Monthly Archives: February 2015

I Saw The Face Of Evil Today (and his nose was running)

Let’s face it, kids are cruel. Downright devilish dickheads determined to degrade society by demonizing the very essence of innocence. Or, something like that. True, calling them devilish little dickheads is a bit much but you cannot completely disagree with me. They have no boundaries, a learned trait which is apparently too difficult for some. We are supposed to instill that in our children so that they do not grow up to become adult dickheads. Sometimes, though, these morals do not stick. Whether through a faulty teacher or a faulty student, some kids are just terrorizing little demons. Given, a certain level of disobedience is expected. This is how we all learn the difference between right and wrong, correct? However, once this wall is breached, all the powers of hell come forth. It’s fucking mesmerizing if you watch it from afar but remember to keep your distance. Those little bastards have very sharp fangs.

Now, my daughter is no angel. She has her moments which makes it that much more horrible when you see it in another child. At that moment in time there is a split second when you realize the fact that your child is not the only one and she might not be the worst of them either. They travel in pacts. They plot to take over the world and, all of the sudden, your comfortable little ideals about the world come crashing down around you. Now, hold on a second… I’m getting a bit carried away. (Or am I?)

It starts with something small. Childish, you might even say, but it is how they react to it that really matters. Any other kid would put the rock down, walk away, or even apologize. A little demon person, however? Well, their eyes get very low from pointing their chin in the direction of their birthplace but even the slightest connection from their pupils will plant horrors under your skin. They get very still, their voices calm and quiet, and they curse you with a tilted smile. It’s terrifying if only because you cannot do a damn thing to them. That is where their power lies. What is true evil without being something you cannot vanquish? Pay no attention to the smudges of crayon stuck in their shirt. The eyes will tell you everything.

To make matters worse, we contradict what we tell our kids on how to handle an encounter with such evil. Don’t be a tattletale but tell an adult if someone is doing something wrong. Would you tell on a bully if that was drilled into your head as a child? No! You got beat up throughout your childhood, didn’t you?! What the hell do we expect our kids to do? We tell them that we do not tolerate bullying yet become annoyed when we have a snitch in our midst. Hypocrisy, how unbecoming of you. They should not be afraid to come to us and we should not fear isolating the problem. Corner them, point them out, and shame the hell out of them. Bully needs to become the four letter word, not tattletale.

We, as adults, cannot touch children. Even if that child is being a terrorizing little shit, anything beyond a hug is considered abuse. You know what I say? Grudges hold merit in them. That little boy that tried to throw a rock at my daughter this morning while giving me the evil eye needs to watch his back eleven years from now. An elderly army might do us some good when those dickheads become legal. Yeah, I said it. You know that you have thought about it once or twice. This is a new movement. It shall be dubbed the Elders Against Evil campaign.

You want to get rid of bullying? Start making it okay for the other kids to tell on them. There is a difference between a drama queen/king and a genuine complaint. Do not belittle the last bit of innocence left in this world.


Dream With Purpose

Ah, the ability to dream. To have an ambition or image of yourself accomplishing something great. You are now the emperor of candy or the new prime minister of wherever. It doesn’t really matter what the dream was but that you had one at all. It is one of the things you are taught as a child that follows you throughout your entire life. Not only that but it always had to be bigger than the kid next to you. The bigger the dream the more motivation you build up. Or something like that. Did you dream of being an astronaut? Not big enough. Scientist? Bigger. A better actor than Channing Tatum? Well, anybody could do that but no, bigger. A gigantic man named Boris as your man servant? BIGGER! Take your dream and multiply it by the level of unemployment in this country and you’re still not there yet. We spend our lives imagining something bigger for ourselves, expecting greatness. We are all made of glory. Anything less must be banished! We’re here to make a huge difference. We are the life-alterers for the masses. Get ready world, I have been born! Nothing can stand in our way because we, as Americans, can dream. Your younger years are spent reveling in your greatness because you will become something more incredible than anyone has ever seen… or so you thought.

How much of us really try? We say that we work our asses off but is that honestly the case? To truly work yourself raw is a difficult thing to understand and most of us refuse to comprehend it. We were always taught to dream big but merely told to work hard. No matter how big, what good is the dream at all if you have no comprehension of the amount of work that goes into obtaining it?

I recently watched American Sniper and, while the movie is heart wrenching to watch, there was something depressing that happened deep down inside of me. If these men and women can sacrifice their lives to protect my ability to not only dream but also to go after that dream then why is it that I, we, cannot sacrifice some time and effort to do them justice? Why is it that we cannot live, with every fiber of our being, in honor and celebration of their lives by living every ounce of ours in service and up to the standard of the protection they offer us? We cry and whine that we don’t have more. We complain that our low level job doesn’t pay us more when we have no desire to work for the higher wage or the promotion. We, Americans, are not living up to our standard.

I do not remove myself from the collective. I have done my fair share of complaining. I am no better than anyone else and this is what hit me so hard while watching that film. I have no understanding of exactly how difficult it could be or how hard the work truly is. My life is absolutely nothing compared to the lives of the military and their families and I am ashamed of not living to their example.

It used to mean something to be American. We fought for our basic human rights to be independent and free. We live in a country that allows us the right to choose, breathe freely, scream obscenities, yell, and be heard. The military, our people, have given their blood for that… but what do we give them in return?

Our children are growing up feeling entitled to everything. They grow up expecting life to be easy and simple because we coddle them instead of pushing them. Get a degree and you will be handed a job worthy of you? No. You need to become worthy of your position. Earn your opinion. Fight back when threatened. Stand your ground and for the love of your freedom, learn to work. It is one thing to speak but an entirely different one to act and times have changed in the biggest ways. In order to achieve more you must work more and sacrifice more. Somewhere down the line, we gave up on this ideal. We chose the fast paced, impersonal way of doing things. Our children know more about the internet than what the different expressions on someone’s face mean. We tried to give them more but ended up giving them too much. Without the ability to function in a face-to-face manner, people become unidentifiable from one another. Individualism gets lost and when you do not feed the baby, the baby cries. A country full of crybabies is not worth giving your life for.

We must live. Go outside for a while and breathe, deeply. I do not apologize for being an American. I apologize to the military, people just like me, for forgetting what it means to be an American. Instead of giving out complaints, we should work harder. Instead of giving up, we should start over. Nothing is complete until you are underneath the dirt. That dream of yours is just the blueprint. It is your blueprint. Sealed up with your own personal stamp of approval on it. The bigger the better. Otherwise, we do not do them justice. We do not offer them the reward of coming home to an incredible country full of uninhibited ambition. We are here, in front of the world, ready to tackle anything and not a damn thing will stop us from doing so. I will be the emperor of overly opinionated bloggers for centuries to come because of an immortality I have gained by eating nothing but steaks and candy! See? Start with something simple, expand on it, give it reason, and do not rest until you have completed this task. My true dream is to live a more positive life with the hope that I can be even half of the human being a service member is. I do not wish to only shake their hands and thank them but to live my life in honor of their service.

I say this now, here one this page, and fear that it may fall on deaf ears. My own may even get a bit muffled so, I ask myself as well as you to, please, dream bigger and raise your standard. The men and women of the United States military go to their graves protecting us. The least we can do in return is give them one hell of a reason to do so.

Did You See That?!

What is it about movies? Where does the obsession lie? How is it that we become so drawn to them? Can it turn addictive? Are we already consumed by them?

Anyone who knows me is fully aware of my movie obsession. I collect them. I get caught up in the excitement of a new release. My speech is riddled with movie lines and sometimes the only way that I can describe something is by comparing it to a film I saw once… but why is this? How is it that the majority of us get so wrapped up in the film industry that we could never imagine a world without it? What is it that draws us in? The first motion pictures did not get released until the late 1800’s and I cannot figure out how they existed without something so incredible. I would love to go back and see the first moving pictures during that time. There is just a sense of something magical about it. It makes fairytales real and wars more haunting. They terrify us, overwhelm us, and make us laugh uncontrollably. Where else can you see an animated toy act better than most human beings?

One of the most beautiful images I have ever seen is a shot of Daniel Day Lewis covered in oil staring off in the distance in There Will Be Blood. It is a permanent image in my mind that is the perfect example of why I love movies. In that moment I am completely lost. Who I am does not exist. Everything beyond that moment of my unyielding devotion to what is happening on screen just simply does not matter. I see what he sees. I feel what he feels. I smell, taste, and touch what he does. For the time it takes to watch that movie I am only what that character tells me to be. When done correctly, my soul, my worries, my dreams and aspirations, my faults, mistakes, quirks, everything that builds the essence of me fades away while engrossed in that film.

In that sense, you could describe it as an escape. However, this implies a need to flee. Maybe… but in most cases this becomes false advertising.  For a true believer this is not simply an infatuation but an all encompassing passionate love affair. It lives beneath your skin. Clawing at the surface at every second of the day begging for air. It is the need to spend hours watching trailers. The withdrawal pains of being without the fresh smell of a movie theater on a regular basis. To say that it is simply an escape is a cruel insult. Maybe it is not us running from our troubles but approaching someone else’s with open arms. Maybe it is stepping foot in a world beyond our comprehension to view ourselves from a different angle. This is the time for us to be free! To scream and cry and laugh with someone we’ve never met. Or have we?

If each of us interprets things differently then are we really just taking a moment to look at ourselves through an askewed lens? We place our own minds in these scenarios and ask ourselves what we might have done. It is us that we are watching and we are judging it from someone else’s view without prior knowledge. This film was already within us. We just did not know it yet. We are all capable of anything. Why not take a moment to play pretend? It is time to take back our childish side and become the cops and robbers again. We are the characters and the characters are us.


Maybe we just like to see things go boom. The point is exactly this: if you were not having a conversation before, you are now. No matter what the outcome of the film was, you are talking about it and debating it. You love it or you hate it and you will stand your ground on that belief. In the most simplistic form, it is the birth of ideals. Good versus evil, how much of both do you hold within yourself? The next movie you see well help you understand.

There’s Never A Good Time (But there’s a better time than that)

If there’s one thing I’m really terrible at in life it’s sleeping. It’s not that I don’t want to. I really truly long for my bedtime. It’s a state of peace. The moment when all else fades away and you can finally rest your body and soul. If I had enough time to dream, I would dream about sleeping.

My lovely daughter has discovered this about me… and she uses it… and I’m beginning to believe it’s on purpose. Like a sly manipulative pint sized ninja, she waits until the very last moment to bring up some terrible day-shattering event that just causes her to be completely unable to lay the hell down and go to sleep. She wants to talk about it, snuggle, anything but stay in her own bed and she’s good at sleeping. She must’ve learned that from someone else. Snuck out at night and found a monk in a faraway land to teach her not only to sleep better than a rock but to take away any little pathetic ability that I had to get even the tiniest amount of sleep. She’s devious that one. I’m beginning to think she’s plotting against me.

After much time last night of telling me ridiculous excuses of why she can’t sleep, then lying to me, and severely abusing her tear ducts I finally convinced her to lay down quietly. We will talk about it in the morning. I’m grouchy enough as it is… she’s not helping at one o’clock in the morning. That dream of my bedtime gets more and more fuzzy everyday.

Of course, by the time we wake up and sit down to breakfast I’m already over last night’s events. She came into my room sporting a hairdo that could frighten babies down to their bones this morning. It’s a little hard to remember the state of mind I was in the night before after seeing that. That hairdo is enough punishment, I think. I’m too tired to pick up where we left off. Go figure. Sometimes I think the only reason for parenting troubles is karma getting us back for being little shits to our parents. The cycle of sanity loss.

I’m submitting my dues to the karma gods. If we measure a fulfilled life by the level of sanity left over I think I’ve paid in full. Stamp it, process it, I’m done…

I guess at least until her teenage years… She’s lucky I find her unfailingly adorable. I hope that thought carries me to the big sleep. My final bedtime… I should be good at sleeping by then. I hope.