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Have you ever had it where everything is going just fine in your life. Nothing is blowing up on you or falling apart? Its an odd feeling, especially for a carpenter. In the middle of this Zen like feeling I’m at a state of discontent. I feel that I am disconnected from everything around me. I’m not sure if its all the things that I’m thinking about or what. I fell as if I’m not even in the room part of the time.

I love my life and how everything is going I just don’t know what to do to try to connect the pieces of my life. My work time is crowded and overflowing. My family time is great but takes out the time to unwind at the end of a day and relax. Then there is no time left for me or for going out with the guys. I feel that this is the cause of this disconnection. Side note this is all popping in my head as I’m typing.

I work six days a week five days I am gone from 6-6:30 until 6:30-7. Then I eat and play with my daughter until 9-9:30, then put her to bed. Then its cuddle time with my wife. If I’m lucky I snag a little time like now to jump on the computer. Then its off to bed to do it again. My sixth work day for the week is my business which used to be a little job here or there. Now its grown into a great business that I could be busy with full time until like July. So I cram as much work into my Saturday as I can. I need to make progress by leaps with only one day a week.

This leaves me with not time to just do something for myself. I used to go to the races with a friend and that was my serenity. He now races Wednesday nights which kills the chances of me going. The races was what I did each night I’d wrench on the car. Then Saturday all morning we would get the finishing touches done and race that night. It was my life. This all ended when I found the woman of my dreams and married her. I went racing less and less. Now I work and work, not to get away but to further us. I don’t know what to do. I need to keep up with family, growing business, and try to have a good social life. I want to know how others juggle situations like this.


Lack of Class

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I’m not a very classy man. I pretend to be. I like to withhold my “swears” in public. When my weight is in the acceptable range, I like to wear button up shirts (when it’s not – it’s a hooded sweatshirt. Guess what I’m wearing now). But when it comes down to it, I don’t drink with my pinky extended. My car has an ever-growing rust infestation, and, much as I hate to admit it, I’m a member of the lower class.

Years ago I was at a small cookout with some people I knew from MSU (one professor and a couple students). Becky, the professor and sweetest person you could ever hope to meet, had all types of meat to grill. I may be misremembering this, but she had steak, hamburgers, hot dogs and even the fabled cheddarwurst. For some reason, I imagine rednecks sitting on pink flamingos around a broken down Ford that’s been turned into a grill chomping on their hot dogs filled with cheese.

Of course, I wanted the cheddarwurst. And, of course, I hesitated. Don’t get me wrong, I would have happily eaten the steak, the hamburger, hell, anything that once had a pulse and blood running through its veins. Thankfully, some cheddarwurst made their way to the grill.

At the same event we were talking about our “bucket lists”. I don’t remember everyone else’s, but I know most were wanting to go to Europe or Asia or some other country.

My list, in no particular order…

1) Go to Kansas City (for years I’ve wanted to travel to Kauffman Stadium to watch the Twins because it looks so damn beautiful. Also, Negro League hall of fame is a bonus.

2) Beat Wizardry for the NES (Don’t laugh, this game is tough as nails. Finally beat around a year ago due to creative use of the reset button)

3) Make a feature-length movie (Almost, almost had this one finished a year or two ago, but alas…)

I know, aim high, right? Instead of going overseas, one of my goals in life is to make a less than 10-hour journey. Shit, I could finish the other two goals by the end of 2011. The movie wouldn’t be very good, but still… I could do it.

Lately, I’ve been caught in lines at gas stations where the guy at the front of the line is sitting at the god damn counter buying and scratching off lottery tickets. This pisses me off to no end. I don’t care that people waste their money on scratch-offs. In fact, I’ll buy the occasional lottery ticket myself. Even though my life’s work is 1/3 complete, I don’t have a lot of time. Especially when my cheddarwurst is cooling in my hand. So take your ticket and go scratch it at the back of the line.

Have some fucking class.


Be Like The Duke

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The last time I gave up on writing, I felt a little lost, like I do now. I have ideas, but they don’t become fully formed. Obviously that’s because I’m not working to flush them out, but I don’t feel the pull to do that.

For the longest time, I thought that’s what writing was. Writers, by definition, write. Call it my Christian upbringing, but I believed in a form of divine inspiration. When the time was set to write, the ideas would pour into me. But apparently this writing thing is supposed to have a little “work” involved.

Anyway, I hadn’t been inspired in a while. My confidence was low. I didn’t write anything for a long time.

Then I got re-acquainted with “The Duke.” No, not the big ass burger Graves and I tackled in our college days, and no, not John Wayne.

David Duchovny.

I rented “Californication” for obvious reasons. Duchovny, sex and…. well…. that’s about it. What I discovered was something that would inspire me. Here was a badass writer who smoked, drank (par for the course) and got laid left and right! (abnormal).

“Weed, whiskey and Warren Zevon” as he would say later on.

Duchovny is writer himself. Supposedly, he wrote the screenplay for a little-known movie called “House of D” in six days. My friend The Governor and I heard about this and would joke about it from time to time, calling it “The Duke Challenge.”

Before “Californication” I tried my own version of The Duke Challenge. I would stay up late, sometimes all night, brewing coffee and writing. I only got halfway through, but the seeds were planted.

Sometime soon, when I get into writing mode again. When I can write more than 400 words and have the piece make sense, then I’ll know I’m on my way.

Short week

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Due to the weather this week we had a shorter week of work. What this means for me is that I am less motivated to do stuff. Kinda used to the go go go lifestyle. With all of this nothing going on I stay up later. Then my daughter wakes me up early too. So sleep deprived I’m here writing tonight. just to write. So find 2 minutes and babel like this.

Writing Prompt: Jamaican Me Crazy


I’ve had a l-o-o-o-o-o-o-n-n-n-n-g day.

I didn’t really sleep well last night, not quite sure why, it just wasn’t happening and I woke up super early after I finally did pass out around 3am.

Given that Boston is in the grips or some sort of snowmaggedon or snowpocalypse or whatever the kids on Twitter are calling it, I was expected to go into work early to ensure we’d have the libraries open and ready and rarin’ to go in lieu of other staff members who wouldn’t be motivated able to make it in to work.

I did so and was at work prior to 7am.

The problem is, the snow never really got as bad as it was supposed to and this essentially just mean that I’d come into work much, much earlier than I had to and prepared two libraries for opening when the regular opening staff had no problem making it in.

Awesome. Simply, awesome.

The worst part? Well, I was slated to work until 8pm tonight, because Wednesdays are my late night—remember that stalkers—but luckily, my lovely co-worker Roshni bailed me out and offered to take my late shift.

As such, I made it out of there by 6:30—I’m a busy man, y’all—instead of 8pm and was able to substitute an 11 ½ hour day in lieu of a 13 hour day!


Anyway, all of that long-winded rambling was to say…it’s a writing prompt kinda day. As always, this one comes courtesy of the peeps at Plinky.com.

Write a haiku about something that drives you nuts.

As a consummate overachiever, I decided to write not one, not two, but seven…count’em seven…haikus about things that drive me crazy!

You can thank me later.

you are not my boss
stop micromanaging me
you annoying bitch

the twins are awesome
i don’t want to work anymore
the twins are awesome

i hate skateboarders
seriously they suck balls
big ole donkey balls

use your damn blinker
it is on your car for a
fucking reason, dick

chicken mcnuggets
taste like poop and shame, so why
can i not quit them

megan fox is hot
i cannot deny that fact
yet still she bores me

hummus is a very
cruel joke you play on someone
who wants some chip dip

Return of the Rambler

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I feel like I’ve done this a time or two before.

We’ve ALL done this a time or two before. That’s why we’re here.

I know no one wants to hear a sad story, or a story where they can’t sympathize with the protagonist, so I’ll try just to do this once.

I used to have something to say. I used to have blind ambition. I used to have balls.

Film was my desire. After watching “Clerks” for the first time I was motivated to make movies. I bought some Syd Field books and wrote a Clerksish screenplay about my gig at the movie theater. Being the person I am, I was determined to shoot THAT movie. You know, get some camcorders, some bad high school actors, and try to make it turn out. Thankfully it never happened.

Instead, we shot “Pizza Delivery Man”. Yes, THAT “Pizza Delivery Man”. A story about a Pizza Delivery Man who had a philosophical pizza chef at his parlor, a horny friend and an “easy” delivery. Which, after a rewrite with a friend (who had the best intentions) replaced the Tommy Chong-like chef with a slutty boss. Which was toned down to get our high school theater teacher to be in it….. and then she turned it down because it was still too inappropriate. So our PDM was shot with a 18ish year old playing the slutty boss, Tom the Pimp as a bench-humping friend and myself as a a bad-acting co-star.

The 20-minute film wasn’t even good enough to make MSU’s amateur film festival. One of the films that beat it out was called “Objects”… or as a title card on the movie read…. “Ojects”.

Yes. That was better than my movie. But, if you get me drunk enough, I’ll let you watch it some day.

(short entry, but I’m building some writing muscle…)

To Be Continued…..


Writing Prompt: Let’s Get Physical, Physical…

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It’s a Monday—which means it’s my Sunday—so I figure I’ll ease into the week with a writing prompt from the fine folks over at Plinky.com.

What does your fitness routine consist of?

My physical routine is generally quite boring and uneventful.

During the spring/summer/fall months I generally do nothing but play softball.

Last summer/fall, I was playing softball anywhere from two to four times a week. This had a pretty good impact on my endurance and overall physical well-being.

You might not think much of slow-pitch softball—and let’s be honest, you probably shouldn’t—but if you’re playing enough and you’re anything like me (read: hypercompetitive and a centerfielder) you’re likely to spend A LOT of time running.

I can honestly say that by the time my softball seasons finally wrapped up in mid-to-late October, I was in some of the best shape I’ve been in since high school.

Remember, high school? Remember when you had Phys. Ed. like three days a week and you couldn’t be a fatty unless you really worked at it (or had a glandular problem)?

Yeah…those were the days.

In high school, I looked like an anorexic 11-year-old cheerleader, but danged if I wasn’t in some solid shape. As I got older, I spent less and less time playing sports and found myself falling into considerably worse shape.

That’s why I decided that I needed to pay outlandish amounts of money for a gym membership. This was a HUGE waste of money when I lived in Southie, but now that I live a few blocks from the gym, it’s not so bad.

In fact, this is how I spend my winters attempting to stay “in shape.”

Basically, what I do is meander into the gym 3-4 times a week and sorta stare at all the equipment.

I move some things around until the bang and clank and I assume that means I’m working out. I run on the indoor track until my knees feel like they’re going to explode and then I go sit in a sauna and read the sports section of the paper for half an hour.

That’s pretty much the extent of what I’ve got for a physical fitness routine: softball in the spring/summer/fall and ill-fated attempts at gym-rattedness in the winter.

If you’ve got a better game-plan, lemme hear it in the comments…

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