I haven't posted any thoughts lately. Sorry about that. I've had a lot of thoughts, and have written quite a bit, but they weren't worth posting. They were just vent sessions and whatnot. But since those vent sessions, I've had some swell thoughts glide across my brain. First and foremost. I don't mean to boast, but I am an incredibly lucky man. Why, you ask? Is it because of my stunningly handsome profile? My Kenny Rogers-esque beard and mustache that make all other non-white facial hair falter? Or is it my solid, impenetrable torso that laughs at long appendages and "normal" looking navels? None of the above, friend. I am incredibly lucky because I have a fairly badass wife that has my back. Yeah, she bosses me and keeps me honest. But she's an intimidating, powerful being that for some reason or another...seems to like me, for the most part. And she's cute. Aside from that, she's given me two equally badass children. Ruby Margaret, who is enamored with David Lee Roth, sings like a drunk Maria Carey, and performs "gymnastics" that are dangerous to the spinal cord--is my clear favorite right now. Hank Earl...God love him...eats dirt, dog hair, dog shit, sticks, very small rocks, leaves, gravel, ice melt, flowers, non-flying insects, paint, crayons, lead, coins, army figures, Kleenexes, screws, Q-tips, kitty litter, nails, soap, candles, garbage, and his favorite food of all time...Blue Buffalo Adult Dogfood (the blue bag). When you change his shitty diaper, he grabs it and flings it off the table. There is no defense--shit goes everywhere. He grabs everything, and if it's thowable, he throws it. If it's not, he thrashes it anyhow. He is a walking 1yr old natural disaster. He's the worst. But goddamn it, I love him to death...and I love those other two chicks. Enough. I met Willie fucking McGee a couple weeks ago. I should have lead with that. The wife and I (yeah, the bossy, cute one) have been hitting up Florida off and on over the past few years to escape coldness and catch a little beach and baseball. The Cardinals hold their Spring Training in Jupiter, so we've managed to hit up a handful of games and take in a little local flavor while in the neighborhood. We are fortunate. This year for the Cards, in case you've been living under a damn rock, Willie McGee and Jose Oquendo were added to the coaching staff. That's more exciting and possibly more meaningful than any player acquisitions made this offseason. That's bringing back some talent--some cats with experience in winning and being fucking awesome. Needless to say, I was excited to attend Spring Training with the chance to see Willie and Jose in prime coaching action. That, I did. Before our first game, in which we scored front row seats on the first base line (RDStadium is TINY, so don't for a minute think we're high rollers), GD Willie starts walking down the line, signing autographs. He kept walking, kept signing. I'm not an autograph guy, but I asked to bum a Sharpie off the old lady standing next to me...just in case. WMFMcG kept walking our way, so I got the Sharpie ready and April got the camera ready. This is my childhood baseball idol. Ever since I've followed Cardinals baseball, this guy was my hero. Work ethic, selfless, humble, never liked the spotlight, not flashy--just good. Well, he was almost within ear shot, so I start babbling and yelling..."Mr McGee!! Willie! You're my favorite guy! Well, not my favorite "guy" (actually doing air quotes at this point), but my favorite player! Baseball player! You play baseball and I like baseball! I have your name on this jersey I'm wearing! Willie!!! (then I barf a little) Willie...sorry. Will you sign my jersey?? Sorry about the barf. Remember in '82 when you played in the World Series and you hit two home runs and stole that home run from that guy?? Oh man, that was (barf...)....awesome. Sorry." Willie signs my jersey, is gracious enough to humor me for a snapshot, and shakes my hand. Fuckin' a, man. Just, fuckin' a. I've been working in the Outdoor and Fly Fishing Industries for around 15 years now. I've met some great people, been to some amazing places, and learned a ton. Although my experiences have been 90% positive, I've also met some absolute assholes. Now, I know assholes are everywhere--even in the dreamy, romantic hiking and fishing corners of Jobland. But for you 10% out there fucking up the ratio: stop being cocksuckers. Please. No one likes you. Thank you. I'm hoping this weekend brings you great joy. By all means, it should. Because, by God, it's St. Patrick's Day. If you don't celebrate St. Pat's, then we need to have a talk. Is it because all the college idiots flood downtown to see who can drink the most? (hint: it's me) Is it because you're not Irish? (I'm German) Is it because you don't like Guinness or Jameson? (I will on Saturday). Please, stop making excuses. Just embrace the day as the most meaningful and celebrated holiday of the year like I do. The actual history of it doesn't matter--only your history in the celebration. Who gives a crap about some Irish saint herding snakes? Make it your holiday tradition. A tradition of dressing in green and getting shit-hammered drunk in public. See you Saturday. //re:
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AuthorI am Earl. Archives
May 2024
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