More Thoughts...

I thought about writing this last night, and it's kind of ironic how I come across different thoughts.

First, when I was in my teen years, I thought I had everything figured out.

This was life, this was the way it was going to be, and that was it.

Then I got older, and things changed, and life changed.

And now, everything is changing.

When I turned 21, a good friend of mine bought me a shot and said: "Just remember this day. After this, the years will pass like days."

And now, I'm 28, and I realize he was right.

I still remember my 21st birthday, it was fun. I was drunk, and it was fun.

But he was right, it feels like the years just flew by.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again, the 14 year old me would kick the shit out of the 28 year old me.

I've traded in lots of things I thought I held dear, to either better myself or better my life.

When I was 14, at work, if my boss told me to go and do something, and had even the slightest hint of anything resembling talking down to me.

I just quit. That was it.

Now, the 28 year old me, just does it. And doesn't complain. I just deal with it. I realize now how important the things are that didn't seem important when I was 14.

So last night I bought "Marley and Me" for The Girlfriend.

We watched it late when she got home from work.

And Although I agreed overall with the message, it still made me realize.

I got choked up at the end...

And spoiler alert, I'm going to discuss some things of this movie, if you don't want to see it, stop reading now.

I like dogs. I've got a dog. The Girlfriend has a dog.

They are fun.

My dog means a lot to me.

I got my dog when I broke up with my last serious girlfriend.

We lived together. Her name was Jenny.

One day I woke up and realized I didn't feel the way I felt about her in the beginning. Actually, I woke up and realized I didn't feel anything.

So I decided to buy a house, and move.

I got the dog.

She had to move back home, and I could keep the dog.

I got her the dog, because while we both wanted one, she wanted one more than I did.

So it was technically her dog.

But six months after living here, Jenny came over, and said she wanted the dog back.

I had to sit her down and tell her that every few months, she can't move the dog around.

A dog, like a kid, or any human being, needs some sort of stability. And while a dog is much more able to handle moving than a kid, it still doesn't make it right.

So I told her that if she took the dog, it was hers, she couldn't come back here in three months and give her back. And then six months after that come and get her again.

It wouldn't be right to treat the dog like that.

She decided not to take the dog.

But we decided she can come over whenever she wanted to visit. Take her for walks, play with her, whatever she wants.

Jenny never came back after that, and I'm pretty sure my dog has forgotten about Jenny.

But when I bought my house, it was the first time I was living alone. I had always lived with someone.

So I was scared.

I didn't want to be alone.

And my dog made it so that I was never really alone.

I lived alone in my house for three years.

During those three years, my dog became a very meaningful part of my family.

She was there to comfort me when I was sad or depressed.

She was there at the front door to welcome me home.

She was there to keep me company while I watched TV, or worked in the garage.

She was there to lay next to me while I slept.

And she was there to protect me from anything that might happen to me.

She became someone I could talk to, who all she asked for was a scratch behind the ear, or a pat on the head in return.

Someone once said: "We give dogs any space and any love we can spare. Dogs give us everything."

I read that a long time ago, and I sort of laughed at it.

I'm one of those people that are happy that humans are the top of the food chain, and I flaunt it.

I'm one of those people with a huge ego, and I make it known.

I think I'm the best of the best, any no one will ever be able to be better than me.

So how could anything, including an animal, be so caring? Loving? Non-judgemental?

Then you get to know your pets...

My dog is big. She's a one hundred pound German Shepherd.

Her heart has to be atleast three times that size.

So, I watched this movie...

And it sort of made me deal with my dog's own mortality.

I realize I talk of mortality quite a bit, I don't know why that is... I think it's because it's so final...

You don't know when it's going to happen, so you just wait...

The day I have to put my dog down, will be very sad for me, I don't know if I'll cry or how exactly I'll feel...

But I'll know I'll miss her, and I will have lost the greatest friend I ever had.

I've had dogs before this dog. When I was a kid.

The first dog, well, that was more of my step-mom's dog. They were great friends. That dog loved her no matter what.

He didn't really care about the rest of us.

We were just there to feed him.

The second dog, she really didn't care about much of anything...

As long as she could run around every once in awhile, and sit by the window to see people going by...

Her and I, we were more like aquaintances. We live in the same place, we played every now and again...

But she was her own dog.

I admire her for that. She didn't really belong to anyone, she did what she did, when she wanted to do it, consequences be damned.

And she was kind of dumb.

Now, the current dog... She's a good pup. I call her pup, but she's five years old. I think she'll always be my pup.

She's the first dog that knows me, without me having to say anything.

She knows when I'm sad, or happy, or any other emotion.

And when you're sad, she comes over, and she nudges your hand with her nose, as if to say: "Hey, don't worry about it, just pet me, and we'll get over it together."

And it always makes me feel better.

She's a good dog.

After I got to thinking about my dog last night, I had another profound realization.

I say profound because of how I came to think about it...

I know it's been said before, but it really made me realize it.

Life isn't buying houses and cars.

Life isn't the huge moments in your existance.

Life is all the same things, that come together, and make you realize you've got something special.

Let me explain this...

I remember my first car. It was a big piece of shit. But I loved it.

I'll never forget it.

But what I remember more, is where that car took me.

Physically and emotionally.

I realized how complex machines can let someone down, and when my truck breaks, I still feel very let down.

I remember the good times my friends and I had in that car... Or the parties we took that car too...

That sort of thing.

I remember the day I bought my house.

But what I cherish more, is the moments I've had in this house.

Life is a collection of small moments, both good and bad, that you cherish.

For me, that's a profound realization...

Every now and again, since I was a teenager, I've been in a certain event or situation... And I thought to myself, "I hope I can remember this for the rest of my life."

Then you get older, and you might forget the airline you and your friends took to Cancun... But you remember being drunk and laying on the beach, and staring at the stars...

Everyone has to ask themselves, if they could change anything, what would it be?

I don't know if I'd change everything in my life...

My life isn't all fun all the time...

I've got bills, I've got funerals, I've got stuff to fix...

And most of the time, I don't have enough money to do much of anything...

But I don't think I'd trade even the bad moments for good ones...

And as I sit here and think about it...

I'm thinking about all the things I've done in my life...

That makes me feel pretty good...

Even the bad things that happened to me, have a flipside, they have something good that happened to think about with them...

I can only hope, that in the future, I can remember some of the small events that make me smile or laugh...

Sometimes, I Get Lucky Too...

Well, I've said it before, and I'll say it again...

I'm pretty lucky to have a job, where I get to travel a little bit, always around Wisconsin, and get to see more of our state...

I realize people from other places will argue with me on this, and they might be right in their own ways...

But this morning, I was up at four AM, I was driving to Appleton... And I got to watch the sunrise over Lake Michigan... It was a pretty good time...

Then, of course, as I sometimes do, I started thinking...

I go through different stages of my life, at one point I wanted to be a firefighter, so I went to school... Once I wanted my own radio station, so I built a transmitter...

And it seems like my new thing is boating...

Now I don't know if I love it so much because I can't do it too often, Wisconsin effectively puts a damper on that with it's 11 1/2 months of winter...

But the times I'm on the water, seem like really good times.

Now, I think this might be hard to explain to people that aren't boaters, but I think all the best times I've ever had were on a boat.

Times when I was young and had the chance to go fishing with family and see the sunrise...

To the times just last summer where I could take people I cared about out to see the lighthouse...

See, boating, while being about boating, is actually about so much more...

One person riding on my boat really made me realize it...

The river my boat is constantly on, is right in the middle of the city, and some not so nice neighborhoods... But she mentioned that if this is what she knew of my city, she would have never guess it was this city...

On the water, at night, you can look back at the skyline, and everything seems so calm and peaceful...

It's a side of this city that makes it special, and a side that not everyone gets to see...

I took my girlfriend out to see the lighthouse this past summer, at night... It was amazing.

It wasn't doing anything other than what lighthouses normally do, but it was still amazing.

It was a combination of events...

The lake looking like a sheet of glass someone laid down as far as the eye could see...

The way the moon reflected perfectly off the water...

The sound of the bouys out in the distance...

The cloudless night, and the ability to feel like you could see every star there ever was...

It all came together at just the perfect moment...

And although I shut the motor off and just drifted for a few minutes, it seemed like hours...

And I don't think a day goes by where I don't relive that night over, in my mind.

My Scariest Moment...

When I look back at the short time I've been around...

I realize in my life I've done a lot of things that, atleast I, consider amazing.

I was 21 and finished fire science school.

I was 22 and bought my first business.

I was 24 and I bought my first house.

I was 27 and I became the youngest member of my yacht club to sit on the board in the entire 50 years it has existed.

And now this...


I accomplished most of this by myself. With the occasional parental guidance. The world can be a scary place when you don't really know what you're doing.

And for most of it, I didn't know what I was doing.

I'm 27 years old, and for most people, by this time, they've done everything I've done, and more.

I've seen every place I've ever wanted to see, and then some.

I've tried everything I've ever wanted to try, and more.

But in two days, I'm going to have to add one more thing to the list of stuff I've done.



I'm taking my girlfriend's father fishing.

Which, in and of itself, is not a big deal.

Her father and I have fished together before, we get along really well. He's a pretty nice guy. His son, my girlfriend's brother, is also coming with us this time.

I like him too, he's also another nice guy.

But during this fishing trip, I'm going to pour my heart out.

And I'm going to ask for his blessing to marry his daughter.

Fishing. I've been fishing since I could hold a reel.

Boating. I grew up on the water, handling a 16' open bow, or a 40' Lake Michigan crusier is no big deal to me.

Baiting a hook, fileting the catch... No big deal.

Asking for permission to marry a man's daughter...


Scaring the living hell outta me.



When I was 22, I remember the day before my store first opened. The week or two of getting ready. Being nervous, hoping I would do well...

A lot of you read along as I tried my first business. The trial and error I went through...

And a lot of you read as I closed my first business, and it broke my heart to see it close.

And now, a lot of you on FSC, are probably going to read along on this phase of my life too.

I've known my girlfriend for awhile now. We've lived together for a little bit. The night I met her, I was in a horrible mood. I was at a bar, yes we met at a bar, and it was near the end of October.

I was dragged to a bar by my buddies to listen to a band that I didn't care anything about.

I sat at the bar, ignored everyone, and nursed a rum and Coke.

My friends have known me long enough to know what kind of girls I like. It's not hard, I like them all. I can find something attractive about pretty much any girl.

It's a curse.

Give me a tall girl, that's got dark hair, with a great sense of humor, and put a fork in me. I'm done.

And that's just what I got that night.

A buddy nudged me, "Look.", he said. I scanned the crowd that just came in, it was easy to see who he was talking about. She was taller than probably anyone else in the bar. Myself and present company included.

I am six foot three. I am not the tallest. And I am not the shortest. And her height is what made me first notice her. \

She is six foot four. An inch taller. I didn't bring it up the first time we talked. Actually, I didn't bring up much of anything the first time we talked.

She was tall, she wasn't big either, smaller than me, but not lanky or awkward. I was impressed.

That week, the Subby was in the shop, as it was having a new rear end put in it. I had my cousin's 1990-something Corolla. Biggest piece this side of the great state of Wisconsin.

I was embarrassed. I wanted to leave. But I had to talk to her. I went up to her, introduced myself, she introduced herself. I gave her my phone number, and left immediately. I would be horrified if she noticed me leaving in that car and thought that was my daily driver.

Now I'm sure every married member of FSC can relate to me when I talk about the feelings you first had for the girl (or guy) you later married.

She made the rest of the night go much better.

I went to another bar, and she called immediately after I got there. I couldn't hear her on my phone, so I went outside. Next to some dumpster.

And her and her friends wanted to meet me at whatever bar we were at.

Over the course of time, I got to know her better. Her name is Lindsey. She's the manager of a large retail chain in Illinois, but lived in Kenosha. She came to the bar that night because her friend worked with a guy in the band.

And long story short, after a time, she moved in to my house.

My dog liked her immedately.

My friends would joke about the freakishly tall kids we would have.

My nephew has a hard time pronouncing Lindsey, so he calls her Mimzy.

My niece is more quiet and reserved, so for awhile, she just stared. She does it to everyone. After awhile, Mimzy became someone that was very fun to play with. Much more intesting than Uncle Chad.

Uncle Chad just bought things. Uncle Chad just took them for haircuts and ice cream and to buy shoes.

But Mimzy became someone my niece could cuddle with. Or my nephew could show off his newest piece of Green Bay Packer paraphenalia.

This is the first girlfriend I've had where my dad actually talked to her.

My dad doesn't have much interest in talking to people he won't have to ever see again, so he just never does. Something told him he'd see her again.

I go to the yacht club, and everyone wonders how I met a girl like her.

I still wonder myself sometime.



But this week... I started getting nervous on Monday. I felt stupid.

I had almost a week, and I was already getting nervous. I felt like an idiot. Nervous for nothing.

Now, before I know it, I'm taking her dad out for dinner tomorrow night. And Saturday morning we hit the lake.

When I started getting nervous I did the only thing I know how to do... I called my dad. And asked him what to do...

He just joked with me: "Have a backup plan in case he says no."

At work, the mechanic that works with me keeps messing with me...

I won't even paraphrase what he says.

At work, it's all I can think of... I'm not even sure it'll be that bad...

But it opens up a new, exciting, and scary chapter to my life.

This is growing up in it's rawest form.

I've avoided adulthood as long as I can, and now, I'm asking another man if it's okay to enter adulthood, holding his daughter's hand.

Then all I can think about is the day I go fishing with my daughter's boyfriend... And he asks me the same thing I asked...

My mind goes a million miles a minute about what to say, do, act, feel.

My mind goes a million miles a minute about what will happen, how will it happen, what will it be like, what will it feel like...

And all I can think of...

Is, well, I've come this far... Might as well go a little further.

My Vulnerable Moment

So I took today off of work... I did so for two reasons.

First, we had a big party at the yacht club last night. I knew I was going to drink and not be worth anything at work tomorrow...

But I had another reason...

John Schmidt.

Follow me on this...

The girlfriend went back to St. Louis to visit family before the holidays. She took her puppy with her.

It's just my dog, and myself.

It's a good time to be alone.

John Schmidt. He's about 80 years old. He's been a member of the yacht club for 50 years.

When our yacht club was young, and no one had money, the members litterally built the place with their own hands.

I've got loan papers here from the 60's, it cost them $12,000. It's now worth a million and a half.

This year, I took on more responsibilities at the club, and I kind of did so against my will. But John Schmidt was always there to lend a hand, he was there to show me how to do things, to set me straight when I went off on the wrong path...

He interviewed me to let me join the club...

And he and I had some heart to heart talks, about how the club was going.

He was a down to earth, good guy.

He lived, slept, ate, and breathed that club. He poured his heart out for it, and was always there.

He always helped out, and he is a good friend.

Earlier this year, John got diagnosed with cancer. It was pretty aggressive, but John's a good guy.

He was still out and about... Then he started missing meetings.

He had missed a meeting in 50 years... But this had to be the year he missed something...

It wasn't right.

Then we had a meeting last night, and he wasn't there. Again.

He's in room 265 of the hospital.

And, I don't mean to offend anyone, but when you're that age, and you go into the hospital, it usually isn't good.

So John...

I went to see him.

I hate hospitals. I used to work in one. It sucked. I quit.

I couldn't handle it.

And I stared at John, and I couldn't figure out why I hated hospitals so much...

Then I realized why...

When you're laid up in that bed, you're seeing the person for the first time, really, the first time.

You're vulnerable.

All the **** talking and doing whatever it is you did before, doesn't really mean anything...

It's really hard to be a tough guy and hooked up to a bunch of machines.

John looked good, I barely recognized him.

Hell, I couldn't recognize my own grandmother when she was in the hospital not so long ago.

So a few years ago, when he interviewed me, and decided I'd be a good member to the yacht club he said one thing to me...

His exact words: "Promise me you'll always stay involved."

John loves that club and those people.

He never got paid for the stuff he did. He never got paid for literally building the walls of that club...

But the sense of accomplishment and the people around him, made it all worth it to him.

It's times like this I feel compelled to look into myself, and ask if I could do that.

I don't think I could. I'd make up some excuse why I can't do it, or why I can't finish it. Or something else.

So, I went to the hospital this morning.

I talked with his wife Charlotte.

I talked to John...

A few years ago, when I got voted in by the membership, John stood in front of about 100 members, and introduced me to the room.

I knew most of these people, I had grown up there, I knew John for the past 17 years. Always been a nice guy to me. To everyone, never said anything bad about anyone.

John stood up, introduced me to everyone, and everyone clapped.

We do it for everyone, it's not just me.

Then he did something that meant a lot to me, he handed me a Fifth Street Yacht Club burgee... And said: "Welcome to YOUR club."

He was the first person to do that for me. It made me feel good.

So today, when I was at the hospital. I know it didn't mean too much, but it meant something to me...

I gave him my burgee... I hung it in his room.

The flag that I had flown on my boat all year...

The flag that means a lot to a lot of people...

The flag that I volunteered for this year...

The flag that I volunteered for several years before this...

I know this seems like a weird post...

But at this club, we have lots of people that think they know how the club should be run...

So they bicker. They argue. They do lots of dumb things...

But one thing we all have in common is we love boating... And we all fly that flag on our boats.

We all have our differences... But when we are on the water, with that little yellow triangle on our boat, it doesn't seem to matter so much.

John, I don't think he's going to be around so much anymore.

And frankly... I'm afraid.

It shouldn't be like this...

**** it.




John, you'll never be forgotten.

Funerals... And Everything Before...

Funerals...

I've given them quite a bit of thought... It seems everyone I know dies in spring. First, I've lived my whole life in the same city. It's only about 80,000 people. It's pretty small considering the cities near us... I tend to know a lot of people. The girlfriend is always amazed when I go somewhere, I run into atleast one person I know.

Consequently, you see a lot of those people go through what I call "life changes". It's a nice way of saying a lot of things. I see people I know get married, get divorced, have kids, lose kids, send kids to college, and eventually, die.

But it always seems they die in spring time. If you don't want to die in spring time, don't get to know me, cause it's going to happen.

This past Wednesday, I was putting a hydraulic pump in a machine at work, and my dad called, which wasn't odd... What was odd was that he said: "Are you busy?" I was. I said I wasn't. He told me my step grandfather, George, died. And he said if I wanted to talk, I could call him. Then we said goodbye, and I hung up.

Now a little background story.

My parents got divorced when I was about two or three years old. My dad was single for awhile, and that was fun. But then he got married again when I was about seven. Suddenly I had a step-mother, a step-brother, a step-sister, and a huge step-family. None of them really took to my sister and I. But we spent every other weekend with them.

My step family is very close, and I've now known them for 21 years. The longer I know them, the more they seem like family, and good people. But when you're seven years old, you don't really know what it's all like, and it seems like a whirlwind came and turned everything upside down.

I remember Christmas 1987. It was the first Christmas I spent with the step-family.

They had a (what seemed like) a huge tree. And I remember seeing presents stacked up taller than I was.

My step-cousins were all a little younger than me. My step brother and one step cousin were older.

So we went. I remember being seven years old, and the only thing under that tree was a gift my dad got me. Everything else was for everyone else. My sister and I didn't really know what to do or think. We didn't really know these people.

We just kind of sat there. I don't even remember eating. I don't think I could. My dad was off and entertaining the family. I had no idea who my step-mother was. And I spent very little time with my step-siblings.

So my sister and I sat in the corner.

Then two older folks came up to us. I had no idea who these people were.

They introduced themselves as George and Ruth. They were my step-mother's parents. They were well dressed, and they were funny.

George gave my a big long well wrapped gift. It was a fishing pole. He loved fishing, he assumed I did too. I later found out it was an old pole of his, and he saw my sister and I just kind of sitting there. So he went to the basement, and he wrapped an old fishing pole quickly, and gave it to me.

I thought it was great. This was also before my dad had a summer house on a lake or any boats or anything... But George had a fishing boat. He'd take everyone fishing any time.

And where George and Ruth lived, they had a small pond outside, so in spring time, George and I would go fishing in this little pond. I don't remember catching anything. But George seemed to go the extra mile to make a kid that felt out of place, feel like he belonged somewhere.

Ruth was the grandmother that everyone wanted. She cooked constantly. Going to her house not hungry was a huge mistake.
She was very nice, more so than the rest of the step-family.

Their house always was fun to be at, and everyone was always welcome. I took to George and Ruth immediately. I started calling them "Grandma" and "Grandpa".

At this time, all my grandparents were still alive. My mom's parents, and my dad's parents.

My dad's parents moved to North Carolina a lot of years ago, I never really saw them. I got a letter from them once when I was a kid. I still have it, I read it once in awhile. It was a nice letter. I think I've talked to them on the phone a couple times too, but I haven't seen them in a long time.

My mom was a single mom, so I spent a lot of time growing up with my mom's parents. They were Italians. Like OLD SCHOOL Italians.

They spoke Italian. They spoke broken English. They were both born in the US, but in their households, no one spoke English. So they learned what they learned working.

My mom's dad passed away when I was 12. He was a very nice guy. We had a language barrier. I can understand Italian, I just can't speak it. And after awhile, my grandfather's English makes more sense.

My mom's mom passed away about five years ago. That was pretty sad. Her husband, my mom's dad, went quickly. My grandmother did not.

I used to work in a hospital. Actually, it's the same hospital pretty much everyone I know dies in... And that's where my grandparents died.

I miss them a lot. They were great people.

But I had two grandfathers, they never met each other, but they spent a lot of time with me. Fishing.

That's really the only thing we did...

My mom's dad was a carpenter for like fifty years. He had this big hands that were like sausages, and my cousins and I would sleep over at his house. It would be myself, and like four cousins, all under the age of 5, in one bed. And he'd wake us up at four AM, tickling us.

His hands were so big and strong, I remember it hurting more than anything, and I think his mistook our cries of pain for laughter. And I wouldn't trade that for anything.

My grandmother would make us all breakfast, which seemed to be a big affair at their house. And we'd all go fishing. Which basically involved us sitting on a dock somewhere, and my grandfather casting and untangling lines.

And the next weekend...

I'd be at George's house doing the same thing. It was fun.

George was the one that really taught me to fish. To my maternal grandfather, it wasn't about the fishing... It was about spending time with his grandkids...

It was the same for George, but he was just a naturally good fisherman.

He always caught a lot of something, and he showed his grandkids how to catch fish too. Something I rely on to this same day.

George and my dad were the first people to teach me how to drive a boat, how to navigate waterways, and how to use landmarks and the stars to get where you're going...

They were also the first people to yell at me because I was going too fast in a boat. A trend that continues to this day. Just last summer George yelled at me for going too fast on a lake, and disturbing the fish...

But his yelling wasn't like a mean thing... It was just him, telling you to knock it off...

Then when I was 18, I got my job at a hospital. I was a janitor.

George's wife, Ruth, a person whom I considered a grandmother to me, got sick.

She had a stroke.

She was in the hospital for a few weeks... She wasn't doing too well...

On my breaks and during my lunch hour, I'd go and see her.

And I'm not a terribly religious person, but I read whatever books I can get my hands on, and in a hospital, they have a helluva lot of Bibles.

So at the time, I was reading the Bible.

I found the Bible to be like a guidebook, so people can live better lives. It tells us how to be good people.

I read about King Solomon. I read about Noah. I read the whole Bible from cover to cover.

And I realized that reading that book, made me somehow feel a little bit better.

And I figured George could feel better... So I gave him my Bible.

I don't know if he ever read it, or what he did with it. But he thanked me.

Then Ruth got better. The stroke seemed to have no effect on her whatsoever.

I went to see her...

She was doing really well. Had her speech back. Her vision back. She was due to get released in a few days.

Then one day, as I was at work, I would eat my lunch really quickly, then go and see Ruth and George.

And I had just walked into the hospital cafeteria, and I saw my dad sitting at a table. So I brought my sandwich over to him. He was kind of sitting there with his hands together and looking at the table.

He talked to me.

His exact words: "Ruth got worse. They've decided to end life support."

I was surprised, what a difference a few hours can make...

My dad told me there was nothing anyone could do, and they were going to remove her feeding tube, and pretty much starve her.

I flipped out.

I friggin' lost it. Right in the hospital cafeteria.

I threw my sandwich at my dad.

I argued how everyone has the right to eat.

I told him how this was wrong.

He just stared.

I went outside to smoke.

Dad left me alone.

Almost a week later, Ruth had died.

I went to her funeral, and I was uncomfortable. I just sat there. Like a seven year old kid at a Christmas where he doesn't belong.

Over the years, George sold his two houses in Wisconsin, and bought a house in Florida and North Carolina.

He met a new woman. I can't remember her name.

The first time I met her, I grilled her on everything.

She was a nice woman.

I didn't see George much after Ruth passed away. He spent most of his time down south.

But every summer he'd come up to Wisconsin. And we'd go fishing. And we'd talk.

He'd tell me about what he thought of life.

It was just myself, and an old man, on a boat. Talking. Not even really talking about anything, just talking.

So, back to Wednesday... The day after St. Patrick's Day. Tuesday in Wisconsin, it was 73 degrees outside. It was great...

I should have known something bad was going to happen...

My dad called. He told me what was going on. I dropped my tools...

I went outside. And it was late in the day, and I smoked a cigarette, and I watched the sun go down over the highway...

I must have stood there, silent, for a few hours.

And I was happy that Ruth and George could see each other again.

But at the same time, I was afraid...

I've been to a lot of funerals. I've worked in a hospital.

I've seen old people die.

I've seen young kids die.

I've seen everyone in between die.

I've seen mothers die.

I've seen fathers die.

I've seen whole families die.

I've seen good people die.

I've seen criminals die.

But this was different...

It's hard to put it all into words...

I've got a grandfather in North Carolina...

And I barely know him...

I've heard the stories my dad tells about him...

My dad's mother died in the 60's. She committed suicide. And my dad doesn't really talk about her unless you pry him to... But my aunt does... And she's told me stories about grandma too.

George dying really made me realize how short time here is...

I used to laugh at the people that would say things like: "Live every day like it's your last..."

And now I realize what they're saying...

It only took me 28 years to figure it out...

Movie Review

Alright, if you don't already know... I'm a huge movie fan...

As of yesterday, I've got 391 assorted DVDs. Not all movies of course, there's a few TV shows I can't live without, mostly cartoons. Family Guy, Futurama, and Scrubs to name a couple.

And to top it off, I subscribe to that Blockbuster deal like Netflix. The girlfriend and I go through three or five movies a week. Sometimes more, depends.

Well, we just got done watching My Date With Drew.

It's a movie about a regular run of the mill guy who wins $1,100 on a gameshow, and decides to try and get a date with Drew Barrymore, the girl he's had a crush on since he was 10, in 30 days.

He buys a video camera at a Circuit City, and then returns it when he's done, to save money.

It's actually a pretty good movie.

If I were a movie date kinda guy, that would probably be a good date movie.

And I was especially surprised at Drew Barrymore herself, in a world where almost everyone is stuck up, she was very down to Earth. It was impressive.

But it made me think...

Now, I realize this may seem scatterbrained, but stick with me here...

I've had a love affair with radio for a long time. I listen to it constantly, and I love music in general.

I ran an internet radio station for awhile, a few years ago, and we had several different DJs, different shows, everything you would need for a "real" radio station.

The most we ever had was several hundred listeners, not much this day and age, but enough to encourage me...

I've always wanted to work in radio, I'm not positive I've ever wanted to be "on the air" so to speak, but it always seems to be the most fun job in that industry.

Last night I started looking around at local places to see if I could go back to school for this...

Then here comes the kicker, I realized a lot of this would involve speeches and oral things in front of audiences...

And I got scared.

Public speeches were never my strong suit. Still probably aren't.

I avoid them like the plague.

It's like that joke Jerry Seinfeld always talks about...

"The biggest fear in America is public speaking, the second biggest fear is death... So in other words, we'd be better off in the casket, than saying the eulogy."


It's actually exactly like that... I fear the day I'm forced to talk in front of people...

But radio would be something that wouldn't be as hard, I can be as anonymous as I want, and I don't really ever have to talk to someone face to face.

Should be easier, right?


Alright, now here's where the two parts of the story come together...

In the end of the movie, Drew Barrymore says something to the effect that there's tons of people that have dreams, and it's nice to see one that actually kept his dream and did something with it.

And that got me thinking...

Look at yourself?

Are you where you thought you would be when you were younger?

I can tell you straight out...

I'm not.

When I was a kid, I thought I'd be a pilot...

I'm far from it now.

I kinda lost that dream a long time ago, and I don't really know why...

Maybe it was the pressure of responsibility. Or peer pressure. Or some other sort of pressure.

The fact of the matter is, when I was a kid, I was a dreamer.

I was going to be a pilot, and there really wasn't anything else I had ever put my heart or my thoughts into other than that.

Now that I think about it, if the 10 year old me knew the 27 year old me, he'd kick my ass for even talking like that.

I was thinking about this same thing while I was coming home from work today, and sitting in traffic.

Is there anyone out there that became what they thought they would become?

I honestly don't think there is.

And it's not because I'm trying to be an asshole, or be cynical...

It really is because after awhile, we're kind of forced to abandon those dreams and move into the real world.

We've got to make our mortgage payment.

We've got to make that electricity payment.

We've got to do something...

And society sort of forces us to change what our dreams would be.

We pretty much bend to society's will.

Think about it.

Do you think the guy mopping the floors at work thought that at five years old, he was going to do this when he was 40?

I don't think so...

And on the flip side, at twenty years old, do you think the homeless guy knew he was going to be homeless?

I mean, we work so hard every day of our lives for something that seems pretty trivial... But we don't have much of a choice.

So we're back to what I originally was talking about...

When I was a kid, I knew in my heart, what I wanted to be, and I knew how to go about it. And there wasn't much stopping me.

Then, for some reason, as a teenager, I became very rebelious, I was anti-government, screw everyone, screw you, screw this. Let's get drunk and high and have fun.

That, for all intensive purposes, was exactly what I was about...

And then, I hit my 20s.

Sure, 21, 22, 23... Still pretty much the same thing. Lets get drunk, lets screw, lets have fun.

And at 23 it stopped.

Sure it was only 4 years ago, but it seems longer than that...

It seems like it was decades ago.

So now, here I am 27 years old...

I own a house. I own two trucks (one nice, one all about work), I own a boat, I have a girlfriend I'd love and want to marry, and I'm a Caterpillar mechanic.

I should be thankful for everything I've achieved. I've done better than lots of people, and sometimes with not as much...

But I kind of resent it all.

Is it the possessions that make us who we are?

I'd like to believe it's not, but it's kind of hard.

When I was 17, I didn't care about much. Call in sick to work. Not go to school. Big deal.

Now I think... "Wow. I don't feel like going to work. I'm going to call in sick. And then I remember... The boat needs gas. The boat is fun. I want to have fun. The boat needs gas."

And I go to work.

I think, in some way...

That if the 10 year old versions of us knew what we were doing now, we'd all have brusies.





So, that leads me back... Dreams... Should we follow them? Or kinda let them go their own way?

There has to be something to say about growing up.

My old boss, he loved his wife, he loved his kids.

He was married at 18. To his high school sweetheart...

He never questioned that. I asked him why...

He told me: "When I was very young, I always knew I wanted to grow up, get married, and have kids. "

He had three daughters. And that's enough for him, but still.

It was something he wanted to do...

It was him becoming the pilot he always wanted to be.

Now maybe, deep down inside of me, being the person I never thought I would be, is the person I wanted to be.

Which brings me to another point... This is kind of funny... But I like this side of me a lot.

I'm a member of a yacht club in Racine.

Yeah, see, that's funny. For a long time I didn't even own anything that could be considered remotely seaworthy.

Not even a radio controlled boat.

But I am the youngest member to sit as an officer on our yacht club's board.

About 11 years ago, my dad was the Commodore.

Now, the Commodore is like the president of something. He's elected for one year. He runs the joint. Alright?

Now, a lot of people at this club respected me when I started because they loved and respected my dad.

Many times have I heard: "I served under your father, and he was the best Commodore we've ever had."

Many many times.

I passed a lot of it off, until I heard the reasons.

"He was fair."

"He followed the rules."

So fairly early on in my "career" as a board member, I asked dad for advice.

His advice: "If you follow the rules, you'll never be wrong."

So I lived by that.

When someone in a meeting brought something up that was out of order (as meetings follow Robert's Rules of Order) or wasn't in the rules, I loudly proclaimed that.

Then one day, I was sitting at the yacht club, and I realized...

I'm an asshole.

These people are here to speak their minds and do what they feel is right for the betterment of this club, regardless of if it is out of order...

And then I started hearing:

"You followed the rules."

"You did what you thought was right, and it was right."

"I'm amazed you stood up for someone like that, I didn't think you had it in you."

"Some of the things you say, make a lot of sense. I didn't think something like that would come from you."

And it really made me realize how much I have conformed and "laid down for 'The Man'" if you will...

I was the teenager that was anti everything...

And now, I'm the guy following the rules to the letter.

Something about that is not right...






That's it for tonight.

I realize I went off on a tangent, and I never really cleared this up... But that's me. Deal with it.

Well, it's done, now what?

Well, I finally did it.

I made a blog.

I was encouraged by a lot of people on the internet, and I thought about it for some time.

Today at work I convinced myself it would be a good idea.

And I did it.

I took the plunge.

And now, I have nothing to write about.

I knew it would happen.