You Electrify My Life.

30 or so minutes into my birthday it was already a good day. I haven't felt that good since Archie Gimmel scored against Holland in 1978! I’ll have to remember to thank my friend? Will when I see him again for his butterfly flapping its wings creating a hurricane.

I was able to post every day for a month straight. I’m pretty proud of myself. I’m coming up of the 5 year anniversary of this blog. My wife says the tone and content of my posts has changed dramatically over the five years. I’ll have to start reading the archives and see. I imagine it has, when you know no one is listening you yell a lot louder. Now I can’t be fully sure who all reads this. I have a vague idea based on the IP traffic I can see. If you read this post, leave a comment. Anything. Just say hello if you don’t know what to say, or wish me a Happy Birthday, or I’ll block you IP address. I can do that. I’ve blocked several Opposite of Dog IP addresses so no one from work can actually look at this at work, can’t be too careful in that respect.

So yeah, there it is. I’m 29. It’s my last year of not being old. Yes, I’ve already got a careerish type job and a family and a mortgage, but if you’re still in your 20’s you can at least still say you’re in your twenties, grasping at those wonderfully free and burden free early twenties. Hopefully it will be decent, 28 wasn’t particularly great.

Starting at Left Defense, Lawryde

Yeah, I’m awesome. I’ve gone from a marginally talented C-league player to starting left defenseman for a 2-0 A/B-league team. OK, so maybe it’s just because no one else on the team wants to play defense and we were kind of short since it was a holiday weekend. The two sweetest words in the English language: De Fault.

Because, I’m awesome.

I am gaining some confidence, albeit misplaced and not always warranted. My game is improving. I think I was +2 or +3 for the game. We won 8-5. I really like my new stick and wood blade. It’s got some meat to it with the wood blade, but still has some nice whip with the composite shaft. I’ve got a nice long reach for the poke check.

We went to the Peoria fireworks on Friday. We’d never gone before since Carter was too little. We met some friends on the East Peoria side of the river. The display was pretty good. Carter liked it. I had some earplugs for him so the noise didn’t freak him out. He generally doesn’t like loud things. One of the plugs fell out during the grand finale and he started to cry. I got the plug back in quick and he instantly stopped. He was clapping and pointed throughout. Oz was not happy. He had been asleep for like an hour prior to them starting and then he cried for most of the rest. At the end one of our friends managed to loose one of their children in the crowd rushing out. Everyone kind of fanned out to look for the lost kid. Apparently someone found him and dropped him off at the lost children center. When the mother came back with the kid and the husband saw them and then hugged and he grabbed the kid’s head and kissed it, it was fucking poetic. I wish I had my camera ready. That was pure emotion and relief and love.

Like a Phoenix He Was Burned to the Ground

I talk to all these smart, intellectual people who tell me they are waiting to have kids, and I see these myspace profiles of married people who “some day” want kids. Society tells everyone that it’s OK to wait to have kids.

Modern society has lied to you about waiting to have kids. If you do wait until your late thirties or whenever you decide, your baby making tools will have started to deteriorate. You can expect to have a higher risk pregnancy, with a higher likelihood of genetic defects, if you can conceive at all the natural science free way.

“Pregnancies from men younger than twenty-five years are 40% less likely to end in miscarriage than pregnancies from men 25-29 years. Pregnancies from men older than forty years are 60% more likely to end in miscarriage than the 25-29 year age group.” From Wikipedia.

I guess standing around microwaves and not wearing athletic supporters during contact sports can make your guys swim less effectivly.

Back when Rome and Greece ruled the world, people only lived between 25 and 45 years. If you didn’t get to the business of making babies at an early age, you were dead before they were able to take care of themselves. Do you really think our reproductive organs have evolved as quickly as our standards of hygiene and medicine have?

So all you intellectuals who are waiting until you can’t conceive to try and conceive, maybe you should reevaluate you plan and start trying to make more little intellectuals because you known stupid people, the ultra religious, and people from the south are cranking out babies like crazy.

The Stabbin’ Cabin

So it’s my last day in this building. Kind of weird. I’ve got all my shit packed up and ready to move to my new job out at the Proving Grounds. I brought in some Panera bagels and have a farewell lunch at the Mexican restaurant where we always go when people leave.

On Monday I go from the most knowledgeable guy in my group to the guy who doesn’t know shit. For the first few months I’ll have to keep my mouth shut and just soak up how things are done, and who not to piss off.

It should be good though. I’ll need to get my machine operators license, so I’ll get to play on some heavy equipment. I’ve got all kinds of safety training to take which is usually hella boring. No more flex time now either, well kind of, but everyone typically starts when all the mechanics start which is 7:00am. I usually rolled into work between 7:30 and 8:00, so I’ll be getting my ass up earlier now.

I feel like I should somehow feel more than what I do right now. I’m pretty empty, not really nervous, or sad, or overly excited.

The End is Near

I’ve got about two weeks left at my current assignment at Opposite of Dog. Next month I’ll move out to the sandbox and do hydraulic development work on pipelayers, a subset of track type tractors. (No blade or ripper with a big boom and hook and a big counterweight on either side). I tend to enjoy laying pipe, so it should be a good fit for me.

That was a terrible joke.

I’ve worked at… about 9 different places thus far in my life, but never as long as I’ve been at this job. I’ll still be with the same company, but I’ve gone to the same building for three and a half years.

My physical plant tends to not work well with change. It makes me physically ill.

Maybe I’ve progressed mentally as a human being in the past few years, maybe this will go well.

Note to wife: Perhaps we should buy a swing for the devil baby you are watching. I’ve heard they calm the worst babies.

Swim parallel to the beach…

Alright, I’ve found some time to recount my trip to Florida.

We left two Thursdays ago around Carter’s bedtime. The drive was pretty pleasant for the first 5 or 6 hours. I listened to The 40 Year Old Virgin through the auxiliary jack on the Elantra. We stopped somewhere in Tennessee and my wife took over driving for a bit. I had a hard time sleeping since we hadn’t brought a pillow. So I took over again since my wife hadn’t slept either and was getting a bit tired. The 2:30 to 4:00 am shift was rough. I had to stop once so I didn’t fall asleep and kill us all. I did some jumping jacks in a gas station parking lot and splashed water on my face.

Once day broke it was better. We were somewhere in Georgia and decided to stop at a Cracker Barrel. The service was fucking terrible and we were surrounded by Southerners (imagine that).

We hit Atlanta on the tail end of rush hour and it kind of sucked. After that my wife took over and drove us the rest of the way to Fernandina Beach. It took us about 20 hours. It should have only taken about 16.5, but the shitty service at the Cracker Barrel and Atlanta slowed us down. Carter was not happy the last hour or so. He didn’t want to be in the car anymore, none of us really did.

We stayed at a friends place. I took a long nap when we got there.

The next day we went to a park and played and enjoyed the nice weather. It was sunny and about 82 with a cool easterly breeze. It was actually hotter in Illinois the whole time we were there.

Sunday we went to the Jacksonville Zoo. (see the below pictures) It was a really nice zoo. There were kind of elevated walkways in places were you could walk above the animals. Carter had a good time. He would point and say ohhhh or ooooo when he saw an animal he didn’t know. There was also a small water fun area for kids to run around in and get wet. He loved splashing around and climbing on the fake dolphins and stingrays. There were also some goats to pet, which he didn’t smack. (He’s in a bit of a smacky stage.)

The next day we went to the beach. Rip currents were in full effect. A guy died the prior day due to the current. The waves were pretty large too. We stayed about waste high. Carter was more interested in digging in the sand for the most part. He would run into the low surf every once in a while, but was still pretty wary of it. I walked around and looked for fossilized sharks teeth. I ended up finding about 6 of them.

Tuesday we decided to head down to scenic downtown Fernandina Beach. It was kind of cool, but we did go into this massive antique store and found “Answer Me Jesus”, which is basically a Magic Eight Ball in the shape of a giant pink Jesus. It kind of looks like a sex toy of some kind, but it’s super cool.

Me, “Will I go to church next Sunday Jesus?”

Jesus, “Not a chance in Hell”

He’s so benevolent

Wednesday was beach day again. Found a couple more sharks teeth and just playing in the sand with the boy.

That night we had our friends watch Carter and My Wife and I went out for dinner to celebrate our 4-year wedding anniversary, which will be June 14. It was the best seafood dinner I’ve ever had in my life. Started out with some muscles and a vodka stone sour, then an awesome Caesar salad, the wife had shrimp bisque. The main course was seared scallops, asparagus, and sweet potatoes. My wife had swordfish. It was delicious. We walked a bit through downtown Fernandina Beach to an ice cream parlor for desert.

Thursday we planned to head back home at night so we played it low key during the day. One of our friends works at White Oak Conservation Center so late in the afternoon we packed up all our stuff and headed north to check it out. It’s not open to the general public so we got a behind the scenes look at all the animals. We got to feed some giraffes. It’s pretty cool being only a few feet away and this big head comes down and grabs a branch of leaves out of your hands. They’re much taller at that angle, and muscular. We also got to pet a couple rhinos. Their skin is crazy tough, but where their joints are the skin is very silky and smooth. We also got to see some cheetahs, zebras, and all kinds of elk type animals (don’t recall their names).

We said goodbye and started the drive home. I decided to go a different way back since Atlanta sucked so bad last time. We went up through the Carolinas, then over through Tennessee, and up Kentucky to Cincinnati, then over through Indianapolis. It was much better. It was cool driving through the Great Smokey Mountains during a full moon with a bit of fog. It only took about 16 hours. All told the gas only cost me about $160 roundtrip.

It was a good vacation.

The Slap Shot

In the past, my slap shot has been terrible. Weak, inaccurate, and ineffective.

Not that it's my fault, I didn't play organized hockey in High School. Sure I messed around with some friends on the ice here and there, but never really focused on the slapper.

I've gone to some open ice times and practiced, and I've finally got the muscle memory and brain rewiring done to get it down. It's got some snap to it, and I can put the puck where I want.

It's still not perfect, but that's the beauty of hockey, you just play more to get better.

The Swinging Pendulum

In my last post, I wrote about how I had been feeling pretty depressed lately.

Yesterday I had a visit with my therapist and talked with him about depression and how to deal with it and how to be more agreeable to my wife while I’m depressed.

It went well, and I felt better after.

Then last night I took Carter to swim lessons, which is every Wednesday. He loves it. We are, by far, the coolest father son/child duo there, me with my tattoos, and he with his Mohawk. We had a good time.

Later that nigh, I went to sleep, woke up for sex, and then got up refreshed this morning to a thin layer of snow on the ground. Sure it’s April, but there is something calming and serene about snow.

I’m really excited about getting my tattoo tomorrow. I have a feeling it’s not going to be very pleasant, being on the inside of my left arm, but it’s going to be hella cool, and very unique. Sperm whale fighting a giant squid, it just sounds fucking awesome.

I feel the pendulum swinging back to happy.

Grab the keys

Clear warm night…

Just need to drive and get my head clear.

Damn I love this five speed.

Push it to it’s limits, don’t think, act.

Who else is out at 11:00 on a Tuesday night?

Foot off the gas, clutch in, shift, let up and feel it engage easing into the gas

I don’t know what to do…

Are you there God, it’s Lawryde…

Match the revs and downshift into a corner

I’m no saint either…

Slow down, don’t need to get pulled over

There’s no place like home

Strange ending to a strange night

Although much more enjoyable than expected

I am Jack’s pounding heart.

Have you ever gone to a restaurant, and then not gone to it for like a month, and then you go back to it and you’re like, “Damn that was good, why don’t I come here way more often?” (Cool people use run-on sentences)

I had one of those moments today.

David Brooks can lick my tattoo.

Chris pointed this little gem out to me.


Think that tattoo makes you special? You might think again By DAVID BROOKS
Posted: Sept. 23, 2006

We now have to work under the assumption that every American has a tattoo.

Whether we are at a formal dinner, at a professional luncheon, at a sales conference or arguing before the Supreme Court, we have to assume that everyone in the room is fully tatted up - that under each suit, dress or blouse, there is at least a set of angel wings, a barbed wire armband, a Chinese character or maybe even a fully inked body suit.

We have to assume that any casual anti-tattoo remark will cause offense, even to those we least suspect of self-marking.

Everybody who went to the beach last summer has observed that tattoos are now everywhere. There are so many spider webs, dolphins, Celtic motifs and yin-yang images spread across the sands, it looks like a New Age symbology conference with love handles.

A study in The Journal of the American Academy of Dermatology showed that about 24% of Americans between the ages of 18 and 50 have at least one tattoo, up from about 15% in 2003. Thirty-six percent of those between 18 and 29 have a tattoo.

Pretty soon you'll go to the beach and find that only the most hardened nonconformists will be unmarked. Everybody else will be decorated with gothic-lettered AARP logos and Katie Couric 4-EVER tributes, and Democrats will have their Kerry-Edwards bumper stickers scratched across their backs so even their morticians will know which way they voted.

The only person without one of those Pacific Northwest Indian tribal graphics scrawled across his shoulder will be a lone 13-year-old skater scoffing at all the bourgeois tattoo fogies.

Traditional religions have generally prohibited tattoos on the grounds they encourage superficial thinking (what's on the surface is not what matters). But it turns out that tattoos are the perfect consumer items. They make people feel better about themselves.

Just as Hummers make some people feel powerful, tattoo-wearers will talk (and talk and talk and talk) about how their tattoos make them feel strong, free, wild and unique.

In an essay in The American Interest, David Kirby observes that there are essentially two types of tattoo narratives, the Record Book and the Canvas. Record Book tattoos commemorate the rites of passage in a life. Canvas tattoos are means of artistic expression.

So some people will have their kids' faces tattooed across their backs, or the motorcycle that belonged to a now-dead friend, or a fraternity, brigade or company logo. In a world of pixelated flux, these tattoos are expressions of commitment - a way to say that as long as I live, this thing will matter to me.

They don't always work out - on the reality show "Miami Ink" a woman tried to have her "I will succeed thru Him" tattoo altered after she grew sick of religion - but the longing for permanence is admirable.

Other people are trying to unveil their wild side. They're taking advantage of the fact that tattoos are associated with felons, bikers and gangstas. They're trying to show that far from being the dull communications majors they appear to be, they are actually free spirits - sensual, independent, a little dangerous.

The problem is that middle-class types have been appropriating the symbols of marginalized outcasts since at least the 1830s. This is no longer a way to express individuality; it's a way to be part of the mob.

Today, fashion trends may originate on Death Row, but it takes about a week and a half for baggy jeans, slut styles and tattoos to migrate from Death Row to Wal-Mart.

What you get is a culture of trompe l'oeil degeneracy. People adopt socially acceptable transgressions - like tattoos - to show they are edgy, but inside they are still middle class.
You run into these candy-cane grunge types: people with piercings and inkings all over their bodies who look like Sid Vicious but talk like Barry Manilow. They've got the alienated look - just not the anger.

And that's the most delightful thing about the whole tattoo fad. A cadre of fashion-forward types thought they were doing something to separate themselves from the vanilla middle classes but are now discovering that the signs etched into their skins are absolutely mainstream.

They are at the beach looking across the acres of similar markings and learning there is nothing more conformist than displays of individuality, nothing more risk-free than rebellion, nothing more conservative than youth culture.

Another generation of hipsters, laid low by the ironies of consumerism.

David Brooks is a columnist for The New York Times.

David Brooks shows just how out of touch he really is with this asshole, conservative column.

First the dickhead can’t make up his mind. He says “tattoos are now everywhere”, but then gives me a statistic that 24% of Americans are tattooed. Holy Shit! That’s everyone isn’t it? Tattooed people are still in the minority.

You’d think he was somehow fending off the advances of tattoo artists at all times during the day, and that tattooed people were roving the streets in gangs looking for converts. These fucking traditionalists can handle when things they don’t like start to become slightly popular.

“tattoo-wearers will talk (and talk and talk and talk) about how their tattoos make them feel”

Non-tattooed people can’t help but ask a tattooed person about their tattoos. Did it hurt? Where did you get it? How much did it cost? You realize that’s permanent? Non-tattooed people love to talk and talk and talk about my tattoos with me.

He really needs to differentiate from people with A tattoo and people with TATTOOS.

He should shut the fuck up about both, but he should still differentiate. He should like people with A tattoo because they drive local economies. Tattoo artists are middle class workers that spend nearly all of their income. (I did research when I was designing my new machine). People who get A tattoo drop $50-$250 and that money is put back into the local economy. I’ll make a Foxnewsian Conclusion: Tattoos Cause Economic Growth!

I have Tattoos. I’ve been tattooed for over 65 hours. I love everything about tattooing and being tattooed.

My back piece isn’t the fucking flavor of the week. It’s not something you do for shits and giggles one night after you’ve been drinking. It hurt. It took commitment. Those are the two big reasons why tattooing will never truly be mainstream; most people out there are afraid of pain and the permanence.

None of my tattoos are “absolutely mainstream”. I’ve chosen topics that transcend time and place. I have the words of Aristotle, Shakespeare, William Ernest Henley, the paintings of Herbert Draper, and the timeless religious iconography.

And David, I am angry. I’m one of the middle children of history, with no great war, and no great depression to define myself. I’m angry that dickheads like you get paid to write for 60 year olds about those gosh darn tattooed people taking over society. I’m angry you’re so close-minded that you feel the need to poke fun at people that have more balls than you ever will. I’m angry you feel the need to insult and demean one of the oldest art forms know to man.

There will always be people on the fringe of anything that are just along for the popularity, but for those of us who love tattooing we’re all still badass tattooed motherfuckers, and you are not.

Let's all talk about me again.

Alright, now that everyone has shouted at each other and we all feel better lets get back to what the blog is all about: Me.

It’s 1:30, and I have an appointment with my shrink at 3:30. I want to compose my thoughts here because I think I’m going to dump him today, mostly because he’s not really helping that much.

I need to start by talking about how I’m not taking the Bupropion he prescribed anymore. Why?

I like how I am when I’m off it better than how I am when I’m taking it. I’m me. My natural brain chemistry is more to my liking.

My sex drive is how it should be. I actually want to fuck on a regular basis.

My creativity is significantly higher. I just recently figured out how I need to redesign my tattoo machine to make it better, sans Bupropion. I’ve begun the redesign and I’m actually excited about it again. It’s giving me hope that I won’t have to be someone’s moneymaking bitch for the rest of my life.

My dreams are more vivid and I can remember them. I like that better than not remembering my dreams. I feel more productive in those 8-10 hours than if I just wake up with nothing.

My fear of death isn’t any better or worse. I still don’t have line of sight to getting over it, but my best hope lies in Carter’s existence, and my fathering of him.

The immediate management changes at work have made my life there easier, and thus I’m generally happier and no longer need the meds to regulate that.

Let’s stay friends, and I’ll call you if I ever fall off the crazy wagon again.

Gonzo Engineering Returns

I’ve been a busy little monkey lately so I haven’t had time to put up any new posts. I’m sure you’ve all passed the time fine looking at my adorable little worm baby Carter.

Early last week I was on a business trip to exotic Minnesota and Iowa. It kind of sucked because we had to drive, but I did get to eat a lot of free food and drink a lot of free beer from a supplier.

Summer hockey league has also started. My ass was a wad of cookie dough after the first practice. I’m only 25 years old, but after sitting on my duff for two months, I’ve gotten completely out of shape.

Two dudes in my design section are leaving so I get to become a more well rounded Gonzo Engineer by learning how to design cooling systems (Radiators, Air to Air Aftercoolers, powertrain oil coolers, etc . I don’t really want to learn a bunch of new shit, but it will make it easier to get out of this hellhole of a town if I have more experience with a wide range of design.

“Heroin had robbed Renton of his sex drive, but now it returned with a vengeance. And as the impotence of those days faded into memory, grim desperation took hold of his sex-crazed mind. His post-junk libido, fuelled by alcohol and amphetamine, taunted him remorselessly with his own unsatisfied desire.”

I kind of feel the same way, but from Bupropion.

I stopped taking it.

I don’t know why.

I got the flu or something a few weeks ago and was taking it intermittently and then ran out and never bothered to refill the prescription. It must be almost all out of my system now; cause all I can think about is fucking. Antidepressants tend to lower your sex drive.

The fear feels closer now, but I feel much more alive. I knew the Bupropion would dull me, I don’t care what Dr. Colen says. I’ve come to the conclusion that drugs aren’t going to help me deal with my fear of death. I question if therapy really will either. Looking at Carter develop and grow is better than almost anything else I’ve tried. His existence minimizes the importance of my death to me. I don’t know…

“and it's closed on Sunday." “Of course,” I snapped. “These goddamn Jesus freaks! They're multiplying like rats!”

I’ve got a couple things on my mind as I sit here in our abandoned section filled with only those who didn’t have enough vacation days left to take off. I stand on the brink of becoming a father and I have such clarity in my mind. Maybe that’s just the drugs, but it feels good.

This whole thing about intelligent design is really bothering me. I think it’s because I love science so much, and I don’t want to see it perverted into something it’s not.

Those who are for intelligent design throw up all these smoke screen arguments about how we should be fair and let children decide which is correct, Darwin's Theory of Eveolution or ID. They actually act as if ID is a competing scientific theory with evolution. It’s not. No one followed the Scientific Method to come up with it. There is no real proof. ID is Philosophy. It is Religion and Theology. It is NOT science, and to say it is and to have a desire to have it taught in PUBLIC schools is simply Theocracy.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m a Deist. I come to the same conclusion when I look at how vast and amazing the world around me is, and how complex the systems of the world are. I come to that conclusion though not with my analytical brain, but with something deeper in me. Again, don’t get me wrong, I haven’t gone to church in I don’t know how long, and I’m horribly afraid of my own death because I’m not sure what’s going to happen.

In an interesting side note, my Aunt talks a lot to me about my religious beliefs and hers. She’s a devout Baptist, and I think it’s cool. She and her husband have an amazing faith that I don’t think I could ever have, and they really don’t push it onto people like so many other Christians do. I lived with them for a summer while I was interning at Miller Electric, and they would ask me if I wanted to go to church with them on occasion. I would always respectfully decline, but they didn’t force the issue on me. I was talking to my Aunt a month or so ago about life and death. She’s recovering from breast cancer, and I asked her what if she was wrong about there being a God and about Heaven, and when we die we just die. She said she didn’t care because she likes the way she lives and the community, faith, and strength her religion gives her. I thought that was a really good answer. It didn’t make me feel any better about dying, but it did make me respect her beliefs even more.

Anyway, if anyone who supports ID can give me a valid argument as to why it is SCIENCE then I’d like to hear it. Otherwise it should be kept in philosophy and religion classes.

So the birth of my son is supposed to be this amazing life-changing event. I’m really excited for it to happen. I don’t recall all that many other life-changing events in my life. The most emotionally rich moments of my life I think are the following:

The moment I walked into the room where my grandmother’s body was at the funeral home. It was the first person that I was actually close to who died. When I saw her it was like a baseball bat hit me in the head.

The time after I broke up with my very first girlfriend. I remember crying in my mom’s arms like a little kid even though I was like 17. It just sticks out in my mind

The first time I had sex: Self-explanatory

The moment I saw my wife right before we were going to be married. Also self-explanatory

The week after my wife’s miscarriage. Previous blog post’s reflect how I felt after this.

And finally, the moments after I thought I wasn’t going to be promoted to “Engineer” See this post for that one.

So we’ve got 4 bad things and 2 good things that really stick out in my mind as deeply emotional experiences. Hopefully the birth of my son will be so vastly amazing that it will count as like 3 or 4 good things. We’ll see.

The Weekend

Somehow this weekend was one of the better weekends that I’ve had in some time. On the surface it doesn’t seem like it should have been, but when you look at it in summary it’s quite good.

Drinking with friends, Going to a strip club, Watching TV, Getting 9 hours of sleep, Helping a friend move (very easy move), Relaxing in the air conditioning, Eating Barbeque Brisket, Taking a nap, Watching American Psycho, Playing Grand Theft Auto, Sleeping for 9 hours, Painting the shutters, Hanging the shutters, Buying a new fridge, Playing Hockey, Scoring two goals, Almost getting into a hockey fight, Binging on food and drink, Going to sleep, Waking up to have good sex, Back to sleep.

All in all it was a good weekend. I haven’t felt content falling asleep before the workweek in a long time, like somehow I missed out on something over the weekend. Like I didn’t do something or finish something I should have. Not this weekend, I got a good mix of everything. Weekends like this only come along every so often. It wasn’t rushed, but there was plenty of action and things to do.

Now back to work. I’ve got the new Harry Potter book on CD though, so at least I can listen to it while I work. My wife bought it for me because she knows I have a hard time getting motivated to read. I like to read, but this just makes it easier. It’s like listening to a radio play from the early years of radio. The guy who reads it does voices and really acts out the story.
So there it is. Hopefully the week will treat me ok.