Essay

Not My Last Supper

I have the luxury (or curse) of having ten plus years of stuff I’ve written on record, either in this blog or in thousands of pages of notes. We have a terrible habit these days of taking a tweet some guy wrote ten years ago and using it to sink their entire career. On occasion, I’m going to uses things I’ve written in the past to show you how absurd this practice is. I barely recognize things I wrote a year ago, much less ten. While I take responsibility for the things I wrote, because I did write them, I ask that you allow me the opportunity to change my mind. To admit I was wrong. Please let me learn from my mistakes, even if it takes years.

This is not easy for me to do but I think it is important. Something I wrote two years ago came up again and I feel the need to address it. “My Last Supper” is a small post, only 500 words, but it still lives with people I care about. And it’s ugly. And I’d like to correct the record. 

This old post is about how much trouble I used to have attending large gatherings like dinners. Instead of trying to figure out why and fix the issues in my life, I decided to blame the dinners themselves and my friends for even inviting me to them. I wanted you to know how much I hated the evenings and I wanted you to in turn quit having them or at least quit inviting me. The people that I’m speaking to in this post aren’t adversaries, they are people that I love. Why do I so crudely admonish them for inviting me to a party? I don’t know. I think I was looking for something or someone to blame for my unhappiness. Other than me of course. 

Honestly, I wanted to just delete the post because it is so hard for me to read and admit I even wrote. But because someone recently brought it up again, because they were planing a nice dinner and they were worried I would not agree to come, I feel the only way I can erase the damage the post has done is to address it verbatim. I so easily forget that the things I write and say matter. Even if it only matters to a few people.  

The words in bold are from the old post. They appear unchanged. I’ll also link the post here. Continue reading “Not My Last Supper”

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Humor

Sizzling Hot Fruit Series

Part I- El Chapo’s Avocado

I loved avocados for a while. I ate at least one a day for a year. Now, I can’t stand the thought of eating one and I don’t know why. Something just clicked, switched. I bought a box of single-serve tubs of guacamole that sat in my fridge for five months after the click. I used those small tubs as a substitute for fresh avocado when I felt lazy. Not that I couldn’t get a fresh one, I just didn’t want to do the work required to clean and open the damn things. Opening a tub of processed guac and scooping it onto eggs is a lot easier and safer than slicing into a fresh avocado. 

People don’t realize that you have to clean the outside of the avocado before you cut into it. The inside is protected by the leathery shell but bacteria can be transferred to it from the outside on the edge of your knife. That’s got to be why so many people get sick at Chipotle. Unwashed avocados (This is an unsubstantiated opinion. It’s a fine restaurant). Anything, regardless of outer layer, must be cleaned with some sort of bacteria-killing wash before it is cut into. Think about how many times Larry who doesn’t wash his hands after going to the toilet in the grocery store squeezes lemons before he finds the perfect one. You don’t want Larry’s wee-wee-hand in your lemonade, do you? Continue reading “Sizzling Hot Fruit Series”

Essay

He Died; I Skipped School

I don’t remember where I was when I found out he died. Information like that seems to move through a community telepathically. I was in eighth grade and he was in eleventh, I think. I don’t remember his name. Charlotte, North Carolina is a small community and the private school I attended was even smaller. I think there were around 1500 students. I graduated with 109 people and I would say that was an average size per grade. When 1 out of 109 out of 1500 dies, it resonates. It touches everyone in some way.  

I think it happened on the weekend. Memory is fuzzy. Maybe it happened on a Thursday night and the funeral was on Monday? I don’t know. The kid died in a car accident. Drunk driving. They hit a tree. One poor guy survived and had to live with survivors guilt ever since. I’m embarrassed by what I did, but he, he had to live with that moment. One second they are having a good time, enjoying their youth, taking a risk (but you never consider it a risk until you hit a tree), then, wham. Over. He was a handsome kid too, which seemed to make it worse. Continue reading “He Died; I Skipped School”

Writing

45,000 Words

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This is going to be a pat-me-on-the-back post because I accomplished a goal and I’d like to tell you about it. It’s going to be self-serving, but I hope you get something out of reading it. 

Over the past 30 days, I have read 5 books and written 45,000 words. I’m not necessarily proud of the number of words because it’s an arbitrary number; I’m proud of myself because I stuck to the same routine for 30 days. Some days my head would race with excuses. I was able to ignore them and accomplish this goal and I’m proud of that. I did the work.
Continue reading “45,000 Words”

Music

Music Theory

Lately, I’ve been apologizing to no one in particular because I don’t like the band Tool. I’ve tried to like them, but I just don’t. They produce different wave lengths than I’m wired to receive, I think. When I’m alone in the car and one of their songs comes on the Turbo or Lithium channels on Sirius XM, which is a lot, I find myself saying out loud, “I just don’t like them.” I kind of like Sober because it has a good hook, but not really. Now, don’t misinterpret what I am saying. I’m apologizing because I don’t like Tool because they are so popular. Their style is unique and I’m sure that’s why their fans love them so much. I just don’t. Sorry. 

I’ve discovered that my taste in music is very fluid, changing without any reason or warning. A few years ago, I only listened to reggae. A reggae-seed gets planted in my head and sometimes an obsession blooms over time. Steel Pulse was my favorite band in the genre. (Really, it’s Bob Marley but I don’t categorize him as anything besides genius) I saw Steel Pulse live in Charleston a few years before my obsession took hold. A few years after that, reggae was all I listened too.  Continue reading “Music Theory”