Four years ago, I wrote a story about a road trip my friend Bill and I made to Wisconsin for our friend’s wedding (posted on the left-hand column of this site). I never intended it to be a major project, just a way to capture some of the adventures we encountered along the way. 9 months and nearly 300 pages later, I had finished what had become, “Out of the Vein,” a blog/book partly inspired by the Third Eye Blind album of the same name (we were listening to a lot of them during that trip).
By reading it, you’d think that I had as much fun writing it as I did on the actual road trip itself. Though I did (and still do) enjoy writing and telling stories, that wasn’t exactly the case. Not by a long shot. Anybody who’s ever dabbled in any form of writing knows that it can be extremely difficult, stressful, and terrifying, especially when it comes time to share it with others.
In fact, it was quite a struggle at times, devoting countless hours and long weekends to writing, all the while beating myself up whenever I got writers block or felt like I wasn’t writing fast enough. “What was the point of it all,” I’d ask myself. “How many people have written about going on a road trip, and why was mine any more special than theirs’?” After all, I wouldn’t say there was exactly anything profound about my words. Essentially, it was just a collection of silly stories about two friends getting into antics across the United States.
But there was something inside that kept pushing me, to go forth and finish out what I started, even if people, including myself, didn’t quite understand. It’s like there’s some spiritual essence within all of us driving our passions, to do that one thing we’re great at; that one thing we were meant to do. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s something that comes from the big man upstairs, aka, the great bambino, the Holy Ghost, the one and only G-O-D.
And so, I did just that. I wrote, and I didn’t stop.
That New Year’s Eve following the trip, I received some somber news. One of my good friends from Minnesota tragically passed away. I remember that night vividly–me, standing outside my parent’s deck, cold and devastated with an old fashioned in hand, thinking about one of the last times we had hung out with her. It was during our road trip, a moment that was taken for granted, yet one that was lived to the fullest, and one that I had fully captured in writing.
In that moment of despair, if only for a brief moment, I realized how powerful friendship can be. For the first time, I realized how those small and insignificant moments you spend with your friends can become the most memorable ones of your life, and how important it is to captures those memories. I realized that maybe there’s a bigger reason to it all, something that I may not ever fully understand, but could appreciate. That maybe, my call to writing was a part of that.
***
One year later, Bill, now living in Texas, convinced me to meet him in Idaho for an impromptu trip to “surprise” all our Boise friends. In a way, you could say that we’d find out what happens when the “Z” is in “Boise!”
Turns out, there wasn’t much of a surprise (thanks to Bill ruining the “plan”) and it ended up being your typical weekend in South-central Idaho. Nothing special, just a few episodes of foolhardy fun, including winning a highly competitive cornhole tournament, watching a full-grown man punch out an old lady, listening to another grown man cry over fried pickles (believe me, it was awful), stopping Gretch from beating a kid up at the bar, chasing after a girl (I’m afraid to admit), riding a mechanical bull, floating the Boise River while running into diabolical characters along the way, putting up with Josh Ulrich’s crap, and even a strange obsession with running shoes…
And it’s hard to believe, but we even managed to schedule a face to face meeting with the legendary… Megan Mills…
Every time we turned around, some crazy event was about to unfold, a new conflict had to be resolved, and another beer had to be drunk. But coupled with the eclectic group of personalities, it turned out to be a weekend I’d never forget. So, I decided to write about it.
…And I ended up writing a lot.
I’m not exactly sure how I became so invested with writing. I’m sure it’s a combination of things, but a lot of it probably stems from the fact that I have so much going on in the old noggin, and writing is one of the ways to get it out and express myself. So much so, that it took me a few years to juggle it with other life events that include moving to DC, getting married, starting a new job, and keeping up with the blog every once and a while.
But low and behold, after three years, my second blog-book “How to Clean your Conscience,” is officially complete. I guess you could say it’s a sequel to “Out of the Vein,” and it’s a true story too! Well, mostly true… roughly 80–we’ll say 85%… I’ll say this. The meat and potatoes are all there, and of course I had to fill in some of the details… I mean, I don’t remember every detail from every conversation, and there’s this thing called artistic liberty…
Ok, 87.5%. Final answer.
Bottom line, you can argue over the facts all day long, but what I can say with absolute sincerity is that I’m definitely I’m excited to share it with the world.
***
It’s funny looking back; one of my last summers as a bachelor, just having turned thirty, and still working on that whole “growing up” routine. There are definitely times I cringe thinking about the things we did (the mechanical bull and girl chasing scenario among them). At the same time, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. It was a special weekend, a time where we weren’t thinking about trying to force a memory, but simply living in the moment and enjoying the company around us, even if we acted miserable.
So, over the next several weeks, I’ll be releasing it on the blog one chapter at a time. My hope is that you read it, have a few laughs, and remember to go out with those that are closest to you and make a memory or two this summer.
Hello, fans of Grizzly Chadams. My name is Ike, and I’m Zack’s dad, guest posting on his notorious blog. I’m 40 years and 20 years and 4 years old. That adds up to 64 years in terms of the number of orbits I’ve made around the fat, old sun (H/T: Pink Floyd), but it means something a little more than that. Within me is the wisdom one achieves at the age of 40, the youthful spirit of adventure that develops in your 20’s, and the wide-eyed wonder of a child of 4. The significance of this, you ask? These three parts of my personality are what got me falling head over heels in the ocean, the titular offender for this month’s C6 lamina fracture, plus the misery to follow.
It all started at a little place called Topsail Beach, located on a 26-mile long barrier island just off the coast of southern North Carolina. But first, a little background on how I got there.
***
During grad school, I met a chemist named Phil from Ohio and a rugby player named Jerome from Fond du Lac, Wisconsin. We got to be friends, as did our wives, and managed to keep up to varying degrees after we graduated. The wives were good about meeting up about every five years, but the men, being busy with careers in the paper industry, not so much. But now that we’ve all finally reached retirement, we got our opportunity to join in these roughly quinquennial reunions.
If you’re married, and your spouse has friends who are also married, you’ll notice that they often plan events for the women folk requiring the men to accompany them. Of course, the women have already hit it off, but the men are relegated to sitting around drinking beer or whatnot, trying to act like friends when no common interests or experiences have yet to be established. I’m not being critical of these situations, it’s just the way they are. Sometimes friendships do form, but often it’s just something you politely endure until it’s over.
A fitting artifact from the trip
But with Phil, Jerome, and myself with our wives LeAnn, Corrine, and Debbie, respectfully, it was as if no time had passed between us. So, it was with much excitement and anticipation to reunite with the gang at Phil and LeeAnn’s house in New Bern, NC, during a long weekend in May. Phil had planned a lot of activities for the men, and the same for LeeAnn and the women, but we all united each evening around the dinner table, enjoying the five home-brews that Phil crafted in his spare time (what a way to leverage a knowledge of chemistry!).
Naturally Gifted!
Friday’s activity for the men involved kayaking on the Trent River, a short tributary of the Neuse River, which empties into Pamlico Sound where it finally becomes one with the Atlantic Ocean (you know the place!). If I had any sense of reading signs, I should have figured out that this expedition was a harbinger of more water troubles to come. Phil already had a kayak and had borrowed two more from his neighbor. While most of the kayaks I’d ever used had broad, flat hulls and were very stable in the water, these were narrow-bodied and felt tipsy, like I was trying to ride a bicycle for the first time.
My legs, built up over the years of doing squats, felt packed into the kayak like two large sardines. I began to rehearse how I would escape from these tight confines in the event I tipped over, as I wasn’t skilled enough to upright the kayak by using a hip motion, let alone deal with the trouble of getting my legs to slide out. But after 5 minutes of paddling, a steady ache building in my lower back eclipsed my safety planning.
“Something’s not right,” I said to Phil. “My lower back is hurting.”
“Are you pushing against the foot pegs?” he asked.
There was just the slightest pressure against the foam of my flip-flops. “The tips of my toes are barely touching them.”
“Ummm. We should have adjusted them before you got in. Let’s paddle over there to the shore and fix them.”
I went as far as I could before the front of the hull bottomed out, and as I tried to raise myself from the seat, I lost my balance. Phil outstretched his oar to me, but couldn’t prevent the inevitable. I flipped upside down, nearly pulling him in with me.
To my surprise, my legs came out smoothly and I surfaced without being submerged too long, but as I climbed onto shore, my right flip-flop got caught in the mud and came off my foot. Jerome eventually retrieved it, but not before I stepped on a rough rock that took off a quarter-sized flap of skin. Then, stumbling from the step, I scraped my left shin against another rock, resulting in an ooze of bright red blood.
The geese that were on the shore flashed away in a noisy gaggle, but their clumps of poo were everywhere. While I pulled the kayak on shore, all I could think about was getting some kind of bacteria in my wound, so I kept a close watch on where I was stepping. With careful maneuvering, we managed to navigate through the minefield with little casualties, and after about ten minutes of peg adjustments, I managed to get back into the kayak free of any back pain.
We kayaked for another hour and a half before we could get back to Phil’s house to tend to the wounds. I used hot, soapy water and a brush to scrub them both, then liberally applied antibiotic ointment. Secretly, I wished I could have gotten a tetanus shot, but hoped the scrub and daub treatment would be good enough.
More water adventures followed, this time for everybody. LeeAnn had a friend she’d met through her career as a nurse named Joanie, who had a beach house about an hour away from New Bern, and I couldn’t have been more excited. I’ve always been in love with the beach, ever since I was a kid, and I couldn’t wait to hit the surf that Saturday. By the time we got there, the surf roiling and inviting, with only a slight overcast. I wasted no time in taking a plunge, letting the waves wash over until I could dive beneath the first big breaker. The water wasn’t so bad once you got thoroughly submersed, and I spent the next 20 minutes playing with the waves, trying to catch one perfectly so I could body surf to the shore. It felt so good to be out in the ocean again!
As I was about to head back to shore, it occurred to me that the salt water was good for my kayaking wounds, so I stayed knee deep in the water for an additional 10 minutes, walking up and down the beach. At last, I got out and lathered up with some Banana Boat SPF 15 so I could relax in the sun. When lunch came around LeeAnn and I went to a New York style deli to pick up sandwiches for everyone, then stopped at a convenience store for drinks and chips. Joanie showed up and Jerome and I lazed around her hammock and swinging chairs and chit-chatted while the rest of the party went back to the beach.
When the three of us retuned to the beach, everybody was snoozing, but our appearance caused them to stir awake. Debbie and I went for a walk, and when we got back I got the sense that folks were tiring of being in the sun and would want to be heading back soon. Since going to the beach is a rare occurrence for someone living in Spokane, Washington, the four-year old within me said I just had to take one more tip to take advantage of the glorious combination of wind, sand, sun and surf.
The day so far had been filled with an overabundance of normalcy. That was all about to change. The surf hadn’t settled at all since the morning, still rough and roiling, but not intimidating, at least not to the 4 year old in me, with the 20 year old telling me I had to conquer those waves and body surf one all the way to the shore. I went out just past the breakers and bobbed around a bit, then swam swiftly toward the shore trying to catch the first swell I saw, rising like it would soon spill over. I missed it, so I regained my bearings and went out again. The second wave came and the crests were breaking on either side of me. I started swimming forward and caught the middle part just as it was breaking, and the next thing I knew I was planed-out and soaring. A sense of exhilaration settled in, but only for about 2 seconds.
In the blackest darkness I could imagine, the wave hydraulics changed viciously and slammed the front part of my head against the seabed. I was aware of what happened—too aware—and instantly realized that I had never, ever been hit in the head so hard in my life. My body still swirling in the cataclysm of violent water, my second thought was just as clear as the first: Why am I still conscious?
Fortunately, I was. Otherwise, the undertow might have swept me back out to sea, never to be found. I felt around for something solid to stand on, and my feet landed on the sand. As the wave receded, I felt a tingling up and down my left arm. “This isn’t right,” said the 40 year old in me. No way was I going to try to brush this off with bravado and act like nothing happened. Immediately, I staggered over to LeeAnn and Joanie, two nurses who would know exactly what to do in a situation like this.
“What happened to your head?” LeeAnn asked before I could ever say what happened. I felt around at the top of my head until I found the answer. A silver-dollar sized chunk of my hair was missing, replaced by a bright red spot dotted with blood specks. “You’ve been scalped!”
“That wave slammed me into the ocean floor,” I explained. “My left arm is tingling.”
“That’s not good,” she replied. “Let’s get you to urgent care right away.”
The three of us hastily left the beach, and at least the tingling in my arm stopped before we could cross the road back to the beach house. We got into Joanie’s car and took off toward the nearest urgent care facility, but a quick phone call revealed it was closed for the weekend (an aside: the benefit of being with two nurses is that they both knew the medical landscape of the area very well). After a brief debate, we shot towards New Hannover Regional Urgent Care Center in Wilmington, North Carolina.
LeeAnn plugged the destination into her phone and Joanie took off—well, sort of. We got stuck behind a pickup moving slow and erratically. Not only did we suspect that he was texting, or drunk, or both, but they didn’t even know how to get out into the intersection to make a left turn! Joanie, having lived in Chicago where she put up a lot with that traffic, suddenly lost her patience due the untimely impedance of our makeshift ambulance excursion. I have to admit, it was reassuring to see her acquired southern charm evaporate in the face of a slow-ass driver. After all, she was doing it because she was acting in the best interests of her patient, me.
Fortunately, the slow-ass driver turned into a nearby WalMart, giving us unobstructed access to the road from thereon out. At one point Joanie got on the phone and called a nurse who specialized in neuro injuries and asked her what symptoms we should be looking out for. She relayed a bunch of questions and had me do a few head movements before concluding I wasn’t too badly off, although in retrospect some of the head movements ended up becoming verboten after the doctor reviewed my x-rays. At any rate, she quickly got me to an emergency room, that was to our luck empty, allowing me to reach the admittance desk right away. “Good afternoon. I would like an x-ray, a tetanus shot, and this scalp wound cleaned up, please,” I said.
“Would you like fries with that?” you think she would have responded. Instead, she asked all the normal prerequisites—insurance, driver’s license, social security number, etc., and soon I was escorted into a private room in the main examination area. A nurse came in and introduced herself, believing she was there to immediately treat my scalp. Instead she took blood pressure, temperature and pulse readings and said the examining doctor would be there shortly. Yeah, but my scalp… I wanted to say, but she left… too quickly.
Next, a thirty-something year old man in scrubs showed up and extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Steven Crawford. I’m the attending physician this afternoon.”
Right away I was impressed that he didn’t flaunt his credentials by insisting I call him, “Dr. Crawford.” I explained what happened as he looked me over. He checked me out for a concussion and then said he was going to order x-rays and we’d go from there.
But what about my scalp wound…, I started to stay, but he left before I could utter the first word.
The x-rays showed I had a fractured C6 lamina, a serious place to get injured, as that region of the spinal cord controls the mobility functions from the neck down. In other words, I was lucky I wasn’t paralyzed, as several nurses told me over the course of the next 24 hours. Still, there was concern that the soft tissue inside the vertebrae might have been compromised, and the only way to find out was through an MRI. Next stop, New Hannover Central Hospital in downtown, Wilmington, transportation curtesy of the ambulance. In the meantime, I got to wear what felt like a series of concentric Ubangi neck rings.
Well, That Escalated Quickly…
I’ve never felt so uncomfortable in my life.
Finally, just before the ambulance came to whisk me away, the attending nurse showed up to treat my scalp wound. It must not have been too bad, I thought to myself, since it took them so long to attend to it. You can judge for yourself.
Not a good look…
The ambulance ride was interesting. One of the paramedics used to work for the movie studio in Wilmington as a location manager, but got tired of the travel and long days associated with film making. I remembered living in Wilmington at the time the studio came in, which led to extra work in “The Year of the Dragon” and an encounter with Arnold Schwarzenegger in a Gold’s Gym, a story for another time. As I exchanged stories with the paramedic, I told her about how my son was born in Wilmington and that I was now going to be admitted into the same hospital that he was born in. Come to find out, that wasn’t exactly true. Zack was born in Cape Fear Memorial Hospital, not New Hannover Regional Medical Center, but it’s not the first time one of the Andrews men had gotten confused about birth stories regarding the city of Wilmington (see So it turns out, Michael Jordan Wasn’t Born in North Carolina…).
What can be said about spending a night in a hospital room that doesn’t evoke misery and dolefulness? At least the nurses were top notch and gave me a more comfortable fitting neck brace (plus the tetanus booster shot I’d been wanting since the kayak mishap), but the quality of sleep left a lot to be desired, especially given the hallway noise and the number of interruptions to take your vital signs, plus emptying waste containers (which maybe had one piece of trash in them, making me wonder what was the sense of doing it). I didn’t get cleared to move out of bed until morning, but that didn’t stop me from getting up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, which involved a bit of advanced planning considering I was hooked up to an IV whose power cords were tangled into a giant ball that didn’t quite reach to the toilet on the first go around.
A staff neuro surgeon stopped by early the next morning and did all kinds of tests involving pushing and pulling with my hands and feet, plus answering a series of rapid fired questions about basic personal knowledge and current events. He then gave me the ok to move about the room and have some food, which was great, since I hadn’t had anything since lunch the day before. And I have to hand it to the hospital, the food actually wasn’t that bad, although the coffee tasted like somebody had dipped a stool sample in a cup of tepid water (I drank it nevertheless, indicative of how badly I needed caffeine).
So, the remainder of the morning and most of the afternoon was spent in waiting my turn for an MRI. I mostly watch back to back episodes of Animal Planet’s North Woods Law, astonished at how seriously fish and wildlife statute enforcement is taken. Once Debbie and LeeAnn showed up, I turned off the TV and chatted with them. Turns out, they were more impatient about the MRI than I was. When they slipped away to get a late lunch at the Au Bon Pain, I pinged the nurse to see what she could find out. Consequently, she fussed at the MRI scheduler to get his ass in gear to get me in.
Eventually, it happened, but not without a little Valium and a towel over my eyes, as the little bit of anxiety I got when getting encased for just a few minutes for a CT scan the day before was only going to worsen given the 25 minute procedure of the MRI. The results seemed good, but the neuro surgeon didn’t get to them until 7 pm and was afraid he couldn’t get all the diagnostic reports together in time for me to take home. Therefore, he asked that I stay another night in the hospital.
That didn’t make sense—to incur an additional cost on account of their tardiness. Fortunately, the nurses must have been on to the ploy, because they kept telling me they were compiling all the reports at the nurses’ station so they would be ready in the event I got released that evening. So, with the info the nurses had provided, I pushed back on the neuro surgeon. Honestly, I think he was tired of being at the hospital all day and wanted to go home and relax over a beer with his family. Anyway, he said he would try, but couldn’t make any promises. An hour later, he called back and said I was good to go.
It’s hard being injured in a strange place, but Phil and LeeAnn intuitively understood and made the best of it for me. I slept on their couch the first night, propped up, and in their recliner the second night (part of an on-going experiment that continued when I got back to Spokane to find the ideal sleeping environment). The plane ride back was painful, even though I’d paid the additional fare to fly first class. I hate to think what flying in coach would’ve felt like.
Luckily, there’s a neuro-surgeon who lives in our neighborhood and my neighbor Todd, a physical therapist, had already spoken to him about the accident, clearing the way for an appointment two days after I got back. He looked at the images and declared the fracture stable, and said I could forego the neck brace so long as I was at home, except for when I slept. Driving was optional, if I felt comfortable doing it. So far, I’ve ventured out a couple of times, but am purposely avoiding the freeway until I feel like I can better turn my head.
The neuro surgeon, a former competitive power lifter (now in his 70’s—he blew out a disc trying to squat 600 pound when he was in his 60’s) cleared me to start lifting again, so long as it was light weight, high reps, and no squats or deadlifts. While I’m eager to get back into the gym, I’m sticking to cardio for now and giving it another week before I lift again.
The worst part now is the pain, which is unnoticeable during the day, but creeps up as bedtime rolls around and goes full board once I lay down to sleep. I held off as long as I could, but finally broke down and started taking 5 mg of Oxycodone before bedtime (prescribed, of course), which ensures a good 5 hours of solid sleep. Getting up and applying a heating pad to the sore areas gets me through the 2-3 remaining hours. The upside of this is I get to spend more time now reading and writing (something I’ve been meaning to do), and once I get more active, I can find a good balance between all the activities.
So, while I’ve always been head over heels about the ocean, I’m really down on being heels over head there. Sure, it could have been a lot worse, and I am thankful to God for not letting it be, but it indicates to me that His work for me is not finished. So, I’m also spending a lot of time in His Word and in prayer trying to discern what that work is.
If I were to give any advice as a result of this accident, I would encourage everyone to keep themselves fit and strong. I’ve been doing a lot of powerlifting over the past year, and the week before Zack got married, I set an all-time 1-rep PR in the deadlift at 505 pounds. I had two doctors and three nurses comment that the musculature in my back and neck helped absorb the blow and likely saved me from getting my neck broken in two, with death or permanent paralysis being the consequence. So, take care of yourself, both spiritually and physically, so that if and when life hits you with a tumultuous wave, you are well-prepared to take it on.
***Warning, apparently, there’s a “spoiler” in this blog. So if you just want the recipe, just scroll down until you see “Chorizo Mac and Cheese.” However, I’m going to go out on a limb and say I didn’t spoil anything that bad***
Ok, so I messed up. Pretty bad. I mean, I don’t think it’s a big deal, but apparently some people are pretty butt hurt about it.
So, there’s this movie that’s out, called “The Avenger’s End Game” or something dumb like that. Personally, I don’t even like those movies, but everybody can’t shut up about it. It’s pretty much the same crap they saw last time, just take the next superhero in line and cut and paste a new bad guy with some lame end of the world scenario. Gee, how original!
More like Avengers: Turd Game. Who Cares???
Then, I have this friend named Shaun Walters, one of those among the obsessed. Don’t get me wrong, I like the dude fine and all, at least most days. After all, he can be known to throw a good meme on Facebook every now and then.
I hate to admit it, but that’s funny.
But the guy can be a real ball breaker sometimes. I mean, he’s totally ruined Game of Thrones for everybody on multiple occasions. Just because he’s read the stupid books, he thinks he has the right to spoil everything for me. Forget that! Go ahead, waste your own time with all that sucky reading, but don’t drag the rest of us along!
His last spoiler, though… that was the final straw.
And look, he’s just rubbing it in!
Something had to be done, for these nefarious deeds had gone on for much too long. I had to get him… I just had to. And I had the perfect plan…
I was going to ruin the new Avenger’s movie for him… but not really.
Right before the movie was to come out in theatres, I’d casually make a Facebook post and get him all psyched out, acting like I had just revealed a major spoiler. It would come off as innocent, without any warning whatsoever, and he wouldn’t expect it, not from me. Oh man, I was going to get him good!
Haha, he has the nerve to call me a jerk?? Spare me the righteous indignation.
The thing is, I hadn’t even seen the stupid movie! I just made the whole thing up just to punk him! I could see it, him getting all worked up, like I had ruined his entire summer. Then, when he finds out the truth, he’d be all, “Gosh darn it Grizzly Chadams, you scared me! Heheh.” Nothing major, just something to make him think twice about posting Game of Thrones spoilers in the future.…Well, turns out, the Iron Dude actually does die. Everything I posted ended up happening. …Whoops!
Suddenly, I had become most hated man on the internet, and the threats started rolling in, one after another.
Even my best friend since the third grade was sending them direct!
That certainly wasn’t a fun text string to wake up too…
I mean, how the heck was I supposed to know that actually happened? The good guys never die! And now, everybody’s out for blood!
The backlash was totally unjust. No man should ever receive this type of punishment for such a simple mistake. Yet, I’m willing to take the fall. To make things right, I’m going above and beyond the call of duty, as long as it brings peace of mind to those troubled souls going after my livelihood.
I’m giving away my million-dollar discovery. I call it, Chorizo Mac and Cheese:
I remember the exact moment it hit me, like Doc Brown when he came up with the idea of the flux capacitor.
“Oh, look, they have mac and cheese on sale,” said my wife during a casual stroll through the grocery store a Sunday or two ago. Having just departed the meat and dairy sections to appease our penchant for chorizo and eggs, the next sequence of thoughts could only be described as natural. “…What if I mix chorizo with… mac and cheese…” To be honest, a revelation of this magnitude is quite frightening. We’re talking about a world changing event right here! And what if I fail? I had dabbled with the concept of macaroni bologna years before, which ended up being a 4-dollar disaster.
Ughz, what a travesty!
And now, the stakes were even higher. If I screw this up, how could I ever be trusted? What about my future kids—the future of our country!?!?
But then again… think of the possibilities…
My mind was set. There was no turning back now.
***
I took a deep breath as I stared at my creation, a fully cooked tube of chorizo fully mixed into a bowl of Safeway select white cheddar macaroni and cheese. Might heart pounded as I lifted a spoon full to my mouth for a taste test. “Well, here goes nothing…”
Trust me, it’s way better than it looks!
My mouth collapsed over the savory mixture: pure ecstasy. The rave of the tongue only escalated as it further seeped through my taste buds. It was like Disneyland and Coachella had combined forces to bring forth the ultimate pleasure experience. No joke, I had literally stumbled upon the greatest merger since Peanut Butter and Jelly. Chorizo and Mac and Cheese… I’ll never have to work another day in my life.
The recipe is simple. Cook one box of store bought macaroni and cheese. It doesn’t matter if it’s Kraft, the fancy stuff, or whatever. Heck, you could probably even get something from that used food store, the “Grocery Outlet” I think they call it. Any ol’ box of mac and cheese will do.
Personally, I prefer the white cheddar, but do as you please!
And I don’t remember the exact details, but usually, you put the dried macaroni into a pot of boiling water for about 10 minutes, then drain. A little milk and butter is usually involved, plus that weird cheesy powder, but I mean, it’s mac and cheese. If you’re a grown adult and don’t know how to cook that, then there’s essentially no hope for you. Sorry!
Next, slap a tube of chorizo on the skillet and cook on medium to medium high heat for about 7 to 10 minutes, and make sure you stir it around every minute or so. Just an FYI though, chorizo is sort of hard to know when it’s fully cooked. When it’s done, you sort of… know?
Also, don’t bother getting the Jimmy Dean chorizo or any other type that’s 4 or 5 bucks at the grocery store. Total waste of money. The “Cacique” stuff will do, of which you can get for no more than 2 bucks at the grocery store ($1.50 on a good day). Not only is it the cheapest, but it’s the best.
The last type of chorizo you’ll ever have to buy.
Now for the most important part. After you’ve cooked both, mix the chorizo in with the macaroni. Stir, then viola! A most excellent party in your mouth for under 3 dollars!
And for your health, it also pairs well with one of these!
The moment I tasted this contraption, I knew I could’ve retired off it. However, as Kanye gave us “My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy” after ruining Taylor Swift’s night at the 2009 MTV Video Music Awards, consider this my gift to the world. A most generous gift indeed, yet, one too important to keep to myself.
So, for all y’all that are still pissed off over the Avengers, quit your crying. I just gave up early retirement for you! And trust me, you’ll be thanking me once you taste my chorizo mac and cheese.
And Moody, I’d say this makes us even from here on out.
Some do martial arts to build confidence. Others are in the business to make sure their love ones are protected, in case the situation arises. All are noble reasons, of course. For me, there’s only been one goal since I joined the Brazilian Jiu Jitsu Club at work…
I see it in his countenance. The arrogant look he throws around, that stupid grin. It’s been stuck on his face, ever since he pounded on that poor kid in that MMA match. Now, he walks around like he can beat anybody up. The worst part is, it’s true.
His older brothers have trouble sleeping at night, fearing they’ll wake up in the middle of the night to a severe beating after years of torture and teasing from his childhood. You think Ulrich will go toe-to-toe with him? Ha, fat chance. Heck, even Gibson’s scared of him!
Ben Woodward had the gall to talk crap to him once over the phone. I pray to God their paths never cross.
Something has to be done. Somebody has to stand up to him, this… this bully. It’s been on my mind every day for the past 10 years, and I’m going to do it. It may not be this week. It may not be this month. Heck, it may not even be this year. But someday, somehow, I’m going to do it.
I’m going to kick Danny Dahl’s ass.
***
April 2nd, 2019. It was a solid class, drilling the variations of the Kamara and Americana submissions, followed by nearly 45 minutes of intense rolling. Before we knew it, 6:00 was right around the corner, the end of class for the day. It’s been like this every week for the past 6 months, and slowly but surely, my skills have improved.
“It’s your time,” our instructor Noam told us, as he usually does. “Anybody up for another roll?” Honestly, if someone had asked me, I would’ve gone one last time. But let’s face it, we were wiped, and by all the nods of approval floating about, it was safe to say that we were satisfied with the progress made during this week’s session.
I conceded to the groups wishes, unable to conceal the smirk growing across my face. “Man, I think I’m starting to get the hang of this Brazilian Jiu Jitsu stuff…”
Noam caught on. “Zack?” he asked, peering into me with a growing smirk of his own.
Suddenly, mine disappeared. The hairs on my arms rose, my face snarled, and I won’t lie, I even felt a spike of anger rise within me. Something didn’t sit right. I could see him through Noam’s stare, laughing, egging me on, cracking one of his stupid jokes, and getting away with it. …Danny…
“Hey,” I said, pointing to Noam, my eyes beaming—my face stern. Time was precious, and like it or not, I made a vow to the world. I would train, I would study, I would do everything in my power, day and night to defeat him. “Noam, we’re rollin’. Right here, right now.”
Now, to this day, I swear, the moment I said those words, a strong strain of fear filled the room. I could smell it, permeating off each person’s gi. But he accepted, begrudgingly, knowing full well as the master, he couldn’t back down. The rest of the class gathered in anticipation, wondering if they were about to witness the biggest upset since Brock Lesner over The Undertaker in Wrestlemania XXX. We slapped hands and got down to business.
He sat back, looking to break me with his spider guard. The Zack of old would’ve fallen for his Jedi mind tricks. But not now. I had come too far in my training, and I evaded every one of his attempts to pull me into his guard. And now, it was my time. I made my move.
I swiped past his leg, in prime position to take control of the match. “Man, think of the possibilities,” I thought to myself. “I can go from side control, to mount, set him up for an arm bar, the world is literally at my fingertips!”
I broke his spider guard and posted up, one swift maneuver away from side control. “Alright, just a quick juke, then a bit of a psych out, break the legs away, twist, and—“
“POP!”
“Ahh!!!” I screamed as I dropped to the ground, flopping about like Hogan in the clutches of Ric Flair’s Figure Four, circa 1991.
“Are you ok,” asked Noam, staring at a useless specimen lying on the mat, no better than dead.
“…I think I just dislocated my knee!”
And that was it. It was all over.
***
The anxiety only grew as the paramedics arrived. Not a single one of them were thrilled about carrying my fat ass down 3 flights of stairs. At least the rest of the class stuck around to see me out ok, providing the necessary resolve for the journey down.
***NOTE: My butt may be big, but I happened think it’s shaped nicely, just like a Kardashian (just to set the record straight)***
“Did you have to get hurt on the 3rd floor?” the paramedics complained. They can take that up with the Moral, Welfare and Recreation department at the Navy Yard as far as I’m concerned. It’s a travesty—the lack of respect us Jiu Jitsu enthusiasts receive. Besides, it’s not my fault they have poor cardio. Derrick Lewis can tell you all about that!
The sweat poured off their brows, and by the time we made it to the bottom, two of the paramedics had curled over in a constant pant for oxygen, but after a couple of rough patches and a near drop or two, they managed to get me onto the stretcher. Noam, to his credit, grabbed my gym bag and sought me to the ambulance, ensuring I was in good hands before leaving the scene.
With limited mobility and the roof as my only source of scenery for the entire ride, I had much to ponder.
“Man, he knew all along that was going to happen, didn’t he? Doing all that trash talking and setting me up for defeat, that cheeky bastard. But, I’m gonna get him. Ohh, just you wait, Danny. I’m gonna come back, stronger than before. I’m going to train harder than before. Then before you know it, I’m gonna sneak up on you and whoop the living—“
“CLUNK!”
“AHH! MOTHER F—“
…Damn those DC potholes.
A few more bumps and several swears later and we were at the hospital, waiting for admittance. It was the strangest thing, but every nurse that passed me seemed to give me a thorough inspection. “Well, they seem to really care for their customers. That’s a good sign, I suppose.” But things started to get weird—real quick. They were eying me hard now, really taking the time to check me out. “What’s so intriguing? Sure, I’m a hunk and all, but I’m no John Stamos…”
Lying next to me was my gym bag. I had removed my gi top and stuffed inside moments before, leaving nothing but my super sleek rash guard exposed. I always admired the way it conformed to my Adonis like figure. And now, it seemed that the rest of the world admired it as well. “No wonder Noam encouraged me to get one of these, heheh.”
One of the docs came over to examine my condition, also taking a short moment to take notice of my rash guard. “Ok Mr. Andrews, I’m just going to get a feel of where the pain is,” he said to me in a sinister voice. Something wasn’t right about this situation. My fears were further exacerbated by the excessive touching of the leg and thigh areas. “Does this hurt,” he asked. “What about this… And this?”
“YES! YES, IT ALL HURTS FOR CHRIST SAKE! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, CAN YOU PLEASE STOP FINGER BLASTING MY LEG?!?!”
“Ok, ok, hold your horses,” he responded with a wink. “I’ll be back in a little bit to check on you.” Not if I have anything to do with it!
I had to get out of there. In an attempt to remove myself from the situation, I lifted my leg. “AHH C—!” Whoops, a little loud, hehe. “…Crap…” I resettled into a comfortable position as best I could. Damn my busted knee…
But wait, I had an ace up my sleeve. Realizing I had taken it off prior to class, I rummaged through my gym bag and pulled out a gold, shiny ring. “Time to put an end to this nonsense, once and for all!”
He came back for more fun, only to find disappointment. I’m no mind reader, but if I had to guess, it was the wedding ring that delivered the final blow. “Send him to get x-rays,” he scoffed, walking away in disgust. Sorry guys, this one’s officially off the market.
The x-rays were a pain in the butt—or leg if you want to get technical. And it didn’t help that the x-ray tech didn’t understand the concept of April Fools—damn the cultural barrier. Not impressed by the funny meme I had just shown him with a man crying because it was April 2ndand he realized his girl was still pregnant, he wheeled me out to a subpar location at the end of the hallway, all by my lonesome. Judging by my surroundings, they were having a pretty busy night.
Maybe it was a little too close to home, heheh.
Luckily, the wife showed up shortly after and waited it out with me, fending off the rest of the nurses on the prowl. In the room to my right sat—or perhaps “paced” is a more fitting verb, an elderly woman, insistent on cruisin’ around in a hospital gown with her undies fully exposed, no matter how many times the nurses pleaded with her to stay in her bed. In front of me was another elder, this one a man diagnosed with pneumonia, and apparently a bad case of flatulence on top of it. Between the dusty old bird ripping bombs and the granny in the panties, there was little shame amongst us—shame that further diminishing as we waited… and waited… then waited a little more.
“Alright, the results are in,” said the nurse after about an hour and a half of waiting. “The good news is there are no broken bones.” Gee, I could’ve told you that one. “So, we’re going to discharge you with a pair of crutches and get you out of here.” Hold the front phone just a minute here. Discharge me? I can’t even move my stinkin’ leg! What do you mean discharge me? I prepared myself, ready to express my deepest concerns.
“Excuse me, mam? I’d like to consult with the doctor about my inability to move my—“
“Are you kidding me!” the wife busted in. “You’re just going to discharge him, in this state? He can’t get in the car, he can’t go to the bathroom, he can’t move, period!”
“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about! Man, the benefits of marriage just keep comin’!”
You could tell she meant business, and she was not to be messed with—not on this day.
The nurse turned pail, her breaths deep and heavy. All she could do was look back, unable to shake the petrified look from her face.
Then, a deluge of brooding thoughts poured into my head. Look at the intensity in her eyes. Her menacing stature, the integrity to take action. She knows what she’s doing, has the intelligence to read her opponents every move… intensity, integrity, intelligence—holy crap, she already has the 3 I’s stressed by Olympic gold medalist Kurt Angle! Oh no… What if she starts to take Brazilian Jiu Jitsu? Oh, my God, she’ll destroy us all! Me, Danny, Joe Rogan—everyone!
I took a deep breath, my final plea to the nurse. “Listen, you gotta do something. My knee won’t budge, no matter how hard I try—“
It was a miracle. My knee lifted from off the bed, no pain. Then, I bent it, slowly kicking it back in forth in motion. “I… I don’t believe it.”
Turns out, the old knee settled itself back into place, no butt kicking necessary. The nurse shot me a look like she had just dodged the draft. “Man oh man, did you guys dodge a bullet there!”
Who CARES?!?!
In the end, I received a hefty ambulance bill, 8-weeks of physical therapy, and a pair of crutches upon my release. Just a small price to pay for the ultimate prize though. I’ll get there, and I’ll be back, better than ever. And you know what, say I don’t quite make it. Maybe I don’t get strong enough to beat him up. At the end of the day, I’m not sure I need to.
New Year’s… what a drag. Sorry, but somebody had to say it.
Think about it from the very beginning. Fall comes around, and it’s all “Oh cool, at least we got football to keep our minds off the end of summer,” something I can definitely live with. It’s also the emergence of sweater weather, and maybe it’s just me, but there’s something sexy about a woman bundled up in warm clothes.
And around the corner we got Halloween, the beginning of the great string of holidays, and the one time of year where you’re allowed to dress inappropriately and where kids get away with demanding candy from adults. I love Halloween.
But wait, it gets better. Thanksgiving shows up, and it’s good vibes all around, which makes complete sense. Hardly anybody’s upset when they’re surrounded by a plethora of food and family—quite the opposite, actually. And everybody’s grateful for what we have, taking the time to thank the good lord for the blessings all around us.
Then there’s the granddaddy of them all. Christmas. The minute Thanksgiving is over, it’s like Mariah Carey emerges, crying out “All I want for Christmas, is yooooouuuu”, demanding everybody get in the Christmas spirit that very second.
And we do as we are told. It becomes a solid month of Christmas Parties, Christmas Movies, Christmas Candy, Christmas Cookies, Christmas Miracles, Christmas Trees, Christmas Presents, Christmas, Christmas, CHRISTMAS!!! It truly is the most wonderful time of the year.
Ah, Christmas is over? No need to fret, cause there’s one last holiday. Oh boy, here it comes! New Year’s. And get this. We’re going to stay up really late, drink a lot of alcohol, say Happy New Year, then celebrate… we celebrate…
Three months of darkness, crappy weather, and a killer hangover. Ughz…
And let’s face it, this year was worse than others. The Times Square coverage was atrocious, from washed up celebrities trying to reclaim a hint of the spotlight, to news anchors sinking to new lows with beer bongs on live TV.
I couldn’t take it anymore! Even Steve Harvey’s coverage, a man I admire, and respect, was lackluster at best. It was like he had a permanent “Good God, just kill me now,” face, like the one he makes whenever someone gives a stupid answer on Family Feud.
You can’t blame him, though. Nothing could’ve saved the country from the disaster marked as New Year’s 2019.
I mean, what the heck’s so sanctimonious about New Year’s anyway? Absolutely nothing if you ask me; just an excuse to take the day off because you got too hammered the night before. “Hey guys, check out this hangover! What a great way to start the New Year!”
Thankfully, I learned my lesson years ago. I skipped most of that crap and took advantage of all the slackers that decided to sleep in. My plan was simple. Go to bed early. Get to Costco, first thing. Next, the thrift store to pick out an outfit for my bachelor party. Then, to the coffee shop to do some writing. And after it’s all said and done, maybe I’ll even get a run in.
Well, guess what. Costco: closed. Goodwill: “Sorry guys, we’re too lazy to come into work. Coffee Shop? Closing early for the holiday. I mean, what they hell? Why is the coffee shop closing early? If anything, people will be rolling in late to quench their hangovers. It makes no sense, whatsoever!
Turns out, everything is closed on New Year’s. And to add insult to injury, I was constantly reminded that the Chicago Bears are making playoffs and not the Packers. Apparently, all the Bears fans remembered they liked football and are showing up all over the place.
The Bears winning the NFC North… What a travesty.
Screw New Years.
***
I stumbled into work the next day barely motivated, not sure how I’d make it through the day, let alone 2019. Something had to give. I needed a boost. I snuck out of the office to the local convenient store, looking for coffee, a second Rockstar energy drink—anything to get me through the day.
A wall of candy stood at the entrance. My eyes gravitated towards it, if only for a moment to temper my natural instincts. “Hmm… Trying to get rid of all their excess holiday candy, I see. Fat chance they’re dumping any of that on me. It’s probably all old and crusty and—wait a minute, what’s this? 75% off?”
Enticed, but not yet committed, I gave the candy stand another gander. “75 cents for a king size candy bar?” From the looks of it, management had gotten a bit paranoid over their excess stock of holiday candy. “Must be worried about cutting their losses. Sounds like a couple ofsuckers if you ask me.” I took immediate action.
Now, it wasn’t my intention to load up on all the sugar. All those Christmas cookies added a few unnecessary pounds to my body, but you never pass up a good deal—that’s my motto. So, I took my handful of items to the cashier and checked out.
Mountain Dew: $1.79. Man, back in the day those used to be 75 cents. What’s going on with this country? And here we go, Hershey’s white chocolate peppermint bar, 37 cents. Wait a minute… 37 CENTS?!
Yep, this baby was only 37 cents! (Sorry for the open package, but I just couldn’t wait to eat it!)
I couldn’t believe my eyes! Half-off from what was displayed—practically asteal! But wait, I wasn’t finished.
Full size bag of Reece’s peanut butter trees: 95 cents. Again, half-off thedisplay price, and discounted by at least 2 or 3 bucks just for the factthat it’s a Reece’s peanut butter cup in the shape of a Christmas tree. Heck, I don’tcare what they look like. It all looks the same once it’s in my belly. Tastes the same too!
Bag of Dove chocolate holiday nuggets: $1.00. You’re lucky if you find those at the CVS for 3 bucks a bag, and you usually have to buy two of them! I eat those all the time, and believe me, they’re delicious.
The best part was, most of this candy wasn’t even expired yet! Too good to be true? I got the receipt to prove it.
I headed back to the office, already devising a plan for my return. Gotta keep this under wraps. Sure, there may be certain individuals with a need to know, but with an office full of chocolate lovers, once the cat’s out of the bag, it’ll be Black Friday all over again!
I made it back to the office in a conspicuous manner to finish out the day, aided by the lack of employees still out on Christmas vacation. Some would call it luck. I’d say my New Year’s sacrifice was starting to pay off…
***
“Hey, babe, how was your day,” asked my fiancé as I walked into the door after work.
“You’ll never guess what happened,” I started. Today, while at work, and I went to the store, and then I…” I stalled. Keep your mouth shut, stupid. You can’t tell anybody, not even your future wife… It’s too risky. “I… learned how to play craps.”
“…craps,” she shot back, her face cringing with perplexity. “At work?”
“Sure… It was a slow day, after all, with everybody still gone… Besides, me and Mike Masters have to learn. You know, for my bachelor party! Gotta win big in Vegas!”
“Umm, ok…” She replied, turning towards the kitchen, still befuddled.
“Phew! Close call,” I thought to myself. “Survived that one… barely.”
***
The next day, I got into the office early—no time to waste. However, my nerves jolted, my muscles fought the urge to run as I turned into the store. The candy shelf had been ransacked, with less than half the supply remaining in less than a day.
Looks like the word got out. The good news, there was still time, but this was certainly no time to panic. “Remember the plan.”
I took a deep breath and started loading up. Those King Size Hershey’s peppermint bars were good. I’ll take another one of those. Better yet, make that three. A handful of Christmas Tree Snickers bars? Don’t mind if I do! And what do we have here? Twix Santas? Quite alright with me.
My hands were getting full—only enough room for one last item. Near the bottom was a green tin container in the shape of a Christmas tree with a bow tied around it and a name tag—the ultimate Christmas present. My mind began working overtime.
“Get this. I come home with a surprise Christmas present. She sees it and goes nuts, thinking it cost like 20 bucks! I act like it’s no big deal, when in reality, I only spent $2.25 on the thing. The best part is, I bet she’ll even share! It’s a win-win if you ask me!
I brought my handful of goodies to the counter and plopped them in front of the cashier as if I were splattering a pile of gruel onto Oliver Twist’s plate. The cashier shot me a look of annoyance. I stood, undeterred. What? No shame on this side of the counter…
“That will be 6 dollars and 87 cents,” she said to me after ringing me up. $6.87 for 20 pieces of candy, is that all, heheh?
I left that day with two grocery bags full of candy. “Mission accomplished,” I said to myself, George W. Bush style.
***
“Hey Babe, how was your day?” I asked as I walked through the door.
“Oh, it was ok. Nothing too exciting,” she replied.
“Just ok?” I asked as I reached inside my bag. “Well, I was just thinking about you today and how much I love you, and wanted to get you a little something.” I pulled out the Christmas Tree tin of Dove chocolates, bow wrapped and everything and handed it to her.
“Oh my gosh babe, you are so sweet,” she said, her face becoming the light the tin Christmas Tree was missing. “But you know I can’t eat all of those chocolates. How about you have a couple.”
“Wow! I mean, they’re yours, but if you insist, I guess I’ll have a couple.” I kept my composure throughout, but man, I couldn’t believe the luck I was having. “Premium candy for the low low price of $2.25, and it turns out I get to eat it all and still reap the benefits of being a good fiancé. Not bad for a day’s work!”
Maybe 2019 won’t be so bad after all.
2019. Let’s think about that for a second.I get to go to Las Vegas in a week with some of the best buds in the world! I’m talkin’ Moody, Bill, Mike Masters, heck, the Notorious Ben Woodward might even make an appearance. I know what you’re thinking, “what about Mike Gibson?” Well, let’s just say the Fantasy Football season was a little stressful on all of us. See for yourself.
Don’t worry, we’ll get over it, eventually. Besides, I’ve got it all figured out. I’m going to take my 2nd place earnings from the Fantasy Football championship, bet it all on double 0’s on the Roulette Table and make a killing, just like they do in the movies! Totally worth it in the end, and it’ll pay for the wedding!
Holy crimeny, I’m almost forgot. I’m going to get married in February! How cool is that? All my friends and family will be there and everything! And trust me, even Gibson will show up for that party!
And I’ll save the best for last. The last Season of Game of thrones is coming out! Who will rule the Iron Throne after it’s all said and done? Hopefully not Cersei. We’ll find out soon, but I’m rooting for my boy John Snow! And the best part is that none of those turds who think they’re all cooler than everybody else cause they read the books can spoil the season for me (I’m talking about you Shaun Walters!). Man, imagine having to read through all that crap for nothing? Suckers!
And that’s all before the summer! Maybe Kanye West will surprise us with another album like he did last year. And since I’m getting married, maybe there’ll be a little Zack on the way! Ah dude, think about that, an army of Zack’s raisin’ hell all over our nation’s capital. Trump would be proud!
So maybe between the months of crappy weather shrouded in darkness, there’s a little something to look forward to after all… Just remember to load up on your months supply of discount holiday candy. You’re gonna need it.
Sometimes, you don’t realize what you’re missing until it slaps you in the face. And these days, with our lives so convoluted with wedding planning and the rest, we tend to lose track of the small things. My mom says Kanye West’s fault. I tend to disagree, though his new album has been taking up a lot of my time lately…
That West dude? C’mon mom, a little respect is all I ask…
The point is, when the workloads are stressin’ you out, it’s easy to get distracted. We forget to take a moment to breath in the fresh air.
Thus, it was one of those weeks. Hours were long, demands were high, and I had this strong hunch that Casual Friday was about to turn into Casual Saturday, even carrying over into a “What the Flip?” Sunday. But since I’m no longer on the West Coast, the wife beater and track pants weren’t going to cut it.
Yep… those were the days…
I had to step up my game.
I walked into the office, strutting around in my finest Sunday attire, Gucci sneakers and all. “Hey… what’s going on guys?” I asked, stretching out and getting comfortable. “Yep… yep yep yep yep yep… Fine day to be in the office, wouldn’t you say? Ahh, sort of, just threw on whatever I could find, you know what I mean? Gee, Matt. Looks like you did the same, heheh. Didn’t even take the time to put on any socks—“ I stalled, my eyes locked on his feet. “Wait a minute. What are those??”
“Oh these things? Just, my loafers. I only wear them whenever I feel casual. 30 bucks at JC Penny’s…” On and on he went, as if they were just no big deal… on purpose, I presume. I couldn’t blame him. A total Gibson move, I know, trying to make me jealous and all. I’d have done the same if I were in his shoes (no pun intended).
Before setting my priorities for the day, I hopped on the net—time to research the perfect loafer. I needed a shoe I could easily slip on, something that didn’t draw too much attention; you know, the type of shoe you could walk into the local McDonalds without shame. But most importantly, I needed something I could rub in Matt’s face, for the right price too. “Ok, what do we have here. J Crew? Talk about boring… Michael Kors? I swear I saw a pair of those at Payless. Hmm… at least these Alligators look pretty cool. What else do they have—Whoa. Wha… what are these?”
My eyes lit up like a kid’s feasting his eyes on the Nintendo 64 on Christmas morning, or the smokin’ hot lifeguard with the sun outlining her silhouette, or Val Kilmer whenever he sees a cheeseburger.
Somebody’s gone down hill lately. Sheesh!
They were… perhaps the most beautiful article of clothing I had ever seen in my entire life. The way the snake skin mellifluously scaled across the vamp, the attention to detail, from the tassels on the tongue to the little tiger roars on the heel…
My mind became consumed with illusions of grandeur. Walkin’ down the street, rocking the bleach blonde locks with a fine pair of shades, wheelin’ and dealin’ like a high flyin’, limousine ridin’ son of a gun! I was almost there.
And once I had these bad boys in my possession, I was honestly going to have a hard time holdin’ those alligators down!
It was the pair of shoes I was meant to wear.
And for a price of only 1,850 dollars, these puppies could all be mine! Nothing a paycheck or two couldn’t handle.
I scurried home from work that Sunday, barely able to contain my excitement. “Wait till the babe see’s what I have in store!” I knew she was going to love them, and she couldn’t wait for me to walk around the town, stylin’ and profilin’, makin’ all the heads turn! I’m talkin’ Jared Kushner, Sarah Huckabee-Sanders, anybody who’s anybody in DC! All those turkeys were going to shoot me a look of awe, mixed with a hint of jealousy!
I thought about it the entire way home. And when I say the entire way, I’m talkin’ the walk to the metro, the ride home, into the condo complex, up the elevator, through the door…
“Hey babe, how was your day?” I casually asked, anticipating a reactionary, “good, how are you?” All a setup for my grand scheme. That’s right, keep it cool. Don’t draw too much attention to yourself…
“Hey hun, we need to talk…” she said to me, in a somewhat somber tone. Ok. There better be good reason, like somebody dyin’ or something. I sat next to her on the couch and took a deep breath, awaiting the bad news.
“So, there are a few purses on sale, and they’re really nice.”
Purses? You sat me down for purses? Don’t you see that I have something more important on my mind?! A lesser man would’ve say it. However, as for me, I kept my composure and listened.
“So, this one is a Chanel…”
My mind suddenly became scattered. Chanel??? What the hell’s a “Chanel?”
“It’s a very rare purse, and it’s one that I’ve been keeping my eye on for a really long time. Now it’s on sale, for a really good price too. And to be honest, I don’t think I’ll ever see this for this price ever again. But the best part is, I have credit on this site, so it’s only going to cost me around 200 dollars! Isn’t that great?”
I took a moment to gather my thoughts. “But babe, you already have tons of purses. Do you really think buying another purse is the wisest choice right now?”
…Look, I’m a little new to this whole “getting married” thing. It’s my first time, and heck, there’s a good chance it’s going to be my last! So, there may be a few things I need to learn about relationships, or whatever.
And apparently, it’s a really bad idea to tell your babe that she shouldn’t buy a Chanel purse.
But really, what’s the big deal? I loved her before the purse, and it wasn’t like I fell in love with her because she had a couple fancy ones before. To be brutally honest, I never really paid that much attention to her purses in the first place. And every time I tried to explain all that to her, the situation just got worse and worse!
I just couldn’t understand it! I mean, am I wrong? Is another purse really all that necessary? We have to save for a wedding for heaven’s sake, and we’re talkin’ bout purses?
Nope! Not worth it. Plenty of other ways to spend our money. And the worst part was, by the end of the night, we got so worked up, that I didn’t even have a chance to bring up the pyth—
…Ohhh crap. The pythons…
I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t concentrate the next morning. A cloud of guilt followed me around work the next day, lasting long into the evening. How could I seriously look her in the eye and tell her I’m going to buy an $1,850 pair of pythons?
Yes… Howwas the burning question of the moment. I had absolutely every intention of informing her of my pending purchase. I just needed a little help crafting my pitch. I needed a little advice from my friend Jack.
A veteran of the military, you could count on finding Jack at the local bar after work, sending you a friendly hello while you walk past on any given day. Every now and then, I’d stop by for a drink and a little BBQ, and each time, I’d be greeted with a handshake, smile, and a swath of knowledge on hand. Jack was a man—distinguished, wise, and most importantly, gay. If there was anybody who I could trust with such a sensitive topic, it was him.
I walked into Willies that afternoon, and as predicted, there was Jack, as if he already knew I was on my way, having prescient knowledge of the situation at hand. “Hello, young Zack,” he said to me, sticking out his hand for a hearty shake.
“Hello, Jack,” I replied, honoring my half of the shake before getting down to business. “I need some advice.” He leaned in, ready for me to pour my heart out. “My girl and I got in a fight yesterday. She wants to buy this purse, but I told her I thought it was a little expensive—“
“Oh, let her buy the purse!” He shot back, wasting no time with his response. “Don’t be such a prude!”
“But Jack—“
“If it makes her happy, then give it to her! You can’t be such a drag about that type of stuff…” He shook his head, lifting his cocktail towards his mouth and taking a sip. “I like you, but you have a lot to learn, young Zack… a lot to learn…”
The admonishing continued, but his word was final. So, I accepted the chastisement, and began crafting a new message. I now knew what I needed to say.
“Hi babe, I’ve given it some thought, and I want you to buy the purse. In fact, I’m going to send you some money to help pay for it.” I pressed send on the messenger app and awaited the response. There was no way she could say no to the pythons now. Man, I can almost feel them gripping my feet…
“Oh babe, you’re so sweet,” She messaged back. Alright. So far, so good… “But I’ve really been thinking about what you said, and now that we’re getting married, we really should be thinking about our finances. So, I’m not going to get the purse any longer.”
Wait, what? No! This is not how it’s supposed to go! I scurried up a new text. “But babe, you deserve a new purse! I want you to have it. I was actually thinking about how I needed to get a new pair of shoes myself, so you should get the purse.”
“Oh, that’s great hun! I’ll tell you what. We can go to the mall next week and find you a pair. I have a few stores in mind.”
“Actually, I was thinking about getting a pair online. I can show you when I get home.”
“No need. I want to take you to the Galleria at Tyson’s corner anyways. It’s amazing. They have so many stores. And the food court is really fancy…”
I stared helplessly into my phone, as if were watching my dreams fade away with each passing text. I’ll never get my pythons at this pace…
A week later, we found ourselves at the Galleria. Sure, they had a few good picks that were up my alley, and on most days, I would’ve easily splurged on a flashy pair of sneakers, but I just couldn’t get the Pythons out of my head. Nothing I saw seemed right.
At the end of the day, I settled for a bland pair of loafers, big whoop. Nothing fancy, even for $120 bones. But they’ll have to do. We’re on a budget after all…
Meh, they’ll do…
I at least got my old pair of Gucci’s fixed up. They served me well these last few years, and I guess they’ll have to get me through at least one more season.
Lookin’ Good!
This isn’t the end however. Far from it. The dream of Ric Flair lives on. And one day, I’ll have my Python Tassel Loafers. And when that day comes, look out. Cause I’m going to have a hard time keeping those pythons down!
The air was damp. My rain jacket fluttered against the ocean breeze as I boarded the M.V. Coho at the tip of Washington State. My mission was clear—perform reconnaissance for potential wedding venues, but time was limited, and stress was mounting. Nothing I haven’t been used to lately.
To be honest, life’s been a little hectic these last few months. When I popped the question, I thought it was gonna be all gum drops and lollipops. I was on top of the world! Nobody told me planning a wedding was going to be hard work. At least I found this guy for some advice. Go Cougs!
Heck, if it were up to me, I’d go see Elvis at the ol’ chapel in Vegas, but since she’s looking for something a little more proper, and I love her and all, I decided to accept. And luckily, I had my good buddy Mike Masters tag along, and let me tell ya, he could barely contain his excitement!
The departure was smooth, with only a mild wind brushing against the water; nothing worrisome to the crew tending the Coho. There had been rougher sailings on the “Black Ball Line,” I’m sure of it.
And here we are 15 minutes later. The sights were just as wonderful, but don’t just take my word for it. You be the judge.
Boy, the ocean doesn’t change much minute by minute. At least it’s getting a little warmer outside. Who would’ve guessed. At least I feel good about water now.
Hair of the dog, here’s another 15 minutes.
Nothing much had changes in 5 minutes. I thought the ocean would be a little more exciting than this.
We were getting close! Can’t you tell?
And here we were, pulling into what they call the Inner Harbor of Victoria. A quaint little place by the looks of it, though it was hard to get pictures with everybody in the way.
I managed to scrounge together a few good ones before undocking.
Our first stop, was this castle, Craigdarrach I think they called it, or Craig’s Crotch, or something—the Canadians were always a little goofy with their names.
Not exactly my idea of a good time, but Mike Masters was pretty insistent. I think he was trying to impress his babe by acting noble and taking her to an establishment of such extravegance, but I knew better.
Luckily, we didn’t go to every place he wanted to go.
I’m not gonna lie, the place was pretty fancy! But man, were they sticklers or what!? “Don’t go in this room! Don’t touch that! You’re not allowed to drink water!” Give me a break why don’t ya.
Not sure about the wedding dress…
Or these crappers.
Sure, they had a room or two to get hitched, but the no red wine policy was a no-go—not with my mom, anyway. They didn’t like you dancing either. And check out the flower girl and ring bearer outfits.
If I knew any better, I’d say there were a few ghosts hanging around Craig’s Crotch. No thanks.
Sorry Mike Masters. This place gives me the creeps!
The Fairmont Empress was next, and boy, was it classy, like a real life Wes Anderson film.
With such posh interior, fire places, wood stained upholstery, marble and a giant tea room overlooking the bay, I knew right then and there the babe was going to love it.
Immediately, I set up an appointment for formal consultation.
“I’m very impressed with the amenities you’ve presented,” I told the gentlemen running the joint. No way I was gonna screw this one up. “So, how much does a wedding run at a fine establishment such as this?”
“Typically, our wedding runs around $225 per person, with a $15,000 minimum,” he said.
“…Seems reasonable,” I replied with a steady nod. “Let me see here, 225 dollars a person… that’s almost 500 dollars a couple–wait… what the–500 dollars?!”
I stared into space and contemplated. I made it this far, I wasn’t going to blow my cover now. “Multiply that by 50 couples, that’s like… $25,000 dollars! Screw that!”
“Sir… Sir?” My body gave a little jolt back into reality as my mind raced for a quick answer. Great. How am I going to get out of this one?
“Now, if it were up to me, I’d say yes right away,” I said, my mouth moving faster than my mind could keep up. “But I must consult with my fiancé. She’ll has to make the final decision. You know how it goes… But don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll say yes. Be on the lookout for her email.” He understood completely.
“We’ll be in touch then.” We agreed with a handshake, and went on my merry way. Phew… close call.
The search continued. Venue after venue we passed, from the parliament, past a few churches, to several other hotels.
Too bland
Too old fashioned
Too Miami Vice
Heheh. Erected…
Something seemed off about each one though. Well, to me, these looked really nice and beyond adequate, but I had a feeling she wouldn’t go for it.
How could I look my babe in the eye with sincerity and say, “Mission Accomplished?” Time was running out, my chance of success was looking bleak, and worse of all, Mike Masters had to call it quits.
So there I was, stuck in this foreign corner of the world, alone without the slightest idea of where I hold my wedding. Along the waterfront I stood, contemplating my mission and the purpose of life among other mysteries. How can I possibly go back now? Across the water stood one last hotel. The Delta they called it, glowing like the centerpiece of a Liberace Candelabra, shining with full clarity now with Mike Master’s head out of the way. It looked promising. It had to be. It was my last hope.
I crossed a pedestrian bridge and descended upon the hotel. It’s exterior lay home to a tributary of paths to a much calmer, greener part of town. The inside was sleek and modern. Grandiloquent, but not over the top. No need to show off. That’s my motto.
The staff was courteous while I toured the joint, showing me plenty of spaces for dinner, receptions, ceremonies, the whole 9 yards. I could see it all unfolding, my family conversing with her family, the bridesmaids and groomsmen partying it up, Gibson yelling at people about football, Ulrich bragging about his pecks—it was all going to work itself out… for the right price of course.
“Hmm… I really like what you’ve done with the place, but finances are of concern,” I told the wedding coordinator. That was correct, to a certain extent—maybe a little exaggerated. But being the frugal person I am, I had to negotiate.
“Oh, well we offer a half-price discount on all our reception halls if you get married on a Sunday.” …So far so good.
“Sure, but what about the rehearsal dinner?”
“We can set you up at the hotel restaurant. And if you want a private room, we can probably wave that fee as well.”
…Hmm. She’s good. But I’m better. “Alright, I’m sure the dinner is superb. But we’re also looking at a few other places around Victoria, like the Empress. Pretty classy place if you ask me… Gosh. I just don’t know if we can fully commit…
“We also offer a free breakfast the morning after your wedding.” …What? Free breakfast?
“Free break—well why didn’t you say so!? I think we have ourselves a deal!” A cautious smile slipped from her face as I vigorously shook her hand. “My people will be in touch. Let’s talk soon!”
The Delta it is! The best part was, I didn’t even have to consult with the babe! Boy, is she going to be glad she doesn’t have deal with choosing the wedding venue. Decorations? Leave that to me! I have that all under control. Oh, and I got the perfect idea for a cake as well!
#drakecake
As I left Victoria that day, a sense of pride swelling within me, one phrase ran through my head… “Mission complete.”
Wedding planning isn’t so bad after all. Neither is the ride home on the black ball line. Just as pretty as the ride over.
I knew the day was coming. The fuzzy letters on the computer screen, the amount of squinting required to read road signs, and driving at night… well, let’s just say there were some close calls. Yet, I put it off as long as I could. And against my better judgement, everything I’ve ever used to guide my moral compass, I acquiesced.
…I went to the eye doctor.
“Well, you’re legal to drive,” optometrist said to me as he flashed a bunch of different lenses in my face after reading a few lines in front of me.
“Well, that’s good news,” I thought to myself.
“…barely.”
“Wait… what?!”
“Looks like you have a stigmatism.”
A stigmatism? A stigmatism!?
I had heard of these stigmatisms and society’s view of them. The goofy looks people constantly give me, how they start talking slow just to get me to understand stuff… you know, discriminatory type of stuff we’re talkin’. And then I got to thinkin’. There’s a legitimate stigma against stigmatisms! No wonder I’ve had all this prejudice against me lately.
…But I had to know for sure, and I had a bad feeling about this.
“So, what does that mean, doc?”
“I’m going to prescribe a pair of glasses for you. I want you to wear them at all times.”
Glasses… at all times? Are you freaking kidding me?!
I couldn’t believe it. My heart sunk. And who could blame me? 32-years glasses free can mess with someone’s ego—big time. Just think about all those years I spent looking down upon my fellow man with a height of superiority. And now, it turns out that I’m no better than the rest… back to square one.
“Well, maybe it isn’t so bad,” I told myself. “There are plenty of people with glasses. My boss wears them all the time, and he’s a good guy. The dude from U2 is always sporting them, and he’s always walking around with a nice swagger to his step. And Justin Walker—he’s like the coolest guy I know!”
There were others though… like that Paul Krugman jerk. God, he thinks he’s so smart. Or that other lame-o that runs the Republicans, Mitch McConnell. Good God, what a dork! There’s plenty of em’, all smug and corny-lookin’.
Geez Louise! Hand me a barf bag why don’t ya?
And what about the ones are still glasses-free? “What’s Gibson gonna think? Surely, he’ll have a comment or two about it. And Ulrich… talk about a giant pain in the ass. For God’s sake, Ben Woodward doesn’t even wear glasses! Don’t tell me I’m going to be dorkier than him now…” The thought of any of those with glasses—no thanks! Why, just imagine if Gretch had glass—
Oh God—GRETCH!!!
I tossed the glasses and backed away in horror. Don’t freak out, you know you can do this…
It wasn’t a question of whether I could or couldn’t, it was only a matter of… when. It was now… or never.
I repossessed my newly acquired pair of glasses, placed them around my eyes, then turned to the mirror, a little anxious, yet, with a small dash of hope. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll look good…”
It was worse than I could’ve ever imagined.
Just look at me. I’m a freak! A total nerd! Who’s going to wanna work with me now? I might as well kiss my engineering career goodbye! My parents are already looking into ways to disown me, I just know it. And the babe… well, if she never talks to me again, well, I can’t say I blame her.
The worst part is, half the time, they don’t even fit right! C’mon!!!
I mean, what is this, another side effect of old age? First the grey hair, then the pulled muscles, and now this? What did I ever do in this life to deserve such abuse!?
…How much longer do I have? How much longer can even I hold on…?
Man, this stinks. Sure, it makes me see a little better at night, helps me concentrate on other things besides avoiding obstacles in the road… perhaps it’ll help me concentrate on the magazine… Yea, at least I have the magazine. Well, not my magazine, but I get to senior edit the whole thing. Just look at me here, all professional-like and glasses free. Talk about a hunka-hunka-hunk! Chicks dig it!
That’s just the sneak peek. Go ahead and take a gander and subscribe! The link is below!
Yep, those were the days, back when I could sprint like a Giselle and drink like a young Robert Downy Jr., exercising the legs and the arms without a care in the world! Now, this writing’s all I have. It’s all I do, exercise the ol’ fingers since nothing else works. Sort of fitting, I suppose. I mean, there’s all sorts of writers and ol’ smarty pants who wear glasses… or wore.
Like Steven Hawking, savior of the universe. Yea, I guess that guy was pretty smart, rest his soul. Or what about Steve Jobs? He sort of changed the world with his iPods and iPhones, and iGlasses, that guy. John Lennon? There’s another one. He wrote Sergeant Peppers when he was completely on glasses, and some pretty wacked out ones at that! Pretty amazing if you ask me. But let’s be honest, the dude probably could’ve used a stronger prescription. I mean, Yoko Ono? Ughz.
Speaking of hippies, what a nutcase Hunter S. Thompson was! But hey, he wore those glasses, so everybody took him seriously. That’s probably the same with Steven King, and that guy’s not even dead yet!
Wait a minute… That’s it. I’m officially a writer now! Yea, all these years, I was trying my hardest and getting nowhere. Now, all of a sudden, I put these puppies on and, “poof!” Out comes a magazine! I can’t even imagine all the places it’s going to take me, like Las Vegas!
1 of the 7 natural wonders of the world. 6 to go…
Man, I can’t wait to see the look on Gibson’s face when he sees these bad boys. He’s already pissed that I’m in a magazine before him. He won’t even know what to say. He’ll actually have to look at me with a little… respect.
I get it now. It was all an unnecessary evil, a step in my own evolution, like the ending of that 2001 Space Odyssey movie. Sure, I’m not the handsome hunk of yester year, but that doesn’t even matter. Who needs looks, when I have glasses?
I munched slowly, unsure exactly what type of meat I had placed in my mouth. The rest of my family had called it quits many bites ago, the fishy taste far from what they were expecting. But with two sandwiches purchased, I couldn’t justify giving up that easily. Besides, why would it be the busiest vendor in Florence’s Central Market if it were that bad? I mean, you had your choice of pizza, burgers, fried rabbit, seafood, pasta, porchetta, you name it, and people were lined around the corner for this stuff!
“This tastes funny,” said my sister after her first bite. Hey, that’s my line, used to say that all the time whenever I didn’t like something. It was her idea to get this stuff in the first place!
“I’m sure it’s an acquired taste,” I replied. “You just got to get used to it. You know, be a little cultured every now and then. Wthis stuff called again?”
“Lampradotto,” answered my mother, reading from the Wikipedia page. “A typical Florentine dish, made up of meat from the…” a rapid grin began to grow on her face. Oh, no.
“…The fourth stomach of a cow.” Instantly, my face flipped. I tossed the sandwich across the table and dimmed my eyes, settling into a deep, and hopeless stare into space while my mom settled into an uncontrollable giggle. The more I fumed, the more she giggled, and vice versa, the bustling, public setting preventing a scene. Cow stomach? Are you freaking kidding me??? 12 Euros down the drain!
I went for my beer, half full of course. For some reason or another, the Italians find it acceptable to fill a beer glass with a considerable amount head. That crap wouldn’t fly in the states. No way José! Unfortunately, I’d have to buy another one, half full, just like the last.
What a bull crap pour!
And to be honest, I don’t know why people lose their mind of the food here. They have a tendency to skimp on the toppings, you know. It’s like, two slices of peperoni, really? Every restaurant you got is nothing more than a poor man’s Olive Garden, minus the breadsticks. Speaking of Olive Garden, where the heck are they? They’re supposed to be everywhere around here, like Starbucks!
Starbucks… there’s another thing I could use. At least a cappuccino’s here are only a euro. And check out the sweets! Now that’s something you can’t get at your average Starbucks!
At least they got one of these places.
The Fanta looks different here. Tastes different too!
I guess they got some pretty nice art, too. I mean, check out these fancy schmancy churches, decorated with paintings and all! My church was never quite this nice. You think they’d spend a little less time on the art and a little more time on the food. Cow stomach? Give me a break!
Or the infrastructure while we’re at it. Get a load of this tower. The whole thing’s about to tip over!
And check this one out! This church even has this giant dome with a painting that has devils eating dude’s and stuff! Sheesh, I’d hate to be that guy. And at the top, God’s having a party and stuff!
And what’s with this guy, standing around with his dingle all hanging out? And everybody’s taking a picture of it too! I can’t believe it! For heaven’s sake, there’s kids watching! This is most inappropriate, and people are just staring at him, like it’s no big deal!
At least he’s not this guy. He got his hacked off!
And look at those abs! That butt too! I bet ya that guy did some killer planks back in his day. Man, people must’ve worked out all the time back then. No wonder so many people are taking pictures. Why, dad’s even snapping away. This is getting a little weird now.
There’s some cool things about the old country, I suppose. Check out this place is right on the water!
And get a load of this guy. Talk about a hunka-hunka-hunk!!!
They got some nice views too. Look at me! I’m on top of the world!
Oh, and it turns out, I’m an uncle now! Her name’s Lottie, and I think she likes me… and wine too! Also, as a bonus, she ralphed all over my little sister. Ahahaha, serves her right!
I think we’re gonna get along just fine.
It was sad to see her go, though. Not saying I shed any tears or nothin’. Not sayin’ I didn’t either…
Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t! Who cares?!?! It’s not like I had a choice. I had things to do, places to see, that type of stuff.
It’s morning at the Puget Sound Naval Shipyard. Welders, electricians, shipfitters, and engineers alike settle in to begin their day working to repair the pacific naval fleet. The rain pounds the asphalt as I walk from my office to the machine shop for a work brief, ill equipped for the weather as usual. It’s been this way for weeks now, as is the norm in the Puget Sound, with no signs of a respite. Any second now, a trumpet will sound through the loud speakers, signaling the national anthem. All that are inside are free to go about their business while the it plays. However, those caught outside are instructed to stop what they’re doing and stand at attention. I pick up the pace and walk briskly to the door, fast enough to make it in inside, slow enough not to bring about unnecessary attention. I’m almost there, mere seconds from sanctuary—
“Badum, badum!” the trumpet plays. Only a few steps separate me from the entrance of the shop. I hesitate. My mind goes into hyperdrive. Do I sneak in? I don’t want to be late for the meeting. Besides, I don’t think anybody will even notice, and who would blame me if I did? Nobody will ever see…
***
If you’ve ever spent an extended period of time on a military base, most likely you’ve had a similar experience, especially if you are stuck in extreme weather conditions. Every morning at 0800, the Star-Spangled Banner rings throughout the base, and every morning, everybody who is outside stands at attention out of respect for our military, including me, no matter how many thoughts vacillate through my head.
So, it’s no surprise that several different emotions ran through me last Sunday as I watched players kneel during the anthem, or link arms to make a statement that didn’t seem to have much to do with the anthem. I was angry, even furious at times. The headlines on CNN, “NFL players take a knee in defiance of Trump,” didn’t make matters any better. “How could somebody be so disrespectful to a country that has given them so much?” I thought or, “Why protest like this? Why make a political statement at the expense of the American Flag?” or perhaps the most egregious, “What are they doing? This kneeling crap’s going to screw up my fantasy team (which it did)…”
At the same time, I was sad. Watching the demonstrations take place, it was almost as if I no longer recognized the country that I had grown up in. I felt that I could never watch a game and cheer for a team I loved so much the same way ever again. It was as if by a single gesture, all the excitement, the entire livelihood of the NFL had been sucked out of me. Perhaps the worst part was that I didn’t see a single leader of the NFL, the coaches, commissioner, or any of the broadcasters have the courage to say what those players were doing on the field was wrong.
After all, standing for the national anthem is a practice that’s been entrenched into most of us since we were young. It’s an anthem that often gives me goosebumps, and even a little swell in my heart after a beautiful and emotional rendition. And I hate to admit, but during times of inebriation, I’ve admittedly sang the anthem at the top of my lungs like a jackass. But if you’re anything like me, for most of your life, you’ve stood with your hand over your heart, many times just to go through the motions, never really stopping to ask the question, “why is it so important to stand for the national anthem?”
Many of the reasons the players chose to kneel were well expressed, most stemming from the that inequalities still exist in our country and that social justice must be attained before they choose to stand again, a viewpoint exacerbated by Trump’s recent comments. And how much can I argue that inequalities don’t exist? After all, we are a country that for better or worse, has been through a lot since its inception, born with its ailments, or foibles perhaps, that the founders knew couldn’t be cured with just the stroke of a pen. They were shortcomings that would take years of pain, suffering, and intense battle to overcome.
“America is great because she is good. If America ceases to be good, America will cease to be great,” said Alexis de Toqueville, the French diplomat who had spent a copious amount of time studying democracy in the early years of the United States, eventually authoring, “Democracy in America.” The founders shared de Toqueville’s sentiment that the American citizenry consisted of a good-hearted, God-fearing people, and had faith that they could, and would carry out the dream of a free society if given the chance. With this, they were granted the power to choose its leaders through a representative Republic, with the ability to form, to quote from our constitution, “a more perfect union,” of which many risked and sacrificed their business, riches, security, and in some cases, lives to fight against all odds, against the most powerful nation on the planet, so that one day, maybe, just maybe they could secure this dream for the American people.
We are a country that in order to remain united and survive past its infancy, had to accept the inhumane practice of slavery. And although slavery existed, the founders knew the system of government they had set in place would allow the will of the people to eventually right its wrongs and put an end to the practice. And with a war that cost the lives of roughly a million Americans, a great president, and nearly divided our country for good, we paid our debts and were able to overcome this evil.
We are a country that continues to fight against the evils of racism to this day. During the civil rights movement of the sixties, people of all backgrounds fought against many powerful institutions to pronounce the treatment of a group of people based on their race is wrong, and it must be stopped. And through peaceful protest, heavy persistence, and battling past the constant threat of violence, those who had fought so long for fair and equal treatment won the argument and changed the hearts of Americans alike.
We are a country who continues this rejection of prejudice to this day. At the recent riots in Charlottesville, while many in the media screamed of fear and the rise of fascism, white supremacy and racism, I saw a swath of Americans who came together to take a stand against a vile display hate and anger. The hundreds of demonstrators that came to protest that day were highly outnumbered by the voices denouncing them from all around the country, voices that aren’t afraid to speak out, not matter where the source of such evil comes from.
And when it comes to evil, we are a country who has had a proven track record against it. On December 7th, 1941, there was little hesitation from our country to take action after the attack on Pearl Harbor, judging by the response of our leaders and the abundance of young men willing to join the military to take a stand against the Nazi’s and Imperialist Japan. And like the soldiers of the American Revolution, Civil War, and other wars before them, they fought, risked, and sacrificed, from the beaches of Normandy to the islands of the Pacific, enduring the harshest of conditions and all horrors that come with war. They fought to defeat this evil, for there was a belief that what they were fighting for was something greater than themselves, that although they may fall, their brothers would fight on to secure their way of life, that their sacrifice may result in a much better world for their friends, family, and the rest of the world.
We are a country who from the beginning, has always promoted science and innovation. Not by force and coercion, but by allowing the pursuit of happiness to take its course, to let one take command of his or her own ideas, dreams, and visions of the world and watch them flourish. Through this, we’ve built and powered great cities, from New York to San Francisco. We’ve taken command of the internet, unleashed its power and provided an infinite catalogue of knowledge and the ability to connect with people thousands of miles away with just the click of a button. All throughout our history, we’ve created thousands of other inventions most of which go unnoticed in the day to day grind: the automobile, airplane, iPhone with GPS capabilities, indoor plumbing and waste treatment, air conditioning, electricity, fresh drinking water, refrigeration, an MRI machine, Disneyland, Nintendo, Instagram, and the list goes on. Thousands—millions of inventions that make our lives better, each and every day, most of which are taken for granted by everyday citizens, including myself.
We are a country that promotes the free expression of art, creative ideas, and different modes of thinking. And through the advancement of music and motion pictures, artists continue to find ways to experiment and express themselves, creating art that touches our hearts and makes us laugh, cry, and at times jump up with excitement. By watching films like the Godfather, Forrest Gump, Star Wars, or any John Hughes movie, or by attending your favorite band’s concert, whether it be Kanye West, Taylor Swift, Metallica, or Kenny Chesney, this art holds a deeply emotional and significant impact on our lives and has changed the way we view the world.
I mean, c’mon, we are a country that put a man on the mother f’n moon for God’s sake! Excuse my language, but think about this for a second. Back in the day when the Pilgrims came over, it took 2 to 3 months just to sail across the ocean, one way, and this ain’t your luxury Carnival Cruise we’re talkin’. These trips sucked, and if you wanted to go and visit Europe, you best believe you were gonna stay there for a long ass time. Then, America was born, and in less than 200 years, we flew a couple of dudes into space, traveled nearly a million miles, landed on the moon, and brought their asses back to Earth in a little over a week! That’s incredible! (And if you’re one of those people that believe the moon landing was a hoax, Buzz Aldrin will come and punch you in the face!)
Imagine Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson talking about this after they wrote the Declaration of Independence. “You know Tom, after we get this forming a country stuff figured out, someday, we’re gonna walk on that big old moon up there.” Forget about it. It never happened! And who could blame them? The country they helped form was able to do something inconceivable, something that nobody in their wildest dreams could’ve ever thought possible, a feat no other country has ever been able to do, ever! Man, if they were alive today, they’d be damn proud of what this country has accomplished.
Somebody once shared a quote from John Adams that has stuck with me, “I must study politics and war that my sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy.” These great men who set the foundation for this country, who did the heavy lifting and hard work in its early days, and those who, to this day, serve to protect our country, our freedom, and our way of life, who allow us to live peacefully without the threat of anybody taking that away, it’s these people who allow us to live our lives as we see fit. It’s these great men and women who allow people like me to drink Rockstar energy drinks and share silly stories of my misfortunes when I should be studying mathematics and philosophy. It’s these same people who provide artists like Kanye West the opportunity to share their crazy views while creating their amazing beats without the fear of censorship. It’s these people who give us the luxury to watch, play, and celebrate a game in which two teams try to carry a pigskin across a field.
It’s these people of whom we are indebted to, of whom deserve our deepest gratitude.
And above all, we are a country that comes together during the tough times. I’ll never forget September 11, 2001, watching on a 13-inch television set in Mr. Rayburn’s science class as a Junior in High School when both towers of the World Trades Center came down, knowing that the one and only world I ever knew would be changed forever. And I’ll never forget the emotions felt during that time, the amount of pride I felt as an American, in my fellow countrymen, seeing almost every single person I knew set aside their differences and unite to heal as a country.
It’s a spirit of lending a helping hand to our fellow man that continues to this day, as I watch several strangers come together, donating their time, money, and efforts to provide aid and rebuild the lives of victims of the hurricanes in Texas and Florida.
I see the national anthem as an allegory for this type of spirit. Played before times of intense battle and divisiveness, where fans will relentlessly jaw insults back and forth and two teams will spend 60 minutes pounding the crap out of each other, we all can take a moment to stand with our hands on our hearts, to remember that there are things in this world and in our lives that are bigger than us, bigger than Donald Trump, that there are principles we all can unite around.
We can take a moment to reflect on those great men and women, admittedly greater than myself who have served and those who have shaped this great country through art, innovation, risk, and sacrifice into what it is today, to allow us to partake in such coveted pastimes such as the NFL. It’s a reminder that someday, through hard work, patience, and sacrifice, we too may become the great men of our generation. It’s a reminder that though our country is not perfect, nor will it ever will be, we have the ability to change, to strive towards a more perfect union. Our system of government allows it.
…It reminds us that America is great because she is good, and despite our differences, the flag and the anthem unite us. It always has. It is the single most unifying symbol we have.
If anything good has come out of the craziness of this kneeling fiasco, it’s given me a chance to reaffirmed my beliefs on standing for the anthem and the importance behind it. It’s given me the opportunity to articulate my views so that others who do not know better may understand. Never again will I question whether or not I should try to sneak in at the last second to avoid having to listen to the anthem for a minute on a military base. And as long as America remains great, I will always stand at attention when the anthem is played, on base or at a sporting events, no matter the weather. I will show respect for the American flag, and I ask you to do the same.
I ask you to set politics aside, and remember the reasons as to why it’s important to show this respect when our anthem is played. I implore you to search within yourself, to look at the big picture, to remember that even with the present inequalities or injustices you may see in your life (and trust me, I have a list of my own), that there is so much more good than bad that has come about from this country and from the people living in it.
I implore you to stand next to me with your hand on your heart, unified.
Immediately, I set up an appointment for formal consultation.
The Trials and Tribulations of a Grizzly Chadams 