A Grateful Pirate

So it has fallen again, the day of my birth. In borrowing from the Jimmy Buffet song, "A Pirate Looks at Forty", I have been writing things as such on my birthday since I can't remember. Hmmmmmmm. I'm 39 today.

Yesterday, I did water aerobics at our pool. It was pretty much like you would imagine water aerobics to be. Mostly elderly people. I had thoughts as I was treading water about various ways this could funny; but I was struck by the kindness of the people, and the fun they were having. Lots of laughter, and kidding. Not just laughter and kidding, but childish stuff. It was like being around children in old people suits. It was cool.

And yes part of me thought, "Hell your almost 39 years old; you should be playing hockey somewhere. You should be running, really working out." Honestly though, the bulk of me (and there is too much bulk), thought, "I'm just grateful to be here, and to have this opportunity to work out and relax. My wife and kids are near me, and their happy. Who cares."

Don't get me wrong, I live to rant about stuff. I hate answering machines that blather on and on.

"Hello you have reached bla, bla, bla. We regret that we can't come to the phone bla bla bla
but if you'll leave your bla bla at the bla". Ten minutes later the automated voice gives you options. Options? Really? "To page this person...." If I wanted to "page this person", I would have, oh I don't know.... PAGED THEM. "To send this message as urgent" Guess what, if this message was urgent; its too freakin late, Timmy has fallen down the well and Lassie was hit by a car trying to run for help. Unfortunately the motorist was texting someone and didn't see him.
I could go on but you get the gist.

So where was I; oh yeah, one step closer to forty. Again, I love to whine, but lets look at the facts. I have a job, a wonderful wife, and two amazing children, who just get more amazing every day. Not only am I healthy enough to swim with them, I am blessed to have the time to. As far as friends are concerned, I am truly one of the richest men alive. I have the best friends you could ask for. People that have supported me, nurtured me, tolerated me, and made me a better person. Which is saying something, when it comes to me; cause I'm way over rated.

Not to get dramatic, but we live in world of suffering. This is a tough time for so many. Our country is experiencing what I can only describe as growing pains. We have so many people with so much, and even more with so little. We have the technology to pinpoint it, and identify it, but we are still behind the curve in terms of fixing it. I often wonder if things have always been as they are; and that we are the same puppets on the same stage as our forefathers, and their forefathers before them. Rather, the only difference in then and know being our ability to see our frailties. Metaphorically its the same old humanity, just standing in front of a much clearer mirror.

I could ramble on, but I have things to do. I would simply say to those of you that peruse this blog, thank you and god bless you.

Sincerely,

A Grateful Pirate

"C is for Conifer"

So it's Sunday night, sometime after 9:00, and this kid (early twenty's) is flying down the ice; freezes a defense men in his tracks, blows by him and raises his stick to shoot. I'm loose at this point, I had a good practice earlier, so I'm well stretched and warm. I am beyond out of shape. I my be the unhealthiest Goalie in the history of the sport at this point. Anyway, I slide out to the top of the crease to cut the angle. I came out the second this kid picked up the puck. There are certain players on the ice that you are always plugged into, such that when they move you move. Other players you see as less dangerous, but if this guy blinks; I blink.

So he raises his stick to shoot, and in a second drops the stick like a hammer, and the puck whistles at me like a bullet out of gun. Its that fast. I hear the pop of the shot, and then the pop in my glove. My pointer finger is numb. The sting of the shot caught my finger just well enough, to remove any thoughts sensation for the next several hours.

That's not interesting though. What is interesting, is that as all of this drama is unfolding around me like a scene in a great Western; I am playing the soundtrack from my children's favorite CD. I have children's music in my head. Shout out to my boys, "They Might be Giants" and their wicked cool, ABC'S CD. Righteous stuff. Honestly, I feel like Barney at the "Head-Bangers Ball". Sadly, it is probably how I appear to the other players.

I like Pick-Up games, cause you have such a range of talent, going anywhere from retired semi-pro's, former college players, all the way down to..... me. Their were other Goalies there with snarling animals painted on their helmets, gliding from side to side making every save look effortless and easy. Then, by point of contrast, I find myself out of breath just watching the puck as close as I can stabbing and swatting, just trying to get by. I would imagine that players watching me get a real "shark infested bloody water/ lion thins the herd" kind of feel. You can always tell which side I'm on because of the unmistakable frozen puddles of drool around the crease.

In closing, for those of you who are my friends and are forever chiding me about my self deprecation; I have but one thing to share with you. Yes, I really do suck that bad. Really.

my first womens magazine

So I'm picking up my usual coffee at the local mini-mart, and the latest issue of Cosmopolitan catches my eye. Generally I don't pay much attention to these things, other than the over-all observation that with the right amount of air-brushing, I would look hot on the cover of these magazines.

Article title reads:
"125 sex moves" Now there is eye catcher. First of all, and I don't mean to brag (Really), but that's like 122 more sex moves than I know. Talk about curiosity killing the cat. This is more like; "The curious cat was found dead in a pretzel shape, with his tail disappeared but not removed. This reported would like to add that this is perhaps the only time he has seen a cat smile. Felix will be missed, but we can all take solace in the knowledge that he is, or was in a better place in his last moments. Back to you Stu."

Next Article:
The Orgasm Whisperer (Every Woman Should have one). Scary. I know. Personally, I think if every man had one of these then many more women would be happy. Just me? Probly not.

Was it awkward purchasing this magazine from a 72 year old lady? Perhaps a little. Was it worth it? Like the commercial says priceless.

Funny thing though, I could swear when I was leaving the store I heard that nice little old lady say, "hmmmm that's 4 more moves than I know"

Bull Kills Man at Spanish Festival

Now. For the record. If I have already blogged about this I apologize. Secondly, I do feel for the friends and family of the individual noted in this article. So here is basically what the article outlines.

"1 dead at Pamplona; first goring death since '95
9 others injured in unusually dangerous chapter of the running of the bulls"

Hmmmmm. "unusually dangerous"? So this particular episode of the running of the bulls was somehow more dangerous than previous "bull runnings". Folk(s) there are just some things in this world I don't understand. Carnival people (Carnies), anything pertaining to Physics, and "the running of the bulls". I don't get it? I don't. They get bulls. People. Put the people in front of the bulls. and run them. You know there is a word for this. Its called trampling. Probably would hurt the whole tourist attraction thing if it were called "the Trampling of the Bulls".

People might argue that it tradition, and history. So was the plague; and you won't find me on vacation kissing rats.

The article went on to mention a particular bull in this incident named Cappuccino.
"A brown, 1,130-pound bull named Cappuccino fell early in the run and ended up on its own."

1,130 pounds of bull. I like this part of the article which outlines Bull behavior:
"The bulls covering the half-mile course with six accompanying steers tend to mind their own business and keep running as long as they stay in a pack. A bull that gets separated is more likely to get spooked and aggressive and that is just what happened Friday."

"Spooked and Aggressive"? Hmmmmmmmm. Folks, were not talking about squirrels here. You can't tell me that ordinarily a group of bulls being herded down a crowded street towards people is somehow safer. Here's why. At some point you stop measuring safety levels. Me, I start at Bulls named after energy beverages. I also stop at anything over a 1,000 pds with horns. Actually, I pretty much just stop at horns.

This is indeed a tragedy, and I hate it for those who have lost loved ones in such an event; but come on, I mean. Really. I'm looking for a word to top stupid, and frankly I'm drawing a blank.

Godsmack

I think there is a band called "Godsmack". Not sure. Don't care. Totally different angle. So last night I'm doing that thing I do at work. I help people. Anyways, I'm getting ready to leave and this lady walks up to me and asks, "Are you John?".

I soooo badly want to say no. I see where this is going. I am so on the tracks, and so not the train. I am thinking to myself that I am tired, that I want to go home; and that I don't want to deal with anymore schnit.

The lady looks like hell. Her hair is a mess. She is missing most of her front teeth. She is not in shoes. She is overweight and her clothes are too small. She looks like every person I have ever seen interviewed after a tornado hit a trailer park. She is of the ilk that if you listen hard enough you can hear people chanting "JERRY JERRY JERRY".

So she says to me. "You don't remember me do you?" I am trying to be polite and mention that I see literally hundreds of people a year. But she continues, "I remember you" "You helped my daughter out with her Bi-polar thing" She said, "I remember all the things you told me about looking in the mirror and saying I love you to myself ten times a day" "I thought you where a crazy mot^&rf*cker". To which I replied, "I am".

At this point I begin to feel smaller and stupider. It begins to sink in that this lady wants to say thank you. Nothing more.

"I remember you were funny. You were crackin all them jokes. You told me things would be hard, but that I could do it" "Anyways, I just wanted to thank you for taking the time to care about my little girl". She shook my hand and walked away.

To me, that is Godsmack. That is Gods way of telling me to get my head out of my ass. It is gods way of indicating why I do this job. It is gods reminder that I don't get to choose who I help, or who chooses to be helped. That even though I am so very impressed with the wonderfulness that is me; I'm a speck of dirt on the stage that is his.

My point, I think.....lies somewhere in maintaining a healthy perspective. Be genuine and caring. I would like to hope that I am still as genuine as I was, and that despite my venomous sense of humor; I still care and maintain a presence when it gets down to the nut cutting. To the place where caring matters most, and simply shutting up and listening does more than sarcasm.

I find experiences like these both empowering and alarming. Empowering is self explanatory. Alarming falls under the category of an internal dialogue in my head that says "Pay attention dummy. Don't judge. Don't short change."

Have a great day.