Monthly Archives: January 2010

The Hangover: Pre-Papa K Style (Part 1)

F to the Y to the I… this is purely a story that materialized over 10 years ago.  I was much much more stupid and in no way am I encouraging the activities I participated in.  This is simply the first part of a story that I look back on and say “I was a complete dumbass.”


Back when I was 19 and dumb as hell (as most 19 year olds are)… I got alcohol poisoning.  I also suffered some memory loss (as alcohol poisoning tend to do).  I also wound up with a rug burn in the shape of New Zealand on my forehead.

Allow me to explain…

I was just starting to get what it was to rebel.  I was actually much older than most kids when I discovered how much fun rebellion was because I had been homeschooled for four years before I went to high school and my social development clock was about four years behind those who had experienced the angst and pressures of the public school system.  Aside from only one time at junior prom had I really even drank enough alcohol to get drunk… until this summer after my first year in college.

I had started a job working at El Chico, a Mexican restaurant with the flashy Mexican exterior and a Taco Bell kitchen.  Seeing that this particular evening was my first Friday evening experience being a waiter without my trainer… I got absolutely slaughtered by my tables.  I got stiffed twice and couldn’t seem to handle multiple tasks OR multiple tables.

El Chico = Taco Bell on steroids

This was the beginning of a perfect storm of circumstances in which I was becoming primed for a series of events which would lead to memory loss, dirty mattresses and a mysterious rug burn the size of a slice of ham on my forehead.

By the time my shift at El Chico was over and I’d hardly made any money… I was in the frame of mind to get crunk. 

I would appropriately dub this “circumstance #1”: just wanting to forget the night ever happened regardless of the consequences.

I was still living at home because I was attending a junior college at the time so I had told my parents I was staying at a friend Brad’s house who just so happened to be having a party that night.  Since I had worked late that night I pulled up to Brad’s house to find that most everyone had left to go elsewhere.

“What the heck!”  I said as I got out of my truck.  “Where’s everyone gone?”

My friend, Wolfgang (not his real name… I have to protect his identity since he’s a school teacher now), obviously was well on his way to channel the ghost of W.C. Fields seeing the way his stumbled over to me.

A young Papa K and “Wolfgang” in more sober times (Wolfgang’s true image concealed to protect his identity)

“Man… it’s just you, me and Brad dude!  We got tons of beer left because everyone left!  You better catch up!  Brad and I are freakin’ drunk!”

Thus we are faced with “circumstance #2 and #3”: anger at the fact I missed the party and missed the fun AND now I have to “catch up” to my friends’ current state of intoxication

Now faced with the fact that there were NO GIRLS at this party… I reluctantly changed from my salsa stained El Chico garb and into some more comfortable party clothes.

I quickly downed several Coronas seeing that I needed to “get” to where Wolfgang and Brad “were”.  Being that this alcohol abuse was a fairly new thing to me, I had no real concept of pacing myself.  I had to “catch up” to my friends.    Not having any kind of tolerance whatsoever… it didn’t take me long to get “there”.

Over my puffed out chest and through my double vision, I saw Brad pull out some cups and sit at his table.

Uma Thurman… as seen through my eyes that night.

“Let’s play a drinking game!!” he shouted.

I honestly can’t remember what we were playing or if we were actually playing anything at all!  I just remember it resulted in drinking more… and drinking faster.

Suddenly… Brad whipped out a bottle of Southern Comfort he had snatched from his father’s liquor cabinet.

“Let’s take some shots!” he ballyhooed!

Situation #4: liquor is bad. *urp*… I don’t feel so well…

As I’d mentioned before… I was new at this drinking stuff and as an “up-and-coming” drinker… I had actually thought about what I wanted to be “known for”: beer drinker or liquor drinker.  The image that came to mind when I thought about a beer drinker was a bloated, fat redneck as opposed to a distinguished gentlemen in a smoking jacket swirling his highball glass containing his Jack Daniels on the rocks when I thought of a liquor drinker.

I wanted to be a liquor drinker.

I thought I was a liquor drinker.

Boy was I off.

After the Southern Comfort had been revealed, the three of us came to realize there were no shot glasses.  All we had were regular glasses.  So… we carried on our barrage of stupidity by guesstimating what was a shot within our regular sized glasses.  A guess made nearly impossible when you’re processing things with a brain being rapidly depleted of its problem solving ability.

The glaze over my eyes could have been to cover a donut… but I hollered “pour me another” as I slammed my empty glass to the table after shoving yet one more shot the size of three shots down my gullet.

“Yeah…” I thought as the memories at this point in time start to fade away, “I’m definitely a liquor drinker.”

Wolfgang struggled with a shot… then sputtered.  He clumsily placed the glass which was a third full of Southern Comfort back on the table.

“I can’t do this!” He said.  “I gotta mix it with something… it’s too gross”.

He then proceeded to pour the rest of his Corona into the glass effectively mixing the two liquids into one horrible concoction.  He raised the glass to his lips only to slam it back to the table moments later with his face contorted in such a way that made you think he might have just drank from the septic tank.

I can’t even begin to tell you where I was at this point in time.  I mean, I know where I was physically… but mentally I somewhere between Mars and Saturn.  I don’t know what else I felt I needed to prove to myself or anyone else but I grabbed Wolfgang’s pint glass that was full of Southern Comfort mixed with Corona and said, “YOU PANSY!!” and subsequently downed the entire thing.

Situation #5: total annihilation.


That is the last thing I remember.


Stay tuned for Part 2… already written but to be posted soon…


“Advertise” With Me… FOR FREE!

“Scratch my back… and I’ll scratch yours” as the saying goes.

(((UPDATE: See the first couple “advertisers” or fans at my fanroll.)))

I’m a fledgling blog of only about a year old (between VirtualHugs and this one) and  I’m constantly trying to think of something interesting to do on my blog… okay… maybe interesting isn’t the right word.  I think naming my wart as one of my best friends would qualify as interesting to say the least.  Perhaps unique would be a better word.

In the blogging world… you have to separate yourself and find new ways to market yourself and your blog.  This involves a lot of time registering with search engines, making comments on other blogs, getting involved in all the social networking sites (Facebook, Twitter, MySpace), etc.  This is all rewarding and fun to do… but I’ve been scratching my head trying to come up with another way to make myself different than all the other blogs in the “blogosphere”… as us blogging nerds like to call it.

Most blogs out there have a “blogroll”, or list of blogs they (the author) enjoy reading, open for their adoring fans to click through and read.  I too have this here.

In addition to a blogroll… I am going to do a “fanroll” or you could call it “Who’s Reading Papa K”.  It will be a completely separate page up top in addition to “Home”, “Wanna Know Me?”, “Who’s Bunny?”, “Who’s DLG?” and “Sushi Blogroll”.

This will be an area for my readers to “advertise” whatever they’d like (within reason… no escort, assassination or knee-cap shattering services please) FOR FREE!  All you have to do is take a valid picture of yourself verifying it is actually you holding a sign reading “I Read Hands To War!” and, if you like, any other interesting or funny quip.

For example:

“I Read Hands To War!  And I Think You Are An Extremely Handsome Man.”

“I Read Hands To War!  It Saved My Marriage.”

“I Read Hands To War!  But Just Because I Think Your Wife Is Hot.”


In return, I will post a link to your website, blog, service, FaceBook page or whatever you want people to go to underneath your picture.

So… it would look something like this:

Ha Ha Papa K… you’re the most handsome, ingenius blogger I know!  Go read Papa K’s blog and  And in case you’re wondering… yes… I was trying to look sexy.

Or this:

Oh Bunny… you ol’ comedian!  To read more about Bunny and her adventures with her overstimulated husband go to (FYI… that’s not a real website… I did click on it just to make sure). 

Doing this in turn does two things:

1. Drives more readers to my site to make themselves known

2. Brings traffic to your site… uh, did I mention… FOR FREE!

Now, I know I’m no Google or Perez Hilton… but I could be some day.  Wouldn’t you be kicking yourself if you didn’t get in on the ground floor now? 

Just food for thought.

Send your pictures and URL information here:

POSTSCRIPT:  Don’t feel like you have to have something to “advertise” just to send me a picture of yourself you’d like me to put in the “fanroll”.  As most homosapiens, I desire words of encouragement and would love to see your smiling faces giving me props… or maybe you want to tell me to go to hell… whichever.

POSTSCRIPT #2:  This “fanroll” idea generated a challenge in my mind: “How hard would it get celebrity bloggers to send me their pictures verifying they’ve read my blog?”  Look for future pictures in my fanroll of Kim Kardashian (aka Hottest Woman Alive Next To Bunny). 

Oh… she’ll read my blog… you just watch!  A boy’s gotta have a dream.

The “New” Virginity

Recently, there was a show on VH1 called “The New Virginity”.  It started by documenting the small fraction of young Hollywood personalities that still cling to their virginity and incorporated the push in America by certain religious groups to pledge to save themselves until marriage.

I know that this hour long “semi-documentary” really tried to stay un-biased towards either side… but I felt a twinge of mockery towards those who really try and dedicate themselves to their future spouse.

I recently had a conversation with a friend of mine about virginity.

“It’s unnatural!” he would say.  “You’re going completely against biology!  If you look at history of man… we’ve been having premarital sex since we were cavemen.”

My answer to him:

“I’d like to see those being the final words coming out of the mouth of the dude that steals my daughter’s virginity away from right before I cave his face in with a sledge-hammer.”

I don’t buy it.

Call me Christian.  Call me a daughter’s father.  Tell me I’m living in a world that doesn’t exist!

Well… I’d have to agree with you then.

Yes, I am a Christian.  Yes, I am a protective father to a beautiful one year old daughter who will grow up one day and her daddy won’t know how to deal with it.  And yes, I’m living in a world that doesn’t exist because quite frankly… our world makes it almost impossible to grow up with any ideals.

What I’ll sadly admit to is that I was not a virgin when I married Bunny.  The true consequences of these actions are not truly comprehended unless I really sit and ponder the effect it does have on you as a married couple.

We have a wonderful marriage full of love, fun and laughter lightly sprinkled with the healthy argument or disagreement from time to time.  We went into marriage knowing about each others pasts as we were not inclined to hide it from each other… but I’d be lying if I didn’t say the stains of past trysts didn’t have an effect.  It’s not crippling.  It’s not like I can’t function.  But it is there.

Our culture has created an environment where activities saved better for the marital bedroom are openly accepted outside the vows of marriage.  Mainstream media i.e. movies, television, magazines and the internet feed us a constant stream of “Do what feels good now… deal with the consequences later!”

I don’t want to sound high and mighty like I’m without fault… because I’m guilty as charged.  In my 30 years I’ve done things I fully regret and hurt people I never wanted to hurt.

But having a child… having a perfectly innocent child completely unaware of the world around her and willing to do nothing more than to just love you unconditionally with no ulterior motives… makes you explore your own heart.

Allow me to quote the greatest man who ever walked the Earth: “Whoever becomes humble like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.  And whoever received one child such as this in my name received me.”

You don’t have to believe in heaven.  You don’t have to believe in God.  But Jesus was real… and he said that!  And I’m inclined to believe him.

If you believe that Jesus was a good man who was full of nothing but love and did great things while he was on this Earth then you must be inclined to believe this math deduced from his quote above: love = children.

Children are an awesome creation.  Whether you want to believe they were put here through the magic of billions of years of circumstance… or the imprint of more intelligent creator… it’s hard to argue they are the purest form of love on the planet.

If we want to start curing the world of its pestilence… shouldn’t we start looking towards our children for the answers on love rather than what some movie director’s interpretation of it is?

Our children are going to be the adults of tomorrow.  I know DLG’s ideals are going to set like hard concrete at some point and I’m just going to be able to sit back and hope I did a good job raising her and infusing her with ideals that will benefit her greatly in the game of life.  Just standing idly by and “seeing what happens”… ain’t kosher to me.

After all this… I know one thing… when I walk her down that isle on her wedding day… I want her to know what that white dress means.  And I don’t want to have to clean brains off my sledge-hammer either.

If I Were Superman…

With a lack of nothing better to talk about…

“Hi!  I’m a dork!”

I would fly around on my back instead of my stomach.

I’d never lose an argument.

I could have ice cream whenever I wanted.

I would break all the records in “The Guinness Book of World Records” so they could change the name to “Superman’s Accomplishments”.

I would pee a hole in the wall.

I’d wear my red underwear inside my pants.

I would stop a bullet with my eyeball (like in the movie).

I would stop a cannonball with my eyeball.

I would stop a missile with my eyeball.

I would see how long I could leave my eye open while hanging out the window of a moving car until it started to water up.

I’d station my headquarters on the moon.

I’d crash any party I wanted to.

I’d try to pet a cat and accidentally smash it because I was so strong.

I’d play soccer and when I’d kick the ball… it would disintegrate.

I’d sneeze in a restaurant and everyone would suffer a massive concussion.

I would chop down trees with my laser eyes.

When I’d clear my throat… people would go deaf.

I’d explore the center of the Earth… but would be really lonely.

I’d charge people to have me fly them around.

I’d have to get an assistant to keep my social networking sites updated for me… because I would accidentally smash every keyboard I typed on.

I’d eat a hamburger with my mind.

I’d swallow the entire Pacific Ocean.

I’d become hugely obese then anorexic in a 24 hour period of time.

I’d travel back in time and bring back a dinosaur.

I’d make the sun my bitch.

I could do the splits.

What would you do?

My Buddy

There are few things in life more rewarding than developing a good friendship and staying in contact with that friend until the two of you can barely see each other over your colostomy bags.

I have a buddy who’s like that.  This buddy has always been there for me from the moment we met somewhere between high school and college and we’ve been inseparable ever since. 

I’d never grown tired of my buddy until my wife told me that she was annoyed by how much time I was spending with my buddy.  She would sometimes spot me fondling my buddy while we watched TV or biting my buddy or laughing over breakfast with my buddy or scratching my buddy’s dry bald head.

She’d slap my hand and say “Cut that out!  That’s disgusting!”


This is a picture of me and my buddy:

Yeah… my buddy is a wart… what’s your point?

This little wart buddy of mine is (I’m assuming) a male wart judging by it’s pale color, stiff nature, deep voice and penchant for telling crass jokes.  So… I named him Clark.

Ha ha!  That Clark tells some pretty good jokes!

What my wife doesn’t know was that before we were together… I raised Clark from the moment he first became apparent on my arm and he kept me company in times where I had no one to talk to.  Now… just because I have a great life with a beautiful daughter, a beautiful wife, good friends and a good job doesn’t mean I’m going to go to a wart specialist and get Clark removed and pretend like he was never there! 

He’s been with me for many of my more memorable moments…

Like when DLG was born… there he is! Right there!  Under my watch!

Or when Bunny and I discovered a chicken nugget that looked like a heart at this wedding we were at!  He and I laughed about that for days!

Or most recently when we rang in the New Year and the new decade together!


Now this is before Clark was ever in my life.  I could have used a buddy then.

We even got to take a tour of the Boulevard Brewery in Kansas City!  It’s our favorite!

Clark had this real funny idea for DLG and I to put on moustaches… it turned out really funny.  We didn’t have a small enough moustache for him or he would have been in this picture too.

Real friends don’t forget their buddies.

One of mine just happens to be a  hideous, flakey wart named Clark who has a fantastic personality.  Deal with it.

Miley Cyrus: Teen Pop Star… Or Prophet?

Once in a lifetime… there comes a person who can spin words in such a way to make all of humankind stop doing what they’re doing… and just listen.  The words seem to spin a weave of honey and hit your ears with the comfort that a soft springtime shower hits the window pane next to your bed on a lazy Saturday morning.  These people inspire you.  They lift you up and make you feel like you can conquer the world.  They can make you laugh, they can make you cry and they can make you feel as though you’ve just been squirted through your mother’s cervix again… life is beginning for you once again.  These people are truly touched by God… and have a gift.

Moses commanded the Red Sea to part… and it did!!

Abraham Lincoln (I’ve read) was a great public inspirational speaker whose speeches still stir audiences today.

James Earl Jones’ voice make the floor vibrate thus capturing your attention right away.

When Marvin Gaye sings “Let’s Get It On”, you want to make love regardless of the consequences.

When Miley Cyrus sings… everything goes in slow motion… or at least that’s what it feels like to me.

She’s truly a once in a lifetime talent

One of the most recent songs penned by this Earth Angel, “The Climb”, makes me want to fly to the moon.  Allow me to recite some of its brilliance for you:

There’s always gonna be another mountain
I’m always gonna wanna make it move
Always gonna be a uphill battle
Sometimes I’m gonna have to lose

Ain’t about how fast I get there
Ain’t about what’s waiting on the other side
It’s the climb

The struggles I’m facing
The chances I’m taking
Sometimes might knock me down
But no, I’m not breaking

I may not know it
But these are the moments that
I’m gonna remember most, yeah
Just gotta keep going

And I, I got to be strong
Just keep pushing on

‘Cause there’s always gonna be another mountain
I’m always gonna wanna make it move
Always gonna be a uphill battle
Sometimes I’m gonna have to lose

Ain’t about how fast I get there
Ain’t about what’s waiting on the other side
It’s the climb, yeah!

I love the last part:  “YEAH”! I need a hug!  I’m crying now!

How deep!  How amazingly intuitive!  How wise beyond her years!  How… prophetic!

Miley Cyrus is hands down the most talented little girl in the history of the music industry.  I still can’t believe how someone so young (she’s 17! right?) has a handle on her life so well that she can write a song about life and the difficulties one has to endure and relate it to “climbing up a mountain”!  I mean… that’s genius!

After DLG was born I often found myself floundering… trying to relate my life to something people would understand.

A hot air balloon?  No.

A cinnamon pastry?  No.

A pair of Gene Simmons’ used underpants?  No.

Let’s see… how can I compare my life to these?

Before I could come up with anything… Miley beat me to the punch.  When I heard the song the first time… my knees buckled:

“Of course!  My life is like an uphill climb on a mountain!” I thought, “when I reach the top I look back and I’m not worried about how I got here…it’s ‘The Climb!’

She superbly expresses the difficulties she’s had in her life and relates them to climbing up a mountain!  You can’t get a better, well thought out similarity than that!


What kind of tragedy must have followed her in her life where she felt the need to pen such lyrics that rips her soul wide open?  I will never know what it would be like growing up with tons of money my dad made from singing some crappy country song. 

Who would have known this troglodyte could have created such a beautiful creature capable of transcending time and space

I will never know what it would be like to have my dad sell his soul to Disney to get me my own show for my alter ego named “Hannah Montana”.  I’ll never know what it was like to make more money at the age of 15 than most men bring home to their families in a lifetime.  I will never know what it was like to be so incredibly lucky that despite my inability to sing, act or even be remotely awesome… I’m known and revered worldwide for my singing, acting and the illusion of how awesome I am. 

How transparent and sacrificial she is for pouring her life out to her followers and then telling us how to view our life… no matter how we got there… from the mountaintop.  Truly incredible and prophetic stuff.

Quick note: this post is meant to be taken sarcastically.  In no way do I want Miley Cyrus to live past her 20th birthday.

DLG Saves Daddy From The Scary Man

Once upon a time there was a girl named Daddy’s Little Girl…

She loved her Daddy and how he played with her all the time…

One particular evening while Mommy was away at bible study… DLG and Daddy were watching Yo Gabba Gabba…

Suddenly… there was a knock at the door!

The dogs barked.  A lot.

“SHUT UP!!!” Daddy said.

Then Daddy got up and told DLG to “stay right there” while he saw who was at the door…

Daddy went to the front door and opened it to find a very scary looking man.

“I’m here to take your whole DVD collection!” The scary man said.

“Like hell you are!” Daddy said.

Before Daddy could close the door, the bad man punched him in the face.

Then the scary man shoved a baseball bat into his stomach.

Since Daddy doesn’t have a six-pack yet… that hurt really bad and he was consequently out of breath.

While he was bending over… the scary man kicked him in the face.

Daddy was subsequently laid out.

DLG continued to watch Yo Gabba Gabba during the whole altercation.

“What is this?” The scary guy said.  “This looks hilarious!”  So the scary guy started to watch it too.

After a while, the scary guy noticed that DLG was holding some raisins in a little bowl.

“I’m just going to take these from you without having any regard for the fact that I’m a large grown man and you’re a baby who could never possible fend for yourself.” Said the scary guy.

As the scary man grabbed for the raisins… DLG grabbed his hand and twisted it.

 She twisted them so hard she broke the index and middle fingers clean off the scary mans hand!

Then she slapped the living hell out of him.  So hard that he was knocked to the floor.

 As soon as he hit the floor… she jumped high in the air…

 … and landed square in the middle of the scary mans neck.

Unable to breath… the scary man was knocked out.

Then DLG woke Daddy up from getting knocked out.  He and DLG then took the scary man and dumped him in the river behind the house.  Then they both went back to watching Yo Gabba Gabba.


Movie Review: Sherlock Holmes

Total Running Time: 128 minutes

Starring: Robert Downey Jr., Jude Law, Rachel McAdams, Satan Worshipers

I recently asked you (5) readers to tell me which movie I should see: Avatar or Sherlock Holmes. Avatar outweighed Sherlock Holmes in all your responses so I concluded that, for my fan base (of 5 readers) I would go to Avatar and give you the scoop if you haven’t seen the movie already.

To get the full experience of Avatar, I wanted to go to the only IMAX 3-D theatre they have here in Oklahoma. What I didn’t expect when I got there was for all the movie times to be sold out! I didn’t want to forgo my movie-going experience (something I get very little of these days) just because I could see Avatar… so I decided to go ahead and see Sherlock Holmes.

It wasn’t in 3D and it wasn’t in the IMAX theatre… but it was still awesome.

I can’t help but wonder how exactly RDJ got so lucky as to happen upon two films (Iron Man and Sherlock Holmes) that will produce multiple sequels (Sherlock Holmes left its ending open for a sequel). Also… with Tony Stark/Iron Man appearing in a cameo after the credits of the most recent “Incredible Hulk” movie… it appears he may have a third franchise of films (The Avengers… supposedly coming in 2012) in which he could take part.

This is the same guy who was black-out drunk and wandered into a neighbors Malibu home late one night thinking it was his own and falling asleep on the neighbors bed! This is the same guy who couldn’t seem to get his drug problem contained and most entertainment media outlets wrote him off as a lost cause!  A judge threw him in prison to “save his life” since he couldn’t get his substance abuse problem under control!  It appeared he was on the downward spiral to be the latest casualty of Hollywood excess.

But somewhere… somehow… in the infinite grace of Someone (!?) he made quite a rebound.  In fact, perhaps a little of his excess, made him an even better actor… because he came back from the brink.

First came Zodiac.

Then came Tropic Thunder.

Then came the almighty Iron Man.

Everything he touched turned to gold.  How could he not rock the movie out as much as he did?

The story has a particularly scary plot that deals with a dude name Lord Blackwood who just so happens to be a Satanist (or is he?) who SH foils right at the beginning of the movie before committing another human sacrifice. Before Lord Blackwood is hanged for his evil deeds, he vows to return from the grave only to wreak more havoc than before.

When this actually happens… then the sleuthing begins.

I enjoyed the movie very much. It’s a welcome revamping of the SH character that we’ve never really seen before. As a kid I remember SH being an older guy with a trench coat and a magnifying glass. In this installment, he’s a badass. He knows kung fu and shit! Alright… maybe not kung fu… but he knows how to take a punch and he knows how to give one even better.

As he was in Iron Man… RDJ plays the part stupendously. He doesn’t even appear to be acting! In the same way Mickey Rourke (before boxing/plastic surgery) seemed to effortlessly channel the characters he played so does RDJ in such a way that it feels you’re watching real life events happening right in front of you!

Also, I’ve been told by multiple ladies (aka my sisters and nieces) that RDJ makes them squeal like they did when they used to read “Teen Bop” magazine. From what they tell me… he’s somewhat of a stud I guess.

Jenni… stop drooling on your computer.  The keys will start to stick if you do that too much.

Jude Law is okay as Sherlock’s right hand man: Dr. John Watson. He’s not as badass… but he’s acceptable. I’m still mad at him for cheating on Sienna Miller with their nanny. What a twerp.

Rachel McAdams plays the love interest: Irene Adler. I just love her. She’s just so cutesy wootsy. But… unfortunately in this movie… she’s somewhat expendable to me. I loved her in movies like “Mean Girls”, “The Notebook” and “Red Eye”… but I didn’t see this movie as one of my more favorite vehicles for her.

C’mon now… you can’t get much more wholesome or “cutesy wootsy” than her…

Mr. Satanist Man, Lord Blackwood, is good. He’s scary. He’s mean. He’s evil. He’s everything he needs to be to make you wonder if he’s really channeling the devil… or not! I’ll stop before I give too much away.

Avatar may be the first vehicle of a new movie-going experience… but I can’t imagine that it can have as great and unique a storyline as Sherlock Holmes.

I give Sherlock Holmes five out of five ShamWOW! guys:


What Do You Want To Do When You Grow Up

The eternal question:  “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

My grandparents asked me this question when I was eight years old when nothing else seemed to matter to me other than action figures.  My parents asked me this in middle school when nothing else seems to matter to me other than my baseball card collection. My school counselor asked me this question before I went to college when nothing else seems to matter to me other than girls.  My advisor asked me this in college when nothing else seemed to matter to me other than sorority girls or the next Greek function.

My answers to this question over the years were about as diverse as you could get.  For many years I wanted to play professional baseball.  Then I wanted to be a disc jockey.  Then I wanted to be an actor.  Then I wanted to be a doctor.  Then I wanted to be a detective.  Then I wanted to work for Chippendales.  Then I wanted to be a fireman.  Then I wanted to be an engineer.

The list went on and each time there was something standing in my way… something that made the accomplishment “impossible” (in my mind) to obtain.

“You mean I have to go to school for, like… 10 years to be a doctor?  Screw that.”

“You mean I have to move to California and put in all this time getting an agent, getting head shots, trying out for small roles, etc. all while working as a waiter to make ends meet?  No thanks.  I just want to get ‘discovered’!”

“You mean to be a professional baseball player I have to work on fielding ground balls, take batting practice every day, study the strategy of the game and be in peak physical condition?  I just want to be naturally gifted.”

Etc. Etc. Etc.

Now I’m 30… and I still didn’t know what I wanted to be… until just yesterday.

I took this video of Daddy’s Little Girl:

The end is what got me.  I didn’t purposefully end it that way… it just kind of happened.  I wanted to get her to hug me… something she’s just started doing on a level where she understands what it means!  She normally doesn’t do it unless I pretend like I’m crying.   I wind up pretending like I’m crying a lot because as a father… many of the things you dreamed of your little girl doing to show her appreciation are finally coming to fruition.  I wouldn’t want her to not hug me if I was really crying… she’s actually showing me that she wants me to feel better!

Later that evening in her darkened bedroom, as I was almost ready to lay her down to go to sleep, I asked her to give me a hug and she did… I didn’t even have to pretend like I was crying. 

She opened her arms and put them around my shoulders, then nuzzled her head in the nape of my neck.  I tilted my head to lay it on her baby soft cheek.  We sat there for a little while humming to each other.  Then, with both of my arms around her little body, I gave her a little love squeeze and whispered, “I love you so much.”

Much to my surprise she started to answer me back, “I louuuuu…”  Her voice tailed off as she realized she wasn’t able to say what I just said… but it didn’t matter… I knew what she was trying to say and she had already said it through her hug.  The words will come soon enough.

It was at this moment that I realized I’d finally found out what I wanted to do with my life:  I wanted to be a good father.

Unlike any of the other jobs I aspired as a child, teenager, college partier or a “barely functioning member of society”… this is a job from which I could not escape… even if I wanted to.  Sure… I could run and I could hide but that would never change the fact that DLG was my daughter, my little girl, my angel and my responsibility!

Sometimes some of the simplest thoughts are the product of days, weeks, months or years of sleepless nights, endless stress and tired brains.  My epiphany was nothing new… I always knew I would be there for her but waiting for the results of my endless love directed at her… sometimes felt like they were too far away.

Like a doctor studies for years to become a practitioner or an actor gets a few fast food commercials on his way to become an A-list movie star or a baseball player spends endless time playing the game to wind up playing for a major league team… I’m just now starting to really reap the benefits of my hard work, stress, anxiety and plethora of other draining human emotions.

“This is the job I’ve been preparing for my whole life!” I thought to myself.

Everything else is secondary.  Everything else isn’t near as important as being able to come home and look into those deep blue eyes yelling for me as I come through the door… nothing.

I love this job.

I Could Have Been A Contender!

If you’ve been around me when I’ve had a few drinks and we’re swapping stories from times long, long ago… this story will invariably come out:

“You know… I struck Matt Holiday out in high school… twice!”

“Who?” you might say!

If you don’t know, Matt Holiday is a professional baseball player who just the other day signed a $120 million contract good for seven years with the St. Louis Cardinals. 

Hahahaha I struck you out you MLB multimillionaire jerk face!  Okay… please don’t find out where I live and crush me.

One. Hundred. And. Twenty. MILLION!!!  DOLLARS!!!

I haven’t done the math but I know for sure it doesn’t take him long to surpass my yearly salary in just a few plate appearances!

If it was only known how easy it is to strike this guy out… he’d be your friendly neighborhood trash man instead of the new, highly overpaid baseball superstar.

Allow me to take you back…

I was the starting pitcher for the Ponca City Wildcats in our home opener my senior year.  Our opponent was our cross-town rivals: The Stillwater Pioneers.

Me about to get rocked…

Headlining the Stillwater Pioneers was the legend and three-sport star of Stillwater himself: Matt Holiday.  We knew back then the kind of skills that Matt possessed seeing that every game we ever played against Stillwater there was some unknown face in the crowd holding a radar gun and scribbling notes in a binder emblazoned with some major league team’s logo.  They were there to see Matt smash a monster home run or throw his 90 MPH fastball. 

They weren’t there to see me throw…

Us lesser, more inept players whose future consisted of staring at a computer all day to earn money instead of playing for a legendary baseball team in front of millions of people… saw this as a chance to knock down the golden boy and steal some of his glory for ourselves.

It doesn’t take a genius to know that when you’re faced with a situation more challenging than usual… you up your game a little bit.  Although, I always tended to perform better in non-pressure situations than one’s that required me to dig deep and perform in the face of embarrassment, fear and possibly… instant death.

Despite being naturally amped up because this was our first game in front of our home crowd… my adrenaline hit it’s peak when I saw Holiday step into the batters box after the first and second hitters grounded out.

Feeling good at my chances of at least getting out of the first inning unscathed… I threw my 82 MPH heat right down the middle… clearly a mistake on my part!

Luckily for me… his bat never left his shoulder.

“STRIKE ONE!” the umpire yelled.

I realized that I was INCREDIBLY lucky he didn’t swing at that because one of my infielders would have definitely been killed by a screaming line drive off his bat.  I tried to be a little more accurate on the second fastball…. but I pretty much accidentally threw the same pitch a second time and it went into the exact same location.

Again, his bat never left his shoulder and I was left wondering, “What the hell is he looking for!?”

“STRIKE TWO!” the umpire screamed.

As my catcher threw the ball back to me I could see the scouts sitting behind the dugout with their radar guns and fancy notepads staring at me.  I imagined them thinking, “Wow… maybe this kid has something!”

When in actual reality they were probably thinking, “I wonder what crappy places this one horse town has to eat.”

I stepped on the rubber and prepared my final pitch.  The catcher flashed me two fingers which meant “curveball”.

Even though I’d been throwing the curveball for several years… I still didn’t have good control over it.  I mainly only threw it when the count was working in my favor.  In this instance I had the future superstar down in the count two strikes to no balls!  I would have to throw four bad pitches to walk him.  If this curveball didn’t work it would be okay… I still had three more pitches to waste trying to get him to swing.

I threw the curve.  What materialized out of this pitch was probably the worst curveball I’d ever thrown.  The minute it came out of my hand I knew it wasn’t right.  Its trajectory would put it in the general vicinity of the last two fastballs I had thrown… only much slower and easier to track.  This is known as a “hanging curveball”.

As the ball headed right for the future millionaire’s wheelhouse I imagined one of two things:

     1.  He would hit the ball and it would shatter my testes into a million unintelligible pieces, or

     2.  the ball would go down in history as being the furthest ball hit at our baseball field

Luckily for me, neither of those happened.

What I’m assuming happened was that I surprised him with such a tailor-made pitch to deposit somewhere between home plate and the planet Pluto… he wound up swinging with every ounce of strength he had in him… and completely missed.

Strike three.  Inning over.

Unbelievably I managed to strike out Holliday in the third inning as well… but all the effort in keeping him hitless should have been evenly distributed throughout the whole lineup… as we lost our home opener that day 5-3.  Although, I went 3 for 3 and pitched decently it wasn’t good enough for the win.  I did succeed in keeping Matt Holiday off the base paths though.

When it was all over, I never got a call from the Colorado Rockies or the Oakland Athletics or even the Kansas City Royals. 

Matt Holiday went on to be drafted by the Colorado Rockies, played in a world series, played briefly for the Oakland Athletics and eventually became a superstar who just agreed on the contract worth $120 million to play in St. Louis.

Oh yeah… I also beat up Albert Pujols in grade school…

If St. Louis only knew how easy Matt Holiday is to strike out… I wonder if they would have offered him so much money.  If somehow it becomes common knowledge that the pitch sequence of “82 MPH fastball down the middle, 82 MPH fastball down the middle then slow, hanging curveball down the middle” is all it takes to strike this guy out… then they’re going to be pissed!!

Note to self:  Call St. Louis Cardinals and have them pay me hush money.  Then… move to Bahamas.


Yeah… you can say it… I’m awesome.