Tonight I'm a single dad. My kids are properly tucked into bed at the expected hour. I've got whiskey and a fireplace. Yes ma'am.
* I don't like egos. We all have one to some point, especially me. You have to have a bit of one or else you'll get eaten alive. Or maybe ego isn't the term I'm looking for..maybe it's confidence. But that's essentially ego, isn't it? Just carried differently, I suppose. I've worked in industries where ego is king. You are surrounded by fly fishermen, climbers, paddlers, who all scrum to be on top. They claw to undermine peers, form a bro-club straight out of 5th grade, scrap for Instagram likes, try to create a "brand" for themselves, get free gear for bragging rights...all for ego. It's who they are. They lose their true self behind the longest beard they can grow, and become "fly fisher man" or "climber man". It's all they do, all they have. Their job, their friends, their existence is entrenched in this hobby. I guess I got caught up in that a bit years ago, and it can be addictive. Attention, followers, likes, people in the industry--peers and customers alike, know you or want to know you. It's a micro-spec of recognition in a tiny subculture, but it's one you're immersed in and the attention is tasty. It feeds the ego. It makes you want to focus more on attention and noise rather than self and zen. I'm not sure you can have it both ways. I'm not sure you can plan a trip to the river by yourself with the sole intention of escaping modern life while having videos, IG-quality pics, potential "sponsorships", river reporting, influencing, and/or bro-ing in mind. They cancel each other out. And I think I've realized this in my "older" age, that it's all pretty goddamn stupid. I got into fly fishing for myself and my dad. It just happened...organically. There are very few pictures of me fly fishing before the social media age, so I clearly was never in it for the recognition. But I'll be honest, the recognition was kind of cool, as very little as there was. But now I've come out on the other side, ego-free again. Well, maybe not entirely ego-free. I'm still better than everyone. Epilogue (kind of): I work among teachers and other educators now (so I'm clearly better than you). Very few egos. Just good folks trying to help kids. I like that. Egos are checked at the door. We don't scrum for attention, followers, pseudo-sponsorships, or free gear. We just do our job. Confidently. * It's no secret that I adore big dumb rock. I adore it, man. As I type this, AC/DC is screaming "Let There Be Rock" in my newly purchased JBL headphones (birthday present to myself). Now, my brain doesn't completely shut off when listening to BDR, but close. More so, it takes me back to riding shotgun in Vinnie's '64 Chevy Impala or Boner's baby-blue '65 Mustang, blasting 70s and 80s rock so loud it would make your ears bleed. No cell phones. No internet. No Spotify. Just a tape deck and the best backseat speakers a junior in high school could swing. Girls? Sure, man. Hope they like Van Halen. Sweet. They do. Big Dumb Rock is not a guilty pleasure of mine. I don't feel guilty at all. In fact, I think more people should give it a try. And hey, it's not too late to drive around, sans cell phone, and blast Dio at an uncomfortable sound level. Crack a handy road-sixer, take a puff off a hand-roll, drive through some poor sap's front yard, make out with someone on the hood of your car, shoot a couple bottle rockets out the window....get into some good, clean fun. Just do it while listening to some Big Dumb Rock. Embrace the BDM. You'll be glad you did. * If you are reading this, you probably know that I enjoy barbecuing. Sometimes I make some money doing it. I've got my methods, and that's cool. And I think I'm okay at it. But am I a "Pit Master"? That's got to be most ridiculous fucking term I've ever heard for someone who cooks meat over a fire. Pit Master? And I'm guessing "Pit Masters" are usually self-appointed. We just had a discussion about ego, man, so please drop the term "Pit Master" from your vocabulary. Especially if you run the Traeger on your patio from your phone. No offense. * Jameson Irish Whiskey is good. I'm a bit ashamed to say that, seeing as how I take pride in my taste buds and general choices in brown liquors. But it's so easy and satisfying to sip. Granted, I usually partake in my "expensive" stuff first, then cruise on some maintenance whisk afterwards if the evening looks like a more-than-one-glass night--as is the case tonight. But still, after wetting my whistle with the good stuff, the Jame-o has a sweet, peppery taste that I wouldn't mind dipping rare pieces of steak in. It's kind of like the Arby's of whiskey. You can get it anywhere, it's mass-produced, but it's still pretty fucking good. Good night.
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AuthorI am Earl. Archives
May 2024
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