"When you're in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will be in the cell next to you saying, 'Damn, that was fun'." Groucho Marx
A collection of recent posts:
Stories like this are more common than you might think.
The crocodile, called Fatso, bit the 36-year-old man’s leg, tearing chunks of flesh from him as he straddled the reptile.
He received surgery to serious wounds to his leg and is recovering in hospital, police say.
He had been chucked out of a pub in the town of Broome for being too drunk.
The man, Michael Newman, climbed over a fence and tried to sit on the 800kg (1,800lb) saltwater crocodile.
“Fatso has taken offence to this and has spun around and bit this man on the right leg,” Sgt Roger Haynes of Broome police told journalists.
“The crocodile has let him go and he’s been able to scale the fence again and leave the wildlife park.”
Malcolm Douglas, the park’s owner, said that the crocodile was capable of crushing a man to death with a single bite.
“The man who climbed the fence was fortunate because Fatso was a bit more sluggish than normal, due to the cooler nights we have been experiencing in Broome,” said Mr Douglas.
“If it had been warmer and Fatso was more alert, we would have been dealing with a fatality.”
“No person in their right mind would try to sit on a 5m crocodile, Saltwater crocodiles, once they get hold of you, are not renowned for letting you go.”
The man staggered back to the pub bleeding heavily.
Related Links:
Crocodiles Eat People Too
Zoo Tiger Eats Man
Don’t Tease The Crocodile
Eaten By An Alligator
Python Bursts After Trying to Eat Gator
Forty is the new thirty or at least that is what people told me last year. Screw that I crap, or so I thought to myself. If I am going to claim to be younger than I am I might as well pick a different age. Thirty was fine, but physically I was in better condition at 18.
Years of competitive swimming had made me into a lean, mean fighting machine. But then I thought about it for a moment longer and realized that while I was in great shape at 18, I felt even better/stronger at 25 and so I decided that was what I wanted to be.
The whole thing was rather ridiculous. I was 40, not 19, 25, 17 or 34. I was 40 and nothing was going to change that. There weren’t any magic tricks or time machines that were going to transform me so I might as well accept being 40.
But frankly 40 sucked. In far too many ways it was the worst year of my life. A year of drudgery, frustration anger and aggravation. I have a graphic imagination and when I think of 40 I picture getting beat over the head with a baseball bat…repeatedly
Those who know me best are aware that I beating me over the head isn’t an effective way to get me to change. My head is the hardest part of my body. Hit me and I don’t cringe, I get really angry. One of the classic examples comes from when I was five-years-old. I got in trouble for something and was sent to my room.
Apparently I left my room a few minutes later and told my father that I wanted to fight him, the rationale being that if I won I wouldn’t be in trouble anymore. So if you ask if I ever fight windmills the answer is yes, I sometimes do.
Forty-one has been a much better year than forty. I haven’t made peace with all of the demons or overcome all of the challenges that were thrown at me last year, but I have come a long way and can see that I will finish this year having come even farther.
I played basketball three straight nights this week. Three nights of running up and down a court, taking a pounding inside and fighting to grab as many rebounds as possible. So when I woke up this morning at the ungodly hour of 4:50 am (conference call with clients back east) I was tired. My body ached and I felt a bit like someone had used that bat all over my body and not just upon my head.
And now a few short hours later I have noticed a change. My body hurts, but not like it did. It feels like I worked out…because I did. I arranged my schedule so that the past three days I made it to the gym early in the day and then played ball later on.
Seated here in front of the computer I haven’t taken a sip of my coffee, yet I notice a change. The body is starting to respond to the challenges I have undertaken. I am a long way off from where I want to be, but progress has clearly been made. I am ecstatic.
Look, if I really had the ability to turn back the clock I would probably do it. Especially if I could go back to those times with the knowledge and wisdom I have today. But I am ok with not being able to do it. I remember being 18 but I don’t really remember everything.
There really aren’t too many things that I would change. I think what I miss most is the metabolism. I was a one man wrecking crew who could eat one billion calories without fear of gaining an ounce. And I suppose that it is fair to say that back then three consecutive days of ball didn’t leave my legs feeling as tired as they are today.
But that is ok with me. This is just one more challenge to be faced and overcome. I’ll adapt and adjust to this because that is what I do. And might I add, damn it feels good to feel the body come back however slowly. Life is pretty good.
Ozymandias
Percy Bysshe Shelley
“I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
Death, be not proud
John Donne
“Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.”
A new insertion for Fragments of Fiction. This is tied into This Time and The Love Of My Life.
‘And still I dream he’ll come to me,
That we will live the years together,
But there are dreams that cannot be,
And there are storms we cannot weather!
I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I’m living,
So different now from what it seemed…
Now life has killed the dream I dreamed…”
I Dreamed a Dream- Les Miserables
Sometimes I reach into my chest, pull out my heart and drop it into the fire. And then while the flames attempt to consume I bite my lip, pound the table and punch the wall. The pain is excruciating but it is better to feel than to be empty and hollow.
I question the wisdom of sharing such thoughts here and hope that you understand why I write these words. I worry that you will misunderstand my intent and that this will cause you distress. That is not my intent or desire. But as you have heard me say so many times sometimes good intentions go astray.
It is not easy to walk the path that I find myself upon. It is filled with unseen hazards and challenges that I cannot always prepare for. There are creatures that live here in the dark that feed upon my insecurities and feast upon my doubt.
But if you know me as well as I think you do you understand that I was built to be the warrior and bred to be the knight protector. It is part and parcel of why I sometimes patrol the woods by your castle. I may not be able to see you now, but I can help to keep the wolves, brigands and roustabouts from making their homes near yours.
Such are the dreams of a man who wishes to be your hero. Ah, but some of this sounds so silly, so foolish and so melodramatic. Maybe it is more appropriate to say that I have clothed myself in hysteria and over blown drama.
Or maybe not. Maybe it is fair to share some things, to tell you that there are moments where I am certain you are around and nights where you take center stage in my dreams. I remember a conversation about dreams. I remember telling you in graphic detail about where we were and what we did. I remember the smile on your face.
The lights flicker and the scenes change. We are somewhere else and the intimacy has changed. You tell me that you can’t understand why I am so in love with you and worry that when age catches up with you I will lose interest. I do my best to assuage your concern but I am not sure that you accept it.
I know that look- the skepticism in your eyes speaks volumes. You want to accept and believe but your faith has been shaken and you are uncertain. I don’t know how to overcome that. I am unsure how to convince you that I mean what I say. I take your hand and put it over my heart- tell you to feel that beat and ask you to recognize the meaning behind it.
Don’t know if it worked- maybe it didn’t because you are there and I am here and that means we are not together. Or maybe it just refers to the physical. You told me that we are inextricably linked and it is hard not to believe that.
You spent an hour or so hanging out in a place you don’t frequent often but one that I do. I saw you there. Caught your profile with the red dress and instantly recognized you. You looked stunning. It took an enormous amount of discipline not to come pull you into my arms.
But I wasn’t convinced that you were ready or wanted that. I don’t completely trust my heart. I fear that it tells me what I want to hear and not what is real. But then again I know that matters of love are not based upon logic or rational thought. Nor should they be- sometimes you have to jump into the storm and ride the wind.
I blame you for that. It is one of the many lessons I learned from you. It is part of why you still appear in my dreams and why I remember what it was like to kiss your lips. I am not really sure what it is I am supposed to do. Don’t know what path I am to take or where the road leads.
All I know is that I still wish for you to come live with me and be my love. Come dance with me in the rain and under the moonlit sky. Walk through our kingdom and let me do what I do best, love you.
Headlines like this are good link bait, “Why Parents Hate Parenting.” It is the title of an article that many of my friends have been passing around via email. I kind of rolled my eyes through half of it. It is somewhat reminiscent of the uproar that was created from Ayelet Waldman’s piece. I blogged about that in Does Having Children Prevent an Active Sex Life which used to have a ton of great comments, until I removed Haloscan, but I digress.
I am not a genius. I don’t consider myself to be abnormally insightful or profound but I knew that having children would change my life. It never occurred to me that I should be surprised by how much work is involved in raising them. Never struggled because they meant that I couldn’t do things because I expected things to change.
That doesn’t mean that I don’t have moments where I feel like tearing my hair out. I love these kids like nobody’s business and I don’t exaggerate when I say that sometimes I feel like I am killing myself to give them the life they deserve. No kids and I drive a different car, go on better vacations and eat nicer meals.
Sometimes that sounds good but I wouldn’t give up being a father…ever. It is a huge part of who I am, but it is not all I am. Based upon some discussions that I have had with other parents I think that our identity plays a huge role in all this.
We all need to find a way to retain some semblance of self. You aren’t just a husband/wife/father/sibling/child. You are a person who has interests and needs that are specific to yourself. And while it is true that once you commit to a relationship you give up some of your independence it is also incumbent upon you and whomever you are with to find ways to address those needs.
Sometimes you need to be selfish so that you can be selfless in other areas. And that my friends leads into my favorite quote from the Parents piece.
“About twenty years ago, Tom Gilovich, a psychologist at Cornell, made a striking contribution to the field of psychology, showing that people are far more apt to regret things they haven’t done than things they have. In one instance, he followed up on the men and women from the Terman study, the famous collection of high-IQ students from California who were singled out in 1921 for a life of greatness. Not one told him of regretting having children, but ten told him they regretted not having a family.”
I have relatively few fears in life but that quote provides a great summation. I have a lot of wanderlust in me. I sometimes wonder about the road not taken and have worried that sometimes I have given up on something that could be great because I was fearful. I try to make a point to live a life that isn’t controlled by fear. I want to live life not wish life.
And that is something that I am trying to pass along to the children. You work to live not the other way around. You get up, go out and do. And when it comes to parents I think that one of the challenges that is specific to our job is expectations.
Expectations of what life should be like impact so many things, parenting is no different. And our expectations of what our children should be like is part and parcel of the overall parenting experience. Frankly I think that the reason some of my friends get so crazy is that they have expectations that are completely unreasonable. Johnny and Sally aren’t going to be pro athletes, Rhodes Scholars or Noble Laureates.
And just in case their parents read this let me state that I agree with you that we cannot dictate nor determine their future based upon ten, twelve or 15 years of their lives. It is possible that they will surprise us and show something special that we had no idea existed. It would make me exceptionally happy to be proven wrong, but statistics show that I have the more realistic position.
So you may ask if I am suggesting that we lower the goals and standards for our children. The answer is no. You don’t lower the bar just because you don’t think that the kids can meet those objectives but you adjust your expectations. You tweak things and say that your goal is for the child to do the best that they are capable of doing.
But that is a different post than the one I started here so we’ll set it aside for a different time. What do you think about all this?
Posts that may or may not be related:
Pressured into Parenthood- A Guest Post
The Search For Happiness
What is A Family
All Gave Some, Some Gave All
Father’s Love Their Daddies Too
Dad’s Most Important Job
If You Died, Who Would Take Care Of Your Children