I broke myself!

Yes, you fucking heard what I said. I think I broke myself. No, it wasn't below the waist. I was eating dinner last night and dislocated my friggen' jaw! I know, weird isn't it! No warning, no fall, no blindsided punch to the face, I just bit it to a baby red potato and WAMMO! You would not believe how much it fucking hurt. For about 15 seconds I couldn't close my mouth. I just sat there in shock with mashed up potato falling out of my mouth onto my lap. Eventually I was able to get my jaw closed. Ice and Tylenol helped but I've been pretty sore all day. Two drunken' bar fights in my life, countless snowboard / skiing crashes, and a rollover on the freeway, NOTHING. Now I'm brought down by a piping hot side dish. I just don't get it, what the fuck?

A new look at an old problem.

Over the past year or so, I have had an issue with "friendship." I have found myself having to redefine what I believe friendship to be, convincing myself that my new concepts are valid, and put those ideas into action. The ideas of friendship that I believed in as a younger man, no longer seem to be valid as applied to my life and ideals today. Looking back, my relationships have been grossly imbalanced. People that I have consider friends have continually let me down. I discovered recently that I was committed to people / friends that weren't committing the same in return. So I had to ask myself if these people were really friends to begin with.

Let me begin by explaining to all of you that I have many acquaintances but very few close friends. I still tend to be more comfortable in small groups than I do in crowds. I tend to follow / join conversations rather than initiate them. It is comfortable for me, and I am happy that way.

As the years have gone by, I have lost touch with almost all of the people I new as a child and young man. To be honest, it was not due to my lack of trying. Every year or so I would call the few close friends from my past to catch up. The conversations were pleasant. We would say things like "we need to stay in touch" and "let’s get together soon." I knew all along that this was not going to happen. Year after year, I would initiate the calls and get none in return. I really was pathetic. I have been trying to hold onto bits of my past while life has been passing me by.

Several events have changed my thoughts and outlooks on friendships. The first major one has been the distance I have placed between my family and me. As a victim of abuse, this separation has given me a kind of new found strength. Secondly, by placing myself into comfortable situations, I have discovered people putting themselves out there and showing interest in me as a person. To be honest, this is scary. Establishing trust and learning about new people in intriguing and exciting. It is also daunting and intimidating. The third event came unexpectedly, just after New Years. A friend from high school called me on the phone. We had been playing phone tag for several weeks when he finally reached me on my cell phone. We talked for about twenty minutes. It was one of the most genuine talks I had had in a very long time. Life has really beaten him down, and it sounds like he in a very bad place in his life. He told me he is floundering and just can't seem to find a new direction. We discussed growing up in "Fuckerville". I sincerely thanked him for his friendship when we were young. He was really the only person that talked me up when the rest of the world was taking turns kicking me in the balls and beating me down. That’s what I told him, almost verbatim. He thanked me in return and said “That means a lot to hear, I wish I hadn't lost touch with you." Unlike past phony plastic phone calls, it felt genuine to hear "let’s get together." I discovered that he has a blog. I read it regularly. His blog was one of the inspirations to begin mine. Someday I will share this with him.

Jake

I have and Idea!

I think that I need to listen more, think more, and talk less.
Jake

fromage de tête,tête fromagée

I was at the deli today and it got me to thinking. Who the hell came up with head cheese? In the glass cabinet there was a slab of this stuff. Visually it reminded me of one of those fake rubber vomit gags that I had as a kid. I mean really, it looks like a fully masticated and partially digested bologna and provolone sandwich with extra mayo that someone returned to the deli because it didn't settle right. People eat this stuff! I'll be honest, I have eaten some stuff in my life that most people would find less than palatable. I once ate a rabbit eye ball and another time I drank about two cups of pickle/vinegar juice. Before I forget, I don't recommend either of these. Getting back on track. . . Both of those were on dares. So, it wasn't like I sought these tasty treats out. Inquiring minds want to know. So, when I returned from the store, I did a quick online search. Volumes of information spewed onto my computer screen. Everything I wanted to know and a whole lot that I didn't, was right there. One quote said " the sour taste of head cheese is attributed to the use of the fat found on the feet of the slaughtered pig." MMMmmmmmm, sign me up! If there was ever the slightest consideration in my often demented mind to try this shit, that quote has most certainly eliminated that possibility from ever coming to be.

Jake

Write.

Writing is something that I really enjoy. I have tried to write; on and off, for many years. But being a consistent writer has proven to be difficult. I often times don't know what to write or how I should write. What is my voice or passion? Where do I start? What do I know? Am I full of shit? Recently I discovered that A friend from the past had a blog. I have enjoyed just lurking, reading, and following what has been going on in his life. It occurred to me that having a blog would be a great format to get my writing off of the ground. But alas I am still faced with the same questions of what, when, why, how, etc. . . So I have been reading a creative writing book that takes you through daily steps and lessons to harness the writer that apparently resides in all of us. It helps. I know that I still have a lot to learn, but it's a start. I feel that as long as I can post/write at least five to six times per week, I'm bound to get better.
Jake

Slow Down!!!

So I have gone back and read my first several posts, and realized that I sound like a whiny little bitch. I was tempted to remove/edit some of my posts to tone them down a bit. The more that I thought about it though, I just said "what the fuck." First of all, no one is really reading this anyway.

So, if you do find yourself immersed in my shit, let me set some of the record straight. I'm actually a pretty upbeat happy guy. I enjoy life more than most people. I don't take much for granted and appreciate a lot. In spite of some things in my past, I have been fairly resilient.

The crap you have read previously; or not, is just some baggage I'm obsessing on right now. Maybe it's the "turning forty" thing? Hell, I don't know. There is something inside me that "needs." Now I'm not talking needy/insecure shit. I just think it's time I learn something else about myself, my past, and my future.

So, rather than post like I have been, I'm going to cut myself a break and be positive for at least the next couple of weeks.
Jake

Misc. . . Thanks

Some time ago I listen to an interview of a musician. I don’t recall who it was, but I do remember one particular question. The interviewer asked the artist about the meaning of a particular song. The song writer would not answer the question as the interviewer had hoped, but rather gave the following explanation.

“It is not up to me to determine what this song is about or what it means. That is really up to the person that is listening to my music. I would be doing a greater disservice to my fans if I told them what this music should mean to them. It is their music, not mine; I mean really. If you want to know what was going on in my life when I wrote this, well that’s a different question all together.”

I have grown to appreciate this. Through out my life, music has been very important to me. Being an introvert as a child, music became an escape from a lot of the bad things going on around me. Music has meant different things to me at different stages in my life. Tonight I was on the treadmill in the gym and I had my ipod on. Now I have heard the song Gimme Shelter by the Stones hundreds and hundreds of times. Tonight though, a particular line struck a chord with me unlike any other time in the past.

“Oh, a storm is threat'ning

My very life today

If I don't get some shelter

Oh yeah, I'm gonna fade away”

In the past I always thought of this song as some impassioned anti-war song. But tonight, these four lines took on a whole new meaning. I found myself relating the lyrics to how I feel in my life today. Emotionally, right now, there is a storm raging above me that seems to have no end. Shelter, closure, healing. . . I need something to make this hole in the middle of “me” disappear. For the future “me” to be the best I can, I need this. So Mick thanks for the song.

Music hasn’t been my only escape in life. Books, stories, movies, all are great means of escape. A couple chapters a night or a 100 minute flick have become great therapy. On a side note, lately I enjoy hearing great stories of other people parents/childhood. I guess my demented mind enjoys living vicariously through others. Shit, I should really see a therapist. Thanks for everything Mom. Was it worth it?

Several months ago I was in the grocery store. For reasons I still don’t understand, I struck up a conversation with this silver haired old woman. Her name is Bonnie. She has to be one of the nicest people that I have met recently. We really didn’t talk about much of anything important. It was just small talk bullshit kind of stuff. I was just impressed on how she carried herself and how genuinely kind and happy she was. Fast forward to yesterday. I’m in the grocery store, and who should I see? There was Bonnie. She smile at me said “hello Jake”, and gave me a hug. Christ, she remembered my name! It made me smile. Thank you Bonnie I really needed that.

Jake

Gadget Guy

I have come to realize that in the last few years I have become a Technology Whore.

There was a period in my life when the title "Minimalist", fit me perfectly. I had a 19" TV with a wire hanger/tinfoil antenna. I did not own a VCR or a video game console. I slept on a futon in a studio apartment. I had a decent home stereo that sat on top of a simple wooden box. I did not own a car stereo, cell phone, or watch. Home computers were not common household fixtures. It was the early nineties and life was pleasantly simple.

Life as I know it now, would be a bitch without. . .

My computer
The Internet and email
My iphone
A big ass flat screen DLP television
NFL Sunday Ticket
TIVO
Remote Controls
A Gas Fireplace
My ipod
A Dishwasher
The Rabbit Wine Opener
Over sized heads on golf clubs and draw technology
Lightweight snowboarding equipment
Fleece
Nose hair trimmers
ETC..........

The list is endless.

The talking heads were onto something when they asked "well how did I get here?" That is how I feel sometimes when I look at all of the shit that is considered "essential."

Same as it ever was, same as it ever was.

Jake

WTF!!!

Excuse me while I vent!

To give you a little background, I grew up in a small town. A very fucked up small town. I spent nearly my whole youth there. For the sake of the story, let's call it "Fuckerville".

When I moved to Fuckerville at the age of 4, there were about 6000 Fuckervillians living there. Fuckerville is a farming town. So there was a small group of rich Fuckers, a lot of poor migrant Fuckers, and the rest of us Fuckers that were somewhere in the middle. My Mom moved us there from Hollywood when she married my Step-Dad; a pretty well known Fucker that had been in Fuckerville most of his pathetic life. We'll call him "Abusive Asshole".

Now Abusive Asshole never had a good thing to say to me for let's say. . . . .Ever! I wasn't a son, but rather the baggage that came along with the bride. "You'll never amount to anything"; he'd say. Once at the local Fuckerville Fair he pointed to a military recruiter booth and said "there's your future, cause your to dumb to do anything else." Abusive Asshole was a very typical Fucker.

So needless to say, I ended up being somewhat introverted as a young man.

Thirteen years later I followed Abusive Assholes advise and joined the USN in order to escape the hold of Fuckerville. I never looked back! I have gone on to be very successful, but the scars of Fuckerville run deep.

Abusive Asshole died in 2003. Now I didn't celebrate his dying, I was just indifferent about the whole thing. The thing is, as a result of Abusive Asshole's treatment, I no longer speak to my Mom or Brother. The poor Fuckers were just to self absorbed to acknowledged what the Abusive Asshole had done to me.

Here is the part that is pissing me off today. I am a fucked up Fucker. I have been thinking back on my days in Fuckerville and wondering how it is now, in 2008. Talk about confusion! I have spent my whole life hating "Fuckerville" and now I'm wonder if it's changed. I don't know if it's a closure/forgiveness/demented curiosity thing. . . . I mean what the FUCK!!!!

The Bike Guy

Today I saw something that I do not understand. A grown man in his late forties riding a kids BMX style bike down the street. My brain would never, under ANY conceivable circumstance, see that as a better option than walking. I mean "really". . . Well o.k. maybe with plastic handlebar tassels and a 7 of diamonds in the spokes. But short of that, my pride would just have to say NO!