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This is my blog. I just went through a divorce; it was the worst thing that has yet to happen to me. This is me dealing with it and life. It's my blog; I write about what I want. I hope you enjoy. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** The above was me about three years ago. It is the most up to date digital photo I have.
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| I love politics; I love it. It is a very fun and interesting game. However, this coming election in 2008 really bums me out. The candidates are all blaze, and that is saying something for politicians. I can find nothing in common with any of them. I find lots of reasons to oppose each and every one. However, there is a derth of reasons for supporting one over the other. Hillary, queen of the cankles, instills no hope in me. She will probably be elected, but I won't be voting for her. Hillary-care, part deux, is on the horizon if she is elected. Why would I want health care from a government that has given me the IRS and the passport debacle? If it takes weeks (in reality, months) to get a passport, what will happen when the state runs the hospital? I am having a stroke now, but the care will be in 3-4 weeks. Sorry, Hillary, you lost me with socialized medicine. Obama, he is an enigma to me. I believe that he is the most moral candidate on the scene, but I believe that he would not lift a finger to defend this nation. That is unacceptable to me. If he could convince me that he will defend this nation from another 9/11, he could have my vote. Alas, he is kowtowing to the surrender and run crowd. John Edwards is an idiot. Enough said. Rudy Guiliani has fallen far from his mayoral days. He is late to all appointments, and he berates the New York Times for ad rates. Focus on the more important issues, and I might pay attention to you. Mitt Romney is a flip-flopper. He was okay with abortion, which I think he truly is. He flipped to gain conservative voters and flopped saying that he never changed his position. I don't care if you are a mormon; I do care that you don't stand by your principals. Last but not least, Fred Thompson enters the race. I know very little about him. This is bad for a politician. The only reason, at the moment, I have to vote for him is he has one connection to the dear, departed Mr. Reagan. They are related by being actors. That is the only reason I have to vote for him. Say it with me now, "That is a terrible reason to vote for someone." So, he will not receive my vote unless he informs me of who he is. For the first time in my life, I am more interested in sports than politics. It is a sad day. I guess America has had enough with strong willed presidents after the last eight, stubborn years. Now, we want the least offensive of the least offensive to attract the wonderful sentiment, "Ehhh, he isn't as bad as..." Maybe I will vote independent this year. That is right, I will throw my vote out the window this time around. Sad, isn't it? Warning: The preceding has been my opinion only. It is not and should not be condoned by anyone or anything. It is a personal sentiment not meant to imply anything. Grifter Courage doesn't roar. It's that quiet voice at the end of the day that whispers, "I will begin again, tomorrow." |
| On April 14th, 2004, Corporal Jason L. Dunham saved the lives of his fellow Marines. In Karabilah, Iraq, he smothered a grenade with his helmet and his body. His actions go far beyond the call of duty. He sacrificed himself for his friends, and on January 11th, 2007, he was posthumously awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. The Medal of Honor, also known as the Congressional Medal of Honor, is the highest award for valor against an enemy force. It is an inverted, five pointed star. At each point is a cluster of laurel leaves mixed with oak. The laurel signifies victory, and oak symbolizes strength. 34 stars circle the insignia representing each state of the union in 1862. This includes the eleven confederate states. On the right is Minerva, the Roman goddess of wisdom and war. She has an owl resting on her head to further indicate wisdom. On the left is a man clutching snakes. He represents discord. This medal symbolizes strength and wisdom defeating the forces of chaos. The tradition began during the civil war. It was originally the Naval Medal of Honor. Mary Walker is the only woman to have earned this honor. She was awarded it for her actions at Bull Run on July 21, 1861. As valor, courage, bravery and friendship know no race or creed, the award is presented to the soldier who earns it, regardless of any quality other than bravery. It has been awarded to 87 African Americans, 41 Hispanic Americans, 31 Asian Americans and 22 Native Americans. Too many have been awarded posthumously. These individuals symbolize the sacrifice freedom requires of certain individuals. However, it isn't for glory or valor that these individuals act. It is for their buddies. It is for the men and women that they serve with. It is an action to save the lives of their friends. President Truman once said that he would rather have the blue band around his neck than be president. That is the respect this medal commands. It is an award that signifies the admiration and respect of all soldiers. The men and one woman who have earned this award are the heroes of the heroes. If a private is awarded the medal of honor, even a general has to salute first. These men symbolize honor, duty and dedication to ones fellow soldiers. Most, however, are too shy or humble to believe they deserve their award. They often say they did what had to be done. For the actions that had to be done, they are awarded the Medal of Honor. To win this, your comrades have to recommend you for it. There has to be, at least, two witnesses to the event. This is why the medal is so special. It is the receipient's fellow soldiers recognizing this person for going above and beyond the call of duty. One receipient said that the real honor is that a handful of young men, who were with you at a difficult time, thought you were worthy of it. When these humble men speak, they don't talk about their actions. They talk about the men that did not come back. One man said he wears it for those who aren't here to. He sums up the mentality of the individuals who have won this award. They fight for their buddies, and they fight for freedom. The average American only recognizes freedom when it is taken away. Freedom is as natural to an American as breathing. The average soldier recognizes freedom because they fight for it. Soldiers encounter those who have fought for it. America currently has a volunteer army, and it should remain a volunteer force. Those that choose to serve, do so with diginity. Those currently serving and who have served deserve America's respect, and they deserve the support, financially, medically and socially, as the barest minimum of thanks. There are currently 109 living Medal of Honor receipients. Too few are alive to tell their stories, but because of those medal winners, others live on to tell their tale. America has 109 living treasures. The men who have received this honor set themselves aside protecting others, some sacrificed all for their fellow man. The least, that can be done for them is to remember their actions. None of these men would ask for it, nor feel they deserve it, but they have earned our appreciation and respect. Thank you to all who have fought and died so that this blog can exist. www.jasonsmemorial.org www.homeofheroes.com www.cmohs.org Grifter Courage doesn't roar. It's that quiet voice at the end of the day that whispers, "I will begin again, tomorrow." |
| Last night, I was warm and cozy in my bed. I had the covers pulled up tight, and my two girls were laying on the bed. Saleen, the black tabby, was on the left snug against the top of my foot, and Nelly, the white furball, was on the right tucked into the hollow of my knee. I was just at the point between waking and dream where anything is possible when I heard a noise downstairs. Someone had broken into my house. I jumped out of bed immediately, thinking, "Holy crap, what do I do?" Well, as I am standing there in my underwear, freezing my...toes off, I realize it is my neighbor outside. He is doing some yard work at 11:30 at night. It has been cold in Missouri, like in the 60's at night. I have the windows open because I sleep better in the cold. The cats cuddle me when the house is cold. So, my neighbor is doing yardwork close to midnight. He scared the crap out of me, but I just laughed at myself. I decided to get a drink of water, and then head back to dreamland. When I got back to the bed, the cats had stolen more room on the bed. I have a full size bed for little old me, and they aren't big cats. However, they teamed up to fill enough of the bed that I had to squeeze my legs in between them. Normally, I would move them, but I was impressed with their teamwork. They worked hard to find the exact points to interrupt the flow of the bed in such a way that I had to lay diagonal on the bed. I don't know how they came up with the idea, but I applaud them. The cats knew what they did to me, too. Because this morning, they let me sleep in. I actually woke up at 5 am today instead of 2 am for Saleen and then, again, at 4 am for Nelly. During the night, they shifted positions, and Nelly had her back curled along my belly. Saleen rested her chin and right paw on my left calf. When they meowed good morning, I am pretty sure that I heard a bit of a we-got-you-good attitude in there. They did get me good. Today, I plan to work on my revenge to get them back. I am thinking kitty laxative in their meow mix tonight. No, maybe I will just chase them around the house all night. Well, I would if I didn't have to study for my French test tonight. Ahh, we all know that I am going to go home and give them treats and love. I wonder what tricks they will pull tonight. * * * Positive thought of the day: I can give you a six-word formula for success: Think things through, then follow through. Captain Edward V. Rickenbacker Grifter Courage doesn't roar. It's that quiet voice at the end of the day that whispers, "I will begin again, tomorrow." |
| I was unable to blog about my writing class yesterday, so I will do it today. (Yesterday was one of those need this by close of business days.) Well, we discussed Bobbie Ann Mason's Shiloh, which is a great short story. I was quiet most of the night. I am a quiet, shy guy. I tried to express my opinion, but I don't like interrupting or shouting my opinion when someone pauses to take a breath. That is what I feel I have to do to get into a discussion. But, my quiet, shyness serves me well. I get to learn from others, whether they know what they are talking about or not. It amazes me how many people will talk without knowing anything about the subject. Some people are just know it alls. I spoke with my professor afterwards and conveyed to him one of the philosophies of my life. It is a philosophy that I learned from my grandfather. He quoted Mr. Abraham Lincoln, but I will have to paraphrase. (Too lazy to search the internet for the quote.) I would rather be silent and thought a fool, than open my mouth and remove all doubt. It struck me as a profound quote. It sums up most of who I am. Of course, once you know I am a fool, I will chat your head off. He smiled at my quote and, then, helped me with my story issues. He recommended that I speak up more for my grade; so, I will. But, I won't expound at length on a topic that I know nothing about just so I can hear my own voice. That is what I have this for.  Grifter Courage doesn't roar. It's that quiet voice at the end of the day that whispers, "I will begin again, tomorrow." |
Busy day today. I won't be getting around to my usual blog stops. I also owe purtycurls   a review. I owe much thanks to bugzy is baaaccck!! for a review. Thanks all. I will get around when I can. So much to do, too few distractions.Grifter Courage doesn't roar. It's that quiet voice at the end of the day that whispers, "I will begin again, tomorrow." |
| Good Morning, everywhere else, too. Today in history, something happened. In the news, we have celebrities doing stupid stuff or condescending to the non-famous world about politics. In the financial markets, the rich are getting richer, and the middle class continues to get squeezed while the poor are doomed. War, famine, genocide and religious fervor are sweeping the world. Politicians are talking out one side of their mouth while kissing hands and shaking babies. Sounds like the world is going to hell doesn't it? Doom and gloom are everywhere that you read in the media today. Negativity is widespread and easy to give into. Being positive is very hard, but I say give it a shot. As part of my blog entries from here forward, I am going to start including one positive thought. My hope is that one will lead to two, and eventually snowball from there. I know that I won't change the media and reporting. I don't care. I want to change how I feel. So, positive thought for the day: volunteering. Today, I joined an effort that the Red Cross and local/national businesses are partnering to be prepared for disaster. A team here at my work place will receive training in shelter management to help in the event of tragedy. I have not done enough volunteering in my life, and this is a start for me. I will add more volunteering as my schedule and opportunities allow. I can't change the world, but I can help my community. Grifter Courage doesn't roar. It's that quiet voice at the end of the day that whispers, "I will begin again, tomorrow." |
| First of all, thank you for all of the kind words yesterday. That was probably the hardest entry I have ever had. I had been tossing it around for about a month whether I should post it or not. My teaching professor said that a writer should be willing to explore the things that he or she would rather stay away from. So, I wrote it up last Wednesday before class, and I just decided to put it up. It felt a lot better to just admit it. I thought it would be embarrassing, but once I started typing, I didn't feel embarrassed. I felt...a little lighter I think. Is it possible to be carrying a heavy load for so long that you don't even know it? Is it possible to be so controlled by a fear that it ingrains itself into your everyday life to the point you don't know its there? I can now say, yes, it is. I don't know how to remedy that fear, but I think that just admitting it is a start. Remember to say a prayer for the victims, survivors and families of 9/11. Also, don't forget the brave men and women who ran to their rescue! I hope you all have a great day! Grifter Courage doesn't roar. It's that quiet voice at the end of the day that whispers, "I will begin again, tomorrow." |
| Okay, before I begin today’s entry, I want to give a warning. This entry is probably offensive. It may sound at times whiny, arrogant, derogatory and disgusting. It is not a passive-aggressive attempt to elicit advice, compliments or offers. It is raw, unflinching Eric. It is a snapshot of the beginning of one of my weak areas in life. This is something a lot of people know about me in small parts. No one knows the whole, and here it is as a whole for the first time. I am trying to present this as it affects me without judgment or criticism. It is me; it is who I am. It is very tough to change. You have been warned. * * * I am afraid of women. There, I said it. It feels much better getting it off my chest. This is a fear partly due to my own mistakes and partly due to, well, bad experiences with women. I was born with two very unfortunate traits. They would be comical if their outcomes weren’t so sad. First, I bloomed early in life in sexual curiosity. Second, I was born without the innate filter that says some things are best not talked about it in a social setting. I blame the writer in me for the second one. In seventh grade, about thirteen years old, a young lady and I began our investigation into the world of adult pleasures. We were young, awkward, clumsy and, honestly, didn’t really know what we were supposed to do. But we had fun. Like all young romances, it ended not with a bang but a running young adolescent boy. The only real words that I remember this girl saying to me, besides yes, were, “I don’t care if you cheat on me, just don’t break up with me.” That was way more dependence than I could accept into my life. So, I ran away. Cheating wasn’t and isn’t my thing. However, from this relationship, I got a bad reputation. In small towns, everybody knows everybody’s business. So, everyone knew that she and I acted older than we were. So, when I would try to talk to a gal after that, she would open her side of the conversation with, “I am not sleeping with you.” Okay, believe it or not, I don’t want to sleep with you. We can hold hands, kiss a little or, gasp, just talk. Because the funny thing was, I didn’t sleep with that girl. However, no one believed me. Every girl said that to me, and while there were some gals that I would have liked to mess around with, it wasn’t every single one. So, I flirted with girls, but never really crossed the hand holding threshold with a gal from my school for years. Not even to kiss them on the cheek. I was scared of perpetuating a bad reputation that, in my opinion, was way too harsh. It was my eighth grade graduation before I started hugging girls in my class again. So, let’s call this, strike one. So, the seed was planted, and fear of speaking to any girl was starting to take root. If asked how the test would go, would she think that I was just asking so that I could fool around with her? Before eighth grade, yes, most young ladies would have thought that. Plus, I hung out with my cousin and his older friends. So, I was the pipeline for dirty jokes for my classmates. The guys all laughed; the girls were all disgusted. It was a fun, fun time in life. Then, at the beginning of high school, my class jumped into the world of sex. They all began tentative steps into what this wonderful act meant. As I have said, I hung out with my older cousin and older friends; so, I was way more educated than most of my friends. I had had sex three times!!!! And even better, with two different gals! I was light years ahead of my classmates. But they were catching up fast. My best friend, Heather, was dating a long time beau, who she knew was the one. She told me this because talked every day. We were BFF, at the time. One day, when I called Heather, her mom told me never to call their house again. When I asked Heather what that was about, I found out that her mom hated me for something I didn’t even do. Heather had decided that she wanted this guy to be her first. So, she stole a condom from her older step brother while visiting her biological father. When her mom found the condom, Heather said it was mine. D’oh! So, now, her mom thought that I was putting the moves on Heather. I wasn’t. She was a friend, and she would only be a friend. So, I was banned from Heather’s house in person and on the phone. However, Heather and I hung out at our school’s sporting events. Her mother started to come to make sure that I didn’t ravage her daughter under the bleachers. One day at a girl’s softball game, I told a dirty joke, and Heather’s mom had just walked up behind me. In front of my friends and a large crowd of people, not including my parents, thankfully, Heather’s mom called me a F&*$ing pervert. Strike two! Heather and I had a rocky off/on friendship for years, but it was never the same after she threw me under the bus for her. I didn’t mind except that her mother always thought I was out to spoil her angel, despite the evidence that she and I never dated. Finally, during the summer of my freshmen year, I was helping my cousin at the county fair. We were cleaning stalls for a little extra spending money, and he was getting an old beater car ready for the Demolition Derby. I was on the basketball team at my school, which was the elite social club for my small town. Well, at the county fair, cheerleaders from the next town over, four cheerleaders, started talking to me. I said hi to them, and they stopped to talk. We were flirting big time, and they were telling me all the dirty jokes they knew, except they were very clean compared to the ones I knew. So, I started to tell a joke. “You guys know what an orgy is, right?” I said. “No,” came the reply with devilish smiles on their faces. “Well, it is a big group like us, having sex at the same time,” I said. Yes, I said it. Social filters, where were you? Anyways, I should have known the joke was dead when I had to explain the opening line! After that last sentence, the devilish smiles dropped from their faces, and before I could finish the joke, their ride yelled at them from the elephant ear stand. They walked off, and we parted amicably saying bye and see ya ‘round. Only, I never got to explain that I was telling a joke, not making an offer. Believe me, I was interested in one gal, but in ONE gal only. She had shiny, smooth, black hair that fell to the middle of her neck, and the cutest lips on any woman I had seen at the time. She lived about a quarter of a mile from my grandparents, and I was going to invite her to my family’s annual bonfire. But from that moment on, whenever I saw those girls, they looked at me like a sleazeball, and I have felt like one ever since. I couldn’t explain it was a joke because they wouldn’t have believed me. Strike Three!!!! By now, that fear had grown roots so deep, I didn’t know how to get rid of them. I felt that anytime I asked a classmate out for a date, she would think I was just after sex. I wasn’t just after it. So, I stopped dating for a while. Then, I met a girl at the mall. She worked there, and we hit it off. We went on dates every night for a week. On the fifth day, I decided to surprise her by showing up early to her work. I had a half dozen roses that I was giving her on our date that night. Well, I entered the shopping mall on the second floor. I was walking toward the escalator to go down to her shop when I saw her on the first floor. She was kissing a guy. Yes, she was cheating on me. Well, it wasn’t a big deal. We would just break up because I don’t cheat. When she got in my car, I asked her who that guy was. She didn’t even hesitate to tell me that was her high school sweetheart. Eventually, she said that they would be getting married. I asked her what she was doing with me, then. She said that he wanted to wait for religious reasons, but she didn’t. Strike four through twenty. I said good-bye to her because I refuse to be the “other” man. Plus, if she was going to marry him, shouldn’t she have waited for him, too? I think so. Thus, my middle school years and the first two years of high school had scarred me for life. When I was younger, I was taught that monsters were scary things, but the boogey person in my closet was a gal that looked stunning in a two piece bathing suit. She wouldn’t tear me to pieces; she just had the ability to make me feel like a pervert. I bloomed early, and none of my classmates ever forgot that. Even though, some of them were doing things way worse than what I had ever done, I was still cast into that role. It took the first love of my life to break me out of that role. She was waiting for marriage, and I didn’t care. I just wanted to talk and spend time with this woman. She didn’t care what people said about me and saw that not all the rumors were true. She saved me from becoming even shyer than I am today. She helped prune back some of the branches of my deep rooted fear, but even she couldn’t cure that fear. I, to this day, am afraid to approach women because I know they will think I am just talking to them to get into their pants. When I do overcome that fear to talk to women, they are wary, as they should be with a stranger. However, that old fears thunderously whispers, “I told you so.” Grifter Courage doesn't roar. It's that quiet voice at the end of the day that whispers, "I will begin again, tomorrow." |
| Dad and I just got back from the wedding. I have been swimming in Bud Light since 5:00 this afternoon. I love my cousin, and his wedding was great. He and I have a weird relationship. He thought that I was going to go to the local community college and move in with him. I had different ideas. However, we have both grown...apart, and it was nice seeing him. It is strange because I thought I would have felt something with this being the first wedding that I have been to since my wife walked. However, I didn't feel anything. I was just supremely happy for the couple in the moment. They both looked the best that I have ever seen them, and they both looked happy. I wish them all the best, and I know they will be together for a long time. I had a great time. I saw some old friends from high school, and I did my best to play it cool. I was, also, in my expensive jeans; so, I couldn't rough house with my cousins. However, at about ten tonight, I had to chase one of my cousin's around the farm. He ran into the corn thinking I wouldn't follow. Little did he know, I tossed all care about what other's thought of me and dove in after him. I got him in the end. I stole his precious hat. Yes, my high school friends laughed at me running into the corn, but that is my farm. Those are my cousins, and I am still a kid in that I play chase and hide and seek with them. They are my family, and I treat them as such, with all the ass kicking, ear flicking, and wedgie-ing that is involved with familial love. I had a great time tonight, and I love my family, even with all their faults, quirks and judgements. They are a great strength to me, and I am more ecstatic than I can ever convey that these people helped raise me and make me the man I am. If anyone of them called me up at anytime of the day, I would be on the road instantly to come to their aid. I don't let them know enough, but my family is the center core of my life. My time on that farm has taught me more than any of my cousin's will ever know. How do you convey the same work ethic when you don't have to wake at three a.m. to chase down escaped cows? I am so grateful for the effect my family has had on my life, and I would not trade their impact for anything. It would be easy to turn down millions if that was what it required to get rid of the experiences that farm gave me. My hands in the earth and my head in the clouds has led to the quirky, negative guy on the other end of this keyboard. I love myself because I love the family that built me. They are always apart of me, and every decision I make, consciously or subconsciously, can probably be traced back to lessons learned on that farm. How lucky am I? Grifter |
| Today, I drove the two hours to my parent's home, and we are getting ready for my cousin's wedding. I had a long time to think about things and life, in general. Actually, I was listening to an Elmore Leonard book on CD. Books on CD are great. I can now double the amount of books that I process each year. I listen to books on the way to work, at work and on the way home from work. I read books on my lunch break and before I visit Mr. Sandman. Yup, I am a nerd. I love stories, and listening to them helps block out any background noises at work. Anyways, I set the cruise control and didn't really deviate from it. I noticed a driver that I passed was passing me. This guy had been content doing five miles under the speed limit for about twenty miles. Then, when I pass him, he suddenly thinks, "Huh, no way am I letting that shit in the blue Explorer pass me." Then he goes flying by my at about twenty miles per hour over the limit. He races on, and I lose sight of him eventually. I cruise along not having changed speeds to eventually catch up with him and pass him. He was back to doing about five mph under the limit. As soon as I pass him, he wakes back up and flys by. He was an older gentlemen with white hair. His car had Illinois plates, and I am pretty sure that I have never met him or his car before in my life. Maybe in a past life I had pissed this guy off so much that he couldn't be passed by me. Or maybe he had an irrational fear of being passed by a blue Explorer. Because everybody and their mother had passed him before me. It was just when I passed him, he got a bug up his ass to jump on it. People are strange. But this got me thinking about how I hate it when I pass someone that every one else passes, and this someone takes offense at me and speeds up. They have had plenty of time to drive the speed they want, but it seems like when my Explorer goes by, boom, it is time to speed. I was going to blog about it, but that got me wondering if I had blogged about it before. My writing professor said that writers return to the same theme or material over and over again. I have been looking at the themes that I return to, quite a bit. Women, sex, martial arts, violence, interaction between women and men, mystics, science and religious areas of life seem to resonate with me. I also seem to have a negative pessimistic bent to my tone in a lot of my writings. It is weird because I just try to put out stuff as I see, but they seem to be quite negative. This negativity worries me because I don't really think that I have a negative outlook. I try to look at the positive of everything, but, occasionally, I give in hardcore the negative outlook. I guess this comes through more in my writing than in my conscious thoughts. I know that I can be negative. Usually, I fall into negative thoughts when bad things happen. For example, when my wife's attorney sent over their first offer, which was ridiculous in what it asked for, I thought she would get it because bad things usually happen to me. Like when I found out I had to have eye surgery. I was optimisitic until my next doctor's visit when I was told that I would have to have a second eye surgery. I knew that I would have to drop out of college. I didn't have to drop out of college, but I had to have a third surgery and five more laser surgeries. It felt like life was kicking me square between the legs. Strangely, those repeated kicks to little Grifter lit a fire under my ass. I was so afraid of not graduating that I worked harder. My grades before eye surgery were a dismal C+ average. My grades after eye surgery were an A average. That was taking the negative of my eye surgery and turning it into a positive. So, when I find this negative tone in my writing, I have to wonder where does it come from? I seem to have this way of dealing with issues that I think and feel as negative as I can immediately after the issue comes up. It gets really negative, but then, my conscious mind and positive side starts to take over. Yes, I get negative, but I also seem to go point by point of the negative aspects and show how that is just erroneous thinking. For my performance reviews at work, I freak out and think that I didn't perform well. Then I start thinking about what I did that year, and suddenly, I am telling myself how I truly performed. This negative knee jerk reaction is then combated by rational positive thinking. So, how do I use this theme and cycle in my writing? How do I use my other themes in my writing? How do you uses themes in your writing? Grifter Courage doesn't roar. It's that quiet voice at the end of the day that whispers, "I will begin again, tomorrow." |
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