Learning the Hard Way

Fists hit my face as pain overwhelmed me. I heard her voice, dodging sobs and tears, wail "please, don't hurt him!" Too late I thought; and blood filled my mouth. My assailant seemed invincible as he kicked my ribs until people pulled him away from me. The last thing I remember before blacking out was her saying, "cops are coming, got to get him out of here so he doesn't get arrested." It would be a week before I ate solids. I laugh now at the irony. That was the last time I helped a damsel in "distress".

*blogger's note* This is my 100 words submission to http://www.velvetverbosity.com/ . The one word prompt is INVINCIBLE. I had a tough time with this week's word. There are several excellent entries  including Bobina's own Invincible, Just Maybe at http://mythoughtsonthesubjectareasfollow.blogspot.com/ . Check out vel's site's and the fine writers there.

Delurk Jerk, and drop in some comments

Grace aka @grace134 over on teh twitterz made me and some other blogger types aware of National Delurking Day. I know. It's some lame internets madeup day to give writer people like me something to blog about. You caught me. You think this is easy? making up blog topics and saving the world every day? Look, I know at least 100 of you are reading this blog every day and only two or three or four are commenting. This National Delurking Day is to bring some of you out of the stalker mode and into the light of day, once. Thank you for reading, now it's survey time.

1. What’s your name, and how long have you been reading this site?

2. Do you have a blog and/or a Twitter name and/or something else we should all read today? If you don’t have one yourself, you can tell us about someone else who is deserving of our eyeballs today.

3. What is your favorite song right now? I am going to go listen to it and tell you what I think. No pressure. Don't let my music expertise intimidate you. I will be gentle....or maybe not

4. Is there anything I haven’t covered or answered but I should have, but you couldn’t tell me that because you were busy lurking?  DO YOU HAVE QUESTIONS FOR ME?

5. Are you a lurker everywhere, or is it just my blog?

6. Tell me something really weird or unusual about you. That will take care of the whole “every time I want to say something, someone already said it” thing.

7. Recommend something. A book, or a movie, or a flash game, or a friend of yours as a really excellent person, or a valid career path, or a little known parenting strategy, or a super clever cleaning tip or trick, or incredibly helpful organizational tool, or the best socks you’ve ever owned. Or if you know where I can find the best pumpkin pie, I'll be your best e-friend ever.

I appreciate each of you for obliging my small spot on the web for the last 8 or so months. Things will get better from here, I pinky swear. take the survey, let me know what you think. Baby Jesus doesn't like liars or lurkers but answer however you want.

Thank you again.

GO

Some Men You Just Can't Reach

It's forty seconds of your life. Click play on the video and watch it two, three, heck four times. What do you get from viewing? Paul Newman whipped into a ditch? Yeah, what else? "What we have heeeuh is a failyuh ta cummmuynukate. Some men you jus kaint reech." This past weekend a lost soul, full of evil, walked into a political event near a grocery store, pulled a gun, and shot a lot of people in Arizona. Six innocents are dead, including a beautiful nine year old girl. I refuse to post her picture because it will make me, my wife and several of you cry and have nightmares. As a parent, I have done a lot of thinking about what might happen to one of my own daughters if someone horrible crossed their path.

The result of the tragedy, because the main target of the gunman was Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords, a progressive Democrat who was "gunsighted" by conservative Republican Sarah Palin on her website and others for defeat in the next election has been to point fingers at uncivil political discourse. I never post about politics and trust me when I tell each of you, this is the least political post you will read on the internet, pinky swear; real discussion of issues will not drive reasonable people full of goodness to kill. Please stop thinking that Sarah Palin, Rush Limbaugh, or Bill O'Reilly can send right wing zombies on murder sprees. No more than Keith Olberman or Jon Stewart can.

In the early 1800s, Aaron Burr shot Alexander Hamilton in a duel. For almost two hundred years people branded Burr a treasonist for disagreeing with Thomas Jefferson and Hamilton on the issues of the day and supposedly trying to overthrow the government. It all turns out that Hamilton was spreading libelous information about Burr's personal life and Burr felt he had to defend his family. Burr's politics are more in line with conservative Democrats or middle of the road libertarians of today. He believed in equal rights for women, a middle class that had access to government, and having newspapers and media have open access to information about Congress. The point is, don't believe everything you hear all the time.

There is no explanation for why a madman or as our former President George W. Bush called it, an evildoer, went on a violent outburst in Tuscon, Arizona. He wasn't driven by The Drowning Pool's Bodies song any more than the killers of Columbine High School 12 years ago were by Marilyn Manson music.

We can do better than pointing fingers at each other and resorting to personal attacks when we disagree. I used to be rant and rave about politics, then I realized I was failing in my own life and worked on myself. How could I argue anything with anyone if I couldn't get along with my own family or friends. I struggle as a husband and father enough that I can not, in good conscience, with a straight face, tell someone else why they're wrong voting on an issue or a candidate. Someof you will read this and call me soft because I'm not blasting one side or the other. Others of you will read this and question my political views and wonder why I haven't made grandiose statements of right or wrong. Wrong blog, wrong post, boys and girls. We can do better than that anyway. We can relate to each other without doing any of that. There may be some men, and women, you just can't reach, but most of them you can touch postively. Let's work from there.

Adult Angst

It's the third day. The third fricking day. Ice covers most of the roads. Snow continues to fall, small, light flakes, but it falls. The suburb I live in and the one connected to my employer's office are littered with stalled cars, fender bended cars, and cold, cranky policemen, just trying to do their jobs withoit losing their sanity. I made it out today. I had to. I was becoming Jack Torrance like.


The writer who takes over a haunted hotel in Maine during a blizzard in Stephen King's The Shining, and I are sharing traits that I find disturbing. In a play on his descent into madness; no work, no play, at home all day, makes Lance a crazy boy. We are a mobile society. I am a product of it. I don't apologize for my type A personality, but I am aware it can rub people the wrong way; especially my family.

The first day, Monday, was nice. An unexpected day off from work, the kids were home, Bobina and the girls and I had a snowball fight (see the post - Snowdaze on this blog page) and even talked with each other kindly. The second day was different. Roads were impassable, we were eating like deserted island survivors just found by the cruiseliner, and fuses were getting short. Ok, fine, jerks, my fuse was the shortest. I just wanted to get out of the house for a while. It was hard to write because the girls wanted to talk and play, I got that. By dinner even my dog , the sweet Buddy the golden retriever, was making me want to punch things. The girls and Bobina went to bed early. I watched Bullitt with Steven McQueen.

The coolest dude on the planet witha Ford Mustang Fastback, and dudes getting shot. I started writing. It was good. Words moved, characters did things that made sense, and I felt free with my ideas. I started laughing at myself for being so wound up about being shut in. Then I went to bed to Bobina.

The third day was here. Work called early; just before 8am. Bobina's work did too. She was due in by 10am. Our short fuses were extinguished, somewhat, by Tay's 15th birthday today.

I started looking forward to steak. She wants to go to Longhorn for her birthday dinner. It's a meal away from home. That's what I'm thinking about.

The weather is supposed to bad again tonight and into tomorrow. This is a lost week for schools and businesses. I don't own an ax. Don't worry.

Today's song is a little weird. If there was a rock tune called Adult Angst, I'd play it. But, it's Tay's birthday. She's 15 and trust me she's angsty. I love her so. Here's Cracker;

One-One One-One One

The calendar says it's 1-1-11 or January 11, 2011. People are telling, emailing, tweeting, blogging, and broadcasting that it's a big deal. I have to be honest, if I wasn't plugged into the internet, I wouldn't have realized. Tay, my teenage daughter, turns 15 tomorrow, and I have been programmed to know what January 12th is; requiring me to know two date sin January is asking too much. I read over the conspiracies and math nerdery and started listening to songs that honored the number one. My favorite is U2's ballad about keeping difficult relationships together:



It has one of favorite lyrics; "has you come here for forgiveness? Have you come to raise the dead? Have you come here to play Jesus to the lepers in your head."

The tragedy in Arizona, Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords being shot in the head and six others losing their lives, including a beautiful 9 year old girl, has made me think about how lucky each of are to have the people we love in our lives.

The other good line in U2's song, is "we're one, but we're not the same" should be a personal motto for each of us. I struggle with being patient and emotionally strong with my loved ones because I like my strong,opinionated personality, while also liking getting along with them. While none of us are "the same", we, my family I speak of, have decided to be one.

There isn't a lot of snark, sarcasm, or sublime in this blog post. I'm in a mood. I hope, as you read this, you use today's unsual date and the lyrics to the song of Three Dog Night's One (is the loneliest number) - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UiKcd7yPLdU
to pep talk yourself into being stronger and more understanding to the people you know, who deserve it.

Happy One Day

Snow Daze

My work called, said, work from home or take a personal day. Bobina's had her come in for an hour , then closed down, so she hit the grocery store for importnat things like hot chocolate and pumpkin pie.

Then we did what we always do as a family when our suburban section of Atlanta gets slapped with six inches of fresh snow. We put on every piece of winter clothing we own, including tube sock on our hands, and went outside for a snowball fight!

My youngest was the cutest. She ran up and down the street, getting a head cold with each stride, I'm sure. Then waited for each of us to stand still and she threw snow at areas of our body, we would find flakes tonight when we least expected.

 A winter miracle happened right after I popped Tay the teenager with a snowball in the hip. She turned and smiled, yes, you read that correctly, smiled, and let me take a picture.

Snowbina lives! She loves snow. She organized this family outing and although her snowball aim is minor league, she had fun watching us. Then, in Snowbina fashion, she shoved a pack of fresh white snuff in my collar. I'm pretty sure I have frostbite. Call me whiteneck.

Ahhhh, Snowbinafest 2 in underway. Someone's getting revenge best served cold.

After a nap, we decided to try to make a snowman. Tay and I struggled

While Bobina snapped pictures, Goose ice danced, I'm not sure what that is, but she's very good at it. Buddy the Golden Retriever made an appearance. Neither I nor Goose could get him to make Snow Buddy Angel; he did, though, make yellow snow, so we abandoned the snowman porject.

By the way, last week, he got a haircut at mommy's work. Normally he's well coated against the weather.

Finally Tay suggested hot chocolate and I remembered the pumpkin pie in the fridge and Snobinafest 2 came to a close for this Monday.

Here's some Snow Blind by KISS' Ace Frehley .... rock on: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e1KNGE_nxU8

Guest Blogging @Deadjournalist.com

One of my new years resolutions has already been achieved. Thanks to Chuck aka @_DeadJournalist on twitter, I have a post priemering today at his website http://www.deadjournalist.com/ . If you like, care, or even think about music, his site is for you. It caters to the artist, and that's what makes it good.

My post is here: http://www.deadjournalist.com/DJdc/2011/01/08/editorial-music-saves-by-lance-burson/

I hope it becomes a regular thing. Thanks Chuck.

If you wanna, talk fishin', well, I guess that'd be ok

Im March, 2004, I put on a suit. My appearance was the best I could offer and I shined my shoes. I left the house an hour earlier than I needed to, stopping for gas despite having a half a tank. The building was tall, dark, impressive, and the parking garage was massive. I walked through the glass breezeway, told the armed guard twice my size who I was and who I wanted to see. Minutes later he led me to the executive elevator and I went to the 17th floor. Greeted by a pleasant, but serious looking receptionist, I was walked toward a huge office, encased in glass, overlooking the city of Atlanta, Georgia. Six men sat in front of me, none of them smiled. One man knew me, he knew my family, even he was somber. It was a job interview for a large company, the kind where you start a career. Everything started normally, then the fourth question they asked me, threw me for a loop, "Where do you see yourself at 40 years old?" I was 33 at the time, my 7 and a half year old daughter was 5 months old, I had stayed up half the night with her because she ate every 3 hours, I was exhausted, and 40 still seemed like 80 to me. I answered stupidly, "wow, that seems so far off." The man who asked me the question, interrupted me, and replied, sternly, "I'm 40, everyone else here is over 40." I realized he didn't care what my answer was, he wanted me to handle pressure. So he applied more.

I got the job. I'm still in the position. I'm a man, I'm 40 (that never gets old) ,Most of the questions they asked were conventional but a couple were meant to get me out of my comfort zone. In the end, I understood that and I was thankful for their opportunity.

This article, from Yahoo News Finance, highlights the 25 weirdest job interview question: http://finance.yahoo.com/career-work/article/111757/the-25-weirdest-interview-questions-2010

Some of these seem insane. Others, you can see where the employer was going, trying to get inside the head of the person who wanted a six figure salary and benefits. The NFL is known for there seemingly bizarre interview process. Last year, Miami Dolphins general manager Jeff Ireland asked potential first round draft choice, Oklahoma State wide receiver Dez Bryant, if his mother was a prostitute. There was some context, not a lot, that pushed Ireland in this direction. Bryant made it through his interview with the Dolphins without killing anyone, then got drafted by the Dallas Cowboys.

In the last two years I have received promotions to a managerial level. I hire people. I usually ask the same three things. They revolve around work ethic, history with other people, and availability for emergencies. Then we shake hands, eat something, and start working. I have never asked anyone if their mother was a hooker or what kind of tree they would be.

I am perplexed as to why anyone needs to know something that isn't directly related to the job needed. I think the majority of people conducting the interviews in the Yahoo story and NFL teams are more concerned with their own power, not the applicant's qualifications. I think Lynyrd Skynyrd were ahead of their time when they recorded this song 37 years ago.


For the record, my parents are wonderful, gamefully and respectfully employed people. If I inherited a pizzeria from my uncle, I would hire someone with restaurant savvy to run or I would sell. I would be a banana tree so I could live in warm climate and provide sustenance. Most of all, like my good ole boys in Skynyrd, if you ever want to talk fishin', it will always be ok.

The First Gig

Looking through the maroon curtain, I saw several hundred people in the college amphitheater. Two female students were stooled onstage, tuning their acoustic guitars. I walked inside the mens bathroom, hearing my bandmates arguing. "No way in hell am I playing our first gig ever named samesexunicorns. I'd rather be stabbed in the eyes.", the bassist, Kraig, complained. Writing on the dingy wall above a urinal, Aaron, the drummer, said "stab spelled backward is bats." Seizing a moment, I proclaimed "Fine, this place is about to be rocked by The Stab Bats." No one said anything, we just happened.

*blogger's note* This is my contribution to @velvetverbosity 's 100 word challenge at http://velvetverbosity.com/ . This week's one word prompt is STABBED or DEB BATS spelled backward. This is based on a partially true of a college's friend's band, in 1991, who renamed themselves before their first gig, minutes before playing. It was their only performance.

The Bad Word

I have written a lot, lately, about the things going well in my life. It is now time for me to be honest about my biggest failure, my language. I don't curse, I don't use slurs, and I don't talk down to women. I talk like my teenage daughter.

She enjoys making fun of me. If she wasn't giving me the business, something would be wrong with our relationship. Yet, I realize that her disapproval of some of the words I use is not only rational, it's right. A few nights ago I was watching San Diego State play Navy in the Who Gives A Flip College Football Is Insanely Greedy For Sponsoring A Game Featuring These Teams Bowl. San Diego State has a running back who is excellent at football. He was scoring his second touchdown and my daughter, Tay, seen here:

was walking through the room and heard me say "that dude is beast", I saw her stare at me, roll her eyes, and then I said "or tight, legit, money, sick or whatever, you know". Suddenly, under the critical eye of an almost 15 year old, I was reduced to blather more suited to a cast member if the movie Clueless.

I have several friends, real and online, with kids in the same age range. They report similar issues with either trying to relate to their teen children through music, movie, or vocabulary. Twitter has become a great resource for antecdotal evidence that a lot of 40 year olds (my age) talk or at least tweet like, 15 year olds (my daughter's age, in 10 days). I see the words holla, aight, whatever, pshaw, k, lol, omg, viral, woot, like, you know, and countless others that probably shouldn't come from the mouths or keyboards of anyone over the age of 20.

Now it's time to show my age. Almost 30 years ago, Moon Unit Zappa, the then teenage daughter of alternative rock musician Frank Zappa, released the song Valley Girl, which spawned a memorable movie starring a teenage Nicolas Cage.

Moon Unit, with her dad's genius production, made a novelty song hilighting the verbal gymnastics Southern California teenage girl engaged in with words like, grody, to the max, gag me with a spoon, as if, like, ya, and many other words that would make English professors want to find a shotgun and lose their minds. I remember my parents thinking me, and my friends had lost our minds when we started mimicking the language. Funny this is, my parents didn't follow suit. Whereas, I have, and so has my wife and our friends.

I'm a word nerd. I used to study the dictionary and thesaurus in my room growing up. I wanted to go into sports broadcasting as a teenager. I had a southern accent, and wanted to lose it so badly that by my freshman year of college I sounded like I was from the Midwest or Northeast. My diction was unnaturally clean. I also did not use Valley Girl words or hip hop culture stables like holla, aight, yo, or bomb diggity.

I find it difficult writing my 100 word entries, my fiction, or even a friendly story review for a friend, without tossing in a non sequiter or some slang. My favorite song of 2010 was American Slang by The Gaslight Anthem. While the song was brilliant, I couldn't escape lazy verbiage. It's endemic, though. I work around men and women who are middle aged and they mix in slang and teenage talk without realizing they're doing it. This isn't me writing about how the world is headed to hell in a handbasket because we talk like Jay Z or Ke$ha. Music is headed to hell in handbasket because of it, but the world itself is ok. I am going to make it a goal of mine in 2011 to talk more my age. Act my age, absolutely not. I have a blog and a twitter account for goodness sakes. I will leave the young slang and the hip hop lingo to my daughter and the teenage kids of Chris/@DxPepper, Nee Cee/@DDubsLilDDub, C/ @onesmarmymama, Corrine/@Corrine224, @& Heather/@MrazFan19 (they all responded to my twitter poll on the subject). My wife is on the spot too. She's pretty and all but the woman talks like Vampire Diaries cast member.

It's funny, I learn more from my kids than I do from people my own age these days. The cooler I try to act around Tay, the less cool I am to her. She wants me to be the big goober dad type I sould be, which means seen, not heard. I'll continue to embarrass her as much as possible, but I'll make sure to say the latest Eminem record is well done hip hop as opposed to phat beat that blow up my speakers, dawg. See, that reads as stupid as it sounds.

Peace...out

I mean, the end. Good night.

L

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