Friday, July 21, 2017

You don't even have to try

Since I was a child Casey Kasem has implored me to keep reaching for the stars.

Five years ago today I actually grabbed one.

You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, Samantha.

Yesterday I wrote about playing a degrees of separation game with FT. The reality is, it all starts with you.

Without you... there is no Frank Turner.

Vegas would still be a shithole.

Nashville would just be a polished turd I'd never want to visit.

I would never have bothered getting on a boat.

There would be a ball of fluff annoying the wrong people and a smelly girl who wouldn't have found her person.

There would be no London trips, no Boston trips.

There would also be no California City.

Okay, so maybe some things I could have lived without :-P

We were talking the other day and I love that we both reached the same conclusion: this life we have - the last five years - if we died tomorrow we'd die smiling because it's been more than anyone deserves.

I have no intention of dying tomorrow.

I have every intention of tormenting you for another 35 years.

Maybe even 45.

You are the best thing.

Thursday, July 20, 2017

I don't really remember what my point was if I ever had one

There's a thing happening on twitter right now - #allthebeststories

It's a Frank Turner thing. People are sharing stories of the man and his music. That has my brain spinning in a million directions.

I shared one but, I could write an entire post about many more.

It's not a secret that I am a fan of the man's music.

What many may not know is that I am a bigger fan of the man himself.

He's a beautiful flawed fucking mess of a man with a good heart, a razor sharp mind and an ability make anyone he meets feel, for a moment, like they are the center of his universe.

The first time I heard him I thought, not too shabby. The first time I saw him live I thought, okay, this is really good. The first time I saw and heard Photosynthesis live I was done.

Then my wife - who has better taste in all things than I - dragged me to Phoenix to see him.

Ugh, I like him but, do we really have to drive to another state to see him again?

Little did I know that would be the meet cute for one of the most important people in my heart.

Charlie was the first Turnerd I would meet along this journey. She is far from being the last.

The same night we met Charlie we met Senor Turner and Astrophysicist Nigel Powell for the first time.

Frank is really nice. 


We ended up on a cruise because of Frank's music. There were margaritas on a Caribbean island with our favorite English singer. #cabana18

I met an army of Turnerds on that boat. It was beautiful.

I fell in love with the heart of a girl named Amanda. Unbeknownst to Amanda, she had a hand in making me fall in love with the man, Frank.

My wife danced with Ben in elevator that cruise and Matt called me a fucking beautiful man.

TGB and I fell in love with another guy named Ben.

We met a girl named Jody and a boy named John. We fell in love with a boy named Jake and followed around a guy in a blue speedo.

All of those people have a chunk of my heart now. Because of Frank.

The last night of the cruise TGB asked him to sing a Counting Crows song and he did. Suddenly, a friend who just died was right there on the boat with me.

We ended up in Boston with Scott and Deena. No Frank, no Scott and Deena. No Scott and Deena, no Katee.

In fact, I could play that degree of separation game and end up with a much less colorful life if I start it with no Frank...

There was Boston I & II, there was Atlanta I & II and being called dickheads by Frank in a crowd full of Turnerds (lovingly in jest).

There was that 11 year old in GA, or maybe one of the Carolinas. She's a cool kid and I've come to care a great deal for her. And I am cheering for her everyday.

There was that second cruise when Charlie stole, borrowed... a golf cart on a private island.

There's Annie and, Shelby and, Lauren... I fucking love those women.

She's so precious
There's the Wilsons, that kid in a wheelchair...

One of my favorite moments in life
... there was that kid in line for the tender with the tattoo of Frank lyrics over his heart...

So many Amys and Katies that have come to mean so much to me.

There was that time I found myself in the rain in Camden watching people I love drink fizz while I fell in love with new music from a couple of guys I would never have heard of had I not come to London. I was in London for Ben's book about... wait for it... Frank.

There was a cab ride in Boston with a woman named Nicole. That lead to a day out in Nassau and a special place in our hearts.

There was a couple in one of the Carolinas who had no idea there was even a cruise who ended up missing the first day of cruise two and meeting us in Nassau. I love them both.

There's my friend Todd. I wish I'd met him when I lived down the road from him.

Don't think I've forgotten you, Colleen.

Maybe these aren't so much stories. But the people I have met along the way because of Frank each make my life richer.

There are a lot of people I haven't mentioned. A bald Englishman with a cat and gorgeous wife. An actress I owe pages. A big photographer and his clan in St. Louis. Alabamians, Canadians, Scandanavians...

Fuck me, my life is so much richer because some English kid decided to pick up a guitar some time ago and then my wife decided we had to go see him in LA.

I need coffee. And tissue.

Titty sprinkles!

Wednesday, July 19, 2017

Did you know Zika is not a baby name?

A friend is having a baby today.

Normally, I don't really give a shit about this type of thing but, this time I feel differently.

She's been trying a long time and had several unfortunate losses along the way.

Which is heartbreaking in a way I cannot fathom.

It also reminds me of my baby sister (the cutest baby ever!) who lost her baby last year and is pregnant now.

I've learned that babies born after a miscarriage, still birth or, death of an infant are called rainbow babies.

I've learned that my baby sister is braver than I ever imagined.

Last night I texted her to tell her about my friend. We chatted a bit then she sent me her favorite song. It was a sonogram of her forming baby's heartbeat.

I haven't told my sister but, I have played that song a few times since last night.

I've learned that my friend is not dumb enough to name her kid Zika but, I am dumbass enough to think she would.

See, what had happened was... aww, fuck it, I'm just a dumbass who thought a stupid kid named Zika was keeping my friend off a cruise.

I am not a smart man.

Today a baby is winning the mommy lottery.

That's all I do know. And I KNOW I'm right about that.

Titty sprinkles!

Tuesday, July 18, 2017

Jazz and my mind wander

You should read A Man Called Ove.

You should go see The Big Sick.

They're both good.

Also, cheer for climate change. It's the best cure for what ails the planet.

But Rudy, climate change will destroy the planet!

No, it will make the planet uninhabitable for humans. The planet will survive. 

You ever get someone a gift that they've always wanted just to realize when it is in your hands that you really want it to? Did you ever decide to keep that gift for yourself and then run out and get them some other crappy thing? No? Me neither.

It's weird the way life is sometimes. I got another call this morning about a death. And I thought, that sucks. 

I also thought about a kid now growing up without a mom and wondered if that isn't actually better for this particular kid because this particular mom wasn't exactly great.

And because I am an unabashed narcissist I thought back to the times I told people my mom was dead. I wondered if it wouldn't have been better for me in the long run if she had, in fact, died while I was a child.

Terrible parents vs. dead parents

Terrible parents can ruin a kid. Make the kid grow up convinced they're shit because obviously, if a parent, the person who created said child, can't love the child he must be shit.

A dead parent can be whatever the child imagines them to be.

Titty sprinkles!

Monday, July 17, 2017

Stick 'em with the pointy end

I joined Goodreads because everyone kept telling me, you're a librarian, you should totally join.


I have come to realize that I cannot do book reviews because I either love a book or I toss it aside and never pick it up again. There is no variation, no degrees. There is no, this book is okay.

A book better be fucking awesome or it is complete shit.

This morning on G+ a friend pointed out that the Confederate Battle Flag was not racist. I pointed out that he was indeed correct, it was actually created because the South was too stupid to tell their flag from the US flag.

I have one less friend on G+.

Three words about last night's GoT season premiere: Arya Stark, motherfuckers!

Also, I am going to start watching Dr. Who now.

Seriously, how small does your dick have to be to complain about a woman Dr?

If my math is correct, five years ago today TGB and I were smoking out on our back deck talking about her upcoming surgery and decided, fuck it, let's get married.

We're romantical as fuck.

Yes, I know romantical is not a word.


Titty sprinkles!

Sunday, July 16, 2017

I get the blues before and after

I got a couple of those messages that nobody wants to get yesterday. Those kind that effect lives because they create before/after moments.

Some have more of those moments than others but, we all have them.

I've spent every moment since obsessing over all of my before/after moments.

Who I was before she told me she could because she made me and the person I became after. I was a boy like most others. I became a piece of meat who believed my worth was measured solely by how good I was in bed.

Who I was before Jen died and who I became after. I was growing from a ridiculous boy into something resembling a man. I was on off for seven years. I went through the motions of being alive, but forgot to actually live. I drank. A lot. To forget. To get to the end of the book a little faster.

Who I was before my dad died and who I became after. I was my father's son planning for the day I could return the favors to my father I felt owed him for always loving, always believing in me. A house with a place for him to relax and grow old in once he retired. After, I was lost. I was so fucking angry. For a little while I forgot to be my father's son and became a monster.

Who I was before the last time I drank and the person I became after. I was a lot of things, most of them not good. I put on a pretty veneer but, underneath it all I was ugly. After, with time, a lot of heavy lifting, and patience from a woman far better than I deserve I became something I like.

In between all of those moments were other, smaller before/after moments. Moments that still effect me but, didn't alter behavior. Didn't change - for better or worse - the person I was at that moment.

My Uncle Charlie dying didn't change me til I grew the fuck up.

Your wife doesn't have cancer should have been enough to make me stop drinking but, I was a fool.

By now you all know I rarely have a point, I just ramble.

If something in what I've written makes sense to you, well, there's at least one of us.

Titty sprinkles!

Postscript, none of the above made me sad or whatever. When it all rolled around in my head it wasn't with any sort emotion at all. It was a lot like opening up an old foot locker and examining the contents. There were a few, oh yeah, I forgot I even still had this moments but, no dark holes, no melancholy. Just a sense of, this is who I am after these things happened. 

Saturday, July 15, 2017

We are extraordinary people

I had a dream I met Shirley Manson. We had a laugh at how fucking awkward we were when we were young. Then I remarked on how surviving that shit matters because not everyone does. She agreed and hugged me. She was still sweaty from the show. I could still smell her on me when she walked away.

I don't know that I ever want to meet her. She's too cool in my brain.

Also, I might say something stupid like... we8hf:FKNJE; sdihf;aiuaf

And then she'll call security.

It would be really weird and uncomfortable for both of us.

I'm hungry and I have to go drive a boat.

You kids play nice.

Unless you run into a racist or something. Then punch that motherfucker in the piehole.

Titty sprinkles!

Friday, July 14, 2017

Never be daunted

I don't want to write this morning.

I feel like the things in my brain are things I've said a thousand times; things you're tired of reading about by now.

Things like, there is a moron running the country and 60 million morons put him there.

I'm going to enjoy watching #45 supporters get what they asked for - loss of: jobs, access to affordable healthcare, a safety net. 

I'm going to hate watching people who were smart enough to not vote for #45 get what fuckface von clownstick supporters asked for. 

Then I remember that I've said things like this before and nobody could possibly give a shit.

Only one person like my FB post about Chelsea Clinton and Claudette Colvin.

I might be reading too much into that, but way more people love and like the stupid fucking memes I post before bed.

That's an indicator of something, I am sure.

I hate working at the libary.

I love the books. The books remind me just why I hate people.

So fucking much James Patterson and Bill O'fuckingreilly.

So little Hemingway.

For every person I introduce to Junot Diaz or Toni Morrison I get a dozen people whining to me that we haven't gotten enough copies of a fucking Bill O'Reilly book about Jesus, or the latest guy-who-always-uses-a-ghost-writer book.

Yesterday we finally received A Farewell to Arms.

A few weeks ago we got The Sun Also Rises.

Still don't have For Whom The Bell Tolls. 

I have been pestering to get all three since I was hired. Last July.

Thursday, July 13, 2017

This dribble has an assignment

Never apologize for quoting your favorite writer to me.

Unless that writer is James Patterson.

I have a friend. He has a daughter. She's wicked. One of my favorite things is watching him watch her travel the country and race. The pride he displays for his little girl makes me smile like few things.

Here is your assignment: go and vote for Maya Singletary (Hoke County) for NC's Athlete OTY. There's no sign up, no email to be given, just click the link above, scroll to the poll, click her name and, boom - done.

Vote early, vote often.

Onto something serious.

A few days ago there was a plane crash. It got lost in the noise about whatever dumbfuckery #45 and his ilk are up to.

It matters because those are sons and husbands and dads who aren't coming home. They died doing a thing greater than themselves.

It matters because we all know someone who serves and tomorrow that could be your loved ones.

It matters because people who got the call that a plane is missing were men and women in uniform and it was personal for them.

It matters because while the news was giving air time to jokers who would trample our Constitution, we lost some of the very people charged with defending it.

Wednesday, July 12, 2017

You're welcome

I've never been with someone with a foot fetish.

There. I wrote something today.

Piss off.

Titty sprinkles!

Tuesday, July 11, 2017

Got caught in a downpour yesterday

You want to live with us?

No. I want to live LIKE you.

That's what I remember from the dream I was having when I woke this morning.

I don't read into dreams, I just have them. Lots of them. Sometimes they end up ideas for stories. Sometimes I email Charlie and tell him we need to write a screenplay then I forget it for a long, long time.

Sorry, Charlie. I remembered again. So there's that.

Amazon Prime Day is a thing, apparently. I never knew.

Buy me all the things.

I have been on an Interrupters kick lately. I've liked everything I've heard, but I only recently bought their music and it's been playing on a loop since.

The Valley may have gotten me a little choked up the first time I heard it.

I miss California. I think it's time to plan another trip.

Titty sprinkles!