Dear Anonymous,
There isn't a person in my life who I love or respect more. Not unlike many people who know you intimately, I admire you so much. However, I feel like my admiration for you is deeper rooted than most. I've seen and shared in much of the adversity you have. It's the type of adversity and dysfunction that makes people question their very self worth. I saw you question many things for many years. I saw you struggle with inner demons and battles that would have broken most..that I thought had almost broken you. And while you would probably be the first to admit you don't have the answer to every question or the solution to every problem, the balance you have achieved now in your personal life is something so inspiring to see. It's always tough living in your shadow. We are so much alike, I often view you as a better version of me. One not so rough around the edges, a version able to adhere to basic principles I struggle with, issues of ego, morality, common sense. I've never really been worried with "letting people down" with the exception of you. I sometimes think the world is judging me through your very eyes. When I truly stop and think about it, I know it isn't judgment that resonates through your eyes, it's unconditional love. I love you. The greatest way I could thank you for all that you've done is simply to love in the same fashion. I do.
Dear Anonymous,
I can say without hesitation that the most impacting and lasting emotional experiences I have had to date are ones that include you at the center. I learned more about myself in the time I spent with you than at any other point in my life. You truly brought out the best and worst of me. For a long time, I thought I would never get over the pain you caused me. And while I may be dramatic and emotional, you still have no idea the extent of the damage you did to me, I still don't quite understand. I thought that your stamp would forever be imprinted on my life, that my ability to love would be distorted as a result of you. To some degree I still think all of these things. Every time I truly feel I am healed and have emotionally recovered, you have a way of creeping back into my mind or my life, as if planting a reminder that I will never escape the control you still hold over me in my mind and in my heart. I let you control and hold something that no other person in my life has had access to, my raw emotion. No matter how negative the circumstances were, and no matter what type of pain you caused me, I will always look back at those times as the best memories and experiences I had. I'd trade the 90% negative for the 10% positive, and I'm not sure why. Probably because deep inside myself I think you were justified to some degree. I know you think you were; you never took accountability. My prior mistakes gave you the trump card over every mistake and betrayal you would make. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you. I just want to let go of you. I want to understand that I was young, and that my youth should not forever define me as an adult. I'm okay without you; I truly am. I'm better without you, but I still love you. I hate feeling incomplete and vulnerable and crazy, yet those are the overwhelming feelings attached to your name.
Dear Anonymous,
I miss you. I rarely admit it, and even rarely think it. Many days, it's not uncommon for you not to even enter into my mind. It's as if I live my life trying to forget you were once the biggest part of mine. And as cold as it makes me seem, I don't wish you were still here. I would only wish that if I thought you could be happy. But even when you were here, you weren't actually here. Your self struggles and dependency never allowed you to feel fulfilled with the things that should have made you feel complete. I still don't resent you for the decisions you made, no matter how selfish or poor they were. I think you knew the final decision you made in leaving would ultimately be the end for you. Maybe you didn't consciously set out for it, but I think you craved dysfunction, it was all you were used to and the only thing that filled your mind. I think you were okay leaving because, for whatever reason, you never really felt you were here to begin with. Did you really think your "home" held all the answers or any true significance? If "home" to you meant the things you valued most, then it's sad to think you didn't consider your home the place where we were. I'm not bitter, I'm really not. I never doubt you loved us all a great deal. I just know you loved yourself a little more, I can't necessarily blame you. I live vicariously though you more often than I should. You're a huge part of me, but you don't define me or what I will be. If people think I will turn out as your replica, they are wrong. I have your good qualities and probably even more of your less desirable ones, but I'm not you. I think for a long time you wanted me to be you. I think you wanted your flaws to resonate with me to make yourself feel less ostracized, more normal, a better person. But because you viewed your own self worth through me, I also saw how my successes were your successes. I saw how my good traits pleased because they were indirectly yours. I saw how you favored me as a result of these things, and I also saw how you took out your life's frustrations on your daughter, because to you, she was the personification of your husband and everything negative you had experienced as a young woman. No child should have to deal with that unfair and unwarranted stigma. We were only children but you perceived us as an outlet for your emotion and distress. I miss you. I wish you could have seen your granddaughter, and while I have no true basis for thinking this, I think she might have given you a reason to change even more so than your own children. Maybe you couldn't change.
Part 2 Coming Soon.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Prestige Worldwide Presents: Bigger Biceps, Smaller Social Network
I've spent the last two months hibernating from society. That isn't altogether much different from my normal interaction with people, but the last two months have been a defining point for me in terms of seclusion. Bears look at me with envy knowing they can't even hibernate as long as I have. I look at them jealous of their fur coats, knowing that I can't grow a beard a 12 year old would be proud of. I seriously might write a blog in the near future solely devoted to my facial hair and the challenges it has presented me in my life. It's the number one reason my ethnicity and citizenship are questioned on a semi regular basis. However, in the last two months I have actually tried to blog several times. I know no one cares (except Ashley...you get a shout out), but while I was trying to literally hide my face from society, I still wanted to get my words and thoughts out there to and achieve some semblance of being normal and social. In the last two months, I have started four or five blogs, failing to complete any of them. I won't get into the various reasons why, but most of them involved the same topic of theme. And while I thought I was at a point where I could write about it, apparently I can't. Without divulging what I'm talking about, simply know it was the single most difficult thing I've had to write about. I was also trying to think of things to blog about other than that. I obviously didn't think of anything good. I've had a two month long case of "kind of a writer's block". I'm not a writer by definition, and the only true block I've been a part of in the last two months was being accused of being a "cock block" to a buddy. In all seriousness, besides the lack of talent I possess as a writer, I know writing could never be a vocation because I imagine every writer (male and female) at some point grows a huge beard. I imagine every writer at some point in their life holes up in some cabin for two and a half years working on that "project", whatever it might be. And they don't shave the entire time. I simply cannot be a writer because after three years locked up in a cabin, I would come out and people would ask me to wash the dirt off my upper lip. They would confuse my thin wispy mustache and beard for ants or something.
I posted something on facebook a week ago stating that I wanted to be more social. It wasn't the "I'm gay" announcement people have been expecting, but it's actually probably just as shocking. For some odd reason, people that don't really know me think I am this wild and crazy kid, partying into the night 7 days a week and living in a bachelor pad. I've possessed this weird quality all my life where in a social setting, I can be incredibly fun to be around. I hate using this term, but I can be "the life of the party". I can be a fun and likable person and genuinely have a good time. People often confuse me for being drunk when I've had little to nothing to drink simply because in that setting I change and become a different person. However, naturally, I'm a very shy and reserved person. I don't really enjoy the company of other people. I genuinely prefer doing things alone most of the time, it's just the way I'm wired I suppose. But it's also very somber and depressing. I have a great group of friends that I actually rarely socialize with or hang out in a social setting with. To almost all my friends, I'm the friend they would associate with responsibility and serious natured discussions. I'm not just "one of the guys". And I want to be, I wish I was. I almost wish people's opinions of me were held in a lower regard where people weren't constantly trying to meet a certain standard around me.
So, I have decided that I want to be more engaging. I want to be more social. I almost want to hire a coach and show me what this all entails. I don't quite know where to start. The two places I spend most of my time are my work and the gym. My work is the bane of all things social. It is solitary confinement with beds instead of guards and restraints. And while I actually have a great network of people I am "friends" with at the gym.....it's still the gym. They are mostly "gym friends". If the extent of my friendship is built around you spotting me lifting weight, it's probably not the deepest of friendships. What kind of gets me down and makes me want to abort the mission before I even start it is the thought that my schedule and life is not built around accommodating going out and being social and having fun. What time do I have? I work a job in which a 9 hour shift is considered a short work day, and where getting home by 9:30 is exciting to me because I still have my night free....to go to the gym. Most people build a solid network of friends through their workplace. I work by myself and in a company where, up until a year ago, I was the youngest employee in the company. The average employee here is 48 years old, overweight, a drug addict and a racist. If they only had 3 out of 4 of those qualities, we might be on to something, but all 4 is pushing it as a close buddy of mine.
What I have decided is that all the reasons I have to remain in my current situation are simply excuses to not change and to be complacent. I can change whatever aspects of my life that aren't pleasing to me. I don't know where to start, but I'll start all the same. Without this sounding like a poorly written inspiration speech from "The Patriot", I'll conclude by simply asking:
Who's Going Out Tonight?
(see you at the gym)
I posted something on facebook a week ago stating that I wanted to be more social. It wasn't the "I'm gay" announcement people have been expecting, but it's actually probably just as shocking. For some odd reason, people that don't really know me think I am this wild and crazy kid, partying into the night 7 days a week and living in a bachelor pad. I've possessed this weird quality all my life where in a social setting, I can be incredibly fun to be around. I hate using this term, but I can be "the life of the party". I can be a fun and likable person and genuinely have a good time. People often confuse me for being drunk when I've had little to nothing to drink simply because in that setting I change and become a different person. However, naturally, I'm a very shy and reserved person. I don't really enjoy the company of other people. I genuinely prefer doing things alone most of the time, it's just the way I'm wired I suppose. But it's also very somber and depressing. I have a great group of friends that I actually rarely socialize with or hang out in a social setting with. To almost all my friends, I'm the friend they would associate with responsibility and serious natured discussions. I'm not just "one of the guys". And I want to be, I wish I was. I almost wish people's opinions of me were held in a lower regard where people weren't constantly trying to meet a certain standard around me.
So, I have decided that I want to be more engaging. I want to be more social. I almost want to hire a coach and show me what this all entails. I don't quite know where to start. The two places I spend most of my time are my work and the gym. My work is the bane of all things social. It is solitary confinement with beds instead of guards and restraints. And while I actually have a great network of people I am "friends" with at the gym.....it's still the gym. They are mostly "gym friends". If the extent of my friendship is built around you spotting me lifting weight, it's probably not the deepest of friendships. What kind of gets me down and makes me want to abort the mission before I even start it is the thought that my schedule and life is not built around accommodating going out and being social and having fun. What time do I have? I work a job in which a 9 hour shift is considered a short work day, and where getting home by 9:30 is exciting to me because I still have my night free....to go to the gym. Most people build a solid network of friends through their workplace. I work by myself and in a company where, up until a year ago, I was the youngest employee in the company. The average employee here is 48 years old, overweight, a drug addict and a racist. If they only had 3 out of 4 of those qualities, we might be on to something, but all 4 is pushing it as a close buddy of mine.
What I have decided is that all the reasons I have to remain in my current situation are simply excuses to not change and to be complacent. I can change whatever aspects of my life that aren't pleasing to me. I don't know where to start, but I'll start all the same. Without this sounding like a poorly written inspiration speech from "The Patriot", I'll conclude by simply asking:
Who's Going Out Tonight?
(see you at the gym)
Friday, October 1, 2010
Prestige Worldwide Presents: Unprotected Sex Leads to Cute Faces
Every single parent has a few common traits that simply come with the territory and responsibility of being a parent. One of these is the genuine thought that their child is the best/coolest/smartest/cutest etc of all children. This cannot be helped. The reason I specified it as "genuine" is because people who aren't parents might wonder if parents are playing this reaction up to simply look or feel like a good and nurturing parent. Nope. We truly believe our kid is superior to every other kid in existence, even kids with super powers in comic books. Even terrible parents who do despicable things like throw their new born children in garbage cans think they have the cutest kid. It takes an amazing amount of unconditional love and euphoric thinking to look at an ugly child and truly think it beautiful. This may be the part where someone thinks "there are no ugly children!!!". Notice the heavy use of exclamation points. These people are yelling at me with their minds. But when Adam and Eve committed the first act of sin in the garden, two things happened. Being naked was no longer socially acceptable and children could be ugly. I swear, look it up....ya know...in the Bible? The unfortunate truth is that there are some ugly children. This makes sense, because there are also ugly adults. Beautiful children do not suddenly morph into hideous adults. It's okay though, I still love all children. It isn't their fault they weren't the beneficiary of great genes. They still have an abundance of great qualities and are still amazing kids. I think it's safe to assume everyone reading this has been around parents with their newborn child, meeting them for the first time and having no idea what to say. The normal response is, "Oh, look at *insert gender*! Isn't *insert gender* adorable?". But when the instance takes place in which you are standing next to the offspring of Alien Vs Predator, it is a natural reaction where your mind goes blank. You might say something along the lines of, "Oh! Isn't that something? It's blinking." The point of this is not to bash children. As previously stated, I have an affinity for children. Not in the way the creepy guy with the mustache does driving the 1996 Chevy cargo van around parks. In a really genuine "I would fight anyone who tries to mess with a kid and I learn something every time I'm around a kid that makes me appreciate life" way. But in the aforementioned instance when you are around that ugly kid, knowing it's ugly yet trying to be polite, the parent looks upon that child with an entirely different and wonderful perspective.
Everything I just stated I read from a book. I wouldn't know. This is because, even though I am a parent and am wired to adhere to the biased parental tendencies, I simply do not have to. I am able to view my daughter from a third party perspective and observe her for what she truly is: The World's Coolest Person. Notice I didn't say "kid" or "child". Nope. Her level of coolness transcends children and runs over into the human race. If she wasn't would how I love or treat her every change in the slightest? No, it wouldn't. That love is unconditional in every sense of the word. But lucky for me, Aubrey is an amazing blessing who simply captures every amazing quality I would want in a daughter. I shied away from writing about her for a long time for a few reasons. Partially because to write about her is to face many self fears and doubts I have about myself as a father. The fact that I am not the prototypical dad is something that saddens me on a deep level. I sometimes don't even tell people I have a kid, not because I am ashamed or embarrassed. Quite the opposite. Talking about her reminds me of the fact that I am not there for her in the way I want to be. I know I am involved in the capacity I can, and that I know she knows me as her father and feels love and guidance from me, but seeing her so infrequently is one of the toughest things I have had to face in my life. Another reason I was hesitant to write about her was the feeling that my writing and words would be incapable of describing her adequately and would do her no justice. I'll go for it though....
I think the most amazing part about her is her uncanny ability to blend together so many characteristics in one three year old mind and body. I often spend time with her amazed she is only three. Not only because she is incredibly smart, but because she has the eyes, the thoughts, the mannerisms of someone much older and wiser. She is no doubt an old soul. Sometimes I'll look at her when she doesn't notice me and just observe her thinking. It doesn't look like a three year old thinking. It looks like Yoda does before he is about to battle with the force. Her eyes resonate with some type of wisdom, and sometimes when she looks at you she gives you an expression like she knows more than you ever could. But as much as a sage as she is, she is also very much a three year old girl. The ability to truly capture both elements is truly inspiring and amazing to watch.
Being a three year old must be exciting. She sure makes it desirable to want to be one again. Her sense of imagination and ability to create in her mind is remarkable to me. Yes, she is brilliantly smart, but she also loves to have tea parties. She loves pretending to make juice and tea and brownies, and any other food. And you know what? Every flavor is strawberry. Just deal with it, strawberry soup isn't nearly as bad once you have make believe tried it with her. She loves cartoons and pictures books, yet she will also sit with a book and fill its pages with her own story and words incredibly detailed.
Although easier to say in hindsight, I am glad my first child was a girl. There is a bond between father and daughter that is different from any other type of bond one could experience. I love love love the fact that she is a girl in every definition of the word. She's a girls girl. Not that there is anything wrong with being Tom Boy, I simply always wanted a girl who wanted to be a princess (which is her future vocation if you ask her). Girls that like to hike and wrestle alligators just kind of frighten me. I can barely climb a tree, I don't need some 10 year old girl with a bandanna showing me up, thanks. I was parked by a Citgo gas station earlier today and saw what I previously only thought possible in the South. I saw a group of umm...let's call them "white trash folk" having a tailgate party....in the gas station parking lot. It was exactly how you would imagine. A group of 4 or 5 guys wearing overalls, confederate flag shirts, grilling out of the back of their pickup trucks hooting and hollering singing "Dixie" This isn't exaggerrated at all. They had small 8 inch televisions with kickstands, probably black and white, I don't know. They were in a gas station parking lot, I'll never get over that. Their trailer probably didn't have reception for the tvs. Knowing I have a girly little girl means I'll only have to worry that she might date one of these folks in the future, not the possibility she might join them for a tailgate, for a deer hunting trip, or dating.Aubrey loves to play dollhouse, play dress up, have tea parties, sing and dance and conduct herself like a princess. That's fine by me.
Yet as much as she is a girly girl, she is also incredibly independent. She will ask incredibly inquisitive questions without any prompt from me, as if she has been thinking of the answers for days on end waiting for an opportunity. She will go off and interact with people that she has never met before, introducing herself with great tact and maturity and start engaging in a conversation with them. She will think of her own things to do, ask for company when she wants it and ask to do things by herself when she deems it necessary. I am the over protective father extraordinaire and often stand right by her side while she performs any task that might be considered slightly dangerous or new to her. Many times she will just look at me then remind me she is big enough or smart enough or strong enough or a good enough climber to do whatever she is doing without me at her hip. She will politely ask me to give her space and attempt to be a kid on her own. As adventurous and independent as she is, there are also many times she crawls into my arms looking for protection and comfort. While we play games, often times she will take on the role of helpless vixen, as she calls me to be her protector and save her from the invisible foes that try to capture her. She loves cuddling with her daddy when she longs for affection and looks for opportunities to smother me with hugs and kisses.
I could go on and on about her and fill pages and pages. Her personality is so complex it almost scares me, in a good way, but nonetheless can be unnerving. I wonder if she possesses not only my good qualities, but also my darker and less desirable ones. But If being with her has taught me one thing, it is that she is her own person, even at three years old. I can already see her potential far outshines my own and that she will be as wonderful an adolescent and adult as she is young child.
She is inspiring.
She is creative.
She is smart and sassy
She is incredibly beautiful and freckled.
She is three.
She loves strawberries.
She is my daughter.
I love her.
Everything I just stated I read from a book. I wouldn't know. This is because, even though I am a parent and am wired to adhere to the biased parental tendencies, I simply do not have to. I am able to view my daughter from a third party perspective and observe her for what she truly is: The World's Coolest Person. Notice I didn't say "kid" or "child". Nope. Her level of coolness transcends children and runs over into the human race. If she wasn't would how I love or treat her every change in the slightest? No, it wouldn't. That love is unconditional in every sense of the word. But lucky for me, Aubrey is an amazing blessing who simply captures every amazing quality I would want in a daughter. I shied away from writing about her for a long time for a few reasons. Partially because to write about her is to face many self fears and doubts I have about myself as a father. The fact that I am not the prototypical dad is something that saddens me on a deep level. I sometimes don't even tell people I have a kid, not because I am ashamed or embarrassed. Quite the opposite. Talking about her reminds me of the fact that I am not there for her in the way I want to be. I know I am involved in the capacity I can, and that I know she knows me as her father and feels love and guidance from me, but seeing her so infrequently is one of the toughest things I have had to face in my life. Another reason I was hesitant to write about her was the feeling that my writing and words would be incapable of describing her adequately and would do her no justice. I'll go for it though....
I think the most amazing part about her is her uncanny ability to blend together so many characteristics in one three year old mind and body. I often spend time with her amazed she is only three. Not only because she is incredibly smart, but because she has the eyes, the thoughts, the mannerisms of someone much older and wiser. She is no doubt an old soul. Sometimes I'll look at her when she doesn't notice me and just observe her thinking. It doesn't look like a three year old thinking. It looks like Yoda does before he is about to battle with the force. Her eyes resonate with some type of wisdom, and sometimes when she looks at you she gives you an expression like she knows more than you ever could. But as much as a sage as she is, she is also very much a three year old girl. The ability to truly capture both elements is truly inspiring and amazing to watch.
Being a three year old must be exciting. She sure makes it desirable to want to be one again. Her sense of imagination and ability to create in her mind is remarkable to me. Yes, she is brilliantly smart, but she also loves to have tea parties. She loves pretending to make juice and tea and brownies, and any other food. And you know what? Every flavor is strawberry. Just deal with it, strawberry soup isn't nearly as bad once you have make believe tried it with her. She loves cartoons and pictures books, yet she will also sit with a book and fill its pages with her own story and words incredibly detailed.
Although easier to say in hindsight, I am glad my first child was a girl. There is a bond between father and daughter that is different from any other type of bond one could experience. I love love love the fact that she is a girl in every definition of the word. She's a girls girl. Not that there is anything wrong with being Tom Boy, I simply always wanted a girl who wanted to be a princess (which is her future vocation if you ask her). Girls that like to hike and wrestle alligators just kind of frighten me. I can barely climb a tree, I don't need some 10 year old girl with a bandanna showing me up, thanks. I was parked by a Citgo gas station earlier today and saw what I previously only thought possible in the South. I saw a group of umm...let's call them "white trash folk" having a tailgate party....in the gas station parking lot. It was exactly how you would imagine. A group of 4 or 5 guys wearing overalls, confederate flag shirts, grilling out of the back of their pickup trucks hooting and hollering singing "Dixie" This isn't exaggerrated at all. They had small 8 inch televisions with kickstands, probably black and white, I don't know. They were in a gas station parking lot, I'll never get over that. Their trailer probably didn't have reception for the tvs. Knowing I have a girly little girl means I'll only have to worry that she might date one of these folks in the future, not the possibility she might join them for a tailgate, for a deer hunting trip, or dating.Aubrey loves to play dollhouse, play dress up, have tea parties, sing and dance and conduct herself like a princess. That's fine by me.
Yet as much as she is a girly girl, she is also incredibly independent. She will ask incredibly inquisitive questions without any prompt from me, as if she has been thinking of the answers for days on end waiting for an opportunity. She will go off and interact with people that she has never met before, introducing herself with great tact and maturity and start engaging in a conversation with them. She will think of her own things to do, ask for company when she wants it and ask to do things by herself when she deems it necessary. I am the over protective father extraordinaire and often stand right by her side while she performs any task that might be considered slightly dangerous or new to her. Many times she will just look at me then remind me she is big enough or smart enough or strong enough or a good enough climber to do whatever she is doing without me at her hip. She will politely ask me to give her space and attempt to be a kid on her own. As adventurous and independent as she is, there are also many times she crawls into my arms looking for protection and comfort. While we play games, often times she will take on the role of helpless vixen, as she calls me to be her protector and save her from the invisible foes that try to capture her. She loves cuddling with her daddy when she longs for affection and looks for opportunities to smother me with hugs and kisses.
I could go on and on about her and fill pages and pages. Her personality is so complex it almost scares me, in a good way, but nonetheless can be unnerving. I wonder if she possesses not only my good qualities, but also my darker and less desirable ones. But If being with her has taught me one thing, it is that she is her own person, even at three years old. I can already see her potential far outshines my own and that she will be as wonderful an adolescent and adult as she is young child.
She is inspiring.
She is creative.
She is smart and sassy
She is incredibly beautiful and freckled.
She is three.
She loves strawberries.
She is my daughter.
I love her.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Prestige Worldwide Presents: Nice to Meet You, I'm George. Pardon This Blade I'm Holding,
Disclaimer: This blog won't be funny.
My guess is that half of the people who normally read my blog will stop reading after that header.
Disclaimer 2: The people who remain reading will most likely be insulted either directly or indirectly by me in this blog.
Great, now that we've settled that, we can continue. Normally when I start a blog, I have already been inspired to write something and have detailed a general plan or outline for it in my mind before my fingers ever approach a keyboard. I made a promise to myself when starting this, that I wouldn't simply write something to write something. I told myself that the time between blog entries would never be a factor in me formulating a blog, and that I would wait for a topic of interest that I felt I could write about with passion and inspiration. This blog is no exception; however, my inspiration for this is a lack of inspiration by my part. After people read this, I imagine they will think I'm in a pretty negative place right now. However, that isn't the case. I'm no more depressed or negative than I would be any other day, in fact, probably less. My first few blogs have been created with the intention to entertain. While the premise of each has a strong level of truth behind it, things are exaggerated or slightly modified to enhance the story. But I wanted this entry to be more about intraspective thought and reflection. I want to try to find something out about myself through brutal honesty in the hopes that, through my own words, I can see a side of myself I normally do not.
Every so often there is some element to my life or personality that could be described as genuine. Some reaction or emotion that has the stamp of an authentic and positive me etched on it somewhere. But for the most part, what I perceive myself to be is a persona. I used to crawl into the role of being the "George" that I thought people wanted to see. I always knew being me required some level of expectation behind it, though I could never understand the "why" behind it. Things like "potential" and "future" and "talent" are vague and self serving to those who expect it from someone else. For a lot of my youth I was selfless in fulfilling the role that people thought I should be. I then went through a phase easy to predict and ever easier to dissect where I rebelled against that false self. I firmly believe life is about achieving some type of balance in every facet of it. Extremes, regardless of which side of the line they fall towards, are hard to sustain and typically damaging to the self. When we see someone in society that has tendencies that could be described as "extreme" we automatically think something is wrong with them. Even if someone is extremely happy or positive or religious or whatever the case might be, something seems off. Just as much so as if they were an extreme sadist or murderer or slacker. Balance is the key to everything. So when I decided to no longer be the persona of George that people wanted me to be, I became the George that everyone wished I wasn't. My fall from grace wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been, something I am grateful for. I never got into drugs, violence, crime. I kept my head above water with academics, held on to a strong group of friends, and was still functional on a day to day basis. But regardless, I went out of my way to provoke people, hurt those close to me, and make mistakes. Looking back, I obviously had pent up resentment towards the person I thought I was being forced to be and was acting out. That is easy to identify from anyone who has any basic understanding of the principles of psychology. But I also did some of the things I did to purposely feel dysfunction and self chaos. I wanted to genuinely relate to a side of my mother that I previously had not. Her mental illness and traits might be hereditary, but I wanted her actions and mistakes to become the same. I wanted to relate to her rather than rationalize for her. I wanted to experience her mistakes through my own eyes and experiences rather than have to frown upon them.
The place that I'm at now in my life is different from the false selves I used to rely upon. It is, what I believe to be, a more genuine self, though not a better version necessarily. What I have come to firmly believe is that people do not hold my interest. People often misinterpret this as being depressed or angry, when in actuality, I am simply bored with people I constantly come in contact with. This is something that I used to hide, my general dislike for the vast majority of the population. And while I don't try to go out of my way to be rude or cold shouldered, people can tell as clearly as if I was wearing a shirt that read something like, "If you're reading this I'm not too fond of you." I have that vibe, and this saddens me. I was in a Borders today and walked by a woman who was in line for a coffee based beverage. She wasn't in my way at all, and she did me no injustice of any kind, but when I walked by her she apologized. I think she could tell I didn't like her kind (the human race) and was apologizing for being alive.
There is a dark side to my personality, and it is filled with these types of thoughts. What I have tried to realize is that these negative thoughts do not necessarily define me as a person. That I can still think these things sometimes but be inherently good. ....I'm not too sure yet. I know most of my problem with how I perceive others is rooted in the way that I perceive myself. I am bored with people because I think I am somehow unique or special. I often think no one could relate to me because they cannot possibly be wired the same way as me. This has nothing to do with pity and everything to do with insecurities and ego. I can easily look at other people's situations and understand their situation is far worse than anything life has ever handed me. I don't want others to pity me at all actually. I just simply think my complexities run so deep that others could not grasp the full realm of what and who I am. These are delusional thoughts of grandeur, and while I understand they are not true, I also think they are true. That principle of holding a thought to be both true and untrue simultaneously is called "double think." George Orwell talks about it heavily through his characters in his classic: "1984".
I need to change my attitude. I know this much. I often feel like menial and everyday tasks are beneath me. That I shouldn't have to do anything unless I am inspired by something in a powerful and moving way. My problem is I am looking for inspiration in all the wrong places. My favorite movies, songs, and pieces of literature all have common themes in the fact that they challenge people about the very morality of life and deconstruct the common values of man. I like these because they share my common pessimistic approach to the world. Why do I choose to use these tools as inspiration rather than the miracles I have been given?
I'm not unique. I'm beginning to be okay with these. If being ordinary presents me with opportunities to bless those around me extraordinarily, then I am okay with this. I want to spend my thoughts and time towards being the best person, best friend, best father, best son, best brother, best version of myself that I can be. If I lack inspiration, then trying to become a version of myself that can trump all the others, should be all the inspiration I ever need.
My guess is that half of the people who normally read my blog will stop reading after that header.
Disclaimer 2: The people who remain reading will most likely be insulted either directly or indirectly by me in this blog.
Great, now that we've settled that, we can continue. Normally when I start a blog, I have already been inspired to write something and have detailed a general plan or outline for it in my mind before my fingers ever approach a keyboard. I made a promise to myself when starting this, that I wouldn't simply write something to write something. I told myself that the time between blog entries would never be a factor in me formulating a blog, and that I would wait for a topic of interest that I felt I could write about with passion and inspiration. This blog is no exception; however, my inspiration for this is a lack of inspiration by my part. After people read this, I imagine they will think I'm in a pretty negative place right now. However, that isn't the case. I'm no more depressed or negative than I would be any other day, in fact, probably less. My first few blogs have been created with the intention to entertain. While the premise of each has a strong level of truth behind it, things are exaggerated or slightly modified to enhance the story. But I wanted this entry to be more about intraspective thought and reflection. I want to try to find something out about myself through brutal honesty in the hopes that, through my own words, I can see a side of myself I normally do not.
Every so often there is some element to my life or personality that could be described as genuine. Some reaction or emotion that has the stamp of an authentic and positive me etched on it somewhere. But for the most part, what I perceive myself to be is a persona. I used to crawl into the role of being the "George" that I thought people wanted to see. I always knew being me required some level of expectation behind it, though I could never understand the "why" behind it. Things like "potential" and "future" and "talent" are vague and self serving to those who expect it from someone else. For a lot of my youth I was selfless in fulfilling the role that people thought I should be. I then went through a phase easy to predict and ever easier to dissect where I rebelled against that false self. I firmly believe life is about achieving some type of balance in every facet of it. Extremes, regardless of which side of the line they fall towards, are hard to sustain and typically damaging to the self. When we see someone in society that has tendencies that could be described as "extreme" we automatically think something is wrong with them. Even if someone is extremely happy or positive or religious or whatever the case might be, something seems off. Just as much so as if they were an extreme sadist or murderer or slacker. Balance is the key to everything. So when I decided to no longer be the persona of George that people wanted me to be, I became the George that everyone wished I wasn't. My fall from grace wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been, something I am grateful for. I never got into drugs, violence, crime. I kept my head above water with academics, held on to a strong group of friends, and was still functional on a day to day basis. But regardless, I went out of my way to provoke people, hurt those close to me, and make mistakes. Looking back, I obviously had pent up resentment towards the person I thought I was being forced to be and was acting out. That is easy to identify from anyone who has any basic understanding of the principles of psychology. But I also did some of the things I did to purposely feel dysfunction and self chaos. I wanted to genuinely relate to a side of my mother that I previously had not. Her mental illness and traits might be hereditary, but I wanted her actions and mistakes to become the same. I wanted to relate to her rather than rationalize for her. I wanted to experience her mistakes through my own eyes and experiences rather than have to frown upon them.
The place that I'm at now in my life is different from the false selves I used to rely upon. It is, what I believe to be, a more genuine self, though not a better version necessarily. What I have come to firmly believe is that people do not hold my interest. People often misinterpret this as being depressed or angry, when in actuality, I am simply bored with people I constantly come in contact with. This is something that I used to hide, my general dislike for the vast majority of the population. And while I don't try to go out of my way to be rude or cold shouldered, people can tell as clearly as if I was wearing a shirt that read something like, "If you're reading this I'm not too fond of you." I have that vibe, and this saddens me. I was in a Borders today and walked by a woman who was in line for a coffee based beverage. She wasn't in my way at all, and she did me no injustice of any kind, but when I walked by her she apologized. I think she could tell I didn't like her kind (the human race) and was apologizing for being alive.
There is a dark side to my personality, and it is filled with these types of thoughts. What I have tried to realize is that these negative thoughts do not necessarily define me as a person. That I can still think these things sometimes but be inherently good. ....I'm not too sure yet. I know most of my problem with how I perceive others is rooted in the way that I perceive myself. I am bored with people because I think I am somehow unique or special. I often think no one could relate to me because they cannot possibly be wired the same way as me. This has nothing to do with pity and everything to do with insecurities and ego. I can easily look at other people's situations and understand their situation is far worse than anything life has ever handed me. I don't want others to pity me at all actually. I just simply think my complexities run so deep that others could not grasp the full realm of what and who I am. These are delusional thoughts of grandeur, and while I understand they are not true, I also think they are true. That principle of holding a thought to be both true and untrue simultaneously is called "double think." George Orwell talks about it heavily through his characters in his classic: "1984".
I need to change my attitude. I know this much. I often feel like menial and everyday tasks are beneath me. That I shouldn't have to do anything unless I am inspired by something in a powerful and moving way. My problem is I am looking for inspiration in all the wrong places. My favorite movies, songs, and pieces of literature all have common themes in the fact that they challenge people about the very morality of life and deconstruct the common values of man. I like these because they share my common pessimistic approach to the world. Why do I choose to use these tools as inspiration rather than the miracles I have been given?
I'm not unique. I'm beginning to be okay with these. If being ordinary presents me with opportunities to bless those around me extraordinarily, then I am okay with this. I want to spend my thoughts and time towards being the best person, best friend, best father, best son, best brother, best version of myself that I can be. If I lack inspiration, then trying to become a version of myself that can trump all the others, should be all the inspiration I ever need.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Prestige Worldwide Presents: Would You Like Some Gamble With Your Ribs?
I think it's relatively safe to say that most people who know me would classify me as a gambler. For a long time that label made me defensive. I thought my gambling or betting was, somehow, unique. I wasn't the "traditional gambler". I didn't bet on random events or games. I only bet while playing poker; a game just as dependent on skill as it is luck or variance. To me a true gambler would be willing to place bets on anything and everything, even things they had no control over.
While I still try to adhere to my old philosophy of only betting on things where I can somehow directly affect the outcome, I'm certainly a gambler. I've embraced it, or rather, excepted it. Gamblers have bad stigmas attached to them. They look irresponsible, compulsive, not in control. They wear suspenders, smoke cigars, drink bad scotch. You can see how I wouldn't want my name and image to be attached to suspenders, can't you? But I'm a gambler. I bet on things consistently with my roommate. Poker was the start and still is the fulcrum, but darts, disc golf, video games, sales performances, etc are all things I have bet on. There is a trend there that is pretty consistent with what I mentioned earlier. Only wanting to bet on competition, or things I am personally doing and responsible for the final outcome. But I also bet on random things, and more importantly, I bet on things I shouldn't. During these times the cliched old man compulsive gambler rears his semi balding head and makes me look like a fool.
One instance of this happening took place last week during a get together at my apartment. I was playing beer pong. Let me rephrase: I was running the table all night. I was operating at another level. I won something like 13 straight games. But 13 games of beer pong, even whilst winning, is still a lot of beer consumption. My skills at beer pong drunk are still better than the average sober person, but at this time, a friend of mine came over who is probably better than me at beer pong at any state of sobriety. I split a series of two games with him, winning the first, and losing the second. Then, I lost again. Going 1 out of 3 and having my ego on the line somehow motivated me to take out three hundred dollars cash from my wallet and start loudly challenging anyone who would play me in a game of beer pong for three hundred dollars. Wait, what? It's important to note that three hundred dollars was probably for rent or some bill. I don't just have three hundred dollars laying around to lose. This wasn't the strip club, this was my apartment. So the fact that I was waving around three bills in peoples faces wasn't either:
A) Impressive
or
B) Wise
It was simply me being an idiot. Lucky for me, I don't think anyone else there had three hundred dollars. The bet never came to fruition. I continued to play beer pong for pride and glory, rather than rent and car payments.
I want to continue with these stories....They are incredibly flattering to myself
Approximately a month ago, a building started being built (go figure) a few streets down from my apartment. After a few weeks of construction the general frame had been established. I come from a background where I have seen many a church building in my youth. This building was the same design as a classic Lutheran or Baptist style church. It even had an elevated peak in the front coming to a slope where, I thought, the cross would go on top. I was so certain this building was a church, I was ready to name it. My roommate Greg wouldn't know a church from a barn. He stays away from church the way I stay away Boys Town. When we drove by this building together and bantered back and forth about what it was, I knew it was time to put a wager down. I know easy money when I see it, and this was as green as grass...assuming it was properly watered and manicured, that is. I won't disclose the terms of the bet, only will tell you my money was on it being a church and his any other building where worship wasn't taking place.
The building is now finished folks
I'll give you a hint. There are certainly people in there who are praying and everyone who attends there is a sinner. But it's not a church. It's a Golden Corral.
For the sake of those who skim this briefly and don't read thoroughly I'll tell you again.
ITS A GOLDEN CORRAL BUFFET
Now, I don't know why Golden Corral designs their buildings like the modern day church. I can't tell you why it looks like the Vatican. But what I can tell you is that this is supremely disappointing. For years, when people have asked me the question, "George, what is the shitiest, lowest quality buffet in Aurora?" the answer has been as instinctual and easy as waking up. "The Ponderosa" I would respond without hesitation. Now, if someone was to ask me that same question, I'd have to stop and really think hard about it. And just to let you know, these two buffets are located like 150 yards from one another. Did Golden Corral scout at that location for months thinking, "Man, that Ponderosa is really taking all our business in the shitty buffet industry. We better take back our rightful place in this Aurora market. Let's pull a fast one on them and open our doors 150 yards from them."??????
I don't get it. But if I'm ever mayor the first thing I'm implementing is the "Shitty Buffet Ordinance". It won't allow one terrible buffet to open up within a proximity of 5 miles from another terrible buffet.
The last thing I want to attract to my lovely town are some of those old, degenerate, compulsive gamblers who wear suspenders and crave cheap, awful food.
I guess I'll see you in line.....
While I still try to adhere to my old philosophy of only betting on things where I can somehow directly affect the outcome, I'm certainly a gambler. I've embraced it, or rather, excepted it. Gamblers have bad stigmas attached to them. They look irresponsible, compulsive, not in control. They wear suspenders, smoke cigars, drink bad scotch. You can see how I wouldn't want my name and image to be attached to suspenders, can't you? But I'm a gambler. I bet on things consistently with my roommate. Poker was the start and still is the fulcrum, but darts, disc golf, video games, sales performances, etc are all things I have bet on. There is a trend there that is pretty consistent with what I mentioned earlier. Only wanting to bet on competition, or things I am personally doing and responsible for the final outcome. But I also bet on random things, and more importantly, I bet on things I shouldn't. During these times the cliched old man compulsive gambler rears his semi balding head and makes me look like a fool.
One instance of this happening took place last week during a get together at my apartment. I was playing beer pong. Let me rephrase: I was running the table all night. I was operating at another level. I won something like 13 straight games. But 13 games of beer pong, even whilst winning, is still a lot of beer consumption. My skills at beer pong drunk are still better than the average sober person, but at this time, a friend of mine came over who is probably better than me at beer pong at any state of sobriety. I split a series of two games with him, winning the first, and losing the second. Then, I lost again. Going 1 out of 3 and having my ego on the line somehow motivated me to take out three hundred dollars cash from my wallet and start loudly challenging anyone who would play me in a game of beer pong for three hundred dollars. Wait, what? It's important to note that three hundred dollars was probably for rent or some bill. I don't just have three hundred dollars laying around to lose. This wasn't the strip club, this was my apartment. So the fact that I was waving around three bills in peoples faces wasn't either:
A) Impressive
or
B) Wise
It was simply me being an idiot. Lucky for me, I don't think anyone else there had three hundred dollars. The bet never came to fruition. I continued to play beer pong for pride and glory, rather than rent and car payments.
I want to continue with these stories....They are incredibly flattering to myself
Approximately a month ago, a building started being built (go figure) a few streets down from my apartment. After a few weeks of construction the general frame had been established. I come from a background where I have seen many a church building in my youth. This building was the same design as a classic Lutheran or Baptist style church. It even had an elevated peak in the front coming to a slope where, I thought, the cross would go on top. I was so certain this building was a church, I was ready to name it. My roommate Greg wouldn't know a church from a barn. He stays away from church the way I stay away Boys Town. When we drove by this building together and bantered back and forth about what it was, I knew it was time to put a wager down. I know easy money when I see it, and this was as green as grass...assuming it was properly watered and manicured, that is. I won't disclose the terms of the bet, only will tell you my money was on it being a church and his any other building where worship wasn't taking place.
The building is now finished folks
I'll give you a hint. There are certainly people in there who are praying and everyone who attends there is a sinner. But it's not a church. It's a Golden Corral.
For the sake of those who skim this briefly and don't read thoroughly I'll tell you again.
ITS A GOLDEN CORRAL BUFFET
Now, I don't know why Golden Corral designs their buildings like the modern day church. I can't tell you why it looks like the Vatican. But what I can tell you is that this is supremely disappointing. For years, when people have asked me the question, "George, what is the shitiest, lowest quality buffet in Aurora?" the answer has been as instinctual and easy as waking up. "The Ponderosa" I would respond without hesitation. Now, if someone was to ask me that same question, I'd have to stop and really think hard about it. And just to let you know, these two buffets are located like 150 yards from one another. Did Golden Corral scout at that location for months thinking, "Man, that Ponderosa is really taking all our business in the shitty buffet industry. We better take back our rightful place in this Aurora market. Let's pull a fast one on them and open our doors 150 yards from them."??????
I don't get it. But if I'm ever mayor the first thing I'm implementing is the "Shitty Buffet Ordinance". It won't allow one terrible buffet to open up within a proximity of 5 miles from another terrible buffet.
The last thing I want to attract to my lovely town are some of those old, degenerate, compulsive gamblers who wear suspenders and crave cheap, awful food.
I guess I'll see you in line.....
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Prestige Worldwide Presents: Checkmate and Chicas
I am God awful at Chess. Ordinarily, this wouldn't be a big deal if I didn't spend a large portion of my life trash talking and berating every potential chess opponent I could come across. Now, if people know me, they know how competitive I am. With that competitive nature, comes an insurmountable amount of trash talk. I'm like an episode of Real World/Road Rules challenge only with slightly more clothing and better teeth. However, when it comes to chess, this is on an entirely different level. I talk trash in chess like the less anti semantic version of Bobby Fischer. I once spent three weeks talking myself up in chess to my roommate before our first game of chess. My tirade of insults towards his mediocre game and self inflated comments knew no bounds. I lost in 10 moves in an Oberweis dairy. There were children there under the age of twelve who were offering up their allowance as betting collateral trying to get me to play them after they saw that destruction.
Just so you know, all of the chess arrogance was genuine. I used to be, what I thought was, a very competent chess player. Forget competent, I used to be legendary. Back in highschool and yahoogames.com I was dominating the competition. But recently, it hasn't just been Greg (who mind you, actually is mediocre) it has been anyone and everyone beating me handily. So this begs the question: was I ever actually good at chess? Was it that I was simply having good results because I was playing terrible opponents? Or was I at some point good and since then have seen my skills deteriorate?
This is exactly how I feel about me when it comes to women and the ever important aspect of "having game.". I'm pretty sure I have no game. Zero. Or, rather, have the worst game of all time. And unlike chess, I'm very much okay with this. Like chess, I used to feel like I had the best game. That I could pull any girl worth pulling (or pushing if she was into that). But recently, since my priorities in what I am looking for have greatly changed, I am having zero results. Back when I was younger, and in particular immediately after I broke up with my ex Brittany, I went through a phase where I was involved with a lot of people. These were, for the most part, a good mix of very attractive girls. Some my age, some younger, some older, some not conscious. One was even Asian. I had to put in minimal work to get these girls. Do a little bit of smiling, tell some jokes, make some advances, and voila! (my sister will be proud of the correct spelling here) mission achieved.
I'm only twenty-one years old. I'm probably better looking now than then. Probably have more money. I definitely have a better skin complexion and DVD collection. I have a better house to take them back to, yet I don't go out with people nearly as much, or when I try, achieve the same results. I realize this is because my priorities have changed greatly. Out of all the girls I have been with, none of them could be or should be or would be characterized as intelligent. "Street Smart" doesn't count, mostly because no one really knows what that means other than someone probably is illiterate. So, with the girls I've been attempting to be with lately, I have gone out of my way to look for someone who is an intellectual.
Now, my "game" with women looks and goes something like this:
1. meet attractive girl
2. have a good first impression
3. somehow make contact with girl
4. intellectually bully/molest girl.
5. girl stops talking to me.
Steps 1-3 look pretty solid. Ah, step 4, how did you sneak in there? What I've realized is I'm really attempting a process of elimination. When I start talking to these people, my humor, my comments, my wit, my thoughts all have some underlying intellectual theme to them. People can't identify with me because I come across like Gandalf the Grey. People don't want to talk to a college professor. They want to hangout with socially normally people. Now, I do this on purpose. It's important that's noted. I'm trying to find someone who respond in such a way that lets me identify them as a potential fit. But this backfires 100 times more than it works. In fact, it's never worked. I really just end up losing people in a whirlwind of confusion.
To further my problems, I also, without much rhyme or reason get far too emotionally unstable and become far too open with people I've been talking to/have known/seen at the grocery store for 1 week. This freaks people out.
So, what the hell has happened? Maybe I was, at one point good with women and things have changed because I enjoy sticking my foot directly in my mouth. Maybe I was never very good with women and met a lot of hoes. Maybe the hoe train is coming back. Maybe I need to stop worrying so much about this and work on my chess game. Both need improving.
Just so you know, all of the chess arrogance was genuine. I used to be, what I thought was, a very competent chess player. Forget competent, I used to be legendary. Back in highschool and yahoogames.com I was dominating the competition. But recently, it hasn't just been Greg (who mind you, actually is mediocre) it has been anyone and everyone beating me handily. So this begs the question: was I ever actually good at chess? Was it that I was simply having good results because I was playing terrible opponents? Or was I at some point good and since then have seen my skills deteriorate?
This is exactly how I feel about me when it comes to women and the ever important aspect of "having game.". I'm pretty sure I have no game. Zero. Or, rather, have the worst game of all time. And unlike chess, I'm very much okay with this. Like chess, I used to feel like I had the best game. That I could pull any girl worth pulling (or pushing if she was into that). But recently, since my priorities in what I am looking for have greatly changed, I am having zero results. Back when I was younger, and in particular immediately after I broke up with my ex Brittany, I went through a phase where I was involved with a lot of people. These were, for the most part, a good mix of very attractive girls. Some my age, some younger, some older, some not conscious. One was even Asian. I had to put in minimal work to get these girls. Do a little bit of smiling, tell some jokes, make some advances, and voila! (my sister will be proud of the correct spelling here) mission achieved.
I'm only twenty-one years old. I'm probably better looking now than then. Probably have more money. I definitely have a better skin complexion and DVD collection. I have a better house to take them back to, yet I don't go out with people nearly as much, or when I try, achieve the same results. I realize this is because my priorities have changed greatly. Out of all the girls I have been with, none of them could be or should be or would be characterized as intelligent. "Street Smart" doesn't count, mostly because no one really knows what that means other than someone probably is illiterate. So, with the girls I've been attempting to be with lately, I have gone out of my way to look for someone who is an intellectual.
Now, my "game" with women looks and goes something like this:
1. meet attractive girl
2. have a good first impression
3. somehow make contact with girl
4. intellectually bully/molest girl.
5. girl stops talking to me.
Steps 1-3 look pretty solid. Ah, step 4, how did you sneak in there? What I've realized is I'm really attempting a process of elimination. When I start talking to these people, my humor, my comments, my wit, my thoughts all have some underlying intellectual theme to them. People can't identify with me because I come across like Gandalf the Grey. People don't want to talk to a college professor. They want to hangout with socially normally people. Now, I do this on purpose. It's important that's noted. I'm trying to find someone who respond in such a way that lets me identify them as a potential fit. But this backfires 100 times more than it works. In fact, it's never worked. I really just end up losing people in a whirlwind of confusion.
To further my problems, I also, without much rhyme or reason get far too emotionally unstable and become far too open with people I've been talking to/have known/seen at the grocery store for 1 week. This freaks people out.
So, what the hell has happened? Maybe I was, at one point good with women and things have changed because I enjoy sticking my foot directly in my mouth. Maybe I was never very good with women and met a lot of hoes. Maybe the hoe train is coming back. Maybe I need to stop worrying so much about this and work on my chess game. Both need improving.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Prestige Worldwide Presents: The Balding List
Morgan Freeman infuriates me, but in a really endearing way. Morgan (we are pretty tight, so from now on I'm just going to reference him as Morgan or MF) infuriates me in the way someone's father or mother might frustrate them. Parents are notorious for having really good parental intentions, yet, when they attempt to execute those intentions into some type of action, it typically comes across as a monumental failure. We might know our parents love and care about us, but we also often think they don't understand us. Or we might simply be embarrassed by their "outdated-ness". Or we simply don't want to see them every second of every day or at every intersection of hallways.
What does this have to do with an old black man? MF is a superbly talented actor. His charisma and charm jump off the screen during every movie, and even in movies where MF is not the headliner or featured actor, he seems to steal multiple scenes, if not the entire movie itself. He's a classy guy through and through. But he's in everything. He's like the slightly more talented, more spotted version of Samuel L. Jackson. Morgan Freeman should be like a fine wine, but instead is like Busch Light. I want to sip on some Morgan, I don't want him shoved in my face every four weeks when another one of his movies comes out. When did the Screen Actors Guild decide that Morgan Freeman should, or rather, has to be the narrating voice in anything that requires narrating? This upsets me to no end. Everything from penguins to any Discovery channel documentary where a sea lion looks bored and needs some commentary.
While I was thinking about Morgan, I thought of the movie: the Bucket List. Now, I'm twenty-one years old and certainly too young to have a bucket list. But, I've been thinking of a lot of goals I have that have yet to be completed. Some of them are short term goals, others further out, but all of them important to me in some way. For whatever reason, I go through a thought process on an every other day frequency that is quite conflicting. Some days I like my hair. I think it trendy and well styled and thick and Greek. Other days I think it is terrible, and that for some reason beyond me, I am balding. "Have I always had this terrible hairline?" "Where did my hair go?" "I'm Jason Alexander's balder twin." These are the thoughts that consume me during those days. It's quite tough to say what's happening with my hair, but rather than a bucket list, here is my balding list. A list of things I want to complete and or accomplish while I still have hair.
* Turn 40 dollars into 1000 playing online poker *
* Buy a house *
* Visit Ireland and Greece *
* Bench Press 300 lbs *
* Make a world series of poker final table *
* Find my relational counterpart. Find the woman who completes me *
* Complete my college degree *
* Learn how to play guitar *
* Learn multiple languages *
* Own my own company *
* Set up a college fund for my daughter *
* Get a tattoo sleeve *
* Go on a cruise *
What does this have to do with an old black man? MF is a superbly talented actor. His charisma and charm jump off the screen during every movie, and even in movies where MF is not the headliner or featured actor, he seems to steal multiple scenes, if not the entire movie itself. He's a classy guy through and through. But he's in everything. He's like the slightly more talented, more spotted version of Samuel L. Jackson. Morgan Freeman should be like a fine wine, but instead is like Busch Light. I want to sip on some Morgan, I don't want him shoved in my face every four weeks when another one of his movies comes out. When did the Screen Actors Guild decide that Morgan Freeman should, or rather, has to be the narrating voice in anything that requires narrating? This upsets me to no end. Everything from penguins to any Discovery channel documentary where a sea lion looks bored and needs some commentary.
While I was thinking about Morgan, I thought of the movie: the Bucket List. Now, I'm twenty-one years old and certainly too young to have a bucket list. But, I've been thinking of a lot of goals I have that have yet to be completed. Some of them are short term goals, others further out, but all of them important to me in some way. For whatever reason, I go through a thought process on an every other day frequency that is quite conflicting. Some days I like my hair. I think it trendy and well styled and thick and Greek. Other days I think it is terrible, and that for some reason beyond me, I am balding. "Have I always had this terrible hairline?" "Where did my hair go?" "I'm Jason Alexander's balder twin." These are the thoughts that consume me during those days. It's quite tough to say what's happening with my hair, but rather than a bucket list, here is my balding list. A list of things I want to complete and or accomplish while I still have hair.
* Turn 40 dollars into 1000 playing online poker *
* Buy a house *
* Visit Ireland and Greece *
* Bench Press 300 lbs *
* Make a world series of poker final table *
* Find my relational counterpart. Find the woman who completes me *
* Complete my college degree *
* Learn how to play guitar *
* Learn multiple languages *
* Own my own company *
* Set up a college fund for my daughter *
* Get a tattoo sleeve *
* Go on a cruise *
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