Give Me Time

Just typing to see what comes out.

I think I'm getting old.  I thought the All Star Game pre game was bloated and over produced.

I was annoyed my 15 year old wouldn't take her headphones off while we all went bowling.

I try to use "whom" correctly.

There was a time that I always felt younger than I was.  I'm blessed that I looked younger than I am.  I play the part, well sometimes I do.  People told me I looked younger.  I was flattered.  But now, not only do I feel old, but feel like I'm acting old.

People tell me I'm a good story teller.  And I guess I am.  I take a little pride in weaving a perfect length story with good timing.    I have a few still waiting to be related here.  But I'm not ready to be funny yet.  Too much on my mind.

Restarting this is harder than I thought.  Give me time.

Ok.  Here I go.

I have not written in this blog for literally years.  And when I looked it up and read some of my old posts it seems almost like another person wrote them, which in a way is true, I guess.

Well, I'm going to give it a try again.  Although all the readers I used to have have been discarded from my life.  Some bridges were burnt by them, some by me.

A lot has happened in my life since my last log in.  I've gotten married, moved, had children, switched jobs, been sick, been well, been happy, been sad.  Isn't that just called "living" though?

So when I logged in today I noticed I had an unpublished post in my drafts.  It's about going to a bar in Hyde Park in Cincinnati with a former co-worker who now lives in Arizona.  I don't even remember writing it honestly.

I changed the name of my blog to Thinking and Driving because that is where I do my best thinking and analyzing and contemplating.  I drive too much really.  But it's part of my life.  And here I will post some of those thoughts.  Some funny, some weird, and when I'm ready, some sad.

I know that no one is reading this, so I guess it doesn't really matter.  Well that gives me a little more freedom anyway.

I'm not sure if it will last, but I'm giving it a try.  Besides I have this kick ass Mac Book Air and I'm using it as a Reddit machine and thats just sad.

The Guinness Toast

We scored a killer parking spot pretty near the Century Theatre in Oakley, site of the "Guinness Toast." It only took about 10 minutes of driving in circles, but it meant that I could leave my jacket in the truck. I'm not a particular fan of Guinness, but we were meeting some cool people that my friend had met by being a member of the "Reds Rally Pack." Like me, they liked going to crowded places and pointing out the shortcomings of others, like I'm sure that other people do to me. It was with them when I noticed that Rich Apuzo's shorts were about the length of "Pistol Pete" Maravich's, and made a horrible sight when seated on a low couch at the Party in the Park.

I shuffled quickly past a WEBN van on the way in. I didn't know that they would be there, so I envisioned the populace sporting mullets and combs tucked into their back pockets awaiting me inside. I was part right, as the striped shirt brigade was also in full force. I also happened to be wearing a striped shirt that night, but deep down I knew that I wasn't one of them. (I have never date raped or tried to have sex with a friend's girlfriend. You know who you are.) "The Dude" was there, who looks like anything but a dude.

BLARING on the stage was a band called Tantric. I think they were playing "Cumbersome" by Seven Mary Three, or something. I kept yelling for them to play Whitesnake or Creed. I know they could hear me over the din, because Jesus Christ himself was playing the drums for them. Jesus had no need for a shirt that night.

I had a good time at the show although the scratch off ticket offered by the "Guinness Girl" informed me that I was in fact "NOT A WINNER." I begged to differ, but it was too loud to hear my protest. I had seen her the night before at the Shell Station buying cold medicine. I briefly considered mentioning it, but decided it would be written off as a pathetic line.

After the show I was waiting in the lobby when I noticed a moving commotion coming my way. It was the band. The cover band, coming my way with groupies and hangers-on in tow. Evidently, the VIP area was upstairs, and I was in the way. The lead singer had a smirk/scowl on his face. I'm sure he was irritated that he had to be so close to people like myself. Myself being someone wondering how a cover band gets groupies. Maybe they were big fans of the savior.

Overall, a good night. I didn't win the trip to Boston, which was fine, only assholes have lived or come from Boston. I bought an old man in a Harley shirt a beer. He asked why I would do such a thing, and I told him that any Harley guy that would brave that crowd, deserved a free beer.