As I ponder the subject matter for this, a blog created for the sole purpose of getting, and keeping me writing, some things are a complete mystery to me. There are two posts on this blog that have garnered more reads than all the others combined - one of those posts is about a dreaded household chore (cleaning an oven, which by the way, sucked) and the other is sort of an ode to binge-watching - despite the fact that I'm probably the furthest thing away from being any kind of hipster.
Hundreds of hits and then thousands of hits. Damned if I know why on either one. The more I read, the more ideas I get for content, outlets for said content - and I still feel that a lifetime isn't enough time to read all that I should. A grade school teacher used to tell my class (can't remember exactly which grade this was, but the quote stuck) that books are your friends - point taken. Two cups in on this beautiful Spring day, and I wonder if in the not-too-distant future, an elementary school teacher will say this to her class:
Remember, your Kindle is your friend.
Bleh. I have a Kindle, and part of the appeal I get, but I still like books. I always will. I like (some) magazines too, though the pile up can get downright daunting - and I could do with throwing a few things away around here.
So more arrived today - from a reading source that a friend has been after me to both read and submit work to. To test these waters, for both my reading and writing, I ordered two back issues of one of their publications - and one of the issues kinda begged me to buy it: The 2012 Music Issue
Boom. I'm in. Never mind the fact that I may not even have heard about some of the artists/music in this issue. When I ordered this issue, I did see Lucinda Williams name, which is a very good sign. What I somehow missed, was anything that told me the 2012 Music Issue would come with a cassette tape music sampler. Really? Talk about a Throwback Thursday.
I had to think for a minute to realize I even had a device to play a tape on - turns out I do. Also turns out that I've never played a cassette tape on this totally unimpressive shelf system...and the shelf system is laughable when I think of either systems I have owned or currently dream of owning, particularly with a rather large music collection, but never mind all of that.
Into the deck this sampler goes...meh, not much real substance for the ears here, but I'll let it play out in the hopes that something just might grab me. That's kind of a difficult task when I know there is so much in my collection that does grab me, that does move me - and has/will for years. Maybe it's just me, but I think even my dog knows better with the shit that's playing on this cassette. He just walked over to the system and gave it a big long sniff, that the music snob in me wants to believe is a "Dude! What the ACTUAL fuck??" - and yes, my dog is that cool....sometimes.
It's kinda hard to believe that I'm sitting here writing and listening to a fucking cassette tape. Reminds me of when I sold my bicycle when I was a kid so I could buy a cassette tape deck to listen to music on. Not long ago I got into an argument that went absolutely nowhere with a younger coworker, who flat out refused to believe that I, as a teenager, had a cassette deck. He was convinced that because I was in my forties, I simply didn't remember that they didn't even make cassette players and tapes when I was a teenager, that I was too old to remember that what I actually sold my bicycle to buy was either an 8-track or a reel-to-reel. Really? You think I don't remember what I sold my own fucking bicycle to get the money to buy? Bitch, please. They did have cassettes when I was a fucking teenager, your ass is ignorant to take your stance that they didn't and I didn't know what the fuck I was talking about - they did, and so did I. Let the record show that I also remember that I never owned an 8-track or a reel-to-reel.
So there you have it - unsolved mysteries of sheer numbers of readers on this, a blog created to simply get and keep me writing. Hundreds of readers on some things, thousands on another - and like it or not, hundreds and thousands ain't a bad start, particularly when the reason(s) behind the blog are to indulge in but one area of creativity. Then there's the nod to Throwback Thursday - perhaps dangerously close to hipster status, but I'm throwing it out there on account of the tolerable cassette tape that I'm listening to as I type this. I'd be balls deep in hipster if I were stopping now to get to my appointment to get a tattoo and have my junk pierced - it's true, look it up....but alas, I need to stop and get some things done around here before I leave for work. Peace out, good people, peace out.
Sarcasm spoken here
Thursday, May 29, 2014
Friday, May 23, 2014
Submission?
Parameters of Mediocrity/Internet Jungle
For starters, there can’t be any poetry here - it’s forbidden and non-negotiable. Deal with it. Secondly, thou shalt not be too wordy. Within the parameters of mediocrity that surround the Internet jungle, rambling is strictly forbidden. Should you ramble, an alarm will sound, security will be notified and….hey - what’s that sound?
In today’s world, well it’s always today’s world. That’s how it was yesterday, that’s how it is now and that’s how it will be tomorrow. Just trust in that and let’s move on - before an alarm sounds.
So here we are, in a jungle, albeit an electronic information jungle. All kinds of scary monsters out there - everything from foreign lottery scams, pedophiles, pornography, massive email marketing scams, 20% off offers that come every 20 minutes from a well known household item store that advise you to act fast as your offer is still waiting - you get the picture. Everyone is selling something and it seems they'll stop at nothing to get the information to anyone and everyone. It really is a jungle out there.
Please take note that this submission is loaded with original content, written by me - name, address and phone number included. Also worth noting is the complete lack of any and all clever formatting - there is nothing on this page that is written in the desperate attempt and/or hope of getting you to notice me. Oh, I almost forgot - by getting you to notice me, I mean publish and/or pay me.
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
Big Family, Big Memories
Forty-six years ago, I flew from California to Ohio to attend the wedding of my Aunt Linda and Uncle Ron. I was their ring bearer. I was in 2nd grade. Somewhere in massive amounts of photographs that every Vincent has in their house, is a photograph of me in a tuxedo, taken on that day - I even have a full head of hair. Obviously I've long since outgrown that tuxedo, and my hair lasted...well, quite a few years after that day, but has mostly vacated the premises since, but I have yet to outgrow the memories.
To say that my Aunt Linda was my favorite aunt makes it sound bad for my other aunts - and I love all of my aunts and uncles. I guess I was just around Linda more, so we were close - but growing up in a family as large as the Vincents, you get close with everyone - that's just how we roll. Even back in second grade, there were a lot of us.
From the day I met my Uncle Ron, days before he married into our large family, he was someone I admired. Right off the bat. He had horses...horses! When you're in second grade and you watched cowboys on television and dreamt of having your own horse, well...that's gonna make a person cool pretty much the instant you find that out. Then there was his green Pontiac - which was so much cooler than the VW my parents drove...though that may have had something to do with the fact that Ron had horses, which I already mentioned the importance of. Nothing against my other uncles, but they didn't have horses. The fact of the matter is, Ron could've probably ridden up on a rusty bicycle that day and he still would've been my coolest uncle because....well, you know....horses! By the way, there ended up being so much more than horses and a cool green Pontiac to make me look up to, admire and love my Uncle Ron from that day on.
I don't remember a lot from that trip, but the memories I've had all these years from it have stayed the same:
I remember my soon-to-be-uncle's car and how cool I thought it was. I remember all of his horses - their names, and why only one out of the four of them could actually be ridden. I remember my uncle riding that horse, this beautiful black mare, named Connie - and on an English saddle. Holy cow! The only time I ever saw one of those was in a book! I remember asking my (soon-to-be) Uncle Ron if I could ride his horse. When you're a kid, you don't put too much thought into what you want - you just go for it. He said yes, but his idea of riding and mine were two different things. Of course he wasn't going to put me on top of that big horse and let me go - he was going to put me on the horse and lead me around. He must not have believed me when I promised him that I wouldn't make her run the way he did when he rode her - I would only make her walk, so it was okay for him to hand me the reigns. He knew best, but I didn't think so. Someone I shared this story with recently asked "So...did he let you ride one of his horses??" Me: Sort of...but my theory was, as long as anyone is leading the horse, I'm not really riding.
I remember being creeped out that I had to walk down the aisle arm in arm with my Uncle Ron's younger sister, Janine - I would later regret feeling that way, because Janine grew up to be a very pretty lady, but in second grade, I didn't want anything to do with girls. Then there was some young lady at the reception that either my uncle Don or Jeff said they would pay me a dollar to kiss. Yes, I got paid, don't remember much else about it though - but I'll bet it's safe to say that no one else involved does either.
I remember a few other things about the wedding. But mostly what I remember is that I've looked up to my Uncle Ron from the first moment I met him, all the way up to now. Now is kind of a tough time, because we lost my Aunt Linda this week. A devastating loss for our family - for all of us, but I can barely fathom the pain my uncle must be in, and my cousins. This is hard for all of us - and Lord knows, there's a lot of us.
Linda and Ron did so much for me when I was growing up. Linda was a beautician for years, and just about every haircut I had (back when it would've actually been styling instead of now, where I basically pay someone a finder's fee) in my youth was given to me by my Aunt Linda.
When my parents first divorced, I was at odds with my mom - mainly because I was being an a**hole. Hindsight is always 20/20 - but on account of me being what I was then, I lived with my Aunt Linda and Uncle Ron for a couple of months. Linda took me shopping for school clothes and when she said I could pick out the shoes I wanted, she tried to save me from myself - she tried really hard, and repeatedly:
Me (at 14): I want those boots.
"Those boots", happened to be cowboy boots that were a combination of blue suede and blue denim. Yeah, nothing made me think about how that one might have ended.
Linda: No you don't!
Me: Yes I do!
We probably went through half a dozen of the "No you don't/Yes I do" things before she finally caved and let me get them. I was far too naive and stubborn - I didn't realize that she was trying to save me. But I did always realize that she loved me. She loved me enough to try and save me when she knew I'd regret a decision like blue suede and blue denim cowboy boots for my school shoes - no matter how much I said I wanted them, and make no mistake about it - I wanted them. She was right. The older I get, the more I realize that Vincent women are seldom, if ever wrong. Personally, I've never seen an example of one being wrong - and unless I saw it with my own two eyes, I wouldn't believe it. In the end that day, she loved me enough to let me have my way - and find out on my own that some decisions turn out regretful. You gotta think these things through.
I regretted that decision from the very first day I wore those boots to school in the 8th grade, which by the way was a new school system for me. Three quarters of a school day in and I find out that the boots I wanted and thought were so cool and now owned and wore came with a nickname: Tex. Odd that this came as a surprise to me - I had it coming.
Nicknames stick longer than Super Glue sometimes. While I cherish the longstanding friendships I have with three guys I've been friends with since then, any one of them - and you all know who you are, will leave me voicemails to this very day addressing me as Tex. Linda tried to save me from this - and although she didn't inform me that my chosen school shoes came with that nickname, she did know I was making a huge mistake. I should've been smart enough to figure that one out. Nope. I should've listened to her. Nope. Maybe she did know exactly how that one would play out - but she loved me enough to let me go there. I loved her for that. Back then it was a nickname I hated, now I think it's hilarious - even though the laugh is at my own expense. You grow up a Vincent and you learn to realize that it's okay to laugh at yourself every now and then.
There were so many other things my Aunt Linda did for me. There were times in my youth when I felt as if the whole world was against me - and although I was wrong to feel that way, Linda was relentless in believing in me and telling me just how wrong I was to feel that anyone Vincent would ever not believe in me and love me. All I can say about that now, is that if you grow up Vincent and you start to think that you're unloved in our family, you might need a smack upside the head - because you're obviously not paying attention.
The fact is, I never had to doubt that I was loved around Vincents - I am a Vincent and everything I ever learned about family, stability and right vs. wrong - all of it, I got from that side of the family. I guess that's why I always hated leaving my grandparents' house, or my aunt and uncle's houses - because I never wanted to say goodbye to people who love me so much, no matter what. Goodbyes were sad when you had to return home to a father who...well, didn't treat you like Vincents did. Even in my adult years, I don't like saying goodbye to Vincents. To Vincents, family is everything. Every family get together shows that. I will never like saying goodbye to a Vincent, and this goodbye, so much deeper than the temporary ones of my childhood, is so far beyond sad...for me, for all of us - have I mentioned that there are a lot of us? There are.
While I'm thankful that a woman who has always had so much of my heart is no longer suffering, even more thankful that she got to see all six of her beautiful grandchildren - including my cousin, Ronnie's twin boys, my heart is heavy with sadness. I know a little something about the joys of our large family growing - and our family is bigger than I ever imagined it would be. I can't even put into words the magnitude of our family's loss. Rest in peace Aunt Linda - I love you and miss you so much more than I'm even capable of saying - and I know that you know I can talk - because you always listened. I just can't find words as well as I'd like to right now. Uncle Ron, Becki, Cristi and Ronnie - I love you all, as I do the rest of the Vincents and Krausmans - Family. Family is everything.
To say that my Aunt Linda was my favorite aunt makes it sound bad for my other aunts - and I love all of my aunts and uncles. I guess I was just around Linda more, so we were close - but growing up in a family as large as the Vincents, you get close with everyone - that's just how we roll. Even back in second grade, there were a lot of us.
From the day I met my Uncle Ron, days before he married into our large family, he was someone I admired. Right off the bat. He had horses...horses! When you're in second grade and you watched cowboys on television and dreamt of having your own horse, well...that's gonna make a person cool pretty much the instant you find that out. Then there was his green Pontiac - which was so much cooler than the VW my parents drove...though that may have had something to do with the fact that Ron had horses, which I already mentioned the importance of. Nothing against my other uncles, but they didn't have horses. The fact of the matter is, Ron could've probably ridden up on a rusty bicycle that day and he still would've been my coolest uncle because....well, you know....horses! By the way, there ended up being so much more than horses and a cool green Pontiac to make me look up to, admire and love my Uncle Ron from that day on.
I don't remember a lot from that trip, but the memories I've had all these years from it have stayed the same:
I remember my soon-to-be-uncle's car and how cool I thought it was. I remember all of his horses - their names, and why only one out of the four of them could actually be ridden. I remember my uncle riding that horse, this beautiful black mare, named Connie - and on an English saddle. Holy cow! The only time I ever saw one of those was in a book! I remember asking my (soon-to-be) Uncle Ron if I could ride his horse. When you're a kid, you don't put too much thought into what you want - you just go for it. He said yes, but his idea of riding and mine were two different things. Of course he wasn't going to put me on top of that big horse and let me go - he was going to put me on the horse and lead me around. He must not have believed me when I promised him that I wouldn't make her run the way he did when he rode her - I would only make her walk, so it was okay for him to hand me the reigns. He knew best, but I didn't think so. Someone I shared this story with recently asked "So...did he let you ride one of his horses??" Me: Sort of...but my theory was, as long as anyone is leading the horse, I'm not really riding.
I remember being creeped out that I had to walk down the aisle arm in arm with my Uncle Ron's younger sister, Janine - I would later regret feeling that way, because Janine grew up to be a very pretty lady, but in second grade, I didn't want anything to do with girls. Then there was some young lady at the reception that either my uncle Don or Jeff said they would pay me a dollar to kiss. Yes, I got paid, don't remember much else about it though - but I'll bet it's safe to say that no one else involved does either.
I remember a few other things about the wedding. But mostly what I remember is that I've looked up to my Uncle Ron from the first moment I met him, all the way up to now. Now is kind of a tough time, because we lost my Aunt Linda this week. A devastating loss for our family - for all of us, but I can barely fathom the pain my uncle must be in, and my cousins. This is hard for all of us - and Lord knows, there's a lot of us.
Linda and Ron did so much for me when I was growing up. Linda was a beautician for years, and just about every haircut I had (back when it would've actually been styling instead of now, where I basically pay someone a finder's fee) in my youth was given to me by my Aunt Linda.
When my parents first divorced, I was at odds with my mom - mainly because I was being an a**hole. Hindsight is always 20/20 - but on account of me being what I was then, I lived with my Aunt Linda and Uncle Ron for a couple of months. Linda took me shopping for school clothes and when she said I could pick out the shoes I wanted, she tried to save me from myself - she tried really hard, and repeatedly:
Me (at 14): I want those boots.
"Those boots", happened to be cowboy boots that were a combination of blue suede and blue denim. Yeah, nothing made me think about how that one might have ended.
Linda: No you don't!
Me: Yes I do!
We probably went through half a dozen of the "No you don't/Yes I do" things before she finally caved and let me get them. I was far too naive and stubborn - I didn't realize that she was trying to save me. But I did always realize that she loved me. She loved me enough to try and save me when she knew I'd regret a decision like blue suede and blue denim cowboy boots for my school shoes - no matter how much I said I wanted them, and make no mistake about it - I wanted them. She was right. The older I get, the more I realize that Vincent women are seldom, if ever wrong. Personally, I've never seen an example of one being wrong - and unless I saw it with my own two eyes, I wouldn't believe it. In the end that day, she loved me enough to let me have my way - and find out on my own that some decisions turn out regretful. You gotta think these things through.
I regretted that decision from the very first day I wore those boots to school in the 8th grade, which by the way was a new school system for me. Three quarters of a school day in and I find out that the boots I wanted and thought were so cool and now owned and wore came with a nickname: Tex. Odd that this came as a surprise to me - I had it coming.
Nicknames stick longer than Super Glue sometimes. While I cherish the longstanding friendships I have with three guys I've been friends with since then, any one of them - and you all know who you are, will leave me voicemails to this very day addressing me as Tex. Linda tried to save me from this - and although she didn't inform me that my chosen school shoes came with that nickname, she did know I was making a huge mistake. I should've been smart enough to figure that one out. Nope. I should've listened to her. Nope. Maybe she did know exactly how that one would play out - but she loved me enough to let me go there. I loved her for that. Back then it was a nickname I hated, now I think it's hilarious - even though the laugh is at my own expense. You grow up a Vincent and you learn to realize that it's okay to laugh at yourself every now and then.
There were so many other things my Aunt Linda did for me. There were times in my youth when I felt as if the whole world was against me - and although I was wrong to feel that way, Linda was relentless in believing in me and telling me just how wrong I was to feel that anyone Vincent would ever not believe in me and love me. All I can say about that now, is that if you grow up Vincent and you start to think that you're unloved in our family, you might need a smack upside the head - because you're obviously not paying attention.
The fact is, I never had to doubt that I was loved around Vincents - I am a Vincent and everything I ever learned about family, stability and right vs. wrong - all of it, I got from that side of the family. I guess that's why I always hated leaving my grandparents' house, or my aunt and uncle's houses - because I never wanted to say goodbye to people who love me so much, no matter what. Goodbyes were sad when you had to return home to a father who...well, didn't treat you like Vincents did. Even in my adult years, I don't like saying goodbye to Vincents. To Vincents, family is everything. Every family get together shows that. I will never like saying goodbye to a Vincent, and this goodbye, so much deeper than the temporary ones of my childhood, is so far beyond sad...for me, for all of us - have I mentioned that there are a lot of us? There are.
While I'm thankful that a woman who has always had so much of my heart is no longer suffering, even more thankful that she got to see all six of her beautiful grandchildren - including my cousin, Ronnie's twin boys, my heart is heavy with sadness. I know a little something about the joys of our large family growing - and our family is bigger than I ever imagined it would be. I can't even put into words the magnitude of our family's loss. Rest in peace Aunt Linda - I love you and miss you so much more than I'm even capable of saying - and I know that you know I can talk - because you always listened. I just can't find words as well as I'd like to right now. Uncle Ron, Becki, Cristi and Ronnie - I love you all, as I do the rest of the Vincents and Krausmans - Family. Family is everything.
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