tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31772683049999481862024-02-08T10:00:22.237-05:00Confessions of a Lazy Scribea series of observations from a slacker's point of viewbdubsmittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13217075526527321095noreply@blogger.comBlogger45125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177268304999948186.post-8752439172796559182012-11-07T23:24:00.002-05:002012-11-07T23:24:21.333-05:00A few quick thoughts...The first thing I noticed today when I got home from work and settled in to watch my daily regimen of Family Feud was the sweet peace of knowing there weren't any more political ads flooding every commercial break. Honestly, the political attack ads were one of the main reasons that I didn't vote yesterday. All of the candidates drove me away with their constant blubbering on tv, but fortunately I don't have to listen to their crap for another few years.<br />
<br />
Now the only thing I have to deal with are the scores of people complaining about the election. I understand that people don't like the fact that their candidate didn't win, but is it really necessary to endlessly complain about it? It's not like complaining is going to change the result, so I just don't see the reason for doing it.<br />
<br />
But people like to complain just for the sake of it I suppose, and if they weren't complaining about the election results they would surely find something else to complain about. I've never understood why people have to complain about everything, but some people just don't know how to be happy.<br />
<br />
Well I think that's going to wrap this entry up. I don't really have much to say, but again I had to write something to continue my 30 day challenge. I'm sure I'll have more to talk about tomorrow, but we'll just have to wait and see when tomorrow comes.bdubsmittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13217075526527321095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177268304999948186.post-3785403434179760882012-11-06T21:55:00.000-05:002013-09-27T12:46:24.297-04:00(Don't) Rock the VoteSeeing all the hoopla surrounding this year's election made me do something I never thought I would do since the day I turned 18: I didn't vote this year.<br />
<br />
There, I said it. I did not vote for Mitt Romney. I did not vote for Barack Obama. I did not vote for anyone, and I'm kind of glad I didn't waste my time. I know this probably upsets a lot of people, but I realized today that it just wasn't worth my time to worry with voting.<br />
<br />
I realized this as I arrived at the local elementary school where my precinct votes. It was cold, rainy, and the line was wrapped around the building. I made a decision right then and there that I was going to get back in my car and drive back to work because I wasn't going to wait in line for up to an hour in the cold and risk getting sick just to punch a name on a ballot when my singular vote doesn't count for anything since I live in a guaranteed Republican Electoral Vote state.<br />
<br />
So yeah, I didn't vote. But, I won't complain about who won or lost either, because I realized that when I walked back to my car this morning I forfeited that right. I also won't chastise anyone else for voting for either candidate, as I feel that everyone has the right to vote (or in my case, don't vote) for whomever they please.<br />
<br />
That's really all I have to say on the matter, because frankly neither candidate is worth wasting any more of my breath on. I just hope that whomever wins does right by America and looks out for the people over his political party, but the realist in me knows that's not going to happen.<br />
<br />
But hey, a guy can dream can't he?bdubsmittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13217075526527321095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177268304999948186.post-70803688595249262302012-11-05T22:43:00.000-05:002012-11-06T09:13:47.997-05:00Spaghetti PrincessSince my son doesn't have school tomorrow he was invited to a sleep over at his friend's house, and because my wife and I never pass up an opportunity to get one of our kids out of the house* we had no problem with him going. Normally when he goes to spend the night with a friend we let our daughter pick what we have for dinner so she doesn't feel unimportant, and it's a virtual lock that she will request spaghetti.<br />
<br />
I swear she's Italian because she would eat spaghetti three times a day if we let her, but when she's the queen of the castle we don't argue with her choice of spaghetti for dinner even though it's a guarantee that we're going to eat it every single time.<br />
<br />
One of the reasons I don't mind making spaghetti for her is because I have a quick and painless recipe for spaghetti sauce that I make and freeze for these special occasions, and for at least one night dinner is painless to make. Since I don't really have anything else to talk about today, and because I have to write something for this 30 day challenge, I decided I would share my spaghetti sauce recipe with you.<br />
<br />
This is one of my daughter's favorite things to eat, and if you decide to try it I hope you have a good experience with it as well.<br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<b>Quick Spaghetti Sauce</b><br />
<br />
<b>Ingredients:</b><br />
<br />
1 green bell pepper, diced<br />
1 medium yellow onion, diced<br />
3 cloves garlic, minced<br />
1 28 oz can crushed tomatoes<br />
2 tbsp Italian seasoning<br />
1 cup chicken broth<br />
3 tbsp tomato paste*<br />
<br />
*- <i>The tomato paste can vary from 1 tspb to a full 6 oz can, depending on how thick you want the sauce. I use 3 tbsp because it is the preferred thickness for my personal taste, but your taste may vary.</i><br />
<br />
<b>Directions:</b><br />
<br />
Sauté the bell pepper and onion on medium high heat for 5 minutes. Add the garlic and saute for one minute. Stir in tomatoes, chicken broth, and seasoning.<br />
<br />
Lower heat to medium-low and stir in tomato paste 1 tbsp at a time until desired thickness is achieved (see note above). Cook sauce for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. Serve with your favorite pasta.</blockquote>
<br />
And that's all there is to it. It really is the easiest way to make spaghetti other than buying a jar of store-bought sauce, and trust me - once you try this you'll never want to do that again. Just be sure to double or triple the recipe so you can put some up for later. It keeps in the freezer for months and is a great way to save time during the busy week when you need a quick go-to meal or if you just feel like taking the easy way out to put dinner on the table.<br />
<br />
* <i>If you're a parent, you know exactly what I mean. </i>bdubsmittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13217075526527321095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177268304999948186.post-77195692229843474902012-11-04T18:21:00.000-05:002012-11-04T18:21:26.435-05:00Costco over football? Yes, please...Because I'm no longer emotionally invested in the state of the 2012 Carolina Panthers, I decided to skip my normal Sunday ritual of watching the game to spend time with my family and make a trip to Costco.<br />
<br />
Yes, I just admitted that I went to Costco instead of watching football. I know that violates every guy code in the book, but I honestly don't care because 1) I am no longer interested in whether or not the Panthers win/lose every week, and 2) I actually like going to Costco.<br />
<br />
One of the reasons I like going ot Costco is because you can find stuff there that you can't find anywhere else. I mean, where else are you going to find a 5 gallon bucket* of olive oil? That's right, nowhere. That's part of the reason I enjoy going to Costco; if nothing else it's an adventure to see what sorts of things you can find that don't exist anywhere else.<br />
<br />
Another major reason I like going to Costco is because it's a membership only place. Now, I'm not saying that I'm some sort of elitist who thinks he shouldn't have to shop in the same place as the masses, but I will admit that I enjoy shopping in a place that doesn't have the typical riff-raff that you find at major box stores** across America.<br />
<br />
So yeah, Costco is one of my favorite places to shop. The funny part is that today I didn't even buy anything. I just wanted to tag along with my parents and in-laws who were both going there to buy things. Plus, I really didn't want to watch football, so going to Costco gave me a way to pass time so I didn't have to suffer through yet another horrible Panthers experience. (In typical fashion, the one week I don't watch the game they decide to have their best game of the season and win. Figures.)<br />
<br />
I can't say that I abstained from football completely this weekend though, because as I'm typing this I'm watching the Giants/Steelers game. Well, it's on the tv as background noise, because I'm also in the process of baking potatoes so I can make gnocchi for dinner tonight.<br />
<br />
Speaking of gnocchi, I think I just heard the oven timer go off. Oh well, time to finish cooking so I can feed the family. They would probably like that.<br />
<br />
* <i>Okay, it wasn't that big of a container. However, it was at least 2 gallons.</i><br />
<br />
** <i>I won't name any names, but one such store's initials are Wal-Mart.</i>bdubsmittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13217075526527321095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177268304999948186.post-52620865152631189382012-11-03T20:26:00.001-04:002012-11-03T20:27:16.503-04:00Whew! Now I'm exhausted...Today's post is going to be short, and honestly the only reason I'm even writing it is because I made a promise to write something every day this month and I don't want to break that promise on the 3rd day of the month. I've been known to slack off and quit things before, but even I'm not that bad.<br />
<br />
The reason this post is going to be short is because I'm utterly exhausted. I've been moving furniture all day, and I barely have enough energy to sit here and type this post out after spending the last 9 hours moving couches and bedroom furniture.<br />
<br />
It all started last night when I drove 3 hours to my parents' house to help my dad load a U-Haul truck so they could bring the furniture down to our house (we claimed a bedroom suit and living room suit that used to belong to my brother but was newer than what we had) . This morning we got up and loaded the truck, and then made the trek back to my house to unload the truck, load the old furniture from my house to donate to Goodwill, then unload the truck again at Goodwill and return the U-Haul.<br />
<br />
After a grand total of 9 hours of driving, lifting, loading, and moving; I think I'm finally done, and now I'm worn out. <br />
<br />
The good thing is that I don't have to move any more furniture for a long time because now the furniture in my house is new and will last at least 5 years, so thankfully I won't have to do this long hard day again in the near future.<br />
<br />
That is, of course, as long as my wife doesn't decide she wants anything else changed in the house. Hey, a man can dream can't he?bdubsmittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13217075526527321095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177268304999948186.post-40065885715523756092012-11-02T08:51:00.000-04:002012-11-02T09:13:04.433-04:00Dish Network is the devilYeah, the title of this post says it all. DISH Network is the devil (or, as Kathy Bates would say to Adam Sandler in <i>The Waterboy</i>, The Debil). Why are they the devil? Well, I'm glad you asked (and you know you did).<br />
<br />
Last weekend my wife's debit card was compromised, so she had to get a new one issued from our bank. While she was waiting on her new card to arrive, she realized that we pay our DISH Network bill via auto-pay (we did this so we could get free HD service), and if she didn't call them to let them know that her card number changed we would have an issue with our payment not going through this month.<br />
<br />
One would think that calling them ahead of time to let them know of this situation would be a good idea. One would be wrong to think this, because DISH Network doesn't work that way. They don't do things the common sense way. They have to make things as difficult as they can for their customers, because apparently they enjoy putting people through absolute hell just to get a simple task completed.<br />
<br />
When my wife called customer service, she was told that in order to change the credit card on file she would have to pay the current charges on our account (our bill is automatically drafted out on the 18th of every month). When she asked why she would have to do something so foolish just to change information in our customer profile, she was told "that's just the way we do things". She asked to speak to a manager, and was transferred to someone who apparently was less qualified than the entry level phone operator she originally spoke to when she called.<br />
<br />
The manager told her that if we wanted to change our credit card information on our account that we would have to pay the current balance. My wife told the manager that we weren't going to pay our full balance because it was foolish to pay it two weeks before it's due just to change the credit card number so future bills are actually paid (you would think they would want this to happen since you know - they wouldn't be able to collect their money otherwise).<br />
<br />
My wife exchanged a few unpleasantries with the manager, who eventually told her that if we wanted to we could cancel our auto-pay option and re-enable it at a later date to avoid paying the balance to change our card number. The manager said that as long as we re-enabled the auto-pay option within 17 days we wouldn't be charged for the free HD that we have, and if we waited until the 18th (17 days from now) we could change the credit card number, pay the bill, and re-enable the auto-pay option for future billing cycles.<br />
<br />
My wife asked the manager if we could just re-enable the auto-pay option tomorrow since it was within 17 days. The manager said no. My wife, perplexed, asked why this wasn't possible. The manager said that we would still have to pay the balance in full if we wanted to change the credit card number, but we could only do the disable auto-pay then re-enable it if we waited the 17 days and called back on the 18th to pay the bill and sign back up for auto-pay.<br />
<br />
My wife and I were confused. We didn't understand why the manager told her that we could disable auto-pay, change the credit card number, and then re-enable auto-pay as long as we did it within 17 days, but then turned around and said we couldn't disable auto-pay today, change the card number, and then re-enable auto-pay tomorrow so the bill would be paid on the 18th.<br />
<br />
When she pointed this out to the manger, she said "that's just the way we do things". My wife asked "So why did you just tell me two minutes ago that we could do that, and then tell me we couldn't do it?!" Apparently the manager said something that made my wife out to be a liar, because I heard her voice raise as she said "Well, you just told me that we could do that!"<br />
<br />
After a few more minutes of back and forth with the manager, my wife agreed to disable the auto-pay feature and threatened them with cancelling our service if they screwed our account up and charged us for our HD programming after the manager told us they wouldn't, and she told the manager that we would call back on the 18th to re-enable the auto-pay feature and pay the balance on our account.<br />
<br />
So basically, we wasted a half-hour of our day that we can never get back and got nothing out of it from DISH Network. Thanks, DISH!<br />
<br />
Now, my question is this: Why in the hell is it necessary to go through all this rigamarole just to change the credit card number on our account? Is it really that hard to type in a new number in the credit card slot on our account? Do they treat all their customers this way, or are we the lucky ones?<br />
<br />
As expected, we got an email from DISH Network about an hour later acknowledging that we disabled the auto-pay feature on our account, and...wait for it...if we didn't re-enable our autopay within 17 days we would be charged for any promotions that we received from signing up for auto-pay (i.e. - we would have to pay for our HD programming).<br />
<br />
So, we wasted our time jumping through hoops on the phone with a customer service rep who told us that we wouldn't have to pay for our HD programming, and then received an email from DISH saying that if we didn't re-enable the auto-pay feature we would have to pay for our HD programming. Yeah, that makes perfect sense. <br />
<br />
Needless to say, my wife isn't very happy about the way we were treated by DISH Network, and we've both decided that if they try to charge us for our HD programming from this month that we are simply going to take our business elsewhere because we feel that our continued loyalty for almost six years should be enough for them to treat us with a small modicum of respect, and if they can't do that then they don't deserve our money every month when there are other companies out there who will give us what we want (tv access) for comparable prices with much better customer service.<br />
<br />
The moral of the story is this: if you're thinking about switching to satellite tv, don't switch to DISH Network because they're the devil, and the devil is bad.<br />
<br />
At least that's what momma always says...bdubsmittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13217075526527321095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177268304999948186.post-18489102425837384162012-11-01T12:03:00.002-04:002012-11-01T12:29:29.981-04:00Deja, Deja, Deja, Deja, Deja VuHave you seen the iPhone commercial with the stupid hipsters standing in line for hours just so they can buy a new phone, and then the one hipster who looks like he hasn't bathed or shaved in three weeks stands there counting his chubby little fingers while asking the question "Have you ever had deja, deja, deja, deja, deja vu*?<br />
<br />
Yeah, I know you've seen it because they play it Every. Freaking. Commercial. Break.<br />
<br />
My wife hates that commercial. <br />
<br />
I hate it too, but that's beside the point. The point is: I feel like that chubby little hipster is talking about me. No, I don't have an iPhone (Android FTW), but it seems that I always tell myself "I'm going to start blogging again" and then I write a few posts and then put it on the shelf. Rinse and repeat. Over and over. Every single time I start, I stop again because I get scared that people are actually going to read this and
they won't like me because what I write about is stupid and I don't want
people to think I'm stupid.<br />
<br />
Slow down. Deep breath...<br />
<br />
Anyway, I'm going to give this a shot again. I might make it three posts, and this might be the jump start that I needed to get back into the habit of blogging all the time. This could be beginning of something fantastic, but it's probably going to end up like it always does - me doing this for a few weeks and then falling off the wagon again. After all, this cycle has played out many times before.<br />
<br />
This time I think it's different though. This time I'm doing this because I want to, not because I feel like I have to. I know, you're probably sitting there thinking "he says that every single time", and you'd be right. I do say that every single time. But this time I mean it. (I know, I say that every time too, but this time I'm for real.)<br />
<br />
This time around I have inspiration to write. <a href="http://www.weeklyadventuresordinarygirl.com/" target="_blank">A fellow blogger I greatly admire</a> is doing a 30 days of writing challenge**, and it's inspired me to get off my lazy butt and write more. I feel a desperate need to communicate my thoughts with whomever may be reading this even though I don't know who I'm talking to unless I'm talking to myself, because I know who I am.<br />
<br />
Or do I? Do I really know who I am? Maybe I do, and maybe I don't. Do you know who you are? Do any of us know? These are questions that I don't know the answer to, but maybe I can find the answers by writing in this space. Or maybe I won't, but at least I will be able to look back and say I tried.<br />
<br />
In the end, that's all that really matters.<br />
<br />
* <i>The one that really gets on my nerves is the hipster who says "the
headphone jack is going to be on the bottom", and then does the whole
"my head is exploding" thing. I want to punch him in the face every time
I see the commercial, but at the same time I don't because I'm afraid
if I touch him I'll turn into a hipster.</i><br />
<br />
<i>** I am going to try and write a blog post every day for 30 days. If I can't keep this blog up after writing for 30 consecutive days, then it's a lost cause and I'll shut it down. I hope it doesn't come to that, but if it does - at least I'll know that I gave it my best shot. </i><br />
<br />
<br />bdubsmittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13217075526527321095noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177268304999948186.post-62797804426418458222012-04-29T09:30:00.000-04:002012-11-01T13:42:29.741-04:00War...and Peace, Part 5If you've never planned a funeral before it pretty much goes like this: you cry your eyes out for about half an hour as you talk to the funeral director, you manage to pick out the day/time/location for the funeral, pick out a casket to bury your loved one in, and you somehow tell them enough information about the deceased so they can write an obituary (if you choose to have one). That's how it's supposed to happen.<br />
<br />
For us, it was different from the norm because we were burying a veteran, so there was the added bonus of having a military funeral. Or so we thought.<br />
<br />
We were informed by the funeral home that because my brother didn't die as a direct result from combat (i.e. - he wasn't shot or blown up overseas), that he was not eligible for a full military funeral. The problem with this is we wanted a full military funeral, and because he died from cancer that was proven to be a result of his service in the military, we felt that it was the least the government could do.<br />
<br />
And so, it was time for the real battle to begin.<br />
<br />
We made countless phone calls to every single person who had any say in how things are run in the state of South Carolina. We had friends of friends make calls to people who we thought might have connections to the inner-workings of the government. We had people posting to Facebook asking everyone they knew to call anyone they could to help us out, all to no avail. They weren't going to budge.<br />
<br />
That's when we went on the news.<br />
<br />
Someone in our community contacted the local news and told them the story, and they came to my parents' house to do a story on my brother and our fight to give him the funeral he deserved. They talked to my parents and my wife (I refused to go on tv because I couldn't bring myself to do it at the time) and aired the special the night before the funeral as a last ditch effort to convince the people in charge of the situation to make an exception for my brother.<br />
<br />
After the news crew left, it was time for us to get ready for the wake, which is never an enjoyable task. It's even more difficult when it's one of your family members because that means you have to get there early to view the body to make sure everything is in order. That's the second hardest part of the process: the first time you see the body and know that it's not a person anymore.<br />
<br />
Viewing the body was definitely an experience I will never forget for as long as I walk this earth. Seeing him lying there peacefully - knowing the personal hell he had been through for the previous 12 months of his life was finally over - was strangely relieving to me. I could feel his peace, and for the first time - if only for a brief moment - I was okay with what was happening.<br />
<br />
We buried him in his military uniform. We felt it was the best thing to do for him, because we felt that's what he would have wanted. One benefit to doing this was allowing everyone to see all the medals and badges that he had earned during his service, and having people who knew what each badge symbolized tell us what they all meant. We learned a lot about him through this, and we discovered that he had done a lot more for our country than we thought he had.<br />
<br />
For example, we learned that he won not one, but two Purple Hearts. That's a big deal. It's an even bigger deal that he never spoke a word about them. It's a sign of his true character. He was more concerned about others to the point where he wouldn't even brag about himself when he had something worth bragging about. Not very many people can say that. (I sure as hell know I can't.)<br />
<br />
The wake was inspiring to me when I saw just how many people showed up to pay their respects to my brother for his sacrifice and for his service in the military. I felt like I shook a million hands and hugged a million people that night. One of the most awesome feelings I got from being at the wake was from meeting a lady who said she saw our story on the
news and felt compelled to come pay her respects to the family. It was
an unbelievable feeling knowing that there still are people out there
who appreciate the sacrifices that members of our military make each and
every day, and that's one of the few things that helped me get through the tragedy of losing him. I knew that his death was not in vain, and it did bring a feeling of peace to my soul.<br />
<br />
We left the wake and returned to my parents' house, and sometime shortly after we arrived we learned that arrangements had been made for a full military funeral. We were thankful to everyone who had joined together to help us get what we felt he deserved, and we were glad that we were going to be able to remember his life the way that we thought he would have wanted us to. (When you're planning a funeral, you'll take any small bits of relief you can get.)<br />
<br />
We were also informed that there was a group of veterans who wanted to escort the hearse to the burial site via motorcycle, and even though my mother was uncomfortable with the idea at first (she didn't want to add any more attention to the funeral than it already had), we finally convinced her that it would be a good idea to include them. (Looking back on it now, I'm glad we did.)<br />
<br />
As unusual as it is to say this, the funeral was absolutely beautiful. We arrived at the church for the first half of the service, and when we got out of the car we noticed two long lines of American flags leading up to the entrance. Each flag was held by one of the motorcycle veterans, and each veteran was standing at attention as we walked into the church. It was surreal. It was the most amazing thing I've ever seen in my life, and it's a shame that it took such circumstances as a funeral for me to be able to see it, but unfortunately that's the way it goes sometimes. <br />
<br />
The first half of the funeral was the typical protocol that most everyone follows. There was a prayer, a few songs, a message about the deceased, and another prayer. When we got to the grave site, however, it was a completely different story.<br />
<br />
If you've never been to a military funeral you are missing out on one of the most beautiful exercises known to man. They follow a strict protocol that is intense, respectful, honorable, and moving all at the same time. I've never seen anything like it before, and I don't think I'll ever see anything like it again. It was a beautiful day for a funeral (as macabre as that sounds), and luckily we didn't run into any major problems with the weather (aside from the sweltering heat that only the South can provide). There's a unique air of calm surrounding a military graveside service, like nothing else I've ever experienced before. And, as strange as it sounds, I felt at peace. <br />
<br />
The 21 gun salute was breathtaking. Hearing the shots fired into the dense summer air knowing they were meant to honor and respect the life that my brother had lived and the sacrifice he had given sent chills down my spine that I still feel every time I hear the sound of a gun shot, even thought it's been a little over 9 months since the funeral. <br />
<br />
It didn't become real to me until they lowered the vault into the ground. Up until that moment, it felt as if I were living in a dream that would eventually end. But, when they lower that burial vault into that cold pit of dirt six feet below the surface, the reality of what's happening hits you like a freight train, and all the weight of regrets that you had for things you'd done (or failed to do) starts to sink in. That's the hardest part of the process - the realization that your loved one is gone forever, never to return again.<br />
<br />
It's a reality that I've been battling ever since the funeral, and it's a reality that I'm just now able to talk about (hence the long amount of time for me to tell this story). But, thankfully I'm at the point now where I can finally talk about it to an extent, because that's the first sign of moving on. I know that it's a process and it takes time and that I'm not going to be over this for a long while, and knowing is half the battle. The other half is going to be adjusting to life without him, because from time to time I still find myself wanting to send him a text message, or checking to see if he's on Facebook just to chat.<br />
<br />
I know I'll never get to chat with him again (at least not in the physical sense), and that's the part that eats at my soul every single day. I've lost my best friend, but I know that I can at least take comfort in the fact that he's finally at peace. He's certainly earned it.<br />
<br />
War is definitely hell, but peace is everlasting. My brother went through war, and because of that war was able to find his peace. Someday, I hope that I can too.bdubsmittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13217075526527321095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177268304999948186.post-41959164417779555082012-04-28T09:30:00.000-04:002012-11-01T12:49:05.325-04:00War...and Peace, Part 4When cancer is involved, a person's health can nosedive in the blink of an eye. I witnessed this first hand as I watched my brother morph from the person who had an occasional bout with pain into someone who could barely get up off the couch without it being excruciating torture.<br />
<br />
It was only a few days after he returned home after visiting me that I got a phone call from my mother saying that he was going to the hospital again. I knew it was going to happen. I could tell by the way he looked, sounded, and acted the week before that something wasn't right, even if he wouldn't admit it when I would ask him about it. <br />
<br />
I don't pretend to know what anyone is thinking at any given time. I
don't claim to be a mind reader, and I don't think that anyone really
has the ability to read minds, even if someone tells you they are (and
will prove it to you if you shoot them $3.99 per minute after dialing
their 1-800 number). But, even though I couldn't read my brother's mind,
I knew that he was troubled with his situation, and I knew
that he was counting down his final days.<br />
<br />
I
could just tell in his general attitude that something was wrong, and
no matter how many times I tried to get it out of him he wouldn't spill.
I knew it was because he was scared of what he was facing, though I
never heard him admit it. Either that or he didn't want to burden me. At any rate, I didn't push him too hard because the
last thing I wanted to do was push him away in the time when I felt
that he needed me the most (or the time that I needed him the most - I'm
still trying to figure out which way it really was).<br />
<br />
My fears were confirmed by the phone call from my mother. He was going to the hospital again, and I knew it wouldn't be much longer before we were planning a funeral. It's hard to come to terms with something like this, but we had no other choice. The fortunate thing for us was we had a chance to adjust to it, unlike many who have to do this sort of thing on the spur of the moment. We at least had some time, even if we didn't know how much.<br />
<br />
My brother tried to make things easier on my family by attempting to live his final days at home, but he just couldn't do it. He wasn't able to be comfortable at home, because home didn't have the 24-hour nurse assistance that the hospital provided. So, he decided to go back to the hospital. Because he's the kind of person who puts others before himself, he decided that he wanted to go to the hospital that's only 10 minutes away from our parents' house, instead of the one that he'd been staying at (which is 35-40 minutes away) to make travel easier on our parents. (Once again, he was concerned with others even though he was the one near death.)<br />
<br />
I drove a lot of miles back and forth on weekends for almost a month. I had to. I knew that if I didn't do it I would live to regret it for the rest of my life. I was faced with the decision: What's more important - spending time with my brother or putting mileage on my car? It wasn't a hard decision to make. So, I drove 3 hours one-way every Saturday morning, and drove the same 3 hours one-way every Sunday afternoon for three weekends in July/August.<br />
<br />
The first two weekends were alright because he was able to sit in the bed and talk, even though he was in excruciating pain because of the tumors. We were able to reflect on our past and the fun times we had together as kids, and we were able to genuinely enjoy those moments because this time we weren't just talking to take up empty space - we were actually reliving those memories together.<br />
<br />
Looking back, I'm glad we were able to share those times together while he was in the hospital, because it helped me cope with the fact that he didn't have much time left. I needed all the help I could get, and his ability to maintain a positive outlook was one of the few things that helped me get through the whole ordeal. He may not have realized what he was doing, but he was comforting me even though it was supposed to be my job to comfort him.<br />
<br />
The final weekend I went to see him was the hardest. He had gotten so frail that he wasn't able to do anything anymore, and the pain was so bad for him that he was in a constant state of numbness from the morphine that was running through his veins. I knew the time was near. If you've never been around someone who's dying, I can assure you - you know when it's time, and even though none of us wanted to admit it, it was his time.<br />
<br />
On Monday, August 8th, he requested that all his friends come visit him so he could begin saying his final goodbyes. He decided that he would have the doctors turn off the limit to his morphine so he could rest peacefully until his clock ran out, and he wanted to tell everyone goodbye before he was gone. I remember hugging him and telling him that I loved him, and I remember him saying "I love you too bro." to me as he hugged me. I felt like I was hugging a complete stranger because so much of him had wasted away because of the cancer, yet I couldn't make myself let go. I knew it would be the last time I hugged him, and I wanted it to last forever.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, it didn't last forever, and I had to leave so I could come back home to return to work on Tuesday. I didn't want to leave, but I had to. I shouldn't have left, and I knew I shouldn't have left as soon as I got home Monday night. One of my biggest regrets is not staying when I knew I should have, and even though I was doing what I thought was right, my heart was telling me the entire time that I should stay. I wish I would have listened.<br />
<br />
I was eating my lunch on Tuesday at about 11:45 AM when I got the call. I didn't even have to answer the phone, because once I saw the number on the caller ID - I knew. My mother said two words to me, and those two words fell on me like a ton of bricks.<br />
<br />
<i>He's gone</i>.<br />
<br />
That's it. That's all she was able to say. I barely managed to mumble out "okay, we'll be up later this afternoon", and I somehow managed to call my wife and let her know what was going on. I don't know how, but I also made three other phone calls to spread the word, and I left work and went home to pack. As soon as I pulled the suitcase out, I sat on my bed and wept uncontrollably. I knew it was going to happen, and I'm still not sure how I held out as long as I did, but somehow, I was able to do it.<br />
<br />
I was fine on the drive up, because I focused my attention on driving. Focusing on the drive was the easy part. The hard part was when we arrived and I saw my parents for the first time. The only word I can use to describe it is surreal. I thought I was dreaming, and I thought that at any moment I would wake up and the dream would be over.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately I was wrong. I wasn't dreaming. My brother had really lost his battle with cancer, a mere 11 months after he was diagnosed with the disease. That wasn't even the hard part. The hard part was still to come, because we still had to have a funeral - a place where we would have to say our final goodbyes before he was laid to rest. That's the hardest part of all, because of the finality associated with it. There's no turning back from it, and I would be lying if I said it wasn't the hardest thing I've ever had to do.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://lazyscribeconfessions.blogspot.com/2012/04/warand-peace-part-5.html"><i>To be continued</i>...</a>bdubsmittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13217075526527321095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177268304999948186.post-28059353914155422922012-04-27T09:30:00.000-04:002012-04-28T10:05:19.941-04:00War...and Peace, Part 3It is incredibly painful to watch someone you care about suffer, especially when you know there's nothing you can do to stop the suffering. I've been there, and I'm sure many of you reading this have been there as well, so you know just as much as I do that it's not fun at all. It sucks, and there's really no nicer way to say it.<br />
<br />
I won't go into a lot of detail about my brother's post-surgery or the majority of his hospital stays, because I don't have first-hand information from a lot of those incidents because I live 175 miles away from my parents and the hospital he was treated at is even further away than that. I went to visit on weekends, but I wasn't able to be there every day like I would have wanted to be, so a lot of the details are fuzzy to me because I'm relying on second-hand information. But, I will hit on the major points and the stuff that I know, which in this story should be good enough because while the minutiae of his ordeal would be great, the major plot points will suffice. <br />
<br />
After my brother's surgery he went through the typical recovery process that everyone goes through where he was miserable for about a week after the fact, with the worst part being that he was confined to a hospital bed knowing he couldn't go anywhere or do anything that he loved to do. Add in the discomfort of having hoses and cords coming from every other direction - including a colostomy bag and catheter - and it makes the experience even more not-fun. But, my brother took it in stride. He always took everything in stride. No matter what effect it would have on him, he was the same calm person on the outside. <br />
<br />
After suffering through the post-op discomfort for about a week, he was able to finally go home. But, that didn't last very long, and he was back in the hospital after a near-death experience when his catheter stopped functioning properly. One of the worst feelings in the world is that phone call late at night from home that contains the words "ambulance" and "emergency room". Add in "almost died" and "barely made it" to the equation, and it's a phone call that will certainly scare the hell out of any normal person.<br />
<br />
He endured several scares similar to that one over the next few weeks, and also endured the bad news that the number of tumors in his liver had grown, as well as the amount of tumors in his lung. The big bombshell came shortly after that, when the doctors told him that the tumor they had removed not only returned, but came back larger than before. So, a new round of treatment was planned, even though he secretly thought it wouldn't do any good. (He never admitted this, but I could tell it was how he felt about the situation.)<br />
<br />
He did everything he could to enjoy life. People tend to do that when they know there's a clock ticking and it's going to stop soon. He didn't know how much time he had (the doctors told him about a year), but he knew that he was going to enjoy the time as much as he could. He made a bucket list and started doing things that he'd never done but always wanted to. (I think all of us would love to have this luxury.)<br />
<br />
He made one final trip to Hawaii to see his fiancée before his treatment was scheduled to begin, and that's when things began to turn for the worst. I'm not going to go into a lot of details about what happened in Hawaii because 1) I don't know all the details, and 2) it's really none of my business. All I'm going to say is this: he found out that she wasn't being honest with him while they were apart, and the engagement was cancelled before he returned home.<br />
<br />
It was his deathblow. He lost everything that he had left to fight for, and when he came home he decided to not take the chemotherapy because he wanted to enjoy the rest of the time he could instead of being sick from the treatments and only buying himself an extra six months of life. His thinking was "I'd rather enjoy six months than be miserable for a year if I'm going to end up dead either way". I can't say that I blame him. <br />
<br />
After the Hawaii fiasco he started crossing items off his bucket list. He got body piercings and tattoos (and even paid for me to get one with him), and he started enjoying every single moment of life he had left. He came to visit me more so he could spend more time with me, The Wife, and our kids. We stayed up until 2 AM most nights he was there, and even though it made getting up the next morning very difficult, it was some of the best time we spent together because it was so real, and to him - it was a chance to escape.<br />
<br />
Each time he would come visit he would stay for several days to a week, and I noticed that he was getting progressively worse each time he came. I could tell his time was near, and I could tell that it wouldn't be too much longer until he wasn't able to come visit any more, and unfortunately, I was right.<br />
<br />
The last time he was able to come visit was in July of last year. He came for my birthday, and he was able to stay for a week even though he was sick most of the time he was with us. He would stay up all night because he was so sick, and he would only get a few hours of sleep during the day if he was lucky. It didn't change the way he interacted with us though, as he would still talk and goof off as if nothing was even wrong with him. (To this day I'm still amazed that he was able to do this. I know I couldn't have done it.)<br />
<br />
One of the things I'll always remember about his final week at my house was the late night conversation I had with him when he started telling me things that he had done while overseas. I won't go into detail here because it's not my place to do so, but I will say that he did a whole lot more than just sit at a desk and type on a computer all day, which is what he led most of us to believe. The one thing that will always stick in my brain as long as I have one is the image of him looking me square in the eye and saying "If I would have known it would come to this, I would have jumped on a grenade when I had the chance."<br />
<br />
That's some powerful stuff. If you hear that, it will send chills down your spine, I don't care who you are. (It certainly did for me.) It's one of the last images I have of him, because shortly after he left our house and returned home, things took a turn for the worst.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://lazyscribeconfessions.blogspot.com/2012/04/warand-peace-part-4.html"><i>To be continued</i>...</a>bdubsmittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13217075526527321095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177268304999948186.post-88610576123695704822012-04-26T09:30:00.000-04:002012-04-27T09:35:33.321-04:00War...and Peace, Part 2One of the hardest things a person can ever say and/or hear are the three words <i>I have cancer</i>. It doesn't matter how tough you are (or claim to be), it's one of those phrases that brings sadness to everyone involved (and even to those who aren't involved). It's real. It's heart-wrenching. It's sobering. Those
three little words remind us of our own mortality, that our absolute
appointment with death is closer than we may have originally thought,
and it hurts like hell. It doesn't get any easier to digest after you've
heard them, either. I can bear witness to that. <br />
<br />
The
image of a phone conversation with my brother in September 2010 still resides
in my brain as if it were 5 minutes ago. No matter how hard I try to forget, I am constantly reminded of that exact moment when he
broke the news to me. <br />
<br />
I was waiting in line to pick my son up from school and suddenly I saw my cell phone ringing. I should have known
something was wrong when I saw his number on the caller-ID, because he's
not the type to just call me up to discuss the weather. He's just like
me when it comes to talking on the phone (i.e. - we hate it). It's funny
how brothers can be alike in so many weird ways, yet be totally
different in others. But anyway, I digress.<br />
<br />
I remembered that he
previously told me he had a doctor's appointment because he had been
abnormally sick for several weeks after returning home from Afghanistan, but I never in a million years would
have imagined that he would have cancer. That's just not something that
goes through your head when you get a phone call from your brother. I
was expecting him to tell me something about where his fiancee (at the time) would be
stationed after she completes her training (she's in the Air Force), but
I never thought I would hear him telling me that he had cancer. He wasn't supposed to say that.<br />
<br />
Talk
about a bombshell. After he told me, I was in a daze - like I was in
the middle of a bad dream and couldn't wake up from it. To this day I'm still trying to face the facts and understand that he really did tell me that and it wasn't something that I made up.<br />
<br />
The
hardest part was not knowing what the future would hold. There was a lot of
uncertainty in regards to treatment options, quality of life, likelihood
of survival, etc., and it was a very trying time for me and my family because we couldn't just
"know". I often wished that I could look into a crystal ball and see that
everything was going to be alright, but I couldn't. Knowing that I couldn't made it hurt even more.<br />
<br />
I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to help. Feeling helpless doesn't make matters any
better, because I'm the type of person who likes to solve problems.
Approaching the unsolvable is something I prefer to avoid, and something
that I'm not accustomed to. I was a fish out of water for most of the time after his diagnosis, and that bothered me.<br />
<br />
It bothered me that I couldn't solve the problem. It bothered me that I couldn't do anything to make his pain go away. It bothered me that I couldn't do anything to make my pain go away, and I couldn't make my parents' pain go away. I wrestled with the feeling of helplessness for a long time (hell, I'm still fighting that feeling today), even though my brain knew that there was nothing I could do - my heart wanted to do something so bad it couldn't stand it, and it couldn't handle the reality that there was nothing that could be done.<br />
<br />
The doctors gave us a glimmer of hope by telling us that he could go through a few rounds of chemotherapy and then have surgery to remove the tumors that were in his body*, and after that there was a chance that following a round of radiation treatment he could make a full recovery. They cited his age (28 at the time) as a benefit in his fight because he was young enough and strong enough to fight off the ill effects of the chemotherapy, and he was still young enough to have something worth fighting for.<br />
<br />
* - <i>He had tumors in his rectum, liver, and one of his lungs</i>. <br />
<br />
He managed to stay relatively healthy (considering the circumstances) during his chemo treatments, and he was scheduled to go through surgery in December to remove the cancer from his body. When it came time for his surgery, he was in good spirits (again, considering the circumstances), and even though we were worried beyond belief, we tried to maintain a positive outlook for him. (This is much easier said than done.)<br />
<br />
While the surgery only took about 6-8 hours*, it seemed like an eternity to me and the rest of the family as we sat in the waiting room, anxiously awaiting updates from the surgeon. Hospital waiting rooms are like that though. They make it seem like time is at a stand still. You sit, and you sit, and you sit some more. Then you get up and walk around to ease your butt from all the sitting (and because you're going stir crazy sitting in the same chair for so long), and then you return to your seat and sit again for hours on end. Then, you look up at the clock and realize you've only been sitting there for fifteen minutes, even though you feel like you've been trapped in that chair for hours on end.<br />
<br />
* -<i> I have forgotten exactly how long the surgery took, but 6-8 hours is a fair estimate</i>.<br />
<br />
Finally, after what appeared to be about five days worth of time, the surgeon came out to discuss how the surgery went. The news was good, but not as good as we hoped it would be. The surgery went well in terms of he went in and came out alive, but the surgery didn't go so well in terms of the surgeon accomplishing his goals in the surgery. They were only able to remove part of the tumor because of extenuating circumstances they encountered once they opened him up.*<br />
<br />
* - <i>I'm not going to go into graphic detail, but it took them several hours to clean his bowels because they were so impacted due to the location of his tumor</i>.<br />
<br />
Because of the problems they ran into once they opened him up for the operation, they weren't able to remove the tumors from his lung and liver. They decided that it was best to get the biggest tumor out of the way, and they were able to take all of it out. The down side to the surgery was they had to set him up with a colostomy bag because of the tumor's location, but they were hopeful that it would only be a temporary setback until they were able to do a second surgery to completely remove the cancerous tumors.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately for my brother, it wasn't temporary. But that was only the beginning of his struggles.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://lazyscribeconfessions.blogspot.com/2012/04/warand-peace-part-3.html"><i>To be continued</i>...</a>bdubsmittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13217075526527321095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177268304999948186.post-33630711803154064272012-04-25T09:32:00.000-04:002012-04-26T09:34:05.096-04:00War...and Peace, Part 1William Sherman was absolutely right when he said that war is hell. I know this first hand. No, I've never served in the U.S. Armed Forces, and I've never been on a battlefield except for various field trips I've taken over the course of my years studying the history of our great nation, but I can honestly say from personal experience that war is definitely hell.<br />
<br />
I'm sure you're wondering how I can be so definitive about something I readily admit not experiencing first-hand, but I'm not talking about the kind of war you probably think I'm talking about. I'm not talking about the war with bullets flying to and fro as airplanes drop bombs over massive acres of land in order to take out as many enemies as they possibly can at once, all because the people being bombed believe in a different set of ideals than those doing the bombing. No, I'm not talking about that kind of war. Sherman was, however, and from stories I've been told by numerous sources who can say they've been in a war zone, I understand that Sherman was right.<br />
<br />
War is hell.<br />
<br />
But anyway, I digress. <br />
<br />
The type of war I'm talking about is an emotional one. It's a war that I've personally gone through over the past one and a half years of my life, and I can tell you beyond a shadow of a doubt from my experience that war is absolutely hell. If you've ever encountered the pain and suffering that I've been through since last September, then you know exactly what I'm talking about. Otherwise, you're just going to have to take my word for it and believe me when I tell you that I know what I'm talking about, and the crap that I've been through over the past year and a half truly is an emotional war, and therefore - per General Sherman - it is hell.<br />
<br />
In case you're not aware of this emotional malaise that I am referring to; in September 2010, my brother (my only brother, mind you) was diagnosed with cancer. At the time, I didn't know what to expect. I didn't know how sick he really was, or how far the cancer had spread, or if the cancer was even treatable. I didn't know how much time he would have left on this earth.<br />
<br />
(That's the scary part - the unknown. It's hard enough to deal with trials when you have the information at hand, but it's a whole new level of difficult when you don't have a clue what's going to happen next.)<br />
<br />
Looking back, I wish I would have known that he would only have as much time as he did, because when you know what time the clock is going to hit zero you tend to be more prepared than you are if you have no clue what's going to happen next. Of course, knowing the outcome is considered cheating, because none of us are allowed the privilege of knowing what's in store for us at any given time. But, it sure would be nice to have the capability to look at a specific point in the space-time continuum and know exactly when and where the end will take place, because having that competitive advantage against death would make things a lot easier for everyone involved, and honestly we could use every advantage over death that we can get.<br />
<br />
But enough about me. This part of the story is supposed to be about my brother. After all, he's the reason I'm writing these words at this very moment. Although if I were to be truly honest with you, I'm doing this for myself as well, if for nothing more than to help me cope with the events that have unfolded since his diagnosis.<br />
<br />
Notice I used the word cope. I used that word because it's really all I'm able to do at this point. I'm finally to the point where I can make it a few weeks without having a breakdown, and I've finally accomplished the feat of sleeping throughout the night more than one night in a row, but I'm still in the "coping" stage. To be completely honest I'll probably never get past that stage, because I don't think I'll ever fully accept that he's gone.<br />
<br />
They say that time heals all wounds, and that might be true. But, I do know that if it is true, it's going to take a lot of time. We're talking the "coal turning into a diamond" realm of time here. And, that's okay. It's perfectly normal as far as I'm concerned, even though I'm not exactly what you would call an expert on "normal".<br />
<br />
(Okay, I'm making this about myself again, so I'm going to move on and tell my brother's story. Well, part of it anyway. If I tried to tell his whole story I would have to write a novel.)<br />
<br />
My brother was a member of the US Army who did three tours of duty in Iraq and one tour of duty in Afghanistan. He was a member of the Special Forces group out of Fort Campbell, KY for the first three tours of duty, but then he was re-assigned to Fort McCoy, WI when he was sent to Afghanistan. Of course, if life were fair (which we all know it's not), he would have never went to Afghanistan in the first place. He had served his initial contract which included the first three tours of duty, and when it was time for his contract to expire he chose not to re-enlist because he wanted to stay home and finish getting his Bachelor's Degree. <br />
<br />
The Army had different plans for him. They called him back three years later, and told him he was being sent to Afghanistan. One of the benefits in joining the Army (at least for them) is that they can call a soldier back into duty at any time up to four years after their contract expires. (However, they can only give a returning soldier one set of orders, and they can't keep the soldier for more than one calendar year.) Since my brother was within his four year "probation period" (for lack of a better term), he was eligible to be called back to service, and he was instructed to report for duty for his last year of service which included a tour in Afghanistan for 6 months.<br />
<br />
His mission was to provide intel support to a group from Alabama (there's a joke in there somewhere, I'm sure), but that's all I know about what he was called back to do. He wasn't allowed to talk about it, because it was highly classified information (at least that's what he always said). All I know is he went to Afghanistan with 14 or 15 other guys from Alabama, and he served about 9 months time. He never went into a lot of detail about any of his assignments, and I knew that it was because he wasn't allowed to talk about them so I never really pressed him for information. I do know, however, that his job wasn't to just sit at a computer desk all day like he led most of our family to believe. (Looking back on it, I know he did this because he didn't want anyone to worry about him every day. But - even though he didn't want us to - we still did.)<br />
<br />
Even though he didn't talk about his job that much, I do know that his one claim to fame is that he was a part of the group that tracked and found Saddam Hussein. He claims that not only did he get to question Hussein face to face, but he also had the pleasure of defecating in Hussein's personal toilet. When we asked him why he did it, he simply answered "because no one else from here can say they have ever done that". <br />
<br />
It's an answer that I expected him to give, because he's always had a dry sense of humor. That's one of the many things that was so great about him. He had the uncanny ability to have a room bursting in laughter while he maintained a straight face that could win a game of Texas Hold 'Em with a Ten High hand. That's just how he was. It was incredibly hard to know if and when he was telling the truth or just blowing smoke because he always kept a straight face, but this is one of those times where I believe he was telling the truth.<br />
<br />
I can see him sitting there on Hussein's toilet right now, smirking because he knows that he's going to have a story to share for the rest of his life.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately for everyone, the rest of his life was a very short period of time. Much shorter than any of us wanted it to be, and - if you ask me - much shorter than he deserved. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://lazyscribeconfessions.blogspot.com/2012/04/warand-peace-part-2.html"><i>To be continued</i>...</a>bdubsmittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13217075526527321095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177268304999948186.post-17633919275601232012012-03-12T10:18:00.000-04:002012-04-20T09:29:04.683-04:00A tribute in inkPeople pay tribute to those they care about in a myriad of ways. Some people write songs, others write poems or novels, and some - like me - get tattoos. When my brother passed away last August from cancer (that he got due to his military service in Afghanistan - thank you very much Mister President), I knew that I wanted to get a tattoo in honor of his life and service so I would always have him with me.<br />
<br />
Well, it took me seven months to determine exactly what kind of tattoo I wanted to get (and to be able to handle it emotionally), and this past weekend I finally got the tattoo done. As you can see in the picture below, it is a set of praying hands holding a set of dog tags with my brother's initials and lifespan stamped onto the tags, with a scroll containing the phrase "Some Gave All" underneath the hands.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://i.imgur.com/G986C.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://i.imgur.com/G986C.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
I'm extremely happy with the way it turned out. (And why shouldn't I be? It's quality work and it's exactly what I wanted. Actually, it's more than what I wanted, because I never thought it would turn out as great as it did.)<br />
<br />
I'm not going to try to be Mr. Tough Guy and say that it didn't hurt, because it did. It hurt like hell, especially when the artist started doing the shading. It's been two days and it's still sore in some spots, but that's the price you have to pay if you want to get a tattoo, and I honestly have no right to complain (and I'm not complaining, mind you) because my brother suffered a hell of a lot more than I did for the last year of his life, so the least I could do was not bitch and moan over something as simple as a tattoo. (That's what I kept telling myself as I was getting the work done, and it did help me take my mind off of the pain from the needle.)<br />
<br />
At first I was going to get the tattoo on my chest, but after talking with the artist and The Wife I decided that it would be best to put it on my back left shoulder. In the end I'm glad I made this change, because I think it is in the perfect place. It's a reminder that my brother always has my back, even though he's no longer here on earth.<br />
<br />
I may not be able to call him up and talk to him every day like I could before he passed away, but I can always look in a mirror and smile knowing he's always right there behind me, watching over me as I make my journey through this life.bdubsmittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13217075526527321095noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177268304999948186.post-26397382044586123402011-07-06T11:08:00.009-04:002012-10-12T12:46:33.082-04:00I got another tattoo! (well, sorta)Ever since I got <a href="http://lazyscribeconfessions.blogspot.com/2011/05/look-ma-i-got-tattoo.html">my first tattoo</a>, I've been wanting to get another one. (WARNING: If you're thinking about getting a tattoo, be aware that they can be addictive.) Well, my brother decided to be a really nice guy and buy me one for my upcoming birthday, so yesterday we went back to the place that did my first tattoo to set up an appointment for my new one. <br />
<br />
While I was there I decided to get an addition to the tattoo I already have because I have been thinking that it needed something to spice it up a little since the day I got it, so I decided to add a scroll to give it more of an authentic feel. I printed a picture of a scroll that I liked and brought it with me to the tattoo shop, and the artist free-handed my scroll based on the picture that I brought in.<br />
<br />
I can't complain about the results because I absolutely love it.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://a3.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/264916_10150310199786327_501151326_9828366_7945767_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://a3.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/264916_10150310199786327_501151326_9828366_7945767_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reading vertically: Nicolas (left), and Natalie (right); the names of my children.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
(Note: Please excuse the gratuitous showing of side-boob in the picture.)<br />
<br />
I'm looking forward to getting my other tattoo done tonight because I'm excited to see what the artist has designed based on the concept that I gave her. (I'll give a hint: it's a USC Gamecocks tattoo.) I'll be sure to share a picture of it when it's finished.<br />
<br />
If you're in the South Carolina area and you want to get a great tattoo from really cool people, check out Ivory Tiger Tattoo in Summerville. (I am not being paid for this endorsement. I'm only endorsing it because it really is a great tattoo place.)<br />
<br />
Stay tuned for pictures of my new tattoo tonight or tomorrow.<br />
<br />
<b>UPDATE:</b> Here's my new gamecock tattoo, as promised:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://a2.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/263173_10150311026116327_501151326_9838702_4248246_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://a2.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/263173_10150311026116327_501151326_9838702_4248246_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
bdubsmittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13217075526527321095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177268304999948186.post-30232252568846391382011-06-29T12:24:00.002-04:002011-06-29T22:37:18.731-04:00Big Fat Slob: One Month UpdateLast month I started my plan to stop being a big fat slob, and I must say that I'm impressed with myself as I've lost 12 pounds in the last 30 days. I honestly never thought I could do it because I like chocolate, ice cream, and reese cups too much...but I suppose even I can surprise myself if I put my mind to it and work towards reaching my goal.<br />
<br />
I'm a little under halfway to my goal, as I have lost 12 pounds and have 15 more to go, but the fact that I've made it this far is amazing to me, so I think I might stick with it and see what happens for another 30 days. If you've ever considered losing weight...I urge you to try cutting back on the bad stuff you eat and limit yourself to 2000 or so calories per day. You'll be surprised at how easy it really is after you get used to not stuffing your face all day. (I'll admit -- this step takes longer for some of us to overcome.)<br />
<br />
I still struggle from time to time with cravings for a huge bowl of chocolate ice cream or a bag of reese cups (especially at night -- they always seem to be worse at night), but so far I've been able to fight them off and press forward towards my goal. For the first time in my life, I truly believe that I will reach this goal that I've set for myself, and it makes me feel great.<br />
<br />
That's all for now, as I have other things to accomplish today, but hopefully my next update will be as good, if not better, than this one has been.bdubsmittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13217075526527321095noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177268304999948186.post-81515060827671485532011-05-26T13:25:00.002-04:002011-06-01T17:17:19.912-04:00Big Fat SlobYeah, you read that right...I'm a big fat slob. I hate myself sometimes for letting myself get this way. Why do we let ourselves go after we get married and have kids? Do we feel like we just don't matter anymore, or is there something else to it? Maybe there is something deeper involved that I just don't know about, but I've been letting myself go for the last 7 years now, and it's got me to the point where I'm nothing more than a big fat slob.*<br />
<br />
* - <i>Okay, I'll admit that I could be in much worse shape. Seeing shows on tv like "The Biggest Loser" make me feel a little better about myself, but it's still no excuse for me to be this big fat slob version of my former self.</i><br />
<br />
Well dammit, I'm tired of being a big fat slob. I'm tired of being ashamed of how I look and feel now as opposed to 7 years ago. It's time for a change. It's time for the dreaded <i>D word</i>. It's time to actually stick to my guns, get off my lazy ass, and do what I've gotta do to lose weight. I'm sick of being unhealthy. <br />
<br />
So, I'm going on a diet. Not the kind of diet where I don't eat anything at all, or some fad diet that everyone else is doing because Oprah, or Dr. Oz, or Dr. Phil, or any other whacko who has a tv show says to do; but the kind of diet that I can deal with and lose weight at the same time. I'm making some sacrifices (like chocolate, and ice cream...oh how I'm gonna miss ice cream), and cutting back on things that I consume too much of (soda and beer, for example). <br />
<br />
Not only am I cutting back on the things that I eat/drink too much of, but I'm replacing them with things that I don't eat nearly enough. I'm taking my own advice that I usually give to the other big fat slobs I see every day, and I'm going to mix in a salad or two. (I'm curious as to how long I can do this, because as a general rule I hate salads. I've never understood the point of eating lettuce like I were a baby rabbit or something.)<br />
<br />
I'm sure I'll have plenty to gripe about now that I'm doing this. (Of course, having something to gripe about and actually taking the time to gripe about it are two totally different things, just so you know.) Stay tuned for updates as this <i>diet</i> progresses. If I do happen to lose weight, I'll be sure to post pictures of myself to piss you off/make you jealous/make you want me/whatever the case might be. Or, maybe I won't.<br />
<br />
You'll just have to tune in to find out.bdubsmittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13217075526527321095noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177268304999948186.post-68010061892761809832011-05-23T23:13:00.004-04:002011-06-01T21:26:00.001-04:00Look ma, I got a tattoo!Let me start by saying I apologize for the eternal space between blog posts, but I have been very busy and just haven't had the time to sit down and write anything. (I know, I know -- I should make time. I'm going to try really hard to, I promise.)<br />
<br />
Anyway, like the title of this post says: I got my first tattoo yesterday, which is something that I never thought I would do. My brother came to visit me because he wanted to see about getting a tattoo for himself, and since he was going to be getting one I figured that now was as good of a time as any to get over my fear of needles* and get one for myself. <br />
<br />
* - <i>When I say that I'm afraid of needles, I mean that I am terrified of needles. I'm so afraid of needles that I won't even donate blood, so I never thought that I would have the balls to actually let someone draw on me with a needle.</i><br />
<br />
However, I've gotta say that it didn't bother me at all once I sat down in the chair, and I barely even noticed that the tattoo artist was even drawing on me. She made a comment that she was "almost done" with my tattoo, and I was surprised that she was that far along, as I didn't even realize that she had been drawing on me as long as she had. <br />
<br />
The worst part about the ordeal is the fact that it's starting to itch now, and I can't scratch it. I hope this doesn't drive me bat-shit crazy, because I don't want to be tempted too much to scratch it for fear that I could screw it up. <br />
<br />
It feels good to know that I've defeated one of my long-time fears, and strangely enough I already want to get another one. Funny how that kind of stuff works out sometimes, isn't it?<br />
<br />
By the way, in case you missed my Facebook post, here's a picture of my tattoo:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ED5T48mZz18/TdsgRw-5jLI/AAAAAAAABAs/r3zS6vLmfrQ/s1600/tattoo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ED5T48mZz18/TdsgRw-5jLI/AAAAAAAABAs/r3zS6vLmfrQ/s320/tattoo.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Reading vertically: Nicolas (left), and Natalie (right), the names of my two children.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
I know it's not much, but it's my first one. I figured it would be best to go with something simple to start with, you know, just in case I ever got second thoughts and wanted to have it removed. (Thankfully I really like it, because I'd hate to have a permanent tattoo that I didn't like.)<br />
<br />
Three weeks ago, I would have called you crazy if you told me I'd have a tattoo. Now, I can't believe I've waited this long to get my first one, and I can't wait to get another.<br />
<br />
Funny how that kind of stuff works out sometimes, isn't it?bdubsmittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13217075526527321095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177268304999948186.post-31858650869250238082011-01-27T14:34:00.005-05:002011-06-02T13:52:34.134-04:00Livin' La Vida LocaI hate how my life just keeps moving at such a fast pace and doesn't allow me the time to sit down, relax, and enjoy just one small second of peace and quiet. I guess having a family, a job, and other responsibilities will do that to you though. It sucks, because what I really want is a career that pays me a hefty sum of money to do what I love to do: sit down in peace and quiet with a pot of coffee and plenty of time to write about anything that I want to say. <br />
<br />
Unfortunately, I don't have that luxury (and if you do, then I'm jealous). What I do have though is the luxury of a loving family, a decent job that pays me and allows me to have a house fully furnished with food and clothing, and a bevy of friends that I can count on for anything I could ever need. I don't struggle to pay my bills, I don't go hungry, I don't freeze in the winter or roast in the summer, yet all I can seem to do is complain. <br />
<br />
<i>Dammit why can't I just have fifteen minutes of peace</i>?!?<br />
<i>Will someone please turn that off</i>?!?<br />
<i>Leave your sister alone</i>! <i>That's hers, give it back</i>!<br />
<br />
Those are just a few of the quotables that I give off on any particular day. Sometimes, they're much harsher. Sometimes, I tend to say things that I don't mean to say, and after I've said them I regret it, but there's nothing that can be done about it because the words have already been spoken. One thing in this world that can never be taken back is a spoken word, so we have to make sure that the ones we do speak are worth keeping out there forever.<br />
<br />
I know it seems like I'm doing nothing but rambling on and on about nonsensical crap, but that's what I do best. It's the ramblings that go on inside my brain day in and day out that keep me sane, and unfortunately I don't have enough time in my life to sit down and share them with the world, because if I did I would (I promise). <br />
<br />
Ok, I'll be completely honest. I guess if I really wanted to I could make time to share my thoughts with the world. After all, who needs sleep, right? Well, I do actually. And, you do too (whether you want to admit it or not).<br />
<br />
But anyway, back to the point. I hate that my life is moving along at the speed of light and there's nothing that I can do to stop it. No matter how hard I try to avoid it, I'm going to get older, my kids are going to grow up (God help me when they do), and life will go on. I do hate that I don't have the luxury of being able to just take a break from life and the sorrows and struggles that go along with it, but at the same time I believe that if I were given the opportunity I wouldn't know what to do when I had the chance.<br />
<br />
You know the old saying: Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it. Well, I think that holds true in my life. If I were granted this wish of peace and serenity by some magic genie and had just 15 minutes to sit down by a fire with nothing but a cup of coffee and my thoughts, I know exactly what my thoughts would be. <br />
<br />
<i>Are my 15 minutes up yet</i>? <br />
<i>How much longer do I have to sit here</i>? <br />
<i>Can I get up now</i>? <i>I have stuff to do</i>.<br />
<br />
If you find yourself in the same boat as I am in, my advice to you is to just do what I've decided to do: embrace the life you have, because it's the only one you're going to get and you may as well eek every ounce of enjoyment out of it that you can. <br />
<br />
Otherwise, you're going to look back one day and regret that you allowed the fast pace of a day-to-day routine get the best of you, and you'll wish that you could go back in time and re-live those moments so you could experience them from a different perspective, but unfortunately you won't be able to do that, and all you'll have left are the memories of what could have been. Don't let that happen.<br />
<br />
Don't live for what it could have been, live for what it is.bdubsmittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13217075526527321095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177268304999948186.post-6035143057242768702010-12-05T16:15:00.010-05:002011-05-23T22:39:10.886-04:00Book Review: Ball FourAs most of you probably know already, I'm an avid reader (and if you didn't already know that, now you do). While I can read just about anything (except for those stupid romance novels with half-naked dudes on the cover), my favorite books to read revolve around sports, especially baseball (big surprise, I know). I figured that, since I read a lot of books anyway, why not do a series of book reviews so you, my dear readers, can find out about books that you may not have read?<br />
<br />
As to what kind of review(s) you can expect, I will say that if you're looking for a <i>New York Times</i> type review, then go buy a copy of the <i>New York Times</i>. I'm not going to review the book as if I'm a critic, but rather as someone who just enjoys reading. Also, I'm not going to come up with a bunch of one-liners that you see on the first few pages of books, because frankly I think those are mostly stupid and don't provide much information on the book itself. These reviews are going to be based on what I as a reader thought of the books being reviewed, and will provide my opinion on whether or not you should bother putting the books on your reading list (if you have a reading list).<br />
<br />
Anyway, I figured I'd kick-off this series (forgive the sports pun) with a book that I just finished reading recently: Jim Bouton's <i>Ball Four</i>.<br />
<br />
For those of you who don't know who Jim Bouton is, allow me to give a brief biography. Jim Bouton is a former Major League pitcher who pitched for the New York Yankees, Seattle Pilots*, and Houston Astros from 1962-1970, and for the Atlanta Braves in 1978. He wrote <i>Ball Four</i> as a daily journal during the 1969 season, when he played with the Pilots until he was traded to the Astros on August 26.<br />
<br />
* - <span style="font-size:90%"><i>Now known as the Milwaukee Brewers, the Pilots were only in Seattle for one season (1969). They were forced to relocate due to bankruptcy in 1970.</i></span><br />
<br />
And now, on to the review.<br />
<br />
<i>Ball Four</i> is very in-depth, especially when talking about the daily life of a baseball player. Bouton not only provides details about the life inside the clubhouse, but he gives names as well. He talks about players' use of drugs (notably "greenies", another word for amphetamines), drinking, womanizing (Especially the practice of "shooting beaver". One of my favorite terms in the entire book, it's used to describe the act of looking up a woman's skirt by any means necessary.), and the poor treatment the players were given by upper management in terms of salaries and bonuses.*<br />
<br />
* - <span style="font-size:90%"><i>This was during a time when baseball players made peanuts compared to the outrageous salaries they make today, and owners did everything within their power to avoid paying players high amounts of money.</i></span><br />
<br />
One of the things that I like about <i>Ball Four</i> is the honesty. Bouton gives us real feelings, both good and bad, and doesn't feed us with a bunch of unnecessary bull shit and false praise. He tells us that baseball players did drugs, drank too much, stayed out too late, chased women, and enjoyed the lifestyle. He calls out managers and pitching coaches for their unusual decisions during games, and is man enough to admit when he didn't play well himself.<br />
<br />
Even though I loved the honesty of the book, a lot of people -- especially those in baseball -- didn't like the book at all. In fact, then-commissioner Bowie Kuhn tried to get Bouton to sign a document claiming that the information in the book was false, but Bouton declined. It is reported that the majority of players named in the book never forgave Bouton for airing their dirty laundry, and the Yankees, even though they never officially excommunicated Bouton, refused to invite him to their annual "Old-Timers Day" because of the tell-all book.*<br />
<br />
* - <span style="font-size:90%"><i>One of the players who refused to forgive Bouton was Mickey Mantle, whom Bouton had established a close friendship with while playing for the Yankees. After the book was published, Mantle refused to speak to Bouton because of the negative publicity the book gave to him in regards to his drinking and womanizing. It is reported that their friendship was reconciled in 1994 after Bouton sent Mantle a sympathy card following his son's death from cancer. According to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jim_Bouton">Wikipedia</a>, the Yankees have also forgiven Bouton, and since 1998 he has been a participant in Old-Timers Day festivities.</i></span><br />
<br />
If you like baseball, you should definitely read this book. In fact, you should read this book even if you don't like baseball, because it's just that damn entertaining. You feel the same feelings that Bouton feels in the book, from the highs of pitching well and winning to the lows of being sent down to AAA and traded away to Houston. You experience the juvenile humor of the players pulling pranks on each other, and the feeling of what it means to be a teammate. <br />
<br />
<i>Ball Four</i> has been republished three times since it was written. (The latest in 2000, 30 years after the original publishing date.) Bouton adds an updated appendix to each edition, and the copy that I read (the Twentieth Anniversary Edition) has two appendices titled <i>Ball Five</i> and <i>Ball Six</i>, which discuss the players discussed in the book and their lives in the 10 and 20 years since the book was published. According to sources regarding the latest publication, Bouton explains the reconciled friendship with Mantle and the Yankees organization.<br />
<br />
A few of my favorite passages from the book:<br />
<blockquote>Right now, the fact is that I love the game, love to play it, I mean. Actually, with the thousands of games I've seen, baseball bores me. I have no trouble falling asleep in the bullpen, and I don't think I'd ever pay my way into a ballpark to watch a game. But there's a lot to being <i>in</i> the game... <br />
<br />
A lot of it is foolishness too, grown men being serious about a boy's game. There's pettiness in baseball, and meanness and stupidity beyond belief, and everything else bad that you'll find outside of baseball. I haven't enjoyed every single minute of it and when I've refused to conform to some of the Neanderthal aspects of baseball thinking I've been an outcast. Yet there's been a tremendous lot of good in it for me and I wouldn't trade my years in it for anything I can think of.</blockquote><blockquote>* * *</blockquote><blockquote>Baseball players will take anything. If you had a pill that would guarantee a pitcher 20 wins but might take five years off his life, he'd take it.</blockquote><blockquote>* * *</blockquote><blockquote>I've had a lot of conversations with my arm. I ask it what the hell I ever did to it. I ask why won't it do for me what it used to do in the old days. I whisper lovingly to it. Remember '64? Remember '63? Wasn't it fun? Things could be like that again. Just one more time, one more season. It never listens.</blockquote><blockquote>* * *</blockquote><blockquote>Then there's the tale Jim Gosger told about hiding in the closet to shoot a little beaver while his roommate made out on the bed with some local talent. Nothing sneaky about it, the roommate even provided the towel for Gosger to bite on in case he was moved to laughter. At the height of the activity on the bed, local talent, moaning, says, "Oh darling, I've never done it <i>that</i> way before." Whereupon Gosger sticks his head out, drawls "Yeah, surrre," and retreats into the closet.</blockquote><blockquote>* * *</blockquote><blockquote>Coming out to the bullpen just before the game began, in front of thousands of empty seats, I took off my hat, made a deep bow and generally behaved as though I was being acclaimed by millions. Then I looked up and all I could see was San Diego uniforms. "What are you guys doing in our bullpen?" I said. Of course I had it all wrong. I was in <i>their</i> bullpen, act and all.</blockquote><blockquote>* * *</blockquote><blockquote>You see, you spend a good piece of your life gripping a baseball and in the end it turns out that it was the other way around all the time.</blockquote><br />
If you would like to purchase <i>Ball Four</i>, you should be able to find it in your local bookstore, or you can order it online. It's still widely published, so it shouldn't be too difficult to locate. I strongly recommend it for reading, as it is one of the better baseball books I've ever read.bdubsmittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13217075526527321095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177268304999948186.post-36298051579375520622010-12-02T14:19:00.007-05:002010-12-03T17:58:32.155-05:00All about meA list of things you may or may not know about me.*<br />
<br />
* - <span style="font-size:95%"><i>It will probably be things you don't know about me, otherwise there would be no point in sharing them with you unless I just wanted to add a post to my archives.</i></span><br />
<ol><li>I'm deathly afraid of heights, to the point where it takes everything within my being to climb a ladder and get stuff out of the attic in my house without freaking out. </li>
<li>To make the heights thing even weirder: I'm not afraid to fly in an airplane.</li>
<li>I'm also gravely afraid of hospitals. They just weird me out. The only two times I've spent more than an hour visiting someone in a hospital are when my two children were born (and I only did it then because I didn't want to face the consequences).</li>
<li>I like ketchup, marinara sauce, and tomato soup; but I don't like uncooked tomatoes.</li>
<li>I also don't like sour cream, but love sour cream & onion potato chips. </li>
<li>I give the impression to some people that I'm a pompous asshole because I'm not very talkative, but in reality I'm constantly worrying that I'm not well-liked, and feel that my voice isn't worthy of being heard. I struggle with this daily.</li>
<li>I hate talking on the phone, and will generally do anything I can to avoid it. I make an exception to this rule for a very short list of people who I can talk on the phone with for hours on end.</li>
<li>When I was younger I had the hots for Jesse Spano from <i>Saved By the Bell</i>. My crush on her lasted until the caffeine pills episode, which made me afraid of her. (I'm so excited...I'm...so...scared... I'm scared too Jesse...of you.) </li>
<li>I shave my head because I have the same hairstyle as Screech from <i>Saved By the Bell</i> when I let my hair grow out. (Yeah, I just made two SBTB references.)</li>
<li>I still watch <i>Saved By the Bell</i> if I find it while channel surfing and there's nothing else on at the time. (That's three SBTB references, if you're scoring at home.) </li>
<li>If I like a movie, I can practically recite it after watching it once. If I really like a movie, I watch it repeatedly just so I can recite it while watching it.</li>
<li>My two favorite comedies to watch repeatedly: <i>What About Bob</i> and <i>Happy Gilmore</i>. My favorite non-comedy to watch repeatedly: <i>The Shawshank Redemption</i>.</li>
<li>I didn't learn how to drive a manual transmission until I was 28 years old, and I only learned because my grandfather gave me his pickup truck before he died and I wanted to drive it in memory of him.</li>
<li>I like to drink alcohol, but I've only been drunk twice in my life. I don't like to be drunk because I like being able to maintain control of my actions.</li>
<li>My favorite mixed drink is Amaretto Sour, but my favorite spirit is rum (preferably Captain Morgan Spiced). My favorite beer is a tie between Sam Adams Boston Lager and Magic Hat #9. My favorite beer to drink in large quantities is Bud Light.</li>
<li>Though I like to drink, I've never tried drugs, and I don't have any desire to try them.</li>
<li>As much as I like to drink alcohol, I like to drink coffee even more. I drink at least 6 cups of coffee per day, and sometimes I drink as many as 12. </li>
<li>I love the idea of blogging about my personal life and feelings, but I'm afraid to blog what I truly feel because I fear that anyone who reads it will think it's stupid and will make fun of it, causing me to never want to write about my personal life again.</li>
<li>I want to write a novel, but I'm afraid to because I'm afraid that no one will want to publish it, and I'm afraid that it will be a complete and utter failure, ruining my dream of becoming an author when I grow up. </li>
<li>I'm obsessed with collecting ink pens. I have a collection of pens that I never use, but can't throw them away because I'll just go out and buy more.</li>
<li>I took two years of French in high school, aced the French entrance exam in college, and took one semester of French in college (because I needed an elective), and can't remember any of it, except for the easy stuff that 5th graders know (hello, counting to 10, etc.). I regret allowing this to happen, but I'm too lazy to relearn the language.</li>
<li>I'm obsessive compulsive about 96.3275% of things I do.</li>
<li>I've gained 60 lbs. in the 6 years I've been married. I keep telling myself (and my wife) that I'm going to go on a diet and lose weight, but I always cave and end the diet within a week because I'm too addicted to chocolate and ice cream.</li>
<li>I have a very low tolerance for idiocy, especially in traffic. If other drivers could hear the things I say to them when they drive like morons, I probably would have been run over several times by now. Knowing this doesn't change the things I scream at other drivers when they drive like morons.</li>
<li>I am interested in politics, but I don't like talking about it with others, because most people take political issues way too seriously. I feel the same way about religion.</li>
</ol><br />
Well, that's all for now. I figure it's best to stop at 25 since it's a nice number. In the future I may expand on this list, but I think this will suffice for the moment.<br />
<br />
Feel free to comment with any thoughts on this list or to add any quirks of your own.bdubsmittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13217075526527321095noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177268304999948186.post-48648363645748052812010-11-27T12:16:00.000-05:002010-11-27T12:16:23.925-05:00It's hard to believe it's been so longWow, time certainly does fly by when you have a schedule slam-packed with stuff to do on a daily basis. It's not like I'm building a rocket or anything, my days are just filled with the mundane tasks that we all have to do whether we want to do them or not, and I've found that recently those tasks have taken away all of my spare time. <br />
<br />
I logged in here today to see if any of my friends have written anything new, only to find that it's been almost a month since I've posted anything myself. I don't take these long breaks from writing on purpose, I swear. I just haven't thought of anything to talk about in the past month.<br />
<br />
Of course, I really don't have anything to talk about today either. I just couldn't stand the thought of letting the entire month of November go by without posting a single blog. It's weird, I know, but I'm weird anyway.bdubsmittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13217075526527321095noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177268304999948186.post-5540068401215255452010-10-29T11:44:00.004-04:002010-11-01T14:48:07.030-04:00Announcer goes nuts in pressboxThe video clip below is from the Florida Atlantic/Arkansas State football game last week. In the video, you can hear the FAU radio announcer losing his marbles because a penalty flag isn't thrown when FAU's quarterback was allegedly hit in the head while sliding for a first down.* If you listen carefully, you can hear him banging on the press box glass while shouting at the officials that they should throw a flag (as if they could hear him). <br />
<br />
To me, the best part is when he says he will "fight the entire press box" over the call. Even more interesting: Arkansas State was winning 37-16 in the 4th quarter when the play happened, so it wouldn't have made much of a difference had they thrown the flag anyway.<br />
<br />
*- <i>I say allegedly because I have no video evidence. The clip doesn't show the call in question.</i><br />
<br />
Anyway, you can watch it below.<br />
<br />
<div align="center"><object width="500" height="390"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/V9REY0kS1Ek&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&version=3"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/V9REY0kS1Ek&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&version=3" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" width="500" height="390"></embed></object></div><br />
Props to Yahoo! Sports blogger <a href="http://rivals.yahoo.com/ncaa/football/blog/dr_saturday/post/FAU-announcer-will-fight-entire-press-box-over-t?urn=ncaaf-280428">Dr. Saturday</a> for providing the video.bdubsmittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13217075526527321095noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177268304999948186.post-88626604898551847212010-10-04T22:58:00.009-04:002010-10-21T09:58:20.405-04:00Why I love baseball, and the Braves<i>It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. You count on it, rely on it to buffer the passage of time, to keep the memory of sunshine and high skies alive, and then just when the days are all twilight, when you need it most, it stops.</i><br />
<br />
~A. Bartlett Giamatti, <a href="http://mason.gmu.edu/%7Ermatz/giamatti.html">The Green Fields of the Mind</a><br />
<br />
* * * *<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3E2HwmEhPz0/TKqIcEVqAwI/AAAAAAAAA_g/gKM7a4afB2Y/s400/DSCF0194.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turner Field, Atlanta. Photo taken April 2009 while on vacation with my wife.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3E2HwmEhPz0/TKqIcEVqAwI/AAAAAAAAA_g/gKM7a4afB2Y/s1600/DSCF0194.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><br />
One of my favorite things to do is to sit down and watch a baseball game. I don't have any preference as to who is playing, just as long as the game is on and I have nothing to distract me from the perfect afternoon of enjoying the action on the diamond.<br />
<br />
I love the strategy involved in a baseball game. I love the one-on-one matchup between pitcher and batter, the excitement of a triple or a stolen base, the sight of a good defensive play, or a nasty slider to freeze a hitter in the batter's box. I love the fact that baseball isn't timed, that it can go on for hours and no one seems to notice or care. I love the emphasis on statistics in baseball. I may not understand all of them, but I love that you can use a set of numbers to compare as many players as you want, and you can determine that player A is better than player B at any facet of the game with a mathematical formula.<br />
<br />
I love baseball because my dad loves baseball, and because his dad loves baseball. My dad introduced me to baseball when I was a kid, just like everyone's dad did when they were children. Some of my fondest memories from my childhood revolve around watching the Atlanta Braves with my brother and my dad, and watching those games allowed me to forge a special bond with the Braves and with the game of baseball as a whole.<br />
<br />
In 1992, when I was 12 years old, the Atlanta Braves advanced to the World Series after an amazing play at the plate when Sid Bream slid just beneath the catcher's mitt to score the winning run against the Pirates in the NLCS. The Braves lost the World Series to the Blue Jays, but I was hooked on the game, and hooked on the Braves.<br />
<br />
I've had two sports heroes in my life*, and both of them played for the Atlanta Braves (David Justice and John Smoltz). I was also a huge fan of Andruw Jones, but by the time he came to Atlanta I was too old to consider him my "hero", but he was my favorite player until the Braves let him go after the 2007 season.<br />
<br />
* - <i>Originally, I had three heroes, the third being Roger Clemens. After the whole scandal involving his steroid use -- and his vehement denial of said use even when everyone knew he was guilty -- I formally "misremembered" him, bringing my total back to two. And another interesting side note: if any of you have ever wondered why my screen name is bwsmith25, allow me to explain. The bwsmith part is based on my name, and the number 25 is because of Andruw Jones, who wore #25 for the Braves. So now you know.</i><br />
<br />
When I was a kid playing little league baseball, I wanted to be David Justice. I wore #23, I played outfield, and I pretended I was him in my backyard. The same could be said for John Smoltz. When I played the classic game of "throw the ball up in the air and hit it", I was John Smoltz when I threw it up in the air, and David Justice when I swung the bat, and I would play this game for hours with no interruptions and without a care in the world. It made me feel like I was part of the game, like I had a connection with the players themselves, and it fueled my childhood dreams of making the major leagues when I grew up.*<br />
<br />
* - <i>Unfortunately, in real life I suck at baseball. So, I had to let go of the dream and find a day job so I could actually earn a living.</i><br />
<br />
Of course, like every other baseball fan, I have a least favorite team as well. And, I've made it no secret that I absolutely despise the New York Yankees. But, I don't think I've ever discussed why I hate them so much. Well, I have several reasons.<br />
<br />
<ol><li>They think they're entitled to everything because they're the Yankees.</li>
<li>They buy their championships with their ridiculously high payroll.</li>
<li>They beat the Braves in the 1996 World Series, when the Braves should have won.*</li>
</ol><br />
* - <i>I've hated them ever since.</i><br />
<br />
A lot of you are probably wondering why I'm talking about the Braves so much when I've said before that I like the Red Sox, so allow me to explain that one as well. I do like the Red Sox, but deep down in my soul, I'm a Braves fan. Being a Braves fan is something that goes back generations in my family, and it's something that I grew up with during my childhood. So while I do like the current Red Sox, I've loved the Braves since I was 11 years old, and it's not something that I can just throw away.<br />
<br />
And to be honest, when it comes down to the real capital-T Truth of the matter, the sole reason I like the Red Sox is simply because they are the most hated rival of the Yankees, and I absolutely abhor the Yankees. I have several friends who are Red Sox fans, so it makes sense to like them since I share a common hatred of the Yankees with those friends. <br />
<br />
To be completely honest,I jumped on the Red Sox bandwagon in 2004 when they were playing the Yankees in the ALCS, and ever since I've kept them as my 2nd favorite (or favorite AL) team and do cheer for them when they play anyone other than Atlanta.*<br />
<br />
* - <i>I believe it's perfectly fine to have a favorite NL team and a favorite AL team. I know a lot of people don't like to have more than one team they cheer for in any sport, but I'm not one of those people. In any case I will always cheer for the Braves over the Red Sox, but if the Red Sox are in the playoffs and the Braves aren't, I will cheer for Boston to win just as hard as I would cheer for Atlanta.</i><br />
<br />
So I'm a Braves fan, and I also like the Red Sox. And I don't see anything wrong with that.<br />
<br />
<i>But, if you're a Braves fan, then why do you never talk about them?</i><br />
<br />
(I know you're asking yourself that very question, so I might as well answer it for you.)<br />
<br />
Primarily because I know that most people don't care about the Braves, and most people don't really know enough about them for me to take the time to discuss them on any of my blogs. I do talk about them with people I interact with in my day-to-day life (mostly my dad, though), but because the Red Sox are a hotter topic of discussion for most people, I chose to discuss them more often than I did the Braves. It might sound weird, but that's my honest reason.<br />
<br />
And you know, I've been thinking about this a lot lately, especially since I know that no one who reads my blog really cares about the Panthers, yet I talk about them anyway on my Panthers blog. And, if I can talk about the Panthers even though no one else cares beyond what I say about them, then why can't I do the same thing with the Braves?* So no one else who reads my blog likes them -- so what? I'm going to start talking about them because I like them, and hopefully you will at least appreciate the fact that I'm talking about something that's important to me, and maybe you will even gain some appreciation for the Braves, and adopt them as your playoff team (if your team didn't make the playoffs).<br />
<br />
* - <i>No, I'm not starting a Braves blog, though I might do that closer to the start of next season. But, for the time being I'm not going to start another blog, so don't worry.</i><br />
<br />
All I know is this: I love the game of baseball, and there's nothing that Bud Selig can do to take that love away from me. He can try with his ridiculous World Baseball Classic, his "this one counts" crap that has ruined the All-Star Game, and his fake investigation of steroid use, but it doesn't matter. I love the game of baseball. It's deep within my blood, and I can't turn back now even if I wanted to.<br />
<br />
The playoffs start this week, and if your favorite team isn't one of the 8 who were fortunate enough to play for a shot at the World Series, I invite you to join the Braves bandwagon, because they're gonna need all the help they can get. And, it's Bobby Cox's last season, so if for nothing else, hop on the bandwagon for his sake.bdubsmittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13217075526527321095noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177268304999948186.post-92071331571416994072010-10-02T21:34:00.005-04:002010-10-10T00:13:50.095-04:00(No) Soup for you!<i>I couldn't think of a post for this title other than "here's a soup recipe that I like", and I wanted to be a little more creative than that, so I decided to pay homage to one of my favorite Seinfeld characters of all time: The Soup Nazi.</i><br />
<br />
I found this recipe in Food Network Magazine a couple of months ago and finally got around to making it, thanks to the nice fall weather we had today. If you're into soups, this is definitely one worth making, because it is very good, and really simple to make.*<br />
<br />
* - <i>If I can make it, then anyone can make it. I'm not exactly a chef like <a href="http://thebeezewax.blogspot.com/">someone else</a> I know.</i><br />
<br />
This recipe makes a nice meal for two people, or you can do what I did and double it so you can put some up for later. (If you double it, make sure you have a large pot, because it makes a lot of soup.)<br />
<br />
Anyway, here's the recipe, courtesy of Food Network:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Apple-Cheddar-Squash Soup</span><br />
<br />
<b>Ingredients</b><br />
<br />
* 5 tbsp unsalted butter<br />
* 1 medium onion, thinly sliced<br />
* 2 medium apples, thinly sliced<br />
* 1 large white potato, diced<br />
* 1 1/2 cups chopped peeled butternut squash (fresh or frozen)<br />
* kosher salt and ground pepper<br />
* 1/2 tsp dried sage<br />
* 2 tbsp all-purpose flour<br />
* 1/3 cup apple cider<br />
* 4 cups low-sodium chicken broth<br />
* 1 cup milk<br />
* 2 cups grated sharp cheddar cheese<br />
<br />
<b>Optional Ingredients</b><br />
<br />
* 2 oz thinly sliced prosciutto, torn into bite-size pieces for garnish<br />
* grated sharp cheddar cheese for garnish<br />
* chopped chives for garnish<br />
* crusty bread for serving<br />
<br />
<b>Directions</b><br />
<br />
Melt 4 tbsp butter in a large pot over medium-low heat and add the onion, apples, potato, and squash. Season with salt and pepper and cook until the onion is soft (about 8 minutes). Stir in the sage and flour. Add the cider and cook over high heat, stirring, until thickened. Add the broth and milk, cover and bring to a boil; reduce to a simmer and cook, stirring, until the potato is soft (approximately 8-10 minutes).<br />
<br />
<i>If you choose to add the prosciutto*</i> -- Heat the remaining 1 tablespoon butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the prosciutto and cook until crisp, turning occasionally, for about 2 minutes. Drain on paper towels. <br />
<br />
* - <i>Bacon is a good substitute for the prosciutto, if you can't find prosciutto in your local grocery store. For most people, they're pretty much the same thing anyway.</i><br />
<br />
Add the cheese to the soup and stir over medium-low heat until melted. Puree in a blender in batches until smooth; season with salt and pepper. Garnish with the prosciutto, cheese, and chives, and serve with bread, if desired.<br />
<br />
The standard recipe makes 4 servings.bdubsmittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13217075526527321095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177268304999948186.post-79219368409173393712010-09-30T23:02:00.002-04:002010-10-01T01:18:58.549-04:00New directionsWhen I created this blog as a substitute for my old one that was destroyed by the blogger monster, I fully intended for this to be a place where I could come and express my inner-most thoughts and feelings on anything I felt like talking about. This place was supposed to be my therapy session, my one place where I could go to remind myself that it's okay to feel the way I feel, and to understand that it's okay if I'm slightly screwed up in the head -- which, the severity of this could be debated, I'm sure -- because I'm not the only person in the world who's screwed up in the head, and there are a lot of people who are screwed up a hell of a lot more than I am.*<br />
<br />
* - <i>If I tried, I'm sure I could name at least five people right off the top of my head.</i><br />
<br />
It amazes me that when I sit down and really think about myself and this blog, I realize that I have been too lazy to do my favorite thing: write.* Why is that? Is there something wrong with me? (Don't answer that.) What could possibly make me not want to do something that I absolutely love to do? I mean, I know that lately I've had a lot going on that has prevented me from having a mindset to just sit down and write, but that mindset doesn't really apply here because this blog isn't topic specific. I don't have to write about sports, or <a href="http://www.thepantherplaybook.com">the Panthers</a>, or music, or movies. I don't have to write on a specific day every week, and I don't have to keep a mandated schedule that forces me to come up with something even if I'm not really in the mood to write anything. <br />
<br />
* - <i>Okay, it's not my FAVORITE thing to do, but it's in my top-5.</i><br />
<br />
When I take away the veil and look deep into the recesses of my soul, I do see where my problem lies. I've been putting too much stress on myself to write about specific topics (i.e. - Panthers football). It's gotten to the point where talking about the Panthers is depressing me and making me hate writing, and it's not just because they suck right now -- don't get me wrong, that has something to do with it, but it's not the whole reason -- but it's more of a sense that I don't want to be restricted to just writing about one thing all the time. I like being able to freely discuss whatever is going on in my head, and I like being able to just be myself on paper. I haven't allowed myself to do that lately, and it's been slowly eating away at my soul until I finally gave up on writing altogether (as I'm sure you've noticed).<br />
<br />
I did some reading the other day and came across <a href="http://www.weeklyadventuresordinarygirl.com/2010/09/some-place-fresh-revisited.html">this blog</a> that really spoke to me. (Thanks, -A, I really appreciate your inspiration.) After reading it, I realized that I need to get back to where I used to be, and get off my lazy ass and write what I'm feeling without trying too hard to restrict myself to a topic, because I've learned that when I do that I end up being miserable when I can't come up with anything to fit into the guidelines that I've created for myself. I'm trying too hard to control everything, when I should just go with the flow, and it's making me miserable.<br />
<br />
There are a lot of things in life that I have no control over, and I have to learn how to accept that. One of my biggest flaws is not being able to handle a situation if I can't do anything to change the outcome. For example, my brother <a href="http://lazyscribeconfessions.blogspot.com/2010/09/three-little-words.html">has cancer</a>, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it other than give him my support. It kills me to know that I can't take the pain and suffering away from him, and it frustrates me even more to know that I can't do ANYTHING about it.<br />
<br />
There are only two things in this world that I can control. The first is my outlook on life, and the attitude that I choose to have each and every day when I wake up to go through my daily routine. I can also control how I will approach this blog, which will be with a free mind and spirit from this moment forward, and I will use this blog for the purpose that was intended when I created it: a place to come share what's going on in my mind, and a place to unwind and be myself with no reservations. <br />
<br />
If I can't do that, then what's the point in writing anything at all?bdubsmittyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13217075526527321095noreply@blogger.com4