Lest we forget Earl was once a pro-skater.

I once heard you should ask yourself a hypothetical question to figure out what you should do with your life. That question of course is “if I won the lottery what would I do with my time on earth?”

I walked past a book at Barnes and Noble yesterday called “1001 Things To Do Before You Die.” I thought to myself how cool it would be to win the lottery and just walk into a bookstore pull that sucker off the shelf and then go about checking the items off one at a time. So I guess that answers my question. I would travel like a bastard if I won the lottery. When home I would probably lounge around take up smoking again and eat myself to 800-900 Lbs. Then I would end up having a fork-lift carry me out to an obesity center where I would get gastric bypass lose the weight and become so inspired by my new life I would become a motivational speaker.

Somewhere in my nights wedged between Tony Robbins and that Subway Jared guy, I’d sit hunched over my laptop and write the greatest work of fiction ever to grace the printed page. I’d become one of the few writers with the charismatic natural charm to end up doing the talk show circuit. I’d use my new found fame to bankroll a feature musical about pirates loosely based on the book “Watership Down” with songs reworking the best sad bastard indie rock of the last 3 decades into catchy musical numbers.

Then I would take a year off to get my legs broken and slowly stretched a millimeter at a time until I’m 6’4” and finally able to see a concert without having to hop up and down. I would then co produce a reality TV show were contestants compete to be the new lead singer of “The Greatful Dead.” I’d buy a Hummer and convert it to run on fry grease and tour with the new Dead spreading the message about renewable resources. Plus I’d be tall and have a huge car and no one would ever pick on me again.


That’s what I would do if I win the lottery.

Sometimes I feel like a foreign exchange student in the South. I can live and function here, but I will never be assimilated. Yesterday was one of those days. People who have never been to Florida or have never spent much time here do not realize that it is in the south. Yes look at a map and trust me when I tell you this is the south.


So travelers I will give you a rule of thumb. The further away from the interstate and the ocean you venture, the less likely this place looks like a postcard. I had one such adventure yesterday when I went to visit my father. I have been putting off seeing him because he lives in Ocala. It is pretty much as far away from the ocean as you can get and still be in Florida. I was way out of my comfort zone.

A long time ago my Dad and I came to an understanding. I’ve owned a few pick up trucks and gone on a few fishing trips, but beyond that I must be a huge disappointment to a father who sounds like Foghorn Leghorn. I remember spending hours shooting tin cans while he went hunting because I absolutely refused to shoot at a living thing. I remember how my father (and my step-father) would take other kids under their wing because they showed the slightest interest in football, car repair or gun shows.

My few attempts to really enjoy bonding time ended in me leaning over the side of a boat vomiting or worse yet being completely ignored. I didn’t understand the men in my life and they didn’t understand me. Now flash forward a few years. I’m probably the only guy who learned the rules of football from his girlfriend when he was 30. Everyone around me knows I know squat about import or domestic beers and field scrimmages.

So yesterday my Dad wanted to introduce me to his friends. We went over to their house twice and both times he wanted to drive. Eventually I caught on he was ashamed of my compact car. Yes to the average neck, I look like I drive Mr. Bean’s car. That is if the average neck ever watched PBS. I knew within minutes of arriving that I wasn’t going to fit in with these folks. Their many dogs were very friendly and one in particular kept bringing me a stick to throw.

I tossed that stick with all my might 3 times and by my final attempt the lady of the house made the astute observation that I “didn’t play much baseball.” It didn’t take long for Dad to realize I wasn’t going to win his friends over. I don’t drink or smoke and I’ve even recently given up caffeine. I drive a sub-compact car and probably know more about “Avenue Q” than the Pittsburgh Steelers. I take a couple of showers a day and go nowhere without hand sanitizer.

So perhaps my dad realized it was a lost cause, because he asked to borrow some scissors from his friends so I could cut his hair. Thank God I’m engaged to a woman, because between being the family hair dresser, lacking any knowledge of sports or catalytic converters and working in an office, I wasn’t making any friends here.

So after I gave Dad a very snazzy haircut (which he promptly covered with a trucker hat)I got back on the road and made my way back to big city. As I navigated the back country roads I was careful to not go 1 mile over the speed limit and summon the wrath of the infamous “Redneck Sheriff” we see in every Hollywood stereotype. As the miles ticked by I couldn’t help but wonder if there wasn’t a nice Jewish family somewhere in Queens with a 30 year old son who has an inexplicable love of NASCAR and country music. Perhaps there is also a stork somewhere trying to live down his career ending delivery some 30 years ago.

I’ve never really stuck to any formula about what I blog about. These days blogs are like a$$holes and everybody has got one. So if you read this I’ll assume you have at least a cursory interest in what goes on in my head. On that subject, I had several weird dreams last night. I figure this is probably due to giving up caffeine since I’ve been sleeping actual REM sleep the last couple of nights. By day I have a massive withdrawal headache, but at night I visit a world I had not seen (or at least recalled) in quite some time.


The first and most disturbing was one in which I was at my prior job. I worked in a high school and it was an absolute nightmare. So my duty this day was to take a bus on a visit to an art gallery. Once on the bus I realized it was full of history’s worst criminals. All the who's who of serial killing was on that bus. Then we broke down. It was absolute chaos because the criminals got loose. I remember one of the guys saying “there’s a pig farm!” and they all ran for it. I asked the bus driver what that was about and he said that slaughtering pigs most closely resembles killing humans. The feel of the flesh was what did it for them. Of course they knew if they killed a person they would be in even more trouble, so they killed the pigs for sport.

I was horrified by the whole thing and figured my best bet was to head in the opposite direction of the serial killers. So I walked on to the museum. When I got there they had small versions of famous artwork and everyone was given tracing paper and encouraged to copy what was one the wall. I looked over at a Van Gough piece and Ellen Degenerous was tracing over it. Then I woke up.

I did mange to get back to sleep and this time it was even weirder. In the next dream, there was a rash of home invasions and the way these criminals entered your home was what was screwy about it. They would come to your door with two small babies. Each guy held one and had a machine gun to the child’s head. Then they would demand you open the door or the baby dies. The assumption was just about anyone would want to save the babies. Then they came to my door and instead of opening the door, I ran out to my utility room on the back porch and called the cops. I’m keeping the Freudian eye off that one.

It seems like just yesterday I was all cranky pants about turning 30 and in a few weeks, I’ll be 31 already.

I could do the head scratch thing and wonder where the year went. I managed to squeeze a lot in, like trying a new job for a few months and getting engaged. At year’s end though, I’m pretty much where I left off my 20s.

I suppose what is so hard to accept is that this is it. This is my life. I get exactly one shot at it and I’ve already lost 30 of my years. That is scary. I can hardly imagine what a mid-life crisis is but it will no doubt be this times 1,000

I guess I need to make a “to do” list for my 31st year. I’m vowing to get it together before Peter Sarsguard, Wanda Sykes and that cute girl from “wedding Crashers” who is dating Borat and I call it another year. Yes, I celebrity birthday name drop. What of it?

So by March if I haven’t put up some kind of goal list, remind me. Be my conscience. Tap me on the shoulder and say “dude, what about your list.” I need a game plan before I look back in regret.

It occurred to me today that adulthood kind of sucks. I mean when I was a kid I had chores and responsibilities, but they were not the bulk of my existence. It seems now-a-days all I do is take out the trash, pay an electric bill, go to work and repeat. I thought I’d have enough money and freedom as an adult to really live life and travel and do cool things. I don’t have 2 nickels to rub together at month’s end and I’m certainly too old to go put a backpacking journey through Europe on my Visa.

Thoreau said it best when he wrote “most men lead lives of quiet desperation.” It’s true. We are the most connected and communicated generation in history, yet I’m gathering many of us have never felt so alone. We’re promised if we are rich enough or thin enough or have perfect teeth we’ll finally be happy. The problem is the minute you chase down and catch one of these beautiful butterflies, it dies in your mason jar and you’re right back up looking for the next distraction.

Personally I’ve been trying to focus on the positive lately. Hence less bloging. This becomes my sounding board for universal truths and things that make me go hmmm. So maybe this thing we call our lives is like a treadmill. We run like hell and in the end don’t really end up seeing much. I guess I’d rather be one of those folks that jogs outside and gets some scenery on the journey. Better yet I’ll just walk and take the whole thing in slowly. Hopefully that will make the journey longer.

I have to admit I watched a Lifetime movie. Worse yet
I liked it and it didn’t even star Judith Light.

In terms of socially profound film making “Fat Like
Me” wasn’t earth shadowing.

It did, however, scratch the surface of what it is
like to be an overweight kid. At a time in life when
how you look and more importantly what your peers
think about how you look, being a fat teenager is
devastating.

Luckily I thinned out a little around 16, but boy I
could tell you stories about junior high. I guess I
liked this short little exercise in subterfuge most
because I’ve been in the fat suit. The very real fat
suit more than a few kids are surrounded with these
days.

The film touched on a lot of issues for both the
overweight and those so quick to judge them. So if you
happen to see it repeated and you or someone you love
could stand to lose a few, give the movie a shot. It
did a pretty good job explaining what it feels like to
live in a world where everyone judges you. Aside from
smokers, fat people are the only other group where
there is absolutely no stigma in judging and harassing
them.


Maybe in a world where obesity is becoming the norm
some people could use a reminder every now and then
about what they are doing to themselves. The truth is
dirty looks and judgmental comments will do nothing to
curb the obesity epidemic. In fact it may very well
fuel it. Then imagine waking up tomorrow in a world
where no one had any qualms about openly and vocally
judging you despite the fact they know nothing about
you other than your superficial surface.

Thus is the life of the fat person of any age.

If I have a daughter, I’m naming her Dorothy and we’re moving to Kansas. I’m just that kind of a$$hole.

Maybe I’m paranoid, but two major cities have suspicious things going on today.

First there is Austin.

Then New York.


It seems I too have bought into the fear hype. These days I get so easily shaken. I’m pretty level headed and rational. Imagine what conspiracy theorists are thinking.

Oil prices have dropped.
Ironically the oil prices that keep your Hummer on the road are the result of…your Hummer.

Scientists say this will be the warmest year on record. Ask a New Englander because it is 65 in the Northeast this weekend. Those are Florida temps. Heck, we’re usually colder than that in the beginning of January. At the same time the middle of the country is getting dumped with snow.

I don’t know that Greenhouse Gasses are solely to blame. It is an El Nino year which makes us wet and warm on the East side. We are also in the midst of a polar shift. Google it. It happens periodically and maybe it is Mother Earth’s way of shaking to the Etch-A-Sketch.

So warm winters mean less natural gas demand which keeps oil prices down. Thus continuing the cycle. I won’t get into the argument about what exactly brought this on, but millions of Tahoe’s puffing exhaust at the sky probably isn’t helping.

Just about the time I make up my mind New York is the armpit of America, this guy decides to turn my narrow-minded view upside down. What a selfless act and an amazing human being to think so quickly and focus so much on helping a stranger.

Cold weather makes for colder receptions.

So it seems.

It is always good to get out of the south. Maybe I appreciate it more or maybe I appreciate it less when I leave.

I can attest to the fact bad fashion is not limited to my congressional district. I saw a lovely middle age woman walking around in hooker boots and a mini-skirt at JFK on New Year’s Eve. Sure it hasn’t snowed much this year, but its still in the low 30s.

Aside from that, I notice a general lack of warmness in the handful of hours I spent at the airport. Granted, it is an air port, but it was also the most celebratory day of the year. I tried not to let it get me down, but when we sat for 15 minutes at a restaurant without getting served and some guy yelled at me for not moving the line fast enough at the fast food pizza joint I settled on for my last meal of 2006, I remembered why I don’t (heart) New York.

Sure I can think of a few current and former New Yorkers that I know and love. There down right wonderful people after you crack their hard shells. I guess as I people watched on a bench in the final hours of 2006 I realized why the city makes you hard. Nearly everyone was rude, loud and obnoxious. One guy stood a few feet away screaming into his cell phone “yeah, yeah, and yeah” so many times I though he might be Puff Daddy “rapping.” Maybe looking like a white yuppie is in this season.

If I had to deal with the dirty toilets (where you can find one) the bad attitudes and the overly loud and obnoxious conversations I eavesdropped every day, I’d be pretty hard too. I guess what I’m saying is New York may be the epicenter of western culture, but it isn’t for me. I’ll catch up with yous guys when you move down here and head the condo association.