Its available in Kindle format right now. Hardcopy book tomorrow (I’ll post another link at that time).
But twice, read once!
You bastard, age
You hide inside
And bide your time
showing up to turn the page
You bastard time
You sneak on psst
You stealthy beast
Mocking malificent mime
You bastard decay
Like a tattered flag
You always get your way
You bastard thought
Of loss, regret and error
Swirling like a shark
Toothy reminders of what one hath wrought
The girl in blue, she took my hand
we walked across the
And to the place behind the house
I am VERY picky about certain articles of clothing I purchase. I like funky socks for work days, ankle length ones that are thin for the gym and thick woolen ones for working outside in the winter. I also now like compression socks for running. Shall we talk about polo shirts? Square even bottom, not the ones that are longer at the back for tucking in because NOBODY SHOULD TUCK IN A POLO. Also some brands are good, some weird. For example a standard normal fit Tommy Hilfiger polo makes me look like the hulk and not in a good way. Pants? Slim through the knee to ankle, low waisted okay if with an untucked polo but NOT a tucked in long sleeve shirt unless it’s the only option. I can go on, and on, and on. Mt grandfather was a tailor and I can yap about clothes all day, even though having three kids means I don’t spend anywhere near as much as I want to on clothes.
Underwear I am also very particular about. I have been known to find a brand I like and that brand changes materials and designs and I will NOT BUY ANY MORE until I find a suitable replacement which can take months. I know. I’m an anomaly when it comes to men.
Last spring I was about to finish my four month’s training and be in a Spartan Sprint (highly recommended, hardest thing I have ever done, doing three yest year). I needed proper wicking sports underwear and not the usual “whatever boxer briefs I happen to have in the drawer” I usually throw on. I found Saxx. Saxx Kinetic to be exact. The ones below to be more exact. Might I just say that if I had it my way I would replace every single pair of underwear I own this very moment with them. they fit gloriously. They stayed in place during the 3 mile + slog fest obstacle race I was in. I wear them to work and just doing nothing at all. I love them.
They aren’t cheap. My aforementioned grandfather would spin in his grave at the idea of $40 a pair but they are worth every penny.
I am for the record setting aside $40 a month to replace my existing underwardrobe with them. I suggest you at least try a pair and see if I am wrong (I assure you I am not).
That is all. An underwear review.
Note: if Saxx wishes to be a sponsor of my website, I will happily work for free clothing. terms negotiable. Size Medium.
It was the last day of our mutual “kids are at camp” vacation. We do this every year. The two boys are away for a number of weeks at summer camp and we book a week off ourselves to pretend we are in our early twenties, childless and have mysterious money that appears in the bank account. It was near bedtime and as my wife Karen pondered going back downstairs to watch a little television with me, I lay down across the bed, my head on her shins and my arms over my head. We chatted and I started to feel dozy, perhaps TV was not the answer, perhaps we should just get some sleep. I lay my arms down to my sides, letting them fall with an exhausted thud. A sharp pain, a stinging pain then radiated up and down my arm from its source, the back of my upper arm, halfway between shoulder and elbow. I knew instantly that I had been stung.
Karen sat up as I rolled rapidly to my right, clutching my arm. “What happened?” she asked.
“They can’t kill you. It’s no worse than a bee sting.” I reassured myself as I identified the attacker and its location…
Hours earlier I had been staring at a photo of a desert vista. A view from beneath a stone archway. It was mesmerizing. I was supposed to be doing something Very Important on the computer, but instead, I was gazing at the picture before me. Thoughts and questions filled my head.
“If I was going to take a break from hiking, where would I sit?”
“I know, right there, on the right, just past the arch. My back against the wall.”
“There is a thin crack there. I wonder how many critters live in that crack.”
“Lots. Probably spiders, millipedes, scorpions.”
“I wonder since they come out at night, if I sat there, would they come out into the shade beneath or behind me?”
“If I say there long enough, how many of those things would use me as shade like a rock or a tree stump?”
“I wonder how many scorpions there are in that valley.”
“Probably hundreds of thousands.”
“If you took all the scorpions in that valley and made a ball out of them, how big would that ball be?”
“That would be a very frightening ball.”
I shuddered at the thought and the previously mesmerizing photo of a beautiful desert scene became a horrifying photo where a ball of scorpions the size of a Dodge Ram were hiding everywhere, just waiting for me to sit down and take a break so they could sting me.
That folks is how anxiety works.
I looked at the ceiling as the pain subsided. “Nothing” I responded as I calmed myself.
“What did you think happened?” she queried, calmly.
“I thought I was stung”
“By what?” I could tell she was holding back laughter
“Sean, what did you think stung you?”
“And what was it really?”
I took a moment and breathed. Embarrassed slightly, angry at myself for my as usual overreacting.
“A toothpaste tube.”
She paused. “So you panicked for nothing, right?”
“Yes” I responded quietly.
Karen reached across and grasped the tube. It was mostly empty and the back end rolled up, the corner of the end of the hard plastic tube pointed upright like a little bathroom caltrop, waiting for my arm to lay upon it.
In a normal household this is where it would have ended, or perhaps with some speech from her about my lack of judgment and unreasonable panic. Instead she did her best to reconfigure the tube to better resemble a scorpions general shape and proceeded to sting me all over with it as I writhed around trying to escape.
This is how she has been trying of late to “cure” me of anxiety. Making me face things that set me off in a loud and vigorous way. She is “vaccinating” me against panic she claims. It does not work.
When she finished, my mind wandered back to the desert. Upon reflection, I would not sit with my back to the wall. I would sit on the rock in the middle.
It afforded a much better view.
Also, I think it would be easier to deal with a large scorpion of the same mass as a ball of scorpions the size of a Dodge Ram Truck.
At least you would see it coming.
Okay it has rained all night
And I’d like it to stop
My cats are going crazy
As it’s flooding my crop
And by crop I mean my lawn
Which is brown as a Greek
No that isn’t racist
Had spanokopita this week
I think I want souvlaki
and some ouzo too
And maybe I’m just hungry
as its breakfast time ooh!
But there’s nothing good to eat
But cereal made from quinoa
A weird hippie concoction
That tastes all zippadee doo dah
Rainy day movie
Yes! Song of the South!
But it’s racist, you can’t rent it
Without soap for your mouth…
Sorry. It’s 8:22 and all I’ve had is three coffee. .
good morning Vietnam!
Monkeywrench by The Foo fighters.
If ever there was a song you physically CANNOT listen to without having the urge to crank the stereo up to eleven* there has not been one. It is a perfect song for a bar fight. If ever I have the ability to score a bar fight with my mortal enemy** Kevin (not his real name***) this song would play in a loop until he was a whining pulpy faced mass on the floor. I would then chug back a double shot of high-test rum, walk briskly behind the bar and rinse my knuckles off in the bar sink, chewing on a lime garnish as I did, until the cops arrived. It would give me time to concoct my alibi and as a professional liar I am sure I could have one pretty fast.
“Kevin” is/was a jackass. “Kevin” was a skinny, tall bully who surrounded himself with other guys who did his bidding and his bidding was usually picking on the nerdlings including myself. Sure, being a short, small in stature guy who was not very adept at making/keeping/attracting friends and who was one of the more academic sorts who disliked hockey (a crime in my small town) I had at least one guy a year who made my life hell. Two of them are now dead and being a person who is very good at holding grudges way past their expiry date I smiled when I found out. Kevin however is still alive, in a management position with a wife and children. I’d post a photo from his corporate page if only to show you that he still has that smarmy look he had when he was sixteen, the one I’d like to punch while The Foo Fighters played overhead multiple times, but hey, maintaining anonymity for him and all that.
I have in recent years noted my fiery nun-punching angry hatred of Kevin to a few semi-close friends. They expressed “no idea” that he was like that and that he “always seemed nice” to them. “Well of course he did, you were female” I think. Not that he had a chance with any of these people, but in true form he hid his alternate self from them in the hopes they would be nice in return. Nice as in eighties teen comedy girls dating bad boys they had no idea were bad nice. Needy smarmy prick. I am SO glad he never got in any of their pants. I am also glad he had other personal, medical shall we say or more accurately pharmaceutical issues in his past. Sadly he overcame them so he probably feels pretty good about himself.
This frankly sucks.
We had a reunion a few years back that did not occur in the end. I had no desire to attend at first, but was roped into assisting organize it by a cute girl asking me to help and yeah, I’m a sucker for a cute girl asking me to do stuff. The only reason I found to be unlikely to bail on it at the last-minute was that he would be present. He and his wife and hopefully his older kids. In my mind I wrote a speech, as I was asked to, and in said speech I would crack jokes, introduce people, defer to the djay and all the usual jazz. I also had in my mind a separate speech add-on that would involve mentioning aloud how much I hated high school and how a good part of why I did and why I turned out to be as jaded toward humans in general was (dramatically point finger, spotlight goes up on his table) Kevin. To see his dainty wife, who stood by him as he overcame his personal crap and became a local business professional (of sorts, I mean I don’t stalk him but he clears MAYBE 70k/annum) and a father to her children, find out that he was a bully in school and there was at least one person who still could not be happy completely so long as he was still breathing, or at least not under a train bridge doing favours for hobos for beer money and smokes. My apologies, Long sentence. Run on thoughts.
I would then drop the mic dramatically, pull out a couple of pairs of boxing gloves and offer him the chance to go out back. He would decline with an embarrassed laugh, a laugh that rattles due to years of smoking etc. I would say “thought so”. Then just like the last reunion, I would get up, down my beer and walk out the door with my wife on my arm, get in my much-more-expensive-than-his car and crank Monkeywrench.
* If you do not get this reference, seriously, stop reading my things until you Google it.
** As opposed to my nemesis, Jason Priestly, who people have on and off thought I was
*** Yes it is