what a pain in the ass! we are trapped by this suburban BS where each week we have to cut the grass and trim the hedges and trim the driveway and weed whack the edges and blow it all into a pile. we sweat like dogs for 2 hours while we do this process over and over –week after week –all to keep up appearances in the hood. this hood is of course the doldrums of suburbia –where you might have a moment once a week to sit down and have a beer to contemplate your existence in this suburban plight. how did this all come about? we once lived a fast paced life out in the real world–and now we live a fast paced life in our own homes –keeping up with the kids, etc –but if you look out the window, you see the slow-paced life of suburbia –an invisible bubble that we are inevitably trapped in until all the kids leave home –then we sell the house and go back to the real world –if you have enough bread to actually do this –can you tell I’m bored? So bored that this post did not come from a spontaneous thought –so actually a boring post–sorry –I see a blade out of place on the lawn –have to run!! (I mean mow)
kids growing up
there is something about it that is hard to consciously discover –you know what i mean –you can’t put your finger on it. i think i have it though. it is the strange dynamic that is probably not unknown. it is the balance that you hope naturally develops. when they are babies, you look at them and you hug them and you kiss them over and over –it’s like a ball of joy that you look at all the time –you are infatuated with them –it is really a blissful time. you never want this time to end, you never want them to grow up, you want to always hold them and keep them. but something happens as they start to grow. you start to see them as little people and a detachment from the baby infatuation starts to occur. of course you still love them to bits, but it is a new type of love –it is a love that changes and grows with each year –it is better this way because to stay at the baby infatuation phase would not be good for the long run –it would make it much harder to let go when the time comes naturally. this is why our love changes –to protect us and to protect the kids. this is why when they whine, they now get on your nerves a bit –not like when they were babies –they never got on your nerves. it is good that they get on your nerves, so that you can let them go more easily and so that you can transition into the empty nest stage. you need to have a few rough spots with them–to help you let go –because when they are 18, you should want to let them go –this is why the adolescent stage is so tough on all involved –to break the infatuation bond –to be infatuated is not a healthy approach to life. but, while you are in growing stages –relish every moment –get all that you can from it –then you will be ready to change –but enjoy these good old days –don’t let them pass without moments of joy –even though you have to say goodbye one day –it is a bitch that things happen this way –such a conflict of emotions –like trying to end this thought –can’t do it gracefully
addicted to tv
you know you are and if you are not –then get yourself a damn medal because if you are under 50 and don’t watch tv then you have escaped one of the greatest addictions of all time. hey, i know it is not necessarily a bad thing to be addicted to tv –you need that fix where you don’t focus on the BS going around in your world –whether it is those screaming kids or that pain in the ass boss –you have to get away sometime and tv is the cheapest and most available way to get away. the problem is that you get hooked on certain shows and these shows go on for years –they hook you and you are running to watch them each week –plus when one show ends for the year, there is the next addiction-laden show around the corner. you can only break a part of the addiction when a show ends forever –like Lost –i was hooked and now i am free –but lurking in the early summer days is another one ready to hook me. i do need to break away altogether, but still catching up on my DVR stuff –it is like an obligation to watch what you have recorded –that is the only way to free up space on the dvr –right?? anyway–you and i are screwed–we will keep watching and keep wasting away hours that we could have spent inventing the next frisbee -or reading books and gaining knowledge –but screw it –we are only on this dust ball for a few years –might as well kick back and watch tv –gotta run –housewives is on (well, on the dvr)
you are lucky
cut the BS –you are lucky. you are lucky to be alive and reading this. you are lucky to have a job. you are lucky to have a family. you are lucky to have your health. you are lucky to have friends. you are lucky to see the sky. you are lucky to smell the food. you are lucky to walk. you are lucky to talk. you are lucky to sleep. you are lucky to breathe. you are lucky to read. you are lucky to have memories. you are lucky to have today. So cut the self loathing crap and remember that you are lucky. comprende?
the dojo
the dojo is cool. it is a mix of american flags, ying and yang, U2 music, strobe lights, trophys, pictures of champions, mirrors, mats, cubbies for your shoes. it is a place where you learn shit that you have no idea about. it is a place where you find out more about how to use your body. it is a place where you gain confidence. it is a place where you meet cool people, providing that it is not some a-hole running the shop and fortunately in my case –the guy is cool. thus his dojo has a cool vibe and attracts other cool types –mostly musicians, surfers, carpenters –people that are used to using their hands–unlike me. each time in the dojo, i learn more. it is a fascinating experience to actually learn something new every week –but also to know that a new learning is guaranteed and expected. you also need the dojo master to be an exceptional teacher because if you do not understand what is trying to be taught in the dojo, then you will get lost. yes, there is discipline–but it is not extreme. do not go to a dojo with extreme discipline unless you need it. the dojo is cool –a bit strange, but still cool. try it , you only live once.
the struggle
guess what? when you are in the early struggles of life, when you have just been married, when the bills are piling up, when the mortgage is twice as high as any rent you ever paid in your single days, guess what —these are the best days of your life. you and your partner are in the greatest struggle of your lives, trying to make ends meet, trying to start a family, trying to get a footing in your career. this is the greatest balancing act of your young life and you are making it, you can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel, but you are making it. this is the struggle. some people never get beyond this phase in life, they still indulge in their fancies, they still go on fancy trips, they still pile up the debt, they live beyond their means, they have fun, but they always struggle, unless they get lucky. do not underestimate the challenge of this life struggle. do not attempt to be unhappy during this struggle. you must embrace this time and relish every minute you are in the grocery store trying to stay within the budget by settling with eating chili for five days and having salad for lunch. this is part of the struggle. you must enjoy balancing the household budget every month. guess what, you made it through another month and you got to have a few beers and a few laughs in between on the cape or skiing in vermont. you know how it works. you have been paid on friday, you pay your bills on saturday, you now have 40 bucks to spend on extras for the next 2 weeks. but with the team working together, you always make it to the next paycheck…..more to come in next post –but keep up the struggle –it is the best time fo your life –don’t forget that –these are the good old days
society bullshit
it is a crazy thing that can make you crazy if you are crazy enough to allow the craziness to get in –know what i mean? obviously i am crazy enough –only because i become more crazy as life has gone on –is it being jaded more and more or is it a breakdown of the mind by the ongoing bullshit that society continues to put upon us. it is not society’s fault–it is the fault of the people who live in the society –since the beginning of society before there was civilization 10,000 years ago. it is in our dna to think and as we progress, we think more –and this thinking more pushes us to look at the micro and macro societies around us –in the house, on the street, in the town, in the state, in the country–etc (though not much more to etc). to avoid this BS, we need to pull back a bit and look at what really matters –i know it is hard to do and one can never really pull all the way back– but it is the only way to keep the craziness out –comprende? or was this just a bunch of BS too? haha –see you next time –if there is anyone really there
walking the dog
look, i love dogs for the most part and they can be great for companionship, etc –but enough is enough on taking these dogs out for 2 or 3 walks a day. i see a guy walking the dog in the morning and walking the dog at lunch and walking the dog in the evening –the kids are all grown up and all that is left is this bloody dog –empty nest syndrome no doubt –i get it –keeping company with the dog–helping to move away from loss of kids –it is a sad end to our once busy lives with laughs, kids, parties, trips –now all we have left is the dog! Look, i know that when it is time for my dog walking days I will probably be thrilled to death (literally) –time to walk the dog –hurrah!! for now it looks like a sad way to end one’s life–but in time i am sure that i will embrace it–life is a bitch, ain’t it?
family talk
oh –the dreaded family gossip shit. you think it will never hit your family–but it eventually will. it is like a disease that you can always count on and it will never stop from coming to your family. one day you are living in peaceful ignorant bliss, not realizing that just below the surface is this wave of family talk. it could be about you or it could be about your kids or it could be about your wife –who the hell knows. you could actually never find out about this negative shit, especially if you live miles away from the epicenter. but if you want to know what really is going on –take the plunge and move back home. it will be painful, but at least the truth will eventually come out. is it good for you –yes and no. yes, because you can let others know that the shit aint true and no, because then life will never be the same –the last piece of innocence from your childhood will be gone and a piece of you will die with it. you are now an adult marching down the path towards the end…might as well have a drink (or 2) on the way to soften this devastating blow (it’s about time you woke up!!!). now your job is to keep your kids in bliss for as long as possible….oh, reality, oh reality….hello reality, hello.
Pamplona, 1995
Today someone was gored to death at Pamplona –the first time since 1995, when Matthew Tassio died. I was running when Matthew died and wrote this piece about the experience:
That was a great summer. It was the summer of ’95 and I was set to go on a 2-month trip packing around Europe. My buddy Jim and I were making the final arrangements, which wasn’t much – buy a backpack and get a ticket. Jim bailed out at the last minute and left me holding the bag (or backpack) I said “fuck it”, I’ll go anyway, on my own and meet a few of my European friends along the way. I had a buddy in London and one in Prague, so between those 2 destinations I could get lost bumming around the place. Halfway through the trip I found myself on a train from Barcelona to Pamplona to partake in the running of the bulls. As soon as I boarded the train I immediately hooked up with 3 other dudes in a cabin, they were also all cruising on their own and we all started to chat about the bulls. One guy was from Maryland, a real Jim Morrison look-alike. He had that laid-back look about him that seemed to beckon the girls to his doorstep. Another guy was blond due from Uruguay. He was cool – a rich kid who had played soccer all his life. The last guy was from Germany, I think Munich. He was totally out there, some bohemian type of dude with a name like Kai.
So there we were, the four us, somehow chosen by destiny to meet on the eve of the running of the bulls festival. We knew right then and there that we would experience this part of the journey together and to celebrate, we started drinking right away. We drank all through the train ride and were quite sloshed when the old bird rolled into Pamplona. The first thing we did was check our bags into the pack station. They had this huge warehouse for all of the back-packers shit to be checked in for a small price. This was a must, because there definitely weren’t any rooms available. Thousands like us were showing up at the last moment, based on decisions each one of them had made in the last 48 hours.
Nobody gave a damn about the rooms, we were there to get drunk, get laid and get our asses chased by those damn bulls. You know the ones that were made famous by Ernesto himself in his cool little book of dialogue called The Sun Also Rises. Shit, if it Ernest hadn’t written that book and put Pamplona on the party map, none of us would be drinking our way to this little hick town deep in the foothills of the Pyrenees Mountains. This whole festival focuses on the words of Ernesto. Everyone walks the streets with bags of cheap red wine, singing songs and getting ready for the race the next day. The race happens at 8am for 8 mornings in a row. When the cannon goes off at 8am, the bulls are released at one end of town and then make their way through the barricaded streets to the arena filled with thousands of screaming spectators. The street around the arena is called, appropriately enough, Paseo de Hemmingway. There is also a marble bust of old Hemmingway himself at the entrance of the ring. In front of these running bulls, of course, are the crazy gringos like myself running our asses off so we don’t loose them to a bull’s horn or hoof. Also in the group of crazies are Aussies, Kiwis, Europeans and seasoned locals who like to start the race within inches of where the bulls are released.
After we checked in our packs, we set out exploring the town and looking for some booze to keep the buzz going. We knew his was going to be one hell of a night and we wanted to get the full dosage. Plus, you had to get really trashed knowing that your bed was the local park and your roommates were about a thousand other people laying around, stashing their wallets between their legs to ward off the local thieves. So drink we did –all night long, barely stopping to watch the fireworks that were being shot over the local park. By daybreak our focus was on the running. 2 of our group had met some ladies and gone that route for the night, leaving me and Jim Morrison to get ready for the race. About 1 hour before the start, we found an outside coffee stand filled with eager runners, mostly locals. To get back some of our edge, we drank four espressos in a matter of 20 minutes. We also started talking to a few of the seasoned runners about strategy for the run. While this was going on, old Jimbo was lured away by a couple of cuties and soon he drifted away from the scene.
So there I stood, once again alone, and ready to take on this outrageous challenge. In fact, on the train ride up, I told my group that I wasn’t sure about running and that I probably wouldn’t do it. Well so much for that. Because at that moment when I stood drinking my last espresso and chatting with the locals about strategy, I knew that my destiny had already been played out for me. I set down the cup and walked off with my 2 Spanish companions, an uncle and nephew.
They were each dressed in the traditional garb of white shirt and pants with a red sash around the waist and neck. All I had on was a red long-sleeve t-shirt and jeans. I would acquire my red bandana later. When we reached the entrance where the bulls would come charging out in a few moments, the uncle gestured me to keep going down the street, away from the bulls. His name was Jorge and he had made this run 22 times before, with not even a scratch to show. These seasoned locals would run directly in front of the bulls, constantly snapping them on the nose with rolled up newspaper. They loved to tease them this way, it was part of the thrill and it also keep them interested in the whole process of the run year after year.
Jorge told me to keep walking down the road, to get as far ahead of the bulls as possible when they were released. Being a novice, this would give me the best chance of staying alive and still be able to enjoy the thrill. I heard the cannon go off and my heart leaped into my throat. The crowd behind me started to take off and so did I. One slip and the crowd and the bulls would be on top of you. There was no way off this street, each intersection was boarded up 8 feet high with onlookers ready to push you back down into the street. Looking back over my shoulder as I ran towards the arena, I could see the bulls making their way at a very fast pace. In front of me was the narrow entrance to the arena. This was the bottleneck area, where if you got trapped in there with the bulls on your heals, you were doomed. This was the most dangerous place to stop and smell the roses. I made it through the bottleneck and ran into the heart of the arena. Wow, what a thrill! The arena was packed with screaming spectators, cheering you on to watch your ass or probably to not watch your ass. They wanted blood, they wanted disembowelment, and they wanted your ass on a bull’s plate.
Once the runners settled into the heart of the arena floor, the 6 bulls soon followed. The crowd parted and let the bulls pass out the backside of the arena. Cool, we had made it through that scene and damn, what a thrill it was. The show was far from over. For the next forty minutes they released baby bulls for the crowd to dodge. The trick to this part was to watch which way the crowd moved and follow that lead. While dodging the bulls, I met a guy from my travels in Budapest earlier in the summer. We started shooting the shit, not paying attention the crowd movement. Next thing you know there is a bull right on us. He dove one way, I dove the other, just barely missing my ass from being ripped off. The crowd in the stands went wild, you could tell they were a bit disappointed I didn’t get a horn stuck in my ass. After it was over, I hobbled out of the arena with a bloody knee, talking with the guy from Budapest. For the rest of the day I felt like a king, the thrill of the run overwhelmed my senses. The only downside was that the cut on my knee didn’t leave a scar. Know what I mean.