I’ve fallen passionately in love
With the woman down the street
And when I see her on the side
She seems to fall in love with me.
Sometimes I follow her around
And I have troubles with these things,
But she’s where I want to be
and she's wearing angel wings

Driving Miss Crazy

Passing a car is a simple thing really.

The first rule is to make sure that you actually want to go faster than they are currently going.

Secondly, make sure that you are going to be on the same road for awhile. There's nothing worse than passing someone only to slow down and make a turn shortly after passing them.

Third, make sure they don't have a rebel flag in the window.

Now for the passing part:

Give a signal to alert other drivers that you are changing lanes.

Accelerate aggressively until you are clear of the car you are passing.

Maintain your acceleration as you give your signal to let the driver know you are going to be moving back into their lane.

Once you've passed them, make sure you actually are driving faster than they were driving before you decided to pass them.

Simple enough, isn't it?

I've discovered, however, that I enjoy driving more when I don't pass anyone. If I drive behind the slowest car in the slowest lane and never attempt to pass, I feel a sense of calm and relaxation.

I give plenty of room between my car and the one in front of me so that I rarely have to touch my brakes. If I see a red light in the distance, I gradually slow down to a snail's pace until the light turns green.

Cars behind me seem irritated and pull out and pass me so that they can race to the next red light. This doesn't bother me anymore. They aren't really irritated at all. They actually enjoy passing people. It makes them feel a sense of accomplishment. They showed me.

Road rage is really the releasing of pent-up anger and aggression from other areas of your life. You can't speak your mind in life and hold back until you step into your car. In an automobile, there is a sense of anonymity that allows you to release your ire towards faceless victims that you personify as the evil in your life. It is completely natural and I've found that I'd rather be the victim than the assailant.

Christmas 1989

Christmas eve 1989 was the worst.

I lived in a one bedroom apartment with my friend at the time. It was COLD that night and the only holiday decoration we had was an old big-bulb strand of chipped-paint Christmas lights hanging on the window with a rusty nail. The lights were one degree away from total melt-down when I unplugged them.

Looking at them was only depressing me, anyway.

I had been estranged from my family for months. I would not forgive them for things they weren't even aware they had done. It's possible they may have not done them at all. My mind is a terrible thing that often presumes the worst intentions in the people who choose to love me.

My room-mate, who had strongly supported and encouraged my alienation of friends and family as some type of nirvana-like quest for lonerdome, had left me alone on Christmas eve to go spend time with his mother. The irony was not wasted on me.

I sat in silence, perhaps realizing for the first time in my young life, that I actually needed companionship for mental survival. I had a 5 inch television but no signal was coming in. My mood seemed reflected by the gray static and hiss of the screen.

As I looked at the blank walls of the room, I felt like I was in a vault buried miles under the earth. If I didn't leave soon, I would deplete all the oxygen and suffocate.

It was a long night. I wanted to sleep just to escape my own thoughts but sleep would not come.

Finally, I came to a decision. I had to go home.

But how could I go home for Christmas without presents?

So I searched my place for anything of value that I could pass off as gifts. I found a salt and pepper shaker, a scarf I'd never used and a pair of ear-rings my girlfriend had left behind. Using cracker boxes and anything else I could find, I wrapped the gifts and put them in a pillow case. I had no coat so I bunched up in shirts and sweaters for the long walk. It was about 5 miles and the temperature was just barely in the double digits.

As I walked humbled at my emotional weakness, my eyes involuntarily began to water from the cold. The tears freeze-dried to my face. I WAS NOT CRYING!

I arrived at my parents' home shortly after daylight and knocked quietly. Part of me wanted to run as fast as I could away from the door. The fact that my feet were solid blocks of ice forced me to stay.

My sister opened the door and the look of delight and joy in her eyes melted the cold and my fears away.

I had never missed a Christmas morning with my family and they had spent Christmas eve thinking this would be the first.

It was a homecoming of grand proportions. I was the prodigal son. I was welcomed with hugs and smiles although I had done nothing to deserve them.

And for the day, all hurts and anger passed away. All was forgiven.

I had never appreciated Christmas more than at that moment.

After I left, things slowly went back to normal. There was distance and paranoia, anger and resentment and buried mystery. It took time and Christ, not Christmas, to heal those wounds.

But for one day, all was well with the world.

My wish for you is that for one day, this year, it will be a joyous Christmas in the deepest and realest sense.

Lordy Lordy

Man, it has been FOREVER since I posted anything here. Or feels like it anyway.

So what am I gonna write about today? Not much. And who cares? Nobody reads this crap anyway. I kinda like it that way.

I'm in my 12th year of my current job, 11th year of my marriage, and 11th year as a dad. Of some sort, anyway.

I'm enjoying the last couple of years with my youngest son before he gets all sarcastic, jaded and mean--as all people do when they reach a certain age. That last part, I'm sure I will contribute to in large part because that's just part of fatherhood, isn't it?

You love your kids to death, but the testosterone and the expectations of fatherhood (always playing by the rules, setting a good example, being right 100% of the time, and also being some sort of god-like superhero that shines above all other men on the planet) are totally unrealistic. And when the kids realize that, then they start to question everything else as well. You mean you LIED about Santa Claus?

Parenting is the toughest job on the planet. The presidency has nothing on me, baby! At least if you're trying (not succeeding, mind you) to be a good parent, it is. And if you're thinking that maybe one day you're gonna have some kids and it's gonna be all carousels and lollipops and patting the boy on top of the head with love, HA HA HA HA HA! Think again. You will fail and fail and fail. But did I say it is the most rewarding job on the planet? It is. Because you'll find love there that you won't get anywhere else. At least part of the time.

At other times you'll be the most despised, villainous meanie around.

Think about what you loved from when you were young. Your fondest memories.

For me, it was playing with my dog, wandering the woods and creating imaginary worlds in my head, wrestling and laughing with my father, riding a bike, swimming to the bottom of the pool.
With a kid, you get to experience all that again in a new way. It's awesome because you get to relive your youth and remember parts you had forgotten. You won't have the energy that you did when you were a kid and the joy of reliving that childhood will push you to the brink of exhaustion, back pain, and irritability. But it's worth it....reallly.

But then there are the things about childhood that sucked. Like homework. Guess what? As a good parent, you get to go through elementary and high school all over again. You have to relearn what a predicate is and all kinds of math you'll never use. Even worse, they've changed all the names and rules in subjects. They've come up with cutesy names like: number sentences and time triangles, and sight words.

And then there's the things, that as a kid, you were totally unaware of. Like when you were in the cub scouts and had fun camping and playing with your little buddies. You didn't realize that your dad had to sit on some boring board or plan events or go out and buy all those patches and equipment and uniforms and books. That he had to stay up late detailing your little wood car so it wouldn't come apart on race day. Then there's selling all the fund-raising stuff at inflated prices to his friends and family to finance the scouts. Funny thing is that he has no clue as to what he is financing because every one of your activities has come out of his wallet. You don't know how disheartening it is, after all of that work he put in so that you would have a good time and a fun memory, when you lay on the floor in a seizure-like tantrum whining that you don't want to go to the den meeting tonight because you're trying to get to level 28 on the nintendo. As a dad, you realize all these things because you've done them all in love with no thanks at all.

But it's all worth it. On those days, when you see the sacrifice you make for the kids you love, you'll finally realize the love your parent had for you. You were just too self-engrossed to realize it at the time.

They say as a parent that you shouldn't be your kid's friend. That's the biggest bunch of BS ever. Being a playmate, a confidante, a buddy, and a friend to your kid is the most rewarding part of all. Sure, there's that little thing called discipline. But that's why they have moms, isn't it?

has it really been that long

30,000 steps and my back hurts enough that my feet do not.

I'm losing too much weight, they say.

Nobody is ever satisfied.

dad

I am your son
I speak the way you do
When I look at the world
I see it through your eyes.

My hands are your hands
I laugh the way you do
When I'm feeling lonely
I pray to your God.

His name is Jesus
The Alpha Omega
Almighty Creator
I'm glad that he made you
and you made me.

Now I am the father
and they speak the way I do
When I see the world,
it's through their eyes.

Their hands are my hands
but they laugh the way you do.
When they are lonely,
I hope they pray to our God.

Oh, how I love Jesus
the Alpha Omega
Almighty Creator
I'm glad that he made them
so I could see
it looked easier when you were the father.
And when I think of my sons,
I think of the Son.

Blood paints the carpet like an aerosol spray.
Coffee cup projectiles and a mailbox gets displaced.
Momma is still sleeping and daddy's not around.
Nobody even knows you're home.
They think you're on the bus.
You left early enough.

A cluster and a cell
thinning hair and scratchy towels
Wheel of Fortune on TiVo
itching--bloated--the detonation fuse

Thirty-eight years old and a .38 revolver
introductions and pleasantries aside
Take off the shoes so you don't track in the leaves.
Blame is so much easier than the alternative.

My next preschool book

One day you'll find there's no Santa Clause
and you'll wonder where he went
Rudolph is make believe
They'll tell you what Christmas really is.

You see, Mary got married
and she went and had a baby son
but daddy wasn't the daddy
and the child was the chosen one

all babies go to heaven
and all the meanies go to hell
As for all the rest of us,
pray he's grading on a scale.

The easter bunny isn't hopping through the forest,
he's watching tv in the next room
Superman and witches can't fly
with or without a broom

The change beneath your pillow
really came from someone else
That's why the tooth is in the little jar
hidden on the back of mamma's shelf

Blankets won't save you from the boogie man.
Snowmen don't come to life.
Mamas don't live forever
and Daddies don't always do what's right.

So don't listen to that stuff on the playground
they'll tell you everything and all
your eyes will dim and darken
you'll be a bird without a call.
A bird without a call.

my new shoes

apocalypse and armageddon
better than anything you'll be getting
when angels collide with demon things
and cancer hides the smiley face
only time can jump in place
dance in the mud and laugh at yourself

you're mean.
you're mean.
you're mean.

the rocks will fall and lizards shake
pestilence and frozen grapes
the voice keeps repeating itself
my last hurrah floats in the air
the strawfires burning everywhere
I didn't mean to make you fall

you're watergun is empty

you're mean
you're mean
you're mean.