Men, by their very nature, are grillers of food. If you follow me on Facebook, then you know I love grilling everything from steak kabobs to bacon-wrapped bratwurst. This is because grilling, aside from providing men with a legitimate excuse to drink beer and play with fire, is actually a sign of romance and affection dating back to the discovery of fire itself.
We know this thanks to recently discovered cave paintings depicting what archeologists believe is a romantic meal prepared by a Neanderthal named Glork soon after the discovery of fire.
According to archeologists, the sequence goes like this:
Painting one: Glork makes a small fire using a careful mixture of embers, dry leaves, and an assortment of twigs. He then douses it with liberal amounts of highly flammable liquid, creating a massive fireball that scorches the roof of his cave.
Painting two: Glork adds a marinated pterodactyl drumstick to the fire and begins drinking an unidentified beverage.
When I fell for Sarah Getlost in the fourth grade, I was taking no chances. My father explained to me that women couldn’t resist a man in uniform. He told me this while wearing a white T-shirt, Bermuda shorts and drinking a beer, so I had to take his word for it. My plan was to wait for our little league candy sale and go to her house dressed in my new baseball uniform.
In theory, it was a good plan.
In reality, Sarah Getlost answered the door wearing her new cheerleader outfit, effectively neutralizing me. So, to impress her, I gave her my candy, a new baseball and all of my money. Although I wasn’t immediately rejected, it came swiftly once my mother found out and forced me to return to Sarah’s house to ask for all my stuff back. I don’t remember exactly what I said, only that it was awkward and involved a lot of gulping to keep the bitter taste of rejection from coming back up.
Although I think all that chalk I swallowed in the second grade helped a little.
Rejection is a part of life, particularly for writers. We set ourselves up for potential rejection every time we send out a query, have an article published online or in print, or post something to our blog or social media page. Thanks to the digital age, we have more ways than ever to receive rejection! Continue reading Finding the good in rejection (especially as a writer)
I’m not sure what my parents were thinking when they had sex 50 years and 9 months ago.
Actually I guess I do, and well… Ewwww.
Anyway, if they had stopped just long enough to glance at a calander for 2016, they would’ve CLEARLY seen that my 50th birthday would probably fall on a work day. And a deadline day no less! Not that they could’ve know that. But why even take the chance?
With a little planning, and some restraint for God’s sake, they could’ve avoided putting me in this situation.
As I warned mentioned on Friday, I was going to be dressing up as Marilyn Monroe on Saturday. Believe it or not, that’s not usually a part of my weekend “to-do” list:
Change oil in car.
Give dogs a bath.
Wear high heels and a dress.
However, somehow I got talked into participating in the “Mr. Relay” fundraiser event at our local Relay for Life cancer walk. Given that it was called “Mr. Relay,” I assumed there would be some manliness involved. Maybe some feats of strength. Or a swimsuit competition. Fortunately for me, neither of those were involved because, hey — how embarrassing would THAT be! Haha!
With my new book coming out in little more than a month, it seemed like a good time for another sneak peak at a passage of writing wisdom that isn’t actually in it.
That’s right! If you like what you read here, there’s more where that came from!
Just not in my book.
You may be asking, “Why is he even doing this?”
I know my publisher is.
My hope is that you’ll read what I didn’t include in my book and think to yourself, “Man! If this is the kind of stuff he left out, imagine how much he must be kicking himself for the @#%& he left in!”
There’s a scene in the movie “Jaws” where the Mayor of Amity Island explains how yelling the word “BARRACUDA” won’t get much reaction on a crowded beach. “But if you yell ‘SHARK’ you’ll have a panic on your hands…”
Keeping that in mind, you’ll have some idea of the reaction you get from most men if you change “shark” to “vasectomy.”
This was the first word out of my radio this morning, and yes, it caught my attention immediately. I had mine 10 years ago after weeks of campaigning from my ex-wife, who had a degree in social work. Because of this, she was trained on how to approach sensitive subject matter. That’s why I was allowed to discover, with no pressure from her whatsoever, that my new place mat at the dinner table was actually a medical brochure titled:
Not even in heels, which I have worn during the Men’s March Against Domestic Violence, and also the night I turned 21.
Fortunately, in both cases (Well, one for sure) I had pants on, so other than looking like a standard poodle walking on its hind legs for a dog biscuit, everyone was spared from seeing my hairy stork legs.
To be honest, even a stork would probably wear pants if it had my legs.
However, come Aug. 13, I will jeopardize the vision of hundreds of people at the American Cancer Society’s Relay for Life in my home town by dressing as Marilyn Monroe for the “Mr. Relay” fundraiser.
As I mentioned earlier this week, today I am celebrating the gift of sharing the past eight years with the amazing woman I get to call my wife. We’re keeping a low profile for our anniversary, spending the day in quiet appreciation of each other. However, I wanted to surprise her with this expression of my love, and share with you the many reasons why I treasure her…
Eight years ago tomorrow, I stood at the altar, watching as my wife crossed the courtyard toward the church. I remember smiling so much my cheeks hurt; I remember the pride and appreciation I felt knowing I was about to be her husband; and I remember a momentary breeze lifting a strand of hair away from her face, like God’s finger gently brushing it aside as she entered the chapel.
As with any rare occasion when we don’t enter a room together, our eyes found each other immediately. So much was said to each other during that long walk to the altar, not in words, but spoken between our two hearts — in a language we had been fluent in from the moment we met.
Oct. 28, 2006:
My search for a red rose after making the hour-long drive to Salem for our first date had put me behind. Coupled with the fact that I hadn’t been on a real date in nearly 20 years, had lost 23 pounds since my divorce several months earlier, and was driving a Plymouth Voyager mini-van, I technically had four strikes against me already. Plus, after several weeks of chatting together on Match.com and long evening phone calls, she had finally posted her profile picture. When I saw it, I realized I wasn’t only in danger of striking out before our date even started:
As I mentioned yesterday, I had the privilege of opening “Media Day” for #OURWEEKOFPEACE at The Public Blogger with this video about the responsibility that comes with Freedom of the Press. Here’s the 4-minute video in its entirety…
#OURWEEKOFPEACE continues today with “Education,” and wraps up Saturday, Aug. 6, with “Our Day of Peace,” with live exchanges from around the world at The Public Blogger Facebook page and ThePublicBlogger.com. Join the conversation by throwing your own Peace Sign in the air by leaving a comment, poem, photo or image in support of peace around the world and within our nation.