Wheels

People say I'm crazy, doing what I'm doing.
Well they give me all kinds of warnings, to save me from ruin.
When I say that I'm O.K., they look at me kind of strange.
Surely you're not happy now, you no longer play the game.

People say I'm lazy, dreaming my life away.
Well they give me all kinds of advice, designed to enlighten me.
When I tell them that I'm doing fine, watching shadows on the wall.
Don't you miss the big time boy, you're no longer on the ball?

I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go 'round and 'round.
I really love to watch them roll.
No longer riding on the merry-go-round.
I just had to let it go.

People asking questions, lost in confusion.
Well I tell them there's no problem, only solutions.
Well they shake their heads and look at me as if I've lost my mind
I tell them there's no hurry...I'm just sitting here doing time.

I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go 'round and 'round.
I really love to watch them roll.
No longer riding on the merry-go-round.
I just had to let it go.

-John Lennon

Can you 'imagine' how many absolutely amazing songs were still left to be written by John Lennon were he not shot by Mark David Chapman in 1980? I mean, the guy was 40 years old. I'm three years older than that today. I also wonder, had Lennon not been killed, if The Beatles would have ever gotten back together and if they HAD, if it would have been a big mistake.


Blows my mind. The way human beings treat each other. Kill each other. Over stupid petty shit. For the worst reasons. We are sometimes a despicable species. I just hate it. Captain Douche up there was back up for parole again last month. Denied. Of course. Why do we bother to go through the motions? With him or guys like Manson? They are never going to get out, we KNOW that. Why spend the money on the song and dance?

Did you know Lennon had connection issues with his son Julian from his first marriage? Did you know he had his own father issues, not seeing his father for twenty years from the age of five onward? Did you know he had a problem with drugs and alcohol (duh)? Did you know he struggled with domestic violence, with hitting the women he was with?

While the McCartney/Lennon debate will rage forever on and on, in my own head as well, he is remembered for the most part as the greatest member of The Beatles, the champion of peace and ending the Vietnam War, and certainly the best regular guest ever on The Mike Douglas Show.


Yet he was (and would admit as much himself in interviews) such a flawed human being who was just BEGINNING his own journey of self-actualization, healing and discovery.

What if he'd been allowed to actually complete his journey? How far might he have gone? How much damage could he have repaired with Julian? How much could he have spread his message of peace not only externally but internally? How much more bad Yoko Ono music would he have helped put out? (OK, can you blame me, I had to at least toss that out there).


But as much as you have to credit Yoko for cracking The Beatles unity and ultimately breaking up the greatest band in the history of music, you have to credit her for helping to heal John Lennon the individual.

Something to consider.

Remember the famous Annie Annie Leibovitz photo used for the cover of Rolling Stone? That actually has some meaning. Lennon was naked to her...exposed for the first time to someone. That's very difficult for people who spawn from troubled backgrounds to do. He needed her more than he needed The Beatles to transform from John Lennon/Rock God to John Lennon/Man. And he wanted to be Man more than God.


Sometimes the needs of the One outweigh the needs of the Many. Remember that.

I dunno...was just feeling that song in a big way this morning and I don't have the first clue about the reason. And since it be illegal to load it up here as an MP3 (at least, I think it be) I just pasted the lyrics.

A little nervous today. My Topamax dose doubles up, as scheduled, if I decide to go through with it. I'm a bit jittery about it though. Dunno why.

OUT

Holy Mother

It's been a long time since I have been inside a Catholic church to contemplate Life. Been inside others, for other reasons, but not a Big 'C' in quite a while. But man are they hauntingly gorgeous. Beautifully terrifying. So much New and Old Testament orchestrated simultaneously. Claire's post about it really captures the mood of it, for any of you non-Catholics out there.

I wonder how I would feel were I to enter one today.

I'd feel like shit.

For no other reason than I just feel like that today anyway.

What's in there?

Only what you take with you.


It's been dreary, cloudy and rainy for two days and I miss my Mother, plain and simple.

She left yesterday morning and I am only now able to write about it. And I had a difficult morning with Bennett, he just flipped out on me during breakfast and I couldn't figure out why and I...well, I was more fragile than usual and I didn't lose it or anything I just spent the morning with as wet a face as his was.

My Mom's visit was great, don't get me wrong, maybe one of the best we've had in years, though far too short. And not just because she bought me HALO: Reach. But the real meat of the why I am saving for another time, and for another much longer, much more intricate series of blogs which I have given her 'power of first edit' on.


The main problem with why I am feeling bad is that she just lives too far away, I hate it, and when she leaves it always takes me a day or two to get used to the idea of not seeing her again for a long time.

What is worse is that now, sometimes, I have to sometimes walk down a dark path of wondering if this might be the last time I DO see her. And I hate that shit, because since we both are trying so hard not to cry when we say goodbye, we avoid eye contact, we rush the whole experience of the 'thanks for this's' and the 'thanks for that's' and the 'talk to y'all's laters' and then after the car pulls away and I am alone, since by then Jen and the kids are usually gone.

Anyway, it sucks. And I miss her.


The kids love it when she is here, and I took TERRIBLE photos, I was too busy just watching in awe as she worked her Gramma Mojo on them that I didn't take good ones when I had the chance and when I did have the chance I was off my game and I tanked the shots. Of them together I mean. I got some decent ones over the weekend of Bennett and Carter separately, but none of my Mom and the boys or Jen and the boys, and certainly none of Jen or my Mom that they would sanction.

But the photos in my head? They are some priceless shit.


She has always had a great rapport with Carter. But she hasn't seen a lot of Bennett and when she has seen him he's had the seizure problems, the surgery recovery and all that shit. Bennett made a connection with her that I have never seen him make so QUICKLY with another human being other than his own Mother. It was very, very heart-warming. And I could see how hard it was for my Mother to let him go this time. I felt as bad for her as I did for myself.

I also found myself wondering if Bennett was even aware if she was gone later that day, and that thought, the idea that he was oblivious to her absence considering how much he loved it when she was here...that really bothers me.

And it bothers me that it bothers me, because I can't figure out why it should bother me.


Anyway, I'm fried.

OUT.

A Boy's Best Friend is His Mother

And mine is here, visiting for a long weekend, which started early yesterday. Thus the lack of blogging and lack of perusal of the bloggage of the usual crew. Far be it from me to ignore Mother in favor of all of you readers. Especially this year, since I will have only seen her once the entire year. That's far too little.

So far, a great visit. She and Bennett are bonding well, and Carter always loves spending time with her. The two of us have had some interesting, wonderful and wall-breaking talks (a part of my 'Operation Re-Lillification' thingie), a few of which she has even given me permission to write about, which is great. You know me...I get jazzed about tantalizing fodder for the noggin and the bloggin'.

Anyway, time to watch a DVD with the family.

And oh yeah...these still scare the brown stuff right outta me.


OUT

What Scares the Brown Stuff Right Outta You?

OK, I know the stuff that scares most of us SN Parents, about our kids...that kind of thing I truly understand. And this question has nothing to do with those fears. In fact, should someone ever ask you a question about what frightens you the most the 'go-to' response of ANY parent should be regarding their kids.

If not you flunk Parenting 101.

But aside from that, and family and friends and junk, I'm talking primal, piss-your-pants type FEAR. We all have a few. Some of us have fears that are so paralyzing that they absolutely, positively affect our behavior. For example. I have a tremendous fear of these creatures that all need to be hunted down and killed.


Is that not the scariest image on the planet or what? DAMN it creeps me out just looking at that thing. What is most disturbing about the image is how calm the water is around the shark. Usually you see photos of sharks and they are exploding out of water at something.

This one is more...I dunno...beckoning. Like...c'mon in. Hey it's cool man. I won't bite. Much.

I FUCKING HATE SHARKS.

I am scared to death of them. And yet? They fascinate me as much as they scare the shit right outta me. However, I will not enter their domain. And I sure as shit will never allow my kids to. Regrettable. But hey, that's why they call it FEAR. They never said it was rational.


How about you? You got any poopy pants generating fears you want to share? Let's hear 'em.

TOTALLY UN-RELATED NUGGET OF CHEWY GOODNESS:
Oh and by the way...as of now, this week, it's safe to announce that Bennett is back to saying, with REGULARITY...'DAH-DEEE'. Two DISTINCTLY different syllables strung together, said in the same order, and often in DIRECT REFERENCE to yours truly. He even said 'CRAH-KUH' for the first time a couple of days ago, in reference to, you guessed it, a salty, crunchy treat.

It ain't Shakespeare, but Hell yes I'll take it. I'm working on trying to get him on digital video when he is being particularly chatty. Cause he still has the screaming fits too. But I've been researching ways to try to minimize that and have been stratemegizing. Will keep you posted.

The times they are a'changin'. :)

OUT.

Remembering Meighan

Last year, around this time, we were still kind of reeling from the surgical recovery. We were quite literally wiped out, emotionally, physically, so I did not have the energy to post last September 21, the 20th anniversary of the death of my friend Meighan Grassey. I remember thinking about how much I wanted to, and I wrote a blog about having lots I wanted to write about but no energy to write it, as I was very down on 09-22 of last year.

But I always think about her this time of year, easy enough to do because of the impact she had in my life, the fact that she died two days after my birthday, and the circumstances surrounding her death, via heart problems, at SUCH a young age.

Death for anyone sucks, don't get me wrong, I hate it. We all do.

But death of someone close to you in your life who is young is somehow extra difficult.

Not sure why.

Meighan and I did not attend the same high school, we met through the Youth Group I joined at St. Margaret's, the Catholic church I began to attend, and joined, by choice, as a teenager.

I'll pause for a moment and let that sink in to those who read this blog but haven't known me all my life.


Yes you read that correctly...I am a card-carrying Catholic, by choice, and Meighan and even a few readers of this blog attended the ceremony where I was baptized and joined the Catholic religion.

They were there for one of those few moments where I actually felt the 'touch' (I have a very weird blog planned about that down the road). Shame that they have to bear witness to this massive fall from Grace I have experienced as I have turned my back on Faith and God and rejected our relationship.

Again...another blog. Another time.

Anyway...I have this journal, entirely hand-written, I used to keep. I've been a 'writer' a long time. Thing is HUGE. Major sections about Meighan throughout the high school years and early collegiate era. A lot of stuff about the summer of 1989, and the problems she was having leading up to her death.

I wish I had the ability to transcribe all of that into digital text, but I don't have the time to get it all into Word, but its fascinating reading. Hell, now that I think about it, I guess I have been 'blogging' all my adult life, I just decided at one point to take it public.


A lot of folks whose lives were touched by Meighan I was hoping to see later this year at my 25th High School Reunion which I was actually planning to go to, but circumstances aren't going to allow it this year. I think instead, in typical Lilly fashion, sometime next year I will slither into Baltimore Ninja-Style and surprise some of those people and hang out with them and reminisce and chit-chat.


Might be fun. Especially Kutcher. I miss that sumbitch sometimes. That's why I like things like Facebook. At least I feel like I can still get a peek into some of these folks lives even though I live so far away.

Anyway, Meighan, if there is a Heaven, and I'm 3,000% sure you are there if there is one, and I expect that you are one of its premier members too, and if they have laptops in that place (which they should, I mean, I assume God would have an Amercian Express Centurion Card), then perhaps you'll be using one at a local coffee shop, sipping a latte with Eddie Wires, listening to John Lennon who is playing a solo guitar set in the background, and checking this out and smiling.

At least I hope so...

OUT.

43

An ordinary number, when you get right down to it, but I turned that (43, not ordinary) yesterday. To those of you who read this blog and who also do the Facebook thing and sent Birthday well-wishes, thank you. To the Baltimore Ravens, thanks for nothing. No scratch that. Thanks for pissing all over what was, aside from watching you embarrass yourselves, a perfectly fine Sunday afternoon.

You know me, I am never one to just sit on my ass and let an opportunity pass me by to look for meaning in things, so I did a little thinking and digging to find out what, if any, significance the number 43 might ACTUALLY have to me.

Ironically it is the number of Pittsburgh Steelers Strong Safety Troy Polamalu, who happened to be the one and only player that the company I worked for in 2009 was able to release a resin mini-bust of. I was laid off before any of the others were released. Not sure if any more came out this year or not, but I don't think they did.


You know Polamalu is the ONE Steeler I actually root for to do well? Not AGAINST the Ravens mind you, but when I see the Steelers play another team, I always like seeing Polamalu play well on the field. And I am a Steeler hater. And I mean HATER.

But I love that guy. He is one of the nicest, most genuine people you'd ever imagine. I mean, I don't know him personally, I'm talking about what I read about him and what I have heard about him and seen him say in interviews and stuff. Devoted family man, deeply spiritual, intelligent, and he happens to hit like a freight train.

On one website some Numerologist or self-proclaimed 'Sage' or something attributes the number 43 to mean DESIRE. Now, I'm pretty gelatinous in the middle, and I have no hair anymore, but nice to know I might still appeal to the ladies. But then...would you trust any information from a website written by a guy that looked like this?


And then there's the religous angle...from one website which was super fascinating to read. Here's a part of it.

'If forty is the number of trial and testing, then forty-three is that plus the divine perfection represented by the number three. Thus forty-three would represent trial and testing with some divine goal in mind. If forty represents a time of testing then forty three represents a time of trial towards some goal such as spiritual growth or some other aspect of Gods plan for us.'

I KNEW something good was headed my way. So 43 is to be my year of Trial and Testing. So...whaddya call the LAST forty-two fuckin' years? Summer vacation?

Is it me, or was the way that paragraph was written sound a little Holy Hand Grenadish?


My point is, 43 is just a number, it means nothing. I don't feel any differently today than I did yesterday or the day before that. It's just another day on the overall journey of this crazy ride, and it's a hell of an excuse to eat lots of DEE-licious cake and other naughty treats.

So all in all, not a bad day really, except for that FREAKIN' football game.

The real bummer of the late-last-week/weekend was Bennett getting sick. The kind of sick where ya got it comin' out both ends sick. Yuck. Not that I care about the clean-up part. I mean I care, but I care more about how bad he feels but I cared even more because he missed out on something cool we had planned for him for Saturday.

So you know Bennett has this Autism thing, yeah? He gets a little freaky sometimes in crowds, sometimes he loses it a bit, and taking him out into groups of what I am now calling the Norms is tough. I hate that about myself too. I should be better than that. But that's a topic for another blog.


Anyway, this pumpkin farm near here had a special time set aside on Saturday morning for kids with Special Needs, and we couldn't take Bennett because he was sick. MAJOR bummer. They let the kids in for free, let them ride stuff for free (cause lots of times they have to stop hay rides and stuff half way to let kids off who get scared and stuff) and they cater the morning especially for these kids who often get held back by their parents who haven't yet figured out how to hang out yet with the Norms.

That was the big bummer of the weekend, not turning 43. I would have loved to have shot some pics of Bennett and Carter at the pumpkin farm, that would have been great. Maybe some other time.

OUT.

License to Parent

You know, in certain places in this country, you actually need a license to go fishing. That is correct. You have to apply for a license to be able to go put a slimy worm on a hook and toss it in the water and try to get some dumbass fish to chew on it long enough for you to get it out of the water long enough for you to eventually chew on it.

Damn...that's one nice-lookin' fish up there, ain't it?

You need a license to sell insurance, you need a license to get married, you need a license to drive a moped in some places, and obviously you need a license to drive a car. You need a license in some places to coach youth sports, you need a license to have a yard sale and you certainly need a license to practice medicine or teach.

Being a parent, having a child, is probably the single greatest responsibility a human being can ever and WILL ever have in their lifetime, unless maybe if you're the President or the lead Astronaut on our first manned flight to Mars or something with what's left of the human colonists in the back as we are forced to leave behind this beautiful planet Earth we horribly fucked up.


And the sad fact of the matter is that in any of these 50 states in this oh so wonderful Union, you do not have to pass any test, you do not have to discuss it with anyone, you can be any age and can be in any situation no matter what and under no circumstances are you required to have a license to have a child.

And I think there MIGHT be something wrong with that.

HOWEVER.

I do understand the that there is a danger there. It does get VERY close to a freedom line I am not sure I am comfortable crossing. I recognize we can't assume that just because you have a license means you know what you are doing. How many people kill each other with vehicles every single day? But can you imagine what the roads would be like if driver's licenses were NOT required?


I don't need to imagine, I've been to a place like that, in some areas deep inside Mainland China, where there were not only no licenses to drive required, but no traffic laws, no traffic signals, no EMS, no 'real' cops, but tons of cars (with no real functional safety features) and shitloads of human beings.

I have never been more scared for my own life.

Just something to think about...especially when I read about this kind of beyond belief bullshit.

OUT.

Dagger of the Mind

This article about converting brainwaves (thoughts) into actual words (speech) is worth taking a look at. Not just because of how scary it is as far as how its application could be so horribly abused in the wrong hands if the technology were ever perfected, but about how amazingly huge the leaps might be in the medical community with patients who, for whatever reason, have lost the ability to communicate via speech.

It also leads one to hope that if this is possible, it could open doors to other possible technological breakthroughs in understanding the brain. And you know me and the brain. We keep trying to understand one another.


The implications of this kind of technology are staggering to me. Not just as a parent of a child who I cannot communicate very well with at this time. Not just as a parent of a child who I wonder if I will EVER truly have a communicative rapport with. But as a member of the human community, it scares me as much as it titillates. Hee hee...titillates.

But a lot of the technology we explore does this. The LHC scares me. Nuclear bombs scare me. All the wireless shit flying through the air scares me. All the chemicals in the world scare me. Some of it I am sure makes our lives better while some of it I am sure is killing us or warping us in ways we won't recognize for years.

Yeah...one of these days when Cthulu is chewing on your kneecap you'll know what I'm talking about.


Anyway, read the article, and please...comment. I'm curious...do you think think we as a species are capable of being responsible enough to handle these leaps in technology we are making seemingly overnight?

OUT.

Some Nifty Hardware

Jen discovered some stuff, of which I was of course blissfully unaware (though I recently discovered how to add props to my Avatar in X-Box Live), regarding tools to help Bennett learn to eat. Even though they are made of the Evil of Man known as Plastic, they are very functionally designed for that extra push that kids that need a little help figuring out the whole spoon/fork thing require.



Now keep in mind. We started using this a week ago. He had no ability at all to feed himself with a fork and spoon without us having to load each spoonful or forkful, and of course the plate/bowl had to be constantly held down by a nearby parental unit. These place-mats suction to the surface of the table, the bowls suction to the cup on the placement. Pull the release, bowl come up, peel up place-mat, wash. The utensils have extra curvature to help keep the foods from spilling out. We tried it with Cheerios in milk and he actually did very well.

Frankly, this session (of which you saw but a small portion) I filmed was a C+ for him, I've seen him do way better than this. But I liked the fact that his 'tude was good and he did some sound mimicry which is also very good to see.


Anyway, focusing on the positives, not the negatives. Has he spent most of the rest of the evening screaming in some kind of state we can't figure out? Yeah. I do not know what he needs and he can't tell me. But I'll manage. I enjoyed the dinner, and I'll be screaming during Monday Night Football and he'll be the one who'll have to cope with that.

OUT.

Breakfast Epiphanies

Part III of Phase IV of Operation: Re-Lillification began this morning at approximately 8:17 AM. WTF?!? Phase IV? Of...of what? Who do you think you are Lilly? George Fuckin' Lucas? You've got the belly for it, that much we can see...and the plaid shirts, but face it baldy, you do NOT have the locks, and you haven't even told us about Phase I - III yet!!!

I KNOW you have no friggin' clue what I'm talking about and why should you? I haven't been able to complete and post the whole postponed '300th Post', the huge tome of 6000 plus words (and growing) that will, somehow (I hope, hope, hope...) explain why I went from occasionally posting over the summer about what a miserable life I have and how much I like to bitch about it compared to where I am at this moment in time, a place where I am being more optimistic, less bitchy and actually having plans within plans, schemes within schemes.

Much like a shark does. Hee hee.

I say that only because recently I was thinking that a lot of the plotting/planning I was doing regarding attacking the problems of my life and how to eradicate them might be similar to that of how a shark must think when assessing a possible target of prey in the water and how he/she might go about shredding it into bite-sized bits of tasty morsels.


The analogy was SO heavily etched into my mind that particular day that I changed my profile picture to reflect that thinking, and one of my Facebook pals, and reader of this blog and writer of her OWN, pointed out that in the photo 'He looks like he's plotting something...', which was, obviously, why I chose it.

So what is Operation: Re-Lillification? In a very brief nutshell, with much more to come later I assure you, it is my attempt to put the broken pieces of myself and my family back together again, and make some things that weren't even broken in the first place a little better in the process if I can.

Simple as that.

Phase IV, specifically, is all about Carter, my first born son.


I need to re-build some of the bridges back to him that I've allowed to disintegrate over these past many months, I need to let him know with unwavering certainty that I am his best friend and greatest resource, so I'm chipping away at the damage I've done by doing some little things, bit by bit. I'm nothing if not INTENSE about trying to plan and track and chart and progress, but I also know that I can't just smother the poor boy and that, like weight loss or exercise, the best results come from slow, progressive, repetitive change.

Part I was a Godzilla City we built together, Part II was a bow and arrow thing that is a LONG story and part II/A was something my wife tossed in unexpectedly, an evening of reading/bedtime stories, which turned out to be the best one of all. This morning was the initiation of Part III of my plan with him which simply involved making every Friday our day to have breakfast together, just him and me.

Instead of me making him breakfast here and Jen taking him and Bennett to their respective Day Care/School scenarios, I take Carter to breakfast out at a restaurant and then he gets to Day Care a little late. So he's a little late? BFD. I'll trade that for stronger familial foundations any day of the week,

Now...why couldn't I have just fucking said that in the very first paragraph and saved you all this other horseshit along the way? Cause that's what I DO. Haven't you figured that out by now?


It was, of course, kid's choice, which meant, of course, Mickey D's (yuck). He had Pancakes and Sausage. I had coffee. I must say. McDonald's coffee has improved TEN THOUSAND PERCENT since the last time I had some. Congratulations all ye descendants of Ray Kroc...only took you 70 years.

We didn't talk much. He was tired. I was tired. But I wasn't expecting anything out of Pulp Fiction. But we chit-chatted a bit. We chilled together, and it was exactly what I hoped it would be.

Just me.

Just him.

Together.

We did bump into Aunt Debbie and Uncle Larry. It is a very small town. Said hey.

Then I took him to Day Care, dropped him off, we gave each other big hugs, and that was that.

Until next Friday. And the next. And the next.

And that's how I'll be handling things with Carter from this point on. Trying to add new things into the mix as I can. I know he's felt left out. I know Bennett's situation has put tremendous strain on him, made him feel more alone, more isolated, less 'special'. I know I am not the most emotionally outgoing man on the planet, and not just to my kids, but to everyone I love. Will I always have to struggle? Yeah, unfortunately I will, but that's the deck I got dealt. It's the way life is for me. I accept it. I'll have my good days. I'll have my not so good days. But that doesn't mean I can't be a better father or a better husband, and I will be.

One day, one STEP, at a time.

OUT.

And Lo...I Feel A Tingling in My Pants

And there was MUCH rejoicing.

Many men do feel the aforementioned tingling this time of year, that's the beauty of it. It's a brutha-hood, a special club of schweaty, frustrated wannabe superstars who celebrate their loyalty, their passion and their love of pure, un-spoiled competition.

Each year as I enter the month of September two things occur. I dread the knowledge that I am turning one year older and I get as giddy as a schoolgirl at the fact that there is that ONE thing that, no matter what happens from one year to the next, remains the same...NFL football becomes the primary focus of my free time for the next several months.


THE SEASON IS HERE. TODAY.

Tonight (and I like to let this roll on my tongue slowly because it really still does feel very sweet to say it) the Super Bowl Champion New Orleans Saints take on the Minnesota Vikings and the Waffle-King, um, I mean Brett Faaaahhhvreh. The Saints are 4-point favorites over the Vikings. I don't actually BET on games, I am way too smart for that because I know that it would be SO easy to get sucked into that world, but I do like to check the odds and the lines.


One interesting thing to note. I am not participating in any Fantasy Football Leagues this year. The one I participated in the most over the past several years (the free one) couldn't seem to get off the ground and I don't think it will in the next few hours and we never did get enough people. The other league, the one that costs money, I left because I don't have the extra scratch this year to play.

It's the first year since I 'officially' became an NFL fan in 1999 that I have not played in an FFL, so it feels...weird somehow. I'll try to make up for it somehow with some extra Madden on the X-Box. I am supposed to be getting a copy of Madden '11 at some point, not sure when it is supposed to arrive though. Maybe I'll set up a franchise in there and have some fun with it as a substitute for the absence of any participation in an FFL.

I'll still miss the FFL though. Weird not having it.

I was a wee bit worried over this summer, that I might not be very excited about the NFL this year. Lemme explain.

Last December, I had a GREAT job, working on NFL merchandise, but I got laid off a couple of days before Christmas, during the height of the season, and it really took the wind out of me when it came to football. I hung on to my NFL passions through the rest of the season because I thought the layoff was only going to be temporary. When I realized in the Spring it wasn't, I kind of had a hard time with it and was concerned it would affect my feelings about the sport when the time came.


It hasn't, and I'm thrilled. I'm just as excited today about the 2010-2011 season as I was about the 2009-2010 season. Well, OK...not AS excited, since last year I was working on NFL stuff and therefore was even more pumped about all things NFL'ly, but still, it's safe to say, NFL job aside, I am as excited as I ever was. I can't wait to get my popcorn ready and sit down tonight to watch the first game, and my team isn't even playing.

That won't be until Monday Night, when the Baltimore Ravens take on the New York Jerks. Can't wait to have Haloti Ngata serve Mark Sanchez a little Turf Taco. My new Ravens Flag, courtesy of my Mommy, flies proudly outside. I had to replace the old one, it was getting too ragged. I'm THRILLED she got me one, but man...I loved the simplicity of the old logo design better (sorry Mom, not your fault, I know it was no longer available, not trying to sound unappreciative, just loved that old flag).


On Sunday, I think the weirdest thing will be watching the evening game (Football Night in America - Cowboys/Redskins). To see Donovan McNabb (since my second favorite team USED to be the Eagles) in a Redskins uniform is going to be super creepy...and I loved that guy, but hated the 'Skins, so how in the world do I even know who to root for in that game, because I can't stand Romo and the Cowboys but do I dare root for the fucking REDSKINS?

These are the dilemma's a fan of THE GAME faces. And that's the truth of it. I don't just love my team, I love the sport. Every aspect of it. And it's here.

At last.

OUT.

So...Where's 300????????

Those are the words typed by my Mother in this morning's Facebook message (yes, with that exact amount of question marks) that I discovered while sipping away at the morning Java.

Ah, the words of our Mother's, how they echo in our heads, don't they guys? In a good way though. Most of the time. :)

So...the answer is twofold. First, because I just answered the question, the 300th blog post is right here, with very little fanfare and even less substance.

My grandiose plan to create an amazing, intricate post for Number 300 will no longer be realized. However, you should know that I consider this TO BE A GOOD THING. This has been a giant monkey that I am delighted to have off my back.


The actual post itself has been growing. And growing. And growing. It is simply too long to be a single blog. Right now it is 6,217 words and maybe not even 3/5 of the way finished. There is no way in all that is Holy that anyone would ever read the entire thing.

They just couldn't.

Not in one sitting. I could never and would never expect anyone to.

I go off on tangent after tangent, and go into detail after detail, explaining this whole journey I've been on this summer and how it connects to almost everything that has come before and all of the things that I have learned from the experience and on and on and on. It's been quite an eye-opening several months that I have not been sharing with this readership.


I'm not suggesting that it is not well written or that it is not good reading. It's fascinating. It's just MAMMOTH. Also, there are a few things in it that are sensitive and very, VERY personal that I need to get pre-approved by some people before I post those parts. That's only fair. So I'll break it up into multiple posts and just do something different with it that I had planned.

And since it is taking so damn long and I still have more to write and more to do and I miss actually posting and I gotta get my Mommy some info since she looks forward to the blog every day and essentially every man has gotta make sure his Mommy gets shat she needs I'm just gonna get the 300 pound Monkey off my back by saying, to those of you who have stuck around for these last 18 months, THANK YOU SO FRIGGIN' MUCH.


I deeply, deeply appreciate you for, at least in a virtual sense, being here for me, reading my crap, offering your support, your advice, your games on X-Box Live, your anecdotes, your shoulders, your own blogs, your own stories. To those of you who have breached the virtual wall and called me, sent me letters or gifts, and met/seen me in person, a special nod to you. You know who ye be. I hope you all stick around here as we move into the future...I think you will find the tone of this blog is going to be very, very different than what you might be used to.

I haven't changed, I don't believe people DO change at their core. EVER. But they grow. They evolve. They learn. And I have had some evolutionary epiphanies, discovered some things about myself and my son I was previously unable to wrap my head around, and my outlook on what lies ahead is no longer as bleak as it was.

I have hope. And plenty of it.

Can't wait to tell you more about it. I doubt it will take us nearly as long to get to 500 as it did to get to 300.

OUT.