I'm More Clark Griswold, Less Cory Matthews

I'm not very good at making plans.  As I've gotten older, I guess I've improved somewhat in that regard, but most of my life I've definitely done things off the cuff.  So many times, my mom would call me on a Friday evening and ask what my friends and I were going to do, and my answer would almost always be "Ah, not really sure yet."  And I guess we liked it that way.  It's easy for things to live up to expectations, and exceed them, when you don't have any to begin with.  Some of my fondest memories with my friends started with a couple of us just hanging out, and ended with whatever direction the wind took us.

But, when I was growing up, my Friday nights were pretty much set in stone.  I'd be in front of the TV to watch Family Matters and Boy Meets World on TGIF, and there was rarely a week that I missed them.  To be honest, I don't know what pre-adolescent kids do nowadays...Without Cory Matthews and Shawn Hunter to teach them how to deal with everyday hardships, how do middle-schoolers even survive?  Why doesn't every inner-city high school have a P.E. teacher like Mr. Cooper?

When I was entering those formative years, I always imagined high school and college would be like a Boy Meets World episode.  I figured I'd have some kind of drama going on seemingly daily.  I expected I'd probably live in a downtown apartment in the city where I attended college.  I wanted so badly to make flannel shirts seem cool, and I just knew I'd find my Topanga sometime before my 15th birthday.

Obviously, none of those things really came to fruition.  For the most part, my high school years were drama-free...Or as drama free as a high school student's life can be.  My housing in college was nice (for the most part), but they were very typical living quarters for the average college student.  I quit wearing flannel in 5th grade, and I didn't meet my Topanga until I was on the north side of 25. In short, the life I envisioned as a 12-year old was a lot different than the one I ultimately led.  And thank God for that.

That really hasn't changed much.  I think back to me as a 20-year-old, and I honestly can't remember what expectations I had at that point.  I was probably more focused on getting through college and having fun with my friends than anything.  But, I'm sure there were times when I worried about what was to come.

There is no question that happens now...On the verge of marriage, I stress about jobs and living arrangements on a near daily basis.  I wonder how Adrienne and I are going to make it in a world that seems to be hell-bent on making that impossible.  I wonder what it's going to be like to be a father (way, WAY down the line), and how I'm going to handle that immense responsibility.  Quite frankly, those thoughts scare the hell out of me.  Not in a dreading kind of way, but just in a "all of this is so new and different" kind of way.  It's overwhelmingly exciting and terrifying at the same time.

Some people may say they'd do things totally differently if they had known what the future held.  I don't agree with that sentiment...I wouldn't want to change the way things are, because I love my life.  And honestly, I don't want to know what the future holds. The question I would ask anyone that would want that is this, "What if you don't like what you see?"  You could argue that if you knew the future, you could make choices along the way to change it.  But, if that were the case, then you wouldn't really be seeing the future at all.  You'd be seeing a possible outcome. You wouldn't be able to change anything...You'd just have to wait out the inevitable.

It'd be like waking on Christmas morning with a bunch of unwrapped presents laying on the living room floor.  You miss out on the joy of ripping the paper off a box, and being genuinely surprised when you see what Santa brought you.

I think this quote by John Steinbeck explains my stance better than just about anything I could come up with:

"A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike. And all plans, safeguards, policing, and coercion are fruitless. We find that after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us."

Life is a roller-coaster of twists and turns, tall climbs to the top, free-falling drops to the bottom, and sometimes a blind curve into a tunnel.  You lose sight of where you are, and before you know it, you come out on the other side screaming your head off, posing for a camera.  If you know what's coming, that thrill-ride simply becomes a way to kill a couple of minutes.

The best part of life, and what makes it worth living, is just that...Living.  Knowing the future would take that out of the equation.  If you knew the destination, then what's the point of the journey?  Getting there is half the fun.

If the show had been called Boy Knows World, my Friday nights would have been a bit more open.

I'd Rather Be Camping

Summer is my favorite time of year...Always has been, always will be.  I love being able to come home from work and fire up the grill.  I love being able to stand on the deck and listen to bugs and frogs make racket from a spot merely feet away, and yet, remain totally invisible.  I love smelling the meat cooking over the coals, drinking a cold beer, and eating outside.  Even after slow-cooking a meal on the grill and enjoying it on the deck, there's still a few more hours of daylight to enjoy.  That's probably my favorite part.

But another reason I love summer so much is because I love going to the lake, and I have so many great memories tied to my experiences there.  Even though it's only March, the weather lately has been so unseasonably warm that it has felt like summer has come early.  And just about this time of year, I find myself reminiscing on memories from summers gone by. 

Sink or swim...I didn't really have much of a choice growing up.  For as long as I can remember, my parents have had a boat.  And for as long as I can remember, we've spent countless summer days out on the lake.  My dad likes to tell a story about me as a toddler.  Our boat was beached.  Dad was throwing horse shoes with some friends, and mom was laying in a lounge chair, soaking up rays.  I was doing what toddlers do...Toddling.  Exploring.  Testing out the incredible new skill of walking I had recently acquired.  My parents weren't mindless by any means...They always paid close attention to my sister and I when we were little.  But even the best of parents can lose focus at times.  They were all preoccupied for what was likely less than 30 seconds, but that's all it took for me to discover the vast water stretching out before me.  And so I walked.  And kept walking.  The next thing dad knew, the only part of me that was visible were my tiny lips and nose poking up out of the water, desperately trying to breathe.  He said he ran toward me and grabbed me up, fully expecting me to cry, but all I did was blink a few times, cough, and stare at him with a look of bewilderment.  My love of water was spawned that day.

 I don't know who invented the striped shortbread cookie, but they knew what they were doing.

It wasn't just being on the water that I loved.  Camping at the lake was (and still is) one of my favorite things to do.  When I was little, we camped at Big Bear most of the time, but we started going to Hillman Ferry later on.  The only thing I remember about Big Bear was sitting in the camper during the 4th of July fireworks display, loving the colors, but scared to death of the sounds.  I had to watch through the window.

Hillman Ferry is a different story altogether.  Virtually every rite of passage that a boy experiences en route to manhood happened for me at Hillman Ferry.  In high school, my parents spurned taking a summer vacation for leasing a campsite at Hillman Ferry for the entire summer three years in a row.  Those were some of the best times I had as a teenager.

You see, there were several other families with kids our age that did the same thing.  So, it goes without saying, many of us became very close friends.  Chance became one of my closest friends while there...We were the same age, and oddly enough, had met at the campground several years prior to our first go-round as leasers.  We were enemies at first...Grown out of battles on the basketball court.  But, once we actually took the time to get to know one another, we became fast friends.

Derek was often the third member of our little crew.  There were plenty others that would come and go with holiday weekends, but the three of us were regulars.  Lots of times Derek would come up on Friday nights by himself, and Chance and I would sleep in his camper.  We'd stay up till 4 AM drinking Kool-Aid (seriously...Just Kool-Aid) and watching American Pie.  We'd take joyrides on Derek's red moped, or we'd cruise up and down the main road in his Jeep...He'd pump the clutch, and I'd shift from the passenger's seat.  Here's a group of us, minus Derek (I'm behind the chubby guy somewhere), goofing around on our campsite.

It wasn't just us, though...There was a group of 5-10 of us that were regulars at the campground, depending on the particular weekend, and we took it as our territory.  "Tourists" that came in were welcomed with open arms, but there were always boundaries.  The picnic table at the basketball court belonged to us, plain and simple.  On Saturday nights, the campground always hosted mediocre country bands to play at the pavilion.  We'd set up shop on our picnic table, playing the occasional basketball game, or flirting with girls.  We'd all go down to the beach and lay there looking up at the stars, talking about life.  There was no curfew.  Our parents always knew we'd come in eventually.  And, even if we didn't, they knew we weren't far away.

Some nights we'd sleep in Derek's parents' boat, usually parked right next to his camper.  I'm not really sure why we preferred to sleep out in the heat and mosquitoes as opposed to the air-conditioned campers we had literally just feet away, but we liked it. 

We even had fun when it rained.  One summer night, a storm blew in and knocked the power out throughout the entire campground.  There was high wind, torrential rain, thunder, lightning...Didn't matter.  A big group of us hung out at the pavilion and waited it out.  We didn't even care that there wasn't any TV or iPods...We just sat around and talked.  Told jokes.  Laughed.  And we did those things all the time, and loved it.

I drank my first beer there.  And I drank my first malt beverage, which my parents caught me doing, there as well.  I was 16 and really stupid.  I was drinking with a group of guys from Indiana that were there occasionally, tucked away in the back of a parking lot set off from the pavilion and basketball court.  I decided to get rebellious, thinking I would finish my drink on the walk to the basketball court, dump the bottle in a trash can, and no one would be the wiser.  But, for some reason, my parents decided to take a leisurely stroll to the basketball court at the exact same time.  The odds were almost like getting struck by lightning...I mean they NEVER did that, especially so late at night.  They recognized me from far off, and I tried to hide the bottle by a tree as I walked, but they obviously saw it.  I was as conspicuous as a tall man in China.

"What was that?" My dad asked.
"What are you talking about?" I said, playing dumb and standing awkwardly far away trying to ensure he didn't smell my breath.
"You just put a bottle down over there.  What was it?"
"Oh, it was just some lemonade," I said. 

Now, I know what you're thinking, and it does sound ridiculous.  But it was the first thing that popped in my head, and it wasn't a complete lie...I just happened to leave out the "Mike's" and "Hard" from the name of the beverage.

"Lemonade, huh?" He said.  "Why don't I just walk over here and see."  Before he even started moving, I just hung my head and followed them back to the campsite.  My night, and seemingly life, was over.

I survived.  Oddly enough, they didn't really say much about it until several weeks later.  And even then, it was a mild lecture that seemed almost like it was happening because it was expected.  It was as if they chose to write it off as boys being boys.  Lensey would have been drawn and quartered for doing something like that, but they always seemed to take it easy on me.

My love for camping continued as I got older, though.  We stopped leasing the summer after my senior year, but my friends and I went camping often.  DJ, Eric, Matt, and I went tent camping just about every weekend for a while.  We were never very well prepared...We usually decided to go at about 4:00 in the afternoon, so we'd rush to the grocery and get a couple bags of chips, hot dogs, buns, and that was about it.  Then we'd drive to Paducah and try to find someone to buy us beer, because, well...We had to have beer.  We never came out and said it, but I know my parents were wise to us.  The last thing my mom always said before we left the house was, "Now, y'all behave yourselves."  She totally knew.

We never did anything too wild.  We camped at a few different places: Hillman's once or twice, Birmingham Ferry, King Creek...But we usually ended up at Smith Bay.  It was a tiny little campground way off the beaten path, with no running water.  And we never had to pay...Not because we weren't supposed to, but because payments were made by the honor system in a little drop box that we knew wouldn't be checked until the following Monday.  We'd barely be there 15 hours, so we just figured it didn't make a difference.

But Smith Bay had two sites with one of the best views of the lake available, and we always seemed to get one of the two.  We'd set up the tent as it got dark, and settle in next to the fire with a beer.  We'd listen to Outlaw Hours on the radio and just talk.  Once or twice we got a little too rowdy and the Forestry Service may or may not have been called, but that's neither here nor there. 

In hindsight, those nights were always a blast (even when we did it every single weekend) and one of the things I miss most about not having responsibility.  We all knew we were on the verge of going our separate ways, even though we didn't talk about it that much.  But I'm sure that fact was something we all thought about as we sat around those fires.

Whenever we all get together now, conversation always seems to turn back to our times at the lake.  We still tell the same stories and talk about the same events.  And we still go to the lake and we still make memories, even if the personnel changes occasionally.  Like last summer...Adrienne, Stan, a couple of his friends from school, and I all rented a cabin and pontoon at Dale Hollow.  Stan's friend Emily had brought her jet ski with her and decided to take a little joy ride.  After a couple of hours, we started calling every law enforcement agency in the land because she had officially gone missing.  She was gone for 8 hours before she rolled up in the back seat of a Ford Taurus at our cabin.  The rest of the trip was fantastic, but needless to say that day was miserable.

Even as great as the new memories are, they're different.  Not different in a bad way, just different.  As in, the old memories are from a different time of life...A time that none of us can go back to.  And that's okay.  Life is about phases and moving from one point to the next.  It's about making memories.  Mom and Dad sold the camper a couple of summers ago, and even though we hadn't used it as a family in almost a decade, it was really painful to see it go.  So many memories tied to it.  As much as I miss those days, I don't want to go back to that.  I love my life now.  I love what's in store for me in the future, despite the fear that coincides with the unknown.  But I still miss the times at the lake growing up, and always look back on them with a smile.  And I hope, someday, Adrienne and our kids can say the same thing.

He's Just a Local Idiot

In the summer of 1995, I should've been outside a lot more.  I should've been out in the woods, climbing trees, playing in the creek, getting muddy.  I should've been riding my bike down a hill and jumping it over the side of an embankment, or getting into trouble like boys do.  I mean, don't get me wrong, I did all of those things at some point that summer, I'm sure.  But I spent a good portion of those long, summer days watching Forrest Gump.  I watched it everyday for about a month straight, and sometimes I'd get to the end of the film, rewind it, and watch again.

I miss the days of the sticker on the outside of the rental that said "Be Kind, Please Rewind."  And when you first popped the movie into the VCR, there was that two to three minutes of intense anticipation as you had to fast-forward through the previews, hardly able to stand the wait.  Now, there's not even the need to go to the video store (which are quickly disappearing from the landscape), much less to rewind.  But I digress.


I've never actually met anyone over the age of 15 that hasn't seen it.  And I'm not surprised.  It comes on TNT almost monthly, and usually at least twice back-to-back.  But, it's immensely popular even 18 years after it's initial release.  It really travels a roller-coaster of emotion: there are hilarious, quotable moments throughout, there are deeply sorrowful moments, and even a few that make you angry.  It has something for everyone.

And then there's Forrest Gump, the protagonist in the story.  His ignorance can be infuriating at times.  Like how he continuously lets Jenny back into his life, despite the little respect she shows for someone who is always there for her.  But the unflappable devotion he shows to her, Lieutenant Dan, his mother, and Bubba (even in death) is impossible not to envy.  The way he traverses through the most tumultuous time in American history, totally oblivious and innocent to the events taking place around him, makes Forrest Gump incredibly endearing.  Sure, he faces adversity and sadness like everyone else, but he finds happiness and fulfillment in the simplest of things (running cause he "felt like runnin'" or mowing the local Greenbow High football field).  I guess ignorance really is bliss.

The point is, you really can't judge a book by it's cover.  On the surface, he's just a stupid, overly-talkative weirdo in old shoes.  But, if you listen to him speak, you hear an incredible story of hardship, success, hate, and love.

I wish I were more like that.  Adrienne and I often catch ourselves making fun of people we see at the mall or a restaurant based solely on the way they look.  It may be an atrocious get-up they have on, or wild hair, or bad parenting on display for the world to see ("Just hang on until I get my margarita!").  But, we do it without knowing a single thing about those total strangers.  Everyone has their own story.  Everyone has their own quirks.  Everyone has their own faults, and everyone has their own strengths.

Just like everyone else, I have my own odd, quirky, and even weird guilty pleasures that I would never admit to a stranger.  But, today, I am going to expose a bit of my dark side to the four people that may actually read this.  Keep in mind, this is far from comprehensive list:

-I dance a lot.  Even if people are watching.  And while I actually do have rhythm, I go out of my way to dance extremely "white."
-I may not always act like it, but I'm fairly easily embarrassed.  One of my defense mechanisms is to try to make people laugh, especially if it's at my own expense.  It deflects the attention away from whatever embarrassed me in the first place.
-I like to run errands on my days off.  Not all the time, because that'd be silly, but about once a month when I get a random weekday off, I like going to Wal-Mart, the bank, getting a haircut, or stopping by the car wash.  It makes me feel productive, even if I wasted an entire day off by doing a bunch of things when I could've just relaxed.
-I still watch reruns of Full House when I catch it on TV.  Don't lie...If you grew up in the 90s, you watched Full House.  And you liked it.
-I constantly outline objects with my eyes.  Sometimes I'll catch myself actually drawing it in the air with my finger.  It might be the outline of the TV, a design on the side of a building, or the frame of every pair of glasses I ever see.  And the key is to try to outline the object without ever breaking the line or retracing any part of the line.
-I look up all sorts of weird things on Wikipedia.  I can't even offer examples, because there's literally no rhyme or reason to it.
-I take sports ENTIRELY too seriously, especially Kentucky Basketball and Cardinals Baseball.  It is probably taking years off my life.
-I rinse and repeat at least three times.  Every time.
-Before the days of the internet, I would sit next to my stereo and listen to a song and write down the lyrics as I went through.  Sometimes it'd take an hour or more because I'd have to stop.  Rewind.  Play again.  Stop.  Write down a few words.  Rewind.  Play again to double-check.  Fix mistakes.  Rewind.  Play again.  Then, I'd listen to the song ten or fifteen times until I memorized the lyrics.  I did this a lot.
-I will drive 10 miles out of my way to avoid stop lights.
-I have the same voice for babies, dogs, cats, or any other cute and cuddly object.  And not only do I pretend to talk AS those things, I will have on-going conversations as them.  What's worse, when I'm at home alone with Kirby, I will talk to him and respond back to me as Kirby.  It's borderline schizophrenic.

So...Hardly a comprehensive list, I know.  I realize I didn't offer too many outrageous revelations, and if there's some I most certainly left out, I'm sure I can count on you to remind me of them.  I encourage you to comment with your own quirky behaviors that not everyone may know about, as well.  And try to remember, things are not always what they seem.  And to practice what you preach.

I'm Starting With the Man in the Mirror

I've never claimed to be creative.  I've never claimed to be artistic.  In fact, if you go back and look at a few of my older posts, you will see in black and white that I have described myself in exactly the opposite fashion.  Lately I've been wanting to write about something, but have been unable to come up with ANY good ideas.  I've even started writing a few entries, only to get a few paragraphs in, realize what a load of crap it is, and delete every last word in complete disgust.

That's probably my biggest problem.  In my first post on this blog, I made the comment that sometimes I begin writing without any real purpose...I discover a piece of writing while simultaneously creating it.  It can be both exciting and frustrating writing in that way, because there are times (like now) where I just cannot come up with anything worth writing.

In writing, as in life, one of the best ways to improve is to reflect upon one's performance.  If you critique your own work, it's easier to spot faults and make improvements upon them.  So, since I can't come up with any other ideas, I'm going to take this time to reflect.

I read over some of my older posts, and from what I can discern, my biggest problem is sort of contradictory: I don't have any real focus, and my scope of topics is fairly narrow.  I seem to write about the same things over and over...I tell stories involving friends and family, and, with few exceptions, rarely deviate from that formula.  I guess "problem" is the wrong word to describe that, because it's not a "problem."  Every writer draws inspiration from somewhere.  I guess the difference with my writing and that of someone else is that my inspiration is glaringly obvious in every piece I write, and I would rather it be a bit more subtle.

I rarely change from the first-person.  Again, not much of a shock considering virtually all of my stories are about events involving my friends, family, and I.  I wish I had the creativity and ability to use my inspiration from personal experience in a fiction story.  I've always wanted to write a short story, but, again, my lack of creativity hinders me from doing so.  I literally have no original ideas.  That's why I always write about real life.

Reflection isn't all about negativity, though, and there are things I like about my writing.  For one, I think the conversational style is easy to read without being overly simplistic.  I write in a different tone than I talk, but I don't go out of my way to make the vocabulary seem ostentatious.  Is using the word "ostentatious" ostentatious in and of itself?  Nah... 

Also, one characteristic I've noticed in hindsight is that I tend to write two narratives in one.  For example, I wrote a piece a few months ago of which the primary focus was the musical style of the Avett Brothers.  However, almost half the entry was about my father and his love for music.  When I began writing that piece, my full intention was to write about the Avett Brothers, and somehow, there was a seamless connection between that part of the entry and the part about my dad.  The same thing was in the entry about the fiasco with the police officer and Jackie...I talked about Wayne's World at the beginning and it actually worked.  I never intended for that to be the case, but as I read, I like that about my writing.

Again, I have really struggled with ideas, and a lot of times my ideas come from things Liza suggests on her blog, anyway.  I guess I felt as though a self-assessment would help me come up with something.  So, that being said, if you have any words of encouragement, topic ideas, criticism, or anything else, they are welcomed. 

Yes, Officer, Is Something Wrong?

Wayne's World is one of my all-time favorite movies.  I'm sure most "real" movie critics would likely laugh at that notion, but Rotten Tomatoes gives it an 85% Fresh rating, so I guess I'm not alone in my affinity for it.  There's something endearing about the characters, even the unlikable ones, and the film almost seems to poke fun at it's own silliness. It's chock full of satire, and despite the fact I've seen it hundreds of times, I still laugh everytime.

Today, Adrienne, Jackie, and I took a nice Sunday drive to visit my hometown and eat dinner at Patti's in Grand Rivers.  It was a great day...Got to show Jackie the town I grew up in, she visited my parents' house for the first time, and we got to spend time with Baby Lydia, which, by itself, makes it worth the six hours of driving.

By this point, you're probably asking yourself, "What the hell does Wayne's World have to do with going home to visit family?"  Well, you'll see in a moment.  In the meantime, watch this scene from that cinematic classic:

On the drive back, we got on I-65 at Bowling Green.  I was driving, and as we came around the exit ramp to get on the interstate, we passed a state trooper sitting on the side of the road.  None of us really thought anything of it, because there was a downed street light, so we just assumed he was taking care of that.

We continued on, and I saw in the rear-view mirror that the cop had pulled back onto the highway, but, again, didn't think anything of it.  About three minutes later, he pulled behind me and flashed his blue lights.  Inside the car, we were clueless.

"Why are you getting pulled over?" Adrienne said.
"I honestly have no idea...I'm not speeding or anything," I replied.  And I wasn't speeding.
"He's probably been following us for a long time," Jackie said.
"No, we passed him just a second ago...He was parked on the side of the road."
"Well, everybody just stay calm...Oh, I don't have my seat belt on," Jackie commented from the backseat.  It was one of those comments made out loud that's not really intended for any particular listener.  But she buckled up anyway.

So I pulled over, growing increasingly nervous, because I honestly had no idea why I had been pulled over.  The cop approached the passenger side, and I rolled down the window.

Before I could even ask what the problem was, he chimed in.  "I clocked you at 74 in a 55 MPH zone."
I was blindsided, and my candor most definitely illustrated that point.
"REALLY?!  WHERE?!" I exclaimed.
"You were speeding in a work zone."
"I didn't see any signs!"
"There were four."
"Well, I must say, I didn't see any signs either," Jackie said from the back.

He asked for my license, and I handed it over.  He then asked if I had proof of insurance.
"I don't know, it's her car," I said as I pointed at Jackie.  Adrienne shot me a glare from the passenger side.

Jackie instructed Adrienne to find the insurance card in the glove compartment.  Of course, the only card in there was expired, so Jackie turned on the dome light to search through her purse for the current one.

The officer was met with a great aerial view of McDonald's bags, empty cups, a beautiful Looney Tunes pillow, a blanket or two, and Jackie, frantically pulling card after card from her wallet.

"Let's see...2011...2011, nope....Oh, here it is.  And here's my registration sticker," she said as she handed to goodies to Adrienne.

 "Thank you," the officer said as he shined his Maglight on the card.  "Uh, ma'am, do you have a current proof of insurance?"
"OH, hahaha, I'm sorry.  Hang on just a second!" She said going back to the wallet with old receipts and gift cards poking out of every crevice.  "2011.......Nope, 2011..."
Adrienne glanced at the officer and slightly shook her head, as if to say "what can you do?"  He just stood there...Freezing, and growing increasingly impatient.

"Do you even have insurance?" He finally asked.
"Hahaha...Yes I do...Farm Bureau!"  Despite the uneasy situation, it was almost impossible not to laugh.
"Well, I'm going to take your word for it.  Just pay more attention, slow down, and make sure you put this registration tag on your plates when you get home," he said, obviously a bit annoyed by the entire ordeal.
"Hahaha, oh I definitely will, officer.  Thank you so much."  Jackie never stopped laughing the entire time.

As we continued on, we laughed for days about the entire situation.  The fact Jackie couldn't find her insurance card was one thing...The fact she gave the cop her current registration tags unsolicited was hilarious.  Then, to top it off, he literally could've cited us for three violations, and let us go.  All because of Jackie's hilarious antics in the back seat.

There's no question I would've gotten a ticket had she and Adrienne not been in the car, and for that I'm grateful.  But, even if I had gotten a ticket, the whole situation would still be hilarious, and one worth retelling over and over.  Which, I'm sure we will.  What a great day.

I Needed That Yesterday

I've never really understood the concept of New Year's Resolutions.  I'm not sure that should be a proper noun, but given how much emphasis people seem to put on them, I guess it's important enough to warrant capitalization.  I've always made resolutions when the calendar rolls over from December to January, but not because I see the point.  Mostly because everyone else does, and I really want to fit in.  I guess the whole concept is flawed, because New Year's Resolutions are typically things people should do all year long, without an excuse like a new year to get them going.  Easier said than done, I know, but that's beside the point.  And most people make the mistake of making resolutions that are unrealistic, or in the very least, lofty goals.

Some real examples I've seen at one time or another:
I resolve to lose 30 pounds by summer.
I resolve to stop cursing.
I resolve to read 10 books this year.
I resolve to stop eating chocolate.

Now, on the surface, those don't appear to be too difficult.  If someone worked out vigorously and watched their diet, they could lose 30 pounds in 5 months.  They could fairly easily stop cursing.  They could read 10 books in a year...I mean, that's less than 1 per month.  And they could stop eating chocolate, without much of a problem.  The problem with resolutions like these, in most cases, the people making them usually don't have any real expectation of keeping them past Martin Luther King Day or, if they're working really hard, Valentine's Day.  Furthermore, people tend to make resolutions that reflect almost the exact opposite of how they've lived for years.  The one wanting to lose 30 pounds in 5 months hasn't stepped foot in a gym in years, and loves McDonald's too much.  The curser?  They use language that would make a sailor blush.  The reader?  Has been two chapters into A Time to Kill since two weeks after they saw the movie in theaters.  And as for eighty-sixing chocolate?  They have a Snickers and M&M's within arm's reach at all times.

I realize why people make resolutions...They see flaws in themselves that they want to improve upon.  And I'm all for that...I'm the same exact way.  But more people would be able to keep their resolutions, and morph those resolutions into new habits, if they just made them more attainable.  The one wanting to lose 30 pounds by summer?  Why not resolve to lose 10 pounds without a timetable.  Once you reach that goal, resolve to lose another 10 pounds.  Before you know it, you've lost 30 pounds and you've set up yourself to continue a healthy lifestyle.  Sure, it might be August instead of May, but you've still looked better in a bathing suit all summer long, which was the whole point in your resolution to begin with.  As for the others?  Wean yourself off of cursing gradually...Eliminate them one at a time.  The non-reader?  Resolve to finish A Time to Kill...Then start a new book and resolve to finish it.  Before you know it, you're setting aside time each night to read and you'll reach your goal quicker than you realize.  The chocoholic should just resolve to only eat chocolate on special occasions...They're few and far between.

So what makes me such an expert?  Well, experience really...I've made irrational New Year's Resolutions more than once, and like so many others, failed miserably.  So, despite my disdain for New Year's Resolutions, I've made some myself.  And this year, I am determined to keep them.  So, instead of outrageous goals I know good and well I won't be able to keep, I'm keeping them simple.  2012 is for winning.

1. Drink 1 or fewer soft drinks every week.  I've really been doing well with this one.
2. Lose 20 pounds.  Not started yet, but I swear I'm going to.
3. Stop complaining so much...This should be one for everybody.
4. Finish reading A People's History of the United States.
5. Get a teaching job...Might be difficult, but I will not rest until I have one.
6. Marry Adrienne...Might be the easiest one I've ever had.

So, there you have it.  Easy enough.  2012 is shaping up to be a great year, and I'm going to stick with my resolutions.  I hope you do too, and best wishes in the coming year.

I'm not sure I like art. What is art, exactly? Depending on the definition of it, I might like some. I'm not really sure.

This is a response to Liza's most recent post.  Enjoy.

I read Liza's most recent blog post about the characteristics of her tastes in art, and I couldn't help but realize how incredibly hopeless I am when it comes to understanding, or, hell, even liking, art.  I can't look at a painting and appreciate it for anything more than paint on a canvas.  The closest I've come to getting enjoyment out of paintings was watching reruns of "The Joy of Painting" with Bob Ross when I was a kid.  And only because he was so boring, it was entertaining.  I read Liza's descriptions, finding myself becoming more and more frustrated because I had absolutely no clue what she was talking about as I read.  I recognized a few artistic period names...A few famous painters she mentioned...But as for what characterizes and separates those periods or those painters...Not a clue.  I am ignorant when it comes to that kind of stuff.  And what's worse?  I don't really care.

I've never really thought of myself as "complex."  I've never really been creative in the sense of "creating."  Unless you count the period from the time I was about 4-9 years of age.  I would paint with watercolors and draw from time to time.  I have a notebook at home filled with countless superheroes I made up.  My mom has a painting I did at Memaw's when I was about 5.  It's eloquently titled "Spaceship" and looks like a frog with red wings.  I don't know why my parents didn't nurture the obvious gift I had.  I could've been a prodigy.

And now...

I have ideas from time to time about a little project I want to work on, or something I want to build or make.  I'll go to the store and pick out items I think I will need.  I'll get home, start working without much of a plan, then realize I need at least ten more things to even really get started.  I'll go back to the store.  I'll come back and begin again, get halfway through said project, realize how incredibly awful it is.  I'll continue, thinking it will look better once I'm finished.  I will finish, sit back and look at the final product.  I'll then cuss.  Then I'll go back to the store and buy whatever it was I was trying to create, tossing mine into a gas station trash can on the way.  It's frustrating

I've never watched a movie and thought to myself how the the protagonist in the story represented some underlying abstract idea, or how the direction, camerawork, and lighting illustrates a particular "sense" that the director is striving to bring about in the audience.  I've never listened to a piece of music and appreciated it for the "story" it tells, whether it's a lyrical piece of work or an instrumental.  I've never watched people doing a dance routine and thought "those movements speak to me.  The grace and timing is impeccable...You can feel what the piece of music is trying to make you feel."  No, no, no...I've never really done any of those things.

I like movies that make me laugh.  I like movies that have really cool special effects, just because, well, they're cool.  I like movies that are based on true stories, and I like to research the "real" story after I watch them.  I like music that I like.  If it makes me bob my head, or listen intently to the lyrics, or makes me want to sing along...I like it.  I listen to it because it sounds good.  I listen because it illustrates someone else's incredible talent.  I am impressed by a dancer when they do something just looks cool.  When they do something I wish I could do, although I wouldn't even try unless I was alone in my house.

So, what kind of art do I like?  Well...None really.  I don't find artistic beauty in "traditional" forms of art like paintings, sculpture, classical music, or film.  I find it in nature.  I find it in super slow-motion camera shots of a water balloon bursting.  I find it in an outfielder tracking down a sinking line drive in the gap to save two runs.  I find it in a 30-minute drum solo.  And I couldn't really tell you why.