LONGWALKABOUT

I am a surfer.  I like to say that because it sounds really impressive.  In reality, I own a surfboard, and I am really good at paddling around on it.  It turns out that standing up on it takes some practice.  I am still practicing.

When I lived in Virginia, we were about 20 minutes from the beach.  It was easy to drive out and have a good paddling session every once in a while.  I knew several guys who were actual surfers, and I kept bugging them to go with me.  One of those guys was a guy I worked with at a local landscaping company.  He never went surfing with me.  I understood.  He had a lot on his plate.  He was a father of two young kids, he had a paper route that he would run before coming to work at the landscaping job, and he was a serious pothead.  He was also the only one of us licensed to drive the truck that we used during the day.  More than once we were on the highway cruising along at 65 miles an hour and I would see brake lights ahead.  Then I would realize we weren’t slowing down. It would go something like.

“Brakes”

“BRAKES”

“BRODY,  BRAAAAKES!!!!”

Then he would wake up and hit the brakes and say, “sorry man”.

The other guy worked for UPS, and when you picture a surfer, he was totally that guy.  He did go surfing with me once.  While we were paddling around I asked him if he ever saw sharks when he was on the water.  He said, “I don’t really see them, but they hit my legs once in a while.  No big deal.”

Most of the time, I would end up going out by myself.  My favorite place to go was a beach called Sandbridge.  It was south of the main tourist beaches in Virginia beach, not too far from North Carolina.  It was never crowded down there.  In fact, it was downright lonely sometimes.  Once, I was the only person in the water.  It was late afternoon and the weather was good.  The only other person I could see was a guy fishing off a pier about two hundred yards away.   I had been paddling around for about an hour.  The waves were kind of mushy, but it was nice to be out there.  When a you talk to a surfer and they start to yammer on,,,,, “you know it’s like, when your’e out on the water, you just, like, forget about your problems, and, it’s like, spiritual man, you feel the energy of the ocean and the wave breaks over you like kpshoooooooow  crssshhhhhhhh….”, yeah, well they’re mostly right about all of that. Everyone should try it once.  Anyway, I was about to call it a day.  The current had dragged me down the beach about a hundred yards, so I started to paddle back down toward the pier.  There I was minding my own business, and I looked back over my shoulder, and I saw a fin moving though the water.   Pure panic.  I didn’t yell, I just started to paddle like I was about to die.  I read a book about the surfing once.  In it, they reminded you that the further from the beach you went, the further down the food chain you dropped.  I was about 150 yards from the beach.  It might as well have been a mile.  Adrenaline had been dumped into my system and my arms were moving like Scooby and Shaggy’s legs.  I looked back and couldn’t locate the fin.  I looked toward the beach and it looked like I had not moved in the water at all.  So, I did what any sensible person would do.  I gave up and decided that I was probably going to be eaten.  I couldn’t keep on paddling like this, so I stopped and looked around, trying to figure out which direction the attack would come from and which limb I was going to lose first.  Then I saw the fin again.  The dolphin had passed behind me and was already moving away.  Yeah,,,, the dolphin.  I’m sure he enjoys telling this story to all his dolphin friends.  “Man you should’ve seen that guy paddle”.

This week I would like thank two different people for being heroes to me.  (It would be three if I included Crocodile Dundee.)

The school that my kids go to puts on a fantastic Christmas program every year.  This year a group of kids from the lower grades performed a song that included a routine where they all pretended to be wearing hats that they took off in unison to gesture to the audience.  They all moved together really well.  Almost.   There was one kid in that group of around fifty who did the exact opposite of what everyone else was doing,,,,,, for the entire song.  That wasn’t the thing that made it awesome though.  What made me smile was the look on his face.  He was rocking that performance.  100%.  You could tell that in his head he was like.  “I am totally nailing this.  Hey, I can see mom, dad, and grandma.  Check me out guys, I’ve got this choreography down.  That’s right.  What’s Up.”  I’m not making fun of him.  He’s my hero because I’m pretty sure that’s me most of the time.

My second hero of the week is totally different.  I am a big fan of the band P.O.D.  They are a hard rock/reggae/punk/christian band from San Diego California.  Admittedly, they are not everyone’s cup of tea, but they put on a fantastic live show.  Every time they tour in my area, I try to get out to see them.  The last time was at the Theater of the Living Arts, on South Street in Philadelphia.  The TLA is a small venue with no seats, so things get rowdy and fun on the floor in front of the stage.  This particular night, the crowd was fantastic.  People were crowd surfing all over the place and everyone was feeling the energy.  At one point in the show, a guy who appeared to be in his fifties rode the hands of the crowd to the front where security caught him, but instead of being sent around and back into audience, one of the band members pulled him up onto the stage.  Now this guy is the oldest guy at the show, by far, and not only is he crowd surfing, but now he’s on stage dancing exactly like you would think a white guy in his fifties would dance.  I admire people who can truly dance like no one is watching.  Every time I “dance” I feel like everyone is watching.  Not only do I feel like everyone is watching, I feel like they are pointing and whispering and laughing and recording me so they can put me on Youtube where the ‘white guy dancing badly’ video will go viral overnight. Then when I go grocery shopping the next day, people will be pointing and whispering and laughing all over again.  Anyway, this guy was dancing around on the stage,,,,,, and the next thing you know, he takes off at a run and Supermans back into the crowd.  It was awesome.  He’s my hero because I’m pretty sure that’s who I want to be when I grow up.

 

LINKS

• If you don’t want to watch the Superbowl this weekend, here is a list of the 50 best movie thrillers of all time.  This is from a guys perspective, but it’s pretty well rounded list.
• Everyone seems to love the Superbowl commercials.  They can be fun, but they’re even more fun when they’re bad.  Here is the New York Post list of the Ten Worst.
• Today is the anniversary of the first attempted assassination of a US president.  It’s an interesting story.  Especially the part where President Andrew Jackson beats his own would be assassin with a cane.
• Looking for something more profound than any of this?  Here is a top 50 list of C.S. Lewis quotes.

While I was in college, I had a yearly tradition of going whitewater rafting in West Virginia.  Usually I was able to rope a friend or two into going with me.  We would drive down, camp out for the night, and have breakfast at the Western Pancake House the next morning on the way to the rafting company.

One year I was only able to get one friend to come with me.  I think a third guy may have bailed on us, but anyway, it ended up being just the two of us.  We camped at Babcock State Park.  It was October, great camping weather, but the park wasn’t crowded.  We set up a tent, had some dinner and went down to the park office to use the pay phone to call our girlfriends.  That’s right, a pay phone.  It was after dark, and the park office was closed.  I called my girlfriend and let her know where we were, and talked until my change ran out.  Yes, change, that’s how a pay phone worked.  Then my buddy called his girlfriend while I leaned on the fence by the parking area.

This is when the night got weird.  While I was waiting for my buddy, a car pulled up close to me.  Both the passenger and driver’s side doors opened, and out came two guys straight from central casting for your average ‘you’re gonna be killed by backwoods inbreds’ horror movie.  My friend noticed the car too, and he noticed me giving him the ‘I don’t know, but I think we may be in trouble here’ look.  The driver of the car walked toward us as my friend got off the phone.  I have to describe this guy.  I don’t care if you believe me or not, but this is completely true.  He was around five feet five inches tall, had longish brown hair and a beard, was about fifty pounds overweight, and wore jean overalls and a trucker cap.  His buddy was taller and skinnier and for the next five minutes or so all he did was stand next to the car.  The big guy was the conversationalist, and what a conversation it was.  For purposes of my own enjoyment we’ll call him Cletus.

Cletus:  “You guys have any drugs?”

Me:  “Nah man.”

My Friend:  With an amazed look on his face.  “You can get drugs out here?’

Cletus:  “Oh, yeah man no problem.”

My Friend:  “What kind of drugs?”

Cletus:  “Oh, pretty much anything, meth, coke, blah, blah, more drugs,,,,”

Me:  Smiling because even though I’m a little nervous, this is super entertaining.  “Wow.”

My Friend:  “What are you guys doing out here?”

Cletus:  “Just riding around, looking for something to do.”

At this point the guy looked up and howled at the moon.  No lie, he howled at the moon.  There may have been more of a conversation after that, but I don’t remember.  All I know is that they both eventually got back into their car and left.  We walked back to our campsite, amazed at what had just happened and half worried that they would come back.  The next day we rafted the Gauley river, an experience I highly recommend.  And remember, apparently you can get all kinds of drugs in the country too.   ; )

You know what’s awful? When someone comes up to you and says hi, and enters into a conversation with you like you were old pals,,,,,,,, and you have no idea who they are. This has happened to me more than one time. So, I’m stuck trying to decide if there is something wrong with me for not remembering this person, or if this person just believes that they are way more memorable than they actually are. Usually, if the conversation doesn’t last too long, I can fake my way through, hoping to find a way to make an early exit. But, if we get to a certain point, I know I’m going to get the question, “You don’t remember me, do you?” And you thought the conversation was awkward before.

Also. This has been a long week for a member of our immediate family.  Mr. Copper Dog has had a rough week. In fact he may need surgery. Apparently, being somewhere around 30 years old in dog years doesn’t mean that you are smart enough not to eat something that may be too large to come out your other end. After much throwing up, much worry, and much money, the vet chose to admit him to the hospital (and charge much more money). Copper has asked everyone to send Milk Bone get well wishes to North Penn Animal Hospital.

I ask everyone to hope that next time we see the Six Million Dollar Dog, he will be prepared to live for many more dog years.

LINKS

• One of my new favorite authors is Taylor Stevens.  She has written a series of thrillers.  The Informationist is my favorite.  If you go to her site, check out her bio.  Pretty interesting.
• I love live music.  Here is the best place to find out who is coming to your neck of the woods, no matter how obscure they may be.
• I have two boys.  As they grow, I am trying to turn them into collectors of experiences, and not things.  Here is an interesting list of 100 Places To Take Your Kids Before They Grow Up.  (This particular list is limited to America)
• This site just has consistently cool stuff.

One of my college majors was Parks and Recreation.  I figured that forest ranger was a job that was right down my alley.  I enjoyed spending time outdoors and that ranger hat would probably look pretty good on me.  I did an internet search to figure out which universities offered this kind of program, and the closest one that popped up was Frostburg State University, in western Maryland.  They had a Parks and Rec major, with an adventure sports emphasis.  Whaaaaaattt!  I was so there.  So, I got the necessary paperwork done, packed up my 1988 Honda Accord, and headed to Frostburg.

All throughout my illustrious college career, I had to work to help pay my way.  Jobs in western Maryland and Pennsylvania were hard to come by at this time.  I inquired around to a bunch of places and kept coming up empty.  I even tried the Bath and Body Works at the local mall, but that was mostly because it smelled so good in there.  Having spent time in New Jersey growing up, I was familiar with hanging out at the mall.  So I ended up spending a lot of time there.  My class schedule had breaks in the middle of the day, so at one point I think I had seen every movie that the small theater had to offer.  Yep, it was me and the retired old ladies watching Drew Barrymore in Everafter at 2 in the afternoon on Tuesday.  Anyway, my job prospects had narrowed to fast food.  I was running out of cash.

The people I was staying with knew that I had been looking for work.  One night at dinner, they had an offer for me.  They owned a sawmill, and they needed someone to sweep up after the mill closed down every night.  I jumped on it because I really couldn’t picture myself asking anyone if they wanted fries with anything.  The next week they brought me in for orientation, which involved explaining how the various machines in the mill could all kill me in different ways if I wasn’t careful.  My job at the mill was to clean up the sawdust and wood scraps so that the next day they could create more sawdust and wood scraps.  I would come in just before closing and start sweeping.  About a half hour after I started, everyone else would leave.  So then I was alone in the mill.  Once I was sure that everyone was gone, I would walk out through the yard and move my car down from the main lot to right outside the door of the mill.  Sweeping up in the mill after dark was one thing, but walking through the yard in the dark was something entirely different.  I’ve watched enough movies to know that deranged killers would just love a lumber yard.  The main mill building was L shaped,  the biggest part of it being about the size of a football field.  Each night I would start in the upper part of the main building, where I would sweep all the debris off of the platforms into a trough that ran the length of the floor.

Being alone in the mill was creepy.  The railroad tracks weren’t far, and I just knew that I was going to get killed by a hobo.  It would probably be a hobo with a wooden leg, and he’d kill me with saw, or an axe, or a splitting maul, or some other lumber related tool.  He would be angry about losing his leg in a mill accident and there would be a tense chase through out the mill.  One of those chases where even though I was running, the dude with the peg leg was always right behind me.  It took about two to three hours to sweep the whole mill and shovel everything into the trough, all while looking over my shoulder every five seconds.  When I finished, I had to turn on the industrial strength chipper/blower.  The whole trough would vibrate to move the sawdust into that and it would get blown out through a big opening in the wall and onto a huge pile outside the mill.  This process was super loud, so it would have been a perfect time for the peg legged hobo with a saw to attack.  I obviously had to be ready for this attack, so I usually took up a defensive position with something I could use to fend off the maniac that I was sure was probably waiting for this exact moment.  Every time I completed this process and turned off the machine, I silently congratulated myself.  He saw that I was ready for him, and decided that I would mess him up with that push broom.

The absolute worst part of each night was going into the electrical room and turning off the lights, and then running through the darkened building to the main door and my car.  Then I would do it all over again the next night.  My vigilance paid off, and the maniac never attacked, because he could tell that I was always ready of course.  Unfortunately, after a semester in Frostburg, I could no longer afford to stay there, so I moved on.  I just hope that the next guy who cleaned the mill was as careful as me.

Does it make me a bad person that I don’t find Winnie the Pooh as charming as everyone else seems to?  I know he’s cute and all, but he’s basically just a slacker. I’m not that fond of Paddington either. When it comes down to it, my favorite tv bears are Smoky and the grizzlies who eventually ate the guy who was living with them in Alaska. Smoky, now there’s a motivated bear. He has a job other than looking for honey, and he’s pretty good at it. As far as the grizzlies go. Timothy Treadwell lived with those bears on and off for 13 years. My best guess as to why they eventually chose to eat him goes something like this. One Sunday during football season Tim decides to introduce his bear buddies to the NFL. So, he brings a portable television to his camp and they all sit down with nachos and assorted bear snacks. Tim says, “Hey guys, let’s watch the Chicago Bears game.” They begin to watch the game and the grizzlies become irate that humans have chosen Jay Cutler to quarterback the team that is named after them. They take out all their frustrations on Tim. And that was all she wrote.

 

Other observation of the week. Pedestrians who cross the road in front of you and choose to walk diagonally, therefore taking as long a time possible to make the crossing, are jerks

Links

• Because it’s not too late to make a resolution.  Click on the IDEAS tab when you get there.
•  It’s really not too late.  And it doesn’t have to bankrupt you
•  I know some of you enjoy the cold.  (You strange people)  If you’ve got kids, this is way less frustrating than teaching them to snowboard.
•  Ok.  So, since I’m a dad, my movie viewing is usually limited to animated features.  If I try to watch a full movie after the little buggers go to bed, I just fall asleep in the middle of it.  I finally got to see Walter Mitty.  I know it has like 50% on Rotten Tomatoes. Forget that, this is a good movie.  The web site for it is cool too.  On the sidebar they have inspirational stories collected from different people.  (Admittedly, some more inspirational than others)

 

 

Ok, so here is my plan for domination of the internet. I have always had an interest in politics. While I would never want to run for office myself, there is a lot to learn from this world. The first thing, never trust anyone else with your money. The second thing, you can scare or guilt people into doing anything.

So, I am going to scare and guilt people into reading my blog. Yes, and you, my three readers can help. Since I don’t want to argue politics here, because I already know I’m right anyway, I have the advantage of being able to use both political playbooks.

Here we go. Tell your hippie friends that this blog is completely GMO free and emits virtually no carbon footprint. By getting really close to the screen they should be able to smell the patchouli oil. In fact, if they read this once a week, they will actually save one acre of rainforest. If they don’t read, I will personally chop down one tree. Tell your NRA friends that if they don’t read this, SWAT teams will descend on their residences in the wee hours of the morning to take away their assault weapons, handguns, shotguns, bb guns, cap guns and squirt guns. However, if they do read, someday, they may all be able to legally purchase shoulder held rocket launchers. Tell your grandparents and other elderly people that you may know, that if they don’t read this, the government is going to take away their Social Security and Medicare, and CBS will cancel The Price is Right. They will also all be forced to use complicated cell phones and more than one tv remote. But if they do read at least once a week, free hard candies for everyone. Tell all your Republican friends that if they read, I will personally help them reach out to Democrats to convince them that they aren’t racist, selfish, homophobes, who want to kill every remaining endangered species. If they don’t read, no Keystone XL pipeline, and,,,,,,,,President Hillary. Tell your Democrat friends that if they read, no one will ever be able to buy a Super Double Big Gulp ever again, all weapons will be confiscated, and Al Gore will be declared the winner of the 2000 Presidential election. If they don’t read,,,,, I will reveal to everyone that Republicans aren’t actually racist, homophobic, nature haters, and,,,,,,,President Ted Cruz.

I think that covers a broad enough group of people for now. I’m sure I can think of more. Remember, this is a grass roots campaign. I may try to rustle up some campaign buttons and maybe a t-shirt or two. Meanwhile, keep reading, you are saving the planet, stopping forest fires, and bringing about peace on earth one word at a time.

When my oldest son was three or four years old we took a trip to Ohiopyle State Park in western Pennsylvania. My parents came along, and the five of us were going to camp out, visit Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater house, and generally explore. I had another reason for going there. I had read about the natural waterslide in Meadow Run where it flows into the Youghiogheny River. To me, that was irresistible. Our first day at the park, we set up camp and headed down to Meadow Run. We parked the van and walked down to the slide. Slide is probably an overstatement. It is really one long channel cut through the bedrock that the water flows over. On this particular day the water was really ripping. It had been raining the day before and the current looked too powerful to risk it. So, we all went down below to where the water was calmer, threw a life jacket on Cullen, and swam for about an hour. When we were ready to head back to camp, we hiked back past the slide, and I saw them. Some local kids were going down the slide. I didn’t think that anyone was going to do it, but now that these kids were doing it, I was game. Walking up next the rushing water with a grin on my face, I handed my shirt to my wife and stepped in. I sat down in the water and scooted my posterior into the main channel of flowing water. What happened next is what I would describe as the most fun you will have while trying not to drown. The rushing water took me about the length of a football field in about ten seconds and spit me out into a pool of slightly slower flowing water. I swam to the edge so I wouldn’t get pushed over the rocks at the other end of the pool. My first thought was, we need to get this on video. Everyone was ready to go back to camp anyway, and that’s where the camera was, so I convinced my wife that we needed to get the camera and come back. When we got back, I enthusiastically hopped back in the water and survived another trip down the slide, all captured on glorious video. When I got out of the water, I quickly realized that something was missing. Now, cold water causes things to shrink.  My wedding ring was gone. I was excited and bummed at the same time. When I got back to where my wife was standing with the camera, I said, “Did you get it on video?”

Moral of the story. If you want your wife to talk to you again on a day like this, don’t lead with, “Did you get it on video?”

 

A lifetime or so ago, I was an EMT. Besides working for an ambulance transport company, I ran with the local rescue squad. Since I didn’t know the area that well, my job was usually to ride in the back with the patient and do the paperwork. The other part of the job when you are riding in the back, is using the radio to call the emergency room to let them know you were inbound and to give them a general idea of what to expect when you got there. I was never good at this. Not knowing what to say, I would tend to ramble. “Squad so and so is inbound to blah blah hospital with an eighteen year old male, complaining of nausea and loss of motor skill. Patient appears to have been drinking alcohol. He is wearing blue sneakers, has a cat named Ezra, and a tattoo of what looks like a goat on his right bicep. Although if you look at it in a setting with softer lighting, it could also look like Lyle Lovett. Anyways, our ETA is, I don’t know, let me look out the window, hmmmm, okay, I’m gonna say about five minutes.”

One particular night my partner decided that he was tired of driving. He wanted to sit in the back and treat the patients. I was okay with this because driving an ambulance with lights and sirens blaring is fun. In fact, it’s probably something everyone should get a chance to do. Around eleven or so that night we got a call to a cardiac emergency. I had no problems navigating to the right location, and I knew which hospital we would be going to, I didn’t think I would have any problems getting there either. We met the paramedics on the scene and got the patient into the ambulance. In this instance the paramedic was going to ride in the back with my partner and the patient. I was feeling good. We were on our way. My lights were flashing as I sped down the main drag toward the hospital. I looked in the rearview and wondered why the other paramedic was following at such a long distance, but didn’t think anything of it. We were approaching a major intersection. Time for the siren, full speed ahead, let’s rock. Okay, Like I said, I didn’t drive much. This intersection had a large hump in the middle. When we hit that thing, I think the back of the ambulance may have actually come off of the ground. “Sorry about that,” I yelled into the back. The rest of the trip was uneventful. I didn’t realize how it felt to everyone in the back until after we dropped the patient off. My partner proceeded to tell me, while he laughed, that I had knocked the paramedic off of the seat and I had almost scared the poor heart patient to death as she slid halfway down the stretcher. Then the medic came out of the E.R. and said, “you know, they teach a class on driving and you should probably take it.” I smiled. She looked at me with her best unhappy face. “No… I’m serious.”

Okay, so now I have a blog.  I would like to welcome the three of you who are reading  this on purpose, and the one person who ended up here accidentally.

Henry David Thoreau said that “the masses of men lead lives of quiet desperation.”  Thoreau was one of my heroes.  The guy spent a year in the woods just to “suck the marrow out of life.”  I believed that he was probably right about the desperation thing, so, goal number one, don’t be in that quiet desperation group.

While I was growing up, the people I most enjoyed meeting, were the people that had the best stories.  Most of the time they had great stories because they chose to live life on their own terms.  They didn’t follow any blueprint.  Now these weren’t necessarily the most successful people you would ever meet, the most educated, or even the most, shall we say, upstanding citizens.  The problem that a lot of them had was that eventually their story would reach a point where things went downhill.  It would end with a “and then we stole a car” or “and then we lit it on fire”.  Don’t get me wrong, that still made for a really interesting story, but it also made for possible jail time.  So, goal number two, have a story.  (and avoid jail time)

Robert Frost said that taking the road less traveled “made all the difference.”  I believed that he was right too.  So thanks to Thoreau, Robert Frost, and in no small part, Patrick Swayze in Point Break, I took the three different college, no degree, EMT school, and technical school road.  And it made all the difference, mostly in salary.  But I did end up with good stories and unique experiences, and that’s really the point, isn’t it? I made some good choices along the way, the best one being marrying my wife.  I made some bad ones too.  The worst was going to see a Christian Slater movie called Hard Rain.  I mean, it really felt like Christian Slater personally stole an hour and a half of my life, and then my wife stole another half hour of it by telling me in no uncertain terms that going to that movie was not her idea.

Anyway, in this blog I’d like to share my own stories (and some other assorted nonsense) with the three of you who meant to be here, and possibly that fourth guy if he’s still around.  So, if you enjoy, tell a friend, and maybe in a month or two I will have upwards of twelve readers, and then we’ll really be rolling.