On all these Damn Facebook Things

I have been Facebooking for several years now and often have discussions with non-Facebookers on the value of the service. People who don't Facebook bring up numerous arguments for why they do not participate.

Many people feel it is a security risk to put all your information out there for anyone to read. Nay nay I say (That was a little shout out to John Pinette---may he rest in peace). You have control over what you put on Facebook, just like anywhere else on the internet. So if you feel the need to share stuff that you don't want anyone else to see it, maybe you shouldn't put it on Facebook. Just saying...

Some people also tell me that they choose not to get on Facebook because they don't want to get sucked into its world. This is something I can understand. When I first started on Facebook I was obsessively playing games (in particular Mafia Wars) and constantly changing my status with riveting updates such as what I was eating, whether I was having a particularly challenging bowel movement and other even more interesting things. Apparently these constant status updates are what Twitter is for. I shouldn't make fun of Twitter, though. It would be nice to be interesting enough to have people actually care about every trivial thing that I was doing every minute of the day. Eventually, I got past this phase of hyper-Facebooking and just settled into using it to let family and friends know what is going on in my life (and to plug the Blog, of course). By the way, you can all stop sending me game requests. I'm done with them.

People have told me that Facebook is just stupid and pointless and I can't always disagree with them. There are things I really love about Facebook and things I absolutely abhor. It is a wonderful way to reach out and stay in contact with family and friends. When something terrible happens, it is so much easier to blast a post to the whole family as opposed to making individual phone calls. (Okay, there are always people you call. I would never post on Facebook about the passing of a loved one before calling the immediate family first. How crappy would that be? Status: "Mom Died today. And I had a burrito for lunch." <Picture of Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellan with Burritos on their heads>)

Facebook is a great way to organize events and activities with your friends. My 25th High School reunion is in the works and I am trying to help, so I created a page for it on FB and only got about 17 people to join. Even though that was 17 people of about 40-ish (not the biggest school), I found myself getting annoyed. It would be son much more simple if the whole class were on Facebook. We could have everything organized in a couple of days. I actually had a friend (well, we're still friends so forget the past tense) who did not want to join so I created a fake Gmail account and then made a fake Facebook account for him, just so that I could have an easier communication system with my gaming group. He actually uses it now and it sure does make things easier for me.

But with the good comes the bad, unfortunately. Facebook has changed a lot since I started. Advertisements are taking more and more space. Ads are appearing in our feeds. Constant changes to the layout are annoying. Posts to other people's walls are showing up in my feed and sometimes it is something I don't think the writer is intending for other people to read (awkward!) Worst of all is what other people post.

I'm not saying everything that people post is bad. I have gotten a good laugh out of some things and have been educated on various subjects through articles my friends have shared. I enjoy seeing people on vacation (though I am often jealous, especially when the people are somewhere warm and sunny while I suffer through another cold winter's day in upstate New York), and I like seeing family photos. It is nice to keep track (not in a creepy, stalker way) of how everyone and their families are doing. It is heartbreaking to see people dealing with adversity, but it makes me feel closer to them, even though we may hardly ever talk or see each other (especially when so many of my friends are spread across the globe.) This all being said, there are plenty of things that people post that drive me crazy!

I hate when people share political stuff. Well, I should say, I hate when people post political stuff that I disagree with. Someday I will share all my political views, but until then, much like Donny and Marie were a little bit country and a little bit Rock and Roll, I am conservative on some things, and liberal on others. Whether you are a hard-core conservative or a hard-core liberal, I don't want see 20 posts a day, sharing articles that support your viewpoint. I will block your feed and I have blocked feeds from people because of it.

I also hate the "Like, Comment, or Share if you love/hate  <Fill in the Blank>" posts.  I don't care what the Blank is, whether it is Jesus, or your daughter/son, or Herpes, or GMO's, or Nickelback--I am not going to do it. This does not mean that I don't love/hate whatever the Blank is; it just not how I choose to show my support/aversion to something/someone. Along the same vein, I hate the passive aggressive "most of you probably won't share this" posts. Your right: I'm not going to re-post it. Maybe I should call it the psychic post.

Some people don't like Vague Booking, the time honored tradition of putting up a post, almost demanding someone to comment "is everything all right?" I personally have no problem with the practice. I don't usually do it, but can't swear that I have never done it. I think we all get to the point where we just want to blast out some frustration without telling everyone the whole story behind it. Besides, many of us have people on Facebook that are close friends and family, and some people whom we barely know. Usually the post is not that vague to the people in your inner circle. (And sometimes, the post is about one of the people in your "friends" list.)

I'm sure there are a lot of trends/fads that have risen and fallen during the time I've been Facebooking, There was/is Grumpy Cat, just to give an example, but the one that is currently driving me crazy is the stupid quizzes. The "What kind of <Fill in the Blank> are you?" ones. Oh my goodness. Enough! I don't care which member of the Partridge family you are or what toe you are. Stop! Stop! Stop! There is no way answering 6 simple questions can do much of anything, let alone give you great insight about yourself. I wish I could find it, but, I saw a post where someone famous took a quiz that they were in and didn't get themselves. It's stupid and ridiculous, so enough! And in case you were wondering...
I am....
Joey Gladstone (from Full House)
Artemis (from Always Sunny)
Andrea Zuckerman (BH 90210)
I'm destined to win the Amazing Race
Stu Pickles (from the Rugrats)
Dan Humphrey (from Gossip Girl)
Sara (from Orphan Black)
Ross (from Friends)
Apple Jack (from My Little Pony)
Rose Tyler (from Doctor Who)
The Office is the TV Workplace that is right for me
House Baelish (from Game of Thrones)
Eric (from True Blood)
Star's Hollow is the TV town I should live in
Yoda (from which 80's alien are you)
Maury Ballstein (from Zoolander)
The Bride (which bad ass Tarantino character)
John McClane (which 80's action hero)
Miracle Max (Princess Bride)
I am Divergent (Which faction are you)
The Beast is the Disney Prince that is my True Love
Kermit (which Muppet)
Ichabod Crane (which Johnny Depp character)
Iron Man (which Avenger)
Josh (which Clueless character)
Iago (which Disney Sidekick)
Mystique (which X-men character)
Gatsby Leo (which Leo DiCaprio character)
Ursula (which Disney villain)
Sulu (which Star Trek character)
Geordi La Forge (which Next Generation character)
Rex (which Toy Story character)
Luke Skywalker (which Star Wars Character)
Tiana (which Disney Princess)
Ron Weasley (which Harry Potter character)
Brick Tamland (which Anchorman newscaster)
A Hobbit (which magical Tolkein creature)
Haymitch (which Hunger Games character)
Princess Ella (which Movie Princess)
Tweedledum and Tweedledee (which Alice in Wonderland character)
Damian (which Mean Girl character)
Valley Girl Cage (which Nicolas Cage character)
Bertram Weeks (which Sandlot character)
Bane (which Batman Villain)
The Mandarin (which Marvel Movie Villain)
The 80's Fantasy World I should live in is Florin (Princess Bride)
Chunk (which Goonies Character)
Frodo (which Lord of the Rings character)
Alfalfa (which little rascal)
Chas Tenenbaum (which Royal blah blah)
Nala (Lion King character)
The Scarecrow (which Wizard of Oz character)
Ferris Bueller is my 80's Movie Boyfriend
Velociraptor (which Jurassic Park dino)
Anna (which Frozen character)
Super Speed is the Super Power that is right for me
28 Days Later is the Movie Plague that killed me
Anna (which Downton Abbey character)
Fall/Autumn (what season)
I will live to 106 years old
Pig (what farm animal)
Enlightened (what type of person)
Octopus (what ocean animal)
True Neutral (what alignment)
Impulsive (what one word describes you)
Serious/Creative (What personality)
Flirty (Ideal Clothing style)
American Apparel (what corporation)
Oldies (what music style)
Boxing (my fighting style)
Oyster Mushroom (what mushroom)
Orange (my aura color)
Hazelnut (what nut)
Seafood (what food)
Paul McCartney (which Beatle)   75
Smell of a Lilac Flower (what smell of spring)
Snake (what pet)
Barbados (what Caribbean Island)
Hamburger (what type of burger)
Couch (what furniture)
Thumb (which finger)
Jet Plane (what vehicle)
Star (what shape)
A Saint (what were you in a past life)
Storm Cloud (what cloud)
A Rubber Duck (what toy are you)
Flexible (what is your brain good at)
Low Key Fun (what kind of fun)
Judd Apatow (which director)
Ice Wine (what wine)
Passionate Kisser (what type of kisser)
George W. Bush (what president)
Black Sabbath (what classic rock band)
Loyal Best Friend (what type of best friend)
Thunder (are you thunder or lightning)
Pickup Truck (what type of car)
Daernerys Targaryen (what Game of Thrones character)
Chocolate Cupcake (what flavor of cupcake)
The Ghostly Hitchhiker (which Urban Legend)
Shao Yang Body (what is your Chinese Body Type)
Comedy (what movie genre)
Pablo Picaso (which artist should paint your portrait)

Ps. Bitstrip... not a fan.

On My Autobiography

As I have mentioned before in earlier posts, I listen to a lot of audio books at work. Because I borrow a lot of them from my sister, there is quite a bit of variety in my selection. If I had my own library, it would be mostly Sci-Fi and Fantasy. Because of my sister, I have delved into everything from The Hunger Games to Fifty Shades of Grey to Atlas Shrugged. I was recently thinking about some of the autobiographies I had come across in my listening: the first was Tough Shit: Life Advice from a Fat, Lazy Slob Who Did Good by Kevin Smith; second was American on Purpose by Craig Ferguson; and the third was Bossy Pants by Tina Fey. All were good books, and I enjoyed them very much, but I find autobiographies usually make me react in two ways.

Firstly, autobiographies give me brief spurts of creative energy: I get momentarily inspired and work furiously on a project for a week or so. Then my well runs dry, I lose focus (or life ends up running me over) and the project I was working on gets abandoned (until my next inspirational surge). I keep hoping I can ride one of these spurts of energy to greatness, but soon realize that success does not come instantaneously. The people who wrote these books tell tales of struggle and accomplishment and I seem to forget about those pesky struggling parts. There is also the sense of time that is missed. When Kevin Smith says that he worked hard to get the money, talent, equipment and the time to shoot his movie Clerks and it is told on two or three pages, one can lose sight of the fact that it was accomplished over many months, if not years. No one achieves fame or success overnight, unless their step dad is Bruce Jenner and they are "caught" on a sex tape,and then it's all reality shows and non-stop media coverage. (Hmmmm, a sex tape... yeah no, this will never happen!)

Secondly, I find that autobiographies make me feel absolutely pathetic. I read/listen to the author tell how they had a dream and then proceeded to make it happen. There were usually trials and tribulations along the way, but despite it all, they persevered. I think that I am supposed to be inspired and run out and try to make my dreams a reality, but it usually backfires and just makes me feel worse about my life.

Let me say before I go on, that I have few regrets in my life, and I am by no means unhappy with my life at the present. I have an amazing wife, awesome children and it seems that things are only getting better with each passing year. I can't even say that I regret my first marriage, although granted, it certainly wasn't the best time of my life; but I ended up adopting 3 awesome kids whom I love very much, so how could I could I ever say that I truly regretted it?

When I say these books make me feel worse about my life, I mean my professional life. I have always been a dreamer and that has manifested itself in many ways. I have always been interested in art. My mother told me that when I was in Kindergarten I drew a picture that the teacher had shown her of an Indian (I'm sorry, Native American) village, or something like that. The teacher was impressed by the details I put in the picture, including the blood dripping out of the arrow wounds of the little stick people.

As I got older I became a doodler and took a couple of art classes in high school, probably the mandatory ones. I don't remember any art teacher ever saying, "Hey John, that's pretty good," or giving me any other encouragement, so I certainly did not think of art as anything but a fun hobby. I would not give art a second thought until I was a sophomore in college, where I was bitten by the Walt Disney bug. That is the phrase that I apply to that delusional moment when you say to yourself, "Why, you can do anything you want in life, as long as you work hard and follow your dreams."

Maybe delusional is not a fair statement, some people know exactly what they want to do with their lives and doggedly pursue their dreams. Most people don't make it, but some do, and then write autobiographies about their accomplishments. For goodness sake, Justin Bieber has an autobiography, and he is only 20 years old.... isn't this a bit premature? He obviously knew what he wanted to do at an early age and went for it. To be honest, I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up, and I am 43.

I started college with the intent on taking computer programming, because that seemed like it would be something that I could make some good money with later in life. After getting a 2.5 in my first semester class and a 2.0 (my lowest grade ever) in the second class, I decided I needed to shift my focus. That is when the Walt Disney bug actually bit me. I always enjoyed doodling as a kid, even tried to make some comic book characters (I still remember one of my heroes was Tsunami Man--though, with the disasters of the last few years, maybe that would not have been the greatest Superhero name.) so I thought I'd give art a shot. I did pretty well and my grades improved dramatically and I was actually enjoying my classes. I even made the Dean's List 3 of my last 4 semesters.

Then I graduated and got accepted into grad school at the Memphis College of Art in Memphis, Tennessee. Unfortunately, I got married before I started (I will tell this tale in detail at another time) and ended up dropping out halfway through the first semester. That was probably the last time I really did any art. There was a brief time when a good friend recruited me to help with a project that he started. I was very excited about it but the project ended up falling to the wayside. I really wasn't in a position to help that much; between a demanding wife and three active kids, free time was at a minimum. I got a few sketches to him but that was about it. Besides, for me, art is something that needs to be kept up with and one can't expect to not draw anything for a decade and jump right back into it. (I am happy to say that the work he did turned into his first novel. I have plugged it before and I will again: The Daedalus Incident by Michael J. Martinez. He has also turned out a novella called The Gravity of the Affair and book two of the series, The Enceladus Crisis, is coming out May 6th, Order it now on Amazon. He didn't even pay me for that plug!) So for now, the dream of becoming a great artist/illustrator has been set aside.

I have always loved stand up comedy as well. In high school I listened to Andrew Dice Clay, Sam Kinison, Eddie Murphy, Bill Cosby and whatever comedy albums I could get my hands on. I would dream about getting up on stage and performing, even going so far as writing some bits up. My classmates voted me class clown and everyone always complimented me on how funny I was. Unfortunately, I grew up in a small farm town in upstate New York and was nowhere near any comedy venues or open mic nights. Besides this, I was incredibly shy. Around people I was comfortable with, I could say whatever I wanted and act however I needed to in order to get a laugh. The thought of doing the same thing in front of strangers was terrifying.

When I got to college nothing really changed, except I had access to actual live comedy shows. The school had a comedy series and would regularly get comedians to perform at the school. I went to as many shows as I could, watching, taking in their acts, wishing I had the guts to do the same thing. I never did. We did have a little talent show for two years in International House, the place I resided for most of my college career. One year I sang a duet with my good friend Jalal, who sadly is no longer with us. We sang Ram it Down by Judas Priest, a capella. There was no real preparation--we just agreed to do it and read the lyrics off the cassette jacket, with fist hammering motions. It went over well and we got some good laughs. I cannot sing, which is why it was probably entertaining to watch.

The other year at the talent show I decided to show off my juggling skills. I talked while I was juggling and it was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. I know it was just a little thing, but the adrenaline rush I got and the energy I got from the crowd was awesome. But, it was not enough to get me to try it again. Where the people in the autobiographies would have used the experience as a catalyst to their future careers, I just went on living, never trying to achieve more. Then I left school, got married, and just let the dream of becoming a stand up comedian fade away as well.

Another dream I have had (and still have) is becoming a writer. I know this may be a surprise, as you read my blog (that was sarcasm, by the way), but I would love to write something someday. My brain is constantly bombarded with story ideas and I have started numerous projects. Unfortunately, I pretty much blew off English classes in school, never having the slightest interest in writing until maybe the last 10 years or so.

English and writing were the furthest things from my mind when I was in college; I guess my brain has only so much dream capacity. When I got out of college and my other dreams seemed to be unattainable (not that they really were in actuality, I just wasn't mental/spiritually capable of making them happen-- in other words I was too much of a coward to take a chance), I started thinking about writing.

I frequently have had story ideas pop into my head. I think part of it comes from all the fantasy roleplaying I do. Constantly coming up with adventures to run my friends through really gets the creative juices flowing. For those unfamiliar with fantasy roleplaying, basically it is creating stories that your friends take an active part in. You create a story with an open plot and the players, who take on the roles of the protagonists, interact with the setting you have created and try to resolve the mystery/adventure/whatever the story is about.

I have actually written a book, but it currently resides in two one-subject notebooks, that I am now very slowly rewriting and getting into an electronic format. I have tried writing a couple of screenplays and have several movie ideas bouncing through my head which I hope someday to get down. This dream I haven't "abandoned" yet.

There are other projects I have started: I tried to develop a card game and often think of coming up with my own roleplaying game or system. But, this post is now getting waaaay too long, so I will not go into any other dreams I have had. Let me get back to the main topic--if you remember, it was about autobiographies--so I can wrap this up.

All I know is that I have been writing this blog since last May--believe me, I am stunned I haven't given up on it by now. It's amazing how much more you can achieve with a supportive wife. (And one who does understand how the English language works. I should publish a post that she hasn't edited and you will see how bad my grammar is.)

As I reread this blog, I realized that I did little more than whine about how I haven't really followed any of my dreams. All I have to say is, not yet! I haven't given up; I still have plenty of years to turn this around and I am going to do it! In fact, this post has nearly inspired me to write my own autobiography. Why should famous people have all the fun? Instead of tales of inspiration from those who have traveled the road to success, you can hear the tale of a chubby kid with low self-esteem and high hopes, who grew into a chubby guy with low self-esteem, working a dead-end job. A guy who found the courage to leave a bad marriage after 15 years and ended up reconnecting and marrying an old college friend he hadn't talked to in over seven years. A girl who makes him feel like his dreams are attainable and who is more of an inspiration than any book I have ever read or listened to. This, by the way, is just a cheap ploy to get her to continue editing my blog, but don't tell her that.

On Organized Sports

The Super Bowl has come and gone and I'd like to say, in the immortal words of Robbie Hart (Adam Sandler's character in the "Wedding Singer"), "Whoopity Dooo!" I do not say this because I want to diminish the achievements of the Seattle Seahawks this season, or incur the wrath of their fans; I am merely expressing the fact that I am just not that into sports.

I am by no means a sports hater, In fact, I was a sports lover for most of my youth. I do still catch the occasional sporting event on TV, but what I guess I am trying to say is that I am not really a fan of organized sports. I will happily shoot hoops with someone, throw a football around or even jump into a hockey game... well, maybe not hockey, seeing as though it has been over a decade since I strapped on a pair of skates and I would probably end up killing myself or some other unsuspecting participant. (Or more likely, strain muscles that have not been used in a looong time.)

When I say that I don't like organized sports, I mean that I do not follow teams or really care who is winning or losing a particular game, set, match or whatever. I wasn't always so indifferent about sports. When I was a kid I was a huge Yankees fan (I liked Graig Nettles in particular). I also rooted for the Montreal Canadiens and was proud to say that I was a Patriots fan, at a time when saying it out loud was met with scorn and ridicule (I was a huge Steve Grogan  fan!) I collected baseball cards (which I endlessly sorted and re-arranged) and would watch sporting events on TV all the time. Part of this love probably came from my father.

My father was definitely a sports fan. He loved the Bills for football (my brother was a Dolphins fan so there was a lot of smack talk during football season) and I'm sad to say I'm not sure who he favored in the other sports. In addition to his love of organized sports, he was always a part of my school sports. He coached little league, went to my basketball and soccer games and was really supportive of all my sporting endeavors. He would take the family to local sporting events: AHL hockey games and minor league baseball games, and he even took me and my brother to the only professional sporting event I have ever been too, a Montreal Expos game in Montreal.

Unfortunately my interest in organized sports started to wane as I got older. As other interests increased, my love of following teams diminished. In fact, by the time I got out of college, I couldn't have cared less what the Yankees or my former beloved Patriots were up to. I did not watch games on TV, unless there was nothing else on, and I really didn't care who was in the World Series, Super Bowl or Stanley Cup.

Let me stop for one second and say that I have never, ever had any interest in watching or following basketball, whether professional or college. Maybe there was a time that I would root for the Lakers, but overall, there was no interest. I think the Lakers were just a programmed response for when/if someone asked who I liked based on their success at that particular time. I was never interested in college basketball and now I pretty much hate it, primarily because it makes my current job harder once March rolls around.

Just because I do not follow sports teams does not mean I would never go to a sporting event if invited. There is something amazing about being at a live sporting event: the sights, the smells, the people, the energy, the food, it's wonderful... and there are no commercials! (Well except for the fact that everything that can be labeled with a corporate logo usually is.) There are also no annoying commentators, endlessly spouting off stats to fill in the spaces between the action. Commentators are why I can't even watch baseball games anymore and why I still do enjoy an occasional hockey game on the TV (there is no time for silly stats as the action is virtually non-stop.) In college I would go with a group of friends, which included several women (my wife being one of them) and had an awesome time. When it came right down to it, however, I didn't care where our school team finished each season or if they lost that night. To be honest, I was much more interested in the girls that we went with than the hockey game.

I will confess that of all the sports out there, I can understand following football more than any other. The fact that the season is so short and there are so few games, it makes each game very important. With hockey, baseball or basketball, considering the fact there are 5,000 games per season, there doesn't seem to be a need watch until the end of the season. And I also must confess, I do check up on the Patriots throughout the season, just to see how they are doing. But unlike my youth, I am not upset for days following a heartbreaking loss.

Sports fans come in a variety of flavors. You have the casual follower, who has a favorite team, and tries to catch a game every now and then. They usually know whether their team won their last game or not and probably know where their team is ranked, but that's about it. At the other extreme is the total sports fanatic. They know stats about the team and the players and have been to an actual game or two (if geographically/ economical possible). They own multiple pieces of clothing with their sports team on it and their mood is affected by the performance of their team for days after the last game. They may have even been responsible for hate mail/threats of violence to referees/officials after a loss. They may even hold a grudge for years and years after a particularly painful defeat.

I would never criticize the super fans out there. (Well, I'm sure there are a few out there who deserve criticism...) We all have our obsessions/ things we are passionate about. Some people collect guns, others are into comic books and some people are into "My Little Ponies" (they are out there... they are called Bronies. There is a documentary about it... who knew.) I personally devote many hours in a week, whether it is writing adventures (mini-stories) or just doing prep work, for my weekly pen and paper Role Playing Games. (If you don't know what this is, then it will take too much time to explain. Just know that it's pretty high on the nerdiness scale.)

To wrap this up, let me say that I am not in any way condemning the sports fans out there. You love your sports and that is cool. I have things I am passionate about and that is cool. We can all co-exist. Do not push your sports loving agenda on me, and I will not try to get you all to start playing Dungeons and Dragons. I was one of you once, so I understand you. I have stayed up late to catch the end of a game. I have cried after a crushing defeat (Remember, I was a Patriots fan, lot of tears back in the 80's). I rode the high of a World Series victory. I get the passion, the love of sports, the need to follow a team. The only thing I can't understand, the one mystery that eludes me to this day, is the love of NASCAR. It's not a sport, people. Calm down!

On Creativity in the bathroom and passing it on

As one can tell from the title of my blog, I spend a lot of time in the bathroom. That's not to say that I suffer from some sort of lower intestinal problem--it's just that when I have to go number 2, I like to take my time. Being someone who tries to be efficient, I try to make the best use of my bathroom time whenever I am in there. Life is so busy, especially with a 2 year old, that it's not very often that one gets to sit down and have 10-30 minutes of alone time. That is why the bathroom is a logical place to get some shit done, literally and figuratively. (Sorry to work blue... or brown.... I better stop here...)

And let's face it, when you're on the toilet it's your time. People tend to leave you alone when you're in the bathroom (well, except for kids) so you can do whatever you want... within reason. That which brought you in there usually doesn't take up too much of your attention, unless you're having a really rough go of it, so it is truly your own private time. Nice and quiet, sometimes a bit smelly, but very relaxing. Thank God Lay-z-Boy doesn't make a toilet, I'd never leave!

The three "extra" activities I most commonly engage in while on the throne are writing, reading and using my laptop. I do a lot of writing in cheap one subject notebooks and have tons of started projects all over the house. There is almost always a notebook within easy reach as I walk (and sometimes run) to the bathroom. The bathroom is a wonderful place to just get ideas and stories onto paper. Since the trip usually ends with paper, it is good for the sake of continuity.

In terms of reading, there is usually a book at both of our toilets, just in case the need to read comes upon me. If I am actually reading a book--which doesn't happen as much as it used to, being a devout audio book listener--I have been known to take unnecessary bathroom breaks, just to get more reading time. You know a book is good when you take 10 bathroom breaks a day and each time you finish, your butt and legs are numb.

The most recent, and now primary bathrooming activity, would be using the laptop. The computer gives me the ability to do many different activities. Whether it is playing a game, checking my Social Media or writing, the laptop is now something that usually is my bathroom companion. I even have a little table in the downstairs bathroom that I set the computer on so I don't overheat my lap. (If you're perverted and your mind has gone there, feel free to insert an internet porn comment here.)

I mention all of this to make another point. Sometimes, as a parent, I truly forget how much influence we have over our children. They sit and watch everything we do, the good and the bad. How many times, for those parents out there, have you heard your child use a phrase or a word and said to yourself "Where in God's name did he/she hear that?" Then you realize it is a phrase you have used your entire life and just never noticed. Some parents forget that children have ears and despite the other twenty activities they are currently performing, they are listening to every word you say. That's why you should really wait and run down your family to your spouse after the kids are asleep. That's some free advice! It will save you some embarrassing moments at the next family picnic.

In addition to copying language, children also mimic behavior. Why does my daughter pick her nose constantly? (I say this with my finger first knuckle deep in my nose.) We are their role models and what we do--there is a good chance they will do it as well. We all hope our children will pick up the good stuff and not the bad but usually it is mixture of both, especially for children under 5. I don't know if it is a good thing or not, but my daughter has definitely developed my need/love to spend quality time on the toilet.

I posted on my Facebook account a couple of weeks ago how, when my daughter announces she has to go to the bathroom, it turns into a scene from the movie "The Jerk." It's the scene after Steve Martin loses his fortune and is writing checks out to pay people back who bought his glasses thing. After a conversation with his girl, he says that he doesn't need anything and starts grabbing random items from around the house, and saying "except this thing". My daughter does something similar, without the dialogue (and without her pants around her ankles.) She just starts grabbing random toys and items as she works her way to the bathroom. The other day she had a cup, a comb, a doll, a notebook and pen. She'll bring a snack. She'll bring a book. Whatever she was doing before the need to go hits her, comes along with her to the restroom.

She grabs whatever she can and marches to the bathroom, arms full. If she can't carry it all she will ask whoever is accompanying her to lend a hand. Once in the bathroom she piles the stuff on the little table/stand we have set up in there. Then she asks me to snug the table up to the toilet so she can play.

The thing that she does the most on the toilet is draw. I have a bunch of scrap paper that I bring home from work and she grabs a couple of sheets and her crayon container and heads in. She'll be in there so long that the kids seat we have set on it toilet leaves grooves on her butt, yet she doesn't seem to mind. It has been amazing watching her squiggles turn into recognizable things. Granted, she is primarily drawing smiley faces, but still I'm impressed.

I don't know if it is wrong or not, but I feel a little bit of pride every time I walk past the open bathroom door and see her so engaged in whatever she is doing. I feel I have opened up the First Stall of her bathroom creativity and hope someday a masterpiece/great discovery of some sort will arise from her porcelain throne. Maybe my daughter will find the cure for cancer during a particularly slow bowel movement. Perhaps she will write an Oscar-winning screenplay or a Grammy-winning song after a Mexican feast gone wrong. All I know is I would love to hear her on stage some day accepting her Nobel prize/Oscar/Grammy and thanking not only her mom and dad, but also Sir John Harrington, the inventor of the flush toilet.

P.S. Don't be creeped out that I have so many different pictures of my daughter on the toilet. I just happened to have the camera handy and was cracked up by what she was doing.

On Halloween Tradition

I recently received an email from Kendra Thornton saying that she was looking for bloggers to collaborate on a series of Halloween posts to help people get excited for Halloween. I sent a reply and got one back, but wasn't really able to find the time to do what she was looking for. In Kendra's email she asked me to answer one of the following questions (and I cut and pasted this directly from her email):

- What is your favorite aspect about Halloween? Does your family have any traditions you do every year? (Pumpkin carving, haunted hay rides, favorite trick or treating candy routes)

- What is your favorite memory in terms of Halloween? Was it something you did growing up, is it one relating to your children, or was there ever a favorite costume [you] wore/created?

- I always try and maintain a healthy eating regime throughout the year; however, once Halloween hits there are always those certain candies and treats I can’t seem resist. Is there a certain type of candy you crave this time or year, a particular dessert you make that is an all time favorite? 
I believe I dealt with my love of candy in my post "On How I got the Beetus, Part 2: Halloween Candy" from last year, so I thought I'd write a bit about some of the other things she talked about.

Before my divorce, I really had become a bit of a humbug about Halloween. I barely decorated, did not dress up and really was not as excited about the day as I once had been. I have a lot of memories of being a kid and getting super excited about every aspect of the holiday. The costumes, the decorating, the trick-or-treating, I couldn't wait. My parents always seemed excited about it as well. I had always wanted kids and one of the reasons was to watch them get excited and make their holidays awesome. Therefore it was very disappointing to me when I did not follow through.

My Halloween apathy really began toward the end of my first marriage. Even with the kids being at prime Halloween-enjoying ages, it was a struggle to get in the mood. Like most things, I blame my ex-wife (just half-kidding). This is not me ex-wife bashing again (well, maybe a little). Unless she does something that sets me off, I usually don't do any bashing. Our marriage failed, I did things, she did things, and one day I will write it all down... but today is all about Halloween. The reason I say that I blame her is that she seemed to be even more apathetic than I did and it seemed like a lot of work to get her excited.

The one thing that has changed Halloween the most for me, for both good and bad, was the divorce. It was bad in that my three oldest kids live with my ex-wife. Even though they only live about 15 minutes away, I never get to see or talk to them. It's hard to get them excited for Halloween and get to do all the other things I'd like to do with them when I only see them 4 days a month. I miss watching them get excited for the holiday and looking at the costume section of every store dozens of times. I miss watching scary movies and thinking of ways to scare the heck out of each other.

Not to bring this post down any lower than I already have, but I felt I should mention the trick-or-treating. I won't say too much because I could do a whole post on the candy-collecting process. But to further emphasize the Halloween depression I had sunk into, or in some cases driven to, there were a few years that we didn't even take the kids out for real trick-or-treating. We would take them to see different people, like my mom or one of my ex's relatives, and we would spend so much time visiting that we only stopped at a couple of places. Not a lot of candy was received those years.

Despite my malaise, there is one tradition that I have always maintained. In all the years of doing it I may have missed one year. That activity is carving pumpkins. Not every year has been carving -- there were a few years where we painted them -- but whether they were cut open or just drawn on, the decorating of the pumpkins would be just about the best part of Halloween for me.

The first thing that I do is get pumpkins. Unfortunately my income has never been that great, as I stated above, so taking a nice family trip to the local pumpkin patch never seemed that feasible. To be honest, it was totally feasible, but because of my ex's and my holiday depression, we never made it a priority. We did go to a patch one year and it was a lot of fun, but only going one time in my kids' carving career is weak. When you are strapped for cash you usually end up in one place... Walmart. I have bought waaaay too many pumpkins from that giant evil super store, but when a huge pumpkin costs $4.50 at the mart, and the same pumpkin is $10-$15 at a local place, you go with cheap. Someday I will make enough money where I will never have to step into a Walmart again. Just like most things in life, you do get what you pay for, so the shelf life of these pumpkins is usually very short. For this reason, I usually take the kids to the store as close to Halloween as possible.

Once the pumpkins are purchased, it's time to scoop them out. This is messy, and to me, the best part of the process. Sticking your hand into the "guts" and squeezing is a truly Halloween experience. Do I put down papers or anything to help prevent the innards from getting all over the place? Heck no! Unfortunately my older kids have never seemed to be as excited as I am about this part. I really think that it is all about the cutting for them and they just don't want to be bothered cleaning the pumpkin out. I scoop the guts out and put them in a bowl. When all the guts are out then I slowly separate the seeds to make a delicious healthy snack for the family. Out of all the years I've sorted the seeds, I have only actually cooked the seeds twice. Usually they sit in the bowl for a week or so before we decide to throw them out. They were delicious!

Finally there comes the carving. Every year I look forward to this part and think hard about what I want to carve on my pumpkin. I see all the awesomely-carved pumpkins on the internet and think, I have a degree in art, I can do something amazing. I tell the kids to take a marker and draw their design on their pumpkin before they cut. Some years it has been faces, others super hero symbols. My oldest daughter is a Jack Skellington fanatic, so every year is new Skellington face.

When it comes down to the cutting, I usually end up doing most of it. I would like to say that the kids prefer it this way, but I really think I just end up taking over because I want their pumpkins to come out perfect. (It has nothing to do with my children wielding sharp instruments.) By the time I get done "helping" the kids, I have no desire to do an intricate design for my own pumpkin and just throw a simple face on it. Besides, they are kids, and easily bored. Once their pumpkin is done they want to fly out of the house to enjoy playing in the great outdoors... just kidding. They want to get back to video games on the Wii and the laptop.

The divorce was good for Halloween in that I married a person who, though this is not her favorite holiday, supports me in just about everything I do. I may not get her to sit down to watch a gory movie fest, but if I wanted to invite a bunch of people over to do that, she would be in the other room, trying to ignore the sounds of zombies eating people. If I decided to invest in a 20-foot tall inflatable headless horseman, she would let me get it. I'd probably have to set it up behind the garage, but still, she would not say no to me buying it.

The most important thing that my wife has done for me for Halloween (and all holidays for that matter) is, given me an awesome daughter. She is now two and a half years old and really starting to figure this all out. We sat her down at the table with some markers and let her do her own pumpkin this year. It's just a bunch of scribble on a pumpkin but hey, she's only two and a half. With my daughter I get another chance to create a new Halloween fan and do all the things that I cannot do with my oldest three. I get to start new traditions with her and watch her discover the joys of Halloween. "It's the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown" is coming on, I think that we will have to introduce this to her.

"Each year, the Great Pumpkin rises out of the pumpkin patch that he thinks is the most sincere. He's gotta pick this one. He's got to. I don't see how a pumpkin patch can be more sincere than this one. You can look around and there's not a sign of hypocrisy. Nothing but sincerity as far as the eye can see." - Linus


Happy Halloween Everyone!

On Bicycling

Not my actual bike. Mine did not have a speedometer.

Today's somewhat embarrassing story is brought to you by 15-year-old me.

The other day my beautiful wife (sucking up to my editor never hurts!) and I got my daughter to bed around 8 pm (her normal bedtime) and were just kicking back, ready to chill for the rest of the night. Something was bothering me, though. I knew I was forgetting something, but I didn't know what it was. I needed to go out for some reason after my wife got off of work but couldn't remember why. Then it hit me. Earlier that day I had dropped my car off at the garage to get its annual inspection. I had returned when it was finished, paid and got my keys. This was all done while my wife was working and while using her car, so I couldn't drive both cars home by myself (well I could have, but it would have been complicated) and I figured I'd just have her drive me over later in the day. Unfortunately, I forgot, later in the day came and went, and I was not going to wake up my daughter to have my wife drop me off at the garage.

The solution to this dilemma was very simple, as my wife would suggest. She works out of our home, and our daycare is only a block from our house, so she really didn't need her car for anything. "Just take my car tomorrow and we'll pick up your car after we are both done with work," she said. Simple! Uncomplicated! But in the back of my mind, a plan of my own started to form.

I have been cursed with an overwhelming need to not inconvenience people. I am the type of person that, if someone is blocking the aisle in a grocery store, will turn around and go up a different aisle to get behind them, instead of just saying "excuse me". The thought of leaving my wife without a car was unacceptable. Different plans started bouncing around my head, but I quickly narrowed it down to two. The first was to get up really early and walk to the car. The place where the car was sitting was only about 3 miles away, so it wouldn't take me that long. I've walked further, and in worse conditions (i.e. winter) to get to work in the past. But I really didn't want to walk, especially when there was another option, the second plan.

My three older kids each have bicycles. I picked up two 10 speeds at a lawn sale last year for my oldest two, sprayed them down with WD-40 and my son and daughter have been happily riding them ever since. Besides the little test ride which totaled maybe 300 feet, I hadn't ridden either of the bikes. In fact, the last time I rode a bike of any sort for any distance had to be before I got my license when I was 17 years old. This would put it at about 25 years since I really road a bicycle, so of course, this was the plan that I decided to execute. I decided that I would get up at 4 am, ride my son's bike to the car, stuff the bike into the car and then drive to work. The plan was brilliant! What could possibly go wrong? 

At this point I should disclose the fact that I did not mention anything about my intentions to my wife. If I had told her my ingenious plan, I'm sure she would have resorted to using underhanded tactics like logic and common sense to point out that my plan was absolutely ridiculous. She would have insisted that I just take her car and not to put myself through all the added stress. She would have been right, but I'd show her the brilliance of my plan!

After a not-so-great night of sleep, I jumped out of bed a little before 4 am, all ready to get my Lance Armstrong on (minus the doping). I grabbed my stuff and put it all in a little backpack, instead of using the classy Walmart bag that I usually carry my things around in, and headed out to the garage. I grabbed the bike, tested the brakes and the air pressure and walked it out to the road. I double checked a couple of times to make sure I had my car keys, which I did (forgetting my keys on top of everything else would have made this story epic). I said a prayer to the patron saint of bicycles (Pee Wee Herman?) and set out on my big adventure.

The weather was pleasant, there was no rain and the temperature was comfortable. I started peddling, made a couple of adjustments to the gears and continued peddling. I'd like to say I got a mile or two before the burn in my legs kicked in, but the truth is I traveled about 8 houses before the muscles in my leg said, "Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing?" But, since I don't talk to my legs, I just ignored them. When I set my mind to something, especially something stupid like this bike ride, I am committed (or should be). 

I peddled, and I peddled, muscles that have been dormant for 25 years protesting with every turn. When people try to convince others that they will not forget how to do something they haven't done in a long time they use the phrase "It's like riding a bicycle. You never forget." Oh, I forgot all right. I forgot that bicycling requires someone to be in at least a little bit of shape. I forgot that muscles that go unused for a long period of time don't just start working without any protest. I forgot that when you exert yourself, you sweat (and boy, did I sweat!). 

I peddled, and peddled, almost praying that I would arrive at this little hill about half way to my destination. It became my goal. I'd hit that and I could just coast for a while... weeeeeee! Sweet relief from the peddling! Then, I got to the hill, and my brain said "Please try to remember, you paid $10 dollars for this bike. You shouldn't just open it up." I did listen to my brain in this case; it has kept me alive for many years and usually has much better advice than my legs -- usually (this whole bike ride being an example of when I shouldn't listen to my brain). I rode the brakes down the hill, so I didn't get quite as long of a respite as I was hoping, but it was a glorious 3 seconds of not-peddling.

The only problem with hills is the fact that if you go down a hill, you usually have to go up one. I peddled and peddled some more and I knew with a growing joy that my destination was almost at hand. Unfortunately, I also remembered that there were a couple of small hills ahead. As I approached the first one, I realized that it wasn't really a hill. I've seen handicapped entry ramps steeper than this "hill". I approached it, started thinking about building up some speed to "tackle" it but then just stopped the bike and got off. I walked it up. Pathetic, I know! I got to the "summit" and thought about just walking the rest of the way (or setting up a base camp, and trying to get up "K-2"--the second hill--the next day). I also decided that if I just walked the rest of the way to my car I was just going to toss my son's bike in the tall grass on the side of the road and pick it up on the way home. Digging deep into my resolve, I threw away the thoughts of abandoning the bike and pushed (literally) on. 

I rode the bike about 30 feet until the second hill started. This one was a lot steeper than the first, but in the book of the world's steepest inclines, it would have not even been a footnote. I pushed the bike to the top, and saddled up again. I traveled across the road and through the Super Kmart parking lot, and there was the spot I parked the car... and it was there. (You thought I was going to say it was gone or something, didn't you?) I opened the hatchback, pushed the back seat down and stuffed the bike in. I fired up the car and headed down the street. My legs felt like jelly and the fact that it is a manual transmission meant working the clutch was fun, fun, fun. I took my sweaty shirt off and dangled it out the window, to try to dry it out some. I of course did not even think about bringing a change of clothes, but then again, with such a leisurely bicycle ride to my car, why would I even think I would need one?

I got to work. My shirt was pretty dry, and went into the bathroom and ran my head under the water. Of course, this was annoying due to the fact that the faucet is run off of a motion sensor so there was not a steady stream of water. I had made it to work by 4:53 am, so despite all the aches and pain, I was quite pleased with myself. My legs eventually stopped throbbing at some point during the day and I have to say, if this situation ever comes up again, I will just listen to my wife! 15-year-old me can take his banana-seat-riding, curly-handle-bar-using self and his bike (which was named Excalibur, I kid you not) and get lost! And Freddy Mercury, shut up! You may want to ride your bicycle, but I don't. 

Those last few sentiments were brought to you by my legs.     

  

On Cars

In my post about parades I mentioned my disinterest in cars. After dropping $600 dollars on a repair to get my car to pass inspection (and for those of you who happen to be from states that don't require annual inspections, I hate you), I think I can come right out and say that I really hate cars... with a passion.

I realize that in this day and age, in the area of the country I reside, having a car is essential. Most of my jobs have required me to commute quite a distance, so not having a car has not even been an option. I also have never lived in an area where, if there even was mass transit, it would be compatible with my work schedule. (My jobs always seemed to have started depressingly early in the morning). I have always been at the mercy of my cars, but have never had the cash or credit to get a new one (well, until now, and that would be because of my wife's good credit). Therefore I have driven/owned some real winners over the years.

I have been driving since I legally could. Growing up in the backwoods of a tiny town, you had to learn to drive pretty early or be stuck at home. This was especially important during those important dating years. (If you have read my "On Being the Little Fat Boy That Nobody Loved" post, you'll realize that in fact, I really didn't need a car for this reason for many years after that.) Forget about dating--the most important reason to get your license and a car was so that you didn't have to ride the school bus anymore!

Of course the first cars I drove were purchased by my parents. At first it was just their cars that I got to drive on occasion, but then they ended up buying me a car that was "mine". The first car I really remember was a Plymouth Champ, or the "Chump", as it was referred to by my friends. (Actually it started as my brother's car and was passed down to me when he went into the military.) Don't ask me the year or how much my parents paid for it but it had a standard transmission, was reddish-brown in color and not the coolest car in the lot. But that did not bother me. I was off the bus, had a car, and that is all that really mattered. I don't remember how or when the car passed away, but the thing I remember most about it was that it was rather tricky to get into reverse, which would lead me into an embarrassing situation (just one of many in my life). <cue the blurring screen effect for a flashback>

One day when I was still in high school, I was heading to my best friend's house and when I arrived no one was home. I spun around and headed back to my house. On the way back home I passed him and his family heading to their house so I decided to pull a three point turn to go back. I pulled right to the edge of the road, which was very close to a bank that was quite steep and went straight into the lake. I quickly slammed the car into what I thought was reverse and was actually 5th (or 4th... I can't remember what speed it was, but it sure was not reverse!) and the car bucked forward, propelling me right over the bank. I slammed on the brakes, but by that point I was a prisoner of gravity. There was no way I was going to be able to get back up the bank. I tried a couple of times to get up but only ended up heading closer to the lake. Fortunately my friend's father came back and with the help of someone else, we tied a chain to the car and pulled it up. Everything was okay.... well, the car was fine, but as for my pride...

After the Chump I believe I briefly drove an old beat up pickup truck. I think it was from the late 70's and was again, a standard transmission. Three on the tree as they used to say, which meant the shifter was on the steering column. The brakes were pretty hard to work and I really had to press on them firmly to come to a stop (sometimes actually standing up on the pad.) My father had bought it for a general purpose work truck but I had the "pleasure" to drive it. Again, I can't recall the fate of this beauty, but my next car would be one that I remember fondly.

This car was my 1980 Chevy Malibu. It was two-tone blue, had a working tape deck, was an automatic (no more shifting... woohoo!)  and we would end up being together for about three years. My dad paid about $600 for it and it was worth every penny. This car I remember very clearly because I had it for my last year of college years and it was the car I had when I left home and got married. The car was down for a while (when I did my brief tour of Memphis) but was resurrected, before it finally died a most agonizing death.

The car was perfect, until I hit my first deer with it. I was heading to work at my parents' video store when a deer dashed out of the woods. I clipped it and it ran off into the woods. I doubt it lived, but it killed my headlight. Overall, I made out pretty lucky, except for the fact that I ended up getting a parking ticket that same day because the town had changed the parking in front of our store to 15-30 minute parking and I left my car there all day. I remember going to court with my story for why I was parked there all day, ready to go over the trauma I suffered from the vicious animal attack, when the judge exclaimed the ticket would cost like $5 dollars (or some equally small amount). I just paid it. It wasn't even worth the amount of the wasted air I would have expended with an explanation.

It was only a few weeks later that I was attacked by another deer, and this creature would come to be the most-hated animal in all of my life. I was just beginning a relationship with my ex-wife and things were not going well. I was catching glimpses of her true nature but still on the fence about what to do. I was in a relationship and was afraid of being alone (this is a major simplification, but I will talk more about this in another post). Despite this, I had come to the conclusion that we were done. I was going to drive her home and do the adult thing.... avoid her and her phone calls and figure she would get the point, without me having a confrontation or ending it myself. Well it was a cold and quiet ride to her apartment when all of a sudden, there was a large deer in the middle of the road. I hit it head-on and it wrecked the front of the car. The experience was a "sign" that me and my ex-wife should stay together and stop fighting. We would eventually get married and 15 crappy years later, divorce. I hate that deer... even though we got to take him home and eat him, he could have spared my a long painful marriage, and the $300 dollar bill for fixing the front end.

The car was fixed by a local garage and back on the road again. It sat for quite a while but like the mighty phoenix, it rose from the flames. Unfortunately while the car was waiting to be fixed, someone stole all of my tapes out of it. I was saddened to lose them -- many of them were from college -- but my disappointment was overshadowed by the joy of getting my car back.

I would have one other "accident" with the Malibu, which fortunately was not serious and not reported. My ex-wife and I were driving down some back roads and it had just started to snow. There was barely any on the ground when I came around a small turn and hit a straight away. I don't know if there was black ice under the very thin layer of snow or what, but the back end of the car started to fishtail. I got the car back under control for about 2 seconds and then it started to go again. We spun a couple of times and ended ramming the back end into a tree. Thankfully there was a tree there because it was a 20-30 foot drop down a very steep bank. I banged up the back bumper but that was all. I didn't get it repaired but it really didn't matter. The car reaper was coming.

I would have this car until its death later that winter. I was working for a company down in Clifton Park (nearly an hour commute). I should mention the fact that I was working five ten-hour days and starting at 5 in the morning so I was very tired all of the time. One afternoon on my return home I nodded off briefly. I didn't think I fell asleep at the time--my mind was just wandering, thinking of a hundred different things--when I heard this scrapping sound. I suddenly realized it was coming from my car and I was right up against the guard rail. I jerked the wheel and got back on the road and thanked the good Lord because a few hundred feet ahead were several cars parked on the side of the road that I would have taken out (and possibly myself along with them). Now the Malibu had three racing stripes on the passenger side of the car.

The car was running fine (although looking a little beat up because of my "accidents") when two or three incidents occurred all around the same time. First, the windshield wiper motor died. Well, actually, the heater died first, which made for some very uncomfortable rides in the dead of winter, but I had a blanket that I wrapped around me, so I was okay. Unfortunately the wipers died while I was driving up the Interstate in the middle of a blizzard. They were swooshing right along and then stopped dead. I remember rolling the window down and using my arm as the wiper. I could barely see, and a thin crust of ice was forming on my arm. I was trying to get off at an exit so I could put less people at risk from my death machine. I actually tried to stick my head out the window and drive Ace Ventura style, but my glasses kept misting over. I eventually pulled off the Interstate and slowly made it home on the back roads, still using the arm wiper. I was many hours late and got ripped a new asshole by my future ex-wife for being so late.

Then one day, something else went wrong: it started driving really slow on a trip down to work. I had the gas floored and it would still only creep along. I pulled over and checked under the hood. Flames were actually shooting out of the car (the carburetor to be precise). I was ready to take it out into the backyard and put it down then, but with my ex-father-in-law's help, I got it going again. At this point I figured either this car was going to kill me or I, it.The straw that broke the camel's back was when I was coming home that same winter and I got a flat. I pulled over and started to change the tire in the middle of giant pile of slush. As I used the tire iron that I had, I ended up snapping three out of the five lugs on the tire. I ended borrowing another tire iron from someone at a Stewart's shop and got the other two nuts off, and the tire changed. I drove home slowly and decided that was it. The Malibu was no more. May she rest in "pieces".

I don't think I had any other really memorable cars after that. I would pick up cheap used cars, and my ex-father-in-law would help me to keep them going. He was a car guy and when I say he helped me fix the cars, what I mean is he showed me what needed to be done and then went into the house for a cigarette and coffee. I learned what little I know about cars from him and he saved me a lot of money over the years, but it always drove me nuts to be under a car, half in tears because I was so frustrated, and him just not seeming to care. (It's stupid, but the thing that always made it worse was that he would say that he got nauseous working under cars, but if it was one of his sons, he would be under that car for hours.)

I don't think I paid more than $500 for a car until the year before my divorce. There was just a constant succession of piece of crap cars that I struggled to keep going. I was pulled over so many times for car problems I can't eve guess now how many. All were fix-it tickets and usually muffler related. I remember one time using putty and tape to patch up a muffler system that was too loud. I waited until the absolute last minute to fix it and after applying the material and adjusting the coat hangers that were holding the exhaust system up, I was ready to take it up to court to get the ticket signed off on. Right before I was about to head up, the tape broke loose and it was loud again. In a panic I came up with a solution: I stuffed tin foil in the gap and around the pipe. Then I wrapped it in duct tape. Court was a very short ride up the road and I drove up and had a sheriff come out to listen. I revved the engine and it was nice and quiet. He signed off on my ticket and I drove home. I hadn't even pulled into the driveway when the heat of the exhaust pipe melted the duct tape and the loudness returned.

I owned another car that had the alternator go in it. It first died when my ex and I were driving home from visiting an old college friend of mine who lived in Dannemora (he lived in the town -- he was not a resident of the maximum security prison.) We were travelling in the rain, in the middle of the night, down a section of the Interstate where the exits are many miles apart and far from the nearest towns. Truly the middle of nowhere. We were cruising right along when the lights began to get dimmer and dimmer and the wipers began going slower and slower. I eventually had to stop because I could not see and we decided to head for one of the emergency phones set up every few miles or so. Fortunately a trucker actually picked us up as we headed to a phone (my first and last--to date--ride in an 18 wheeler) and dropped us off in a town we could actually call someone for help in. We went back the next day and the car started right up. I learned the the alternator kept shutting off for some reason. Instead of taking it to a garage to get it fixed I discovered a work-around. Whenever the battery light came on I would pull over, pop the hood and hit the alternator with a stick until it kicked on again. This was going great for a while but slowly became less and less effective. Then, the piece de la resistance, was when I pulled over one time and the hood didn't shut properly. As I headed down the road, the hood flipped back and smashed the windshield. Of course I kept driving it until I got a ticket and just decided to retire it (it wasn't worth fixing all that was wrong with it).

Well this is turning into another novella so let me try to make some kind of point and wrap it up. I have driven a lot of junkers and done a lot of questionable things to keep them running. The main reason for this was because I did not have the money to get them fixed properly. Now that I am older and have a wife that works and makes decent money we are in possession of some decent cars. I don't have to crawl under the damned things in the middle of winter to change a brake pad or anything like that. I actually have tires with treads on them, which is something wondrous, let me tell you. The only problem with this is that it comes with a price. The check engine light came on in our shiny new car (not that new anymore--a 2009 Sonata) and when we took it to the garage it came up as a small emissions leak (or something like that). They reset the light and sent us on our way. It came back on a few days later. We took it back and the "small" emissions leak ended up costing $600 dollars. This repair is more than I paid for just about all the cars I ever owned, which, on a side note, is why I cannot even look at the price of riding lawn mowers at Lowe's. Seriously, $1200 for a mower? If I could ride it back and forth to work, then maybe...

Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do to live without a car. I could ride a bike, I guess, but then I would have to invest in little headlights and reflective gear for my 4am bike ride. Let's not even talk about rain, or winter, or other weather conditions. I just really hate cars, and I think it is for that reason why I have no interest in going to car shows or checking out someone's really cool car. I have spent too much time under them and spent too much money fixing them to care. The only car-related thing I have any interest in would be Car Talk on NPR. Not only do those guys crack me up, but I truly don't mind listening to other people's car problems. As long as they aren't mine!