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How'd I live this long?
I don't exercise as much as I should. My diet could be better. I don't take a multi-vitamin. I don't get enough sleep. I drink brown liquor. I drive too fast. I drive too agressively. I drink too much coffee. I drink too much water (yep that's what I hear). I eat too many sweets.
I'm reminded of these details on a fairly regular basis.
But I'm the poster child of longevity compared to when I was a kid.
Car: I never knew the joys of a child safety seat. My car seat was the space between the dashboard and the windshield. When my family would take a trip, my spot was literally on the dashboard. One slammed brake, and I would've been a hood ornament.
I saw the seatbelts in my folks station wagon maybe three times, and that was only when my dad was washing the car. The belts would be lost under the seat, stuck to the floorboard, covered in grape sucker goo and hair.
Diet: Honeybuns! I ate freakin' honeybuns for breakfast. Every morning my mom would lob a honeybun, packaging and all, into the oven. If she was running late, I was screwed because the honeybun would overcook causing the plastic wrapping and the bun to become one. "Milkshakes" were another high point in my health food ritual. I was an incredibly skinny kid. As a way to help me "hunk up", my mom would make me these milkshakes that would make a healthy person's heart clog up and pop. Ice cream, whole milk, bananas, raw eggs, peanut butter, chocolate syrup, sugar, cinnamon, occasionally cookies, all blended together into this sickly sweet, yellowish-gray mud paste.
I would drink at least one a day, never gained an ounce.
Play: Bike helmets? Elbow and knee pads for skateboarders? Yeah right. I would've gotten my ass so kicked.
Our play centered around death, and the cheating of.
Once my brother and I made a diving bell out of a five gallon drum and an old air compressor my dad had in his shop. I stayed underwater using that bell for over 30 minutes, and coughed up stale air compressor oil for a month.
Then there was the time when we played BB-gun chase. We had to quit when one of the neighbor kids got a pellet lodged in his neck.
Also I found out that seeing if I could make it from my treehouse to the next tree in a single bound was not a good idea. Squirrels made it look so easy.
Passions: I was a maker of stuff. Stuff that would go "boom". Tennis ball cannons, homemade solid-fuel rocket engines, 50,000 volt transformers. Once I made confetti-b*mbs out of shotgun shells. I was later instructed by an officer of the Shreveport Police Department that that could get me hurt, even killed, or a the very least into a lot of trouble. I was never invited back to stay with my aunt after that little incident.
And to think all I have to worry about now is drinking too much water. In that case, I can coast until I'm in my eighties.
You know, a plasticized honeybun sure would be awesome right about now.
4/26/2005 11:08:00 PM
I love junk.
Saturday at the junkyard...
click the image for more.
4/25/2005 10:15:00 AM
And for those of you with a vagina... My condolences.
Speaking of Mantrip 2005, I get this in my inbox this afternoon...
Men,
Time to put your money where your manhood is.
Alright, stop it! I didn't mean that, so just quit that and let me explain.
Our fearless ManTrip planner, Mr. Strozier [Hi, that's me.], will be plunking down the ol' credit card on Friday to pay for our riverside abode for the June 16-19 journey to Chattanooga. Those of you who attended last year's adventure remember how great the cabin was. This just in: It cost money. Hell, even the few crappy places we've stayed at on past ManTrips - and there was something special about those, too, in a manly way - cost us money. This one is no exception.
So, as I was about to explain before your minds went into the proverbial gutter, it is time to get the money to Mr. Strozier -- $125 will do for now. Please do so within the next week or so. That way, the man will not have to pay any interest for this good and manly deed he has performed for the sake of our manly entertainment and leisure pleasures.
What's that you say? You haven't decided whether you're going on this year's trip or not? Well turn off those Barbara Streisand records, put down that parasol and take off that tutu!!! This may be your last chance to step up and reclaim your manhood, so what are you waiting for, sissy boy!!! You have no excuse not to go. There is no national tour of "Le Cage Au Faux," so you have no choice but to do the manly thing. Call or e-mail Mr. Strozier today. Tell him, "You're damned right I'm going, 'cause I'm a real man, dammitt. A hulking, hairy beast of a man who wants manly adventure in a manly way in the company of other men."
Then, if you want to bring your Streisand records and tutu along on the trip, it's fine by me. The parasol, too. But only for dance routines, 'cause I sure hope it doesn't rain on the music festival.
Yours in manhood,
Mr. T. Kurtz
P.S. - Contact information for Mr. Strozier is on the Web site www.mantrip.blogspot.com/. But if you must know without using your delicate little typing fingers or being enticed by the photos from ManTrip 2004, "The Blue Monkey World Tour," below is that info served up the easy way. This provided for those who haven't already wisely nabbed his e-mail address in the address line above. Now, use this information as a real man would use it. Sign up!!!
mark.strozier@gmail.com
Secure in your masculinity? Simply mail a check.
When I finished reading this message I felt like letting loose a soul-cleansing belch, crushing a beer can on my forehead, and scratching my nuts.
4/19/2005 10:08:00 PM
Basics
Holycrap.
I get out of the habit of *occassionally* writing due to some massive upheaval in life's routine, now when sit back down and try to write- I'm blank. I'd like to use the term "blo(gg)cked", or some catchy phrase like "got a blog in my throat?", but that'd be just plain stupid, not to mention corny as hell.
So let me drop back and punt with the basics.
Friends
My buddy Todd also known as "Big Funny" dropped by the office today. He's going through a career change as well. He was promoted last week. Golf clap for Mr. Harris.
On another note, we're in the planning stages of Mantrip 2005, "Requiem for the Blue Monkey" World Tour. Although the name still needs to be voted on behind the oak doors of the conclave.
Family
Saturday morning, I thought Leslie and I were getting a divorce. Through a major bit of minor misunderstanding, I thought she and I were through. By late Saturday night, I had worked up a fair and equitable property settlement (all in my head, of course), care and custody rights--complete with visitation schedules, and was well on my way to forming a preeeetty good blog post about a threesome I had with Gabrielle Reece and Nicole Kidman.
Sunday morning, over coffee, fiberous cereal, and a few good laughs, we cleared the whole thing up.
It really did boil down to a simple misunderstanding. She said, "I hate these types of weekends..." I heard, "I hate you, you son of bitch! I wish you were dead, Die You Motherfu..." Seems everything after her use of the word "hate" and the *accidental* door slamming got lost in translation.
All clear now though. Sorry Gabrielle, Nicole.
The real downside to the whole weekend? We missed the Annual Dog Show at the Agri-rama. Nothing better than a real life Best in Show. Feel my pain.
Other family news, my mom's birthday is in a few days. She's turning 49. Actually she's turning 69, but she tried to get her passport recently only to discover there's no record of her birth, so she's assuming a fake age. The upside of being born, or in her case "not born", in rural Mississippi in the 1930's.
Health
I'm healthy.
Work
Work is going well. I like my boss.
Hobbies
Not much to report here either. I haven't been taking many pictures "for fun" lately, what with work and getting everything up & running.
Saturday I had planned on trespassing and shooting a "new" old abandoned building I found last week, but I lost interest when I was fast becoming a divorcee.
Entertainment
Television and the red couch has been way too good to me lately. When I do get free time, I use it wisely. Wisely. Horizontally. With remote in hand.
The couch/remote thing helps pass the time while I wait on my kid to get off of the computer. I'm sharing RZ's computer (I'm using my computer at the office).
Come to think of it... THAT's why I haven't been posting regularly. I'm out of sync. Without a routine, and it's my kid's fault!
How's that for deflection?
The art of the rationale.
4/19/2005 12:06:00 AM
So how 'bout them Braves?
I know you, much like my wife, are thinking to yourself "Gee Mark, aren't you 'sposed to get a colonoscope this year?"
Well yeah. Thanks alot for reminding me.
Believe it or not, I'm not too thrilled with the thought of having to go through that "procedure" again. Also I'm not too thrilled with seeing THAT doctor again.
The last time I had it done, the doctor decided to go "light" on the sedative... To start with anyway. They didn't knock me out as well as they should've.
Mistake. Mistake. Mistake.
You see, without knocking me out-- COLD, the jaws of life wouldn't be able to seperate my asscheeks. Not to mention the fact that in that semi-buzzed state of not enough anesthesia, I turned into a cage fighter when anybody got close to me. When they finally snuck up and jabbed me with another needle they clobbered me with more than enough stuff. Think Marlin Perkin's dartgun vs. charging wildebeest. Goodnight wildebeest, safety through chemistry.
When I woke up after "the act" (hate calling it "procedure"), I vaguely remember Leslie telling me that they have to watch my breathing because "they gave you alot of medicine". I remember thinking "Yeah. Somebody almost got wounded." then I fell back asleep. A bit later I woke up mad as hell because I could recall what went on during "the act". Thankfully they had given me some drug, that when it finally kicked in, I couldn't recall much of anything. Dumbass serum I guess.
Two weeks after "the act" I had to go to the doctor's office to go over the results. He's the one I don't particularly care for. He's pretty stoic, there's an understatement, calling him "pretty stoic" is like saying water is kinda wet. Anyway, after he gives me the results from "the act" he quietly walks me out to the receptionist desk, as we get to the front desk I turn and I hug him. Bear hug. Right in front of his staff, God, and everybody.
Why did I hug him? Payback. That's the only thing I can figure, that or we bonded "in that special way" when I was heavily sedated.
NO. It was definitely payback.
4/11/2005 11:09:00 PM
Alternating Currents
I'm in. Finally.
The office is shaping up. Phones are plugged in and ringing. Getting a regular routine in place. Got work starting to come through the door.
All is well.
Well, except for the waves.
On one hand, I'm on cloud nine. Almost euphoric because this is happening so "right". Everything is falling "right" into place. The "right" doors are opening at the "right" time. I've even lapsed into THE WAVE OF FUNK* on more than one occassion.
On the other hand, every now and then I have a wave of anxiety flash through me. It's the kind of feeling I think I'd have if I woke up and realized I had sleep-walked out onto the middle of a high wire... naked. A terrified "MmmMmmMmmwhOahshit" (complete with tremolo effect), pretty much sums the feeling up.
Flash! Then it's gone.
I know why I'm having this feeling though. I'm going through this because I've failed before. A really, hard, deep-down-body, screw-up. I tell you, nothing says real failure like having to tell your wife "we might have to go bankrupt". ESPECIALLY when she called it a mistake from the start.
It was the kind of failure that everybody forgives you for, forgives and eventually forgets. Everybody, but me.
After eight years of beating myself up daily (at times viciously), and swearing I'd never put myself "out there" again.
Well, I'm out there.
Again.
I'm there this time with: a lot less ego, a lot more patience, gobs of support, real know-how, and a deep understanding of what the meaning of "Risk" is.
My sister gave me a framed print back when the going had gotten really tough. The print has this quote, "Fall down seven times. Get up eight." It meant alot then, it means alot now.
It feels good to get up.
Again.
---
*The Wave of Funk is a weird happy dance, body shake thing, I used to do at random times when RZ was much younger. The "WoF" as it became known, would make her laugh so hard that she would literally throw up. Yes, my greatest achievement as a father is making my kid laugh until she pukes.
4/6/2005 10:20:00 PM
Sunday, 7:54 P.M.
Done.
4/3/2005 07:55:00 PM
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