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Showing posts from June, 2015

Cleared for Takeoff

Writing a blog post to the backdrop of Nine Inch Nails "Pretty Hate Machine" probably isn't conducive for finding my happy place.

But I'm not going to lie.

I'm not in a happy place right now.  I mean, sure, overall my life is pretty fucking good--all things considered.

But I feel like I'm on a ledge. As I'm walking, I can see the nice safe pastures to my right....the sunny-day goal ahead. The bliss that awaits if I stay the course. And then...in my periphery I see the chasm. It's a post-apocalyptic night mare of choices I didn't take in my life.

"Just a fading fucking reminder of who I used to be..."

Preach it Trent.

I know this isn't comfortable for a lot of you. Everyone has been trying to cheer me up about the impending surgery. Trying to tell me that things are going to work out.

And...dude.  Trust me. I know.

That part of it is common sense. At least it is to me. You see...of course it is going to work out the way it needs to. E…

Routine Bullshit

So...here's the thing.

First off. Thank you. I know you're just trying to help.

I know they do these kinds of neck surgeries all the fucking time. And that they've done literally thousands of them.

I get that.

But dig....they don't do it all the fucking time--on me. And they  haven't done literally thousands of these operations to me.

It will be the second time in my life that someone has slit my throat on purpose.

Oh. Right. Perhaps I should give you some background as to why I don't give a flying fuck how routine an operation is.

In 1997, I had open heart surgery. It was NOT routine. The thing they were fixing was. But the operation was new technology. Instead of splitting my chest open and cracking my ribs, they had a new method called the keyhole method. They slit under my right breast. They went around behind my rib cage and did what they needed to do. I was assured that the surgeon performing this had done this literally hundreds of times and that he was …

Blinders

I am not black.
I am not a woman.
I am not a hyphenated American.

I grew up in Westerville, OH. If you looked up a picture of white-bread America in the Funk and Wagnalls Encyclopedia, very likely a picture of Westerville would pop up.

I didn't see a black kid in my elementary school until 2nd or 3rd grade. Maybe 4th. That's almost 10 years of living without up close and personal contact with  someone of color.

I don't know the struggle. I will be the first to admit that.

I got in to rap music not because I identified with the struggles of the black man growing up on mean streets of whatever city. No. I got in to it because I thought it was amazing poetry. Naive perhaps of me to think it was just poetry. But I thought it was raw. Gritty. Heartfelt. And I had a knack for it when I wrote it myself.

There was fuck little of a rap career a kid like me from the burbs was going to have, but that didn't stop me from penning hundreds of pages of lyrics and recording nearly a t…

Good Grief!!

So....I get it. I'm approaching what some might consider old. But not in my mind.

That being said, please don't take this rant as 'old guy venting about the good old days,' because it's not really that as much as it is about the something new days being filled with short cuts.

Take, for example, a new Charlie Brown movie.  I'm not a purist (although maybe I am), but growing up there were several Charlie Brown specials I knew and loved

A Charlie Brown ChristmasIt's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie BrownSnoopy Come Home

And lesser in my mind

You're A Good Man, Charlie BrownRace For Your Life, Charlie Brown
I know there were more. But those were the go-to's for me. The hand drawn animation was magic in my mind. Almost at though Schulz had done them all himself.
And I don't ever remember seeing the Little Red Haired Girl. She was always the object of Charlie Brown's affection. Believe it or not, I identified with Charlie. And so I would imagine the Red …

Typical Male

So...it would seem that I apparently am a 'typical male' in some regards. According to some friends, my not wanting to date or start my quest for the next ex-Mrs. Skaggs is indicative of the whole guy 'fear of commitment'  thing that men often get accused of.

And I can see where it might look like that. But that's actually pretty far from the reality of the situation.

To be fair, this insight came to me in the shower this morning, so it may actually bear some deeper reflection to see what holds water and what doesn't.

No. I'm not afraid to commit.

I don't have a fear of commitment.

I have a fear of loss. I have a fear of staring in to the eyes of a lover and only seeing a stranger staring back at me.  I have a fear that I will wake up one day feeling trapped and alone with no clue where my best friend went.

Commitment? Walk in the fucking park.  It's the rest of it that fucks with my head.

Jeesh Todd. Over-react much? I'm sure if you found the ri…

Smell that? It's Irony

Disclaimer: This post is bound to be fraught with irony, and has the potential to contain serious doses of hypocrisy. Well above those of the Christian Moral Majority. 

Here's the thing. Well, wait. Let me back up.

There's this thing.

Rather than call out one that has ingratiated itself so much in to our lives, that it's hardly noticeable, I'll call them by their collective name....Social Media.

Social Media is big business. Major companies hire people, teams of people, just to scour social media to address any possible complaints against their company. Once seen as revolutionary, a web address for a company on a commercial is a thing of the past. Now it's simply a universal icon for one of the major three (four if you count YouTube) social media outlets.

Yes. They are fun (are they?). But let me in on a little secret. They are free to use because you are giving Big Business more information that you could imagine.  This is the kind of information that commands top…

My Daughter, I Apologize

Dearest Daughter,

I owe you an apology. Sometimes spoken words fail me, so if you'll forgive me, I'll use the words that don't.

Last night you surprised me. You said something that I, quite frankly didn't think I would hear.  And my reaction, let's be honest--sucked.

I want to apologize for that. You see, I get the feeling that you think I'm somehow disappointed with you. Let me assure you, nothing could be further from the truth.

No, my sweet pumpkin girl, I am not disappointed in you. I am disappointed in me.

You see, I heard from you last night a reflection of me. Something that I would have said. And lest any one else think the sentence was so terrible--it wasn't.  As I said, it merely surprised me. Much like the first time a parent hears their child use the work 'fuck' in a sentence. There is a moment of pride that they are coming in to their own, and a moment of terror that they have in fact been paying attention to you.

And that's really…

Fighting the Urge

I fucking hate people sometimes.
I know...not very enlightened of me. And it's not the actual person I hate, per se. It's really the behavior of the person. I know some of the people that annoy me don't really mean to. They aren't bad people. They normally aren't complete fucktards of epic proportions.

They just do stupid shit without thinking of anyone but themselves.

And PLEASE don't misunderstand this post (rant?)...I am fully aware that I (more often than not) have fallen in to that very same category for somebody else.

Sometimes people think they're being funny. Or cute. Or genuinely helpful. Even when they're not.

I know that I've fallen in to most of those categories. But I've also fallen in to the "I'm going to be a sarcastic douche just to fuck with people" category as well.

The problem is, these days, how can you tell which is which?

I don't know that you can. I think our lifestyle, our culture, has made sarcasm and s…