Faith in Humanity, restored

You really just have to see it to understand. It's worth the 9 minutes of your life.

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKSxHYK_wfs

An ode to Arnold Jackson

So this past weekend was a glorious thing. Not only did the Yankees not have to do anything to get into the playoffs, thus preventing any unnecessary drama *cough Mets*, but the Giants also decided that maybe they should reincarnate the defense of the late 80's, and actually bring a pass rush to the Eagles. They even brought Harry Carson and Lawrence Taylor to the sidelines, to participate in the voudoun. I believe they also used one of their wives to sacrifice to the football gods to make this happen (*Authors note- this is a lot more funny if A) you had seen the game or B) I could find the pics of the smiling players, with one of their wives between them. Just trust me*). Don't ask what was in the gatorade. Suffice to say, the Giants were a juggernaut, and stomped on the mostly 2nd string players of the Eagles Team (a win is a win bitch!) 16-3.

But my spectacular Sunday (TM) started off even before the football started. This was mostly due to the fact that Sunday, September 30th was "St James Day". Basically, this is a festival that involves all of the local vendors lining up and down Lake Avenue, pushing their wares for the good people of the town. Occasionally there are free samples, which my son and I (mostly I) partake in. Hot Dough and Sugar are a definite "yes", while yogurt and raisins are a distant "maybe" which is just slightly ahead of "gym"- pronounced goyum, I believe.
It wasn't long before the boy scouted out a Mister Softee Truck, and ever polite- asked "May I want some Ice Cream Please?" Being an obliging father, I got him a vanilla cone, with the necessary napkins (about 1 x 10 to the tenth degree.) A few minutes later
after I ponder a Karen Silkwood type of cleaning process on the boy, he hands me a mostly empty cone- with but a small gathering of vanilla remaining in the coin sized reservoir of the otherwise untouched receptacle.
Being the Fat Suggestable Zombie Dad that I am, I commence to eat said cone almost before my son releases it. Nearby parents gasp in terror, as they ponder if the hospital will be able to reattach the three year olds' fingers. But the real comedy involves my son, who looks to me as would a certain child actor of the late 70's-80's, Mr. Gary Coleman. "Whatchu talkinbout Willis" he almost seems to ask.

I looked down at my son, and then looked to either side, slightly reminiscent of a certain pre-Mohawked Mr. Deniro, wondering "Hey, you lookin' at me?" (*authors note- I know it's "Talkin'" to me. Roll with it please*) before it dawns on me just the reason for the perplexed look on my sons face.
Consider yourself sitting in a restaurant. After finishing a completely fine meal with a family member- a family member who had up until that point seemed stable in mind and body- said relative decides to start devouring the plate that their food was on.
I don't REALLY laugh often. When I find things hilarious, my guffaw is much like Jackie "the Jokeman" Martling. I own the laugh, sure. But when I realized why my son was so very troubled by the eating of the cone, as displayed by his "WTF" look, I laughed loud and deep and hard, almost to the point where I lost my breath.
I explained to my son that the cone was a lot like a cookie, and gave him a try. He devoured the poor thing in maybe a minute.

It's gettin' to be rigoddamndiculous (aka epiphany)

e·piph·a·ny /ɪˈpɪfəni/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[i-pif-uh-nee] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation –noun, plural -nies.

1.	(initial capital letter) a Christian festival, observed on January 6, commemorating the manifestation of Christ to the gentiles in the persons of the Magi; Twelfth-day.

2.	an appearance or manifestation, esp. of a deity.

3.	a sudden, intuitive perception of or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, homely, or commonplace occurrence or experience.

4.	a literary work or section of a work presenting, usually symbolically, such a moment of revelation and insight.

So there I was, sitting at the head of my dining room table, quietly keeping my opinions to myself as an inane conversation refused to die amongst my closest family members. Understand I love my family dearly- some more than others, but all dearly- and would miss them were they not there. But it was my birthday, dammit. If there is one gathering where I should be spared the family drama that I myself have not caused- it should be this day. I was about to interject when, suddenly, out of the blue, my step mother spoke up.......
Those of you that know me have a pretty clear concept of the relationship that my step mother and I have. It's not cool, it's not warm- it's, at best tepid. Children should be seen and not heard, and apparently the sum of years to be considered "adult" in this equation is equivalent to (Bob's Age +1). So as I sat there, watching the words being spoken, I mentally buckled down for what could easily have been a bumpy ride.
Much to my surprise, my step mother went on a three minute dissertation on how proud she was of all that I accomplished this year. Flabbergasted, I stumbled through a thank you reply, giving much credit to my wife (see how flabbergasted I was????) and of course my wife's mother then had to ruin everything by interrupting and making things about the boy.
No, Nonna, Daddy is allowed one day a year. Step off.
Now, you would think that I should be grateful for the compliments, and as the folks in "The Wiz" would tell you- ease on down the road. Not so fast.
As I later read all the cards that were given to me- I noticed a significant trend. They were all complimentary- but all the personal comments centered on my career accomplishments.
(as an aside- this year was a doozy for me- career wise. More likely than not, it shall not be repeated- but ya never know)
I'm not sure why, but this was a major blow to me. Maybe it is because I'm not planning on living past 70 (don't look at me with those eyes of admonition- none of the men in my family make it much past 68). I think back about the comments made in birthday cards, and the only ones that I remember are those that were included when my son was born. And, just so you know- my end of that deal was pretty easy. Relatively mind you.
I consider the scope of this- that my family feels that the of all the things that I have accomplished, that my career is the the pinnacle of said accomplishments- and I'm uneasy. Will the lasting impression I leave with my child(ren), on the world- be solely that I sell drugs well?
Reflecting- there is ample reason (or a lack of alternate material, more appropriately) to steer my family in this direction.
With this, I have decided that I am going to volunteer to do something (I'm not sure what yet) involving pediatric oncology. Prevention/treament of, not the propagation of- ya nits. Fundraising, increasing awareness, what have you. It's a good cause, and it inflates my ego- aint nothin' wrong with that.
I've been having a lot of "karma" moments as of late, mostly involving the "small world" syndrome. I hope maybe that this is the right track.

Black Vulcan!

Pure electricity- in my pants.
http://www.adultswim.com/shows/birdman/stuff/soundboard/ http://www.adultswim.com/video/?episodeID=8a25c39213f363a70113f395d8da0028

First Post!

Although not prone to "woot"ing so often, I must throw one in here- as this is going to be my first foray into blogging. After some considerable forethought into the layout of the blog *cough* I decided that I should perhaps add some content to the thingamajig
I've never considered myself a "writer" per se- but I've always communicated somewhat well. And by well I mean "effectively" as compared to "in a compelling manner". I guess this blog is my attempt to 1) put my thoughts into a medium outside of my cranium, which some people allege will have a therapeutic value while 2) chiseling away at my style/prose/what have you.
For those of you that just happened to google/search your way onto here- I am a salesman by choice. I can sell the snot out of things, when I want to. But I am surrounded by people who have charisma. I can sit and listen to the people for days, and feel comfortable being with them. Where I find banality, they find purpose. It's frustrating to know that I don't have it.
I guess what I am hoping to figure out is how to tell a story. I won't be the first one to tip toe (or stomp) down this forest path- lord knows I will knock over a few tulips and scare some cute bunnies along the way. But it's my journey, and I'll take from it what I can. Thanks for joining me.