel in Monroe, Louisiana to eat dinner with my “second fam”. Seeing them and knowing we were all going to the same place gave me a nice little burst of energy to make it the rest of the way without dozing (as I so often do). We arrived pretty late a few days ago, and in the short time we were all together, we shared some great meals, beverages, and conversation.

There are very few places or people I’ve been around where I feel completely comfortable about all my insecurities or faults, and being with my “second family” is one of those times. I can’t seem to even analyze why I feel that way around them. I suppose it is just one of those things…or better yet, perhaps it’s just the rare feeling of being wholly and completely accepted for who you are. I hope I make people feel that way.

The last couple days have been incredibly relaxing. Troy and I played a little disc golf one morning, but most of the time, I’ve just been chilling out on their incredibly comfy couch watching their incredibly large TV. Of course, we’ve been doing our usual “beer tour”, where we go out and customize 6-packs of craft beer, and like I said before, meals have been wonderful.

Today had a little twist. I was hanging at the house on my own today while they were at work when another friend of mine called to go to lunch. I’ll call him Yeti. Yeti used to live in Athens briefly and we only knew each other for a short time. Our first impressions of one another were quite similar; I thought he was kind of a weirdo. He thought I was a jerk. We eventually got over all that stuff back in Georgia and hung out for part of yesterday.

It was an interesting list of activities…
1. Go off-roading in a jeep in a place where all the mud puddles smelled like sewage.
2. Drive downtown to go to the great vegan restaurant for lunch
3. Go to the gun shop

Here are my takes on them…
1. Most of my ‘country’ students are big into this activity, whether it be with a 4-wheeler or some ratty old truck. I usually make fun of them for it, but I guess I can see the allure of it all. It was rather interesting to see how well the jeep could maneuver itself over rocky terrain and sewage puddles. We didn’t go crazy and get all muddy, but I’m quite okay with that.

2. Yeti did not seem too excited about this one. I love the vegan restaurant here in Fort Worth. I would venture to say it is one of my favorite places to eat in the whole country. The menu has so many choices and everything I’ve had so far is delicious. I love being able to pig out at a place, feel stuffed, and lie to myself that it was all perfectly healthy. Unfortunately, Yeti thought the texture of the tofu was weird. I think the texture of chicken is weird. Touché.

3. Guns…I despise guns. I’ve heard all the arguments, but I don’t care. Yes, I’ve shot them before, but I just don’t get the attraction. I feel no “rush” when I shoot a gun. Instead, I feel like I’m about to kill something. I don’t want to kill anything, so I don’t shoot guns. Anyway, Yeti needed a part to his new rifle, so he took me to the gun shop. I had never been to a gun store, but rather than explaining my experience in words, I leave you these pictures…


I love the smell of raw sewage in the morning!


"Popping my gun store cherry" - Yeti






Guns don't kill people...Elephants kill people


Oh and by the way, we are going to Colorado after all in a few hours. We’ll drive back Wednesday. Three full days may not be the weeklong adventure I pictured, but if it’s Colorado, I’ll take it.

Another beginning...

Here I am on the eve of another traveling adventure. We just finished celebrating one of my friend's last nights in Athens. We had a good ole time at my favorite places, the Royal Peasant and Trappeze Pub. It's a real shame how we just found out about each other living in the same place just a month or so ago. More good times could have been had, but for now we settle for a few beers here and a few beers for the road as he goes back to Indiana to finish the old degree.

As for me, I am looking at a 14 hour drive in the morning. I have mixed feelings about the whole thing. I can't hide my disappointment that this trip, which originally included Colorado as the focal destination, is turning more into a week long venture in Texas. I spent a good portion of today on the floor wallowing and wishing that the trip could magically turn back into my dream trip, where we would be shouting the lyrics of whatever song was playing as we reached the snow capped peaks of the Rocky Mountains. Unfortunately, this is not going to happen and I've had to put some things into perspective...

This trip has never been about where I am going, but who I am going to see. If I should have learned anything in my life up to this point, it is the fact that people are a hell of a lot more important than places. My best friend lives in Texas. I happen to hate the state of Texas. Hate it. It is hot and full of cowboys, but there is one redeeming quality about it that I can't forget: I have friends there. I could whine all day about not going to Colorado anymore, or I could be genuinely concerned about why we can't go to Colorado. Obviously, there's a reason. Sometimes I wonder if my isolation and self-sufficiency here in Athens has blinded me to the troubles of my friends in other places. With all of my friends scattered all over the country, it's easy to forget that there's a whole lot of stuff going on in their lives too, not just mine.

I'm going to try to change a little bit this week when I'm out there. Who cares if it's crazy sweaty hot in Texas? Let's have a hell of a time honky tonkin' and cowboyin' up. I just want to get off of myself for a little while and care about people other than myself.

the day the music died...there was no american pie

Once upon a time, there was a boy. He was of no particular upbringing that made him anything special. Though privileged in comparison to so many in the world, he had no set direction in life, no lofty unattainable standards to meet. As the last of three children, he always aspired to be different. One day, he came to meet a young man who was just a year older than him. There was nothing peculiar about the meeting, but something about the encounter would change his life forever.

The older boy gave the young boy a ride home one night, and playing in his car was a kind of music, of which the other boy was unfamiliar. The music filled the night air of loud brass and heart-wrenching strings. It was nothing like the music boys their age typically listened to, and provoked a pain and agony that caught the boy’s attention like nothing had done before. It was the music of Mahler, of Shostakovich, of Stravinsky; romantic composers not yet heard of by the ears of a young, curious 15-year-old child. Though unknown to the effects of the music at the time, the young man would come to find that this one moment in his life would define him in a way that was unimaginable.

The young boy was an active member of the high school band and had both a brother and a sister go through long seasons of marching band and other related activities before him. For his age, he was already a pretty good trombonist. He practiced daily, took lessons here and there, and showed a commitment to excellence in his craft even before the life-altering moment. The music he heard that night was but a doorway to a world that would consume him. He began to purchase the works of these romantic composers and stayed up long nights listening to their masterpieces. While everyone else was blasting Britney Spears and the Backstreet Boys from their fancy car speakers in the high school parking lot, the young boy was shunning teenage conformity by blasting Mahler’s 6th Symphony and Stravinsky’s Firebird Suite from the feeble stock speakers of his hand-me-down Ford Taurus. The music inspired him. It moved him like nothing had done before. He had been to Christian youth rallies, to Dave Matthews concerts; He even thought he had been in love, but none of it compared to the music that screamed through his car and his veins. No baptism could compare with the soul-piercing feeling the music invoked in him.

At times, he tried to push it aside. He pursued love, like all teenagers, but when all else failed, he could fall back on the music. He tried to be like everyone else when moments called for it, but when it was needed, the music was there. Finally, he gave in to its call. He forsook his future plans of pursuing a business degree at his hometown college and tested the waters of a new path. He began to dream of playing in a real Symphony Orchestra. He had tasted it only briefly as a member of the area’s Youth Symphony and loved every moment. He imagined a life where the “everyday grind” was simply to perfect all-important excerpts of his favorite symphonies. It was late in the game to change his college plans, but he was able to audition for a more renowned institution that was out-of-state and in his mind, a better, more prestigious place to pursue his dreams. Perhaps his pride led him away from his home, or maybe it was just in the cards for him. Nevertheless, it caused his parents much sorrow and cost them even more while ostracizing a number of his friends. Though he appeared recognized the price, none of it mattered or could possibly stand in the way of his dream…

Fast-forward nine years… The young man is now without a dream. He is but a passionless drone trying to find meaning in the muck of it all. It’s uncertain what all happened to him in that span of time, but what you’ll find is a shell of what he once was. Was it burn out? Was it heartbreak? Was it homesickness? Perhaps all three? It only took a year for the boy to retreat, to give up on the one thing that was in tune with his soul. Long ago, he packed up his collection of classical recordings, his trombones, and his sheet music. Fortunately his love of music didn't completely subside. He pursued meaning in other genres of music, but none could capture his soul like the one discovered in what seemed so long ago to him now. He is but a critic, a connoisseur, an appreciator, not the performer and creator that he once was. So many things have happened in his life since those early days, instances of beauty and moments of sadness that may have forever swallowed that side of him. Will he ever rediscover the passion he once had?

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Talk about over dramatizing things, right? Honestly though, I’m not so sure. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the paths I’ve taken in my life. I have often made impulsive decisions that I look back on in scorn and embarrassment. Were they the right decisions? Were they somehow “meant to be”? If so, then were the things I chickened out on somehow predestined as well? Phooey. I often think I’ve made a right mess of my life, but then again who hasn’t?

Someone recently asked me if I was happy. Most of the time people answer this question as they do any other obsequious banter, but I take all questions like this quite seriously. I suppose I just got so tired of enduring my mother’s meaningless chitchat growing up that I have to rebel in the other direction. Nevertheless, the question is quite a loaded one and I answered as best I could at the time. I’ve been stewing over it ever since. “Am I happy?” I’m not unhappy, but I’m certainly not as happy as I could be, or have been in the past. That’s where that whole above post came from. After reconnecting with a couple old friends from the high school days, I started to reminisce on times when I truly could say I was happy. I don’t know if my memories of being involved in music have since been glorified or possibly misremembered, but I want to say that I was different back then; Still a cynical asshole and all, but I had a passion and drive to be better at something.

Since school let out for the summer, I have been extremely restless and antsy to get back on the road and travel. Most of my days are spent reading and watching movies with little human interaction. This undoubtedly produces all sorts of crazy psychobabble, overly analytical thoughts, and pounding headaches. I’m not really even sure why I’m posting this for all eyes to see, considering I have no idea who all may be stalking me out there, and due to its rather personal nature, but I am certain Chase would want to read these thoughts. So here you go man…

"Beautiful Days"

Today is one of those days with a translucent sky and 90 degree temperatures. Everyone is pondering how they should spend their time in this beautiful summer weather and revealing way too many details about their plans on facebook feeds - blah blah blah. Now at times, I am guilty of doing the opposite of everyone else just to be "that" guy, but on a "beautiful day" like today, I make a point to turn the apartment into a cave, turn out all the lights, sit on the couch, read a book, and listen to depressing music. Call me crazy, but I want no part of this scathingly hot, steam-producing, sweat-inducing HELL of a summer day (and it's not even summer yet). Absurd!

2 weeks til Colorado!!!

Money

"What troubles me lately are the several stories I just glanced at in the last couple minutes, all having to do with money. First of all, it appears that there is some weird crap going on with the finances of the school I work at. It's bad enough that our school is among the poorest in the state, but to hear about the powers at be hiding certain expenditures is a bit disheartening. Paying employees with gift cards? What the hell? Using student activity money for questionable purposes?

Speaking of school, I'm getting a little tired of people encouraging me to get a Masters in Education "because it's worth it". I'm sorry, but I don't believe in bull shitting my way through pompous professors' classes on teaching pedagogy just so I can get a little increase in income. I don't care if it pays for itself or not. I don't believe a Masters will make me a better teacher and I sure as hell don't need to become one of those teachers who works on their college courses when they should be working with their students. Mo' money? It's not worth my soul.

The second story that simply cracks me up is entitled "Will pot save our economy". I'm all for legalizing pot, but to make a push for it based on our recent economic state is hilarious. Will the financial benefits really make conservatives rethink their stance on this "heinous" drug? I really hope it does. I love being a witness to their hypocrisy. They make me feel like a better man.

Finally, the kicker of the night. It's really what brought on this post. Remember the Walmart worker who got trampled over the holidays? Well, it turns out that his life can be bought for a mere 2 million dollars. Yes, Walmart has apologized by throwing money at a problem, an incident that damaged their image. Now the trampling could have happened at any store over the holidays and I'm sure the same result would have come out of a Best Buy as well. I think the thing that kills me a little is that materialism killed this man, and materialism supposedly makes his death hurt less. What a country! Though we enjoy one hell of a standard of living, we still manage to be this blind to our own greed and selfishness.

..." he said as he typed on his Mac sitting in his comfy apartment, watching the Braves on cable TV, enjoying the air conditioning, petting his dog, all while reaching for another microbrew. Ughhh