Let It All Hang Out

"I'm so wired-up
Don't need no coffee in my cup
Let it all hang out."

_ Van Morrison

I'm pretty sure that my mom and dad have a love/hate relationship with my blog.

Or maybe hate/love.

Either way, I'm sure there are times when they read this blog and have a hint of pride.

Pride that somehow their youngest kid who couldn't figure out how to tie his shoes or button his pants by kindergarten has found a way to use words to make other people laugh. Or think. Or say "there's five minutes of my life I'll never get back."

But for every small bit of pride mom and dad might feel, it's quickly eradicated by the shame of my bluntness.

"Why do you have to write about hickeys and tongue rings?"

"Do you have to use profanity in every one?"

"Your mother wasn't real happy about the latest one you wrote."

I'd say the most awkward conversation I had with my parents surrounding this blog was the Parking Lot Date. And I explicitly put a warning for them not to read it.

"I know what you meant when you said it rhymed with 'palatial'"

The point is, there are many others in my life, like my parents, who sometimes think I put a little bit too much of myself out there on the Interwebz.

Whether it's through this blog, or on Facebook, or a Hawkeye message board here and there, I plead guilty to pretty much putting my entire life out there.

The highs and the lows. The insane date stories and the sappy man moments.

I'll talk about poop and I'll talk about boobs. Deal with it.

Why am I willing to do this on a blog, or on Facebook, to the shame of my loved ones?

Maybe it's because of who I am as a person in real life.

I've had more than my fair share of "Today Could Be Your Last Day On Earth" moments in my middle-aged life.

And as each day passes where I wake up and I'm not dead, the more I vow to just live my life as naked as possible. Not literally. Hope I didn't startle you.

Live deliberately. With meaning. And passion. And as yourself.

So, in summary, for you tech nerds out there:

WYSIWYG.

And for you non tech nerds:

"I am what I am." _ Popeye.

Life's not a dress rehearsal. This is our one shot.

So you may as well just let it all hang out.

Snowless in St. Paul

It's January 12.

And there's no snow on the ground in the Tundra.

This leads to some pissed off people in these parts.

Fisherman who are used to being out in their ice houses drinking Grainbelts are instead stuck at home on the couch drinking Grainbelts.

Soccer moms who are used to escaping their daily stress of work/kids/home through cross country skiing on the many beautifully groomed trails are instead escaping to the gym and working out on the treadmill.

Guys who would be heading out to hit the lakes and woods "up nort" on their sleds (snowmobiles to the non-Tundra people) are instead riding their bikes (motorcycle to the non-hipster people) around the lakes in the woods "up nort."

Hockeyheads who typically would be out on the many lakes playing pond hockey are instead forced to pay big money for ice time at the many indoor rinks to play old-time hockey.

And C_O's of companies all over Eden Prairie are upset that their golf trips to southern Florida or Mexico are looking less hipster now that golf courses throughout Minnesota are open.

Yep. There's a lot of pissy peeps in the state of Minnesnowta.

But not this guy.

I'm happy as hell, even with the 13 degree temperature as I drove home tonight, to not have to fend with snow and ice on my daily commute.

Chalk it up to when I rolled my car roughly a year ago, during a light snowfall.

And the fact that snow/ice usually doubles or triples my commute time.

After last winter, which ended up in the top 5 of all time for snowfall in the Twin Cities since they started keeping records, I will take a brown Winter.

You know it's a bad Winter when the people who were BORN in Minnesota complained. "Oh this is even a bit much for me, youbetcha!"

That was SO last Winter.

So excuse me if I don't shed a tear for the snow-loving freaks I call my neighbors THIS Winter.

If the current temperatures of 30 and below disappear in a week, and don't return, I'll do my happy dance.

Hell, in fact I enjoy it so much, I'm encouraging everyone I know to buy an SUV, to stop recycling, and to leave open cans of baked beans in cow pastures everywhere. Even IF my father insists I have a mancrush on Al Gore.

And with that note, I will end this blog entry.

Because I know that at this point, Mother Nature is about to bring karma back on my ass and show me she's The Boss.

I'll see you in May, when the snow melts here.

xoxox,
The Prisoner

Life Is Good: No Whining Allowed

It seems that this time of year, a lot of people suddenly start to get negative.

Blame it on Winter. Or Seasonal Affective Disorder. Or Post-Holiday Blues.

My Facebook news feed is full of people who think their life is miserable.

"FML"

Guess what? You're whining.

That is, unless you or a loved one is about to lose your home or job with no alternatives.

Or you or a loved one is about to be shipped off to Afghanistan.

Or you or a loved one been diagnosed with a terminal illness, or suffered the loss of a loved one.

It's easy to fall into the trap of wanting that "perfect life." The shows on TV and the movies in the theater make us think we deserve that.

But just remember Hollywood isn't grounded in reality.

Reality is this: Life does suck from time to time.

But if you are surrounded by loved ones, have a job, have food in your fridge, and a roof over your head, at the end of the day you really can't bitch.

Bills pile up. Relationships end. Friends are lost. People are pricks. But unless it means your life is truly worse than it was at the start of the day, is it worth getting negative over?

Because remember negativity breeds more negativity. And conversely, positivity breeds positivity.

I know it's not easy to wake up and put a fake smile on your face every day. But sometimes it doesn't hurt doing the ol' "fake it until you make it" routine.

And rather than playing your violin, or having cheese with your whine, how about putting on your big girl or big boy pants on and tackling the problems that are making your life more stressful?

Don't like your job? Find a new one.

Don't like your spouse/partner? See above.

Don't like your kids? Well, can't help you there...chances are you had something to do with who they are as a person.

Tired of drama? Eliminate the people causing it from your life.

Wishing things weren't so difficult? Well, again, can't help you there. Life is tough. But it doesn't mean you have to let Life win.

So if you're looking for a New Year's Resolution or two...see the list above and maybe there's a match for something you can do in 2012 to help make your life less sucky.

Or you can just keep whining.

Just don't expect me to stand around listening to it.

Happy New Year, everyone!

From The Prisoner

P.S. - This blog entry was written as a reminder to the author as well.

The Professor Gets a D+

I really need to stop in and see my old buddy, Steve Bloom.

Bloom was one of three professors who served on my Master's Project Committee when I got my M.A. in Journalism at the University of Iowa in the early 90s.

My feelings toward Professor Bloom have never been positive.

He was very pompous, and loved to share copies of articles he'd done for the Sacramento Bee and other publications with his students. He tended to talk in first person more than any other prof I had while at Iowa.

And don't get me started on my defense of my M.A. project - starting an alternative weekly newspaper in Iowa City. Yeah, I basically co-founded a business that outlasted me by a good 5-7 years while in grad school. And he attacked me for it.

Why? Because my summary of how we went about starting the newspaper didn't divulge enough of the conflict I had with my co-founder. He wanted the juicy rumors and details. I wanted to say, "Hey buddy, the details are in the in-depth articles we're doing every week about local issues...not about the battle over whether or not we should be renting a copy machine for $120/month."

But I bit my tongue. Even when he told me "I don't think you have what it takes to be a journalist."

Fast forward a few months after my defense of my M.A. project, and I ran into Bloom in front of the J-School building one afternoon.

I didn't want to talk to him, but he saw me, and started up a conversation. "Hey, Steve, I saw that piece you did in The New York Times about the horrible kidnapping and murder in Southeast Iowa. Do you have contacts you can share from the Times?"

"I'll have to look and see," I replied. "But you know I'm not much of a journalist." And I walked away.

So I was not at all surprised when I learned the ol' Professor penned a piece for The Atlantic this week that has many Iowans ready to say "GOSH DARN IT!" Read his article here.

Now I'm not going to dissect the Professor's article item by item, other than to say after living my first 29 years in Iowa (other than a 6 month stint in London), I'd really like to know what he's smoking.

Also, I'm disappointed in his writing. Poor construction, and too wordy.

Read the article and draw your own conclusions on whether he accurately depicts Iowans.

But I'll give you this, Bloom, you got the controversy you seek in your journalism. Every native or current Iowan I know is up in arms about this article.

So I guess you're right after all. If controversy is what journalism is about, you've got what it takes, even if it is at the expense of the truth.

And I don't.

So I propose we trade. You come sell steaks in Minnesota, and I'll come teach journalism to the students at the U of I.

After all, you only told me I didn't have what it took to BE a journalist. You didn't mention anything about TEACHING it.

You get a D+, Bloom.

See me after class.

Youbetcha I Talk Funny!

"Miranda says you have a funny accent."

My friend since fifth grade, Trish, was relaying the message that was just whispered in her ear by her 12-year-old daughter.

"You do!" Miranda added. "You sound funny!"

Trish and Miranda were in Sioux City this past weekend for the NAIA Volleyball tournament, and since I hadn't seen Trish in over a year, we met for lunch.

While I made sure to point out to Miranda that she had herself a little Kansas/Missouri accent of her own, I had to admit that she was right.

My dad has been giving me crap about my Minn-uh-soooh-tuh accent for years. I don't notice it, and it pains me to think I sound like they do, but alas, I've lived her for 12 years now...sigh...I caught the funny accent.

At least a few times a year, I'll catch myself talking on the phone with my dad, and the accent sneaks out. I'll quickly finish my statement with a good "Yeah, and it's aboot time to go skay-tin' dare soon."

I'm sure if I lived in Texas, I'd start saying "y'all" and call every pop a "Coke."

But show me where a movie was made making fun of the Texas accent.

Nothing like what "Fargo" did for Minnesota. (If you ever want to piss off a native Minnesotan, tell them they sound like the characters in "Fargo"). "Oh, geez, Marge, we don't sound like that!"

But yes, I don't say "snow," I say "Snoowwwh."

I don't say "lake," I say "Layyyyke."

And don't get me started on the Tundra pronunciation of "bagel."

But my new accent comes in handy when my Hawkeyes play the Gophers. I'm able to appropriately mock the world's longest spelling bee cheer, which would be the end to the Minnesota Rouser.

But until I'm paroled from The Tundra (7 years, 7 months and 16 days, approximately, unless I'm released early for good behavior), I'll just keep speaking my Canada Lite accent!

In the meantime, let me know if you wanna play some duck, duck, gray duck, or if you need me to borrow you something! Yeah, sure, youbetcha! Uff da!

Silent Nights

Silence.

It's a double-edged sword.

True there's no fighting or blaming or yelling.

But there's also no giggles, no jokes, no belly laughs.

Life as a single co-parent can be so bittersweet.

You have the time for yourself you never had before when married and in a family unit.

And you also have nights where you have no idea what your children are up to or where they are.

Tonight, what is supposed to be a night with kids, has turned kidless. The mini-me's are with their mom at a hip-hop dance show, or something like that.

My first thought was "what a perfect night to just have a quiet night watching some college football, sipping a beer, and enjoying a peaceful house."

But as the minutes tick by, the more lonely I feel.

No Gman asking me if he can use the computer yet. "The answer is still no!"

No Nile begging for a ride to the YMCA so he can play pickup basketball with his buddies. "Okay, Grady, you can use the computer while I'm driving your brother to play basketball."

Just me. And my stupid cat.

The silence is beautiful. And sad.

You find things to distract you from the sad silence. Read. Watch a movie. Nap. Write a blog.

Then you remember that you'll see them tomorrow. And you take a deep breath. It will be okay.

But one thing being a single half-time parent does do...it makes you cherish the moments you have with those little poops before you blink and they're not-so-little poops.

Good silence. Bad silence. Peace with inner chaos.

Be safe, my sons. I will see you tomorrow!

Thankful for the Little Things...

Every year I seem to write a Thanksgiving blog entry where I cover all the things I'm thankful for in my life.

Since I'm doing 30 Days of Thankfulness on Facebook this year, this seems to be overkill, so I thought this year instead, I'd find the little things I'm thankful for.

1. Dimples. Holy crap am I thankful for those.

2. Summit India Pale Ale. Nectar of the Gods, I say.

3. Country music (and for letting me pretend to be a redneck).

4. Mac and Cheese Lasagna (with bacon in it of course).

5. Ranch Dressing. I mean seriously, there's no better condiment on Earth.

6. My car (when it is working properly). Living without it is basically impossible.

7. My Grinnell College buddies (though they're not technically "little").

8. Cool people who like to laugh, as opposed to mean people who like to complain.

9. Reese's Peanut Butter cups. 'Nuf said.

10. The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers (Just kidding...making sure you're actually reading this).

11. College football...not JUST my Hawkeyes.

12. Coffee (and make it simple, I like my coffee like I like my men - hot, black, rich and bitter - wait, what?)

13. Swimsuits manufactured by Speedo that go all the way down to the knee (allowing me to return to the pool for the first time in 20 some years).

14. Summertime. Give me 90s and humidity any day of the year!

15. Jerry's Pizza. Nothing better on this planet. Nothing!

16. La Juanita's Burritos. (See 15, the only thing better on this planet).

17. The Interwebz, for giving me something to do to waste time that doesn't require TV, so it makes it better, right? Right?

18. Cheeseburgers. The best complementary meal with an India Summit Pale Ale.

19. Grace Potter's legs.

20. Every single person who reads my blog on a regular basis.

Happy Turkey Day, everyone, to you and yours!

Bah, Humbug!

I will not apologize for being a scrooge.

Don't get me wrong. I love Christmas.

Love it!

I mean, "It's a Wonderful Life" is my favorite movie of all time.

But this year, I'm not feeling it.

Maybe because we aren't even to Thanksgiving yet? Call me crazy.

My store switched over to our Holiday theme on Nov. 1.

I may or may not have procrastinated a few days on that.

The mall put up the 30 foot Christmas tree last week, giving yet another target for drunk patrons of Toby Keith's to vomit.

Every light post in a four block radius is adorned with fake holly and red ribbons.

And of course, the PA system that usually plays generic "soft hip hop, jazz and soothing soul" now features "soft hip hop, jazz, and soothing soul renditions of the Christmas holiday standbys."

Maybe I'm just turning into a grumpy old man in my 40's.

Just a few short years away from "GET OFF MY LAWN YOU PUNKS!"

But really?

The day after Halloween has suddenly become the new "Beginning of the Holiday Season," otherwise known as "Oh shit...the economy is hurting, we need to stretch out the retail season and see if people start spending more money again!"

And from both running a retail store and before that years of working in marketing, I understand the need to come up with new ways to get people into your store and buying.

But I don't think it has to come at the expense of stretching out what was already a "way too long" holiday season.

Let's finish cleaning up the dishes from the Thanksgiving meal and taking our long snoozes on couches and lazyboys before we deck the halls, huh?

And for the retailers who have decided to begin their "Black Friday" sales on Thursday evening, well, I seriously hope the execs who signed off on this idea are there in those stores on Thursday instead of home with their families.

I'll be unlocking the doors at my store at 8 a.m. on Black Friday. Which means I'll be leaving my family's Thanksgiving dinner in Sioux Falls and driving home that night. It's part of the job, I know.

Just don't make me have to deal with an extended holiday season on top of that.

But if the trend continues, don't be surprised if I don't start promoting a Valentine's Day Surf and Turf Combo at my store beginning Jan. 1.

And don't forget to stock up on your 4th of July picnic needs while you're here!

Say it Ain't So JoePa!

This world needs more heroes.

More living legends.

People who do things the right way, and succeed.

Until this week, Penn State head football coach was one of them.

I've had a connection to JoePa since childhood, when my oldest brother went to a Penn State-Iowa game with my parents and middle brother, and started rooting for Penn State by halftime.

Despite the rivalry between PSU and my Hawkeyes once they joined the BigTen, I still always had nothing but respect for JoePa and the way that he did things. The right way. And he succeeded.

JoePa was always about making sure that his student-athletes were taken care of. He always wanted to make sure they were protected from the pressures and demands of the high dollar world of college football.

He oozed integrity both on and off the field.

So it is a very sad thing to watch the demise of this legend, in particular given the fact that it wouldn't have taken much for him to avoid this horrible mess.

Let's look at it this way.

Imagine one of my employees walks into my store and finds another one of my employees doing unthinkable acts with a 10-year-old boy.

Now let's say the employee who witnessed it then came to me to report what they saw.

I could report the event to my boss, and probably cover myself from the legal/liability standpoint.

And if my boss didn't do anything about it, and the employee remained at my store, I'd again be ok from the legal/liability standpoint.

But I could NOT, in my right mind, stand by and let something like this happened. I'd be reporting it to the police as quickly as possible, and I'd make sure that the employee was never allowed anywhere near my store.

It's not rocket science.

And the timing of the release of the grand jury investigation could not have been any more suspicious. Just one week after JoePa broke the record for most wins by an NCAA Division IA football coach with his 409th victory, the story breaks.

So JoePa needs to do the right thing. Step down with the dignity you have left. For your program. For the kids on your current team who had nothing to do with this atrocity. For the game of college football.

Because if he digs in his heels and fights this, he'll do nothing but destroy the last bit of respect he has for doing things the right way 99 percent of the time during his 46 year tenure as head coach.

You had a good run, Joe. Please don't make it worse. It's time to ride off into the sunset and enjoy your retirement.

The Parking Lot Date

Disclaimer: This blog entry contains content which may be unsuitable for persons under the age of 18, my parents, or anyone with a stick up their butt.

So about three years ago, I had a date with a solid, upstanding, Christian woman.

"Karol" and I had met on a dating site. We seemed to hit it off via email and phone. So we had our first date. We met halfway between our homes, at a little dive bar, for burgers and beer.

As I said, she was a very strong Christian woman. All her kids (she had 5 of them) were named things like Isiah and Jedediah and such.

We had a great date. Laughing, talking, getting to know one another. I was definitely thinking that she was worthy of a second date, and got the feeling she felt the same way about me.

So at the end of the date, I walked her to her car, and gave her a kiss on her cheek, and a hug. After the hug, I made a remark about how nice it felt. Not thinking much about it, I headed to my car.

When I got home, I sent her a text saying I had a great time. She replied saying she did too.

Then I texted her "When can I see you again?" Complete silence.

Over the next few days, we texted less and less, and I realized she tended to go silent whenever I brought up the idea of a second date.

Eventually, we just quit texting each other. Life moved on, and I started dating a high school friend who lived in Kansas City.

It had been over a year at least, when I was in Tampa FL for New Year's Eve with the Kansas City woman, when suddenly this woman started texting me out of the blue.

KC woman was jealous at the time that another woman was texting me, so I pretty much ignored her.

Fast forward to my living hell, when in a four week span KC girl dumped me, I lost my job, lost my townhouse, and temporarily lost my car.

I'm living in a hotel, waiting to get approved for an apartment with my foreclosure on my record...when she starts texting me again. We talk very openly, and she continually discusses her faith and Christianity.

Then she starts asking me about my relationship with KC Girl, and if we were intimate with one another.

I told her yes, we were two grown single adults, and we decided to show our affections for one another by being physically intimate.

She responded by telling me she wouldn't have sex with me until at least six months into a relationship. She added that the reason she wouldn't go on a second date with me before was because she thought I was too physical with my hug, and in expressing that it felt nice.

Okay, I thought, we haven't even had a second date, so that's fair enough.

She was so damn persistent though. She continually texted me, and really wanted to get together. I reluctantly agreed, and figured if I got another date out of the way with her, we could both move onto a better match for each of us.

So I drove to her town, and picked her up for our lunch date.

We went to a little Italian place. It was mid-afternoon, so the place was virtually empty.

She reminded me yet again of her strong faith, and that we wouldn't have sex for six months if we started dating. Again, my mindset was, let's just get through this date, I'll drop you off, and we can both go on our merry way.

The waiter comes over to give us water and asks if we want anything else to drink. She orders a beer, which shocks me.

I decide to order a beer as well.

Before our meal arrives, she orders a second beer. I order a second beer as well.

During the meal, she orders a third beer. And let's just remember it's about 2:30 in the afternoon. I tell her to enjoy the beer, but that since I have to drive back home, I'm done for the day.

So she has her third beer, and being small in stature, it's impacting her, I can tell.

She talks about ordering a fourth beer when I remind her that her kids are going to be home from school soon, and she was adamant about making sure that she was home and they had no clue she had a lunch date with some man.

So we head to my car, leave the restaurant, and when I get ready to turn right toward her house, she belts out "NO GO LEFT! I WANT TO SHOW YOU MY TOWN!"

We're driving around for about 5 minutes, and I notice she keeps trying to get me to turn down desolate roads and into hidden parking lots.

Finally I ask her "Are you trying to get me to park?"

She shyly admits that she is, and that she wants to make out with me.

So eventually we end up in a parking lot that overlooks a corn field on the edge of town. It's on the edge of a small college campus.

It's broad daylight, but there we are, listening to cheesy country music and thinking about making out like two high school sweethearts.

The next 30 seconds are a blur. We go from making out at the 5 second mark, to her having her hand on my crotch by the 10 second mark, to her unzipping my fly and letting the animals out of the barn door at the 25 second mark.

The next thing I know, she's busy performing an act that rhymes with palatial on me, in a college commuter lot, while I watch the corn grow.

As I nervously scan the horizon for anyone who might be watching us, who might notice that her head is bobbing up and down on the driver seat side of my car...I notice a combine slowly moving in the rows of the cornfield closest to my car.

"There's a farmer in his combine driving by right now" I tell her. "Mmmmph hmmmph hhhmmmph mpppmhh." (Translation: I don't give a shit)

A few minutes later, after not worrying about the farmer in the dell myself, I realize that her work on me is about to reach fruition.

Being the gentleman that I am, I warn her accordingly.

Her reply: "Mmmmph hmmmph hhhmmmph mpppmhh." (Translation: I don't give a shit)

As the fruition occurs, I suddenly find myself thinking about Bill Clinton. A "man of faith" who didn't consider oral sex to be cheating, or sex.

Damn. I just had a date with the female version of Bill Clinton.

Suddenly, as if she was awakened from a drunken slumber, which in fact she may have very well been in, she blurts out "Oh my gosh. I have to get home!"

We hastily get ourselves back in order...me zipping up my jeans, and her asking me for a piece of gum...and I begin the short drive back to her house.

As we get a block away, she asks me to drive around the block and drop her off where her kids won't see her.

I oblige, and as I pull up a half-block from her house she suddenly shrieks and ducks down.

"What's wrong?" I ask her. "Did one of your kids see us?"

"No, that's my pastor walking his dog right there."

As her pastor disappears around the corner with Fido, she slides out of the car quickly and disappears into her house.

I was in a state of bewilderment as I drove home. What the hell just happened? I didn't plan to ever talk to her again, because something completely freaked me out about the last few hours.

Halfway home, I got a text message from her. "When can I see you again?"

I didn't reply.

And I still haven't.