A Molding of Words

I thought it an odd, yet fun change of pace to post some poetry... in lieu of the usual smattering of words, opinions, and observations.

DEAR YESTERDAY

Minutes burn away, erasing tender moments we once shared together.
Now, only fleeting reflections of a distant past flicker their fading images on the screen of a weary mind.

Tick

It wasn’t long ago we were embraced in the arms of life, enjoying cool walks in the silvery rays of a moonlit stage.
Above us the star-speckled sky winked.
Heads would turn. Eyes would gaze with envy.
Together we shared of each other.
The world stopped its relentless turn. Seasons never changed.
Present played its Siren song, while past idled by on a park bench, lost in thought.
What we knew was what we loved, and future warmed our side.

Tick, Tick

Now gray, wintry days stretch for miles, and nights go on for years.
I long for times gone by, while future ambles off.
Past warms the bench to one side, distance spans my right.
And in the air a droning pulse resounds.

Tick, Tock

Aron: A Fine mix of Chaos and Order

I am really trying to be a more consistent poster of things. After all, what good is a blog if you never use it. On top of that, how do I expect to manage in the ever-evolving world of technology. I need to catch this bus and ride it, not just watch it go by.

I don't know why it is so difficult for me to write, maybe because I do it for a living. Which brings me to tid-bit number two. It has nearly been a year, and I must say it has been a pretty good ride...pun some what intended. Working for Larry H. Miller and the Utah Jazz has been a shear joy.

As many may or may not know, I work as the creator of Copy and Concept for LHM Advertising. I am responsible for many of the radio and TV spots you see for the many businesses of Larry H. It has been a great job. One that allows me to express my creativity in many different ways, go to Jazz games, and work out of the arena. It has also opened up new fun outlets for me and my silliness. I have included two commercial links if you would care to see them.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VceiyEQcORc

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZeM_nWJWleI


To add to the pile, I have been playing in the up and coming band LLoyd and Floyd and the High Octanes. You may have already seen them on TV. They are the un-official ambassadors of speed at Miller Motorsports Park. I also have a children's book that is to be published this fall, fingers crossed.

Believe it or not, I have a hard time writing a post such as this. I am not much for being too showy. I feel a little dumb doing it, but I have been asked on several occasions to share what it is I do and some of the things I have been in. I hope no one minds. If so, get over it. You knocked on my door and visited my blog, jerk. Sorry about the jerk bit; I didn't really mean it, or did I? Anyway, that and family is my life.

Bathroom Behavior

Be warned, this topic contains high levels of potty-language.

For some reason I am extra perceptive of my surroundings when in the gentlemen’s lavatory. I don’t know why this is, but I think I have it pinned down to a combination of several different contributing factors. Bathrooms are typically revolting places to be in, thanks to the supremely efficient and tidy manner in which the general male population comports themselves. This obviously tends to put me on high alert. Also, bathrooms seem to create an unexplainable element of shame. It’s almost as if, when entered in, they act as a self awareness vortex. This provides an entertaining show when you become aware of it.

So, what is it I’m talking about; what does it all come down to? Simply put —male bathroom conduct. The psychological behavior behind this topic would produce a wonderfully entertaining and thought provoking study, if you can bare to hear it. Without getting too in-depth and personal, I have logged a lot of mental notes about bathroom conduct and behavior I have witnessed, as it pertains to men. Where to begin…

“Two men are walking down the hall in an office building. Both are very animated as they converse about politics, local sports, and women. Before they know it, they reach the door indicating “Men’s Room”. As they enter the bathroom, they continue talking as they approach the urinals. Unconsciously, they each select the urinal as far away from the other person as possible, and conversation stops. They then proceed to do their business. One man looks up at the ceiling, the other straight forward at the wall. Both occasionally glance down to make sure everything is all right. When finished, they meet back at neighboring sinks, no huge spaces between them now, and pick up their conversation right where they left off.”

What happened; what changed? The human male is notorious for eking sounds and smells from their bodies and then talking about it non-stop. Often times they are criticized for their overly open discussions and displays. On top of it all, they find mountains of humor in it. I know; I’m one of them. But what changes in a public bathroom?

Here is another rather interesting scenario I have witnessed on several occasions. From time to time I will find myself sitting in a stall, taking care of business. To my chagrin, someone else will enter the bathroom. Quickly they realize the presence of another person in a stall and are too embarrassed to occupy another stall with someone (me) already in the other. Their minds race as they try to figure out what course of action to take. At this point, a number of different options will play out.
Option one: (and I have done this myself) they will go straight to the sink, wash their hands (maybe), and head right back out the door, making it seem as though they came in with a purpose, even if to merely wash their hands. The funniest part of this option is that the effort made to “save face” by washing their hands instead of looking stupid and embarrassed with no apparent reason for entering is wasted energy because the other person can’t see you through the stall walls anyway.
Option two: another “save face” alternative: the person realizes someone is in a stall already and decides to fake number-one to demonstrate a purpose for entering the bathroom in the first place. This one usually backfires because, more often than not, they don’t have to go, or stage fright won’t permit it, and end up embarrassing themselves more by standing at the urinal for a minute, making now noise, and flushing without having gone. To make matters worse, they decide not to wash because they didn’t go; and after leaving the bathroom realize, “now that person thinks I don’t wash my hands. Crap.” Admit it; you’ve done this or something like it.
Option three (my personal favorite to witness): The person enters the bathroom, sees the person in a stall, but undeniable urges help him bravely decide to follow through anyway. However, after comfortably seated, the person begins to institute “courtesy flush” after “courtesy flush” in an effort to spare you of the noise. But that’s not the truth; it’s the excuse. We all know the real reason goes back to what I mentioned before —bathrooms create a stigma for keen self awareness and shame. That person was more concerned for his fragile bathroom ego and masking the noise than he was for my level of comfort.

So what does it all mean; why do these things or others like them, happen? I don’t know for sure. But for some reason they do. Despite our huge talk, we are all insecure when it comes to public bathroom actions. The funny thing is… everyone poops. We all do it, and we know we all do it. But, for some reason we attempt to hide it in a way to convince ourselves and others that it is only something that other people do. There are many more observations and crudities that I can mention, but time and space won't permit. In the end, after becoming more aware of bathroom behavior, I still find myself putting my own level of comfort as a less important priority as I search for an empty bathroom to really let loose.

A Cultural Pop to the Skull

I realize that when I write about sports, some of my loyal readers, more likely reader, are lost due to a lack of interest. This is something that I am not going to apologize for, sorry. Shoot, I apologized, and now I have offended my reader. Oh well. Anyway, I thought I would take a moment and put in my two cents, more likely several cents, on a few of the pop-culture issues that have come to my attention in the past few days.

First and foremost we go to the wonderful world of our favorite national passtime, no not keeping in touch with celebrities, that is next. I am talking about the real national passtime, baseball. Everybody's favorite bobble headed big-leaguer, Barry Bonds, is a free agent now. Word on the wire is that there are a number of teams in conversation with his agent, sweet talking and doing whatever they can to aquire the Bay-splashing bomber. This is ridiculous. Bonds has spent the last 15 years in San Francisco juicing dinger after dinger into the water and or into other dimensions. He is now just 21 homeruns shy of obtaining his coveted asterix and a place in the history books, and we are to believe that the Giants are actually entertaining the thought of allowing their biggest crowd drawing figure in what is sure to be the biggest and most publicized season of his career just amble off into the darkness of another team? I doubt it. Sure, he may be the biggest controversy and "conversational pleasure" in the major leagues, if not all professional sports, but let's give the Sanfrancisco brass a little more credit than this. For them to spend millions of dollars over the course of 15 years, back him on all of his steroid induced allegations, put up with his wise decision to get knee surgery from "Doctor Nick" under an overpass in downtown Frisco, and simultaneously enjoy the spectacle of sending smash after smash over the wall as he closes upon a seemingly unbeatable record, only to drop him just 21 short of 755 career homeruns, and a major league record, is ludicris.

What is even more funny to imagine is that Oakland, San Diego, and any other team persuing the crome-domium slugger actually think they have a shot at obtaining him. Then again, money talks, and stranger things have happened.

Now on to a more touchy subject. This is big, yet devistating news. The kind that needs to be taken seriously. If Kevin Federline-Spears doesn't secure a portion of his soon to be ex's estate and riches, as well as custody of the children he has worked so hard at raising, then he will release what he claims to be a four hour "special relations" tape of him and his bread winning wife Brittany. Well, we should take this seriously. I mean, other than his go-nowhere, Vanilla-Ice-wannabe rap career that he is hanging on to with all the deadbeat power he posseses, has he ever lasted more than a few minutes at anything? If he is going to put his incredible mind power to work on a failsafe blackmail plan, he probably ought to have been realistic on what it was and the details of what it needed to contain. Okay, let's say said alleged tape exists, for the topic of conversation. What would be on that tape? My best intelectual guess suggests this is what we would find, if it were released and is true. First, there would be nearly an hour and a half of only sound because the lens cap was left on. On top of that, the sound you'd here would be Kevin serranading his highly interested successful recording pop-star wife with a few of his "choicest raps". After they realize the lens cap was on, you would then see about forty-five minutes or more of fighting in regards to who was responsible for such a careless error. You would also hear, brought up by Kevin, "you didn't get on tape the crazy awesome moves I did while I was singing 'Popazou'." After that argument goes nowhere, you would somehow see it transform into another heated argument regarding camera angles and locations for their "hot" video production. This would then be somehow followed by another on film battle as to what all of the buttons on the camcorder do, which would then escalate into what all of the buttons on Darth Vader's chest plate do. This would last for another hour followed by one of the two locking themself in the bathroom refusing to continue with this absurd filming idea. After some groveling, or until they both forget what it was they were arguing, there will be a brief few recorded seconds of kissing followed by little Sean Preston falling off the bed and exposing yet another "careless mommy moment" and the camera running out of tape.

The lesson learned in these two pop culture tid bits is that, though celebrities have a lot of money and fame, it doesn't always mean they are smart. However, they do give us plenty to write and talk about.

This one is going over the right field wall!

We have all heard the oh so famous and cliched sayings, "when life throws you lemons ..." or, "every now and then life will toss you a curveball..." Well, I have come up with my own analogy similar to that of the curveball. "When life throws you pitches, swing as hard as you can and hope you hit it."

Okay, so I just made that up on the spot. It might not even be the best advice either. I mean, most proffessional athletes study pitchers, watch tapes, look for spin and rotations, observe the way a pitch is released from the pitcher's hand, etc. Then there is also the fact that they hold frequent batting practice and pregame warm-ups, recieve instruction from batting coaches, develop their swings, and lets not forget, go to the plate in game situations on average four to five times a game, 150 plus games a season, and face on average two to three pitchers per game. So, needless to say both the pitcher and the batter have to be on top of their game if they hope to succeed in either hitting or throwing.

In life, it is the same. Every year I wake up from sleeping at least once a day, for 360 days, for nearly the last 26 years of my life. I get out of bed and get ready for the day about 360 days a year, and I'm guessing the majority off those days I do so in the morning rather than latter in the day. So far, fingers crossed, I have a perfect record of getting dressed at some point in the day. I can't remember ever having left the house without my clothes on. I have a very high breakfast eating percentage and teeth brushing history. I am constantly facing countless decisions needing to be made, even before I leave the house, and this has been going on for quite some time now. So, without delving too much further into my life, you can see that I too, have to be on the top of my game and well prepared for what life has to throw me.

So why is it when some obstacle gets in my way and hinders my already practiced and prepared system of operation, day to day life, do I feel the first and foremost reaction would be to give up? I don't think I have ever seen a batter step in the box, watch the first pitch go whizzing by, then march back to the dugout saying, "Wow, that was fast. I don't need to see any more. Just mark me down for a strikeout."

What is it that keeps us in the batters box of life when we know failure is a possibility, and more inquisitively, what keeps us swinging? I would like to answer my own question. Okay, go ahead Aron. Occassionally we swing, sometimes prepared and knowingly, other times with our eyes shut, and we crank one up the middle, into the gap, or over the centerfield wall into the fith row. These successes are what keep us going. They keep us swinging. We may not have a chance of success with everything we do, but knowing that there is a possibility of success, no matter how much of a long shot it may be, is what keeps us at the plate time and time again.

So, why is it that my first reaction when faced with an obstacle is to lie down and give up? Well, for me personally, it usually has to do with a number of emotions: Comfort, Fear, Embarrasment, and most especially, my personal box. My box is where I live and where I am comfortable. I rarely make any dazzling plays, huge break through ideas, or new great relationships when I am in it, but I sure am comfortable though not always content. The truth is I need those huge plays and dazzling moments. I require, as a human being, acceptance and relationships. I love the attention and acknowledgement of a great idea. Everyone does really. I may swing a dozen times before I finally crack one out of the park, but when I do, those dozen swings before it don't seem to bother me much anymore. In fact, I dare say they made me better, nay, stronger. That is why we continue to play the game. One huge hit makes up for all the misses, and if it hasn't happened yet, don't worry, the right pitch will come eventually.

Imagine, Me a Father!

It might be hard for many of my closest friends, and especially family members, to even fathom the notion of me being a dad; but nevertheless, in only a matter of months that is exactly what I will be.

It seems that only a few years ago I was tied up in a sleeping bag and left on a random porch by some of my friends, only to await the answer of the door and hope that in their confusion and curiosity, kindness would find its way out of their hearts and they would release me from the bonds of the "Moby Dick" sleeping bag I found myself in. Upon my release, I was instructed that the only words I could utter would be, "Thank you, it was hot in there!" and of course, "See you later."

This always proved to provide countless hours of, not only entertainment for an evening of mischevious fun, but many other entertaining hours of fond reminisence years later.

I wasn't always the "goat", so to speak, that ended up the brunt of all the jokes. We all took our turns. But, these weren't childhood games. These "bets" as we called them, whether they be the sleeping bag prank, standing on the doorstep and imitating a gorilla, chewbaca, or a mime; running through the house without even knocking --screaming "aliens" at the top of our lungs; or using the fart machine in crowded and very public areas, were just some of the many ideas of fun we had not only in our teenage years, but well into our twenties also.

Now the majority of us are married and are fathers, or fathers to be. Have we grown up? Are we ready for parenthood? My answer... Why not? Sure we may act juvenille at times and our definition of fun might be very similar to everyone else's definition of immature, but who says that, when kids come, you have to be serious all the time and fun is out of the question?

I for one am a little nervous, but very excited to be a daddy. There are so many things I can't wait to do, teach, and enjoy with my boy! I can't wait to read him stories before bed, play him songs on the guitar, play catch in the yard, go to ball games, eat watermelon and spit the seeds at each other. I can't wait to watch him take his first steps, say his first words, disobey his mother or me and deserve a spank, go to his first day of kindergarten, tie a blanket around his neck and pretend it's a cape, or even come crying to our bed and wake us up because of a nightmare.

I don't doubt one bit that it will be difficult at times or a change of pace from what I am used to, but it will be great and something I cherish forever. I realize I will have to grow-up a bit, but I can still have fun and enjoy life in a semi-immature fashion. Who knows, maybe my son will enjoy being the one tied up in the sleeping bag too!

"My love for a great read and story allows me to over look the occasional gramatical error that might occur. But, then again... I am attractive!"
-The lady with the flag

The World Cup? That must be a big cup!

Well, It is world cup time again. If you are anything like me, this means absolutlely nothing. In fact, you might hear a conversation like this from me, or someone like me, to myself, or someone like myself:

"Oh yeah, World Cup...that's soccer right, I mean phoot-bowl? Well great, but doesn't that happen every year?"
"It turns out that world cup is played every four years dummy, and every four years I find myself paying just as much attention as the year before."
" Hey wait, didn't I just say it was played every four years, though? Then what do you mean you pay just as much attention as the year before?
"Yep, you got it. It was a snide, highly sarcastic, and possibly insulting remark."
"...But I am you, your having a conversation with yourself, me!"

I'd better stop there before I drive myself crazy and get in a fight.

The oddity of it all is that I played soccer as a child growing up, and if I remember right, I think I enjoyed it. So let's analyze this a second. Let us break it down. Dig through the cushions of life and see what kind of change, food crumbs, and random objects we can find to make sense of it all.

When I was a kid I enjoyed playing soccer. I also enjoyed throwing rocks at girls I liked on the playground, digging deep holes, collecting toe nail clippings, playing the 'track and field' game on regular Nintendo, signaling with a pumping motion of my arm for semi-trucks to blow their horns, and trying to grab on to the back bumper of moving vehicles while on my skateboard --in an attempt to have it pull me like Marty on Back to the Future. So, as you can clearly tell, as a kid, I knew what fun was.

Now that I am older and unmistakeably wiser, I look back and realize that soccer was an outlet for me to run around as much as I like, make myself silly, and not get in trouble for it. On the other hand, Soccer was an outlet for my mom to let me run around in a field, (instead of the house) burn some of my inexhaustable energy, and relieve her from going silly. It was a win win situation.

Then I broke my leg. It was devistating to my soccer career and devistating to my mom who all of the sudden had an overly energetic kid, immobilized, and doing his best to keep her entertained while stuck at home. All right, relax, take a deep breath, it will only be for about three months. Oops, I broke my leg again right after I got my cast off. It was devistating to my...yadda yadda yadda...! Now my parents were in need of finding a new energy-releasing outlet for me. So, they opt to convince me that another sport will be even better. "For our sake and for the sake of your obviously frail bones, let's try baseball!"

So here I am, older, wiser, and not living at home. I realize soccer isn't the fastest moving sport, there isn't as much money in it, (which is so important) and World cup is captivating almost the whole world every four years. So what am I going to do different this World Cup year? Probably just write about it in this blog! Other than that I will just go about life normally and four years from now say, "Wow, World Cup again...didn't their moms just send them out to run around last year?"

Introduction: My Reasons, Rhymes, and Negotiations

On several occasions it has been brought to my attention, whether by my own realization or by a kind and thoughtful "over-observer" that in social settings (parties, get togethers, functions, etc...) I tend to carry the majority of the "talking weight" in a conversation. Not that this information bothers me to any real or upsetting extent, it has just made me conscious of how much I usually have to say regarding any given subject.

Hence, the creation of this blog. Finally I have an outlet to discuss, write, or quote any subject worthy of my time to talk about and my fingers to type about. So sit back, make yourself comfortable behind your screen and in your most likely uncomfortable chair and enjoy; and please, if given the opportunity...feel free to comment. So, agree, disagree, tell me I'm nuts and way off base...whatever, all I ask is that you please keep it clean. This is after all a family show.