life is cruel
you park under the tree to get some shade for your car. in return, your car gets crapped on by every bird in town. oh the cruel irony.
missed the plot
these are the ones that you try to avoid
they’re dirty and scarred and they’re unemployed
you’ll love them as soon as they subscribethese are the ones that try to attack
pushing their thoughts and you’re bound to push back
a boycott, a blacklist, a blackball from our tribe
no saints in this crowd, no heroes, no winners
just drunkards and fools like you and meyour club it seems so god-damned exclusive
four easy steps towards heaven elusive
your payment goes towards these TV screensthese aren’t the words that i read for myself
i never owned a god i could put on my shelf
wrap him in the flag and pretend he’s figured outthe back of your car says you don’t belong
so why the hell do you care what goes on
if you hate it so much stay at home and wait for the endthis is not … not how the story goes
building castles and trading blows
making enemiesthis is not … not how a lover loves
guarding the gifts from above
holding tight the keysLove, love, love
i work hard to relax
Following yesterday’s thrilling tennis match between myself, Dave V., Sam P., and Aaron P., I ran to the car to see if there was anything left of the Padre game to catch on the radio.
You see, before the idea of a tennis game came up, I had planned on setting up my newly purchased hammock out on the back patio and listening to the baseball game on the radio. But the fluorescent fuzzy ball took precedence. I made it to the car, turned on the radio and heard…crowd noise! The game wasn’t over yet! I looked at the clock: 5:05pm. The game had been going for 4 hours?!
“And here we are in the top of the 14th inning. Dodgers and Padres tied at 4 apiece.” What luck! The Padres had managed to makeup for a 3 run deficit and tied it up. I rushed home to make my ideal afternoon work.
I’m not a huge baseball fan, but there are certain parts about it that are fairly romantic to me. Last year, I visited my sister in Boston where I got hooked on the romantic idea of baseball over the radio. We sat on her back porch, grilled hot dogs, and listened to the Red Sox on a small portable radio. There was something “old-time” about the situation…very classic, and very cool.
So with baseball season coming up, I purchased a small portable radio with a 4 foot antenna and determined that I would spend my summer on the back patio with the BBQ and the Padres.
I managed to find a parking spot on our ever-crowded street and rushed into the house at the bottom of the 15th. I grabbed my huge bag of climbing gear and headed outside. My wife setup the radio just inside the screen door, and I began to pray for more innings.
Unfortunately, I had over-estimated the natural landscaping of our HOA-controlled “backyard.” True, there was one tree to hang the hammock from, but nothing else on the other side. My wife sat there listening to the radio while I paced the tile patio thinking of some way to anchor the other end of the hammock.
“Strike 3! We go to the top of the 16th!” The Padres were gracious enough to not win the game outright and give me another 1/2 inning to get my act together. And then it came to me: I didn’t need something strong and anchored into the ground — just something high mixed with something heavy! I ran through the house, through the front door, and began grabbing the large 5-gallon Sparklett’s bottles that sat on our porch. I threw open my climbing bag and began taking out the necessary pieces of webbing I would need.
It was a lot of work, but I got my relaxin’ on. Sure, the Padres lost, but that last inning of disappointment was worth it. I swung back and forth, occasionally bumping into the BBQ, and listening to my wife chuckle and wonder: “Do you think the HOA will approve this?”
foreigner = awesome?
so on a recent trip to the desert, my friends and i engaged in a odd game involving using lyrics for our conversation. it wasn’t a set rule that every word spoken was a lyrics, but points were certainly given for using as many as you could.based on the current topic, i managed to start singing the few lyrics that i knew of “Hot Blooded.”
“I’m hot blooded, check it and see,” I sang. The others chimed in: “I got a fever of a hundred and threeeeee…” Then, of course, silence…as those were the only lyrics we knew. To be completely honest, I think it went more like: “Hot blooded, . I GOT A FEVER .”Regardless, the song quickly became old after a few times through this short section and I was asked to stop. But to keep the laughs going, I decided I should sing the opposite of hot…“Your as cold as ice,” I seethed. “You’re willing to sacrifice our love.” My closed fist became my microphone — the cars in front of us on the freeway became Shea Stadium. The sad part was, none of us knew who sang either of these songs!! Once we returned from our trip, I was determined to fill in this gaping hole in my musical knowledge. Wouldn’t you know it — it was the same band! Foreigner!Not to be rude, but I (along with many of my friends) would put Foreigner into the same grouping along with Boston, Chicago, and Journey. I can’t explain exactly why this is, but at some point or another everyone was SURE that “Hot Blooded” or “Cold As Ice” belonged to one of these bands.I think it has something to do with these songs coming out in our grade school to middle school years … the time when music was defined by the radio. You didn’t really know the bands, you just knew the lyrics. (I put “Maneater” in that category for sure. I remember singing it when i was 5 or 6 years old and not knowing what I was saying…but thinking it odd there was a song on the radio about canibalism).After setting “Cold As Ice” to my default ringtone, I further determined myself to get a hold of Foreigner’s Greatest Hits record (all bands listed above certainly had to have a Greatest Hits record). But before I got the chance, I decided to get outside on a Sunday afternoon to play some tennis.The game basically involved 4 men trying to relive their tennis glory days by pounding away at a fuzzy ball, and getting angry at the fact that the shot they planned for in their mind didn’t come true. Odd that we all expected to play well…Knowing that my highest claim to fame in the tennis world was receiving the “Most Inspirational Player” award my senior year, I knew I could not rely on my skill alone. I huddled up with my partner and started frantically pointing at the other players and certain holes in their defenses. I explained to my partner: “I’m not really going to say anything here — I just want it to look like we have a plan. It’ll totally throw them off.”I backed away from my partner and prepared to serve. “What was that?” yelled one of my opponent’s from across the court. I smiled and began to sing: “Head games…” (again, silence followed since I didn’t know the rest of the lyrics…but I had nailed the melody!)Wouldn’t you know it…as I scanned the track list this morning of the 20-track Greatest Hits record…”Head Games” — track number 9.Amazing. Despite not knowing the name of their band, Foreigner had managed to write such catchy tunes with such memorable lyrics as to make me recall 3 of their 20 greatest hits during everyday occurrences. These were melodies and one-line-lyrics that were stored away somewhere in the recesses of my mind, but were recalled so quickly because they fit the real-life situation I was involved in. Amazing lyricists, these Foreigner guys are.Granted, I can’t foresee myself singing “Dirty White Boy” anytime soon, but hey…at least I’ve expanded my arsenal of one-line lyrics. Now I’m ready for another real-life situation in which my knowledge of classic 80’s bands will bring joy and laughter to all that surround me.
snakes have feelings, too
i saw my first rattlesnake yesterday. granted, i’ve seen plenty at the zoo, in encyclopedias, and plenty of documentaries … you know, the ones where the snake uses it’s tongue to track down the mouse in the field? but this was my first up-close encounter.actually, that’s not true. my FIRST encounter was at Joshua Tree a few weeks ago. i was walking across a rock formation in flip flops and almost walked over a baby rattler (which i hear are worse). but he just laid there staring at me as i walked around him.
but my sighting at santee yesterday was a little different. Santee is just east of San Diego off the 52. i went out there after work yesterday to do some bouldering. when i arrived, i noticed a pair of teenage guys throwing rocks at a bee’s nest. i said hi, they said hi…and then they took off, probably intimidated by my bulging biceps, manly chest hair, and cute little purple chalk bag.i spent some time climbing and then noticed they had gone off to join their friends about 200 yards away from me on top of a boulder across a gully. 8 of them sat on top, firing a bb gun at some milk cartons. i tried to not pay attention to them, but the acoustics of the valley and the high rocks made their conversation pretty easy to hear. within 5 minutes i heard one of them screaming and cussing up a storm as they all scattered. “I SAW HIS F*CKIN HEAD!! RIGHT NEXT TO ME!”with all the cracks in between all the rocks, i wasn’t surprised that some critter might have said hello to one of the guys. usually it’s just a squirrel. the boys all got off the rock and ran around to where to other boy was still screaming and cussing. within seconds they had devised a brilliant plan — bludgeon (whatever it was) to death. they took turns at sneaking up on the creature’s location, throwing a rock, and running away. minutes later, one boy proudly held up the snake by it’s tail and the other boys cheered. except Piggy — he didn’t have the conch.what was i talking about? oh yes, MY experience with a snake…the boys left shortly thereafter and i switched to a boulder near where the boys had been. i spent an hour or so working on a 5.10d traverse around the “Carousel Boulder”…the sun on my back, my fingers bleeding, and my feet sweating so bad it was hard to stay on. it was awesome.i packed up my gear and headed up towards where the boys had been. wearing flip flops, i was being extra careful of where i stepped (i’m also very shy and prefer slow ballads, so i gaze at my shoes, er, flip flops frequently). and there, in the middle of the path, laid a 4’ long snake. he/she laid there motionless. i thought that maybe the boys had ditched their fresh kill here on the path. but what teenage boy would not take home such a trophy? maybe this snake was just dead? maybe he’d given up his snake-ly ways and had slithered his way onto the path, hoping that an eagle would spot him and end his poor, miserable, ground crawling existence.so i kicked some dirt at him. no response. i paused and thought for a better plan. i could just walk around him. after all, it’s not like there wasn’t a brick wall that trapped me into this path.so i kicked some more dirt at him. he lazily picked up his head, turned to look at me, and froze. it was as if i had just prodded a drunk old guy with a stick. i expected him to scratch his belly and tell me to buzz off, kid. obviously, my plan of exerting my predator dominance was not working. so i found a rock. now, i knew that bludgeoning the snake would make me no better than a teenage boy, so i found a small rock about the size of a quarter and tried to roll it along the ground towards him. i missed. so i threw a few more. (this is why pacificism doesn’t work, folks) finally, one of my pebbles managed to ricochet off his back and the war was over. the snake slowly slithered off the path into the bushes. and that’s when i heard it: the rattle.let’s be honest: i’m a white-collar kid who was never a boy scout and still tried to take inflatable mattresses when he goes camping. i’ve never heard a rattlesnake rattle except on those documentaries. so when i heard that thing, i just about crapped my pants. it was a small rattlesnake, obviously hung over, and moving away from me…yet that noise scared me to death. i hurried up the path and continued my climbing expedition, being very careful to watch where i stepped.on my way back, i figured that snake was so pissed off he’d probably gone and told some of his snake buddies and had laid a trap for me along any/all of the 3 paths that lead back across the gully. this was a chess match — i knew i had to out-think him and his pals…so i went with the “shock and awe” plan: i sprinted down the path in my sissy flip flops hoping that my moves were just to quick for those snakes (and hoping no other climber was watching my flight)PROLOGUEi felt bad for the dirt kicks, so i decided he deserved a peace offering. i sent him some FTD goodness this morning. nothing says “i’m sorry for kicking dirt at you” like a “Blooms of Spring” bouquet.CONCLUSIONwatch out for snakes! (but please, no bludgeoning, you unruly teens!)
chop chop
so the day finally came to close the credit card. very excited. thanks to some very conservative tax forms, i managed to get the CRAP taxed out of me last year which lead to a nice return this year. which in turn led me to paying off ALL of my credit card debt. sweet!but then the realization came to me of what i was about to do…the dreaded phone call to the credit card company…the relentless questions about why i was closing my account, didn’t i want to keep the card for emergency purposes, etc etc etc. so i had to come up with a plan. i didn’t want to get angry with the guy, but i needed to say something that would leave him no response.
his bright cheery voice welcomed me to the “special services” division. “i’d like to close my account,” I said. “I’m so sorry to hear that, sir,” he replied. “You’ve been with us for so many years, can I ask why you’d like to close your account?” The moment of truth.”I don’t want to talk about it,” I said plainly. “Please close my account.” Would it work? “Oh, ok,” he replied. Maybe I won? “Are you sure you don’t want to keep the card open? Maybe for emergency purposes?” I faltered. I hadn’t planned for round 2. Replying again with ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ would make me seem cold and heartless. I certainly didn’t want to have this nice man thinking I was that. “No,” I said flatly. “I just want to close my account. Please.”And then the strangest thing happened. This wonderfully nice man who had once greeted me with excitement and warmth turned cold — dead cold. I had offended him. I could imagine him crumpling up his script for convincing people not to close accounts. I could see him sitting in the call center with a grimmace on his face — carefully looking around the room for his manager. He had failed to keep my account open…and now he owed me nothing. Robotically he spewed: “Your account will be closed today. It may take up to 36 hours to report to the credit bureaus.” etc etc. I let out a chuckle. It’s amazing how good he was at feigning interest and concern for my financial well-being. And once he realized I could not be won over, he turned cold and formal. Incredible how he could do that. His personal relationships must be stellar.
umbrellas
i don’t know why, but i like using umbrellas.before i left home this morning, i thought i heard some rumbles outside so i grabbed the unused umbrella in our front closet. i was delighted to see the rain coming down hard when i opened the front door. i opened the umbrella and hid myself beneath its covering. i got even more excited as i passed beneath a tree and heard the heavier drops being repelled.
traffic, of course, was a nightmare. i exited the freeway and stopped for gas. as i sat there cursing the price of a $2.80 gallon of gas, i noticed that the rain was letting up. i was disappointed. i would not be able to utilize my umbrella when i got to work. there’s just something about being able to stand outside beneath a torrential downpour … and yet, not be touched because you’re protected. you’re hiding from what nature is trying to do. you’re a rebel, a revolutionary … you’re immune. (unless of course, the wind blows and destroys your umbrella. then you’re kinda screwed.)
A Product of Marketing
i feel so ashamed. i bought something based on an advertisement.
i went to REI this past weekend — never a good thing. I didn’t need anything! But I had some time to kill before meeting someone near by and figured I’d walk through the store. “Just browsing,” I promised myself. 30 minutes later and I’m trying on new climbing shoes. “Man, climbing that route on Saturday was really hard. My old La Sportiva shoes just can’t edge like they used to. I bet if I had newer shoes, I could climb better.” Now granted, there weren’t a lot of shoes to choose from. I wanted some new shoes with velcro but didn’t really care about the brand. That already narrowed down the selections to 2 choices: Evolv or Mad Rock. I kind of liked the pure black Evolv’s to the clay-colored Mad Rock’s. And then it hit me: I had seen a poster at the local climbing gym with Chris Sharma. It was an Evolv poster. “Well, if Chris Sharma likes them…” I immediately realized what I had done. I had made a judgment based on a marketing campaign. But the disgust didn’t last long. I decided that my purchase was a good one: I couldn’t tell any major difference between the two shoes other than color…and furthermore, I felt that my purchase was like shaking the hand of the Evolv marketing team. “Good job guys. You did your job — you got into my head.” So in essence, I was congratulating a job well done.”Excellence should be congratulated,” I thought as I walked to the parking lot; new shoes in tow. Maybe somewhere there’s a marketing team member being patted on the back by marketing karma.
Hi there, I'm Jon.
Writer. Musician. Adventurer. Nerd.
Purveyor of GIFs and dad jokes.