That four-letter word we all know. It is not selfish. It knows no bounds. The one who possesses it can hardly describe it in words.
Those who have not yet experienced it, cannot hope to understand it. It represents the determination to see things through to the very end, and to never give up on those things which are dear to us. It is the embodiment of devotion, the bannerman of respect, the posterchild of passion.
Through thick and thin, this word refuses to give up on us, and gives us the strength to carry on, even when all else seems hopeless.
This word cannot be given or received, it must be worked for, and only after years of hard work can we begin to comprehend its true power. Some days it can be wild and unchecked, while others it is docile, quiet, and gentle. It is utterly unpredictable. There have been many words invented to try and capture its meaning, to imitate its potency, but these imposters only serve to water down the true meaning of this word. Many claim they possess it, but very few know the truth. There is only one.
I cannot help but experience it every day, as it is always with me. It never leaves my side. It carries me to my destination, and brings me back home at the end of the day. It is not always pretty, but it always serves its purpose. Some try to deny its existence, whether out of bitterness or ignorance, but the result is the same: they have not lived. I do my best to spread this word to everyone I come in contact with, as I truly believe it can change lives.
If by now, you do not know which word I am referring to, then I pity you, because you have likely not experienced it. It is a wonder to behold, and a tragedy to miss.
HOGS
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Suze
Suzie is officially 100 dog-years-old. She is the sweetest trooper this world has to offer.
She's survived this long despite:
being an orphan on the streets for the first 3 months of her life,
getting hit by a car on Fair Oaks at the age of 1,
getting kicked by a horse,
meddling with a skunk and paying dearly for it,
narrowly escaping a near-death experience in the pool,
getting attacked last year by two bulldogs (at the age of 94), while sleeping, resulting in a cracked jaw, a broken tooth, and nerve damage causing the loss of her hearing and ultimately leading to a condition that put her on death's door for two months.
Nevertheless, she left both dogs bloody and limping. Good girl.
She has survived 14+ years of growing up with rough and tumble boys, and never missed a beat.
Racing skateboards down the driveway, pulling our shoes to make us go faster.
Biting at our feet on the rope swing in the front yard.
Barking underneath the trampoline.
Jumping the fence and demanding to be let inside the neighbors' house when we were over there.
Always ready to wrestle, biting just enough to keep tough, but never hard enough to hurt.
Racing around the pool and barking jealously because she couldn't join in on pool basketball.
Countless headbutting wars.
Weathering the storm of a frustrated first-grader threatening to take her back to the pet store whenever she beat him in a game.
In her old age she refuses to eat her dog food unless it is enriched with hidden chunks of roast beef.
She barks because she can't hear herself, and she wants everyone to be constantly reminded of it.
She's old and knows she can get away with just about anything.
Her fur is long and black.
Her mug grey and wise.
Her tongue with black spots.
Her ears soft and floppy. The best ears.
Never turns down a good butt scratch.
The most docile and lazy thing you will ever see.
Barking at any and all potential invaders until they get too close, at which point she runs back 10 feet and starts all over.
Still goin' strong.
Nothing warms my heart like she does.
The most precious thing in the world to me.
What a girl.
My girl.
Suze.
She's survived this long despite:
being an orphan on the streets for the first 3 months of her life,
getting hit by a car on Fair Oaks at the age of 1,
getting kicked by a horse,
meddling with a skunk and paying dearly for it,
narrowly escaping a near-death experience in the pool,
getting attacked last year by two bulldogs (at the age of 94), while sleeping, resulting in a cracked jaw, a broken tooth, and nerve damage causing the loss of her hearing and ultimately leading to a condition that put her on death's door for two months.
Nevertheless, she left both dogs bloody and limping. Good girl.
She has survived 14+ years of growing up with rough and tumble boys, and never missed a beat.
Racing skateboards down the driveway, pulling our shoes to make us go faster.
Biting at our feet on the rope swing in the front yard.
Barking underneath the trampoline.
Jumping the fence and demanding to be let inside the neighbors' house when we were over there.
Always ready to wrestle, biting just enough to keep tough, but never hard enough to hurt.
Racing around the pool and barking jealously because she couldn't join in on pool basketball.
Countless headbutting wars.
Weathering the storm of a frustrated first-grader threatening to take her back to the pet store whenever she beat him in a game.
In her old age she refuses to eat her dog food unless it is enriched with hidden chunks of roast beef.
She barks because she can't hear herself, and she wants everyone to be constantly reminded of it.
She's old and knows she can get away with just about anything.
Her fur is long and black.
Her mug grey and wise.
Her tongue with black spots.
Her ears soft and floppy. The best ears.
Never turns down a good butt scratch.
The most docile and lazy thing you will ever see.
Barking at any and all potential invaders until they get too close, at which point she runs back 10 feet and starts all over.
Still goin' strong.
Nothing warms my heart like she does.
The most precious thing in the world to me.
What a girl.
My girl.
Suze.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Feelin' the Love
When you are surrounded by such extraordinary people, it's easy to become complacent and forget just how incredibly special your entire existence is. Fantastic and wonderful things become the routine, and begin to be considered the norm.
Some inconceivable phenomenon has placed such an abundance of magnificent souls around me over the years, and it's time I recognize it.
Excellence should never go unnoticed, and it's easy for me to forget how much my dream of a life, my utter happiness, and my success thus far is due to the people around me. I'm not some rich man explaining how he got where he is, I'm just a guy who absolutely loves his life, and doesn't tell the people around him how much he loves them nearly often enough.
I love you.
And it's not just the people I'm around often. It's also the people I don't get to see as often, the ones I only get to see a few special times a year, when they come home from college to enjoy the hot summer nights of Sacramento, to remember why that little spot in their heart still aches for home.
Yet, it still goes beyond that. If you're someone I've had a meaningful conversation with, then this is going out to you.
If you've shared a raft with me on the American River, or let me tie my black tube to your raft, this goes out to you.
If you've enjoyed some crappy movie at the drive-ins with me, this is for you.
If I've done backflips with you, then you knew this was for you from the start.
If you've seen me cry in the locker room on any of my sports teams, this is for you.
If we've shared a shitty bottle of vodka, this is for you.
If we've made a late night batch of Mac n Cheese together, this is for you.
If you've ridden in the Danger Ranger, this is for you.
If you've laughed at one of my dumb jokes, not because it was funny, but because I can't keep a straight face, then this is for you.
I'm almost worried that this won't encompass enough people, and leave some wondering if they fit into this. But then I remembered that I mentioned people who I've shared a shitty bottle of vodka with, so I think that pretty much sums it up.
Really, if you've read this far, then this is for you.
I mean it.
As much as I like to pretend that I'm my own person and owe nothing to those around me, it simply isn't true.
Your life is not your own, others have a stake in it and depend on you, whether you accept it or not, and they deserve some recognition.
Caring is a two way street, one with multiple investors who count their profits in terms of your happiness.
That might be the most important breakthrough I've ever made.
Love feels good. Thank you.
Some inconceivable phenomenon has placed such an abundance of magnificent souls around me over the years, and it's time I recognize it.
Excellence should never go unnoticed, and it's easy for me to forget how much my dream of a life, my utter happiness, and my success thus far is due to the people around me. I'm not some rich man explaining how he got where he is, I'm just a guy who absolutely loves his life, and doesn't tell the people around him how much he loves them nearly often enough.
I love you.
And it's not just the people I'm around often. It's also the people I don't get to see as often, the ones I only get to see a few special times a year, when they come home from college to enjoy the hot summer nights of Sacramento, to remember why that little spot in their heart still aches for home.
Yet, it still goes beyond that. If you're someone I've had a meaningful conversation with, then this is going out to you.
If you've shared a raft with me on the American River, or let me tie my black tube to your raft, this goes out to you.
If you've enjoyed some crappy movie at the drive-ins with me, this is for you.
If I've done backflips with you, then you knew this was for you from the start.
If you've seen me cry in the locker room on any of my sports teams, this is for you.
If we've shared a shitty bottle of vodka, this is for you.
If we've made a late night batch of Mac n Cheese together, this is for you.
If you've ridden in the Danger Ranger, this is for you.
If you've laughed at one of my dumb jokes, not because it was funny, but because I can't keep a straight face, then this is for you.
I'm almost worried that this won't encompass enough people, and leave some wondering if they fit into this. But then I remembered that I mentioned people who I've shared a shitty bottle of vodka with, so I think that pretty much sums it up.
Really, if you've read this far, then this is for you.
I mean it.
As much as I like to pretend that I'm my own person and owe nothing to those around me, it simply isn't true.
Your life is not your own, others have a stake in it and depend on you, whether you accept it or not, and they deserve some recognition.
Caring is a two way street, one with multiple investors who count their profits in terms of your happiness.
That might be the most important breakthrough I've ever made.
Love feels good. Thank you.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
21: The Birthday That Mattered
This was written the day of my birthday. The end is the aftermath.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
First of all....FUCK YEAH, I'm 21!!!
Ok good, I got that out.
Stayed up til midnight, and within 20 minutes of being 21, I was drinking a six pack of Great White on the driveway with my neighbor, David. We each had three for good measure, and argued about which constellations were which, and which of the dippers is the big and little one. Quite petty, but that's what we do best. Hit the hay at 2 am, and got up at 6:30 for class. Let's start this day.
It's just such a great day! I'm literally beaming with excitement, and can't stop smiling. Every light on my way to school was green, because they all knew I was celebrating. Thanks, street lights. Earth Wind and Fire on the radio telling me to "Party On." I mean, the radio said to, so I should probably do it, right?
Pretty sure my huge smile told everyone at school what today is. Just in such a great mood, I can't stop it! Sure, Professor, I'll hand out a paper to the whole class for you, I'd be happy to. Oh, you need me to do it again? Sure, I can manage that, seeing as I'm floating anyway, I won't even need to walk.
During the 4 hours of class, I can't stop cracking up, partly from excitement, and also from the birthday texts that are pouring in. Here are some of the best ones I got:
"You should get a black and tan at dinner. Your dad and your brother will think you have big balls."
"Nice dude, time to hit the bars and hit on cougars."
"My invisible amigo, happy 21st. I hope you get Huge tits all in and around your face."
"Have a wondrous bday lover, and I hope you get that bj"
"Happy birthday tits"
So many references to tits! YEAAHH TITS! What a great omen. Paradoxically, I'm more of a legs/ass man, but tits are always welcome in my face. Always.
All this vicarious celebration from others. I've never been into it, but I am fucking LOVING it today.
This stuff just made my day. I'm normally that cynical asshole who doesn't care about birthdays, especially my own. Good job, you lived another year. Here's your cookie, but we'll just call it a cake... NOT TODAY MUFUCKA! This is my day! WE ARE BUT MEN, ROCK! (Tenacious D)
Woke up to waffles with mashed strawberries, whipped cream and.... of course, the BACON. My mother is an absolute saint. And when I came home from class, in the best of moods, the house still smelled of delicious waffles and syrup. Heaven. I think the only thing that could have topped that welcome home, was if there was a beautiful naked woman waiting for me in my bedroom. Unfortunately, that was not the case, but the waffles were still quite pleasant. Of course, I went and made some Mac n CHeese for lunch. I mean, it's my birthday... I deserve it.
So many problems are solved! No longer will I be stuck in the predicament of "Who can get us booze?" Never again! And fuck you, MIP (minor in possession), I went two years without getting another one, and you can never get me now, you fucker! NEVAR! Sure, you can give me drunk in public, or something along those lines, but you sure as hell can't call me a minor anymore! No more quickly setting my beer down every time a cop comes near. I can finally tailgate in peace before football games. I can drive beer home now and not have to hide it under some blanket or other shit I have in the back of my truck. I can drive with anything under a .08 blood alcohol content.
Never again do I need to worry about the wrong person seeing pictures of me on facebook with alcohol. Go ahead and prove that I wasn't 21 in those pictures. Oh sure, the date is on the picture, but that's not hard evidence, those time stamps are always wrong. Suck all over it.
Finally.
So, not only is my birthday the 24th, but...Battlefield 3 comes out on the 25th! YES YES YES, I want more.
So far today, at 5:45 pm, I have drank a six pack, eaten strawberry waffles with whipped cream and syrup, sat through 4 hours of surprisingly fast classes, read Stephen King, eaten Mac n Cheese, responded to every single facebook wall post concerning my birthday, coached a bunch of lovable freshman punks for 3 hours, and I am about to go eat dinner with the family, and then hit the bars with my brother and company, dressed in Mad Men attire.
So, that first half was written two days ago on the 24th, with the intention of getting back on the 25th to finish the second half, to record my results of the night that was still to come...
Let's just say, the 25th was not a day for writing. Or eating. Or drinking. Or rugby practice. It was a day of vomiting and headaches.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
First of all....FUCK YEAH, I'm 21!!!
Ok good, I got that out.
Stayed up til midnight, and within 20 minutes of being 21, I was drinking a six pack of Great White on the driveway with my neighbor, David. We each had three for good measure, and argued about which constellations were which, and which of the dippers is the big and little one. Quite petty, but that's what we do best. Hit the hay at 2 am, and got up at 6:30 for class. Let's start this day.
It's just such a great day! I'm literally beaming with excitement, and can't stop smiling. Every light on my way to school was green, because they all knew I was celebrating. Thanks, street lights. Earth Wind and Fire on the radio telling me to "Party On." I mean, the radio said to, so I should probably do it, right?
Pretty sure my huge smile told everyone at school what today is. Just in such a great mood, I can't stop it! Sure, Professor, I'll hand out a paper to the whole class for you, I'd be happy to. Oh, you need me to do it again? Sure, I can manage that, seeing as I'm floating anyway, I won't even need to walk.
During the 4 hours of class, I can't stop cracking up, partly from excitement, and also from the birthday texts that are pouring in. Here are some of the best ones I got:
"You should get a black and tan at dinner. Your dad and your brother will think you have big balls."
"Nice dude, time to hit the bars and hit on cougars."
"My invisible amigo, happy 21st. I hope you get Huge tits all in and around your face."
"Have a wondrous bday lover, and I hope you get that bj"
"Happy birthday tits"
So many references to tits! YEAAHH TITS! What a great omen. Paradoxically, I'm more of a legs/ass man, but tits are always welcome in my face. Always.
All this vicarious celebration from others. I've never been into it, but I am fucking LOVING it today.
This stuff just made my day. I'm normally that cynical asshole who doesn't care about birthdays, especially my own. Good job, you lived another year. Here's your cookie, but we'll just call it a cake... NOT TODAY MUFUCKA! This is my day! WE ARE BUT MEN, ROCK! (Tenacious D)
Woke up to waffles with mashed strawberries, whipped cream and.... of course, the BACON. My mother is an absolute saint. And when I came home from class, in the best of moods, the house still smelled of delicious waffles and syrup. Heaven. I think the only thing that could have topped that welcome home, was if there was a beautiful naked woman waiting for me in my bedroom. Unfortunately, that was not the case, but the waffles were still quite pleasant. Of course, I went and made some Mac n CHeese for lunch. I mean, it's my birthday... I deserve it.
So many problems are solved! No longer will I be stuck in the predicament of "Who can get us booze?" Never again! And fuck you, MIP (minor in possession), I went two years without getting another one, and you can never get me now, you fucker! NEVAR! Sure, you can give me drunk in public, or something along those lines, but you sure as hell can't call me a minor anymore! No more quickly setting my beer down every time a cop comes near. I can finally tailgate in peace before football games. I can drive beer home now and not have to hide it under some blanket or other shit I have in the back of my truck. I can drive with anything under a .08 blood alcohol content.
Never again do I need to worry about the wrong person seeing pictures of me on facebook with alcohol. Go ahead and prove that I wasn't 21 in those pictures. Oh sure, the date is on the picture, but that's not hard evidence, those time stamps are always wrong. Suck all over it.
Finally.
So, not only is my birthday the 24th, but...Battlefield 3 comes out on the 25th! YES YES YES, I want more.
So far today, at 5:45 pm, I have drank a six pack, eaten strawberry waffles with whipped cream and syrup, sat through 4 hours of surprisingly fast classes, read Stephen King, eaten Mac n Cheese, responded to every single facebook wall post concerning my birthday, coached a bunch of lovable freshman punks for 3 hours, and I am about to go eat dinner with the family, and then hit the bars with my brother and company, dressed in Mad Men attire.
So, that first half was written two days ago on the 24th, with the intention of getting back on the 25th to finish the second half, to record my results of the night that was still to come...
Let's just say, the 25th was not a day for writing. Or eating. Or drinking. Or rugby practice. It was a day of vomiting and headaches.
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