9 out of 10 monkeys believe they are not behind glass

I wanted to type something, since I have not in quite a while. Unless you happen to be a celebrity, pseudo-personality, or have a really nice set of tits, most people’s blogs tend to be for themselves more than for any audience. With that in mind, I thought perhaps I should drop the pretense that this is no longer a private blog, and just accept the fact that people I know read it. I am not a celebrity, or anything else, so there is no reason not to write what I think. I started out wanting to be anonymous, but I think that is impossible now.

My wife reads it. Some friends and family read it. I know that some coworkers hit it too. Because of that, I know that I have cheated myself by not writing what I want when I want. I have self edited my output to reduce any sort of personal fallout.

• One, that is a silly reason to not write.
• Two, no one should be afraid of writing what they think. Especially in this country.
• Three, just because I write it, doesn’t mean my opinions change or my thoughts may be 180 degrees different tomorrow.
• So in conclusion, four, if someone does get offended, boo the fuck hoo. Its just a silly blog. Let it go.

So my new years resolution is to let that fear go. I am not going to self-regulate in fear of repercussion. Its not fair to me. Not that I am going to discuss lurid details of my love life or call anyone names, but I have thought to myself, “hey that would make a good discussion point, I should write that down” only to then think “crap so-and-so may see that, and I don’t want to offend them”.

Fuck it. Maturity is showing me that most of the time, it really is not that big of deal. And I would rather say it then it let it go. Its my blog dammit. I am taking it back. And its a blog, I mean, come on. Its the equivalent of a journal entry on a dirty truck stop bathroom wall. Most people are too worried about whats for dinner to even care if I am frustrated with something. Or someone.

Blowing off some steam is worth the price of a blog. Why have it otherwise?

And in other news…

2009 was a good year. My third child was born, I stumbled past my third decade, and I have yet to write a book. I watched too few movies, I read too few books, I lied about the movies I did see so I wouldn’t get yelled at, I argued too many times with my wife, I lost my temper with my mother for the first time since I was in high school. I had an uncle die, I didn’t particularly care, I feel like a monster because of it. I think my mom is slowly losing her mind, not sure if she is aware of it. I realized my reality view is way different than my mother and brothers view. I now know the meaning of “view askew” and “tangential reality acceptance”. I learned that brutal honesty is far better than placating someone.

I found out that the more age, the more comfortable I am with who I am. Youth is indeed wasted on the young. Irony is man. Man is irony. God exists because irony exists. This is irrefutable logic. I like beer, and that’s ok. It does not make me alcoholic. The sins of my fathers are not my sins. I am not my father. I am something else.

My wife and I can’t see eye-to-eye on some things, I know that it is ok, I am unsure if she realizes that it is ok. I know that I married the right person. I love my wife. 10 years now that we have known each other. I know my life would have been horrible without her. I wish we completely understood each other, but I know we won’t because we are individuals. But yet, I love her enough to wish it anyway. Foolish I know, but that’s romance for a geek.

Opportunity costs are massive when you have kids. Huge. Ginormous. Absolutely fucking massive. I learned that every kid is completely unique and special. It actually is true and not some daft misplaced moral lesson from an after-school special.

I accomplished a lot at work, but if given an opportunity, I don’t think I could tell you why off the top of my head. Still did not write a book. 2010, year of the book. I have to do it or I am going to regret it for the rest of my life.

Most people are shallow. That is by design, or evolution, or some combination of both. Being selfish is a survival instinct… understanding that, I have done more manipulation that I have ever done. It makes me feel dirty. Its called politics. Mutual manipulation. On a grand scale, it becomes government. I get it now. Scale is a function of effort. The more effort put into a project, increase the scale of the project by n. Scope be damned. This describes human outcomes. Sometimes it gives us the Hoover Dam, other times, it gives us the TARP bill.

Avatar was the best movie of the year, narrowly beating Star Trek, which I saw four times in the theater. District 9 was a great treat, UP’s first 10 mins almost made me cry. Every other blockbuster this year sucked balls. HUGE NUTS. Wolverine made me cringe. Terminator made me grimace. Transformers and GIJoe were relegated to my Netflix queue because I knew they were going to be bad. Hollywood needs to get a fucking clue about how IP works. Looking forward to Kick Ass because of that very fact.

I became a leading member of gaming community. Played TF2 about 3 hours a week for half the year. Played L4D and L4D2 more. Zombies are way too much fun to shoot. I missed out on every other game release of the year. I received Borderlands for Christmas, haven’t even loaded it yet. I miss gaming, but kids are better. Way better. No comparison. If I want to game, I have to sacrifice sleep instead. Sometimes it is not worth it. Simply sitting next to my wife is often better. She doesn’t believe me.

I learned Windows 7 is a dream, Server 2008 has some minor hassles. VMWare is the software of the gods. I wonder how I lived before VMware came into my life. I learned that fighting my boss rarely works. I usually have to embed my ideas into his consciousness over time in order to meet my own goals. Arguing with my boss is like punching a brick wall. I can do it, but it fucking hurts after a while.

I did not listen\buy\download any new music this year. Gasp. Zero. My iPod was last updated in October of 2008. That saddens me. A little.

I realized that I am going to get cancer some day. My sex drive is at least half what it was ten years ago. My knee still bugs me, I know that it may bug me for the rest of my life regardless how much exercise or physical therapy I commit to. I know that sometimes that shit will just hurt. My stomach problems have been more active this year. Either stress has gotten to me, or my TypeB personality is starting to fail. I am guessing it is subconscious, so I won’t know the truth. Heartburn sucks though no matter its intensity.

Love is knowing that regardless the circumstances, you would still hug the person in front of you. Even if they have a knife and are not afraid of poking you with it.

Joy is hearing your kids laugh.

Sorrow is seeing your mother in the hospital.

Fear is knowing that this world is what it is, and you had the audacity to have children.

Faith is not caring about your fear.

Frustration is trying to accomplish great things but being mired in the muck to pull yourself out.

Success is…

Well, I will let you know after I get my book done.

Wicked.

• Traffic sucks donkey nuts. Literally. Every other driver must be orally serving donkeys to account for this amount of suck. #

In it was a war machine, with six piston legs, spindly and taller than any man. The legs connected to a bulbous body, bristling with weapon systems, armored well and roughly representing the shape and size of a beetle. The driver was connected in a meshed body suit, interconnected to all points within the beast, and lifted from a prone position into the belly the tank. You would think such a device would be slow and impractical. This one wasn’t. It was fast, fierce and above all, scary as fucking shit.

The driver was soldier first, a gentleman last, and never thought he would find himself in the circumstances that he did. He met her at a presentation for the leader of his country, a formal event showcasing the very war machine he was an expert at operating. He thought he was hitting on a common girl, but she was not common, and not very impressed with him at all.

She was the daughter of sister state, off the shore, in the city that mirrored his own. A rising triumph of light and wonder above the waves, a city defying the very water it stood upon, an Atlantis in every right. Her ears were pointed, but she had been cloaked, so he did not know. He only noticed the way she moved. Feline in her grace, majestic, without wasted motion or misjudgement. He loved her. She returned his love tenfold.

And then… A battle was fought.

He was a war hero.

Her city was lost. She turned out to be the sole survivor. They loved each other in a manner that can only exist in books. He was devoted. She always looked to the shore.

She mourned her city. Walking on the shores, she saw the few spires of rubble of all that remained of her home, the sun setting the ocean alight with its setting rays, fires forever burning in the rubble of the lost city. She thought she could still see the southern gate… her favorite, decorated in a manner that she appreciated above all the other arts of her homeland. She could still see it in her mind. And she thought she saw it for real out on the waves, beckoning to her.

She entered the ocean up to her calves, the surf pulling on her dress, the spray soaking her front, but she paid it no mind. The city beckoned to her. The ghosts of her entire cultured people called to her. Watching in horror, her lover, the warrior, standing on the beach immobile and frightened, saw his wife enter the waves. He saw a great ephemeral hand take her own and walk her into the depths. He saw her form illuminated beneath the waves, the sea glowed with a golden light. But he could do nothing. He could not move forward. Only down. He fell to his knees and saw the sea beckon him as well. He tried to get up. He wanted to follow her.

But he was a coward after all. Not a hero.

And the sea went dark.

He visited that very spot where he fell to his knees grieving the inexplicable loss of his wife, his life a dark mirror representation of what it should been. Every night, we walked back to the same spot and looked out to sea. Hoping for the waters to glow bright, every wave a crest of golden sun… but they never changed. They stayed dark, reflecting only the moon and stars.