Couch Nap V. Bed Nap: Dawn of Holy Shit What Day is This Even?

April 26, 2017 Leave a comment

I fucking love naps. I do. They’re little slices of heaven in what can sometimes be a hellish day. Who doesn’t love drifting off into unconsciousness, allowing their problems and the world around them to fade into black, all while nestled warmly under a nice big blanket?

But while naps are a great way to recharge your stamina for finishing daily tasks, or simply a way to escape the overwhelming complexities of life for thirty minutes or so, the age old question still remains: Which is better, Couch Nap or Bed Nap?

The debate has raged on for as long as naps have existed, but I walk the thin line down the center. I believe both types of naps have their merit and deserve their place in the sun (or moon, the time of day you take your naps is your business).

QUICK AND DIRTY

One benefit of a Couch Nap over a Bed Nap that I’ve found is that it’s easier to take brief naps on a couch than it is on a bed. For me, a Couch Nap is always a quick thing. I can fall asleep easily on the couch, but I can’t stay asleep easily on the couch. So, this leads to short naps (15 – 60 mins).

TIME VORTEX

Bed Naps are a strange beast. I climb into bed, pull the covers over myself, settle my head onto the cool side of the pillow, and drift away. The only problem is that, if left unchecked, a Bed Nap can get out of hand. I’ve crawled into bed, fully committed to only sleeping an hour or so, only to wake up a full eight hours later. That’s a whole night’s sleep, for most. My eyes shoot open and I immediately wonder where the hell I am and what year it is. These naps always make me feel ten times worse (re: more tired and physically destroyed) than before.

A MATTER OF OPINION

I know people who view this as a very clear cut/black and white decision. They have chosen their hill to die on. They are #TeamCouchNap or #TeamBedNap and if you try to sway them otherwise, they will fucking fight you.

These people are lacking the benefit of including both in their lives. They lack the foresight to realize that, with a little careful deliberation, they can choose the right nap for the right situation. Sometimes a quick Couch Nap is all that is required to boost your drive and redirect your focus. But sometimes you need the warmth and solitude that only bed can offer, which may or may not lead to you waking up forty years in the future and unsure of whether or not you still qualify as human.

IN CLOSING

I really like naps. I’m also very tired and I just finished eating a chimichanga and now I’m a little gassy.

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Current Status: Monday, February 27 | 8:25pm

February 27, 2017 Leave a comment

Current Proof of Life:
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Current Audio Saturation:

 

Current Ramblings:

The snow has receded early this year, giving us a preview of spring. The brown tattered grass and naked tree branches seem as unprepared for the death of winter as the rest of us. Sunlight warming my face, gentle breezes on the air instead of biting cold winds, neighbors in shorts and t-shirts. All of this is uncomfortably unfamiliar in February for Minnesota.

Never talk about the weather.

I turn 33 in 3 days and while it’s just another birthday, it dawned on me recently that this will be the first birthday of my life without my father. My father was there, either physically or as a voice on the phone, for every single one of my birthdays since day one and this will be the end of that.

As we get closer to the one year anniversary of his passing, things are getting harder again. Emotions are running wild, sleep is growing more and more in rarity by the night, nerves and anxiety in full force. All of this was finally falling under control, I was finally getting a grasp on the sadness and the emptiness, finally learning to live normally again. Is this what life is, now? Almost a full year of fighting for control of my own emotions, my own heart and mind, only to lose it all when it is finally within my grasp?

The photo album helps. It helps and it hurts, but mostly it helps. Seeing photos of my father holding me as a baby, seeing photos of us on family vacations and the like, reliving those memories, that’s helping me in a lot of ways I never thought it could.

Just another birthday.

I have to work on my birthday this year, which is normal and not usually a problem, except I’m not sure in what state I will be when the day comes. Will it be a happy day, of friendship and laughter? Or will I spend my time barely holding it together? Time will tell.

Just another birthday.

NATIONAL NIGHTMARE: DAY ONE

November 9, 2016 Leave a comment

Wow. So, here we are. The beginning of the end.

Last night, when I left work, I walked right over to the local liquor store and bought a case of beer. I then went to the local supermarket and bought a chimichanga. When I got home, I flipped on CNN, took a deep breath, and let the madness wash over me for the following few hours. The combination of shredded beef, Spanish rice, refried beans and all the fixings, along with beer after beer after beer, could do nothing to properly prepare me for the horror that would unfold.

In fact, in my half-drunk, very-full state, I ended up going to bed before it was all made official.

I’ve made it clear in the past that I’m not a huge fan of Hillary Clinton. I’ve made it clear that, once the nominees of both political parties were officially announced, that I felt we’d be screwed either way. But in different ways, in more subtle ways, depending on which side of that terrible coin we fell upon November 8th.

But make no mistake here, do not take me as a person who is unaware of what just happened to our country last night, we now face the worst possible outcome of this election. If Clinton had won, I would have sighed a sigh of relief and then been somewhat worried about where her policies were going to take us. But I would have had no real fear for the future, nor would I have felt the concern or fear for the people of color and LGBTQ community that are my friends and family. To me, this election was truly choosing the lesser of two evils. And the worst evil imaginable is who won.

Everyone has a voice. Everyone has a vote. Everyone deserves to have that voice/vote be heard and counted. This election was about what kind of steps we would take into the future, what face we want to present to the rest of the world, to let them know who we are as a nation and what we stand for.

 

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This is the face we chose last night.

I don’t even know what I think or what I feel, and it has already been nearly twenty four hours since the decision was made official.

I do know one thing: If you are a straight white male, I do not want to hear “It’s not that bad” or “it’ll be fine” or really any other kind of white bread optimism, because it’s not us I’m worried about. White straight men aren’t going to be targeted, white straight men don’t need to live in fear for the next four years, white straight men don’t need to fear harassment or assault or denial of basic human rights. White straight men don’t need to fear, not for the next four years.

I’m afraid for all of the Muslim Americans who are going to be targeted by idiot racists who feel justified in treating them horribly, simply because our new President feels the same way.

I’m afraid for any woman who has ever faced sexual assault on any level, because now the President of the United States is on the same level as the assailants they fell victim to.

I’m afraid for members of the LGBTQ community, including my own son, who will spend the next four years living in fear and uncertainty while a President and Vice President who have vocally expressed an anti-LGBTQ mentality in the past are in power.

I’m afraid of the message all of this is sending to the young impressionable minds of this country.

I’m afraid of all of that and nothing another straight white man says to me will alleviate a single bit of it.

I’m still processing everything. I’m still figuring things out. I’m still wondering where we’ll all be after January 20th, 2017.

In the meantime, I leave you with one of the few things I’ve found comfort in since last night: Stephen Colbert.

Hunter S. Thompson Day

July 18, 2016 Leave a comment

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Today would have been Hunter S. Thompson’s 79th birthday. I don’t make a habit of pointing out things like this, normally. The birthdays of people no longer around to comment on them. I made a post last year, on the tenth anniversary of his death, as a memoriam and a means to show how much I wish he were still around today.

The reason I’m bringing up the good doctor today, now, is because we find ourselves in the middle of an unprecedented clusterfuck of an election season and it’s one that I feel Hunter would relish in. I feel he would haul his 79 year old bones atop the roof of Woody Creek Owl Farm and, bullhorn in hand, shout to the world “I FUCKING TOLD YOU SO.”

I would love to see Hunter on CNN talking about Trump, the now unstoppable Frankenstein’s monster of the GOP, and his orange skin and black heart. Or Hillary Clinton and all of her pantsuit politics and shady behind-closed-doors dealings. The new era of democracy, the choice no one should be forced to make, with people voting to elect a tainted and uncertain future just to fight against the possibility of no future at all.

This is exactly the sort of thing I would love to hear Hunter’s voice on. Maybe he would surprise us all and be a Trump supporter (though not likely), maybe he would back him as a middle finger to politics in general, as a way to tear down the whole damn thing and build it back up fresh again.

Who can say? Hunter is gone, sadly. His voice on matters, old and constant, is always out there in the form of his writing. But new matters, new faces of evil flashing their shimmering eyes from Washington, are beyond his ability to comment. We can only imagine what he’d say.

As a reminder to what fueled Hunter, aside from a passion for life and politics, here’s Hunter’s “daily routine”:

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I think I’ll spend today reading The Rum Diary. You celebrate however you see fit.

Categories: 2016, Writing Tags:

That Captain America Thing

May 25, 2016 Leave a comment

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Marvel Comics has started a bit of hoopla this New Comic Book Day, with the release of CAPTAIN AMERICA: STEVE ROGERS #1. In this issue, Steve Rogers, the original Captain America, dons the costume once more and sets out to fight the good fight against the forces of evil. But in the closing pages, a huge twist that will have ramifications for the entire Marvel universe is revealed.

I won’t say what that twist is here, I won’t spoil for you a comic that has just come out. Comic Book Resources goes in depth with the spoiler here, if you’d like to be spoiled.

No, this isn’t about the spoiler specifically, or even the reaction to said spoiler, but rather the reaction… to the reaction of the spoiler. I know. My head hurts, too.

People are outraged by this spoiler. People are boycotting Marvel, people are threatening to burn their entire collections of Captain America comics, people are taking to Twitter and Facebook to voice their disgust. These are not the people I’m talking about.

No, the people I’m talking about are those responding to these fans. The people who are saying things like “it’s just a character!” or “it’s just a comic book, he won’t be a [SPOILER] for much longer!” or “stop overreacting!”

Here’s the thing, this particular twist isn’t the run-of-the-mill story twist. It’s not your cookie cutter plot twist that you see coming from a mile away and know in your heart will be retconned in a few issues. This twist is one that stretches all the way back to the conception of Captain America, it tarnishes the very idea of Captain America and what makes him who he is and always has been. It spits in the face of his Jewish creators in a way that is heartbreakingly sad and honestly very hard to deal with. It’s more than a simple change of personality or costume that fans don’t care for, it’s a change of the very definition of the character itself.

I feel the reaction has been justified. I feel like the people calling out fans as “overreacting” and telling them that “it’ll all be different in the next storyline, anyway! comic stories are retconned every month!” don’t get what Captain America truly symbolizes and what he means to, not just Americans in general, but a very specific cross-section of Americans.

Count me in the camp of people who hate this twist, count me among the masses who feel this is a cheap and dirty ploy to grab some media attention away from DC Comics and their big story changes going on right now (“REBIRTH”).

That said, I am willing to see where the story goes. I’m willing to see how they handle this grievous misstep in character management, this colossal misunderstanding of their own flagship character, and where they go from here. I’m a fan of story, after all.

But don’t fool yourself for one second into thinking that Marvel didn’t just do irreparable damage to one of the most beloved, and culturally important, characters in modern mythology.

Current Status: Sunday, May 22nd |10:04am

May 22, 2016 Leave a comment

Current Proof of Life:

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Current Auditory Stimulation:

Current Musings:

The world outside my window is a swirl of greens dancing on the wind, people mowing their lawns and walking their dogs, the birds taking wing to the sky and the squirrels skittering across branches. A world in motion, as I sit behind this keyboard and think about life.

It’s been almost two months since my father passed and it feels as though it just happened yesterday. They tell you it gets easier, and I’d be lying if I said I haven’t found it slightly easier to cope, but what they don’t tell you is that the pain never leaves. It doesn’t get easier in a way you want it to. The ache doesn’t dull, the memory doesn’t fade, the tears don’t sting any less. It gets easier to pry your focus from it, it gets easier to push it into the back of your mind. But the shadow of it, the sheer weight of it, doesn’t leave you.

I still can’t find the strength to refer to him in the past tense. It feels wrong, it feels like I’m pushing him away if I do.

I haven’t truly slept since it happened, certainly not well. I’ve gotten sleep, but it’s been fractured and not restful. When my sleep is deep enough to dream, the dreams shock me awake. In the last week alone, I’ve woken up crying and unable to breathe on two separate nights. Melatonin has been unsuccessful, as have been over the counter sleep aids.

Saturdays have not been the same. I don’t think they ever will be. I’ve found the trick is to have something to look forward to on Saturdays. Yesterday, it was Chinese food for dinner. Last week, I had ice cream after work. The Saturday before that I saw a movie. It doesn’t change anything, but it takes the edge off.

“How are you?” a concerned friend asked recently. My honest answer was “I alternate between tired and sad these days and the two intersect more than I’d like.” It’s the best way to describe where I am right now.

I will live. I will survive. This very same thing has happened to countless other people, many whom I know personally and care deeply for, I am not a special case. It’s a long journey and it is cold and dark, but I will make it to the other side eventually.

Categories: 2016, Current Status, Personal

My Father

April 10, 2016 1 comment

Once, when I was very young, I remember watching my dad work. The image of him sawing wood and measuring where that wood would go is clear and vivid in my mind, as though I just saw it yesterday. I don’t remember what prompted it, but I do remember saying

I want to be just like you.

He seemed confused by the statement. I suppose because it seemingly came from nowhere. He lit a cigarette. He looked so cool.

Not just like me. Don’t start smoking these.” he said. I nodded, thinking I probably would anyway. I never did. The occasional cigarillo with my alcohol, but I never became addicted to it.

Road trips were always a fun experience, whether we were going from California to Arizona to visit my sister, or just a couple of hours on the freeway to visit a family friend. The best music blaring from the speakers. Beatles, Clapton, Tom Petty. The windows down, wind blowing through your air as the California sun tried its damnedest to get into your eyes.

I was always in the back seat, which sometimes meant I had the luxury of laying down and taking a nap until we were at our destination. I wish now that I had done that less. That I cherished those moments while I was in them, because looking back now, they are some of my fondest family memories. My father driving, my mother the co-pilot, and me bouncing around in the back seat.

Sometimes we would drive to the woods, just to do it. Just to breathe that air and feel the dirt beneath our feet. Sometimes we would drive to the desert, just to escape the city lights and hustle and bustle. Nothing better than setting off fire works in the sand, with what felt like a whole galaxy of stars laid out above you.

My father always had a story ready. Always had some kind of crazy past adventure that he went on, usually when he was around my age at the time of telling the story. I think this is why I write. I think this is why I love stories to much. Not the countless books I’ve read over the years, or watching narrative play out in TV shows or movies. No, the stories my father told me.

When I was in my teens and discovered marijuana, I didn’t want to try and hide it from my parents. I was always honest with them and felt this should be no different. I would bite the bullet and take whatever came my way. My mother was folding laundry when I first approached her.

Mom, there’s something I need to tell you.” I said. She stopped folding the clothes and looked at me, her eyes were afraid.

I smoke pot.

She put down the article of clothing she was folding, took a deep breath, and said “Come with me.

She took me into the bedroom, where my father was watching TV, and told me to repeat what I had told her to him.

Dad, I smoke pot.” I said. He turned off the TV and exchanged looks with my mother.

Do you do anything else? Anything stronger than pot?” He finally asked. I shook my head no, and I meant it. I had never had any interest in trying anything stronger than marijuana. I had been to parties where a plethora of drugs were available, but I never even wanted to try any of them.

That’s good. Pot can be fine, if you’re careful about it. But I better not catch you doing anything else.” He looked at me, concern awash over his face, and I realized he was waiting for me to agree. I nodded. He went back to his TV show and I went out with some friends.

I never did anything stronger than marijuana or alcohol, and I haven’t smoked marijuana since those days.

Religion was a weird thing for me, growing up. Still is, I guess. But going to my grandparent’s house as a kid was always an odd experience, as they were Catholic and my grandmother had a bunch of paintings of Jesus hanging through her house. Not nice ones, where he’s holding a lamb or feeding starving children, but ones during and post crucifixion. Crown of thorns, blood everywhere. Really scary stuff, as a kid.

My grandma always made it her mission to bring me into the Catholic fold, but I still remember something my father said to me.

Don’t let anyone else tell you what you should be. I’m not religious, but I’ve made my peace with God. I don’t need to go to church, I don’t need to read the bible. You don’t need to do either of those things, either, if they feel wrong to you. Read about religion and figure it out for yourself, whatever feels right is what’s right.

That struck a chord with me, even at that young age, and I’ve carried those words with me ever since.

For as far back as I can remember, my father always had long hair and a beard. His appearance was such that a lot of people mistook him for a biker. This happened so often, that he had a stock answer at the ready for when people would ask him “What kinda bike you got?

That answer was “Schwinn.

At the end of March, I got a phone call from my mother. She was letting me know that my father was unresponsive. That he was laying in his bed, his eyes would not open, and that his time to go was soon. The nurses and Hospice people all assured us that he could still hear us, that he wasn’t gone yet. My mother held the phone up to my father’s ear. I told him I loved him, I thanked him for all he’d done for me, and I said goodbye. His mouth and eyebrows twitched, so my mother said.

On Saturday, April 2nd 2016, in the early morning hours, my father passed away.

I can say, with absolutely no exaggeration, with no hyperbole, with no dramatics at all, that it was the worst thing that has ever happened to me. It feels like a piece of my soul has been torn away.

I have since returned to work. I have a pretty good circle of friends who are looking out for me, always checking in and making sure I’m pulling through.

It gets easier.” they say. “There will be good days and bad days.

I wonder when the good days will start. I wonder when this horrible weight on my heart will feel lighter. I wonder when the dark will pass and I will feel the light again.

I’m going to end this post with the last picture taken of me and my father. It was during a trip out to California to visit, a mere few weeks before his passing. I am forever grateful that I had the chance to hug my father one last time, to hear his laughter, and to be at a point where I could tell him things and know that, at least on some level, he understood them.

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It’s fitting that we’re both laughing in the photo, as I will always remember my father for his compassion and sense of humor.

I love you, Dad.

Categories: 2016, Personal, Thoughts